Ma Petite
Disclaimer: I'm a fifteen-year-old girl who spends most of her time reading, writing, and wishing that she had enough money to buy that Inuyasha manga that she has been eyeing. What do you think? On a side note, Chantelle and her little piece of 'treasure' do belong to me. If you steal them I will hunt you down like the dog that you are and then be a dirty, rotten snitch about it and tell the authorities at ff.net. *grins* There, that should teach you!
Kristin: The first chapter is rather short, but the rest should be longer. The key word there is should. Not necessarily will, simply should.
***
Unrelenting waves pounded against the side of the small merchant ship while lightening flashed overhead and thunder roared over the sound of the crashing water. The crew worked at a furious pace in a vain attempt to hold the already rickety vessel together. She was coming apart at the seams and by the time the storm had passed, The Dreamer would most likely have been reduced to little more than scrap wood. The planks groaned, an almost imperceptible sound, as swell after swell attempted to rip it to shreds. Her crew stumbled over the rolling decks as wind and waves worked in a joint effort to capsize the enduring craft.
Below the deck, unbeknownst to the crew, a leak had sprung. A young woman pounded at the locked door that barred her from the deck with one hand while she clutched her precious bundle in the other. She cursed the man responsible for her being there in as many languages as she could remember. "Trust me, he says," she hissed venomously. "You'll be safer down there. Merde, that homme is an idiot at times. The least he could have done was left the door unlocked. Yes, just lock me in the flooding room so that I can slowly drown to death. Won't they all share a merry little laugh when they find my cold, dead body."
By this time the salty water had reached her feet. Her long skirts made quick work of absorbing the water, weighing her down considerably. They persistently tugged her back and she slipped slightly on the stairs. Luckily, she stumbled forward, with a force that would likely leave her with bruises later, and crashed into the door, finally succeeding in breaking it open. The salty spray and stinging rain soaked the woman within moments. Azure eyes widened considerably as she feebly attempted to lift herself to her feet.
The mast had cracked, splintered, and then finally broken. What few sails she could see were in such a ragged state that she wouldn't have allowed her servants back home to polish her silverware with them. Pieces of the ship were flying everywhere, as were the sailors. A choked cry slipped from between her lips as a fragment of splintered wood struck one of the crew in the back and gaped through the front of his chest. The blood that poured forth was washed away by the biting rain before the poor man had even fallen to his knees. A feeble cry rose from the bundle clutched protectively to her chest as the woman collapsed once and clutched at the doorframe behind her to keep from being tossed about more than necessary. Consequently, it was also an action that caused her corset to dig into her skin even more painfully, and cut off what little air supply she had left. "Mon Dieu," she murmured, as her mind went numb with shock and lack of oxygen, "We're all going to die."
*
Chantelle Du Pont was awakened several hours later by the combination of uncomfortably rough wood rubbing against the delicate skin of her cheek and the blaring sun shining down so torridly that it seemed as though she was covered by several thick fur blankets during the middle of summer. The first thing that she did was instinctively tighten her arms around her bundle, which had by some miracle managed to stay in her grip, and check it for any injuries. Finding nothing worse than a few bruises, she promptly had her second thought, that her hair and dress were in a worse state then when she had been seven and taken her cousin up on a dare to leap from the hayloft into the pig sty below, dismissed it as foolish before it had even had a chance to truly form itself, and carefully pushed herself up so that she could take a look around her. The first thing that she noticed was that she was no longer on the deck, but on smaller piece of it instead. It was about five feet long and four feet wide, and the realization of this made it seem suddenly difficult to balance on the fragmented wood.
The sight of the devastating wreckage made her already watery limbs weaken considerably more. The Dreamer, true to expectations, had not survived the storm and was reduced to little more than a few splintering boards and a handful of crates that were full of the merchandise the vessel had been carrying. Floating among the debris were numerous oddly colored logs. Chantelle narrowed her eyes slightly as she attempted to make out what the familiar looking logs could be. She didn't remember seeing them below deck, but they were giving her an unwelcome feeling of déjà vu. With a sickening jolt to her stomach, she realized that the 'logs' were the dead bodies of the crew and other passengers. Tears sprang to her eyes as she crossed herself and murmured a soft prayer.
