Zalissa: The Pirate Queen

Story about Zalissa returning to Booty Bay. Vaell has a story from Flint's POV in this scene too  give that a read. Will also be making a pirate guild soon, if you're interested! Anyway enjoy.

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She was walking over the wooden walk-ways that made up the floor of Booty Bay, the smell of salt, vomit and sweat was a heavy must in the air of the sea shanty pirate town, even with the rippling breezes of the sea air in constant flow; it was almost as if the stench of men, orc and humanoid  alike overpowered nature itself. Zalissa had a long-legged, angry, and hasty stride, but her foot-steps echoed with different sounds on each plank, some hollow, some rotted with wet. She inconsiderately kept on a straight course, letting men weave around her, rather than moving for them. The bay was awash with people carrying crates to load on to the multiple vessels docked by the piers, drunks drowning themselves in both rum and stout whores fleshy breasts; it wasn’t an unusual sight, truly, she’d lived here before as a girl, pouring pints for pirates back when she pursued her father, the Pirate King Robberts Black, or ‘Black-Bart’ as he was more commonly known.
  Although the familiar faces she’d known were scarce, There’s old pirates and there’s bold pirates, but no old bold pirates, she thought to herself. They’d never recognise her so long on now anyway, she hadn’t even had her first blood or developed breasts when she had worked here.
 
     A lot of Zalissa’s learning had happened in Booty Bay, the truth about men for one; that they were all different but at the same time all alike, she thought of her husband, Quinian whom by now counted as more of a bodily growth she had to cart around rather than a husband, she regarded her path before her sourly as she thought of her beloved lay about, who was probably at the moment, losing himself in some futile writing task which he would eventually scrap and feed to the hearth, before feeling sorry for himself then drinking into an early sleep, and alike to living in Stormwind before, she played the role of the bread-winner again. She tasted something bitter in her mouth and shook her head, as if shaking away the thought, besides this time things would be a lot different. She was a princess, heir to what Robbert had left behind after his death.
 
    The bay also swarmed with flea-bitten children. They climbed the treacherous structures as carelessly and as swift as spiders. Some lay face down on top of unloaded wagons, browning in the sun while others fished with self- made rods, and bothered passers-by for coin. Zalissa’s face had been stone as she walked, but it momentarily softened as a nut-brown girl streaked by her, stopping for a second to pass her a shy smile and then run off squealing like a piglet again, instantly engrossed in a game of tag.
 
    Her thoughts came to Vinian, her son. He was a mirror image of how his father would’ve been at that age, but he had adopted her untamed hair, and a certain quality of her eyes. Though they were viridian as Quin’s and her own were blue, they were like green ice. She worried for him at times, as Quin was fond of drinking himself into a coma, and for a three year old, Vinian had a grim curiosity for anything dangerous, such as bottles: broken bottles – which her home was abundant in. Her thoughts were interrupted as a boot-lace peddler scuttled about her legs, stopping her in her tracks to look up at her from under a straw hat. The boy gave her a yellow scurvy smile then prodded her boot with a bare, blackened foot.
“You wanna buy some shoe laces, pretty-lady miss?” he had dirt and freckles on his cheeks, and happy eyes that reminded her of Vinian. Zalissa smiled warmly. She had a soft spot for children, being a mother and all.
“My boots don’t need laces, see?” she replied playfully, showing him her buckled boots: all the venom that had circulated her earlier had been sucked out by this dirtied street cherub. She crouched like a toad to his level, and he hugged his bootlaces to his chest with a small coy smile. Some other children spotted the princess and ran over to join their dusty comrade to greet Zalissa, she began shaking some of their small hands as they introduced themselves, squinting up at her in the sun and fired questions at her like bullets.
“How-come you’re so clean? – Why you so pretty? – You have a funny accent!”
“I can hold my breath for an hour, wanna see?” the child took a big gulp and bloated his cheeks.
The soprano questions cut off immediately when she heard a panicked screech behind her, looking over her shoulder to see her mite being held by the scruff of his shirt by a tall man, who was blacked out by the rising sun behind him.
Zalissa shot to her feet and drew a gun in a matter of seconds.
“Release the sprog.” She snapped, as the man came into focus; she had been expecting a villain, for some reason someone akin to her father came to mind, depicting a wiry black mane and beard, mad eyes and brandishing some painful looking weapon, but as her eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun the adversary was a vision of beauty. He had a sturdy jaw that was as hairless as an egg, as slender as a willow; soft brown hair that was tied back in a bed-mussed pony-tail and peculiar topaz coloured eyes - almost as if he had holes cut in the back of his head and the sun behind him shone through them. Zalissa noted he had a pistol in his belt when she eyed him critically.
“Flint! Mister Flint!” The children squeaked excitedly.
“Children are as duplicitous as men in this town, my lady.” This Flint character mused cheerfully, and passed her back a coin purse that was originally hung on her belt. She snatched it back.
“Put me down or I’ll smack you one! … Mister Flint.” her mite exclaimed as he kicked his dirty feet in open air. Flint did as he was asked and dropped the child. He snarled and ran off to weave between crates and disappear, the other children tailed him in hot pursuit, and Zalissa and the stranger were left alone.
“Or should I call you ‘Your Grace’?” a playful smile emerged on the man’s lips and he tipped his head with the gentle curiosity of a kitten. Zalissa paused to judge whether he mocked her or not. She clicked the safety off her pistol, staring at him unflinchingly; activating the frightening quality her eyes beheld when they bore holes into men and made them squirm. He shifted uncomfortably at her silence but retained an impish smile, joining hands behind his back to walk around her as if he was inspecting a piece of art.
 
