Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was nearly evening, for the sun had already began to rest its sleepy head on the horizon. Her dim light filtered in through the window of the bedroom, dancing on the bundle of white sheets scrunched on the bed and playing with its shadows. On the floor beside the bed were two large brown boots and a heavy leather belt with a dagger strung on it. A compass was nestled on the bedside table. Emerging from the sheets was both a hand and a foot, not at all correlating in side. Both had traits of a male; hair dusting the ends, robust muscles lacing the fingers and toes. As the sunlight hit them, the muscles contracted and the man underneath stirred, writhing in the discomfort of his dream. From his rough lips came a soft, gentle plea for a woman called Clara. Every time her name was repeated his fists began to twitch, as if in his dreamscape he was clenching them. His breathing rapidly increased, heaving the sheets covering him to and fro. There, her name was said again, and then again, each time with more emotion. His breath was now becoming ragged, and he coughed; this effectively peeled the sleep from his eyes. The foot was pulled back under the covers, but the hand was left hanging off the side of the shabby inn bed. For a moment, it just hung there. But then it was used to pull the covers off its owner's face, revealing a very handsome man.

His eyes were a dusty brown, full of passion and life. Yet where his laugh lines should have been there was nothing. His lips were dull and limp of luster, yet still they were deliciously pink. His face overall was clean and shaven, and his eyebrows matched perfectly the honey brown locks framing his face. He laid there for a second, letting the heat of the sun streaming through the windows comfort him, but then rose from the bed with a lazy yawn. Standing, he was quite nearly six feet tall and had a very intimidating demeanour. However, there was something pitiful about his character, something that erased all traces of possible fear he may cause others. His hazle eyes dropped to the floor, where his pile of effects lay. He slipped into his worn socks and then sheathed his feet with those large boots, even going as far as stuffing the ends of his maroon pants past their rim. Then he moved to his belt, which he hoisted up effortlessly and strung around his waist, the dagger dangling briefly in its sheath. There was a vanity in the room he'd occupied the past few nights, and he strode over to it, peering into the glinting mirror. Next to it was a basin of water which he proceeded to rinse his face and hands in. With the piece of cloth beside the mirror, he pulled his hair off his shoulders and tied it back at the nape of his neck.

He began to make his way to the door but then stopped, realizing that he'd forgotten his compass. Hastily he walked to the bedside table and retrieved it, pausing for a moment to regard the engraving on the back. Jethro Nathaniel Dare it read; a gift from his father years ago. Jethro took hold of the chain on which the compass was held and draped it around his neck. He thought of his father, then his mother, and then of sweet Clara, his sister with whom he shared a forbidden love. Jethro sighed, then stepped toward the door. Upon opening it, he followed the stairwell to the tavern below. He decided that he was in the mood for some ale, regardless of the fact that his parents had tried to keep him away from the "wicked drink" by feeding him lies about its side-effects. He was far away from his father's belt, so he could drink to his fill. This thought satisfied Jethro, and for the first time since the previous night a smile played on his mouth. When he reached the tavern on the first floor, Jethro immediatly sensed the prescence of pirates. He would recognize that stink anywhere. A deathgrip tightened on his dagger, yet he restrained himself at the sight of several women in the bar. He had vowed to only kill pirates when innocent eyes were not around. The ambiance of this room screamed women to him, so he merely grumbled and fell into a seat at the nearest table.

As Jethro waited patiently for the barmaid to attend to him, he released his grip on his dagger. His fingers moved to second necklace round his neck - one whose chain was crafted with fine silver. A plain, white gold band served as the pendent, and he enveloped this charm in his palm. Clara. She had been the one to give him this, accompanied by a note, just before she fled to become a bloody pirate. Flames arose in his eyes and he narrowed them, scouring the features of the obvious pirates in the room. His clench on the ring tightened. However, he quickly drew his hand away so as not to draw attention to himself and occupied his restless fingers by softly drumming them on the wooden table. His eyes then softened when they fell upon one of the barmaids. He smiled, waving his hand a little so she knew he was waiting to order.

Elizabeth was still bustling about the Inn, which seemed to becomeing packed to capacity, so she had to serve quickly and get the occupants out, it was never a good thing to have this many in the tavern, usually because fights broke out. She had already ordered her young son out of the kitchen where he had been working and back to their small hut. "Here you are, miss. If you need anything else, I'll be happy to help you." She said politely to the dracon, though her eyes were nervous, her smile was friendly. She turned and saw the large man from the night before waving for her, apparently he had finally gotten out of bed. She smiled and hurried to his side, her face flushed from the heat of so many bodies and all the work she'd had to do.

