Common Motives

Chapter 26: Skills of Convenience

As soon as Sydney had pushed open the door to the all-too-familiar Kraken Skulls Tavern, she had been greeted eagerly by numerous other pirates of the Resistance, mostly boisterous young men, as expected.

Good.

Chaos calmed her, at times.

It reminded her how much more structured she was, how she was superior to them in every way, shape, and form. Those who lacked structure would usually end up paying sooner or later, usually with their limbs or their life.

But for now, they were a good source of amusement.

"Hey, Underhill!"

Sydney turned her head to the left, in the direction of the rather sudden call, where a redheaded, green-eyed buccaneer was sitting at a table with two other pirates, a witchdoctor and a musketeer, judging from their demeanor and clothing. The buccaneer had a furious

"Ah, I remember you...Caleb Cranston, was it?"

"You just wait," He spat, "I'll get you next time!" Sydney raised an eyebrow.

"What's he talking about?"

"Don't mind him," The witchdoctor next to him quickly intervened, waving dismissively with one hand, "He's still pissed over the fact that you knocked out four of his teeth last time you came here."

Sydney rolled her eyes and stomped away, sliding onto a barstool and leaning her poleaxe against the bar, already thoroughly annoyed by the general stupidity of the majority of the Resistance pirates.

He deserved that punch, Sydney thought to herself, straightening her hat and letting her coat slide off her shoulders, hanging it on the tip of the blade of her axe. He was dumb enough to challenge someone while drunk, and he paid the price.

The bartender, knowing the privateer's tendencies, placed a glass of rum in front of her, which she immediately lifted and downed in her own record time, biting her tongue to stifle her coughing. Slamming the glass down, she almost immediately chastised herself for being so careless, for as she knew, alcohol suppressed one's senses, and that was not something she could afford.

Refusing a second glass, Sydney leaned her elbow on the bar and her chin on her hand, her eyes scanning over the rest of the tavern, over the faces of each and every one of the other customers. However, the face that she was looking for did not appear to be present at the moment.

So he's not here yet.

The privateer let out a huff of irritation. As much as she hated it, she would have to wait.

Reaching into the inner pocket of her coat, which was she traced along the edge of the small, rectangular box that she had acquired from her 'trip' to Marleybone.

Patience, patience, patience, she begged herself, she begged her mind, just wait a little longer...you'll get your progress, you'll get your results...soon...very soon.

She had been dormant for far too long.

A puppet of the Resistance, she was, up until now, doing their dirty work without knowing the overall objective, without being allowed to, being able to see the big picture. Kept in the dark, kept powerless. A marionette, a blind marionette on a string, not even in control of her own actions.

And the infuriating part was, she decided, she had not realized it until recently, she had not once questioned this until recently.

And to accomplish what, exactly?

She did not know.

Just then, the door opened to allow a large crowd of what must have been at least fourteen people, every one of them chattering noisily, and the privateer twisted her torso around to get a better look at them.