SHIPHAND EVELYN SPARROW, D4 (Finished)

evelyn . elizabeth . sparrow
where there is a sea, there are pirates


her theme (listen to while reading)

( keel // basic info )

It's not easy to be this complicated
'cause I lose my way, I change my mind
And I'm more recently jaded

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In District Four, it is not unusual to stumble upon someone who has sold their hearts the ultramarine depths of the sea. We are so tied to it that our souls rise and fall with the tides and answer the same call of the moon - we give away everything and in return we are loved by the world's greatest wonder. But even such a majestic thing is capable of mistakes, and I think I am one of them. I gave to the ocean as all others do, but I guess my black heart wasn't enough, because not long after the dark waves took my father, too. It's a hard life, being fourteen and so cold you've forgotten how to properly feel. Maybe that's why piracy seemed like the perfect solution - because I can be better, I can be perfect, and the darkness I conceal with a pretty smile can finally belong somewhere other than beneath my pale skin.

( sails // appearance )

Or I'll be indecisive, and always end up choosing
The wrong thing
But I can guarantee you'll never hear me say
That all I want's a home, a family, a porch swing[/center]

"Evelyn!"

My eyes drift open quietly and I blink up blurrily at the salt-worn wooden boards above my head, momentarily disoriented while the fog of sleep lifts from my mind. "Evelyn! I swear, if you've overslept again..." Groaning, I cling tightly to the course rope of the fabric and somehow manage to swing myself out of the hammock, small feet landing steadily with a quiet thud. "Ev, hurry up or Ripred help us, we'll keelhaul you!" The voice is younger than the first, definitely not Ophelia, which is why I do not hesitate when I bark back, "You haven't the strength or the nerve! Give a lass five minutes to wake up, won't you?"

There are a few sharp calls from above but none of the threats are followed up with actions, so I satisfy myself with shooting a glare up the creaky stairway before making my way over to the side of the room where I keep my clothes in a small, neat pile. I trade my soft cotton pants for the crisp feel of my ink dark trousers, pulling them over long, slender legs and feeling the fresh fabric crinkle in the hollows beneath my knees. My legs are what give me all 5'4" of my height - tall for my age, I suppose, though I still dream of someday towering over my sisters. Height gives the impression of power and perfection, while my small frame only makes me look fragile and weak. I suppose it doesn't truly matter, though - after a few of seconds of combat, my opponents always realize how wonderfully lethal I can be.

I quickly shed my white t-shirt and replace it with the ragged gray tank I've grown fond of these past few months, worn fibers of the fabric brushing against my thin, muscled torso gently. All pirates have to be strong - you wouldn't last a bloody day out on the seas if you weren't. It's brutal work, organizing the rigging and dragging that dreaded stone over the hard wood until it shines. From sunrise until sunset we swarm over our ship, fixing things and cleaning things. It's no wonder my muscles have built themselves so strong, the pale skin on my arms pulled taut when I flex them. Shrugging on my jacket, I push delicate shoulders back and allow a smile to light over my features for a single instant before it morphs into a sharp, mocking smirk.

There's a single mirror, crooked on the wall and clouded with a thick layer of grunge, and I approach it with a tilted smile, pulling long fingers through my burning tresses. None of the other girls seem to take much interest in appearances anymore, but I haven't dared lose sight of what's important. I share the same fiery mane as the rest of my sisters, locks as wild and devious as I am. I never can seem to get them to do just what I want, so they are often pulled back, away from plain, delicate features. The sharper shape of my pale green eyes hint at something stronger, though. No, perhaps stronger isn't the proper word. Clever, just like me. I like that. They say that eyes are the window to the soul, but I don't believe any of that garbage. My seafoam disks reveal nothing more than my ear or my foot. They're just another feature, another part of me that cannot even begin to compare to the twisted soul within.

"Evelyn!" it's near a shriek now, the owner giving in to impatience, and my eyes pull skywards as I quickly yank on my hard brown boots and lace them up with a harsh snap. "Calm down, I'm coming!" I shout, matching her annoyed tone perfectly. I grab my belt from beneath the hammock, securing it tightly and slipping my blade into the slit in the leather I made for that purpose before rushing up the stairway into broad daylight, a stream of irritated curses left in my wake.

( rigging // personality )

Cause I wanna be a pirate,
That's one thing I've decided
It's the only thing that could ever intrigue me
There's no start or end in sight[/center]

"Captain."

