Interview With a Space Pirate

Why couldn’t they just quit fussing over her? ‘Do you need anything, ma’am?’ ‘Is your leg comfortable?’ ‘Let me help you carry this.’ She wasn’t a damn tottering old bat incapable of taking care of herself. She was a tottering old bat perfectly capable of taking care of herself, with only a small attitude. A young girl came at her with another powder and a large, fluffy brush. “I think I’ve inhaled enough of that for today, thank you very much,” she said, pointedly raising a hand covered in gold. Every knuckle held multiple stacks of rings, some with jewels, some without but all equally captivating. The girl looked disappointed but ducked down in a half bowing motion as if to convey submission and turned out of the room.

They had taken her most comfortable sitting area in her house and turned it into a make-shift studio. Hot lights made her sweat enough that she regretted wearing even the loose linen tunic. She thought of taking it off for the interview. Wouldn’t that be fun? She laughed to herself thinking of all the shocked faces, none belonging to anyone she knew of course. Annoyed, bemused, bored. Anything but surprised.

Another person made their way into the doorway, brushing gently past the makeup artist. They were what one might call ambiguous. Gorgeous too. All sharp curves in the face and swath of dark green hair that made her think of moss. Words were like honey falling from their lips. “I hope Rebecca wasn’t giving you too much trouble, Mrs. Windgale.” This was a person who liked, no obsessed, over the truth and was well equipped for sliding it out of someone without much issue. Luckily she was also well versed in the art of the silver tongue. “Not at all, I very much enjoyed her but I’ve had enough of the pampering. I’m a woman of action, sitting isn’t a strong suit of mine,” she said sighing and then smiling in that rueful way of the years gone by.

The glance at her prosthetic leg propped up on a mustard yellow cushioned stool didn’t go unnoticed but also wasn’t met with hostility. It’s not like she could hide the shining titanium that was of course anodized to a golden color any more than other people could hide their secrets with Richard, the old bastard. Always a cheat at cards. “Of course and that’s what we’re here to talk about, isn't it? About your need to push yourself across the galaxy and the adventures you encountered. It must have been remarkable."

She didn’t fail to see the pen and paper come out and a quick glance to the camera pointed directly at her. I guess we’re doing this, then. She watched as all the people in the room seemed to move like a machine. Each watching one another for silent signals so as to not disturb the atmosphere. “I must admit, watching your crew makes my heart ache for those days,” she said after taking a sip of her tea with just a splash of rum, for the nerves of course. Wrestling to tame a space dragon was nothing compared to public speaking. The reporter smiled a genuine smile then and it seemed as though it was a good place as any to start her tale.

“I supposed when you start a story you’re supposed to start at the beginning but oftentimes we are thrown in one halfway through. My story began when I was born to a seamstress and her ill-advised, roguishly handsome, or so I’m told, wanderer of a husband. I never saw much of him, but I knew he loved us.” A sort of understanding flashed in their eyes. The kind where they’ve felt something similar but not the same.

“We didn’t suffer for money, but we weren’t rich. He would always come home, like a stray cat, carrying treasures from his adventures and explorations. I remember, once, he’d brought home an egg. A gilded, giant thing. When my hand touched it, it was warm and pulsing with a life that refused to give up. That’s how I’d come to meet my cohort, Nigel.” As if on cue, the great winged beast poked his giant head through the window, a gentle white puff of smoke coming out of each nostril. He nuzzled her out-stretched palm and made little chirping noises. Everyone in the room had the same, clear thought that maybe, just maybe, this was a little above their pay grade. “But, anyway, you’re not here to talk about my father. Perhaps some more about Nigel later on. Let’s begin with the first ship I ever snuck onto.”