Helllo! So this is the start of my second story. Exciting huh?
Sadly I don't own Jack Sparrow *cries for eternity* So I thought I would write about someone from the same place as me! Ballachalish! (said like Balahoolish) cool huh? Yeah so Scotland really. I have also gone for a young pre-dreads and brain damage Jack. READER WARNING: this plot will be very very very very depressing. As you may know is my style ;) so one last thing REVIEW GUYS and enjoy my loverlyes
Feeatpeace xxx
I am a strong girl. My limbs are that of a slave, thin like the very tip of a branch. Snapped and bruised just as easily. Hell, of course they're thin! It's not like I ever ate anything. I am brave. My eyes are a steel green, that has greyed slightly over times and tide. They carry huge black abrasions, that scream for the sleep they never can get. When eyes have seen so much, how can they remember how to rest? I am a stranger here. My hair is thick, wildly curly and flame red. My large, natural ringlets are often scraped back into a long, bright pleat that contrasted with the ghostly pallor of my skin. I hurt. An angry cut engraves itself down my cheek, I reach out gingerly to touch it and wince at the searing pain that shoots through me. This is what happens when I don't 'work hard enough'. Just breathing the sickly air of Tortuga and resisting the tempting opium that offered itself up too my pained mind at every turn was harder work than a girl should ever have too face. Even after serving drinks and bedding paying customers all night, I didn't manage to turn in enough money too satisfy my violent employer. Every night I wonder why I sailed away from Scotland, to this. And then I remember how much my father hated me, how hard the winter was and I didn't miss it. No. That was a lie. I missed it, the hills and the lochs, the purple landscape from Glenshee to Loch Leven, and my birth place Ballachulish. I missed the dancing, and the bright tartans. I was an Anderson, a clan-less one. Us Anderson's are all teachers and doctors like my parents, or become them. I left when I was sixteen, as a stowaway soon to turn physician on a ship that went to the new world, then with no money in my pocket I somehow found my way from Alba to this unholy place. Captain Finvarra Anderson, most feared Gaelic pirate in all the North Sea. It had sounded like a fine thing until I ended in the Caribbean, no longer able to speak Gàidhlig (Gaelic) to anyone, having to use only my English and with a new name of Ealasaid Shee, Ealasaid being Gaelic for Elizabeth and Shee, I took from Glenshee, one of the most beautiful places in Alba, it means 'Glen of the fairies'. It was my family I didn't miss, we travelled around a lot, being Anderson's it's just what we did. Though we always stayed in the highlands. My father was disappointed that I want a son, and because my mother died giving birth too me, he said his sorrow was my fault. He hit me just as much as my employer here. I use to have a twin sister, Eilidh. Then one winter she got pneumonia, an that was...it. He blamed me for that too. My heart ached to have her here with me, we were identical and best friends as well as sisters. We grew to depend on each other. When she died, I swear a part of me did too. My brothers were the same as my father, they hated me. Eoin, the eldest hit me just like dad. When Hamish died from a fall at Ben a Hee, the frequent beatings I received stopped, to be replaced with simple neglect. I didn't exist to my father or Eoin. And they no longer existed to me. I didn't miss the midges, or the stupid cows with hair the same colour as mine. I didn't miss Jacobites and rain. It was hard work to live in Alba, we never had a lot too eat, mainly just brose which tasted awful. But I hated it here, no one wants a skinny, beaten whore so it was hard to get customers, my opium addled boss, Mr. Hanson, would either starve me or beat the hell out of me or both, if I didn't manage to bring in way too much money. And that was ever night. 'Séist,Fhir a' bhàta, 's na ho ro eile, Fhir a' bhàta, 's na ho ro eile, Fhir a' bhàta, 's na ho ro eile
Mo shoraidh slàn leat 's gach àit', an téid thu, Is tric mi 'sealltainn o'n chnoc a's àirde, Dh'fheuch am faic mi fear a' bhàta, An tig thu an diùigh no'n tig thu a-màireach?
'S mur tig thu idir gur truagh a tà mi...' I sang to myself softly as I dabbed the blood off my face, and wiped it off my ear rings. I had several gold rings in each ear and a small blue tattoo on my wrist. "Eala!" A voice bellowed from inside the bar. I ran to see what it was Mr. Hanson wanted now. "It be gettin' busy in this here tavern o' mine and you think you can just stand outside an' attend to your looks!" He yelled at me. I kept my head down, a few of the people in the tavern had begun to stare. "No sir." I mumbled. He slapped me across the face with a force that through me to the ground. My head spun. "Pol thoin!" I yelled at him, knowing he couldn't understand me. "Don't think you can speak in that idiotic peasant language to me girl!" He started kicking me. I curled up defensively as his boot made repeated contact with my head, until I was dully aware of a thick, hot liquid matting my hair. He spat on me and left. I crawled to the door, and breathed the sour, salty air. There were pirates piling in too the streets and taverns, I stumbled through the crowd dizzy and in pain. My blood was dripping down my dress and face, through my hair and running off my fingers. I swayed this way and that, desperate to remain conscious. But the blackness was closing in. And I collapsed right there in the street, bleeding and crying, landing right on top of a pirate. Seeing nothing but dark confused eyes before the blackness took me completely.
