A/N: first of all I wanna thank Aratfeniel for pointing out the "King not
Queen" thing. Yup, that was wrong.Just realized after reading her review.
Was reading my history last night about England, blah, blah.so I got
confused.some of the Queen stuff still stuck in my head.
And this is for PsYcHo-Me.ya.I've changed the settings already.thanks for
telling me.I didn't know it was set to that.
Ya, ok, so.read and review.hope u like it.(dunno why but I ALWAYS end up
saying that my A/N.oh well. I'll just make that my habit.sorry! ( )
PS: this chapter continues from the last one so it's still the same, two
months have passed.)
And this chapter is FULL of fluff. I've had a horrible traumatizing week of
exams in school and I wanna write fluff, so DON"T COMPLAIN!!!!!! I DON"T
NEED IT!!!!
Chapter 7:
Barbossa gripped the wheel with the force of a man energized. The two months of sailing and recovery had made him stronger. Much stronger than he had ever been before.
The taste of real food had been tantalizing, and he had wanted more. The warmth of a woman's flesh had been most satisfying. The smooth burning sensation of rum spilling down his throat was to be yearned for. Everything was back as it should have been.
Except for one thing. His ship. The glorious, ever lasting, "Black Pearl".
That Jack Sparrow had stolen it from him and he was going to pay dearly. No one would get away scot-free after double-crossing him. Much less a barbaric mad man like Jack Sparrow. Who was, hardly worthy of the title "Captain".
He swiveled his head roughly, his matted, stringy white hair flying in all directions, almost as if they were scattering the thick filth that clung on to the thin strands. Looking over to the deck, he grinned in a manner so of full of evil, revenge, power, control, and deep hatred that it was enough to chill the stifling hot air that hung around him.
His crew of all sorts was rambling around the deck, so full of the evils of drink that the torrents of swearing which spat out from their mouths were incomprehensible. He watched them with great satisfaction.
They were everything true pirates, in his opinion, should be. They were the worst of the worst. Even the feared were fearful of them. They killed mercilessly; great was the number of lives they had slain. Devious and cunning, the gold they eyed could never be kept safe. With each step they took, the land seemed to be covered with the shadow of sin and death. Treacherous snakes there were.
They were indeed, the best.
On arriving in his hometown, Barbossa had taken it upon himself and his mates the duty of killing off every single one of the crew. It was rare that such a chance to kill on whim presented itself, and of course, had to be grasped at once.
After spending three weeks gathering a proper crew and regaining the strength owed to him, they were setting off for Tortuga to find that Sparrow. To Barbossa, it was nearly impossible to restrain himself till he got there. It would be most rewarding to see that cocky fool cringe in terror. Resting assured that he would, Barbossa went back to the wheel, images of the bloody and grotesque massacre floating in his mind, smirking to himself.
Elizabeth held tight a tendril of honey hair, curling it in her finger. Her long, slender fingers ran down the front of her full skirt, made of a sheer rose pink satin, which shimmered and caught the light as ripples flowed gracefully across it. Feeling nervous, but excited, she delicately fingered the beautiful translucent string of pearls that hung on her wrist. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the solid sturdy door of the smithy, only to fall back in surprise as it was sharply pulled open at the same moment.
She lay in a heap of stiff petticoats and satin, all ruffled up on her bottom, on the hard cobblestone pathway running through the streets of Port Royal. She shook her head slightly, not understanding what had just happened. Her lovely knot of hair came loose and curtained her shoulders. Elizabeth looked up, trying to see who was it that had knocked her off her feet in such a manner. The sun was glaring overhead and the fierce piercing stung her eyes. A bright glowing circle of molten gold light captured her pupils. She fluttered her eyelids frantically, blinking away her tears, only to open her eyes again to stare into rich creamy chocolate orbs.
" Elizabeth? Are you alright? Elizabeth?" A low, deep voice breathed, causing her heart to flutter and give out a leap of joy.
She knew instantly who it was. There was only one person capable of making her heart give out those quick palpitations sparking off the surge of love, happiness and bliss throughout her. It completely overwhelmed her and she choked out softly, hardly daring to gaze longer at those hypnotic orbs, before she melted into them, losing herself.
"Yes.Wh.what happened?" she murmured, half closing her eyes, breathing him in. He smelt of soot, wood and the sea. But above all that, he smelt of the rich aroma of coffee and chocolate. It was weird, since she knew he didn't drink coffee often and even less, luxurious sinful chocolate. But he smelt so. She loved his smell; it always had the power to hold her in a trance where she could finally have a taste of the freedom she never had.
"Well, you.you see, I was just coming out to deliver the Commodore his swords and I, I didn't know you were just there, so.I'm so sorry.I didn't mean to.Are you hurt Elizabeth?" Will questioned anxiously, an embarrassed blush across his cheeks.
