Even before the Spanish finally join the party, Emily honestly isn't sure if there will be a clear winner at the end of this strange battle. Blackbeard's men almost seem to be fighting simply for the sake of fighting. The British sailors under Barbossa's command are few in number, and seem (unsurprisingly) hesitant to fight for him. Alex had spotted poor Charlie and seems intent on staying between the boy and the chaos they've been thrown into, which Emily commends him for, she'd nearly forgotten about Charlie herself. Adrienne, as far as Emily has previously been able to tell, is every bit the lady she pretends to be in at least one respect: she has no idea how to defend herself. Certainly, she is no good with a sword, Emily knows this simply from her own half-hearted attempts to teach the other girl.

It takes some work, but her goddess guides her. Swipe with her sword and step left, duck to avoid a bullet and bring her sword up in that special disarming move her father taught her, dart between the pirate and the Navy man just before their swords clash again. Finally, she is perhaps mere steps away from the fountain and the small bottle settled at its base, courtesy of her goddess. A few steps, and the short path surprisingly clear.

Until she slips in to the mix.

It had never occurred to Emily that Adrienne could be feigning her incompetence. Why would it have? What reason would Adrienne have for pretending so? She's not sure, but she wishes it would have occurred to her by the time Adrienne comes to stand before her with a mean look in her eyes, a cruel glint that Emily now knows Adrienne got from her father. She's wearing a dress no different than usual, but now she has a short sword in her hand and something in her stance tells Emily the older girl is a bit more capable than she previously let on.

Emily isn't worried. She's practiced with her own blade for three hours a day for as long as she was big and strong enough to hold it. What she is, is annoyed.

"You're joking." She says flatly, not even bothering to bring up her own blade.

"Not at all. Votre précieux déesse ne peut pas vous protéger ici, rien de plus agaçant petit vagabond." She steals a glance down at Emily's leg, and Emily has come to understand just enough French to know that she wants to strangle the other girl.

"And I could still beat you with one hand tied behind –," Emily cuts off with a very unladylike curse as a bullet whizzes past, nearly flying straight through her head. Adrienne chooses that moment to come at her, and she is forced to bring up her sword and parry the sloppy attack. They dance around the Fountain, swords clashing, as Emily's goddess whispers in her ear, insisting she must stop this. In fact, the only reason Emily hasn't is because of her leg; the pain is becoming more unbearable, she is getting dizzy from blood loss… and Adrienne has apparently been practicing.

Her goddess changes her tone, apparently to accommodate Emily's own indignant and somewhat arrogant thoughts from earlier. Suddenly the whispers tell Emily she ought to be tougher than this, that her father would be disappointed if she could not even beat this hateful, fairly untrained annoyance of a Frenchwoman.

That, she is somewhat ashamed to admit later, is what does the trick. Unable to stomach the thought of losing to Adrienne of all people, she puts all of her energy into one last, sturdy attack and manages to slip past Adrienne's blade. Her own hits home, sinking into Adrienne's left shoulder. Adrienne is left handed, so this works perfectly. She stumbles back and Emily kicks her sword away before sheathing her own and limping her way over to the fountain.

For a moment her goddess' whispers are drowned out by the voice of another; a touch of destiny, so few are worthy, drink and remain whole! Emily isn't entirely sure what any of it means, but she does know that the sudden urge to do what she's told is almost overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, that she finds herself reaching out with hands cupped…

But wait, no, she can't. She has no idea what's going on here, and as far as she knows the waters will do nothing for anyone without the mermaids tear. And what if it does work? What would she do if she alone were left properly immortal? She doesn't have too much time to contemplate, but the prospect sounds lonely and grim. She snatches her hands back, picks up the bottle she's been provided with by her goddess, and holds it out instead. The waters fill it quickly.

Now what? Emily asks her goddess. The other voice quiets and Calypso's voice is a little comforting this time. Repeat aftah me, Emily Turnah. And then a chant in an ancient language runs through her head. Emily repeats it without hesitation, one hand held over the bottle, glancing behind her nervously as the fighting continues.

And then, suddenly, it all slows down, as if someone had simply told time to pause. The noises quiet and then cease all together. Emily is the only one left unaffected, staring as a small – well, it looks like a small gray rock that decided to sprout tiny legs, and it's coming straight for her. She isn't sure what else to do, so she simply sits frozen as it climbs up her leg, the arm holding the bottle, across her shoulders, down the other arm. Her brows furrow as it pricks her finger with one of its sharp little legs. A single drop of blood drops into the bottle, disperses. The water clears as though nothing had happened, although Emily can feel that something has.

