Title: Passion
for Something Different
Author: Chaela
Pearson
Fandom: Pirates
of the Caribbean
Ships:
Jack/OC
Summary: Catriona
O'Byrne wants out of her life- and she'll do whatever it takes to get
there. And when she meets Dear ol' Jack? Well, we'll see.
Disclaimer:
I sadly don't own anything
sits down and cries
Rating: T
for Violence and Language
Notes: This
story is on 'hold' at the moment, due to some family situations.
Thank you for your loyalty. :)
Author's Introduction: Well, somehow you've managed to stumble across my little Pirates story. This story is purely fictional. I had a lot of fun writing about Catriona, and her character's development from a girl into a woman, and capturing Jack Sparrow, although one of the most difficult things to do in the world, as he's not meant to be captured, was a thrilling challenge.
Anyways, I hope you all enjoy my little saga, and please, do R&R. Thank you!
This story is dedicated to Theresa
My best friend and my partner in crime
You inspire me
Disclaimer: I do not own anything POTC related, such as the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow, or any such things you recognize from the Pirates of the Caribbean Franchise.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1. Freedom
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I smoothed down the silky folds in my soft pink gown and cleared my throat.
"I'm not going," I stated, firmly. I was, of course, referring to the annual Politician's Ball, a flashy gala to which the entire town of Port Rae would attend. I felt the tension in the air as my father, Captain Rian O'Byrne, glared at me icily. The Captain, as I was required to call him, was a tall, wiry man with blazing green eyes, which I inherited, and square, strong features. His hair was, underneath the typical powdered wig, a mass of unruly black waves. Being the only current Irishman a part of this branch of the Royal Navy, my father often felt misunderstood, I think. His crew was hard to tame, and they frequently did not give him the respect he deserved. This caused him quite a bit of stress, and the fact that his ship, the Deidre, was just lost to a hurricane simply made matters worse. You see, the ship was named for my mother, was killed at the hands of a Lieutenant after refusing to satisfy his lust. My mother, at least what I remember of her, was a striking beauty. She had large, round eyes, the color of hazelnuts, and lustrous porcelain skin. With hair the colour of autumn, she attracted people, especially men, like a magnet. My father was devastated when he heard of my mother's fate. I had been 6 years old at the time, unable to understand why my father would not stop crying. Once he even screamed, causing the hairs on my neck to stand on end, like his should had been ripped apart. He has since avenged Deidre's death, ensuring that the aforementioned Lieutenant would no longer walk the earth. I think that his vengeance is the only thing that kept him going. That, and the fact that he still loved Deidre.
"There is no debate. You're going," the Captain said with finality. He slapped his serviette upon the plank table and pushed himself away all in one swift, clean motion. As he angrily stormed from the room I slumped in my seat and absent-mindedly stirred my stew. The whole thing was simply unnecessary extravagance. One could live very well without Politician's Balls, or Promotion Ceremonies, or even silky pink gowns, for that matter.
I got up from the table daintily, thanked Jehoshaphat for the stew, and promptly burst out in a fit of tears, goodness knows why. Jehoshaphat, our live-in cook, clucked and pulled me into a motherly embrace.
"Y'alls are too hard on y'all's self," she soothed.
Jehoshaphat was a thick, strong Jamaican woman with a matronly air about her. She always wore her thin, gray uniform with pride, not at all ashamed of being a simple cook. Her black bandanna never left her springy chocolate locks, giving her the impression of a gypsy of sorts. Jehoshaphat was never one to be afraid of what other's would think.
I gladly relaxed into the warmth of her arms, sobbing softly. "I just don't want to go," I cried, "I just don't."
"What is y'alls want?" Jehoshaphat asked calmly.
I
sniffled and thought about this for an eternity. What was
it that I wanted? Eventually I snuggled into her chest and sighed.
"Freedom," I said.
Freedom.
The cool salty air played around me. I couldn't have possibly been less enthusiastic. It was the evening of the Politician's Ball, and I fought the urge to throw myself off the wall of the fort desperately. The only reason I was going through with this was the Captain. Unfortunately, what he said was law. So, here I was, waiting patiently in my quarters for the coach to arrive, without a care for whether or not it actually did.
I turned to face my reflection in the vanity. I was dressed exactly for the occasion, in an emerald green velvet gown with silver and gold embroidery. My golden red hair hung loose and softly curled. My skin was lightly powdered to hide my tan from days of being outside by the sea, and to regain that look of innocence and elegance. Unconsciously, my hand rose to handle the necklace that hung around my neck. It was very beautiful, a single emerald with silver Celtic knots looped around it. It was a piece of my mother. My eyes again swelled up with tears as a slowly came to a crushing realization. On one side of the mirror, I was Miss O'Byrne, daughter of Captain Rian O'Byrne of Port Rae. In the reflection, I was Catriona, a confused young woman, stuck inside and desperate to escape.
