Hey, I told you that I would update soon. So here I be, 'holdin true to me
word. Lol. You know the drill, leave a review at the end. This was MAINLY
written by my good friend Sherbet Mayhem (check out her fics, they are
grrrrrrreat!) Lol Enjoy!
Chapter Two; And It Begins
"Come on Monice, wake up! Its such an important day for you!" said her nurse, opening the windows to let in a stream of sunlight.
The nurse heard a groan from the lump under the bed covers.
"UP! NOW!" she yelled.
Immediately the figure shot up in the bed and revealed a head of messy brown-black hair sticking up at odd angles. Monice rubbed her eyes and yawned, squinting against the sudden light. She looked over to her maid who had her hands on her plump hips and had a frown on her aged face.
"Oh, its only you Tess, I thought it was my father for a moment then," Monice said to her in a sleepy voice and snuggled back down in her bed to get some more rest.
"GET OUT OF BED!"
Monice jumped up again and landed on the royal blue carpeted floor and fell back asleep there instead.
"Why, she is hard to wake up- even on her BIRTHDAY!" Tess said the last word extra loud.
From where she was standing on the other side of the bed, she could see Monice's unruly head of hair shoot up again. Tess had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing.
"I'm up! I'm up! Now," she said, dusting her hands off in a business like manner. "Where are my presents?" she asked.
Tess raised her eyebrows and 'hmmm-ed'. "You wont get any if you don't get yourself ready, now hurry up!"
Monice frowned.
"No new dress?" she asked, disappointed. She normally would get a new dress each year and some other little presents.
"No," Tess said.
"Well then. Would you care to divulge what my present is this year then?" Monice asked, grinning.
"Even if I did 'care to divulge', I can't. It's a surprise," she replied.
"Awww! Pleeeeease?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleeeeease?"
"No."
"Please?"
"NO! Now please be quiet! I have a headache and YOU have only been up for less than five minutes!"
"Fine. I'll shut up."
"Good, now, get yourself into that dress that I've laid out for you over there," Tess said, pointing to the dress behind her without leaving her gaze from Monice.
Monice nodded, still in a sour mood. Tess sighed and left the room muttering something like 'Sixteen and still acts like a six year old!'
Stormily, Monice practically threw on her dress and rammed a brush through her hair, wincing when the knots would be pulled. She almost ripped out half her hair in the process, but when she had finished with the brush, she slammed it down on the vanity pleased at the crash it made.
She stepped back and reviewed her image.
Hair: Surprisingly neat, (for her standards anyway) dark brown in colour.
Skin: Looks like it is in an, 'I want to be a combination skin today' mood. Still, it looked okay. Better than some other teenage people Monice knew anyway. Her skin was a pale colour, like many other rich people's skin she knew.
Eyes: Hazel, to Monice's annoyance. She would rather have brown or just green eyes. In the summer they were more green that brown and in the winter they were more of a brown colour.
Height: She had just had her last growth spurt and now reached the full height of five foot seven, with a proud and upright posture bred into her by her nurse that she'd had since the age of one. Her mother passed away soon after giving birth to Monice, and her mother's last breath was used on naming her baby.
Dress: Emerald green to match her 'Summer Eyes' as her father 'amusingly' called them. It had a tight upper body and at the hips her dress flared out dramatically because of it's many petticoats and the hoop bottom.
She stomped her way down the magnificent staircase that lead to the exquisitely, with its mahogany wooden floors and pale blue walls. Her heavy footfalls echoed through the cavernous hallway and she walked through to the dining room where the table was set for twelve people. She was almost blinded by the glare off the polished silver wear.
'Father should be careful about setting his special silver wear out, someone dishonest could steal her-' she cut her own thoughts off. Why was she thinking of her silver's welfare on her birthday?
"Ah, Monice dear, I'm glad to see that you're up. Was that you making all that racket then?" asked her father in a rich British accent.
She grimaced.
"Yes father," she replied softly.
"Well, a maturing woman like you should be more lady-like and not have childish tantrums," he said.
"Sorry father," she said, bowing her head in shame. But it wasn't for long that she was in a sad mood. Not only was she cheered up by the fact that he had called her a maturing woman.
And her present was yet to come.
She practically skipped to the other side of the room where her father was, until she remembered her manners and slowed her pace to a graceful walk. She smiled expectantly when she reached her father and sat down on the silk settee at the end of the room next to him.
"Here is your present," he said, handing her a small envelope. Monice's face fell considerably.
She reached out and took the envelope trying to keep the disappointment off her face. With a shaky hand she opened it and took out its contents. One piece of paper.
