Impersonating a priest
Why Jack remembered so fondly impersonating a priest, my take on the story behind that line in the story. Just one more of Jacks drunken adventures! The things you hear in confession. R&R
Something random I wrote, very very random, just one more of Jacks adventures. My take on Jack impersonating a priest. Sorry if there are mistakes. Read and review. Do It! Do it now (after you read the story, not right now, lol.)
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Oh bloody goddamn sodding sons of a." Captain Jack Sparrow howled. He kicked the rough stonework of the pub wall, scowling at the bartender who placed his hands menacingly on his hips. Jack Sparrow spat on his shoe, and hurriedly brought his hands to his sword, but then thought better of it.
The bartender simply laughed.
"Bugger off ya drunk pirate, we's been closed now." He slurred. Jack barred his teeth and then thought better of it, looking away and then back with his most charming expression.
"Couldn't spare a bottle of rum could you?" He said hopefully, turning his face towards his shoulder, already predicting the answer.
The door slammed shut with Jack none the drunker.
"Where the hell's a pirate supposed to go when it's light? Eh?" Jack grumbled, throwing his thick black clock over his shoulders. The chilled winds of the British winter were blowing through the thin winding streets and the darkness of the early mornings were daunting to all the street walkers, from the drunkards, the woman of ill-repute, and the thugs and thieves that swarmed the British underworld.
Jack Sparrow, formerly Captain Jack Sparrow, raised his hats to two whores on the corner of the street, noting grimly the bills stuffed the girl's netted stockings. Their lips were smudged from their work, and their eyes looked large and dark on that black morning. In the alley behind them, Jack could see the lurching figures of a young noble and his whore, and Jack turned away, both with self-loathing and envy at the girl's money.
Laughter followed in his wake.
Jack pulled out his last, back up supply of rum, raising it to his cracked lips. He paused before drinking, rubbing his tongue across his lips, and then spat on the cobbles. There was no salt left on his skin or on his clothes. He had not felt the oceans touch for months, had been stuck on this godforsaken rock, following in Barbossa's wake, drinking and gambling, searching for a familiar face in a crowd of the poor and the whores.
And he found none.
He missed the cool breezes of the Caribbean, the rawness of the new colonies, the joy and drive in each person, the taste of those tropical drinks, the lilted accents of the beautiful Jamaican girls that he could spend months with and never tire, the sun of his face and the Pearl.
He'd always miss the Pearl.
But more then anything, he missed the roar of the waves, and the wind on his back. Now, his pride and his burning desire for revenge on Barbossa seemed to fade away when compared to his sweet longing for the oceans kiss.
But mainly, he wished for somewhere warm to spent the daylight hours and the embrace of the company of a woman, no matter hold cold the skin of British woman were.
And that's when he saw it, the dim lite lanterns that would burn eternally outside the churches of London.
A slow grin formed across Jack's face.
He ambled up to the huge oak doors, pushing it open. He winced at the loud groan of the ancient wood, his fingers digging into the etching of the holy cross carved across those doors.
He strode up the altar, and then paused, pulling a guilty face.
Taking a few steps back, he dipped his hands in the communion water, making the sign of the cross across his chest, and nodded in respect to the image of the holy virgin who watched him dubiously.
Then he wrapped his hand around the bottle of holy wine and swaggered down the altar. He pulled the cork out, sniffing the wine, and rolled his eyes.
"Cheap priests." He cursed, and then took a swig.
He peered down at the few lit candles, pocketing a couple of them and the matches also, the wine bottle draping against his thigh and half empty now.
The sun would be up soon, he knew that, and he would likely be thrown out of the church when the regular people showed up. Still, till then, he would take his comfort from this lord's house as he did from so many others. Glancing around, and ignoring the hard seats of the congregation, he wandered over to the confessional box, and was pleased to see a padded seat and a cushion. He popped some bread he found next to wine in his mouth, and grinned happily.
