Challenge #00549 - A174: Absence of Wenching

http://yoquinto.tumblr.com/post/78790240270/okay-but-a-story-about-an-asexual-pirate-who-gets

I really should stop sending these t you every time I find them, sorry.

[AN: Don’t you bloody dare stop! I love getting prompts FYI the post isn’t there any more, but I found this one thanks to searching: http://silentmercenary.tumblr.com/post/84994393370/yoquinto-okay-but-a-story-about-an-asexual :) If anyone knows where Yoquinto has gone, please let them know that their imaginings have become a thing]

In any bar, tavern, or lowly dive, pirates are wont to tell stories. They spin tall tales and heavy yarns concerning this or that peril on the high seas. from the mundane to the fantastic, to the ridiculous.

And of all the luckiest of lucky escapes.

And then they murmur of the only man to pilot a ship out of Siren-infested waters.

Aaron the Unturnable.

Who singlehandedly concussed and trussed his fellow crewmen and, without any wadding in his ears, nor anyone to measure the depths, turned his ship away from the wrecking rocks. Aaron the Unturnable, who never once set foot in a bawdy-house, nor rented either street molly or jolly-boy.

Aaron the Unturnable who, in so far as any man could measure, had no bedroom-related appetites at all.

Molly listened to them all in mounting disbelief. There never was a man born who couldn’t resist staring down her cleavage or groping her bottom and she used that only for monetary gain. Overcharging and under-changing the ‘gentlemen’ who never noticed.

And there never was a single one of them she wanted to take upstairs, for all that her landlord demanded it. He couldn’t fire her. She worked twice as hard standing up as any of the girls who chose to lay down.

“You still owe me half a crown, miss,” said a seafarer who had been rather quiet during the regular uproar. He was well-dressed and well-spoken and very neat in a piratical kind of way.

“Sorry,” she said, and gave him the rest of his change. “Is there anything else I can fetch you, sir?” She leaned over to polish the table, hoping to gather a few coppers while he leered.

He put his hand over his coins and looked her in the eye. “If you’re after this, perhaps you’d like to sit with me and chat a while.”

“I ain’t that kind of girl!”

“I’ve noticed. You may also have noticed that I did not ask you upstairs. I will not grope you, nor leer, nor trap you in my lap and I certainly shan’t be using your body in any way for my entertainment.”

Confusion. “Then what th’ devil do you want with me?”

An honest smile. He had all his teeth. “Camouflage. Any gentleman frequenting a tavern must soon gain a lady by his side or be deemed… strange.”

She looked close at him. “You ain’t one of them lady pirates, dressing like a man, is you?”

Gentle laughter. “No, madam. I am one hundred percent male.” He offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you, m'lady. I am Captain Aaron Zibowalski. Otherwise known as Aaron the Unturnable. And I happen to be looking for other Unturnables similar to myself.”

She’d never been happier to sit down. All this time, she thought she’d had something wrong with her. That she’d never been drunk enough or found someone pretty enough or… or a thousand other things. The idea that she might be Unturnable had never once crossed her mind.

The plan was ludicrously simple. With an entire crew of Unturnables, it was plausible to go to the Wrecking Coast, slaughter the sirens, and then gather up spilled gold and booty by the boatload.

The only problem was gathering a crew of Unturnables.

“I don’t has to pretend I’m a man, does I?” she quavered.

“Not if you don’t want to. Though I have it on good authority that trousers are preferred clothing when one is running about in the rigging. Snags and all. Besides, the question of intercourse on board will be naturally rendered moot.”

Of course. Naturally. A crew of Unturnables. It would be the safest ship in all the seas. Next to the Malevolent Maven and Hen’s Hags on board.

“Ain’t got a lot to get,” she said. “Ain’t got a lot at all.” Just her clothes and a small, disappointing pyg jar of copper coins to her name. Scrimped and saved and occasionally moved to stop Roundheels Jennifer from helping herself to the contents.

“Then I shall help you buy at least one pair of trousers. Consider yourself signed up. My ship is–”

“The Wandering Unicorn. I heard. I’ll be there first thing.” Even if it didn’t turn out as planned… it got her away from this tavern and the expectations of becoming a proper Wench.

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