"Morning sir." She piped cheerfully, though some of it seemed forced, "Can I get you anything?" She asked dutifully. The mother couldn't wait for the night to be over and the tavern to start to clear out, she had been working all day, and with so many boats having docked earlier, it meant more work for her. As it were, she smiled pleasantly at the man. He had seemed friendly the night before when he got his room, though honestly, she didn't trust anyone willingly. An older sea dog bumped into her and she was pressed against the table, wincing a little as it bit into her hips as a small group of drunken friends tried to help themselves out of the tavern, singing a dirty sea ditty loudly as they practically fell over themselves. "Be careful going home, gents." Elizabeth called, shaking her head as she smoothed out her skirt, which was dirty and smelled strongly of spilt alcohol. "Now then, what can I get you?" Her attention reverted to her customer with a smile.

"Just an ale, please, ma'am," Jethro voiced, offering the sullied barmaid a kind grin. His brown eyes fell upon her dirtied skirt and he was suddenly angered by the way those men brushed past her without a care. Being protective over Clara caused him to grow protective of other women as well. He dug his hands into his pockets and pulled out a few gold coins. "Here, this should be enough to replace that skirt," Jethro said, handing the coins to her. "I'll give you payment for the ale when you return with it." He smirked a little, but then remembered that she did have a child and was probably married. He coughed, wiping the smirk off his face. His unusual tenderness toward women would have to be quelled if he wanted to keep his head. The strong man regained his posture and tried to brush off his prior kind act. "Well, go ahead!" He ordered, firmly, propping his feet up on the table. He sighed, tipping his head back on the rim of the seat. From this angle, he could clearly see a strange looking figure seated behind him. From what he or she was wearing, Jethro could not determine the gender. Yet his curiosity was piqued and he kept leaning backward so as to get a better look. He traced the figure with his eyes and took notice of a small curvature near her chest hidden by a long shirt.

So, she was a female, eh? He chuckled softly to himself and pulled his body to an upright position once more. He didn't want to seem rude, but this blonde girl behind him really interested him. Jethro felt a strange compulsion to turn around again to gaze at her, yet this time he saw that she had the most extravagant, beautiful wings sprouting from her back. He was taken aback by this. Stricken with awe, he pulled his eyes away. She was a dracon, and henceforth not someone to tamper with. He'd be lucky if she didn't comment on his instinctive male gaze. He brought his fingers to his temples and gently rubbed them, waiting for his now imperative ale.

Elizabeth blinked at the tip, "Ohh...you don't need to-" She began, hesitantly taking the gold, then nodded at his order, "Yes sir, right away." She said quickly, smiling gratefully and turning to make her way back to the bar for his drink as she pocketed the tip.

The man silently waited for his ale, ever-conscious of the dracon sitting behind him. The fact that she had not yet struck back with either verbal or physical reprimandation had quieted him, and he felt now that the only thing he could do was wait for the barmaid to return. Jethro's eyes began to wander around the tavern, catching and holding sight of a small gathering just by the entrance. It consisted of a scantily clad woman with strangely pointed ears, a human woman whose beauty seemed almost incomprehensible to him, an elf man, and then another... there was something strange about this one. He seemed to be different from the rest, although he appeared human. Jethro brushed it off and returned his glance to the woman with myriad beads and tassles dangling from her garb. She certainly was a sight for sore eyes. He smiled lightly at her, though she had her head turned away from him. Jethro knew, however, upon glancing at them that they were pirates. Yet pity wove its way into his heart for the pretty woman - how had she been drawn into such a horrible profession? Women were foolishly lured by men and their love for them, it was true. He shifted the weight on his elevated feet and kept looking at the woman, whom he believed to be a gypsy. His gaze did not falter until he felt a sudden prescence behind him.

