Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One
A/N: I just had a stroke of brilliance. Stop laughing. Really, I did but am I going to tell you? Hah! No.
Chapter 2
It was a beautiful evening. The sun had cooled off enough for "Sparrow" Collins to throw on a light shirt over her bikini. Though, the backlash of the heat still kept her skin moist. She clicked her tongue in cheek as she watched the dark figures run around the deck of the white vessel, performing whatever task their captain screamed out to them. She always appreciated the time before attack, watching her victims run in circles like chickens with their heads chopped off. A smile appeared on her face as she ran the sensation over her tongue like pearls. The pulsing of her blood, the beating of her heart, all in sync with the other as the adrenaline rushed through her body.
"It's almost euphoric." She muttered to the figure beside her. Pogo, a white cap covering her pink hair, laid on the deck with a rifle in hand. "Watching them struggle like this.and knowing it's no use. It's an incredible rush of power. God-like." Pogo turned to Sparrow, studying to woman like she would a rabid dog. Her hair was down and-by some miracle of God-blowing behind her instead of in her face. There were shadows of its natural color, probably a mahogany shade. Now, it was sun kissed to an unnatural shade of blonde. The curls had tightened around her face, knotting and tangling whenever the wind blew through it. Giving it that wild, almost insane touch that she knew Sparrow couldn't live without. But the hair wasn't usually what caught people's attention. It was the tattoos; over three years, Pogo had watched four tattoos grow into two complete sleeves covering the lot of skin on Sparrow's arm. She didn't know if it was because the woman loved the ink or merely a scare tactic. It didn't matter to her as long as she got the money. The inked lady turned to her, lowering her huge aviator glasses to meet eyes with Pogo. "What?"
"Nothing. You're just fucking crazy." They challenged each other for a moment before breaking out into light laughter. The man on the vessel screamed another order in Spanish causing everyone on Sparrow's boat to turn to the Columbian vessel. Sparrow's eyes widened for a minute before she realized what was happening.
"Shit!" She screamed, pounding the railings. "They're getting rid of the coke!" As if on cue, the Columbian's started to dump the drugs overboard. Sparrow almost cried as she watched the hundreds of thousands of dollars go into the water. Pogo turned up to her with an almost calm, placid face. Her warrior face.
"Can I shoot them now?" A smile spread across her face as she watched Sparrow lift her own rifle.
"Kill the bastards!!"
Fifteen minutes later, four women climbed on board of La Rosa Blanca. It was quiet, there were no more souls left to resist them. The bloodied corpses littered the deck, staining it in various shades of red, brown and black. Lumpy masses of what were once functioning organs splattered across the deck. Dani Corner closed her eyes and tried not to think about the families that these men had, what would happen to them when their men never returned. She took deep breaths through her mouth.
"Holy shit, it reeks." Someone said beside her. The bile and the blood and the guts warming in the sun, the rotting carcasses caused it. She was always fine with killing a man, she mused as she shoved her Remmington to her back. Perfectly fine, why should now be any different? She was growing soft in her years. She turned her head to the murmuring of Sparrow and her Columbian consort. They spoke in a rapid Spanish, she only got one word or another. Not enough to string together a sensible assumption. Sparrow ran a hand along his face as he gave her a smile. He thought he had the upper hand. He never saw the pistol until she shot him.
"Pinché ciana." Sparrow muttered as used her free inked hand to push Juan DeMarco over the rails. He struggled with the water for a moment before going still and floating on his back, starring at her with sad brown eyes. She turned to see three very disturbed women watching her. "What the fuck do you want? The man was a worm." She put her free hand on her hip, daring any of them to chide her when they had all done the same exact thing at least once before. The tension passed, slowly and Sparrow turned to go into the heart of the monster and find whatever money they hadn't thrown over board. "I want you guys to tear this thing apart, take what you can." She gripped her pistol as she opened the door and analyzed the halls, nearly sterile compared to that mess on deck. Her eyes scanned and judged. Strangely enough, these halls were probably the safest place to be on the boat. Still, she hopped down the stairs and opened her first door. Aiming at an imaginary-but very much a potential-target. All she received was the low humming of a working ship and.what was that? Snoring? Flipping on the light she saw a figure, curled up under one of the pipes, snoring and talking softly to himself. It would have been endearing to anyone else.
