Impressed

Remy Cruz wiped the sweat from his brow as he ended another tedious day of shrimping and headed out to waste his pay on cheap, watered down booze. A mediocre haul for a mediocre days pay, Remy grumbled as he made his way to the closest tavern. The day was hot and humid, but no more so than average for Florida in August.

Charlotte Harbor: since it’s founding, it has been ruled by three different empires. As far as Remy could tell, the only thing that every changed in this town was the language the tax collectors spoke. That wasn’t entirely true, of course – there was a time that Charlotte Harbor was a haven for pirates. The tales of ships sunk off her coast brought in the occasional treasure hunter – fools that spent far more searching for treasure than they ever recovered. Remy half believed that the local tavern keepers and outfitters made up the tales of sunken ships to draw in the occasional business. Watching merchants swarm to coin, or so called ‘adventurers’ swarm to the possibility of coin without work, was like watching minnows chase bread crumbs, sometimes they switch out who is tossing the bread is all.

Four pints later and Remy’s distain for the other patrons grew. Deadbeats begging for a little more credit, braggarts telling the same blatant lies about the ’one that got away’. Who were these fools trying to impress? Everyone here obviously knew their way around a fishing vessel, it was a wonder there were any marlins left in the sea, what with all the leviathans being snagged on any given night. Tonight’s pathetic attempt to amaze were worse than usual, there was talk that air-ships where spotted in the area, and everyone with a tongue had a theory or a lie about how close they were and what they were doing in the area. With a grunt of disgust, Remy decided to one last pint before heading home, that last one had a funny taste to it.

SPLASH! The bucketful of saltwater doused Remy with the force of a slap, rocking his head back. He worked his tired eyes open to the burning assault of breaking dawn’s light upon a splitting headache, his back ached and the taste of vomit and blood lingered in his mouth. Odd, Remy wasn’t the type to get blackout drunk, or have such extreme hangovers for that matter. It was when he tried to rise to his feet that Remy realized that he was in shackles.

CRACK! The whip spilt the air dangerously close to Remy’s back as he realized he was part of a group of about a dozen men – many he recognized from Charlotte Harbor. Cold wind cut across the deck and clouds floated by at eye level.

“On yer feet, you worthless curs!” the man was imposing in his thick blue uniform, bullwhip in one hand, truncheon in the other. “Day One, I break you. Day Two, I beat you free of any habits I deem unfit. By the end of the week, you will either have the honor of serving in His Majesties Royal Naval Air Fleet, or you will have the horror of knowing how a man can drop 20,000 feet.” While the rest of his fellows look on at the man with slack-jawed shock, Remy beamed with joy – this was something exciting, something new. Remy Cruz was impressed.