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Post by Elizabeth Turner on May 29, 2007 20:59:11 GMT -5
It was difficult to keep ones cool beneath the gaze of Hector Barbossa. There was something about him that made the mind wonder if he could even eavesdrop upon one's thoughts. He certainly knew how to make people squirm beneath such eyes, for he had done the very thing to her a year or so ago. Even as she had tried her best to keep defiant, she had felt the role of the lamb in the lion's den. To his gaze now, she continued to keep her expressionless air, in defense for the evident discomfort she had shared with his teasing. He knew he'd struck a nerve. She knew he knew.
His oddly placed statement almost caused Elizabeth to drop her guard. Her brow furrowed just slightly before maintaining its emotionless place in her pretty face, as though she had caught herself falling into whatever trap the good Captain was preparing. She forced herself to think nothing of it and simply raised both, slender eyebrows in an expectant gesture, waiting for his response to her preposition.
"To Shipwreck Cove." Again, she was direct and almost stern about the matter. Her eyes now followed his hand to the chest, a slight pain coiling in her gut. It was an uncomfortable notion, to know that only a small wall of metal separated her husband's beating heart from the outside. She was still new to the matter of carrying the chest about with her, and it rattled her nerves a bit as the man's palm rested in nonchalance upon it. She resisted the urge to swat it away and simply returned her arms to cross along her lean torso.
"It takes a pirate of cunning and experience to navigate these waters well. How could I possibly turn to anyone besides yourself, Captain?" She praised him in a mix of amusing flattery and truth. He had proved himself a true man of the sea when she had last seen him, and her respect for the buccaneer was without question. She wasn't yet sure if she could call him friend, but he was a valuable acquaintance, that much was certain.
Mrs. Turner placed her own lithesome palm atop the Dead Man's Chest, pulling it just slightly closer in a somewhat protective suggestion. To have anyone's hand on the chest, so early in her guard over it, was simply too much to let alone now. She didn't remove the Captain's hand, for it was doing no harm, neither did she completely take hold of the iron contraption. In fact, she smiled a pirate's smile and spoke in a demeanor of utmost calm. "Surely another trip to Shipwreck Cove couldn't be any trouble for you."
The young woman paused, allowing her voice to fade into the pub's ruckus. She found it again with her smile still genuine in place, eyes stern as they found his with something of an impish gleam within them. "Unless, of course, you've lost your touch in the short time I've been absent from your company." It was not a challenge but more of a playful muse. She still wanted none of his games, that much was certain. She wanted simply to grab his attention, keep his attention, and get the job done. But now, as she reluctantly allowed her smile to grow slightly smug, she found herself falling victum to the pirate's wit. No. Keep to plan, Elizabeth. Keep to plan.
{ And there you have it. Fresh from your Neopian inbox! I'm warning you now, however, that in proboards, I tend to write a bit more. Let's hope I don't get carried away. x.x }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on May 29, 2007 21:55:00 GMT -5
(I tend… not to write more on ProBoards. I know I should, and can, but I… don’t. I just say what I need to say, in the space I need to say it. Heh. We’ll find a happy medium, I’m sure!)
Barbossa’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of Shipwreck Cove, his attention finally fully captured. He had been playing a frivolous game with the still young Pirate King, but knew better than to get carried away. There was a time for teasing, and a time to pay attention. Elizabeth was not a person to be taken lightly, even if she was a woman and a novice as far as nautical experience, despite her grand adventures. She was, however, devilishly clever and, in this moment, keenly alert. It was time to shift tactics.
He leaned back in his seat, noting the way she protectively claimed the chest with her hand and let her have it, sliding his hand away after tapping the top of it with the thick nail of his forefinger. He shifted into an attentive, strangely poised position, sitting straight, his hands on the table, his hat high on his head and his eyes glued on hers. It was business now, though, he doubted he could avoid having fun at her expense for too long.
“Aye,” he said, nodding at her compliments. A vain man, Barbossa never saw lies in the compliments others gave him, even if they were born of fear or on the edge of a sword. He rubbed his fingers together, moving the rings that decorated his hands, a reaction he often found himself using when he sensed someone trying very hard to appeal to this side of his nature with an ulterior motive dangerous to him. Not to be sucked in, despite how true he found her statements, he simply nodded once more and said, “there be no Pirate on these, or any, waters more competent behind the wheel than I.”
It wasn’t like he was lying, though, he would not hesitate to do so. He was, and he knew it, a fantastic helmsmen. He knew the most of oceans better than most pirates knew their own lands, and he could navigate his way through hell’s fury if he needed to. He had come close, battling the Flying Dutchman in a maelstrom borne of a Goddesses wrath, and he had survived.
His thoughts drifted back to the present, the memories seeping away as Elizabeth continued her speech, endeavoring, he noted, with particular zest to secure his aid. He imagined she was not there because he was the best, or even because he knew the way and she didn’t. She was there because he was one of the few Pirate Captains she knew on an almost personal level, after they had sailed so long together, and she thought she could trust him.
Or something close to trust, as far as that word could go in the world where commandeering ships was common place, and mutiny was a daily event.
He smile reminded him that she was far less innocent than her pretty face portrayed. He did not like her jab at his abilities, but forced his pride to take it. She would learn that it would take more than masterfully manipulated speech to secure his allegiance. He liked that she was playing dangerously enough to risk teasing him, and something close to respect colored his words.
“Shipwreck Cove. There be no harm in my returning there, to be sure, but I can’t help but wonder… with no Brethren Court urging our presence, and no dire emergency forcing you from your home, why seek the sheltered city? Your purpose, Mrs. Turner, or we end our discussion here. I be not in the mood for fancy cat and mouse games with words, nor do I appreciate you barging in on my reprieve to badger me so disrespectfully. Ye may be the Pirate King, but that be naught but a title when the emergency is gone. A Pirate Lord should address another with respect, or get none in return. My skills on the ocean are as sharp as our last venture together, and I think you be well aware of that.”
That was certainly a shift in tactics for the rough buccaneer. He slouched back in his chair, his eyes still glued to hers, fathomless and deep.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on May 29, 2007 22:38:11 GMT -5
It was something of a glimmer of satisfaction in the Pirate King's eyes as Barbossa retracted his hand from her treasure. She still allowed her own palm to remain resting atop the eerie box, in reassurance as the subtle thumping of its contents could almost be felt just so against her fingertips. She was careful not to become too confident in the Captain's presence, knowing all too well that he could manipulate an over-confident mind much easier to his likings. Elizabeth had been the damsel in distress plenty a time and she hated the sensation of sheer helplessness that could befall one who allowed themselves to be tied up with puppet strings. Her other hand displayed her calm as it rested on her lap, reminding us all that Mrs. Turner was, indeed, from a fancy-to-do background. There had always been some sort of elegence about her, even whilst shouting in the midst of a maelstrom. Sure, piracy had shaken her up a bit, but there was still a touch of the Governor's daughter in there somewhere.
The young woman was not surprised that her compliments had beguiled the Pirate Lord. She had yet to meet a swashbuckler who didn't drink up praise as though it were the best of rum. Of course, with Barbossa, it was different. He was man of the sea who knew the wiles and ways of his fellow buccaneers. His ego was probably stroked more than not, and he could see well past the mask of any guise of flattery. Most of what she spoke had been pure honesty, however, and it was how he accepted it so leisurely that amused the English belle. Pirates, as unpredictable as they were, could always be counted on to be pleased when fed a certain amount of praise. Oh, and Elizabeth knew how good it all sounded coming from the lips of a pretty young maiden such as herself. Hadn't she used such a tactic on Jack Sparrow? Ah, but Barbossa was no fool. He wouldn't be swayed or distracted by her flattery. She had recognized that from the get go.
