Ana puts a crewman in his place.
The other crewmen didn't even seem to notice her. Those who didn't know her secret assumed she was male if young, a teenager, probably no more than sixteen or seventeen. She kept her secret well, being built like a rail instead of an hourglass, hiding her figure under a smock coat and loose blouse. Because of that, they either left her alone or attempted to take her under their molting, grimy wings. She never said anything. Soon enough they'd discover she was more than able to pull her own weight, to look after herself. That lesson, more often than not, came in the form of a smack upside the head. He'd undergone the same tutelage himself more than once.
He only asked her one time about her decision to join a ship's crew. She knew what she was in for and he knew better than to insult her intelligence and so had said, "Are you sure you don't mind sailing with eighteen stinkin' men?" to which she had returned "I can take care of myself". To be sure she could, but that didn't mean she couldn't use a hand on occasion, now did it? Actually, it was beginning to look as if she could use a hand right now. She'd bent over to disentangle a length of rope and one of the crew was staring at her seat in a highly ungentlemanly manner. Her bosom she could hide well enough, but there was no good way for her to flatten her hips.
"Mighty round for a young lad, ain't ye?" he heard the crewman say, his voice carried back to the helm by the sea breeze. Jack couldn't help the pull in his cheeks and the crinkling sensation in his forehead that meant his eyes had narrowed.
"What's to ye?" she snapped tartly. "Or are you one of those who takes his pleasure elsewhere?"
"Mangy cur," the sailor scowled at the insult and- Jack was quite sure he'd done it for the sole excuse of laying his hand where it had no business being- shoved her in the chest. Anamaria stumbled back one step only and returned the glare. The sailor's shaggy eyebrows rose a fraction and then resettled into an amused leer. "So it is true. There is a woman on board."
"That'll make precious little difference to you," she quipped, voice heavily barbed.
"Won't it, poppet?" he grinned, showing yellowed teeth. She put her nose in the air and turned back to her work.
"No," she stated flatly, "it won't. I signed on to crew this ship and I'll do all that's required of me, but that does not include suffering the likes of /you/." With that she hefted three whole coils of the thick, heavy rope and shoved them into place. The sailor blinked, mildly taken aback by such an exhibition of physical strength.
"Now there's no need to get testy, darlin'," he went on, his shock apparently over. "No sense squabblin' over what don't make no diff'rence. No reason you an' me can't be civil."
"As long as you keep your distance; and if you cannot contain yourself I suggest you review the ship's code."
"Fair 'nough, ducky. I have a feelin' we'll get to be real good friends. 'Sides, I can't read no how."
Jack couldn't help but snerk at the look of thinly-masked revulsion on her face.
"I rather doubt that. And I suggest you learn." With that, she walked away to her next duty leaving the grimy sailor with a somewhat dumbfounded look on his face. Yes, she was without a doubt the best quartermaster he'd ever had. How he loved watching her work.