Collector of Odd

XX |We All Bleed Red|

Do not cry out in fear, cry out in victory. 

          The Dutchmen lurched beneath her feet, adding to her already unsteady stance. Black boots slipped on the deck, water splashed upward as the gypsy's weight toppled to the side. The pain flared upward, her ribs throbbed with a nasty bite to them, but the drenched lass didn't lay down her sword. Rolling onto her back, Mirela's blade was pointed upward, both hands curled around the hilt as one of the Dutchman's crew fell toward her. He was a massive creature, with shells stuck to his face and barnacles to his clothes, however, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. That saying had never been truer in that moment.

          His weight toppled on her with a force that had the butt of her sword slamming against her chest, his body crumpled on top of her's with little resistance, for he was already dead. Her blade had pierced him at an angle, severing several vital organs on its passage through his stomach and chest. Mirela laid where she was, her face turned to the side so her mouth could greedily gulp in hearty amounts of air. Her body was trembling under the dead fish man, her right side stung, nipped at her in a sign of much-needed attention. She couldn't tend to her wounds though, not now.

          With a low groan, Mirela shoved the man with all her might, her arms screamed in protest as his dead weight strained her already worn muscles. With gritted teeth and a hiss of pain, Mirela wiggled her knees upward, pressed them against his chest, and pushed. His body crumpled to the side with a thud. Scrambling to her feet, the battered gypsy pressed a raw left hand to her aching right side, pain flared from both areas at the contact. Ignoring the whimper that wished to escape, Mirela jerked her sword from the man's body, her feet shifted shoulder width apart in preparation for another fight.

          With worn eyes, Mirela allowed her orbs to flicker toward the other pirates around her, allowed time to slow. William, the poor traitoring soul, was dying. Mirela didn't understand how it happened, or why she felt a sudden pain in her heart at the sight, but alas, Master Turner was bleeding out. Her head jerked to the side, the sound of an angry cry was enough to warn her of a fish man charging her way. Her arm rose, the sword pointed down to catch the blade of her enemy. She stumbled back from the force, her feet slipping against the wet deck. Her stormy orbs, the dark eyes that had taken over since the fight were now dull. Mirela was done with the fighting, her body could not take the strain anymore.

          Shecross stepped, her sword sliding against her opponents with a screech. She took the offensive this time, taking a lunge toward the man before her, he countered her attack with ease. Mirela slipped again, her left knee gave away at the sudden kick her attacker delivered. She fell to one knee, her breathing ragged, her wet hair hung in strands over her face, masking her expression. The hiss of a blade, the clash of metal. Mirela was on her feet once again, her eyes flickered with an emotion of doubt, of confusion. For once in her life, Mirela wasn't sure if she would be able to make it out with her head.

          A scream, a deep throaty scream from Davy Jones. Mirela's first mistake was turning her head, her second mistake was lowering her sword a fraction of an inch. Sandy orbs locked on the scene before her, William Turner's hand curled around the blade embedded in Davy Jones heart, Jack Sparrow's hand around Wills. Her eyes met brown, a soft smile tempted to pull her lips skyward. "Mirela! Look out!" Jack was on his feet, dashing toward her. The gypsy didn't need to turn around to move, she didn't need to look to know she had made a grave mistake. Her body jumped to the side, her head jerked forward, her right hand moved a second to slow. Her blade barely skimmed her attackers.

           Pain. A flash of lightening. Chanting from the Dutchmen's crew. Her sandy orbs flickered downward, her white shirt was glued to her body, her abdomen covered in blood. She didn't know where her attacker was, she didn't know why he hadn't killed her, but she did know that she was falling. The back of her head hit the deck with a thud, her skull bounced off of the wood only to fall back upon it once more. Trembling fingers hovered over her left side, she was afraid to touch the wound, afraid to move. She allowed the whimper to leave her lips, allowed her eyes to focus on the bleeding clouds above. She didn't think, she never once thought that... Would she die tonight? Would she be reunited with her family after she had just begun to accept their deaths?

          Warmth. A sharp pain that had her crying out, had her withering away from the pressure on her abdomen. Her eyes flashed toward the dark figure above her, flashed toward the man pressing down on her wound. A strike of lightning lite up the sky, lite up the features of Jack Sparrow for her searching orbs. She only was able to make out his expression for a moment, and though her mind was hazy, she was able to recall the crease between his brows, the way his mouth was pulled into a frown. The pirate looked concern. Her lips moved, she wanted to speak, wanted to tell him so many things, however, only a pitiful whine left her mouth.

          Cold fingers skimmed her cheek, a hushing noise left Jack. Mirela gulped, her throat was suddenly dry, too dry for her to swallow with ease. "We need to get off the ship, you need to stand, Mirela." A sudden urgency in Jack's voice startled the gypsy, she hadn't heard him speak like this about anything. Thinking over his words, Mirela tried to shake her head, tried to tell him to go. She wouldn't make it, she didn't have the strength. Jack needed to save himself. However, she only got as far as to turn her head, for Jack was forcing her to her feet, one hand still pressed to her wound, while the other gripped the collar of her shirt roughly.

          She tried to stifle her cry, tried to appear strong, but she couldn't. It hurt, her entire body hurt, and her mind was too foggy for her to understand anything else. "Hush n-... It'll b- alr-ght." His voice, Jack was speaking, she couldn't fully make out his words, but she could hear his voice, hear the soothing tone he was using as he urged her toward the railing. Mirela's head rolled to the side, her temple made contact with something, Jack's shoulder she realized a few moments later. Her eyes drooped, her body slumped forward in Jack's grip. A sharp cry from Jack had her eyes fluttering, the urgent tone was back.

          Suddenly she was standing before Jack, her face gripped between his palms. "Oi," His hand smacked her cheek lightly, her eyes fluttered open briefly. "don't fall asleep on me, stay with me." He was tapping her face again, not giving her time to rest her eyes. "Mirela?! Do ye understand me? Stay awake, I need your help." Mirela blinked lazily up at Jack's brown eyes, he was spotty now. With a nod, Mirela forced her eyes to stay open, forced the fog in her mind to clear just a tad. "Jack.." that's all she was able to get out, her tongue wouldn't work with any other word. Sparrow seemed to understand though, for he simply sent her a sad smile before he wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her close to his body.

          Cold warmth. Does that make sense? Probably not, but that's what Mirela felt. Jack's clothing were cold, yet he was able to radiate warmth into her frozen body. His lips brushed against her cheek, against her ear, his words were slow, drawn out so she could understand them. "Hang on, don't ye dare let go of me." Her answer was to grip his neck and shoulders tighter, to draw all of the strength she had left for this simple moment. She felt one of his arms curl around her waist, lock her against his frame, then, her feet weren't touching the ground, but they were moving. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew Jack had crossed to the Pearl.

          Mirela was only aware of his stumble, only aware of a loud curse before her eyes slipped closed and her breathing slowed.