He dropped himself down on the seat, pulling the curtain and proceeded to fall asleep.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the ocean.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The sound of slippers on the blue stones of the church could be heard, the hurried breathe of a young girl. She wore a long clock of plush jade green velvet, her head hooded. A few dark brown curls escaped from the corners, framing the youthful face of the girl. Her dark brown eyes were bowed in prayer as she lit a candle, her pink lips mouthing quick words and promises.
She rose quickly, her knees cold as the chill from the floor had penetrated her clothes. She shivered, and glanced over her shoulder guiltily.
She jumped as she heard a snort coming from the confessional box, a single tear running down her noble face. She slipped over to the door, knocked hesitantly, licking her lips.
"Father?" She whispered. "Father!" She repeated louder. Her knuckles were white and the hard wood hurt her soft skin as she knocked again.
Jack woke up with a jolt, grabbing at his hat with on hand and his dagger with the other. He looked around him panicked, his eyes wide, expecting an attack.
"What?" He said quickly, pressing his ear to the door hesitantly, hiking his pants up and trying to remember where he was.
The girl took a step back at the close proximity of his voice. His voice sounded so deep and different from the cultured tones of the usual priests, but he had just woken from sleep, so she reasoned this was the reason for the hoarseness.
"Father, I've come for confession." She said.
Jack pulled a face.
"Father. I better not be no ones bloody father.. Oh." He mumbled, and then his eyes widened as he remembered.
"Father?" The girl repeated, worry becoming apparent on her face. Her forehead crinkled with worry lines, her mouth forming in a slight pout. Jack patted down his pockets.
"Yes, yes, I'm here.." He winced, dragging the next words out with a pained look. "My daughter."
"Please, father, I need to confess." She said fervidly.
"Couldn't this wait till tomorrow, I have a busy schedule you know.." Jack Sparrow said, waving his hands about elaborately, and knocking his hat off.
The girl paused, glancing guiltily over her shoulder, pulling her green jacket closer, revealing long white gloves with golden rings which glinted in the dancing candle lit. She leant closer.
"Please father.."
"Well." Jack said shaking his head, searching the back of the box for another exit. The girl leant even closer.
"Father, I've been having immoral thought." Jack whacked his head on the top of the box, and yelped. "Father?" She said. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, my girl." He said. "You better, well, you better.." He looked around for inspiration, but found none. "You better confess then."
"Thank you father." She said sweetly. She stepped behind the silk curtain, seating herself in the opposite compartment of the box from Jack Sparrow, and drew the screen back. Jack sat back in the shadows of the little chamber, so that his garb and face were hidden, his hat on the seat next to him, and then drew back the little screen also.
He noticed that the girl could not be more then seventeen and that her eyes were not as demure as her voice would have made her out to be.
"Um." Jack said, waving his hands a little. "Tell me your sins?" The girl drew a deep breath.
"Father, I have confessed not more then twenty four hours ago."
"What on earth are you doing here then.." Jack interjected. The girl drew back in surprise. Jack Sparrow rolled his eyes. "I mean, do continue."
"Tomorrow I am to be wed." She said, disappointment obvious in her voice. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. "And I would go into my marriage having spoken my mind and without doubt that god knows my fears."
"What are your fears, love?" He asked, examining his nails. The girl smiled slightly bemused at this term of endearment, but Jack missed it.
"I fear my husband, my fiancé." She started, finding the words very difficult to pronounce. She leant further towards the screen. "Father, he does not love me."
"Love, marriage is about two different peoples motives, and often neither is love." Jack Sparrow said sincerely, and he felt a pang of pity for this lost girl. But he spoke the truth. In her station she would lucky to have a husband whose affections were otherwise distracted.
"Is it father? Does the church wish me to marry this man?" Jack shrugged, but the girl could not see him. She took in a deep breath. "Then I will marry him, but first let me tell you my fears. My fiancé, I have caught him in bed with my brother. He is, he said he cannot love women."
Jack pulled a look of fear.
"What? Not love woman, is he mad?" Jack burst forward, and meet the girls gaze. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she gazed into his eyes, not noticing his clothing in her distress.
"Father, what should I do? I do not marry, my father said he shall make me become a nun."
"T'would be a pity, for such a fine lass to become a nun."
