Countryhumans Philippines

The Whereabouts of Marshal: 1

1720

Marshal did not mature into the culture of his family. He did not mature in the ways and in the beliefs of A Filipino. No, he was raised in the ways of the wild sea, tossing and churning and calm if the gods were kind enough.

Marshal stepped off the ship he had snuck into in secret during a collision with his crewmates and captain, and this ship he rode all the way to Tortuga.
He originally planned to commandeer a small British ship, in order to get to Tortuga for a special reason, but it was just his luck that the pirate ship he served on was attacked by another. So, in that stormy night, he snuck in through the water, climbed onto the deck without a fuss, and hid beneath the deck.

It was always rainy here, gloomy and ill-fitting. The dirty smoke rose from the chimneys, the cold and filthy cobblestone floor was cold and wet from last night's rain. The background noise of the heated crowd of slaves, prostitutes, and pirates alike looking for a captain to serve were accompanied by cursing, chanting, and coughing. You could even here the flirting of women in tight-fitting but lacking in layer dresses.

He was looking for a man that had promised help in these dying age and with his plan to free his brother from The Spanish Empire. The Golden Age of Piracy was coming to a close and he, like all pirates like himself...and... less of himself knew that it was do or die, but wherever and to whomever he asked, there were no straight answers. There were no clues to where he could be except his own guy feeling.

His best guess was Tortuga. He would go first for Port Royal, obviously, but unfortunately thanks to a great shake of the earth, anything left of Port Royal is now under the sea.

So here he was now, on the second most filthy, sinful island, next to Port Royal, looking for a man named Caribbean.

He went straight into a tavern where he was expecting to find a man he met in one of his voyages. He would not call him a friend.  Not this day and age. Heck, he won't be calling anyone as his friend at this point, since he has only one thing in his mind: revenge. The man's name is Bahamas, one of Caribbean's trusted men. He would know where Caribbean is.

He sat on a dirty table, the wooden cup filled with rum before him. He picked it up begrudgingly and glared at his murky beverage. He didn't learn to like it, after all these years...but then again, you take what you can in this life.

His eyes scanned the pub. He could see men drinking, and laughing and mocking. Some hitting it off with local prostitutes right then and there. What would his father say? What would he even think of him? Marshal swore that he was never like those men. No, he may have been forced into this life for god knows what, but he sure as hell didn't enjoy pleasurable company or passing out from rum. No, he was much much more than that.

A woman came up to him and rubbed his shoulders. He had a tight seal on his lips now, and an annoyed expression.

"Hey, haven't seen you here, you're new aren't ye?" She said sultrily, her calloused hands rubbing at his shoulders and went down to his chest with the same circular motion that would make any man give in, but not this man.

Marshal's eye twitched. His left hand's grip on the mug's handle tightened, while his right hand took his own musket in one swift motion and shot the gun upwards. The sound of the gun and the lead ball hitting the roof startled everyone in the vicinity, including the woman who had tried to seduce him. The woman simply backed away eyeing the man in catious uncertainty.

"Napaka landi ninyo." You are all such whores, He muttered, then proceeded to chug the contents of his wooden cup.

As he slammed the wooden cup on the wooden table, his eyes caught a familiar man.  He had no color, he was a free man, a pirate.

(A/N: The Bahamas' first flag appeared in 1869. This took place in the 1700s.)

The man walked to him, accompanied by two more men, side by side. He notices Bahamas pulling a chair off of a sleeping drunken man's chair and pulled it to his table and sat.

Marshal's stone-cold gaze was still there. You should never show any weakness, he remembered his captain said, these men will eat you alive.

"...I thought you never liked Tortuga.." Bahamas had a deep voice but had a hiss at the end as if he drew back every word he says. The man snapped his fingers. One of his men at his side, who stayed standing, went away. 

"And I never will...." Marshal was relaxed, which surprised Bahamas. People were generally scared of him and careful, but here was Marshal... a young man he had met from an unknown origin calm and composed, seemingly unaffected by his presence. Around them, pirates and all kinds of degenerates secretly watched the two look at each other in the eyes with a  mysterious and maybe almost malicious intent. Most of the mystery hung around Marshal though. Everyone knew who Bahamas was.   "I expected you to be here, honestly." Marshal managed. 

Bahamas stared at the boy until the man that left earlier came back with a large wooden cup filled with rum. He placed it before his captain. Bahamas took a good gulp, and slammed the cup on the table, making a few eyeing pirates jolt and avoid gazes. Marshal was unaffected. He just stared at him. 

"It is clear that you want something from me, boy."  Bahamas leaned in, his elbows in the table, "So Spit it out." 

"I'm looking for someone." Marshal said, leaning as well, and lowered his voice, to a soft whisper, loud enough for Bahamas to hear. "I'm looking for Caribbean." 

Bahamas; head jerked to look at him. He almost scowled, but he laughed. "Who do you think you are boy?!" He leaned back in his chair as the two men at his side chuckled as well, to please their principal. 

Bahamas stopped laughing, a salty...pun intended, look on his face. "He has nothing more to do with you." He said and started to stand up, when Marshal pulled a medium-sized glass bottle, with a piece of parchment in it. He held it by the neck, and slammed it on the table, watching Bahamas with a piercing glare as if challenging him.  "You might want to think again. I'm no bilge rat."

The men at his side held their muskets, but Bahamas raised a hand, putting them at ease. His hand, that had a couple of golden rings and an ebony black skull ring on his middle finger, picked up the bottle and opened it.