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INHERITANCE Author: Blurredcolour Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I never claimed to own anything, so don’t sue. Summary: An inheritance from your grandmother leads to an adventure you never asked for. In the process of trying to return home and stop a terrible occurance, you find yourself and love. * * * * * CHAPTER 1 - The Beginning As you sit in your room, the box seems to call to you. Begging you to open it. It’s not curiosity about what your grandmother left you in her will, it’s more like a burning desire to hold and master whatever the contents of the non descript shoe box are. Open it, open it. Whispers where there is no sound, someone is telling you to open the box. You shake your head, and force a laugh. This is completely foolish, and you grabbed the box. You pretend like your only opening it for interest’s sake, but you find your hands want to shred that obstinate box, and grasp the contents. It’s a ring. A gold ring, rather masculine, but then, your grandmother had always been a bit rough around the edges, to put it nicely. The gold is real, you can tell because it’s a bit flexible. There is a corded edge surrounding a blue inset. In the centre of the ring, the face of a roaring bear lays, encrusted with gold. There’s no way it will fit on any of your fingers, it was obviously meant for someone with a larger hand. A chain lies on top of a note, and you thread this through the ring, clasping it around your neck before unfolded the tattered piece of yellow paper. Inside is a newer, smaller piece of paper, but you focus on the older note. This ring I do pass to all mine heirs. It is a symbol of honour and accomplishment in our family and will be passed on only to the generation that the current holder sees fit. You, obviously having received it, are deemed worthy of such honour that your ancestors obtained in their profession. Pirates. You are carrying the blood of a pirate, and thus hold your head high. Everything you have, you fought for, everything you will be, you killed for. Everything you are you will die for without pause. You have strength, so use it wisely, and protect others from this ring as well, for they are not as iron willed. Some say this ring is a curse, I say it is a blessing. Pride, child, remember it. ‘That’s odd.’ you think to yourself. ‘Mother never mentioned anything about pirates before…’ You open the crisp, white note and find your grandmother’s characteristic script. Dear, IL Passero A smile flits across your lips at her nickname for you. It was Italian for ‘the sparrow’ as she always thought you could never stay still, that you were always flitting about the room, restless, looking for adventure. Almost like a bird in a cage. I trust you are well, though probably twitching as you read this. You always were a busy little thing. I know that as you read this, I will be long dead and gone, and for the curse of mortality, there is no cure. Try not to be sad for too long, dearheart. I’m always there with you. The ring was meant for you. I feel it in my very soul. It is not a gift persé, more of a trust I have in you that you will guard it. This ring, you must understand, may look innocent enough, but there is something dark beneath it’s gilded surface. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it, but I could feel it’s shadow. So beware, love, and always remember to let them have it. All my love You wipe away a few tears and sigh. Life would definitely be difficult for the next while. You’re nanny was the only one who truly understood your fighting spirit. Your parents simply called it "your unlady like tendency to violence". It was a wonder that they permitted you to study the art of Japanese sword fighting since you were six. But you had outwitted them, claiming it was good for the mind and the body. Plus nanny footed the bill, so whom were they to complain? Your chest begins to feel irritated, and you reach to scratch it. As you do, your fingers brush against the newly acquired ring, and a searing heat reaches your fingertips. Dark spots begin the speckle across your vision, and you blink, trying to clear your sight. "What is…" You murmur, but your thought is cut short by a swirl of chilling wind. It sends the locks of your hair this way and that, and you can feel it stealing your body heat from your very bones. The voices, those that you had sensed as you examined the box, return, whispering in tones too low to understand. But the meaning does not escape you. Fear rises in your blood and your throat clenches. You take deep, gasping breaths, feeling as though you are being pulled under some surface by an unseen force. A scream is building at the back of your throat, but before it can pass your lips, darkness took you. And the place it takes you is not altogether pleasant. In fact, it is a