And now came his curiousity.
She could sense he was intrigued now. He had learned the name of her destination and now he wanted to know why. She acknowledged his change of demeanor with that same, almost sweet smile. He was all business now. Good. Perhaps now, she could get somewhere. At first, however, she was slight tenative to reveal her true intentions at the tangled city of shipwrecks. She was tempted to simply let him wonder and be vexed by the knowledge he could not have. Unfortunately, the Captain had made it quite clear that she was to deliver unto him her goal or he would leave her in Tortuga without the slightest bit of regret. As he had said, she may have been the Pirate King, but such a title was only of true value when danger was afoot. There was no point in lying, either, for she knew not to try that game with him. He was sure to smell a lie as soon as it fluttered from her lips. The last thing she needed now was to cross the man she was seeking help from. "My duties in Shipwreck Cove concern that very title." She allowed her head to lean forward slightly, the hand in her lap shifting to rest again upon the table instead. "If I'm to be Will's wife, I see no future ruling the Brethren Court as a king who would be worthless to their call. I've done my part as Pirate King and as Captain Sao Feng's successor. If there's a future for me as anything but a pirate, then I need to rid myself of these titles and pass them down to someone more deserving and appropriate."
She shrugged and leaned back into her chair, allowing her hand to drift off the chest and onto her thighs as her eyes shifted from his gaze. It wandered upon the Dead Man's Chest for but a moment before fixing back upon the Pirate Lord's own stare, her head giving a subtle shake as though she was embaressed by her own decision. She even chuckled slightly and was sure to keep the smile, now smaller, at the corners of her mouth. "I've had my fun with pirates, Captain Barbossa. But it's not the life for me." And even though she said it with certainty in her prettily-accented purr, she almost seemed reluctant to speak it. It felt as though it were yesturday when she was standing at the bow of the Dauntless, singing an infamous child's song into the fog. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on May 29, 2007 23:41:25 GMT -5
(Watching House + trying to write something = holy crap, that post sucks.
SORRY!)
“And you think such pirates are so easy to come by?” Barbossa arched an eyebrow, almost comically as he tilted his head to one side. The blue ostrich feather in his hat swayed, billowing with the movement and only adding to the theatricality of the moment, “and what’s more, that you’ll find such a one in Shipwreck Cove? Pirate Lords are breed of a different stock than the vermin you’ll find in places like this. Even in a place renowned for the gathering of the Brethren Court, there be a slim chance of you picking one out of the corpses of long honored ships.”
He stood, suddenly insulted. He slammed the mug down on the table, not surprised in the slightest when it shattered in his grasp, sending shards of glass in various directions. Staring down at the young woman, his eyes blazing, his mouth pulled into a vicious scowl, he let his other hand wrap around the hilt of his sword.
If there was one thing no one ever dared stray near it was Barbossa’s pride. His pride as Pirate Lord, as a sailor, as a servant of his one and only mistress, the sea. He was ready and willing to slaughter, not simply murder, any who had the audacity to impune what he held sacred. It was the reason he abided the Pirate’s Code, even when he was playing a devious game of mutiny and deception. It was why he remained true to his promise the Goddess Calypso. It was why he had not killed William Turner, Jack Sparrow or Elizabeth Swann as they ralied together against a common foe, despite holding more than enough justification in his heart to end each of their lives. It was even why he had consented to marrying the young lovers on the deck of the Black Pearl, in the middle of an epic battle and raging maelstrom.
Elizabeth Turner was dangerously close to losing her life, and only her standing as a Pirate Lord, as Pirate King, stayed his sword. His own pride was now hindering his defending it.
“You’re had your fun, ye lovelorn bilge-breathing piece of filth,” he growled, his voice belabored with animal like noises and gruff breaths, “Vile, dainty wench, so frail and maidenly: you’ve had your fill of the excitement a silly name like Pirate Lord has given you, and now you throw her away like a worthless, spent whore. Your kind,” he stopped, the two words taking on a new, more insulting meaning as they lingered without the rest of the sentence for a torturous few seconds, “Your kind does not know how the experience honor. How to live honor. How to thrive in it once you have it, and the proper way to free yourself of it when it becomes too much.”
He pulled his sword out and pointed it at her, the blade visibly trembling, “if you want to so carelessly throw it away, do so. But I want no part of it. It’s yer choice to not be the Pirate King. A Pirate Lord. You need not be anything to the art of piracy, and the sea won’t miss ye, I can promise you that. But don’t dare think I’ll be willing to watch as you disgrace the title Sao Feng honored you with, on his dyin’ breath. There be no honor among thieves, as the adage goes, and that be true enough. But the true lords of the sea, the masters of their domain: they’re a dying breed, Elizabeth. Watchin’ you help murder us is not something I intend to do.”
The silence in the tavern did not surprise him. The violent fire in his chest was nothing he did not expect. The only thing that surprised him about the rage he suddenly found himself in was the fact that he had used her first name.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on May 30, 2007 0:36:41 GMT -5
{ Gah. A bunch of rambling. Sorry that this post sucks. x.x }
And here, she had just about hoped that he would understand. But of course not. The young woman eyed the man as his anger built beneath his steely eyes, her own gaze now dark with her own pride wounded. Here he was, slandering her so; fighting for his own pride to be restored. She was insulted, not by the names he called her, but how he had so instantly called her out on terms she felt she could defend. And so she would. Anyone who knew Elizabeth Turner knew that she was not one to back down should her passions be sparked. Fists clenched, she rose from her seat, head held high in a need to remain confident despite her wounded calm. She even bore her teeth in a mixture of raw frustration and anger as she prepared to fight back. The tip of the Captain's cutlass was dangerously close, but the Pirate King bore it no mind. This wasn't the first time she was face to face with a deadly weapon and she wasn't about to stand down just because Barbossa had the art of intimidation skillfully mastered. A burning sensation swelled in her chest, stinging with each breath she now painfully took. Why did pirates have to be such pig-headed bastards! Sure, he was defending the honor of piracy - as much as that was a paradox in itself - but he attacked the one decision she had carefully made and now spoke of her as though she hadn't given anything a second thought. As though preparing to lunge into battle, her body tensed and her jaw remained clenched, eyes hard as they kept stern upon the Captain's own furious gaze.
