The Collector |Sequel to Collector of Odd|

V |Trickery Green|

Even the most trusted are not to be trusted.

          The shadow of the Quartermaster seemed darker than what would be considered normal, it appeared to shift more by its own free will than with the actual man himself. He of course was unaware of this; the wall of a man was more focused on his orders than what could be lurking in the dark. It made sense he wouldn't be afraid of what lurked in the shadows, for he was usually the worst thing out there. The Quartermaster raised a bamboo shoot to his lips, and with a large huff the man shot a dart into the unsuspecting Jack Sparrow. His shadow twitched, expanded toward the left, but soon blended back behind him where it belonged.

          It was when the man stepped out of the dark did his shadow finally appear normal, but Jack was sure he saw a set of hazel orbs watching him from the shadows before his world faded to black. "You know..." The voice was rough, scratchy like the hiss of an agitated cat. "I've never understood the use of such methods." The shadows once again moved, this time however, who stepped out wasn't alone. Mirela had her sword arm tossed around a rather terrified Scrum, his adams apple bobbed against the blade of her scimitar.

          Both Quartermaster and Angelica drew their weapons, yet neither seemed to know what to do. Before either could speak, Mirela continued, her eyes narrowed dangerously at Blackbeard's daughter. "I've 'ready requested parlay, Scrum here is more of a guarantee that you follow through. I don't trust those who can't accomplish something without being someone else." Mirela's words were bitter, more so than they had been when she snagged the Captains daughter. She was tired of this petty game. Normally, the gypsy would love to play a game of trickery, but her walls were once again up, and she personally wanted to be the only one to kill the stupid Sparrow.

          Angelica's lips curled, but her sword lowered all the same. She knew how her father would get if they harmed someone under the protection of parlay. "That's rich coming from a gypsy." The words spat toward Mirela had a snarl leaving her lips, four silver canines sparkled daringly toward the female pirate. "You know nothing of my culture." Mirela's temper was raging, her sword arm jerked away from Scrums neck and toward the one who had insulted her way of life, her blade was still shinny with blood. "You would be wise to never insult a gypsy, even your Quartermaster knows better." And true to Mirela's words, the Quartermaster was standing to the side, a look of indifference on his face.

          While the two females glared at each other like children fighting over a toy, Scrum had tried to slip away from the gypsy. He didn't wish to die today. Mirela's attention was jerked back to her guarantee when he stepped away, her fingers curled around the base of his neck quickly and the poor lad was back beneath her blade. The tension was thick between the woman, however, when Mirela had broken eye contact, Angelica had turned away from the strange woman. Her shoulders shook in a ragged breath, and then she was shouting orders toward the Quartermaster.

          The Queen Anne's Revenge was what Mirela remembered it to be, it was impressive in size, but the tension it brought to her spine was chilling. The air that coated the Revenge was what bothered the gypsy out of everything. It tasted stale on her pallet, caused her nose to scrunch at the scent of death that seemed to seep off the very planks beneath her feet. She snarled, a nasty sound to leave such a pretty face. Mirela shoved Scrum away from her, her sword though, did not leave her hand. Angelica was standing before her, her Quartermaster had taken the slumbering Jack somewhere below, to sleep with the crew she reckoned.

          Mirela's coyote tipped hair fluttered over her shoulder, the cool breeze that drifted off the waters did little to soothe the gypsy's burning flesh. She was simmering with rage, rage toward many things, but for now she was focusing on channeling her distaste toward the filthy woman before her. Silver capped teeth disappeared behind a pink tongue momentarily, the gypsy's tongue moved slow, a taunting motion. Angelica's mouth snapped open, no doubt the bitter taste of a nasty word was beginning to form on the pirate's tongue. However, the creamy skinned devil was cut off by known other than Blackbeard himself.

          "Don't aggravate the gypsy, darling..." Stormy orbs did not leave Angelica's face, Angelica's gaze however did dart to her fathers. Mirela's right hand twitched, her sword rolled in her palm in response. If this was a fight, Mirela would have lunged. She would have danced quickly on her feet, allowing her sword to damage the unmarred skin of Angelicas face. The gypsy would have enjoyed leaving her mark on the woman she hardly knew, yet she knew her soul well enough.

          "Leave us daughter, Mirela and I have much to discuss." And with a huff that had Mirela sending the female pirate a lazy smirk, Angelica slunk to her quarters much like a beaten cat. Mirela sheathed her scimitar when it was only Blackbeard and herself, though it was not because her nerves were settling. If anything, Mirela was more unsettled now than she was with the Spanish snake.

          "If I am not mistaking, you're supposed to be dead." Blackbeard had walked daringly around her, a wide circle that Mirela knew he was simply doing to unsettle her. His blueish green eyes danced hauntingly across her features, taking in the scars that were not there the last time he seen her.

          "Am I?" Mirela whirled on him, her hazel eyes flashed like lightning against the night sky. The air around her seemed to vibrate with heat, her anger. It was like a fire licking at the heels of those who dared get to close. Blackbeard faltered. "Deception. It's a lovely thing, but so few can actually master it." The gypsy seemed to lunge at Blackbeard, her left hand opened as she did, letting the wind carry the dust from her fingers. The Captain of the Revenge coughed, his eyes watered while his hand instantly drew his sword. The dust cleared quickly, and instead of facing the gypsy like he once was he was left with an empty deck.

          "I only let you see what I wished for you to see that night." Her voice came from above, old eyes darted to the sails, but again he was met with nothing.

          "Fire is not something ye can weave through your fingers like dust. I saw you burn." Blackbeard's teeth were clenched, his brow creased as he began to grow annoyed with the gypsy's games. He was used to this annoying trait of hers, the way she spoke in riddles, or slipped away without notice. He had spent several moons with her slipping in and out of his ship unnoticed. They had formed an alias of sorts, but what they once had was nothing but ash now. He had tried to make sure of that.

          "And I did, Blackbeard." She was behind him now and when he turned to meet her gaze she held his wary orbs. "We do indeed have much to discuss, but the deck is not the place for such words."