Summary: A typical tale of some time traveling gone horribly awry. However,
I tried my hardest to tweak the story and characters into something of my
own instead of the usual Mary-Sue that we're all used to (Woop! I rhymed,
I'm a poet and I didn't even realize it!). Five modern femme pirates find
themselves in something of a pickle (Mmm.pickles.) and rely on a certain
pirate captain to help them out (wonder who that could be). Of course, who
can trust a pirate?
Disclaimer: I'm not even going to get into the legalities of this story. I'm obviously not making didly squat on this story. This is for sheer entertainment value, my entertainment mostly. Steal the plot, the characters if you want (god only knows why).I can't stop you (though I can tell you that what you are doing is very rude).
This story is rated for language and for content. If you are uncomfortable with the following, I highly suggest clicking that little back button thing and getting as far away from this story as possible: strong language, gratuitous violence, use of drugs, manipulation, sexual innuendos and a "sad" ending.
Really, it's not as bad as it seems. But with the above being said, lets get on with it shall we? Oh! One more thing, it may take a few chapters to get to the Captain Jack Sparrow but please bear with me.
Chapter 1
Janssen scratched her bare shoulder, not surprised to find that her skin was, in fact, peeling.
"Bloody tropics." She muttered, picking idly at the sun burnt skin. Three years. She'd spent three hot, sweaty, stinky, dirty years in the Caribbean. She looked out at the sapphire morning horizon; it offered no release for her restless mind. "Bloody horizon." Terrible, relentless blue surrounded her and the sun, the only body in the sky, beat down on her back with a fervor that made her skin itch. Janssen "Pogo" Morrison leaned against the rails of Cassandra's Nightmare and let an agitated sigh escape her lips. She was bored. It was too quiet, too peaceful. They needed music, loud bounding music with a thumping bass. Something with sexy rhythms and an intense flow. Instead a new sound echoed across the deck and reached her ears; a clear, deep, feminine voice. Singing the most despised song in the world, according to Janssen at least.
"We're rascals and scoundrels; villains and knaves. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!" She grabbed a wet rag off the deck as she stepped around the cabin, taking care not to be seen. "We're devils and black sheep; really bad eggs. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!" She saw a girl scrubbing the morning salt off the deck. Her skin bronzed, and already, a light sheen of sweat covered it. Her short hair lay close to her head; it reminded Janssen of coffee. strong, dark, something that she might pour down her throat at a Denny's in the middle of the night. Yes, she finally decided. It was the color of mid- Western coffee. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me!" Janssen remembered why she had come. She took the line as a cue to chuck the rag at the damned singing deck-cleaner. A smile spread across her face as it gave a satisfying smack against the girl's naked back. "Aye, sonuvabitch!" Janssen laughed as the girl turned and glared at her. "Pogo! You." The girl rubbed her back for a moment, still feeling the sting of it before taking the brush in her hand and throwing at Pogo's head. Pogo ducked and looked over the rail as the defenseless brush gave an inaudible splash into the broken water.
"And another one bites the dust." Pogo muttered as the brush bobbed and finally drowned in the chaotic aquamarine swirls. She turned back to the girl and reached for a silver tin in her pocket. "Typically." She started, putting a hand rolled cigarette to her chapped lips and lit it. She took a drag and blew it to the sky, glaring at the relentlessly empty blue. "Pirates don't sing Disney songs.especially ones about being a pirate. Advertisement is the last thing we need." Pogo glanced up at the Bahamian flag, the bold colors; green, yellow and black flapping proudly against the blue backdrop. They'd have to change it to the hopelessly intricate American flag by this time tomorrow. Hell, it'd be even better to change it tonight. She took another drag and cursed under her breath.
"Those things'll kill you." Said the deck-scrubber as she wiped her wet hands on her torn, sea-washed jeans. Pogo turned to her, raising an eyebrow as she took a proud stance against her, frowning.
