One could say that Nicolo D'Atello was a sensitive man, a very sensitive man. The only problem was that there was only one person on this god forsaken earth that he was sensitive towards, and that was himself. There was no softness, no care for others in him. He cared only about himself, his needs. Was he fed? Did he have enough Ale? Were his lusts satisfied? Those were the only things of importance to him.

At current he was sitting on a barrel on the ship and leaning against tithe wall. He was well below deck, almost in storage. He often guarded the lower quarters, as long as he did not know what was contained in the rooms they were safe. He knew they held the spoils of war. He also knew they had hostages. It was not the three men who were press ganged who interested him, but the two others, the two women. He knew one to be lying in recovery in one of these rooms. She and the quartermaster that was, so there was naught he could do. It was the other one that struck his curiosity.

Fiery, some said, wicked, said others. He'd heard the line witch used and something about curses. He didn't believe in that. Curses were for the weak, and Nico was not weak.

He sat half hidden in shadow, part of him dark and part very visible. He sat languidly kicked the empty mug in front of him down the hall.

Catherine hated the steerage. She always had, even while aboard ships far more respectable than the [u]Sea Hound[/b]. It was dark and damp below, and things tumbled about; which of course made it all too easy for one to trip over something and injure oneself. The young lady liked it even less now that she was a prisoner of strange and dishonest men who almost certainly did not mean her good. But Elspeth and her infernal pirate were bleeding all over the place, and if the doctor wanted more linen….well, he wanted more linen. There was nothing to be done but get it, regardless of how much one hated the belly of a ship. Even daring Cat wasn’t willing to send a doctor out for his own supplies while an operation was in progress. The risk to the patients was just far too great to justify even considering such a thing. So what if there were men aboard who would probably jump her at the first opportunity. That was what she’d promised them, wasn’t it? She’d just have to live with it.

The Welshwoman stared into the dimly lit space before her, then shook herself with a scornful little snort and moved two paces forward. She then nearly killed herself by treading on a cup that had rolled out under her feet. Blast. Cat stumbled, then swore, then thrust out her hands and saved her fall by bracing her arms against the hull of the ship. What in blazes had just happened?! Keane bent down and picked the cup up, turning it over in her hands. It stank of liquor, which immediately made Cat’s scalp prickle. She wasn’t alone.

The girl narrowed her eyes and let the cup fall from her hands, squinting down the narrow passageway in an attempt to find her unwelcome companion. There, at the far end---a hulking shadow, one (she realized uncomfortably), that was watching her.

It could probably smell fear. So Cat pulled herself to her full height and strode briskly forward, booted feet thudding solidly against the floorboards. “Sit up, you. You should be ashamed; a strapping sailor like yourself huddled over like a feeble old man. “ She stopped some six feet away from him and fisted her hands on her hips. “Your Quartermaster requires more linen, sailor. Please be so good as to fetch it from the hold.” He didn’t look like the cooperative type. “And make haste. I dare say Captain O’ Sullivan will not be pleased if the young man bleeds to death. A good officer is hard to replace.”

Cat fixed her stare on the lounging pirate and wondered how much damage a leather-bound journal might do to him if thrown very, very hard. Botheration.

Nicolo resumed his relaxed posture even when he heard noise. He knew it wasn't the captain and he knew it wasn't the quartermaster come to bother him. The quartermaster was suffering what could very well be a slow death along with one of the captives. He was slightly surprised to see who emerged from the room. It was the other captive. They had taken more from the ship, but those men had been press ganged, not taken captive. He was surprised that no one had locked that particular one up yet. She had quite the tongue on her and he imagined that a few days locked away might silence it. Still it didn't effect him too much, he always turned a deaf ear to such screeches when they happened.

It had been a while since he had been on land, and even seen a woman unaccompanied. It always stirred dangerous thoughts in him, well, dangerous for them. He would bait his time for the moment. He did not move, he would not address her first at this point. If she had something to say then she could say it. He had nothing to say to her, a few things he'd like to do that would apply to almost any woman, but nothing to say.

He nearly laughed out loud when she tripped on the mug. It was dark but his eyes had adjusted to the light down there, and his nose had adjusted to the smell. He had grown used to the groans and whimpers of pain from the injured, and the site of blood. It was a commmon thing.

Nicolo's eyes widened in surprise when she stormed over and started yelling at him. He had been taken by surprise but he recovered quickly. He was amused more than driven to fetch those things for her. He took is time straightening up and then went further, he stood up. The mug had rolled back down behind her, that he could see from where he stood. He knew that when drawn to full height he was an intimidating man, and he did that now. He hulked over her.

"And what are you here for then? You go fetch them and watch your tongue. Make use of yourself, as they need me where they do not need you. After all, we only really need one captive. Does anyone even know you are missing?" He took a step towards her.

