"This one, and this one, have them done by sundown," Zico points to fabrics and accessories with the point of his sword. He tosses the elderly seamstress a heavy bag of coins, a serious expression plastered on that wicked face you had been dreaming of lately. She nods hurriedly, scurrying back into the shop to begin her work.

"You didn't have to be so rude," you said as the crew goes their separate ways, leaving you and Captain Zico behind in the middle of the street. Their desperation was gone unnoticed by Zico, who grabbed an apple from a passing by basket carrier, biting into it, gnashing his teeth.

"When am I ever nice?" he spat the contents onto the dirt and threw the apple into an alleyway.

"When you let me live," your words came out a bare whisper, but he shoots you a glance.

He pats your cheek with the sheath of his sword delightfully, a smile tugging the corner of his lips. With his cheeky grin and serious eyes, you try very hard to keep all the laughter from bursting out of you. Something was different about the Zico coming to this port, especially the Zico when you two were alone.

"Don't you ever say that to me," he said firmly. Zico's eyes abruptly narrow, and the playful expression shadowed into solemnity.

"S-Sorry to i-interrupt," the seamstress taps on your shoulder fearfully, lowering her eyes from Zico's sharp mouth.

"Can't you see we're busy here!?"

"I-I-I need to take the lady's measurements."

"What!? Are you a little slow? Can't you measure her by looking? She has a fine figure, and her clothes show you that she isn't a bag of bones. Estimate, why don’t you?"

It took all you could again not to hide your laughter from the malevolence of Captain Zico to someone who was so defensive over his "lady." Instead, you rest a hand over your mouth, lips thin to sunny smile.

"Are you laughing at me!?" he demanded.

---

"Little miss, please turn around."

You rotate on the balls of your feet as she pulls the measuring tape around your chest and waist area. The rough material of your dress scratched against your skin, and you sigh in delight, for the first time in a while you would get new clothes, and clean clothes unwashed by the brine of the ocean.

"Why are you with him, little miss?" she asks nervously, "you aren't of their kind, I am sure."

She winds the measuring tape around her wrinkled fingers, eyeing you with worry. Her thin, graying hair plated tightly into a bun, her forehead of fine wrinkles made you wonder if that was what your mother would have looked if she were still alive today. Skin not blemished, only wounded with the coming of age, and a gentle, caring voice.

"I..I can't say," you answer slowly, giving her a reassuring smile. "I only know that I am to stay with them."

"He treats you like a goddess," the seamstress mutters, and this time you laugh aloud.

"Why do you say such a thing?"

"The fabrics he pointed to are of the finest silk even the governor's youngest daughter couldn't pay for herself. Wealth to his crew is merely a term.  Touch them for yourself to see."

In all honestly, you had not paid attention to the Captain a while ago as he selected your attire. Your hands were occupied, swatting away Pyo's fingers that threatened to tickle your sides.

The bolts were lined up on the floor, in all their glorious rich texture and patterns. You kneel down to run your hands across them, the smoothest and finest cloth ever to contact your worn fingertips from constant journey of the sea. Bright peonies lifted up from pastel pink, etched across silk, while a deep lavender bolt that was meant to be part of the skirt was to be embroidered with separate flowers to outline the cuff of your jacket and bodice. The design was rather expensive, as displayed in rough sketches scattered on the floor.

"He paid in gold, and more gold than usual. Captain Zico, rubbish of a pirate. It's the first time I've seen him buy anything for such a young girl. Even the courtesans he's slept with don't receive such treatment. It makes me wonder child," she pauses in between her work, "who are you?"