The other day I read a blog post a friend of mine posted. It reminded me of short stories we wrote several months ago about the fictional way we met each other. This is how I met her...sort of.
In the eighteenth century the high seas were terrorized by a vile sea captain known only as the Douche Pirate Adam. He sailed the seas pillaging and plundering unsuspecting ships sailing along the Isle of Kalandra. Every ship Captain knew the tales of this man's heinous deeds, but few believed them.
It was a balmy night with calm seas when the Saoirse came upon the Douche Pirate Adam, and his crew of morally corrupt, mentally confused scofflaws. The Saoirse's captain, Marc O'Reallious, knowing the stories, plotted with his First Mate.
Captain Marc, along with his First Mate, and the rest of his crew boarded the enemy pirate ship; scaling the sides under the cover of darkness. Mysterious fog was beginning to roll in as they converged on the wasteful and wanton men lounging around the deck.
The battle was over before it had truly begun. While Captain Marc went in search of Adam he sent his First Mate to verify whether there were any hostages on board before he gave the order to sink the ship to the bottom. It would after all, be a fitting ending for the former captain and crew to join the silent world of Davy Jones' Locker.
Deep in the bowels of the ship, locked behind a rusted door of iron bars a woman struggled with the shackles that bound her wrists. Her long brown hair was fashioned into a crude braid, and her face was marred with filth. The rags she wore did nothing to hide the royal way she held her head when the First Mate opened her prison.
Her biting words, and scathing remarks brought a smile to the First Mate's face. “Hello, Princess, I believe there are people looking for you.”
“What would you know of that? You're nothing but a pirate hussy.”
“Do you kiss your subjects with that mouth?” The princess said nothing, just glared at the First Mate. “Besides, I prefer the term, nautical wench—but you may call me First Mate for as long as you're aboard the Saoirse.”
“That won't be long. By rules of the sea you're to return me to the Kingdom of Ezmaha. For my safe return you'll be greatly rewarded.”
“Or we'll be hanged,” the First Mate said, unlocking the chains that bound the princess. “It's up to Captain Marc to decide your fate.”
“My fate is no one's to decide but my own,” she said head held high, eyes flashing fire.
“As you wish, Princess. Let's not keep the Captain waiting. Shame to be on board when he sinks it to Davy's Locker.” With a quick tug the princess was dragged out of the cell and tossed unceremoniously onto the decks of the Saoirse.
Princess Karie stayed on board the Saoirse for the remainder of her life; choosing the Pirate life we afforded her, rather than returning to the dull, mundane life she was expected to live in her kingdom.
That folks, is how I met Karie, one balmy evening as she spit fire and venom at me. It wasn't long before she too was preferring the term nautical wench... but that is a story for another time.