I'm sorry for the extremely slow update, this was a very difficult chapter for me. It was easy enough to write, but it was very difficult to type and edit.
Omg! I get so excited when POTC commercials come on! I get all giggly and turn up the volume! Lol...I know, I know... :D
The review replies are in random order, I'm sorry if I missed anyone! Thank you so much, everybody!
jack's pirate lass -She might be ;). Thanks so much! ...and lol...its been awhile now..
DomLetty4eva- Thank you :D. Its going to be a J/E/W fic, we'll see how it turns out, and what comes into the mix ;)
UsayImaDreamer- Thank you so much :D! Goosebumps? I hope I can do that :D!
Azurite- Thank you very much for your review :), I hope I can create something different, and hopefully a little unusual. Actually, I was hoping that you wouldn't be annoyed with the indecision, because that is definitely going to be an continuing theme in this story. I hope you'll be happy with the results :)
buffyandspike-4ever - Thank you :)
anon - Thanks! I'll try, my chapters used to be (probably) too long...lol
seesee - Thanks :)
solitairebbw218 - Really? Thank you :D!
Perfect yet broken - Thanks so much :D, I hope you continue to enjoy it!
Dolly - Thank you :D!
Quirky Del- Thank you for the reviews :D! I hoped the broken glass sentence wouldn't be too much, so I'm very happy that you liked and commented on it. Lol, yes I am questioning Elizabeth's 'dear' quality now as well, hahaha. Also, thank you for mentioning in your P.S that you liked the 'be careful...' line. I hoped that that would go over well :)
isis black - Thank you :D, cool pen name!
pink-flame-kit- Thank you :D... I know! Cliff hanger beyond what words can't express! I'm dying for the third, but also willing to be patient because I don't want to part with (huge freaking understatement) new POTC movies! I'm actually concerned with just how incredibly humungous that understatement is!
Maia's Pen - Lol, sorry! I didn't update fast this time. Thank you so much :D! I hoped the story wouldn't be way too much for everyone to take seriously (I'm sure I lost a lot of readers for chapter two) but we're past that chapter now and starting something completely different. You'll see :D. I'm also very interested to see what's going to happen in Pirates 3! In my story, there is definitely going to be a long and treacherous road ahead in your words, but we'll see what happens :D. Thanks for mentioning as well, Tia's last words to Elizabeth, I wasn't sure if they would be liked.
Jack is worth it, you're right! He's incredibly sexy and lovable beyond words:D!
I'm so happy that this story can be an escape from your horrible summer class, I'll do my best to update much sooner and keep that up for you :D
Rinn Uchiha - Thanks so much :D. I've just never been overly confident with my writing skills, even though I've always enjoyed writing, since I was really young. I'm glad you think I'm not a bad writer, though :D
Just To Be - She is! I agree, good luck :D! Yes, the rock things is very...odd... I'm glad you like the story, I hope I can keep it interesting! Thank you :D:D!
Forever03 - Thank you :D!
ReeseAnn - Thanks :D! I'm sorry it wasn't a quick update, but I hope to fix that :)!
i.swear.to.drunk.im.not.god - I agree, capitals kick some ass! Lol. Thanks for the review :D! I know! I think Will seems ignored after that incident...Jack pilfers everything, he's very capricious.
do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do ,do, do, do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do! (Don't you recognize it? It's Pirates music! Lol)
The swirling black-blue mist that floated eerily about the swamp clung wetly to her skin and clothes chilling her to the bone. It seemed unjust that the Caribbean could be so cold.
The murky bog was scarcely visible in the darkness, the candles light from the previous evening long extinguished. The atmosphere was black, darkened green and blue, the thick palm canopy above her shielding her sight from all but bits and pieces of the cobalt, silver star flecked sky.
Elizabeth's black, soft-soled boots padded over the loose, grassy mire bank, around a dense maze of towering, spiral trees, entwined leafy branches and dense, barbed shrubs, thorns digging past her skin, and into her flesh. She didn't stop. She stepped past an endless Jamaican mahogany and into a shallow sink hole that she hadn't seen, that contained mucky, half-liquid sludge coloured an unhealthy looking green.
She followed the channel without pausing until her dark leather boots hit sand. She stepped past the last olive shrub that obscured her view, leaving the smell of decaying water plants for that of salt and seawater.
The beach. Its daunting scene a never-ending, magnified sheet of what the palm canopy had allowed her to preview. An illimitable stretch of navy blue night sky speckled with innumerable tin stars, somewhere incomprehensibly far off in space.
