Taylor Borelli had very humble, almost nonexistant, beginnings as an orphan from Italy who stowed away on a ship in hopes of somewhere to work. Because no one wanted to hire the small sickly girl from the village, thinking she would probably drop dead from the first sign of hard labor. When the captain of the ship found out, he was furious and was even prepared to throw her overboard to let her drown, but they were attacked and raided by pirates, who ended up saving the child from harm.
The captain of that crew, somehow, saw a lot of potential in her. There was a fire in her eyes that wouldn’t be tamed, and so he made it his mission to share his knowledge with her. He taught her how to cook and clean a ship, how to keep it properly maintained, how to keep a good relationship with the crew, how to scout for land and ships that promised valuable cargo. He taught her how to fire a canon, how to shoot a gun, how to fire a bow and arrow and how to duel with swords with the best of them. When she was fifteen, their crew had been overtaken by navy ships, and she was the only one to escape the officials aboard, thus avoiding her own death by hanging.
But that didn’t stop her. By the time she came back to the scene, she was twenty one and a pirate captain in her own right. She had her own ship and several fleets that were under her orders. Her crew were vastly talented in many things, wayward souls looking for a place to belong the way she had when she was younger, and they became a ragtag family. And she became a bit of a legend, known for taking over ships to steal valuables, but never sinking a ship unless she had no choice. She never spilled blood, she never took captives and she certainly didn’t leave the ones she stole from to starve on the seas, always leaving enough food and water for them to return to where they came from. And she sang songs, with a voice so lovely, that people who heard it compared it to sirens. Something otherworldly and beautiful.
One morning, just past dawn, she was wandering the deck checking over their supplies when her second in command called her over. Heading up the stairs, she reached the wheel, where Frank handed her the telescope and she peered through it to find what he had spotted; a navy ship, a good distance away, but easily recognizable and thus easy to overtake if the winds were on their sides.
“Should we give it a shot?” Frank asked. “It looks like it’s only been at sea about a week, if the sails are anything to go by.”
“And we do need more food,” his brother, Joe, said from the wheel, a little grin on his face.
Taylor through about it for a moment before she took the bright purple scarf from her neck and tied her hair back with it. “Give the orders,” she said. “And fly the Jolly Roger. We’re taking that ship.”
The orders were given, the crew cheered and as the sails were set down so the winds could catch them, their Jolly Roger flag was raised, a lavender colored material with a black skull and crossbones in the middle, the official Jolly Roger of the Phoenix. The one ship that always seemed to survive the fire.
Maybe I’ll catch shit for this, but here goes anyway:
I, personally, have reasons why I choose to believe Deacon’s final story is an allegory. In thinking about Barbara as a character, and not just a plot point in Deacon’s story, I realized another reason I choose to believe the story is an allegory: if I believed the story were true as he tells it, I would much rather have Barbara as our Railroad companion in Fallout 4 than Deacon.
Her story is the one that deserves to be told. She should be more than another fridged wife whose death teaches her husband a “valuable” life lesson and feeds him all the manpain necessary to continue on with his life.