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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 21, 2007 18:06:08 GMT -5
The being, for he was no human, nodded with a grin at her tight lipped question. He seemed impressed by her, not making any effort to hide the amusement and interest from his powerfully expressive eyes. With deep reverence, he bowed to her. His head hung low in the exaggerated motion, the curve of his body unnaturally smooth and long. He drooped more than he did bow, his body moving without the restriction of bone and muscle. Gracefully, he righted himself, eyes as thick as a forest resting on Elizabeth passively. With an air of dangerous serenity about him, his aura as still as an untroubled lake filled with venom, he raised his hand to the air.
The bog around them shifted and changed, sinking and receding until the two were standing on solid, bare ground. The being with tinted skin watched her as if he had not just made an entire swamp get up and relocate, or disappear all together. He inclined his head towards her, as if just now making the decision to reply to her question, even though she had asked it some time ago. The movement of the bog had created quite a loud commotion, and he hadn’t felt compelled to speak over it, or project his voice as he had at the initiation of this meeting.
“Peace, Ms. Elizabeth, is all I seek.”
The being did not blink, and he did not breathe. He stood remarkably still, like a tree long rooted to the ground. His eyes shone brilliantly, reflecting the sun and the shadows it cast, fathomlessly evil and ethereally holy. He decided to continue to speak, knowing Elizabeth would not offer him too many of her own words until she grew more accustomed to him, “Peace for the nature caught in the middle of the world of humans. For the creatures that dwell on lands like this one. And for the oceans themselves. To do that, I will need to follow in your example. You, who willingly seek to escape piracy. That is what I wish to do. A purging, to facilitate peace over the worlds they have ruined.”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 23, 2007 18:00:19 GMT -5
Easily described, the man was downright macabre. And to be calling him a man was hardly acurate in Elizabeth's thoughts. The young Pirate King gazed upon him with eyes cautious and wary, though still smoldering with an anger that was difficult for her to explain. This man... this thing was so calm and nonchalant, and with a voice so smooth that it was as though he was oblivious to the fact that the shadows had devoured her companion. It vexed her something fierce to watch him as his body dipped into something of a bow, in a languid fashion which prickled her neck. His eyes, so green and alive with the forest, were so horribly calm that it almost tempted nausea back to her gut, though she swallowed down her fears yet again, and simply eyed him with a gaze dark and unmoving. Such a stern stare only faltered when the being raised a slender hand and seemed to excuse the swamp from their presence. It was as her father could have pardoned a guest, with but a subtle flourish of the hand. Elizabeth was well aware of how powerful such gestures could be, but as the bog shifted and despersed, uncertainty crawled again along the soft surface of her skin. She had known this creature capable of wielding strange magic, what with his calm command over the monstrous shadow. But to see it happen again - to see the swamp depart, as it were - had Mrs. Turner unnerved and anxious, like a lioness trapped in a corner. Her eyes flickered about the changed environment, noting the barren nature of the place and how desolate it now seemed. Again, she felt vulnerable. This was not her element and she had no advantage. As much as she was disinclined to admit it, this being was in complete control. She was at his mercy and a touch of one of those slim, inhuman fingers could direct her to her death. Oh yes. A comforting concept indeed.
She commanded composure from herself once more, however, as the green-tinted man spoke after a small, wicked silence. Her clutched her iron treasure chest closer with strong arms, while her spine straightened again. As much as she felt the role of the mortal in the presence of a god, Mrs. Elizabeth Turner refused to give him the satisfaction of her fear. Indeed, she was afraid and there was no hope in hiding it all, but there was still a curious flame within her eyes that would not fade. She arched a slender brow as his soft voice slipped like poison honey to her ears once more. Peace. That's what he wanted. Was it really? What sort of creature so in search of peace allows darkness to engulf a human being that clearly did not want death? Such a manipulative word as 'peace' would not sway Elizabeth into reassurance just yet. "A purging? You mean an extermination." Her voice was calm and curiously so, but she was grateful for the softness that had naturally become of her tones. "For I've not bore witness to something so gentle as purging."