'This had better be good,' she thought as she turned it over so she could read it.
Her mouth fell open I shock.
"A holiday?" she gasped. That was unheard of! Only royalty went on holidays, and even that was very rare!
"Daddy! I. . . I don't know what to say!" she said. Her father chuckled.
"You should have seen your face! It was a picture!" he said.
She leaped at him and gave him a bone-breaking hug.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
She could hear his muffled laughter and she let him go.
"We set sail in a week," her father said.
Monice grinned.
**************************************************************************** ************
A dark mysterious figure stood behind a statue, eyes closed, listening intently to a hushed conversation. Night had begun to set, and the stars were out, glistening in their phosphorescence. The subject of the conversation was a rumour of a ship, a worrying tale of a ship that left few survivors in its path of destruction as it sailed its black flags proud. The silent figure leaned forwards a little, breathing out quietly as the conversation continued.
"Interesting," he whispered to himself, "Very interesting."
"They say it's near here!" said one of the men; two wealthy landlords who had no excuse to be out at that time of night other than to scour the neighbourhood's 'ladies'. The dark figure flipped a dreadlock out his deep brown eyes, the colour of charcoal.
"Did you hear, in other news, that the Forsythe's are going on holiday? I tell you, that's risky business, what with all of those common pirates around. I don't like it one bit."
"You'll just be pained to see Miss Monice leaving!"
"Well, I don't deny that she is a very beautiful lady."
"That's not all you'd call her, my friend!"
They both burst into perverted laughter and the figure behind the statue rolled his eyes. Sickos. Then again . . . it's not like he wouldn't . . .
"Well, they leave tomorrow, on the Renis Relisque. Oh, I'm going to miss that Monice. Such lovely breas-"
"Now, now, Franco, not in public!"
"I'm sorry, my friend, it's just that when I think of her leaving . . . "
The figure sighed. He'd had quite enough of this. He stepped out from behind the statue.
"Allo, gents. Jus' wondrin' who this missy is that you're so taken by. Savvy?"
The two rather podgy men stared at the man. One looked extremely annoyed.
"You were eavesdropping? Who are you, you filthy little pira-"
Bang. The stranger held in his outstretched arm a smoking pistol which glinted in the moonlight. He rolled his eyes.
"Talked too much."
The fatter of the two (well, formerly two) landlords gasped and began to scream at the top of his girly lungs. "MURDER!!!"
The stranger cursed, two gold teeth flashing as he did so, and then sped off into the dark alleyway nearby as the sounds of police yelling nearby began to echo through the air.
**************************************************************************** ************
Monice stood in the street, her hair blowing in the gentle breeze as her family continued to pack inside the house. She had decided that she needed a breath of fresh air.
"I wonder what tomorrow will bring," she thought out loud, looking up at the lavender sky, dotted with flashing stars.
She was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of a loud gunshot nearby. Frightened, she glanced toward the sound of the shot, to the end of her street, and there she saw a shadowy figure racing around the corner towards her.
"Who-?"
The figure approached, and Monice got a full view of the man. He was quite tall, with a slim physique and a pair of steel capped boots that clanged on the pavement. He wore tight black trousers, and his upper half was draped in a black jacket with a white (ish) shirt underneath, the sleeves sticking out at the end of his long arms. His face was dark - not his skin, merely his appearance was rather dark. He wore a pointed captain's hat, and his hair was long and untamed, twisted into messy dreadlocks here and there and held back partially by a bandanna. His beard was tied in two tiny plaits, secured at the ends by golden pieces. He sported a moustache, curling upwards at the edges, and a complete pile of black eyeliner enhanced his eyes - or so it would seem.
The man spotted her, and then skidded to a quick halt.
"Ay, luv, can yer help me?" he asked, speaking gruffly to Monice and waving his hand rather strangely.
"Why should I? You're a criminal, villain, crook, thief. Terrible guy!" replied Monice matter-of-factly, eying the man strangely.
"Well, yer see, luv, I . . . I . . . I saw this puppy- dog- er, Alsatian, er, terrible- WOLF! Yer, wolf! I saw it attacking this, this, lad- girl- woman! Yes! Pregnant woman! PREGNANT! It was awful- what with the full moon 'n all. Yer, it ripped her dress- arm! STOMACH! Yes, stomach, it was terrible! Blood! Blood on the floor- everywhere! Even on me! And I was half way across the street. So, er, so I . . . I shouted, no kicked- wrestled- no! Tackled that thing! We fought and rolled across the street. So then I took me pistol and blew 'is brains out! And THEY'RE trying to arrest ME! I was just doing me civic duty lass; I saved that lad- woman! PREGNANT woman at that!" As the man had spoken his hands had flailed wildly, almost in a camp fashion but not quite.
