Okay guys, heres my first story I hope you guys like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own any pirates, but I wish I was one. Argh!
Prologue
I've always been a fighter. Priding myself in marital arts, taijitsu, kung fu, karate, and so on; and it has always been my goal to apply my skills to swordplay. Something my father frowned upon greatly, but I never cared what he thought, even if my ultimate aspiration in life was to please him and make him proud. No matter how I tried, his always present frown never turned up.
When I was three years old, I discovered that by curling my fingers into my palms and aiming my fist at someone's face could cause two things: a broken nose or a black eye, depending on my where I aimed of course. The first to fall victim to my newly discovered talent was a five year old William Turner. Two days later I learned how to kick him in a very painful location. Two more days and he became my best friend. Our violent companionship did not last long as I found out one evening that he had left his home to roam the seas with his pirate of a father. When news of this reached my own father I was severely remimanded for making friends with a 'disgrace.' The bruises and black eye did not leave for weeks.
At the age of seven I found my love of weapons: swords, knives, daggars, pistols, rifles, and so on. I figured out, by pretending to be hurt late at night on the side on the street, that the watchmen were quite easily tricked into letting their guards down. I never let them see my face clean. I would cover my shoulder length sandy brown hair in mud and dirt to make it appear black. I waould also add heavy dust and street grime to my pale skinned arms and face, so that I would seem tanned. I perfected my art of deception, whining whenever a watchman happened to stoll by. He would ask why I am out so late. I simply continued to cry. Quickly, he would gather closer to me; and as soon as he got close enough I would launch myself at him and beg him to take me home. Usually the watchman finds a heart and carries me to whichever 'home' I point out to him. None of the houses I choose are ever mine however. When the watchman has sat me down, so he can walk away, he would casually ask if I am alright. I would nod so he could not have the chance to recognize my normal voice. You see, I was quite the nuisence in my youth; crowned the 'Street Urchin of Port Royal.' I loved the title. As the watchman rounds the corner and I would no longer be in his sight, I pull out my new treasure, usually a pistol but sometimes on a highly successful night, the watchman's sword. I was an excellent thief.
By the age of twelve, I had mastered mixed martial arts. All forms were at my disposal to use on my rivals. I became a feared opponent in the secret fighting matches held once every month on the new moon. The location forever changes so the parents of the contestents and spectators never find out about the secret fights. Though I am sure a few parents knew and still do to this day. My father, however, never knew. He never took an interest in my passion of fighting. Of course I never really expected him to, but a large part of me always hoped. I was the reigning champion at The Fights. Yes, I was only twelve at the time, and a normal twelve year old girl is usually fragile, weak, easily classified as harmless; but I was no ordinary twelve year old girl. My body was toned, muscled; my stomach sported a six pack proudly; my arms and legs sharply defined from nearly nine years of work and dedication. No guns or metal objects were allowed at The Fights, but my right hook and side swept kick were the only weapons I needed to win against the poor fourteen to seventeen year old boys I faced every month. I never grew tired of the adrenaline high I received during my battles. There is one fight that now haunts me every new moon, since I have out grown seventeen, the oldest age allowed to view and participate in The Fights. This fight paired me against a new opponent I had never seen before; a fourteen year old boy with deep brown hair and defiant eyes that seemed to tell a story of heartache. He openly challenged me on the new moon of October. I accepted his offer to duel. Somehing about him caught my eye the moment he stood to voice his want to fight me. He seemed familiar in some way. In the midst of our battle I dared ask his name. You see, the main rule of The Fights is that names are forbidden to be used. I, myself, went by the penname 'Amelia.' I was well known by my face outside of The Fights because of my title, but my real name elluded most. My challenger merely smiled when I requeted his name, but he did not answer me until the fight was over. I easily defeated him with a final kick that tripped him to fall backwards. He signaled for his demise and stood with the help of my hand. He leaned close to my sweaty face to whisper in my ear, "It's good to see you again Krissy Jacobs. I am Willaim Turner."
At age seventeen William and I were never separated, though it was difficult to say if we were more thatn friends. He always spoke of a woman named Elizabeth Swann and how she saved him many years ago. I would intently listen to his tales of the sea and the years we missed. I trained him to fight and he in turn taught me to make swords and other forms of infamous killing utensils. We were very close and still are but an uncertain distance. My relationship with William of course reached my father's gossiping ears again. I returned home one evening after training with William. My father was waiting for me in the kitchen of our small home. He eyed me up and down before asking me where I had been. I told him at a friend's house, but I knew by his glare that he had found out about my renewed friendship with the 'disgrace.' I made no attempt to hide the truth when he asked my wereabouts again. Before I had finished my answere however, he lunged; but for the life of em, I could not defend myself against the man I called father. When I awoke the next morning, I carefully counted the fresh injuries: at least twenty new bruises, one broken leg, a sprained wrist, and I think a cracked rib. I created a makeshift cast for my leg and took care of my wrist, my left, by wrapping it in gauze I had stolen from a traveling nurse. Next I wrapped the remaining guaze my slim waist from hip to right under my breasts. My father was not in the house when I woke still in the kitchen. So, I painfully made my way to William's.
Now, it is at age twenty, that I find myself at a dilema. Just yesterday a man was arrested and taken to jail. He attempted to kidnap the govener's daughter, Elizabeth Swann. I only know this because William came to my house this morning and told me in a blur of words and curses. The man, William says is Jack Sparrow. William claims he fought him and helped turn him to the authorities. I do not doubt my friend's story, because he has never lied to me before, but I feel as though there is something dark he is hiding from me. I shall find what that is, when the opportune moment appears.
alright thats it!
tell me what you think please R&R!
xoxo
baby