Elizabeth was addressing the acts of the shadow - of how it had consumed the Black Pearl, her crew, and her Captain. To purge was to purify; to clense... and although it was an open term perfectly capable of corruption, after watching the deckhands scramble about the deck in fear of a dark fate, she had found herself thinking more of how rats flee a cat. Hmph. Purging indeed. She found herself growing bolder, despite the hair still raised about the back of her neck. She had never faced such a being as this, but still, she was not going to recoil from its presence like a punished pup. Instead, she even took a step forward, with eyes locked stern upon the deep, green ones of her eerie company. "I may seek to escape piracy, but I accept it. It is a way of life among a bold breed of men, reckless and foolhardy though some may be." She felt she was treading on dangerous water, defending pirates so, but she was too irritated and restless to use better judgement. "May I inquire as to how such worlds have been ruined?"It was not said in a bitter or cunning tone. It was stated directly and calmly, in the woman's need to further understand this bizarre situation.
There was even the possibility she would be the victim to the wrath of immortal fury. But Elizabeth would not nod and agree with something that her instincts clearly disliked. A trickster though Mrs. Turner could be, this was no time for games of the mind and the tongue. She had seen enough and it was time to get to the bottom of everything. Though she feared for the unborn child in her womb, for the heart that beat so sound in the Chest, and for Barbossa, the Pirate King refused to be the play thing of this wicked deity.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 23, 2007 20:39:14 GMT -5
The being allowed Elizabeth to say all that she had to say before venturing a reply. He did not need to interrupt her, or argue his case against the diction she used. His was a diplomacy that ran deeper than words, and as she worked her head around his simple ideas he explored her heart as if it were a small pool of water, his mind a hand that moved through it without displacing any of its liquid contents. He kept his unblinking eyes on hers, his connection to her very soul only broken in fleeting moments when she closed her eyes, as humans often need to do, to moisten the impressive and revealing orbs. His deep green irises darkened considerably as he stared at her, his handsome, impassive face suddenly dangerously edge, despite having undergone no obvious change in expression.
“Extermination is an ugly word, Miss Elizabeth, but fitting. For pirates are ugly creatures, and their existence a blemish on what could be the purest of beauty. I do not doubt you see me for what I truly am: a creature beyond your comprehension, I’m sure, but in your simple mind I am of the natural world. Beyond this island, I am the land of these waters. My body, my soul, is tarnished and scarred by these vile experiment of life, their wasted potential squandered in filthy and criminal activities. They care nothing for the lives they are granted, for the small miracles that fill their days. Each breath is a gift, Miss Elizabeth, from the trees and the sky. Each port they create or overrun decays with their presence. The seas are defiled by their refuse. Everything that is granted to them by the benevolence of forces humans cannot begin to fathom they corrupt and disrespect.”
As he spoke his passion grew, until each word became as violent and edged as a sword. He sliced through the palpably tense air between the two lone figures, his voice creating a cacophony unbefitting his serene, plant-like body. His feet, rooted to the ground, seemed to tense. The action rippled through his venular body, legs and arms swaying as if in an invisible breeze created by his rage. It had been a long time since he had need to vocalize his feelings regarding pirates, and this flood of sheer anger surprised even him. If he didn’t need her to fulfill his desires he would have vented by snapping her body as easily as most humans did twigs beneath their shoes.
His eyes blazing, his mouth unmoving, he continued to speak without the added difficulty of voice. There was too great a danger of him losing himself to his enunciated bitterness, and thus he allowed his mind to stretch out towards Elizabeth, to encompass her as it had done both pirates before he had offered them a recognizable form.
