The yelling of men and the cawing of what sounded like a parrot sounded through the air. Startled, she jumped, causing her to roll out of the hammock, landing rather forcefully on the wooden deck.

Men were rushing around like chickens, throwing over hammocks, rushing around with jackets half off, some with only one boot. A number of men have their hats on backward, some push over on another.

Groaning, she stood up, and realizing her hat was no longer on her head, hiding whatever hair had drifted down to her shoulders, she frantically searched.

Finding it laying under her now overturned hammock, she hastily stuffed her hair back into place, hiding it.

Looking up, she realized that the crew had gone silent, and was looking toward the stairs.

Craning her head, she immediately froze, the captain was standing there, the cane he used resting on a step.

And he was looking at her.

Or rather, what she thought, was her direction. Had he seen her without the hat, her hair flowing down her shoulders?

She certainly hoped not.

"Get up ya bloomin' cockroaches!" He cries. The crew cheers, rushing toward the stairs.

She moves with them, hoping to avoid the captain and blend in with the crowd.

Reaching the steps, she makes the mistake of stealing a quick glance toward the captain.

He was watching her, calculating her every move.

Pretending she hadn't seen a thing, she turned back toward the flow of the crew and followed them on deck.

The sun was still low in the sky, sending shadows across the deck. Gazing openly at the rising sun, she marveled at it, until a thick, scratchy brush and a bucket were thrown at her from behind.

Stifling a report, she snatched them both up and walked over to where a group of men had already started scrubbing.

Settling down on her hands and knees, she follows the movements of the pirates around her, scrubbing back and forth, up and down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the sun rise, higher and higher into the sky, watching as the sky around it lightens to the color of daylight.

Occasionally, the captain leaves the helm and travels among the crew, throwing insults into the air, but the crew cheer. 

The sea is calm, waves gently lull the boat, while a breeze whistles through the air, giving wind to the sails.

When the men around her stand, stretch and leave the scrubs and brushes sitting on the deck, she follows suit.

They gather around one of the masts, drinks, and bottles in their hands.

When a crew member hands her one, she takes it and pretends to drink with the rest of them, all the while cursing the smell of rum.

The men, eventually drunk, were running into each other, pushing, shoving, it looked as though the ship had turned into a madhouse.

When she looks around for the captain, she finds that he is nowhere in sight. 

One man pulls out his sword displaying it in the high noon light. The men around her form a circle, preventing anyone from entering or exiting. It must be normal, for when every other pirate turns her way, they grin, laugh, and move to watch.

The men push a younger pirate into the middle and the first seems giddy. And to her astonishment, they begin to fight. It is not elegant and anyway, more drunken.

When the second man falls down dropping his drink he laughs and steps back into the crowd. Not wanting to attract any attention she tries to back away but the men around her see it and push her forward, into the center of the rough circle.

Protesting does her no good as the first laughs, stumbles, and draws his sword again.

Rather sloppily, he swings it at her, and it is only reflexes and instinct that protects her.

In one swift move, she meets his stroke with one of her own, this one strong. 

He stumbles backward into the mast, tips his bottle back, and drinks again.

He moves forward again, his sword lopsided in his hand, and he falls, head first into the wooden deck.

Wincing, she moves away. The men around her cheer and yell, and she distinctly hears the jingling of coins.

The fights are being bet on. She is being bet on.

Making to move out of the circle, she is stopped by a man, but this one isn't as drunk as the rest, he stands steadily, and there isn't a drink in his hands.

"The victor must stay in the ring." He grins, almost evilly, "Until a challenger is victorious." His grin widens as he shoves her back into the ring.

Opening her mouth in protest, he swings his own sword and the crowd cheers.

Ducking away from the sharp metal, she swipes at his legs. He jumps back grinning even more.

He moves with ease, almost like liquid, and she does the same, matching his every move. Blow for blow, she matches, meeting her sword with his. It almost feels like a dance.

A gust of strong wind blows and his hair, hanging underneath his hat shifts.

After ducking a would be blow to the head, she stands up, expecting to hear the yelling of the crew, but there is nothing.

They are all silent, and they seem to be staring at her. Every single one.

Touching her hand to her head, she finds her hat is gone, blown away by the passing winds.

Realizing just what the crew is seeing, she backs up to the mast, hugging it with her back.

The crew mutters and another gust of wind blows, causing her hair to wave.

The man moves forward, and in one swift move, her sword lies on the deck and he advances.

"I wish to speak with the captain!" She cries, addressing the crowd, but they say nothing in return. But the man in front of her does.

"You don't get to see the Cap'n." He growls, it sends chills up her spine. 

He steps forward again, the sword edging closer and closer.

"And ye'll not lay a hand on 'er." The voice booms across the ship

The crew stops and turns toward the stairwell, and so does she. The captain is standing at the top, his long gray coat rippling in the summer breeze. A feathered hat adorns his head and a sword hangs at his side.

He jerks his head in her direction and moves toward the door on the balcony.

Scooping up her sword, she follows suit. The crew in her way part like the sea, watching her as she moves up the stairs. 

She walks silently, hardly making a sound on the deck, but the captain, every other step, his right wooden leg thumps against the deck, creating somewhat of an echoing sound through the floor. 

The door they come to is covered in skulls, some have dead and dry skin peeling off of them, others are shiny, as though someone took the time to polish them.

She grimaces and hesitates, afraid of what is inside.

"Blackbeard's doin', not mine." The captain grunts, noticing her hesitation.

"Blackbeard?" She questions.

"Previous Cap'n," he responds. He holds the door open standing against it, waiting for her to move through. She walks inside, and behind her, the captain, shutting the doors after them. 

"Parley might help ya next time." He speaks before she can glance around the room.

"Parley?"

"Aye, Parley."

"What-" She begins to question, but he answers it before she can finish.

"Guarantees ya an audience with the Cap'n."

"Oh."

"Aye." He replies, she now takes the chance to glance around the room, prepared to take in every detail possible. 

The room is well light, with candles hanging on every wall. A desk at the opposite end of the room holds papers and other gadgets she can't see from her distance. A bed lies at the far left-hand side of the large room, and a small table next to it.

Other than that, the room is fairly bare, but there are places where the light from the candles and lanterns do not reach. 

"So tell me," she snaps her head back to him. "What are ya doin' on me ship?" 

YAYAY!!!!! 8th chapter!!!! I promise in the next one you get to see Jack!!! If you don't, you can all cut off my right leg!!! XD XD XD XD XD XD. 

LOVE YOU ALL!!! YOU MEAN THE WORLD!!!!!

~Kelly~