The thing then seems to reach inside itself – or is that a shell of some kind? – and produces a cork for the bottle. Emily is too confused at this point to even question it. She closes off the bottle. Then the little gray crab-rock-thing turns into a plain rock-thing and falls into the shallow river the fountain is surrounded by and time is un-paused and Emily is back in the middle of a battle, wondering if she is delirious as she stares down at the bottle in her hands.

She hears a pistol being cocked somewhat closer to her and tries to stand, but her assumption of delirium is reaffirmed at the most inopportune time. She doesn't even manage to turn and see who is about to shoot her, and is only just coherent enough to hug the bottle to her protectively as she collapses and all goes dark.

…

She stirs when the bottle is pried from her hands.

"Emily?" Alex. He sounds frantic. "Emily, love, can ye hear me? Emily!"

"Too much blood…" That's Ana's voice. "Damn!"

Barbossa's voice rings out, sounding farther away, as he seems to order – whoever are his men now. "Come gents, what say we lend the lass a hand, nice 'n easy now."

"Bottle…the bottle…" She murmurs, trying to cling to consciousness, but she's just so sleepy. Her leg hurts, so bad, she's not entirely sure she wants to remain aware. Her eyes remain closed without her permission, and she's out again.

…

"Her leg… Cap'n…" That's Alex again, sounding like he's about to worry himself sick – perhaps literally.

"She'll be fine. We must keep moving. She'll be fine." Ana only sounds half convinced herself.

Emily doesn't even have the energy to try and say something this time. The pain in her leg seems to spread up further and is becoming more constant. She welcomes oblivion when it takes her again.

…

They have finally made it to the ship when she comes to again. She knows this because she is able to remain fully in the world of the living, and she can feel the familiar, comforting motion of the Sea's Queen rocking gently on open waters.

However, her leg hurts even worse than she remembers. She waits patiently with eyes still closed, clutching at the sheets of the bed she's on, praying to her goddess… but the familiar, indescribable sensation of a fast-healing wound doesn't come, and the pain remains constant.

"Emily?" Alex yet again. Has he really refused to leave her side? Her heart swells with an emotion she refuses to put a name to at this moment. "Emily, love, what is it? Are ye – is She…"

"No, no…" Emily shakes her head. Her skin is warm and clammy; her clothes are soaked with sweat. She feels as though she may be sick to her stomach. Her leg, oh goddess, her leg. If it's infected… why isn't her goddess healing her?

Alex is not the only one with her. She can hear others moving about the room. The ship's doctor, more recently hired by Ana by a stroke of luck, begins murmuring to Alex, perhaps thinking Emily can't hear. "I'll do me best, but if this don't clear up quick enough, I might well be forced to…"

"No." Alex's voice is gruff and firm and near threatening in a way that Emily's never heard before. "Ye find another way to fix 'er, savvy?"

"Easy now, lad." The elderly doctor sounds nervous. "Do me best, I will, but that's the beginnin's of a right nasty infection. If it's a choice 'twixt yer lass and…" He trails off, but Emily knows what's happening now, and suddenly she's begging her goddess to put her back out. She desperately does not want to be conscious for this, isn't sure she'll make it through if she is conscious for this. She curses her Uncle; he'd lied to her when he'd said it wasn't that bad. If it was this bad now, he had to have.

Her eyes fly open, and she must look thoroughly terrified. Alex comes to her side, holding a bottle of amber liquid. Propping her head up with one hand, he holds the bottle to her lips. "Drink." The sharp, spicy smell of rum fills her nose, and she grimaces, trying to turn her head away, but Alex insists. "Emily. It'll help the pain. Drink." She still refuses. Alex sighs, looking outright exasperated. "Stubborn… fine, then." He hands the bottle off to the doctor.

She doesn't dare look to see what he's doing. She feels it as he cuts through her pants leg and peels it away from the wound, and that alone hurts, but still she tries to be strong.

"Ye may want to get someone to 'elp ye 'old her down."

Alex does just that, disappearing briefly and returning with two other men.

"Right, then. Best get this over with."

The two men move forward to hold down her arms, shooting her looks of sympathy, as Alex reaches across her lower half to keep her still.

