It was a bustling afternoon in the tavern, with customers slinking in and stumbling out the door every couple of minutes. Some people were absolutely hammered, while others were sober and looking to cash in on a business proposition. As if letting crusty old men spend their money on alcohol wasn't bad enough, my father believed that being the middle-man for less-than-illegal exchanges was a chance to make a living that he simply couldn't pass up. I frowned at his dealings, but had little say in the matter and continued to wash out beer steins and wine glasses to earn my keep in the home.

Things went on like this for a few years after my family set up shop in the sea-dwelling side of the Enchanted Forest. Customers came and left, coming back the next morning craving more liquor to cure their hangover. Business partners came and left, usually having been swindled out of a majority of their profits without even realizing it. Of course, things couldn't continue to go so swimmingly, especially when dealing with people and their coin. The week when we all got busted, I became a pirate's tailor.

I had recently graduated from simply washing cups to actually filling them for people, something that I took great pride in without mentioning it to my father, who would've been ecstatic to know that his daughter was content with her job. About mid-evening, when the sun was coming through the windows in such a way that the smoke from the lit cigars made it hard to see, several swarthy, large men came stomping off of the front patio and into the bar. My brows furrowed together, and I paused in my wine pouring just long enough for the customer I was serving to get impatient. As he snapped his fingers in front of my face, I turned back to what I was doing and finished filling his glass.

"Sorry about that… Those men over there are getting kinda rowdy," I apologized as sincerely as I could manage with all of the fumes getting stuck in my throat, and I set down the bottle of liquor after taking a small swig for myself.

The man chortled briefly at my mannerisms, "Drinking on the job, eh? Your father know you doin' that?" He didn't seem to be bothered by it, however, as he angled his shoulder to gain a better view of the brutish men that were skulking around the tavern. After a brief moment of thought, he looked back at me. "They're pirates."

Blinking at him slowly, I shrugged with indifference. "So? Pirates come here all the time. We're by the sea, for heaven's sake."

The customer looked a little unsettled as the pirates' volume started to escalate, and we watched as they started roughing up people, seemingly trying to get information from them. "That's Captain Hook, though," He said in reply, pointing out the neatest-kept man of the bunch, "He's not exactly the best pirate around, but he is out for the blood of some dude who killed his woman."

The name didn't ring any bells of recognition in my head, but the bells that were ringing were alarm bells. The pirate known as Hook swaggered towards us, not bothering to seat himself on a barstool, but rapping loudly on the countertop as an obnoxious way of getting my attention.

"I'll serve you in just a moment, sir. Feel free to have a seat," I assured, casting a warm smile in the newcomer's direction.

He rolled his eyes at me, but stiffly sat himself in one of the chairs. "Make it snappy, lass. I haven't got all day."

Swallowing my mild irritation, I turned my gaze back to my current customer, "Can I get you anything else?"

The portly male asked me to top off his drink, before leaning in closer to me, his voice barely even a whisper, "I don't know what he's after, but please be careful, Miss."

His concern warmed my heart, and I thanked him silently before walking to the pirate seated on my left. "What can I do for you, Sir?" I asked, keeping a calm and soothing tone, even as he dug the hook that seemed to be replacing his hand into the tabletop. Inwardly, I did my best not to giggle at his uncreative choice in alias.

Looking up from under his eyelashes, Hook blinked at me slowly, a charming grin gracing his features, even after his rather rude attempt at getting my service just moments earlier. "I need to know where someone is, if you could be so kind as to direct me to him."

I did my best not to grind my teeth at his mannerisms. Handsome, swashbuckling pirates were some of my least-favorite customers. While I was fairly used to the drunken flirting from some of the less-groomed males, it was the toxic arrogance coming off of these types like waves, that made me feel so ill. "I'll do my best. Who're you looking for?"

"He goes by the name of Harrison Martinez. I believe that he owns this establishment?" The pirate questioned airily, doing his best to look unbothered, despite the smothering aura of aggression you could feel coming from his crew.