"You think I haven't thought of everything you've just said? You think I'm some wretch who thought she could throw everything away? My God, Captain. Think again." Her voice, at the moment, was a growl. Like that of a disgruntled lioness. Such a deadly low tone, however, would only last so long. "How dare you call me a murderer. How dare you even think that. Before I came all this way to find you, I gave this decision every last bit of thought I could. Do you know how hard it was, Captain? Do you? Because I really think you don't." Her voice was rising now, but still forcing itself to keep level. "I'm doing this because I'm not worthy to be a Pirate Lord! Not because I'm tired of it! I was bloody honored when the Brethren chose me as its King! I led you into battle, didn't I? I did my duty! And as for Sao Feng? I was at his side when he died. As soon as he dubbed me Pirate Lord, I knew I'd never be what he was! I don't have what it takes, Barbossa! And even if I did, I just can't! I've a duty to Will now, not to the Brethren Court! I can't just forget my promise to my husband to continue living as a pirate and uphold your honor! The reason for me coming here wasn't only to ask for an escort, but for help! If you're so sure as to who is worthy of Lordship than why don't you just help me figure who to pass mine on to? Hm? I can't live a Pirate Lord's life, you cur!" At this, she slammed a fist against the table, causing the Dead Man's Chest to tremble slightly. "Maybe you're right and I don't know what real honor is. Maybe I don't know the real pride of being a Pirate Lord! Maybe I don't know anything about all of this godforsaken nonsense! I'm preparing myself to raise a family - to bare children! You think I could bare the true title of Pirate Lord with a babe in my arms?! I'm sorry that I'm abandoning you pirates and your code, but I'm not going to disgrace Sao Feng and Captain Teague by keeping a title that isn't rightfully mine. I don't deserve these ranks or recognition! I'm not the pirate that so many are!"
Her voice had mounted into a yell, one that rivaled Barbossa's own bellow. She could feel her heart pumping in her ears and her own voice still ringing against her head. But she was still livid. Such a state was forced into low tones, however, though her voice trembled to sustain her new anger. "You may not have faith, but I do, Barbossa. You may call yourself a dying breed but I say you're giving yourself too much credit. There's bound to be someone out there able for the job and I'm determined to find them. I've ten years, don't I? And perhaps I am being terribly optimistic. You pirates seem to be just as obnoxious in that manner so perhaps I'm in good company." She paused, simply glaring at him, her own body literally heated with her own fury. A meeting that was supposed to be friendly had come to this - a fight for pride. Elizabeth almost felt foolish. But she couldn't. She was defending herself in the only way she knew how - with passion in her eyes and her words. He wouldn't understand. He obviously didn't understand her anyway. But she continued. "I made this decision on the behalf of the Brethren Court. It was not for my own interests or wishes. Sao Feng's successor should have been someone much more deserving than myself. I was just the only at his side to pass it on to when he died." And with that, she fell oddly quiet, body tensing as her memories visited Sao Feng in his death. Impaled by a pike disturbed by cannonfire, the grand Singapore Lord had been a pathetic sight. Her presence and his misunderstanding had led him to bestow his piece of eight unto her, but never had she felt truly deserving of its value. She had just been in the right place and the right time. Or as she felt it now was, the wrong place at the wrong time. Elizabeth now only glared at the Captain, with a gaze surprisingly harsh. She didn't care that the tavern had gone quiet. She had barely even noticed Barbossa call her by her fist name. But she had noticed. It made his words sting even deeper.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on May 30, 2007 1:15:41 GMT -5
Barbossa took a step back, his chest rising and falling with heavy, almost painful breaths. His rage was in his eyes, in every sinew of his over tensed body, in every tremor that accompanied each new thought. It took all the restraint he had in himself to keep from running her through with his sword, so tantalizingly close. Killing her would be an easy end, and one he would have taken in a similar conversation with any other being. It was how he ended arguments on his ship, or in bar fights. The tip of his sword was a warning. The blade a promise. The hilt a conclusion. There was no need for anything more than that.
Except he could not bring himself to murder the named Pirate King. He could not openly attack the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea. And, despite himself, he could not draw the blood of Elizabeth Turner in so meaningless a situation. As angry as he was in that moment, he had the foresight to realize retrospect would find him wallowing in regret. And regret was not something Barbossa allowed into his life. In all his years, as a pirate, and as Hector, he prided himself on the fact that he bore no regrets. His choices were as definite as a murder would be, and, bearing that in mind, he lowered his sword.
He said nothing, his eyes smoldering, sheathing his sword with profound meaning. It was not a retreat. He was not backing down in anyway. Somehow, his putting the sword back into its scabbard was even more of a threat than having it pointed at her throat. The blade sang as it rubbed against the expensive leather, the hilt clicking as it fell into its worn, comfortable home. His eyes did not leave hers as he did this, not allowing her a moment of thinking he was giving way to her arguments.
His nose and forehead wrinkled as his scowl deepened. His body was in motion before even he registered the action, his hand on her throat. Lifting her from the floor was effortless, her body almost feather light in his wrath fueled purpose. Pulling her close, he looked into her face, his dark, fathomless eyes searching hers as if he were peering directly into her mind and sifting through it like pages in a book.
After a long, tense moment, he found himself in motion again, dragging her from the bar with just one hand keeping her firmly his captive. His grip on her neck was vice like and cruel, but not murderous. His fingers were already leaving bruises on her soft flesh, red and angry, but he refused to notice. Under his other arm he carried the Dead Man’s Chest.
He half carried, half dragged her until they were on the docks, and then the deck of the Black Pearl. Once on his ship, he tossed her ruthlessly to the floor.
“Take a look around you,” he said, his voice laden with rumbling thunder. He waited, expecting her to listen to him. He took his own order in stride, casting his eyes about the ship. The worn, weather beaten wood soothed him, but only slightly. It was just enough to level his voice, “This be one of the most revered ships in these oceans. Respected, Mrs. Turner. There be ne’re a lapse in the number of ships trying to destroy her, take her place. Yet she pushes on, despite hardship and how tired her casings be, or how rusted her bracings. She be a symbol of power. Of Piracy.”
He moved away from her, his eyes out to sea. He continued to speak, knowing she would not leave until they were both satisfied.
“Captain Sao Feng bestowed upon you his power. Naming you Captain, giving you his piece o’ eight. It weren’t just because he was dyin’, or words made him believe you were what you are not. He saw in your eyes a lust for… something. A driving force to your actions. What makes you so bloody annoying and defiant. I was there, remember Mrs. Turner, when he met you. When you… impressed him. There weren’t no mistake in his mind, even as he lay dying, that naming you Captain, be you Elizabeth Swann or the Goddess Calypso, was his final duty to his crew. Don’t pretend you don’t have a knack for it. Don’t tell me ye don’t love the sea. The adventure and the danger. You have in you, Elizabeth, that what every great pirate – every Pirate Lord, is born with. What makes them worthy of the fear and respect their reputations breed.”
His words failed him for a moment, finding no way to articulate just what that thing was. He found he was not compelled to try.
“I am not askin’ ye to keep your titles. As I said, the ocean won’t be missin’ you,” he looked at her, arms hanging at his sides as he held himself upright, his back rigid with the pride that forced him into this tirade, “I ask you to do your position honor, as Sao Feng did by choosing you. Do that, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth and back, just to see it completed. ‘t won’t be the first time, now would it?”
Despite himself, his anger, and the tense situation, he cracked a grin.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on May 30, 2007 1:54:10 GMT -5
At first, Elizabeth had taken the sheathing of the sword to be a moment of triumph. But something in her gut told her otherwise. Her brow was, again, furrowed in confusion as she eyed the Captain in new worry, her body bracing itself for something - a blow - anything. Before she knew it, one of his hands was at her throat while her body was lifted, it seemed effortlessly, by the man she now acknowledged with embers in her eyes. She was furious, and his touch was a the least-wanted sensation at that moment. Her own palms had scrambled to tear at his clenching fist, nails hoping to dig into whatever flesh she could find. But she was frail in such a grip. She was delicate and weak. It was that sense of helplessness again - the sense that made the maiden sick to her stomach and caused her anger to increase. She even snarled like a beaten animal as he dragged her from the bar, still making something of a fuss as she was pulled through the lanes like the captive she was. This was all too familar, except now, there was a hand at her throat rather than simply on her forearm. Panic even struck her, as realization concerning the Dead Man's Chest hit her heart like lead. Her struggling had become crazed then, like a beast who had just realized they were in a slaughterhouse. She could hear the thump of something peculiar against Barbossa's person, however, and instinctively knew it to be her treasure. Relief concerning the matter calmed her for a moment, but she swiftly returned to reality as the pain of her captor's grip burned her skin.
