It was a blessing to be out in the open air again. Unused to the
enclosed underground caverns of deMuerta, Ryenne was afraid she'd been
developing slight claustrophobia. True, the caverns had been huge enough,
but she'd still had the horrible feeling of being trapped - which she
hated. But she decided - completely and totally depressed by the thought -
that everywhere she went, she'd still feel trapped, and - in an odd sort of
way - she was.
Loosely gripping the railing, she glanced over her shoulder at Jack, who was rigidly governing the tiller's movements, a grim look on his face. Three days of silence had passed between them, not because of anger: simply because it was far too awkward to speak. What was there to say? As she often did, Ryenne pondered what point she was trying to make in staying aboard the ship. Her power over the rest of the crew was a sham and she was constantly being pestered by irritated thoughts of Jack. Deny it as she might, this was not her ship and she didn't belong on it.
Slowly but surely, she'd been losing sleep, and her eating patterns were becoming somewhat erratic. Often, now, was she without either one of the two, and it was draining her.
"D'you need anything, Captain?" she turned slightly, not entirely surprised to see young Quinn standing before her. The lad was seemingly beginning to worry about her, every so often going out of his way to seek her out and ask how she fared. Despite herself, she'd come to take a liking to the boy.
Fifteen, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, it was obvious he would have no trouble winning ladies' hearts when he was a bit older. At the moment - however - he was looking somewhat nervous and fidgety, as he often did while he was in her presence. Smiling and patting him gently on the shoulder, she shook her head.
"No, thank you, Quinn lad." The boy looked somewhat deflated, but she continued on in a no-nonsense tone. "You'd better get back to your duties, or Captain Jack will have your skin." He nodded disappointedly and scurried away. She stared after him, remembering Quinn - her former first mate. He and the boy shared the name, yes, but the similarities ended there. Where young Quinn was fair-haired and light-eyed, her first mate had had a mop of dark, curly hair and eyes like pools of ink. In fact, Ryenne had found him quite dashing....in a dark, dangerous sort of way. He was unfailingly loyal o her - until the very end, that was - though he refused to be any sort of menial servant, as the boy seemed to be. His hooded eyes suggested that he was more clever than he let on, and he was very out-spoken; for this she'd chosen him as first mate......over Tyrus, the only other who'd thought himself worthy of the position.
Ryenne shook her head, forcing the thought of him out of her mind. They were gone forever - like her life as a TRUE captain - never to return. She had to find something to occupy her time, and there was only one person who could truly distract her.
???
Jack tried not to show his surprise as Ryenne began to make a beeline toward him, trying to force his face to remain neutral. She'd avoided him completely the past three days, and now she expected him to talk to her. It was maddening to be on the same ship with her, and his patience was wearing dangerously thin. Did she expect his moods to change as swiftly as hers did?
"What do YOU want?" he growled, giving the tiller a sharp jerk. She looked slightly hurt for a moment, but was quick to cover it up. Her tone was brisk, though he could sense the slight bite of annoyance hidden beneath the placidity.
"Well, Captain, I was simply going to inquire as to our current destination." She crossed her arms obstinately, a gesture he was beginning to hate.
"Port Royale."
It was apparent that the answer was not good enough for her. "Why?" she demanded impatiently, tapping her foot on the deck.
"Because we need supplies, you miserable tart, that's why!" he snapped, turning his back on her with a snort. She maneuvered around in front of him, making sure she could look him in the eye as she spoke.
"Why are you always in such a temper!?" she shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Even when I attempt to do something kind for -"
Jack let go of the tiller completely, throwing his hands up into the air in disgust. "When you try to do something kind for WHOM!?!? For ME!? You haven't done anything so far that could even be considered kind! Just think about it, Ryenne! What have you done-"
"Well, you're not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself!" she retorted sharply. "Name one kind thing you've done for me!"
"One!? ONE!? I'll give you a whole list, love-"
"Do NOT call me that!!" Unbeknownst to them, Jack and Ryenne's shouting match was attracting the curious stares of the entire crew, who paused momentarily in their duties, simply to watch this battle of wills.
Jack ignored her. "Firstly, love, I saved you in the tavern-"
"Saved me!?" she spluttered indignantly.
"Yes, I saved you!" he shouted. "Secondly, I could've killed you - as rightful punishment - when you impersonated me in the attempt to STEAL my ship!"
