Sparrow On A Plank Chapter 5: Getting One's Bearings

After a few days at sea, Sal was feeling better. At least, she could move without feeling like she had to vomit, and her overall complexion had improved from pale to just a shade below her usual tan, and her muscles felt rubbery from lack of use. She needed exercise, and the sooner the better. She knew that any serious exercise was going to hurt, but the pain just meant that you were alive, right? So she grabbed her practice sword, found some room on the forecastle, and started stretching. 

After a few minutes of basic stretches, she did some basic calisthenics. After a quick battery of jumping jacks, sit-ups, and push-ups, and a few minutes of running in place, she was ready. She tied her hair back, again, and grabbed the handle of the practice sword. She went through her basic draws and swings, just loosening up. She needed the big swings to rattle any tight muscles loose; the tight ones were cramping left and right, but she worked through the pain. She could feel the sweat streaming down her forehead and knew that she would probably stink from the perspiration, but she smiled; the sweat was purifying, and it would wash off easily enough. She had to move her clothes around a bit as the sweat fell into uncomfortable places, but that she could actually do something about it made her smile a bit. 

After a good half hour of this, she shoved her sword into an imaginary sheath, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing her change from battle mode to relaxed mode. When she opened her eyes, she smiled a bit, one end turned up further than the other. Standing before her, with his exposed muscles glowing a bit thanks to the sun, was the first mate. With a wet cloth and a tall drink of something frosty. She grabbed the cloth, wiped her forehead and arms, and returned it (which he graciously accepted), and relieved him of the obviously heavy weight of the mug. She gulped down some of the salty beer, thankful for moisture and salt. She set the half-full mug down and actually looked at him for the first time. 

"Thanks!"

"No problem. I figured you needed something after your workout."

"Not quite done yet, but the refreshment is appreciated, kind sir." 

"It's nice to see that you're finally getting back to what I hope is normal for you. I was beginning to get worried."

"No need. But thanks. It was…appreciated."

She knew that he was looking at her, inspecting her. Although she knew that there was some objectification in his inspection (after all, she was the only woman on board), she also knew that he was looking for some sign of weakness that he could exploit, and she was intrigued because he was having problems finding one. Her skin was smooth, with just a trace of the scars that a swordswoman normally picked up, with corded muscle just below the surface. A life of activity rendered her without an ounce of obvious fat, and even her hair, which was obviously usually in a ponytail, was smooth and shiny, the sign of someone who was not a stranger to hot water and soap. She took care of herself, and a woman like that usually had no sign of weakness. On the outside. He smiled, looking forward to the challenge. 

Of course, she was inspecting him at the same time. He had a little more fat than she would have liked, but a habit of tanning with a drink at hand would cause that. He definitely exercised, but it was more for the purpose of showing off than for saving his skin. However, the obvious love handles weren't that large, and she had seen his abdomen; she felt the need to do some laundry. His calves were bricks, and his arms had just enough fat on them to make them smooth, and not in an unpleasant way. She had seen the grace with which the man moved and knew that he could handle himself in a fight. However, he was more lover than fighter, and would need some serious practice to get him in shape. 

She moved a full pace back, pulling out his rapier as she did so. She threw the thin sword at him, and he deftly caught it. She smiled. 

"So, think you can wield that piece of metal? I need some practice, and all I can find is you."

He assumed an en garde stance and she allowed her body to assume a defensive stance. He smiled, then lunged, as she parried the intentionally clumsy blow and rolled past him. She brought her own weapon down, but it was parried as he attempted to riposte, his blade tip ending up near her throat before she stepped backward, her body compacting like a spring. She lunged, parrying the blade, and chopping at…air. She smiled, and then ducked, narrowly avoiding the slice at her neck. He smiled, winking at her, and she noticed that their display had drawn a crowd. She could see Hajime taking bets out of the corner of her eye, and a quick read of the crowd said that she was being bet against. 

A quick jab near her face reminded her that, although she was the better fighter, he was more in tune with the fight. She crouched down, annoyed that she had allowed herself to be distracted. However, the fight had done what she had wanted it to; her muscles were loose and reacting without her thinking about it. Nonetheless, she could feel the soreness through the adrenaline, and knew that she had to wrap the fight up soon, and that it had better be a crowd-pleaser. She smiled as he lunged yet again at her. 

She matched the lunged, missing him, but putting her sword just a few hairs from his. She twisted her sword, disarming him, and the crowd watched as the rapier arced above him. She jumped on him, using him as a vault, and grabbed the sword in mid-flight. She landed on one foot, swinging around just as he did. She put her wooden sword across his throat, using it to brace the rapier's point at his throat. He went down on one knee, arms spread-eagled, smiling.

The crowd cheered. The crew knew he was more lothario than thug, and the final move was a nice dramatic flourish, so they went with it. She sheathed her sword, and returned his sword to him hilt first across her forearm. He took the sword and sheathed it. 

He looked at her, grinning, "By the way, we haven't been introduced."

She returned his grin. " Interesting. You appear to be correct. Obviously, this needs to remedied." She searched for Hajime, and quickly found him, in the center of a group of sailors that were yelling at him about their wagers. She rolled her eyes; they were arguing in vain, considering his eidetic memory. "HAJIME! Get your ass over here!" 

Hajime smiled weakly at the other guys, and then ran to Sal. "Um. Thanks. What's up?"

"I need you to introduce me to this stud." She pointed at the man leaning on the hilt of his rapier. 

Hajime rolled his eyes. He pointed to the first mate. "Salmandra Watson, First Mate Richard Mathers." He pointed to the first mate. "Richard Mathers, Prince's Operative Salmandra Watson." They shook hands. She pulled him closer. He let go and stepped back.

He leaned forward. "Just call me 'Rick'. Nice to meet an operative." 

She ignored him and glared at Hajime, who had a hat full of coins, and bent down just enough so that he was the only one who heard what she said. "So. Half of those are mine, right?"

She smiled as he looked at her, puzzled. Under her continued glare, he decided that she was right. It was nice to be back. Especially when the loser walked over and offered to give her a massage. And she would need it; the muscles were already screaming at her. But only after a quick bath. Oh. But only after she finished the beer she had sat down. She needed the beer. Purely for the liquid and salt. Honest.

[The last chapter can be found here. The next chapter can be fund here.]