"Father!" She said slightly affronted.
"I mean, my girl, you are not made for um, lords service?" Jack said haltingly.
"Father, I am lost. I do not want to spend my life and my marriage bed alone. I want a true husband." She wept now.
"You can have affairs.." He said consolingly.
"Father! And burn in hell. I couldn't betray my marriage vows, even if he is. lies in my brothers bed every night." She said vehemently. Then she burst into tears.
"Love, don't cry." Jack started. But she would not stop now. Jack winced, debating what to do. His instincts screamed BAIL! And her tears were becoming louder, and surely the really priest would emerge any moment.
He ducked out of his section of the box, and into hers. He sat next to her, while her head was buried in her arms, her body convulsing with tears. He wrapped his arms around her, and she leant her head about his shoulder, weeping against his shirt. He patted her back awkwardly.
"Hon, what's your name?"
"Naomi. Naomi Dogul." She whispered. "Will you help me in my hour of need father?" She moved her head so that she could look into his face. Jack was starting to panic now, and with one hand on her back and the other in her hair, he knew what was going to happen if he got caught at this moment.
"Sure, I will." He said hopefully.
"Oh thank you father." She said, and bent to kiss his cheek. Her lips so close to his skin, Jack did a dangerous thing. He darted his head to the left so her kiss landed full on his lips. She froze, while Jack pressed his lips against hers again. He pushed open her lips, and then drew back.
She kissed him again, her soft lips caressing his. Jack opened his eyes and looked heaven wards, and said a silent thank you.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Oh father,"
"Call me Jack."
"Wait no, don't tear that.."
"Too late love."
"Wow, you have a lot of scars for a pastor.."
"Ah, yes, um, missionary work.."
"Missionary work?"
"Look, um.. Confession's over now."
"Oh Jack should you be. don't your vows."
"Huh?"
"Oh my lord.."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The priest pulled his brown habit around him, forcing open the doors of the church. His arthritis was arching his back, and he felt the chill of night seeping into his bones. He made the sign of the holy cross before the Virgin Mary, and reached for his bottle of wine. Good way to get the day started.
But his wine wasn't there.
"What man steals from the holy church?" The priest said with a shake of the head. His bejewelled hands strummed the table angrily. "This day and age. Never would have happened when we had a strong monarch." He hobbled down the altar.
Behind him, a pair of fine boots clipped the tiles.
The priest turned, and his mouth dropped.
"I mean, our monarch is wonderful." He said hurriedly.
"What?" Corporal O Harrow said. His polished boots reflected the stain glass window above. The six soldiers behind him stood to absolute attention, their swords shimmering at their sides.
"Nothing. Nothing." The priest mumbled. "What may I do for you, my lords, this morning?" He fumbled underneath the podium, drawing out a new bottle of wine, and looking around for his corkscrew.
"Sir Dogul's daughter came here early for confession." The Corporal said, pacing in front of the priest. "Foolishly, she came to this," He glanced disgustedly around at his surrounds. "Degraded part of town alone. She has not come home, and we were wondering if you had heard her confession this day?"
"No, my son, but the girl came to me yesterday to unburden her sins. She must have committed some grave folly to come back to me without the day." The priest said.
"Well, we will search every square inch of this." The Corporal started but was interrupted by a loud yawn coming from the confessional box.
Poking out from under the rich curtain, a pair of dirty brown boots poked out. And a pair of white feet.
The Corporal looked from the priest back to the confessional box, and then, placing his hand on his sword, marched over to it, flinging back the curtain with one swift movement. The priest, not a step behind, gasped.
"Naomi!" He said, his hand on his heart. For she was sprawled across Jack's chest, her dark brown hair in loose ringlets and falling to cover her exposed chest.
"Good morning." Jack said worriedly. He nudged the sleeping girl, who batted open her heavy eyelids sleepily. She gasped at the sight of the soldiers and the priest watching her. Then she looked up at Jack, seeing him in the true light for the first time.
"Father!" She said looking at Jack, shocked, grabbing her red cloak over her, and bounding to her feet. She looked at the Corporal and at the real priest shocked. The soldiers staring at her were grinning.
