Vendors on Main: Open
Let it be stated with absolute fact: Pirates do not do well on land. Sea legs were a very real thing, and only exaggerated the sway of hips that bounced the razor sharp blade of her cutlass precariously against bare thigh. Their stealth and silence came with the cover of ocean waves and cloudy nights, proven this night by the overly-confident stromping about in heavy leather boots that kissed her knees with every loud step. Another fact to be stated was that the Pirate King was currently a curvy maiden, and the King was proudly flaunting her newly acquired figure with clothing appropriate to Pirate royalty. Leather shorts barely covered her ass, while the gauzy white peasant blouse was open down to her bellybutton. She was on the prowl this very night.
Tonight she took to the land to find her prey. Tonight the traitor would die. Tonight. ...Or early tomorrow. He had lied to her, and tonight he would find the very end of his story by her blade. Certainly someone in this revelry would be able to tell her where to find that bastard's castle in this town. It would be helpful in her search had she not been sucking down her second bottle of sherry, nor lamenting the mercy she showed to those who claimed to be orphans. The rumor had crossed the seas by now telling those that crossed the paths of her ship just how to be released without question.
Yes, it did not help with providing her men piracy pay, but what was so wrong with showing mercy? They did not attack the ships weaker than they, yet when they attacked those stronger it was inevitable that they got thrashed. They released those that claimed to be orphans. They were orphans themselves, and knew what it was like. She was not entirely evil. Another healthy swig of sherry from the bottle informed her that the problem was that people took advantage of their credulous simplicity. She may not have thought much of their piracy profession, but when compared with respectability, the pirates were the relatively honest ones. Hrmph. No more. Never again.
Swaying steps claimed a large personal bubble as she sauntered down Main, eyeing those she passed for any recognition of the traitor. One hand stayed firmly on the hilt of her cutlass that dangled from her belt, while the sherry sloshed in the bottle that she swung around with her other hand. "Are these real tattoos?" She asked the vendor in the tent, and the client in the chair. Unfortunately for the person passing by at that moment, the Pirate King used them to steady herself from toppling over which sadly spilled some of her sherry onto them.