I nodded stiffly, casting a look at my mother who was just entering in from the parlor just behind the bar. She kept her distance, trying not to draw suspicion, but her eyes remained trained on the so-called Captain Hook. "He is not in right now. Harrison left on a business trip this morning," I replied truthfully, making direct eye contact with the captain.

He looked noticeably annoyed to hear this news, and made more scraping at the bar top. "When will he be returning?"

Squinting against the rays of the sun peaking through our windows, I tried to read the swarthy man's body language, but he only look as agitated and impatient as I already knew he was. "In a few days time."

Hook sighed quietly before rising from his seat, "Thank you, lass." With his lackluster reply, the man gathered his shipmates and left the building.

My mother immediately hounded me for answers after the captain had taken his leave. She sanded angrily at the countertop's new decal - courtesy of a pirate's missing hand - as I described Hook's concerns. "What does he want with your father? Did he say?" Mother queried, her eyebrows knitted together in worry.

I only shook my head at my mother, serving our last customer before beginning to clean up the tavern.

The next morning, when the obnoxious doves were droning their repetitive songs, my mother and I awoke to an alarming sight. Our friendly gang of pirates from the night before hadn't left the establishment. In fact, the whole crew had joined the couple that were there previously. I watched as they lazed about our patio, waiting for the doors to open.

We considered leaving the shop closed for the day, but even with my father's illegal activity and the bar, money was still tight. My family simply couldn't afford to leave the doors shut. So, reluctantly, we let the pirates inside, serving them whatever they asked, and asking whenever they didn't. Our regular customers were too afraid of the large gang of thieves in our bar to even set foot on the premises. Despite having a full house, it was a slow, anxiety-filled day.

My father did not make his return that day, so the pirates left, the bar closed, and we went to bed.

The next day, unsurprisingly, the pirates were just outside, lurking around for the tavern to open again. My mother and I, still reluctantly, let them in the building. There was no legitimate reason for two women to argue with pirates that seemed to be paying for the drinks and food they were downing, especially two women that had no real way to defend themselves against a whole boatful of burly men.

Much to my horror, that evening, my father came home.

And the crew was nowhere near as accommodating and passive as they had been the past two days. Half of them stood up almost immediately once they noticed that my father had entered. Hook, however, didn't. He remained seated, keeping his arrogant, quietly charming attitude alive and well. His crew roughly shoved my dad into the chair in front of their captain, and father casted crazed, worried glances back at my mother and me. We stayed stock-still as the pirate exchanged words with my con-artist of a paternal figure, straining to hear their conversation.

Several, lengthy, terrifying minutes went by without knowing what the hell was going on. My father sweat anxiously, palms wiping at his own neck and fingers rubbing deep into his eyes. Captain Hook didn't seem to be affected. He looked like the businessman my father always wanted to be, but never had the attitude for. I had downed a half-pint of beer by the time they were done talking, and I swallowed in anticipation for the final verdict as to what this whole situation was about.

Hook was the first to stand up, shaking my father's hand with a victorious gusto. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Harrison," He remarked, adding no context and making no attempt to alleviate our concerns. The captain and his crew exited our tavern without another word.

My father did not speak to us for the rest of the night. He retired to his bed, not even bothering to take off his boots. I let my mother have the other side of my bed, hearing her sob quietly for several hours into the night. Neither of us managed to fall asleep.

Once again, the next morning, for the last time, several pirates arrived on our patio. My father did not get out of bed. My mother and I opened the door.

Captain Hook strode inside first, greeting us both and giving my mother a kiss on the back of her hand. He turned to me, curtsying in a mocking fashion before calling out loudly, "Harrison, I'm here to collect my reparations!" Hook and his crew chortled noisily when my father did not come down the stairs. "Do you not want to say goodbye, Harrison?" The captain called once again, still getting no reply. Goodbye? What the hell was going on here?

"What do you need, sir?" My mother asked nervously, still managing to keep that steel in her voice that she'd had all these years despite her obvious trepidation.

He directed his attention back to her, a grin plastered to his cheeks. "I do not mean any disrespect to you, m'am, but I'll be taking your daughter with me."

Read and review if you can, folks. On an OUaT Neverland kick again. Happy trails.

loserless