Disclaimer: All characters and settings (apart from my OC's) belong to whoever the hell made the movies. Congrats to you lucky bastards.

"You're avoiding the question."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not."

"You have to answer to me, don't fight this Jacklynn…. Jacklynn? Jacklynn? JACKLYNN."

"Oi! Jacklynn! Jacklynn! Get ya' lazy arse outta' bed."

My eyes slowly creaked open to see a butch bearded man towering over the bed. The faint odour of rum and whisky invaded my nostrils as I threw a tattooed arm over my eyes to shield them from an offending ray of sunlight that had managed to split its way past the half-tattered curtain strung up in my quarters.

Not a pleasant sight this early in the morn.

"Address me like that again, Skald, and you'll be kissing it, savvy?"

My voice cracked slightly from obviously a lot of singing the night before and when I managed to clamber out of bed, the gentle rocking of my ship reminded me where I was after what was now clearly obvious, an intense night of drinking. I grabbed my normal clothes and boots that my right hand man (and temporary helper seeing as my last one was shot in a crossfire on Tortuga, shame, smart man) held out as i tiredly walked behind my screen to change, yawning on the way.

"Awfally' sorry, mam, it just we 'it Port Royal in a few minutes. Ya' know how those stuff shirts get abaat' signing in and stuf'."

I cursed as I tried to pull on my left boot, knocking a few glasses and empty bottles over as I almost landed flat on my arse in the process.

"Any idea what we're here for again?"

The ruffling of fabric and curses stopped as I stepped out again, fully clothed and dignified (I hoped). I stared blankly at Skald for a long moment when he didn't answer and I could almost see the spark trying to ignite as he tried to recall what the 'Lord' wanted before he responded.

"Ya' were invited by tha' Lord to oversee somfin' abaat' a 'art I fink'."

"…'art'? Ugh. You mean heart…wait… what heart?"

I swept a few pieces of paper and various junk off of my desk with my forearm and finally found my weapons belt and strapped it to my waist, it hanging slightly off of the right side of my hip as the weight of my cutlass weighed it down.

"Is it that bloke who ya' forced to marry next week because ya' smacked that rum bottle over 'is daughta's head because she called ya' a tad bit overweight?"

I threw some of my bed covers about and clambered under the bed a couple of times, coughing and spluttering as I realised it may of not be the most hygienic of ships before trying to remember what Skald just asked and answering.

"No, Skald, I think I killed him a year ago and blamed it on a small group of elder whores…where's my hat?"

I took a quick shot of whiskey as I waited for him to get the cogs working again, wincing as the piss-coloured drink burned the back of my throat.

"On ya' head?"

I rolled my eyes and slapped him on the back of his bald cranium as I grabbed the hat in question off one of the side cabinets and opened the door to exit into the land of the living.

Well, semi-living, have you seen some of my crew?

Skald was a brilliant right hand man when it came to ruffling a few feathers, but you'd never actually use those words because he'd assume you wanted him to wrestle a few pigeons.

The brightness of a Monday morning coupled with the feeling of slight nausea and a headache hit me with the force of a sledgehammer, causing me to stumble a few steps before i straightened and walked my ship. It was nothing fancy, though not too cheap.

The Red Mistress.

The name came from the previous Captain, a woman no less, who had a terrible temper and every time she lost it, her crew would call it the falling of 'the red mist' which clouds her vision. My personal crew decided to keep the name, as I too had an awful temper (and attention span) shooting the previous Captain after I killed her dog in an accident. Tragic affair.

After a few of my crew said their morning greetings, I walked across the planks onto the docks where one of my crew was arguing with one of the stuffed shirts already. I sighed and approached said stuff shirt and crew member carefully, last time leading to getting shot in the arse. Literally.

"Ah' told ya' mate, there expected 'er! Just take tha' money an' get on wiv' it."

"I'm afraid I cannot sir, without a valid signature from the Captain himself I cannot verify you words."

He pushed his glasses a little up his nose and I saw the skinny crew member next to him get a little more pissed off.

"Nah' listen, mate, imma' bout' to rip ya' johnny off' and use it as a flippin' skippin' rope in a minute now gimme' tha' damn book!"

I felt this as an appropriate to don my hat and interrupt the conversation.

"Easy, friend, as fun as that may be I think now would not be an appropriate time." I lowered my voice and glared at him. "Lest we have a repeat of last time."

I managed to keep the "because last time I got shot in the arse you prick!" out of the conversation as I turned back to the Dock manager.

"Apologies madam, we seldom see female Captains."

"Well ya' a stereotypical bastard den', ay' ya'!"

I glared at my crew member, who I seem to recall was named Bones (probably because of his near skeleton like look, why did I hire him again?).

"I'm pretty sure you don't even know what that word means, my friend, so get your arse on the ship and try to refrain Skald from throwing pebbles at seagulls again and Dee from bedding other sea captains, you know how she gets. Cheers."

