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wickedwordstitle: Barbary Corsair
author: rachael sabotini
disclaimer: Just borrowing the girls for a bit. I don't own them, and I make no profit from any of this.
Rating: Let's call it PG-13.
Pairing: Anamaria/Elizabeth - ish
Archive: Just drop me a line if you'd like to archive it. Thanks!
Notes: : Many thanks to the Magic Treehouse Reseach Guide on Pirates, which we just happened to have lying around the house. And to the IMDB for providing me the crewmen's names. Couldn't have done it without you. This started as an idea for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pirates500 first times challenge, but it grew beyond the word limit and lost the first time somewhere along the way. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
movies_michelle was kind enough to do the beta for me once I decided to officially post. Final edit done on July 29, 2003.
summary: Anamaria waits.
word count: 1300 or so
Standing at the helm, Anamaria waits. She holds the ship steady, no matter what vagaries the current throws at her, or where the ship herself wishes to go. She smiles as the ship tries her strength, and Anamaria keeps to her course. She loves the battle of wills that faces her every time she's at the helm.
The blood of three generations of Barbary Corsair flows through her, a demon of the Barbary Coast. The sails snap in the morning air, wind steady south-by-southwest, and the ship struggles slightly to keep the pace that Anamaria demands of it.
A near-sexual frisson of heat flows over her, as she demands the ship turn; she loves the struggle to make the ship obey her, while the wind and the sea try to snap The Black Pearl away. She doesn't think she could ever leave the sea, but she knows that some day, she will have the money she wants to return to the Barbary Coast. She loves her freedom too much to live long on Tortuga, with its cheap rum and cheaper men. Money speaks stronger than laws in the Barbary States, and if she could afford it, she'd set herself up as the head of a family there, with her own ship and a wife to come home to, perhaps one with a few children already in tow. Good strong girls who would prefer life at sea to grubbing in the dust, trying to make plants grow.
Her gaze drifts from the set of the sails to the main deck and Elizabeth Swann. There was a girl who should have gone to sea, just as Anamaria had. She watches as Elizabeth works with Gibbs on the proper way to hold a knife, and how to use it for combat, though not a one of the crew was willing to teach her to use a sword.
The girl is awkward in her elegant dress. The beautiful, lace-bedecked gown bunches up, preventing a full extension of her arm with any sort of speed or power; the knife is easily taken from her grasp. Elizabeth is shoved to the ground, knocking over the bucket that Crimp was using to swab the deck. She gets up and takes the same position, but Gibbs is done. He catches Anamaria's eye and shakes his head -- if he'd had a choice, he wouldn't train her to be a part of the crew. But Captain Jack had said 'teach her,' so teach her they will -- as begrudgingly and as slow-wittedly as they possibly could.
Anamaria forces her hands to relax as they grip the wheel; she can't let her focus stray too much as she steers the ship. Still, she feels a burning within her to go down and take the blade from Gibbs, to teach the girl herself and have done with it.
The crew would let her. They know her and respect her skill at the helm, and with a blade. But she is the only woman they respect, as far as she knows, and Captain Jack decreed that Anamaria was too hot-tempered to work with Elizabeth, his eyes flashing as he said it.
He knew her preferences, as she knew his. It was an open secret that they shared.
Elizabeth gets up and tries again, but slips in the water getting up, ending up sprawled on her ass.
She reddens as the men roar with laughter, the set of her shoulders now set at the haughty angle of a Governor's daughter, rather than a member of the crew. She looks defeated and broken, the same as any village headman's wife.
Abruptly, Anamaria calls to Cotton, "Take the wheel." He grabs it and his parrot squawks, "Fine day, me lads, fine day." She ignores the comment and stalks down to the main deck, boots clattering hard against the wood. Elizabeth is focused on getting up again and doesn't appear to notice her coming.
Anamaria grabs the girl's wrist, takes the knife, and pulls her round; Elizabeth doesn't even struggle, surrendering the blade calmly. "You need different clothes," Anamaria says, seeing the disappointment in Elizabeth's eyes. "That's all. You can try again once you've changed."
Elizabeth jerks her wrist back and rubs at the red spots that Anamaria's fingers had left. "This is the only dress I have." Her voice is condescending and proper, a young girl knowing her place.
Anamaria's stomach tightens into a ball, hearing in that all the times this girl must have been told to stay home and be proper. Not to climb trees or get dirty. All of the anger within her explodes. "You don't need a dress, woman. You need breeches," she says as she grabs at the lace on the dress's sleeve, tearing it off. "You need a shirt, a coat, and boots. Not this frilly frippery." She tosses the lace to the deck in disgust. "Not if you want the men to treat you like one of them."