"Naomi!" The priest cried again.
"Father!"
"Lady Dogul!" Corporal O Harrow said.
"Corporal?" She said, equally appalled by his presence.
"Lady Dogul. Shit!" Jack cursed. "Knew I'd heard the name before. Jesus Christ."
"Jack!" Naomi said, turning on him.
"Lad, you're in a church." There was a pause, and Jack picked up his had, and his belt, wrapping them around his waist, trying to not make any sudden movements.
"Well, I'll just be going.." Jack started.
"Pirate scum!" The Corporal said, attempting to draw his sword.
"Pirate?" Naomi said aghast. Jack pulled a face and nodded guilty.
"Sorry hon. Loved meeting you Naomi, hope the husband thing works out, remember my advice. Affairs work wonders Hon" He said hurriedly, pulling her into a quick kiss.
"Jack!" Naomi hissed, and then fainted on the Corporal, who collapsed under her weight, her cloak falling half away again. The priest gasped, and rushed forward to cover her and the Corporal in the cloak, getting in the way of the soldiers who dashed forth towards Jack.
Jack darted off, dodging the blade of one soldier, and leaping over the lit candles, which toppled and caught the large and heavy curtains in front of the organ on fire.
Naomi was up again, gazing after Jack, gasping as he leap from pew to pew and out the front door of the church, the bottle of wine the priest had just opened in one hand. She placed her fingers to her lips, the cloak securely wrapped around her body, and smiled.
The Corporal O Harrow gave her one furious look.
"He told me he was a priest.." She said with a small shake of the head.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack sauntered down the streets of Britain, avoiding the continuous patrols, whistling to himself. He squinted up at the sun.
"Time for lunch." He said with a shrug, swigging some wine from the bottle, and making his way down to the bars on the British dock.
"Pirate scum?" He repeated thoughtfully, tipping his hat a passing servant girl. "Bloody right I am."
Maybe he'd go see the ocean. He owed her a visit.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Why Jack remembered so fondly impersonating a priest, my take on the story behind that line in the story. Just one more of Jacks drunken adventures! The things you hear in confession. R&R
Something random I wrote, very very random, just one more of Jacks adventures. My take on Jack impersonating a priest. Sorry if there are mistakes. Read and review. Do It! Do it now (after you read the story, not right now, lol.)
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Oh bloody goddamn sodding sons of a." Captain Jack Sparrow howled. He kicked the rough stonework of the pub wall, scowling at the bartender who placed his hands menacingly on his hips. Jack Sparrow spat on his shoe, and hurriedly brought his hands to his sword, but then thought better of it.
The bartender simply laughed.
"Bugger off ya drunk pirate, we's been closed now." He slurred. Jack barred his teeth and then thought better of it, looking away and then back with his most charming expression.
"Couldn't spare a bottle of rum could you?" He said hopefully, turning his face towards his shoulder, already predicting the answer.
The door slammed shut with Jack none the drunker.
"Where the hell's a pirate supposed to go when it's light? Eh?" Jack grumbled, throwing his thick black clock over his shoulders. The chilled winds of the British winter were blowing through the thin winding streets and the darkness of the early mornings were daunting to all the street walkers, from the drunkards, the woman of ill-repute, and the thugs and thieves that swarmed the British underworld.
Jack Sparrow, formerly Captain Jack Sparrow, raised his hats to two whores on the corner of the street, noting grimly the bills stuffed the girl's netted stockings. Their lips were smudged from their work, and their eyes looked large and dark on that black morning. In the alley behind them, Jack could see the lurching figures of a young noble and his whore, and Jack turned away, both with self-loathing and envy at the girl's money.
Laughter followed in his wake.
Jack pulled out his last, back up supply of rum, raising it to his cracked lips. He paused before drinking, rubbing his tongue across his lips, and then spat on the cobbles. There was no salt left on his skin or on his clothes. He had not felt the oceans touch for months, had been stuck on this godforsaken rock, following in Barbossa's wake, drinking and gambling, searching for a familiar face in a crowd of the poor and the whores.
