A/N - This will eventually tie in with PotC! Just read to the end of this
first part. I promise!!
Saviya sat on a street corner, a monkey perched on her shoulder and crawling about to change its position often, its golden brown fur flashing in the setting sun. Saviya's pleasantly tan face was lit by the flames of the oncoming night, and she gazed out pensively before her, not seeing the people hurrying along the streets in front of her, or noticing the crimson light staining the rapidly darkening sky like blood. Her bare feet were dirty, and the golden chains and bells that were draped about her like starlight had lost some of their sparkle. She got up at the moment the sun sunk below the horizon, picked up her flute and knit hat, and walked into a bar, the cobblestones pressing uncomfortably into her calloused heels. Rowdy noises were beginning to be emitted from it, and the sounds of breaking class and raucous laughter were becoming more frequent. She stepped through the door, out of the cool, calming darkness of natural night into the smoky, dingy dimness of the bar. It was called the Goat's Hoof.
Immediately everyone in the bar knew what Saviya was. Her clothes were bright and mismatched in such a way that the chaos of colors appeared ordered. A blue skirt, halfway covered with bells and a brown leather bag that hooked over one shoulder, a green corset with dragons embroidered with gold thread, and silk red scarves covered her, and her curly dark hair was partially tamed by a purple bandana. The bar maids whispered among each other, "Watch her, she'll steal us blind," and then went back to their business. Saviya sat down on a stool at the front of the bar, next to a tough looking man with a few fingers and a piece of his ear missing. He was sipping a mug of something hard and black, letting it spill into his ragged beard. The pirates are back ashore again, Saviya thought to herself. She looked around, trying to spot a captain. Maybe if she danced better tonight he would give her passage onto his ship.
Then she saw him. There was no mistaking a pirate captain when you saw one, and Saviya's heart leapt, just for a moment. She whispered to the monkey, still nervously rushing about her shoulders, "Go, Mashaka," and gently pinched his right foot. The monkey leapt off her shoulders and dove into the smelling, sweaty crowd, the dusty lights flashing on his fur for a moment before he disappeared beneath the feet of the patrons. Saviya waited a few instants, and then walked over to the table where a bard was putting even the most boisterous pirates to sleep with a story of the ancient kings of some old country. Saviya ignored him, and stood on the table, her chains and bells winking, and looked over the crowd, trying to find the pirate she had spotted. Mashaka had done as he was supposed to and gotten the captain's attention, grabbing his hand and turning him towards the table. Saviya winked at him and began.
The band, used to playing the droning monotone that always accompanied histories, struck up with a livelier tune, as Saviya danced and danced, leaping across the table and landing in sailors' laps, picking up her flute and playing along, out of breath from the effort and the movement, but still dancing because she knew that she needed to leave this port and the only way she would do it was if she could get passage with this captain.
The band played a slower, silkier tune, and Saviya jingle and swayed, slowly making her way towards the shipmaster. By this point, men were flashing coins at her, which Mashaka hurried to grab, greedily, out of their hands, hiding them in his coat pocket. Saviya grinned and continued, eventually not ten feet away from him. As she got closer, she began to think she had made a mistake. He was young, maybe only a few years older than herself, and had no creases on his face, almost no beard, and his dark hair was still thick and colored, without a trace of gray. His only scars were a long, pink line, marking it newly healed, that ran from his shoulder to his wrist, and an exotic mark directly above his upper lip, barely covered by a beard. Pirate captains were never this young.
She continued anyway, realizing by the way other men looked at him, the older ones as if he was a usurper, a man too young to be taken seriously, but who forced himself into a position of power over them, that he was an authority figure of some sort. He was staring at her, his dark eyes taking in her every twist. He was handsome, dangerous, like all pirates, but still much too young. Maybe his inexperience would move him to grant her passage.
She finally ended the dance at his feet, to much applause and laughter. Then everyone in the bar turned back to what they were doing, drinking or whoring or gambling, and Saviya was left lying below the pirate. He bent and took one of her hands, and lifted her up, so he was looking into her eyes.
"What's your name, gypsy?" He said, and his voice was jagged and low, like a good brew of coffee from across the seas. Saviya had always wanted to go to the lands of the Orient. Maybe she could now, with him.
"Saviya," she replied, and Mashaka leapt onto her should and twined his tail about her neck and shoulders again.
"What do you want?" She was taken aback by this. By the way he was appraising her body, and the way his eyes searched and clung, she had expected that he would think she was a common whore. Most men did. If that's what it takes to get passage on a ship, she thought, I'll do it.
"I- I need passage. On a ship. And I can only pay you one way. I mean, not that way, with- with dancing. But if you want me to pay you in any other way. I swear, I'll do anything to leave." She struggled for words as she saw him considering her offer.
"So you'll dance for my ship, when called upon, and suffer the sea and the weather and my crew with no complaint?" He was very handsome, she kept thinking, at the same time her head was light as she imagined actually leaving this god forsaken port.
"Yes, yes of course," she replied, knowing her voice was breathy and weak sounding.
"Alright, I expect to see you tomorrow morning at sunrise. The ship is the Black Pearl, only ship with black sails in the whole harbor. My crew will know you as miss.?" He paused waiting for her name.
"Saviya. Miss Saviya." Her heart was soaring on golden wings, and soon she would be on the sea, breathing in the air and on her way to new places. A girl like her hated staying in one place too long. He turned to walk away.
"And what shall I call you?" She called after him.
