like a steel knife in my windpipe { open ! }

[JEZEBELLE PAULET]

( JUST GONNA STAND THERE, )

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❝ AND WATCH ME BURN. THAT'S ALRIGHT; I LIKE THE WAY IT HURTS. ❞[/color][/font]
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T

[/color]wo and a half years. Two and a half years since she'd said her goodbyes to Tortuga and ended up in Port Royal. Did she miss the whore-filled pirate haven? In a way, yes. She'd grown up there, born and bred, quite literally, in the same brothel where she'd spent her childhood, surrounded by depravity. Had it warped her, made her odd or twisted somehow? Most likely, but she didn't know and nor did she care. She'd known no other childhood and it had been perfectly normal to her. Indeed, it had stolen her innocence at a young age, taught her different values to other children, and removed any shred of moral fibre from her being. It had made her who she was, and perhaps that was why she missed the damn place.

P[/color]art of her wanted to go back there. After all, she didn't have to pretend in Tortuga. She didn't have to live a lie. She didn't have to be Jezebelle Paulet - she could be herself. Jezebelle Blackwood. A pirate's daughter, a whore's child, and damned proud of it. Or something along those lines at any rate. She'd never been all too proud of her paternal lineage, but if it came down to it, she'd defend it to the last. But, no, in Port Royal, she lived a lie. Some of the time. She was a barmaid, and no one really asked her lifestory. Thank God. No, they were more interested in her looks, ad other far filthier things. Wandering hands of those men who had had a few too many were as close to her core as a conversation got. Not that she minded. She was used to it now.

I[/color]t was late, growing dark, and Jezie was well aware that her bedtime was only mere hours away. She could hardly wait. It felt as if she had been run off her feet all day, which she didn't mind, but now it had gone quiet. Men wandering back to their homes and families, or to their respective ships. There were only a handful of men, and the usual rowdy banter was missing. She was decidedly bored, and the minutes were dragging. She stood leant against the bar, rag in hand, drying the tankards and glasses which she had just washed absentmindedly. Over and over she wiped the towel over the pewter of the tankard as she reminisced. She often wondered if she had waited for her father to return to Tortuga if her like would have been better, living out little fantasies of possible futures. Such a day-dreamer, but sometimes it was better than anything else that was going on.

W[/color]ith a sigh, she placed the now utterly dry tankard back on te shelf it belonged on and threw the rag over her shoulder, feeling the moist cloth against her skin. She leant forward over the bartop, resting her elbows on the counter. Her chin fit neatly in her right palm as she stared out of the small window that looked out onto Port Royal. It was so grimy, had obviously not been cleaned for a while, and she could only make out the lights through the filthy glass. Perhaps she would take a short walk, take in some air if the night remained so boring. That might help...
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( JUST GONNA STAND THERE, )

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❝ AND HEAR ME CRY. THAT'S ALRIGHT; I LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE. ❞[/color][/font][/center]

[TIMOTHY ACKERMAN]

The night was chilly and stiff , his breath coiling in front of his nose like a ghostly snake. Eyes watering, he pushed open the rickety door to the Whale and Waterspout.

A low fire glowed on the far side of the room and Tim desired the comfort and warmth it offered, but having a place to sleep was more important than being comfortable. He still hadn't received his ship assignment despite having filled out all the appropriate paperwork, and he 'wasn't yet an active member of the Royal Navy'; so, they kicked him out of military housing in Port Royal as well. Thankfully, he had some extra change in his back pocket which would buy him a night before he had to ask to stay with someone else.

The place was nearly deserted, the hour late and the patrons all tired and cold, staring at him with weary eyes as they talked quietly to their neighbor and lounged in their rickety chairs. The only person who seemed to be at work was a very young girl who was drying a mug with a far away look on her face. Her gaze was centered on a grimy window, and he wondered at her concentration. The only thing that could be seen were a few men leading their horses to a stable and a mother hurriedly racing down the lane with a screaming child in her arms. What did she see there in that window that he did not?

By the time he thought this, she had stopped drying and was leaning against the counter top, her eyes glazed and her body curved in a strange, relaxed arc. He didn't really want to disturb her, but it looked like she was the only one to talk to about a room. With an inaudible sigh, he pulled his coat closer around him and walked up to her.

"Ma'am? Excuse me; I'm looking to find a room, if you've got any," he said, his voice thin and almost loud in the lethargic atmosphere. A man a few feet away turned a beady eye at him that seemed neutral and disapproving all at once. He tried to lower his voice while still remaining clear enough to be heard. "And if you haven't, is there some other place where a man could stay the night that won't cost him his wages for an entire year?"