Author's Note: wow, I got this one up fast. All this talk of PotC and such has fired my imagination – that or the lack of PotC in my life is filling me with such agony that I have no other choice to write lest I explode. (How's that for dramatic? ^_^)
Anyway, chapter 21, up ever so much sooner than I expected. Also unexpected – this fic is looking as if I'm going to end up winding things up around chapter 40 or something. I thought I had my plot down, but new elements, new sides keep popping up that are no less valid than the rest of the story. And my chapters are already longer than "Inconvenient's" where on average. *sigh* For once I wish I could do something on a small scale. Like my one shot fic entitled 'One Shot (Shameless self-promotion, I know.)
Author's thanks at the end.
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So tired. All she wanted was sleep, but sleep was elusive, and when it did come there were the dreams that made her want to wake up. So tired. Awareness was elusive as well. Most of the time she couldn't tell if she now lived in dreams, or if her dreams had come true, or if somehow the world around her had changed and this is what it felt like to be dead. For some reason she had always imagined death to be more peaceful than this. Perhaps it was purgatory. So tired.
Someone was trying to force her to drink again. She didn't want to drink. Winn turned her head away from the persistent cup at her lips, but it followed. A voice came out of the layers of reality and dream wrapped around her; it sounded irritated. Winn lethargically wondered what they had to be irritated about – no one was forcing liquids down their throat. She turned her head again, and again the cup followed. Parting her lips she took a sip, and choked as some of the liquid trickled down her windpipe. Whoever was watching over her let her be.
So tired. She let her mind slip down the slope that led towards sleep, ignoring the urgent voice at the back of her head that said if she slept now she might not wake up. Images rose in her mind as she sunk farther and farther into unconsciousness: ships, a gaggle of children, an old man with a flamingo, a portrait of a pair of intense eyes framed by kohl, laugh-lines, and a strand of beads. "Fight . . . ." She didn't want to fight. Fighting hurt, it revived her weakness, it scared her. If she slept, she wouldn't remember what she was scared of.
"Why are you here?" The voice startled Winn. It had been so long since any voice had made sense to her. She opened her eyes and saw that child again, the one that she'd seen right after Jack had left her at Swallows Rest. "Why are you giving up?"
"It hurts. I'm tired." She was so confused. Why was this child asking her questions?
"Life is pain, but it's also joy. Living makes people tired, but that's why they sleep."
"That's what I'm trying to do." If she and Jack had a child, would it look like this one? Winn dismissed the idea. It was too much to think about.
"This isn't the way to sleep."
"It isn't?" Still confused, Winn looked back up the path she'd been descending. Behind her was light and color. She knew that was the normal world, the waking world. She'd come from that direction. Was the child lying to her?
"I'm not lying." Winn turned to face the child again. It was pointing at the path she had come down. Following the small finger with her eyes, she saw that the trail divided some ways back. Funny, she hadn't seen that path. "That's the way to sleep." The smaller path led to darkness, a back void that swallowed everything around it. Not that there was much of anything in this place she was standing, but there was something about that encompassing void that scared Winn.
"No. I won't go that way. You are lying. This is the way to sleep." She took another step forward, but suddenly the child was in her way.
"Take a closer look at your chosen course." Winn did. The landscape in front of her was much the same as the point that the other path led to. Instead of a void that swallowed everything though, this path led to a dark red fog. It looked warm where the other looked cold. Winn was already cold. She wanted to be warm. "Don't be tempted. That's death."
No. It couldn't be. Death was supposed to be scary, not inviting. It was supposed to be dark, not the warm color of scarlet that met her eyes. "How do you know?"
The child gave a sad smile. "I've seen many people go down this path, but I never seen anyone come back up. That path," it pointed again, "people follow it and they disappear for a time, but they always come back out. They go back up the path and disappear into the light."
Winn glanced back and forth between the black void and the red one. "I'm so tired."
"I know."
She could feel the pull the red haze had on her. "I can't fight it."
"You must."
"Why?" She couldn't remember anything about her life that was worth struggling for. She couldn't remember anything other than this conversation. If it was death that was ahead of her, she wouldn't resist.
"You have a family that loves you. A grandfather who raised and takes pride in you. Brothers who'd do anything for you. Your brother's wives who've taken you in as a sister. Nieces and nephews who adore you. Friends who trust and enjoy spending time with you."