Very few creatures on this world are free of sin. But rarely do those of higher cognitive capacity, like humans or Selkies, deny the gifts given to them as wantonly as those living under piratical colors. But you, you do not trust me. I can feel it in your heart, though you do well to maintain yourself in my presence. Do you worry for your friend, Elizabeth?
He sneered, the expression cutting through his face as his words had done the air moments before. Grotesque and misshapen, the ugly smirk was cruel and taunting, laced with the malice and discontent he felt towards what she had been traveling with. Despite his better judgment, if that was what it could be simplified to, he bared his yellow, razor sharp teeth and allowed his body to swell threateningly. His limbs, before thin and hanging like vines from a tree trunk, became muscular and powerful. His strength was now obvious, rather than the subdued impression he had left lingering around his once handsome form.
“But how can you call a pirate that? How can you be sure you are not being used by him, that you mean anything more to him than a ticket to some fabled treasure or a feeble grasp at glory?”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 23, 2007 22:05:17 GMT -5
There was something new to the creature, now, as he elaborated on his hatred. Elizabeth could literally feel the rage, as though it were an unsettling vapor, as it radiated from his passion. His words were far more bitter and harsh, no longer the velveteen smoothness that they had been before. The Pirate King could feel her flesh crawl as though many a spider ran down her back, while her own, bold gaze faltered slightly in the fresh feel of doubt that had emerged with the being's change of mood. What was she getting into? She felt this was something far more than she had first considered, and even felt small and insignificant beneath his words. She listened to him, nearly overwhelmed with the passion he used in each, almost elegant word. Such hatred he held ran deep, and she could feel its raw essence even if it was for but a single moment. She could feel her heartstrings trembling, not in fear, but in a need to unleash her own passion for it was a growing fire in her breast. Though she could sense her own uncertainty in the matter wishing for her to step cautiously away, Elizabeth stood her ground. O how she was tempted to gasp and stumble backwards as his form changed and grew. O how she was tempted to bend to the wills of this wicked beast. But she refused. She simply, sternly, refused.
Even when the thing had touched her with thoughts rather than an actual voice, Mrs. Turner was not going to give it the pleasure of her utmost submission. Ever stubborn, it was a wonder that such a characteristic hadn't already gotten the woman killed. Perhaps, even now, she was being impossibly stupid. But after everything that had occured in her young lifetime, she was not going allow this thing to be the end of her will. "You're wrong," she began, in a voice calm and sure, "If it is one thing a true pirate treasures, it is the beauty of life. Humans are not perfect. Humans are not pure. We are full of vice and sin and whatever else you'd like to call it. How can you blame man for their imperfections? For their natural flaws? A pirate is a man who wants the freedom to live life to its fullest. They run on instinct and the will to survive in a world that has granted them nothing. Indeed, I have known pirates to abuse the lives they have made for themselves, but is it so much that you must hunger for their demise? Piracy is freedom. And freedom, in this world, is a most beautiful thing."
Her own passion was evident in the way with which she spoke such words. It was alive in each vocal chord, though far more subtle than the passion that clung to the voice of the supernatural stranger. Though Elizabeth Turner was still quite the novice to piracy compared to many, she remembered the feeling and emotion that had been evident in the voices of those she knew when they had defended the rustic beauty of their occupation. Hector Barbossa's voice, was the one she heard in that moment, staring upwards into the face of the disgruntled deity. For a short moment, she thought of what this beastly being said. Was she but a mere ticket to something more for the good Captain? Hadn't she been so before? Before. The past. No. This was the present. And as she gazed stern into the eyes of her company, she found not a fragment of doubt in her heart concerning the response she prepared. She became more confident as the thoughts swam in her head, her voice even stronger as she offered the creature her retort. "Life is precious to him and yet, he saved me. He knew it could kill and yet, he took the blow." She remembered, for but the slightest second, that his coat still dressed her slender form; still warm and reassuring against the surreal chill of the other being's presence. "He's a good man." She paused, to stand taller beneath this being's mighty gaze. "And he is my friend."
