Disclaimer: I own nothing from this story except any characters I create myself
"There! Watch out!" The cry came too late as the heavy cargo came crashing down and landed on the ship deck in a messy heap. Immediately a thick dust rose from the scattered packages, choking everyone in the vicinity. Slowly though, the air cleared and everyone began to go back to their tasks, disregarding, or not remembering the shrill warning that seemed to be aimed at someone in particular.
"Help me, please . . . someone, anyone?" Corey sighed as she struggled unceremoniously to get out from beneath the sacks and bags that were pinning her down and cutting off her circulation. Finally, with one last massive kick, her feet shot out and she pushed herself out the rest of the way. Standing in the open air, with only the ocean around her, she became aware of how dismal her situation had gotten- how far she had fallen from high society. And despite her vow to never cry about being shunned by her family and friends, the overwhelming feeling of being alone engulfed her until she felt like she was back underneath those packages- suffocating and desperate, and the tears began to clog her throat.
Almost as soon as the emotion had surfaced, she began the struggle to regain control. Bringing her attention elsewhere, she pushed her now dirty brown hair off her forehead, straightened her shoulders and raised her head, her eyes radiating a fierce determination to never let the world see her in a state of uncertainty. She may have become an outcast, but that did not erase her upbringing; she was still an aristocrat- now just one heading to the Caribbean with a third class, one way ticket, and a few coins that would only sustain her for a short time. Dusting herself off, she started across the deck to head back to her room; all she needed was a good rest; sleep could obliterate any problem as long as one continued to sleep.
Two Months Later
A deafening blend of guffaws and clattering of dishes filled the tavern with harsh, annoying noises. Despite the month and a half that Corey had been working as a barmaid, the sounds still made her flinch and she wondered how much more she could take before losing her mind. Laughing wryly inwardly, she thought back to what she hadn't lost. Everyone always said that one was fine so as long as one still had their dignity; who knew how long she had been without that-
"Corey, what little daydreams are runnin' through that lil' head of yours? Git to work! There ain't no time for dawdling when you've got a job to do. Don't think you're gonna git paid if ya think you can git away with not takin' your profession seriously-"
Corey felt a hysterical bubble of mirth well up in her at her boss's tone, but wisely swallowed it down as Atria's knowing eyes narrowed on her; she could not afford to lose this job, no matter how loathsome it was.
"I apologize; I shall put my hands to good use-"
"Enough of your fancy talk, girl, or else your job won't be fixin' men their drinks, rather your hands will be delivering a different form of pleasure for a man," Atria replied crudely, "say in a nice lil' bed in a nice lil' room."
Lifting her chin, Corey clenched her jaw and said nothing; she wouldn't be intimidated or provoked into a verbal spar. In her mind she kept repeating this over and over to banish the intense craving to set the vulgar woman in her place. Her place. What foolish words was her mind conjuring up? She herself was of a lower class now than Atria; at least her boss had the title of 'boss', she herself had nothing except a tray of bottles of rum and a dress that was cut indecently over her chest-
"Are you just stupid girl? Git back to work!"
Smiling fakely, Corey hoisted the tray onto her shoulder and moved to a table of already intoxicated men to deliver yet another round of rum and to receive in turn leers and crude jokes.
"Here you are men. Drinks all around," she said with false cheer. Turning, she meant to leave as quickly as possible, but her dress caught on the edge of the table and it refused to come lose; every one of her attempts was futile. The men saw her struggle and pounced.
"Here doll, lemme help ya get that off-" one man said suggestively. Before Corey could put him off, the man had grabbed her dress in his hand and had given it a hard yank, sending a large rip down the side, exposing her tan leg. Snickers and laughter erupted among the group and Corey felt all her anger and humiliation well up in a tidal wave. She may have strayed far from society's notions of propriety and she may have become accustomed, or in the very least tolerant of the drunks who inhabited the tavern, but she refused to let herself go so far away as to let a man harass her in this manner. . . the tidal wave was rising- this time she let herself go for the ride.
Nearby the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow sat waiting in annoyance for his rum when out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the barmaids being harassed by a group of drunken pirates. Shaking his head slightly, he watched in silence, annoyed by the men who were delaying the arrival of his rum. Deciding that in order to get his hands on that treasure, he'd have to intervene, Jack let out a grumble and stood up and walked over to the table. Ah, to be the knight in shining armor for a poor, defenseless lass. How many times had he been put in situations similar to this one, Jack wondered in amusement.
As he finally reached the table he laid his hand on the barmaid's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak-
Not noticing the hand resting on her shoulder, Corey angrily raised her hand above her head, herself forgetful of the respectable ways she had grown up knowing, and a feral growl unknown to her slipped from her vocal cords as her fist met the jaw of the man who'd ripped her dress. The cracking sound filled her with a sense of relief and power that her mind suddenly leaped off sanity's cliff; it was as if every motion was amplified, as if her senses had finally come alive, and yet she hardly knew what she was doing; for once she stopped thinking and just acted. Finally she noticed the hand on her shoulder, but only after the accompanying voice began to laugh hysterically. Whirling around, Corey let her fist fly again- this time at the person who seemed to be making a mockery of her defense. Another cracking sound came, this one with even more force and emotion fueling it; it showed as blood poured out from the man's nose as he howled in shocked pain.
That sound sent her plummeting back to her normal state and she saw that she had caused everyone in the tavern to become motionless; at that unfitting moment Corey wondered how she hadn't noticed before. But there was no time to think of that because Atria was heading towards her then, and from her expression Corey guessed that the odds weren't in her favor.