"Grandfather has my brothers, my brothers have their wives and vice versa. My nieces and nephews have their parents and siblings, my friends have other friends. They all have lives of their own, apart from me." So tired.
"You have a child who depends on you for life."
Winn felt gentle kicks inside her body. How had she forgotten her child?
"You have a husband who relies on you. Who is relying on you."
"Winnie." Winn didn't turn, having forgotten what her name was. All she could remember was exhaustion, and before that, pain. "Winnie." The voice. "Winnie, love." That voice was familiar. Winn turned her back on the child and the red fog beyond it.
There was a man standing at place where the two paths diverged. He was dressed in clothing that looked worn and aged, but comfortable. He had long hair that had bits and pieces of wood and shell woven into it, and dark intense eyes. There was a red bandana over his brow and a battered hat on his head. His face was covered by a beard still unmarked with silver and a luxurious mustache. She knew him, but couldn't remember his name. She stared at him and tried to remember, but all the effort brought her was another wave of exhaustion. "Come here, Winnie."
No. He wanted her to go into that dark cold place. She could tell. Winn took a step backwards. "No." A look over her shoulder told her that the child had gone, though she hadn't heard it leave.
The man leaned forward, although he didn't take a step closer to her. If the look on his face was any indication, he wanted to, but couldn't. "Fight, Winnie."
She shook her head. "I'm so tired," she pleaded. All of a sudden she was near tears. She could feel them overwhelming her eyes, blurring her vision. "I can't." Another step back; she could feel the ground sloping steeply behind her. Her foot slipped on some loose stones and she fell.
"Winn!" There was another voice under his, a woman's voice. Despite the fact she had only taken two steps from her original position, he seemed to be much father away than he had been. "Fight it, Winn. I know you can."
Why did he say that? She couldn't fight. She was too tired to fight. Nearly too tired to care. She looked in his eyes again and found more emotion in them than she had expected to find. Almost against her will, curiosity rose up inside her. Who was this man and why did he care so much? Perhaps she should find out before going back to the red place. Maybe he'd tell her his name. Yes. I'd like to know his name.
Pulling herself up on her hands and feet, Winn crawled forward. It was harder to do than she had thought it would be. Her muscles had to strain to fight the downwards pull of the slope. She couldn't do it on her own. "Help me . . . ."
The man looked sad, despairing even. "I can't, love. This is your choice. Your fight."
She had to do this alone? She didn't think she could. For a split second, or perhaps for as much as an hour, she contemplated giving up. It would be so much easier. But it's not who you are. You don't give up.
I don't?
No. You don't. You fight.
Winn fought. She sunk her fingers into the dirt and pulled herself up the path. It was hard. It hurt. It was difficult to breathe. She was covered in sweat. But she did it. Halfway up the slope she was able to stumble to her feet – her legs were unsure whether they wanted to support her, but she fought to control them. Just long enough to reach that man.
Before she knew it, she had managed to stumble within reach of the man standing at the split in the path. Her body was one enormous ache, her hands and knees were bloody, her feet nearly numb. Just one more step. She took it, and fell as her ankles and knees decided they no longer wanted to work in cooperation. The ground rushed up at her, but never reached her. The man she'd been struggling to reach had caught her.
Instinctively her scratched and bleeding fingers dug into his upper arms, her nails catching on his coat. "Who are you?" Her voice was rough, her throat sore. "I need to know."
An arm curled around her waist, supporting her, as his other hand came up and brushed the hair and dirt from her face. "Who do you think I am?" He gave a gentle smile, his hand coming to rest against her cheek, cupping her face in a warm palm. "You know who I am, love."
"I do?" Strange, but she no longer felt as tired as she had at the foot of the slope. She still desired to do nothing more than lie down to sleep, but the urge wasn't nearly as overwhelming as it had been. She rested her head against the man's chest, feeling it expand and contract with his breath, feeling the heart beneath it steadily and rhythmically beating. Was her heart beating? Closing her eyes to better concentrate, she listened for the sound of her heart, for the sound of blood rushing through her ears. Yes, the sound was faint, but it was there. She was alive. "My heart."
"What's that, love?"
"My heart. You're my heart."
She could feel the man smile against the top of her head. "That sounds about right." The arm around her waist tightened. "What do you want to do now?"
"Sleep."
"Are you sure, Winnie?"
