Author's Note: So I suppose you're wondering who I am? I'm Sharron, and I am a new comer to the wonderful world of PotC Fan Fiction! This is my first fic on PotC, so be nice, please! I am open to any and all constructive criticism. I repeat, constructive criticism. If you don't know what it means, than just don't say anything at all. Anyway, enough of my blabbering. Enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Pirates of the Caribbean, even if I wish I did. I went to the store to see if I could at least get a Will Turner, but they ran out. Anyway, I only own all of the original characters, and anything else that wasn't in the first movie. (Including Jack's new hat! BUWAHAHAHAHA!)

The life of a Pirates' Daughter

Chapter One



All my life I've been brought up to be a lady, delicate, poised and well mannered. Most people would tell me how lucky I was and still am to grow up with the best things in life. My mom is the daughter of the Mayor, which obviously means that we've always been well off when it came to money. My dad is a simple blacksmith, who works hard and brings in a fair amount of money.

We've always lived in big fancy houses with maids and butlers that would wait on us hand and foot. I would always wear beautiful dresses with corsets that would suck the air out of me. With pretty shoes on my feet, pretty hats on my head and pretty fans in my hand. My manners at the dinner table were polite, and I would never fit anything into my mouth that was bigger than the end segment of my thumb.

When I was little, all of the girls on the block were jealous of me, for the things I would have, which included both my clothes and my dolls. The boys would fawn over how 'pretty' I was, and they would always be so gentle with me. Smiling, I would greet them, and I would act how I was told to act.

To put it into simple words, I was a confused girl who would perform to the people of the town, and act like someone I wasn't. I was never like the other girls, who would play dress up and house, I was like a boy who wanted to look for adventures and sword fight with sticks. As I grew up my parents noticed how unhappy I was, and would realize that my smile was fake. They knew then that I wasn't like everyone thought me to be. The town found out about it too, when I decked Tommy Smith for poking fun at me because I wanted to play pirates with them.

My mom wasn't too happy at first, and my dad wasn't either, but they finally accepted that their daughter was a tomboy. I still wore dresses when I had to, but slacks and shirts were more comfortable to me.

That was a while ago, back when I was 12. Now, 5 years later, I was reading my favorite book for about the 100th time on my dad's armchair in his office. It was my favorite room in the house, and I felt safest in here. Not because the walls were decorated and covered with the swords my dad had made of the years, but because he used to read me to sleep in the rocking chair when I was little.

Today was Sunday and around noontime, which meant the maids and butlers were having their day off, Dad was at work, and Mom was with Grandpa for their normal Sunday lunch together. So I had the house to myself. I grin just as the exciting part of the book begins, and I speed read, trying to take it all it, but I look up as I hear a knock at the front door. I stand up, putting my book down and peaking out of the office door and down the hall, where the front door stood.

The knock was urgent, loud and fast, which was surprising since no one was expected. I walked towards the door, and the person knocks again, louder this time. "Okay, okay, hold on," I mumble as I pull the door open. Before I get the change to get a good look at the visitor, I hurled into a tight gripping hug, that somehow seemed worse than wearing a corset. Confused stupid, I try to say something, but the air is currently leaving my lungs and I can't move because this person had my arms down by my sides from the way they're hugging me.

Part of my question is answered when a wavering, raspy male's voice calls, "Elizabeth! It's been a while, how have you been? You look beautiful!" he said, than pulled away from me, holding me by the shoulders. He had ratty, dark brown hair with dark beads scattered here and there. A faded red scarf covered his forehead and went underneath his elaborate hat, which had a huge, shiny feather sticking out from it. He had bags under his eyes, and had a trim mustache and goatee. His clothes were high class and fancy, along with his thick, clogging boots. In a holster, ridding on his waist was an old pistol, and on the other side, a very clean, new sword.

He stared at me, and I stared at him. He cocked his head slightly, in confusion.

"You're not Elizabeth!" he slurred, letting me smell the rum on his breath. Then I let out a piercing scream and he let go of me, letting out a prolonged, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" himself.

I tore backwards and towards my dad's office, scared to death that a stranger had just barged in, thinking I was my mom and hugged me. Not to mention he was drunk. 'And how the hell does he know my mom?!

"Wait," he called out and I could hear the thick clumping of his boots come closer. I frantically looked around, unsure of what to do, until it hit me. The swords. Duh. I grabbed one and quickly held it up to his neck as the intruder turned to corner to walk in. He froze, and looked down his nose at the sword threatening him.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

He calmly glanced back up at me with his dark eyes and replied, "That isn't a toy, love. You should be careful where you point that thing."

"Answer the question!" I barked, glaring at him. Surprising myself, I realized I was actually threatening a man. Sure I'd threaten the boys in the neighborhood, but this was entirely different.

"Now, now," he began again, very calmly. "Don't play with things you don't know how to use," His arm quickly swung for his sword, and he pulled it out, letting it clash with mine, making a sharp hissing noise. I stepped back, my sword still raised. He now had some kind of defense, and he looked as though he was prepared to fight me. A sudden fear began to rise in the pit of my stomach and up to my throat. But my arm swung and there was another CLASH again, and again, in an intricate battle, our swords dancing together.

He looked as surprised as I did, as my arm moved swiftly, blocking every attack he made for me, and giving a few hard swings myself. It was like I was possessed, because I had no idea what I was doing, but I was doing it, and apparently doing it well. Jumping forward and than backwards again, we continued to play, but I gasped as my bare feet slipped on the wooden floor, sending my down on one knee. His blade came close to my head, but I blocked it again, than rolled, and jumped back up, ready to go again, but he put up his guard again, and we both stopped, staring at each other.

"I take that back, you do know how to use it," he mumbled faintly. "Who taught you?"

"No one," I squeaked out. I blinked. 'What happened to my voice?' I thought as I lifted my free hand to rub my throat. Finding my voice again, I asked my question again, but this time, much, much quieter. "Who are you?"

"Why, I'm Jack Sparrow," he said with a grin, flashing me his gold and silver clad teeth. I winced.

And I thought. 'Jack Sparrow...? Who the hell is Jack Sparrow?'

"Well how do you know my mom?" I asked next, my voice getting stronger.

"Your mom? I don't know your-"

"Elizabeth Turner!" I reminded.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, along with his sword. I took my chance and used my book that was lying on the arm of my dad's armchair to knock him hard in the head. His eyes rolled back before he fell to the floor, limp as a rag. Still unsure if he was really unconscious, I cautiously walked around him my sword pointed at his head. When I realized he was out, I grabbed his sword off the floor and flung it across the room, as to make sure he didn't get it when he woke up. For the second time, it hit me that we were in a room full of swords and I lightly hit my forehead with my palm.

I carefully and slowly grabbed his feet and dragged him to a closet down the hall. Gently pushing him in there, I shut the door, and pushed a chair against the knob. Staring at my handy work with my hands of my hips, I nodded, than suddenly took off for the door, not bothering to put on shoes and slamming the door behind me. I sprinted all the way to dad's blacksmith shop, where I burst through the door, feeling the heat of the fire as soon as I entered.

I saw my dark, curly haired dad, other wise known as Will Turner, look up at me in concern. I was bent over my knees, panting heavily from my run.

"Angelina," he began, putting down his hammer. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath before pointing in the direction of our house. "Someone-" I took another deep breath. "Broke in."

Author's Note: Yes, I am evil. Oh, wait, d'you see that pretty purple button on the bottom, left side of the page that says, "Go"? Yeah, well click it!! You should pretty much know what to do after that.

--Sharron--