Out here again! Meg wondered why, but she seemed to be attracted to the
place; odd considering last time she'd been bound in place and had to be
rescued by her knight in dreadlocks and heavy accent.
Needless to note, she was out on the bow again, loose hair whipping into her face as the ship progressed until out of frustration she wished for a knife to chop it all off. Seconds later she was appalled at the idea and compromised with herself by tucking her tresses into the back of her gown.
Her hand found its way to her pinched-up mouth (it gave her the look of a sour grandmother) and she loosened her jaw and began to nibble unconsciously at her nails. Her eyes narrowed, she squinted at the approaching shoreline. Now she resembled a chipmunk, gnawing away at her nails fervently while her eyes were small, dark slits.
"It's Tortuga, love," a voice hailed her. She spun around - her jaw dropped, her hand dropped out of it, and a nail fell off the hand.
"It is a place for ruffians and scoundrels only," she said bitingly (or what she considered bitingly). Her voice lacked natural edge as she was echoing some of her father's words, ones that he had spoken to her at one of their rare dinners.
"Ah yes," said the captain, grinning. He strung the two words together so that it sounded like 'ahhyes'. "Yes, it is."
Meg realized that Jack had taken this for a compliment, and strove to lash out at him with whatever she could. "You smell absolutely horrid," she snapped. "And -" noticing the rum bottle in his hand, "You're a liar. You said you didn't drink and there." She gestured at the offending container with a superior expression toying at the lines of her mouth.
"What can I say?" Jack, still with that idiotic grin on his face, stepped forward a pace and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not an honest man."
"That much is obvious," Meg informed him coldly, placing her hands palm- down on either side of herself and moving her ankles about in random shapes in midair.
Much to her annoyance, this made Jack crack up. He eyed her with something akin to pity, and then, still snickering a bit, strode off to have a word with the man known as Mr. Gibbs.
Irritated, Meg flounced down the kitchen, practically falling headfirst down the stairs when she tripped over the hem of her own skirt. She managed to pick herself up and skid into the kitchen with only a few minor bruises.
Jacques was sitting on a high-backed stool staring at nothing in particular. His grey eyes seemed unfocused and he did not seem to have to blink.
Meg had about a split second to view this before she went flying past him and collided with the wall, causing Jacques to start and stare directly at her, or, as it seemed, through her. Apparently the ship had hit a choppy patch of waves and Meg was definitely not having the best of it.
Jacques helped her up, then asked: "What are you doing down here?"
Meg had to sigh. "I got tired of Mr. Man up there and decided to pay you a little visit."
"Yes, well he is a little odd, but you will get used to it after a small time onboard the ship."
Meg had to suppress a smile; not at Jacques's odd choice of words, but at the memory of what Jack had said about Jacques: "Mostly I keep the lad in the kitchens where he can't do any harm."
"What is Tortuga?" she came out with, not realizing how many questions she had started to ask. When her father had brought it up, it had been because the butler had mentioned it, and then Edmund Kentsworth had dropped the subject as rapidly as though it had been on fire.
Jacques eyed her solemnly for a minute; then he answered plaintively. "That's where all the wenches are. And the rum."
Meg opened her mouth, closed it, and repeated the procedure wordlessly. She looked like a fish. "Oh." Her single word just about summed it up; in an instant her curiousity on that particular matter disappeared as if Jacques had erased it with a wet rag. For now, at least.
And just as suddenly, she was very bored with Jacques and his conversation as colorless as his hooded eyes. She tipped him a farewell and slipped out.
When she stepped on deck for a brief interval, she noticed that it was late afternoon -soon to be evening- and the town of Tortuga was fast approaching. Screwing up her nose (now she resembled a mole rat) she rejoined company with the darkness of the lower decks, where she sat for what seemed like hours in the relative quiet of Jack's cabin.
At last he entered. "No cleaning job? I thought it was your standard by now - I could find you some floor wax, if you like?"
"Don't worry." Meg started from a half-doze, but her wits and tongue remained as sharp as ever. "I've already done the entire thing -yesterday- but trust me, it was no easy task. But now that I finished the rat's nest, I was hoping to start on the rat?" She eyed him with a mixture of inquiry and disgust.
"Don't get your hopes up." Jack sank onto his mattress. "I only came to tell you lass, that we've docked, and the crew and I are going into Tortuga for the night."
For the night. Meg's heart and stomach convulsed at the thought and the memory of Jacques's words and remained to do so as, a quarter-hour later, she perched on deck and watched the crew thread their way off the ship like a retreating army. It doesn't matter, she thought, he's just a foolish pirate captain. He doesn't matter to me, to nobody in particular except perhaps his crew.
That inner voice fought its way through her; and she both loathed and feared the words that it grated into her mind.
Oh really?
**** Sort of a bad chapter, but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING to read after 10 days! I was up north; really sorry it took me so long! I'll update again tomorrow, and it'll hopefully start heating up soon.
