Shimmergloom: And now back with letters. I hope you do realize that these
are actually two people, not just me, I'm the one putting it together but
Gothic Mind is writing Emily's letters and I'm writing Irene's and we
switched on and off during the story part. Just letting you know it's
popcorn writing, I don't think I remembered to write that in the
disclaimer. So, all the author's notes are mine unless otherwise stated by
my Rainbow Sister.
Now, on with the letters. (BTW, neither of us own PotC did we mention that? I don't think so.)
Emily, I'm sitting on a beach, with nothing to do. Somehow Jacques managed to stay alive and is sitting with me right now. Aside from him, I'm talking to a skeleton. At least there is plenty of food and water. I learned something new; I found a map, dated February 6, 1692. That is hundred eighty two years ago to the day, on it is a route. And the initials C.F. I know what it is, and it is priceless indeed. The initials C.F. are for Captain Flint. It's a map leading to his treasure island. I'm not the first to have come down here, Will must have found it too, because he left his name in the wood of the shelter as if to claim it as his own. If Will knows where to find the treasure, it would be ill luck indeed. With that kind of money, you could buy the country of England and all the scoundrels that ever lived. And a fleet of ships, not a small fleet, a fleet of over a hundred. Will is not going to stop. With luck, it will take him a few years to reach the hiding spot, a few months to supply his ships for the journey, and two years to build an army. Will has a sharp mind; he can control a fleet of several thousand. But strike him down, then the rest will also fall. My leg is killing me. It is red and yellow and very infected. I don't have a clue how to fix it, I'm a spy, blacksmith and fighter-not a healer, of any kind! I hope the ocean carries this letter to you. I'm sending it in a rum bottle I found. I lit a signal fire and with luck the British army will find me. They know who I am and would take me back to Port Royal and my smithy shop. Don't try to find me. All my other wounds have healed fairly well, except the one across my collarbone, it doesn't look or feel very good. When you go on your honeymoon with Jack, give Sam, Sophia, and Jackaline to Elizabeth and we will take care of your twins for a year, when you get back. Since Elizabeth is staying at my smithy. And wear your disguises a year later to pick your twins back up. I better go, now, Jacques has caught some fish and wants me to cook dinner. I'm hungry as well. May the Wind be at your back, my friend. Irene Blackthorn
Irene Oh it sounds completely fretful. Someone has got to kill that bastard (excuse my French)! It will be horrible if he gets his way. Anyway onto more happy things. I left the twins with Elizabeth and Sylvie. Jack and I are on one of the abandoned Rum Runner's island. I'm on my forth bottle and am feeling quiet tipsy...Jack on the other hand passed out on his seventh bottle. How are we supposed to have sex if he and I get drunk every night and pass out! Tomorrow night I'm locking the rum hold. He'll get all panicky but to freaking bad! I love him so much. We are have a splendid time. We swim a lot...nude. I just hope i don't get bloody pregnant! Sounds like you may have to have your leg cut off. You sure are very good at what you do but your right, you can't heal squat. I for one can't really say much. I can fight pretty well and I'm quite good at....scratch that I can only fight and yell profanities. I can't heal anything higher than a scrape on me knee of something. Well must go, need to try and wake jack. He's twitching, nodding his head and mumbling in his sleep. He's talking to a Mr. Pineapple butt. Ah, well. -Emily Amelia Angolina Dove
Now, on with the letters. (BTW, neither of us own PotC did we mention that? I don't think so.)
Emily, I'm sitting on a beach, with nothing to do. Somehow Jacques managed to stay alive and is sitting with me right now. Aside from him, I'm talking to a skeleton. At least there is plenty of food and water. I learned something new; I found a map, dated February 6, 1692. That is hundred eighty two years ago to the day, on it is a route. And the initials C.F. I know what it is, and it is priceless indeed. The initials C.F. are for Captain Flint. It's a map leading to his treasure island. I'm not the first to have come down here, Will must have found it too, because he left his name in the wood of the shelter as if to claim it as his own. If Will knows where to find the treasure, it would be ill luck indeed. With that kind of money, you could buy the country of England and all the scoundrels that ever lived. And a fleet of ships, not a small fleet, a fleet of over a hundred. Will is not going to stop. With luck, it will take him a few years to reach the hiding spot, a few months to supply his ships for the journey, and two years to build an army. Will has a sharp mind; he can control a fleet of several thousand. But strike him down, then the rest will also fall. My leg is killing me. It is red and yellow and very infected. I don't have a clue how to fix it, I'm a spy, blacksmith and fighter-not a healer, of any kind! I hope the ocean carries this letter to you. I'm sending it in a rum bottle I found. I lit a signal fire and with luck the British army will find me. They know who I am and would take me back to Port Royal and my smithy shop. Don't try to find me. All my other wounds have healed fairly well, except the one across my collarbone, it doesn't look or feel very good. When you go on your honeymoon with Jack, give Sam, Sophia, and Jackaline to Elizabeth and we will take care of your twins for a year, when you get back. Since Elizabeth is staying at my smithy. And wear your disguises a year later to pick your twins back up. I better go, now, Jacques has caught some fish and wants me to cook dinner. I'm hungry as well. May the Wind be at your back, my friend. Irene Blackthorn
Irene Oh it sounds completely fretful. Someone has got to kill that bastard (excuse my French)! It will be horrible if he gets his way. Anyway onto more happy things. I left the twins with Elizabeth and Sylvie. Jack and I are on one of the abandoned Rum Runner's island. I'm on my forth bottle and am feeling quiet tipsy...Jack on the other hand passed out on his seventh bottle. How are we supposed to have sex if he and I get drunk every night and pass out! Tomorrow night I'm locking the rum hold. He'll get all panicky but to freaking bad! I love him so much. We are have a splendid time. We swim a lot...nude. I just hope i don't get bloody pregnant! Sounds like you may have to have your leg cut off. You sure are very good at what you do but your right, you can't heal squat. I for one can't really say much. I can fight pretty well and I'm quite good at....scratch that I can only fight and yell profanities. I can't heal anything higher than a scrape on me knee of something. Well must go, need to try and wake jack. He's twitching, nodding his head and mumbling in his sleep. He's talking to a Mr. Pineapple butt. Ah, well. -Emily Amelia Angolina Dove