*
Captain Jack Sparrow, mind the word 'captain' thank you very much, was having an unusually good day. The sails were swelled with wind, he finally had his precious ship back, his new crew wasn't showing any signs of mutiny, and he was currently nursing a rather lovely bottle of rum. His usual crooked grin widened slightly as he swallowed another swig of the intoxicating beverage. Nothing could possibly ruin today. "Captain!"
Jack blinked and turned towards the usually calm Anna Maria who was looking a tad bit ruffled. He briefly wondered what the probability of this encounter ending without him getting slapped was, before he suddenly realized that she was speaking again. "-thought you might want to take a look at it." He quickly decided to pretend that he had been listening to her the whole time, letting her know that he had in fact not been listening at all would have surely earned him a slap, and followed her as she turned and headed toward the ship's bow and a rather large crowd that had gathered. Jack cleared his throat and a path was cleared for him toward the object that the crew had gathered around. He felt his carefree grin turn into a proud smirk. Not a mutinous one in the whole lot.
The smirk faltered slightly when he saw the unconscious woman on the deck of his ship. Gibbs was by his side within seconds, muttering about women aboard ships bringing bad luck. A hard glare from Anna Maria shut him up. Jack slowly swaggered toward the woman, motioning as he did so for a couple of the men to lift her to her feet. Her head lolled to the side as she was hoisted up off of the surprisingly clean deck. Even in sleep, the woman clutched something that was wrapped in a prettily embroidered blanket to her bosom, as though it were her lifeline. A groan slipped from between slightly parted lips and eyelashes fluttered faintly against raw, burnt skin. Jack grinned and tapped a fingertip against her sunburned cheek. "Time to wake up, lovey."
The woman's eyelids flickered open to reveal feverish eyes. "Non, Henri," she mumbled weakly in a rather hoarse voice, "Pas ce soir, s'il vous plaît."
"You do that," Jack began brightly, his grin confused for a few moments before he shrugged it off and continued, "And I'll just take this so that you don't accidentally break whatever it is." He reached to take the burden from her arms and was slightly surprised when she shrieked like a banshee and struggled to back away from him. Jack's grin widened considerably. Whatever she was holding must have been pretty valuable. If it was worthless then he doubted that she would have reacted so strongly.
Unfortunately for her, the woman's violent reaction cost her what was left of her energy and she was unable to do anything but watch with terrified horror in her delirious eyes as the pirate pulled her precious bundle out of her weak grasp. Jack's grin slipped a bit when the 'treasure' he had just commandeered began to squirm. It disappeared completely when a miniature hand emerged from the blanket, wound its chubby little fingers around his beard, and pulled roughly. His eyes wide, Jack unwrapped the bundle completely to reveal a tiny baby. Now it was Jack's turn to watch in horror as the infant gurgled happily and then promptly shoved his beard in its mouth. Damn, and the day had started off so well.
***
Kristin: Is the Mighty Captain Jack Sparrow truly afraid of a little baby? How did Chantelle and her kid survive when everyone else met with a doomy- watery doom? Will 'Captain' Jackie-poo be forced to become a father figure? Will he ever get his beard out of the little tyke's mouth? Tune in next time to find out! (Some of these questions will most likely not be answered in the next chapter. You were duly warned.)
Translations:
Ma Petite- my little one
Merde- Curse word that I believe is the equivalent of damn. Please, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
Homme- man
Mon Dieu- my God, or my goodness
Non- no
Pas ce soir, s'il vous plaît - Not tonight, please. (Again, feel free to correct me. I'm not using an online translator; merely a rather crappy French dictionary and I haven't taken French yet. When school starts again I'll be taking Latin, and I don't plan on taking French until I'm a senior, which won't be for another two years.)