Below it was a span of shiny, glass-surfaced black sea, the scene unbroken by land, the sea met by sky. Infinite.
The beach was white and took the sparkle of starlight, the diamond dust sand eventually running into rich, unaltered greenery.
Elizabeth Swann halted abruptly as soon as she caught sight of it, and stood, a quiet gasp nearly escaping her lips. She had never laid green eyes upon anything quite like this bejewelled landscape before.
After a startling moment had passed, she tried to shake herself from nature's bedazzling and beauteous hold by reminding herself that Captain Jack Sparrow was in a little more than trouble this time.
She cut to the chase and searched the tree line for the rowboat Tia had said would be there. Two minutes later, under a short coconut palm, Elizabeth found it was precisely where Dalma had described.
She turned the small wooden boat over and placed the paddles inside, along with the linen bag Tia had given her. Elizabeth dragged in across the sand and into the water. When the boat was almost entirely in the water, she stepped inside and pushed off the shoreline with one of the oars. With the soft splash of water, the small vessel etched a rippling line in the sea.
xXx
In two hours, with aching shoulders, Elizabeth rowed into Black River port in the dim, early morning light. She stepped out of the boat and into the shallows without bothering to hit beach first and keep her boots dry. She dragged the tiny boat up on shore and skewed plants about it in the trees, for some reason hiding the craft, even while knowing that she wouldn't be back for it.
She had landed on the beach to the right of the harbour, and stepped across the sand towards the town, legs stiff and arms too sore to even swing absentmindedly at her sides.
She was thankful that she wasn't wearing a dress as she stepped past the harbour. She didn't have the energy to waste being witty (or physically violent) in reply against any seaman's usual overly-suggestive comments that befell any woman who stepped foot near any marina Elizabeth had ever been to.
She made a quick change in plans as she swivelled to face the bobbing ships tied up at the docks. There were a many merchant sailor passing crates of cargo to one another onto a two-mast sloop that read "Atlas" across its side in carved, black painted letters.
To the right, there was a square-rigged Brigantine, unmanned, by the looks of it. Behind it was another, smaller sloop, occupied by white-dressed men, apparently not from anywhere on this side of the sea. To the far right, was an abundance of small catboats and fishing vessels, some occupied by men transporting their early catches, and others just preparing to go and seize their own.
Elizabeth approached the man whom appeared captain of the merchant ship. He was a bald man of perhaps forty years with light blue eyes, (carefully overseeing the transport of the cargo) and a round face slick with sweat. He wore a new white tunic over his tank chest and worn, brown breeches.
"Captain, is it?" She asked as she approached.
"Yes, sir. Captain Jim Roberts." He extended a large hand. She shook it briefly.
"Michael Day," She introduced herself without any hesitation. "Are you stopping in Port Royal, by chance?"
"We are passing by," He offered.
"Could you use another? I have a life's sailing experience and I need to reach Port Royal as soon as possible."
Roberts stood and studied her for a moment, thinking.
"Yes, we could use anoth'r hand, I think. I suppose we coul' stop." He replied.
"Thank you, Captain."
"You'll be in Port in two days, Mr. Day."
Michael Day picked up a hefty crate with a smile, ignoring the shooting pain from her shoulders through her arms, and passed it to a burly man over the gang plank.
xXx
Elizabeth yanked down the woven line, hoisting the crisp white sail before the wind. She hurriedly tied a figure of eight knot to finish, though as her fingers finished intertwining the rope, she changed her mind in case it wasn't sufficient.
Skilled fingers ripped open the knot and changed it for a woven bowline around the cleat. Elizabeth examined the rigging about the sail, shielding her eyes against the sun as she looked up to the mainmast.
She pulled the lines tight and examined the knots, retying those that had loosened. She repeated the duty for the foremast, except raising the sails, as that had already been done by the aging, white and black-dressed, unshaven sailor named Mack. Apparently, according to Roberts, that stood for Mc Nabb.
She had met most of the crew, now, most memorably, the quiet, young French man named Andrés, the experienced, seaward first mate, Mack, and unfastidious crewman Peter Heisman.
Told to play Lookout for the day as Stevens took a well-deserved rest from the duty, Elizabeth left the crew on deck and below, grabbed a line and hoisted herself onto the rail and proceeded to climb up the crisscross footropes with the skill of a Capuchin monkey.
Easily, her boots landed in the twenty-foot high, partially enclosed basket that was the crow's nest.
