The Caribbean sun rose high over Fort Charles. It was barely eleven o'clock and the temperature had already risen to ninety degrees- and counting. The citizens of Port Royal were used to the sweltering heat but still found it uncomfortable.
Sailors didn't mind it when first docking in the harbor. They had the wind in their hair and the spray on their face. One unlucky sailor went by the name of Sam Winchell- which was really an alias so she could get onto a boat every now and then.
Her tiny boat sailed smoothly until about 100 feet from the dock. It had taken on too much water and began to scrape against the rocky floor of the bay. She was standing on the look out when a nasty jerk nearly sent her into the bay. Sam clung onto the mast for her life as her prized possession slowly and erratically got claimed by the harbor.
One particularly sharp rock undid her vessel completely. The boat shuddered and jerked under Sam and flung her shrieking into the cold, salty water. She resurfaced and spat out the water, only to find a hermit crab had somehow found its way inside her mouth. She spat it out harder and sent it free back into its home. Sam shuddered and began to swim to the dock.
She made it up and shook herself dry, mindful of her hat which held all her hair up. She was approached by a rather ancient looking man, accompanied by his slave boy.
"One shilling to tie up your boat, sir," He said in the coldest tone Sam had ever heard in her life.
"What?"
"One shilling, sir. Docking taxes, you know. I also need your name for the book," Sam looked at the top of the mast of her sunken boat. It soon fell over into the water with the rest.
"I'm not paying for my boat! It's at the bloody bottom of the bay!"
"I need one shilling and a name, sir, or I shall have to call the authorities."
"What good would that do? You still wouldn't have my shilling, would ye? Name's Sam Winchell, anyway. Now, I'll be leaving," She started to get up from the dock until she was hoisted up by the docks man.
"One. Shilling. Sir," He hissed through clenched teeth. Sam took in this spectacle while assuming a poker-face.
"Damn, you're persistent. Fine, alright, you can have me bloody shilling," She pressed the coin into his clammy hands and walked away. When she was far enough away, she yelled, "Yeh bloody pirate!"
--
Sam reached Fort Charles within the hour. She took in the marvel of iron gates before her. They were guarded by two nameless marines, who she slipped past easily. The fort was something to behold, or at least to Sam. The guards and marines were so on point, strict, and accurate.
"… wonder if they have rum," Sam thought aloud. She suddenly felt a dark presence looming behind her.
"No. There is no rum in Fort Charles," The figure said icily. Sam turned to meet the man, Andrew Gillette.
"Well no wonder they all look bloody bored to death! And here I thought you were training the living dead!" Sam waved her arms frantically. Gillette recoiled a bit but grabbed one flapping arm.
"You are not supposed to be here. I'm taking you to the Commodore," Gillette started dragging her along the cobblestone steps.
"Oh, good. I was hoping for a three-way today," She sighed sarcastically. Gillette gawked at her.
"You do know there is a hanging penalty for sodomy, don't you?" Sam stared blankly at him for a moment but soon realized that she still looked like a man.
"OH! Sorry 'bout that, govnah," She removed her hat and her chocolate brown hair swept down silently. Gillette's grip relaxed a bit, as did the rest of his body.
"I'm not sure if that's any better than if you were a man,"
"You telling me you'd rather had a three-way with two other men?" Sam stared at Gillette who reddened immediately.
"No! I'm saying that I'm not sure which is worse: a man who wants to have a three-way with the Commodore and myself or a woman sneaking into the fort unannounced and uninvited!" Gillette nearly screamed.
"…you don't know which is worse? If I were you (knock on wood), than I would have to say that a man coming onto me would be worse, but tha's just me,"
Gillette froze, eyes radiating anger and frustration. Sam grinned innocently and she slipped out from his grip.
"Nice meeting yeh!" Sam yelled while laughing, as she ran off into the fort. Gillette growled and ran after her.
Sam dashed into the main court and ran up the stairs of the gallows. Gillette was right on her heels, not missing a step of where she went. She jumped off the platform and ducked into a stairway that led to the prison cells. Andrew chased her, screaming after her.
"Where are you…?" Gillette growled behind clenched teeth. He heard a giggle echo through the cobblestone halls. He followed the noise to a corner, looking around it slowly. He was met with Sam's face glowing in the lantern light.
"'Ello, govnah!" She bellowed into his face before sprinting up another flight of stairs. Gillette practically roared with anger and ran after her.
He made a desperate move and flung himself at her on the stairs. He missed but got a tiny grasp on her pants. Gillette pulled as hard as he could and was soon met with Sam's body crashing on top of him. They both crashed into the thick walls, Sam lying on top of Gillette. She quickly recovered and made another move to run up the stairs while Andrew was still getting up.
She sprinted through the fort, dodging past soldiers, marines, and guards, and tore the place apart. She looked back at her mess occasionally and saw Gillette was always at her heels, no matter where she went.
Sam finally got to the catwalk which overlooked the sea. She stopped only a quarter-inch away from falling into the crashing waves bellow and froze on the spot. A second later, a certain lieutenant slammed into her, sending her over the wall.
