Oasis of the Exotics
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___Nigella leaned back, considering the events that had unfurled. Her crew had abandoned her, an unforeseen mutiny in her egotistical eyes. The dottering ship creaked, the cargo on board having been almost completely looted. It was nothing but a ghost, even the sails had been ripped from the mast. Her head was pounding, and the throbbing pain in her eye had begun to worsen. She knew it'd swollen black, and her jaw ached from the fierce punch the first mate had thrown her. The b*****d, how could he usurp her after all she'd given him. Nigella spat at the floor, cursing his very bones to the deep.
___Her precious years spent as a pirate captain seemed to've come to an end. She hung her head, what had possibly gone wrong? Her shoulders ached, arms tired of being strapped back behind a pole. Why had they left her alive, what point was there. Nigella chuckled, perhaps they wanted to her to stew in her failure. Perhaps she had been too hard on them, through the years, she supposed their incompetence hadn't completely rendered them as spineless morons (her pet name for them). Abusive, and crass, was there truly any other way to live freely without being submissive? It didn't matter, she was never going to turn into a silk purse, and it suited her fine.
___Ears perked, she heard a noise on the deck. She grinned, she knew that sorry excuse for a mate had no spine to abandon her. She mulled over whether she should reward him for his loyalty, and what to reward her with. The woman blanked and then laughed, reward him? After he spoiled her face and tied her so unmercifully tight that she couldn't slip free? He would be lucky if she let him have the ability to even crawl away from her ship. Yet, no one came. Impatience began to cloud her senses, adding to her initial irritation at swelling ankles from being bound. Nigella heard glass break, and it seemed there was a bunch of popping noises like overheating bulbs. A whoop of glee echoed across the water and reached her ears, and she stiffened.
___Alone, glass breaking, laughter. Her mind raced to put it together. The pain clouded her mind, until she heard a crackling. She turned her head, neck protesting at the unlicensed twist. Nigella cursed, they'd returned, but had decided to burn the ship with her in it. Going down with the ship wasn't really her style, and she struggled. As the fire began to eat away at its once magnificent hull, the ship creaked even more. Her anger began to mount, and she began to explode in a wave of curses to her former crew, her mate, and anyone who might be near.
___"You worthless piss of a jelly crew! Dare you leave your beloved captain to perish as a martyr!" She screamed and threw her body against the bonds. "I'll have your heads if I have to track your fat sagging yellow guts into the depths of hell! Your lives will be mine long before they are Satan's!"
___The fire rose higher and higher, she could feel the roasting heat edging closer. She was going to die! She was going to burn at the stake, what an unfitting punishment for someone who'd never had any religious interaction. As she struggled, she felt her wrists chafe and bleed. Her heart thumped, that could only happen if it was getting loose! Nigella pulled and yanked harder, but it was loosening too slowly. An ear-splitting crack sounded, and her weight shifted. The mast was breaking, but how? She looked behind again, and realized with a sinking feeling that the fire had gotten below, inside the ship. It was starting to burn the mast from the bottom up. If she wasn't burned, she would soon be crushed.
___Nigella finally wrenched a purple wrist free, and began to scratch and tear at the rope desperately. One more hand, then she could easily rid herself of the knots below. The mast swayed, and she quickly prayed that her good-for-nothing followers had also filched the gunpowder kegs. Burned, crushed, and then blown to bits? Her karma didn't seem to be faring well today. Her usually sharp mind began to fail her, without a form of lubrication it seemed almost pointless to struggle. She welled up spittle and mucus in her throat, and dripped it onto the raw hand. It dripped down her fingers and made a clean path in the soot that had taken up residence upon the lengths. It wasn't wet enough! She spat and hocked and wheezed but the smoke had begun quick work of drying her lungs.
___The heat intensified, she felt it begin to flush on her face. Where, where could she get something slick? Anything wet ... Nigella winced and reached back, freeing her hair of the hashi pins. Brandishing them quickly she closed her eyes and brought them down on her forearm. The former captain hissed loudly, quickly withdrawing the makeshift weapons and placing them between her teeth. She ground down on them, feeling them splinter as she squeezed the red liquid forth. If she'd had oil it would've been a much more effective lubricant, but she was getting low on options. Hopefully the rope wouldn't swell with it before she managed to slip free. She gave a large wrench, twisting her body for leverage, until finally her wrist popped free. The woman groaned, and looked at the bloody and near blue hand. No wonder it'd been so hard to dislodge, the blood that had been trapped inside had caused her hand to swell.
___Making fast work of the rope at her feet, she stepped forward and fell, to her dismay. Her feet had gone numb because of the cut circulation. Nigella struggled to her feet and began to hobble across the deck, sleeping limbs seeming to whisper, "It's over, we know it is. We'll make sure you know it too.", and she cussed repeatedly in protest. Her arm throbbed dully, and as the pins began to p***k unmercifully, she climbed to the bow. There, slashed and covered in rum, was her flag. Nigella gripped it, and looked behind her at the inferno that was steadily eating up the ship. Without a second thought, she wrapped it around the bloody vein, and jumped ship.
___As she laid exhausted upon the black sanded beach, Nigella watched her precious ship sink into the reef. The Jaded Cross had served her well over the years and yet now she felt as though she'd failed it. Through all her lovers and shipmates, there was none she felt closer to than that vessel. It had carried her, protected her, housed her cries of pleasure and frustration. The ship symbolized freedom, and now she was doomed to use her feet as transport. Her crew was long gone, headed into the nearest town to peddle whatever goods they'd had. Unfortunately, she loathed docking in real ports, and always took advantage of obsolete coastlines to anchor. The nearest city was more than a few miles away, and she had no idea which direction it was in.
___Nigella lifted her head, were those voices, or the wind? She decided to take no chances and took shelter in the nearby jungle. Crouched beside a boulder she lifted her poorly bandaged arm and sucked it gently. It reeked of sweat, fire, and blood. The rum that had soaked in began to rise as she sought it out. The comforting taste seemed to help calm her nerves, even if she couldn't truly enjoy it. Conditioned reflex, an association with something for a period of time, will result in your eventual automatic reaction whenever exposed to a remnant of it.
___As she nursed the copper-tainted cloth, her eyes caught on something shining nearby. Her eyes flickered with the avarice that made her a notorious looter. Reaching out her good hand, she snatched it up, and with a tight grip, held it to her face for examination of the prize she had claimed. It wiggled, squirmed, and she pinched it.
___"S'il vous plait arreter! Je vous mendie!" A small voice shrieked. Shocked and dazed, Nigella slurred messy French back at the minute figure.
___"Que pourrait vous etes, la petite peste ..."
___The trapped creature almost seemed to preen itself as it began testifying, "Vous n'avez pas vu un faerie avant, la grande fille humaine?"
___Nigella paused for a moment, what a peculiar instance this was. The moment all her dreams went down, she either had gone insane or she had the greatest amount of luck imagined.
___"Me dire doux et assez petit l'un, il y a plus de vous ..." She smiled slyly. Perhaps she was not destined to return to poverty after all.
