The Collector |Sequel to Collector of Odd|

IV |The Dangers of a Gypsy Scorned|

Where there is love there is hate.

          There is a time in every woman's life that she instantly hates another woman for reason unknown. However, Mirela had a reason to hate the woman dressed as Jack, did she not? She was a thief, something Mirela could relate to, but the gypsy had rules when it came to what she stole. Mirela wouldn't steal from someone with less than herself, she wouldn't steal from a single mother, nor would she steal from the elderly. Lastly, she would never stoop so low as to steal someone's entire being. A shiver ran down her spine, her lips pulling into a sneer as she waited outside the pub's storage room.

          How desperate was this woman for Jack's attention? She surely wasn't playing him just for his title, Jack was a well enough known pirate, but Mirela knew there wasn't much one would gain from impersonating him. What was it then, what did this draft woman want? Mirela snarled this time, a sound so animal like that those who were near her shared an uneasy glance with one another. With a huff, Mirela sent a glare to the men who were still eyeing her, her hand rested on the hilt of her sword in warning. She wasn't in the mood to deal with the lust of men.

          As Mirela slipped into thought, her brow furrowed as a ghost of fear slipped into her bones. Those eyes, not necessarily the color of the impostors eyes, but the shape of them. The shape of the woman's features was what made Mirela's knuckles turn white with unease. She had seen those features before, on a man much older and more snake like than his own daughter. Blackbeard. The lost daughter of Blackbeard for some reason unknown to Mirela was impersonating Jack.

          With a hiss of curses, Mirela had spun around, her body shoving the door open with more force than probably needed, but the gypsy was beyond caring at this point. Her mouth opened to speak, her sword partially drawn as she locked eyes on the two Jacks. Two Jacks who were in fact kissing one another. Another image Mirela would never be able to unsee. For a second Mirela's heart hurt, but that second was all she allowed before a wall was surrounding her. Her facial features shifted from a look of disgust to a mask of apathy. Jack was a pirate, Mirela shouldn't have expected anything less from the man.

          Mirela had just caught the name of Blackbeard's daughter before she impatiently cleared her throat. "If you're done whoring around, we have a problem." Her lips were pulled into a sneer, while her eyes locked with a shocked Jack Sparrow's before she simply turned to the side, allowing a rather out of breath Scrum to run into the storage room. While Scrum addressed Angelica, Mirela couldn't hide the look of disgust she sent toward the snake of a woman. Brown met Hazel, and while Mirela was satisfied at the flinch her glare pulled from Angelica she wasn't at all pleased by the semi smug looked the female pirate sent her way after.

          With a glare, Mirela turned her back to the pair, ignoring the searching gaze from the only other pirate she wished to throttle at the moment. Deciding that the only way to release some of her anger was the impending fight that was mere seconds away, the gypsy prepared herself, unaware of the guilt ridden eyes that followed her movements. Mirela unsheathed her sword, the seemingly mundane action from a pirate was oddly graceful when done by the gypsy. Her body instantly relaxed at the weight of the sword in her hand, a sword that wasn't familiarly to Jack's wondering eyes. It was a scimitar, the standard style of sword pirates often used, but this one Jack didn't know whether to call it old, or more new in the design. While the lack of a guard confused Jack, the shimmer that reflected off the blade unnerved the man.

          Mirela twirled the blade in her hand, her fingers rapping around the black hilt with practiced ease. She admired her sword while she waited, letting her orbs slip across the clean cuts in the sliver blade and the intricate silver on the end and start of the hilt. She smiled slightly, a sad, but prideful smile. This sword meant a lot to her, created by the greatest smith in her old village, designed for only her hand. It was truly a work of art, and after she had left Jack what seemed like forever go, she had searched for the smith of her desires. Mirela was a woman of many things, mysterious being one of them, but she was also a woman of fine taste, whether you believed it or not was of your own accord. Her sword told of that taste with a deadly grace that resembled its master.

          Jack had watched her handle the blade with an ease he hadn't seen her use with a sword before. Sure, he wouldn't deny that when she had stolen a sword below deck that she had handled it with a timeless knowledge. However... this was like a mere extension of her arm, and for a moment, Jack wondered how easy it was for her to kill with such a blade. The thought made the man shiver, but before he could ponder the gruesome truth behind his curious nature, he was pulled into Angelica's snake like orbs.

          "Friends of yours?" The purr from the daughter of Blackbeard had Mirela tightening her grip on her scimitar, her shoulders rolled slowly, faking the control she had on her emotions.

          "I may have unintentionally slighted some king or another." Jacks every flamboyant nature of his answers normally would have had Mirela chuckling, and in truth she would have liked to, but Mirela was a possessive being, and gypsies were known for their skill in holding a grudge.

          Mirela was prepared when the door was forced open, she was prepared for the first strike more than Jack could have imagined. He had seen her fight before, seen how she calculated each strike, but this. This was something else entirely, and while Jack fended off his own attacker and spat words between Angelica, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Mirela to change her calm, calculating way of fight, to this cold and dangerous glint that flashed across her eyes

          Mirela's arm swung across her body diagonally and in an upward strike, her blade dipped into the flesh of her attacker with ease, cutting the man from hip to shoulder. She ignored his cry of pain, the glint in his eye for mercy. She struck again, her blade came in contact with the man's skull, spitting his head open as easy as one would cut butter. Her boot shoved him off her sword, her body twisting into a duck as she spun around and under the arm of her next target. He fell before she rose to her complete height. Blood splattered Mirela's face, her eyes were cold, daring, taunting even. She thrived off of this. Maybe it was the anger she was feeling toward Jack, or the anger toward the woman he seemed to have a history with. Whatever the case was, Mirela was easily enjoying the bodies she fell.

          And that, that was what concerned Jack.