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 Posted: Sun Dec 11, 2011 9:13 pm
  Book Summary
In the late 17th century, famed pirate Emer Morrisey was on the cusp of escaping pirate life with her one true love and unfathomable riches when she was slain and cursed with the dust of 100 dogs, dooming her to one hundred lives as a dog before returning to a human body—with her memories intact. Now she’s a contemporary American teenager, and all she needs is a shovel and a ride to Jamaica.
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 6:48 pm
Rules
✎ real life pictures only
✎ Keep it semi-lit. 2 paragraphs minimum 4 paragraphs max.
✎ dont tlk lik dis.... it's just plain annoying and you will be kicked out
✎ romance is a must, so be creative!
✎ decorative posts are very much appreciated
✎ follow Gaia ToS...this means time skip people!
✎ I understand leaves of absence, but please let me know before disappearing. Try to post regularly because it's not fun for the others if you don't
✎ pm all profiles to me under the title of 'Dust'
✎ i reserve the right to add or change rules as i please, although warning will be given
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 6:54 pm
Skeleton
**Must pm both reserve and full skeleton to me**
Reserve:
[ONE 100X100 PIC OF YOUR CHARACTER PLEASE]
[b][color=ANYCOLOR] ♛ POSITION // CHARACTER NAME // USERNAME[/color]
Full:
[align=center][IMAGE HERE][/align]
[color=ANYCOLOR]
[b]Role:[/b]
[b]Username:[/b]
[b]Character Name:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Sexuality:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Height:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b] four sent. at the least
[b]Biography:[/b] four sent. at the least
[b]Likes:[/b]
[color=white]xxxxxx[/color]☑
[color=white]xxxxxx[/color]☑
[color=white]xxxxxx[/color]☑
[b]Dislikes:[/b]
[color=white]xxxxxx[/color]☒
[color=white]xxxxxx[/color]☒
[color=white]xxxxxx[/color]☒
[b]Extra:[/b]
[/color]
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 6:55 pm
Profiles 
♛ Main Girl // Emer Morrisey // Kiwi St_Claire
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 6:56 pm
Prologue
With one last, almighty roar, the Frenchman fell to his knees and died. When the smoke cleared, Emer kicked him to make sure he was dead. Bent on one knee in the moonlight, holding his head with her left hand, she took a marlinspike and removed his right eyeball with relative ease. She rolled it in the sand next to his head and shoved the spike deep into his empty socket.
Placing her pistol gently into her waistband, she looked toward the sea.
“I curse you!” she screamed at the dark water. “I curse you for all you gave me and for all you pilfered! I curse you for the journeys you begin and the journeys you end! I curse you until I can’t hate you anymore! And I scarcely think I will ever hate you more than on this wretched day!” Her fair hair stuck to her face, wet with sorrow and surf, and her hand-embroidered cotton blouse clung to her, stained with her lover’s blood.
Turning again to the two dead bodies, she retrieved the shovel from underneath Seanie—Seanie, her first and only love. She limped back to the clearing. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she sat down on the edge of the hole and talked to herself.
“There was only one reason to stop all of this poxy business.” She turned and looked at the distant dead. “What worth is a precious jewel now? Damn it! In all these years, over all this water! And I end up a fool with a lap full of precious nothing.”
She dragged the two crates into the hole and began to cover them quickly, concerned that the Frenchman’s reinforcements would arrive at any minute. She buried the shovel last, on top, and used her hands to fill the remaining depression, covering the sand with sticks and dead leaves.
Returning to the scene of the dead men, she lay down beside Seanie, placed her head on his chest and sobbed.
“It’s like two different lives in the same bloody day.”
Through her sobs, Emer heard footsteps. A voice boomed from the darkness, making her jump. She scrambled to her feet and reloaded her pistol.
“Foul b***h!” he began, in island-accented English. “You have meddled in my life for too many years! I’m sure you didn’t know every whore in these islands heard him scream your name a thousand times! And me, too! Now look at him! Dead!”
Emer saw the man emerging from the tree line, his hands hidden. She had seen him before, on Tortuga, and on board the Chester. It was the Frenchman’s first mate.
“You will see!” he yelled, jumping from the brush. “You will see how true love lasts! You will see how real love spans time and distance we know nothing of!”
He rushed forward, then, shaking a small purse toward her. From it came a fine powder that covered Emer’s hair and face. She reached up and wiped her eyes clear, confused.
“What are you at?” she asked, spitting dust from her lips.
He stood with his arms and face raised to the night sky. “I curse you with the power of every spirit who ever knew love!” he screamed. “I curse you to one hundred lives as the b***h you are, and hope wild dogs tear your heart into the state you’ve left mine!” He began chanting in a frightful foreign language.
Still brushing the dust from her hair, Emer took aim with her gun and fired.
As she watched the man fall, she felt a burning prod in her back and stumbled sideways—long enough to see that the Frenchman had miraculously not been all dead, and long enough to see that he was covered in stray pieces of the strange dust his first mate had thrown at her.
She tried to fall as near to Seanie as possible, and managed to get close enough to reach out and grab his cold hand. She took her dying breath lying halfway between her lover and her killer, covered in the dust of one hundred dogs, knowing she was the only person on the planet who knew what was buried beneath the chilly sand ten yards away.
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