Okay, so, I thought I should let people know this. I KNOW it is popular for Davy Jones to have hostages, and for him to fall in love with them. Note: He does NOT fall in love in my story. I'm attempting to make my character NOT a Mary-Sue. I'm well known on here and dA to write stories with clichéd plots, and make them interesting. Look at my Kingdom Hearts stories, I took the most clichéd self-insert based storyline and it has about 20000 hits on it, and I have people constantly telling me how awesome of a job it is. So, here's my new challenge: Pirates of the Caribbean. Hell, I've seen the 2nd at LEAST 100 times, and I've seen the third 4 times, and going to see it one more time this weekend. I'm a POTC theorist, and I'm using some of my theories started based on POTC3, to work on this. So please, if my character starts out as a Mary-Sue: Relax; it's called character development. Believe me, the story will work itself out. --Anna

Ch 2

Michelle was situated in the back of the room, seated on the cold, grimy floor, knowing it was absolutely disgusting. She had never been told to leave, or let alone, where to go, or what to do. She wished she could just enjoy listening to this fearsome captain playing music.

But the music was far too somber for her to enjoy. Just from the sound of the music, she could tell that Davy Jones was not a warm-hearted person…If he was even a person at all. By the way he pounded on the organ, it seemed that if she even moved, it would have disrupted him and caused for her to be sent off over the edge. She knew the ship was at sail, but how would she be able to enjoy it without the reassurance that she would return home?

The music ceased suddenly, the pirate rose from his bench, the tentacles attacked to his face slapped against each other with a sickeningly squelching noise. "You." He snapped, pointing at Michelle. "What are ye still doin' in here?"

She thought a moment, letting the English words run through her head. "You never told me to leave." She muttered, hoping she was responding properly.

Davy Jones had an expression of fury on his face, which turned to a laugh. Michelle felt a little awkward, so she laughed softly, smiling, as not to upset him. "Ye know 'ow ta handle yerself in the presence of a pirate." He said. "Good lass." Michelle flashed a small grin, but it was stopped by the stinging of her flesh as the pirate struck her across the face, a long scratch being produced. "Now get out!" he roared, yanking Michelle to her feet, and throwing open the door, and pushing her out on the deck.

The door slammed behind her, as she found herself upon a soaked deck with countless crew members working, fighting, the typical things expected from pirates. Where was she to go? There was nowhere for her.

"You!" someone shouted, as various pirates pushed past her. "Come in here, quickly!" Someone grasped her arm and yanked her in through a single, barely hinged door.

The room was dark, and she couldn't tell who had grabbed her and pulled her into the room. There was the flicker of fire, and a candle was lit, illuminating their face. It was a young girl, perhaps a few years older than her, with dark, wavy hair, braided back, and a long, dark red dress with countless tears in the fabric. "You must never leave this room, unless summoned." She said darkly. "The crew is violent, and they would rape you on a moments notice."

Michelle understood the basics of what she had said, and nodded slowly. "I do not know much English." She muttered.

The girl swore. "Hell, what language then?"

"French."

The dark haired girl nodded, and examined Michelle's face as she spoke in French. "Stay in this room." She said to Michelle in her own language. "You'll be safe here." There was a paused. "At least most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Michelle asked, as the girl pulled out a strip of fabric, and spat on it, to clean the scratch Jones had left on her.

"He likes to have his way with girls when he gets the urge." She hissed. "I'm the only girl left, but now you're here, I may get to leave." Michelle cringed as she felt the girl place the spit coated fabric on her face. "Lighten up," the girl snapped. "Spit's the cleanest thing on this ship."

"It's disgusting." Michelle groaned, wiping the spit from his face. "This whole place is disgusting."

The girl snorted. "Get used to it." She growled. "It'll get worse. It's been like this for ten years." Michelle stared at her, but with the sound of thumping directly overhead, the other girl blew out the candle. "Quiet, he's coming." She whispered.

"How can you tell?" Michelle asked. Before she could get a response, the door slammed open.

There stood the Captain, just as gruesome as before, the sea coated tentacle beard against his chest, moving as if each tentacle had a mind of its own. He looked at the other girl, who had bowed as if Jones were a King. Michelle stared at him, appalled at the thought of this man being a king. Jones waved a large, clawed hand at the other girl. "Anita, be gone with you." He snorted, as the girl rose, nodded and ran off to the deck and began to help in the securing of the ship.

Fear began to rise through Michelle again, someone had tried to help her, and they had left, and once again, she felt vulnerable. She nodded her head slowly to the Captain, starting to assume that treating him as a King was enough to protect her.

