Far From Home

Chapter 1

A Young Girls' Story

Disclaimer: I own nothing within this story, other than my own character. All rights belong to RLS and Disney.

Pairing: Jim/OC

Summary: "I grew up fighting. Every day of my life, I'll fight. And I'll sure as hell go out with a fight. My mother raised me to defend myself, my father taught me passion. They were good people. Greater pirates." A teenage girl, under the care of Silver, comes along for the ride to Treasure Planet. Will her curiosity be peaked by young Jim Hawkins? Treasure Planet with an OC written in.

Author's Note: In case you don't know me, I'm Melanie. I'm a Virgo. I love sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. I'm also terrible at updating my stories at regular intervals.

Anyhoodle.

(I also use the word 'anyhoodle' a lot). So I wrote this fic a few years ago, and, upon watching Treasure Planet again, decided to publish this! Woot. It was all in first person previously, so I edited ALL TWENTY CHAPTERS to be in third person. Bitchbitch moanmoan whine. Anyhoodle. I rewrote and edited, and here we are! I left this chapter in first person because it's my OCs intro. So. Yeah.

Just a warning, this chapter is really crappy, honestly. I know that when you create your own character for a story, you put a lot of effort into their past and their reason for being there, because they're yours and you love your characters. But I really didn't do that here. I put most of my effort into writing the rest of the story, adding as much detail as I possibly can. So please ignore the lesser quality of this chapter.

Thanks for taking the time to read! Reviews are a cup of hot tea on a rainy day.

Kisses and cumshots,

Melanie

I grew up fighting. Every day of my life, I'll fight. And I'll sure as hell go out with a fight. My mother raised me to defend myself, my father taught me passion. They were good people. Greater pirates.

I was born in the Captain's quarters of a great pirate ship in the Lagoon Nebula. Learned to walk on the seemingly endless docks at the port of Viscerion. Won my first game of dice and killed my first man in the same night, in a shady pub on the shadier planet of Tugale. My father was proud of me that night. My mother worried, saying I was too young for such things. But I was strong; ever a fighter. I proved to her I could kill a man who threatened me at age ten, but still be her innocent little girl. Looking back, it turns out she was right to be worried, though for a different reason. It seems that the man I killed had friends, and they were none too pleased about his death. I remember the night they came for us; I remember it well.

It was a crisp night. Cooler than the people of the Port of Koon were used to. But I liked it; I always preferred the cold to the blistering hot that my parents preferred. Maria and Petyr Montgomery were part of the last generation of humans born on the planet Earth, before it was destroyed. They grew up together as friends, in a place they called Europe. They escaped together and became pirates, married by an old captain on a rich ship only a year later. Mother tells me of Earth sometimes; about her home with her mother and sister -whom I never met; they perished with the Earth- with the blue paint in her bedroom. She'd smile at that; those small little details she'd tell me of. She always said, "When you look back at old memories, you'll smile at the tiniest details. Because when you have them, you never appreciate them properly. Like blue paint and the sunrise. And once they're gone, only then, you'll realize you miss them."

She was a brilliant woman, my mother. She laughed at everything, and loved to tease my father and make him smile. She was medium skinned, tan but not quite, with gorgeous light brown ringlets framing her face. Tall and sturdy, a great fighter. I inherited her tall frame and slim build, but got my father's brown eyes and wavy hair. But mother knew how to shoot properly, and taught me well. I remember watching her fight once. She'd hidden me behind a wall one night, when a thief had come to our latest home to rob us of what little we had. Mother had pulled out a sword, and fought him. She laughed while she lashed at him, laughed and smiled and taunted. She was having fun with it. She was having fun when she killed him. Her deep green eyes were alight with fire and laughter as she took the life from him. I was only six then, and I was frightened. But afterward, my mother threw the sword across the room, and fell to her knees in front of me, sadness shadowing the light of her eyes. She whispered she was sorry, over and over. I'm sorry, my love. I'd held on as tight as I could when she embraced me, and I began to understand that you do what you must. You do your duty. And from then on my mother taught me how to fight, how to elude capture, how to charm people into believing your lies. She taught me to be a great pirate, like her.

I was much closer to my mother than I was with my father. He did everything he could to protect my mother and I, and he was quite a serious man. I wish I could have spent more time with him; wish I could have known him better. But I never can. I never will.

Getting back to my story, my parents and I were staying in a small, one-room flat on the second floor of a run-down house. We'd only been there a few weeks, we'd only be there a few more. You never stayed in one place long, when you lived a life such as ours. But I liked it there, on that small little insignificant planet. Meant for travellers, it was. One town that wasn't too crowded, and those who lived there with open doors for the passing merchant or spacer. That's what father would tell them, of course. He was a merchant, travelling with his family. Just passing through, might we have a place to stay? No one really asked questions, though many were suspicious by the looks we got. They could see a couple of the weapons my parents had hidden, and studied the state of our clothing. Bit grubby, but sturdy. Built for travelling; used for fighting.

The chilled air whipped the auburn waves of my hair into my eyes as I gazed out towards the nearest pub, its shouts and singing catching my attention. There was a single window in that room of ours, and that was where I sat with its pane thrown wide open. It was quite late into the evening, but I felt no exhaustion. I was a night owl, my mother said. I'd never seen an owl myself, but mother drew me pictures sometimes, and told me of them, smiling that reminiscing smile. She told me of a beautiful feathered bird, which sleeps all day and hunts by night. Mother and father always called me their little bird.

