Pirates of the Caribbean
and the Waters of Hell
Author's Note - Okay, so here is the official first chapter, guys. The first one was a prologue, an introductory chapter or something. I don't own any of the characters seen in the movie Pirates of the Caribbean and the Curse of the Black Pearl, bla bla, there now you can't sue me! HAHAHHAHAHA! Just to let you know, I'm crazy, Scottish, Zim-obsessed, Nirvana-obsessed, and crazy. Okay? Okaay. Now, on with what you want to know, or don't, or whatever. Here is . . . the next thingie!
~*~
Chapter One - Diary of a Blacksmith/Pirate.
~Will~
" . . . Clink, clink, clink, clink, goes the iron," I sang to himself as I hit the white hot iron with my hammer, moulding the dagger I had been working on all week. It was made of a special alloy that had been sold to me by an old beggar woman in the streets last month, saying it was made of an impenetrable force and it would be good for me. Why she thought it would be good for me was a mystery but it looked nice anyway. It took a long time to heat up and was tough. It wouldn't shatter, but whether it was invincible or not was yet to be tested.
The dagger was to be for Elisabeth's father's fifty-sixth birthday next week, and I was putting my all into it at the moment because I had bought the most perfect handle for it that I was anxious to try out. But it was almost finished and by the end of the day my knife was finished, and all I had to get now was a sheath. The handle fitted perfectly onto the blade and it looked great if I do say so myself, and I was tempted to keep it for myself because it looked so solid yet it was extremely light. The grip fit my hand perfectly and I had to bite my lip to avoid the will to hide it away for myself.
God, what was I becoming? Was I so incredibly bored that I was excited by a mere piece of weaponry? The simple answer that came immediately was yes, of course I was, it was a damned nice dagger, but it was for Mr Swann and that was where it would go. Maybe that woman had more that I could buy and make my own with it. But even if she had some more, which I doubted, I didn't think it could ever be as perfect as this one. As I passed the leather shop, where I was going to get my sheath, one in particular caught my eye. It was black leather, and it slid onto the belt and looked such fine quality and so elegant that I knew I had found the final piece for my present to my father-in-law, who always seemed to be a little distant with Elisabeth these days, so I wondered if perhaps this might build some bridges.
I pointed out the sheath to the shopkeeper, Mr Borley, who gave me a grim smile and asked to see the dagger I would be using for it. I pulled it out of my own tattered, dirty brown leather sheath and handed it to him. Mr Borley's eyes shone interestingly as he surveyed my dagger's blade, and held it by the handle, tossing it up into the air and catching it again a couple of times before sliding it into the sheath to check it was the right size. He gave a little interested nod and smiled with the corner of his mouth at me before sliding the dagger back across the table.
"For the Governor, I presume, Mr Turner?" he predicted eloquently in his soft Welsh accent, before nodding again at the sheath, which he slid across the table to me and I took it, putting it in my sack full of the grocery shopping I had done earlier. Oh, dull, dull, dull was my life at the moment. My rays of sunshine were Lily and Elisabeth, who made it all worth while, but there was always something else, some longing I have for adventure that I know I can have, not now anyway. So I have to make do, and despite my boredom I live well, it's the kind of life most people would be very content to live by. And I am content . . . just not enough.
I handed the man a few coins and asked if it was enough, and Mr Borley replied that it was plenty. I thanked him and slung the sack over my shoulder, the dagger back in my tattered sheath (I wanted it to be mine for as long as possible) and headed home at last after a long day of finishing off my dagger . . . no, Mr Swann's dagger . . . oh well.
~*~
When I got home, Elisabeth was up in our room brushing Lily's hair before our housekeeper announced dinner. We didn't have many servants, and we didn't treat them like servants, we had Mrs Rewick the housekeeper and Lily's nanny when Elisabeth and I were out, Freddie Gingro the cook and his apprentice Bernard, a clumsy young lad of fourteen, and lastly, Trudy, the maid, a quiet young eighteen year old that occasionally did the shopping, but I preferred to do it because it was convenient to do during my break at work. Elisabeth, however, I know longs to work so she can do her bit for the family, but she was the Governor's daughter and had a young child after all, and that meant she could not work. But she does her bit for the family in ways she doesn't know, but I don't know what I'd do without her, I really don't. We've been together for three years, and we've never lost any love for each other. If we have an argument we always end up laughing about it within five minutes, and Lily just makes our family perfect, she's so lively and intelligent for a two-year-old.
