This is my fabulous new FAX story - being Max and Fang. Haha. I haven't really seen something like this before, so I thought I would try it out. And here we are! Chapter one!

It could be a little slow, but I promise I have tons of ideas.

New edit: Hey y'all, I have edited every single bit of this chapter. It was shocking, yes. So, hopefully this is enormously better and I hope you like it and it encourages people to read on! Let me know what you think! Love and jazz hands,
2DaughtersofAthena

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Max

I race around the corner. There is a moment, just there, where I take to look at the sky. Silly thing to do really, it might make me slow down. But I guess you might call it pretty. Blueish, with yellow cast across it from the morning sun. Urgh. I push it out of my thoughts. Trying to keep breathing evenly, and not to show any sign of tiring; to not show that my legs are killing and my chest is burning – like there's a hole been singed through the middle of it.

Probably an exaggeration.

Their shouts echo up the street, following me like the men themselves. They're not going to catch me. They're not. I can feel it, like an expanding bubble of hope and joy. Despite the aching, and the burning, adrenaline is coursing through my veins, forcing me onwards. Feet smacking against cobbled streets. I've walked and run down here too often to not know every damn step to take.

But skid upon taking a sharp left on levelled pavements. I don't stop running. Balls of my feet not aching anymore. I can do this.

Confused vendors and street-people hurry out of the way of our little trio; me and those two burly men in blue. Food spills out onto the path, and I dodge it. Balls of yarn, and rope, cascades from a taller stall on the right-hand side. I'm forced to shuffle aside, costing me precious seconds.

A wall up ahead. Okay, fine. The stall beneath it works as a level for me to leap onto, and pull myself over it, fingers grazing against the harsh stone. I laugh in relief, and take a wonderful moment to catch my breath before turning back to the two men in blue uniform, racing down the street, stumbling very slightly on the cobbles. Okay.

I jump. One final corner to go. Close now, I can see it.

Poseidon's Knave.

The ship pulled into the port, crew unravelling the rope from port and hauling it back. Time to run. Stones and throwaway items cut into my strides, but there's this new freedom knowing that I have escaped the men in blue. This is probably not the cleverest thing I have done, but staying here would be even more stupid. Best to give it a shot.

Those people on the ship, the crew, are dressed like respectable trades people. But 've heard the rumours, and I know that they're true. Pirates.

I'm sprinting along the wooden jetty, and then making the final leap onto the ship, as it catches the wind in its sails and begins to pull away. Wooden planks crash into me as I roll over the deck, reeling from the sharp impact. Yeah, that hurt. But the sea is a great blue expanse ahead of me, like a broad map of freedom and chance of something new, at least.

For now, time to hide. New stowaway's get sent to the sea.

To my left, I spot an open door, exiting the deck. Trying not to be noticed, I run across the deck, crouched over in my attempt, and enter the room. I follow a set of stairs, leading down into the dormitories below deck. I take the first room on the right, the door opening with great ease, and settle into the corner beside the door. The most unlikely place to be seen. No one will be looking for me here, right?

I suppose I should introduce myself. Being the narrator, and all.

My name is Maximum Ride. Yes, that is my real name. I am seventeen years old. My mother left when I was very young, and my step-father sent me to a Home. He didn't want to deal. The place was bad. They wanted me to learn and be a good girl, but I didn't want that. And finally, I managed to leave. Today.

The door to my hideaway creaks slowly open, a hand reaching around the door for some sort of hook. Crap. The one right above my head. I try to shrink away from the hand. It's owner huffs at lack of possession and simply walks into the room, holding a small candle. Right into my shocked face.

A tall figure, barely illuminated by the glow of the candle. I can just see his eyes, before white light crosses my own at the swiping of his hand against my face. With a crack, blearing pain stems from my cheek, and my eyes start to water. Before I can register much more than the initial pain, this tall stranger is yanking me up by the scruff of my collar, and pulling me to my feet and out of the door. I'm shoved out into the light, up the stairs, and out onto the deck. Sunlight glares at me with renewed distaste. I stumble over my feet, feeling very slightly queasy. He throws me to the deck, hard.

No sound. Silence. Members of the crew stand, straighten, and turn to the tall stranger. I don't face him, don't try to get up. The sails crack in the light breeze, billowing. My flyaway hair splits my vision occasionally as I glance around at them. Not many. Not many at all. One very tall ginger man. A couple nondescript men. And two others that look like they're wearing skirts.