Elizabeth is looking wild and frightened; the men have taken a pace back. Not a one of them has gone for the Captain, though; they are waiting to see what will happen, what Anamaria's temper will do.
Part of her wants to go further than tearing the lace from the dress. Elizabeth's white skin beckons to her; it's softness demanding touch. Her breathing is ragged and Anamaria determinedly slows herself down. She can do this. She can master this. She can teach the girl herself.
She tosses the knife so it sticks in the decking, then she folds her arms across her chest, her heart hammering away. "Those clothes you're in were designed for a doll. Something to be dressed up and on display at all times. You need clothes you can work in if you're going ta live aboard ship."
Elizabeth stares at her uncomprehendingly. Her face shines with sweat, and the edges of her hair are plastered around her face. She is breathing hard -- god, in that corset how could she breathe? -- but she is no longer rubbing her wrist.
"You are no doll, Elizabeth." Anamaria holds out her arms, showing that she had no weapon. "Dress like the men and they treat you like one. Dress like a china doll, and they think that you'll break." She raises her eyebrows slightly. "You won't break, will you, my girl?"
She can see the wheels turning in Elizabeth's mind. Sees her taking in the men staring at them, their fear scenting the morning air. She runs her hands down her ruined sleeve and picks up the lace at her feet, twisting it between her fingers. Kneeling on the deck, she looks up at Anamaria, and back to the crew again. The pieces appear to slip into place -- she is a bright girl, after all -- and her mouth forms a little 'oh'.
The men respect what they fear, what they cannot predict. Another secret Anamaria and Jack Sparrow share.
Elizabeth throws her shoulders back and carefully stands; she does not fall this time. She sweeps her long hair away from her face, shaking her head so that it falls back behind her. Her eyes are wide, true, but she no longer looks like a young deer waiting for the hunter to strike. She takes a deep breath and holds it, then takes one again. "I have never owned a pair of breeches in my life. The only pair I've ever worn were the ones lent me on the Dauntless."
Her voice trembles, and Anamaria wants to laugh; this feels like winning a battle with the sea. "I'm sure I can find you something." She turns and the girl follows her, the men breaking out into murmurs behind them. Ship's gossip will have them doing more than searching through stores, no doubt, not that Anamaria minds. Someday, Elizabeth might be willing, and the night would be all the sweeter for that. But for now, she will teach Elizabeth piracy, and watch her heart turn black.
Black as a Barbary Corsair.
author: rachael sabotini
disclaimer: Just borrowing the girls for a bit. I don't own them, and I make no profit from any of this.
Rating: Let's call it PG-13.
Pairing: Anamaria/Elizabeth - ish
Archive: Just drop me a line if you'd like to archive it. Thanks!
Notes: : Many thanks to the Magic Treehouse Reseach Guide on Pirates, which we just happened to have lying around the house. And to the IMDB for providing me the crewmen's names. Couldn't have done it without you. This started as an idea for the
pirates500 first times challenge, but it grew beyond the word limit and lost the first time somewhere along the way. movies_michelle was kind enough to do the beta for me once I decided to officially post. Final edit done on July 29, 2003.summary: Anamaria waits.
word count: 1300 or so
Standing at the helm, Anamaria waits. She holds the ship steady, no matter what vagaries the current throws at her, or where the ship herself wishes to go. She smiles as the ship tries her strength, and Anamaria keeps to her course. She loves the battle of wills that faces her every time she's at the helm.
The blood of three generations of Barbary Corsair flows through her, a demon of the Barbary Coast. The sails snap in the morning air, wind steady south-by-southwest, and the ship struggles slightly to keep the pace that Anamaria demands of it.
A near-sexual frisson of heat flows over her, as she demands the ship turn; she loves the struggle to make the ship obey her, while the wind and the sea try to snap The Black Pearl away. She doesn't think she could ever leave the sea, but she knows that some day, she will have the money she wants to return to the Barbary Coast. She loves her freedom too much to live long on Tortuga, with its cheap rum and cheaper men. Money speaks stronger than laws in the Barbary States, and if she could afford it, she'd set herself up as the head of a family there, with her own ship and a wife to come home to, perhaps one with a few children already in tow. Good strong girls who would prefer life at sea to grubbing in the dust, trying to make plants grow.
Her gaze drifts from the set of the sails to the main deck and Elizabeth Swann. There was a girl who should have gone to sea, just as Anamaria had. She watches as Elizabeth works with Gibbs on the proper way to hold a knife, and how to use it for combat, though not a one of the crew was willing to teach her to use a sword.