And then the smell of rum becomes stronger as something is poured over her bad leg… her eyes widen and she lets out a scream, taken by surprise at the stabbing pain. She hadn't realized what the doctor was about to do. Tears pour out and stream down her cheeks as her whole body is wracked with violent tremors.

"Wait, stop…" She gasps and gives up, gesturing for the bottle to be brought to her again.

"Maybe next time ye'll listen." Alex comments softly as he holds the bottle to her lips again. She drinks as deeply as she can, taking several swallows. He hands the bottle back to the doctor when she's finished. Then she clutches the sheets again, closes her eyes, braces herself.

"Alright." She murmurs, and the doctor continues.

Her goddess, it seems, has not entirely abandoned her. Just when she is sure the pain is more than she can possibly bear… her eyes close of their own accord, and she knows no more.

Emily.

It's been so long since she's allowed thoughts of her daughter to float through her mind that the image the name conjures is that of a little girl, a frightened eight year old. Will, she still thinks of often. There are, even still, times when he is all she can think about – some haunted, obsessive part of her refuses to forget. But Emily is a different matter. As much as she had loved her daughter – still does love her daughter? No, had loved, she no longer knows how to love – thoughts of her only conjured up images of the horror that would twist the face of a pretty little girl if she were to see what had become of her mother. Lizzie has long since allowed herself to forget that pretty little girl, because it was just easier that way.

She hasn't allowed herself to feel much beyond anger in so long that the touch of sadness that niggles at the edges of her consciousness is foreign and unwelcome and… she doesn't quite know what to do about it. Why would her heart, long since buried in both senses of the word, choose now to make its presence known again?

She has a feeling…

Storming across the deck of her withered and barnacle encrusted ship, past her wary half-fish crew, she locks herself in her cabin and closes her eyes, concentrating on the pull she feels. It is a pull she feels when anyone dies at sea, the connection that forms that allows her to know where to go, or where she would go if she were to still do the job as it was meant to be done. But this time the pull is different. She's not being pulled toward an entire wreck; there is but a single soul near death in the area she is being pulled towards. A single, still quite young soul that is clinging to life with a stubborn, fiery resolve.

Emily. Emily Elizabeth Turner. Ever her mother's daughter.

And for the first time in years the Dutchman's lonely, bitter captain finds herself, ever so quietly, begging the goddess that she had denounced. I don't want her. Not her. Let her live. Cynically, she doubts that the goddess will hear her. If anything, she half expects the goddess will allow Emily to die simply out of spite for Lizzie. But that is not the impression she actually gets. In fact, she feels it is quite the opposite; Calypso shows her images of a young woman, tall and pretty, though her skin is browned some by the sun, her hair is cut short, and she is wearing men's clothing. The image falters briefly and morphs to show her the same woman, but not quite so young, wearing a finer outfit and… with only one leg. Lizzie's heart, buried in the sand an ocean away, seems to skip a beat. Oh, Emily…

Her eyes fly open and she scowls at nothing. She'd left that life behind. Emily, it seems, can take care of herself. Lizzie beats the emotions – worry and sadness for someone other than herself – back mercilessly. At this point she doubts Emily would want any of that from her anyway. Besides, Lizzie senses as she hears footsteps heading down the hallway to her cabin, she has more important things to worry about.

She crosses the room and opens the door just as one of her crewmen makes it there.

"Cap'n. There be a wreck. Several are left dyin, but…"

"What?" She demands harsh enough that the crewmen winces.

"A boy, Cap'n, alive n' well but 'e won't leave 'is mum, and Cap'n… Bootstrap says ye might well want to see this for yerself."

It's so incomparably beautiful here, Emily finds herself wondering if she's died and somehow been taken straight to heaven. The sand is warm beneath her bare feet, but not too hot. The sun is bright but pleasant, and a cool breeze keeps its heat at bay. The trees are too green, the fruit that grows on them too plentiful. The ocean seems to caress her skin with soft affection as she wades into it. Her leg is fine, no wound, no pain. She feels strong and healthy and at peace.

A familiar presence surrounds her, stronger than she's ever felt it before. Her goddess does not appear or say anything, but her presence alone tells Emily that she is safe, that she can relax. So, relax she does. She wades further into the water and goes for a bit of a swim, sits in the sand and basks in the warmth of the sun as it dries her off, goes for a stroll along the beach. She is only just vaguely beginning to wonder about things – about Alex, about her leg, about whether she really is dead, things she knows are important but that seem so far away right now – when she comes across a table set up a little further inland, where the beach meets the forest. It rests under the shade of the trees, set up with what appears to be tea and toast and jam and some pastries, and two chairs.