She lifted her head and looked into his face, then turned her head to look back down the hill. The red cloud was fading, breaking up, losing its allure. Turning her head the other way, she looked into the blackness of the void there. It no longer scared her, it merely looked comforting. She looked the man in the eye again – the blackness of the void was repeated in his eyes. Nodding, she said, "I'm tired."
The man chuckled. "You've mentioned that once or twice already."
"Do I have to go alone?" The idea of sleep appealed to her, but she didn't want to leave this man either.
"Yes, love. This is still your fight. But I'll be right here waiting for you."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Winn nodded and reluctantly pulled away from him. "Right here?"
"Right here."
Again Winn nodded, and this time walked down the path towards sleep.
Grace collapsed into a chair. For a few hours there, it had seemed as if Winn wasn't going to make it. But now her sister-in-law was sleeping; real, regular, healing sleep, not the restless fever-plagued semi-consciousness that hadn't lifted since Jack had left the cabin nearly twenty-four hours before. The bleeding had slowed to a snail's pace, which while somewhat worrying, was completely natural. If it didn't stop within the next two or three days, then that would be something to be concerned about. For now though, it was enough that the bleeding had slowed, her fever had broken, and she was resting easily. Grace closed her eyes and started rolling her head on her neck, feeling muscles and tendons made tense by anxiety stretch and relax.
There was a small snick as the door to the cabin opened and closed. The woman didn't bother opening her eyes. Her husband was the only person aboard that would dare enter without knocking. She heard him walk across the room with tentative steps, the heels of his boots informing her of his hesitancy. Grace listened as the footsteps paused by her chair and then continued to the bed. "How is she?"
Not even bothering to open her eyes, Grace said, "She's going to make it." A yawn almost unhinged her jaw. "For a while there, I thought we were going to lose her." She felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder, and fighting against the urge to simply nod off, she opened her eyes to look at her husband.
"Thank you." He pressed a kiss into the top of her head. "Whatever you did, thank you."
Grace gave Marcus a weary smile. "I wish I could take the credit for it, but I can't. Winn pulled herself through this." She sighed. "I don't know what happened. I was trying to get her to take a sip of water, and the next thing I knew her eyes were wide open, but I don't think she was seeing anything in this room. And then she started mumbling about how tired she was – that's when I thought we were going to lose her. She actually stopped breathing at one point in time. But something happened that changed all that. One moment I was mopping sweat off her forehead, and in the next I could feel her skin starting to cool, her breathing became less labored, and she became less restless. And then she was asleep." She chuckled. "I've got to stop doubting Jack when he says things that seem ridiculous." Grace shifted in her chair so that she rested more fully against her husband.
"What'd he say that seemed ridiculous?"
"He said that Winn was stubborn enough to live through this and keep the baby. In my heart I hoped he was right, but my head and experience was telling me how very unlikely that was. I've seen stubborn girls killed by castor bean before, when they tried to rid themselves of an unwanted pregnancy. But he was right – she managed to do it."
Marcus shrugged. "I always knew my little sister was special." He paused before asking, "And the babe?"
"Still alive and kicking."
There was something in Grace's voice that made Marcus freeze. "But?"
"What do you mean?"
Grace was definitely trying to avoid telling him something. "What aren't you saying, Grace?"
She sighed. "I'm not saying anything, because I've no proof that anything is wrong." She stopped, and then seemed to say against her better judgment, "Winn was poisoned. She and the babe survived the worst, but there's no telling if the babe was affected in some other way. There's the chance that Winn will give birth to a perfectly healthy child, but there's also the possibility that the poison harmed the child in some way, that it'll have some kind of defect. There's no way to tell or predict." There were tears slipping down her cheeks unnoticed at the thought of her sister having gone through all this simply for more disappointment and pain.
"Shh, sweetheart. Shh. You've done what you can, and no one can blame you for anything that happens now. Things are no longer in your hands."
"I know. I'm just tired." Grace took a deep, shuddery breath."
"At least you're not sea-sick anymore," Marcus pointed out.
Grace whacked him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the reminder, you brute." She squeezed his hand. "I think you'd best go share the good news with Jack, if you can."
Marcus shrugged. "I'm the Captain. I can do as I wish. The only person likely to question me is Norrington, and he's too busy in his cabin to notice anything at the moment."
"Doing what?"
