piratejournal | [Voice/Action to the Penguin]

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liz sherman

[Voice/Action to the Penguin]

[Upon the Penguin a young girl woke up. Liz Sherman is 11, long brownish hair, a scar on her forehead and swimming in her over sized clothing she woke up in. She spent all of 20 minutes pressed against a wall of the boat staring at sea for miles.]

[She was at sea.]

[HOW? Tucking herself down against the wall and beside a barrel, she shook, hearing people talk out of the little book she had in a pocket. carefully opening it, she wondered if this was a dream]

H-hello? Is anyone out there? I... I don’t think this is... where I should be.

I was at Project 66 foster care? I... I don’t remember leaving.

What’s going on? [she took a careful breath, trying to stay calm. She knew she had to stay calm.]

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[and another voice. She's staying hidden for now, trying to stay calm. Staying calm was very hard to do. Running her hands through her hair she held her breath, silent for too long, before replying.]

You know my name? [she took a breath, scrunching her eyes up and forcing herself to talk more. What the hell was a smoke-man? Was he like her?] If we're not... kidnapped, then why are we here?

Yeah.

We were kidnapped to another world, but we're all together because we don't want to be pirates.

And there's a curse running around affecting memories and size. Maybe age.

That... that doesn't make sense. [she rocked a bit where she hid, hands tightening in her hair.] We were... kidnapped to another world with pirates but we're not pirates. Curses? Like witches?

[Oh god. Oh. It's really hard to hear as she whispers it to herself, but old habits are HARD to kill, and though she's lost faith, it's still ingrained. Something to the sound of "...I pray, Dear Lord, see me through these hard times. In these troubling times, I am filled with... with unspeakable fears." She always hard a hard time remembering the rest. Mom use to say it for them. Then something clicked again, startled she said;]

Wait! You're crazy! There's no such thing as pirates or witches or curses. You can't have known me before this. I don't even know what a smoke-man is! [mildly panicked, but containing it...]

[Facepalms.]

Look I promise I'll help. I'll show you my smoke thing if you promise not to get scared.

You've got it backwards. It's... not me who should get scared...

[No, really, she's trying to keep her head. Breaths. Easy breaths. Oh god. She was talking to people from a talking book. This is insane.]

I know.

Fire right?

But I'm made of smoke, I can help put out fires... a little. I can't rescue the whole ship like this probably.

[her hand covered her mouth a moment, holding in the breath she just took. He knows. He knows about her sins. Her punishments. Does he know what she did to her parents too? To her little brother? How does he know?]

[She wanted to cry, but she doesn't cry anymore. Not anymore. Through her hand she mumbled, very calmly:]

How do you know? About the fire? N-no one's suppose to know. They'll take... take me away if they find out.

[Now he feels bad, he shouldn't have brought it up. Hell, how freaked out would he have been at that age?]

I won't let them. I'm sorry.

Look, I'm like you, but smoke instead. I can turn into smoke. Want to see? I can make dog cloud out of my arm. Honest.

[She takes a few more breaths, then moves, trying to peek out from the barrels she hid between. carefully her reply simply was...]

Where... are you? [she'd come out and look for him then, if this was a safe place, and... and he knew her? Sorta.]

[And she was curious...]

Top deck, but I can come down below.

[she was moving from her spot anyhow, but keeping safe where she was too. Watchful.]

How'd you know where I am? [she said to her book, and if he did come down he'd find the dark haired girl standing there in a shirt way too long for her, hands clinched around the book, slightly orangish but not on fire. The journal was being warmed but not yet set on fire.]

[A clear sign she was still scared, but trying to control it.]

We're in the same crew, and that's where you always go.

[Smoker: Mr. Stalker -- or alternately obsessively observant for the sake of his job, but stalker is shorter.]

[Oh. Well, she supposed that made sense.]

[Maybe. Ug, that was creepy. Kind of.]

So... you pay attention to those things...

[She's out in plain sight now, staying below deck, but out where she can be seen. She's looking around, for the door, and for where he might come from. Clearly a bit calmer now.]

Always.

I just don't usually talk about them.

I can't remember Maribelle's birthdate for the life of me even though we just had a party for it last month, but I always notice how she takes her tea or little things I guess.

It's a habit from my job.

[she crouched down to sit on her heels, watching the door while holding the book in her hands.]

You... have a job? [That seemed weird. he sounded young. But--] R-right. This... isn't normal. [but she doesn't remember being older, and she doesn't remember being kidnapped, and... and it's confusing as hell.]

What... do you do. Besides smoke?

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