Post by Harmeet on Aug 9, 2008 21:44:20 GMT -5
As you can see above, I'm immortal. Got it? I should probably be telling you my past. Well, here it goes.
I was born into piracy. My father the first mate on the Flying Pheonix. The Captain? Hector Barbossa. My father, Joseph Crawshell, died in battle. I was maybe 17 at the time. They told me he was stabbed in the heart. He died quickly and only suffered a moment...I highly doubt that. He was a wanted man. Many wanted him to suffer before his last breath.
Many the crew Barbossa wasn't willing to trust, therefor granting me position of First Mate. We sailed and adventured for many a year. Possible 9 or so. After the 9 years we found the fabled Aqua de Vida. Barbossa was already getting old. 51, more or less. He drank right away, content with his age. I wasn't. I took me old rum bottle and filled it to the brim. I'd die when I'd die, I'd live til near death.
Ol' Barbs lost interest in his crew, including me and his prized ship. He found a new begloried item. The Black Pearl. He left possesion of the Pheonix to me.
I was rutheless. Some would say I had no heart, I had one. Just no use for it's love. Everyone I ever cared for left me. My father, me siblings for the high seas, I even sort of tore apart when Barbossa left. You could call me a schemer.
Being just that, I crossed the Flying Dutchman about to die. Remember what I said? "I die when I die, I live til near death." I was near death, then I drank Youth. Davy found me and threatened to send me to the locker. Many were ignorant to his pain. Maybe some weren't but were helpless. I could help, with the sweet, sweet smell of cruel revenge...On Davy's behalf, of course!
He granted me back the Pheonix...Only gave me me prime crew members but that wasn't too hard. I had to get to the Brethren. In their time of need, no one had an adelecent clue...They were very easy to persuade. I convinced them it was Calypso to cause their problems, Calypso to sink their ships, Calypso to seduce the reluctant victims. I simply said "To capture her!"
Point is, I played a big part in all this. She said, she said, she said, I said. That was all of 538 years ago. How I spent my time? Pillaging and plunging and running. See...I sorta told Davy it would make Calypso's imprisonment permanent if her curse remained pernament. That's how Davy carved his heart out. He's had the warrant out for me ever since...Yeah, he hate me. GET IN LINE, DAVY!
It weren't till after the 4th Brethren meeting and war when he survived and lived (undeadly?) through the impossible hell. No! Scratch that! Lord Cutler Beckett made Hell shiver.
My ship was hit by a missed miscellanious cannon. My ship blew into a thousand and three pieces of rubbish...I think I was possibly the only living piece of rubbish.
Jones took me in...Into his brig! I found within the first 48 hours my hair turned to seaweed and the bridge of my nose and cheecks were dusted with barnacles and black heads. I was alone in my brig. My mouth didn't move. After hearing my language, I doubt anyone would want me to live.
Except for Maccus. I still havn't a clue on what he does! Brig master, maybe? I think coxswain. He always mentions the navigation course or other relations. Oh! Isn't he dreamy? Gawd! ...Hey! No puek! But I shall write on!!!
For an odd reason they decided to put me in a brig with a guest. I only wish the guest were AWAKE and was INTERESTING and had FLESH! Well, King Jack of the Pumpkin Patch left me a little present! (And I don't mean the buzzards and dried vomit) I used his bow and arrows and made a game out of it! It was called "Shoot anything that moved" and hope for a response! It didn't last long...They got ticked and maybe on the third round didn't give my arrows back. One didn't even bother to take it out of his skull.
I got the nick of Maccus's ankle. I couldn't make out his expression. Damn, I would've paid many a shilling for satisfaction on my face and agony on a victim. "What's yer name!?" The voice shouted.
I didn't give an arse. I never had much to lose (except love? But that was already long gone). "You'll find it up your arse and around the corner. Next question!"
His heavy footsteps rounded the cage. I was already in my seperate hell he could do no harm. I rather hear that sound of the brazen bell be rung for me than give a hint of my existance. I was dead. I've been dead I don't want to LIVE but what a choice I have. He walked near and I let my tricorn skim my face.
"Now what's your name," commanded the grave voice. I tilted my hat up to reveal my eyes, but did not bother to raise my eyes nor even my nose.
"Harmony Crayshell."
Maccus presumably gave a pathetic snort of a chuckle. "You ain't neva getting respect with that name."
"I don't believe you should accommodate...What, exactly?"
"How about Harmeet?" His voice was notably softer, (like butter on pavement and Pray to my father's grave I don't puek again!-) the next sound I heard was the clank of an arrow on the floor. He dragged his mop along and continued down the hall. As soon as I felt his presence and undead soul gone I extended my hand along the planks and to my arrow. That's right, my arrow! The sire's dead, the dead don't own anything, THAT'S A FACT!
The planks felt smooth, unlike before. I think I even felt a pulse under the boards. I claimed my arrow and tasted the scent of the metallica of blood. Least he has a heart was my first real thought of him.
And hence, my story and how I am in my cell of hell. And by the way, I don't give a rat's ass about this sweet sappy depressed story just GET ME THE HELL OUTTA HERE!