Gillette shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see her figure get swallowed by the sea. He opened one eye slightly; curiosity had gotten the better of him. He didn't see her precious form hit the water's surface; he only saw four fingers grasping onto the wall as tight as they could. The rest of Sam came after those fingers, as Gillette saw. Pure shock froze him for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"What the hell are you doing?! Pull me up, dammit!" Sam screamed desperately. Gillette came out of his momentary stupor and grabbed Sam's forearm.
"Hand me your other arm!" Gillette grunted. Sam did so (not easily, mind you) and Gillette hoisted her up on the balcony. She collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily.
"Would it kill you blokes to put in a guard rail or something?!" Sam snarled. Gillette glared at her.
"First of all: you were not supposed to be here OR running from me. Secondly: it's decorative and not supposed to have a higher guard."
"You're just a bloody git. All of you are. Seriously."
Gillette growled a bit and glared daggers at Sam. She crossed her arms over her chest and returned the glare heatedly. They might have stood there all day if someone hadn't come to see what all the screaming was about. The man was Lieutenant Theodore Groves.
"Gillette, something wrong? I heard screaming and… who's this?" Groves turned his attention to Sam. She didn't acknowledge his presence what so ever. She kept focus at beating Gillette at this impromptu stare down.
"I don't know her name. She came to the fort uninvited and unannounced. I tried to take her to the Commodore but she ran from me and fell over the wall, here. She's been yelling at me even though I just saved her life," Andrew grunted in reply, all the while keeping focus on Sam. She sneered.
"I wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't of run into me, ye bloody bastard," she hissed. Groves was immediately impressed by her sharp tongue. He smirked a bit but quickly concealed it.
"Well Madame, it seems that you are charged with trespassing and absconding. Before we can properly try you, I need to know your name," Groves asked gently. Sam smiled inwardly at the man's bluntness.
"Name's Samantha Winchell, or Sam if you prefer. I don't feel in the mood te be 'tried' right now. Maybe after a couple of drinks," Sam stated flatly. Groves could only laugh in response while Sam continued to hold her gaze with Gillette's.
"Well Samantha, I think we should have a word with the Commodore, eh? It'll be quick, I promise. You shouldn't have a terrible punishment, I think. Maybe a couple of hours of community service at most. That's not so bad,"
"Not as bad as what this guy tried to charge me with," Sam pointed an accusing finger at Gillette.
"What would that be?" Groves turned to Gillette for this answer.
"Sodomy," He replied in monotone.
Groves lost all composure at that point. He doubled over in hysterics and laughed until he was red in the face and on the brink of tears. He finally calmed down and escorted both Sam and Andrew to Commodore Norrington's position.
--
"Commodore, sir," Groves announced and saluted to his superior. Norrington nodded and sent away a nameless soldier he had been talking with.
"Groves. Gillette. Who is this?" Norrington raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Sam just glared at Gillette, who was leering back at her. Their gaze had never been broken and they were each determined to out stare the other.
"This is Samantha Winchell, sir. She was found trespassing and then ran away from Lieutenant Gillette," Groves announced. Gillette nodded but kept his eyes locked on Sam.
"Hmm. That is quite an offense, Miss Winchell. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"…" Sam had no reply. She was too focused at beating Gillette.
"They've been like this the entire time, sir," Groves said after a long pause. Commodore Norrington sighed and dismissed Groves.
"So you two have been having a staring contest? Interesting. Who will win? Stubborn as you can be Lieutenant, I think Miss Winchell has the advantage. You must obey my orders and acknowledge my comments, whereas she does not have to do a thing I say. However, I'm not just going to sabotage your attempts, Lieutenant. That would be most dishonorable. Although… it does have a certain appeal…"
"Do not do that, sir. I must win," Gillette said with ice in his voice. Norrington smiled smugly.
"Well good to see your vocal chords are still active. And what of you, Miss Winchell? Hmm? Can you talk, or are you a mute?"
"I can talk just fine, Commo-dork. I just need to show this git who's the boss," Sam sneered.
"Technically, I would be the boss- what did you just call me?"
"Commo-dork, sir," Gillette reported sternly. Sam only nodded. James Norrington grunted disapprovingly.
James eventually made the two end their contest. It was around noon when they had started and Norrington had clunked their heads together near sunset. Sam and Gillette were forced to a truce but neither of them liked it.
Sam was allowed to stay in Norrington's office for the night, since she didn't get the chance to book a hotel and she had to start community service the next day.
"How many hours do I have to serve, again?" Sam groaned while lying bonelessly on a chair in Norrington's office.
"Fifty hours of community service, Miss Winchell," Norrington replied as he admired his sword. It was the gold filigree in the handle he loved the most. It made it seem so regal.
"Fifty? Really? That seems like a lot for just those two offences. What do I have to do?"
"Well, since Mr. Brown is visiting his niece in England, you should go serve a few hours down at the Blacksmithery. Lord knows how Mr. Turner needs some help," Norrington half-scoffed.
"Blacksmiths? Sorry but I don't know anything 'bout them," Sam sighed.
"I'm sure Mr. Turner will explain what you must do for him,"
