Stephanie and the others who had been on the small boat boarded the
Black Pearl. Stephanie looked around in shock. This was the Widow. Through
and through. She couldn't believe how identical they were. She put her hand
on the side and closed her eyes. Momentarily, she was on the Widow.
Captain, as always, with her loyal crew. She was pulled unwillingly out of
her fantasy world by the real Captain, Jack Sparrow.
"Lovely, in't she?" he stated. "Takes me anywhere I wanna go and everywhere I've already been. Well, except for when Barbossa stole her, then I got by with the ships I stole and the rum I drank, but that's another story."
"Aye, she's a beauteous as the Widow," Stephanie said almost kindly, but changed her tone quickly, "But you can save your stories for someone who wants to hear them. Where do I put me things?"
"Anamaria!" Jack shouted. The woman took her time, but was soon before Jack and Stephanie. "Stephanie, this is Anamaria, your new bunkmate. Anamaria, take Stephanie down below. She'll be sharin' a cabin with you."
Anamaria looked relieved. Finally, another woman on the Pearl. She never thought she'd see the day, "Aye, Captain. Come with me." Anamaria led Stephanie down below the deck and into a small cabin. There were two beds and one set of drawers crammed into the small space. "There'll be plenty-a room for your things. My own barely take up half the drawers. Your bunk's on the left."
Stephanie set her bag on her bed and looked around at her new quarters, "Lovely," she sighed under her breath. She then smiled half- heartedly at Anamaria. She, too, was glad to be able to have the company of a woman for once. It would be much different than the blokes she was used to, "Thank you." Anamaria smiled back and left to go back up.
Stephanie began the short process of unpacking her clothes and few items and putting them into the drawers she found to be empty. Just as she was finishing up, the door to her cabin opened and Anthony popped his head in, "How are you holding up, Captain?"
Stephanie closed her eyes and sighed, "I'm not Captain of this ship, Anthony. Nor any ship besides the Widow," she reminded him.
"Yes... of course... How are you doing, Stephanie?" He smiled broadly. It had been so long since he had been able to call his daughter by the name he had given her. She had been 'Captain' to him ever since she allowed him to board her ship 4 years ago.
Stephanie shrugged, "I've been worse, Anthony. For the most part, I'm healthy."
"That's not exactly the question I was asking," he told her.
"I know. I plan to get off at the next Port. I don't wish to ever look towards the sea after what happened to the Widow. And I don't wish for you to come with me." she explained harshly.
Anthony looked down, all traces of a smile vanished from his face, "Right, then. I'll just... Right..." he left her there and closed the door behind him. When she was sure he was gone, she threw her bag at the door. She sat herself roughly down onto the bed. She put her elbows on her knees and shoved her hands through her knotted hair, not even noticing the pain caused by the strands that tore out of her head. As much as she wanted to, she refused to cry. She had wasted too much time crying over the man she once called her father already.
'How can he act like everything's normal between us?' she thought. 'Has he forgotten everything he put me through? Everything he put my mother through?' She let the thoughts roll through her head, but they never escaped her mouth. She remembered the times when they were a family. She was maybe 5 or 6. Her parents were so happy then. So was she. But then, her father discovered taverns and whores. All the happiness they had known disappeared when he came home one night drunk. She remembered hearing her parents screaming at one another, and ran out of her room when the screaming arguement turned simply intp her mother screaming. Crying out in pain. Crying for help that an 8 year old daughter could not give her.
She remembered the look in her fathers eyes as he brought his hand down upon her mother time and time again. And she also remembered the look in his eyes when he saw her watching from the top of the stairs. The look of rage in his eyes as he lept at her and repeated the same painful beating on her which he had placed upon her mother. She remembered this night, and every night like this. Though there were too many to keep track of, she never forgot the pain. Not to mention the talent he had given to her. The talent that should anyone cross her in any way, or should she think that anyone has, she could just resort to violence. Beat the same sort of sense into them that her father had beaten into her.
