My Big Fat Boldface Disclaimer:
I don't own anything, I don't pretend to own anything, I'm using this
stuff without permission but it's just for my own amusement and the
amusement of anyone else that reads the story, we all obviously know
this but I'm just being legal. Don't sue me ok? Ok then.
It was long past dark, and Tortuga was alive. The sounds of gunshots and fiddles and general chaos reverberated through the packed streets, and the inhabitants were so drunk they didn't seem to notice lingering odor of piss, blood, filth, sweat, and alcohol that clung to everything in the town. For my part, I was beginning my Tortuga ritual: sampling alcohol from every tavern, getting into brawls, telling my stories to anyone that would listen, and conning fine young men into buying me drinks all night.
And, as luck would have it, I was about halfway to the first bar when these plans came to a screeching halt.
I was rounding the corner, headed out of the seediest section of Tortuga in favor of the slightly less seedy section, when I felt something latch onto my waist. I instinctively grabbed a dagger, but before I had a chance to use it on my assailant there was a blade on my own throat and I was being pushed roughly into an alleyway. The person spun me around and pressed me hard into the damp wall, and even in the shadowy cover of the alley I recognized him instantly... the dark hair, the stocky build, the beard that needed a razor the size of a sword... I grinned ironically, feeling myself relax a little. I could handle this guy... I had countless times before. He smelled like alcohol, but that didn't mean much; Bruce owned the seediest bar in Tortuga, probably in the entirety of the Caribbean, the Rusty Nail. Quite a stupid name, but I doubt that whoever christened it was sober anyway. They rarely were on this side of town... or anywhere on the island, actually...
I was broken out of my musings as dearest Bruce finished looking me over and smirked. "Amelia Mulligan," he said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "Never woulda thought I'd find you back here again. Changed your mind, have you? Come back to ol' Bruce? I knew you'd never be able to stay away..."
"It's Captain Sam Mulligan now, Bruce," I replied coolly, looking him right in the eye. At one time, this man would have had me cowering on the ground, and he knew it. Well, not anymore, and it was time he knew that too. "Was there something that you needed?" I added with fake sweetness, as he continued to stare at me with a mix of disbelief and contemplation on his face.
"Captain?" he repeated dubiously after a moment; then he laughed deeply, sending a wave of stench rolling into my face. I cringed and turned my head, and he didn't notice at all. "And using your middle name, too? Was it that bad for you here?" He began laughing again, quietly at first, then louder and louder until he was fairly roaring. I continued to stare at him, one hand slowly sliding over my belt until I reached the pistol holstered at my hip, until he stopped laughing abruptly and grabbed my shoulder, leaning in on me, giving me another, stronger, much-unwanted whiff of putrid breath that caused me to jerk my head back so fast I almost smacked it into the wall. "My, my," he continued softly, looking me over, and clamped his fist down on my wandering hand. "You have changed..."
"Imagine that! Well, hate to break it to you, mate, but time has a tendency of doing that to a person," I replied brightly, and glared as I wrenched my hand away.
"I take it back," he said carefully, still in that deadly quiet tone. "You're exactly the same. Once a saucy low-class tramp, always a saucy low- class tramp."
"Haven't you had enough of the insults?" I commented, grinning lazily, and punched him in the face. He surely hadn't been expecting that, and I ducked out from underneath his arm as he tried to catch me to smash me against the wall. I drew my sword and backed him up to it instead. Bruce and I went way back, and we'd had more than our share of bloody swordfights and the such, but this time was different. This time I was prepared to kill him. This time, I was Captain Sam Mulligan... Amelia was gone, and she was going to be buried with Bruce. Tonight. I was going to make sure of it.
"What's this, Amelia?" he asked, drawing his own sword. Light from the balcony of the house he had his back against spilled into the alleyway, making the blade glint. I could see his eyes, dark and malicious, and knew he was intent on having my blood on his hands tonight. "Going to start another fight with me that you can't win?"
"No," I replied, sneering coldly, refusing to be intimidated by this man. "I'm starting a fight that you can't win." I smirked ironically, holding up my sword. "I've changed, Bruce. Are you prepared to die?"
He snarled in response and lunged at me, his sword swinging in a broad arc. I jumped out of the way and brought mine around, and didn't bother with enough decency to close my eyes when he shouted a strange noise, sort of like a distorted grunt, as I sliced him deeply across the stomach. He glanced down disbelievingly at the wound, then back up at me as he fell down hard on his knees.