'I've blown it,' he thought wincing at the accidental 'lad' slip up.
Monice stared at him with utter disbelief.
"YOU . . . " she yelled and he winced- "Poor thing! They're trying to hang you for saving an innocent woman's life?! What a world of naïve fools we live in!" she said knowingly.
The man smiled, his deep eyes glinting.
"Yes, fools they are," he said, trying to smother his amusement. "Naïve the lot of them. Believe anything we tell 'em!"
"I understand completely!" said Monice, nodding understandingly, "I'll hide you!"
With that, Monice grabbed the man's hand and pulled him into her house.
The man looked about, his eyes scouring the hallway.
"Interesting," he said thoughtfully, "I say you're very busy at this time of night."
Monice nodded, closing the front door. "Yes. My father and I set sail for London tomorrow."
The man's eyes narrowed, and he offered a wonky grin. "Oh, so you're Monice?"
He glanced down a little way before returning his eyes to her level. "They were right."
"Who?" asked Monice innocently. The man smiled, amused.
"I heard two blokes talkin' about you and your litt'l adventure when I was on me onesy outside."
Monice nodded. "So, what's your name, sir?"
The man looked away. "Well, Missy, tell you what. You give me your name, and I'll give you mine. Savvy?"
"You already know my name."
"Full, if you please."
"Monice Fleur Forsythe."
"Fleur Forsythe, you say? Well, I'm William Brandon Smith." He said confidently, quickly thinking up an obvious lie to cover for his real name. Monice didn't seem to notice, as she was occupied by watching a man taking a case outside.
"DON'T DROP THAT!!! It's my chest of silver jewellery!"
'William' raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't shout that out, lassy. Bring the wrong people abouts after yer if yer not careful."
Monice seemed to be paying little attention. She was simply shouting out the entire contents of her luggage and screaming that it was fragile. 'William' sighed. He also noticed that the street was clear of policemen.
"Well, luv, it's best I be on me way," he said, twiddling his moustache. "I thank yer for yer generous 'ospitality and all. Be seein' yer."
Monice finally turned around as he spoke, but by the time she had turned about, he was already out of the front door. She shrugged to herself.
"What a strange fellow," she said softly.
Ooooooh! When d'ya think they will meet again, eh? Lol. Find out in the next chappie!
Review! Please?
Chapter Two; And It Begins
"Come on Monice, wake up! Its such an important day for you!" said her nurse, opening the windows to let in a stream of sunlight.
The nurse heard a groan from the lump under the bed covers.
"UP! NOW!" she yelled.
Immediately the figure shot up in the bed and revealed a head of messy brown-black hair sticking up at odd angles. Monice rubbed her eyes and yawned, squinting against the sudden light. She looked over to her maid who had her hands on her plump hips and had a frown on her aged face.
"Oh, its only you Tess, I thought it was my father for a moment then," Monice said to her in a sleepy voice and snuggled back down in her bed to get some more rest.
"GET OUT OF BED!"
Monice jumped up again and landed on the royal blue carpeted floor and fell back asleep there instead.
"Why, she is hard to wake up- even on her BIRTHDAY!" Tess said the last word extra loud.
From where she was standing on the other side of the bed, she could see Monice's unruly head of hair shoot up again. Tess had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing.
"I'm up! I'm up! Now," she said, dusting her hands off in a business like manner. "Where are my presents?" she asked.
Tess raised her eyebrows and 'hmmm-ed'. "You wont get any if you don't get yourself ready, now hurry up!"
Monice frowned.
"No new dress?" she asked, disappointed. She normally would get a new dress each year and some other little presents.
"No," Tess said.
"Well then. Would you care to divulge what my present is this year then?" Monice asked, grinning.
"Even if I did 'care to divulge', I can't. It's a surprise," she replied.
"Awww! Pleeeeease?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleeeeease?"
"No."
"Please?"
"NO! Now please be quiet! I have a headache and YOU have only been up for less than five minutes!"
"Fine. I'll shut up."
"Good, now, get yourself into that dress that I've laid out for you over there," Tess said, pointing to the dress behind her without leaving her gaze from Monice.
Monice nodded, still in a sour mood. Tess sighed and left the room muttering something like 'Sixteen and still acts like a six year old!'
Stormily, Monice practically threw on her dress and rammed a brush through her hair, wincing when the knots would be pulled. She almost ripped out half her hair in the process, but when she had finished with the brush, she slammed it down on the vanity pleased at the crash it made.
