Little slip of a girl, they said, bloomed into a woman long before her time. Withered now, like that tree, no longer a blossom upon the vine, still a Willow, strong and sure... But forever draped in sorrow. (Multi-fandom Muse)
[text] Does me being hung over take away from how professional I can be today?
[text] The bar would not accept my money. I have reached God status here
[text] He was very considerate of my needs, he offered me pizza before and after.
[text] I asked him for something to clean up with after sex and he handed me a sham wow. A SHAM WOW
[text] So I was putting on a condom and looked to my right to not make eye contact, she said did you just look at the American flag while putting that on. I said this one’s for Team USA.
[text] He gave me the “find somebody who wants to date you for who you are” speech while I walked around the house asking people for pants.
[text] I will show up on your front porch in a wet t shirt and some mac and cheese
[text] I just got high off one hit and then Spent 20 minutes inspecting the gasket of our refrigerator and researching ways to replace it
[text] Seriously. I’m like, “Wait, we are actually talking about physics in the middle of sex and its ACTUALLY erotic because you’re so fucking intelligent I’m turned on?”
[text] Hyyypothetically, what would you do if you happened to see my boobs on the internet?
[text] He fucked me so hard my nail polish actually chipped. I’m keeping him.
[text] I’m making poor life decisions again. Tune in tomorrow to see how much I hate life.
[text] It’s a lube slip n slide down the hallway now. Details later.
[text] Just woke up with an entire pack of Oreos in my cheetah onesie. I’ve been waiting for this moment forever.
[text] Lesson learned. Don’t roleplay with a real knife.
[text] We got drunk and crashed a fifty year old woman’s birthday party for the food. Whoops.
[text] He asked me if I wanted to blow his whistle and proceeded to pull out an actual whistle.
[text] I woke up this morning with 3 phone numbers, a red Chinese New Year envelope with cash in it, and a winning scratcher all stuffed in my bra. I’d say it was a pretty successful Thursday night.
[text] I’m wearing sunglasses around my house. Douchebag status. The hangover is real.
[text] He’s like… An octopus that touches my vagina in all these diff ways at the right times. It’s almost unsettling
[text] I was orgasming and dying of laughter at the same time. I think I’ve found the One.
[text] Do me a favor I want you to reach down the front of your pants and underwear and just feel around for a while… if you happen to find your balls then join us
[text] i just walked into a room at this party and someone yelled “dibs!”…
[text] and then she said I drew a line on her forehead with my cum and whispered “Simba”
[text] so I was just driving high and I stopped to let a pinecone cross the road because I thought it was a hedgehog.
[text] Sex on bubble wrap = best decision ever.
[text] Your lack of great college experience of margaritas and foam parties scares me
[text] We get an extra hour of sleep. That means we can take an extra shot tonight. Sounds logical. Thank you daylight savings.
[text] when someone at the bar asked you a question all you knew how to say was “chug-a-lug”
[text] There’s a girl in class eating a pumpkin pie. Like a whole pie straight from the pan with a fork.
[text] Apparently I taped knives to my hands and made everyone call me wolverine
[text] My house smells like bleach. Also, I do not feel bad about all the stuff I stole from the hospital while I was there.
[text] He told me he loved me. I didn’t know what to say so i just squirted the baby oil at him
[text] Get here, there are important joints to be smoked and pies to be eaten
[text] Can I even tell you how badly I want a day that is just on and off napping and sex with intermittent snack breaks? Because I want that day very badly.
[text] He came so hard that he yelled what sounded like a spell from Harry Potter.
[text] we were both freshly single and using each other as rebounds. most intense sex I’ve ever had. i felt like a grizzly bear emerging from hibernation in a whirlwind of sexual fury
[text] I need a drink and a shade of lipstick that will put the fear of God in a man’s heart.
[text] When was the last time you wore pants?
[text] I’ve replaced you with thin mints and masturbation
[text] Tuesday Boozeday turned into What-the-fuck-were-you-thinking Wednesday real fast.
[text] Have you ever had chicken nuggets while high? Because it tastes like hearing the Beatles for the first time
[text] Being able to fart in my own house is like 90% of why I pay rent
[text] We played Rock Paper Scissors to see who would have to go down on the other person.