The nerves in Jethro's right shoulder, ears, and neck began to involuntarily quiver. He kept his face forward, not daring to turn and look her in the eye. Ah, so here was the commentary at last. He tried to maintain a steady heartbeat and was remotely successful in doing so; yet his main triumph was in keeping his mouth closed and his thoughts hushed. As she spoke to him, Jethro felt tingles dance at the bottom of his spine. She certainly had power and was not afraid to exert it upon a man with wandering eyes. But just as quickly as she had faded into his perception, she faded out. Desperate, now, was his need for alcoholic salvation. He sighed, glanced toward the alluring gypsy again, then got an ounce of courage thrust into him. Would he let this dracon have the last word? He had to retort something, anything, just to prove his gall. Thus he turned around to face the woman again, this time head-on and with a bit more enthusiasm. Jethro offered her a polite smile, then voiced, "Pardon me, ma'am, but I was taken in by your glorious wings. It's not every day that a man sees a -- well, you know," and lives to tell the tale he silently finished. He felt as though actually saying dracon might invoke more of the beasts. Jethro coughed a little, nervous of what she might do or say in reply to that, but quickly became aware of a hubbub forming near the gypsy woman and turned away from the blonde dragon.

His brown eyes scanned the area and latched on to the gypsy. However, he soon noticed another prescence - a man with what appeared to be a single arm. Hatred painted his entire physique, the way he carried himself and the way his eyes moved. Jethro was now intrigued at this and leaned forward, trying to hear what was going on. The man he thought was unhuman stood and reached his full height, which startled him. He let his eyes bounce between the two captains, as that is what they called themselves, and then back to the gypsy. She certainly was beautiful, but the fact that she took the side of the captain suggested that she was a pivotal person aboard her pirate ship. He sighed, asking himself, must all the women I am attracted to be pirates? Jethro watched the group, picking up bits and pieces of the conversation and becoming even more curious about the situation. All thoughts of the dracon behind him vanished as his eyes traced the action. If he was not mistaken, a fight was soon to break out.

He really wanted his ale now.

Elizabeth had gotten caught up by a drunken man proposing to her, as he usually did after his third mug. "No no, Bernard, I'll not marry you. Now git your butt back home to your wife! Just because my husband's dead, doesn't mean you are going to replace him. You don't even have a job." She scolded, slapping his hands away as she carried the ale back to the table of the man whose kind brown eyes almost made her blush like a school girl. It's rare to find such a gentleman, though she didn't pretend to believe everything about him. There were always hidden intentions. "Here you are." She carefully set the large mug down, then turned as the soldiers bust in. "Damnit." She cursed, setting down her tray of drinks, which quickly vanished into eager hands when her back was turned.

The barmaid stomped through the crowd and put her hands on her hips, being trained as a mother made her a bit more intimidating than her dirty dress, slightly frizzled brown bun, and time and stress worn green eyes made one believe. "Get out, all of you! You know you're not allow here less a fight breaks out." Though at the sudden shift in atmosphere, one she was prone to pick up with her years of working there, a fight was brewing. The last thing she needed was Tracey getting arrested, "All of you, get out! Get out of here!" She shouted roughly, not laying her hands on the soldiers, but a few did shrink back. They were locals, and knew of the woman's temper, she had spent a night in jail for it once in her younger days, though the man who had felt it ended up bandages for two months.

"Ma'am, there's a wanted man among your patrons."

At this Elizabeth scoffed, "This is Tortuga to swine humping dolt!" She mentally reminded herself that her son wasn't around, "There are wanted men and women all over the place. So go out and find some other poor soul to chase around, you inept excuses for soliders!" She snapped, now shooing them out with her hands. The soldiers glanced at their captain, a corrupt man who was only in this job for gold and power, and he nodded silently. The soldiers filed out, though Elizabeth snatched a pint of ale from one, "GIT!" She screamed, kicking the lad in the rump, "Don't think I won't tell your mother, Eddy." Finally she slammed the door and growled, glancing back at the table where she could see Tracey and the tall red eyed man, along with the crew members. Most of the attention was on herself, however, and she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt, "No problems here. Hey, who took those drinks?" She shouted as she headed back to pick up her tray, which, strangely, had several large tips on it. She chuckled and picked it up.

His brown eyes followed the hostile conversation until they were deterred by the sudden prescence of the pretty barmaid he'd recently bestowed gold coins upon. Jethro simpered, eyeing her dainty frame which seemed to be touched little by motherhood. Her auburn hair and emerald eyes were seemingly attractive to him, and he brought his ale to his lips. As it slid down his throat, Jethro felt rejuvinated and fresh. He let his eyes move from the barmaid to his jug, which he proceeded to stare at. For the longest time he had been proscribed from drinking any liquor or alcohol by his taciturn father, but now that he had been released from his house and lived on his own, ale was the only thing he was capable of drinking. Jethro found it odd that during his time of medical study he learned of all the possibe side effects of gin yet still downed it nearly three times a day. He chuckled, shaking his head a little. This caused his long, parted bangs to fall in front of his face and shield his eyes from his drink. Effortlessly, he raised his massive palm to his forehead and pulled his bangs back, wiping any sweat that had accumulated on his brow off as well. To his suprise, he had been perspiring quite a bit. It was hot in this tavern, he reminded himself, then took another swig of ale.