Warmth had spread within her tensed heart, as though hands had cradled the beating organ in a comforting grasp. She had called Will Turner a good man. She had called Jack Sparrow a good man. And now, as she stared strong into the face of her foe, she had called Barbossa the very same. But in a way, it was different. In a good way. In a way she could not particularly explain. Elizabeth only hoped he was all right, now that the swamp's bizarre manifestation had reminded her of his state. She felt she needed him now more than ever. But what good could she do simply hoping? That was still a mystery to the young Pirate King; a mystery that lurked in her thoughts and in the warmth that had found its way to the condensation of passion that stirred about her heart.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 24, 2007 2:05:10 GMT -5
The being withered as she spoke, returning to his original, impassive form. It was not because her words had any particular significance to him, his eternal resolve long hardened against the simple arguments of lesser beings, but because he realized he was letting his emotions get the better of him. A creature of his power and grace was shamed in situations where he let his bestial, primitive sides take sway, and by silent, speedy meditation he settled himself. The task before him was a delicate, incredibly important one, and he would need as much tact and guile as he could muster to accomplish his goals. Terror and brute force, the spawn of unbridled rage, were his very last resort. When elegant speech and slightly more intense coercion failed he would turn to a tactic he often found effective, and was quite entertaining for him.
Fear, he had learned, was a great motivator. Threats worked far more often than subjecting himself to pleading. Compromises were easier to reach when he had a bit of leverage. The conversation about the Captain of the Black Pearl opened a door to the being that he could not help but head towards, an excitement lighting his eyes with a cold, cruel malignancy that was impossible for him to hide. He did not try. His intent would be obvious to her soon. He knew there was no use in trying to appeal to her honorable side by winning her to his way of thinking. She was defiant, stubborn and full of unshakable convictions. To break her he would have to hit her where her defenses were the most weak.
A new friendship. A budding relationship. A bond she had barely allowed herself to feel. It was the perfect target, feeble and exposed. He already had the bait he needed. And she had just supplied him with the affirmation he required. He did not have to hesitate: he knew all he needed to know.
“A good man. Your friend. Cute, naive words for a young, impressionable woman. You are but a child in this world of vulgar criminals and constant deception. Yet, somehow, you have managed to capture the heart of one of the blackest of souls. The Captain of a once cursed ship, a man familiar with death: the man, as you describe, who willingly allowed himself to be injured on your behalf. A fine, noble act for so reportedly selfish a man. And here you stand before me, my swamp a failed trap but for a flesh wound and some fleeting moments of fear between the two of you. My intent, of course, had little to do with your Good Man. He was but a casualty. His injury a pitiable result of a poorly executed and, I admit, rash decision on my part. I tried to force what I want out of you, and that, my dear Elizabeth, makes me no better than the pirates I so desperately want to be rid of. And so, I will offer to you a truce before articulating peaceably the terms I seek.”
He held out his long fingered hand, pointing to the floor between them. A small fountain erupted from the earth, the water spreading outwards in a controlled circle, the ground giving way beneath it to create a shallow pool. The water shimmered silver, opaque and enigmatic. The surface rippled with no cause, each small circular wave growing from the center. In it the image of a bedraggled, manhandled man appeared, his clothes torn and dirtied, his body haggard and his head hanging low in obvious defeat. His battered body was, apparently, suspended, his arms outstretched above him and seemingly affixed to something over his head. The beaten pirate was not conscious, his face shadowed by the droop of his head, but he was easily recognizable as the Captain of the Black Pearl, Hector Barbossa. The mirror pool did not betray any indication of his location, his surroundings blurred by the color of the liquid.