"How did she get on the ship?" demands the man behind me in a harsh tone. No one answers for a few seconds, but the ginger man moves closer, and a short blonde boy moves into sight. I can't see their expressions just yet, but the ginger one wipes his brow in confusion. I notice that his officers jacket is unbuttoned – apparently, their pretence uniforms don't last long at all.

"A stowaway?" asks the ginger man, his voice battling the wind and distance.

"A girl?"

A new voice from several feet behind the tall, dark stranger. Higher up on the deck. I turn to face her, purposefully not looking at the one standing by me. Yes, my face does still hurt, you turd.

"Let her stay, please Fang? Iggy? We need someone else. And she can share my dorm! It's perfect!" She speaks so quickly that it takes all of us several moments to register the words. Yup. I think I just about got it. And I'm still working my way through the knowledge when she steps down onto the main deck, heels clunking on the wooden planks. Dressed in a long, royal blue coat; a stark contrast to her mocha skin and wisps of crazy, dark, curled hair.

I turn to the ginger boy. Still not looking at that one behind me. He gives a curt nod, and mouths 'sorry'. Whether to me or otherwise, I have no idea. As a hand shoves, I almost curse aloud. A tiny slither of anger seeps through me. But I should control it. Try not to get thrown to the sea. That's the aim here. So, I turn to the one behind me, and turn on the full-beam death glare.

And I am stumped.

Tall. Cold, dark eyes. Almost black-brown. Curley, dark hair falling over his eyes. Olive-toned skin. God, he is absolutely gorgeous. It's so bloody annoying that he happens to be an abusive arsehole.

Quit sounding like those loved-up girls from the home!

Don't tell me what to think!

My inner voices. Annoying. Always contradicting each other. Sometimes I listen to the first, sometimes the second. Like some sort of internal argument; not that I'm crazy. One time I listened to neither voice, and that was one particularly bad experience. Let's just say that the nursery was painted in a very unconventional way that day. And the teacher absolutely got what she deserved.

Yeah, I got beaten for that… Ha.

I ignore my teenage hormones and glare even harder, brush myself down, and get up. He scowls and folds his arms. He's got one of those faces that looks all hard and haughty and bitchy and just plain annoying. Despite his hotness. His annoying pretty face. But his apparent lack of leadership. I scowl right back at him and stalk off to the crazy lady who talks to me – she's beckoning with white-gloved hands. She clasps my calloused hands in a firm grip and drags me with her, announcing,

"I'm Nudge," with a broad grin. "What's your name? We'll be such good friends! Best friends. And Ella too." I wonder very briefly who Ella is, then decide that I'm not sure if I want to meet her – especially if she is much the same as Nudge. Who has exactly way too much energy. I am not used to this.

You're on a pirate ship. Yeah that's normal!

Shut it.

Nudge leads me back down the stairs from before, not bothering with picking up any sort of lantern, and practically bouncing with every step. We pass several mysterious doors. Possible cupboards. Possibly the places she plans to brutally murder me. Don't take bets. We shouldn't judge. Girls can be vicious too; I would know.

I trundle behind her in the barely-lit corridors. Along the wooden walls are dull paintings and lamps – of which only one in every three are lit. Candles worn down, with wax running down their sides miserably. Most of the light comes from the one or two windows along the side. Doors on the opposite side. No doubt storing things like food, water, and maybe some sort of ammunition. I won't go in there, just to be on the safe side.

"I'm Max," I say, half-smiling. I'm not one of those people that blast out grins to just about anyone. I was, however, a joker in the home. I made fun of a lot of the stuff going on there; the things we wore, the activities, and definitely the other girls in my dorm. I basically mocked the entire female population there.

"Nice to meet you, Max. So, how did you get on the ship? No one ever gets on! No one ever tries though, I suppose. We haven't had stowaway's before. You must be pretty special and unique. How did you get on without anyone seeing you?"

Crap, that girl can talk.

"You can do a lot of things when you're running away from something," I answer, with the smallest of laughs. Nervous? Yeah, a little. It's adrenaline, though. The running thing. They say you can hold impossible weights when feeling. Some sort of super-nervous-anxiety-power. I heard of a guy who was shot, and didn't die. I don't have proof, so no point bugging for one. Nudge is frowning.

"What were you running from?"

"People who don't like the real me, I suppose," I mumble. I'm not totally sure whether I should be trusting her. Or whether I even want to tell anyone here what's been happening in the Life of Maximum Ride so far. I smile nonetheless. Just have to remember that these people could very easily throw me to some sort of siren or squid thing, if they really wanted.

