[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/xeq1xPaVI0vss/source.gif[/img][/center]

Always with those cards.

The captain loved his cards.  

Always shuffling, doing his tricks.  Shuffling again.  He had some of the fastest hands anyone's ever seen.  His whole world, the fate of fifty men, some times rested in his cards.  Whenever they took to the water, when his hands weren't needed elsewhere, they fumbled with his cards.  The soothing crack of thick ink paper bending and snapping into place.

The roar of the waves and sound of the gulls, and the ooo's and aaah's of the crew looking at the gift of a stowaway.  A bonnie lass pulled from the depths of a barrel.  Probably no worse for wear, but a good deal prettier than anyone else aboard.  And what a selection of lookers she had to choose from.  Some looking more akin to walking barrels then men, huge and fat.  Others almost looking like spiders by the way their spindly limbs pulled at ropes and futz with their knives.   Others barely passed for humans, having at some point crossed paths with magic and having animal features.   There was an old man, a cabin boy, all kinds of strips of colors and all kinds dirty weather worn apparel.  Some of them had seen horrors, missing limbs and eyes, but mostly teeth.  All of them surprised, but most of them grinning.

Still it was a weak captain indeed that couldn't silence the deck.  That ever present *[i]Shiik, Trrrrrrrrppp.[/i]* as the cards were manipulated into their dance in the deft hands of the captain.  He wasn't bedecked in some lordly coat.  If anything he seemed to have comfort in mind in his look, but it was expensive clothes.  Something she'd seen under the blazers and coat of arms in her fancy balls, but now thrown on in a slap dash way, rubbing in the face of civilized fashion trends and creating a style of carelessness.  As he approached, another shuffle of his cards as he took a step in front of the woman who was on her knees before him.

Underneath a tacky hat too big for him was a man, maybe a boy, well, someone relative to her own age.  A well kempt and distinguished face under a mess of blonde hair.  He looked down, his steelie yellow eyes and a toothy grin.

[color=gold]"Aww, Pete.  Ya shouldn't have.  It's nau even my birthday."[/color]  He had a broken way of talking, heaping with a thick accent.  This got a few yucks before he looked at the other faces.  [color=gold]"I do hope there's enough to go around."[/color]  He said, loudly, indulging in this very bad predicament she finds herself in.  Most of the crew seemed to be with him, finding much enjoyment at her expense.

Turning his attention back to her, he neatly folded his deck and slid into a pouch at his hip, a saber rest nearby along with an assortment of knives.  He didn't unsheath them, instead sliding his thumbs into his belt to rest near his blade as he sized her up.  A pretty little number had picked the wrong ship to try to hitch a free ride.  [color=gold]"How unlucky for you."[/color]  He said in a mocking imperious way, knowing full well her life and safety were rightfully in his hands and he wondered if turning it over to let her fall would be more fun.

[color=gold]"Welcome to the [url=https://images2.alphacoders.com/555/555455.jpg]Marigold[/url] lass.  To what do we owe this most unexpected and migh I say, very much unwelcome, pleasure?"[/color]  He gave a sly grin, interested, but positively dripping with venom.  Pretty face or not, she was a stow away and he wasn't going to be charmed by a pretty face, atleast that's how his playfully threatening demeanor suggested.