Ok Guys - so here's the PotC I promised you. I started writing this about a year ago just for kicks and for my close friends, but then I thought - 'Hey, why not see what other people think of it?' As I've said - I wrote it a while ago and it's an on-going thing so in my opinion the later chapters are the better. Over all, I'm not overly pleased with it, but it was just for kicks. I think I gave Jack's character a good go though...

Anyways, hope you enjoy it - I'll try and upload a new chapter everyday once I've proof-read them. Let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading

-Sal-

Euphemia awoke to the rancid taste of a dry sleep in her mouth. Her knotted hair stuck to her face with sweat from fevered dreams. She struggled into a seated position, pulling strands from her brow. A basin of steaming water had recently been placed by the bed, along with a sponge and comb; whoever had placed it there was obviously trying to introduce her to back into the habit of personal hygiene – something she rarely took notice of. Still, a wash and brush-up would be a welcome comfort right now.

Euphemia dipped the sponge into the hot water and breathed in its luxury as she pressed it against her face. She washed away the sweat and patches of congealed blood which were still patterning her body, despite obvious signs that she had been attended to medically.

She grabbed the comb and grimaced: the worst thing in the world. Dragging the teeth through her bedraggled hair - still crystallized with salt - reminded her of her father's lacking attempts to tidy her up. She never had the luxury of a mother to do such feminine things; she had grown up totally surrounded by men, and so rapidly lost interest in any sort of personal sanitation.

As she pushed herself up off the bed, she automatically lunged her left leg forward, ready for the roll of the sea. Instead of steadying herself however, she simply ended up in a ridiculous thrusting position; her feet in an awkward pigeon-toed stance. Euphemia hesitated, contemplating just how much she looked like Jack.

Straightening herself, she ambled unsteadily towards a couch where a clean dress had been conveniently placed. The pirate gave an indignant snort of laughter and slipped off the night shirt she wore, simply to replace it with her own baggy shirt which she found hidden in a pile of laundered material; the stains had not been successfully removed.

The shirt had just slipped over her head when the door rushed open and a heavy-booted footman entered. Euphemia turned with raised brow.

'Ever heard of knocking?'

The gentleman nodded his apologies and eventually drew his stare away.

'Thank you,' Euphemia exalted sarcastically, 'I know I'm not much of a lady, but I still enjoy a little privacy!'

She returned to the pile, hoping to find a familiar pair of breeches.

'Admiral Beckett requests your presence, M'am.'

She continued searching.

'Does he indeed? Well do you think he'll mind if I acquire myself a pair of trousers first?'

'I'm sure that is acceptable M'am.'

Euphemia smiled as she glanced her trousers.

'Ah!' She grabbed them and pulled them on. 'Right; all is good - let's go...'

Buckling her trousers she marched towards the guard barefoot.

'This way, M'am,'

The man offered the direction as Euphemia strode-on, announcing her disapproval,

'And enough with the "M'am" thing; makes it sound like you care...'