[text] I just accidentally showed an old lady a pic of my penis while showing her cat pics. So how’s your day going?
[text] I found a door knob in my purse this morning, I hope whoever it belonged to doesn’t need it today.
[text] We go out, we get drunk, we watch Star Wars, we pass out. What’s wrong with this tradition?
[text] all i’ve had to eat today is leftover bday cake and a shot of tequila.
[text] Pretty sure the guy I hooked up with Saturday gave me a buy one get one free coupon for chipotle. Who said nice guys don’t exist?
[text] Apparently nothing brings out sympathy in a barista like asking if they have a hangover special
[text] And when I feel bad about myself I go to the library and suck my pen over an open book, counting the seconds until a guy sits across from me and tries to get my attention
[text] This is a mass text to all my friends. Whoever gets this first, please find me and confiscate my phone immediately. I am far too high to have it. Even if you have to punch me in my face to get it. Otherwise, let the “High While Analyzing Disney Movies” texts begin.
[text] Seriously insulted!! You can not share my dick pick with your gay brother. He won’t quit poking me on fb
[text] I am trying to think of a way to make alcohol cupcakes
[text] One of us needs to be functional tomorrow and it won’t be me. I’m drinking liquor out of a fishbowl.
[text] You pulled the fire alarm because you had to shit and there was someone in the bathroom. you said you needed privacy
[text] im guessing your the one that tried to make bacon in the toaster
[text] just smoked a blunt while listening to nsync. i now know what my childhood was missing.
[text] I just made out with a girl with a life jacket on wtf is going on
[text] Let’s play a little game called “Chill the Fuck Out” - you’re our first contestant
[text] Didn’t get laid. But got a free pie from a waitress. A whole pie.
[text] I am swimming in semen. He must have been holding it in for a special occasion.
[text] you should buy a sheep. A) you get an awesome pet. B) free coat
[text] tonight is going to be epic. can you pre-book an ambulance?
[text] We thought you were crowd-surfing until we realized it was the bouncers throwing you out
[text] maybe tonight we can turn coloring into a drinking game
[text] i think its awesome that according to your mom i’m your friend that caught on fire.
[text] So fucked up. Can’t tell if I’m starving or about to puke. Playing it safe and eating froot loops. Tasty in, colorful out.
[text] I just saw a hobo ride by on a unicycle. Good day.
[text] Vodka is such a love hate relationship.
[text] you traded sex for a burrito?
[text] I made a game called come to class high and eat nachos.
[text] You decided to make a porno with gummy bears and things went downhill from there.
[text] it’s not a party till someone uses the fire extinguisher.
[text] You’re always adorable, but when you’re drunk, you’re like Chia Pet adorable.
[text] this kid just offered me adderall in exchange for my meal points. college at its finest
[text] I was cleaning up my drunken mess and I found my ID in a cereal box
[text] I am now the proud owner of a 10-12 year old’s Optimus Prime costume from Walmart. Tomorrow is going to be a good day.
[text] It’s like eating cereal and milk but instead of cereal it’s gummy bears and instead of milk it’s vodka.
[text] You leave a trail of fuck everywhere you go
[text] Scott woke me up by cracking a beer open in my face. Best friends are awesome.
[text] we woke up to him feeding us cheetos at 3am. and by feeding i mean shoving them in our mouths and saying “i mean who doesn’t like cheetos”
[text] quit making up holidays to get me to go drinking with you
[text] I left a cheeto on everyone’s car trailing to the house i’m at, hanzel and gretel style.
[text] Just got a event reminder on my phone to never party with you again.
[text] nobody understood you. You kept speaking french and hiding shit in your boobs
[text] When I came home you were using a glowstick to eat peanut butter from the jar.
[text] kinda considering buying a life alert for sophomore year
[text] My phone auto-corrects smirnoff to poisoned. I think it is trying to tell me something.
[text] Anywhere you can eat green eggs and ham, you can have sex.
[text] you were running down the aisles of wal mart singing ‘follow the yellowbrick road’. i’m pretty sure you thought the night shift workers were the munchkins & started crying when they wouldnt help u find the wizard. needless to say u were pretty stoned/wasted
[text] It’s like the only way I know how to apologize is by giving a blow job.