Knocking Elizabeth over like that, what was she going to think of him now? His worried eyes searched her for any visible injuries, not daring to look up at her. She would most definitely be angry. Furthermore, he could tell that she was wearing a new dress; he had never seen her put it on before. Now, it was crumpled and dirtied by the dust and filth on the streets.
Elizabeth peered curiously beneath his averted gaze. He looked almost scared. He did actually think she would be angry?
She looked around her, glinting swords scattered around, her limbs sprawled in awkward positions; visualizing what a sight she must have been for Will, like a china doll all messed up. Thank goodness there wasn't anybody else around at this time. What on earth would her father think if he knew?
A giggle escaped from her throat before she could suppress it and a tiny smile crept on her full lips. It was all so funny, they knocking into each other like that. Here she was, the prestigious Governor's daughter and the handsome blacksmith.
Will began to tilt his head up, letting his brown curls falling to a side, staring in amazement. It wasn't before long, however, that he burst out into boyish laughter.
Recovering quickly, he gently pulled Elizabeth to her feet and picked up the fallen swords. Just as her grasped hold of her wrist, she gave out a small yelp. He felt a warm thick fluid on his thumb and glanced down immediately. There was a long gash on her forearm, blood streaming slowly out of the ruby red wound.
Will looked over to Elizabeth, who was staring rather fearfully at her wound. She hadn't felt any pain when she fell, she didn't even know she was hurt. It stung and prickled horribly. Normally, she could withstand these small cuts and gashes, but this was deeper, with bits of gravel mixed with her blood.
He led her swiftly into the dark, stifling hot smithy, sitting her on a wooden chair, resting her arm on the table. Streaks of blood had already drizzled to other places on her forearm, creating a sort of unique line pattern, the crimson contrasting strikingly with Elizabeth's pale smooth skin.
Walking past the drunk, slumbering mass of useless fats, namely Mr. Brown, Will strode into the minuscule "pantry" at the end of the smithy. He rummaged through the pieces of stale bread, empty rum bottles finding, at last, what he was looking for. Mr. Brown's secret stash of brandy. Hurriedly setting the dust covered bottle next to Elizabeth, he ran up the stairs to his cramped quarters and brought down a clean cloth and washbasin, along with some strips of cloth.
Filling the basin with cool water, he wet the cloth, wrung it and with the least amount of force, began to wipe away the bloodstains. He wrung the cloth clean once more and carefully cleared off the gravel and minimized the bleeding. Meanwhile, Elizabeth had been gazing contentedly at Will's features, basking in all the care he was showering upon her. His strong jaw line, sharp nose, soft lips, kind eyes, which she felt were the windows to his souls. She could almost tell how he was feeling by looking into his eyes. They always held her captivated and spellbound, dreaming about one day, being called as, Mrs. Turner.
A trickle of sweat slid down his nose, following the curves of his mouth, down to the edge of his chin, where a small moustache and stubble grew. She could see he was nervous and blamed himself for knocking her down.
Elizabeth reached him, softly and lovingly tracing out his jaw line, running her finger down to where that drop of sweat hung, gently wiping it away. Absentmindedly, oblivious to Will's adoring stares and the cleaning of her wound; she drew circles on his cheek, stroking them lightly.
Will quietly popped open the bottle of brandy, pouring a generous amount on a clean strip of cloth. The more he used, the less Mr. Brown would have, possibly creating less troubles for him. He continued working on her wound, inwardly melting into a puddle from her touch. These were one of the rare and fine moments they were alone, free from all the pretences of society and false mannerisms. As he laid a first swipe of brandy on her gash, she let of a whimper and took a sharp intake of breath, feeling her arm stiffen.
Immediately, he dropped the cloth and stammered, "Sorry! Sorry Elizabeth, I forgot to warn you that the brandy would hurt greatly, it's to help. I'm so sorry.I'll try to make it hurt less, I promise. I promise.", stroking the open palm of her hand, in hope to calm and soothe her.
Elizabeth nodded her head slightly, the stinging sensation burning into her skin. She had never felt anything like it, not even when Barbossa had slashed her palm. It was as though her flesh was being eaten up, throbbing away in protest. But she didn't say anything. She didn't want to hurt Will's feelings; he was already feeling bad enough. Also, how could she let him think that she was scared of a little pain? True, they were alone, she could show her feminine side, but she wanted him to know she was strong.
She winced a few times as more brandy was applied and soon, her forearm was bandaged neatly with white cotton strips. Grateful and happy, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Will's neck and hugged him tightly. He smoothed her damp hair as she whispered, " I love you" into his ear, lost in the wonderful smell of his soft hair.
As she hugged him and he stroked her hair back, she told him of the ball that Saturday, murmuring all the details in his hair.