The girl is awkward in her elegant dress. The beautiful, lace-bedecked gown bunches up, preventing a full extension of her arm with any sort of speed or power; the knife is easily taken from her grasp. Elizabeth is shoved to the ground, knocking over the bucket that Crimp was using to swab the deck. She gets up and takes the same position, but Gibbs is done. He catches Anamaria's eye and shakes his head -- if he'd had a choice, he wouldn't train her to be a part of the crew. But Captain Jack had said 'teach her,' so teach her they will -- as begrudgingly and as slow-wittedly as they possibly could.
Anamaria forces her hands to relax as they grip the wheel; she can't let her focus stray too much as she steers the ship. Still, she feels a burning within her to go down and take the blade from Gibbs, to teach the girl herself and have done with it.
The crew would let her. They know her and respect her skill at the helm, and with a blade. But she is the only woman they respect, as far as she knows, and Captain Jack decreed that Anamaria was too hot-tempered to work with Elizabeth, his eyes flashing as he said it.
He knew her preferences, as she knew his. It was an open secret that they shared.
Elizabeth gets up and tries again, but slips in the water getting up, ending up sprawled on her ass.
She reddens as the men roar with laughter, the set of her shoulders now set at the haughty angle of a Governor's daughter, rather than a member of the crew. She looks defeated and broken, the same as any village headman's wife.
Abruptly, Anamaria calls to Cotton, "Take the wheel." He grabs it and his parrot squawks, "Fine day, me lads, fine day." She ignores the comment and stalks down to the main deck, boots clattering hard against the wood. Elizabeth is focused on getting up again and doesn't appear to notice her coming.
Anamaria grabs the girl's wrist, takes the knife, and pulls her round; Elizabeth doesn't even struggle, surrendering the blade calmly. "You need different clothes," Anamaria says, seeing the disappointment in Elizabeth's eyes. "That's all. You can try again once you've changed."
Elizabeth jerks her wrist back and rubs at the red spots that Anamaria's fingers had left. "This is the only dress I have." Her voice is condescending and proper, a young girl knowing her place.
Anamaria's stomach tightens into a ball, hearing in that all the times this girl must have been told to stay home and be proper. Not to climb trees or get dirty. All of the anger within her explodes. "You don't need a dress, woman. You need breeches," she says as she grabs at the lace on the dress's sleeve, tearing it off. "You need a shirt, a coat, and boots. Not this frilly frippery." She tosses the lace to the deck in disgust. "Not if you want the men to treat you like one of them."
Elizabeth is looking wild and frightened; the men have taken a pace back. Not a one of them has gone for the Captain, though; they are waiting to see what will happen, what Anamaria's temper will do.
Part of her wants to go further than tearing the lace from the dress. Elizabeth's white skin beckons to her; it's softness demanding touch. Her breathing is ragged and Anamaria determinedly slows herself down. She can do this. She can master this. She can teach the girl herself.
She tosses the knife so it sticks in the decking, then she folds her arms across her chest, her heart hammering away. "Those clothes you're in were designed for a doll. Something to be dressed up and on display at all times. You need clothes you can work in if you're going ta live aboard ship."
Elizabeth stares at her uncomprehendingly. Her face shines with sweat, and the edges of her hair are plastered around her face. She is breathing hard -- god, in that corset how could she breathe? -- but she is no longer rubbing her wrist.
"You are no doll, Elizabeth." Anamaria holds out her arms, showing that she had no weapon. "Dress like the men and they treat you like one. Dress like a china doll, and they think that you'll break." She raises her eyebrows slightly. "You won't break, will you, my girl?"
She can see the wheels turning in Elizabeth's mind. Sees her taking in the men staring at them, their fear scenting the morning air. She runs her hands down her ruined sleeve and picks up the lace at her feet, twisting it between her fingers. Kneeling on the deck, she looks up at Anamaria, and back to the crew again. The pieces appear to slip into place -- she is a bright girl, after all -- and her mouth forms a little 'oh'.
The men respect what they fear, what they cannot predict. Another secret Anamaria and Jack Sparrow share.
Elizabeth throws her shoulders back and carefully stands; she does not fall this time. She sweeps her long hair away from her face, shaking her head so that it falls back behind her. Her eyes are wide, true, but she no longer looks like a young deer waiting for the hunter to strike. She takes a deep breath and holds it, then takes one again. "I have never owned a pair of breeches in my life. The only pair I've ever worn were the ones lent me on the Dauntless."
Her voice trembles, and Anamaria wants to laugh; this feels like winning a battle with the sea. "I'm sure I can find you something." She turns and the girl follows her, the men breaking out into murmurs behind them. Ship's gossip will have them doing more than searching through stores, no doubt, not that Anamaria minds. Someday, Elizabeth might be willing, and the night would be all the sweeter for that. But for now, she will teach Elizabeth piracy, and watch her heart turn black.
Black as a Barbary Corsair.