Emily approaches it slowly, more curious than anything else. A cup of tea sounds wonderful, and the strawberry jam reminds her of Mrs. O'malley, the kind old shopkeeper who'd occasionally gifted Emily with a jar of jam when Emily was still small. One of the chairs slides out from under the table of its own accord. This doesn't bother Emily at all; in fact, she takes the invitation gratefully, sitting herself down and fixing herself a cup of tea.

The breeze grows a bit stronger, coming in from the ocean, engulfing her in the salty and comfortingly familiar smell of the sea. She isn't surprised when Calypso herself appears sitting across from her; she'd been expecting this. She looks not much different than she did the one other time Emily has met her in person; braided black hair, dark skin, simple dress. She appears to be the same age as Emily. The only difference is the strange tattoos adorning her otherwise unblemished skin.

"Tea, my goddess?" Emily asks quietly. Calypso nods, seeming curious as she watches Emily pour the hot drink.

"You are not dead, yeh know." The goddess says as Emily sits back down.

"I had wondered." Emily stares down at her tea, hands in her lap. "May I ask where I am, then?"

"You may ask whatevah yeh like, young one. I will let yeh know what must not be spoken of. You are on my island, a paradise. I will keep yeh safe here 'til I t'ink it time yeh return."

"I don't wish to sound ungrateful…"

"It will be a some time in yeh world 'fore yeh wake again. De important t'ing is dat yeh will make it back." Emily only nods. Calypso goes on softly. "Come young one, speak yeh mind."

Emily looks up hesitantly. "I'm just… There's so much I don't understand. I don't know where to begin." She goes with the first thing that comes to mind. "What happened at the Fountain? That strange chant and the creature…"

A smile graces Calypso lips, almost mischievous if Emily didn't know better, as she reaches down to lay a hand out flat in the sand. Emily looks down and watches as a creature not unlike the little gray-rock-thing Emily had seen scurries out of the sand and into the goddess' palm.

"Once every few hundred years or so, a man born wit' a heart dat is good, truly, finds him way to de Fountain of Yout'." Calypso lifts the crab and begins to pet its gray shell. "Once dere, a choice is made: to drink from de Fountain and live fully immortal until de time come when him wish to die, or to take de waters and share wit' another. Dis option provides him and him partner only wit' youth eternal, leaving dem open to harm; but if de partner is chosen wisely, him may never know loneliness. Dat is de choice must be made. You chose wisely, young one."

Emily mulls this over, thinking of how tempted she'd been at first glance to just drink. The thought of such a long life wasn't overtly appealing on its own, but if she were to have someone with her, Alex perhaps? And if her leg was as bad as it had sounded like it was – the water would heal her. She doesn't know. She'll have to think about this, and has a feeling she'll have a bit of time to do so later. Now, however, she has been gifted with the chance to have a proper talk with her goddess, and she has no wish to waste it.

"I have so many questions…"

"Take yeh time, young one. I am here to stay for de time bein." Calypso sets the small gray crab creature back into the sand and takes a sip of her tea.

Tea. She's sitting on a beach so beautiful it's unreal, having tea with a goddess. Emily finds that she needs a moment to gather her thoughts. Calypso waits patiently.

"The visions you've sent me – may I ask about them?"

"Yeh may ask." The goddess' tone implies answers may not be given, but Emily figures that means it can't hurt to try.

"That – creature," Emily begins slowly, "that runs the Flying Dutchman. She is not my mother, but… in the last vision you sent me I could see pieces of my mother in her. She allowed my brother a moment with Jade, and promised to let him go. Is it possible… could she still be saved, somehow?"

"It is hard to say. A drink of de Fountain's waters could lift de curse she has brought 'pon herself and free her from de ship, but to give her back what was human 'bout her..." The goddess shakes her head grimly. "Dat is anot'er matter."

Emily had a feeling that would be the answer. "Well, assuming she could be saved… what would freeing her from the ship entail?"

"Dat is a simpler task. De Dutchman must have a captain, as yeh well know. Yeh would need to find someone to replace her."

Emily is careful about asking her next question. "Would this person have to be in love as well?"

