Re: Chapter 2 - The Patrol
Captain Jackson waved a quieting hand down at them, then reached up to reflexivly pat his sodden jacket. It was utterly ruined, and his best scarlet silk waistcoat, too. His long red hair was still plastered to his face and neck, moisture leaking from the tips. Darkened by the water it looked rather like fresh blood, and Jackson knew he didn't look the elegant captain he liked to appear as. In fact, he looked like he had one foot in the grave. He smirked as he watched the deck carefully for the right moment to appear. He was counting on that.
Not so long ago, he had been dead. He remembered the tight urgency of his body, the growing, undeniable need to take a breath. The cold agony of water filling his lungs, of choking on it until all pain ceased and there had been blissful, heavy silence and a glimmering light above him. Then even that had gone, replaced by darkness where, for the first time in years, the burden of the curse had been lifted from his soul.
That had been nice. But now it was back, and all the weight of his duty with it. He swallowed down his disappointment; he was almost sorry that dirtbag Ribische hadn't lived long enough to experience the full brunt of the curse, and realize what a foolish thing it was to want it.
It had hurt, coming back to life. He had awoken, choking out a surprising amount of water, catching the barest movement to his side, where Dillon, General Ribische's twisted assisstant, was slumping lifeless to the ground.
When Jackson saw the gaping wound on the back of the Patrolman's head, he knew that the spirit in the music box must have breifly animated the corpse and pressed the water out of his lungs, got is heart moving again. He also knew the spirit must have suffered greatly in order to accomplish that, and was touched that she would go to such lengths for his sake. When this was all over, he would thank her. Maybe also ask her how, with him dead, she had managed to have any influence on this plane.
He felt shaky and ill. His breathing was raspy and he could almost feel a little water still sloshing around in his sore chest. He was very thoroughly chilled, but had to concentrate on the task at hand. He flashed a confident grin in the direction of Jane and his boys, before straightening up and regally stalking out into the open, in full view of most of the crew out on deck.
"Greetings, malcontents. I have returned from the dead to wreak my awful vengeance on your sorry hides. Prepare to die."
The effect was incredible. About half crouched and cowered in terror, and the other half ran. One or two fainted dead away. Captain Knight smiled wickedly and motioned behind him for the others to come up.
"There is no escape!" he thundered, laughing horribly and advancing on those who were cowering, a languid, dripping, pale phantom. A few more slumped to the deck.