It's been a while, hasn't it? I've finished my first term of my first year at uni – so grown up. Perhaps that's why I haven't thought of this FF until now – I apologise; it's snobbish to class FF as purely a 'high-school' pursuit. I have been busy as well, however; uni, study, working.
Gosh damnit: I can't even remember the next plot of the story. I've had to read the whole thing through to try to recapture my train of thought. And I can only say this: the quality of my work's been going steadily downhill. I apologise. Right from the introduction of the bad guys Vice Admiral Stone/Captain Peril, it's all gone a bit dodgy. This chapter's not much better I'm afraid; I'm trying to find my feet – testing the waters, as it were. I wonder if any of my old readers are still reading? Hmmm. I'm thinking no. Anyway, I hate to leave things unfinished – even though I did warn you all right at the start. I'll finish it slap-dashly, then go back and edit it and make it prettier later, I guess. That's my plan of attack. Thus far.
Arggh – won't let me update! Mayhaps it's fate?
The Black Pearl, fastest ship in the Caribbean ploughed through the golden, sun-splashed ocean, almost arrogantly. If Jack had been a ship, he would have been the Black Pearl, which was perhaps the only reason the Black Pearl responded so well under his captaincy. Although Jack himself was not physically steering the Black Pearl with his hands on the wheel, it seemed his ghost was routing the Black Pearl's course for them.
Anamaria and Alex had been civilly polite to each other, but the tension was so great it was easier not to speak. Anamaria took the helm and Alex sat contemplatively at the prow. Both were pretending to be busy, but in reality there was nothing for either of them to do – the crew were so pleased to have been rescued by Anamaria from Orion's men that they gladly scrubbed and repaired the ship without having to be asked. In reality, Anamaria had nothing to do except steer, but it seemed the sea and the Black Pearl didn't require her guidance or direction in that discourse either. Anamaria had heard enough in bars up and down the country to roughly know the bearings of this Barbadien's Island, but it seems the winds were leading them straight to the exact location of the illusive isle.
Alex was left with only her memories. She remembered all that Orion had done, all that he'd said. And she still bear the bruises from Montana for many weeks to come. Her thoughts turned to Elsey and her gloating. Vengeance was on her mind as she ran her thumb down the crooked blade that once belonged to Peril.
"Sails Ho!" Came the cry from the crows nest, "Looks to be a slaver."
Vestal Virgins, who in their right mind would take on a slave trader? Anamariathought wearily as she gave up on steering. She had no quarrel with the slaver – she had a course and a mission to save Jack and gain a ship – she would not waste time and men's lives to gain a hulking slaver trader with its rotting and dying cargo. But as the outline of the slaver grew clearer, Anamaria's flesh crawled – they were her people on that ship, suffering as she had once suffered. And here she was, refusing to help them. When she had been in their place, she had sworn she would do anything in her power to prevent another girl from suffering what she endured. The wind carried the plaintive cries of suffering, and the stench… For a second that Black Pearl seemed to hesitate; the ship came to a halt, quivering as the waves killed themselves against the ship. The wind died in the sails for a second, before once more picking up. They were sailing on a direct course with the slaver. Anamaria watched almost spellbound, an unwitting participant.
Alex, who was seated cross-legged at the base of a lesser mast, head back against the wood and eyes closed picked up the change in course, her eyes snapping open. "Was that you?" She asked Anamaria.
"I haven't been steering this bloody ship since we left port." Anamaria snapped back.