When she saw my reflection in the mirror, she gave a happy squeal and leaped out of the chair, the hairbrush still in her long mousy tresses that I removed carefully during the embrace. When she released me, she ran downstairs to see the sack I always brought back from work, and was soon running back up the stairs to interrupt me and Elisabeth hugging holding out the black leather sheath.
"Will!" Elisabeth said to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I turned round to face Lily, who was out of breath from the effort of running with her little legs. She was staring up at me with my eyes, deep brown, that seemed to suit her more than me. She was very beautiful, like her mother, but had my eyes and hair, which hung scraggly against her waist. "Will, that's lovely! What . . . what's it for?"
I grinned at Elisabeth, my Elisabeth, my beautiful, beautiful wife. I took the dagger from out of my sheath and handed it to her. She ran her long fingers along the flat of the blade, fascinated by the metal that appeared silver in some lights, copper in others. She murmured "Oh Will, it's beautiful, he'll love it . . . " and then she sheathed the dagger, put it on our bedside table and smiled at me, returning to my side and giving me a big kiss. Lily made a "yucky!" noise and I laughed.
We were happy, I knew. I wasn't an ungrateful fool, or maybe I was. If I was then I was disappointed in myself because I had a wonderful family . . . if only there was some kind of way to mingle it with adventure, something both me and my wife longed for so much.
~*~
There was no adventure here, in Plymouth, I realised, lying in my bed that night after our bellies were full and Lily was tucked up in bed sleeping, and Elisabeth was dozing off, and I was looking at the dagger lying to my left, looking so desirably perfect, like Elisabeth. I thought of what an old friend by the name of Jack Sparrow would say to a dagger like that. I smiled as I thought of what he said.
But I couldn't think any more on that right now, because my daughter was screaming "FIRE! FIRE! MUMMY! DADDY!" and me and Elisabeth were running, and I had the dagger in my hand without realizing it, still in the sheath, and we were trapped, the fire was blocking all the exits and everything was so hot and I could smell blood and it was so horribly distinctively clear and I was so scared and Elisabeth was whispering in my ear but I couldn't hear what she was saying and Lily was screaming so terribly and I felt my lungs weighing me down and I felt myself fall down on the floor and Elisabeth started screaming my name and I still had the dagger in my hand and I tried to say "I love you" but my mouth wouldn't let me and I couldn't see and there was so much smoke . . . and Lily was still screaming and crying and I tried to calm her down but I couldn't, and, and, and, and, and, and . . . and . . . an . . . a. . .
~Jack~
My day started well, which was a first, 'cos normally my day starts with a gunshot or someone tipping me out of my hammock when I'm sleeping or splashing water on my face because I've slept in too bloody late. Too bloody late?!? I'm the bloody Captain, for Christ's sake! I'll show them . . . but anyway, today my day started well because the crew was in a good mood, 'cos we were going on our first raid in a long, long bloody time.
We were hungry for food, hungry (or thirsty, whatever) for rum, hungry for blood, hungry for fire, hungry for terror . . . we were bloody pirates, after all, I mean. What kind of pirates are we if we follow some kind of damned Robin bloody Hood regime? I mean . . . we wouldn't be pirates, would we? We'd be backwards pirates! You know . . . setarips . . . or something . . .
So that's what I said to them that night, before we went out, I said we were pirates and we shouldn't feel guilty of people dying, because that was inevitable really. A shame maybe 'cos that meant less people to rob next time but we were doing our . . . illegal job, maybe, but it was still a job as far as I was concerned, and my job was to be a pirate. And to be a pirate, the job is . . . to . . . steal and kill and rob and seek treasure and things. Well I knew what I meant, and that's what I said to them!
I told them to get as many barrels of rum as they could roll, as many loaves of bread and baskets of fruit and the like as they could gather, burn as many buildings as was bloody possible and then run as fast as they bloody well could back to the boat without being sunk by the defenses. It sounded good to me, and it sounded bloody good to them 'cos they cheered and we left the ship in little rowing boats, me standing at the helm looking very important, but I admit I almost slipped and fell in the water. It was the drunken swagger that saved me, I tells ya.