I was born into piracy. My father the first mate on the Flying Pheonix. The Captain? Hector Barbossa. My father, Joseph Crawshell, died in battle. I was maybe 17 at the time. They told me he was stabbed in the heart. He died quickly and only suffered a moment...I highly doubt that. He was a wanted man. Many wanted him to suffer before his last breath.
Many the crew Barbossa wasn't willing to trust, therefor granting me position of First Mate. We sailed and adventured for many a year. Possible 9 or so. After the 9 years we found the fabled Aqua de Vida. Barbossa was already getting old. 51, more or less. He drank right away, content with his age. I wasn't. I took me old rum bottle and filled it to the brim. I'd die when I'd die, I'd live til near death.
Ol' Barbs lost interest in his crew, including me and his prized ship. He found a new begloried item. The Black Pearl. He left possesion of the Pheonix to me.
I was rutheless. Some would say I had no heart, I had one. Just no use for it's love. Everyone I ever cared for left me. My father, me siblings for the high seas, I even sort of tore apart when Barbossa left. You could call me a schemer.
Being just that, I crossed the Flying Dutchman about to die. Remember what I said? "I die when I die, I live til near death." I was near death, then I drank Youth. Davy found me and threatened to send me to the locker. Many were ignorant to his pain. Maybe some weren't but were helpless. I could help, with the sweet, sweet smell of cruel revenge...On Davy's behalf, of course!
He granted me back the Pheonix...Only gave me me prime crew members but that wasn't too hard. I had to get to the Brethren. In their time of need, no one had an adelecent clue...They were very easy to persuade. I convinced them it was Calypso to cause their problems, Calypso to sink their ships, Calypso to seduce the reluctant victims. I simply said "To capture her!"
Point is, I played a big part in all this. She said, she said, she said, I said. That was all of 538 years ago. How I spent my time? Pillaging and plunging and running. See...I sorta told Davy it would make Calypso's imprisonment permanent if her curse remained pernament. That's how Davy carved his heart out. He's had the warrant out for me ever since...Yeah, he hate me. GET IN LINE, DAVY!
It weren't till after the 4th Brethren meeting and war when he survived and lived (undeadly?) through the impossible hell. No! Scratch that! Lord Cutler Beckett made Hell shiver.
My ship was hit by a missed miscellanious cannon. My ship blew into a thousand and three pieces of rubbish...I think I was possibly the only living piece of rubbish.
Jones took me in...Into his brig! I found within the first 48 hours my hair turned to seaweed and the bridge of my nose and cheecks were dusted with barnacles and black heads. I was alone in my brig. My mouth didn't move. After hearing my language, I doubt anyone would want me to live.
Except for Maccus. I still havn't a clue on what he does! Brig master, maybe? I think coxswain. He always mentions the navigation course or other relations. Oh! Isn't he dreamy? Gawd! ...Hey! No puek! But I shall write on!!!
Meeting Number One
For an odd reason they decided to put me in a brig with a guest. I only wish the guest were AWAKE and was INTERESTING and had FLESH! Well, King Jack of the Pumpkin Patch left me a little present! (And I don't mean the buzzards and dried vomit) I used his bow and arrows and made a game out of it! It was called "Shoot anything that moved" and hope for a response! It didn't last long...They got ticked and maybe on the third round didn't give my arrows back. One didn't even bother to take it out of his skull.
I got the nick of Maccus's ankle. I couldn't make out his expression. Damn, I would've paid many a shilling for satisfaction on my face and agony on a victim. "What's yer name!?" The voice shouted.
I didn't give an arse. I never had much to lose (except love? But that was already long gone). "You'll find it up your arse and around the corner. Next question!"
His heavy footsteps rounded the cage. I was already in my seperate hell he could do no harm. I rather hear that sound of the brazen bell be rung for me than give a hint of my existance. I was dead. I've been dead I don't want to LIVE but what a choice I have. He walked near and I let my tricorn skim my face.
"Now what's your name," commanded the grave voice. I tilted my hat up to reveal my eyes, but did not bother to raise my eyes nor even my nose.
"Harmony Crayshell."
Maccus presumably gave a pathetic snort of a chuckle. "You ain't neva getting respect with that name."
"I don't believe you should accommodate...What, exactly?"
"How about Harmeet?" His voice was notably softer, (like butter on pavement and Pray to my father's grave I don't puek again!-) the next sound I heard was the clank of an arrow on the floor. He dragged his mop along and continued down the hall. As soon as I felt his presence and undead soul gone I extended my hand along the planks and to my arrow. That's right, my arrow! The sire's dead, the dead don't own anything, THAT'S A FACT!
The planks felt smooth, unlike before. I think I even felt a pulse under the boards. I claimed my arrow and tasted the scent of the metallica of blood. Least he has a heart was my first real thought of him.
And hence, my story and how I am in my cell of hell. And by the way, I don't give a rat's ass about this sweet sappy depressed story just GET ME THE HELL OUTTA HERE!