Pirate's Soul

It happened again—her boy coming to her, sulking but at least not crying, his hair disheveled and his face sporting a little bruise. She didn't need to guess why anymore, especially since this was the third time in a month.

She had warned him not to pick on his cousin, the self-styled Princess Knight of the Iris, and not to pretend to be a pirate doing so—and especially because that girl really knew how to hit back hard. And hit back she did, all the time. Then Richelieu would apologize to her, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

And besides, what's with the boy's obsession with pirates anyway? They are not romantic! Most of them ended up in the gallows, the Davy Jones' Locker, getting scurvy and all manners of venereal diseases or getting their ass drunk to death.

She didn't mind the occasional pretend play, but this was getting out of hand.

Now that she thought of it, that must be Royal Fortune's fault. She could've gotten her own children that she could corrupt if only she would stop screwing around. But no, she had just to fill her impressionable boy's head with her tall tales—and she had a whale of a tale to tell, like how the boy shared his name with a certain infamous buccaneer.

But the boy wasn't even named after that guy. If anything, his father claimed he picked the name because it reminded him of hers instead. She had to admit she was flattered at that time—she had gotten soft.

"It's not my fault," her boy rolled his eyes. Even with shattered pride, he was committed to remaining obstinate. "Adelaide called me a landlubber!"

Jean Bart sighed. "And until you learn how to swim, a landlubber is what you are, Bartholomew."

"But I don't wanna be one," he grumbled. "I'm a pirate! She'd always force me to call her a knight, a princess, but she wouldn't even see me as one."

"Well, what can I say?" Jean shrugged. "You're too small and nice to be a pirate."

"But—"

"No, no, no. Listen, young man. You have a nice life. Why are you so obsessed with being a pirate, anyway?"

The boy pouted. So much for being a pirate—but still, it was adorable.

"Pirates are cool. They look so free, going on many adventures around the world, and then—"

"And they usually got themselves into trouble sooner or later," Jean Bart interrupted. She's not fond of being some kind of dream crusher, and she knew he would likely outgrow it at some point, but the boy needed a dose of reality check right now before he could land himself in trouble. "You wanna live long, kid, don't be one. Pirates usually die young; being one is not all fun and games. And don't let Royal Fortune tell you otherwise. She's not even a real pirate. She's just some weirdo that hangs around and bugs people."

And if Royal Fortune weren't helpful to the fleet, she would've been kicked out years ago. That probably wouldn't stop her from coming back, though. That wench was crafty as hell.

"But...but... Mom, aren't you a pirate, too?"

"...What."

"Royal Fortune said you're a pirate."

Jean Bart could feel her eyebrow twitching. The gall of that bitch.

"Look, Bartholomew, I'm only named after a privateer, not a pirate, and even then, that doesn't make me one."

"Privateer? Is it the same as a pirate?"

"No, no. Privateers steal and fight for a just cause. Pirates are just a greedy bunch."

"What does a 'just cause' mean?"

"Err...like...a good reason, basically. A noble reason."

"...I see! This must be what Dad means when he brags about his heart being stolen by you! You're a privateer!"

"Wait, what—I—that's not the point!" Jean Bart could feel her cheeks burning. How can her boy spout out something so embarrassing without a shred of hesitation? And more importantly, why was she reacting like this? She wasn't even like this before.

"And he said you're really brave and strong. The best mom and the best wife anyone could have, and you're really cool, and—"

"Alright, alright. I get it," Jean Bart cut her boy off, trying her best to suppress her embarrassment.

"And I wanna be like that, too," her son continued. "Fighting for a just cause. Maybe I could be a privateer instead?"

Jean Bart sighed. Now, she could understand Richelieu's plight in dealing with her daughter's antics. At least, though, the boy had good intentions. That's better than most kids his age.

Maybe she could try this instead.

"...Or you can be an officer like your dad. Isn't he fighting for a just cause, too? Haven't you heard the stories? Even Adelaide looks up to him."

Her son looked up, eyes gleaming. "I...I never thought of that. Maybe I can?"

"Heh. Of course, you can. You are our son, after all. And best of all, you can make Adelaide work under you, too. Ain't that grand, kid?"

"A-ha! That'll show her! She'll have to do what I say. She'll have to say sorry, too. I'm not a landlubber; I'll become a Commander, too, and—"

"Before that, though—you must learn to swim, kiddo. And no, dogpaddling ain't swimming. You're not even halfway there. Now that reminds me, when was the last time we went to the beach again?"

"Hm, a couple of months ago, maybe?"

"That long, huh? Jean Bart grinned. It was her day off, anyway. "Aight, why don't we go there now? I can teach you to swim. That's something you can show off to Adelaide. That lass can't swim."

Her boy's face beamed. "Yes, please!"

"Okay, let's go packing."

"Yay!"

Jean Bart watched her boy run out of her office, humming. At least that'll keep him out of trouble, for now. Maybe she'll tell him later that she didn't mind him occasionally pretending to be a pirate. Just as long as he didn't go too far, of course.

Still, seeing him leave, Jean Bart couldn't help but think that he was growing up so fast.

...And what's with the sudden rush of nostalgia?

She could still remember when her boy was only a few days old and the warm and tight feeling in her chest when he grabbed her finger with his tiny little hand and not letting go, a feeling only a few could give—and then he's now already seven.

She sighed and smiled.

Whatever. Time for a vacation. She's not the type to dwell in the past. She'll make the best of the present.

And if her husband came home, too, even better.

But for now, her boy's waiting.