When I woke, I wasn't were I had fallen. 'Oh god' I thought, someone's found me and now I'm going to die. God knows what they will do to me first. I curled up in a small ball, wrapping my arms around my knees. It was dark so it took me a while to notice the same almost black eyes boring into me. "Bloody hell." Came the voice that went with them, he had a strong London accent. I looked at the pirate. He was young maybe nineteen or twenty, the same age as me I think. He had black hair with a few curious items tied into it, held back by a red bandanna. He had the beginnings of a beard and moustache and very tanned skin. Those intriguing eyes were defined by black kohl, which made them somehow even darker. He was very handsome. There was something about him that wasn't quite like anyone I had encountered before. Perhaps it was the curious depth in his eyes. "What 'appended?" He asked. His voice was deep gruff. I answered slowly, my throat raw. "It's nothing to worry about just...work troubles, I'll be fine." I got up and ran down the street away from this fascinating man, even though he called after me. It was a warm, wet night as there was a storm out at sea. Many pirates would stay in Tortuga, drinking until the storm passed, so there were always more customers on storm nights. The small droplets of rain cooled my face and washed some of the blood from me. I found a barrel of water outside a tavern and splashed it over me removing as much of the beastly red stains as possible. I went back into the tavern and put on my apron, keeping my head down. It was just routine, no matter how much Mr Hanson hit me, I would just go back in and resume work. I got signalled by a table in the corner to bring them some ale and I made my way over. It was full of boisterous pirates, three of which had whores perched on there lap. "I'll tell ya what makes a good whore!" One of them bellowed. "A good backside!" This caused the other foul characters on the table to join together in sickly laughter. All except one of the men at the table, in the corner, whom I recognised immediately. It was the man from the street. He gazed at me seriously, clearly in a bitter mood. One of the pirates looked me up and down, sneering, as I placed the tankers of ale on the table. "'Ere's one for you Jackie, he sad in the direction of the man, whom I presumed was called Jack. "Hardly, there's no arse on the wench!" One of them yelled, again they all laughed. I looked down at myself, he was right, there was barley enough flesh on me to stay alive though it wasn't my fault. I fought against the tears I was determined not to cry, though it must have been obvious I was upset. "Oh, look at that!" One of the whores exclaimed. "The wee things all upset now." Her voice dripped with mockery, and I had to resist the urge to slap her ugly made-up face off. Jack looked at me apologetically as I cleared the empty mugs and stalked off to wait on other tables full of scoundrels. "I'm sorry about that uncanny lot." Jack's voice came from behind me. I didn't turn in his direction. "Why are you apologising?" I snapped, whirling around to face him. "You think I don't get it every day? Enjoy your drinks Jack, I'm not worth talking too." I began to walk off. "At least tell me your name!" He called after me. "Ealasaid." I called back to him, at least he would know how to find me should he ever come looking. There was just something about those onyx eyes of his, that made me hope he would.
I finished working around three in the morning and left the tavern. If I hadn't managed to find a customer to spend some intimate time with, I would find some ally too sleep in. I often lay in the street outside the brothel, because most of the men that walked by were already satisfied enough to leave me be. I hunched up against the wall, shivering slightly. My god my existence was pitiful. I began to sing another Gaelic song to myself, I often sang when I was upset. And I was often upset. Just as I began to doze a voice piped up from behind me. "Well what a pretty little voice this whore has!" A drunken man stumbled towards me, wearing a grin that made my toes curl and my hair stand on end. I backed away from him. "I'm don't work here." I said quietly. He scoffed at me, he was close now, and he reached out to tangle his fingers in by auburn hair. "That don't matter to me, we can still have our fun." He leered at me causing me to shiver, this time not from the cold wind. "Get away from me." I warned, but he just laughed, pushing me to the ground. He held me down with the weight of his body. I screamed. "No need for that." He breathed as he tried to force my legs apart. I screamed and screamed, shrieking in horror at what this man was going to do to me. My blood curdling cries filled the night air, no doubt ignored. The man started to claw at my dress, tearing it a little. I screamed even louder, though I didn't know it was possible until now. Then, suddenly a shot rang out and the man froze. I felt his blood pouring on to me, and he went limp, rolling on too the ground beside me. And I saw behind him, still holding a smoking gun, Jack. Who was rapidly turning into some sort of guardian angel. He walked over to crouch down beside me, I could smell the alcohol that clung to his clothes. I was too in shock to speak. I just cried as Jack examined the cut on my face, his eye brows knitted together in concentration and concern. He helped me steadily to my feet and guided me into the brothel. He wound an arm around my waist and spoke to a woman inside. "I need a key to a room for me and the wench." He demanded. The woman did not look at me but assumed I was a whore, which I suppose Was a correct assumption even though I did not work in her establishment. "What are you doing?" I asked Jack in fear as he led me down a dark corridor. "I'm getting you to somewhere safe." He said as he opened the door. He helped me too the bed and locked the door. I stared at him, scared that he may be planning on similar things to the man I had just encountered. He went to a small basin in the corner of the room and tore a bit of his shirt, to dampen in the water. He began to wipe the blood from me, my own and the now dead man. "Where are you from?" He asked suddenly. "What?" Was my way of asking why he would want to know such a thing. "Well, your accent, your name, they make me wonder where your from." He explained looking now at the bruises on my skinny arms. "Alba." I told him, he looked at me confused. "Scotland." I corrected myself remembering the English name for my home country. He nodded. Things were sufficiently awkward, but I couldn't help feeling safe as this stranger tended to me. I realised he was looking intently at the scars on one of my shoulders. He was probably thinking about how ugly they were. I wrapped an arm round my shoulder to conceal them, seeing what I was trying to do, he startled me by stopping my hand and pushing it back. He pulled down his own sleeve to reveal almost identical scars running across his tanned skin. "Snap." He said without humour before getting up to ring out his makeshift cloth. "Now I'm gonna stay in 'ere tonight for appearances sake, but don't worry I'll be gone tomorrow an' won't cause you any trouble savvy?" I nodded at him, already half asleep. I was so exhausted from the hard day. He must have noticed me falling asleep, as he was surprisingly quiet in removing his weapons and boots from his person. The last thing I was aware of before sleep claimed me completely, was this beautiful stranger sliding into the bed next to me and begin to snore.