"That is," Pogo took another drag, a punctuation she used much too often. "If this life doesn't kill me first." It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being a pirate, she'd gotten her bikes, her cars, her houses out of the three.hot, sweaty, stinky years. But something inside her yearned for a normal life. Though, now, she had come to accordance with the fact that she'd never have a normal life. She mentally shrugged it off. Might as well make some money while she still could. The deck-scrubber crossed her arms and huffed.
"And I'm not typical." Pogo turned to her, her fading pink hair whirling in a flash of color as the girl pulled her out of her musing. She took a drag and studied her for a moment.in a fair fight-she pointed at her with two, cigarette-cradling fingers, ready to insult.
"Y'know what, Roxy?" Pogo decided last minute to swallow down her words. "You're probably right." The words came out with more resolve than either had expected.
"I'm always right." Roxy muttered under her breath. She turned from the smoking woman and gazed at the open sea.
The ocean gazed back at her, a hypnotizing swirl of blues and reflections, it was dangerous, the morning azure could ensnare you so far into her spell that you lost all control of conscious thought whatsoever. Cover your eyes in a sheet of the clear, clean color. There was something coming. Roxanne Trippito could feel it, a slow dull ache in her palms. Beneath the pure rolling reflection, the ocean was hiding something. So, this was how people got lost at sea, musing the waters and eventually seeing mermaids, dragons. Deciding that salt-water was actually drinkable and throwing themselves to the madness and the sharks. The horizon grew tireless after months on the ocean.
".Then, what she wants to do is go up to Bermuda, sell the coke. Apparently, we can -Roxy? Roxanne Lindsay Trippito? You schmuck! Are you listening to me?" Roxy started her head up as the Pogo let out a disgusted sound and threw what was left of her cigarette into the ocean. Her fists rested on her hips and cocked her head, reminding Roxy-just a little-of Peter Pan. "Have you heard a word I just said?" Roxy tilted her head a bit and studied the dissatisfied girl before her. She was more of a silhouette against the morning aurora, outlined in dying fuchsia and lime green shadows. She always did have a peculiar sense of style. Pink hair and chartreuse, polka-dotted clothing wasn't an easy thing to pull off but somehow, Pogo managed the arrogance-confidence. The confidence. Roxy waved her musings away and nodded.
"Yeah.Bermuda.coke. Then what?" Pogo took a deep breath, muttered a curse then continued to explain 'the plan'. Roxy noticed as the girl's hands moved with a resolved wildness in front of her as she spoke; an extension of her dirty habit-needing something to do with her hands at all times. Otherwise, she grew bored and threw things, like wet rags, at people. Her ponytail, set high on her head, flapped wildly behind her. Occasionally, getting into her face at which Pogo would glare, growl and violently flip it behind her. Roxy smiled; glad that her own hair would never betray her like that. It had never been anything other than close to her head. Short, easy to take care of, simple. She could be ready and out quicker than anybody-any female she knew.
".I don't know how she expects to do this. She said she had an insider but, still, it seems a little shady. Y'know?" The polka-dot queen stopped for a minute, waiting for some reply. Hopefully, an affirmation. "I don't trust this guy, Columbian. Juan. Dark shifty eyes." Roxy frowned in an attempt to hide an amused smile as Pogo's own midnight colored eyes slipped over to the cabin to see if anyone was listening to her opinions. Then, something caught her web of thoughts.
"Wait, Juan the Columbian coke smuggler?" She smiled, the amusement spreading to the other morning soul.
"Yeah." The girl smiled widely. Roxy burst into laughter.
"Juan the Columbian coke smuggler.how much more stereotypical can you get?" She wasn't sure if she was laughing at the humor of it or just to laugh. She didn't think she cared. Suddenly, another thought crossed her mind. They were sailing from the Bahamas to Bermuda. The laughing subsided as the fear of superstition chilled her blood. A thousand fears sunk into her skin, blocking out the sun, fogging her reason. "Pogo?"
"Yes?"
"Did you just say that we're sailing to Bermuda?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't we have to sail." The smirk that crossed Pogo's lips scared Roxy almost as much as the idea of sailing through it.
