The Black Swan

Oct 30, 2006 21:20

Some days Anamaria started to think that this island wasn't so bad. It wasn't a ship but it was better than being locked up in a jail somewhere or food for the crows in some cage. But then there were other days. Days like this.

"Bloody fucking island!" She tore the pristine white fabric off her shoulders and ripped the beaded bodice from her chest. It made no difference. Just like cutting it hadn't. Just like taking her hair from its elaborate bun hadn't. Just like scrubbing at the overdone make up on her face hadn't. If her rum had been ready she'd have just gotten very drunk for the next two days. But it wasn't, not quite yet. So she stopped out of her hut in the utterly mad shoes--they tied on with RIBBONS!--and went to find someone with something to drink.

It was probably a good thing the change had carried off her weapons along with her proper clothes. She was in the mood to stab the first person with a clever comment. Possibly the second, third, fourth and fifth persons as well.

[Mwhahaha! I love these plots. Ballerina!Anamaria on the beach. She's not armed but that won't make her less violent. Approach with caution but please do approach.]

anamaria, plot: halloween

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