Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, as much as I would love to. J I do, however, own my ship and my crew and my captain. So, no stealing! I hope you enjoy this, it's my first fic.
Chapter One - Loss of a Loved One
A tremor shook through the entire cabin. Another direct hit. Traversten had been firing all night, yet the Rose ran out of cannon balls and powder far too long ago. If the ship didn't pull away soon and quickly she would be down for the count. It was the middle of the night, a storm was sweeping through the ocean with rain pouring onto the deck, only adding insult to injury. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air.
I cannot ruin another ship, thought Andria, this would be the third one.
"On deck all hands! I want this ship out of here!" She called as she ran out from the Captain's quarters.
The Black Rose flew up her white flag as the Jolly Roger came furling down - a sign of truce. Pirates in these waters had been fighting ever since things got sticky with the navy. They had begun to fight against their own kind, stealing each other's booty, getting rid of the faster ships. It was horrible; Andria couldn't remember the last time her fellow captains had been on the hunt - after her.
So what if Andria Hawthorne was the best female pirate captain in the Caribbean? They didn't care. She had finally gotten her baby back and was on the hit list again. No one dared touch her with those other stingy little boats she had to use while The Black Rose was being slowly reconstructed
This was all damn Jack Sparrow's fault. He was the one that was wanted all over and ended up getting her in trouble with the law too. She had always made an effort to be a respectable person on land, pirate by sea, with the exception of Tortuga. And to think she once loved the crazy, half-drunken man.
As this woman sat in her cabin she fingered the black pearl and abalone pendant around her neck carefully. She was in her late-twenties now, but had lived most of her life on the sea. Her slender figure was perfectly silhouetted with a burgundy brochette vest over a small crème cotton shirt with tight black sailor pants and fold-over leather boots. Her tricorn hat sat on the desk, this action made her look about two inches shorter, making her 5' 5". The shoulder-length, curly, auburn hair fell messily down and was held away from her face with a black scarf adorned with a few trinkets.
In addition to all of that, her pale skin was interrupted around her eyes with a bit of kohl to accentuate the hazel eyes that darkened whenever she was mad. Now these eyes focused through her window on nothing in particular. The hazel was less intense than normal, as if they were slowly fading away with the past.
Breaking her away from the thoughts and memories clouding her eyes, a knock came at the door. "She's taken on too much water cap'n," said a crewman named Nicolas feverishly.
"There's got to be some way to save 'er, I can't lose my baby," sulked Andria.
"I'm sorry ma'am, there's nothing we can do."
"Then get my crew into the longboats, we'll figure a way to get out then." she replied, not wanting to count on what was to come in the days ahead.
The Black Rose only had half a mast and fallen sails left for its namesake. Captain Hawthorne gathered what little possessions she felt necessary to keep: a compass adorned with rubies, a jewelry box with a few things from her mother, an extra dagger and a green dress that matched her eyes. All was stuffed into a leather sack and she headed to the main deck. She surveyed the mess; many of her crew was either dead or injured. The wood felt slimy under her feet but it smelt worse then it felt, like it hadn't been scrubbed for days, festering and rotting. This was result of the bloodshed and water pooling lifelessly on deck.
"Rosie, what am I going to do with you," the young captain whispered to her dying ship.
"Captain, we must leave now! Traversten is coming back!" called Nicolas from the last longboat near the ship.
"Alright, time to go then." She replied, caressing the edge of the ship as she passed to the rope ladder.
As the crew, of about ten or so remaining, floated away from The Black Rose, she sunk further and further into her dark, watery, grave. Cries of pain mixed with sorrow could be heard floating in the wind. The rain stopped abruptly, almost magically, as if mother nature knew this was all over, and there were no need for more dramatics.
"I'm sorry Captain Hawthorne, about your ship, I mean." sympathized Jonathan, another loyal crewmember.
"It's alright, I'll just get another one." said Andria with a face that contradicted her words.
Though not another like her, she thought.
AN: PLEASE REVIEW!