[text] did you by any chance leave me that 7 minute long voicemail of you running and constantly tripping into bushes?
[text] The world would be so much better with thought bubbles.
[text] I love taking my adderall while im in class! As soon as I take the pill out everyone around me just stares in envy!
[text] You handed some guy a spoon you found, he yelled SPOON GAME, and then the two of you spent the next 20 minutes throwing spoons all over the kitchen.
[text] I just told a dude I hooked up with last night he was the pick of the litter.
[text] So I woke up today with someone’s door knob in my pocket. I hope everybody else got out of the house ok.
[text] So we successfully lit our bathtub on fire. Thought you should know.
[text] Because when I say ‘You shouldn’t drink anymore’, she hears, ‘I personally challenge you to chug 3 more mixed drinks’
[text] okay, this game isn’t funny anymore. tell us where all the forks are.
[text] The lack of pants and amount of productivity in my life right now is amazing.
[text] when i start to cry when i lose at mario kart is when you should put me to bed
[text] so apparently the car got towed with me passed out in the back seat.
[text] You closed the sidewalk off to pedestrians last night. With a glitter covered safety cone
[text] never. drinking. again.
[text] I’m gonna get drunk and through up on the first happy couple I see.
[text] got some bad news about ur virginity. she didnt make it thru the night
[text] I need a good reason NOT to eat this entire jar of nutella right now
[text] i’m out of smokes so i just had an after sex popsicle. this might become an addiction.
[text] Yeah I think we tried to use the shower curtain as a parachute because its tied to my backpack with some string. Dont know if anyone actually attempted it though.
“As he does,” she nodded and topped off her friend’s drink before taking a swig herself. “You know he once had the audacity to tell me that I didn’t know anything about the sky beyond that it’s pretty to look at.” That still stung, even some years later, because she hadn’t yet developed the tough skin necessary to deflect his words.
Willow winced, sipping instead of gulping this time, and took in the rather pretty painting on the opposite wall. The night sky, of course, in all its glory, with a ship ready to dock upon a rustic port while the moon was high, surrounded by a ring of gold and deep blue. The painter must have been skilled, for it was not a mesh of blacks, but colors almost unseen unless the hour of the wolf was truly upon them.
“I was rather mean though…” She gave a wry smile, misty irises already a little glassy, and sparkled in the candlelight. “I gave him the strawberry crème puffs instead of the cherry…” Her lips curled a little too deviously at the last bit. “He’s allergic.”
Can we just let your muse go places without being sidetracked by murderous pirates?? Petition for Willow to be able to go places pls (Hauntingsalazar)
@hauntingsalazar , @fiaclasiorc
Willow stared, deadpan, between the two. “Yeah,no, I’m not allowed to have nice things with you two around.” She smiled,before darting off to the side.
“I suppose you could make it up to me!Take me to the Bahamas, make me one of those little drinks with the umbrella init, and fan me like good boys!”
“Do somethin’ with this. If ye need more water or light call ‘em. T’names are Lem and Klem.”
Maccus waves lazily at the twins, and with a slight bow (more of a habit hammered into them by fear) they step outside, leaving the other two alone. A beat passes, and no attempts to fill in the pause come from him. There’s only hum of the wind and creaking of tackle. The sight is somewhat satisfactory – the cocky little lass is a mere shadow of her former self. Now cradled to the bosoms of darkness and loneliness, she’s tasted their bitter milk and got humbled. Such a fiery spirit, so quickly broken. But maybe it’s just a superficial vision, and in time she will need more teaching.
“Show ye wound.”
Willow had been on a few dingy in her years, when she was young, and Raoul joked that fish cakes required actual fish. She’d never been too fond of them, actually, but had learned for the sake of her master’s willingness to teach her. She much preferred baking it, frying it, making a stew, but he had loved the little paddies made with meal of corn, onions, and peppers. She remembered the grit under her nails, the sting in her eyes cleverly disguising her need for tears as he laid in bed, hacking up a congealed mixture of blood and mucus. Puss and sweat ran down his face, following the craggy lines along his brow and mouth, till all that was left of him was a heap of rot and filth. Willow recalled the shit and piss, the phlegm that had choked him in his sleep, and the pity in the doctor’s eyes as he’d confirmed what was already too obvious.