~*~
Bloody Hell this port was big. I set foot on the pier first, and of course the guards were ready to ask what the Hell we were there for, and we grinned and surrounded them, and we told them exactly what we were bloody well here for. Those guards had a nice midnight swim. It was late to start a raid, but we'd only be a couple of hours because after that was when reinforcements arrived and that would be bad news even for Captain Jack Sparrow's crew, that's what I say. I may be a pirate but I'm not stupid, although I'm sure Biggs and Ana Maria would put that up for debate.
As a tradition, I set fire to the first building, I stuck my hand holding a fiery torch into a large house's open window (pretty stupid really) and set fire to the curtains. I heard some panicky screams within seconds and set off with a bounce in my step for the nearest weaponry store, we needed some more gunpowder and a couple more guns and daggers. Daggers, ah, I'd been trying to teach the crew as a bit of Sunday practice to climb the mast with a dagger in the mouth.
Of course, with some of the bloody numbskulls I have aboard the Black Pearl they tried to talk to one another while they had the damned knives in their mouths! Well, we didn't see those blades ever again, thus knew daggers were needed and that was that.
I love the panic. I love watching my crew rolling barrels of precious rum and running with sacks of bread and fruit and wheat and vegetables and all sorts of food heading back towards the ship. By then I had a big sack full of daggers and guns and heavy gunpowder, which weighed me down a bit, so I had a new crew member, twenty-six year old Tom Darryl, a wily character with a good sense of humour and a patch over his eye. Whether he actually needed it or not only I knew, as no one else would ask him, he was always so unpredictable in his actions, which was why he was my right hand man. Well, second right hand man, because Biggs was my first mate after all, but to be honest I liked that young lad better.
He was fast, witty, cunning and good with a sword. He was very good at getting me out of a fix with Ana Maria because he was charming and handsome, or so I'm told, which can calm her down and save my precious bottom. He was with me, keeping an eye out for some men that might come and take down the great Captain Jack Sparrow, while I carried this dirty great big bag of ammunition.
We were heading back to the boat, about fifty metres or so from the rowing boats that had to hide in the shadows to avoid being hit by the town's poor defences, when I heard a child screaming from inside a huge rich person's house. I paused, looking up at the building with a lump in my throat, but not knowing in the bloody slightest why. Darryl noticed I was lagging behind and ran backwards to me, cutting a guard's throat expertly when he attacked him. He pulled at my coat sleeve, dusty with all the filth falling off the burning building. I swallowed, but there was no saliva in my mouth to swallow with.
"There's a child in there, Darryl," I murmured, and he nodded, moving his hand up to my shoulder and trying to tug, but it was easy to see he was getting anxious about getting back. I knew as well as he did that we would be left behind if we had to be, "A young child . . . a baby."
"Aye, cap'n," Darryl agreed, still trying to pull me away, "but this is a massacre, sir. You can't expect just guards to get killed, it's gotta be civilians too, men, women, even children. We're pirates, sir. That's the cold truth of it," he said wisely, and I nodded. I knew he was right, I had made that rule. Everyone gets hurt. I wondered how many men of my own I'd lost.
"I know . . . " I said, staggering back a little, then before I knew what I was doing I dropped the sack and kicked the ruined door down, doubting very much that if it hadn't been burning down I wouldn't have been able to kick it down and then looked a bit stupid in front of a very respected guy, but I did. I stood being proud of myself for a moment and then followed the screaming upstairs, Darryl calling after me, hearing his boots on the marble floor after me.
I was faster and got into the room the screaming had come from. It had stopped by the time I got there, but I was there in time, barging into a smoke-filled room with three figures on the ground.
I stood staring at them, vaguely familiar but not being able to place them. Darryl came up behind me and took me by the shoulder again, the sack in his hands. Another crew member, Rhuaraidh Stirling, a Scottish boy that was known to curse every three words was with him. He took the sack from Darryl as we stooped to turn the unconscious figures over onto their backs.
I gave a little gasp and stepped back, but Darryl was bent over the woman, looking fascinated. I knew her face. I knew the man's face lying next to her. But the little girl in Elisabeth Turner's arms I presumed was their daughter was exactly the way I had imagined their child to be.
