@ragazzadelloceano
{ x }
Chetta held her head in her hands, having struck it on a hard surface in her bizarre journey. She was dressed in her subtle disguise due to being in the company of the ship’s crew (before she was suddenly whisked away by whatever powers that be), and her hair was tucked up and under her ratty hat.
She actually thought that she just had a bad stumble on the quarterdeck after a sudden pitch and took a hard fall. She was baffled to find herself in strange surroundings and wondered how she had managed to go from the quarterdeck to the magazine of a strange ship. She slowly stood, gaining her footing.
That voice. It sounded so familiar yet so strange. It was a voice that she had heard many a time. A voice she had heard seconds before her fall. Yet now there was an unfamiliar quality to it.
Her gaze snapped onto the boy standing in the doorway of the magazine and her jaw went slack. Those features, that face, those eyes!
“B-Barbossa?!” She said, taking a step towards him. “How in the bloody hell did you get so…young?!”
He frowned, leaning back from his (her?) advance.
“Aye, that be me name.” Though how she came to know that was beyond him; he couldn’t recall seeing this person before in his life, let alone in the scant two years since he’d taken the name Barbossa. And how was he supposed to answer that absurd question? No, I’ve always been this young?
“Can’t say I take yer meanin’,” he said carefully. “ ’M growin’ older every day, as the rest o’ creation. Mayhaps ye knew me father...?”
But this wasn’t the place to be having this conversation.
“Come, ye can’t be caught muckin’ about here. Ye’ll be strung from the yardarm, if ye don’t blow the lot of us up first.” He stepped back from the doorway and jerked his head to order her out, disarraying anew the curls that had just begun to settle after his stint aloft. “Nobody checks the cable stores; we can have a gab there.”
