Disclaimer: Clicky first chapter.
A/N: This story may or may not continue to be posted here. This story, while finsihed, need your love and support to continue being uploaded. (Translation: i have issues, review positively please?)
This night passes like any other. She hides in the rafters, cloaked in grey, taking notes of the games below. She guesses another roll correctly. She predicts another play. She hides from curious eyes and scampers from corner to corner under cover of candlelight and bar fight. But then Jack returns to the tavern, ordering rum again. He is invited to another game, but does not take it. He instead sits down at the bar, swigging his drink.
Dawn, helping serve the drinks, giggles and flirts. "I'm Aurora," she giggles, lowering her bodice, then pushing it higher, forcing her cleavage almost out of her clothes. She extends her hand, expecting it to be kissed. Jack, barely looking at Dawn, turns her hand over and puts the empty bottle into it.
"Another rum, Aurora."
Dawns face cracks into an ugly scowl. But Jack doesn't notice. He's busy scanning the crowd in the tavern, looking for someone. Squirrel slinks back to her cubby, feeling strangely guilty. She feels Jack look up at her… but too late. She's already out the trapdoor, out onto the roof.
Squirrel didn't tell her uncle last night that Jack Sparrow had a luck that she couldn't read. He would only beat her again. Sitting on the roof, looking up at the stars, Squirrel can taste the salt breeze coming off the sea. The sea: her only way of escape. But at the same time, the only thing that keeps her here. Squirrel sighs, touching her bruises and cuts gingerly. She can't swim, and she's too weak to earn her keep any other way than watching how the games are played so her uncle can know what he and his friends should bet in order to win everyone's money.
In other words, she's cheating by helping others cheat.
Again, the same cycle of thoughts. She should've never revealed this skill to her father, who in turn should've never revealed them to his half-cousin, Squirrel's uncle. Squirrel's parents' bodies were found floating under the pier that next morning, and Squirrel was taken into her uncle's 'care'. How long had it been? Five, six years? More? Squirrel herself is surprised that she isn't dead yet.
But she's valuable. So he makes sure she knows who's in charge. And she has no way of escaping. This is her fate.
Squirrel slinks across the roof, opens the trapdoor, and shuts it behind her. She lands on her pile of rags, and lights a tallow candle on one of the shelves. Its pale light floods the room, adds shadows under Squirrel's already bruised face. She scrambles under the rags and pulls out sheaves and sheaves of ink-stained papers. Her notes. Without a word, Squirrel takes off her cloak, fashioning it into a make-shift bag. She clambers out of her room, blowing out the candle as she goes.
She stands on the roof of the tavern. There's barely any breeze, but there is enough. And the fights in the street will help. She climbs as close to the edge of the tavern roof as she dares, then reaches into her cloak and pulls out a fistful of notes. She brings her arm back, preparing to throw the sheets of paper over the edge.
But something stays her hand.
"A-all I'm g-g-g-good f-f-for." Squirrel says bitterly. She climbs back into her room and relights the candle. She spends the rest of the night sorting through her list, organising then, lining them back up in her secret compartment.
At the end of the night, Squirrel climbs back down into the tavern and begins her chores again, leaving her cloak in her room once more. Collecting the dishes, cleaning the tables, righting the tavern furniture. She is not strong enough to throw out the drunks, though. Sharky and his friends do that for her. They still won't look at her.
In the kitchen, Dawn is waiting. Squirrel feels her heart beat faster in fear. But Dawn is uncaring about her cousin for now. She walks around the kitchen, talking to herself, throwing up her hands.
"… And then, that …" she screeches in fury, unable to find the words. "He had the nerve to just turn his back on me! 'Another rum, Aurora'. That bastard!" Dawn notices Squirrel coming in and ceases her rampage. "Rodent, I'm hungry. Make something." Squirrel bows her head and hurries to the larder, glad not to be mauled by her cousin's words, if only for a moment. But she feels her stomach lurch. Dawn is not in a good mood after being ignored by Captain Sparrow.
Squirrel lights a fire under the metal plate which she uses to fry eggs and grill meat on. She watches Dawn out of the corner of her eye, but 'Aurora' is busy muttering to herself and gesturing. Squirrel chews on a handful of nuts while she cooks Dawn's dinner.
"Hurry up, rodent!" Dawn says, giving Squirrel a push from behind. Squirrel only just catches herself from falling onto the red-hot metal sheet. Dawn looks at her cousin, then down at the hot metal sheet. A slow smile comes across her face.
"So," she says kindly, draping an arm around Squirrel's shoulders, "What do you think about Captain Jack Sparrow?" Squirrel stifles a squeak of fear, but can't help her shoulders tensing up. Dawn notices, and grins even wider.
"He's something special, isn't he? I mean, the way he walks, that accent, those hand gestures…" Squirrel tries to untangle herself so she can put Dawn's food on a plate. But Dawn holds her back.
"Answer me, rodent. I know you can talk, even if it sounds retarded." Squirrel trembles, opening her mouth. Dawn waits.
"L-let g-g-g-go of m-me, D-D-Dawn."
Dawn steps back, a strange expression on her face. Squirrel swallows. What have I done? I just told Dawn - Dawn! - to do something. I am so dead.
The nails and tight grip come without warning. The plate of Dawn's food clatters to the floor. Squirrel screams in pain, but Dawn only pushes Squirrel harder into the hot metal.
"Think you're better than me? Do you!" Dawn laughs, but Squirrel's piercing shriek drowns it out. Finally, after what seems like an eternity to Squirrel, Dawn releases her.
The poor girl slumps to the floor, whimpering, fingers gently touching the burns that cover half of her body, that have eaten through her clothes. Dawn looks down on Squirrel, triumph etched on her face.
"That'll teach you." Dawn laughs, walking out the kitchen, grinding her dinner into the ground with her feet, "That'll teach you not to think you're better than me!"
Squirrel sits against the kitchen wall, silently letting her tears fall down her face. The salt burns the fresh wound on her shoulder, arm, and across her stomach. She had enough wisdom to turn her face before Dawn pushed her, so there are no burns on her face. But the pain is almost unbearable.
Squirrel staggers out into the tavern, aware that the remainder of the patrons are looking away from her. They won't look at her.
"L-look at m-me!" Squirrel tries to shout, but it comes out as a whisper that no-one hears. She looks around the tavern once, and, seeing that no-one will help her, staggers to the ladder and climbs slowly and painfully to the roof. Squirrel spends the rest of night tending to her wounds, then cries herself to sleep.