Frederik Starkley {d i s t r i c t f o u r} done~

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name- fuck u
age- fuck u
district- fuck u
gender- fuck u
o d a i r

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    frederik starkley             

They don't give you an application to become a pirate. There's no evaluation or meetings where you dress up in suits and exchange fake pleasantries with your possible coworkers. It's a dirty job and even dirtier business to get into. They spin tales of riches and women. All falling into your lap with such ease you barely have to lift a finger. What complete bullshit. The life they gave me sure as hell wasn't on the pamphlet. And I want my money back. I'd rather be a dirt-poor orphan than what they've made me. I want a fucking chance at a life away from this. 

It's too late now. Only seventeen and sailing the seas with the two stupidest fucks you ever did meet. Out of my "crew" I honestly can't decide who I hate more. The pompous, yet utterly hopeless captain with major small man syndrome in this case, no hand syndrome. Or the completely whipped pussy of a second mate. It's most likely the latter, as I have no patience for those without the self confidence it takes to be a decent human being. Perhaps, I wouldn't despise my situation as much if given a more capable crew. 

But, no, my stupid ass had to join this fuck on his personal vendetta against some shit named Peter Pan. that fuckin' name though. sounds like the poor kid should be in a fairy tale. I've never met the boy in person, and quite honestly, I tire of Hook's obsession. I don't hate him, I'm sick of hatin' whoever the captain says. I don't know why i stay... I mean, couldn't I just man up? Pack my things and get the fuck outa dodge? I guess... the ships the only place I've ever really fit in. Leavin' the only place I've ever called home would be more painful than I'd like to admit. 

My body is a work of art. Thousands of needles leaving their in embedded in my flesh. They have no real meaning, nothing deep or profound. They don't represent some inner struggle, or a mountain I have overcome. They look cool, and they fit me. I wasn't menacing without them, there was nothing that demanded respect from a gangly orphan with blotchy red eyes and a running nose. They might be the only thing I don't regret doing. 

If you hadn't noticed, I'm not the most confident guy. The hate I harbor is more than a weapon against others. I'm set on self destruction. I loathe everyone on this ship. Every. Single. One. And that includes myself. There isn't anything specifically wrong with me I guess. Years of hard labor have coaxed muscles onto my skin. My hair a light brown in color and, despite my efforts, always sticking up in odd angles. I'm a little shit, sarcastic and bitter, years as a mindless lacking taking it's toll on my intelligence. 

But, that's not what I hate. 

I hate that I'm here. That i wake up every morning and find that I'm still in this ripred-forsaken place on this ripred-forsaken earth. It's not that I want to die, far from it. I... just don't see the perks in living either. It's a perpetual nothingness I have been trapped in for well over ten years now. And it is this, which tends the the hateful fire within. 

I don't remember much of my past, whether this be because I was too young, of I've simply chosen not to remember. I know that my father disappeared when I was three. Either dying of an overdose or running for the hills as soon as he realized what a little shit I was. The only memory I still have of my father is a musty, stale scent of smoke. And a distant scream whenever he was there. 

Mother was an angel. Her hair a pure gold and her wings made of clouds. Her smile lit up a room, and attracted every single man's eye to her when she entered the room. I, her valiant knight, keeping her company in the long, stormy evenings. Which were every evening since father left. She did love the creep, I'll never under what she saw in him. From the few pictures she'd allowed me to see he was nothing special. Much like myself, unruly brown hair perhaps two shades darker than my own and the slight remnants of a beard upon a broad chin. 

She died when I was seven. I don't remember much of it. An empty bottle of booze, and something else. A bright orange bottle with a white cap. The cold had enveloped her by the time i found her. 

I didn't want to go to the orphanage. No one wanted a seven year old brat. I was captive there for seven... long... years. Before I managed to escape. It was quite the event, leaping out the unlocked one story window. 

Quite honestly, the didn't even care I was gone. 

Then I found Hook, and so the story goes. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. 

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condensed but i've owed Ele this for like ever

Done~

[Python]

I love him and I love you.