A/N: I began writing this earlier today as a one-shot. Then I realized it was strikingly similar to Original Sin. So I figured since I was stuck with this that I would just re-write it with this as the beginning. The original story to which this is an addition to can be found on my profile under the name Sin City. So reviews are lovely.
She sighed and pulled her shirt down over her head. Today had been like any other day. A warm, comfortable climate and a cool breeze moving the Pearl along. What made it not like another day was the fact that it had been the day after the first time she'd shared a bed with Jack Sparrow. She had been on the Black Pearl a year and had managed to avoid that action of being bedded. She had been happy with herself for that year. But the disheartening thing was that she had found herself even happier when she had been bedded. She scoffed at herself. She wasn't happy because of Jack Sparrow (she tried to convince herself of this.) She was just happy she had gotten laid. It had been since she was in France a year and half ago that she'd taken a man to her bed. Her thoughts were interrupted as her shirt was being lifted up over her shoulders, undoing her work.
"What are you…" she realized his fascination with her back and she stopped. He traced the ink on her back.
"Where'd you get this luv?" He stared, mesmerized at the intricate mix of henna, roses and daggers beautifully and colorfully etched into her skin.
"Hurt like hell." She muttered.
He studied them closely coming to a conclusion he could not voice. "It looks like…"
"The Rose Noire du Mort," she offered.
"He nodded behind her. "That." His eyes widened coming to a second conclusion. "You're…?" she nodded silently staring straight ahead.
"You're wanted in a noose almost as much as I am." He was baffled at the information he had just heard. He, Jack Sparrow, had bedded the notorious Rose Noire du Mort; The most notorious thief and murderer in the Eastern world. She was probably as big as he was in the Western hemisphere.
"Every country has their own punishments. I'm only wanted in a noose in Britain. In Egypt I'd be , in India: stoned, in France: beheaded, I'd be sent to America from Austria, China: shaved and beheaded with a sword and back home in South Africa…Well I don't know about South Africa I never stay there long enough to hear things, just enough to steal valuable . Although I'm willing to bet I'd be sold into slavery."
"Anamaria-"
"The real Anamaria Soledad is dead. I'm only Anamaria on the Pearl Jack," she said turning around to face him.
"And in South Africa?" he inquired.
She took a deep breath and remembered all that had happened in South Africa. Her mother's death, her father's departure, the dirty orphanage she had resided in up until her flee, the rapes and the beatings she had endured. It sent a chill down her spine. "I have no name or no place in South Africa. But it is home."
"Will you suffer me your real name luv?"
"Kimber," she said proudly. He quirked an eyebrow, never having heard "Kimber" without the 'ly'.
"Wut no 'ly'."
"No. Just Kimber." He nodded in understanding. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Anamaria...or Kimber rather...was the Rose Noire du Mort- The Black Rose of Death.
A/N: Reviews make me update faster.