Finally, she was flung onto something hard - the deck of the Black Pearl. She only continued to seeth like a taunted tiger, but kept oddly silent and still upon the floor. Her chin lowered just so and her eyes narrowed as she tried to listen to the Captain, though she was almost reluctant to do so. Why should she, after he'd manhandled her so? But she wanted to know what he was saying. At that moment, a part of her still respected the pirate, and still sought the piratical experience he knew all too well. She quieted her breathing and her angry heart as she listened, with interest, to what he said. He was right. Every word was. She even felt horrible, as though she really had disappointed the Pirate Lord with her need to part with the whole of piracy. Her gaze swiftly met with the deck, not wanting the burn of his eyes into her own. She knew he'd take these gestures to mind and gain triumph in her defeat, but she didn't quite care as much as she thought she would. Her fist unclenched to allow her fingers to grasp the floorboards as though they were comforting, while a heavy sigh fell from her lips. She still didn't dare look back into his eyes. Bloody hell. He was making her feel guilty, even when she was stubborn enough to not believe it herself. In his own way, Captain Barbossa held a certain charm. It was this charm - this way with words and his command over an atmosphere - that made her feel horrible. She was even touched when he spoke of Sao Feng's interest in her - in her own similarities with the sea's melevolent goddess. She had never heard the Captain speak like this. He had always been colorful with his vocabulary but that wasn't what touched her now. It was the certain air to him - the sensitivity - that at last encouraged her to raise her eyes back into his own.
"As long as the position is mine, I shall carry it in honor, Captain. I thought you knew that." The Pirate King's voice was remarkably calm, though there was a hint of stubborn harshness to it as she looked up at him still from the deck. She stood after speaking, however, and in surprising smoothness. Her eyes remained upon him now, not wanting to suggest further cowardice by glancing away. "It's just happened too sudden. I didn't know what to do. Still don't." She managed a small smile, though it was weak. "Sometimes fear gets the better of people... responsibility too. Lordship, becomming the King, and now guarding the chest? It was too much to bare when I first considered all this." She shifted her weight awkwardly and crossed her arms along her chest, regaining some of her more confident posture, though hesitance was subtle in her voice. "It's a good thing you're here to hit some sense into me, hm?" She hated admitting defeat, especially to Barbossa - one whom she'd wish to triumph over in a verbal spar. But this hadn't been any of that. This had been a battle of pride and honor, subjects of which these two human beings knew different sides of. Deflated with her surrender and her acknowledging his superiority, she glanced away, at the sea. What a mistress the ocean was, to have such a strong hold on men's hearts. She certainly had Barbossa's. That much was certain.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on May 30, 2007 12:04:36 GMT -5
(Guess who forgot she had an Astronomy test today, and now has to cut a class to study for it? And yet, here I am, taking some time to reply. Priorities, priorities.)
Barbossa watched her as she absorbed his words, noting the way her hands played over the wood of the deck, taking from them the same comfort that he often found by simply looking at them. He listened to her sigh, his eyes following the line of her lithe body as it was curled on the deck, her every muscle telling him he had affected her. It was not a sight he was unfamiliar with, a master of berating and demoralizing his crew while at the same time forcing them to see how they were wronging him, rather than how humiliated they were in that moment. He waited for her to look at him, knowing that only when she mustered herself enough to do that could they continue their conversation.
In truth, he was still interested in the proposition that had brought her to him. Sailing to Shipwreck Cove would be nothing to the experienced sea farer, but it was still something he needed. Things, particularly where Elizabeth Turner was concerned, were never as simple as they seemed. With this quest he was sure to find something worthwhile of his reputation, of his ship and, most importantly, of his pride. Being alive and, at last, the master of his own fate was an incredible feeling, and since the conclusion of his quest to the end of the world he had felt his subsequent endeavors to be shallow by comparison. It became clear to him that being alive meant being in danger. It meant striving for something impossible, and breaking as many laws as possible, man made or natural, to get there. Elizabeth had been the start of his battle to remove the Aztec curse, and the driving force behind the Brethren Court. As angry as he was at her, he knew better than to crush her and kick her off his boat, and out of his life, for good.
She was speaking now, and he listened, not moving to help her as she stood. He still held the Dead Man’s Chest under his arm, his eyes locked on hers in a simmering challenge. Her reasoning was fair enough, and he nodded at appropriate moments, the motion barely visible and thus making it even more potent. He even smiled at her comment about him hitting sense into her. Though, to be fair, he had not technically raised a hand to her. He kept that justification in check, not vocalizing it as he considered his next move.
Stepping toward her, he closed the distance between them until he was just a foot away from her. Twelve inches separated the Pirate Lords, but Barbossa was keenly aware of how far it actually was. He pushed the Dead Man’s Chest towards her, until it was pressed just below her breasts, his eyes never leaving hers. It had been a strange feeling, holding a box that, despite the thickness of its metal, managed to reverberate with the pulse of a human heartbeat. Odder still was the voice in the back of his mind reminding him with each beat that he knew the man it had come from, before it had left his body.
“Captain Turner,” Barbossa said, something of his previous humor returning to him, “it’s your decision. You do have too much on yer plate, and I be naught but an outsider to all your… emotional struggles. I’m a heartless buccaneer destined to die on the sea. The greatest decision left to me is how I choose to meet that fate. I be more than prepared, then, to sail with you to Shipwreck Cove, and, with the respect that is due to the course, find ye the pirate you seek. Though, if I may hazard a suggestion, Singapore might be a good start for our search.” He paused, thoughtful, then with an aggressive scoff added, “and don’t get it into your head that I’ve gone soft. We have yet to discuss my end of the deal, if ye still be willin’, and I’ll reserve that until I see fit.”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on May 30, 2007 22:54:05 GMT -5
{ My brain is dry as Davy Jones' Locker thanks to APs. Forgive me. }
In some ways, she could never forgive Barbossa for the way he could so easily manage to crawl under her skin. He knew that the sensitive Governor's daughter lurked there, hidden behind her scowls, smirks, and newly developed cunning. He knew that she still felt guilt underneath it all and was able to say just the right words in just the right way to make her feel utterly exposed. She had felt vulnerable and naked beneath his gaze, and with that awful clench of guilt in her stomach. He was a master of words and their ways - a man who could wield his speech far more deadly than a cutlass. A disturbing, frightening thought... to be sure. Even now, as she stood before him with dark eyes being held in his own, she felt as though he was peeling away her many defensive layers, seeing past her disgruntled expression and knowing that a fear of her own weakness stirred behind her eyes. Her appearance was dishelved and tousled with their argument, and her cheeks were still slightly flushed with her fading rage. She managed to tilt her chin slightly upwards, however, as the Captain loomed closer. As bristled as she was, she would at least remember whatever dignity she could muster before him. She was disappointed that it was now difficult to do so. Darn him for that.