And he found none.
He missed the cool breezes of the Caribbean, the rawness of the new colonies, the joy and drive in each person, the taste of those tropical drinks, the lilted accents of the beautiful Jamaican girls that he could spend months with and never tire, the sun of his face and the Pearl.
He'd always miss the Pearl.
But more then anything, he missed the roar of the waves, and the wind on his back. Now, his pride and his burning desire for revenge on Barbossa seemed to fade away when compared to his sweet longing for the oceans kiss.
But mainly, he wished for somewhere warm to spent the daylight hours and the embrace of the company of a woman, no matter hold cold the skin of British woman were.
And that's when he saw it, the dim lite lanterns that would burn eternally outside the churches of London.
A slow grin formed across Jack's face.
He ambled up to the huge oak doors, pushing it open. He winced at the loud groan of the ancient wood, his fingers digging into the etching of the holy cross carved across those doors.
He strode up the altar, and then paused, pulling a guilty face.
Taking a few steps back, he dipped his hands in the communion water, making the sign of the cross across his chest, and nodded in respect to the image of the holy virgin who watched him dubiously.
Then he wrapped his hand around the bottle of holy wine and swaggered down the altar. He pulled the cork out, sniffing the wine, and rolled his eyes.
"Cheap priests." He cursed, and then took a swig.
He peered down at the few lit candles, pocketing a couple of them and the matches also, the wine bottle draping against his thigh and half empty now.
The sun would be up soon, he knew that, and he would likely be thrown out of the church when the regular people showed up. Still, till then, he would take his comfort from this lord's house as he did from so many others. Glancing around, and ignoring the hard seats of the congregation, he wandered over to the confessional box, and was pleased to see a padded seat and a cushion. He popped some bread he found next to wine in his mouth, and grinned happily.
He dropped himself down on the seat, pulling the curtain and proceeded to fall asleep.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the ocean.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The sound of slippers on the blue stones of the church could be heard, the hurried breathe of a young girl. She wore a long clock of plush jade green velvet, her head hooded. A few dark brown curls escaped from the corners, framing the youthful face of the girl. Her dark brown eyes were bowed in prayer as she lit a candle, her pink lips mouthing quick words and promises.
She rose quickly, her knees cold as the chill from the floor had penetrated her clothes. She shivered, and glanced over her shoulder guiltily.
She jumped as she heard a snort coming from the confessional box, a single tear running down her noble face. She slipped over to the door, knocked hesitantly, licking her lips.
"Father?" She whispered. "Father!" She repeated louder. Her knuckles were white and the hard wood hurt her soft skin as she knocked again.
Jack woke up with a jolt, grabbing at his hat with on hand and his dagger with the other. He looked around him panicked, his eyes wide, expecting an attack.
"What?" He said quickly, pressing his ear to the door hesitantly, hiking his pants up and trying to remember where he was.
The girl took a step back at the close proximity of his voice. His voice sounded so deep and different from the cultured tones of the usual priests, but he had just woken from sleep, so she reasoned this was the reason for the hoarseness.
"Father, I've come for confession." She said.
Jack pulled a face.
"Father. I better not be no ones bloody father.. Oh." He mumbled, and then his eyes widened as he remembered.
"Father?" The girl repeated, worry becoming apparent on her face. Her forehead crinkled with worry lines, her mouth forming in a slight pout. Jack patted down his pockets.
"Yes, yes, I'm here.." He winced, dragging the next words out with a pained look. "My daughter."
"Please, father, I need to confess." She said fervidly.
"Couldn't this wait till tomorrow, I have a busy schedule you know.." Jack Sparrow said, waving his hands about elaborately, and knocking his hat off.
The girl paused, glancing guiltily over her shoulder, pulling her green jacket closer, revealing long white gloves with golden rings which glinted in the dancing candle lit. She leant closer.
"Please father.."
"Well." Jack said shaking his head, searching the back of the box for another exit. The girl leant even closer.