For my part, I was slightly disappointed. This was supposed to be a big event, full of drama and closure, and it had only lasted for about a minute. Sighing in disappointment, I wiped the blood off my sword and was about to put it back in its sheath when Bruce reached out and clutched my wrist. "Here," he rasped, pressing something into my hand and closing my fingers around it. I eyed him distrustfully, unnerved by and suspicious of this abrupt change in behavior, and opened my fist to see what it was, but he quickly put his rough hand over mine. "Not here," he told me hoarsely, urgency shining in his eyes, blood dribbling down his chin, and he glanced quickly around to make sure nobody was watching. "Nobody can know about this." He kept his hand clamped firmly down on mine, staring intently into my eyes with the most serious expression I'd ever seen, especially on him. Something about it was deeply disturbing, and the fact that it alarmed me only made it worse- seeing the things I've seen, nothing really moves me much at all.
"Why the hell do I have to guard your bloody trinket, you ol' bastard? Toss it off to some whore," I suggested gruffly, wrenching my hand out of his grasp. "There's plenty around anyway. I don' want the thing, that's for damn sure."
But he just shook his head, "You must to swear to protect it," he pleaded urgently, coughing up a mouthful of blood onto my shirt. "You must. I don't have much time left, and you're the only person I can trust it with."
"You're daft," I stated simply, taking a step back. "How the bloody hell can you suggest that you trust this with me above anyone else?"
"Because..." He paused to spit out a mouthful of blood, then managed a grin that resulted in a minute-long coughing fit. "Because I know you, Ame- Sam... I know you won't let it fall into the wrong hands."
"From you're perspective, I am the wrong hands!" I cried, aggravated. "Do you truly and honestly expect me to believe in this sudden change of heart? I'm dreadfully sorry, old boy, but I'm not the same naïve little girl that you knew!"
"Just promise, Samantha. You're the only hope..."
"No," I replied shortly. "I am not promising you anything."
"But you must!" he choked, spitting blood all over, then coughed deeply and grabbed my shoulders, both for effect and to keep him steady, as he was beginning to sway rather dangerously. "Please," he begged, quieter now. "Not for me..."
"Who for, then?" I demanded expectantly.
"You'll know..." he stopped and tried to breathe, but it came out ragged and shallow, and he grasped at my shoulders with renewed desperation. "When you see it, and it will be clear." I rolled my eyes and glanced at my balled-up fist, opening my fingers. "Not here!" he added urgently, grabbing my fist again and squeezing it tightly. "No-" he closed his eyes and took a slow, labored breath. "No one must know... until the end."
"The end of what?" I asked, my suspicion still strong, but by then his grip was loosening on my shoulders.
"Of..." he began weakly, his eyelids fluttering.
"Don't you die on me now, you bastard," I warned sharply, hauling him up on his knees. "Not until you tell me what the hell you're talking about and what I have to do with this thing... hell, I don't even know what it is!"
"Y-you'll know- at the end-" he coughed another mouthful of blood all over, sagging in my arms. "When you see-" he paused, making a strange choking noise in his throat, and without warning, crashed forcefully to the dusty street, bringing me down hard onto my knees beside him. I loomed over him, gripping his shirt in one fist as he coughed. "They're coming. I-" he paused to cough again, "Did a st-stupid thing..."
"Damn it, Bruce!" I said, but he wasn't moving. I sighed, staring at my balled-up fist, then made an irritated noise and stuffed the trinket it into a pouch on my belt, tucking that underneath my sash. "You bastard..." I murmured, staring at the corpse. Then a peculiar lopsided grin spread across my face. "I don't think either of us knows what you got me into..." I shrugged and wrapped my coat a little tighter around myself, reaching down to snatch his coin pouch from his belt. "And I've always liked it that way." I tossed the pouch up in the air, saluted the corpse, and turned in the direction of the pub.
Love it? Hate it? Is it moving too fast? The only way I'm gonna know is if you guys review and tell me! (Big thanks to everyone that did already too. You guys are awesome!) It's getting to the good parts, and there's some Jack and Will in the next chapter, yay! I've pretty much got the plot figured out but tell me what you guys want to see and I'll do my best to put it in here. Basically the only thing I really plan not to do is make this romance... it just doesn't fit, sorry to anyone that might want that. Otherwise, let me know! I'm open to any feedback anyone's willing to give. And... that's about it, I'm taking too much anyway, just don't forget to review!
