Chapter One
It was hot and humid that night in Tortuga. Captain Jack Sparrow wiped sweat from his brow as he swaggered down the packed dirt road, avoiding fighting drunkards, and managing to resist the numerous whores beckoning to him from corners. He was on business tonight, he couldn't risk being distracted.
Inside The Flaming Dove it was business as usual, as for any pub on the island. In a corner a man sat, nursing a flagon of ale, his hair hanging lank over his face as if to hide his identity. The door creaked, and the buzz of talk ceased for a moment as the company looked up to see who the new customer was. Upon seeing Jack, there were some shouted welcomes as the fighting and talking and drinking resumed. He ordered a mug of rum, and stood, swaying slightly, his eyes roving around for an empty seat. His glance flicked over to the corner, where the solitary man sat. He headed over.
"Don' min' if I do, mate?" The man glanced up absently, seeming to have a hard time focusing on the pirate seated before him. He shrugged noncommittally, returning to his drink and paying Jack no more heed.
'Must not be the conversational type...' Jack thought, taking a pull of his rum.
"So!" he said, breaking the long silence, "'Oo do I 'ave the pleasure of addressing?" The man raised his head, and Jack got a good look at him. He had glossy reddish hair under his dirty, sun-bleached bandanna, long, and lank from lack of washing. He had liquid, peat-brown eyes, and above them, thick eyebrows. A sharp, clean-shaven jaw and high cheekbones gave his face an almost delicate look, but as Jack knew, from years of experience, appearances could be misleading.
"Name's Robeson." He said. He had a smooth, lilting voice,
'Irish.' Jack thought. At a look, the man called Robeson continued,
"Finnbarr Robeson. Finn, if'n ye prefer it. An' who might ye be yerself?"
"I," Jack proclaimed grandly, "Am Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm 'ere lookin' fer someone... or several someones really... aye. But tha's not the point. I need a coupla new crewmembers, we los' some t' the goddam redcoats a bit ago." Silence. "Ye 'ave a ship, mate? No? Lovely, Ye think ye're up t' the job?"
A light kindled in Finnbarr Robeson's eyes as he scanned Jack. The infamous pirate captain intrigued him. His dark hair was wild and full of beads as was his goatee, arranged in two plaits. His kohl lined eyes, though dark, were warm and had a hint of gold, like honey, in their depths. He was- no, he wasn't tall, about 5'9, but he gave the impression of being tall. He carried himself with self-assured wit and grace, but Robeson sensed he could be deadly if he chose. Also, he added to himself, he wasn't half bad looking.
"Aye, Captain Jack Sparrow, I think I am. D'we 'ave an accord?" Jack grinned roguishly and held out his scarred and callused hand. It met with Finn's, and luckily for him, Jack was just drunk enough as to not notice that he held on a bit longer than was necessary.
It was hot and humid that night in Tortuga. Captain Jack Sparrow wiped sweat from his brow as he swaggered down the packed dirt road, avoiding fighting drunkards, and managing to resist the numerous whores beckoning to him from corners. He was on business tonight, he couldn't risk being distracted.
Inside The Flaming Dove it was business as usual, as for any pub on the island. In a corner a man sat, nursing a flagon of ale, his hair hanging lank over his face as if to hide his identity. The door creaked, and the buzz of talk ceased for a moment as the company looked up to see who the new customer was. Upon seeing Jack, there were some shouted welcomes as the fighting and talking and drinking resumed. He ordered a mug of rum, and stood, swaying slightly, his eyes roving around for an empty seat. His glance flicked over to the corner, where the solitary man sat. He headed over.
"Don' min' if I do, mate?" The man glanced up absently, seeming to have a hard time focusing on the pirate seated before him. He shrugged noncommittally, returning to his drink and paying Jack no more heed.
'Must not be the conversational type...' Jack thought, taking a pull of his rum.
"So!" he said, breaking the long silence, "'Oo do I 'ave the pleasure of addressing?" The man raised his head, and Jack got a good look at him. He had glossy reddish hair under his dirty, sun-bleached bandanna, long, and lank from lack of washing. He had liquid, peat-brown eyes, and above them, thick eyebrows. A sharp, clean-shaven jaw and high cheekbones gave his face an almost delicate look, but as Jack knew, from years of experience, appearances could be misleading.
"Name's Robeson." He said. He had a smooth, lilting voice,
'Irish.' Jack thought. At a look, the man called Robeson continued,
"Finnbarr Robeson. Finn, if'n ye prefer it. An' who might ye be yerself?"
"I," Jack proclaimed grandly, "Am Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm 'ere lookin' fer someone... or several someones really... aye. But tha's not the point. I need a coupla new crewmembers, we los' some t' the goddam redcoats a bit ago." Silence. "Ye 'ave a ship, mate? No? Lovely, Ye think ye're up t' the job?"
A light kindled in Finnbarr Robeson's eyes as he scanned Jack. The infamous pirate captain intrigued him. His dark hair was wild and full of beads as was his goatee, arranged in two plaits. His kohl lined eyes, though dark, were warm and had a hint of gold, like honey, in their depths. He was- no, he wasn't tall, about 5'9, but he gave the impression of being tall. He carried himself with self-assured wit and grace, but Robeson sensed he could be deadly if he chose. Also, he added to himself, he wasn't half bad looking.
"Aye, Captain Jack Sparrow, I think I am. D'we 'ave an accord?" Jack grinned roguishly and held out his scarred and callused hand. It met with Finn's, and luckily for him, Jack was just drunk enough as to not notice that he held on a bit longer than was necessary.