The creaks from aging ship boards distorted their nearing voices. It did not matter for she could only recognize one; that scornful tone, deep pitched, with a charming ring to it. And at the current moment, she wanted to avoid it with her life. But with the wooden door's hinges shrilling as it swung open and collided with the wall, her shackles felt ten times their weight and she knew she could not escape him.
"Oh, my dear minx," he said smoothly, releasing a chortle as stride towards her. His knees bent and his back crouched while his hand carassed against her cheek, dirt concealing her natural translucent complexion. "Such a pity. Once surviving in her ignorant bliss, yet drowning in her own dismay….such a shame, Sparrow."
Gazing into his sullen pupils, watching the darkness swarm in them, she mentally cursed and spat. But calmly, almost too calmly, she retorted, "At least I am enough human to have emotions."
"My, my, my, such profound charisma," he smirked, his brow rising by her statement. "You could be like me one day...well, probably not. But still...so alluring."
"Stop!" she hissed, her words echoing through the barren room. "Just stop and tell me where we're going!" Her eyes were already swollen, looking like black beads rimmed with red stains, either from the dense air in the ship's cabin or she was on the verge of weeping. "Please...please tell me."
To watch her vigorous personality shatter into feebleness pleased the man. His lips roused higher into his smirk from it, then he readjusted his bow tie and ponder what the effects would be if he gave a truthful reply. And in the end he concluded that whatever he said would alter her into a protest of riot, so instead of speaking, he produced a pair of scissors from his coat pocket, drew up her braid, holding together her sunshine colored locks and severed it off, leaving her with a fringe style haircut.
Then he lifted back to his feet and revolved around, proceeding to depart.
"What?" Sparrow's squeal sound pierced in her own ears. Her hand slinked to the back of her head, her fingers in search of that lengthy braid, yet finding nothing. "No...no...no! No….come back here you damn coward! Get back here! I swear to the gods if you do not come back here, I will kill you the moment I get out of these shackles!"
But he continued to the door and for the moment he opened it, a dim light pierced through the room. She had not witnessed light for almost a week. And with it, the aroma of sea whiffed into her nose.
'Why are we at sea,' she wondered, watching him exit the room, hauling the door closed behind him and the darkness returned.
And another week passed, another week where solitude embraced her with a dark surrounding.
Every time before she melted into sleep, she prayed for his return. Though with his return, Sparrow had lost her shackles and she had retrieved the sword she had been robbed of since he kidnapped her. It's point aims towards him upon his entrance. As he inches forward, she chambers it back, then heaves it forth where it strikes through his stomach.
After a soft thud and loud set of gurgling, she would glance down to watch death take him.
In some manner, Sparrow's desire came true.
His returned brought along to other men, one engorged with his wooden brown hair pushed back into a ponytail. Cowering close behind, able to hide behind his master's large frame, was the other man, almost the size of a child, save his height. And he never stopped trembling. Ever.
For his master, well what Sparrow assumed to be his master considering the man dressed in an elegant apparel, of grey trousers and a brown tunic, covered by a nobleman's coat, slight marred and fray at the cuff part, while the other, the diminutive, petit one, wore what seemed like rags stitched together in a pathetic attempt of making a shirt, continued to observed her. His green eyes, framed by curling lashes, yet rimmed with crust, were merely compressed upon her face before he rebounded.
"You've given better, Reaver," he retorted.
"And I could give much worse!" Reaver emerged from close behind and Sparrow scowled.
"You could…" admitted the man, reaching out to touch her like she was an animal placed in a cage. "But she will work. I assume the contract is signed."
She half whimpered while saying, "Signed? I didn't sign anything!"
"Oh and you didn't have to," Reaver replied, throwing his hand upon his chest as if he was honored. "I took the liberty of signing it for you. You know I'm a man of generosity. You're welcome."
"What did you sign?" she growled through gritted teeth.
Since no verbal answer came from Reaver, the man peered across his shoulder to his butler. "Stanley, please give me the contract Mr. Reaver signed for Ms. Watson."
The name was whispered the moment she snatched the scroll, discolored by age and impaired on the edges with scribbles of black ink crossed every inch. Reading it was a strive for every word was written in a small font and a vile, swift hand with harrowing penmanship. But what she could acknowledge altered her into fumes. "You…why this is a brothel contract…." she breathed, exchanging a set of glances with Reaver then moved on to the other man. "This is not my name signed on here….my name is Sparrow! Tell him, Reaver."
It was then the man passed his pore to Reaver and gave him a wondering look.
"She is one for roleplaying," was the only thing he said.
"You think you're Sparrow….the renown Hero living in Bowerstone Market?" The man's eyebrow surged higher. "Impossible! I've the women before, something beautiful she is with her muscular frame and long blonde hair. But you...you're nothing but bones. You're a filthy short - haired rat."
"No...no...I am her!" Sparrow hissed. She then gave Reaver a wounded stare. "It was him….he cut my hair and kept me dirty like this….it was all him."
And his reply to that was only a chortle. "A bit outspoken, isn't she, Reaver? I may have to slash your pay because of that….how do you feel about a thousand, two - hundred coins?"
"To be honest I feel a little miffed." This was Reaver's pathetic attempt at haggling. "Two - thousand."
"Not for this," he scoffed.
"Oh...then what a pity for you," Reaver lied through that scornful tone, as he brushed away the left side of his coat and revealed the butt of a pistol lolling in the holster.
The man and his butler rebounded.
"Give Mr. Reaver the two - thousand," he said after a long pause. His words were said between closed, gritted teeth, obviously loathing he was down eight - hundred for something like Sparrow, who he was now shifting his glance to. "As for you, miss, I welcome you….And I hope you enjoy it….for you're never going to leave."
Hey everyone, I wrote this on a whim at school...doubt it will go far. None of my stories do...huh, that's sad :( But anyways, review, follow or favorite...or read! Or do whatever that tickles your pickles :)
~ Lady of Lake - Town ~