The ship pitched once more, an iron trail weaving between barnacle and clam, to feed the belly of the beast she now rested in. Her eyes had dried, though they burned with soreness, and were blown too wide – especially when the door opened with a crack. She barely jerked, hoisted by fingers tight about her arm, marring pale skin with bruises. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d had worse, but the throb of her foot and haze of her irises was still all too fresh. Not to mention the cuts on her face, ringing it with rust and crimson flecks that speckled her hair, made a veil of rubies for her when she’d once dreamed of ivory.
It had been a fleeting thing, when she was a girl, and then once more when she’d had time to bloom into a woman. The first had been disastrous and silly, filled with a child’s whimsy and desires, with no idea what lay beyond the words that would bind her forever. The petty, pretty man in her vision she realized was not truly what she wanted, made by fable and song, and far too perfect. That was the lie… She couldn’t stand to even think on how blonde he’d been, with perfect sea colored gems that cut her too deep, right down to size. But she was too young to see the truth, right there, before her where she was content to ignore it.
When she was fifteen, it was a man. A real one, though she had never met him in the waking world, and he was flawed, but lovely in a way that transcended. He was dark haired and skinned, made so by sun and surf, hard labor fashioning him into a strong man, but a good one. He’d been older, with a kind smile, and lines at the corners of his eyes. It had not even really been a wedding she’d dreamed of, but a simple day in summer, with two babes to call their own. They ran up to him, and he embraced them, lifted them with a strength to be envious of. Then he held her, kissed her lips with all the warmth the setting horizon had given him for the day, and she had cooked for him. But it had not been him telling her she was beautiful, nor complimenting all Raoul had taught her, but the way he gazed upon her that left her aching – wishing he was real when she awoke, if even for a foolish moment – as if she were the spit of land upon the horizon, to a sailor who’d known the harsh waves a moment too long. For though the sea was beautiful, calling to all men in her strange, old tongue, she was worth coming onto land. To leave the sea, and instead know it inside of her, in the fury she could be, in the tempest that would swirl inside and howl between the weeping leaves she’d been given.
Her mind snapped, reality crashing down upon her as a bolt of lightning broke the gloom, and with it came realization. Blank, cold eyes, dead and with no ounce of warmth, just… nothing. The head too long and teeth far too sharp, rotting sea life, and talons on her arm. She ripped herself free, no longer mindful of any injury she might sustain, to join the others she seemed content on collecting.
“You don’t care,” she hissed, sickness and hate swirling in her gut, “so get out.” The fire was not in her gut, the words half snarl and sob as she staggered to the table. “Get out and let me work,” she gripped the edge, biting through the agony and the malice. Anything to not have to look at him, even if that meant feeding a crew of monsters.
She is a non-believer yet, hasn’t accepted the terrible gift of fate, but the ocean has no slow learners. His bare foot, sole as hard as that of a leather boot, catches her toes underneath itself, and by invisible hint her first admirer rids her own foot of the shoe. Surprisingly nimble, his human hand (a five of fingers he cherishes more than all the gold in all the caves of this world) sets her big toe apart from the rest. Provided with a dagger from a complaisant subject, he needs only a split second to measure up his hit, and the blade lands upon the delicate bone. Red blotch soils the boards of the deck, quickly imbibed by the worn wood. The small piece of flesh now belongs to him, and he cleans it of what little blood it carries by a swipe of broad pale tongue, now marked by the crimson seal of a torturer.
“Can ye feed a crew?”
The slap is probably warranted, but she’d never been taught to think that way. Willow didn’t fancy herself smart, though Raoul had often boasted about his witty apprentice, but after so many years of learning to watch and wait, she’d grown quite good at reading people. And if it was one thing she’d learned well, taken to heart, and known even if it was unfair – men ruled the world. The few women that could write might boast in poetry and song of those that had stepped up to plate, been strong, and weathered the storm. But more often than not, without fail, men would find a way to break and take and destroy at their leisure. Mother said it was in their nature…
She didn’t believe that, sometimes, when she watched good husbands, and loving fathers. She knew she would have neither, never hold a babe to her, and if that didn’t make her ache nothing would. But another part of her was also content in the knowledge that she’d have her freedom. No one to control, manipulate, or try to ruin her the way she’d seen so many other women – with too many mouths and not enough spoons.
