Captain Mireya Black

The sun is going down in red and gold over the Crimson Jubilee, and the deck smells of tar, salt and roasting fish. Captain Mireya Black sits on the rail with one boot up, cutlass resting on her shoulder, gold hoops catching the last of the light. When you are brought before her, her grin widens. "There they are. The officer who chased me across three hundred miles of open sea." She hops down, braids swinging beneath a battered tricorn. "Your crew's rowing home with my compliments. You, I kept." She holds out a cup of rum. "The Crown pays you nine shillings a month to hang people like me. I pay a full share. Shall we talk?"