living, breathing hell. At first you have no concept of space or time. You simply lay in utter blackness, accompanied only by your pounding heart, and the raging fear that grows inside of you. Just as suddenly as it had taken you, the darkness disappears. You are back in your room, lying on your bed. It is noon. Twelve hours have passed. Time to get up and go to work. But as you try to sit up, there was shock. Nothing happens. Your body is completely unresponsive to your wishes. Panic erupts in your heart and you feel tears sting your eyes. The feeling of your hand lifting and wiping away said tears jolts you out of your state of hysteria. You are moving, but it's not you who is moving. No, you are merely an audience in this body. The feeling makes you sick to your stomach, but it wasn’t your stomach any longer. No, your entire body belongs to someone else now; some force some presence that is itching in the back of your mind. It gives no clues as to who or what, it is exactly, but it completely controls your movement. Your legs propel you off the bed and across the room, and you observe your hand opening the door. Your voice greets your mother, and you find it’s sound foreign to your ears. A cage. It is a cage! You feel yourself tense up, your spirit that is, and the drowning sensation returns. There is nothing you can do; no one knows what is has happened. No hope. If you had control of your body, sobs would wrack your frame, and tears would stain your cheeks. But there is nothing. You are in your own personal hell, your prison, and none can help you. * * * * * CHAPTER 2 - The Murders Three months. Three long, agonising months have passed since that day on your bed. Not once had the commanding force left your body, not once had you moved of your own volition. The first month had been the worst. You spent all of your time awake, trapped, and trying desperately to fix the situation. But you could think of no way to force a bodiless presence from your mind when you had no control of your body. You had sunk into a deep depression in the first week of the second month. The world no longer interested you. What should you care, you had no real purpose anymore anyway. You regarded the sights before you with little interest, and spent most of your time ‘sleeping’. It was a blissful place of absolute ignorance where no sound or thought could reach you. You had changed though. Your appearance was interminably altered. Your hair was long, nearing mid-back, and you tended to wear nothing but black. Your entire right ear was pierced from lobe to tip, and in your left you wore a mismatched, long silver earring that hit your collarbone. You parents no longer talk to you. You frighten most people away. It was painful to watch, and this was exactly why you didn’t. Because you had made none of these changes. That… that thing had. In the third month, you dropped out of all former responsibilities. Training became its obsession, and you were extremely well toned now. You had risen from student to master-class samurai, and soon you were expected to take on students of your own. But no joy. There was no sense, no touch, no smell, nothing. Life had become empty, and many times you prayed to any deity you could conceive of to make it end. To die. To end this useless, horrifying existence. You realise that you had been warned about that ring. That confounded ring that your body felt the need to kiss every morning. But you had not heeded a word, and, being the fool that you are, you put it on. As you sat in your room, with all the lights out, you tapped your fingers tapped restlessly against the nightstand. How long was this being planning on controlling you? There had been relief, no sign that it would give up. The sound of your fingernails against wood echoed through the room. Suddenly you froze. The tapping ceased. Wait a second. You were tapping your fingers! "S’bout time luv. I was wonderin’ just when ye would realise it." A gruff male voice filled your mind. "Who are you?" You voice was yours again! "Now, there be no need for ye ta talk so loud. I can hear yer thoughts." ‘So it was you! You took my body! I hate you. What do you want from me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?’ You think angrily, your nails now digging into the nightstand. "Sorry, luv, but yer just too perfect. Exactly what I need to get ‘im back. So, now that ye can ‘andle ‘aving me in yer body, we best be on our way." ‘On our way??? What the hell are you talking about? I still have no idea who you are, why you’re here, or why I suddenly can move on my own! Godamnit, and don’t call me luv!’ Laughter echoes through your mind, and you shudder. Something about this man makes your blood run cold. "Barbossa." ‘What?’ "Me name, Passero, that’s me name." ‘How did you know that name? You have no right to call me that.’ "Well, I have ta call ye sumthin’ and I think Passero be best. Reminds me of the task at hand. Now, get dressed." ‘No.’ You growl at him. "Look, this is how this is going to work. I’ll tell ye what ta do, and ye do it!" ‘No.’ "Well, then I give ye incentive." An excruciating pain shot through your body that had you falling to your knees beside the bed. "Don’t mess with me, got it? I still have ye wrapped ‘round me little finger, so shut up and do it!" The pain stops, and you are left quivering on the floor, trying to regain your strength. ‘You horrible bastard!’ Your words carry deadly venom. "I can tell that ye are goin’ ta amuse me, Passero." Suddenly he moves your body for you, and then relinquishes control. "Get dressed. Wear the black pants, army boots, tank top, and the mesh shirt. Oh, and bring yer trench coat, lord knows the sea can get cold." "The sea?" You ponder out loud. "Aye, now hussle!" You toss on all the clothing he has directed you to, and then return to the middle of the room. "Now, the katana and the kodachi." You pick up the long Japanese sword and its ¾ length counterpart. Barbossa directs you where to strap them, and then you throw your trench coat overtop. You grab your wallet on your way out of the bedroom, and suddenly, he’s leading you down to your parent’s room. "Time to get this started, then. I’ll do tha first, ye do the second." Before you can question, he has a pair of leather gloves on your hands, and you cover your father’s mouth. The sword slides easily from its sheath on your back, and you watch in horror as the blade cleanly slices through the flesh of his neck. Bile rises in your throat, and you turn to run when he lets go of your body. "Ahahah, no running, luv. Do it, or this time, ye won’t be able ta remember yer name, catch me drift?" You gulp and hot tears splash down your cheeks. "Mommy." You whisper. "Oh, please forgive me." With trembling hands you reach out. He gets impatient, and joins you in the control of your body. It’s now as though his hands are atop yours, but you’re still partly in control. You clench your eyes shut until the horrendous deed is over, and then bolt from the house as soon as he lets go. You run. How far, the direction, neither of these things matter to you. You just have to get as far away as possible. Away from your house, your parent’s bodies, and oh god if you could only get away from him. A rift in the sidewalk sends you sprawling across the pavement, and yet you lay there, face in the cold hard ground. You’ve skinned your palms but that’s the furthest from your mind right now. "Are ye quite finished, Passero?" "No!" You scream, and cover your ears. "Please, just fucking go away! Leave me alone!" Your screams dissolved into sobs as a sudden rain soaks through your clothes. A tired sigh echoes through your mind and then all is silent again. You cry, and cry until you can no longer produce tears. Your mouth has gone dry and your face is a mess. But then again, so were most things in your life now. Everything had gone completely wrong, for so long now you could hardly remember what it was like when things were ‘right’. Suddenly a cold reality grips you. No matter what this man wants you to do, no matter how horrific, how sinful it may be, you’re hands will commit every deed he desires. There is no choice. "If I do it, will you leave me?" "Wha’s tha Passero?" He rumbles, startled at your addressing of him. "If I commit all of your heinous desires, will you leave my body?" "Is it an agreement ye are searchin’ for lass? Cuz I think we can have a deal made here." "I do everything you ask, and when it’s done, you leave?" "I think we have an accord." You nod briskly and pull yourself to you feet. "Where to, Barbossa?" "Puerto Rico, Passero, we need to get ourselves a ship." Little did you know, that this Barbossa was renowned for his manipulation of agreements. * * * * * CHAPTER 3 - The Triangle The flight had been interesting. They had been unable to detect your weaponry, for some reason that still eluded you, and they hadn’t even questioned you about your sopping wet state. Luckily all the blood had been washed from your body during the rain. After a 10-hour flight, you land in the balmy Caribbean night. "Supplies, Passero. There be store near the harbour open all night. Buy everythin’ ye’ll need for the next three weeks." ‘Will I have enough on my credit card?’ You ask. ‘The flight was a thousand dollars.’ "Aye, we won’t need more than eight hundred in supplies." You cock your eyebrow, but do as he orders. The sooner you can get this man’s deed’s finished, the sooner you can have your life, or what may be left of it, back. You collect all the food into a cooler, and buy a heavy raincoat to keep you protected. All of this, you are ordered to carry down to dock number 12. "Thar she be." He growls hungrily. "There who what?" You ask, tying your hair back tighter and securing the black bandanna wrapped around the crown of your head. "Tha ship, luv. Actually, ‘tis a boat, named the Ariadne." "You mean that shitty old sailboat?" You ask in disbelief. "Tha boat is your ticket to where we’re ‘eading Passero, so I suggest ye make friends with ‘er." Stealithy, he guides you towards the boat and you sneak aboard. There’s no one there, and stealing it is easy. Almost too easy. You use the trolling motor to get it out of the harbour, unnoticed. "‘ead North, t’wards tha triangle." "The…Bermuda triangle?" You ask, with a hint of panic in your voice. "Aye, tha’s the one." "But, we’ll die, disappear, you know, bad things happen to people who go there." By now, you’ve stopped steering the boat, and Barbossa heaves a sigh. "Tha triangle leads ta exactly where I wanna be, so shut yer trap! Y’ain’t gunna die…" He says harshly, adding quietly, "yet." The sunrise begins to pour itself across the horizon, rich and yellow. "Good day for sailin’. Be ‘appy Passero. Lotta storms in these ‘ere waters." "Barbossa…" You say, grabbing a pair of sunglasses as the blaring light hits you eyes. "Aye?" "I don’t know how to sail…" "Yer gunna learn." * * * * Every inch of your body aches. By god this man truly was evil. Learning to sail involved nothing but throwing ropes around and hauling sails. And these were not light things to be hauling and throwing. They were heavy. You’d think a small sail boat would be easy to man on your own, but that merely showed how much you really didn’t know about sailing. It was also unpleasant because for the first few days, he had to take control of you, and show you exactly how to tie a foolproof knot and hoist the sails. Then the fog had come. One minute the horizon had been shining clear blue, and the next a wall of fog rose seemingly out of nowhere. He’d made you sail right into that. Deep into it. And now you sat, drifting in the open waters, surrounded by fog and utter silence. None of the electronic equipment worked anymore. Some part of you, wanting to find an explanation for this said it was because of the constant fog. They must have shorted out somewhere along the way. But if they were on a boat, shouldn’t they have been designed to withstand a lot of moisture? You shake your head and turn your attention back to your book. It turns out; the previous owners of this vessel had quite an extensive collection of books. One in particular had caught you eye, entitled "Under the Black Flag, a history of Caribbean Pirates." It turned out to be quite interesting and not dull like most history non-fiction tended to be. A faint breeze begins to stir and the ropes slap against the mast of the boat. Your eyes skim over the page until they encounter one word. "Barbossa." You whisper in terror. "Aye, Passero?" He says, as if roused from a sleep in the back of your mind. "No… I mean… you’re dead? You were a pirate!" "The most fearsome one at that too, Passero." He declares with pride. "Actually, he says this Captain Sparrow was. Apparently, he killed you." "He was naught but a drunken mutineer with a lucky shot." Barbossa hissed. You nodded your head, but in your heart of hearts, you didn’t believe a word he was saying. "Tha’s where we’re goin’ Passero. The Caribbean." "But the Caribbean is south, not north." You state incredulously. "Ahhh, your Caribbean is south, but nah mine. Mine, Passero, is north, an’ then south!" "What are you… your Caribbean?" "If I had known ye would be this stupid, Passero…" "You think that we can travel back in time to the 17th century? You’re crazy!" "Ah, but it’s workin’ though, ain’t it sweet?" "The equipment…" Realisation dawns upon you. "Aye, and we’re about ready to head off now. The winds just right, so get ye on yer feet." You close the book, saving your place by dog-earring the page, and proceed to throw all the electronic equipment overboard. "What are ye doin’!!!" "I won’t single-handedly destroy the history of the world by introducing technology four hundred years too early." He continues to grumble and curse until you have hoisted the sails and set a course with the antique compass that was below deck. "How long, Barbossa?" "About two and a half weeks Passero, not that long. By then, ye’ll be an old salt, worthy of a ship of yer own." You roll your eyes and continue to hold the boat steady until nightfall. * * * * You cross off another day on the calendar, though you’re not completely sure what day of the week, month, or even year it is. It just a comfort for you to be able to keep tracks of the days. 12 days to be exact. Oh the things you’ve seen the storms you’ve weathered. About five days in, you met up with the tail of a hurricane, and as he had put it, it had been quite a learning experience. You’d lost half of the ropes and a chair that had been on deck, oh and nearly your life too, but Barbossa didn’t seem too terribly concerned about that. "Ye can swim, Passero, I’ve