"I didn't-"
"Thirdly, I shared my treasure with you, when you deserved nothing at all-"
"Fine! I take your point!" she said huffily, throwing her own hands in the air. He continued nonetheless.
"I saved you from the sharks, and - not to mention - the curse," he was beginning to look quite pleased with himself, ticking his accomplishments off on his fingers one by one. "I -"
She couldn't stand it any longer, and lost the short reign on her temper. Slapping him full across the face, she screamed, "Fine, you're a bloody SAINT, you bastard!" This was probably the worst mistake she had made so far. Losing all patience or self-control, Jack grabbed her wrist, dragging her roughly onto her knees.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped as his grip tightened considerably, his tanned face going nearly white with rage. She was certain that at any moment, she would hear the dreadful crack of her wrist breaking. She forced herself to meet his eyes, usually a dark brown, but now mahogany-red with rage.
"One word," he warned, his voice dangerously low. "Just one more word, Ryenne."
"I -" she saw his eyes flash once more and her arm was twisted brutally up behind her back, sending a sharp pain through her shoulder. "Ow! Jack, you're hurting me!"
"That was six words, Ryenne." He said nastily. "Six words; not one."
???
Ryenne sat slumped in the now-familiar cell, tears streaming slowly down her face. She was beyond hysterics, or even anger. She thought back to the last time she'd been here, the familiar sound and stench of the bilge water swirling halfheartedly back and forth across the floor. Everything had seemed so overwhelming then, too; so hopeless and huge. So unable to be dealt with. Until she had found the compass, and had been able to bargain herself to real or imagined freedom aboard this ship that she now loathed.
But she had no broken compass to save her now.
When she closed her eyes, she could still see Jack's face after she'd slapped him: the hurt and surprise that had briefly appeared in his eyes and then so swiftly been replaced by anger, that she could easily have believed she'd imagined it. But she knew she hadn't.
And she also knew that he hated her. *He has every right to,* she thought miserably, pushing a strand of dark, straight hair out of her face. *I've been nothing but horrible to him.* She actually felt a sort of strange release in admitting this, at least to herself. She'd put up all her defenses - all her walls - to keep herself from getting hurt, and in turn, she'd hurt him. For once, she felt the full remorse of what she'd done; he'd done so much good for her sake, restrained the temper he rightfully possessed, and she spat in his face. And now, keeping her heart closed against him, she'd done herself more injury than ever before.
Loosely gripping the railing, she glanced over her shoulder at Jack, who was rigidly governing the tiller's movements, a grim look on his face. Three days of silence had passed between them, not because of anger: simply because it was far too awkward to speak. What was there to say? As she often did, Ryenne pondered what point she was trying to make in staying aboard the ship. Her power over the rest of the crew was a sham and she was constantly being pestered by irritated thoughts of Jack. Deny it as she might, this was not her ship and she didn't belong on it.
Slowly but surely, she'd been losing sleep, and her eating patterns were becoming somewhat erratic. Often, now, was she without either one of the two, and it was draining her.
"D'you need anything, Captain?" she turned slightly, not entirely surprised to see young Quinn standing before her. The lad was seemingly beginning to worry about her, every so often going out of his way to seek her out and ask how she fared. Despite herself, she'd come to take a liking to the boy.
Fifteen, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, it was obvious he would have no trouble winning ladies' hearts when he was a bit older. At the moment - however - he was looking somewhat nervous and fidgety, as he often did while he was in her presence. Smiling and patting him gently on the shoulder, she shook her head.
"No, thank you, Quinn lad." The boy looked somewhat deflated, but she continued on in a no-nonsense tone. "You'd better get back to your duties, or Captain Jack will have your skin." He nodded disappointedly and scurried away. She stared after him, remembering Quinn - her former first mate. He and the boy shared the name, yes, but the similarities ended there. Where young Quinn was fair-haired and light-eyed, her first mate had had a mop of dark, curly hair and eyes like pools of ink. In fact, Ryenne had found him quite dashing....in a dark, dangerous sort of way. He was unfailingly loyal o her - until the very end, that was - though he refused to be any sort of menial servant, as the boy seemed to be. His hooded eyes suggested that he was more clever than he let on, and he was very out-spoken; for this she'd chosen him as first mate......over Tyrus, the only other who'd thought himself worthy of the position.
