I made an OC for all the stuff I'm in to. Right now, I'm kind of in a Disney phase, but she'll also be included in my Les Mis and my Harry Potter stuff.
Backstory: Marie Thernardier was born in France. (IDK if she's related to Eponine and Azelma yet). When she was ten, she ran away from home and hopped on a boat to London. In the middle of the ride, the boat was struck by lightning, and sank. Marie hopped off and swam to a bunch of rocks, where she was greeted by a group of kind mermaids. They took pity on her and gave her the ability to turn into a mermaid when she touched water, and turn to a human when she was dry.
With her new powers, Marie swam all the way to London, where she became a gypsy. Unfortunately, the head of the band she was working with got arrested, and Marie, not wanting the same fate, started working as a prostitute. There, she was bought by Jack Sparrow, who, rather than using her, held her through the night.
Realizing what she had just risked, Marie, now twelve, went back to the gypsy business, but eventually became a pirate. She never forgot Jack, even though he forgot her.
A year later, Marie and Jack met again in a sword fight, in which both got arrested. With the help of her alley cat, Clara, Marie broke them both out and became sort of his sidekick ever since.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, or Jack Sparrow. I only own my OC's.
Few! That's done! Yeah, she's going to have a bunch of different back stories based on the fanfic I'm writing. Oh, well.
A scrawny blonde girl, no older than twelve, sat huddled on the street, trying to warm herself. She regretted wearing all her bracelets and circlets and jewelry, all of which seemed to attract the cold. But, Marie reminded herself, she had to get those old men's attention somehow.
A tall, dirty man came up to her. He had long dark hair, and, despite the dirt, was very good looking.
"How much?" He said.
"Five pounds." Marie answered. She didn't dare ask for more.
"Only five?" He said, raising an eyebrow.
"Only five." Marie whispered pathetically.
The man smiled, revealing several gold teeth. "I'll take it." Taking her hand, he lead her to the dirty hotel where the whores were expected to give their services.
Marie took his elbow and walked into a small room, dirty and cramped. She started to unlace her corset, but the man stopped her.
"Don't." He lay down on the bed and patted the space next to him, implying her to lay with him.
Curious, Marie lay down next to him, and the man pulled her in a hug.
The night went by, and the man held Marie, allowing her to let go all the pain and angst she'd been holding for the past four weeks, ever since the head of her gypsy band had been arrested. No, she didn't cry. Marie had long ago lost her ability to cry. But it did allow her to reflect. She was no longer La Maria, the exotic French dancer from that gypsy band. She was simply Marie, a name she had not allowed herself to be known by since she was eleven.
Finally, she drifted into a dead, dreamless sleep.
The morning came, and the sun shone through the window of the hotel room, waking Marie out of her fitful slumber. The space next to her was empty, and Marie would've thought it was dream had there not been ten pounds on the spot where the man was.
Gingerly, Marie collected the money and walked out of her hotel room. Pocketing the money, she reflected on the man's behavior.
Why did he hold her, instead of tackling her and plunging into her, like she'd seen happen to other girls on the street?
Why did he pay double the price for a night in which he hadn't gotten anything?
Why did he leave?
As she stepped outside, the hot sun snapped Marie out of her reverie. And Marie realized two things:
Her purity was all she had. If she lost it, she was worth little more than a two pound whore.
She had to find the other gypsies who had fled and get them back on track.
Marie did exactly that. She found Esmeralda, (!), Diana, and Palania, and formed their circle. Along the way, many joined, and it was like old days.
Except it wasn't. The man, judging by his attire, was a pirate. Marie yearned to find him, to talk to him, to have him answer her questions. But he never came back.
So, six months after her circle was reinstated, Marie ran away to the high seas, determined to find him.
And she did, a year later.
As Marie boarded her little dinghy, armed with her books, food, and water, Marie answered the question she had been asking herself all year: Why are you so interested in this man?
Because Marie was in love with him.
Jack Sparrow couldn't answer Marie's questions if he wanted to, because he wasn't sure himself.
Why had he held her?
Why had he paid double the price?
Why did he leave?
Jack had not a great deal of sympathy in his heart. But he did have some, which may have been why he spared her. Because he knew how it was, to be twelve and be lost on the street, selling the last thing you have left. Because, in his heart, he knew he couldn't stoop so low, as to steal something from a girl who wasn't even a teenager yet. Perhaps that was why he'd done it.
Jack waved it from his mind and soon forgot.
And, a year later, when he and Marie met again, he still didn't remember her, even though she remembered him.
Good God. Shittiest piece of work I've ever written. I'm sorry, but I've written better than this. I promise it'll get better. I just needed to do something to cure my writers block for my other story, "A Change in Key." God, I hate writer's block.
Review!