She let out three shots to the floor, not caring about the damage to the boat. Wasn't her bloody boat. The man stirred a little and curled up even more around himself, mumbling to his dream.person.
*"Déme un pedazo de pollo, Señora. Y mándame corriendo al baño. (Give me a piece of chicken, ma'am. And send me running to the bathroom.)"Sparrow rolled her eyes and stepped toward him, her gun aimed at his head. Mid- twenties, she guessed, handsome but rather feminine for her taste. He stirred again, revealing the two Jack Daniels bottles that he was laying on. That made her laugh. Suddenly, she remembered why she had come, with a swift kick to the stomach she put on her fiercest face.
"Levántate! Mandingo boracho! (Get up, you bloody drunk.)" She took a step back as he groaned and stretched on the floor. Slowly, drunkenly he got up and she gave a little gasp to see that the drunken man in the jumpsuit was actually a woman. That was a rarity on a Columbian boat. The woman stretched to reveal two inked bracelets of roses on her wrists. She leaned back against the wall, her eyes still closed, mumbling to herself. She was a little thing, dark hair tied in a ponytail, the underside shaved. She pulled something from her pocket, a bottle, almost like a prescription bottle and uncapped it. Using her pinky nail she shoveled a scoop of the white crystals out of the bottle and snorted it.
"Aye, dios mío. (Oh, my god.)" She cursed under her breath as she doubled over. In another moment she was up straight, her eyes closed in numb euphoria. Then, suddenly, they shot open and she slapped herself. Once, twice, starring past Sparrow in a panicked attempt to feel her own face, it made Sparrow wince to watch how hard she was hitting herself. The woman turned to a mirror in the wall and starred at herself for a minute. Before another slap came. She had to stop this; still, it was rather amusing to watch. "Tengo carra?(I have a face?)" The woman asked her reflection. She slapped herself again. "Que milagro! Tengo carra! (It's a miracle! I have a face!)"
"Caillate borocha! (Shut up, you drunk!)" The woman spun around, turning to the amazing voice that had come from nowhere. She saw the woman, beautiful. Softened and sharp at the same time. She was about to ask the mother if she knew the meaning of life when she noticed the gun pointed at her, she jumped and spoke before she thought. A habit she had come to terms with.
"Tienes pistola!(You have a pistol!)" Sparrow closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the woman starred stupidly at her. She was losing her patience. With a sigh she smiled like a kindergarten teacher and put on the voice as well.
"Muy bueno. Si, tengo pistola. (Very good. Yes, I have a pistol.)" She cocked the pistol and aimed at the woman's chest. "Así, es que te caillas el oseco. (Now, shut your fucking mouth.)" She braced herself for a fighting woman, curses and dares but she could have never prepared herself for what came next.
"Perdóname, a linda señora. (Please, most beautiful lady.)" Once Sparrow came to the conclusion that the woman was trying to sweet talk her, she was hit with a whole surprise. Drunken tears started rolling down the woman's cheeks as she started to ramble on. "Por favor, no me mates. Nada mas soy una pobre mecánica. Sin nada el mundo. (Please, don't kill me. I'm nothing more than a poor mechanic. With nothing in the world)" The woman broke down in front of her, shaking with sobs. Sparrow leaned against some kind of cable box, watching the stupidly pathetic display before her. Waiting for it to end. She was bored of this display.
After about five minutes, the woman finally calmed down and made her way, sniffling, into a standing position. She looked up at the girl with the gun, idly cleaning her nails not paying attention to her in the least. She felt the need to apologize for the display but she'd done enough apologizing to last her a lifetime. She wiped her nose with her sleeve. Then it hit her.
"Eres una oiera? (You're a white?)" She said amazed, how could she have not noticed before? The woman looked up from her nails and gave her a look that made her feel a whole foot shorter than she already was.
"Pues como piensas tu? (What do you think?)"