It was long past dark, and Tortuga was alive. The sounds of gunshots and fiddles and general chaos reverberated through the packed streets, and the inhabitants were so drunk they didn't seem to notice lingering odor of piss, blood, filth, sweat, and alcohol that clung to everything in the town. For my part, I was beginning my Tortuga ritual: sampling alcohol from every tavern, getting into brawls, telling my stories to anyone that would listen, and conning fine young men into buying me drinks all night.
And, as luck would have it, I was about halfway to the first bar when these plans came to a screeching halt.
I was rounding the corner, headed out of the seediest section of Tortuga in favor of the slightly less seedy section, when I felt something latch onto my waist. I instinctively grabbed a dagger, but before I had a chance to use it on my assailant there was a blade on my own throat and I was being pushed roughly into an alleyway. The person spun me around and pressed me hard into the damp wall, and even in the shadowy cover of the alley I recognized him instantly... the dark hair, the stocky build, the beard that needed a razor the size of a sword... I grinned ironically, feeling myself relax a little. I could handle this guy... I had countless times before. He smelled like alcohol, but that didn't mean much; Bruce owned the seediest bar in Tortuga, probably in the entirety of the Caribbean, the Rusty Nail. Quite a stupid name, but I doubt that whoever christened it was sober anyway. They rarely were on this side of town... or anywhere on the island, actually...
I was broken out of my musings as dearest Bruce finished looking me over and smirked. "Amelia Mulligan," he said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "Never woulda thought I'd find you back here again. Changed your mind, have you? Come back to ol' Bruce? I knew you'd never be able to stay away..."
"It's Captain Sam Mulligan now, Bruce," I replied coolly, looking him right in the eye. At one time, this man would have had me cowering on the ground, and he knew it. Well, not anymore, and it was time he knew that too. "Was there something that you needed?" I added with fake sweetness, as he continued to stare at me with a mix of disbelief and contemplation on his face.
"Captain?" he repeated dubiously after a moment; then he laughed deeply, sending a wave of stench rolling into my face. I cringed and turned my head, and he didn't notice at all. "And using your middle name, too? Was it that bad for you here?" He began laughing again, quietly at first, then louder and louder until he was fairly roaring. I continued to stare at him, one hand slowly sliding over my belt until I reached the pistol holstered at my hip, until he stopped laughing abruptly and grabbed my shoulder, leaning in on me, giving me another, stronger, much-unwanted whiff of putrid breath that caused me to jerk my head back so fast I almost smacked it into the wall. "My, my," he continued softly, looking me over, and clamped his fist down on my wandering hand. "You have changed..."
"Imagine that! Well, hate to break it to you, mate, but time has a tendency of doing that to a person," I replied brightly, and glared as I wrenched my hand away.
"I take it back," he said carefully, still in that deadly quiet tone. "You're exactly the same. Once a saucy low-class tramp, always a saucy low- class tramp."
"Haven't you had enough of the insults?" I commented, grinning lazily, and punched him in the face. He surely hadn't been expecting that, and I ducked out from underneath his arm as he tried to catch me to smash me against the wall. I drew my sword and backed him up to it instead. Bruce and I went way back, and we'd had more than our share of bloody swordfights and the such, but this time was different. This time I was prepared to kill him. This time, I was Captain Sam Mulligan... Amelia was gone, and she was going to be buried with Bruce. Tonight. I was going to make sure of it.
"What's this, Amelia?" he asked, drawing his own sword. Light from the balcony of the house he had his back against spilled into the alleyway, making the blade glint. I could see his eyes, dark and malicious, and knew he was intent on having my blood on his hands tonight. "Going to start another fight with me that you can't win?"
"No," I replied, sneering coldly, refusing to be intimidated by this man. "I'm starting a fight that you can't win." I smirked ironically, holding up my sword. "I've changed, Bruce. Are you prepared to die?"
He snarled in response and lunged at me, his sword swinging in a broad arc. I jumped out of the way and brought mine around, and didn't bother with enough decency to close my eyes when he shouted a strange noise, sort of like a distorted grunt, as I sliced him deeply across the stomach. He glanced down disbelievingly at the wound, then back up at me as he fell down hard on his knees.