"Father, I've been having immoral thought." Jack whacked his head on the top of the box, and yelped. "Father?" She said. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, my girl." He said. "You better, well, you better.." He looked around for inspiration, but found none. "You better confess then."
"Thank you father." She said sweetly. She stepped behind the silk curtain, seating herself in the opposite compartment of the box from Jack Sparrow, and drew the screen back. Jack sat back in the shadows of the little chamber, so that his garb and face were hidden, his hat on the seat next to him, and then drew back the little screen also.
He noticed that the girl could not be more then seventeen and that her eyes were not as demure as her voice would have made her out to be.
"Um." Jack said, waving his hands a little. "Tell me your sins?" The girl drew a deep breath.
"Father, I have confessed not more then twenty four hours ago."
"What on earth are you doing here then.." Jack interjected. The girl drew back in surprise. Jack Sparrow rolled his eyes. "I mean, do continue."
"Tomorrow I am to be wed." She said, disappointment obvious in her voice. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. "And I would go into my marriage having spoken my mind and without doubt that god knows my fears."
"What are your fears, love?" He asked, examining his nails. The girl smiled slightly bemused at this term of endearment, but Jack missed it.
"I fear my husband, my fiancé." She started, finding the words very difficult to pronounce. She leant further towards the screen. "Father, he does not love me."
"Love, marriage is about two different peoples motives, and often neither is love." Jack Sparrow said sincerely, and he felt a pang of pity for this lost girl. But he spoke the truth. In her station she would lucky to have a husband whose affections were otherwise distracted.
"Is it father? Does the church wish me to marry this man?" Jack shrugged, but the girl could not see him. She took in a deep breath. "Then I will marry him, but first let me tell you my fears. My fiancé, I have caught him in bed with my brother. He is, he said he cannot love women."
Jack pulled a look of fear.
"What? Not love woman, is he mad?" Jack burst forward, and meet the girls gaze. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she gazed into his eyes, not noticing his clothing in her distress.
"Father, what should I do? I do not marry, my father said he shall make me become a nun."
"T'would be a pity, for such a fine lass to become a nun."
"Father!" She said slightly affronted.
"I mean, my girl, you are not made for um, lords service?" Jack said haltingly.
"Father, I am lost. I do not want to spend my life and my marriage bed alone. I want a true husband." She wept now.
"You can have affairs.." He said consolingly.
"Father! And burn in hell. I couldn't betray my marriage vows, even if he is. lies in my brothers bed every night." She said vehemently. Then she burst into tears.
"Love, don't cry." Jack started. But she would not stop now. Jack winced, debating what to do. His instincts screamed BAIL! And her tears were becoming louder, and surely the really priest would emerge any moment.
He ducked out of his section of the box, and into hers. He sat next to her, while her head was buried in her arms, her body convulsing with tears. He wrapped his arms around her, and she leant her head about his shoulder, weeping against his shirt. He patted her back awkwardly.
"Hon, what's your name?"
"Naomi. Naomi Dogul." She whispered. "Will you help me in my hour of need father?" She moved her head so that she could look into his face. Jack was starting to panic now, and with one hand on her back and the other in her hair, he knew what was going to happen if he got caught at this moment.
"Sure, I will." He said hopefully.
"Oh thank you father." She said, and bent to kiss his cheek. Her lips so close to his skin, Jack did a dangerous thing. He darted his head to the left so her kiss landed full on his lips. She froze, while Jack pressed his lips against hers again. He pushed open her lips, and then drew back.
She kissed him again, her soft lips caressing his. Jack opened his eyes and looked heaven wards, and said a silent thank you.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Oh father,"
"Call me Jack."
"Wait no, don't tear that.."
"Too late love."
"Wow, you have a lot of scars for a pastor.."
"Ah, yes, um, missionary work.."
"Missionary work?"
"Look, um.. Confession's over now."
"Oh Jack should you be. don't your vows."
"Huh?"
"Oh my lord.."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The priest pulled his brown habit around him, forcing open the doors of the church. His arthritis was arching his back, and he felt the chill of night seeping into his bones. He made the sign of the holy cross before the Virgin Mary, and reached for his bottle of wine. Good way to get the day started.