"Captain Jack Sparrow."
Saviya sat on a street corner, a monkey perched on her shoulder and crawling about to change its position often, its golden brown fur flashing in the setting sun. Saviya's pleasantly tan face was lit by the flames of the oncoming night, and she gazed out pensively before her, not seeing the people hurrying along the streets in front of her, or noticing the crimson light staining the rapidly darkening sky like blood. Her bare feet were dirty, and the golden chains and bells that were draped about her like starlight had lost some of their sparkle. She got up at the moment the sun sunk below the horizon, picked up her flute and knit hat, and walked into a bar, the cobblestones pressing uncomfortably into her calloused heels. Rowdy noises were beginning to be emitted from it, and the sounds of breaking class and raucous laughter were becoming more frequent. She stepped through the door, out of the cool, calming darkness of natural night into the smoky, dingy dimness of the bar. It was called the Goat's Hoof.
Immediately everyone in the bar knew what Saviya was. Her clothes were bright and mismatched in such a way that the chaos of colors appeared ordered. A blue skirt, halfway covered with bells and a brown leather bag that hooked over one shoulder, a green corset with dragons embroidered with gold thread, and silk red scarves covered her, and her curly dark hair was partially tamed by a purple bandana. The bar maids whispered among each other, "Watch her, she'll steal us blind," and then went back to their business. Saviya sat down on a stool at the front of the bar, next to a tough looking man with a few fingers and a piece of his ear missing. He was sipping a mug of something hard and black, letting it spill into his ragged beard. The pirates are back ashore again, Saviya thought to herself. She looked around, trying to spot a captain. Maybe if she danced better tonight he would give her passage onto his ship.
Then she saw him. There was no mistaking a pirate captain when you saw one, and Saviya's heart leapt, just for a moment. She whispered to the monkey, still nervously rushing about her shoulders, "Go, Mashaka," and gently pinched his right foot. The monkey leapt off her shoulders and dove into the smelling, sweaty crowd, the dusty lights flashing on his fur for a moment before he disappeared beneath the feet of the patrons. Saviya waited a few instants, and then walked over to the table where a bard was putting even the most boisterous pirates to sleep with a story of the ancient kings of some old country. Saviya ignored him, and stood on the table, her chains and bells winking, and looked over the crowd, trying to find the pirate she had spotted. Mashaka had done as he was supposed to and gotten the captain's attention, grabbing his hand and turning him towards the table. Saviya winked at him and began.
The band, used to playing the droning monotone that always accompanied histories, struck up with a livelier tune, as Saviya danced and danced, leaping across the table and landing in sailors' laps, picking up her flute and playing along, out of breath from the effort and the movement, but still dancing because she knew that she needed to leave this port and the only way she would do it was if she could get passage with this captain.
The band played a slower, silkier tune, and Saviya jingle and swayed, slowly making her way towards the shipmaster. By this point, men were flashing coins at her, which Mashaka hurried to grab, greedily, out of their hands, hiding them in his coat pocket. Saviya grinned and continued, eventually not ten feet away from him. As she got closer, she began to think she had made a mistake. He was young, maybe only a few years older than herself, and had no creases on his face, almost no beard, and his dark hair was still thick and colored, without a trace of gray. His only scars were a long, pink line, marking it newly healed, that ran from his shoulder to his wrist, and an exotic mark directly above his upper lip, barely covered by a beard. Pirate captains were never this young.
She continued anyway, realizing by the way other men looked at him, the older ones as if he was a usurper, a man too young to be taken seriously, but who forced himself into a position of power over them, that he was an authority figure of some sort. He was staring at her, his dark eyes taking in her every twist. He was handsome, dangerous, like all pirates, but still much too young. Maybe his inexperience would move him to grant her passage.
She finally ended the dance at his feet, to much applause and laughter. Then everyone in the bar turned back to what they were doing, drinking or whoring or gambling, and Saviya was left lying below the pirate. He bent and took one of her hands, and lifted her up, so he was looking into her eyes.
"What's your name, gypsy?" He said, and his voice was jagged and low, like a good brew of coffee from across the seas. Saviya had always wanted to go to the lands of the Orient. Maybe she could now, with him.
"Saviya," she replied, and Mashaka leapt onto her should and twined his tail about her neck and shoulders again.
"What do you want?" She was taken aback by this. By the way he was appraising her body, and the way his eyes searched and clung, she had expected that he would think she was a common whore. Most men did. If that's what it takes to get passage on a ship, she thought, I'll do it.
"I- I need passage. On a ship. And I can only pay you one way. I mean, not that way, with- with dancing. But if you want me to pay you in any other way. I swear, I'll do anything to leave." She struggled for words as she saw him considering her offer.
"So you'll dance for my ship, when called upon, and suffer the sea and the weather and my crew with no complaint?" He was very handsome, she kept thinking, at the same time her head was light as she imagined actually leaving this god forsaken port.
"Yes, yes of course," she replied, knowing her voice was breathy and weak sounding.
"Alright, I expect to see you tomorrow morning at sunrise. The ship is the Black Pearl, only ship with black sails in the whole harbor. My crew will know you as miss.?" He paused waiting for her name.
"Saviya. Miss Saviya." Her heart was soaring on golden wings, and soon she would be on the sea, breathing in the air and on her way to new places. A girl like her hated staying in one place too long. He turned to walk away.
"And what shall I call you?" She called after him.
"Captain Jack Sparrow."