"No pienso. (I don't think.)" She laughed, trying to humble herself further. She had spent far too much time in Columbia. She was proud.though, not too proud to grovel to a woman with a pistol cocked and aimed for her heart. "Pero, si hablas ingles. Hágame ese favor..." She paused for a moment as the woman weighed the favor. "Oh, come on. You're going to kill me. Don't tell me you don't owe me something!" This, was what Sparrow was used to. It prepared her for a fight, prepared her to kill. Though, she wondered why she hadn't just shot and killed the poor bitch five minutes ago instead of waiting for her to stop sobbing. She assumed it would have been just like killing bunnies, simple and sick.
"I owe you nothing." She cocked the pistol and prepared herself for the girl's last words.
"Who are you?" Sparrow had been squeezing the trigger, waiting for that satisfying click. The question caused her finger to back off. She creased her brows and frowned at the girl. That wasn't what she was supposed to say.
"What?"
"Who are you?" The woman spoke slowly, carefully as if she were explaining something to a child.
"None of your damned business."
"Oh. I see. Kill me and don't give me your name. I was even going to offer you the privilege of me haunting you." Privilege? Haunting?
"You're crazy." Sparrow said incredulously, shaking her head. How could she have been so nonchalant about the fact that she would die and no one would find her?
"Probably. I blame Columbia, the coke for the most part." She shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "It happens." She paused, glancing at the floor then back up at the woman. "So.. .who are you? I don't believe I ever caught your name."
"That could be because I never gave it to you." The woman opened her mouth but Sparrow cut in before she could. "Now, get your ass back into a standing position." She used the pistol as something of an extension for her orders. The girl sighed and stood up.
"Why won't you tell me who you are? I mean, I know you're not part of the crew because they all hate women. I know you're not the cops because.. ." She nodded toward Sparrows arms. "Well, I know you're not the cops. You can't possibly be a hallucination, I just woke up. You could be an angel.if angels carried guns. Who, the fuck, are you?" She asked, more herself than Sparrow. Trying a stab at reasoning.
"I'm a pirate." The word 'pirate' sent the girl in the jumpsuit bent over in laughter.
"A pirate? I thought those died out years ago! You mean, like, Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum? You can't be serious." The girl fell into peels of laughter. This time Sparrow's finger didn't stop until the click and finally an explosion came. The girl stopped looked down at her feet where the ground had been shot out.
"No. A pirate, as in if you don't shut up and come with me I'll kill you." The girl starred at her; two dark eyes, almost black watching Sparrow with a new found seriousness and fear. She took a careful step toward Sparrow, then another until she finally gave Sparrow the upper hand willingly. Still, she couldn't resist the urge.
"Aye aye, cap'n." She smiled as the woman with the pistol gave her shoulder a shove. "Watch it, I'm delicate." She received another shove. Didn't this woman have any sense of humor?
"Bullshit. What's your name?" That made the woman in the jumpsuit stop for a moment, Sparrow just gave her another shove.
"Why do I have to give you my name if you don't give me yours?"
"Because I don't have a gun to my back." Sparrow watched the dark ponytail bounce as the woman agreed with the logic. Sparrow led her through the halls kicking doors open, looking for what she needed. All the while keeping a pistol to the woman's back. The woman watched her as she opened another door, gave the room a growl and moved on.
"Ana. Ana Valenzuela. Though they all just--" She watched as the woman cursed at another room. Then led her to the next. "They just call me--" Her captor's fast matter-of-fact movements were distracting her from her point. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Well, Ana, I am looking for the coke. I have it on good authority that they're a good lot of it on this boat and I won't leave until I find--" She opened another door, aimed another potential target then cursed when all she found were crew's quarters. "Find it."
"You could ask." The captor paused, probably wondering why she should trust the word of a cokehead alcoholic. "And call me Gin." Sparrow starred at the woman for a minute, wondering how she could appear so sober. Wondering if she could trust her. The woman seemed rather indifferent to the whole deal.
"What do you want for it?" Gin turned to Sparrow, ignoring the pistol half- heartedly aimed at her chest.
"Get me to America."
Yes, I know, my Spanish is terrible. I took French in school instead. A whole lot of good THAT did me. Anyway, feel free to leave comments and critiques. Don't be afraid of a little flameage as well, as long as you give me an idea as to what exactly you find so wrong with this story. Thank you. G'night.
PS: Deal behind the whole "Tengo Carra!"- When I person snorts coke, usually there is a numb sensation behind their face and this girl, Gin, has done a lot of coke.
