It's a promise, Chicha thought to herself, sitting outside, high up in the tree behind her home, And a promise made should be a promise kept.
She sighed, swinging her legs as the breeze blew past her, closing her eyes.
If I just have my eyes shut, I feel like I'm flying.
She opened her eyes, reality facing her once more. The same village, the same jungle, the same people. And how many times had she turned down chances to leave? She hugged the trunk of the tree, looking away. She didn't know who she was trying to fool more, Pacha or herself. She wasn't ready to get married. She wasn't ready to do anything.
She looked over, seeing Jack duck out of the house and making his way over to her. She climbed down from the tree, stumbling a little when she got to the bottom. She expected to fall, but a strong arm caught her.
"Careful there, luv," Jack said, grinning as he stood her upright, "I 'ad come out 'ere with the intention of asking if you 'ad any rum." Chicha pushed her hair back out of her face. She quirked an eyebrow at him, walking past him and into the kitchen.
"I have chicha," she said, cracking open a large barrel.
"Luv, I asked if you 'ad any rum," he said, smirking, "Not wot your name was." Chicha laughed, dipping a large wooden ladle into the sweet smelling liquid and filling two glasses.
"No, chicha. It's the only alcohol I have," she responded, handing him a glass before putting the top back on the barrel and walking outside, sipping hers, "I'm one of the few women in the village that make it still."
Jack lifted the glass up to his nose, taking a whiff. He wrinkled his nose, the stuff smelled like a white wine. Throwing caution to the wind, he took a drink, surprised by the flavor in his mouth. It was very sweet and light, but clear in its flavor. He smirked to himself. It reminded him of it's namesake, who he was now approaching.
"You don't want to be 'ere," he said simply, sitting down next to her, "In fact, I am willin to wager that you're considerin askin me to take you wit me when I go." She looked at him, her expression revealing her surprise.
"Clairvoyance, luv," he said, tapping his glass against hers, "A talent few possess."
"I was," she replied, looking into her cup as if there was something of great interest inside it, "But I won't. I always ask, but I never go."
"An why would that be?" he asked, "You don't seem like you fear very much; so it can't be trepidation holding you back."
"It was," she replied, "I was afraid to leave my father. To leave my home...as much as I despise it at times. But now, he's left me here. And I have nothing to stay here for," she looked at him, "What about you, Jack? When did you become a pirate?"
" Born a pirate, raised a pirate," he responded, shrugging his shoulders. His generally open demeanor immediately closed up, "An wot exactly would drive a man to believe that leavin 'is doter in an 'ouse all by her little lonesome?"
"My mother," she spat, "He left with her. He doesn't want me to marry Pacha; she was absolutely disgusted with the very thought."
"I must be 'onest, the thought is unsettling even to me," he said, "An I 'aven't known you very long."
"Why?" she demanded, "I love Pacha." Jack chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
"You are still quite lacking in the art of deception, Little Miss," he teased, reaching out and touching her cheek gently, "You're much too pretty for him. Not to mention intelligent and otherwise well endowed with gifts that all women ought to 'ave." Chicha blushed, leaning away from him.
"You said it yourself," she whispered, "You don't know me. I'm a very difficult girl to deal with."
"I said I 'aven't know you long," he corrected, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side, "But I think wot you need is a little freedom."
He leaned down, running his lips along the side of her neck up to her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair. She shuddered, every fiber in her being enjoying the attention.
"Freedom?" she asked, her voice weak. She feebly attempted to escape his grasp, failing miserably. He tucked his face neatly in the crook of her neck, smiling against her skin.
"Liberty," he murmured, kissing her neck, "Independence," he whispered, pulling her back, "Wantonness."
He ran his lips gently along the curve of her ear, the word escaping his lips roughly. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering. She had never been treated like this, and he was right. She felt...free. It was her choice, wasn't it? She was free to kiss him, to touch him...to give any part of herself to this man.
She turned quickly, weaving her fingers in his hair and kissing him hard, surprising him. He obviously hadn't expected her to join so quickly; in fact his face made it clear that he had expected more of a fight from her. As she pulled away from him, she looked into his eyes and almost looked away.
He had honest eyes.
She looked into those eyes and she couldn't lie to herself. She wanted him. She wanted freedom.
He was freedom.