A/N: I had posted this previously in late December but I hadn't had time to
work on it. Now it's summer break, I've revised some of this chapter and I
will get to work on the next one ASAP!! This is my first POTC fic. Please
be gentle with reviews. I've seen the movie about 30 times. This takes
place after the movie. I don't know much about that time and I'm not sure
if it was the 16th or 17th century and I also don't know much about the
normal lifestyle and speech of people back then so please bare with me!
Thanks!
Chapter 1
"You either buy a drink or ye get out!" a rough voice scolded. This awoke a young 19-year-old girl laying all scrunched up in a corner of a pub. Her deep blue eyes flew open as if she were in shock as she struggled to sit up. She fanned the air in front of her face to rid the horrid smell of fish mixed with alcohol, but alas she was unsuccessful. She looked to the face of a plump, dirty looking man with multiple chins. His yellow- green eyes had suspicion in them and his cheek length gray hair was oily and drab.
"Hh—Who are you?" she managed to stutter. He stepped back a bit examining her.
"I be the owner of this here pub, who are YOU?" he said cocking his head to one side as if she were something he never saw. She looked around at the pub. Broken glass everywhere, drunken men, and some women even in clothes she had only read about in her textbooks and seen in paintings from the seventeenth century.
"My name is--"she paused for a minute to think. Was this a dream? Or some practical joke her friends were pulling. Either way she decided it was better to just give a random name, instead of her own, and then get out of this smelly hole and figure out where the hell she was. "Caroline." She finished. "I'm just visiting this—erm, place. I'm not from here."
"Any half-wit could tell that by your peculiar accent and strange garments." He said looking at her particularly weirdly. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a vibrant red halter dress that came down to her mid thighs, a red leather jacket and silver pumps. The exact thing she was wearing when she went out partying. In fact, coming back to her dorm from the party was the last thing she remembered. She didn't even remember coming into her dorm. "Listen girly I don't know how ladies dress where you're from but around Port Royal you can't just go out exposed like that."
"Did you say Port Royal?" she said. She read about places like this in her history textbooks in high school, but she didn't quite remember a Port Royal. "Where exactly is that?-are we, I mean,"
"We be in the lovely Caribbean. Now, ye either buy a drink or get out!" he said. The Caribbean? That couldn't be right. She couldn't just go from New York to the Caribbean overnight without having any recollection. She pulled herself up and stumbled out of the dark place and out into the blazing hot weather and exceptionally bright sunlight. She shielded her eyes from the light, or tried to at least as she walked in what turned out to be a market street.
This obviously was not some trick her friends were pulling---it would be far too expensive to hire all these actors and get all this scenery for some college kids to afford. She remembered what the man said, about covering up. She could get into some trouble and there were many people in the street that could notice her in the crowds. She didn't know what to do; the cleverest thing she could think of was to just hide in some alley and try to figure out what was going on.
Suddenly, a small riot formed in the middle of the street which tore her away from her small train of thought. Two men were beating each other and probably would keep going till the death. She thought this was the perfect opportunity to hide, since no one was paying attention to anything else anyway. She started pushing past people and got pushed herself instead. She was shoved against a hard wood wall. Looked up and down and saw a small plank hanging from the door with some picture she couldn't make out. She slowly pushed the door and it moved open with her force. She closed it quickly so no one would see and stood up against it.
The room was quite dark, with just a few small cracks letting the sunlight in and one small window. She slowly tip toed around and saw a display of swords similar to the ones she's seen in museums.
"Who are you?" a male voice spoke. She was startled and turned around in shock. There stood one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen. His perfectly chiseled facial features were nothing compared to his neatly trimmed mustache and silky, curly, long, dark hair.
"Dddon't hurt me." she said a bit afraid with all the weapons around.
"I won't," he said looking at her strangely, "---just tell me who you are."
"I am, uhh, uhhdrey! Audrey, Audrey Smith." She said.
"Ok, Miss Smith.why are you in here?" he asked. But it wasn't like an interrogation or anything, it sounded like he was really interested or he wanted to help her.
"Um - I don't know, really." Was her reply. She wasn't a good thinker on her feet but atleast it was the truth. "I'm a bit new here," she finally said.
"I could tell you're not from here." he said referring to her attire.
"I don't want any trouble, Mr – um,"
"William Turner." He said.