"Right through the Devil's Triangle."
I shall now use this time to plead and beg for a little reviewing. But please, be gentle. It's my first time. ;)
Disclaimer: I'm not even going to get into the legalities of this story. I'm obviously not making didly squat on this story. This is for sheer entertainment value, my entertainment mostly. Steal the plot, the characters if you want (god only knows why).I can't stop you (though I can tell you that what you are doing is very rude).
This story is rated for language and for content. If you are uncomfortable with the following, I highly suggest clicking that little back button thing and getting as far away from this story as possible: strong language, gratuitous violence, use of drugs, manipulation, sexual innuendos and a "sad" ending.
Really, it's not as bad as it seems. But with the above being said, lets get on with it shall we? Oh! One more thing, it may take a few chapters to get to the Captain Jack Sparrow but please bear with me.
Chapter 1
Janssen scratched her bare shoulder, not surprised to find that her skin was, in fact, peeling.
"Bloody tropics." She muttered, picking idly at the sun burnt skin. Three years. She'd spent three hot, sweaty, stinky, dirty years in the Caribbean. She looked out at the sapphire morning horizon; it offered no release for her restless mind. "Bloody horizon." Terrible, relentless blue surrounded her and the sun, the only body in the sky, beat down on her back with a fervor that made her skin itch. Janssen "Pogo" Morrison leaned against the rails of Cassandra's Nightmare and let an agitated sigh escape her lips. She was bored. It was too quiet, too peaceful. They needed music, loud bounding music with a thumping bass. Something with sexy rhythms and an intense flow. Instead a new sound echoed across the deck and reached her ears; a clear, deep, feminine voice. Singing the most despised song in the world, according to Janssen at least.
"We're rascals and scoundrels; villains and knaves. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!" She grabbed a wet rag off the deck as she stepped around the cabin, taking care not to be seen. "We're devils and black sheep; really bad eggs. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!" She saw a girl scrubbing the morning salt off the deck. Her skin bronzed, and already, a light sheen of sweat covered it. Her short hair lay close to her head; it reminded Janssen of coffee. strong, dark, something that she might pour down her throat at a Denny's in the middle of the night. Yes, she finally decided. It was the color of mid- Western coffee. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me!" Janssen remembered why she had come. She took the line as a cue to chuck the rag at the damned singing deck-cleaner. A smile spread across her face as it gave a satisfying smack against the girl's naked back. "Aye, sonuvabitch!" Janssen laughed as the girl turned and glared at her. "Pogo! You." The girl rubbed her back for a moment, still feeling the sting of it before taking the brush in her hand and throwing at Pogo's head. Pogo ducked and looked over the rail as the defenseless brush gave an inaudible splash into the broken water.
"And another one bites the dust." Pogo muttered as the brush bobbed and finally drowned in the chaotic aquamarine swirls. She turned back to the girl and reached for a silver tin in her pocket. "Typically." She started, putting a hand rolled cigarette to her chapped lips and lit it. She took a drag and blew it to the sky, glaring at the relentlessly empty blue. "Pirates don't sing Disney songs.especially ones about being a pirate. Advertisement is the last thing we need." Pogo glanced up at the Bahamian flag, the bold colors; green, yellow and black flapping proudly against the blue backdrop. They'd have to change it to the hopelessly intricate American flag by this time tomorrow. Hell, it'd be even better to change it tonight. She took another drag and cursed under her breath.
"Those things'll kill you." Said the deck-scrubber as she wiped her wet hands on her torn, sea-washed jeans. Pogo turned to her, raising an eyebrow as she took a proud stance against her, frowning.
"That is," Pogo took another drag, a punctuation she used much too often. "If this life doesn't kill me first." It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being a pirate, she'd gotten her bikes, her cars, her houses out of the three.hot, sweaty, stinky years. But something inside her yearned for a normal life. Though, now, she had come to accordance with the fact that she'd never have a normal life. She mentally shrugged it off. Might as well make some money while she still could. The deck-scrubber crossed her arms and huffed.