He was very close now but Elizabeth thought nothing of it, eyes concentrating on the cold blue of his intimidating stare. Few could say they'd seen such eyes up close, for if there was ever such close proximity with Hector Barbossa, it was usually whilst impaled by his cutlass. They were, perhaps, his most prominent feature. Such eyes were commanding and cool; eerie in wicked intelligence and gleaming with something Elizabeth had never been able to place. Not a word was spoken between them as he pressed the Dead Man's Chest against her, their eyes still locked even as her slender arms reclaimed the box. The lulling thump of her husband's heart was somewhat reassuring, a bizarre but warm feeling that sought to repair her wounded heartstrings. It was as though the heart - his heart - could sense her tension and hoped to ease her bristled countenance. One hand curled its fingers gratefully along the chest's metallic surface, the edges of the intricate designs soothing against the sensitive flesh of her palm. And still, her brown eyes were fixed ever sure into those of her fellow Pirate Lord.
The young bride couldn't help but smirk and utter a wry chuckle as Barbossa began his response, her ears having caught something of his retort with more interest than a normal person would find particularly significant. "You're not as heartless as you may think." One hand patted the top of the black chest as though to remind him of its contents. "But you've a black heart, to be sure." Her smirk was still genuine in the subtle curve of her lips, having said the comment more as a compliment than anything. After all, hadn't he just reminded her that he hadn't gone soft? Her statement had been something of an agreement to what he said, though somewhat playfully purred from her mouth. She was still a tad bitter towards him for making her feel so bloody guilty, but even her stubborn behavior had to relax its grip as she sought further conversation with the Captain. She still had a mission to go through with now, didn't she? It'd be best to tuck tension and stubborness behind her... for now, anyway.
Becomming more business-like in her demeanor, Mrs. Turner allowed her back to straighten again and her voice to strengthen, releasing its hesitance so as to direct the matter a sure as possible. "I had thought to travel to Shipwreck Cove because that was where I was made the Brethren's King. Somehow, it all made sense at the time." She paused, glancing to the side for a moment in thought. Would Singapore share its secrets with them yet another time? Was there really anyone there fit for the job? Her last visit had only shown her Sao Feng in all his majesty. The other pirates she had seen had looked anything but fit to represent the South China Sea as its Lord. There had been Tai Huang... though she wasn't sure if he was still even alive. She returned her eyes to Barbossa's, brow furrowed slightly in thought. "Singapore? You don't think the East India Trading Company scared everyone off, then?" The last she had seen of the place, it had been ablaze with battle and fireworks. The Company had stormed it, and though the Hai Peng's crew and Sao Feng had escaped, it was evident that the city was one doomed to the grasp of Cutler Beckett. But with Beckett's death and the weakening of the Company, perhaps Singapore had become a pirate haven once more.
It would be much more suitable, to grant the Lordship over the South China Sea to one of Singapore's finest - if there were any. Sao Feng had, after all, reigned from such a well-hidden pirate bath-house and it was his title that she was hoping to pass on to a successor just right for the job. She trusted Barbossa to know best in this matter. He was experienced in the ways of piracy and knew the waters of the world well. She didn't doubt him or his advice, and was somewhat relieved that he had chosen to help her, if that really had been his choice. She hadn't forgotten what he had said last, however. His end of the deal. She had nearly forgotten about all that. Hmph. Pirates and their end of the bargain. It was always about their end. "Indeed. We shall discuss your gains in this bargain when you see fit." Her business-like air had stuck with her even up till now, a small smile returning to dress her features and sureness returning to her in the calm of her poise. "I may be a 'vile, dainty wench'," she quoted his insults with something of amusement now, "but I still remember how to strike a fair accord." Who knew what it was that the Caspian Sea's Pirate Lord would think up concerning his end of the agreement. Elizabeth didn't actually find herself worrying about it at all. A probable mistake, says I.
The Pirate King's golden hair swayed as the Caribbean breeze breathed warm kisses against her neck and tempted her love of adventure. Sure, she had a duty to the sea, to herself, to Will, to Sao Feng, and to Barbossa to properly pass on her Lordship... but it was the wind in her hair and the smell of the seasalt that almost tempted her back to it all. She knew it would never be so, but she was reminded of her own subtle lust towards the sea as the mist of the waves fluttered against her forehead with a sweep of the wind. Barbossa was right. There was something in her eyes that Sao Feng had seen as he died. That very something was a gentle kindling in her gaze, slight in the impish warmth of her eyes.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 1, 2007 20:17:01 GMT -5
(Actiony!)
Captain Hector Barbossa nodded, effectively ending the conversation. He knew better than to think Elizabeth above deviousness. She was beautiful, poised, raised as a Governor’s daughter, with all the luxuries that office could afford her. She was crafty, devastating and had particularly sturdy sea legs. She had all the essentials of a Pirate, even a Pirate Lord, in her small frame, all hidden beneath her deceptively serene face and the apparent daintiness of her sword arm. He watched her, hearing her echo his words and grinning at the irreverence.
He was about to reply, his square shoulders drawn back, his hand resting heavily on the hilt of his sword, when a voice, gnarled and vicious, broke through their conversation.
“Barbossa!” It called from the docks, standing at the end of the moored Pearl’s ramp. Vexed by the interruption, and unable to ignore it because he did not recognize the voice, the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea moved to the ramp. A man was waiting for him, staring up at him challengingly. He had his sword out, a large, ugly looking weapon with serated edges Barbossa imagined would rip flesh from bone when the weapon was used as a bludgeon rather than for the subtle art of sword fighting. Behind him stood a motley crew of similarly armed men, six in total, each echoing his mean attitude and apparent contempt for the Captain of the Black Pearl.
Barbossa recognized their clothes from the boy he had taught a lesson to on the seas, and realized they were a part of his crew. Or he had been a part of theirs. Either way, they bore the same design on their headbands or scarves. These men, however, lacked the naïve, fresh faced look of the young man Barbossa had attempted to kill. They seemed as hearty as Barbossa’s own crew, and would probably fit in among them without him noticing but for the colors they bore.
They were most likely there for revenge, and Barbossa was hardly in the mood to humor them. He looked over his shoulder, nodding at Elizabeth.
“A bit of business,” he said, indicating down towards the dock, which was out of sight of the young woman due to the ship’s hull, “it won’t take a minute to settle this.”
He spoke loud enough for the pirates on the dock to hear him, and when he turned to gauge their reactions to his taunts he found they were not on the dock anymore. They were rushing him, seven men moving in unison up a very shaky ramp, their weapons brandished. Barbossa, looking less than impressed, put his foot against the wooden plank and jostled it. Two of his attackers were defeated before the battle even began. Five of them, however, kept their balance and continued forward. Barbossa leapt back, his gait daring: wide steps, knees bent, shoulders back and proud chest high. He held his sword low, his free hand reaching out at his side in readiness, his fingers playing through the air as if on the keys of a piano as he waited to be attacked.
Apparently they had not heard of his skills with a sword. He would soon let them witness first hand.
The leader moved to attack, two of his men joining him, spreading out in an attempt to form a triangle around Barbossa. He was slightly distracted, however, by the sight of two brawlers making their way over to Elizabeth. He imagined she was well armed, having ventured so willingly into Tortuga, yet it still bothered him that these brigands would extend his fight with them to anyone within spitting distance. Grinning like a maniac, Barbossa launched the first attack, his sword ringing like a church bell against the thick folded steel of his opponent’s broad sword.