Disclaimer: I'm a fifteen-year-old girl who spends most of her time reading, writing, and wishing that she had enough money to buy that Inuyasha manga that she has been eyeing. What do you think? On a side note, Chantelle and her little piece of 'treasure' do belong to me. If you steal them I will hunt you down like the dog that you are and then be a dirty, rotten snitch about it and tell the authorities at ff.net. *grins* There, that should teach you!
Kristin: The first chapter is rather short, but the rest should be longer. The key word there is should. Not necessarily will, simply should.
***
Unrelenting waves pounded against the side of the small merchant ship while lightening flashed overhead and thunder roared over the sound of the crashing water. The crew worked at a furious pace in a vain attempt to hold the already rickety vessel together. She was coming apart at the seams and by the time the storm had passed, The Dreamer would most likely have been reduced to little more than scrap wood. The planks groaned, an almost imperceptible sound, as swell after swell attempted to rip it to shreds. Her crew stumbled over the rolling decks as wind and waves worked in a joint effort to capsize the enduring craft.
Below the deck, unbeknownst to the crew, a leak had sprung. A young woman pounded at the locked door that barred her from the deck with one hand while she clutched her precious bundle in the other. She cursed the man responsible for her being there in as many languages as she could remember. "Trust me, he says," she hissed venomously. "You'll be safer down there. Merde, that homme is an idiot at times. The least he could have done was left the door unlocked. Yes, just lock me in the flooding room so that I can slowly drown to death. Won't they all share a merry little laugh when they find my cold, dead body."
By this time the salty water had reached her feet. Her long skirts made quick work of absorbing the water, weighing her down considerably. They persistently tugged her back and she slipped slightly on the stairs. Luckily, she stumbled forward, with a force that would likely leave her with bruises later, and crashed into the door, finally succeeding in breaking it open. The salty spray and stinging rain soaked the woman within moments. Azure eyes widened considerably as she feebly attempted to lift herself to her feet.
The mast had cracked, splintered, and then finally broken. What few sails she could see were in such a ragged state that she wouldn't have allowed her servants back home to polish her silverware with them. Pieces of the ship were flying everywhere, as were the sailors. A choked cry slipped from between her lips as a fragment of splintered wood struck one of the crew in the back and gaped through the front of his chest. The blood that poured forth was washed away by the biting rain before the poor man had even fallen to his knees. A feeble cry rose from the bundle clutched protectively to her chest as the woman collapsed once and clutched at the doorframe behind her to keep from being tossed about more than necessary. Consequently, it was also an action that caused her corset to dig into her skin even more painfully, and cut off what little air supply she had left. "Mon Dieu," she murmured, as her mind went numb with shock and lack of oxygen, "We're all going to die."
*
Chantelle Du Pont was awakened several hours later by the combination of uncomfortably rough wood rubbing against the delicate skin of her cheek and the blaring sun shining down so torridly that it seemed as though she was covered by several thick fur blankets during the middle of summer. The first thing that she did was instinctively tighten her arms around her bundle, which had by some miracle managed to stay in her grip, and check it for any injuries. Finding nothing worse than a few bruises, she promptly had her second thought, that her hair and dress were in a worse state then when she had been seven and taken her cousin up on a dare to leap from the hayloft into the pig sty below, dismissed it as foolish before it had even had a chance to truly form itself, and carefully pushed herself up so that she could take a look around her. The first thing that she noticed was that she was no longer on the deck, but on smaller piece of it instead. It was about five feet long and four feet wide, and the realization of this made it seem suddenly difficult to balance on the fragmented wood.
The sight of the devastating wreckage made her already watery limbs weaken considerably more. The Dreamer, true to expectations, had not survived the storm and was reduced to little more than a few splintering boards and a handful of crates that were full of the merchandise the vessel had been carrying. Floating among the debris were numerous oddly colored logs. Chantelle narrowed her eyes slightly as she attempted to make out what the familiar looking logs could be. She didn't remember seeing them below deck, but they were giving her an unwelcome feeling of déjà vu. With a sickening jolt to her stomach, she realized that the 'logs' were the dead bodies of the crew and other passengers. Tears sprang to her eyes as she crossed herself and murmured a soft prayer.