"And I'm not typical." Pogo turned to her, her fading pink hair whirling in a flash of color as the girl pulled her out of her musing. She took a drag and studied her for a moment.in a fair fight-she pointed at her with two, cigarette-cradling fingers, ready to insult.
"Y'know what, Roxy?" Pogo decided last minute to swallow down her words. "You're probably right." The words came out with more resolve than either had expected.
"I'm always right." Roxy muttered under her breath. She turned from the smoking woman and gazed at the open sea.
The ocean gazed back at her, a hypnotizing swirl of blues and reflections, it was dangerous, the morning azure could ensnare you so far into her spell that you lost all control of conscious thought whatsoever. Cover your eyes in a sheet of the clear, clean color. There was something coming. Roxanne Trippito could feel it, a slow dull ache in her palms. Beneath the pure rolling reflection, the ocean was hiding something. So, this was how people got lost at sea, musing the waters and eventually seeing mermaids, dragons. Deciding that salt-water was actually drinkable and throwing themselves to the madness and the sharks. The horizon grew tireless after months on the ocean.
".Then, what she wants to do is go up to Bermuda, sell the coke. Apparently, we can -Roxy? Roxanne Lindsay Trippito? You schmuck! Are you listening to me?" Roxy started her head up as the Pogo let out a disgusted sound and threw what was left of her cigarette into the ocean. Her fists rested on her hips and cocked her head, reminding Roxy-just a little-of Peter Pan. "Have you heard a word I just said?" Roxy tilted her head a bit and studied the dissatisfied girl before her. She was more of a silhouette against the morning aurora, outlined in dying fuchsia and lime green shadows. She always did have a peculiar sense of style. Pink hair and chartreuse, polka-dotted clothing wasn't an easy thing to pull off but somehow, Pogo managed the arrogance-confidence. The confidence. Roxy waved her musings away and nodded.
"Yeah.Bermuda.coke. Then what?" Pogo took a deep breath, muttered a curse then continued to explain 'the plan'. Roxy noticed as the girl's hands moved with a resolved wildness in front of her as she spoke; an extension of her dirty habit-needing something to do with her hands at all times. Otherwise, she grew bored and threw things, like wet rags, at people. Her ponytail, set high on her head, flapped wildly behind her. Occasionally, getting into her face at which Pogo would glare, growl and violently flip it behind her. Roxy smiled; glad that her own hair would never betray her like that. It had never been anything other than close to her head. Short, easy to take care of, simple. She could be ready and out quicker than anybody-any female she knew.
".I don't know how she expects to do this. She said she had an insider but, still, it seems a little shady. Y'know?" The polka-dot queen stopped for a minute, waiting for some reply. Hopefully, an affirmation. "I don't trust this guy, Columbian. Juan. Dark shifty eyes." Roxy frowned in an attempt to hide an amused smile as Pogo's own midnight colored eyes slipped over to the cabin to see if anyone was listening to her opinions. Then, something caught her web of thoughts.
"Wait, Juan the Columbian coke smuggler?" She smiled, the amusement spreading to the other morning soul.
"Yeah." The girl smiled widely. Roxy burst into laughter.
"Juan the Columbian coke smuggler.how much more stereotypical can you get?" She wasn't sure if she was laughing at the humor of it or just to laugh. She didn't think she cared. Suddenly, another thought crossed her mind. They were sailing from the Bahamas to Bermuda. The laughing subsided as the fear of superstition chilled her blood. A thousand fears sunk into her skin, blocking out the sun, fogging her reason. "Pogo?"
"Yes?"
"Did you just say that we're sailing to Bermuda?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't we have to sail." The smirk that crossed Pogo's lips scared Roxy almost as much as the idea of sailing through it.
"Right through the Devil's Triangle."
I shall now use this time to plead and beg for a little reviewing. But please, be gentle. It's my first time. ;)