Birds. That's what I was thinking about that night, as I watched the pub and waited for my father to return home. Of all things, a creature I barely knew of. I pretended I was a bird. Pretended I could flap my wings and be taken to a great and wonderful place, as all children do. But my fantasy was cut short, when the door to our room slammed open, making me jump and turn to the noise, and my mother quickly rise from her position on the bed.

It was father. He walked briskly forward and grabbed my mother's arm, pulling her harshly from the covers and up so she was standing with him. I stood, eyes wide and heart racing. What was happening? My father shared a hard look with his wife and she nodded once. He let her arm drop to her side and she stood there for a moment, just a moment before she ran to me. She fell to her knees and looked up at me; her ten year old pirate of a child. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in her eyes; I'd never seen her with such grim determination and fear. She reached up with both hands to grasp the silver chain holding her necklace in place; a simple silver star with small diamonds framing the perimeter. She pulled it up and over her head, transferring it to lay at my neck. She kissed me once on the forehead, a simple yet lingering touch of affection, and whispered one word in my ear.

Run.

My father walked over to us as my mother stood. He handed her a sword and gun, before holding a simpler gun out for me. I looked up at him then, trying not to show my panic and fear. Even then, I didn't want to disappoint him. He smiled at me, that kind of sad smile that people have when they're upset, but trying to keep someone else happy. He smiled that sad smile, and leaned down to kiss me at the top of my head. "Be strong, little bird," he whispered to me, "and fly."

Those were the last words I ever heard my father say. Mother pushed me towards the window, whispering 'run' once more. I was scared, truly properly terrified, but I tucked the gun father gave me into the waistband of my trousers, and I climbed down from the second story to the hard, dry ground. The adrenaline rushed through me, shadowing the panic slightly. My parents were going to die. Why else would they send me away? It was only later that I realized it must have been the colleagues of that pirate; who else would make such an effort to kill us? Who else could kill us?

I hit the ground hard. My knees screamed in protest as I landed harshly on them, but I stood up without a thought about it, and I ran. I ran for me. I ran for my mother, and I ran for my father. I ran for them, because crying and giving up would have been disappointing for them. Their attempt to save me would have been for nothing. I was a fighter, and I had to fight now.

I ran out of the small alleyway between the house we stayed in, and the one directly beside. I emerged on the empty roadway, looking left and right before running across the way and down, heading for the docks. There was sweat beginning to fall down my back from the nerves, but I barely noticed it. I ran down that road, and I never looked back, too afraid at what I might see. So I stared instead at my shadow, falling directly in front of me, leading me on.

It was then that a thought occurred and I stopped dead in my tracks. Shadow. Why do I have a shadow? I shouldn't have a shadow, there was no light falling to produce one. That stopped my running, and slowly, so slowly, I turned around.

The house in which I had been running from was engulfed completely with dancing orange flames. My eyes widened and my heart quickened, my flesh damp with sweat. I tried to, but I couldn't run. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. I could only clench my fists and stare at the rushing flames, and focus on the fact that I was truly, truly alone. Maria and Petyr Montgomery, my parents, were gone from me forever.

I breathed in sharp pants as my hands began to shake and my thoughts began to race. I didn't know what to do; I was only ten, what could I do? But a sudden pull on the back of my shirt woke me from my daze, and I knew it was the colleagues of the pirate, come to kill me. I knew it, yet I didn't care. Because it meant that soon, I would be with my parents once more.

Then it was two hands instead of one, and one of them felt strangely stiff and cool. Those hands left my back and gripped my arms, turning me around so my back was to the accursed flames, and shook me hard.

"Are ye daft, girl? Those are pirates ye were just sent from, don't hang around waitin' for 'em to finish ye off!"

There was a voice connected to a body, which was connected to the hands still shaking the sense back into me. I looked up into his face, to see half of it was mechanical. A cyborg. I'd heard enough about them from other pirates, but never seen one this close. My eyes widened fractionally, taking in his form, but I never said a word. I was still too frozen from the shock of what I'd seen.

It took a few more shakes, but soon the cyborg was dragging me down to a small and dingy alleyway, closer to the docks than to the flayed house. He pushed me in, shielding me in from the open space and the pirates that meant to end me. I breathed hard and fast, the smoke coating my lungs with a thin layer of ash. The cyborg looked down at me, studying me silently.

"Ye got a name, lass? Anywhere to go?"

I shook my head softly; no. He let out a deep breath and spoke harshly and quietly to himself. He looked at me once more, no longer studying me, and flashed me a quick and wicked smile.

"I must be bloody daft. Ever dreamed of bein' a pirate, lass?" He asked me with a chuckle.

I tried not to show any emotion; what was he playing at? I merely looked up into his eyes and replied, "I was raised to be the best."

He chuckled again at that, ruffling my hair.

"The name's Silver, lass. It may not be good for ya, but I can't let ya stay here alone to fend for yourself. Come with me, and have a home under the sail."

I blinked once, surprised. Was this some sort of trick? I thought it quickly through, and it didn't take long for me to accept his offer. If he was being honest and was willing to have me on his ship, I'd live and learn to be a proper pirate; I'd survive. If it was a trick and he was going to hand me over to the other pirates, well … What else did I have to lose?

"…Alright. I'll go with you. Th-thank you," I whispered quietly. Silver merely chuckled and led me towards the dock and, assumingly, his ship. "Ye got a name, lass?"

I nodded, looking back behind me at the ruin of my old home. There were people about, yelling and trying to quench the flames. But I shook my head sharply, clearing it so I'd have room to think. I clenched my mother's necklace, a gift from the captain of the ship I was born on, and coincidentally a charm for my name.

"Starla. My name is Starla."