Cursed

Chapter One: Emeliano

Emeliano took a long swig of her whiskey and then clunked the glass bottle back down on the rough wooden countertop. The sound was barely heard in the rowdy tavern she had stumbled upon, the name of which she couldn't remember. She licked her lips, letting out a satisfied sigh, and glanced up at the bartender, who had an amused expression on his face.

"What?'' she asked, gripping the bottle. A couple of red curls fell into her eyes and she blew them away.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" he asked, his voice deep, not matching his appearance. Soft face and slicked-back hair, kind eyes. Maybe only 20 years old. The kind of person you would think would work anywhere but in a tavern. His accent was also familiar, Povarian, Emeliano thought.

Emeliano smirked and started fussing with the label on the bottle, which was peeling off at the corners. "In the eyes of the law, yes. In the eyes of a pirate, no."

The bartender just laughed as if he's heard that excuse from a sassy 16-year-old a great number of times, and grabbed a rag, starting to clean a stray glass that seemed to have just appeared. "So where do you come from?"

"All over," she looked at him curiously, taking another quick swig. "What about you? What's a Povarian doing in Talevara?"

"Ah, that's a long story," he chuckled a bit and set the glass down just as someone yelled for another mug of beer. His eyes found the man that had yelled and he smiled at Emeliano. "For another time I suppose. Well, enjoy your drink. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe," Emeliano mumbled, watching him hurry off into the crowd of laughing, drunk men. She quickly finished her drink and left a couple of gold kyats on the counter. She maneuvered her way through the stuffy, dimly lit tavern and eventually found her way out into the cool night air.

It was the middle of the night on the western side of the Kingdom of Talevara. Everything was still and quiet, except for the salty breeze and the distant yells and laughs from the nearby taverns along the street. She took in a long breath and ran a hand through her fiery red curls before making her way down the dimly lit cobblestone street.

Her hair bounced with every step and the multicolored sashes tied loosely around her waist swayed from side to side. Her leather jacket whipped against her legs in the wind. It was weird for her here. She was used to being recognized at every turn. Screams would pierce the air and people would start to run. It was usually only the people on the small outskirt islands that knew her though. Always living in fear, waiting for a captain like her to come and destroy the life they'd been living. Emeliano never minded that. Suddenly her head snapped up, and her reflexes acted.

"Hullo, Captain," said the boy standing at the end of her flintlocks. He appeared as if he didn't even know the guns were there. He was smirking, one eyebrow raised. The scar that ran through the left one seemed to stand out more than usual in the bright full moon peeking out from behind the clouds. She let out a sigh and tucked the guns back into their holsters.

"Hello, Thatcher," she replied calmly. "Out for a drink?"

"Not this evening, Captain. Just a stroll," his smirk didn't falter as he joined her. "What 'bout you, Captain? What're you doing out so late?"

"Getting a drink."

"They didn't recognize you?"

She shook her head. "It seems like not many people know of the fearsome Captain Emeli here," she laughed. "Although it was nice not having to run from the royal guard tonight, and actually being able to finish a bottle of whiskey."

Her first mate laughed, showing off his dimples that were rarely exposed. "The crew is back at the ship," he said, looking over at her. "If you were wondering."