Chapter Three
Parlay

Disclaimer: I do not own the anime/manga Fullmetal Alchemist. It and all its respectable characters are © to Hiromu Arakawa. I also do not own Pirates of the Caribbean. It is © to Disney and Buena Vista Films. However, all writing contents and semi-plots here are © to me; unless it is stated otherwise. I belong to myself, and Bishquet, my lovely friend here on belongs to herself. All shows/ books/ video games/ songs that are mentioned in this chapter are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them.

Note: [Edit 8 Sep 2015] Slowly, I'm crafting emphasis for more realistic aspects of this story, as well as better-conducted research on the time period I'm working with. Although, to be fair, there might be some ambiguity—some items will be obvious and others will be subtle—as the PotC 'Verse is a little…wibbly-wobbly on its absolute historical accuracy. Some things that should show up don't and some that shouldn't show up, well, they do. :P If you happen to notice this, you can point them out, but chances are they were done so on purpose.

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Drama is life with the dull bits left out.
- Alfred Hitchcock

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From the quarterdeck of the Pearl, he could make out the little white tub with enough clarity to decide what it was they were approaching. It was indeed a ship of some sort, but none he had ever seen before. And Jack has seen all manner of ship in his life. The hull gleamed in the morning light, snowy white and shiny, with metal railings lining her sides instead of wood. As they approached, he could make out a Jolly Roger, crude but effectively recognizable, painted on the bow beneath her name, Little Black Flag.

He briefly wondered what kind of material it was crafted from, aside from the obvious bits of metal. There were no sails to her and no masts either—broken or otherwise—and she certainly had no signs of decks that suggest cannons or slits for rowers. Other than that, she seemed to be in fine condition—no gouges or tears in her hull to suggest she was otherwise unsuitable for bobbing along in the water. Her keel had its fair share of wear, with all manner of clinging green algae and barnacles clinging stubbornly to her from below. And she was beached, a bloated little white beauty ripe for taking, stranded upon a copse of rocks. The thin strip of stone was craggy and pitted, years of storms and tide having done their work. There were other strips of sand and stone dotting the waters here and there, threatening to beach them as well. Jack made sure they glided along to avoid another creeping branch of land, lest they rip the Pearl's hull upon them.

The Little Black Flag was going nowhere for a long while. What's more, it looked like she was alone, with no crew or passengers to bar their way. He called for them to drop anchor, set forth a longboat, and to investigate.

Expectant smiles all around were flashed from one man to another, exhausted though they were. They began lowering the longboat as ordered and soon were scuttling toward the boat. It didn't take long for curiousity to win him over, however, and soon there was a second longboat with him and two other men in it, sliding across the waters between his ship and the other.

His good feeling disappeared altogether when a keening shriek and a blinding flash of white-hot red light shot itself from the Little Black Flag. It flew through the air, leaving a trail of sparks and light in its wake until it sputtered out and died in the water. Two of his men from the forwarding party leapt overboard and into the waters in a fright. A howling scream sounded off from another. The men in Jack's little longboat stopped, staring abjectly at him. Alarm shone in their eyes, but he could also see the morbid curiousity in there as well, a wretched desire that tore him between turning around or lingering around. Fight or flight was certainly taking its time battling it out in the men. Jack grimaced as he regarded the little white ship before he fluttered his hands at his men.

"I didn't say stop nor did I allude to you turning around. Keep going."

Reluctantly, they dipped the oars into the water and propelled them closer toward the Little Black Flag. It was laboriously slow going. All the while, it sounded like a fight was ongoing. Another piercing shriek and sharp pop of light went off, accompanied by another scream of his third man aboard. The victim in question danced into view, patting at flames that licked at his clothes and body, howling all the while. He too finally leapt into the waters with a final shriek, dousing out the fire.

"Yeah, that's right! Just you try it again, motherfucker, I got more where that came from!"

Jack watched with an idle eye as his man scrambled up onto the rocks beneath the boat, looking more like a drowned cat than a sailor.

"Mister Ladbroc," he called, startling the man. Wide blue eyes regarded him moments later, and the man wiped uselessly at the water dribbling down his face.

"Y-Yes, sir?"

"Tell me, how many are there?"

"Sir?"

"The ship, Mister Ladbroc. How many people are aboard this ship?"

"Two women, captain. Didn't get much of a good look in the cabin when I was climbing the stairs, but maybe two more. I think. They might be sick, if they're lack of response is worth something." He glanced up, looking disturbed. "One of them womenfolk has a gun that discharges light and fire instead of iron and gunpowder. Might want to tread carefully if you go up there, sir. She fights like the Devil 'imself. Don't think any of them will go quietly, not if she has any say."

A woman who could shake the resolve of a man was worth meeting—although caution wasn't too terrible of an idea, either. It certainly piqued his interested. Jack noticed a set of rungs on the side of the ship and pulled himself up on them. The grooved material had him take pause for a moment and he ran weathered fingers across the material. It wasn't anything he's seen before, true enough. These were idle thoughts for later analysis, he reasoned, resuming his sojourn up the rungs and onto the deck.

"Hold it right there!"

He turned toward the voice, his hands up, although it halfheartedly done so. His lips twitched when he was faced with the owner.

