A barefoot woman dropped from the red ship's rigging and landed in a lazy crouch on the wrecked, splintered quarterdeck. She wore a torn captain's coat over a striped shirt, a cutlass on her hip, a flintlock in each fist.
She plucked the wheel out of Eirwen's hands, "Hello, boys and girls, you're all my guests now."
Eirwen stumbled back with her mop handle raised like a spear, "That is the most improper boarding I have ever witnessed."
"Thank you, darling, I practised," the woman said.
Juna's claws were already out, Nyra's fist wound tight in her sleeve, both of them glaring.
Hajin stepped between her and the wheel with his fists raised, coat flapping in the smell of burnt rope. She looked him over the way a butcher eyes a pig, her grin widening with every inch she surveyed.
"You're the one who took the Pale Lantern in nine seconds," she said, "I want to see if that was a lie."
He rolled his shoulders, "Nine seconds, I counted, there are witnesses."