“Tell me,” the being said after a long, almost vicious pause, “if you are telling me the truth about your idea of this man; what is he worth? This precious friendship you carry so dear. The life of this good man. The heart you bear in your Chest, perhaps? Or the life of another, who has yet to breathe the air you two share?”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 25, 2007 20:55:06 GMT -5
Elizabeth stepped backwards as the water blossomed between them, her eyes widening in acknowledgment of this new and sudden element. Not only towards the strange pool, but also to what it portrayed. A gasp was tempted to her lips, but was never heard. After all, she was trying to remain calm throughout this situation... although this was not helping in the slightest. The image of the horribly dishevled Captain Barbossa caused her heart to sting, worry building within her. This was all her fault. If she hadn't sought him out for help... if she had only thought of anyone else... then perhaps he'd be pillaging, plundering, and all else that was a glorious pirate's life. If he hadn't lept in the way of her attacker... if he hadn't found such a warm place in her heart... then perhaps things would have been different. But as the worried woman gazed, soundless, upon the image of her friend and heard the words of the devilish deity, she was almost at a loss of what to do.
It was asking her to bargain, wasn't it? It wanted William's heart... or the heart of their unborn child... or both. Were such precious treasures to be exchanged for the life of a man she had grown so fond of? Such a concept made Elizabeth feel sick to her stomach; nerves shaken and insides squirming in helpless realization. What could she possibly do to hold on to everything she held dear? She loved Will more than anyone and anything while the supposed child in her womb was the very flesh and blood that bound her to her husband. The babe was a chance for something new - something beautiful - and it was a life that she already was deeply connected to. Even though she had been told of her pregnancy but moments before, she felt the bonds between her and the unborn baby - bonds that any mother could sense should they long to feel it. And then there was Barbossa, the pirate whom she had never thought would be so close a companion. Yet, here she was, gazing upon his broken image and tempted to let tears run down her face.
But she would give her company no such pleasure.
Angry eyes glanced into those of the beast, though he had resumed his human's visage. Her face was hard with a lack of an expression, though her eyebrows were furrowed just so in a gesture of distaste. This wicked, vile thing was tearing at her vulnerable heartstrings, asking her to choose which one to rip away. She felt her jaw clench in an attempt to contain the rage that boiled beneath her sun-kissed flesh, while her chin was forced upwards slightly to keep her confidence alive in her own, troubled heart. Indeed, life was full of sacrifices. She, of all people, should be well aware of that. And now, to be hinted at yet another life-altering sacrifce in her emotional state already unbalanced, was hell. And this horrible creature knew this, didn't it? The nerve. She felt so powerless to its might; so helpless to its whims. She was the mouse with its tail stuck beneath the kitty's paw. But as she managed to force words from her lips, she also forced herself to settle - to calm. It was all she could do, anyway.
"Is there something of value to you concerning these two hearts I bare?" Elizabeth felt her arms strengthen their clutch on the Chest, as though this would protect its contents. "Please, enlighten me." Her voice was nearly a whisper now, so quiet in a fury that was smoldering behind every word. Such beings as the late Lord Beckett knew well of this voice and the surprising amount of venom that seethed through each word. The young Pirate King may have been troubled and trapped, but she was going to keep her own control over the situation... even if it wasn't control at all.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 26, 2007 19:26:40 GMT -5
The being watched her, his human face grinning in a way unbefitting his handsome features. It was cruel and potent, the depth of his malice portrayed impressively through the slight curl of his smooth, thin lips. He could almost taste her inner turmoil, and he reveled in it, letting the vibrations of her vulnerability, her resolve, her desperation and her hatred permeate his skin, absorbing all these emotions as a plant would the sun. He thrived on her torture, his beautifully laid ultimatum working its course slowly. There was no doubt in his mind that, in some manner or another, he would get exactly what he wanted from the young woman trembling before him.
He grinned at her question, admiring her strength and defiance. As devastating as the situation was for her, she remained upright and fighting. If he had allowed the two to keep their weapons, he knew she would have already landed a few superficial blows on his pitiful form. He respected her for her determination and will, relishing the idea of agonizingly tearing it from her, like flesh from a bone. His grin deepened, the shadowed lines of his face becoming more prominent.
