The Proud Pirate

You distinctly recall an adventure you had many moons ago, when you were sojourning on the southern oceans. You'd booked a passage aboard a merchant vessel, laded down with valuable cargo, travelling between tropical ports. The captain was a meek man with a wispy moustache, forever fretting about pirates.

There was one pirate in particular he feared above all others. Black Anna, the Scourge of the Seven Seas. You didn't take the threat seriously at first. Not until you woke up late one morning, having stayed up till the small hours of the night playing cards with the bosun and only occasionally cheating, to find all the crew lined up on deck, quivering in their boots, and a bunch of rambunctious young women gleefully going through their pockets.

It was Black Anna, the tall, copper-skinned beauty with a captain's hat and a steely glint in her dark eyes, plus her all-girl crew of rapscallions and ne'er-do-wells. The fiendish female scum of of the world's most dirty, diabolical ports. Statuesque blondes from the northern snowfields, tomboyish redheads from the central plains, dreadlocked warriors with ebony skin from the deserts in the distant south.

All of them cackling with glee as they hauled bales of fine silk and barrels of exotic spices out from the hold, while the captain stood shaking in his underpants, the point of Anna's cutlass at his throat.