She spat the blood, metallic and thick onto the deck, and glared up at her would be torturer. She’d been hit harder than that for lesser things… Like trying to steal an apple to sate the thing that gnawed deep in her belly, hateful and loud it had growled so loudly it kept her up all night, sobbing into the matted straw beneath her head. Too weak to keep up, but too stubborn to starve. Maybe she should have allowed herself to die on those pallets, if this was what awaited her.
Pain, agony so bottomless she gagged on tears and a scream. She bit it back, to join with the cut on her brow and cheek and now her lips. At first, she didn’t hear him, fists clenched tight and white enough to bite through skin. Tears burned along her lids, scalding one cheek and she was tempted to kick out, but the fear welled forth hard enough to knock the rest of the wind out of her. All she could do was nod, because if she didn’t she’d be sick, and that would be worse. Than what she didn’t know, probably everything, whatever that meant. She couldn’t think straight, world a jumble of colors as she was hoisted up, dragged from one rickety ship of planks to another.
Back into the darkness, except everything moved, the whole thing creaked and lashed with wind and breathed with enough seething hatred to blind her if the dank did not. She was dumped on the floor, jeers and laughs adding humiliation and shame where there should have been none, skirts ragged and half torn around her bloody foot. She didn’t move, dared to barely breathe, sea water dripping on her, running around her as the ship pitched and began to move. She didn’t know how long she laid there, shaking and staring at nothing…
But it started as a whimper, the dread finally tipping, cracking through every well-placed wall she’d constructed over the years. Then the tears came, hiccups and sobs torn from her already raw throat, and she crawled through the black. She could barely make out the outlines of shelves and cabinets, ugly, misshapen like the crew that owned it. Willow felt around, pressing herself back against a clammy, rotted bit of plank, and cried. Her chest and head throbbed in tandem with her stub, course, uneven breaths speckling her vision with speckles of color where there was nothing else.
Something hissed. She stopped, frozen for less than a second, before soft warmth enveloped her. Willow jerked, looking up just in time to catch sight of a face, though one heavily mottled and transformed by the sea. Spines stuck out along the side of his face and shoulder, the eye on the same side narrowed and strange – like the frog she’d caught in the creek as a girl. The scarf about his head was ragged like the rest of him, little barbs sticking out every which way, adorned with shells and bits of barnacle. A jagged tooth here, another misshapen one there, and a hollow dipping his once human cheek.
He retreated before she could, snorting softly, and turned without a word. Willow watched him shamble towards the door, brow furrowed and still quivering in the corner, but he paused on the threshold: “yer small.” Gravel in his throat, deeper than it should sound, and the funny side of his face expanded out, the spines flaring up. “Human too… Ye’ll get cold.” She blinked… She must have because he was gone in an instant…
“Come on.” Margaret took her by the elbow and pulled her towards the kitchen. “How about some gin?” She grabbed a bottle from a shelf as they passed without waiting for an answer. She kicked out a chair in Willow’s direction and nodded for her to sit down, then sat down herself in another.
“Start at the top, then.”
Willow snorted on a laugh, halfway tempted to snatch up the bottle instead of the glass, and collapsed into the offered chair. Her brow furrowed, a steady throb starting between her eyes, but the drink was quick to distract her. As soon as she took a swig her mouth burned, throat joining in as it bobbed, and ferried the bitter gin down to her gut. The kick simmered low, warmth spreading through her chest, but she still coughed through her nose at the tang it left on the tip of her tongue.
“You know that prissy, dandy prat scientist who lives down the road?” Willow hissed, a nigh rasp lilting the first of her words. “You might not be too well acquainted with him, considering he’s terrified of your place.” He whinged about it enough, stating that the tavern was a pustule amongst the town, though more than half the inhabitants seemed to make use of it on a regular basis.