The longer he stayed in her company, the more his true, terrible nature emerged. He thrived on it, feeding on the emotions she was sending him. When all was said and done, before he was rid of her entirely, he would thank her for releasing parts of him that had been so long pent up.
“They are but a burden to you,” he said casually, as if explaining a complicated concept to a child, over emphasizing his enunciation and waving his hands to demonstrate the meaning of his words, despite the motions not having any apparent relationship to the things he was saying. He had witnessed humans gesticulate in conversation numerous times before, and as he embodied one he felt it proper to emulate them to the best of his ability, though, not without some level of mocking, “and to the world you are trying so hard to leave behind. You are like a ship, adrift on a turbulent sea. As much as you want to escape it, to find smoother waters to sail, these hearts you bind to your protection are heavy anchors. They disallow your freedom, and bind you to a heading that will lead to only heartache and sacrifice. Miss Elizabeth, I have sought you to peaceably proposition your cooperation. The heart of the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, or the heart of his child, will be more than enough to appease me.”
His attention was suddenly, briefly torn from Elizabeth. The water in the silvery pool between them lurched upwards suddenly, a terrible splash with no apparent cause. The being, understanding its meaning, waved his hand and the water evaporated into the rising ground, until the space between them was unremarkably similar to the rest of the barren island. Scowling, the being returned his passionate green eyes to Elizabeth and, speaking in a tone that was the slightest bit disconcerted and rushed, added, “It is either the life of your friend, the life or your unborn child, or the life of husband. Make your choice, or I shall make it for you.”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 28, 2007 13:35:54 GMT -5
Elizabeth hated how this being seemed to tease each of her emotions, asking so much of her in something of an air that suggested it was a casual business affair. He spoke so surely of her situtation as though she was expected to agree to it, like a marionette puppet with her strings being pulled. The way with which he addressed her as though he owned the right to ask her of such precious things made the woman's blood grow hot though not completely out of control. It was that passion burning inside - that flickering flame - that was licking her own heart and igniting a need to defend everything she loved so dear. Perhaps she'd end up dying right here, with one sweep of the deadly vines he controlled. If she died, she would fail William, Barbossa, and her unborn child. But she wouldn't die. She refused to die. Though refusal wouldn't save her should her life be squeezed or sliced from her, it was enough to encourage her to step forward, eyes direct and fierce into the haunting green of her deadly company.
"You can make a choice," she growled, "But you won't get what you want." With that, the Pirate King charged. She knew that this being was in control. She knew that he could easily break her body and smash her skull. This, right here, could be the end... and she was well aware. But there as that fire that dwelt within her very ribcage - that yearned to eat this wicked force and free her friend from its vile grasp. She had no weapons beside her small fists, though the Dead Man's Chest had the potential to be quite the battering ram. Either that or a club, one that could create quite the cuncussion if it was rightly wielded. Ah, but Elizabeth didn't even know if the being before her had such mortal flaws. In fact, she knew it didn't. With the Chest tucked beneath one arm, she simply ran; still trying to come up with a plan in her head when such thoughts were clouded with her overwhelming passion - with the need to live and to keep her treasures alive. All three of them.
Before she could reach her foe, however, thick vines rose from the earth. They were more like Kraken tentacles, massive and destructive. There were two of them, one on each side. Elizabeth had felt their presence even before they emerged - their stench being that of the same evil of their master. Mrs. Turner didn't care that such forces could smash her or constrict her. She didn't give a damn. She was pushed forth even harder, teeth clenched and bared as though she was a tigress hungry for flesh. A frustrated cry was even emitted from her lips as the green tentacles wrapped her in a thick, binding grip. The Dead Man's Chest was forced against her breast with her arms still tight around it, back arching as the vines coiled along her petit, struggling form. Soon, the only bit of her that was not wrapped tight was her head, which snarled and groaned with the primal need to escape.