Needless to note, she was out on the bow again, loose hair whipping into her face as the ship progressed until out of frustration she wished for a knife to chop it all off. Seconds later she was appalled at the idea and compromised with herself by tucking her tresses into the back of her gown.
Her hand found its way to her pinched-up mouth (it gave her the look of a sour grandmother) and she loosened her jaw and began to nibble unconsciously at her nails. Her eyes narrowed, she squinted at the approaching shoreline. Now she resembled a chipmunk, gnawing away at her nails fervently while her eyes were small, dark slits.
"It's Tortuga, love," a voice hailed her. She spun around - her jaw dropped, her hand dropped out of it, and a nail fell off the hand.
"It is a place for ruffians and scoundrels only," she said bitingly (or what she considered bitingly). Her voice lacked natural edge as she was echoing some of her father's words, ones that he had spoken to her at one of their rare dinners.
"Ah yes," said the captain, grinning. He strung the two words together so that it sounded like 'ahhyes'. "Yes, it is."
Meg realized that Jack had taken this for a compliment, and strove to lash out at him with whatever she could. "You smell absolutely horrid," she snapped. "And -" noticing the rum bottle in his hand, "You're a liar. You said you didn't drink and there." She gestured at the offending container with a superior expression toying at the lines of her mouth.
"What can I say?" Jack, still with that idiotic grin on his face, stepped forward a pace and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not an honest man."
"That much is obvious," Meg informed him coldly, placing her hands palm- down on either side of herself and moving her ankles about in random shapes in midair.
Much to her annoyance, this made Jack crack up. He eyed her with something akin to pity, and then, still snickering a bit, strode off to have a word with the man known as Mr. Gibbs.
Irritated, Meg flounced down the kitchen, practically falling headfirst down the stairs when she tripped over the hem of her own skirt. She managed to pick herself up and skid into the kitchen with only a few minor bruises.
Jacques was sitting on a high-backed stool staring at nothing in particular. His grey eyes seemed unfocused and he did not seem to have to blink.
Meg had about a split second to view this before she went flying past him and collided with the wall, causing Jacques to start and stare directly at her, or, as it seemed, through her. Apparently the ship had hit a choppy patch of waves and Meg was definitely not having the best of it.
Jacques helped her up, then asked: "What are you doing down here?"
Meg had to sigh. "I got tired of Mr. Man up there and decided to pay you a little visit."
"Yes, well he is a little odd, but you will get used to it after a small time onboard the ship."
Meg had to suppress a smile; not at Jacques's odd choice of words, but at the memory of what Jack had said about Jacques: "Mostly I keep the lad in the kitchens where he can't do any harm."
"What is Tortuga?" she came out with, not realizing how many questions she had started to ask. When her father had brought it up, it had been because the butler had mentioned it, and then Edmund Kentsworth had dropped the subject as rapidly as though it had been on fire.
Jacques eyed her solemnly for a minute; then he answered plaintively. "That's where all the wenches are. And the rum."
Meg opened her mouth, closed it, and repeated the procedure wordlessly. She looked like a fish. "Oh." Her single word just about summed it up; in an instant her curiousity on that particular matter disappeared as if Jacques had erased it with a wet rag. For now, at least.
And just as suddenly, she was very bored with Jacques and his conversation as colorless as his hooded eyes. She tipped him a farewell and slipped out.
When she stepped on deck for a brief interval, she noticed that it was late afternoon -soon to be evening- and the town of Tortuga was fast approaching. Screwing up her nose (now she resembled a mole rat) she rejoined company with the darkness of the lower decks, where she sat for what seemed like hours in the relative quiet of Jack's cabin.
At last he entered. "No cleaning job? I thought it was your standard by now - I could find you some floor wax, if you like?"
"Don't worry." Meg started from a half-doze, but her wits and tongue remained as sharp as ever. "I've already done the entire thing -yesterday- but trust me, it was no easy task. But now that I finished the rat's nest, I was hoping to start on the rat?" She eyed him with a mixture of inquiry and disgust.
"Don't get your hopes up." Jack sank onto his mattress. "I only came to tell you lass, that we've docked, and the crew and I are going into Tortuga for the night."
For the night. Meg's heart and stomach convulsed at the thought and the memory of Jacques's words and remained to do so as, a quarter-hour later, she perched on deck and watched the crew thread their way off the ship like a retreating army. It doesn't matter, she thought, he's just a foolish pirate captain. He doesn't matter to me, to nobody in particular except perhaps his crew.
That inner voice fought its way through her; and she both loathed and feared the words that it grated into her mind.
Oh really?
**** Sort of a bad chapter, but I wanted to give you all SOMETHING to read after 10 days! I was up north; really sorry it took me so long! I'll update again tomorrow, and it'll hopefully start heating up soon.