Disclaimer/Claimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Jack Sparrow, or anything dealing with the actual movie. I own whatever is not familiar though, however, if Stirling isn't familiar, I don't own that. I'd be rich if I did. Anyways, enjoy the story, and if ya got any questions, you can email me or IM me. That info's in my account thingy.
"Once more and we'll end today's session," the high-pitched, drawling voice of Mrs. Laow sounded off the marble walls of the main room.
Rachel Mackenzie Cutler rolled her eyes for the fourty-ninth time that morning as she painfully endured her daily paino lessons for the first time in a corset. As she delicately placed her fingers above the smooth white keys, she sighed through her nose. She began to play the same song she'd been practicing for two weeks.
"Ah ah Miss Cutler. Back straight, chest out, legs bent at the knees, elbows in tact, fingers curled at the knucle...and beautifully done! We shall call it to an end now, Miss Cutler," Mrs. Laow said, tapping the side of the piano with her pointer.
Rachel stood up and curtsied to her music instructor, and stood, hands clasped at her stomach, head straightly poised, and her legs firmly alongside the other as she watched her music instructer leave the house.
Once the large oak door was shut, she clumsily dropped to her knees, her legs bending outwards as she did. She looked around her as she sighed loudly. After a minute or so of doing this, she thought of an idea. Touching the tip of her nose as she stood up, she made a mad dash up the large staircase to the second floor of her soon-to-be home.
"That's a beautiful sword," the girl complimented as she entered Will Turner's blacksmith shop. She ran her dirt covered fingers along the row of newly crafted swords that hung from a revolving rack. She spun the rack, watching as she small ray of sunlight that peeked through the sooty window gleamed off the bright metal.
Will sighed as he laid eye upon his daily, unwelcomed visitor. "Had we not agreed that you'd stay away from here if I agreed to make, and give, you a sword?" he questioned, all the while keeping his eye on the girl.
"Aye, we had. However, I have yet to see the sword, so you have yet to be rid of me," she replied, searching yet another rack of swords.
He walked briskly over to her, slapping her hand away from a sword with a golden crest on the handle. "Ah, how 'bout this one?" she asked, ignoring the slap and reaching for it.
"That, he began, vainly attempting to snatch it back from her, "is for Captain Morris," he finished.
She stabbed at the air a bit before he spoke again. "And it would be much, MUCH obliged if you'd leave it be," he shouted. She faced him, the sword paused in mid-air.
"Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist." She tossed the sword, caught the blade, and tossed it back at Will. She began to walk to the fire-pit, shrugging off his previous rudeness.
She picked up the sword he had previously set in, her chocolate eyes flickering over the handle and the blade. She whisked it around in the air, smiling at the brisk noise the heated blade created.
This was what angered Will most this day. "I think it time you left," he said, taking the sword and laying it back in the fire.
She stared at him, and narrowed her eyes until they were mere slits. "Sure, but I ain't leavin' for good until I get my sword," she added before turning on her heel and leaving.
Once outside the door, she looked immediately at her hand. There lay a single cut from catching the blade. "Hmm," she whined, placing her mouth over the cut to stop the bleeding before heading into the streets of Port Royal.
"Once more and we'll end today's session," the high-pitched, drawling voice of Mrs. Laow sounded off the marble walls of the main room.
Rachel Mackenzie Cutler rolled her eyes for the fourty-ninth time that morning as she painfully endured her daily paino lessons for the first time in a corset. As she delicately placed her fingers above the smooth white keys, she sighed through her nose. She began to play the same song she'd been practicing for two weeks.
"Ah ah Miss Cutler. Back straight, chest out, legs bent at the knees, elbows in tact, fingers curled at the knucle...and beautifully done! We shall call it to an end now, Miss Cutler," Mrs. Laow said, tapping the side of the piano with her pointer.
Rachel stood up and curtsied to her music instructor, and stood, hands clasped at her stomach, head straightly poised, and her legs firmly alongside the other as she watched her music instructer leave the house.
Once the large oak door was shut, she clumsily dropped to her knees, her legs bending outwards as she did. She looked around her as she sighed loudly. After a minute or so of doing this, she thought of an idea. Touching the tip of her nose as she stood up, she made a mad dash up the large staircase to the second floor of her soon-to-be home.
"That's a beautiful sword," the girl complimented as she entered Will Turner's blacksmith shop. She ran her dirt covered fingers along the row of newly crafted swords that hung from a revolving rack. She spun the rack, watching as she small ray of sunlight that peeked through the sooty window gleamed off the bright metal.
Will sighed as he laid eye upon his daily, unwelcomed visitor. "Had we not agreed that you'd stay away from here if I agreed to make, and give, you a sword?" he questioned, all the while keeping his eye on the girl.
"Aye, we had. However, I have yet to see the sword, so you have yet to be rid of me," she replied, searching yet another rack of swords.
He walked briskly over to her, slapping her hand away from a sword with a golden crest on the handle. "Ah, how 'bout this one?" she asked, ignoring the slap and reaching for it.
"That, he began, vainly attempting to snatch it back from her, "is for Captain Morris," he finished.
She stabbed at the air a bit before he spoke again. "And it would be much, MUCH obliged if you'd leave it be," he shouted. She faced him, the sword paused in mid-air.
"Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist." She tossed the sword, caught the blade, and tossed it back at Will. She began to walk to the fire-pit, shrugging off his previous rudeness.
She picked up the sword he had previously set in, her chocolate eyes flickering over the handle and the blade. She whisked it around in the air, smiling at the brisk noise the heated blade created.
This was what angered Will most this day. "I think it time you left," he said, taking the sword and laying it back in the fire.
She stared at him, and narrowed her eyes until they were mere slits. "Sure, but I ain't leavin' for good until I get my sword," she added before turning on her heel and leaving.
Once outside the door, she looked immediately at her hand. There lay a single cut from catching the blade. "Hmm," she whined, placing her mouth over the cut to stop the bleeding before heading into the streets of Port Royal.