When she was done, she reluctantly pulled apart from him and asked, "So, will you escort me there Will?", deep down knowing his answer.
So? how did u like it? Lotsa fluff right? Sorry, but I was in the mood. A yucky week calls for such chappies..Don't worry, the next one won't be as much, for those who are suffering from a fluff overload right now. Sorry again..tell me in yr review. Thanks..
Keira
Chapter 7:
Barbossa gripped the wheel with the force of a man energized. The two months of sailing and recovery had made him stronger. Much stronger than he had ever been before.
The taste of real food had been tantalizing, and he had wanted more. The warmth of a woman's flesh had been most satisfying. The smooth burning sensation of rum spilling down his throat was to be yearned for. Everything was back as it should have been.
Except for one thing. His ship. The glorious, ever lasting, "Black Pearl".
That Jack Sparrow had stolen it from him and he was going to pay dearly. No one would get away scot-free after double-crossing him. Much less a barbaric mad man like Jack Sparrow. Who was, hardly worthy of the title "Captain".
He swiveled his head roughly, his matted, stringy white hair flying in all directions, almost as if they were scattering the thick filth that clung on to the thin strands. Looking over to the deck, he grinned in a manner so of full of evil, revenge, power, control, and deep hatred that it was enough to chill the stifling hot air that hung around him.
His crew of all sorts was rambling around the deck, so full of the evils of drink that the torrents of swearing which spat out from their mouths were incomprehensible. He watched them with great satisfaction.
They were everything true pirates, in his opinion, should be. They were the worst of the worst. Even the feared were fearful of them. They killed mercilessly; great was the number of lives they had slain. Devious and cunning, the gold they eyed could never be kept safe. With each step they took, the land seemed to be covered with the shadow of sin and death. Treacherous snakes there were.
They were indeed, the best.
On arriving in his hometown, Barbossa had taken it upon himself and his mates the duty of killing off every single one of the crew. It was rare that such a chance to kill on whim presented itself, and of course, had to be grasped at once.
After spending three weeks gathering a proper crew and regaining the strength owed to him, they were setting off for Tortuga to find that Sparrow. To Barbossa, it was nearly impossible to restrain himself till he got there. It would be most rewarding to see that cocky fool cringe in terror. Resting assured that he would, Barbossa went back to the wheel, images of the bloody and grotesque massacre floating in his mind, smirking to himself.
Elizabeth held tight a tendril of honey hair, curling it in her finger. Her long, slender fingers ran down the front of her full skirt, made of a sheer rose pink satin, which shimmered and caught the light as ripples flowed gracefully across it. Feeling nervous, but excited, she delicately fingered the beautiful translucent string of pearls that hung on her wrist. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the solid sturdy door of the smithy, only to fall back in surprise as it was sharply pulled open at the same moment.
She lay in a heap of stiff petticoats and satin, all ruffled up on her bottom, on the hard cobblestone pathway running through the streets of Port Royal. She shook her head slightly, not understanding what had just happened. Her lovely knot of hair came loose and curtained her shoulders. Elizabeth looked up, trying to see who was it that had knocked her off her feet in such a manner. The sun was glaring overhead and the fierce piercing stung her eyes. A bright glowing circle of molten gold light captured her pupils. She fluttered her eyelids frantically, blinking away her tears, only to open her eyes again to stare into rich creamy chocolate orbs.
" Elizabeth? Are you alright? Elizabeth?" A low, deep voice breathed, causing her heart to flutter and give out a leap of joy.
She knew instantly who it was. There was only one person capable of making her heart give out those quick palpitations sparking off the surge of love, happiness and bliss throughout her. It completely overwhelmed her and she choked out softly, hardly daring to gaze longer at those hypnotic orbs, before she melted into them, losing herself.
"Yes.Wh.what happened?" she murmured, half closing her eyes, breathing him in. He smelt of soot, wood and the sea. But above all that, he smelt of the rich aroma of coffee and chocolate. It was weird, since she knew he didn't drink coffee often and even less, luxurious sinful chocolate. But he smelt so. She loved his smell; it always had the power to hold her in a trance where she could finally have a taste of the freedom she never had.
"Well, you.you see, I was just coming out to deliver the Commodore his swords and I, I didn't know you were just there, so.I'm so sorry.I didn't mean to.Are you hurt Elizabeth?" Will questioned anxiously, an embarrassed blush across his cheeks.
Knocking Elizabeth over like that, what was she going to think of him now? His worried eyes searched her for any visible injuries, not daring to look up at her. She would most definitely be angry. Furthermore, he could tell that she was wearing a new dress; he had never seen her put it on before. Now, it was crumpled and dirtied by the dust and filth on the streets.