"I haven't the foggiest." Marcus sighed, and let go of his wife. "I'd best be on my way then." He took one last look at the woman on the bed, then made to leave the room. When he opened the door, however, he found his superior on the other side with his fist raised to knock. "Sir, is there something I can help you with?"
Norrington replaced his hand behind his back, squaring his shoulders in correct military fashion. "I decided that I should check on the progress of Mrs. Morgan's patient. How is she?" He walked into the cabin. "Has she said anything as of yet?" When Grace would have stood up, Norrington motioned for her to remain seated. "Please, I can see that you're tired. I promise not to take too much of your time." Marcus slipped unnoticed out the door.
Grace noticed, but didn't say anything. "I'm afraid that my patient hasn't regained enough consciousness to say much of anything, Commodore." It was true – everything Winn had said up until now hadn't made much sense at all. "However, her fever has broken and it appears that she will make it. I expect her to awaken some time tomorrow."
Norrington nodded in a way that made it seem as if his thoughts were elsewhere. "Was there any evidence of maltreatment, other than the fact that she had been . . . poisoned?"
There was something about the way he was acting that made Grace think that he cared far more about Winn's health than he was willing to admit, and not just because he didn't like to see a woman suffer. "Well, as you can see, there's a bit of bruising on her face, but that could have easily been caused by a fall." Grace suspected that it had actually been caused by someone's hand, but the bruise had faded enough and Winn's skin had regained enough color that any sort of shape was impossible to determine. "Other than that, she was undamaged."
Norrington nodded, again seemingly half distracted by something else. "Please inform me when she regains consciousness. I need to have her answer some questions about how she ended up in this condition."
"I think it'd be best if you waited a few days before interrogating her, Commodore." Her husband's superior looked at her, his face expressionless. She'd known the man long enough to know that the face he was making was actually a cover for some stronger emotion. Not that she knew which one. Curiouser, and curiouser, she thought. "She's going to be very weak, and undoubtedly much too weak to answer any questions with any confidence or clarity."
"Very well." The commodore pulled his shoulders back in what appeared to be a nervous habit, even though he was already standing as strait as might be expected of anyone who felt the effects of gravity. "We shall reach Port Royal by tomorrow afternoon. I assume that you wish to keep the young woman under your care?" Grace nodded. "Very well. Please inform the garrison if there's any way that we can help, and send for me as soon as you feel she's able to answer some questions."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Grace walked the man to the door, despite his efforts to keep her seated. "I'm sure that my patient will be gratified to hear how concerned you were over her well-being."
"Perhaps. Good evening, Mrs. Morgan."
"Good evening, Commodore." The man left, and Grace gratefully closed the door behind him. His behavior had been strange, unsettling even. He had acted as if he had a personal interest in Winn's well-being, which was ridiculous. Why was he showing so much concern for a woman he'd seen but never even talked to?
Grace raised a hand and rubbed her temple as she turned from the door. She'd try to get Winn to drink something one last time before settling down for a nap. As she raised her head and looked towards the bed, however, a smile broke out across her face. Despite her weariness, she couldn't help the sweet feeling that filled her at the scene that awaited her. Pige, tired of being banned from her mistress' side, had crawled up on the bed as Grace's back had been turned, and had managed to bury her head underneath one of Winn's hands. She looked at Grace mournfully, as if begging not to be displaced.
"Well, if it's that important to you." The dog's tail thumped the mattress.
Bored. Jack hated being locked up. When there were other people interred with him, it wasn't so bad. Even idiots and common thieves could be entertaining if not actual company. But no – it was his luck to be locked up all by his onesies, with only the overly disdainful guard at the door. Jack had tried talking to the man to irritate him if nothing else, but hadn't gotten a reaction. Not even a curse. In his opinion, the man had been trained to his job a little too well. Bored. At least he wasn't worried anymore, and that was an improvement on the past few days. The reason he was no longer worried, was that Marcus had left some twenty minutes ago, leaving behind some welcome news.
Leaning back against the wall, Jack relaxed for the first time in over forty-eight hours. As he took a deep breath, he focused on clearing his mind of the fear and anxiety that had been clouding it. Just two hours before, Winn had almost lost her fight, but now she appeared to be resting comfortably. Jack didn't know who he should thank for the miracle, or if thinking about it too often would jinx it, but he couldn't help the wave of relief that washed over him. Winn was safe for the time being, resting in the presence of her family.
