Emily sat behind the fruit stand she owned, one of many in this small port town. She was not a large seller, nor a popular stand. All her fruits were picked from her own garden, giving them her own personally charm. Or at least that is what she told people. Reality is that she was just doing anything short of selling herself just to get by. The fruit stand was just one of her most recent ideas to make some money. She lived here on this small island her whole life. Her parents were Privateers, and went missing when she was 1 2. She holds no grudge against them, only wished they took her with them. Of course however, she knows that is a selfish wish, as she couldn’t live the life of a privateer, not at that age. Simply wishful thinking as a small girl. That was eleven years ago, and since then she has done everything she legally could to get by. She has been scraping by her whole life, barely making enough money to survive. This most recent ploy to buy fruit seeds when she was younger turned out to be successful. She had planted the seeds behind the shack she owned on the edge of town, and now the harvest was very abundant, so not only can she enjoy her own meal of the fruits, but she also can sell all the rest now. She was smiling and thinking to herself about what a splendid idea it was, spacing out, when a large hand suddenly passed over her face. She looked at the hand quickly, realizing she was still on earth, and that she had a customer.
“Terribly sorry sir, was elsewhere I suppose!” she exclaimed, scratching the back of her head embarrassed. She looked at the people before her now and realized they were an odd bunch. In the middle of the three was a very large man, towering well above his companions. He had light blonde hair, cut short, and a very narrow face. His eyes were bright blue, like a turquoise stone, except they weren’t beautiful as she would expect, instead they frightened her. They were the eyes of a man who had hardship, and was no stranger to pain, both giving and receiving. Beside him to his left was a shorter man in a funny round hat, and a large moustache. He was dressed very formally, like a mayor or something. His eyes were a brownish color, and showed intelligence. She then looked to the man’s right and was taken back by the final figure. He was not large, in fact he was medium between the three men. He wore a dark coat of some kind with grey streaks along the chest. They roughly (very roughly) resembled that of a rib cage. He wore his hood up over his head, casting a ghastly shadow over him. The man was wearing a mask she realized, one that looked like someone had taken the front of a skull and broke off the right eye and temple, and called it a mask. She could only see one of the man’s eyes, and it was a muddy dark grey color. The man had a rifle slung over his shoulder loosely, it looked like some kind of dark wood material. She stared at him for a moment more before the middle man snapped his fingers in front of her angrily.
“Lady, are you with the living or the dead?” he said gruffly in a thick accent. She barely understood him, but quickly shook her head again.
“Sorry, I’m with the living now” she joked awkwardly, chuckling. The gentleman did not look amused by her joke. The short one picked up one of the oranges and flicked out a knife from who knows where. She was fascinated by this action, as it looked like the knife came out of thin air. The man cut the orange in two, and looked surprised as juices from the orange leaked down onto his arm. She smiled in pride of her fruit, the pride of her hard work. She cared for the trees in which she harvested the fruit with the care a mother would give her children. She even went as far as to talk to her trees, for someone had once said that it helps plants grow. She wasn’t sure if this was true, but she did it anyways. The trees were indeed her children. The man in the funny hat smiled at her, happy with the fruit.
“I would like to buy 6 barrels of oranges madam” the man said in an accent she identified as British. This shocked her, as she did not have 6 barrels here at the stand.
“I hate to inform you sir, but I don’t know if I even have 6 barrels worth of fruit on my trees.”
“That is quite alright, we will buy whatever you can manage then, if it is no trouble to you.”
She was flustered and set to closing her table, unfolding it, and piling everything onto cart/wagon. That much fruit would sell for a lot of gold, and the idea fascinated her. She was excited now.
“This way gentleman, we are going to go get more fruit then!” she exclaimed, dragging her cart behind her. The two gentlemen with the British man looked to him confused. He looked back at them and shrugged, and followed her. She was all but singing as she led them along. She drew nearer and nearer to her house, before the man in the mask grabbed her shoulder. She screamed in fright, and struggled out of his grasp, staring at him in fear. He simply looked at his hand, then at her, like a confused animal. The other two quickly stepped forwards and began talking to him, asking him about what was wrong. He simply pointed at the horizon in front of them. She looked where he was pointing, and squinted her eyes to see what he was pointing out. She noticed a thin trail of smoke rising from the distance. Her heart lurched in her stomach as she assumed the worst.