The goddess nods. "Dey must have ties to de land of de livin. It is what allows dem to remain somewhere between de state of life and death."

The next question comes to Emily's mind without her really thinking about it, and once there she cannot seem to let it go. It is a cruel thing to wonder, cruel to the point where she wonders if somehow her mother's madness is infectious and is trying to spread to her. She doesn't think she could ever bring herself to actually do that to someone, but still, she can't help but wonder: does the replacement captain have to be exactly willing?

Her goddess scowls and the wind picks up a bit. "No, dey do not."

Emily is more than a little startled at the realization that the goddess is reading her thoughts. "I didn't… I wouldn't… I could never actually… Please forgive me, my goddess, that was a terrible thing to wonder."

Calypso is eyeing her now with a stare so intense that Emily wonders if her very soul is somehow being read. A moment passes like this, with Emily squirming uncomfortably in her seat, and then the goddess softens, and the wind dies back down to a pleasant breeze. "You are more like yeh fat'er dan yeh mot'er, yeh know."

Emily wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. "What? I-I mean, begging your pardon, my goddess, but I…"

"I know what ye t'ink of yeh fat'er, young one. If yeh watch yehself in some ways, being like him in ot'ers will do yeh more good dan harm."

Will Turner is the last thing Emily wants to talk about. In fact, the only person in her family that she even wants to think about is her younger brother. However, she still has a promise to keep, and this brings up another question. "Can I – should I – save him? My papa, I mean."

"Do yeh t'ink I would've gone to de trouble of sendin yeh to see him if yeh couldn't?" Her goddess says with some attitude. "T'isn't so easy, yeh know, sendin someone all de way across de land of de dead and den pullin dem back. Of course yeh can. I do not know about should, dat is up to you."

A small smile graces Emily's lips. "Forgive me again, my goddess. I was grateful for the chance to see him." The smile fades all too quickly. "But he hardly recognized me. And after all that's just happened, I hardly recognize myself. I don't know if I could stand it if he were somehow disappointed in me."

"Yeh did what yeh had to. Yeh fat'er will understand dat." Is all the comfort her goddess offers, and Emily supposes that's alright. She wouldn't know what to do with anything beyond that.

Pain shoots up her leg, not nearly as bad as she had felt it earlier, more like she is only feeling the echo of it. Still, she cringes. She has a feeling the fact that she can feel it at all is not good. "My leg. Am I – am I going to…"

"Yeh have de waters now, to drink if and when yeh ready. Dey will make yeh whole again. It is all up to you."

Emily grows quiet. "May I ask why you didn't heal me?"

Her goddess gives her a mysterious smile. "A touch of destiny." Apparently, that is all the answer she'll get.

Emily sighs. "Yes, I was afraid that's what you'd say."

"Knowin too much of de future is dang'rous for mortals. De temptation to change t'ings is too strong. Some t'ings must happen as dey will."

"Yes, I understand." Emily sighs. Her head is already spinning from all the information she's just been given, she can't think of anything else to ask, and that's alright. She has a feeling this will not be the only time her goddess pays her so direct a visit.

"Yeh need time to t'ink." Her goddess stands, and Emily scrambles to her feet as well. "Yeh should rest. I will come to see yeh again soon." She leans in and presses an almost motherly kiss to Emily's forehead. Then the wind picks up again. Emily blinks, and her goddess is gone. Sighing as she suddenly finds herself quite on her own again, she sits back down and reaches for one of the pastries on the table, supposing she can at least enjoy the peace while it lasts.

…

Her goddess provides her with everything she could possibly need; all Emily has to do is think it. When hungry, she has only to conjure up an image of what she wants to eat, and it appears on that same small table. When bored, she wishes for her sword to practice with, and it appears, sticking out of the sand right next to her. Night and day seem to be relative here; when she is tired, the sun seems to set simply because she wishes it to. When cold and wishing for a place to sleep, a shelter builds itself not far from the table, a wood fire blazing to life just in front of it. Emily thinks it would be easy to lose time here, to spend an eternity basking in the sun and sand and peace and quiet… if only she had someone to share it with.

…

Sleeping on Calypso's island proves stranger than anything Emily's encountered before: she dreams of what's happening back on the Sea's Queen. She sees her own body, pale and feverish, tossing and turning on the bed she lies in. She sees Alex pacing the length of her cabin next to her, refusing to leave her side. She watches a woman with long black curls and olive skin come in to check on her. She is older than Emily and Alex, perhaps by several years, and Emily has never seen her before, but she acts as though she knows Emily. The woman and Alex have a quiet conversation in which the woman informs him that Adrienne apparently plans to stay with her father. That's enough to considerably lift Emily's spirits.

