Fic snippet: PotC, Anamaria +Tia Dalma
Was going through my notebooks tonight and found the beginning of a fic I never wrote. This was me asking the question, "Why wasn't Anamaria in DMC?"
316 words
Ana left the Pearl and Jack, thumping her boots on the deck of her own ship. Then a maelstrom stomped its own boots and Ana washed ashore, swollen and twisted into knots just like a length of driftwood. She'd screamed her voice to tatters at the helm, but could muster up an acrid whisper. She pressed her face into the sand and damned the Sea for all that it had wrought.
Ana sleeps and wakes when a woman prods her with a toe. Ana slaps at the foot and rolls on her back to crack open her eyes. The woman is dark and soft around the edges, made of texture just like Jack: frothing skirts, a netted bodice, stone-smooth arms and a tangled silhouette of hair.
"If you don't be liking de Sea," the woman snarls, "den you keep yourself to land." She sways a little, as if to sweep away or kick again, and for a moment Anamaria sees through everything: swelling hips and thighs beneath the skirt, the repeated crests of ribs, sinews wriggling like minnows in her wrists. Mayhap it was a dream or vision born of morbid fear, but when Anamaria sank beneath the waves she saw a black-eyed crab on deck. She's heard the stories.
Ana knows that she should apologize, should press her lips against the hem of Ocean's skirts, but her heart and body have eroded. There is no softness left and she cannot forgive.
The woman jabs a hand at Anamaria's chest. "You go out dere again, I bring you right back. Mark me, girlie, I'll strand you on dis beach so long as you deserve it." She bares her betelnut-black teeth and strides away, skirt scratching in the sand.
Anamaria closes her eyes. The sun breathes hotly on her breasts beneath the shirt; it presses hard palms against her hips. Ana scowls and spirals into sleep again.
After this, Anamaria was going to end up staying at Tia Dalma's hut and hijinks would ensue in a lesbian, Caribbean, supernatural version of The Odd Couple.
316 words
Ana left the Pearl and Jack, thumping her boots on the deck of her own ship. Then a maelstrom stomped its own boots and Ana washed ashore, swollen and twisted into knots just like a length of driftwood. She'd screamed her voice to tatters at the helm, but could muster up an acrid whisper. She pressed her face into the sand and damned the Sea for all that it had wrought.
Ana sleeps and wakes when a woman prods her with a toe. Ana slaps at the foot and rolls on her back to crack open her eyes. The woman is dark and soft around the edges, made of texture just like Jack: frothing skirts, a netted bodice, stone-smooth arms and a tangled silhouette of hair.
"If you don't be liking de Sea," the woman snarls, "den you keep yourself to land." She sways a little, as if to sweep away or kick again, and for a moment Anamaria sees through everything: swelling hips and thighs beneath the skirt, the repeated crests of ribs, sinews wriggling like minnows in her wrists. Mayhap it was a dream or vision born of morbid fear, but when Anamaria sank beneath the waves she saw a black-eyed crab on deck. She's heard the stories.
Ana knows that she should apologize, should press her lips against the hem of Ocean's skirts, but her heart and body have eroded. There is no softness left and she cannot forgive.
The woman jabs a hand at Anamaria's chest. "You go out dere again, I bring you right back. Mark me, girlie, I'll strand you on dis beach so long as you deserve it." She bares her betelnut-black teeth and strides away, skirt scratching in the sand.
Anamaria closes her eyes. The sun breathes hotly on her breasts beneath the shirt; it presses hard palms against her hips. Ana scowls and spirals into sleep again.
After this, Anamaria was going to end up staying at Tia Dalma's hut and hijinks would ensue in a lesbian, Caribbean, supernatural version of The Odd Couple.