*Her Mistress's Mistress, And His Mistresess' Master...*

You take a look inside your own head and review the roster of your ship and crew: Ship, The Eagle's Claw, Darkfang-Class Privater: Berths In Hold: 2. Crew complement: 25 skeleton crew, 50 standard crew, 75 maximum useful crew. Current Crew compliment: You, Lady Ælfhild Grace Killigrew, Captain: share of the prize, 40%. Amelia Franchesca Palm-Olive, First-Mate: Share of Prize, 15%. Ol' Gregor Ignacio Mahmoud Al-Waziri, Second Mate: Share of Prize 10%. Colleen Helga Elsa Chapwise, Mistress-of-Stores: Share of Prize, 5%. Geovania Lissom Isabella Ye-Oritz, Bosun: Share of Prize, 2%. Bruce Philip Francios Al-Rashied, Barber-Surgeon: Share of Prize, 2%. Hortense Sylvana Georgina Al-Waziri, Ships-Cook: Share of Prize, 1%. Crew's Share: 25% Current Regular Crew Number: 50: 0.5% share per regular crew member...

You could probably call to mind the names of all your crewmen if you needed too, but that didn't matter right now, right now you were only concerned with two, Amelia Franchesca Palm-Olive, your lover and soon-to-be wife, and Bruce Philip Francios Al-Rashied, the Barber-Surgeon. Bruce meant little to you, with five notable exceptions, 1: he was biddable and easily controlled, 2: he was a Moslem, and therefore, allowed to marry more than one woman. 3: you happened to know from an incident at a hot spring bath a few months ago that his penis was a happy medium size when erect, neither particularly small, nor hideously large, but roughly seven Brethren Standard inches or so, and well, since he was circumcised, oh well, perhaps he would lack enthusiasm and require extra lubrication, but you can't have everything. 4: as per an examination by a panel of five reputable doctors he was disease free, thus safe to fuck. And 5: though you could never be 100% sure about these sorts of things, you were pretty confident that he fancied you and the First Mate, but knew that if he made any unwelcome advances you'd gut him like a fish so he hadn't said anything...

You go get dressed and rifle the drawers of one of your chests for a few items of booty you've been saving for this occasion. Time to get married while you're in port and don't have to marry yourself!

You put on your white shirt with the ruffles and the red and white striped pants, then your calf length black boots, and your signet ring and jade earnings, then lean out the door of your cabin. As expected Bosun Geovania has one of the cabin girls swabbing the deck, even this early.

"Jess! Where's the First Mate and the Surgeon? Get 'em over here right quick!" You call and the girl salutes smartly and runs off to find the crew members in question, probably quite relieved to be free of swabs duties for a bit.

You wait, feeling impatient, and desperately horny, but finally, there's a knock at the door of the cabin.

"Enter!" You call out, and the doors open. Standing there are Amelia Franchesca Palm-Olive, and Bruce Philip Francios Al-Rashied, both looking a little confused about why the other is here, and why you have your hands clenched behind your back.

Then you go down to one knee and begin your speech.

"We are a country of various ethnic heritages, including both Ireland and Norway. In those nations, it is tradition, that today, the twenty-ninth of February, a woman may propose marriage to a man rather than the inverse. I know of no set of customs by which a woman may propose to another woman, but that is immaterial, we are a young nation: the men and women who founded our country are not yet even in their graves, we are making NEW traditions, and I begin one here and now: Bruce Philip Francios Al-Rashied, will you be my husband? Amelia Franchesca Palm-Olive, will you be our wife?" You say and hold forth two beautifully jeweled rings...