Ok, never mind then.

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Where do you go when your running away,
The cost of stopping is too great to pay.
~Amanda (saw this written in a washroom stall at a movie theater)

Alright. My age is different, I'll be 26.

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<center>
"I think I'm adorable."
~Dean Winchester~
</center>

When do we start?

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Name: Laydon Highes
Age: 27
Appearance: Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, good-looking features, tan, about 6'1
Status:
History: Tbd

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[font=Times New Roman]
Hello, I'm Amoniel
[/font]</center>

((okay, I will change my age to 27, mate))

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

It was raining. Again. It'd been raining for the past few days now. The water pounded on the tavern's roof, which had decided not to function. It dribbled dejectedly through the cracks in the ceiling boards, parted with gusto from the rafters, and happily proceeded to irritate everyone who happened to be sitting in the wrong spot.

But then again, "everyone" was a general term. Half that general "everyone" was too drunk to notice the rainwater in their rum. Welcome to Tortuga.

Joshamee Gibbs was not in a favorable mood. It wasn't just that he was dripping water into his stew. Everytime he peered over Sparrow's shoulder to get a better look at the map, the cheerful captain shifted position, muttering something about getting the map wet. Currently Gibbs was squinting through Jack's dreadlocks, wondering how often Jack washed his hair.

"Aye, the trident." He surrendered at last and contented himself with nodding sagely. "The one thing that Poseidon wants but can never find. It was stolen from him, they say. Legend has it that whoever touches it is cursed. But one thing is for certain - Poseidon never sleeps and will never sleep until he finds his trident and..." Here he gesticulated with an elaborate wrenching motion.

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Little Will - as he was so called by his mother more often then not, though he rather liked his father's William better - staggered slightly as his feet hit the deck, unused to the pitch and roll of the vessel. He'd seen many a ship before, perhaps more than one might expect in his ten years, but this one was different. He grasped the railing to steady himself and looked down at his hands. It was strange, the Dutchman, not shaped like an ordinary ship at all. He nodded mutely, still examining the ship underneath his hands with an air of grave contemplation.

Having found himself once again on the deck of the ship he'd been captain of for ten years, Will found himself almost relaxing. He knew every inch of deck, every square of sail. But with the sense of familiarity came the old ache, the longing to be home that he'd thought would never be fulfilled. He found himself looking for Elizabeth, making sure she was there, and in doing so found his son and his father gazing out to sea already, an expression of ten-year-old solemnity on William's face.

Will smiled, and found he was twirling his son's dropped hat, a miniature tricorne, in his hands. He ruffled William's hair and put it back on from behind, smiling very briefly when the boy turned to look at him, and hoping it was comforting. The Dutchman was a strange ship for your first voyage. And Bootstrap was not the grandfather most little boys possessed.

The deck rolled beneath his feet and Will automatically adjusted his steps. He came to stand beside Elizabeth, eyes still roving over the Dutchman's every detail. It felt strange, alien, to have her there with him when for a decade he'd longed to have her at his side.

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Laydon was not a heavy drinker. He had a swig of rum and left the rest to the crew. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the tavern's shelter, well sort of. The whole crew was drunk, but Laydon didn't. They weren't sailing in this weather, that's all that mattered.

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<center>

[font=Times New Roman]
Hello, I'm Amoniel
[/font]</center>

Erm, i did read I just missed that part and it was confusing. Sorry. I am dedicated btw.

I edited.

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<center>

[font=Times New Roman]
Hello, I'm Amoniel
[/font]</center>

((bio up..sorry for the delay!!))
Name: Declan Smith
Age: 25
Appearance: Dark brown hair, gray eyes
Status: Crew member of the Earth Shaker
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Declan toyed with the hilt of his sword. He stood in the forecastle, steadying himself from the waves crashing unforgivingly against the ship. He walked up to the deck and looked up. The sky was an inky black.

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Bellmaethorion walked along the Flying Dutchman and paused. Something didn't seem right. 'Imaginating again.' He thought. His black bangs were in his eyes.

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<center>
"I think I'm adorable."
~Dean Winchester~
</center>

Barbossa's expression shifted from one of half-hearted indulgence to one of wary concentration as Gibbs spoke. "Forgive me, Jack, if I still be a bit gun-shy when it comes to embarking upon any sort o' 'grand adventure' with the likes o' ye," he said casually, pushing the map away and standing up to leave. "Especially when there be an ancient curse involved. We both know how th' last one ended up."
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Elizabeth smiled softly to herself as Will interacted with his son. They'd been reunited for several months now, but the three were only just beginning to truly act like a family. There had been an adjustment period, particularly for Will as he came to terms with the fact that he had a ten-year-old son. For Elizabeth, it had taken at least a full month to stop waking up and having to physically reassure herself that Will truly was lying there beside her, and even still she had moments when she half expected to look up and find him gone. They were adjusting, yes, but the ten years had decidedly left their mark on all of them.

As Will moved closer to her, Elizabeth instinctively nestled up against her husband's side, listening to the familiar rhythmic beating of his heart. For a whole decade, that sound had been the only piece of her husband that remained with her, her only reassurance that he was still alive and coming back to her one day. It was a strange -though far from unwelcome- sensation to finally be able to hold onto her husband again after so many years apart. Sighing contentedly to herself, she watched as Bootstrap continued to speak to his grandson.

"You'll adjust quickly enough, lad," the older man said, tentatively patting the boy's small shoulder once before drawing his hand back. "A Turner at sea is a Turner at home. P'raps you'll even be able to help out some around here, aye?"

Will put his arms around her, briefly resting his head against her hair, but remained there only for a brief moment. In another he was gone, striding off down the deck of the Dutchman with an unmistakable air of command, even if he said nothing. Ten years on a ship left marks a man would not soon shake. He found himself noticing things, features altered or flaws fixed. He reminded himself, not without an air of relief, that this was temporary. The Dutchman's influence would soon loose its hold on him.

Little William turned an inquiring gaze up from the railing, his face under the brim of his hat endearing in its solemnity. "Mama taught me songs - do you sing, then? While you work?" He waved a hand at the deck and sails. "I can sing."

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Gibbs listened to Barbossa's less than amiable tone and found himself wincing. An incessant nagging at the back of his head told him he should never have opened his mouth. His gumption soon overruled that, however. The crew deserved to know - for Jack's own good. They didn't want another Missing Rum Incident, in which Barbossa nearly -

Never mind that.

In any case, Captain Jack Sparrow would only be half the accomplished man he wasn't if reliable ol' Joshamee Gibbs wasn't there to watch his back.

Something about saucy Mediterranean wenches jolted Gibbs back to the deck. Er, wet tavern floor. "Aye, saucier," he mused, nodding and staring at nothing in particular. Abruptly he brightened. "What be her name? Ah, Grizelda! Ye want t'stay away from that one, eh Jack?"

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(When do i come in? I don't know what i should be doing..)

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((I'm not sure how to bring my char in either, tuarwen...maybe we can come in together? ))

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly