(Note: I do not own Austin & Ally. If I did, I would be rich, which I am not. Also, this story is Rated T for violence, suspense, and a bit of sexual suggestion, as it is a pirate story.)

There were two things in particular that Ally couldn't imagine life without - her piano, a grand instrument of the finest quality, and the sea.

Both had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. There wasn't a day in her life that she could recall when she hadn't sat down to play music, hands hovering over ivory keys as the glittering waves of the ocean inspired the notes that bloomed from her fingertips. Though Ally was born in France, her family had sailed to St. Lucia when she was still very small, so the memories of a childhood in her supposed homeland were hazy at best. Her father often spoke of France, of bustling streets and complex buildings and maybe returning someday, while Ally only half listened. Truthfully, Ally had no desire to go back. St. Lucia was her home. She belonged there, with the lush vegetation and long white beaches that stretched out just a short walk away from her father's estate. She loved the warm breezes that carried the salty smell of the oceans, the colorful birds that made their homes in trees near her bedroom window, and the greater amount of freedom she was allowed, though she often kept that last thought to herself.

The truth of it, however, was rearing its ugly head as her friend's upcoming wedding drew nearer. It was a clear reminder that, had Ally's family stayed in France, she would already be married with a child on the way rather than still living comfortably with her father on his estate. The wedding seemed to be a reminder for everyone, though, that it was high time she found a suitable husband as well. Everyone on St. Lucia talked, and the event was only fueling the fire. Ally's friend, a petite and beautiful young girl named Patricia (though Ally preferred to call her Trish), matched Ally's age. They'd been best friends for as long as Ally could remember. There were, of course, other young women on the island who she could have befriended, but she preferred Trish's fresh and confident attitude over their shallow, gossiping personalities. She heard what they said despite what they thought, pretending not to be listening when they glanced in her direction and then gathered their heads together and twittered on and on about matters that truly had nothing to do with them. Poor thing - soon she'll be too old, and no one good will want her. A bit skinny, isn't she? No wonder she isn't married yet. I hear her father's tried without any luck. An utter lie, of course, or else a horrible rumor. Ally's father was so busy with the plantation that she doubted he had even thought about her own personal affairs, which had suited her just fine until recently. After Trish's engagement, though, despair had set in as she wondered if maybe the busybodies were right and she really wouldn't be able to find a decent suitor.

The idea of looking through Trish's trousseau the day before the wedding only made her feel worse about the whole matter, but she went to her friend's house anyway, loyal to her to the ends of the earth. The bride-to-be was practically giddy, grinning from ear to ear as she through back the dusty lid of her cedar chest, a beautiful thing imported from England. Trish was Spanish, a rarity on St. Lucia, but when Ally had told her about the French tradition she had been so enthusiastic that she begged her parents for weeks before they finally relented. (She had been only seven at the time, but already she was very pushy.) Folded into the cheap cotton Ally could see lengths of lace, satin, and jewelry that glittered in the morning sunlight that spilled through the window into the room. When they were younger they would sometimes play dress-up with the items in the chest, but they had long since outgrown such childhood fancies, and Ally had forgotten about many of the older treasures in the chest. Looking through it she felt old memories come to life, and she might have actually started enjoying herself if it hadn't been for the fact that the chest was soon to be leaving to a different home along with her friend, and if she didn't marry soon she could very well be left behind.

"A part of me never thought it would happen," Trish admitted, turning to face Ally and looking almost as if she was going to start bouncing up and down in excitement. "Nonsense, of course. Every woman has to marry eventually."

Ally made a small, noncommittal sound that Trish immediately seemed to accept as agreement. Normally the petite girl was quick to spot when something was on Ally's mind, but she had quickly become caught up in her own anticipation. Ally couldn't blame her - it was she that should be more excited, and happy for her friend. She plastered on a convincing smile and watched as Trish eager plunged in, though her mind wandered. Her father was simply waiting for the opportunity to come. He was a smart man - surely he thought perhaps he could engage her to a wealthy trader that stopped by on the island, who could whisk her away to an even more exotic place. (It was a far-fetched dream and she knew it, but she refused to acknowledge it as foolish.)

Soon enough, though, Trish's excitement began to wear off on Ally and she became genuinely entertained by looking through the many things her friend had collected and trying to recall the exact days she had found them. The majority of the jewelry had been purchased from traders when the came to St. Lucia from other islands or even Europe, bringing in new items, glittering gems of all different hues, and tales of great seafaring adventures. Trish loved to go shop when the traders were in town and Ally was more than happy to accompany her, though she spent less time shopping and more time listening to the stories or admiring the great ships bobbing in the bay. It was true that she was interested in odd things: Music, the beach, ships. Most girls found music boring, thought the sand was hot and irritating, and complained the ships only brought rowdy sailors. But Ally found herself drawn to all three, which was yet another reason why Trish was really her only good friend on the island. Anyone else would see her as strange. When she did shop, it wasn't even for jewelry, but for a good adventure book, resulting in her own trousseau being plain and scarce in comparison to most. Indeed, many of the items in it had been given to her by Trish or inherited from distant relatives. She hardly ever looked in it anymore - the presence of the chest had become almost torturous, in a way, for most girls her age had already used hers. It made her feel like a failure, somehow.