“He came in, ordered half a dozen crème puffs,” she continued, “and then started with those barbs in his terrible tongue about how illiterate I am… Because I’m a woman, of course, what do I know?!” She scowled, taking another hearty swig that made her eyes nearly roll back into her skull. Was this drink or poison? One in the same, really, but she knew she should stop while she was ahead. Alcohol had never sat well with her, but it did have the wonderful ability to take the edge off…
Willow had half a mind to kick, struggle, bite… If she knew where to land any of her blows. She’d known something was wrong – when she smelled the too fresh bite of salt and the overwhelming bile of rotten fish. Brow furrowing, she had reached for the parcel on the counter beside her. It was the only thing she’d really brought with her besides a few spare, cotton dresses and… Well, that was it really. Long and wrapped in parchment, with ragged twine binding it together. She’d paused too long, the shadows writhing, reaching with coral crusted fingers and bulging eyes.
She was a flurry of small, pale limbs, but then there was a hand in her hair, rearing her back hard enough to make her gag on pain. She was dragged, rough and hard, over plank and barnacle, up through the reaches. Willow scrambled to keep up, the blackness and shafts of light sprinkling her vision, tearing her between the two so fast she couldn’t see straight. Her brow burned - she’d been struck she realized, a gash oozing sticky and hot down the side of her face. Not that it would matter anyway… She gasped on the fresh sea air, fouled with blood and piss and shit and everything disgusting in between. Gulls cried above, mixing with those of the sailors and passengers, ugly squawking and screaming.
Her throat worked, fear and bile congealing, but clenched her jaw and kept her head down. Breathe… Breathe… But that only added to the illness, lips shaking, and eyes wet. Her limbs felt weak, a steady throb echoing along her scalp as the hand in her hair twisted viciously, keeping her upright more than she wanted to be. You don’t know what they want – keep quiet, say nothing. That was all she could do. Pirates would slaughter them all though, as with privateers of another Navy. Doomed either way, no matter which coin you flipped.
The captain had been so certain at the start of the voyage, preaching about how well he knew the waters, how long he’d sailed – much to the delight of the ladies – but they never seemed hollower. Especially since Willow could see his slackened jaw, wide, wet eyes stained with red, red… Everywhere. She closed her own, forcing herself to remain still, her strength returning with a fury born of some untold place. Here I just wanted to go to a bloody wedding…
Doing things for people who spit on her any other day of the week, and look at where it had gotten her: Ready to be flung into the bottom of the ocean if the raspy voice above her was to be believed. Her head felt numb, though the shake the barnacle crusted bastard gave sent another sharp poker down her spine, and her fists clenched so hard they whitened when the other started touching her. It felt slimy, wet, as if the rest of her wasn’t already. This one only added to the filth, especially the growing rage that simmer in her stomach.
He stopped quickly though, retreating as if she’d actually managed to belt him in the mouth like she wanted to… If he even had one. Willow bit her lip when the sharp jab dug into her thigh, more a kick than a tap. Her head jerked, freeing a few of her curls, and pulling others entirely from her scalp.
“You mean fish stew, you cock sucker?” She snarled.
“Sure, how about I start with you?” Twisted teeth, head too long for a true man’s body, and something was wrong with his hand. Long talons, twitching, strange thing on his elbow that looked too close to a spider that belonged in the sea. He stank of blood and sea like the rest of them, clogged into everything he was, and just as ugly as all the others.
“Cock-addling, prig sucking –! “Willow snarled, throwing curses every which way, and anything she could get her hands on. “Ugh!” She’d, sadly, run out of words to describe her predicament. Being cook aboard The Flying Sun was supposed to be an easy job, one she had happily taken on for in exchange for a discount off passage, straight to the islands of Jamaica. She was due to be in Port Royal for a wedding, one that could change her career if she brought her best, in which she’d be making the cake for an admiral’s wedding. A new admiral, fresh faced out of an academy somewhere, with ten years of experience on the sea, and due to be married to a lady with an impressive lineage to match his own.