"There! Watch out!" The cry came too late as the heavy cargo came crashing down and landed on the ship deck in a messy heap. Immediately a thick dust rose from the scattered packages, choking everyone in the vicinity. Slowly though, the air cleared and everyone began to go back to their tasks, disregarding, or not remembering the shrill warning that seemed to be aimed at someone in particular.
"Help me, please . . . someone, anyone?" Corey sighed as she struggled unceremoniously to get out from beneath the sacks and bags that were pinning her down and cutting off her circulation. Finally, with one last massive kick, her feet shot out and she pushed herself out the rest of the way. Standing in the open air, with only the ocean around her, she became aware of how dismal her situation had gotten- how far she had fallen from high society. And despite her vow to never cry about being shunned by her family and friends, the overwhelming feeling of being alone engulfed her until she felt like she was back underneath those packages- suffocating and desperate, and the tears began to clog her throat.
Almost as soon as the emotion had surfaced, she began the struggle to regain control. Bringing her attention elsewhere, she pushed her now dirty brown hair off her forehead, straightened her shoulders and raised her head, her eyes radiating a fierce determination to never let the world see her in a state of uncertainty. She may have become an outcast, but that did not erase her upbringing; she was still an aristocrat- now just one heading to the Caribbean with a third class, one way ticket, and a few coins that would only sustain her for a short time. Dusting herself off, she started across the deck to head back to her room; all she needed was a good rest; sleep could obliterate any problem as long as one continued to sleep.
Two Months Later
A deafening blend of guffaws and clattering of dishes filled the tavern with harsh, annoying noises. Despite the month and a half that Corey had been working as a barmaid, the sounds still made her flinch and she wondered how much more she could take before losing her mind. Laughing wryly inwardly, she thought back to what she hadn't lost. Everyone always said that one was fine so as long as one still had their dignity; who knew how long she had been without that-
"Corey, what little daydreams are runnin' through that lil' head of yours? Git to work! There ain't no time for dawdling when you've got a job to do. Don't think you're gonna git paid if ya think you can git away with not takin' your profession seriously-"
Corey felt a hysterical bubble of mirth well up in her at her boss's tone, but wisely swallowed it down as Atria's knowing eyes narrowed on her; she could not afford to lose this job, no matter how loathsome it was.
"I apologize; I shall put my hands to good use-"
"Enough of your fancy talk, girl, or else your job won't be fixin' men their drinks, rather your hands will be delivering a different form of pleasure for a man," Atria replied crudely, "say in a nice lil' bed in a nice lil' room."
Lifting her chin, Corey clenched her jaw and said nothing; she wouldn't be intimidated or provoked into a verbal spar. In her mind she kept repeating this over and over to banish the intense craving to set the vulgar woman in her place. Her place. What foolish words was her mind conjuring up? She herself was of a lower class now than Atria; at least her boss had the title of 'boss', she herself had nothing except a tray of bottles of rum and a dress that was cut indecently over her chest-
"Are you just stupid girl? Git back to work!"
Smiling fakely, Corey hoisted the tray onto her shoulder and moved to a table of already intoxicated men to deliver yet another round of rum and to receive in turn leers and crude jokes.
"Here you are men. Drinks all around," she said with false cheer. Turning, she meant to leave as quickly as possible, but her dress caught on the edge of the table and it refused to come lose; every one of her attempts was futile. The men saw her struggle and pounced.
"Here doll, lemme help ya get that off-" one man said suggestively. Before Corey could put him off, the man had grabbed her dress in his hand and had given it a hard yank, sending a large rip down the side, exposing her tan leg. Snickers and laughter erupted among the group and Corey felt all her anger and humiliation well up in a tidal wave. She may have strayed far from society's notions of propriety and she may have become accustomed, or in the very least tolerant of the drunks who inhabited the tavern, but she refused to let herself go so far away as to let a man harass her in this manner. . . the tidal wave was rising- this time she let herself go for the ride.
Nearby the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow sat waiting in annoyance for his rum when out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the barmaids being harassed by a group of drunken pirates. Shaking his head slightly, he watched in silence, annoyed by the men who were delaying the arrival of his rum. Deciding that in order to get his hands on that treasure, he'd have to intervene, Jack let out a grumble and stood up and walked over to the table. Ah, to be the knight in shining armor for a poor, defenseless lass. How many times had he been put in situations similar to this one, Jack wondered in amusement.
As he finally reached the table he laid his hand on the barmaid's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak-
Not noticing the hand resting on her shoulder, Corey angrily raised her hand above her head, herself forgetful of the respectable ways she had grown up knowing, and a feral growl unknown to her slipped from her vocal cords as her fist met the jaw of the man who'd ripped her dress. The cracking sound filled her with a sense of relief and power that her mind suddenly leaped off sanity's cliff; it was as if every motion was amplified, as if her senses had finally come alive, and yet she hardly knew what she was doing; for once she stopped thinking and just acted. Finally she noticed the hand on her shoulder, but only after the accompanying voice began to laugh hysterically. Whirling around, Corey let her fist fly again- this time at the person who seemed to be making a mockery of her defense. Another cracking sound came, this one with even more force and emotion fueling it; it showed as blood poured out from the man's nose as he howled in shocked pain.
That sound sent her plummeting back to her normal state and she saw that she had caused everyone in the tavern to become motionless; at that unfitting moment Corey wondered how she hadn't noticed before. But there was no time to think of that because Atria was heading towards her then, and from her expression Corey guessed that the odds weren't in her favor.