The Forgotten Chapter of Romulus Barbossa (Part 1)

26 years ago...

Barbossa scanned the night street around him. Like Cap'n Rackham said, Sargasso wasn' the nicest of places, but it was considerably more civilized then Tortorka. For starters, the pirate noticed that there was a stark lack of public health hazards and general violations of basic human rights, Barbossa relieved to find a planet that was not populated by drunken psychotic murderers.

Making his way down the street, Barbossa felt his dry throat. With his bag over his shoulder and his footlocker under his arm, the pirate's eye darted left and right in search of an inn. His eyes lit up when he saw a pub called the Capt. Sizer nearby, Barbossa's mouth watering at the idea of liquor.

"Eh, just one." Barbossa muttered to himself as he entered the bar.

Like most Frontier worlds, Barbossa didn't stand out that much. With his worn-out greatcoat and ragged shirt, he looked like the other travellers in the Capt. Sizer. All sorts of outlaws and thugs were seated around the tables, a cadre of Mandalorians nursing tankards of beer while a Kraegoch Hunter was huddled in the corner with a smuggler.

Placing his things at the foot of a seat at the bar, Barbossa sat down and whistled the bartender over. "Jack Daniels please."

The bartender nodded before serving Barbossa his drink. Taking a swig, Barbossa tapped his metal leg to the tune of the beat playing on the jukebox. He mentally noted to add this place to his list of favorite bars, the ship wheels used as chandeliers, oil drums used as tables, and tree stumps used as seats fondly reminding Barbossa of the Forsaken Hope's galley.

Feeling a hand roughly jab him on the shoulder, a voice with a heavy Cockney accent spoke. "Ya mind shoving outta my seat?"

"Up yours mate." Barbossa gruffly replied without even turning around.

The chatter and music stopped, silence cascading over the pub. Barbossa felt several pairs of hands turn him around, the pirate face to face with another brigand he recognized; Captain Argus Splitfang.

"Perhaps you misheard me boy." Argus spat. Two of his goons pinned Barbossa to the bar, the captain grabbing a glass bottle and breaking it. "And I ain't the kind who likes repeating himself."

Barbossa watched the broken bottle hover over his good eye. "Ya know, I wasn't planning on killing when I got here." he sighed.

Barbossa's metal talons stomped on Argus' foot, the captain howling in pain. At the same time, Barbossa sunk his teeth into the hands of one of the men that held him down and ripped two fingers off. While the pirate rolled on the floor in pain, Barbossa used his freed arm to jab his fingers into the eyes of the other thug, his fingernails breaking the eyeballs open.

"Ya taste like crap." Barbossa remarked after spitting the fingers out. Without anyone holding him down, he stood up and cracked his neck and knuckles.

Argus unsheathed his cutlass. "Yer a dead man now!"

"Get in line bub." Barbossa snapped.

Snarling, Argus swung his blade towards Barbossa's neck, the Deathstroke Buccaneer catching the cutlass in between his palms. Wrenching the cutlass out of Argus' hands, Barbossa followed up with a flurry of punches, each blow leaving a fresh bruise on Argus and the sound of bones cracking accompanied them.

After giving Argus a severe beating, Barbossa finished the storm of attacks with a roundhouse kick that sent Argus flying through the window, the glass shattering like crystal rain.

Turning back towards the bar, Barbossa straightened his coat out. "That wasn't so haaAAAAAAAGGGHH!"

His left foot slipped on a bottle of beer, the pirate tripping and hitting his head on the side of an oil drum.

***

The scent of bacon tickled Barbossa's sinuses.

"Huh. Didn't know Hell smelled like bacon." Barbossa muttered.

"You're not dead yet." a voice replied.

Cracking his eye open, Barbossa saw a ceiling made of corrugated iron and wooden beams above him. Achingly sitting up, Barbossa gingerly rubbed the new lump that was on his forehead as he looked around. The room he was in appeared to be a loft, several mattresses seated next to the wall while a grimy window allowed sunlight to spill in. The walls were planks of wood, faded photos pinned to them.

Across from him, Barbossa saw a woman around his age cooking on a hot plate. She had a muscular build, her arms covered in tattoos of shipwrecks and sharks. Her long brown hair was messily done-up, giving Barbossa a good look at her pretty face.

Barbossa blinked when a revalation set in. "Wait, aren't you the bartender?"

"And proprietor." the woman replied as she took the crisp bacon out of the frying pan. "You threw ol' Argus through my window, remember?"

Barbossa nervously chewed his lip. "Yeah...sorry about that."

The woman unclipped a carving knife from her belt. "Normally I'd skin you for that, but you also got rid of my least savoury customers." She divvied up the food and put it on two seperate plates. "That and you took a pretty hard fall so I figured I at least owe you breakfast."

Barbossa took his meal with a 'thank you'. Taking a bite, Barbossa stopped halfway through his chewing. It was the best bacon he ever had. Swallowing, Barbossa cleared his throat. "To say sorry fer the window, what if I helped you out around here?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Does this help entail more people thrown my windows?"

"If they're jackasses, yes." Barbossa replied. "Otherwise it's just me serving drinks, mopping up vomit, and beating the crap outta patrons that don't pay."

The woman thought it over in between mouthfuls of bacon and sausages. "Alright. About a week of work should cover the window."

Barbossa nodded. "My name's Romulus by the way."

"Remilia."