Hope this works: there was an error with processing it the first time...
I apologise: I was doing finals exams. And getting blood tests. Bergh. Not that you needed to know, but they're just so horrible and nasty I had to let you all know about the awfulness of them.
And I had so hoped to finish this thing before the end of the year. Well, there's hope yet. I've had to cut out some adventures, but the end could well be nigh. Soon. Maybe. Eventually.
Alex was awakened by her rusty cell door being roughly swung openly. In her wearied state she didn't move out of the way quite fast enough and the corner caught her forehead, dazing her, before slamming into the wall and falling off its hinges.
"Wakey wakey sleeping beauty," sneered Montana, his hulking frame not even squeezing through the open doorframe, "The Captain's planned a little outing for you. A business venture as it were." Alex's heart fell. By 'business venture' the giant was either referring to Peril selling her to a brothel, or selling her at the Jamaican bride auctions. Neither were very pleasant notions, but compared to the alternative of staying on the Black Friday, they were heaven-sent. She'd have a chance of getting away on land, whereas with an escape from a ship there was nothing between Davy Jones and you but the deep blue sea.
"Are ye going to come quietly or shall I have to use force?" The giant leered, cracking his swollen knuckles in anticipation. Alex didn't think the big man would manage to even fit through the door of the gaol cell, but she wasn't willing to push her luck when the possibility of freedom was so near.
"I think I'll choose option A for this evening."
"In that case, I think I'll choose to use force."
"The Captain won't get a good price for damaged goods."
"I'll be willing to pay for damages."
"I can act a very convincing dead."
"I can arrange it so you won't have to act."
"Which leads us back to that incidental, infinitesimal, inescapable fact that the Captain won't get a good price for damaged goods."
In reply Montana cracked his knuckles once more and growled. He stretched out a taunt arm with muscles as big as boulders and grabbed Alex by her hair, unceremoniously wrenching her out of the small cell and stuffing her into a threadbare hessian bag. The overpowering smell of earth and potatoes was the last thought Alex had as her head hit the merciless floor.
"Shoulda put one of them handle with care stamps on the side.' Montana joked to himself as he swung the bag over his broad shoulders and tramped upstairs.
Alex was awakened again by the sound of a swinging cell door. This time she managed to stagger out of the way before it swung into her. She leant against the mossy stone wall for support, wincing at the sharp pain in her head. The lights in front of her hurt her eyes and they watered in response, rendering the figures before her blurry and indistinct.
"Ah yes, you were speaking the truth good Captain; a fine find indeed. I'll give you 200 Spanish doubloons and a couple of gold sovereigns for her; final offer. Probably more than she's worth what with that scar and all, but I always hold a soft spot in me 'art for blondes."
"Well, know you what they say: blondes are more fun." The sinister and murderous voice of Captain Orion Peril was gone: he was chivalrous and genteel Vice Admiral Jason Stone once more. It was then Alex realised what was happening: she was being sold. And at a reasonable price too. Occasionally the world was a fair place. There was a blur of movement before her eyes and a sharp prod to her ribs.
"Right you, off with your kit."
"What?" mumbled Alex.
"What is she, drunk?" The question was addressed to Peril.
"Does it matter?" Came the cool reply. Alex's eyes finally began to focus. The image of a weaselly-faced, pock-marked, sharp toothed old man with a paunch and copious body hair swam before her smarting eyes.
"Spose not. Right you, off with them clothes. They're filthy. That, and I want to see the goods before a buy. See what's nice, then pay the price – that's me motto and I swear by it."
Alex raised an unsteady fist, "Touch me, and you'll be picking up your teeth from the floor."
The weasel-man raised a steady musket, "Do that and you'll be picking up your fingers with your toes." He smiled coldly, his pointed teeth gleaming in the light from the lantern.
Orion Peril's voice broke in, "Well, I would love to stay and watch the show," he chuckled, "it promises to be" here he glanced up and down Alex's body, "…entertaining, but I have a prior commitment. A lunch-date of sorts; a ritualistic sacrifice-type of engagement I simply couldn't break… Shall I tell Will you send your love?"
"Shall I tell the Devil you send yours?" Alex snapped. The Captain of the Black Friday stepped forward menacingly and raised his hand. Alex made to flinch but held her ground. Instead, the damned captain ran his fingers down the side of her face tenderly, caressing the scar he had inflicted.
"It's a pity we couldn't spend more time getting to know one another Miss Alex." He whispered against her neck, his hot breath drawing shivers down her spine. "I like fiery maids the best." He breathed beside her ear, "If I could have a memento of our acquaintance, Alexandria Vantia... just the one ear. It's so appealing I can't resist." He stepped back to see the full affect his words had on her.
"If it spares me this humiliation." Alex replied softly, broken. She searched his eyes for the answer. His cold eyes said no, but his lips stated amiably, of course. So she stood stock still, pressed against the hard stone wall of her cell as Captain Peril drew closer once more.
His words tickled her ear, "I simply can't decide which one to chose." He confided.
Alex leant in and whispered in his own, "Too bad; time's up." Captain Orion Peril took a step back in shock, but it was too late. A dagger – his own treacherous dagger that he had tortured Alex with, the very same one he initially threatened to cut off her ear with, the same one he had embedded into her shoulder with a sneer, the very one Alex had wrenched out of her arm and hidden by her hip all this time – wavered, jutting out from his chest. Alex drove it home.
"Go back to Hell, Peril; I don't miss my mark twice."
Peril staggered back, hand over his mutinous dagger, as his black blood – as thick and dark as the tar he burnt his victims with – bubbled out of his shrivelled heart and hissed to the stone floor, steaming and boiling.
Alex heard the unmistakable click of a loaded musket as she felt the weasel-faced man press it against her head. "Good thing I didn't pay a deposit on you missy; murderesses are notoriously hard to sell."
"Wait!" Rang out a voice down gaol cell-filled corridor, "I'll buy her."