Bare Knuckle

Bonney smelled the sweat and the beer dripping from the ceiling above her. It was a rough night. It was a glorious night. It was the night The Epitome docked and gave its crew shore leave. The money flowed in through booze and whores. It flowed through the cobblestone streets and up into the hills. It would flow back out to sea in barrels and crates and then off to who knows where. Bonney didn't know. Bonney didn't care. She wrapped her hands in thick cloth and flexed her fingers. Some of that money had found its way before her.

She would like that money. She would like it a lot. It could do so many things for her. It could pay for her bed and pay for her food and maybe get her some new clothes. There's a seamstress she passed every so often that did wonderful things. Nothing fancy, nothing ornate, but simple and strong and good for her work. Maybe a nice hat. The one she wore was getting crumpled and losing its shape. She stopped thinking about her new hat. The bindings were nice and tight. She flexed her fingers and the seams dug into her skin. The air still hung heavy with the scent of stale beer. The cellar wasn't quite sealed enough to escape it.

Bonney shifted and moved and laid out over her bench. She wished it was quieter. She wished it was nice and silent. She didn't have such serenity. She had stamping feet and drunken lullabies. She had the growing rush of blood in her veins. She had the song of violence presented before her and she let it sing in her blood. A hand went over her eyes and blotted out the scant light that filtered through. The oil lamps were lit, scaring away the shadows. Bonney wished there were less lights.

A knock came at the door to the cellar and Bonney grunted at it. The noise opened the door, unfortunately. She was almost ready to fall asleep. She would like to fall asleep at some point.

"Bonney," said the gruff voice, "you've got a bite. Showtime."

That did ignite something that pulled her out of the shadows. The scent of beer fell away. There was blood in the water now. Her boots hit the floor and she rolled her shoulders. Every joint moved as it should, every muscle tensed and flexed just the same. Her blood sang and the world sang with her. The door opened with a soft squeak. Riley stood there to greet her.

"The bets come in yet?" she asked.

"No," he said, "Wanted to get a look at you first."

She clucked her tongue. Harder to tweak the odds, but she could still play with it. She worked. Her arms and her stomach and her legs all proclaimed such a simple fact with choir bells. The scars on her knuckles and on her lips said she fought with the same adulation. It was the look in her eyes that always seemed to drive the numbers out of her favor.

All the thoughts still didn't keep the filtering noise from infecting her heartbeat. The noise, the wonderful noise ignited her old blood. She bobbed and weaved to the songs of revelry. It hit her core. It was sublime.

"Back to me, sweetie," Riley said, "can't have you going away just yet. Save it for when the money's already changed hands."

He was right. Riley was right and Bonney was wrong. She should calm down and keep a level head, brighten up and smile a bit. Let them all think she's a pretty face. It would be such a sure thing to bet against her. Blow all the money the captain gave out and then saunter away with five times as much. Bonney shook her head, letting her hair spill and dance. It was soft and dark. That did pull her out of the song. It was soft and dark, and she was walking under a creaking ceiling with Riley. He spat on the floor. She wished he didn't do that. It wasn't her floor, but it was still somewhat unsightly.

They climbed the ladder and Riley decided to play at being a gentleman by holding the door open for her. She didn't really notice. A sea of people crashed into her, singing and laughing and shouting and drinking and she wanted to go back downstairs and avoid them all. Some of the more sober ones cast a glance her way. Some of those looks even lingered. She wished they didn't. She liked the looks in some parts of the world, but not here and not like this. There wasn't enough blood boiling in her right now.

Riley led her through the crowd, and they parted well enough on their own. Bonney saw the biting fish in the corner, already shirtless and boasting about anything and everything. He ate the most eggs. He caught the biggest fish. He spat the farthest and he definitely, definitely slept with the most women. Of his friends, maybe, but Bonney was in the room now.

"Oi," Riley called, "Here she is. Prize of the docks, one of the greatest monsters to crawl out of the sea. Strong enough to punch through the hull of a frigate and tough enough take the cannon fire of the whole Royal Navy."