For my part, I was slightly disappointed. This was supposed to be a big event, full of drama and closure, and it had only lasted for about a minute. Sighing in disappointment, I wiped the blood off my sword and was about to put it back in its sheath when Bruce reached out and clutched my wrist. "Here," he rasped, pressing something into my hand and closing my fingers around it. I eyed him distrustfully, unnerved by and suspicious of this abrupt change in behavior, and opened my fist to see what it was, but he quickly put his rough hand over mine. "Not here," he told me hoarsely, urgency shining in his eyes, blood dribbling down his chin, and he glanced quickly around to make sure nobody was watching. "Nobody can know about this." He kept his hand clamped firmly down on mine, staring intently into my eyes with the most serious expression I'd ever seen, especially on him. Something about it was deeply disturbing, and the fact that it alarmed me only made it worse- seeing the things I've seen, nothing really moves me much at all.
"Why the hell do I have to guard your bloody trinket, you ol' bastard? Toss it off to some whore," I suggested gruffly, wrenching my hand out of his grasp. "There's plenty around anyway. I don' want the thing, that's for damn sure."
But he just shook his head, "You must to swear to protect it," he pleaded urgently, coughing up a mouthful of blood onto my shirt. "You must. I don't have much time left, and you're the only person I can trust it with."
"You're daft," I stated simply, taking a step back. "How the bloody hell can you suggest that you trust this with me above anyone else?"
"Because..." He paused to spit out a mouthful of blood, then managed a grin that resulted in a minute-long coughing fit. "Because I know you, Ame- Sam... I know you won't let it fall into the wrong hands."
"From you're perspective, I am the wrong hands!" I cried, aggravated. "Do you truly and honestly expect me to believe in this sudden change of heart? I'm dreadfully sorry, old boy, but I'm not the same naïve little girl that you knew!"
"Just promise, Samantha. You're the only hope..."
"No," I replied shortly. "I am not promising you anything."
"But you must!" he choked, spitting blood all over, then coughed deeply and grabbed my shoulders, both for effect and to keep him steady, as he was beginning to sway rather dangerously. "Please," he begged, quieter now. "Not for me..."
"Who for, then?" I demanded expectantly.
"You'll know..." he stopped and tried to breathe, but it came out ragged and shallow, and he grasped at my shoulders with renewed desperation. "When you see it, and it will be clear." I rolled my eyes and glanced at my balled-up fist, opening my fingers. "Not here!" he added urgently, grabbing my fist again and squeezing it tightly. "No-" he closed his eyes and took a slow, labored breath. "No one must know... until the end."
"The end of what?" I asked, my suspicion still strong, but by then his grip was loosening on my shoulders.
"Of..." he began weakly, his eyelids fluttering.
"Don't you die on me now, you bastard," I warned sharply, hauling him up on his knees. "Not until you tell me what the hell you're talking about and what I have to do with this thing... hell, I don't even know what it is!"
"Y-you'll know- at the end-" he coughed another mouthful of blood all over, sagging in my arms. "When you see-" he paused, making a strange choking noise in his throat, and without warning, crashed forcefully to the dusty street, bringing me down hard onto my knees beside him. I loomed over him, gripping his shirt in one fist as he coughed. "They're coming. I-" he paused to cough again, "Did a st-stupid thing..."
"Damn it, Bruce!" I said, but he wasn't moving. I sighed, staring at my balled-up fist, then made an irritated noise and stuffed the trinket it into a pouch on my belt, tucking that underneath my sash. "You bastard..." I murmured, staring at the corpse. Then a peculiar lopsided grin spread across my face. "I don't think either of us knows what you got me into..." I shrugged and wrapped my coat a little tighter around myself, reaching down to snatch his coin pouch from his belt. "And I've always liked it that way." I tossed the pouch up in the air, saluted the corpse, and turned in the direction of the pub.
Love it? Hate it? Is it moving too fast? The only way I'm gonna know is if you guys review and tell me! (Big thanks to everyone that did already too. You guys are awesome!) It's getting to the good parts, and there's some Jack and Will in the next chapter, yay! I've pretty much got the plot figured out but tell me what you guys want to see and I'll do my best to put it in here. Basically the only thing I really plan not to do is make this romance... it just doesn't fit, sorry to anyone that might want that. Otherwise, let me know! I'm open to any feedback anyone's willing to give. And... that's about it, I'm taking too much anyway, just don't forget to review!