North to Alaska...and other things
We've made reservations to go on an Alaskan cruise--Royal Caribbean's Radiance of the Seas, leaving July 3rd from Vancouver, B.C. It will be different, for sure: most of the other cruises I've been on were in tropical climes--Mexico, Caribbean, Hawaii. Even the Baltic cruise was graced with warm weather. But I've been looking at some video tapes my friend gave me,and it looks cold up there. And I mean {{{cold}}}. They tell me it was only really cold when they were cruising in Glacier Bay, but I don't know. I have a feeling I'll be drinking lots of capuchinos, instead of the rummy drinks with the little umbrellas. The ship looks gorgeous, though--only four years old--and we have a balcony room! How decadent! Should be great for viewing the scenery.
The weather has cooled off to our typical June Gloom here, too. Turned off the pool heater, till the middle of June, probably. *sigh*
The Black Pearl Scrolls group over on MSN issued a drabble challenge with the theme Friends and Enemies. A "plot bunny" made its existence known, so I wrote this. It's a bit long to qualify as a drabble, but they haven't been sticking to the 100 word limit over there, so I just let myself ramble on. Hope I haven't mangled the few Spanish words too badly...
Disclaimer: Disney’s. Not mine.
Juana
She opened the door to faint smoke and moonlight, and the heartstopping sight of her niece standing on the doorstep, eyes wide, dirt on her face, hair in disarray!
“Madre de Díos! Juana! What happened?” And then she saw him, standing in the middle of the little gravel walkway that led to her door. A man. A stranger. Dark eyes, beaded hair. The face of an angel. Or the devil. “What happened?” she said again, more sharply this time. The clothing. The sword. She knew what he was. “Juana, did he touch you?”
“Tía Lucita!” the girl cried, dismayed at her Aunt’s sudden hard grip on her arms.
Lucita dragged her eyes from him, and looked at her niece, loosening her hands as she did so. “Juana! Querida! He didn’t touch you?”
Juana’s lip trembled, and Lucita’s heart stopped as the girl nodded. But then she said, “He held my hand. Tía, Papa is dead!”
“Dead?” But the words only confirmed the knowledge Lucita had gleaned in those first seconds. Seeing her. Seeing him.
“Sí! They killed him!” Juana struggled against tears, to speak the words. “I heard everything-I hid, but I heard it all, and then they found me…” The look in her eyes told her Aunt the terror of that finding. Then the girl took a deep, shuddering breath. “But then he came and told them I was his.” Juana turned and looked at her savior-for he was nothing less!-standing in the moonlight.
“And he brought you to me?” Lucita said slowly.
The man spoke then, in her language, but with an accent. “I’m sorry, Señorita.” He turned to go.
She watched him sway down the little path to the gate, but as he put out his hand to open it she found her voice and blurted, “Señor!” He stopped and turned. She stared at him, for a long moment. The face of an angel. “Grácias, amigo.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips, though not his eyes. A brief nod. And then he slipped away.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Barbossa, was sitting with some of the others by a fire, a fire made up of books and broken furniture and logs cut with the sweat of other men. He held a pear, his hand desecrating the beauty of its shape and color.
“Let’s get back to the ship.”
Barbossa said, snakelike, “Where’s the girl, Jack?”
“It’s none o’ yer concern.”
“Ye let ‘er go. Didn’t ye?” The fire was reflected in his eyes.
“It’s none o’ yer concern.”
Barbossa contemplated the pear. Then he looked up again, and said, “Yer soft, Jack!” And he crushed the fruit in his hand and threw it in the fire.
The weather has cooled off to our typical June Gloom here, too. Turned off the pool heater, till the middle of June, probably. *sigh*
The Black Pearl Scrolls group over on MSN issued a drabble challenge with the theme Friends and Enemies. A "plot bunny" made its existence known, so I wrote this. It's a bit long to qualify as a drabble, but they haven't been sticking to the 100 word limit over there, so I just let myself ramble on. Hope I haven't mangled the few Spanish words too badly...
Disclaimer: Disney’s. Not mine.
Juana
She opened the door to faint smoke and moonlight, and the heartstopping sight of her niece standing on the doorstep, eyes wide, dirt on her face, hair in disarray!
“Madre de Díos! Juana! What happened?” And then she saw him, standing in the middle of the little gravel walkway that led to her door. A man. A stranger. Dark eyes, beaded hair. The face of an angel. Or the devil. “What happened?” she said again, more sharply this time. The clothing. The sword. She knew what he was. “Juana, did he touch you?”
“Tía Lucita!” the girl cried, dismayed at her Aunt’s sudden hard grip on her arms.
Lucita dragged her eyes from him, and looked at her niece, loosening her hands as she did so. “Juana! Querida! He didn’t touch you?”
Juana’s lip trembled, and Lucita’s heart stopped as the girl nodded. But then she said, “He held my hand. Tía, Papa is dead!”
“Dead?” But the words only confirmed the knowledge Lucita had gleaned in those first seconds. Seeing her. Seeing him.
“Sí! They killed him!” Juana struggled against tears, to speak the words. “I heard everything-I hid, but I heard it all, and then they found me…” The look in her eyes told her Aunt the terror of that finding. Then the girl took a deep, shuddering breath. “But then he came and told them I was his.” Juana turned and looked at her savior-for he was nothing less!-standing in the moonlight.
“And he brought you to me?” Lucita said slowly.
The man spoke then, in her language, but with an accent. “I’m sorry, Señorita.” He turned to go.
She watched him sway down the little path to the gate, but as he put out his hand to open it she found her voice and blurted, “Señor!” He stopped and turned. She stared at him, for a long moment. The face of an angel. “Grácias, amigo.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips, though not his eyes. A brief nod. And then he slipped away.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Barbossa, was sitting with some of the others by a fire, a fire made up of books and broken furniture and logs cut with the sweat of other men. He held a pear, his hand desecrating the beauty of its shape and color.
“Let’s get back to the ship.”
Barbossa said, snakelike, “Where’s the girl, Jack?”
“It’s none o’ yer concern.”
“Ye let ‘er go. Didn’t ye?” The fire was reflected in his eyes.
“It’s none o’ yer concern.”
Barbossa contemplated the pear. Then he looked up again, and said, “Yer soft, Jack!” And he crushed the fruit in his hand and threw it in the fire.