~*~
Author's Note : Was that any good? Please review and let me know, sorry it's been ages since I updated but y'know, stuff to do, boring exam prelims to study for. Dull, boring, boring! Anyway, hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. Mmyep. Anyway in the meantime feel like to review like the geese you are!
and the Waters of Hell
Author's Note - Okay, so here is the official first chapter, guys. The first one was a prologue, an introductory chapter or something. I don't own any of the characters seen in the movie Pirates of the Caribbean and the Curse of the Black Pearl, bla bla, there now you can't sue me! HAHAHHAHAHA! Just to let you know, I'm crazy, Scottish, Zim-obsessed, Nirvana-obsessed, and crazy. Okay? Okaay. Now, on with what you want to know, or don't, or whatever. Here is . . . the next thingie!
~*~
Chapter One - Diary of a Blacksmith/Pirate.
~Will~
" . . . Clink, clink, clink, clink, goes the iron," I sang to himself as I hit the white hot iron with my hammer, moulding the dagger I had been working on all week. It was made of a special alloy that had been sold to me by an old beggar woman in the streets last month, saying it was made of an impenetrable force and it would be good for me. Why she thought it would be good for me was a mystery but it looked nice anyway. It took a long time to heat up and was tough. It wouldn't shatter, but whether it was invincible or not was yet to be tested.
The dagger was to be for Elisabeth's father's fifty-sixth birthday next week, and I was putting my all into it at the moment because I had bought the most perfect handle for it that I was anxious to try out. But it was almost finished and by the end of the day my knife was finished, and all I had to get now was a sheath. The handle fitted perfectly onto the blade and it looked great if I do say so myself, and I was tempted to keep it for myself because it looked so solid yet it was extremely light. The grip fit my hand perfectly and I had to bite my lip to avoid the will to hide it away for myself.
God, what was I becoming? Was I so incredibly bored that I was excited by a mere piece of weaponry? The simple answer that came immediately was yes, of course I was, it was a damned nice dagger, but it was for Mr Swann and that was where it would go. Maybe that woman had more that I could buy and make my own with it. But even if she had some more, which I doubted, I didn't think it could ever be as perfect as this one. As I passed the leather shop, where I was going to get my sheath, one in particular caught my eye. It was black leather, and it slid onto the belt and looked such fine quality and so elegant that I knew I had found the final piece for my present to my father-in-law, who always seemed to be a little distant with Elisabeth these days, so I wondered if perhaps this might build some bridges.
I pointed out the sheath to the shopkeeper, Mr Borley, who gave me a grim smile and asked to see the dagger I would be using for it. I pulled it out of my own tattered, dirty brown leather sheath and handed it to him. Mr Borley's eyes shone interestingly as he surveyed my dagger's blade, and held it by the handle, tossing it up into the air and catching it again a couple of times before sliding it into the sheath to check it was the right size. He gave a little interested nod and smiled with the corner of his mouth at me before sliding the dagger back across the table.
"For the Governor, I presume, Mr Turner?" he predicted eloquently in his soft Welsh accent, before nodding again at the sheath, which he slid across the table to me and I took it, putting it in my sack full of the grocery shopping I had done earlier. Oh, dull, dull, dull was my life at the moment. My rays of sunshine were Lily and Elisabeth, who made it all worth while, but there was always something else, some longing I have for adventure that I know I can have, not now anyway. So I have to make do, and despite my boredom I live well, it's the kind of life most people would be very content to live by. And I am content . . . just not enough.
I handed the man a few coins and asked if it was enough, and Mr Borley replied that it was plenty. I thanked him and slung the sack over my shoulder, the dagger back in my tattered sheath (I wanted it to be mine for as long as possible) and headed home at last after a long day of finishing off my dagger . . . no, Mr Swann's dagger . . . oh well.
~*~
When I got home, Elisabeth was up in our room brushing Lily's hair before our housekeeper announced dinner. We didn't have many servants, and we didn't treat them like servants, we had Mrs Rewick the housekeeper and Lily's nanny when Elisabeth and I were out, Freddie Gingro the cook and his apprentice Bernard, a clumsy young lad of fourteen, and lastly, Trudy, the maid, a quiet young eighteen year old that occasionally did the shopping, but I preferred to do it because it was convenient to do during my break at work. Elisabeth, however, I know longs to work so she can do her bit for the family, but she was the Governor's daughter and had a young child after all, and that meant she could not work. But she does her bit for the family in ways she doesn't know, but I don't know what I'd do without her, I really don't. We've been together for three years, and we've never lost any love for each other. If we have an argument we always end up laughing about it within five minutes, and Lily just makes our family perfect, she's so lively and intelligent for a two-year-old.
