Marie/Jack drabble. I was bored.
Oh, and by the way, Marie's nickname when she was a gypsy was the Lark.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, or Jack Sparrow. I only own my OC's.
Enjoy!
Jack Sparrow lay down on his bed and stared off into space. But his thoughts were not on rum, or sailing, or his crew. His thoughts were on Marie.
Marie. The Lark. To call him his friend was not correct, nor was it correct to call her his servant. She was a sidekick, someone who was always on his side. Jack knew she would willingly lay down her life for him.
Jack rolled over onto his belly, remembering that first year she'd been on board. The crew had willingly taken her in, and raised her like a daughter. Jack had expected her to be a brainless hussy, but Marie had worked willingly and thoroughly. She was quick on her feet, knew her way with a pistol, sword, and bow and arrow, and besides was funny and smart. Marie was loyal, brave, trustworthy, and Jack was glad that he'd let her join the crew. God knew what would've happened if she'd joined, say, Barbossa's crew. Life should've been great, right?
Except it wasn't. A few months ago, Jack had gotten these really weird feelings. For example, whenever she was dancing in the square, it greatly annoyed him to see local men leer at her like she was a local whore. Because Marie wasn't. She was beautiful, and smart, and funny, and Jack was greatly troubled at men treating her like she was property.
And here was another thing: Jack was getting more and more attracted to her. At first, he'd tried to tell himself that it was just fatherly protection, but it was more. Marie was growing more and more beautiful every day. Certainly, she looked nothing like the rich ladies in London, who were rosy and soft and had thin eyebrows and tight, thin curls and would never dance in such an undignified manner. Marie was pale and scarred, and had calluses on her hands and feet, and thick, dark eyebrows and long, thick hair that she kept in a plait. She wasn't like the whores, who had painted cheeks and lips and just lay there while Jack worked his way through them, who had no personalities.
No, Marie was a feral alley cat in a world of pampered kittens. So what? Kittens cry at the drop of a hat and wouldn't make it a day on this ship. Alley cats survive. Kittens don't.
And, with that in mind, Jack settled into his bed and drifted off.
Few! That's over! Now I have to work on Chapter Four of 'A Change in Key.' Gah. Wish me luck, guys.
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