Bones huffed and puffed as he trod away and I signed the book that the rather confused and scared Dock manager held out. I patted him the back as I walked away, which he visibly jumped at before he quickly scurried away himself.

I walked along the streets of Port Royal with my hands in my pockets and my hat pulled a little over my eyes. I wasn't exactly popular amongst folk here. Not since the chicken farmer incident. To be honest, it wasn't my favorite place in the world, to be quite frank, it was my least favorite. It lacked the flavour and enthusiasm Tortuga or other pirate docks had. No whores, hardly any pubs, no gambling, no-

I was thrown out of thoughts as I roughly bumped into someone, a flash of white and blue blurred my vision as I almost went falling to the ground, but managed to stabilize myself (somehow) on a carriage. I apologized to the carriage driver and almost pulled my pistol out but when I turned around, the man in question talked first.

"Sorry madam i-"

I raised my eyebrow as he stopped and seemed to recognise me.

Did I know him? Crap, even worse, did I owe him money? A favour? Oh god.

"Your Capt. Porter correct? Lord Beckett is waiting to speak with you by the gallows."

"He certainly picks his choice of places."

The man in front let out a gentle laugh as he held out his hand, almost hesitantly, and introduced himself. I accepted his hand and shook it, and he looked surprised as I did so quite roughly. Obviously not used to women shaking hands like a Scottish log thrower.

"Please to meet you Admiral Norrington, if you'll please excuse me I must see Lord Bendit straight away."

The man let out another sharp laugh again and smiled sweetly.

Did I just use 'sweetly'? Ugh. Hangovers.

"It's Beckett, and I advise you don't try to make that mistake in his presence. I don't think he'll find it as funny."

"Right. Thanks for the heads up. See you later Admiral Torrington."

I did an exaggerated curtsy before I strutted away as I heard him laugh again as I made my way towards the gallows, almost tripping over some blokes chickens.

As I neared my destination I was met with the surprising sound of beggars singing. It was both pleasant and grim at the same time. Chains rattled and men and women sang their hearts with pride.

Now this is what I want to see more of. Too much grimness nowadays. Not enough singing. And drinking. Definitely not enough drinking. Never enough-

For what I was pretty sure was almost the third (or second?) time this morning, I almost collided with yet another person, if it wasn't for his voice breaking my steps and my thoughts.

"Ah, the very woman I want to see. Not one for punctuality are you?"

I stopped dead in my tracks and raised my eyebrows and stared at the sun, squinting, trying to work out what time it was.

"It's 10:30am. You were meant to meet me at 9? It does not matter, please, walk with me a moment."

I frowned but obliged and walked with him across the edges of the Fort where men stood vigilant, obviously more so ever since the raid a while ago.

He talked about various subjects, mainly about the fortifications of the Fort and the readiness of the men now; that they're more than prepared if the worse was to happen. My mind drifted off very quickly simply going "umhum" or "yes" or "really?" every now and again. He stopped suddenly and he said something, his voice was very smooth, and very confident. The kind of voice you use when you've got a-

"I have a plan." He turned around and stared at me as I tried to work out whether his last few words before that were of any importance. "We obviously have the heart in our possession, but what we need is someone to keep an eye on it at all times, lest Jones find a way to wriggle out of our little agreement."

"Ok, well, where do I come in? You have it safe on your ship, simply use one of your men. I'm not needed."

"No!" Beckett replied a little too quickly to be comfortable and losing his posture for a second too. He obviously realized what he did and quickly straightened placing his hands behind his back.

"O…k. Well…what do you propose?"

"That you board the Flying Dutchman along with a handful of my men, Admiral Norrington and my right hand Mercer to guard the ship at all times."

I let out a short sharp laugh that was often described as very throaty, and threw my head back, before catching his eyes and realising that he was… entirely serious.

"Wait… you can't be serious. Why me?"

"Because you've been described as one of the best." He took a step closer (once again, too close to be comfortable) and whispered in my ear in a very low voice. "Unless you want the entire of Port Royal to come crashing down on you, your crew and your beloved pirate ship "The Red Mistress". You want the ship to be more than splinters, then you help me. Deal?"

He held out his hand to shake, and i did, almost wrenching his arms off in the process to his surprise.

I growled lowly. I hated being in the weaker position. I grated on my skin not being able to do anything.

He straightened himself once again and preened imaginary dust off of himself.

"Besides, I hear you have a history with anyway, might be nice to catch-up with old friends."

My eyes shot from the floor to glare at him, my dark green eyes boring into his light blue ones. He shifted uncomfortably under my stare, frowning.

"You have no idea."

A/N: I know, i know, i'm going to hell. My dearest apologies to those STILL waiting for my other updates, but i watched Pirates Of The Caribbean the other day and have just immediately felt the urge to write something for it. Those stories with the most attention get the quickest updates will be my new law. Love you all. -FC.