A/N: I just had a stroke of brilliance. Stop laughing. Really, I did but am I going to tell you? Hah! No.
Chapter 2
It was a beautiful evening. The sun had cooled off enough for "Sparrow" Collins to throw on a light shirt over her bikini. Though, the backlash of the heat still kept her skin moist. She clicked her tongue in cheek as she watched the dark figures run around the deck of the white vessel, performing whatever task their captain screamed out to them. She always appreciated the time before attack, watching her victims run in circles like chickens with their heads chopped off. A smile appeared on her face as she ran the sensation over her tongue like pearls. The pulsing of her blood, the beating of her heart, all in sync with the other as the adrenaline rushed through her body.
"It's almost euphoric." She muttered to the figure beside her. Pogo, a white cap covering her pink hair, laid on the deck with a rifle in hand. "Watching them struggle like this.and knowing it's no use. It's an incredible rush of power. God-like." Pogo turned to Sparrow, studying to woman like she would a rabid dog. Her hair was down and-by some miracle of God-blowing behind her instead of in her face. There were shadows of its natural color, probably a mahogany shade. Now, it was sun kissed to an unnatural shade of blonde. The curls had tightened around her face, knotting and tangling whenever the wind blew through it. Giving it that wild, almost insane touch that she knew Sparrow couldn't live without. But the hair wasn't usually what caught people's attention. It was the tattoos; over three years, Pogo had watched four tattoos grow into two complete sleeves covering the lot of skin on Sparrow's arm. She didn't know if it was because the woman loved the ink or merely a scare tactic. It didn't matter to her as long as she got the money. The inked lady turned to her, lowering her huge aviator glasses to meet eyes with Pogo. "What?"
"Nothing. You're just fucking crazy." They challenged each other for a moment before breaking out into light laughter. The man on the vessel screamed another order in Spanish causing everyone on Sparrow's boat to turn to the Columbian vessel. Sparrow's eyes widened for a minute before she realized what was happening.
"Shit!" She screamed, pounding the railings. "They're getting rid of the coke!" As if on cue, the Columbian's started to dump the drugs overboard. Sparrow almost cried as she watched the hundreds of thousands of dollars go into the water. Pogo turned up to her with an almost calm, placid face. Her warrior face.
"Can I shoot them now?" A smile spread across her face as she watched Sparrow lift her own rifle.
"Kill the bastards!!"
Fifteen minutes later, four women climbed on board of La Rosa Blanca. It was quiet, there were no more souls left to resist them. The bloodied corpses littered the deck, staining it in various shades of red, brown and black. Lumpy masses of what were once functioning organs splattered across the deck. Dani Corner closed her eyes and tried not to think about the families that these men had, what would happen to them when their men never returned. She took deep breaths through her mouth.
"Holy shit, it reeks." Someone said beside her. The bile and the blood and the guts warming in the sun, the rotting carcasses caused it. She was always fine with killing a man, she mused as she shoved her Remmington to her back. Perfectly fine, why should now be any different? She was growing soft in her years. She turned her head to the murmuring of Sparrow and her Columbian consort. They spoke in a rapid Spanish, she only got one word or another. Not enough to string together a sensible assumption. Sparrow ran a hand along his face as he gave her a smile. He thought he had the upper hand. He never saw the pistol until she shot him.
"Pinché ciana." Sparrow muttered as used her free inked hand to push Juan DeMarco over the rails. He struggled with the water for a moment before going still and floating on his back, starring at her with sad brown eyes. She turned to see three very disturbed women watching her. "What the fuck do you want? The man was a worm." She put her free hand on her hip, daring any of them to chide her when they had all done the same exact thing at least once before. The tension passed, slowly and Sparrow turned to go into the heart of the monster and find whatever money they hadn't thrown over board. "I want you guys to tear this thing apart, take what you can." She gripped her pistol as she opened the door and analyzed the halls, nearly sterile compared to that mess on deck. Her eyes scanned and judged. Strangely enough, these halls were probably the safest place to be on the boat. Still, she hopped down the stairs and opened her first door. Aiming at an imaginary-but very much a potential-target. All she received was the low humming of a working ship and.what was that? Snoring? Flipping on the light she saw a figure, curled up under one of the pipes, snoring and talking softly to himself. It would have been endearing to anyone else.
