"Well, Danny, there'll be no turning back for ya now..." Danielle Bonsfield put down the scissors and leaned her hands on the table, staring down at the piles of red curls that had fallen there, then into the grimy mirror of the boarding room where she'd spent the past few days. Her money was almost finished, but so was her transformation. Sighing, she picked up the shears again, and evened out the haircut. When it was finally cut to her satisfaction, she set about preparing herself for her big day. Wide strips of linen carefully sewn end to end, an undershirt, an over shirt, a vest, breeches, stockings and shoes. She had no gun, only a knife for protection, and a neckerchief, but no hat. The process to wrap her breasts was painstaking and slow, but not overly painful. It was no worse than being tied obscenely tight in that damned corset her mother would force her into, squeezing her tighter and tighter as if doing so would force her small breasts to become any larger. No, this was much better. Now, she could live the life she'd heard her father speak of, regaling his beloved sons with tales of. He had been careful not to divulge such wild and raucous tales to his daughter, however, for fear her delicate mind would unravel itself. And so indeed it seemed to do, but only whenever she stopped to dwell on the unbearable thought of living her boring, stuffy life for years on end. And so, before they could marry her off to cure her hysteria, she'd run off to this tiny, seaside town. She would take to the sea! Finally dressed, Danny, as she'd taken to calling herself, looked at the boy in the mirror. Finally, she was the boy she knew she could be. She ran her hands down her chest and shivered slightly. Her nipples were still tender, and even more so now, restrained the way they were. She could only hope that would fade with time. Taking care not to draw attention to herself, she slipped out of the boarding house and into the early morning fog, headed down to the docks. The noise and the bustling had been expected, but what Danny hadn't counted on was the mass and crush of people, mostly men, impossibly crushed together at the docks. She had to shove and squirm her way towards the pier, where the navy ship was preparing to sail, and taking on volunteers. She'd almost mad it to the desk when se tripped over something and fell onto the salt-crusted boards. "Ho there!" "Whatch it!" "Pick that boy up before he's crushed!" Danny found herself hauled up roughly by her arms and stood up in front of the steward's desk, her face grazed by the rough wood at her feet. "Your name, son?" the steward asked, barely looking up from his paper and pen. "Danny, uh, Daniel Bonny, suh..." she answered, a bit out of breath. She touched her cheek with the back of her hand and barely kept from hissing. It stung! The steward looked up at the sound of the light voice. "How old are you, young Bonny?" "Only fifteen, suh. I'd like to sign on, suh, I'd like to learn of the sea..." The steward held the boy with fiery red hair under his gaze. He looked a little less than fifteen, but he seemed strong despite the fine features and nervous appearance. "You won't be taking to tripping often, will you?" he finally asked at length. "Where are your parents?" "Gone, suh, dead. It's only just me." "Hmph. Well, alright then. Just so happens the boatswain could use another assistant. Very well, you'll be assigned the rank and duty of a cabin boy, and be paid two pence a week, payable on the ship's return. Sign here, please." And so Danielle Bonsfield became Daniel Bonny, and soon found himself standing on the deck of His Majesty's ship of the line as it struck out to sea. The days were long and tough for Danny, much harder than she'd thought. Trying to keep up with her duties while trying to keep down her food was not an easy task, but she soon found her sea legs, and became a favourite of the boatswain and the other sailors, though there was a nagging feeling it wasn't because of her young age. And that feeling became a real fear when she heard someone yell from the nest. "Ship hard to port! She's run up the black flag!"