And always she said the same thing, when asked why she felt the need to be so violent, it was always the same response, "It runs in the family," she whispered to herself, as she had to others so many times before.
"Lovely, in't she?" he stated. "Takes me anywhere I wanna go and everywhere I've already been. Well, except for when Barbossa stole her, then I got by with the ships I stole and the rum I drank, but that's another story."
"Aye, she's a beauteous as the Widow," Stephanie said almost kindly, but changed her tone quickly, "But you can save your stories for someone who wants to hear them. Where do I put me things?"
"Anamaria!" Jack shouted. The woman took her time, but was soon before Jack and Stephanie. "Stephanie, this is Anamaria, your new bunkmate. Anamaria, take Stephanie down below. She'll be sharin' a cabin with you."
Anamaria looked relieved. Finally, another woman on the Pearl. She never thought she'd see the day, "Aye, Captain. Come with me." Anamaria led Stephanie down below the deck and into a small cabin. There were two beds and one set of drawers crammed into the small space. "There'll be plenty-a room for your things. My own barely take up half the drawers. Your bunk's on the left."
Stephanie set her bag on her bed and looked around at her new quarters, "Lovely," she sighed under her breath. She then smiled half- heartedly at Anamaria. She, too, was glad to be able to have the company of a woman for once. It would be much different than the blokes she was used to, "Thank you." Anamaria smiled back and left to go back up.
Stephanie began the short process of unpacking her clothes and few items and putting them into the drawers she found to be empty. Just as she was finishing up, the door to her cabin opened and Anthony popped his head in, "How are you holding up, Captain?"
Stephanie closed her eyes and sighed, "I'm not Captain of this ship, Anthony. Nor any ship besides the Widow," she reminded him.
"Yes... of course... How are you doing, Stephanie?" He smiled broadly. It had been so long since he had been able to call his daughter by the name he had given her. She had been 'Captain' to him ever since she allowed him to board her ship 4 years ago.
Stephanie shrugged, "I've been worse, Anthony. For the most part, I'm healthy."
"That's not exactly the question I was asking," he told her.
"I know. I plan to get off at the next Port. I don't wish to ever look towards the sea after what happened to the Widow. And I don't wish for you to come with me." she explained harshly.
Anthony looked down, all traces of a smile vanished from his face, "Right, then. I'll just... Right..." he left her there and closed the door behind him. When she was sure he was gone, she threw her bag at the door. She sat herself roughly down onto the bed. She put her elbows on her knees and shoved her hands through her knotted hair, not even noticing the pain caused by the strands that tore out of her head. As much as she wanted to, she refused to cry. She had wasted too much time crying over the man she once called her father already.
'How can he act like everything's normal between us?' she thought. 'Has he forgotten everything he put me through? Everything he put my mother through?' She let the thoughts roll through her head, but they never escaped her mouth. She remembered the times when they were a family. She was maybe 5 or 6. Her parents were so happy then. So was she. But then, her father discovered taverns and whores. All the happiness they had known disappeared when he came home one night drunk. She remembered hearing her parents screaming at one another, and ran out of her room when the screaming arguement turned simply intp her mother screaming. Crying out in pain. Crying for help that an 8 year old daughter could not give her.
She remembered the look in her fathers eyes as he brought his hand down upon her mother time and time again. And she also remembered the look in his eyes when he saw her watching from the top of the stairs. The look of rage in his eyes as he lept at her and repeated the same painful beating on her which he had placed upon her mother. She remembered this night, and every night like this. Though there were too many to keep track of, she never forgot the pain. Not to mention the talent he had given to her. The talent that should anyone cross her in any way, or should she think that anyone has, she could just resort to violence. Beat the same sort of sense into them that her father had beaten into her.
And always she said the same thing, when asked why she felt the need to be so violent, it was always the same response, "It runs in the family," she whispered to herself, as she had to others so many times before.