She stepped back and reviewed her image.
Hair: Surprisingly neat, (for her standards anyway) dark brown in colour.
Skin: Looks like it is in an, 'I want to be a combination skin today' mood. Still, it looked okay. Better than some other teenage people Monice knew anyway. Her skin was a pale colour, like many other rich people's skin she knew.
Eyes: Hazel, to Monice's annoyance. She would rather have brown or just green eyes. In the summer they were more green that brown and in the winter they were more of a brown colour.
Height: She had just had her last growth spurt and now reached the full height of five foot seven, with a proud and upright posture bred into her by her nurse that she'd had since the age of one. Her mother passed away soon after giving birth to Monice, and her mother's last breath was used on naming her baby.
Dress: Emerald green to match her 'Summer Eyes' as her father 'amusingly' called them. It had a tight upper body and at the hips her dress flared out dramatically because of it's many petticoats and the hoop bottom.
She stomped her way down the magnificent staircase that lead to the exquisitely, with its mahogany wooden floors and pale blue walls. Her heavy footfalls echoed through the cavernous hallway and she walked through to the dining room where the table was set for twelve people. She was almost blinded by the glare off the polished silver wear.
'Father should be careful about setting his special silver wear out, someone dishonest could steal her-' she cut her own thoughts off. Why was she thinking of her silver's welfare on her birthday?
"Ah, Monice dear, I'm glad to see that you're up. Was that you making all that racket then?" asked her father in a rich British accent.
She grimaced.
"Yes father," she replied softly.
"Well, a maturing woman like you should be more lady-like and not have childish tantrums," he said.
"Sorry father," she said, bowing her head in shame. But it wasn't for long that she was in a sad mood. Not only was she cheered up by the fact that he had called her a maturing woman.
And her present was yet to come.
She practically skipped to the other side of the room where her father was, until she remembered her manners and slowed her pace to a graceful walk. She smiled expectantly when she reached her father and sat down on the silk settee at the end of the room next to him.
"Here is your present," he said, handing her a small envelope. Monice's face fell considerably.
She reached out and took the envelope trying to keep the disappointment off her face. With a shaky hand she opened it and took out its contents. One piece of paper.
'This had better be good,' she thought as she turned it over so she could read it.
Her mouth fell open I shock.
"A holiday?" she gasped. That was unheard of! Only royalty went on holidays, and even that was very rare!
"Daddy! I. . . I don't know what to say!" she said. Her father chuckled.
"You should have seen your face! It was a picture!" he said.
She leaped at him and gave him a bone-breaking hug.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
She could hear his muffled laughter and she let him go.
"We set sail in a week," her father said.
Monice grinned.
**************************************************************************** ************
A dark mysterious figure stood behind a statue, eyes closed, listening intently to a hushed conversation. Night had begun to set, and the stars were out, glistening in their phosphorescence. The subject of the conversation was a rumour of a ship, a worrying tale of a ship that left few survivors in its path of destruction as it sailed its black flags proud. The silent figure leaned forwards a little, breathing out quietly as the conversation continued.
"Interesting," he whispered to himself, "Very interesting."
"They say it's near here!" said one of the men; two wealthy landlords who had no excuse to be out at that time of night other than to scour the neighbourhood's 'ladies'. The dark figure flipped a dreadlock out his deep brown eyes, the colour of charcoal.
"Did you hear, in other news, that the Forsythe's are going on holiday? I tell you, that's risky business, what with all of those common pirates around. I don't like it one bit."
"You'll just be pained to see Miss Monice leaving!"
"Well, I don't deny that she is a very beautiful lady."
"That's not all you'd call her, my friend!"
They both burst into perverted laughter and the figure behind the statue rolled his eyes. Sickos. Then again . . . it's not like he wouldn't . . .
"Well, they leave tomorrow, on the Renis Relisque. Oh, I'm going to miss that Monice. Such lovely breas-"
"Now, now, Franco, not in public!"
"I'm sorry, my friend, it's just that when I think of her leaving . . . "
The figure sighed. He'd had quite enough of this. He stepped out from behind the statue.
"Allo, gents. Jus' wondrin' who this missy is that you're so taken by. Savvy?"
The two rather podgy men stared at the man. One looked extremely annoyed.
"You were eavesdropping? Who are you, you filthy little pira-"
Bang. The stranger held in his outstretched arm a smoking pistol which glinted in the moonlight. He rolled his eyes.
"Talked too much."
The fatter of the two (well, formerly two) landlords gasped and began to scream at the top of his girly lungs. "MURDER!!!"