The woman stopped her struggling for but a moment, glaring upon her foe with dark eyes that burned. Though her breathing was rushed and difficult to balance, she managed to speak though it was in a tone of utmost bitterness - breathless and difficult to speak with. "These hearts are no burden to me. They are what reminds me of who I am..." a few angry breaths, "... of my duty. You don't care about all that, though. There's something in it for you. There's a reason beneficial to you as to why you need one of these hearts. And yet, you've still failed to tell me so." Again, she paused to calm her breathing, though her voice was a husky sound; a semi-whisper that urged passion and will from her bound body. "You're no better than the pirates you hate." Oh God. William. The child. Barbossa. She had failed them. Life was so precious in this world, and because of her rash actions, it was going to be stripped from those that deserved it most. Her husband had almost died. She had been at his side, urging him to live while the lights faded from his eyes. Her baby had yet to bare such beauty as life outside the womb. It wasn't even large enough to make her appear swollen with child. But still, she felt its life stirring within her - a life that she wouldn't so easily allow to be taken. And then there was Captain Barbossa, a man who had died and then been revived. Was it to be her fault that he was brought back to the realm he had once visited? She began to snarl and struggle once again, encouraged by the three she held so dear. Indeed, she was wrapped in bone-crushing vines and face-to-face with a fate she had no control of... but Elizabeth Turner was never one to back down. Even when everything seemed to be crashing down.
{ Bleh. Not exactly super random. Not exactly anything at all. >< }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 29, 2007 19:13:45 GMT -5
(My next post will be better, promise!)
The being watched her, unimpressed, one eye brow slightly arched. The island was violently protective of him, not simply an extension of him, but something that almost seemed to live on its own, and reacted to threats with effective, inescapable tactics. The vines were a small taste of the power the island, as well as the deity that inhabited it, possessed. He frowned, listening to her, his arms folded over his chest in a gesture of impatience. Snarling at her final comment, his fist tightened. With the motion the vines, as if connected to his long, boneless fingers, constricted around their captive.
He moved closer to her, until he was inches from her face. Staring into her eyes, he searched her mind once more, not knowing what he was looking for, yet not surprised when he found it. Even captured in his grip, facing utter defeat, she seemed to defy him. He nodded at her, approvingly, yet not appreciating her enough to ease the grasp of the vines. Moving around her, he waved his hand and spoke as if he were carrying on with a casual, almost friendly conversation.
“It is futile, and indeed stupid, to try to fight me on this island. It will not allow you to hurt me, as I will not allow you to hurt it,” his eyes darkened, the green as deep as the thickest of rainforest, his hand curling together once more. The vines followed the cue, wrapping ever tighter around Elizabeth’s lithe frame. He could almost hear the strain of her body, the way each muscle and bone groaned under the pressure, and could easily imagine how uncomfortable the Dead Man’s Chest was against her stomach in so tight an area, “and as for your words, perhaps you would be wise to save your breath. For soon, Miss Elizabeth, you may long for the air you’ve wasted in trying to insult me.”
In truth, the being felt more than a little rushed. The reaction of the silvery water, before he had dissipated it, had told him he was in for a visitor. And soon, considering how small the island, despite the impressive cliffs, truly was. Without the swamp to hinder one’s progress, it was possible to trek across the entire island in two or three hours, depending on the urgency of the pace. And if he knew his visitor as well as he imagined he did, he knew that pace would be alarmingly fast.
“I have given you the option of a peaceful negotiation. I have laid out my terms. My ends, however, are not for your ears. A believe there is a common adage in your species that applies to the situation. Something about a cat, curiosity, and death. I’m sure you understand it better than I. Yet you persist to question me, ignoring the ultimatum I have presented you. And now, my dear Elizabeth, you force me to deprive you of all three. But be not mad with me; it is your own doing that these consequences result.”
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