another s t o r y ; [ anya ]

[William Turner]

Souls. There were so many of them. Why so many people died at sea would have been a questionable thing to Will, if he had been caught a few years back. Now he knew of plundering, of the incessant cannon fire that sounded like drums; the clashing and ringing of swords; the cries of the dying; like the foulest instrumental. To ferry all of them was a difficult thing, the ship filled with souls along with his crew. Walking amongst souls sent a cold, shivering feeling to his personage, made goosebumps erupt onto his skin and the hairs of his neck stand on end, and Will was already (somewhat) dead. In a moment of previous selfishness he had considered taking Elizabeth with him, but now that he knew that walking with the spirits of the dead was such an unpleasant experience, he was thankful that he didn't. It would have driven her mad, and driven her away from him.

If he had a heart in his chest, it would be beating incessantly like a warning drum to signal war. Imagining Elizabeth wrenched from his grip was like a stab to his chest, and Will knew what a stab to the chest felt like. He shook his head, though, getting the feeling out of his head, and as he sailed through the sea of the dead he thought of other things. The souls were walking about, talking animatedly, and Will found a small smile appear on his face. It was bizarre, sailing back and forth from one place to the next, from one island to Fiddler's Green. He'd always thought being a pirate captain would entail adventure, but this was nothing. There were so many souls, so many people, neglected by Davy Jones, his predecessor. Will hadn't thought anyone could be capable of ignoring a thousand screaming voices, but the cursed man had always surprised him with something new. He hadn't thought anyone could be part sea creature, too, after all.

The Netherworld was less illustrious and breathtaking as the seas of the Caribbean. It was like a stretch of water, literally. And yet here Will was, doing his job like a good man, making up for lost time. How many souls he'd rescued from their swimming in the waters, from their getting lost on longboats without a ship to follow, Will wasn't sure. Time blurred in this world, seconds bleeding into minutes, minutes into hours, and on and on. Will couldn't tell if he'd been here a day or a week. Though the sun came up and came down, he paid no attention to it. His sleep patterns were irregular, Will always trying to stretch the limits of his mind in a fit of duty. He did not grow up getting ready for this job. He grew up to be a blacksmith. What were the expectations? What did he have to do? Will paced the deck more often than before, or at least tried, considering the Dutchman was cramped with a number of people whose lives had been lost, and it was only the voice of his father that brought him out of his reverie - that assured him that he was doing just fine.

But how would he know? Who could give him pointers? Will hardly believed Calypso could randomly swoop over and give him a handbook on being the captain of a legendary ghost ship. It wasn't that simple. His life was never that simple. And now, so was his afterlife. It was almost a laughable matter, that his soul would never find peace. Will didn't even know about what he could do.

He didn't know anything.

He didn't even know how Elizabeth was doing, and Elizabeth was supposed to be the woman he loved most.

How is it that you always end up thinking about Elizabeth, Captain Turner?

[/color] his mind declared, and Will mustered a small sort of smile to calm himself down before finally stopping in front of Fiddler's Green; the proverbial heaven for the souls who needed rest. He watched as each being got off the ship and off the longboats, some turning back to wave at him to thank him for the trip, some walking without any hesitation. Part of him longed to join them, to finally find peace, but he knew that it would be impossible. Turning back to face his crew, getting ready for the next voyage, Will paused. Would it hurt to check on her, on Elizabeth, who never left his thoughts in the first place? He wasn't sure. But, definitely, a short break from the Netherworld wouldn't be too awful.

"Let's change our course,"[/color] Will said, voice carrying throughout the ship. "Short trip to Port Royal for supplies! Ask my father for any clothes you might need for blending in. The rum is gone, after all."[/color] With a cheer, the crew set sail, and the familiar sight of the sun beginning to set alerted Will to make the ship move underwater. In a moment of nostalgia, he remembered when Jack had made him do this for the first time, and a brief fluttering of his heart ensued. How he missed the friends he'd made.

