Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Pirate woman with monkey and cutlass sketch
Neo-trad · Black and grey · Flash
A hand-drawn pen sketch on paper shows a woman with long wavy hair wearing a tricorn hat with a compass emblem, a choker and drop earrings. A small monkey wearing a hat sits on her left shoulder, and she holds an ornate cutlass with a scrolled hilt in front of her. The linework is loose and sketchy with cross-hatched shading in blue ink, and the drawing is arranged as a central figure with flourishes filling the sides.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Sit closer, the lot of you, and mind the lamp, because the tale of Captain Marisol Vane needs a bit of light to be told properly. Out past the Kessler Belt, where the rocks drift like broken teeth, she took the Brass Gannet from a freight convoy that had no business being so far from the lanes. Her first mate was a capuchin called Pilot, a grey-faced creature with a tin hat she'd bolted to his skull when he was a pup, and he could smell a hull breach from three decks away.
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The convoy's guard was a man named Orrin Tusk, who had sworn on his mother's oxygen mask that nobody would take a crate of seed stock from under his nose. Marisol didn't argue. She walked across the gangway with her cutlass held out before her, its scrolled hilt catching the glow of a dying star, and asked him politely to count his crates again. He counted them twice. Both times there was one fewer than he'd promised the dock, and he stopped swearing once he understood the missing one was the only thing holding his bulkhead together.
The crew later said the cutlass had been forged from the spine of a derelict liner, and that every pirate who held it took a little of the ship's old memory along. Marisol laughed at that, but she kept the blade sharp and the monkey fed, and she never once passed a stranded crew without leaving them a sealed ration tin on their airlock.
Pilot still wears that tin hat, mind. If you look out the port tonight you might see a small grey shape riding the Gannet's wake, one paw on the rail and one eye on the stars, waiting for someone foolish enough to come looking. Now drink up, and let's have the lamp down.
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