Elizabeth peered curiously beneath his averted gaze. He looked almost scared. He did actually think she would be angry?
She looked around her, glinting swords scattered around, her limbs sprawled in awkward positions; visualizing what a sight she must have been for Will, like a china doll all messed up. Thank goodness there wasn't anybody else around at this time. What on earth would her father think if he knew?
A giggle escaped from her throat before she could suppress it and a tiny smile crept on her full lips. It was all so funny, they knocking into each other like that. Here she was, the prestigious Governor's daughter and the handsome blacksmith.
Will began to tilt his head up, letting his brown curls falling to a side, staring in amazement. It wasn't before long, however, that he burst out into boyish laughter.
Recovering quickly, he gently pulled Elizabeth to her feet and picked up the fallen swords. Just as her grasped hold of her wrist, she gave out a small yelp. He felt a warm thick fluid on his thumb and glanced down immediately. There was a long gash on her forearm, blood streaming slowly out of the ruby red wound.
Will looked over to Elizabeth, who was staring rather fearfully at her wound. She hadn't felt any pain when she fell, she didn't even know she was hurt. It stung and prickled horribly. Normally, she could withstand these small cuts and gashes, but this was deeper, with bits of gravel mixed with her blood.
He led her swiftly into the dark, stifling hot smithy, sitting her on a wooden chair, resting her arm on the table. Streaks of blood had already drizzled to other places on her forearm, creating a sort of unique line pattern, the crimson contrasting strikingly with Elizabeth's pale smooth skin.
Walking past the drunk, slumbering mass of useless fats, namely Mr. Brown, Will strode into the minuscule "pantry" at the end of the smithy. He rummaged through the pieces of stale bread, empty rum bottles finding, at last, what he was looking for. Mr. Brown's secret stash of brandy. Hurriedly setting the dust covered bottle next to Elizabeth, he ran up the stairs to his cramped quarters and brought down a clean cloth and washbasin, along with some strips of cloth.
Filling the basin with cool water, he wet the cloth, wrung it and with the least amount of force, began to wipe away the bloodstains. He wrung the cloth clean once more and carefully cleared off the gravel and minimized the bleeding. Meanwhile, Elizabeth had been gazing contentedly at Will's features, basking in all the care he was showering upon her. His strong jaw line, sharp nose, soft lips, kind eyes, which she felt were the windows to his souls. She could almost tell how he was feeling by looking into his eyes. They always held her captivated and spellbound, dreaming about one day, being called as, Mrs. Turner.
A trickle of sweat slid down his nose, following the curves of his mouth, down to the edge of his chin, where a small moustache and stubble grew. She could see he was nervous and blamed himself for knocking her down.
Elizabeth reached him, softly and lovingly tracing out his jaw line, running her finger down to where that drop of sweat hung, gently wiping it away. Absentmindedly, oblivious to Will's adoring stares and the cleaning of her wound; she drew circles on his cheek, stroking them lightly.
Will quietly popped open the bottle of brandy, pouring a generous amount on a clean strip of cloth. The more he used, the less Mr. Brown would have, possibly creating less troubles for him. He continued working on her wound, inwardly melting into a puddle from her touch. These were one of the rare and fine moments they were alone, free from all the pretences of society and false mannerisms. As he laid a first swipe of brandy on her gash, she let of a whimper and took a sharp intake of breath, feeling her arm stiffen.
Immediately, he dropped the cloth and stammered, "Sorry! Sorry Elizabeth, I forgot to warn you that the brandy would hurt greatly, it's to help. I'm so sorry.I'll try to make it hurt less, I promise. I promise.", stroking the open palm of her hand, in hope to calm and soothe her.
Elizabeth nodded her head slightly, the stinging sensation burning into her skin. She had never felt anything like it, not even when Barbossa had slashed her palm. It was as though her flesh was being eaten up, throbbing away in protest. But she didn't say anything. She didn't want to hurt Will's feelings; he was already feeling bad enough. Also, how could she let him think that she was scared of a little pain? True, they were alone, she could show her feminine side, but she wanted him to know she was strong.
She winced a few times as more brandy was applied and soon, her forearm was bandaged neatly with white cotton strips. Grateful and happy, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Will's neck and hugged him tightly. He smoothed her damp hair as she whispered, " I love you" into his ear, lost in the wonderful smell of his soft hair.
As she hugged him and he stroked her hair back, she told him of the ball that Saturday, murmuring all the details in his hair.
When she was done, she reluctantly pulled apart from him and asked, "So, will you escort me there Will?", deep down knowing his answer.
So? how did u like it? Lotsa fluff right? Sorry, but I was in the mood. A yucky week calls for such chappies..Don't worry, the next one won't be as much, for those who are suffering from a fluff overload right now. Sorry again..tell me in yr review. Thanks..
Keira