Submerging, it was a few heartbeats before the Dutchman surfaced into the world of the living. They set sail for Port Royal, then, and with the speed of the ship and Will's perfect bearings at sea, they were there well before noon. They did not dock by the port, as that would bring too much attention, but by a cliff; one that, Will recalled, Jack had jumped off of when he'd saved him from being hanged. Sending longboats, he watched as some of his crew members, thoroughly cleaned up and disguised, left the ship. He would have to wait for all of them to be gone before he could get the Dutchman underwater again, most especially the longboat that held his father, who was to check on Elizabeth. Will was convinced that the Dutchman would not be noticed, but then again, his luck had never really been good to begin with.

this post is 1,015 words long, and was written for anya with the song secrets by one republic

[/color] in the background. please take note that crappy post is crappy and rambly. ): but it's also will's first ic post![/color][/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]

[Anya Savicheva]

When Anya had first arrived to the Caribbean islands many months ago, fresh and naïve, she believed that her life far from Russia would be arduous and inauspicious. After settling herself as well as she had in Moscow, what chance did she have in an unfamiliar place like Port Royal? It had been a rather quick decision to leave: Her having absolutely no idea if she would ever find a ship to join. All she had were rumors from sailors that had sailed from the end of the world and back. According to them, Port Royal had its fair share of run ins with pirates. To Anya, that was enough to sway her into leaving.

Now that she was here, however, she began to notice how many more pompous English imperialists inhabited the island than pirates did. Now there was speak of an island near by, Tortuga, where the pirates were rumored to make port. But you could only really get there if you were sailing with pirates. So, Anya was stuck. It was life as it was back in Moscow, reduced to whatever she could manage to steal without getting caught. She was better at it than she had expected; but, this wasn’t the life she had pined for. While plundering was very much a huge part of a pirate’s life, it wasn’t the same as being a street rat. Becoming rather discouraged as of late, Anya had begun to avoid the city of Port Royal and wandering the rest of the island to see what she could find. What she secretly hoped was to find a place where all the pirates she had heard of were hiding out, tucked away from peering eyes. How likely was that, though?

Well, perhaps more likely than she thought, she began to realize as her doubts were somewhat dampened by the hurried approach of a massive ship, arising from the water from its submerged state. It was a rather amazing sight, one that she had never witnessed in her rather short-lived existence. It seemed much too spectacular to actually be real. To Anya, she had to either be dreaming or extremely drunk. After a pinch and remembering that she hadn’t had the chance to touch vodka in such a long time, though, she realized that perhaps it was a real sight.

Or, she could have been ill… or dying. Those were very likely possibilities also.

Anya stuck close to the hardened earth wall at the base of a cliff as the ship brought itself into port and anchored. She waited a long while, watching and waiting, as the crew onboard moved about the deck, doing their various tasks before each one of them left the ship and heading off toward the distance as a single man led the way. It could have been assumed that he was the captain; but, what did she know about this protocol? Even when she sailed on trade ships, the captain never left. However, there was something about this ship that just didn’t scream “Eastern Trading Company.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was bugging her, either.

From such a long distance, Anya couldn’t get a look at the crew properly. However, that didn’t mean that from what she could see didn’t give her an off feeling. There was something odd about them -- something otherworldly and secretive. They seemed sickly, bent and tired, like they had been sailing all of their lives without rest. From this distance, they seemed damp and dirty; and how could they not have been? The ship had come from within the ocean, and Anya didn’t need to marvel at what a miraculous feat that was. Something wasn’t right about this at all… And yet…

Something allured her about the large barge. When the crew had traversed itself a far enough distance away, she carefully approached. Well, as careful as running as quietly as she could would be considered. When she had come close enough to it, she pressed her hands carelessly and without regard against the decaying and wet wood. It was covered in all sorts of sea life, barnacle and moss alike. The whole ship was seemingly alive. Anya had never witnessed something like it.

Another, more thoughtful person perhaps would have felt to their knees and wept at the thing. And an even more intelligent person would have run away. Anya, on the other hand, thought of something else entirely: Ransacking the ship.

Years of climbing the buildings of her Russian home city had prepared her for this moment. Her spry movements were masterful and quick, as she ascended the ramp that led from the lapping waves of the shore onto the ship. She kept herself low and, before allowing herself on the deck, abandoned her shoes into the water. Barefooted, she carefully tiptoed sideways, against the rail, keeping her eyes open and her ears sharp for any sort of movement. It didn’t take long for her to spot something. Across the way, behind the mast, and at the very end of the ship, stood a moderately tall, brooding sort of gentlemen, staring out into the distance with a gaze that Anya could only attribute to long-lasting suffering and want. He had the look of a man who lost everything, a man who was forced to live a life that he had never wanted. It was a very familiar look to her, she had seen many men who had worn that very same countenance. It was a pathetic and sobering sight.

