Post by Arthur Kirkland on Mar 30, 2011 14:03:22 GMT -5
The boisterous mood of The Bar tonight was uncommonly lively. That could only mean, in Captain England’s experience, some other pirate ship had come in to port after some long stint out. The British pirate lord sat at his usual table in the establishment. He had claimed it some time ago and let his men clear out any unfortunate patron that might be encroaching on it whenever he arrived. It gave him an open view of the unruly place, so that England could keep a close eye on any potential enemies within.
England draped back on his chair, the goblet of ale sitting only half consumed on the table in front of him. He was too busy listening to truly imbibe anything much. It was better to stay alert when in the company of other piratical predators. His head shifted, the feather of his hat fluttering as England glanced aside to be sure that Roberts was still nearby. The man leant against the wall behind his captain like some protective shadow that would act at the first sign of trouble.
When England finally realized that these men were speaking Dutch, his face twisted as he blanched in distaste. There was only one ship he knew bold enough to sail into his port and so boldly trespass into his favoured bar. The Flying Dutchman – the ship run by that tulip-loving bastard from up north who was a thorn in his side. It had been some time since he had directly encountered his fellow pirate. Lately it seemed they were running in different circuits out in the open skies.
Cocking his chair back on the two rear legs, England propped a booted foot up against the lip of his table. Normally he worried that Miss Hungary would come along and smack him for doing so. The woman was a little swamped right now with the sudden influx of sailors that had come into the city to worry about one of her regulars acting up. England settled back, crossing his arms over his chest as he let his eyes sweep again over the crowds. He made no effort to hide his identity or what he was. If Captain Netherlands didn’t show up to approach the British Pirate Lord, then surely some other member of the crew eventually would.
He casually rested a hand on where his pistol sat tucked into his belt in the event that whoever finally approached him did so with hostile intentions. In the cutthroat business of piracy, one could never be too careful. Relax too much and they might end up dead.