Four minutes of surveying the horizon for ships and sails produced nothing but open cerulean sea and a quick tapping noise behind her. Elizabeth spun to meet her disturbance. Peter stood holding a sail line, leaning leisurely against the mast. He had cocky footing and a smug grin through his dark stubble.
His short-sleeved tunic was dirty and sweat-soaked, billowing in the same fast wind as the sails. An angry red sunburn peered out from it, ragged white skin peeling from his chest. He wore simple black trousers and a belt scabbard, empty. All the better.
"Can I assist you in some way?" Elizabeth asked lowly.
He squinted against the high noon sun, his face familiar in that of the expression on it. The expression of a Pirate who thought he knew everything that there was to know. The collective look of those that were always rivalling and never to be trusted.
His black eyes had no sheen in the light, and his short, dark brown hair was mussed and dirty.
"There may not be." He replied simply.
Elizabeth kept one eye on the horizon and one eye on him.
There was a brief silence that contained only the crewman and the mendacious Day watching each other in a way that feigned inconspicuousness, even while each could plainly tell.
Elizabeth was not feeling tensed, if that was the angle that Heisman was going for.
"Well, act'ally, there is something," He said, noting her disinterest.
He stepped closer, eyes on her and not what he was doing. He jumped into the crow's nest, beside her, sticking his colossal nose in her face as if he was the alpha male and she was his doting, useless whelp.
"I always take the new man's hat," He sneered and snatched Elizabeth's worn tri-corn from her head before she was able to react and stop him.
Her hair came tumbling out from underneath it, in all its russet glory.
Heisman turned and leapt from the crow's nest to make his escape. He ran, then quickly doubled back, turning to look at her. She considered going after him, but immediately thought the better of it, not prepared to risk her own skin on the narrow yard arm with a seedy bilge rat.
It was then he realized that she was a woman, not having enough time to notice before then. He strode back towards her across the yardarm, too quickly. Elizabeth wasn't sure what to do next regarding her exposed gender. But, like Jack, she would improvise, not negotiate.
She would be on the ship for the rest of the day, the night, and for part of the next day. She watched Heisman, one foot incautiously in front of the other, he was lucky he hadn't fallen, she noted.
"You-" He started. As luck would have it, it was then he lost his footing, his forward boot landing on nothing but air. Gravity propelled him to fall fast to the left. Elizabeth lunged forward from the crow's nest, refusing to stand there and accept that she couldn't reach him. In that moment, she shot farther towards Heisman, but there was nothing she could do to effect whatever his fate might have been.
She couldn't reach him, he was two and a half feet away.
His mouth opened in shock, his eyebrows lifted. The man looked only vulnerable as he fell, fists clutched, legs kicking, trying to grasp rigging he couldn't reach. And Elizabeth could do nothing but apply incessant pressure on her mind, in an attempt to compel him to stop before he hit the deck.
Heisman appeared not the glaring, harsh man that he had been portraying earlier. It seemed also, that he had forgotten that he still clutched the rope in his left fist. Elizabeth had forgotten as well.
He must have acquired a terrible rope burn when the line strung upwards with his weight, then fell back in a downward direction as he swung from the last third of it, his face etched with the primal human expression that was purely absolute desperation to live.
When Elizabeth eased her way out onto the yardarm, the harshening wind whipped her exposed hair about her face, taunting her as it threatened to push her off the slender wooden post and onto the plank deck so many feet below her own.
She wasn't holding a line.
Elizabeth braced herself against the weathers icy grips and edged her way towards Heisman with a great deal more caution than he had practiced.
She could either call for help and have the crew come and assist her, as well as discover her true identity, or she could attempt, selfishly, in her opinion, to pull a 150 pound man from thin air on a single rope, herself.
It seemed her instincts had already made that decision for her. She latched onto a line, tripled it around the mast and secured it with the fastest knot she had ever tied, a clove hitch, followed by a half-hitch to reinforce it. She buried her left fingers in between the mast and separate ropes for added grip.
Hurriedly, she untied two knots, releasing a sail line, and pulled it from its grommets, leaving the bottom of the sail to billow free.
Heisman groaned and gritted his teeth. She understood.
Elizabeth looped the rope over itself, and knotted it twice, creating a partial slipknot. She doubled the line around the mast and yanked the ends into a knot, tossing the loop down to Heisman, who was dangling on the end of a rope like a worm on a hook, swaying in the numbing wind.
"Try to pull yourself up." She called against the developing weather, the smell of salt overpowering her and suddenly stinging her nostrils.
She shouldn't hear anything but the echo of sharp wind against her eardrums as she wound the end of the rope she had thrown to Heisman around her left hand.
