Taming A Dragon
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
29
Views:
1,852
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
29
Views:
1,852
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 10 - To Repeat Or Not To Repeat, That Is The Question
Author: Pilgrim
Title: Taming A Dragon
Rating: NC-17 by the end possibly sooner depends on the story progresses
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PotC characters or movies (unfortunately); anything you recognize isn’t mine although that shouldn’t be much in this fan fiction.
Feedback: Please! First time fan fiction writer and desperate for tips, tricks, advice, stuff me full of info please! I want to improve and take over the world with my genius mwhahaha! Lol, only kidding but feedback would be fantastic, send it to raukarwen_deomene@yahoo.com!
Notes: So far unread, so really need feedback on it.
Chapter 10 - To Repeat Or Not To Repeat, That Is The Question
Two days trapped in a cabin with no where to go but from one end of the bed to the other or risk exposing some part of her. Oria glared at the newest watch, he didn’t notice, too busy sleeping… she grinned, sleep was good. Slowly she stood up making sure to keep the blanket wrapped about her with one hand; she knelt next to him and began to slowly millimetre by millimetre remove his cutlass from its’ sheath. The man stirred several times but otherwise made no move that he was awake, she released a gentle sigh of relief when the cutlass came free and rose smoothly to stand behind him.
Quickly she placed the sword to his throat and pressed enough to jolt him awake; he froze feeling the sharp unresisting nick at his throat. His fingers felt for his cutlass and landed on nothing but empty air.
“Strip.” The single word contained all her anger, her hatred and promised pain if refused, “And don’t open your mouth to shout, you’ll be dead before you can finish.” His fingers trembled slightly as he began to tug his jacket off; she let him stand and watched as he slowly dragged various items off. A distant echo sounded out, Oria turned distracted at the sound of cannons firing, the man twisted suddenly and pinned her arm behind her back. He pushed her back towards the bed.
“Foolish little whore.” He clamped one manacle about her wrist and the other end to the metal bed head. Oria kicked out and caught him straight in the groin; he doubled over with a wheeze. The ship rocked suddenly and the mans’ head collided with the leg of the bed his hands too preoccupied to shield him.
Tugging furiously against the manacle her hand slipped free easily the man having been in such a rush to chain her up he had failed to secure it properly. Bouncing out of the bed she dragged the mans’ shirt and britches on, buckling his belt complete with cutlass and two pistols. She ran for the door only to find it locked, pulling one of the pistols from the belt she aimed for the lock. As the pistol fired the ship bucked and groaned, sending the shot away from the lock and Oria onto the floor, the pistol spun away and under the bed. She could hear the men’s shouts from the other side of the door; pressing herself to it she listened.
“Fire! Fire! Put that damn fire out down there!” Hurried footsteps and more shouts.
“It’s heading for the powder kegs put it out!” Oria cursed out of the one in a million odds of the powder keg blowing in battle she had to land on the one. She turned looking for a way out to the ocean, nothing but the small window was an option, jogging over to it she flung it open and glanced down, it wasn’t that far a jump.
One glance at the small window told her there was no way in hell she was going to fit through the window; her shoulders would never get past. Drawing out the cutlass she began to hack at the windows’ frame all the time aware of the shouts growing more and more frantic. Throwing the cutlass over her shoulder she dragged her top half out, turned half-way so that only her arms and legs were on the other side of the window and began to wriggle to get her legs out without going into a free fall. The shouts stopped and were replaced with screams and frantic pounding of feet up steps as the fire licked at the powder kegs, the ship exploded violently.
:/
Oria took a deep swallow of sea water before realising she was slowly sinking in a haze of crimson water, ignoring the burning, stinging sensations in her arms and legs she swam for the distant surface. Finally breaking the surface she coughed up the water and took several deep breaths, all around her was burning debris and corpses, a ship floating a couple of leagues away, its’ sails and several patches of the deck burning also from the explosion.
From the top of the mast hung a limp flag of crimson, on it a black skull and crossbones. Oria glanced about for something substantial to float on having the feeling that she could be here for a while before they rescued her. The men on the ship began leaping over board and sparse few seconds later their own ship exploded, Oria stared her mouth hanging open, this was most certainly not her day.
Two ships prey to the same affliction in the same day and place? Hardly likely, she swam towards a large piece of floating wood and clambered on to it. It was only when she was out of the water that she saw the gifts the explosion had given her. Both of her arms and her legs were dripping blood, they had taken the full brunt of the heat and flames in the explosion being the only parts of her body not covered by wood.
The pain began to register through the rush of adrenaline and tears threatened through the determination not to show them. She glanced about her for any sign of a ship; there was nothing but the floating debris, not even the horizon offered her hope. Her gaze rested on her fingers, this was her past and future rolled into one, no one was coming for her, no one was looking. History had ways of repeating itself and this was one of those ways, to remind her not to trust, remind her that she was nothing, that no one really cared about what happened to her but her. Slowly she lay down on her side, she would heal in her sleep where thoughts and history could not catch her out.