“You’re as hilarious as you are pretty, boy.”
“Man.” He corrected calmly.
“Oh aye?” she pivoted slowly, following him as he calmly circled her like a patient cougar.
“So are from the North, your grace?”
“No I’m not, don’t call me that.”
“You’re not? Your accent is deceptively akin to a Stormwindian. Are you a spy as well as royalty?”
Zalissa wrinkled her nose, red flushing over her vision. She pointed the gun at the man’s face, right for his nose, the grin vanishing off his face. He backed away a little, but she pursued, speaking with every step.
“Listen to me, foetus-boy, since you’re digging so deep into getting to know the real me right now, know this, if you keep talkin’ all fancy at me, in your sarcasm slathered tongue I’ll cut your pretty little cock off and wear it around my neck.”
“I mean no offense.” He raised his hands in surrender and spoke carefully, which only seemed to amuse her. She widened her eyes with grim fascination to his struggle, having backed him into an upturned row-boat.
“I’ve come here to claim what my father left behind.”
He studied her suspiciously.
“Who’s your father?” she let him dangle in anticipation for a moment. Zalissa always had a flare for the dramatics.
     “The blood of the Pirate King flows through my veins.” she said simply, finally lowering her gun. The man seemed to pause, his gaze widening and his lips parting in disbelief. He ran two fingers down his face which stopped beside his lips, only lowering as a smile dismissed them.
"Then I was not so distant with 'your grace'. You refer to Black Bert, I am more than familiar with the name. But surely that makes you the Queen. The Pirate Queen returns home to reclaim her father's fortune?"
“Something like that. It’s not a matter of wanting, the title is mine. First I need a ship…” She glanced to her right, looking at the ship that dwarfed all the others.
“That one.”
“THAT one?!” Flint exclaimed in disbelief. Shaking his head so fast it looked as if it might spin all the way around.
“You can’t have that ship.”
“I’m Queen Zalissa, I can have whatever I like.” Zalissa sat herself on a crate by the upturned boat.
“That ship belongs to Captain Zergrum Stormblood.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she said boredly, indolently reclining against the wall behind the box.
“He’s the Bay’s face these days. He’s notorious for raping beautiful women, my queen.”
   She felt ire burn behind her eyes, scowling deeply. She thought back to her mother, despite not knowing her, she knew how she herself was conceived. King Robb was clearly fond of plunging into non-consensual women too, she was living proof of that. The thought made her grit her teeth.
Flint observed her with gentle concern, she noted. She suspected that within these mere minutes of her pointing a gun in his face he had become somewhat wistful. He sighed.
"My queen, I'd gladly put my sword behind yours if you chose any other ship. But that ship... I do not think you quite understand. Stormblood is an Orc, a particularly foul one. Each member of his crew is both loyal and bloodthirsty. They're the ones to avoid here. What about that ship - Neptune's Breastplate?"
She was pleasantly surprised to his words, but she managed to keep it from breaching her poker face.
“No.” she stared at him with icy eyes, and he floundered, unsure of how to respond – she threw him a lifeline. He had been helpful after all. She leaned forward out of her languid position, coming to draw up close to him and speak with a voice as soft as a kiss.

   “Where can I meet this Captain?”