I've always hated calling her that. It makes me feel inferior to her, as if just because I'm younger I can't be every bit as good as she can. But then again, even if I was her age, I'd never be near as incredible as Ophelia. She's just effortlessly perfect, isn't she? Intimidating, protective, brave. Some of us, on the other hand, have to work to be flawless. Sometimes I wonder if all my efforts have gone to waste, because beneath the arrogant tilt of my chin and my broken smiles, I'm so twisted and dark. Ophelia's courage is pure, right down to her very bones, while mine only ghosts over the surface of my skin in a decieving facade. I'm never good enough, am I? Not good like her.

"What is it, then?"

Her voice always has a kind of disapproving tone to it, even when she's not trying. I've learned to stand my ground against it. Someday, I'll be every bit as good as she is. Better, even. Leaning against the gunwale, I stretch my arm out over the tumbling ultramarine, finger pointing toward little more than a speck on the horizon, twinkling in and out of sight. Ophelia's eyes squint slightly, varifying what should already be set in stone because I know what I'm doing, Captain, and then nods slightly, the corner of her mouth tilting upward in a smile. "Artemis!" she calls out, authority clear in her voice. "Aye?" the reply comes from across the deck, a freckled face looking over at us and then past our shoulders, recognition flickering in deep blue disks. "We'll be moving a bit off course today," Ophelia continues casually. "Please plan accordingly."

At this the others stir, glancing over the starboard side searchingly before rushing off to their appointed duties. I move my arm to my side, palm fitting onto the handle of my rapier just a bit too well, and I smile wickedly. My sisters are always fighting for the treasure, for the loot, for whatever can be stolen away from others. But me? My sword flashes for something far darker than blood. I love the control. My pulse hums longingly for the fear that I can strike into others, for the way their faces morph from mild amusement to horror in a milisecond. Their shouts, symphonies of fear on the deck, are music to my ears - I am forcing them to feel, to fall back, and I enjoy it so much it almost hurts. Almost.

The ship makes a turn that causes me to spread my feet out for balance, clinging tightly to the gunwale as the hull curves gracefully over the glaucous waves. Above us the black flag snaps in the wind, a portrait of wickedness for the world to see. I close my eyes and feel the spray of brine across my face, tasting the seasalt on my tongue and breathing deeply. The sea is my home. The crashing of the waves against weathered wood speaks louder to me than Ophelia's monosyllabic orders, and it is not until I feel a small shove on my back and turn to sea Aurora, eyebrows raised slightly in question as she moves past me, that I am brought back to reality. I offer her a grateful smile because I always smile to hide the darkness within me, and then unsheath my rapier and admire the bright reflection of the sun on the reflective surface of the blade.

None of them know because none of them understand. I fight to be perfect in a family of flawless sisters. They've all got something special within them, something that makes them shine. I guess I was the mistake, then, because I have nothing. Nothing but the attitude of a bloodthirsty cutthroat and the mastery of deception. Maybe that's why I strive so hard for perfection - I want to be better than all of them because they're all so unique and wonderful without even trying and it's not fair. My masks are the only things that raise me up to stand at their height. On the outside, I am smart, outgoing, and adventurous. On the inside... I don't even know what kind of monster lives in there now. Something clever. And cruel. And coldhearted.

Grace gives a sudden shout from her place up in the rigging, and my heart sinks when I follow her gaze. The white flag; they're surrendering without even bothering to fight us. It seems like a lot of ships have been doing that lately - we are infamous as the pirate queens of the sea, bloody wenches who take no prisoners and leave naught but flotsam in our wake. As cheers rise up from my sisters, my own eyes flicker closed for a moment. And then I am grinning victoriously with the rest of them, grabbing ropes and canvas sacks and whatever else we'll need for our raid in the most effortless way possible, because I am skilled, I am experienced, I am perfect.

And maybe I'm just a little sick and tired of being ignored.

( log // history )

I guess I'll have to try it
Worst case-I'll get swallowed by the deep blue sea
There's no more tryin to fight it
The pain I'll leave behind me[/center]

"I'll take first watch tonight."

The words are not an offer of kindness - rather, they are escape. While my sisters celebrate with a feast made up of some of the food we stole, lanterns warmly bathing the interior of the small room in a golden glow, I slink away into the darkness. A few of them nod absently, but most are too busy talking vividly of our victory to even notice. I leave the bubble of light and warmth behind me, daring to take my chances against the cold night and rolling sea beneath us. With the agility that every Sparrow sister possesses, I reach up into the rigging and begin to haul myself up, swinging myself around and across until my hand grips the edge of the crow's nest and I am able to pull myself up and rest within the highest point of the ship. Beneath me, I can hear my sisters' laughter and see the candlelight spilling through the doorway onto the deck. Normally, I would be joining them, just as enthusiastic at such a successful raid. But tonight, I am distinctly unbalanced, and I don't feel like celebrating.

