Disclaimer-- I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, or anything associated with the film, including the character Captain Jack Sparrow (much as I would like to). They belong to Disney. However, any other characters are my own creations.
A/N-- The sequel to my other fanfic, 'The Story of Sierra'... If you haven't read that one, I suggest you do so, pronto! But if you have, well... Enjoy!
A hooded figure stands on a large, rocky plateau which juts out from a mountainside, looking down on a town below. Between them and this poor but thriving community is a steep drop that is densely populated by trees, with a small dirt track heading up in a zigzag pattern towards them which, as they watch, a small family of monkeys crosses- heading out into the deeper jungle beyond the town. Few people have ever been into there, as it is meant to be haunted by terrible demons and so the superstitious locals avoid it. Because of this, the road is rarely used, and is slowly being claimed back by the forest from which it was once hacked out of.
Behind, a waterfall springs out of the rocky mountain face about forty feet up, cascading down into a crystal clear pool surrounded by rocks forming a rough circle. Ferns, giving off a heavy, earthy scent, spring from cracks in these. From here, a stream heads off into the rich exotic undergrowth, following the mountain path down until it reaches the small marsh which covers the short distance between where the jungle stops and where the town begins, from which the raucous croaking of bullfrogs has just started, filling the air with their sound. Above this the mountain shoots straight upwards, reaching what seems to be a colossal height, before it suddenly comes to an end- once the mountain, part of which the figure is standing on, was a destructive volcano, shooting flames and sparks day and night, but the fire from inside it has long been quenched and now only its shell and the rich, fertile soil it created are left behind. From this soil, the town of Nevis has sprung.
Lamps in the streets below are starting to be lit, as normal citizens shut down their trades in anticipation of the oncoming night, and the taverns roll in extra kegs of ale and rum in preparation for the roaring business they will do after sunset as homesick sailors drown their worries, captains seek crew, and the men of the town gather to swap yarns and gossip with others. On the quayside strings of lights hang from pole to pole, twinkling as they swing gently in the light breeze. Under these, crewmembers bustle around like an army of ants, the younger among them joyfully yelling taunts and conversation to others as they make their ships ready for the oncoming turn of the tide, with which they will sail to distant lands. This conversation floats up with the warm breeze, along with the normal day-to-day bustle and chatter from the rest of the town.
The ships themselves are all shapes and sizes, sailing under many different flags and nations. Each are suited to their way of life, with fatter, slower merchant ships being loaded with final cargoes as they take on the role of traders, while smaller, sleeker and faster ships like Sloops hide behind poor disguises, attempting to mask what they really are - pirate vessels.
On the horizon the mast of a large galleon can be seen, heading towards the port, most probably to pick up supplies as food is plentiful here, along with the spices and luxuries that the merchants do a healthy trade in. Seagulls wheel above in the salty air, screeching as they dive to catch fish, and around it the sea is turned to fire by the late setting sun, which in turn catches on the sails and riggings of every ship, until the entire harbour is ablaze.
This fire also laps gently onto the pure white sands, which stretch for miles in either direction, smooth and untouched. In the shallows, turtles can just be picked out as they bask in the remaining heat, soon to take back to the water to find food amid the abundance of life that grows on the corals beneath the surface. These reefs often contain the wrecks of unfortunate ships, whose clumsy owners took them too close and are now suffering the consequences, possibly beneath the waves. In this particular area there are many of these wrecks, provoking tales of immense wealth and riches for anybody brave enough to try and find one, and succeed. Many have tried to find their fortune but just as many have failed, for the sea does not give up its treasures lightly.
The figure on the ledge surveys this scene calmly, taking in all aspects of the town. Then, their eyes rest on one particular ship in the bay, unique to the rest due to its black hull and sails. It rides at anchor with every other ship, but the men bustling around the port seem to be giving it a wide berth- while the other ships have men running up and down gangplanks, carrying supplies and completing errands, the area around the black ship is seemingly completely deserted and calm.
Behind the hood of the cloak, the figure is seen to smile. Then they silently head down the overgrown path, heading towards the town.
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The activity inside one of the many taverns is almost unbearable. Men and women are everywhere, carrying drinks back and forth, talking to acquaintances or settling disagreements. Music coming from a fiddle and accordion in one corner only adds to the noise level.
A man staggers out of the entrance, too full of drink and thoughts of the ladies of the town to may much attention to whoever it is that he carelessly stumbles into. He simply bounces off them, continuing on a slightly different course to the one he started off on.
