FicWad

A sharp, pointed object whizzed through the air, embedding itself in the cork of a dartboard. The board was speckled with other such things, darts strewn across and all poking out at different angles. Empty holes and indentations from previous games gave it a worn appeal.

"Damn it!" a young man cursed, sending an accusatory glare at the woman leaning against the wall, sipping a glass of wine. The tavern was deserted, the owner shutting down business for the night on the occasion of a quiet get-together between friends. Of course, quiet get-togethers often resulted in the tossing of sharp objects. This particular group of friends was simply more civilized about it.

"Aw, looks like you missed. I win again," the young woman smiled sinfully, taking another long, savory sip of the expensive beverage. "So, what, I've won," the woman counted on her fingers, chiding him, "three hundred pounds tonight? Shameful, Penton, very shameful indeed."

Another man in the corner of the room laughed richly, but was quickly cut off by the losing gentleman's glare. "And why aren't you playing her, Edgar? Feel free to mock me when you've won a game."

The man name Edgar grinned. "That's precisely why I refuse to play her."

Penton shot him another menacing look, before returning an even more scorching gaze to his female friend. "I want my money back."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Now, now, don't be a sobbing prick. If you want your money back, you'll have to play me for it."

His reproachful gaze softening, the man's lips twisted into a sly grin as his eyes had a mischief about them that she was accustomed to seeing. "A wager, then?"

The woman yawned dramatically. "You know me, Pen. It's always a wager."

The man in the corner took a long gulp of whiskey before speaking up. "Shall I remove the darts?"

"Oh, don't act like a bloody slave, Edgar. Just because Penton owns the pub doesn't make you his serving boy," the woman said in a light, irritated town.

"The fact that I'm the barman says otherwise," Edgar grinned.

Raising a hand, Penton motioned him to stop. "It's after hours, Ed, and besides, I don't intend on using all the darts anyway."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "You've lost the last five games, Penton. You're shit at darts and you know it."

"Such harsh words. Pardon me while I weep over my shortcomings," the man responded playfully.

"Oh, my heart bleeds for you," she muttered sarcastically.

"I enjoy our little give and take," Penton chuckled.

She smiled, finishing off her wine. "Just shut up and give me the red darts. You know those are my favorite."

"You won't need them all."

"Oh, stop being so bloody cryptic, Penton, and tell me the rules this time."

Penton grinned maliciously. "Very well. It's simple really. You're good at darts, I'll admit, but I've never seen you hit a bull's eye-"

"Bullshit, I've done it at least twice," she interjected, brushing the comment off.

"Patience is not one of your virtues. As I was saying, I've never seen you hit a bull's eye," he paused for effect, causing the woman to sigh in exasperation, "from ten feet away."

Edgar spit out his whiskey, giving Penton a wide-eyed look. "That's insanity! You know she's not that good!"

The bartender received a prompt glare from the woman. "I've hit bull's eyes before, and I've got a strong arm. I don't see why it should be any different with distance."

The pub owner's grinned widened. "So you're up for it?"

The woman winked in mock flirtation. "I'm always up for it."

"Excellent."

"Bloody Hell," Edgar muttered, rolling his eyes. He came to the conclusion that whenever his two friends were within ten feet of each other, a battle of egos consistently ensued. Taking a seat on the bar, he watched the scene unfold, feeling absolutely positive that there was no way his female friend could make the shot.

"The stakes?" she questioned, plucking Edgar's bottle of whiskey and pouring herself half a glass before returning it to him. He grumbled in response.

"Why don't you start?" Penton suggested.

She shrugged. "Very well. If I win, I keep your money, and you serve me free of charge here at the Sail's Wind for four months."

Penton contemplated, knowing his friend could consume a lot of liquor in that time. Knowing her, she'd purposely spite him by demanding the most expensive drinks in stock. Weighing his options, he said, "two months."

She shook her head. "Three and a half."

"Two and a half," he bartered.

"Three."

Penton sighed. "Fine, three months." He was quite certain there was no way she could make the shot anyway.

"And if I lose?" she questioned.

His confidence returning in droves, Penton grinned widely. He had been setting this up for two months in this mind, when she had bested him at a card game. He lost his commission for an entire thirty days at the pub, not to mention his defeat had been beheld by more than thirty of his respected colleagues and friends. He still hadn't forgiven her for that, and the bitterness drove him to seeking revenge.

"Or you could tell me when you've stopped grinning like a daft idiot," she interrupted his thoughts.

Penton's eyes met hers with intent. "If you miss that bull's eye, you can keep the money."

She eyed him. "Are you drunk? This is all about reclaiming your coin."

He heaved a heavy sigh of irritation. "You never let me finish. As I was saying, if you lose, you can keep the money, but you can only use it for one thing."

Edgar was listening intently now, placing his bottle of whiskey on the bar and eager to know what his old friend and boss was about to say next.

"Well, spit it out. Don't bore me, Penton," the woman was beginning to become irate.