His nostrils filled with the sent of alcohol, various types not permeating from his glass. Jethro looked up and saw that the owner of this sweet stench was in fact the barmaid who'd served him minutes ago. He smirked, almost lecherously, at her and sat his mug down. "Ah, this is fine ale, ma'am," he chided, grinning at her. "Do you brew it yourself?" He tilted his head back and arched a brow at her as he waited for her response. The man let his brown eyes scan over her figure once more, though less discreetly. She was nothing like his Clara - this woman was very strong and could hold her own, especially in the prescence of men, an admirable trait. And while her features were petite and and gentle, there was definace glinting in her eyes and teeming from the edges of her lips, which Jethro realized he had been staring at for a few seconds. In the back of his mind a younger counterpart blushed, but the grown man sitting at the table showed amazing self-discipline and did not let a blush betray his glib speech. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing musuclar, hairy limbs, and nonchalantly folded his right over his left arm. Even though his mouth was still, his eyes seemed to be smiling at her.

Elizabeth sighed and pocketed the 'tips', taking in a deep breath to help calm her nerves. She looked up at being addressed and gave a warm heartfelt smile to Jethro, though she didn't miss the very lecherous glances and how his eyes lingered on her. Typical male, though it was flattering, usually it was the younger barmaids that got the stares, and this man wasn't falling off his chair drunk like they usually were. "No, I don't brew it, but I'll let the man know that you like it." She said, flashing him a flirtatious grin. "Can I get you anything else while I'm here? We have some delicious home stew." She offered.

Absently twirling the golden ring in his fingers, Jethro let his eyes move from the lady to the row forming toward the door. His ears detected foul words being exchanged, primarily the ones spoken from the strangely inhuman man. Jethro caught parts of his reverie; a marooned ship shredded, crashed, the people aboard clinging to their lives as they watched their friends succumb to the greedy waves. It was an awful story, one which he cared not for. His heart began to race as he heard the one-armed man reply. This was going to be no ordinary battle... it was a fight to the death, a fight for vengeance. Jethro furrowed his brow and rose his hand to rub his stubbly chin. These men, he thought, would stop for nothing to hurt each other. Involving others was not preferred, but Jethro could tell that it may not quell the battle. He deeply contemplated rounding everyone up and expelling them into the streets so as to keep them out of harm's way, but instantly shooed that idea. Ridiculous as it was, it was all he could think of. Jethro sighed, then returned his eyes to the lovely woman standing before him. His heartbeat steadied and he muttered an apology for having ignored her. "Stew?" He thought on it for a moment, then decided against it. He nodded in the negative.

He thought of her going back to the counter unaccompanied. And if the fight broke out and she was hurt? For some reason unknown to even him, Jethro knew he would never forgive himself. "Ma'am, if you don't mind, I'm going to have to ask you to sit here with me," he ordered sternly, making a discreet gesture toward the fight forming. "Not safe for you anywhere else," With his hardened gaze, he attempted to crush any protests forming on her lips. He hoped that by mentioning it he had not given her the idea to try and stop the fight. Judging by the fiery look in the one-armed man's eyes, an act like that could prove to be fatal. Instinctively, he laced his fingers around his dagger and sat erect, the balls on his feet flat on the ground so that if he had to stop her from leaving, he would. Jethro thought of her young son and hoped that he was far from the area... the tension between the two Captains was slowly growing.

Elizabeth blinked, glancing at the brewing fight with a frown, then sighing, "I'm hoping he takes it outside...don't worry about me, I've survived many fights here." She smiled, "Besides, I've got him." She nodded towards the large man behind the bar, "And I may look old, but don't underestimate me. Besides, if I don't get these guys their food and booze, there'll be more than just that one brawl to worry about." She smiled reassuringly at Jethro, then turned, her skirt swaying, to head back to the bar, always keen on her surroundings, listening for the familiar sounds that would send her for cover and into 'bar brawl' mode.