The boaster in question pulled himself away from the throng of well-wishers nodding along to every flowery word. They didn't nod to her boasts. They were mostly true, probably. She never tried any of it and she never wanted to. The boaster had a thick neck and thick arms. All men who worked on ships had those. His skin was burned and scarred. A little less common, but still common enough. Bonney already forgot the man's appearance. A blowhard with a big idea on how big he was and now he was sizing her up. She already had her assessment.

She could take him. She let her eyes go slack and think back to the soft darkness of the cellar. If no one bit, then Riley would bring her a nice lamb pie and some cake.

"I'm not fighting that," said the boaster.

"Where'd all that big talk go friend?" said Riley, "I want to put on a good show for all these nice people in my bar."

"And I want to live. I'm not a dumb man. I'm not getting in a cage with a rabid mongrel."

Bonney eyed his friends. More thick necks and thick knuckles and thick arms. They all stared her down. They could take her together, with muskets and cutlasses, maybe. Poke her in the side and let her bleed out like a wild boar. It was the smart move. The blood was bored now. There was no fight and she emerged from her den for nothing. Someone bumped against her and scurried away. Her skin burned at the touch. Too many people jostling and cavorting. Too many people trying to cram themselves into something so small.

"Can it even talk?" asked one of the thick necks in the back.

Bonney said nothing. There was no fight, so there was no reason for her to be up here. She just tagged along with Riley as he tried to goad the man into a fight he would certainly lose. Lots of questions regarding manhood and bravery and alcohol consumption. Bonney still said nothing. One of the serving girls kept making passes at her, taking the long way around tables just to be close. She followed the body as she slipped through the crowd. It was a relatively new body with a name Bonney hadn't learned yet. Others did too. They didn't matter. The serving girl only looked back at her, ruby hair spilling down to wide hips.

"Alright fine," Riley said, "If you can't back up your words, then it's off. Just a shame I can't give the people what they want."

"Don't put this on me," said the thick neck, "You keep that mongrel on a leash. I'm surprised this place still has patrons."

Riley just shrugged. The serving girl was back again and bumped her hips into Bonney, making wide, sweet eyes at her. Riley turned away and Bonney followed. He muttered under his breath.

"You're getting your fee tonight," he said back in the cellar, "Just not anything extra. Can't give you what I don't have. I'll send Aoife down in a moment with something and you can head back upstairs whenever you want. Doubt anyone else is going to bite with your face out and about."

Riley sighed and Bonney went back to her silence. The barrels were nice and quiet. They had beer and some had wine. Bonney had dark and quiet and wrapped hands. Riley gave her a good clap on the shoulder and disappeared back up into the world of churning bodies. Even when they saw her, they still drank and sang and stomped their feet. Her blood burned in her veins. All that excitement and nowhere to go. She shifted a bit. The blood was uncomfortable.

It pooled in her core, shaking the fire up into her head. It was old, that urge in her soul. It echoed and shook. She shifted again, and the discomfort did not shift. It was all down her thigh. She huffed. Riley didn't like it when she did this, but he was not here. And it would keep her hot in case something did come through. Her hands slipped into her trousers and moved her flesh into a more pleasing arrangement.

Her blood gave her this wonderful appendage and it gave her heat back tenfold. It was still working to full hardness, but it was well on its way. It grew as she watched, snaking up her stomach. It gave her a savage grin. It was power and strength given a simple form in a devilish shape. The world above fell away. The world below fell in. It was all collapsing into a single moment, a single point in her body.

Her hands wandered. The rough tape always gave such a wonderful sensation. It snagged against her skin, pulling and prodding and roughing everything up. It wasn't quite the impact of a closed fist, but it was something. They shimmied a bit more of her clothes out of the way. Everything was burning. She was burning. Her veins were ignited oil, her breath carried gunpowder sparks, and her head was filled with fanned flames. Her hands met her length and a thick pearl of preseed pooled from the tip. Her body steamed in the damp cellar.

A knock came at the door, and she didn't have time to put herself away.

"Bonney," said Aoife, "Riley said to get you something. Killian's made coddle. I also snuck a piece of apple cake for- Stars! I'm sorry. I'll just..."

Bonney stretched and sat up, putting most of herself away. Aoife didn't just. She just kind of didn't. She stayed there in the threshold, holding a bowl and a plate balanced perfectly. It was the serving girl. Her name was Aoife and she brought Bonney food.

