Thread: Yo Ho, Ho, And A Bottle of Rhum on a Dead Man's Chest;;

The captain listened to the still silence of the room, disrupted by the occasional fly buzzing by and a rat letting out a hiss when another attempted to steal its supper. She slowly inhaled, attempted to ignore the foul stench or even grow accustomed to it. Her head felt heavy, yet she continued into the building, step by step until she reached a spot grazed by the moonlight. The darkness otherwise was complete - she could not tell whether it was the outsiders' doing or his, yet the windows were covered in wooden planks. As she stood still, the woman felt her discomfort fade away, her body growing accustomed to the conditions, her heart pace reduced to that of a sleeping human. In spite of the newly acquired ability to breathe, she couldn't help but twitch her nose, frowning. The dry land made her feel out of place, away from her element. She needed water to raise above everything, the creaking underneath her feet making her feel vulnerable somehow due to the absence of a soft rocking of the floor. Water cleaned all of her sins, or so she believed, purifying the ship and erasing the past. In the building, death clung to her skin, both that inflicted by her and the unknown creature. The deathly aura was palpable, making the air heavy and thick, although it could have been the cadavers' fault. Her plan, resuming itself in two words - wing it, seemed to be little to rely on. She expected a direct confrontation, a man growling and thrashing. Instead, she didn't find a thing. He could have been hiding anywhere, ready to pounce on her like a hungry tiger ripping up his prey. Her bravery appeared useless, even stupid to an extent at that point. Her hand carefully slid to her hip, the slim fingers sliding around a dagger's handle. Her other hand, on a reflex, slid up to the eyepatch covering her left eye, playing with it absently. It was her curse and her strength, the golden iris behind the black cloth. It had an odd effect upon humans - depending on the quantity of willpower, most would agree to follow her to the other end of the world. When young, she was taught to hide the eye, both to prevent people from discovering its odd shade and to prevent harming their frail psyche. It was most likely for that reason that she never was able to find out the extent of her own power, used to hiding. Her parents told her that it was a curse, yet her father once confided that an affair with a succubus that oddly enough became infatuated with him brought that present. She did not believe a word he said, confident that the demons were invisible to the eye, yet didn't protest, not quite eager to find out her origins. This fear of the unknown seemed to transfer to the present, making her hesitate for a brief instant. The purely human reflex of self preservation was kicking in, her nervous systems increasing her strength. With a deep sigh, she resumed her steps, quiet as a cat aside the soft clicking of her heels. Brushing a finger over an old cupboard, she was stunned to find a thick coat of dust, a momentary pity toward the man living in such conditions coming over her. She advanced further and further, almost letting out a feline hiss when her boot landed in a pool of blood. ''Bloody hell, how hard is it to clean up?'' She muttered, discontentment returning her to her usual controlling and prideful self. Her steps accelerated in speed, ignoring the remains on the ground, occasionally the woman's foot landing into a pile of organs. About to give up the search, she noticed a movement in the corner - her heightened senses capturing the male's frame. He was imposing, yet not incredibly so. She found it odd for people to be so afraid of him, yet she didn't underestimate - it was one of the things that kept her alive. ''Good evening,'' she spoke, her voice low and seductive as it always was. ''Forgive me for disturbing your rest,'' she continued with a bemused smirk, her free hand brushing through her hair briefly. A shudder ran through her body, the evil within him exceeding her death filled aura. He was a killer, with no apparent purpose, driven by lust. She bit on her lower lip, realizing how big a mistake she was making. If he were to be hungry, he could rip her to pieces, assuming he had the demon's powers. Telling herself that she would never go out without a fight, she found the strength to resume her words, thanking God for allowing her to live that long. ''I came here to speak to you,'' she continued, studying the shadows in an attempt to see anything - his eyes, his face or even his body properly. ''I have an offer you should consider,'' she prompted, uncertain of whether to push the conversation further or let him respond. ''I am Desiree D'Aether, the Captain of the Black Pearl,'' she bowed slightly, her hand remaining loosely wrapped around the knife. She doubted that he interacted enough to have heard of her, yet a proper introduction could perhaps give him the illusion that he was human in her eyes.