The wooden deck was slick with sea water and vomit. Hurricanes be damned, Jack Sparrow thought irritably. They always seemed to get in the way of important matters. Like rum. They were fresh out of rum and the weather was keeping them from port. If anything made Jack a dull boy, it was lack of rum.
The Captain stomped angrily from one side of the ship to the other, ignoring the exchange of glances between his second in command, Gibbs, and other crew members. It was a mixture of knowing and bemusement that they shared, waiting for Jack Sparrow to make his next move. It would be entertaining if nothing else and that was for certain. After all, all work and no rum made Jack a very, very bad boy.
"Hard to port!" Jack shouted at the top of his lungs, ready for movement aboard his ship.
He fished his trusty compass into his hands and flipped the lid open. The direction it pointed would lead the Black Pearl further from shore, but if there was one thing that would make Jack leave the area, it was the promise of rum.
Rum. The real answer to life, the universe and everything.
-THE END