Seaside Shanty. Revived

"We were so stupid. All of us!"

"Of course something like this was bound to happen."

"And we don't have anti-septic, antibiotics. Not even any bandages!"

"Just calm down. Everyone, CALM. Down."

"CALM DOWN!!!!" Mia screeched. "My sister fell practically twenty feet, got grazed by who knows how much shoddy wood, and we probably have termites, mold, all kinds of gross or toxic things to worry about in this stupid ship!"

"I know that but--" Jo acknowledged, before remembering Gwenny. Before anyone could remember her and she frankly didn't mind. "Hey finish up here yeah?"

She simply nodded, trying her best to keep her face ill-tempered and flippant. Just like everyone was used to. Shooting their great leader a bitter smirk.

"No duh. Figured too."

Looking at things objectively poor Jessica was the priority.

Gwenny. Gwenny could take a hit, had taken some and so knew she could continue. Grit her teeth past it and do the chores assigned to her in repairing the boat for habitation and the other snares planned for protection.

Jo, frowning somewhat disapprovingly nevertheless accepted her response. Nothing more than a curt nod before tending toward the little ones.

Little ones who weren't too fussed with keeping their gossip to themselves.

"It's honestly her fault."

"This is why she didn't like her so much," Mia bit out, "honestly never could blame her."

"Hey I'm here," Buck reminded her tenderly.

Gwenny figured the best way to go about it was actually get a survey of what needed doing. Anything supplementary could be thrown onto the others once Jessica was-- hopefully-- no, would be stable.

Each movement sent a sharp, cutting pain down her middle.

By her eyes just clean up the mess, collect the sharp objects and other hazards present for storage and skulk around the few undented or molding packages for some directory or other clue on the ship and former crew.

Peeking within the display cases that had to have once gleamed, Gwenny found little except crystal shards of what used to be figurines.

Sharp, jagged ends that could very well be in her own side at the moment.

No. Ignore it. Simply grit her teeth and steel her resolves. What did it matter.

*"On some level, you know she may have very well deserved it."*

*"How could you say a thing like that."*

It didn't matter.

It didn't.

She was sixteen.

Gwenny was sixteen, she could take care of herself. Had always taken care of herself so as not to end up in debt and strung as some puppet to low-bit con artists looking for some fast cash.

Bending down she picked up some of the rotted wood.

Either Jo or Buck would know just what the greenish patches and moisture meant.

Her breath hitched.

The pain raced up until it pierced her chest.

Gasping hoarsely, Gwenny lay to her side, completely downed by the terrible incision.

Finally lifting up her shirt.

A terrible purple bruise had blossomed down her waist and likely even down to her thigh.

It ached to touch, forcing a tortured whimper out of her. Gwenny furiously covered her mouth.

Each and every movement hurt. But, she had to hide this. If the others came back...

She wasn't hurt.

It wasn't internal bleeding. It wasn't. She was just hit with a stupid piece of plywood. And it hardly bled. Whatever droplets clung to her sewn together blouse hadn't even stained through to be seen.

So many weeks ago, so, so long ago she could hardly call it up anymore, she had ripped a sparkling and provocative cocktail dress nestled between baggy, boyish shirts by its seams to better move.

She did much the same right now.

Forcing her body into a better, more stable bridge to work with both arms. Arcing the damaged flesh upwards.

Catching the light making it gleam eerily large and shiny.

Slowly, she wound the fabric around... only for it to slip.

And the last of her resolve failing her as well. All Gwenny could do was lie there.

Cringing at the idea of everyone else seeing her like this. Being so dramatic.

A heavy breath of cold air swept across her.

Why should she get to act like the victim when a nine year old girl could be dead? Or even if not what if she woke up concussed? Would she move? What would they do when it came to collection, to running from whatever force on this island had chased them down?

Driving them all to the edges of this island.

Slowly some metallic tone began to pick at her hearing.

In between the pillars, slinking from the doorway of the sweeping inner bowel of the pirate ship, wandered a captain in a bedraggled long coat.

Yellowed, crooked teeth baring into a grin. Dark embers flowed from the lass.

In a rush of cold, sea salted air the specter held greedy hands over her.

Slowly, Gwenny opened her eyes.

Meeting bright blue eyes glazed over in frost, the whites bulging and bug-like.

Her head hit the floor again with a grisly CRRCK.

"Gwenny! Oh my God Gwenny!"

...anything, we need to lift her up!" Jo.

As usual making out commands.

Oh great leader.

How gullible you are.

He held her hand firmly into his.

"I'm sorry, I am so sorry. Jessica-- she's fine. And all because of you Gwenny. I've scolded... please. Please don't be internal."

Her eyes opened fully.

Smiling quite softly. Her eyes somewhat glazed and unfocused but otherwise, filling with warm contentment, fueling her efforts anew.

"Let me," Jo urged gently, "yeah let's get you comfortable. Buck was a mess you'll be happy to know."

Sure enough who but the athlete himself stormed inside.

"Hi, I know you said set up the med station," his hands were up, "which already done, sooo--"

"Don't have many other options," Jo agreed. "This is gonna hurt but you don't have to worry about walking."

"Why-- why are you...?"

Getting her to her feet Buck buckled a bit but nevertheless held on to her arm, keeping her stable.

Together they trekked out of the room and into what could only be a captain's room.

Within eight hours Gwenny would run a severe fever.

Hardly keeping anything down, the ever present pain at her skull making her irritable.

Her friends were all there, lifting the blanket, replacing thicker hides for thin silks when she got stupidly warm, riding out nightmares, and always, always keeping cold cloths handy.

Jessica had refused to leave the bed, only compromised to sleep on the floor in case Mother Hen Gwen needed anything in the night. Allowing herself to cry in front of the "bad b word."

It was the last thought Gwenny could have.

Trapped in her own body, shame steadily cleaving her in two, a vile, vicious poison. Her breath had hitched when the terrible apparition touched Jessica.

NO!

And by some miracle, perhaps even by that pretentious, uncaring power others called God, her hand didn't snap the poor little girl's neck.