“Mrs. Turner,” he called, swinging his sword behind him to block the attack of one of the other men. The third rushed in and Barbossa was out of defensive moves. He jerked away from the fray, swinging his blade in a large arch to keep the three at bay, “if you wouldn’t mind helping me to clean up this little mess?”
The two that were circling her gave her very little choice in the matter, their heavy swords glinting in the low light, their eyes hungry and dangerous. One lunged forward, swinging his sword as if it were a bat, hoping to land a crippling, but not deadly, blow to the woman. The two were playing by a philosophy Barbossa himself had once said: “waste not”.
(Ah, feel free to be any of the… five guys. I’ll probably stick to the ones attacking Elizabeth, but you don’t have to do the same. Hell, I can be all of them, if ya want. They’re just throw away characters.)
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 2, 2007 12:44:55 GMT -5
Voices. Elizabeth heard the shouts of men just beyond her vision and looked to the Captain with a quizical perk of the brow. Who was it that interrupted a conversation betwixt Pirate Lords, hm? She had been about to join him at the ramp to see for herself this rapscallion when she stopped suddenly in her tracks, put to a halt by Barbossa's reassurance. A bit of business? In Tortuga, there was a range of possibilities concerning what 'business' could be. She titled her head slightly, as though perterbed by her lack of usefullness in the situation, but seemed to have gathered that this really was Barbossa's business to see to. Her tickled curiousity, however, didn't have to wait long before being granted some answers. Pirates, five of them, now charged aboard the Pearl, brandishing an assortment of weapons and looking quite nasty indeed. Oh yes. Business. Bloody pirates.
The young woman's eyes were lit and wide with the sudden thrill of action, her heart beginning to pound in an odd eagerness as the strangers began their attack. She didn't have to wait for Barbossa's request. Her hand was to the cutlass in her belt before the Captain had even addressed her. Since her escapade in Singapore, Elizabeth had become rather familar with most weaponry. It was there, after all, that she had attempted to smuggle in a fine assortment of deadly tools. The Dead Man's Chest had been placed hurridly upon the deck once she had taken note of their unwelcome guests. She was slightly anxious with it being so close to whatever action would unfold and cast it a nervous glance before stepping forward to engage in combat. "It'd be a pleasure, Captain," replied Elizabeth, her voice a dangerous purr as she eyed the advancing sailors. A pleasure? Aye. For pleasure would come in ridding their company of these bilge rats. Ah yes. The pirate inside of Elizabeth needed this fight. Oh and how it wanted it too. The duo of men were circling her now and it wasn't long before one jumped forth to issue the first blow. The ring of her blade sang against that of Barbossa's as he parried from somewhere near, creating a choir the young Pirate King had become accostomed to. She glared upon her opponent with a newly lit flame, lips curled back and teeth clenched intro a fierce expression often worn by wolves. A growl could even be heard from the lady, as she forced the man to her other side with a twist and a turn of her blade. He appeared somewhat surprised and the belle took this as her chance to raise a lithesome leg and kick him in the gut. She would have aimed lower, but she had simply wanted to push him back further. Now, the two men were both in front of her, a situation that would prove easier to make do with rather than having them on either side of her. To have one man on either side of her would have left her more open to attack while here, she could focus her strength on both at a time, despite the difficulty in that tactic alone.
Both sea dogs were further irritated by her manuevering, now preparing themselves to strike with a little more vigor. Elizabeth eyed their body language warily, sensing their impending lunges and taking note of how they were hesitating. She was not, however, going to wait for them to make their move. Instead, she sprung forward, slashing at them both, never caring that it she was, in fact, outnumbered. Was she? She had fought a variety of creatures, most of which had attacked her all at once. Two angry men couldn't possibly be intimidating after charging into a rocking battlefield of fish-people. She needed action now. She needed to keep up the movement and the appropriate chaos of swordfighting if she hoped to make this as quick and easy as possible. Dear Elizabeth Turner had faced much stronger enemies than the duo she was now plagued with. Such sailors as these couldn't possibly be a fight more difficult than those she had already faced. But Mrs. Turner didn't think about that as she charged into combat, snarling like a vexed animal and glaring down her two opponents. Such simple brawls as these couldn't even be underestimated. Hadn't she been at the tips of many a sword whilst fighting beside a drunken Norrington? It had been a flourish of wit that had gotten her out of that mess unscathed. She doubted wit could do anything here, however. These men were here on business. Business meant business.
The two pirates now lunged together, forcing the woman to turn and twist and swing her sword about as though in some oddly elegent dance. Both hands gripped the hilt of her weapon, for it took as much to keep it steady against two blades wielded by two brawny men. Sure, Elizabeth had armed herself with a dagger, a second cutlass, and a pistol, but the flurry of two opponants on her at once was too much to allow her left hand to grasp such weaponry. When one wasn't striking, the other was. They did often falter, however, which ocasionally gave Elizabeth enough time to swing her sword forth. She had not the chance to get a good view of Barbossa's own fray, though could hear the clang of steel and the grunts of combat. Elizabeth had seen the Captain in battle and was well aware of his skills with a sword. Not only a sword, but the entirety of battle itself. She had seen him use his environment to his advantage, and with the speed and agility of a man half his age. Such knowledge of this only encouraged Elizabeth to fight with further gusto, grunting as she managed to punch one of the men square in the nose. After all that Barbossa had told her this day... after all that she had managed to convince herself... there was something of a need to prove herself with this fight. She had told herself she wasn't worthy of her title as Pirate Lord... or Pirate King, for that matter. She had been the Brethren's leader in the time of war and had even encouraged her men with a hearty speech in which she had quoted Barbossa himself. She had been bold and brazen in battle, as a king should be. But whilst wandering with the chest and contemplating her future, the woman had sought to convince herself otherwise. After all, a leadership you didn't deserve was that much easier to pass on without the slightest regret. Would it really be that easy for Mrs. Elizabeth Turner?
{ Bleh. Sorry about the lack of detail. It's been a while since I described a fray. I loooove the action of it all. I just wish I could portray it better. o.o So I'm sorry if it's difficult for you to take anything from this. xP; And yeah. Liz is making angry growling noises. I'm having a bad day so I guess that explains why. >< xP }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 2, 2007 19:41:19 GMT -5
Hector Barbossa was not impressed by the individual skills of his opponents. The leader, particularly, showed a sufficient lack of ability. Of the three, he was the strongest and most cunning with his weapon, but that in itself was not enough. He did not show a mastery of the broadsword, so much as a passable interest. He must practice and was probably very boastful in his abilities, but it was largely unwarranted. Battling with a broadsword required ample upper body strength and a firm grip. He used two hands to wield his sword, a giveaway that said he was not particularly strong.
As the leader of this disheveled crew, the broadsword wielding ruffian needed to dominate those under his command as far as ineptness in battle went. It was the way to ensure no one challenged his authority, and a way to boost morale. Watching the Captain of a crew battle was supposed to be something incredible, something intimidating and awe inspiring. Having common place abilities, or even marginally respectable abilities, simply wasn’t enough.
Elizabeth Turner had the skills to defend the title of Captain, even if she did not think she deserved it. Being bestowed the title in the manner, as Barbossa had been told, that she had was not the most flattering or honor filled of events, but there was no doubt in Sao Feng’s, or Barbossa’s, mind that she was a being worthy of the command of a ship. It was the silent ability each Pirate Lord carried within them: recognizing the skill in a pirate, a comrade or rival, that put them on the same level as the observer.
The other two pirates that joined their leader lunged with their weapons brandished, flanking Barbossa. He was not worried, swinging his sword wide to warn them of his strike range. He imagined it was the least he could do for them. They didn’t find the sentiment amusing, each attacking him with their own style, and each failing to land a blow. They bore similar weapons to their leader, their skills with it slightly less than his. Barbossa deflected their blows with his sword, spinning to parry one, then the other, moving without seeing his next steps. To win a fight against two people he did not rely on his sight alone, as any good tag team would know better than to fight him from the same direction. He was invariably going to have a blind spot. He counted on that blind spot, it giving him an exact location of attack, each time he shifted his defense to parry it he knew where the next attack would go.
He moved with the gentle rocking of the boat, the violence of their battle doing nothing to change the casual sway of the deck. He raised his sword to block a downward blow, the second battler directly behind him now that his sword was occupied. Barbossa jerked his free elbow back, smashing it directly into the advancing pirate’s nose. A yelp of surprise and a thud told him he had succeeded in breaking something. Following through with the motion, his movements liquid in their grace, he pulled his ready pistol from his belt and fired it into the remaining pirates chest. He did not even let out a gasp, his chest all but exploding, hitting the deck before the shot finished ringing.
Barbossa took a moment to watch Elizabeth battle, nodding in approval. He had the choice to go and help her, but she did not seem to need him. Being a man of loose morals, he took this brief lapse in his own battle to take mental notes on her ability. He often found himself in the same battles she was, without the opportunity to truly see her in action. Even now, he knew the leader of the pirate gang was planning some grand attack against him, but Barbossa was not too concerned. He returned his pistol to his belt, his blue eyes examining Elizabeth’s lithe female form as it danced through battle, vicious and poetic. It made him grin, something like respect reflecting in his gaze.
A click of a pistol caught his attention. He swaggered into a turn, his hand on his pistol while the other kept a firm grip on his sword. The leader had helped the man Barbossa had introduced to a broken nose up, and they were staring at him with petulant, enraged eyes. The leader had his pistol leveled at Barbossa, who was no where near as worried as the band of two would have liked.
“That ship you destroyed was mine, you bastard. My little brother, out on his first voyage. My crew,” the leader, now officially introduced as Captain, said through gritted teeth, “We found him crying in the wreckage. Everyone else was dead. You lived up to your reputation. One survivor. I’m going to avenge them all. I’m going to restore his honor.”
“Boy, you can’t restore what the sea had yet to bestow. Aye, I sent that ship to the bottom of the ocean. Come and return the favor then, whelp.”
Captain Hector Barbossa was hard to intimidate. The two pirates exchanged a look, realizing this, but both knew they could not back down now. In their moment of hesitance Barbossa was on the move, leaping sideways before coming at them, his arching path forcing the leader to re-aim his pistol. The Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea gave him no time to fire, his sword ringing as he brought it forward, slicing through the flesh of the remaining underling, who had nobly shoved his Captain out of the way. Honor among pirates was hard to come by these days, and the display warmed Barbossa’s bones. He turned the blade in his hand, the motion as natural as the second step in walking, and run it through the injured pirates chest. The man grunted, and died without a second thought from his murderer. Yanking his sword free from the new corpse, Barbossa turned all his attention to the leader.
It was like, for the suddenly scared young pirate, being at the base of a tidal wave. Barbossa’s anger bore down on him, drowning him, stealing the air from his lungs. He raised his pistol in one hand, the heavy broadsword in the other. Barbossa made no move, simply watching and waiting. For a moment he grew bored and glanced over his shoulder to check on Elizabeth, purposefully giving the other man room to attack him.
Both knew how it would end if he took that chance.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 2, 2007 20:22:00 GMT -5
Swish, swish. Clang, clang. The music of the swordfight was still an encouragement to the young Pirate King as she continued to defend herself against her duo of attackers. The scoundrels were becomming frustrated now, their motions more rough and haphazard, no longer planned and much more hurried. Perfect. The one with the bloodied nose made the first mistake. His footing became less sure and he stumbled forward to deliver his next attack. Elizabeth simply slid out of his way with but a single, agile step. He was unbalanced and still wobbling forward, leaving his back exposed and vulnerable to the lady's blade. Her scowl remained fierce and sure along her lips as she plunged the sword into the man's back, turning it slightly whilst still in the body to assure the damage to be deadly. He flopped to his knees with a groan and then to the deck, eyes vaccant and lost as they glazed over with his passing. Mrs. Turner would waste no time triumphing over this victory, however, and pulled her cutlass from the corpse's back to meet the angry blade of the other man who was still very much alive.
In truth, Elizabeth had never really thought about the grave notion of killing a man. In her small but booming experiences as a pirate, she had done her fair share of slicing and hacking at foes. Most of said foes, however, had been monsters uncapable of death. But there was no fear in her eyes as she fought her remaining opponent, whose eyes were wide in a mix of a baffled state and a frustrated fury. A woman in combat always had the certain advantage of surprise. What girl would wish to soil her hands with the blood of a man? Not many. Elizabeth Turner was always glad to provide their minds with a colorful exception. She managed to manuever her enemy against the rail, though he wasn't willing to be so easily cornered. His strength grew with his rage and he struck with stronger blows now, causing the Lord of the South China Sea to defend herself rather than attack. She clenched her jaw with her own frustration, simply wanting to end this and see to Barbossa's own position in all this sudden chaos. Why did they always have to make such an effort at the end?
Though her foe's strength had become vigorous, she was still able to use one hand with the loss of his buddy. So, with her left hand free, she parried the scoundrel's attacks whilst her palm searched the inside of her vest for her dagger. Her opponant's eyes were so focused in her own, he failed to notice as this subtle plan. With swords locked against each other and with eyes fixed into venemous glares, Elizabeth made her move. Her left hand struck, digging her dagger upwards into his chest cavity. Again, she twisted the weapon slightly to ensure results before retracting it from the warm flesh. His face had been one with an open mouth of surprise as he sunk to the floor, gasping for the breath that would never come. Elizabeth took no note of his expression, however, for she turned her eyes upon Barbossa and his own foe. Heh. And then there was one, eh?
The young woman returned to the dagger to her vest while she replaced it with the pistol from her belt. She prepared the flintlock but didn't use it, knowing well that this was Hector Barbossa's battle to finish. She made no move to approach the band's leader or Barbossa, in possibility that the man would shoot if her movement prevoked him. There was no hope for this lone survivor. She knew that as she stared at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. She bore no wild scowl or fierce expression besides such burning eyes, however, but simply stood with cutlass lowered in one hand and her pistol clutched in the other. She had recognized the slaughter of this man's comrades before she had fixed him with such a stern gaze, and couldn't help but find this almost casual. She had expected Barbossa to make quick work of his attackers. How could she expect anything else of him? She noticed the fear that was fresh and vivid in the rascals' leader as he stood with a hesitant demeanor - a demeanor that no longer marked him as any threat. Elizabeth felt sorry for him, as she managed to keep her glare menacing upon him in fear that he would spy her pity. She may have been ruthless in her own fight, but she was still the Governor's daughter. She was still sweet Elizabeth Swann beneath whatever name she used now. So she waited, pistol raising slightly in a temptation to end this right now. No. He was Barbossa's to finish. That had been known from the very start. But she did vocalize the obvious to this hopeless man, and in a voice stern and final. "It's over."