When she saw my reflection in the mirror, she gave a happy squeal and leaped out of the chair, the hairbrush still in her long mousy tresses that I removed carefully during the embrace. When she released me, she ran downstairs to see the sack I always brought back from work, and was soon running back up the stairs to interrupt me and Elisabeth hugging holding out the black leather sheath.
"Will!" Elisabeth said to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I turned round to face Lily, who was out of breath from the effort of running with her little legs. She was staring up at me with my eyes, deep brown, that seemed to suit her more than me. She was very beautiful, like her mother, but had my eyes and hair, which hung scraggly against her waist. "Will, that's lovely! What . . . what's it for?"
I grinned at Elisabeth, my Elisabeth, my beautiful, beautiful wife. I took the dagger from out of my sheath and handed it to her. She ran her long fingers along the flat of the blade, fascinated by the metal that appeared silver in some lights, copper in others. She murmured "Oh Will, it's beautiful, he'll love it . . . " and then she sheathed the dagger, put it on our bedside table and smiled at me, returning to my side and giving me a big kiss. Lily made a "yucky!" noise and I laughed.
We were happy, I knew. I wasn't an ungrateful fool, or maybe I was. If I was then I was disappointed in myself because I had a wonderful family . . . if only there was some kind of way to mingle it with adventure, something both me and my wife longed for so much.
~*~
There was no adventure here, in Plymouth, I realised, lying in my bed that night after our bellies were full and Lily was tucked up in bed sleeping, and Elisabeth was dozing off, and I was looking at the dagger lying to my left, looking so desirably perfect, like Elisabeth. I thought of what an old friend by the name of Jack Sparrow would say to a dagger like that. I smiled as I thought of what he said.
But I couldn't think any more on that right now, because my daughter was screaming "FIRE! FIRE! MUMMY! DADDY!" and me and Elisabeth were running, and I had the dagger in my hand without realizing it, still in the sheath, and we were trapped, the fire was blocking all the exits and everything was so hot and I could smell blood and it was so horribly distinctively clear and I was so scared and Elisabeth was whispering in my ear but I couldn't hear what she was saying and Lily was screaming so terribly and I felt my lungs weighing me down and I felt myself fall down on the floor and Elisabeth started screaming my name and I still had the dagger in my hand and I tried to say "I love you" but my mouth wouldn't let me and I couldn't see and there was so much smoke . . . and Lily was still screaming and crying and I tried to calm her down but I couldn't, and, and, and, and, and, and . . . and . . . an . . . a. . .
~Jack~
My day started well, which was a first, 'cos normally my day starts with a gunshot or someone tipping me out of my hammock when I'm sleeping or splashing water on my face because I've slept in too bloody late. Too bloody late?!? I'm the bloody Captain, for Christ's sake! I'll show them . . . but anyway, today my day started well because the crew was in a good mood, 'cos we were going on our first raid in a long, long bloody time.
We were hungry for food, hungry (or thirsty, whatever) for rum, hungry for blood, hungry for fire, hungry for terror . . . we were bloody pirates, after all, I mean. What kind of pirates are we if we follow some kind of damned Robin bloody Hood regime? I mean . . . we wouldn't be pirates, would we? We'd be backwards pirates! You know . . . setarips . . . or something . . .
So that's what I said to them that night, before we went out, I said we were pirates and we shouldn't feel guilty of people dying, because that was inevitable really. A shame maybe 'cos that meant less people to rob next time but we were doing our . . . illegal job, maybe, but it was still a job as far as I was concerned, and my job was to be a pirate. And to be a pirate, the job is . . . to . . . steal and kill and rob and seek treasure and things. Well I knew what I meant, and that's what I said to them!
I told them to get as many barrels of rum as they could roll, as many loaves of bread and baskets of fruit and the like as they could gather, burn as many buildings as was bloody possible and then run as fast as they bloody well could back to the boat without being sunk by the defenses. It sounded good to me, and it sounded bloody good to them 'cos they cheered and we left the ship in little rowing boats, me standing at the helm looking very important, but I admit I almost slipped and fell in the water. It was the drunken swagger that saved me, I tells ya.
