At the desk it was easy to get distracted. Often Simeon would take a seat in his quarters and plant his feet firmly on the table and just lean back as the Red Reaver slowly pressed onwards towards her destination, the serenity of the rocking of the ship drifting him to a dreamless sleep. He tried to do that now. Anything to forget what had transpired in the tavern.
                It wasn’t working, his mind was too active, but he had a solution to that too.
                Pulling out a bottle of rum from his stash, he yanked the cork out and took a swig. It was one of his precious few bottles he saved for times when he couldn’t sleep. He’d drink until he passed out. He only preferred trying to sleep without it first because that wouldn’t leave him with a pool of vomit to clean up on the other side. He would get another member of his crew to clean it, but show signs of weakness.
                The first draught was taken.
                It was not an old ship, though slightly older than the three years or so ago that he’d first acquired it. A corvette class with a small crew to work the sails and oars. The lower deck was lined with a few canons, the deck below for the sleeping quarters and an infirmary and the one below that for storage and rigging. At the moment all the masts were down, since they were going upriver and against the wind, his men were working hard on the oars.
                He would have been out there with them too if he could, but he’d spent two full days awake as they made slow progress up the fast flowing Rocke River. Then at some point, his step faltered as a scrubber made some comment he could scarcely make sense of, and he decided he needed some shuteye. Simeon trusted in his firstmate’s abilities to leave command to him.
                 The first thing that came to mind, that got to him most, was that he hadn’t even been able to sample some of Popping’s better tastes as he was planning, such as a haunch of fresh cooked, drizzling pork and Dawnrosé, the fabled "perfect" wine that came from its namesake and always left that odd feeling in your throat that you had to have more. But what he really wanted to try was Meg, the famous whore of Popping who had been known to last hours and hours with men until they blacked out in a stupor of pleasure. Probably big talk from little guys, but it was always worth a shot, he considered.
                Simeon would have liked that now, as he continued to drink. Now he had only his own pleasure for company, and that sadly just didn’t compare.
                No, the bastard Garrin had seen him out of Popping with a few sparse rations to keep him going and that was that. Straight to sailing.
                Aint like we corsairs are rich folk. Simeon spat. Long days at sea pirating the Victum coast, Legio and even Tun’drask sometimes, often meant you had days with no food and little liquid to quench a dry-as-bone throat. Any money you did make was spent on new rigging, repairs, ammunition, food and maybe, if you had some spare coin, dicing and whoring and drinking till you forgot the shit that life throws your way. And that was assuming you’d been successful at sea. 
                In his last raid, he’d managed to catch up to a merchant’s sail barge, a veritable gold-mine on the sea. Well sure he’d caught up to it, his flag with the blood soaked blades a-flapping and the waves a-crashing.
                If things had gone smoothly, he’d have took the ship, marooned the crew on an island just of Rouen and take the goods to sell, pretending to be a merchant as he liked in one of the big port cities like Ascocen.
                It had not gone to plan.

The End

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