The man's eyes glistened in the dim candlelight of the tavern as he glanced back toward the gypsy and her companions. Some faint tingling in the nerves netting his face told him that this fight was to be nothing like what the barmaid had ever witnessed. She was so naive, and that naivety may cost her her life. Jethro looked upon her, angry that she was not listening to him. Tension knotted in his shoulders as she mentioned something about being old - did she think he was mocking her? Annoyed, the man stood to his full height of nearly six feet and strode up to her, grabbing her by the arm. A moment later, his dagger was gently prodding at her back. "This is nothing in comparison to what you may be getting yourself into," Jethro whispered into her ear. "Think of your son, and trust me when I tell you this will be no ordinary fight..." Though his words were rough, they were genuine in their interest to protect her. When he pulled back to look in her eyes, he only tightened his grip, a sudden need to protect her innocent face overwhelming him. While his assumptions were somewhat farfetched concerning the level of the potential fight, Jethro knew that since one of the opponents was nonhuman the battle may take any turn. He did not want this woman in the midst of the Captains' anger.

"Please, return with me to my seat," he offered a little more gently, annoyed that this was taking so long. Trepidation began to trickle down his spine as the words between the Captains became even more heated; not much time was left before the first blow would be dealt. Jethro's nerves were on edge and the fingers around the barmaid's arm tightened their grip. To the touch, her skin was soft. The bone underneath had some strength in it, Jethro could tell. His respect for the woman increased at the hint of muscle, but his intentions were not altered. He would protect her from whatever evils were going to infect the bar. He shot her a firm look, then nodded toward the table. He groaned when he noticed that his ale was missing, stolen by greedy customers no doubt. Jethro took a step forward, attempting to tug the barmaid with him if he had to. She had no idea how foolish she was being.


Elizabeth froze at the grip, about to turn angrily, when she felt the tip of the dagger and stilled. Her eyes showed her fury at his threats. Despite what he thought, she was well prepared for the possibility of what may happen. She stiffly allowed him to guide her to his table, none to happy about it. As she walked, she winced at his bruising grip on her arm and clenched her teeth. "How dare you-" She began, suddenly snatching up a heavy mug and turning to swing it at his head, "Git your hands off of me!" She snarled, further hurting her arm when she twisted around, but she wasn't about to be pushed around by this man. Despite his height and his weapon, he was now posing more of a threat than the two captains, who she caught out of the corner of her eye leaving the tavern, "I don't need some oversized oaf with a squirrel brain threatening me about things he doesn't understand!" Her voice was slightly shrill and harsh, and she was furious.

Angered by the suggestion that his thoughts were uncalled for, Jethro sheathed his knife and got ready to scoop her up and throw her. All thoughts of her beauty were abandoned the second that jug slammed into his head. His vision blurred, and he groaned, clutching at the forming bruise atop his head. When he was able to register where she stood, Jethro shot her a malevolent glare and restrained all urges to tackle her and beat her to a pulp. He wanted revenge for her treatment, and he did not know what to do. He thought of myriad satisfactory solutions but none of them he followed through with. His rage at being beaten by a woman consumed him and instead he spat on her, just before he readied himself to ring her neck. He shot his hands forward, greedily longing to squeeze her flesh. He had only been trying to help! If she'd listened to him the first time, they could have been happily chattering away! But she was a woman. The females never seemed to appreciate Jethro, no matter how much he cared for their wellbeing. This threw an image of Clara in his head, and he faltered, dropping his hands to his sides. He suddenly saw the barmaid as Clara and was unable to even foster thoughts of harming her. His anger simmered, as if his sister herself calmed him, and he fell into the seat at the table.

His soft brown eyes gazed up at her, taking now a gentler look, and he offered a silent apology; he was too proud to speak words of defeat. Jethro sighed raggedly, offering the woman his hand and kicking forward the seat across from him. Struggling to remain calm, he uttered, "Would you please join me, ma'am?" His tone still had a pinch of hostility, but he wanted to make amends for her former mistreatment. Now she was like a Clara to him, and he wanted to hold onto that for security purposes. If she really were Clara, he would stop at nothing to achieve her forgiveness. Painfully, he tried to exert this desperation on the barmaid before him. "What is your name?" He inquired, his voice easing gently into impotency.