~*~
Bloody Hell this port was big. I set foot on the pier first, and of course the guards were ready to ask what the Hell we were there for, and we grinned and surrounded them, and we told them exactly what we were bloody well here for. Those guards had a nice midnight swim. It was late to start a raid, but we'd only be a couple of hours because after that was when reinforcements arrived and that would be bad news even for Captain Jack Sparrow's crew, that's what I say. I may be a pirate but I'm not stupid, although I'm sure Biggs and Ana Maria would put that up for debate.
As a tradition, I set fire to the first building, I stuck my hand holding a fiery torch into a large house's open window (pretty stupid really) and set fire to the curtains. I heard some panicky screams within seconds and set off with a bounce in my step for the nearest weaponry store, we needed some more gunpowder and a couple more guns and daggers. Daggers, ah, I'd been trying to teach the crew as a bit of Sunday practice to climb the mast with a dagger in the mouth.
Of course, with some of the bloody numbskulls I have aboard the Black Pearl they tried to talk to one another while they had the damned knives in their mouths! Well, we didn't see those blades ever again, thus knew daggers were needed and that was that.
I love the panic. I love watching my crew rolling barrels of precious rum and running with sacks of bread and fruit and wheat and vegetables and all sorts of food heading back towards the ship. By then I had a big sack full of daggers and guns and heavy gunpowder, which weighed me down a bit, so I had a new crew member, twenty-six year old Tom Darryl, a wily character with a good sense of humour and a patch over his eye. Whether he actually needed it or not only I knew, as no one else would ask him, he was always so unpredictable in his actions, which was why he was my right hand man. Well, second right hand man, because Biggs was my first mate after all, but to be honest I liked that young lad better.
He was fast, witty, cunning and good with a sword. He was very good at getting me out of a fix with Ana Maria because he was charming and handsome, or so I'm told, which can calm her down and save my precious bottom. He was with me, keeping an eye out for some men that might come and take down the great Captain Jack Sparrow, while I carried this dirty great big bag of ammunition.
We were heading back to the boat, about fifty metres or so from the rowing boats that had to hide in the shadows to avoid being hit by the town's poor defences, when I heard a child screaming from inside a huge rich person's house. I paused, looking up at the building with a lump in my throat, but not knowing in the bloody slightest why. Darryl noticed I was lagging behind and ran backwards to me, cutting a guard's throat expertly when he attacked him. He pulled at my coat sleeve, dusty with all the filth falling off the burning building. I swallowed, but there was no saliva in my mouth to swallow with.
"There's a child in there, Darryl," I murmured, and he nodded, moving his hand up to my shoulder and trying to tug, but it was easy to see he was getting anxious about getting back. I knew as well as he did that we would be left behind if we had to be, "A young child . . . a baby."
"Aye, cap'n," Darryl agreed, still trying to pull me away, "but this is a massacre, sir. You can't expect just guards to get killed, it's gotta be civilians too, men, women, even children. We're pirates, sir. That's the cold truth of it," he said wisely, and I nodded. I knew he was right, I had made that rule. Everyone gets hurt. I wondered how many men of my own I'd lost.
"I know . . . " I said, staggering back a little, then before I knew what I was doing I dropped the sack and kicked the ruined door down, doubting very much that if it hadn't been burning down I wouldn't have been able to kick it down and then looked a bit stupid in front of a very respected guy, but I did. I stood being proud of myself for a moment and then followed the screaming upstairs, Darryl calling after me, hearing his boots on the marble floor after me.
I was faster and got into the room the screaming had come from. It had stopped by the time I got there, but I was there in time, barging into a smoke-filled room with three figures on the ground.
I stood staring at them, vaguely familiar but not being able to place them. Darryl came up behind me and took me by the shoulder again, the sack in his hands. Another crew member, Rhuaraidh Stirling, a Scottish boy that was known to curse every three words was with him. He took the sack from Darryl as we stooped to turn the unconscious figures over onto their backs.
I gave a little gasp and stepped back, but Darryl was bent over the woman, looking fascinated. I knew her face. I knew the man's face lying next to her. But the little girl in Elisabeth Turner's arms I presumed was their daughter was exactly the way I had imagined their child to be.
~*~
Author's Note : Was that any good? Please review and let me know, sorry it's been ages since I updated but y'know, stuff to do, boring exam prelims to study for. Dull, boring, boring! Anyway, hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. Mmyep. Anyway in the meantime feel like to review like the geese you are!