Willow hissed however, shaky, clammy hands rubbing over the cotton of her skirts. They caught, fisting a tattered edge that she’d mended just the other day. The spare thread didn’t match the black at all, bright white against the worn fabric, but when you lived on so little… Well, appearances mattered very little in the grand scheme of things. She sat down on a crate, pressing her lips together, and choked on something closely resembling another cry of rage and a sob of pure frustration. Willow put her face in her hands, the frayed threads of the bandage wrapped around her left fingers chaffing her cheek, and ran them partially up into her hair.
Someone, somewhere aboard this bloody vessel, had stolen the plums. It had been a simple request, though layered in hateful barbs, and dripping with the venom of arrogance. Plum cake. Simple, relatively easy in her line of work, but there were subtle tricks – like with any baking – to making it irresistible. One of the tight, upper-class ladies on the higher decks had ordered it… for the captain. It was fairly obvious the older woman, a recent widow if the hushed whispers were to be believed, had her sights set on him. That meant she had to impress him before he found a younger woman, all but throwing herself at him, and wearing the tightest corsets Willow had ever seen. So, of course, she just had to order his favorite desert from the baker hitching a ride to Port Royal, a task she wouldn’t have undertaken if her own reputation and skill didn’t hang in the balance.
Willow was one of the few people allowed in the galley, she’d mentally compiled every ingredient before they’d left Spain, but now… They weren’t running low, quite the contrary, but they were now out of plums. When she knew for a fact they’d had at least three barrels at the start of the voyage. How in the flying hells they had somehow managed to run out within three weeks was beyond her – they’d been stowed properly, bugger it all she’d done it herself! They should have been good for at least –
Willow sniffled. She didn’t know exactly who to tell first… The duchess awaiting the fine dessert, or the captain. If she told the former she would probably be slapped, as she had once before already, though it was not the pain that bothered her. It was the feeling inferior, as if she had failed for merely breathing, for taking up space that she had no right to. Upon informing the latter, she’d be given a look, one that spoke of disappointment, as if he were her father, a man whose name she had never even been allowed to know. There would be little things underneath too, words unspoken: thief, incompetent, foolish woman. The last of which would be said together, she already knew.
Willow took a deep breath, staring into the gloom of the galley, illuminated only by stray slants of daylight that filtered from the deck above. “Heh…” More a huff, less a laugh, bitter and to herself, “I’d need a miracle… to get out of this mess.”
The young woman paused upon the steps, raising a brow at the 'El Matador Del Mar'. Far from a local to Spain, she still had trouble believe this was the man that men sailed away from upon the sea. She reached inside the door of her bakery, plucking a treat from one of the sills, and walked up behind him. Willow tapped upon his shoulder, stuffing the Mantecado into his mouth to silence him, and then turned upon her heel... Humming as she sauntered off. (snowing-willow)
He had gone to shore with his men for a much-needed break and for resupplying. The crew always tended to go to the bar, or talk to the women, but he was more interested in getting the paperwork and information in order to hunt the pirates that still thumbed their noses at him.
He hadn’t noticed the girl until she popped the treat into his mouth, leaving him looking all confused for a second. So, before she walked off, he tapped her shoulder.
Willow stopped, closing her eyes, and had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the heave of a sigh. Damn, and here I thought I could get away with it too...
She turned, raising an eyebrow at the Spanish captain. “Yes?” She smirked, the ‘cat-who-ate-the-canary’ having nothing on the mischievous glint that sparked in her misty irises. His stunned face had been far too amusing, and though she’d not gotten away with her trick, the widening of his eyes had been all too worth it.
“Is my treat so unsatisfactory to the great El Matador Del Mar?” Her brow furrowed, lips pinching into a pout.
an oc: must have a full biography written in vivid detail, an url in the fanciest language known to earth, must be fluent in ten different languages and be able to spell in aztec, must sell their soul to photoshop and have the coolest graphics known to humanity. alternatively, for female ocs, keep their virginity to age 53 and seek their father’s approval for breathing, and god forbids they date more than one individual in their life-time! if they want a career, they are bitches, if they want kids they are ‘clique’ and not having any self worth
It was cold… of course it was. Willow flexed her hand, trying to get the feeling back in it, and raised her head. She hadn’t felt the sun in months, stowed below deck with all the rest of the ‘common rabble’, and only given free time up top when all the nobles had decided to retire for the evening. Splintered rays of gold filtered through, filled with dancing dust and soot. She actually envied the deckhands, though they had to swab on hands and knees, work long hours in the blistering heat – at least they were allowed to roam when the air was still warm.