Too bad Anya didn’t care.

Careful not to startle him, Anya crouched down as far as she could and slinked by, toward a door she believed to lead into his cabin. It was at the top of some stairs. As she went up the steps, she had to be careful of what she stepped on. Luckily her senses were sharp enough to catch and brush away a crab before it got the chance to pinch her. Anya could only imagine what would happen if she had been caught.

He didn’t seem to notice her presence, and quickly she opened the door to the Captain’s Quarters, closing the door as slowly as she could behind her. When she was sure she was safe, she let out a long and pleasured sigh. She could relax now, somewhat; but, she knew she couldn’t laze about. Time was against her. She didn’t know when the crew would be back, or if that man would bring himself into this room. She had to scope out what seemed valuable and what didn’t. Anya pranced toward the center of the room, throwing her head about in search for anything that looked shiny or valuable. From what she could see, there were a whole lot of maps and very little treasure. She almost wanted to go outside and ask what the hell the captain was thinking, being so poor. What was the life of a pirate but to revel within the wealth of your plundering, to which you could buy yourself loyalty and endless nights of debauchery?

Then again, what could she possibly do with valuable items? The citizens of Port Royal were already suspicious of a Russian woman that had been suspected of doing many unsavory things. If a girl like her showed up to a shop to sell a ruby, she could easily be arrested. Perhaps it was best to only take the necessities. So what did this captain have that was good for her?

Another quick scan led her gaze to a rather handsome hat that rested on the arm of a chair. It was very neat, fancy and quite rich, with a nice feather that went through the top. Her fingers gently caressed the leather it was made from, smiling at the cool feel it left on her fingers. She gripped it and settled it, like a crown, upon her head. A quick turn toward one of the windows, fogged and somewhat dirtied from the ocean air, provided a good enough mirror. She smirked in delight -- it looked rather fitting her. It wasn’t quite a Captain’s hat; but, it was better than nothing. She did deserve it, after all. He wouldn’t miss it, would he? He could steal another one of these for himself later. Anya chuckled quietly to herself and began to search about the room again for anything else that was interesting.

The second search didn’t turn up much. However, when she began to look over a rather lavish bookshelf, she noticed a small, leather bound book sticking out a bit father from the other old tomes. Now, Anya wasn’t one for reading; but, something about the book seemed rather interesting. She pulled it from its spot and looked over the cover. It was blank and entirely unguarded. That probably meant it was a notebook -- the captain’s, maybe? If it was, then who knows what secrets could be inside? Maybe it would tell of a secret area within his quarters that held all his riches. Anya opened the first page and began to peruse the contents. The information gave little insight of the inner workings of the ship… Rather, it gave more insight to the inner workings of the captain’s mind.

Another sleepless night… I cannot stand to dream again. I know if I do, I’ll see her face, and I don’t know if I can stand to look at it again…

Similar lines were found within these many despaired paragraphs. The entries were numerous, but unlabelled, seemingly bits and pieces of a disoriented mind trying to express itself. Most of the nocturnal emissions mentioned a woman named Elizabeth, and from what Anya could gather, he was rather obsessed with her. Well, perhaps obsessed wasn’t the word. What was the word that people used to describe their strong attachments to one another?

Oh, yes, love.

Enraptured within the contents of the notebook, as sinful as it was, Anya began to forget about herself, and sat herself on the top of the desk. Without meaning to, however, as her bottom made content with the woodened surface, it bumped into a globe that was vicariously placed nearby. Before she could react, it tumbled onto the ground, with a loud and terrifying crash following it soon after. Anya’s eyes widened as she closed the notebook and brought it tightly to her chest. Her eyes never left the doors, as through gritted teeth she hissed out a hushed curse:

“Der’mo!”