Ryenne shook her head, forcing the thought of him out of her mind. They were gone forever - like her life as a TRUE captain - never to return. She had to find something to occupy her time, and there was only one person who could truly distract her.
???
Jack tried not to show his surprise as Ryenne began to make a beeline toward him, trying to force his face to remain neutral. She'd avoided him completely the past three days, and now she expected him to talk to her. It was maddening to be on the same ship with her, and his patience was wearing dangerously thin. Did she expect his moods to change as swiftly as hers did?
"What do YOU want?" he growled, giving the tiller a sharp jerk. She looked slightly hurt for a moment, but was quick to cover it up. Her tone was brisk, though he could sense the slight bite of annoyance hidden beneath the placidity.
"Well, Captain, I was simply going to inquire as to our current destination." She crossed her arms obstinately, a gesture he was beginning to hate.
"Port Royale."
It was apparent that the answer was not good enough for her. "Why?" she demanded impatiently, tapping her foot on the deck.
"Because we need supplies, you miserable tart, that's why!" he snapped, turning his back on her with a snort. She maneuvered around in front of him, making sure she could look him in the eye as she spoke.
"Why are you always in such a temper!?" she shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Even when I attempt to do something kind for -"
Jack let go of the tiller completely, throwing his hands up into the air in disgust. "When you try to do something kind for WHOM!?!? For ME!? You haven't done anything so far that could even be considered kind! Just think about it, Ryenne! What have you done-"
"Well, you're not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself!" she retorted sharply. "Name one kind thing you've done for me!"
"One!? ONE!? I'll give you a whole list, love-"
"Do NOT call me that!!" Unbeknownst to them, Jack and Ryenne's shouting match was attracting the curious stares of the entire crew, who paused momentarily in their duties, simply to watch this battle of wills.
Jack ignored her. "Firstly, love, I saved you in the tavern-"
"Saved me!?" she spluttered indignantly.
"Yes, I saved you!" he shouted. "Secondly, I could've killed you - as rightful punishment - when you impersonated me in the attempt to STEAL my ship!"
"I didn't-"
"Thirdly, I shared my treasure with you, when you deserved nothing at all-"
"Fine! I take your point!" she said huffily, throwing her own hands in the air. He continued nonetheless.
"I saved you from the sharks, and - not to mention - the curse," he was beginning to look quite pleased with himself, ticking his accomplishments off on his fingers one by one. "I -"
She couldn't stand it any longer, and lost the short reign on her temper. Slapping him full across the face, she screamed, "Fine, you're a bloody SAINT, you bastard!" This was probably the worst mistake she had made so far. Losing all patience or self-control, Jack grabbed her wrist, dragging her roughly onto her knees.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped as his grip tightened considerably, his tanned face going nearly white with rage. She was certain that at any moment, she would hear the dreadful crack of her wrist breaking. She forced herself to meet his eyes, usually a dark brown, but now mahogany-red with rage.
"One word," he warned, his voice dangerously low. "Just one more word, Ryenne."
"I -" she saw his eyes flash once more and her arm was twisted brutally up behind her back, sending a sharp pain through her shoulder. "Ow! Jack, you're hurting me!"
"That was six words, Ryenne." He said nastily. "Six words; not one."
???
Ryenne sat slumped in the now-familiar cell, tears streaming slowly down her face. She was beyond hysterics, or even anger. She thought back to the last time she'd been here, the familiar sound and stench of the bilge water swirling halfheartedly back and forth across the floor. Everything had seemed so overwhelming then, too; so hopeless and huge. So unable to be dealt with. Until she had found the compass, and had been able to bargain herself to real or imagined freedom aboard this ship that she now loathed.
But she had no broken compass to save her now.
When she closed her eyes, she could still see Jack's face after she'd slapped him: the hurt and surprise that had briefly appeared in his eyes and then so swiftly been replaced by anger, that she could easily have believed she'd imagined it. But she knew she hadn't.
And she also knew that he hated her. *He has every right to,* she thought miserably, pushing a strand of dark, straight hair out of her face. *I've been nothing but horrible to him.* She actually felt a sort of strange release in admitting this, at least to herself. She'd put up all her defenses - all her walls - to keep herself from getting hurt, and in turn, she'd hurt him. For once, she felt the full remorse of what she'd done; he'd done so much good for her sake, restrained the temper he rightfully possessed, and she spat in his face. And now, keeping her heart closed against him, she'd done herself more injury than ever before.