Elizabeth took a quick step back when she was released, her arm burning from his grip, but she held tightly to the mug in her hand. The tavern wasn't as full as it had been, some of the patrons having gone outside to watch the fight in a loose ring around the two captains. She winced when he spit on her, grimacing at the saliva on her neck, which she quickly wiped away and took two quick steps back at the dangerous look in his eyes. She narrowed her eyes, though she saw his sudden shift in mood and paused. She glanced at the hand he offered, but didn't reach for it. In her eyes, there was something obviously wrong with him. "I really think I'd rather stand, thank you." She said harshly.

The barmaid straightened her apron, "Excuse me. I have work to do, sir." She said stiffly, turning and walking in a wide circle around his table, her anger radiating. She headed quickly for the back room, the curtain swinging behind her. Once there, she sat the mug down and winced, pulling up her sleeve to see the already forming bruise on her arm, which she was sure would be black and blue within hours. She sighed and went over to the sink, assuring the bartender who came to check on her that she was alright. "I'm going to call it quits for tonight, okay? I think the other two can handle it, just keep an eye on the fight outside." She said, dipping her hands in the water basin and rinsing off where she had been spit on. At least she had made good tips tonight, though she could have done without the drama.

Jethro's eyes danced in the candlelight as he fixed his gaze on the woman. His need to be forgiven undermined everything, and it had not been satiated. She walked away from him, and he had tried to be kind! The man choked with rage, but quelled it with the reminder that all women represented Clara to him. Jethro sighed, pulling out of his reverie, and stood in attempts to rekindle the prior fondness between them. He strode over to her, slowly, and tapped her on the shoulder in order to glean her attention. He noticed that she was getting ready to depart the tavern, and the thought nearly made him jump. She had not forgiven him yet! Jethro furrowed his brows angrily then remembered Clara and smothered any attempts to display his displeasure. He looked her square in the eyes and said, levelly, "What's your name?" He was trying to reassure her that he would not hurt her, but that seemed impossible. Indicating to her that he meant no harm after he nearly strangled her was out of his reach. Jethro rubbed his stubbly chin upon acquiring a persistant itch, but other than that kept his stance and rigid, stoic form. He raised his arms away from the hilt of his dagger and put them before her, showing that he had no intention of using speaking as a ploy to hurt her again. But oh, how he wanted to...

She'd get it, eventually. No woman hit Jethro over the head with a metal jug, not after all that he did for her. I was only trying to help, he kept repeating in his head, as if he needed to constantly reinstate his innocence to convince himself of it. His muscles tensed as his mind scanned over the possible ways of achieving revenge. Yet, there again, the image of Clara played into his mind. If she gained knowledge of the hostility yet warmness he felt toward this woman, she would probably hit him with a jug as well. Jethro sighed, trying to remain calm and keep his rage in check. For Clara. But only for her, not this unscrupulous barmaid who, to him, showed no consideration for anyone's feelings. He was now regretting slipping her those gold coins; it would forever be branded in his mind as a moment of extreme weakness and foolishness. Jethro only wanted to regain his honor. Being put to shame by a woman infuriated him to the point of -- remember Clara, he reminded himself upon noticing that his jaw almost locked because of the amount of pressure he was using to clench it. A tingling sensation bombarded him as he parted his jaw and released its clench; he would have to be careful not to let his anger get the better of him.

For Clara, anyway.

Elizabeth was just drying her hands when she felt the tap, "I said I'm fine, Jack, he didn't hurt me too badly." But when she turned expecting to see the tavern owner, she quickly jumped backwards in alarm. He had chased her back into the kitchens! Her eyes quickly went to his hands and dagger, suspicion evident in their emerald depths. This man wasn't stable...but perhaps he wasn't too bad. He had anger issues, but so did most men, especially when they hit the booze. And it was apparent that he was trying to make amends, at least, that's what it appeared he was doing.

"Elizabeth." She said finally, rather stiffly. She wasn't going to forgive him for his behavior, it had been completely uncalled for. "Now excuse me, sir. You are not allowed back here. Either return to the bar or your room, I don't care, just get out. And here." She pulled the gold coins from her pocket, "I apprisiate your...kindness, but it's not needed." She shoved the coins in his pocket and pushed him towards the door, "Now please leave." She ordered with more force, ready to call for Jack if she needed him.

Elizabeth shoved Jethro into the bar, "Excuse me." She said rather huffly, skirting around him when she saw Tracey waving for her. She went to him, any excuse to get away from the rude and rough man who had tried to 'protect' her. "What is it?" She asked, wiping her hands on her apron, as if just touching Jethro had dirtied them right after she had washed. "I see you're still in one piece." She mentioned, glancing over at the other captain.