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[William Turner]

Watching for signs of Elizabeth seemed more pathetic than romantic, or so that's what Will believed as he stood on the deck, his arms on the railings as he stared endlessly towards Port Royal. It was funny to think that a few years ago, he had called this place his home, and now he couldn't even set foot in it. Funny, of course, in a more sadistic way; it was one of those comedic follies of those who were cursed beyond their comprehension. Will's lips twitched slightly at this, and he slumped forward, back curved as he rested his chin on his arms. It was a little painful, to be so near the one he wanted to be with and not being able to see her. Then again, he trusted his father to do what Will had asked him to, and Will was certain the man wouldn't let him down. He smiled, briefly, imagining how Elizabeth would react at seeing her father-in-law. Would she be surprised, happy, think that she was dreaming? The possibilities were endless, and Will replayed each facial expression he'd ever seen on her face in the private theater of his mind. They were all beautiful, and now he missed her more than ever.

The wind blew through him, ruffling brown curls, and Will stood up straight again. The sun was hot, and he found it wonderful how it seemed to heat his skin; a little cold, what with his lack of a beating heart in his chest cavity. He would compare it to the sun giving him a hug of sorts, but that hardly seemed like something normal. Then again, he was the undead captain of a feared ghost ship, meant to take the dead to where they belonged and never being able to join them. Normalcy was something Will supposed he gave up against his better judgment when his hand had been guided to stab the heart of his predecessor. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he most certainly missed being able to walk about with a smile on his face to greet everyone. Sometimes he missed the forges, too, but Mr. Brown's reeking stench of alcohol was something he most definitely did not long for.

At this point, goosebumps popped along his skin. Will raised a brow, rolling up his sleeve and staring at the little changes on his arm. There was a prickling feeling in the back of his neck, as if someone was touching him, but he was sure there was no-one on board other than a few choice men below deck. An eyebrow raising, he turned around, facing his ship, seeing nothing. There was no-one, and yet the feeling wouldn't go away; plaguing him with a sense of curiosity that would not disappear until satiated. Was this what his father meant - part of the ship, part of the crew? Could he feel what the ship was feeling? Or was this the result of Davy Jones having bound himself to the Dutchman, and Will having had to take his place? He'd never noticed it before, obviously, but now that he had nothing to do and his mind was free of any thoughts, he realized how sensitive he was. He could tell how many barnacles were underneath the vessel without looking, count them in his mind's eye with stunning accuracy. He could feel the roughness of the sails, the brief movements of the crew men below. Everything. And the goosebumps had been from movement that was not meant to be here.

Someone who was not dead, who was not dying, was on the Dutchman. Someone had spotted it. If Will's heart was in his chest, it would be beating erratically.

He moved quickly, searching the ship for any and all traces of anyone else. The prickling continued, touching at the back of his neck like a ghost of fire. He checked below deck, he checked the brig, the chart room. Each inch of the ship was scoured, Will's brows furrowing deeper with each time he failed to locate the intruder. The last room to check was his own quarters, but what would anyone find of interest there? He had no treasure to speak of, he and his crew plundering only enough whenever they had to buy supplies. There were some embarrassing things, like sketches and writing from when he was a troubled adolescent. His hat from watching Jack's supposed hanging was there, too, left as a reminder that he knew the captain in person, and had been the one who saved his life. Jack had repaid that debt, though, by giving Will immortality; even if he would much rather be dead and at peace.

Still, as he walked towards his room the prickling feeling grew lighter and lighter, and he realized that he was going the right way. The intruder, whoever they were, was most definitely in his room; and Will felt an awful sense of foreboding at this. What could they be doing? Why would they be there? Did they find his notebook?

Almost on cue, there was this awful crashing sound, and a curse in a language Will wasn't sure he was familiar with. Eyes widening, he flung the door to his cabin open, and it was safe to say that he didn't expect the sight that met him. It was a woman, wearing his hat, staring at his direction with the same look Will was sure was on his face. Brown eyes blinking quickly, he attempted to form words in the back of his mind but failed. Who she was, he wasn't sure, but he was certain that he'd never seen her before in his life. And yet here she was, on the Dutchman like it was no-one's business, and here Will was, simply staring. He could have drawn his sword, but he thought it was unnecessary. It wasn't like she deserved to die, even if she was wearing his hat, and caused his globe to fall to the ground, and had snuck onto his ship with an expertise that made even Will impressed.