*
Captain Jack Sparrow, mind the word 'captain' thank you very much, was having an unusually good day. The sails were swelled with wind, he finally had his precious ship back, his new crew wasn't showing any signs of mutiny, and he was currently nursing a rather lovely bottle of rum. His usual crooked grin widened slightly as he swallowed another swig of the intoxicating beverage. Nothing could possibly ruin today. "Captain!"
Jack blinked and turned towards the usually calm Anna Maria who was looking a tad bit ruffled. He briefly wondered what the probability of this encounter ending without him getting slapped was, before he suddenly realized that she was speaking again. "-thought you might want to take a look at it." He quickly decided to pretend that he had been listening to her the whole time, letting her know that he had in fact not been listening at all would have surely earned him a slap, and followed her as she turned and headed toward the ship's bow and a rather large crowd that had gathered. Jack cleared his throat and a path was cleared for him toward the object that the crew had gathered around. He felt his carefree grin turn into a proud smirk. Not a mutinous one in the whole lot.
The smirk faltered slightly when he saw the unconscious woman on the deck of his ship. Gibbs was by his side within seconds, muttering about women aboard ships bringing bad luck. A hard glare from Anna Maria shut him up. Jack slowly swaggered toward the woman, motioning as he did so for a couple of the men to lift her to her feet. Her head lolled to the side as she was hoisted up off of the surprisingly clean deck. Even in sleep, the woman clutched something that was wrapped in a prettily embroidered blanket to her bosom, as though it were her lifeline. A groan slipped from between slightly parted lips and eyelashes fluttered faintly against raw, burnt skin. Jack grinned and tapped a fingertip against her sunburned cheek. "Time to wake up, lovey."
The woman's eyelids flickered open to reveal feverish eyes. "Non, Henri," she mumbled weakly in a rather hoarse voice, "Pas ce soir, s'il vous plaît."
"You do that," Jack began brightly, his grin confused for a few moments before he shrugged it off and continued, "And I'll just take this so that you don't accidentally break whatever it is." He reached to take the burden from her arms and was slightly surprised when she shrieked like a banshee and struggled to back away from him. Jack's grin widened considerably. Whatever she was holding must have been pretty valuable. If it was worthless then he doubted that she would have reacted so strongly.
Unfortunately for her, the woman's violent reaction cost her what was left of her energy and she was unable to do anything but watch with terrified horror in her delirious eyes as the pirate pulled her precious bundle out of her weak grasp. Jack's grin slipped a bit when the 'treasure' he had just commandeered began to squirm. It disappeared completely when a miniature hand emerged from the blanket, wound its chubby little fingers around his beard, and pulled roughly. His eyes wide, Jack unwrapped the bundle completely to reveal a tiny baby. Now it was Jack's turn to watch in horror as the infant gurgled happily and then promptly shoved his beard in its mouth. Damn, and the day had started off so well.
***
Kristin: Is the Mighty Captain Jack Sparrow truly afraid of a little baby? How did Chantelle and her kid survive when everyone else met with a doomy- watery doom? Will 'Captain' Jackie-poo be forced to become a father figure? Will he ever get his beard out of the little tyke's mouth? Tune in next time to find out! (Some of these questions will most likely not be answered in the next chapter. You were duly warned.)
Translations:
Ma Petite- my little one
Merde- Curse word that I believe is the equivalent of damn. Please, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
Homme- man
Mon Dieu- my God, or my goodness
Non- no
Pas ce soir, s'il vous plaît - Not tonight, please. (Again, feel free to correct me. I'm not using an online translator; merely a rather crappy French dictionary and I haven't taken French yet. When school starts again I'll be taking Latin, and I don't plan on taking French until I'm a senior, which won't be for another two years.)