She let out three shots to the floor, not caring about the damage to the boat. Wasn't her bloody boat. The man stirred a little and curled up even more around himself, mumbling to his dream.person.
*"Déme un pedazo de pollo, Señora. Y mándame corriendo al baño. (Give me a piece of chicken, ma'am. And send me running to the bathroom.)"Sparrow rolled her eyes and stepped toward him, her gun aimed at his head. Mid- twenties, she guessed, handsome but rather feminine for her taste. He stirred again, revealing the two Jack Daniels bottles that he was laying on. That made her laugh. Suddenly, she remembered why she had come, with a swift kick to the stomach she put on her fiercest face.
"Levántate! Mandingo boracho! (Get up, you bloody drunk.)" She took a step back as he groaned and stretched on the floor. Slowly, drunkenly he got up and she gave a little gasp to see that the drunken man in the jumpsuit was actually a woman. That was a rarity on a Columbian boat. The woman stretched to reveal two inked bracelets of roses on her wrists. She leaned back against the wall, her eyes still closed, mumbling to herself. She was a little thing, dark hair tied in a ponytail, the underside shaved. She pulled something from her pocket, a bottle, almost like a prescription bottle and uncapped it. Using her pinky nail she shoveled a scoop of the white crystals out of the bottle and snorted it.
"Aye, dios mío. (Oh, my god.)" She cursed under her breath as she doubled over. In another moment she was up straight, her eyes closed in numb euphoria. Then, suddenly, they shot open and she slapped herself. Once, twice, starring past Sparrow in a panicked attempt to feel her own face, it made Sparrow wince to watch how hard she was hitting herself. The woman turned to a mirror in the wall and starred at herself for a minute. Before another slap came. She had to stop this; still, it was rather amusing to watch. "Tengo carra?(I have a face?)" The woman asked her reflection. She slapped herself again. "Que milagro! Tengo carra! (It's a miracle! I have a face!)"
"Caillate borocha! (Shut up, you drunk!)" The woman spun around, turning to the amazing voice that had come from nowhere. She saw the woman, beautiful. Softened and sharp at the same time. She was about to ask the mother if she knew the meaning of life when she noticed the gun pointed at her, she jumped and spoke before she thought. A habit she had come to terms with.
"Tienes pistola!(You have a pistol!)" Sparrow closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the woman starred stupidly at her. She was losing her patience. With a sigh she smiled like a kindergarten teacher and put on the voice as well.
"Muy bueno. Si, tengo pistola. (Very good. Yes, I have a pistol.)" She cocked the pistol and aimed at the woman's chest. "Así, es que te caillas el oseco. (Now, shut your fucking mouth.)" She braced herself for a fighting woman, curses and dares but she could have never prepared herself for what came next.
"Perdóname, a linda señora. (Please, most beautiful lady.)" Once Sparrow came to the conclusion that the woman was trying to sweet talk her, she was hit with a whole surprise. Drunken tears started rolling down the woman's cheeks as she started to ramble on. "Por favor, no me mates. Nada mas soy una pobre mecánica. Sin nada el mundo. (Please, don't kill me. I'm nothing more than a poor mechanic. With nothing in the world)" The woman broke down in front of her, shaking with sobs. Sparrow leaned against some kind of cable box, watching the stupidly pathetic display before her. Waiting for it to end. She was bored of this display.
After about five minutes, the woman finally calmed down and made her way, sniffling, into a standing position. She looked up at the girl with the gun, idly cleaning her nails not paying attention to her in the least. She felt the need to apologize for the display but she'd done enough apologizing to last her a lifetime. She wiped her nose with her sleeve. Then it hit her.
"Eres una oiera? (You're a white?)" She said amazed, how could she have not noticed before? The woman looked up from her nails and gave her a look that made her feel a whole foot shorter than she already was.
"Pues como piensas tu? (What do you think?)"
