To Mousse,

***

“Are you at least a practitioner of tribadism then?” the young woman asked with a hopeful look in her brown eyes while straightening her dangerously snug bodice. She placed her arms under her bosom in an attempt to enhance the heaving.

“No,” the Captain answered, a big frown of confusion scrunched up her sun tanned brow. Subconsciously she imitated the younger woman’s actions by straightening her own tattered shirt. “Should I be?” she added carefully with a slight shake of her head.

“I must say, this is all horribly disappointing. I assume you will not be ravaging me then?” the woman wondered now with her hand on her hip.

The Captain’s eyes grew wide and she threw her hands up in the air defensively. “God no! I’d never do anything like that,” she assured sincerely, horrified at the mere thought of such barbarian behaviour.

“You claim I am fat?” the brown eyed beauty asked, her nostrils flaring and her small heels stamping on the wooden deck.

"What?" With a terribly lost look on her face the Captain scratches her shoulder and with a slight tremor of fear in her eyes cautiously replied, “No...?”

The point of a parasol dug into the confused Captain’s chest as the captured damsel poked it at her to stress her point. “And you better hadn’t dare!” she concluded with one final, deceptively strong poke. The parasol was slowly lowered and the young woman began pacing while muttering to herself, “No colourful textiles! No missing limbs! No swagger! No ravaging! And she calls herself a pirate”. She scoffed. “This is nothing like in the books. Substandard capturing.” She shook her head and her blonde curls bounced around her shoulders in a leisurely manner. “Substandard!” she exclaimed.

With a frown the Captain focused on the woman until the moment when brown eyes narrowed at her, breaking through the haze of surrealism and a capture gone all wrong. “Matey,” she shouted startled, her voice nearly breaking in a strange moment of unexpected fear brought on by the slip of a girl swinging a mean parasol. “Turn us around,” she ordered the crew that had been idling around, watching the exchange with avid fascination. As her voice held the same amount of desperation as her facial features the crew quickly scurried to prepare the ship for a complete turn towards the direction their troublesome hostage had come.

Brown eyes narrowed even more. “Now,” the Captain shrieked, this time her voice actually breaking. One hand frenetically rubbing the sore spot on her sternum as she hurriedly added a more forceful, “NOW!”

***