Title: Taming A Dragon
Rating: NC-17 by the end possibly sooner depends on the story progresses
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PotC characters or movies (unfortunately); anything you recognize isn’t mine although that shouldn’t be much in this fan fiction.
Feedback: Please! First time fan fiction writer and desperate for tips, tricks, advice, stuff me full of info please! I want to improve and take over the world with my genius mwhahaha! Lol, only kidding but feedback would be fantastic, send it to raukarwen_deomene@yahoo.com!
Notes: So far unread, so really need feedback on it.
Chapter 10 - To Repeat Or Not To Repeat, That Is The Question
Two days trapped in a cabin with no where to go but from one end of the bed to the other or risk exposing some part of her. Oria glared at the newest watch, he didn’t notice, too busy sleeping… she grinned, sleep was good. Slowly she stood up making sure to keep the blanket wrapped about her with one hand; she knelt next to him and began to slowly millimetre by millimetre remove his cutlass from its’ sheath. The man stirred several times but otherwise made no move that he was awake, she released a gentle sigh of relief when the cutlass came free and rose smoothly to stand behind him.
Quickly she placed the sword to his throat and pressed enough to jolt him awake; he froze feeling the sharp unresisting nick at his throat. His fingers felt for his cutlass and landed on nothing but empty air.
“Strip.” The single word contained all her anger, her hatred and promised pain if refused, “And don’t open your mouth to shout, you’ll be dead before you can finish.” His fingers trembled slightly as he began to tug his jacket off; she let him stand and watched as he slowly dragged various items off. A distant echo sounded out, Oria turned distracted at the sound of cannons firing, the man twisted suddenly and pinned her arm behind her back. He pushed her back towards the bed.
“Foolish little whore.” He clamped one manacle about her wrist and the other end to the metal bed head. Oria kicked out and caught him straight in the groin; he doubled over with a wheeze. The ship rocked suddenly and the mans’ head collided with the leg of the bed his hands too preoccupied to shield him.
Tugging furiously against the manacle her hand slipped free easily the man having been in such a rush to chain her up he had failed to secure it properly. Bouncing out of the bed she dragged the mans’ shirt and britches on, buckling his belt complete with cutlass and two pistols. She ran for the door only to find it locked, pulling one of the pistols from the belt she aimed for the lock. As the pistol fired the ship bucked and groaned, sending the shot away from the lock and Oria onto the floor, the pistol spun away and under the bed. She could hear the men’s shouts from the other side of the door; pressing herself to it she listened.
“Fire! Fire! Put that damn fire out down there!” Hurried footsteps and more shouts.
“It’s heading for the powder kegs put it out!” Oria cursed out of the one in a million odds of the powder keg blowing in battle she had to land on the one. She turned looking for a way out to the ocean, nothing but the small window was an option, jogging over to it she flung it open and glanced down, it wasn’t that far a jump.
One glance at the small window told her there was no way in hell she was going to fit through the window; her shoulders would never get past. Drawing out the cutlass she began to hack at the windows’ frame all the time aware of the shouts growing more and more frantic. Throwing the cutlass over her shoulder she dragged her top half out, turned half-way so that only her arms and legs were on the other side of the window and began to wriggle to get her legs out without going into a free fall. The shouts stopped and were replaced with screams and frantic pounding of feet up steps as the fire licked at the powder kegs, the ship exploded violently.
:/
Oria took a deep swallow of sea water before realising she was slowly sinking in a haze of crimson water, ignoring the burning, stinging sensations in her arms and legs she swam for the distant surface. Finally breaking the surface she coughed up the water and took several deep breaths, all around her was burning debris and corpses, a ship floating a couple of leagues away, its’ sails and several patches of the deck burning also from the explosion.
From the top of the mast hung a limp flag of crimson, on it a black skull and crossbones. Oria glanced about for something substantial to float on having the feeling that she could be here for a while before they rescued her. The men on the ship began leaping over board and sparse few seconds later their own ship exploded, Oria stared her mouth hanging open, this was most certainly not her day.
Two ships prey to the same affliction in the same day and place? Hardly likely, she swam towards a large piece of floating wood and clambered on to it. It was only when she was out of the water that she saw the gifts the explosion had given her. Both of her arms and her legs were dripping blood, they had taken the full brunt of the heat and flames in the explosion being the only parts of her body not covered by wood.
The pain began to register through the rush of adrenaline and tears threatened through the determination not to show them. She glanced about her for any sign of a ship; there was nothing but the floating debris, not even the horizon offered her hope. Her gaze rested on her fingers, this was her past and future rolled into one, no one was coming for her, no one was looking. History had ways of repeating itself and this was one of those ways, to remind her not to trust, remind her that she was nothing, that no one really cared about what happened to her but her. Slowly she lay down on her side, she would heal in her sleep where thoughts and history could not catch her out.