"Come with me." The pirate demanded as he turned from the doorway, and headed towards a small flight of stairs to the upper deck. "Now." He snapped, as he noticed Michelle was not following. She took in a sharp breath and followed the pirate hastily. "What was yer name again?" he asked.

"M-Michelle B-" she was interrupted.

"I don't need yer surname, lass." He insisted as he opened the doors to the organ room where he had been playing when she arrived. Surprisingly, he held the door open for Michelle, allowing her to pass into the room. "Take a seat." He said, darkly, motioning towards the bench near the organ.

Michelle spoke to him softly in French, asking if he was going to hurt her. The pirate laughed.

"Yeh see, lass." He said darkly, approaching the organ. "I won't hurt ye, as long as ye do as I say." Michelle was now sitting on the bench, her hands folded in her lap. She was a hostage, there was no way around it. The pirate was now in front of her.

Jones crouched down, seeming to have conjured a pipe and match, and lit the contents inside. "I'm givin' ye the opportunity to sail upon the Flying Dutchman, the most feared ship in all th' seas, and ye'll be free as a bird, as long as ye do my biddin' when needed."

Michelle quickly searched her brain for the proper dialog. "What if I refuse?" she asked.

Jones laughed. "Then I'll be killin' yeh, and forcin' ye as crew upon my ship." He inhaled from his pipe and exhaled the smoke right into her face. Michelle coughed from the putrid smell.

"What do you want?" Michelle asked. "My father has a high position in the French government and I can assure you, he could pay you whatever you wish for my return." Jones continued laughing.

"Ye don't seem to understand the offer I'm givin' ye." He hissed. "Ye have the chance ta stay aboard the Flying Dutchman with not but a single string attached, that will be revealed in due time, or ye die, an' ye serve a minimum of ten years before me, as crew, and undergo th' same treatment the men aboard this ship receive."

She let the words rattle about in her brain. "What makes you think I would accept either offer?" she asked.

Jones laughed, as a single tentacle rose from his beard and ran along Michelle's cheek, a shiver, a chill more likely ran through her body. "My crew 'as been watchin' ye." He said, giving off the feeling the pirate was a stalker. "An' I hear ye've been wantin' freedom. Ta escape that wretched speck of land ye've 'ad to call home." The man smiled, and held out his right hand, which was seemingly normal, aside from one finger being a long tentacle, which was wrapping around his wrist. "An' as I say ta the crew, I can offer you an escape."

She stared at his hand. "And what is it that you get from the deal?" she asked sourly.

"What every man wants." He chuckled, the tentacles on his face slapping together, the one that had reached out to her, running along her cheek again. "The touch of a woman."

Michelle grimaced and yanked away from the pirate's tentacle. "And what makes you think I would accept?" she snapped in French. Jones seemed to find every remark Michelle conjured humorous. She wondered if this time it was just because he didn't understand French.

"Yeh see, girl," Jones whispered in Michelle's ear, sending a sickeningly warm breath around her neck. "I get what I want from th' crew 'ere, and either way, I will get what I want from you." Swiftly, there was a pinching around Michelle's neck, as the giant claw of his hand closed on her flesh. "An' yeh will do as I say on this ship."

Michelle struggled a bit, but felt her skin being torn at. "Then what are my benefits?" she asked sternly.

Jones chuckled in her ear, and she could feel him smiling. "Everything, lass." he said. "Freedom, no pain, protection…" he paused, removing the claw from around Michelle's neck, and running one of his tentacles along her neck's flesh. "And most importantly…" he continued, dropping the tentacle to her upper chest, almost pushing away the fabric of her dress. "Immortality."

Michelle yanked from him, and rose from the organ's bench and began to back away from him. "Do not touch me." She shouted at him, covering the bare flesh that her dress naturally exposed, with her arms. "If you were a man of any decency, you would know that your ways of approach are in error."

Jones laughed, and stomped up to her, limping on a peg leg that resembled the leg of a crab, as he stood before her. "What made yeh think I was a man of decency?" Michelle looked away from him ignoring what he said. She found herself surprised how she was able to find the vocabulary in English, even though she was intensely frightened. "I'm a bloody pirate, lass, an' pirates, toss decency ta th' wind." He smiled at her, with yellowing teeth. "An' once ye go pirate, ye never go lookin' fer that decency again."

Michelle snorted and spoke to him in French. "Perhaps, if you were a decent man, and at least knew that a woman is not something a man can just put her hands…" she paused. "Or tentacles in this case, all over someone, the maybe I would agree to your offer of freedom, painlessness, protection and immortality." She looked at Jones from the corner of her eye. "Because, if this is the kind of man I'm forced to be near for eternity, I'd rather take a thousand excruciating deaths time, after time over this."