The stranger cursed, two gold teeth flashing as he did so, and then sped off into the dark alleyway nearby as the sounds of police yelling nearby began to echo through the air.
**************************************************************************** ************
Monice stood in the street, her hair blowing in the gentle breeze as her family continued to pack inside the house. She had decided that she needed a breath of fresh air.
"I wonder what tomorrow will bring," she thought out loud, looking up at the lavender sky, dotted with flashing stars.
She was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of a loud gunshot nearby. Frightened, she glanced toward the sound of the shot, to the end of her street, and there she saw a shadowy figure racing around the corner towards her.
"Who-?"
The figure approached, and Monice got a full view of the man. He was quite tall, with a slim physique and a pair of steel capped boots that clanged on the pavement. He wore tight black trousers, and his upper half was draped in a black jacket with a white (ish) shirt underneath, the sleeves sticking out at the end of his long arms. His face was dark - not his skin, merely his appearance was rather dark. He wore a pointed captain's hat, and his hair was long and untamed, twisted into messy dreadlocks here and there and held back partially by a bandanna. His beard was tied in two tiny plaits, secured at the ends by golden pieces. He sported a moustache, curling upwards at the edges, and a complete pile of black eyeliner enhanced his eyes - or so it would seem.
The man spotted her, and then skidded to a quick halt.
"Ay, luv, can yer help me?" he asked, speaking gruffly to Monice and waving his hand rather strangely.
"Why should I? You're a criminal, villain, crook, thief. Terrible guy!" replied Monice matter-of-factly, eying the man strangely.
"Well, yer see, luv, I . . . I . . . I saw this puppy- dog- er, Alsatian, er, terrible- WOLF! Yer, wolf! I saw it attacking this, this, lad- girl- woman! Yes! Pregnant woman! PREGNANT! It was awful- what with the full moon 'n all. Yer, it ripped her dress- arm! STOMACH! Yes, stomach, it was terrible! Blood! Blood on the floor- everywhere! Even on me! And I was half way across the street. So, er, so I . . . I shouted, no kicked- wrestled- no! Tackled that thing! We fought and rolled across the street. So then I took me pistol and blew 'is brains out! And THEY'RE trying to arrest ME! I was just doing me civic duty lass; I saved that lad- woman! PREGNANT woman at that!" As the man had spoken his hands had flailed wildly, almost in a camp fashion but not quite.
'I've blown it,' he thought wincing at the accidental 'lad' slip up.
Monice stared at him with utter disbelief.
"YOU . . . " she yelled and he winced- "Poor thing! They're trying to hang you for saving an innocent woman's life?! What a world of naïve fools we live in!" she said knowingly.
The man smiled, his deep eyes glinting.
"Yes, fools they are," he said, trying to smother his amusement. "Naïve the lot of them. Believe anything we tell 'em!"
"I understand completely!" said Monice, nodding understandingly, "I'll hide you!"
With that, Monice grabbed the man's hand and pulled him into her house.
The man looked about, his eyes scouring the hallway.
"Interesting," he said thoughtfully, "I say you're very busy at this time of night."
Monice nodded, closing the front door. "Yes. My father and I set sail for London tomorrow."
The man's eyes narrowed, and he offered a wonky grin. "Oh, so you're Monice?"
He glanced down a little way before returning his eyes to her level. "They were right."
"Who?" asked Monice innocently. The man smiled, amused.
"I heard two blokes talkin' about you and your litt'l adventure when I was on me onesy outside."
Monice nodded. "So, what's your name, sir?"
The man looked away. "Well, Missy, tell you what. You give me your name, and I'll give you mine. Savvy?"
"You already know my name."
"Full, if you please."
"Monice Fleur Forsythe."
"Fleur Forsythe, you say? Well, I'm William Brandon Smith." He said confidently, quickly thinking up an obvious lie to cover for his real name. Monice didn't seem to notice, as she was occupied by watching a man taking a case outside.
"DON'T DROP THAT!!! It's my chest of silver jewellery!"
'William' raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't shout that out, lassy. Bring the wrong people abouts after yer if yer not careful."
Monice seemed to be paying little attention. She was simply shouting out the entire contents of her luggage and screaming that it was fragile. 'William' sighed. He also noticed that the street was clear of policemen.
"Well, luv, it's best I be on me way," he said, twiddling his moustache. "I thank yer for yer generous 'ospitality and all. Be seein' yer."
Monice finally turned around as he spoke, but by the time she had turned about, he was already out of the front door. She shrugged to herself.
"What a strange fellow," she said softly.
Ooooooh! When d'ya think they will meet again, eh? Lol. Find out in the next chappie!
Review! Please?