Emily tries to get a better look at – well, herself, lying unconscious on the bed, to see if her suspicions are correct. Her goddess ends the dream, however, before she can.

…

She is on the island for four full days by her count, but she is not at all certain of whether she is accurate. In fact, she finds herself rather worried that she isn't by the time her goddess comes to see her again.

"It is time, young one."

"Will I see you again? Like this, I mean."

Her goddess gives her that same mysterious smile. "Anyt'ins possible."

"Right." Emily sighs. Calypso, she has learned, is rather fond of giving answers that aren't quite answers.

"Come now, yeh have bigger t'ings to worry about. And Emily."

"Yes, my goddess?"

"Don' be too hard on yeh Alex. Him only want what is best for you."

Emily isn't quite sure why her goddess would feel the need to tell her this, but she is whisked away as swiftly as she'd first come before she can ask.

It's nighttime when she finally comes to once again in the land of the living, and she is not alone. Someone is humming softly, sitting just out of her line of vision. The tune is foreign to her but beautiful, and she sits for a moment and just listens as she gets her bearings. She is very much alive. She can feel the ship rocking gently beneath her, and she's not sure yet, but she thinks she might be in her cabin on the Sea's Queen. Her whole body aches something terrible; it is not hard to tell she's been sick, but the pain is somewhat welcome, helping to pull her back to consciousness.

Her leg… she can't feel her leg. She has to force herself to take a deep breath at this realization. She'd been expecting this. She is probably lucky to be alive at all, and at least it's not hurting. No need to panic. Finally, she opens her eyes. A moment passes wherein she looks around a bit and confirms that she is in her cabin, and then the humming stops.

"Oh! Well, hello." A voice, feminine, a smooth alto with the hint of an accent that Emily can't place. Whoever it belongs to moves into Emily's line of sight; a sturdy, olive skinned woman, the same woman Emily had seen in her dreams a few times while on the island. She is wearing a simple dress, her long black curls pulled back loosely, and she is checking Emily over in an almost motherly fashion.

"Who…?" Emily croaks, ending in a small cough as she tries to clear her dry throat.

The woman reaches for a mug sitting on a table and offers it to Emily. "Here now, a little water'll clear that right up." Emily lifts her head as best she can and drinks as the woman goes on. "Please forgive me, you've been out for some time. My names Jo and… well, there's a lot to explain, and all of it can wait."

Several questions come to mind. The only one Emily finds herself able to articulate is, "A woman…named Jo?"

Jo laughs quietly. "I'm not overly fond of my full name, my father's the only one who calls me by it. Now you rest while I got get Alex. He'll have my head if I leave him 'til morning and he finds out you've been awake."

Emily watches the strange woman go, brows furrowing. She's not sure why, but she feels that this woman's name is important somehow. "Wait… your proper name. What is it, then?"

The woman turns and raises a single, questioning eyebrow, but shrugs. "Josephine. Josephine Gibbs."

Just to be clear so no one gets put off by the idea of another OC running around: Adrienne is going to join her father on the Revenge, and I needed a kind of replacement… well, you'll see. The point is, we won't be hearing much more from Adrienne, at least not for a while. And I am sorry for the bit that's in Lizzie's point of view, I just couldn't make it work quite the way I wanted it to.

Actually, I'm kind of not sure about this whole chapter, so reviews will be much appreciated.

As for poor Emily… I know, I'm terrible in the way I torture my characters. I was going to go a completely different direction with her leg and how that would get fixed, but then I had the idea for a sort of nickname for her, to match her grandfather's 'Bootstrap Bill'. I don't know that I'll use it. Review/PM me if you want to hear it, I wouldn't mind having someone to bounce the idea off of.

Emily: *glares and taps remaining foot* You had to do it, didn't you?

Me: Yes.. Yes I did.

Emily: *glares harder and aims pistol*

Me: *cowers* Don't kill me…

(Ok, so the next chapter may have to wait until she decides to let me come out of hiding...) :)

French:

Votre précieux déesse ne peut pas vous protéger ici, rien de plus agaçant petit vagabond. - Your precious goddess cannot protect you here, you annoying little tramp.