He managed to toss the rope over his head and got it to rest under his left arm. Heisman used both hands to pull himself up, his face red from exertion.
Elizabeth, with the same still-sore arms that had rowed the boat for two hours before reaching port, held herself to the mast and helped pull Heisman back to the yardarm.
She clenched her teeth and yanked as hard as she could on the tense rope as he climbed.
In excruciating minutes that seemed to last much longer than they were normally supposed to, Heisman was close enough to the beam for him to wrap his arm around it, and for Elizabeth to give him the final, necessary heave that finally allowed him to rest his weight on something solid.
Both lay clinging to the yardarm, ropes tangled about them, overheated lungs wheezing with exhaustion.
xXx
Elizabeth had lost track of her hat when Heisman had fallen, though she'd had the fortune of finding it on the deck below when she had been horizontally clinging to the mainmast yardarm.
Without a word, separately, they had climbed down, Elizabeth first. She didn't stay to see when it was that he descended the mast.
She found her hat on the starboard side, and without Mack or Roberts, the only two visible on deck, seeming to notice, she pulled her hair back up and replaced her tri-corn.
Her body was screeching in angry, scorching agony that consumed her mentality, specifically stretching from one set of fingertips to the other, all through her arms, shoulders, chest, collar and core. She couldn't do much else aside from stumble around in excruciating, teeth-gritting fatigue. It was a cycle, the pain making her tired, her weariness allowing her pain to run unabridged throughout her body. She'd little strength to fight it.
She wanted nothing more than a drink, one sip of rum, even, would be appreciated. But she didn't risk it. Especially not when Heisman knew.
She made it below deck, stumbling loose-legged on the stairs. There were a few people about, Starling, Lee and Brediér were grouped to the left, sitting in white-sheet hammocks, resting and laughing over shared stories she didn't catch more than insignificant fragments of. Elizabeth didn't know where anyone else was.
It was a dank room, cold and very minimally lit, two lanterns on the far side of the room providing the only light. The air was heavy holding the odours of unknown things that no one should have to smell.
She leaned against the wall for a moment, telling herself that she would seek out an empty hammock after a brief rest.
No such luck as she head the telltale creak of stairs and looked up to see Heisman making his way below, unnoticed by the other three of the merchant crew in the corner over their booming laughter.
He sauntered over to her with ease, thinking he ran the show. He walked as she had noticed earlier, like he thought everyone should take orders from him.
Her hands rested at her sides, her neck against the cool wood planks on the wall, and she made no attempt to move.
"I'm not going to keep this t' myself, y'know." He announced, a little too loudly, one foot away from her.
Elizabeth glared straight back at him, his dark, barren eyes and arrogant smirk. His shirt was in worse condition than it had been before, ripped through on the left side and torn at the seams through his right armpit. It was also considerably more damp with sweat, and especially worse was the agonizing, stomach-turning aroma that emanated from it, mixing with the smell of singed skin, burning the noses of all in a twenty-five foot radius. Elizabeth was no longer entirely sure that the skin that peeled from Heisman's chest was caused by a sunburn.
"I helped pull you out of a potentially fatal situation. Just because you decided to saunter up carelessly and take my hat."
"That doesn' make me owe ye nothin'. You could 'ave left me there."
"Despite the fact that I didn't. Most pigs are deserving of their lives,"
"That so?" He grinned, yellow teeth flashing.
She stepped forward, causing him to automatically step back. It was her turn to grin, she knew, but her face remained serious.
"I'm rethinking that now."
"If you don't wan' me to mention that lil' tidbit 'bout you bein' female, Mr. Day," He said, again with excessive volume, looking over his shoulder with a smirk at Lee, Brediér and Starling.
Heisman was interrupted by a bellowing call of the captain.
"All hands on deck!"
Elizabeth had heard those words too many times to count. She and Heisman watched the three crewmen, still echoing deep laughter, one nearly skeletal, and the other bigger than the both of them. Heisman turned back to 'Michael' grinning as if in victory.
The thump of Mack running down the same stairs was heard as he busied himself with something neither was paying enough attention to see.
Suddenly, Heisman yanked her sore arm, and she was pressed up against the wall around the corner. Her straight stare, shocking and green, immediately fell upon two wooden doors, the left one hairline cracked in the corner, twisting up to meet nothingness like entangled spider legs.
He forced his weight against her, his thick waist held forcefully against hers.
Unscrupulous hands filthily ran across pale skin, stroking harshly places they had no business anywhere near, his thigh, his pelvis against hers.
Hollowly, her eyes stared through his.