"It isn't safe to boss the likes of me around, especially in such a place as this."

Catherine did not flinch away, but tensed and met Nicolo's eyes with a flinty stare of her own. "I'm not bossing. I'm repeating my own orders to you, who seems to be in charge of all the pretty shinies in yonder hold." She nodded her head in indication without once flicking her gaze away from his face. "The doctor knows I'm missing. The Quartermaster knows I'm missing. They both expect me back, with linen, very shortly--and your Captain is keeping close tabs on me as well. You're right to say I'm not needed. But neither is your rum." Keane kept herself tall and ramrod-straight, taking an aggressive step forward as her fingers tightened around her book. "Think of it this way. At the moment, I'm your captain's rum, and he's trying to decide whether he wants to indulge or stay sober. Until he makes up his mind, well....they call him Hangin' Eamon, don't they?" She shrugged.

The main problem now was how difficult it was to discern how intelligent this sailor was. Cat couldn't tell if she needed to elaborate on her meaning or not, but after some frantic thought she decided against it. Maybe he needed an explanation, but she could feel that this man was dangerous and spending too much time on any one subject was a waste of precious moments. "Look. I have my orders: the doc wants me to get bandages, the Quartermaster doesn't want me in the hold with all the loot. And I don't want to turn my back on the likes of you. " Honestly, did he think she was stupid? "So I would appreciate it very much if within the next ten seconds, you would nip in there, pull out some linen, and toss it to me. You decide you don't want to do that, fine. I've no problems leaving."

Cat braced herself now, ready to run. This sailor was much bigger than her--but she was much faster.

She hoped.

She was ordering him and at the same ime she seemed to be insulting him. He could tell this more from her tone than her words. He let out a small noise of displeasure at her use of the words 'pretty shinies'. It just added to the things that he would make her pay for. However her insults would cost her. One thing that Nicolo could work out in his head was price and cost. It was obvious to him that she needed this linen for those who were injured. He was glad he was not the doctor, having to deal with the weak and dying. They'd lost one man to his wounds yesterday, and discarded the body overboard. Her next words only did more to enrage and frustrate him. Was that a threat? He was going to take it as much. He was frustrated and ready to strike of his own accord.

Then she clarified. This did nothing for him really. Oh he knew what she wanted and needed in there, but how did he feel about that. Nicolo was a moody man, frustrated. He frowned as he looked at her and then clapped a hand down on her shoulder, near her neck. His fingers dug in near and around her collar bone.

"You should watch yourself here. Your tongue may be sharp but it is no sword, it cannot really defend you for long." His hand moved in a flash to cup her chin, his fingers digging into her skin in an attempt to force her mouth open. "I do not think it is made of steel but let us check."

Then he let go of her as roughly as he had grabbed on. "Now how much linen do you want for those two?"

Cat let out a choking cry as Nicolo's hands seized around her neck and chin, a muted 'gnnngh' that broke free purely from instinct. The woman jerked her head back and felt her neck pop but it did no good. He was still holding her.

For the first time in years there was fear instead of anger. Keane went very still in the Sicilian's grasp and tried to think; tried to come up with some solution to this. Nicolo was making her skin crawl.

She grunted again as the heavy hands mashed her mouth open, but forced herself to look up into the predator's eyes the moment she was free to manage it. Catherine massaged her neck and stared at her assailant, an antelope meeting the lion's gaze. "...The doctor said four yards." The Welshwoman couldn't believe this. She sounded subdued. She, roaring Cat--afraid? Afraid of what? She'd slept with a man before. She'd fallen and injured herself and been struck a few times. This sailor threatened nothing new, but she was afraid just the same. The realization left her stupefied. She couldn't be cowed this easily. It went against everything. There was no way she was going to be cowed this--

"Please."

Stupid, traitor mouth. Catherine kicked herself and plopped right down on the deck, still rubbing her neck as she tried to decide what to do next. She should have bitten him, she realized. Bitten him and clawed and kicked where it would count and run away. Instead she was letting him win. But Keane wasn't wholly spitfire; she had some common sense and a bit of patience and her gut was screaming at her right now to stay quiet.

Nico heard the satifying choke as he grabbed her. He couldn't help it, it made him smile. If he could not have mental superiority then he wold at least have the physical sort. Yes, this worked nicely for him, because at least it shut her up for the moment.

He was careful to make sure that his grasp was not so tight that it would actually choke her. At the same time he wanted to make sure she felt like she was. He couldn't see her expression well but her body language told him all he needed to know. A slow grin came over his face.

Nicolo had a habit of trying to control all that happened around him. He had spent enough time at the whims of others that he did not feel back punishing those who were weaker. And one thing was certain, women were weaker, at least in his opinion. He had little love for them beyond the purpose they served to satisfy his lusts. However that had been subdued by his drink for once. Intead he stood as straight as he felt, hunkering over the woman. He would not hurt her too badly, though he longed to show her what he thought was her place, but he did issue a warning. "Remember who has rights on this ship, Signora. Know that it is not you, captive."