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 2, 2007 21:52:23 GMT -5
Nodding cryptically, Barbossa grinned at the show Elizabeth put on, the two bodies of her attackers hitting the deck with a melody well familiar, but never tiring, to the gruff buccaneer. Chuckling, he turned his attention back to the trembling ruffian, standing alone with his weapons too high to be any real threat. The barrel of a gun never worried Barbossa, despite having died at the business end of a gun shot. He felt he was somehow more knowledgeable now, and that no gun held any challenge in its design that he could not defeat.
His own pistol was the only gun he would be hesitant to duel against, as it had been a hard won tool. A Spanish pirate, whose name Barbossa had long since forgotten, had once owned the ornate gun, and when Barbossa had dueled him it had almost been the last weapon he ever raised sword against. His wits and skill had triumphed, despite being so much younger and inexperienced in those days, and the gun had become his own. It was a tool he trusted, reliable and fast, dangerous enough to keep Barbossa deadly and accurate beyond what his own seas had been producing at that time. He patted his hand against the wooden grip, smiling confidently.
Elizabeth was correct. The battle was over. The vain attempt at revenge was failed. The pitiful excuse for a sword fight was stopped before it really began. The breathing insults to piracy were ended. All but one. Barbossa batted around the idea of letting the man live, letting him lead a tortured existence as he tried desperately to piece together some semblance of meaning, every trace of his honor, reputation, and self respect shattered. It seemed malicious and cruel, something Barbossa could truly enjoy, but it contradicted his favorite option: slaughtering the weak ruthlessly, and leaving their corpses as examples. He doubted this was the entire crew, and those that remained would see the defeated body of their Captain and know better than to pick a fight with the Pearl.
“Ye mentioned,” Barbossa said casually, fixing his gaze on his opponent once more, “that I lived up to my reputation before. That I left your brother to be the only survivor. Truth be told, I fully expected him to die when I cast him from my ship. The cowardly sea pup looked about as buoyant as a stone. Thought he’d be as bad a swimmer as he was a sailor.” He watched the pirate seethe, his hands tightening on his weapons, his face paling as sheer force of will brought his body to stop trembling. Barbossa sheathed his sword, deliberately letting the steal sing against the cool leather, its song mocking.
Barbossa continued, enjoying the sound of his own voice, “Don’t worry, my young friend. I’ll grant you that mercy you wanted to believe I gave your brother.”
The remaining man finally ran out of patience. His fear collapsed into blind hatred, and he lunged at the man he had vowed revenge against, raising his broadsword high. Barbossa arched his eyebrows in surprise, noting how effortlessly the young pirate now seemed to wield his terrible weapon. Barbossa let him come, not drawing his sword. He jumped from the leader’s path, sidestepping around him and moving in. He got directly behind the less experienced captain, grabbing his arm and using his other arm as a lock under the leaders armpit and over his shoulder. Suddenly unable to move, the enraged pirate struggled against the Pirate Lord, but found he lacked the strength to break the immense grip of the older man.
Barbossa used his hold on the broadsword to turn the weapon against his opponent. He brought it down, twisting the useless arm, until the sword was pointing towards the deck. He then jabbed forward with the arm, sinking the edge of the sword deep into the young pirate’s leg, striking and most likely fracturing bone. The pirate howled in pain, and Barbossa pushed the sword deeper. The man’s screams of pain turned into a mixture of agony and panic as the broadsword found the flesh of his other leg. He couldn’t, at first, wrap his head around what had just happened. The violence of Barbossa’s strength. The torturous pain. The way his weight was suddenly unevenly distributed. He looked down and saw a severed leg on the deck, blood pooling beneath him. His blood. His leg. He gagged on his shock.
Barbossa shoved the man, as he had done the younger brother, over the edge of the ship, listening without looking for the satisfying splash as the body, dead or alive, hit the water. He looked at Elizabeth, his eyes grinning maliciously, the blood thirsty pirate still bubbling on the surface of his demeanor, while his face remained steely and intense.
“Well,” he said, his voice echoing his eyes, “maybe not the same mercy. Now, weren’t we discussing something?”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 3, 2007 14:31:38 GMT -5
{-dies- Ew. It's short. >< }
Elizabeth had figured, well into meeting him, that Barbossa was not a man to cross. Now, as she watched with steely eyes as their remaining foe was sliced of his leg, she was well reminded of the Captain's ability to be utterly merciless. But only when he wanted to be. There had been times when he had bestowed mercy unto his victims, she, at one point, being one of those poor, unfortunate souls. 'He's much like myself absent my merciful nature and sense of fair play.' Aye. That's what he had told her when they had been led to Sao Feng's bath house. She couldn't help but be reminded of the relpy as his eyes were upon her with that light in them that was almost frightening. She met his gaze and held it sternly, her chin tilting upwards in something of a reassurance to herself. He so easily returned to their conversation, as though nothing had happened. True, the fray hadn't been much of a challenge. But still, she had avert her gaze to her sword as she returned it to her belt. "Yes. Erm. Singapore," she replied, voice doing it's best to return to utmost calm.
The Pirate King's eyes finally returned to meet his stare again, much more confident as her voice, too, became stronger. It wasn't that the dismemberment of the man had shaken her. It was the bloody business of piracy and limbs were bound to be lost. No. It was the torture the man had been led through before he had been left to die. Sure, Barbossa could have ended it quickly. Elizabeth would've liked that. When you killed them quickly, they didn't suffer. You didn't suffer. There was little guilt and there was almost a sense of righteousness to such work. But when you tortured them. When you forced them to live while you slowly, steadily murdered them... it was cruel. Mrs. Turner knew well of Captain Barbossa's reputation. He was cruel. He was vicious. He was Captain of the Black Pearl. Hadn't it once been said that the Pearl's Captain was so evil that hell itself spat him back out? Now Elizabeth found evil to be a rather harsh word concerning the man, but there was obviously some reason as to how he had lead others to believe it. It was with fights like the last that he had left impressions enough to scar the mind. The man's ghastly screams still rang in the woman's ears, reminding her of the pain he had been forced through simply to die. Sorry, mate. He crossed Barbossa. It was his own fault, she supposed... though somewhat reluctantly. What a lovely way to be welcomed back aboard the Black Pearl.
She dropped her stare as she returned her pistol to her affects and walked to where she had left the Dead Man's Chest. It had been jostled from where she had originally placed it, but it was still whole and unscathed upon the deck. It was comforting, to return it to her arms and feel the surreal heartbeat of her beloved. She simply held it for a moment, eyes traveling over its intricate surface before turning towards Barbossa again. She carried herself with calm confidence, ridding her mind of the shaken thoughts she knew would only ruin her if she thought too deeply of them. This was life. Besides, she still had business to take care of. "Shall we set course for it, then? Or are you still waiting for an end in this bargain?" She had dropped her doubts concerning Singapore. Even though she was still unsure as to the city's present state, it wouldn't hurt to give it a look. Perhaps they would find the successor to her Lordship. Aye. Perhaps. Elizabeth just wanted to set sail. She wanted to get out of Tortuga and begin the venture she had come here for. No more interruptions. No more arguments. It was time to get this done.
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