The seas just off the coast of Jamaica sat fairly still for the first time in several days; the waves brushed along the coastline like an artist painting a picture, and the powerful sun illuminated the water and the islands for hundreds of miles around.

Jamaica had become somewhat of a playfield for pirates lately, and the captain of the ship 'the Devil's Anvil', one Nolan Francis Kirkwood, fully intended to take advantage of the ever-increasing British trade in the region. The Devil's Anvil was a somewhat modest brig with a less-than-modest name; she bore 18 guns and simple, plain white sails. Her figurehead, bearing a naked man carrying a trident and shield, along with a Corinthian helmet, was easily one of the better-designed pieces of the ship.

In many ways, Kirkwood, or 'Old Ironwood' to his crew, was like his ship; rugged but sturdy, and he carried himself with a bearing more befitting an ancient king than a pirate. All of his crew looked to him for guidance and even purpose. 

The crew stood at their posts, many wearing bored and disinterested expressions. After days of waiting for the weather to calm down, they were ready to hunt for merchant ships which so far, had failed to show themselves.

Captain Kirkwood stood beside his helmsman, keeping a watchful eye over the deck of his ship. His eyes were currently following a small girl in her late teens. She was carrying a small barrel of gunpowder to a pair of cannons, when she suddenly tripped over. The barrel flew out of her grip and landed on the deck with a thud, breaking its top off and spilling its valuable contents all over the wooden boards.

A rancid odour quickly began to fill the air, and Old Ironwood grimaced at both the smell and the waste of propellant. He walked down the stairs from the helm and towards the girl, who wore an expression of total dread. Kirkwood walked with his head held high and his left hand on the hilt of his sabre, and his long jacket fluttered in the breeze. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked with a noticable edge in his voice. His eyes, full of fury, stared directly into the girl's own; she immediately averted her gaze to the deck.
She hardly ever spoke on the best of days, but with a man like Kirkwood one wrong sentence from bursting a vein standing right in front of her, she felt like she didn't have a choice. "I-I  tri-"

She was silenced immediately by a vicious backhand, which already left a stinging red mark on her face. "Did I say you could open your whore mouth, Chambers?" his face was red too, though the cause was much different. "Clean that up." he spat, before turning on his heel and heading back for the helm. The other pirates on the Devil's Anvil paid the interaction no mind, and continued working at their posts like nothing had happened.

Chambers preferred to avoid contact with everyone else on the ship, but of course it wasn't ever that simple. Some pirates would simply rant at her if they didn't ignore her completely, and other pirates used her for... well, [i]different[/i] things. She sighed quietly and did what she was told, trying to avoid nursing her bright red cheek or give up due to the eggy smell of gunpowder still in the air.