"No pienso. (I don't think.)" She laughed, trying to humble herself further. She had spent far too much time in Columbia. She was proud.though, not too proud to grovel to a woman with a pistol cocked and aimed for her heart. "Pero, si hablas ingles. Hágame ese favor..." She paused for a moment as the woman weighed the favor. "Oh, come on. You're going to kill me. Don't tell me you don't owe me something!" This, was what Sparrow was used to. It prepared her for a fight, prepared her to kill. Though, she wondered why she hadn't just shot and killed the poor bitch five minutes ago instead of waiting for her to stop sobbing. She assumed it would have been just like killing bunnies, simple and sick.
"I owe you nothing." She cocked the pistol and prepared herself for the girl's last words.
"Who are you?" Sparrow had been squeezing the trigger, waiting for that satisfying click. The question caused her finger to back off. She creased her brows and frowned at the girl. That wasn't what she was supposed to say.
"What?"
"Who are you?" The woman spoke slowly, carefully as if she were explaining something to a child.
"None of your damned business."
"Oh. I see. Kill me and don't give me your name. I was even going to offer you the privilege of me haunting you." Privilege? Haunting?
"You're crazy." Sparrow said incredulously, shaking her head. How could she have been so nonchalant about the fact that she would die and no one would find her?
"Probably. I blame Columbia, the coke for the most part." She shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "It happens." She paused, glancing at the floor then back up at the woman. "So.. .who are you? I don't believe I ever caught your name."
"That could be because I never gave it to you." The woman opened her mouth but Sparrow cut in before she could. "Now, get your ass back into a standing position." She used the pistol as something of an extension for her orders. The girl sighed and stood up.
"Why won't you tell me who you are? I mean, I know you're not part of the crew because they all hate women. I know you're not the cops because.. ." She nodded toward Sparrows arms. "Well, I know you're not the cops. You can't possibly be a hallucination, I just woke up. You could be an angel.if angels carried guns. Who, the fuck, are you?" She asked, more herself than Sparrow. Trying a stab at reasoning.
"I'm a pirate." The word 'pirate' sent the girl in the jumpsuit bent over in laughter.
"A pirate? I thought those died out years ago! You mean, like, Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum? You can't be serious." The girl fell into peels of laughter. This time Sparrow's finger didn't stop until the click and finally an explosion came. The girl stopped looked down at her feet where the ground had been shot out.
"No. A pirate, as in if you don't shut up and come with me I'll kill you." The girl starred at her; two dark eyes, almost black watching Sparrow with a new found seriousness and fear. She took a careful step toward Sparrow, then another until she finally gave Sparrow the upper hand willingly. Still, she couldn't resist the urge.
"Aye aye, cap'n." She smiled as the woman with the pistol gave her shoulder a shove. "Watch it, I'm delicate." She received another shove. Didn't this woman have any sense of humor?
"Bullshit. What's your name?" That made the woman in the jumpsuit stop for a moment, Sparrow just gave her another shove.
"Why do I have to give you my name if you don't give me yours?"
"Because I don't have a gun to my back." Sparrow watched the dark ponytail bounce as the woman agreed with the logic. Sparrow led her through the halls kicking doors open, looking for what she needed. All the while keeping a pistol to the woman's back. The woman watched her as she opened another door, gave the room a growl and moved on.
"Ana. Ana Valenzuela. Though they all just--" She watched as the woman cursed at another room. Then led her to the next. "They just call me--" Her captor's fast matter-of-fact movements were distracting her from her point. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Well, Ana, I am looking for the coke. I have it on good authority that they're a good lot of it on this boat and I won't leave until I find--" She opened another door, aimed another potential target then cursed when all she found were crew's quarters. "Find it."
"You could ask." The captor paused, probably wondering why she should trust the word of a cokehead alcoholic. "And call me Gin." Sparrow starred at the woman for a minute, wondering how she could appear so sober. Wondering if she could trust her. The woman seemed rather indifferent to the whole deal.
"What do you want for it?" Gin turned to Sparrow, ignoring the pistol half- heartedly aimed at her chest.
"Get me to America."
Yes, I know, my Spanish is terrible. I took French in school instead. A whole lot of good THAT did me. Anyway, feel free to leave comments and critiques. Don't be afraid of a little flameage as well, as long as you give me an idea as to what exactly you find so wrong with this story. Thank you. G'night.
PS: Deal behind the whole "Tengo Carra!"- When I person snorts coke, usually there is a numb sensation behind their face and this girl, Gin, has done a lot of coke.