It was that one pleading word that really made his day. He let go about as quickly as he had grabbed on. He then turned his back on her, unlocking the hold and entering it. He needed no candle, he knew where everything was down in the dark depths. After all, wasn't his sould as dark as this room? He found the linen and brought it out. He cut it roughly with his knife before handing it to her.

"Two yards," he said. "And it all goes to the quartermaster. It seems that we already have a welsh witch, we've no need of a scottish one as well."

That did it.

Cat struggled to feet and looked at him with loathing for one third of a second, then looked down at the two yards of fabric in her hand, then blinked as her eyes started to fill. Nicolo's words rang in her head like a funeral knell---a knell for Elspeth. He was letting her friend die and mocking them both as he did it. A single tear slipped out of Keane's eye and splashed to the floor. Then she was on him.

Keane moved like a snake, leaping forward with an animal snarl to shove a knee right between his legs as her teeth found his arm. She didn't care if he was bigger than her and had a knife; she was faster and so furious she doubted she would feel it if he snapped her neck. "DIAVOLO SICILIANO! Vada ad inferno..." The last bit was mumbled against a hairy arm, because right when Cat was informing the sailor that he should go to Hell, she bit down again and tasted blood. The Welshwoman attacked in a fury, clawing and kicking with no mercy whatsoever. How dare he? How dare he grin as he hurt her and laugh as he refused Elspeth what she needed to stay alive? How dare he think that just because he was big and scary she would let him have things his own way?

Maybe this was a fight she would lose, but Cat was absolutely certain that she would make him regret entering it before he snapped her neck. She made a fist like dear Tom had taught her and planted it squarely in his nose before launching herself forward again to wrap her hands around his throat. It was just a shame that she didn't know much more Italian, because that meant she was reduced to cursing him in English. "I'LL KILL YOU! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Nicolo was about to take another breath in to laugh when he saw the tears in her eyes. His laugh cooled to just a smile. He used the air to speak instead. "Aw, Signora, do not cry. I am sure you'll join her overboard eventually." Then came the laugh, a cold one.

Nicolo almost jumped in surprise when she lept at him. Usually they wept and pleaded, but this one was different. This one was going to confront him. He almost doubled when she struck his groin, and he let out a small gasp. This startled the bear of a man for a moment and sent a shot of pain through his body. He heard her words well enough as well, and in his native tongue. They didn't insult him as much as she had probably planned. He knew he was going to hell, and he would be doubly damned if he cared.

He was tempted to teach her the ultimate lesson, one that would shatter her completely. He liked his women feisty after all, or he had. He was quickly growing tired of fighting them to be honest. He wanted obedience and he wanted it right then. He roared when she bit him. He ripped her off of him and threw her against the wall. Then he walked over, picked her up, and slammed her against it again before knocking her to the floor. There he pinned her by her throat, pressing down, squeezing.

"You'd better not do that again Signora. You're property on this ship." Then he released her throat and picked up the linnen again. He ripped off about another two yards and threw it on the floor.

"You are not my sort of woman. There's your linnen for the other one, perhaps I'll get along with her." This was followed by a wicked smile. "Though I shouldn't write you off yet, should I?"

Keane gasped for air again, pinned terrified to the floor as the ship pitched beneath her and the Sicilian leered above. The pain tore sharp through her head and dull and aching at the throat, all while the lungs screamed to be released and the heart wept at such humiliation. The woman kicked feebly, wanting to break loose from Nicco's grasp, but as her vision swam she stopped and lay still. Cat glared up at her attacker with violent loathing, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears away. But there were no more struggles, and when Nicolo finally released her she moved onto her knees to gag and steady herself with a shaking hand. Cat's eyes burned with embarrassment and pain, her cheekbones glowing crimson, and she might have lost right there had her assailant not brought Elspeth up again. Elspeth. It was a reason to stay strong, a reason to not give up and sob like a child. The Welshwoman stood on trembling legs, scooping the linen up with her, then braced her feet at a shoulder's-width and glared at the sociopathic sailor. "On the contrary. You should definitely write me off, for I will never be your type of woman."

She spat. "Lay a hand on Elspeth; come near me again, and I swear I will castrate you, by whatever means necessary." Cat forced a grin and pantomined a bite, then stepped back with a pale sheen of sweat on her forehead. "Catherine Keane swears it. Watch your step, Diavolo."

A face appeared at the steps, and despite her brave words Cat fairly ran towards it.
Random Sailor: "You got that linen yet?! They're bleedin' all over the bloody place!"

"Coming, I'm coming."