"Are you familiar with that drunken bloke who wanders the streets of Tortuga?" Penton inquired.

She rolled her eyes. "You've got to be more specific than that."

"You know the one I'm talking about. The only one who sleeps with the pigs every night without fail, and can be seen howling curses into the sky near the shoreline?"

The woman thought for a moment, before making a face of revulsion. "Guh, that ruddy bastard that's always starting bar fights at the Faithful Bride?"

Penton smiled. "Precisely."

"What about him?"

He groaned. "Will you just shut up and let me finish?" She gave him a frank look, but fell silent. "Well, if you lose, you take the money you've won tonight, you find him, and you get him back on his feet."

There was a long pause before... "What!"

Edgar sat expectantly on the edge of his seat, chuckling. She is doomed, he thought.

"Why the hell would I do that? He smells like piss and would sooner knife me in the gut than let me help him! He's a violent letch with a drinking problem, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Penton shrugged. "With three hundred pounds, you can do almost anything. That is, if you lose."

"Hmph, you say that as if it's a possibility," she mumbled in annoyance.

"You seem confident."

"You seem cocky," she replied, "and I don't mean that in the 'arrogant' sense."

Edgar gave out another raucous laugh, this time ignoring Penton's glare.

The tavern owner sighed, grabbing the box in which the darts were kept and began putting them away. He frowned. "Well, if you're so certain you're going to miss, I can't make you do anything."

The woman's eyes narrowed at her old friend. "Just tell me why."

He looked at her frankly. "Because I want him sober before he comes barreling into my bar, shitting things up." He paused, not mentioning it was also his own personal vendetta. "Not to mention, he's more likely to take charity from a woman than a man. That way it seems less like pity and more like kindness."

Edgar had to agree it was a logical approach.

"It's neither, it's obligation," she pointed out.

"He won't know that," Penton replied, before resuming packaging the darts. "Speaking of which, if you should happen to accept the wager and lose, then you'd also have to be gracious, stunning, caring, and sympathetic." He gave her a quick up and down. "In short, everything you're not. And you'd have to keep your mouth duly shut about the bet."

"You're an ass, you know that?" she spat.

He shrugged. "But, if you really think you're that bad a shot, so be it. Just as well, with my luck you would have hit it, and I don't think I could pay for three months of free drinks out of my own pocket," he stated airily, reaching for the last dart before a small hand grabbed it and pulled it out of the board. The woman placed a hand on her hip, tossing the dart in the air and catching it again.

"You don't think at all, Penton." She smirked. "I won't miss." The pub owner barely managed to hide a grin as she began measuring her steps until she was ten feet away from the dartboard.

"Remember, bull's eye. Just hitting the board doesn't count. In case you forget, a bull's eye is right here," he pointed to the center of the board and spoke slowly, taunting her.

She shut one eye, lining her shot. "Shut the hell up and get your goddamn finger out of the way before I nail it there."

Penton smiled, placing his hand behind his back and crossing his fingers.

The woman concentrated. I've never made a shot from this far back before, but I'll be damned if I let him get away with that scoundrel's smirk one more time.

Steadying herself, she was positive there was no way she could miss. She allowed herself a victorious grin. Lady Luck had always been on her side, why should now be any different?

"Can't wait to try some of that imported wine, Penton," she mused, "I hear it's very costly."

Penton swallowed a lump in his throat, but replied with confidence and swagger, "I already told you, that money is only for use on that drunken idiot."

"Oh, trust me, you'll find it in your heart to declare it on the house." She made sure the shot was lined up one more time, recited a tiny prayer in her mind, and threw the dart. As it flew towards the board, Penton couldn't take it any longer, and closed his eyes in excitement and dread. Edgar covered his with his hands, mumbling something to a deity.

Both men were snapped out of the darkness by a resoundingly sharp, vaguely feminine, "SHIT!"

Penton was the first to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was the look of rage on the woman's face. Then, turning to gaze at the dart board, he gaze upon one of the most beautiful things he was sure he'd ever beheld. There, sticking out at a perfect angle from the board was a red dart, centimeters shy of a bull's eye.

"YES!" Penton exclaimed repeatedly, shoving his fists into the air and dancing a little jig. The woman grumbled, grabbing Edgar's bottle of whiskey in a fury and taking a swig.

"Shut up, you bleeding idiot," she scolded.

Edgar stepped gingerly up to the board, and winced when he saw how close she had been to victory. He inhaled harshly, almost feeling an onset of sympathy pain. That must sting.

"Tomorrow morning, you find him in the pig pen and work your magic." Penton's boyish features were set in very large, happy grin. "Oh, and by the way, I kicked your ass."

The woman glared and took another quick swig of whiskey as Penton turned his back to her, about to go share his joy with Edgar. Angrily, she lifted her boot and planted a swift kick to her grinning friend's rear.

"Ow!" he yelled, spinning around and leering at her.

She shrugged innocently, taking another sip. "Likewise."