"I'm sorry," she said again. But she didn't stop looking. Bonney scooted over a bit. The bench would be a good enough table, if it had the fate to be one.

"You really have the venom in you," she murmured.

"I do," Bonney said.

"And you can talk. I'm sorry. Just, I've heard the rumors. Never saw you outside of the fights. And Riley likes to play that bit up. He says it makes people underestimate you. Just, just, here you go."

"Have you eaten?"

"No. I'll get something later. Killian runs a tight kitchen. Can't have any of us slacking off."

Bonney shook her head. She didn't like Killian, but she did like her cooking. Most people liked her cooking, even if they only had the chance to try it once. Bonney scooted a bit more and now the bench could seat two, plus the tray. Aoife looked at the space made just for her and decided that Killian could deal with whatever hardships were thrown her way. She was starving and it would be rude to turn up the invitation. She pushed her dress out of the way and sat. She wanted the apple cake, but that was a treat for later, unfortunately.

Bonney watched Aoife's eyes keep darting down. It was obvious in every way. Her excitement wasn't fading and the eyes on her just made it grow. She also kept shifting positions on her seat to try and get it aligned. It settled for snaking down her trousers, poking at the rough linen in an incredibly obvious bulge. It wasn't important. Bonney liked her food. It was warm and spiced just right and rich as it slid into her belly. The cellar was cold. The night was slightly less so, but it would get there eventually, and her coat only got her through so much. She passed the bowl over and Aoife took it gingerly.

"I'm not contagious," she sighed. She pushed her chest out as she stretched. It was a show. It wasn't quite as good as Aoife's, but it was still one of her favorites.

"I know," Aoife said, "I know. But it's hard to cut through everything I've heard."

"And what all is that?"

"You? Well, I've seen you fight and that's always something terrifying. I've seen brawls and the riots last year, but it's different. I can't put it into words. And I've heard the rumblings that come from the red lights up the block."

Bonney barked out a short laugh and Aoife flinched. She shouldn't. Nothing was going to hurt her here. Except maybe the ceiling. That always had idle threats about collapsing and crumbling and spilling the upstairs down. Bonney made for the cake. It was warm and tart and sweet and heavenly. Bonney liked sweet things.

"And about the venom?" she said through the crumbs.

"Well... that. Obviously," she said, "And the old stories."

"Flames and iron and blood raining from the heavens? War, glorious, incredible war? War, illustrious, splendid war? Cities crumbling, empires falling, chaos at the point of a spear and the head of an axe?"

Aoife nodded. Bonney laughed again, quieter this time.

"I've heard those ones too," Bonney said, "And they might be true. I know how to start a stove. I assume lighting a building up is the same principle. And I bet I could figure out harpooning with enough practice. Cities, though, not a clue. I barely understand how the docks work."

Aoife laughed this time, stifling the noise with the rest of the cake. And it was gone. That was terrible. There was a whole one upstairs but acquiring it needed stealth and subterfuge that neither of them were up to.

"Do you want to see it?" Bonney hummed. Her hand was on her thigh, idly stroking the length by the seam. It wouldn't tear. It was being good. Everything was fed and pleasantly cool. There was another in the den and that was slowly growing to appease her. She shifted again. The tip was very far down her thigh. It was uncomfortable and terrible and there were so many other places they both wanted to be.

Aoife nodded. Bonney darted in and planted her lips softly to her cheek. Poor thing was defenseless. Such an easy thing to turn red and flustered. Riley should really vet his staff better. Her venom was a surprise as well, even if it did start bringing in more money in the long run.

To her surprise, Bonney couldn't pull away. There was a set of arms around her neck, working arms that carried barrels and crates and full glasses up and down and up and down all day. Not quite as intense as what went on ships, but the line was thinner than they both thought. The long sleeves did a very fine job of hiding that little fact.

The feeling of Aoife's lips was also nice. It let Bonney tap into that wonderfully poisonous heat again, excite the blood, ignite the soul. Every echo of her past was coming through into the moment. Her length throbbed and ached, and she paid it no mind. There was a tongue gently prodding hers. Everything was still in the head. Everything still had a course of action that wasn't the rabid abandon that Bonney yearned for. It was nice to kiss a woman in the dark of the cellar, the apple cake still clinging to her lips. A soft rip came through the stomping feet. Bonney did not care. There were hands on her breasts, slowly pushing her down. Bonney let it happen. It was nice to feel something knock her down. It was novel. Something else ripped on her clothes and that wasn't important.