But his wine wasn't there.
"What man steals from the holy church?" The priest said with a shake of the head. His bejewelled hands strummed the table angrily. "This day and age. Never would have happened when we had a strong monarch." He hobbled down the altar.
Behind him, a pair of fine boots clipped the tiles.
The priest turned, and his mouth dropped.
"I mean, our monarch is wonderful." He said hurriedly.
"What?" Corporal O Harrow said. His polished boots reflected the stain glass window above. The six soldiers behind him stood to absolute attention, their swords shimmering at their sides.
"Nothing. Nothing." The priest mumbled. "What may I do for you, my lords, this morning?" He fumbled underneath the podium, drawing out a new bottle of wine, and looking around for his corkscrew.
"Sir Dogul's daughter came here early for confession." The Corporal said, pacing in front of the priest. "Foolishly, she came to this," He glanced disgustedly around at his surrounds. "Degraded part of town alone. She has not come home, and we were wondering if you had heard her confession this day?"
"No, my son, but the girl came to me yesterday to unburden her sins. She must have committed some grave folly to come back to me without the day." The priest said.
"Well, we will search every square inch of this." The Corporal started but was interrupted by a loud yawn coming from the confessional box.
Poking out from under the rich curtain, a pair of dirty brown boots poked out. And a pair of white feet.
The Corporal looked from the priest back to the confessional box, and then, placing his hand on his sword, marched over to it, flinging back the curtain with one swift movement. The priest, not a step behind, gasped.
"Naomi!" He said, his hand on his heart. For she was sprawled across Jack's chest, her dark brown hair in loose ringlets and falling to cover her exposed chest.
"Good morning." Jack said worriedly. He nudged the sleeping girl, who batted open her heavy eyelids sleepily. She gasped at the sight of the soldiers and the priest watching her. Then she looked up at Jack, seeing him in the true light for the first time.
"Father!" She said looking at Jack, shocked, grabbing her red cloak over her, and bounding to her feet. She looked at the Corporal and at the real priest shocked. The soldiers staring at her were grinning.
"Naomi!" The priest cried again.
"Father!"
"Lady Dogul!" Corporal O Harrow said.
"Corporal?" She said, equally appalled by his presence.
"Lady Dogul. Shit!" Jack cursed. "Knew I'd heard the name before. Jesus Christ."
"Jack!" Naomi said, turning on him.
"Lad, you're in a church." There was a pause, and Jack picked up his had, and his belt, wrapping them around his waist, trying to not make any sudden movements.
"Well, I'll just be going.." Jack started.
"Pirate scum!" The Corporal said, attempting to draw his sword.
"Pirate?" Naomi said aghast. Jack pulled a face and nodded guilty.
"Sorry hon. Loved meeting you Naomi, hope the husband thing works out, remember my advice. Affairs work wonders Hon" He said hurriedly, pulling her into a quick kiss.
"Jack!" Naomi hissed, and then fainted on the Corporal, who collapsed under her weight, her cloak falling half away again. The priest gasped, and rushed forward to cover her and the Corporal in the cloak, getting in the way of the soldiers who dashed forth towards Jack.
Jack darted off, dodging the blade of one soldier, and leaping over the lit candles, which toppled and caught the large and heavy curtains in front of the organ on fire.
Naomi was up again, gazing after Jack, gasping as he leap from pew to pew and out the front door of the church, the bottle of wine the priest had just opened in one hand. She placed her fingers to her lips, the cloak securely wrapped around her body, and smiled.
The Corporal O Harrow gave her one furious look.
"He told me he was a priest.." She said with a small shake of the head.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack sauntered down the streets of Britain, avoiding the continuous patrols, whistling to himself. He squinted up at the sun.
"Time for lunch." He said with a shrug, swigging some wine from the bottle, and making his way down to the bars on the British dock.
"Pirate scum?" He repeated thoughtfully, tipping his hat a passing servant girl. "Bloody right I am."
Maybe he'd go see the ocean. He owed her a visit.
* * * * * * * * * * * *