Though, the moon had its own beauty, silvery strands mixing in among the blackness, till the sky and sea became one. The stars were everywhere, above, below, and in between. Willow felt her heart ache, reaching for the unobtainable, and longing for what was never hers to hold. For if the goddess above could not kiss her children, nor even caress the wisps of light that came off of them, what right did she have to regard them so tenderly? But they were there, laughing, glimmering – representing something beyond comprehension, so old its name was whispered. For to remember was to forget this world, to move onto the next.
I’m a baker, not a poet. She shook her head, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. A shadow passed overhead, blotting out the pools of gold that had fallen through the slats, and her brow furrowed. “Surely, we cannot be there already...” Jamaica was still sometime away, though the Captain never spoke of how long, as if thinking them stupid. Even the most foolish child understood the passage of time, perhaps not the hours, nor days of the week, but they knew when the sun set and rose.
She tilted her head, brow furrowing as her gaze trailed the inside of the cabin. Kept below like rats… Very few common folk could afford passage, leaving less than a dozen of them, young and old and slight from their weeks kept in the bowls. Willow walked over to her niche, a small pallet kept away from the others, and mostly protected from the damp. The ship creaked, pitching slightly, and several hushed gasps arose from the other side of the ship. Willow looked over her shoulder, watching the others, huddled into a group of rough cotton and stale bread, a few ragged coughs rattling from tired lungs.
She sat upon her blanket, reaching for her knapsack, and shuffled through its contents. Her money – what little she had left – was surprisingly unharmed and still accounted for. A few extra garments in the form of simple dresses, though many had been mended more than once, and she a very beaten pair of riding boots her mother had left her. She sighed, stowing it away once more… but not before she drew out the long parcel from beneath her bedroll.
Willow leaned back against the wall, fingers playing with the worn twine that bound the package closed, and stared at the opposite wall. The sun had yet to return through the deck… It was getting darker too, her misty irises straining through the gloom. One of the others lit a fire across the way, the smoke reaching her within a moment through the confined space. The flames were barely a drop of the sun, cackling, mischief ridden and dangerous. But she closed her eyes, twining her fingers in the parchment.
The only thing her mother had left her – written in the blood of her great grandfather. “Pirate…” She had whispered in the wee hours of the morn, staring out over the never-ending lore of the ocean, half reverence and half disgust. The sickness did that… took your memories, your thoughts, muddled them into nothing but stagnant lies between the hours of sleep and waking. That’s what the doctor had said, anyway, though Willow took what he’d said with a grain of salt. “Pirate…” Her mother had hissed, awe and hate in a foul mix upon her lips, turning them from pretty red to ugly yellow. Brittle, dried, and cracked with black that dripped from her nose and eyes too. It stained the sheets, blood so thick and old, she choked on it in her sleep. “Pirate…” Long locks made of the midnight sky, winding over shoulders, twisting this way and that in the surf. Till they curled and loped around her neck, drew tight, took what was left of her –
Willow jerked, inhaling sharply, and shivered hard in the dark. I fell asleep… Shaken, thoughts jumbled, and still only half aware, she stumbled to a stand. Sweat dripped down her brow, her tongue stroking her lip to taste salt, and the bitterness of the sea was nothing compared to that of her dreams. Her jaw clenched, throat working to swallow nothing but her own fear, and she moved with shaky legs through the hold.
Everything was dark… Blacker than the night with no moon, not even the splinter of a stray star to illuminate her stride. She nearly tripped, still holding her parcel in an iron clad grip, her fingers aching as she used it to seek out the stairs. Something fell, clattering loudly, practically echoing in the stillness. She halted, breath hitching, but no one spoke… Nothing moved… Her eyes narrowed, brow furrowing.
“Where is everyone?” She whispered, voice raw from sleep and the lingering apprehension in her veins.
turnnoffyourmind
kaledo-art
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
izzy806