A pair of eyes, the colour of the sea, looks out from under the hood of the large cloak the figure is concealed under. They watch the man go until he rounds a corner and disappears into the night, and then they change the direction of their gaze upwards to the sign of the tavern, checking that this is indeed the correct place. Satisfied, the eyes lower, and disappear back under the hood.
The figure heads into the confusion and commotion inside, managing to blend into the background and remain inconspicuous despite their slightly sinister appearance in the long black cloak. Occasionally, a person staggers into their path but the figure merely sidesteps and then continues on their way, until they reach a quiet corner where they settle down, apparently to wait for something.
They do not have long to simply sit and watch the events around, it seems. The person sits up a little straighter, the opening of the hood trained towards the entrance.
A man has just come in, followed by another man- a grey-haired, portly figure follows close to his shoulder, looking around the tavern slightly uneasily. In contrast, the first man seems completely at ease in the surroundings.
His dark, clever eyes roam the scene in front of him, taking in every detail. Then, apparently satisfied with what he finds, he heads over to a spare table- walking in a very distinctive way, almost as though he is drunk already. Settling himself down, he waits for the other man with him to bring over the drinks- turning his head this way and that to watch parts of the activity around him that catch his particular attention. As he does so, the beads and discs of metal he has woven into his long hair glint in the light from the candles.
The hooded figure looks round, pausing as they spot a man at the far end of the tavern who is seemingly at ease, chatting to a few others. However, as soon as this man sees the hood turn in his direction, he nods and rises swiftly, making his farewells. Walking across the floor, he joins the mysterious person, glancing over towards the distinctive newcomer, now happily settled with a tankard of drink.
"He hasn't changed, has he?"
The person under the hood gives a short laugh and then replies in a voice that is not deep enough for it to be a man's.
"Alex…I doubt Jack sees any reason for it… He loves his way of life, and will see no reason for a change."
Sighing, they pull up another of the well-worn chairs and swing their feet up onto it, settling down as though they are going to be here for a while. The boots encasing their feet are brown and knee-length, making the legs and feet look small and slender- this is only accentuated by the comparison to Alex's legs nearby, which are strong and well-built.
The hood drops lower, and the person appears to go to sleep. However, their partner Alex stays upright and focused, his eyes trained on the man on the other side of the room as he watches every slight move that he makes.
Suddenly, a large group of sailors stagger into his view, completely obscuring it. Alex tries desperately to see around them but to no avail- he loses sight of Jack.
The sailors seem in no hurry to move on. The simply stand amidst the chaos, carrying out conversations with one another that frequently lead to load, uproarious laughter- often accompanied by a friendly punch to the man who delivered the humorous line. They are obviously enjoying being on land again, with all possible comforts after many months at sea.
Still Alex attempts to see past them, even starting to rise so that he can walk to the side slightly. However, he freezes when he hears an all too familiar voice behind him. It murmurs gently into his ear, bringing the scent of rum along with it.
"Now… I'm intrigued to know what you have been finding so fascinating about me… You've been staring for quite some time, and I thought that I'd perhaps be able to help you if you have any queries…?"
Alex opens his mouth to answer with something, but before he can do so, another voice from his right answers.
"I'm afraid that would be my doing, Jack Sparrow…"
The pirate turns to look at the hooded figure as though this was the first time he had noticed them. His mouth twists slightly to form an unsure look, as though he knows he recognises the voice but is simply having difficulty placing it to a face, or he is wishing it is not the person he thinks it is.
The person rises, turning to face him. Then, long and slender fingers reach up, pushing the hood back. Wild raven hair is shaken loose, and then the woman's gaze locks onto Jack's.
Jack looks pleased.
"Ah… Sierra."
He is stopped from continuing when the woman holds up a finger.
"Now, Sparrow, I'm sure you realise that you've forgotten something…"
Jack looks perplexed, and Sierra sighs, rolling her eyes.
"Captain…"
The male pirate looks apologetic, holding up his hands slightly.
"Ah, well… yes… apologies. It is a fairly new title for you though, so if you'll excuse me while I get used to it…"
Sierra laughs.
"I would have thought that you would have heard plenty about me over this past year, Jack… The taverns I'm sure you frequent must be rife with tales of me and my ship. Had you not heard about Nassau?"
Sparrow holds one figure to his chin, momentarily in deep thought.
"I heard some mention, yes… Without firing a single shot, wasn't it?..."
"Good. Then you're not as ignorant as I thought."
Jack looks offended, and then changes the subject.
"What has brought you here, anyway?"
Grimacing, Sierra returns to her seat.
"Get me drink, and I will tell you all about it."