watched ye. Yer a life guard, of course ye can swim." He was a terrible man, and yet you couldn’t help but find yourself enjoying this adventure. Well, this current portion. Something about sailing alone lost in the sea, with nothing but the horizon and the wind. It made you feel more like yourself than you’d ever felt. It was a conclusion that you barely understood but had come to this morning, as the sun had hit your eyes. Strange how life can lead you to the most unexpected places, and those are the places you’ve always wanted to be. "Yer getting’ all smart on me, thar, aren’t ye." "Shut up, it was a nice day until you started sqwuaking." You brace yourself for a scolding but instead, raucous laughter rings through your mind. "I’ll be makin’ a pirate outta ye yet, lass." "For your information, I already am a pirate. I steal music off the Internet. They just haven’t caught me yet." "Oh, well then, excuse me Capn’. ‘Twas out of line fer me ta question yer black heart." You can tell he’s being a sarcastic prick. "Oh, naff off then. How much longer to I have to be stuck on this cursed boat with the likes of you?" "Two days. Naw long, Passero. I can ‘ardly wait to show ye Tortuga." "Yeah, the excitement of it is overwhelming." You say devoid of any emotion. "This be quite a relationship we gat luv. Ye treat me better than any pleasurable company I’ve ever ‘ad." "Oh GOD. You sick perverted bastard! The only relationship we have is out of absolute necessity, and one that I would have never desired, and still do not desire to partake in. I cannot wait until you’re done with your petty vengeance so that you can get the fuck out of my body." You hiss, voice dripping with malice. "Ye ferget yerself luv." He says cruelly as the oh so familiar pain seizes your body once more. As you crumple to the ground, your head smacks against the wheel of the ship and you’re knocked out cold. * * * * * CHAPTER 4 - The Anastasius The blaring sun and the sound of wayward shots rouses you from a deep slumber. But you realise that only you were sleeping, not your body. No, your body is up and about in some hellhole of a place. "Dun ye be calling me secon’ home a ‘ell ‘hole Passero. Tortuga is a wonnerful place and you will learn ter luv it." ‘Don’t get your hopes up.’ You grumble to him. In a flash he releases his hold on your body and you’re in control once again. "Tha’s not vera considerate of ye Passero. I let ye ‘ave a rest, an’ instead of repaying me, ye go an insult me pride!" Your anger surges, but quickly you recall what happened last time you spoke without thinking first. ‘Where would you like to go?’ You sigh heavily. "The Washmadien." ‘What are your clothes dirty?’ "It’s a tavern, Passero, or as ye would say, a bar." ‘Got it. Do we have a purpose here, or are you just going to try and get me drunk?’ "A man. I’ll know ‘im when I see ‘im. We’re gunna get a ship from ‘im." ‘Oh so we’re going to ask instead of lurk around in the dead of night?’ "Naw, we’re gunna kill ‘im and commandeer ‘is ship and crew." You gulp nervously. "Dun go an get ye knickers in a knot, lass. Ye can kill, ye ‘ave nuthin’ ta fret about." ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. Can we buy something alcoholic before I go and murder someone I don’t know?’ "Of course lass!" You enter into a smallish building that’s as dirty as everything else is in this town. There are men everywhere; some rolling on the floor with whores, some drinking, some shooting one another. "Oy, Barkeep! A pint a yer best rum." You voice rings out through the din, and you see a surly man give you a quick nod. "Give ‘im a coin from yer pocket." Barbossa says to you. You reach into your trench coat and pull out a pile of silver coins. ‘When did we get these?’ You exclaim inwardly. "We stole ‘em from a lovely gent in tha gutter. Gave him a nice maggot ‘ole in return." ‘You mean we killed him.’ You said flatly. "Well, I needed ta know if tha pistol worked!" The barkeep is staring at you, and so you slap down a coin before grabbing the mug of thick brown liquid from him. You take it, and walk towards a corner seat, never raising your head. You can tell they’re all looking at you. To them, you’re an oddly dressed woman, not a whore, and not a pirate, at least to their eyes. "Well make it all clear in a few, Passero. ‘Ave a little liquid courage first, mind ye." You sit down, hands clenching the mug and close your eyes. The fear becomes a taste in your mouth and you feel an ever-pressing need to run the hell out of there. But reason and logic are still present in your mind and you know deep down that you have no choice. You made a deal. Your fingers loosen on the mug and you raise it to your lips. The rum here is not as pure as that back home, and has obviously been diluted with something else. You polish it off in nearly one gulp. Fire courses down through to your stomach and everything around you seems to soften at the edges. Finally you look up, to see all eyes are still upon you. You sneer and see all of them snap their attention elsewhere. "Thar naw, look at ye! I dinna even instruct ye, an ye did tha right thing!" Barbossa seems full of something akin to pride and you almost feel pleased. ‘Then why hasn’t he looked away?’ You think, cocking an eyebrow in the direction of one man. Barbossa’s anger can be feels like a set of smouldering coals. Whoever this man is, he must be the bane of Barbossa’s existence, or…non-existence, you giggle to yourself. Perhaps the rum is stronger than you had anticipated. "’E’s no laughin’ matta, Passero. Tha’s Jack Spara." Well, well. So this was the man that Barbossa claimed to be his mutineer. Well, whatever he had done previously to your possessor, he certainly is captivating. His brown eyes, the ones that refuse to leave yours, are full of danger and a tinge of mirth. His hair, full of odd trinkets and chains, is a dark rich brown, the same as his small moustache and beards. A few gold teeth grace his mouth, and his clothing is just as mishmash as the rest of him. He is, in fact, quite good looking. In a roguish, I-want-to-plunder-yer-body sort of way. A smirk suddenly caresses his face and your heart flutters. A blush brands your cheeks and you look down to your hands quickly. "Oh fer the love of Mary! Look at ye, ye dumb blushing whore!" Barbossa curses you and you snap out of your wishy-washy state. You quickly look up again, to give this Sparrow what for, only to find that he, and the men he was sitting with, have all left the table. In fact, the probably have left the bar, since they are nowhere to be found. Your eyes scan the room until they come across one man. His hair is silver tipped and remaining only in a few straggly strands. "Ah! Our dear beloved Cap’n! Excellent, come Passero, we ‘ave business." You surge to your feet; eager to forget the brief contact you had with Barbossa’s enemy, and sauntered over to the silver haired captain. "Isaac!" You exclaim, as instructed. You slap a hand on his shoulder, and feel Barbossa take over your body. A group of men quickly surround your body, holding back your arms. Isaac leans in closely, sending a foul wind of liquor and tooth decay across your face. "Who be ye, strumpet?" "Ye owe me a ship, Cap’n Bucci." Your voice is a low growl. His eyebrows raise high on his forehead. "I’m terrible sorry, luv. I ‘ave nevah met ye befur, an so I canna owe ye a ship." He begins to laugh loudly and so do all the men around him. "Oh, but ye do know me, dear friend. Just nah like this. St. Kitts, if I recall properly. Yer first mutiny." He pales visibly, and you see him back away a touch. He glances around and then leans to your ear. "But yer dead!" "Aye friend, a temporary situation, I assure you. The ship?" You see him swallow and nod rapidly. "Ahhh tha be a good lad." Swiftly, your head lurches forwards and your teeth sink into his neck. They connect over top of what you can only guess is his carotid artery, and send pints of blood in every direction. The men holding you back let go and rush their wounded captain. If you had the control of your body, you would have vomited. However, you didn’t, and apparently Barbossa liked the taste of blood. Your tongue licks the blood off your lips, and an evil smile graces your face. "Ahh, me crew. Come naw, show me to tha Anastasius." As they reluctantly leave their fallen captain and lead you out the door, you catch the eyes of Jack Sparrow once more. A thrill unfurls in your stomach, but Barbossa scolds you quickly. You send him a menacing look and continue on. "Naw tha’s interestin’." You hear a gruff masculine voice say as the night of Tortuga envelopes you. * * * * * CHAPTER 5 - The Crew You follow the men in absolute silence, trying your best to get rid of the taste of that man’s blood in your mouth. Barbossa seems to be giving you more and more control of your body, but he’s always there, whispering, telling you what to do. Your hand brushes against a bag at your side and you blink. ‘When did we get that?’ You think. "When ye were outta it, I packed a few things. Ye got some books an vitamin c tablets. Oh, and there be a pistol in yer belt, just far future reference." ‘It came from the sailboat didn’t it.’ "Aye, did lass. Now, when ye get to tha boat, jest say what I tell ye ta say. We need ta go to Port Royale. Any nautical decisions and I’ll tell ye what ta do. Then ye can go ta yer quarters. Ye might nah wanna sleep tanight. The boys might feel a bit frisky, ye nevah know." ‘Ok…’ You think in return with trepidation. The ship is a rich blue with silver trim. The main mast goes up at least 90 feet into the air and a few men mill about on deck, which appears to be at least 100 feet long. The lower level seems to have cannon doors and a few portholes. "She’s beautiful." Barbossa purrs. "Not tha Pearl, but she’ll do." "Where’s ma first mate?" You say, trying your best to imitate the way they all talk. "Bill’s right up thar. Yer Boatswain is with ‘im. ‘Is name is Pistol." "Thanks mates, ye be dismissed." You climbed the ladder and boarded the ship. You sauntered over to the two men. "’Ello gents." You recited the lines Barbossa fed you mentally. "I be yer new Cap’n. Cap’n Passero. Our dear friend Cap’n Bucci has met an unfortunate turn of events, and gave me ‘is ship out of a debt. I’ll be in me quarters if ye need me. Tomorrow, set a course fer Port Royal, understood?" The men blink wildly at you, and look back at the men who had escorted you here. They nodded in agreement with your story. The one named Bill, tall with rich dark hair, eyes you sharply. "Alright, Cap’n." the word comes out in a mocking tone and you narrow your eyes. "Careful, lad. Me bite is worse than me bark." You smile wryly at the irony in your statement. "Sleep tight." You stroll towards the stern and into the quarters beneath the helm. Once inside, Barbossa seems to sleep, or at least becomes quiet and you don’t feel him watching your every move. You look through the things you’ve acquired. There’s a table full of maps, a large wardrobe, and a footlocker at the end of a large sleigh bed. The table has a few drawers beneath the top, and serves as a makeshift deck. There’s also a large case full of rum bottles, some empty and some full. You walk over to the wardrobe and open the doors to find a least six formal dresses, and a good number of dress shoes. "What the hell does a man need with these?" You mumble. "A man has to meet the needs of his nightly company does he not?" Barbossa chuckled. "Oh, gross, these are concubine dresses." You close the doors and walk over to the footlocker. The trunk is full of pants and shirts, all looking like the formal pirate garb. On top of the pile of clothing is a wide brimmed hat with an ostrich feather. "We’re wearing tha." Barbossa says, leaving you no room to question. You lift the hat and find a small container, and upon opening it, you find it is full of a greasy black substance. "It’s like makeup." "Good, put some on, makes ye look real official, Cap’n." Barbossa rumbles with laughter. You walk over to a mirror on the wall and smear a bit on your eyelids, curving the black substance upwards, giving you a feline appearance. You smudge a little beneath your eyes, and then pocket the container. Having explored your new surroundings, you begin to pull off your weapons and coat, laying them on the floor beside the bed. You inspect the sheets, and noting that they’re clean, you slowly crawl between them. The bed feels like a hotel bed, semi-comfortable, but not quite comfortable enough. Deciding that it’s better than the floor, you roll over and close your eyes, leaving the small lantern burning on the table. After all the excitement at the tavern, sleep comes easily. * * * * A noise rouses you from your sleep, and you open your eyes to find that it is still dark outside. The lantern burns lower than before, showing the passage of a large amount of time. You sigh and lay your head back down, only to bolt straight up in bed when you hear a ragged chuckle from the corner of the cabin. It’s Pistol. "What the blazes are ye doin’ in ‘ere boy? Can ye not see tha I am sleepin’?" You demand angrily, trying to wake Barbossa up in your mind. "A feisty lass ta boot, well I’ll be. Yer gunna be a fine conquest naw ain’t ye." He approaches you, growling and brandishing his cutlass. You reach beside the bed, and grasp your katana in time to smack him in the face before he kisses you. You leap up onto your feet, and press the blade to his throat. "Get the hell out of my room." "Shut up lass and let me have my way with ye." He growls defiantly. "Get out before I have to hurt ye." You say through clenched teeth. You feel his hand grasp your ankle and run up your leg to rest upon your buttocks. "I did warn ye." The blade sinks deep into his chest and blood flows freely from his wound and down his lips. Placing a foot on his chest, you pull the blade out and kick his now dead body out of the open door and onto the deck. A few men turn to you, their eyes wide in fear. "He serves as a warnin’." you sneer, and kick the door shut. Gather your things and a blanket, you curl up in the corner between the wall and the wardrobe, hidden from view. Cradling the sword in your hands, you slowly let your eyes droop. At least this way, no one would be able to hurt you without you waking up. Barbossa still hasn’t woken up from his sleep, and so you clench the sword tighter in your grasp. It was going to be a long stay on this ship if you felt this threatened every night. Though you try your best to stay awake, sleep eventually steals you from consciousness, and you fall into a fitful slumber. |