“Another,” was Luella’s gruff demand as she walked up to the bar, sliding a quart’penny across the bar to Mr. Spitz. The older barkeep looked up at her with his grizzled features, accepting the coin with a shake of his head and sliding it into his pocket. Then again, who could really expect politeness among pirates?
“Haven’t seen ye ‘round much lately, Miss Blythe,” the man commented as he poured her another beer, sliding it over the bar’s surface and ignoring the dour expression that rested on her face as if it were born there. “Saw Anders an’ Will sometime las’ week. Was surprised ye wasn’t wi’ ‘em.”
“Anders an’ Will can suck me left tit,” the pirate growled in response, snatching up her ale and offering Mr. Spitz a particularly dark glare. As if to punctuate her statement, she spat violently on the ground next to her before fixing him with that stare again. “Mind yer own clockin’ business, ye nosy ol’ bastard.”
“Been a pleasure, as always, Lu,” the man replied, unphased by the woman’s biting retort. Luella had never been known for her amiable demeanor, and, obviously, today was no different. Mr. Spitz couldn’t help but wonder what had happened with the woman’s crewmates to put her in such a pointedly foul mood, but he wasn’t about to press her. He’d seen firsthand what the fiery bitch would do when she lost her temper.
Instead of a verbal reply, Luella offered only an obscene gesture of her hand, heading back to her preferred table and settling down in her seat. Bringing the swill to her lips, she grimaced, glaring at the mug as if it was single-handedly responsible for all of her life’s ills. “Wonder if he collects the kenser piss for this himself or if he makes Naulanda do it,” the irritated woman muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes, but continued to drink it, nonetheless. It wasn’t like the Black Dove was known for its top shelf liquor.
Tipping her chair back, Luella rested her booted feet on the table and took another swallow of the revolting beverage while she stewed in her own personal medley of anger and resentment. Anders and Will, she thought bitterly, brown eyes glazing over with an emotion akin to rage. Pair o’ chickenshit poxy luggers, those two. It had been Will’s pistol that had forced her off the deck of The Hammerhead’s Prize, and it had been Anders’s voice that ordered it. If I had my way, they’d both be chokin’ on Hulali’s lifeblood and beggin’ for reprieve. Gulping down the rest of her beer, she slammed the stein back on the table. They don’t know who it is they’s messin’ with.
Her murderous reverie was interrupted by a loud guffaw of laughter from another nearby table, Luella reflexively turning in the direction of its source. What she saw had her raising her eyebrows in mild surprise, though the surprise wasn’t exactly a happy one. A Mugrobi man of moderate height with a broad smile that stood to hide the conniving mind beneath and a roguishly handsome face that had the pirate rolling her eyes all over again. Murko Muelton. A name she knew well enough and one she had little fondness for. He was a fellow pirate and a fellow Bad Brother, but their similarities ended there. They’d never held any great affection for each other, and Luella was silently cursing herself for happening upon the tavern at the same time of day as her loose associate.
Sinking down in her seat and letting her hair conceal her face, the woman could only cross her fingers in the hope that he didn’t notice her, perfectly content to wile away the rest of the afternoon alone with the poor excuse for alcohol the Black Dove served. She wasn’t about to leave just because someone she didn’t like was present; if she did that, Luella would never leave her own home. But neither was she keen on the idea of forced conversation with an overly cheerful bastard who’d rob her blind as soon as he’d crack a joke.
Should’ve found somewhere else to drink today, she thought with a grumble, lip lifted in a silent sneer. Not sure why I keep coming back to this hovel in the first place.