What would you have done if she had died?
The question raised was a good one. He'd been too concerned to think about it earlier. Despite being a rather realistic man, he'd been afraid that the mere thought of losing Winn was an invitation for fate to do its worst. His little adventure with the Turners and Barbossa nearly five years ago had shown him that there were indeed forces that meddled in the mortal world that humans didn't necessarily understand. But now that Winn was out of danger, it was probably for the best that he consider the question. His life – their life together – was too uncertain to not know the answer to such an important what-if. If she'd died, I wouldn't have rested until Gandolfi is dead.
And after that?
Jack had once told Winn that he wasn't so used to love that the sentiment would make him stupid. He wasn't sure that the same thing could be said now. He'd like to think that he would go on living, go on raiding ships and turning everyone's conceptions about what a sun-baked, half daft pirate could do inside out, but something inside of him said differently. Yes, he'd go on being a pirate, but that's because that's all there would be left of him. Winn meant too much to Jack-the-man for that part of him to survive without her. The pirate would be all that was left of him; he'd go on raiding ships and ports alike, but he'd care for nothing more than his ship, and possibly her crew, but in an impersonal way. And it was most likely that one day the man would give up entirely to leave the pirate to take a single risk that was too great, and that would be the end of Captain Jack Sparrow.
So what are you going to do, mate?
Trick or escape the navy somehow, find Gandolfi, and then kill him.
After that.
Why was his inner-self so concerned with 'afters'? Pirates didn't have 'afters.' They had 'nows'.
Keep Winn safe?
That sounded like a good idea.
Leave her after the child is born.
That didn't sound like a good idea.
As long as you're a pirate, she's in danger. You've seen that. The sea is in your blood – as long as you're alive you'll be a pirate. You know that. If loosing Winn endangers your life, then you need to keep her on land where she'll be safe. If you should ever endanger her life, you need to stay away from her. You can always stop by a few times each year to make sure she and the kid are safe. That's how Bootstrap managed things.
There was a blaring justification for such a crackpot idea. Bill Turner's only son had no idea what his father really did for a living, and discovering what he did do nearly destroyed the lad. And Bill still lost everything in the end. Still, the lure of keeping Winn safe was a strong one. This doesn't matter at the moment. I have bigger problems to figure out – such as how I'm going to get away from the hangman this time around. Jack forced himself to settle his mind on the most immediate hurdle in his continued battle of wits against Norrington and the society he represented, but the idea of keeping Winn safe did nothing more than wait in the back of his head for the opportune moment to rear its persistent head.
Elizabeth Turner was taking a break from her shopping and errands to visit her husband. It wasn't something she did often, both Will and the rest of respectable society having adamantly stated that a blacksmith's forge was no place for a lady. Elizabeth didn't how if something was fit for Will, it couldn't also be fit for his wife, but she brushed the old annoyance aside and merely limited her visits to once every month or so. Social dictates had already bowed enough to allow her to marry him and not become a disgrace to her father's name; she wouldn't keep pushing until things snapped back to injure her and those she cared for.
The old wooden door to the smithy creaked as she opened it, the sound of hammers ringing on hot metal growing louder with her efforts. Elizabeth stepped inside and closed the door behind her, standing still for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the lowered level of light inside the building. No matter how often she did this, she'd never defeat the surprise that Will could work in such a dark building. Maybe that's why he spent so much time outside with the children when he came home for the night.
"Afternoon, Mz. Turner."
"Hello, Ben." Elizabeth, her eyes having adjusted enough for her to move down the shop's steps confidently, smiled at her husband's young apprentice. She remembered how much Will had protested taking the boy in some months ago, saying that he was barely out of apprentice-hood himself – who was he to teach someone. Elizabeth had simply commented that the best time to teach someone was when the mistakes you had made where still fresh in you mind. And as the only blacksmith in Port Royal since the one outside the town had died, he could use the help. "Can you tell me where Mr. Turner is?"
"'e's in the back, ma'am."
"Thank you." Not bothering to linger and talk to the lad as she usually did, she hurried to the back room where Will kept and worked on accounts when he couldn't avoid it any longer. Knocking on the door as she opened it, Elizabeth said, "Will?"