"Mr. Turner, I am a foreigner much more than you think," she said. He looked at her in confusion.
"I don't quite understand,"
"What year is it?" she asked.
"Why it's sixteen-hundred and sixty-three of course!"
Chapter 1
"You either buy a drink or ye get out!" a rough voice scolded. This awoke a young 19-year-old girl laying all scrunched up in a corner of a pub. Her deep blue eyes flew open as if she were in shock as she struggled to sit up. She fanned the air in front of her face to rid the horrid smell of fish mixed with alcohol, but alas she was unsuccessful. She looked to the face of a plump, dirty looking man with multiple chins. His yellow- green eyes had suspicion in them and his cheek length gray hair was oily and drab.
"Hh—Who are you?" she managed to stutter. He stepped back a bit examining her.
"I be the owner of this here pub, who are YOU?" he said cocking his head to one side as if she were something he never saw. She looked around at the pub. Broken glass everywhere, drunken men, and some women even in clothes she had only read about in her textbooks and seen in paintings from the seventeenth century.
"My name is--"she paused for a minute to think. Was this a dream? Or some practical joke her friends were pulling. Either way she decided it was better to just give a random name, instead of her own, and then get out of this smelly hole and figure out where the hell she was. "Caroline." She finished. "I'm just visiting this—erm, place. I'm not from here."
"Any half-wit could tell that by your peculiar accent and strange garments." He said looking at her particularly weirdly. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a vibrant red halter dress that came down to her mid thighs, a red leather jacket and silver pumps. The exact thing she was wearing when she went out partying. In fact, coming back to her dorm from the party was the last thing she remembered. She didn't even remember coming into her dorm. "Listen girly I don't know how ladies dress where you're from but around Port Royal you can't just go out exposed like that."
"Did you say Port Royal?" she said. She read about places like this in her history textbooks in high school, but she didn't quite remember a Port Royal. "Where exactly is that?-are we, I mean,"
"We be in the lovely Caribbean. Now, ye either buy a drink or get out!" he said. The Caribbean? That couldn't be right. She couldn't just go from New York to the Caribbean overnight without having any recollection. She pulled herself up and stumbled out of the dark place and out into the blazing hot weather and exceptionally bright sunlight. She shielded her eyes from the light, or tried to at least as she walked in what turned out to be a market street.
This obviously was not some trick her friends were pulling---it would be far too expensive to hire all these actors and get all this scenery for some college kids to afford. She remembered what the man said, about covering up. She could get into some trouble and there were many people in the street that could notice her in the crowds. She didn't know what to do; the cleverest thing she could think of was to just hide in some alley and try to figure out what was going on.
Suddenly, a small riot formed in the middle of the street which tore her away from her small train of thought. Two men were beating each other and probably would keep going till the death. She thought this was the perfect opportunity to hide, since no one was paying attention to anything else anyway. She started pushing past people and got pushed herself instead. She was shoved against a hard wood wall. Looked up and down and saw a small plank hanging from the door with some picture she couldn't make out. She slowly pushed the door and it moved open with her force. She closed it quickly so no one would see and stood up against it.
The room was quite dark, with just a few small cracks letting the sunlight in and one small window. She slowly tip toed around and saw a display of swords similar to the ones she's seen in museums.
"Who are you?" a male voice spoke. She was startled and turned around in shock. There stood one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen. His perfectly chiseled facial features were nothing compared to his neatly trimmed mustache and silky, curly, long, dark hair.
"Dddon't hurt me." she said a bit afraid with all the weapons around.
"I won't," he said looking at her strangely, "---just tell me who you are."
"I am, uhh, uhhdrey! Audrey, Audrey Smith." She said.
"Ok, Miss Smith.why are you in here?" he asked. But it wasn't like an interrogation or anything, it sounded like he was really interested or he wanted to help her.
"Um - I don't know, really." Was her reply. She wasn't a good thinker on her feet but atleast it was the truth. "I'm a bit new here," she finally said.
"I could tell you're not from here." he said referring to her attire.
"I don't want any trouble, Mr – um,"
"William Turner." He said.
"Mr. Turner, I am a foreigner much more than you think," she said. He looked at her in confusion.
"I don't quite understand,"
"What year is it?" she asked.
"Why it's sixteen-hundred and sixty-three of course!"