The moonlight turns the shifting sea silver, and above me the stars stretch out into a thousand constallations that Artemis can probably name by heart. To me, they're just stars. Something pretty to look at, but hardly special. Certainly not a map and compass, as she claims they are, and yet... I shake my head slightly, sinking against the hard wooden edge and gazing searchingly over the horizon. Ma loved the stars. I'm not sure how I know that - perhaps one of my older sisters told me, or maybe Da - but it rings in my mind with that kind of stone-set certainty that can't be anything but truth.

I don't remember Ma all that well; I was but a wee lass when she died. Hardly more than a baby, really. I've painted a kind of portrait in my mind, though, of a women with flowing auburn hair and kind eyes. She shines with that kind of do-gooder purity that only a few can truly possess - something I didn't inherit. Ma is someone special I carry in my heart, and with her and Da in there I'm afraid there's little room left for many more. I taste the salt on the air, breathing deeply and imagining her drifting along, a ghost on the wind who whispers across my pale skin and smiles into my embrace. But in a split second she is gone, leaving me clinging to the untruths I tell myself and all my broken masks. My eyes fall from the horizon down to the twinkling ether reflected in the waves, and then shifts back up to the brightest star that shines in the sky. That one's Ma. And the one next to her, that's Da.

After Ma died, Da became my whole world. The only problem was that I couldn't be the same to him. In a family as large as ours, it's hard to earn the attention you deserve. Everyone else was special and beautiful and talented, and I was just Ev. The strange second youngest who always wanted to be the villians in Aurora's games of pretend. I guess that's what really started it all - the fear of being forgotten and uncared for because I was less than the rest of them. It's sad, really, how I decided I didn't need them at such a young age. Voices drift up like music, and my seafoam disks reflect the fairytale-like glow for a moment, eyebrows furrowing slightly. But I pull myself away quickly, reminding myself that I am stronger, braver, better. Someday, I'll be good enough to leave the Black Pearl for good.

The lies started at too young an age. Perfection isn't natural. It's not real to those who aren't born with it, so I had to decieve. I cheated on tests, secretly got extra help from trainers at the training center, faked smiles and politeness while underneath I was wickedly harboring secrets I used to turn others in my favor. I was Da's little angle, my teachers' prodigy, destined to be Victor someday if I was ever reaped. And the manipulation... it felt good. I loved the way I could twist them around my fingers, shape any situation into whatever I wanted it to be. I began to shine just as bright as my sisters, and I earned everything I deserved. More. The deception and the untruths... they became normal, you know? Like they were just a part of me. And training became easier when I learned the surge of power my body felt every time a drop of blood fell from the edge of my blade. But that kind of darkness had no place in District Four. I knew I was too sick, too twisted to ever fit in with normal society. As soon as I was discovered, I would be shunned and hated. It was my secret fear.

And then Da died, and everything changed. Automatically, my gaze returns to the twinkling stars. A clear sky. The storm was something beyond our control - we could only sit back in horror as they told us of the howling winds and icy rains that pulled him into the inky mountains of water and never allowed him to resurface. Sometimes, at night, I hear him screaming in my dreams. I always thought that all the bad things that happened to me, like Ma dying and me not being special enough were somehow my fault. Like I did something wrong, or I was just so bad deep inside that I deserved it. But the storm... Da was in an accident. There was nothing I or anyone else could do about it. Sometimes, life's just hard, for no reason at all.

To this very day, I can still remember every single lie I ever told him.

Piracy wasn't the only option, but it sure seemed to be the best one. Ophelia wouldn't have us beaten or starved by the horrible orphanages. And the life of a pirate is a bloody good one, let me tell you. It's the best thing that could have happened to me, really. In this world, there is a place for my thirst for blood and powerhungry disposition. It is good to be feared and hated. And I have turned myself into the very definition of the perfect pirate, merciless and cruel and brave. They still don't notice me, though. They never do. Sometimes I wonder if I could just one day leave, and they'd never notice at all. Someday, it'll all be mine. I'll have a ship of my own, no sisters to ignore me, and as much freedom as I'd like.

But until I'm older, I suppose I'll just have to sing my dreams to the stars. They're the only ones that ever understand, anyway.


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