"This is my room," Nudge tells me as we reach the door in question, with a large N painted on the front, and a ribbon tied around the handle. She pushes it open and says, "You can stay here for now if you like."

Little creepy, but okay.

"Thanks." I try smiling. I'm not good at being nice.

"Do you want to borrow some clothes?" She glances at my outfit. Over-large shirt I borrowed from James at the home. And the budding cotton trousers I borrowed from Peter. Well, I say borrowed. I actually stole them. Oops. They won't be needing them anyway, so oh well! They just left them out while showering. So, yes, I probably caused nudity combined with mayhem. But that's life.

"I'm fine thanks." I don't want to wear a dress. Nudge grimaces again at my grubby and unkempt appearance, but shrugs anyway. I smile internally, having gotten myself out of this tight situation, and probably actual tights.

"This one is my bed, so you can just take the other." Nudge gestures vaguely to the unmade mattress on wooden cot. "We'll get you some sheets and supplies and whatever."

God, I hope they are not the same colour as Nudge's.

Don't be mean.

No. I disagree. Eugh. Pink and purplish and baby blue ribbons lining the bottom. No. No thank you. Hats of the same colour line hooks on the dark wood walls. The walls, once boring, are also pinned with plaited and singular ribbons, knotted in a variety of fashions. And a shelf, filled with romance novels. I hear you ask, how do I know they're romance?

Well, their names. 'Love in Moonlight'. 'Waltzing with You'. 'Songbirds and I'. Who even writes this stuff anymore?

The ship gives a near-violent jerk, and my stomach turns over completely. I am going to be very sick. Yup. Try not the puke, Max. It's rude, and gross, to bar over someone's possessions – no matter how pink and purple everything is. Oh no. Oh no, indeed.

So, after not vomiting everywhere, I thank Nudge and ask where a toilet is. She directs me, and I swear I am sprinting, my stomach churning, trying not to throw up and trying not to think too hard about anything. I need some air.

Taking no notice of the surroundings, I head to the toilet and slam my shoulder against the door. It's jammed. Crap. No use, no use. I shake the handle. No one is in there, so why is it locked? A dull pain seeps across my shoulder blades and I give up, instead heading for the stairs to outside. The pain will dissipate. There are greater needs at work here.

I try to remember the route to the stairs, but it wasn't all one corridor. Not like how I'm remember. My slight claustrophobia is definitely rearing it's incredibly ugly and scarred face. Sweet Heracles, I am going to be sick. Was it really a good idea for me to come on a ship? And not know whether I was one of those people who get seasick? Stupid. Damn stupid. I'm sick, claustrophobia, sharing a bunk with a chatty girl, and a stowaway. Just great.

Cheer up, Maxie!

Now is not the time!

I stumble into a door, and decide to just take the plunge. Hopefully there's no one in there. I burst through it, hands moving, seeking cool air. Instead, there is a strong, warm, musky scent. That gross smell of sweat, and spices. Unusual. There's a short bed, with a tall dark-haired boy sitting on it. White shirt unbuttoned, revealing a toned chest. Hush, Max. Not that I was looking. Nope. Ha. Never.

"Wrong room," I mutter, and quickly vacate, leaving the stranger to whatever wallowing he is doing. His dark eyes barely meet mine before I am free of any semblance of judgement I might get. I open various doors until I find a secondary corridor, and there are the stairs! Praise whoever is listening! Last chance, let's have some air now please!

The blessing of cold air rushes toward me in a gust of breeze and I instantly feel a little better. Salty, misted air from the sea is bitter on my tongue. I breathe the stuff in to steady my pounding head and churning gut. Taking no notice of others, I rush to the side of the ship and look across the water. There's no sign of the land I vacated. There is nothing around me except for that great expanse of dark blue and green murky water, swirling in bubbling waves along the hull and sides. Alone.

A heaviness of loss settles over me. Should I be disappointed? I'm freer? Sort of. I had my dysfunctional family at the home. But they were rarely kind. So, this is definitely mixed basket sort of situation. Those people there wouldn't care that I was gone. Yes, I'm better where I am. I'm better gone.

I bury my head in my hands, leaning against the ship side, elbows holding me up. Dizziness hangs over me as the crew busies itself around me, aiming for the next location. I'm not a part of this, am I?

Suddenly, the ship jolts to the right, my elbows drop, and I barf over the edge.

"Get sick much?" comes a friendly voice from behind me. I wipe my mouth on the corner of my shirt – well James' shirt – and turn around.

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Let me know what y'all think!