Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or plotlines of "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl." If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction; I'd be off making money. Which I am not doing with this work. I do, however, lay claim to the characters of Genesis Wolfe and Rosalyn O'Brien, and would be pleased as punch if you did not use them without my permission. Thank you, darlings.

Author's Note:Yes, a rather short one. The goal with this story was to have it equal the movie in scene/chapter quantity, you see. But at least you get to see the girls drop hundreds of feet, some naval gambling, and kleptomania. And don't worry, darlings, you'll see Jack in the next chapter.

Chapter Two: In Which Gravity Takes Its Toll

Upon leaping through the time machine's light, Genesis immediately felt a warm, harsh wind blowing against her. At first she wondered why it was so windy, and then she wondered why her feet didn't seem to be touching anything. This definitely caught her attention, and she opened her eyes to a rapidly approaching sea of blue.

Quite literally.

She was falling at a high clip toward what seemed to be the ocean. She glanced around frantically, looking for Rosalyn, but made no progress in that search, and therefore decided to pray to any god who was listening to let her live through her gravity-induced journey.

She tensed as she hit the water, thankfully and relatively feet first. It was warm initially, near the surface to about two feet down, where it became so cold she felt like millions of needles were simultaneously stabbing her all over her body. Her high fall sent her fairly far down, and as she swam to the surface her lungs began to burn.

She broke the surface, sputtering and gasping for air. She wiped at her eyes, clearing away the stinging salt water and looking around. There was what looked like a bustling port ahead, complete with grand tall ships, uniformed eighteenth century soldiers and ladies in huge gowns. Port Royal, Jamaica.

There weren't any rescue squads being called out, nor any concerned yells, so her unnatural descent had apparently not been seen, which was probably for the best. No need to call even more attention to herself than she needed to. She shuddered suddenly, realizing she was well into the ocean, and her irrational fear of large fish of any kind, let alone sharks, propelled her speedily toward the nearest pier.

Her luck at not being seen ran out, as expected, as she climbed up the rickety wooden ladder, collapsing onto the planks of the pier. A couple of middle-aged women, apparently of good breeding and about to set sail, started as a very wet young woman in equally wet jeans and tank top clambered onto the pier. She paused momentarily, ringing out her long hair and wiping her now-running eye makeup out of her vision. She noticed the gawking women and smiled.

"Lovely day for a swim, ladies, don't you agree?" she asked. One woman actually swooned into the arms of the other, who caught her friend and tried to simultaneously fan herself.

Genesis bowed and hurried past them, trying to avoid stares unsuccessfully. Her modern clothing was definitely not going to work, and besides, wet jeans chafe. She glanced around, suddenly noticing a man who wasn't paying attention to his luggage, apparently arguing with a captain over shipping costs. Genesis casually moved to his side of the pier, not breaking her stride as she scooped up one of his bags that happened to have a shirtsleeve tumbling out. She was not going to walk around in wet clothing, that was for sure.

Meanwhile, Rosalyn also had the sudden, sickening realization that she was plummeting about a hundred feet per second. However, her forthcoming landing pad didn't have the cushioning appeal that Genesis' had. She was headed straight down at a large ship, and it didn't look very soft. However, there was the slight chance, with a little calculating. She cursed herself for not paying attention in geometry, glanced at the angle she was falling at, figured the speed, and hoped. As she sped past the top of the mast, her arms shot out and she clawed at the sail, catching it momentarily with one hand before losing her grip. She continued falling, though the speed decreased, and continued slowing as she continued grabbing at ropes and sails on her way down. Her fake nails snapped off and flew in every direction, each followed by a subsequent curse. There was five bucks down the drain.

She eventually finished her descent by crashing down on a poorly made table that split down the middle as she landed on it, a deck of playing cards flying into the air. She slowly managed to sit up, propping herself up on an elbow and rubbing her back with her other hand. She opened her eyes, wincing, and started at the sight of four red-garbed British soldiers gaping at her, still holding their poker hands. When they didn't seem to be able to say anything, she ungracefully pulled herself from the remains of the destroyed table.

"Er, sorry about that, guys," she said, grimacing at the damage. "I'll pay for that, promise." She began to walk away, and glanced at one of the men's cards. When he turned away to cast a curious glance at his companions, she pointed at his cards.

He's bluffing, she mouthed to the others before scampering off.