"Elizabeth! What are you doing here?" While he sounded surprised, Elizabeth knew that he was simply eager to take a break from the ledgers spread out on the table before him. As he hugged his wife, Will craned his neck to see out the door she'd just entered through. "Where are the children?"
"I left them with Agatha. Two-year-olds and babes-in-arms don't mix will with a blacksmith's shop, Will." She knew he was disappointed not to see two-year-old Wyatt and six month old Deborah, but she needed to talk to her husband right now without interruption, and the only way to do that was to have the children absent. "Do you have time to talk to me?"
"I always have time to talk to you, Elizabeth, Besides, there's only so long I can focus on all these bloody numbers before my mind starts wandering." He sighed, "Balancing the books isn't hard, but it is time consuming. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"
Elizabeth glanced around the small room. "It's nothing, really. It's just that Winn wrote that she'd be coming to visit sometime in the first half of the month, but I haven't heard word from her since." Focusing on the buttons to his shirt, she raised her hands to play with them as she continued, "I know that Winn's estimates of when something may happen haven't been perfectly reliable since she got married, but if something does come up to change her plans, she usually writes."
"Are you worried?"
"Yes, I know I shouldn't be, that Jack would so anything to see Winn safe, but . . . ."
"But he's a pirate?" Both Will and Elizabeth smiled ruefully.
"Yes, I suppose. Not that I think he's unreliable either, it's just that he's a bit more likely to change his mind about where he's heading." There was more to it than that, a unsettled feeling somewhere in her mind or spirit that she couldn't dismiss for the life of her. However, before she could explain this, a knock on the door interrupted them.
"Mr. Turner, there's a boy here to see you."
"Thank you, Ben." Will shrugged and gave Elizabeth a squeeze for good measure, then let her go. "I promise we'll talk more about this later." He opened the door and walked out into the main part of the smithy with his wife following close behind. "What can I do for you, lad?"
The boy at the door turned and stepped to the side. As soon as the sun was no longer behind him, the couple could see that he was dressed as a cabin boy. "Are you Mr. Turner?" The strength of the child's accent gave him away as a new recruit fresh out of England.
"Yes, I'm Will Turner."
"Is Mrs. Turner with you, sir? My message is for you both. I went first to your house, but she wasn't there."
Will, confused by the situation, gestured at the woman at his side. "This is Mrs. Turner. What news do you have for us?"
"I carry a message from Captain and Mrs. Morgan. They say that you need to meet them at their house at your earliest convenience."
"Did they say why?"
"No, sir, but I suspect it has something to do with the woman we found. Poisoned by a pirate she was. The infamous Jack Sparrow no less, or so the men are sayin'. The Commodore is fit to be tied." And with that extra bit of information, the boy scampered off, intent on spreading his news now that he had completed his mission.
Will felt Elizabeth's nail digging into his arm in shock and alarm that paralleled his own. What had Jack gotten himself into now?
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Author's Note: YAY! Page 100 in my Word doc. that contains all the chapters! Joy! Rature!
Author's Thanks:
jackfan2 – yay! You're back! I totally understand the hecticness that life can assume at times. I'm just glad that it's almost Christmas break. That's how I'm getting through my days now. That and counting down to my birthday. (Just 13 days left!)
EricaDawn
TaraRose
VagrantCandy
bobo3 – be watching around Monday for my ideas on how I think Kendra could help out our daring duo here. I need to get a better idea of how I'm going to fit another piece into this puzzle. (But a very welcome piece, to be sure.) ; )
Eledhwen
Ashley –umm, lavish e-mail praises. *eyes glaze over* Yes, all is forgiven! That's the nice thing about not being able to track how many hits your stories get – you don't know how many people out there aren't reviewing. ; ) Sara-without-an-'h' lives in Washington, the state with an 'h'. Sarah-with-an-'h' (namely me) lives in Oregon, the state without an 'h'. Does that help clear things up for you? ^_^ Totally agree about her channeling Sands – makes me worried for her mental health it does. ; ) As for knowing what's coming up in her fic *sticks out tongue* Lucky thing, you. However, we've agreed not to discuss upcoming chapters with each other lest our fics start sounding amazingly alike. P.S. à About that hat, can it be a big one with a feather that pokes people's eyes out? : )
SprklingSatine
pirate-miss
liliataliandragon
mollymo
ao_hoshi
KawaiiRyu
Clover the Sea-Beast