Aoife pulled back a moment, surprised at the fact she succeeded. Bonney just smiled softly and moved her hips. There was something that needed attention and the fight was forgotten. The act, there was only the act and nothing else mattered. The bowl and the plate clattered on the floor.

A knock came at the door and the blood ignited. It was interrupting. It was a terrible door that deserved to be locked forever.

"Bonney," said the knocked door, "Have you seen Aoife? Killian's about to murder someone if she doesn't show up."

The door sounded like Riley, so it probably was Riley. Aoife grimaced and started pulling herself together. Her chest was spilling out and her dress was ruffled. Bonney's trousers were split but that was more or less fine. They did that a lot.

"We're doing this again," Aoife hissed. Bonney laughed and agreed. They would be doing this again because she would be back soon. She would talk to Riley and suggest that they make Aoife her bait, keep her nice and hot and ready. He may or may not go for it, but she guessed Aoife would certainly entertain the idea.

---

The Epitome left on the early morning tide. Bonney put three barrels of rum on it by herself and then helped them carry crates of salt pork for the rations. No one thanked her. It was her job, and she did it and then got paid. She didn't see the thick neck on board, boasting about the tallies and the numbers and the deeds he could do. She would have liked to see him, if only to smile and wave.

No one smiled and waved at her. And she didn't smile and wave back. She was tired. Crates were heavy and her muscles screamed in delight, but screamed, nonetheless. They were all tired, each and every one who showed up to work that day. She sprawled out in the shade of an overhang that looked like it belonged to a fruit stand. She gave the proprietor a coin and they gave her two apples in return. So, it was a fruit stand. How fortunate.

She didn't want to stay near the docks, so she didn't. She wandered down the coast. She had the idea that eating an apple under the shade of a tree seemed enjoyable and she wanted to test it. She was eating one while walking and that certainly was alright. It was nice and tart. It was halfway gone when she found a tree.

It was a nice tree with branches that swayed in the ocean breeze. It was a wide tree with heavy leaves. She sat and watched the water.

The sea was calm today. Such a fickle thing when it came down to judgement, and it could certainly change at any moment. It wouldn't. Bonney watched the sea and knew it was calm for the next while. The wind said so. The calm sky in the morning said so. Something tingling in the back of her skull also told her and that was usually right. She finished her first apple and started on the second. Not quite as good as the first, but still better than not having an apple.

There was supposed to be a ship coming in today, one that was supposed to bring goods from the colonies. It would have so many wonders, tea and gold and spices and gold and maybe even bananas, whatever they were, along with the proper amount of gold. Bonney liked apples and she assumed she would like bananas. Her second apple was gone as well, down to a thin core that she left for the flies and the ants. They would make very good use of it, when they got around to it. Bonney assumed they would.

Riley was not mad at her yesterday. Not quite disappointed. Exasperated, that was the word. And more so at Aoife. She heard them as she left, berating her for sneaking off the job to come to the dark den and indulge in something so profane. He might not go for the whole companion thing now. Bonney stretched out her legs and felt the muscles give up their tension. It wasn't worth the effort.

Something called out to her, and she turned her head. Another apple core glanced by her face, grazing her hair. It was the first one, back from the dead. She traced it back to a set of four kids, dirty and smudged and ragged. Bonney sighed as they gazed at her. They could find more things to throw at her. They could move on to rocks and bricks and maybe figure out how to make firebombs to drive her away from her shady spot. It wasn't their spot, so it wasn't a territorial dispute. Cruelty for cruelty's sake and nothing more. They had heard a monster lived near the docks, and now it was eating apples under a tree. Bonney took her hands to her knees and rose. She was much taller than the children. She usually was.

To their credit, they did not back down. They had a tight formation, with a grubby boy with dark hair at the spear point. Defiance burned in his eyes and Bonney respected that. Steadfast belief in the strength of his army, the rock in his hand, all of that led them to this moment. A dragon to kill with a burning sword, their saga etched in the stone of history.