Trish pulled out a thin silver chain necklace, holding it up so it shimmered in the light. "My dress is scarlet. Does silver go with scarlet?"

Ally considered. "Gold might be better."

Trish stared at it a moment longer before nodding and diving back in. She spared Ally a quick glance, though, smiling. "You should play something for us on the piano at the celebrations tomorrow. Your songs are so lovely."

Ally's mouth dropped open slightly. "A woman? Playing in public? That's hardly proper, Trish. I wouldn't dare."

Trish made a sound of exasperation, though whether it was at her or her own inability to find a gold necklace, Ally was unsure. "Honestly, Ally, do you build your entire life around propriety? You're the best pianist on St. Lucia, regardless of the fact that you're a woman. Any audience would be lucky to hear you."

Ally remained silent, pretending to have suddenly become very interested in the pattern on the piece of lace she held. Perhaps Trish was right. And yet, before she had died, Ally's mother had been very strict on who Ally could and couldn't play for. She'd impressed upon her the importance of a woman knowing her place. A woman trying to be a man, she had said, had no place in proper society. As a result Ally felt uncomfortable even just playing for Trish. She couldn't imagine going up in front of an entire audience.

Before she could say so, though, someone cleared their throat. "Ma'am?"

Ally, thoroughly startled, jerked her head up to see her maid Claire lingering timidly in the doorway. Claire was a whisp of a girl with unusual dark hair and pasty skin, shy and usually extremely quiet. She was probably around fifteen years old, but her height and thin limbs made her seem younger, perhaps even twelve. She rarely interrupted Ally for any reason, remaining as a shadow. "Yes, Claire? Is something the matter?"

"I - I'm afraid I don't know, Miss Ally. Your father sent a messenger summoning you back to the estate immediately."

Ally frowned in confusion but didn't question the maid further, instead rising and saying a quick farewell to Trish before following Claire out the door and down the familiar path back to her own home. Glancing past the bushes Ally could spot dark clouds gathering over the horizon, causing a disturbance in the sea. A storm was coming.

Something stirred in Ally. She couldn't quite figure out what - fear? Dread? It was as if the storm was a bad omen of some sort. She shook the feeling quickly. Trish believed in those sort of things, not her. Superstitions were nothing but foolishness. And yet...

No. It was silly. Thoroughly annoyed with herself, Ally gave a small huff, planting a hand on her hat to keep it from blowing away as she quickened her pace in an attempt to beat the rain.

(only the pure are truly able to fly. the rotten must content themselves with riding the winds.)

An especially large wave slammed against the Scarlette, causing her to tilt dangerously, but Austin's steps didn't falter. Her had long since adjusted to the rolling of the ship during hard weather, and she had held in far worse than what they were in currently. He stepped around a fellow crew member, bent over scrubbing the salt from the deck to prevent erosion, and cupped his hands around his mouth as he called up to the quarter deck. "Cap'n!"

Despite having the loudest voice on the crew - and proud of it - the wind still managed to carry it away. He grunted in frustration before grabbing onto the nearest ratlines and hauling himself up. They whipped around beneath him, cool salt spray piercing into his skin as the wet rope burned even against his calloused palms, but he barely noticed, instead focusing on climbing. Once he reached a decent height her caught a flailing line and swung down, feet landing soundly on the elevated deck. He grinned widely, glancing at a few others who had paused from their work to watch him, eyebrows raised and eyes rolling. Show off. He simply smirked in response. And proud of it.

Not too far from where he had landed, a middle aged man faced away from Austin, hands resting on the gunwale as he watched the battle of the waves below. "Cap'n!" Austin called out again, though not as loudly, and the man turned. Austin straightened, though his smile remained in his eyes, and approached the man respectfully. "She's a bit slippery, sir, but she'll hold." Of course she would. The Scarlette hadn't been been defeated by a storm yet. She certainly wouldn't be overcome by a little rain.

Captain Cyril's dark eyes remained hard, face impassive, but he nodded in approval and said, "Very good."

Austin hesitated, knowing he had just been dismissed. His curiosity got the best of him. "Sir?"

"Aye?" Cyril turned and raised an eyebrow. Austin resisted the urge to shrink away.

"Are - are we going after another ship, Cap'n? Should we prepare the guns?"

No change in expression. "No. We'll be raiding a town tonight."

Austin couldn't hide his initial surprise, and then dark excitement. His lips curled upward. "A town, sir? Where?"

"St. Lucia."

"Aye?" Austin's grin turned wolfish. "Somethin' catch your eye there, Cap'n?"

Finally, a hint of a smile on the older man's face. "Aye. You could say that."