Then he saw it, pressed to her chest, a leather bound notebook which he was certain had hurried, curved handwriting within it. His own handwriting, filled with snippets and paragraphs of his feelings for Elizabeth, the love and the anger and the frustration and the doubt and the idea that she might have forgotten him. It was there, in her arms, and he was sure that she had been reading it. Intruders were bad enough, but intruders who read into his private matters was an entirely different thing. Will's mouth went dry, and he licked his lips, feeling the tips of his ears go pink in embarrassment. What she'd seen was something Will showed no-one, not even his father. This brought into account that, again, Will knew not who she was. Bad situation has just been made worse.

"What..." Will's voice trailed off, and he found his sentence finding no finish. His eyes flickered from the notebook to her face, over and over, and it was a wonder he wasn't getting any dizzier. "What are you doing here?"

[/color] It was a terribly cliche question, but it would have to do. Will hadn't been given a handbook about how to deal with these things, after all.

this post is 1,226 words long, and was written for anya with the song enchanted by taylor swift

[/color] in the background. please take note that i like embarrassed will. also, i'm sorry this is so lame. x___x i'm bad at this.[/color][/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]

[Anya Savicheva]

It was strange how placated you could become when you came face to face with the thing you feared most.

Anya imagined her capture to be more terrifying than what was occurring now. When discovering the man that would apprehend her for being in places she shouldn’t be, she found that she relaxed some, and was only barely able to stifle a relieved sigh. The first thing she noticed was that her captor was the brooding man she saw back on the deck. The second was that he was more confused than angry when he found her vicariously seated upon his desk and carrying his belongings on her person. The third and final thing that flashed through her mind is that he didn’t approach her armed. All of these things led her into concluding that this man was entirely harmless. In fact, he was in more danger by her than vice versa. So, Anya did what came natural to her in moments such as these.

She pretended like she owned the place.

Anya leaned back nonchalantly on the desk, lowering the notebook to her lap as she looked him over with a smirk. His eyes flickered in between her face and the leather-bound tome held firmly in her grasp. His interest in it told her that he wanted it. This gave her quite an advantage over him. This meant that his little journal could be used as leverage. It was lovely when she had the upper hand in things. It meant that she could have fun. She gave a small, bemused chuckle as she looked over him again. She pondered his query as it hung in the atmosphere, leaving a pregnant pause in between her answer just to give herself an air of defiance. “I’m robbing you,” she answered honestly, giving a small shrug. “Is not obvious?”

Now that she had a better look of him, she wasn’t all that disappointed. He surely wasn’t what she had expected when she had first taken glance at him. He didn’t even look like a pirate at all. Well, at least he didn’t look what she expected most pirates to look like. No: He was handsome and well groomed, albeit the pale and cold look about him. His hair was somewhat wavy, brown, and went down his neck. He looked no more than twenty six years old, from her reckoning. To say that he wasn’t her type would be a bit of a lie. Everyone was Anya’s type, it was a sad, and yet wonderful thing that she had to admit: Her lack of standards. Yet, this boy had a feeling of distance and forbidding air that both allured her and disinterested her all the same. That was a bit of anomaly in itself. That was to say, she wasn’t interested in staying with him a long time; but, at the same time she didn’t feel in a rush to distance herself from him either.

A small wiggle of the hips and a slow crossing of her legs followed shortly after her conclusion of his person. To not be at least a little bit flirtatious would be a betrayal to her very nature. Besides, it was the safer choice of action, since, perhaps if she were in danger, persuading him with her many girlish wiles may be enough to save her life. From what she could tell, he hadn’t seen a woman in years. This was another advantage. Some people would call it shameless to use your body as a means of manipulation: Anya merely liked to call it survival. As long as she kept the book, and as long as she seemed pleasing to him, Anya was relatively safe.

“Am I speaking to the Captain of ship?” she asked, tilting her head forward so that the hat fell slightly over her forehead. “If so, you have nice taste in hats, but poor taste in belongings.” She sat up again, tall and straight, so her bosom seemed ample and her waist seemed tiny. “Is only opinion; but, it is harder to steal things that aren’t there.”

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