There was a stairwell to the starboard side of the deck, leading into…well, he wasn't sure if he were to call it the cabin or the quarterdeck. There was glass over it all, cracked in some places, but he could see more clearly here than from the Pearl. A wheel for the ship was barely visible, but it was tiny, almost inconsequentially dismissible. From the doorway, there was one woman, holding a tiny pistol in his direction, yet it was oddly shaped.

It was no flintlock pistol, but it certainly stood out. Snub-nosed and painted an absurdly bright orange, he almost would have laughed at the sight if it weren't pointed straight at him. Ladbroc had warned him of it shooting fire and light. He's seen the aftermath, and he's certainly seen stranger in his time on the seas, so he couldn't dismiss the notions of it being deadly entirely.

She looked ready to use it, if her set jaw and tightly knit brow and small tense frame were anything to go by. He took note of her strange garb as well; black sleeveless shirt, blue-dyed trousers that hugged her form snuggly, black boots, and her dark hair pulled back to keep from her face. It was clear to see she was studying him just as intensely and there was hesitation flashing in her eyes, even a sort of recognition in them as she looked him over.

Jack gave her his most winsome and took some liberties to step closer, hands still up but no longer at a position of surrender.

"Easy there, luv. I'm not here to put you in harm's way. I've come to negotiate."

Negotiate for her supplies, perhaps. This location was close to trading routes. Chances were she and whoever her companions hiding behind her could get picked up within the day after him and his own left.

Confliction eased itself onto her face. He moved closer now, but paused when she reasserted herself as the dominant party. The oddly-coloured pistol was repositioned in his direction. He stepped back as a show of good faith.

"Now, if anything, I should be the one that's upset. You shot at my men. You set one of them on fire."

"He was about to stick a sword in me and mine. Y'all have some funny negotiation techniques if you were the one who sent them to do it first."

'Y'all'? Well, that was certainly new. He squirreled that away for later examination. She remained frigidly stiff, unyielding in her position. The only way in was through the doorway and her frame, though small, was in the way. She cocked her head but kept her eyes trained on him, as though listening to something. The other passengers, perhaps?

Slowly, he began to let his hands drift to his waist, one upon his sash and the other barely brushing the hilt of his sword. She jerked at the action.

"Hands up! Hands up where I can see them," she barked suddenly. He lifted his hands, although he flashed another smile that clearly showed his amusement at the whole funny situation.

…it would have been funnier if she wasn't pointing a pistol at him, though.

"Do you have a doctor on your ship, by any chance? Or a satellite phone?"

The first half he understood. The second half…not so much. The inquiry itself showed a weakness, however—there were injured parties aboard this vessel. Ladbroc has said as much as well. It certainly would make sense, with how bristly the woman was. She was the protective sort, looking to defend her group. He contemplated the first, however.

"No one that's trained with a schooled degree, admittedly, but we get by with who we have. And I'm going to have to say…no to the second."

She narrowed her eyes.

"What's your name?"

He was taken aback, but he breezed through it without a fuss or missing a beat.

"Darling, I am Captain Jack Spar—"

"No, you're not. He's not real, he's a movie character. Stop fucking around with me. What. Is. Your. Name."

Now he was beginning to see there were pieces missing to this puzzle.

"Let's start with yours, shall we?"

She gave an ugly sort of snort. "Sure, I'm Joan of Arc. Nice to meet you. And you?"

"I already told you, my name is Captain Jack Sparrow. You have heard of me, haven't you?"

The name was familiar to her, he could see it plain as day on her face, but she seemed hell-bent on dismissing the idea entirely. She said he wasn't real, but he was standing before her, alive and breathing, wasn't he?

"You sure your name isn't Johnny Depp," she replied blandly, a heavy layer of sarcasm dripping sardonically from her words. He was admittedly thrown off by her comment, genuinely confused.

"I am quite positive I am not some mad bloke named 'Johnny Depp'," he said. "You were asking for a doctor. May I inquire as to why?"

She cocked her head to the side again, eyes still watching him, but she was distracted by listening to whoever else was in there. One, three, ten, it didn't matter. They were speaking too softly even for him to hear a muffled echo of a noise.

"I…" she hesitated, finally taking her eyes off of him to look over her shoulder. She turned back just as quickly. He only got three steps closer before he stopped. "That longboat over there…you see it?"

He gave a cursory glance over his shoulder. He could see it quite plainly; it took up half the deck. It had a few clothing articles inside, one oar, and one rather gristly looking dead man inside. Several somethings was scuttling about inside and poking at it. One came into view and he noted it was a crab, opening and closing its pincers. He turned back just as it began picking at the flesh on the man's cheek.

"Bit hard to miss, aye."

"We got the remaining survivors from that thing up in here and they're not doing too good. Sunstroke, maybe? We're not too sure. We got 'em going again and drinking water. They're somewhat conscious but…we need someone more qualified to take a look at them. Someone who can tell us if they're going to be okay. Do you have someone like that on your ship?"

Jack considered the question carefully, mulling over it for a time. He crossed his arms over his chest and the baubles strewn about his person softly clinked as he did. He loved that sound. Didn't know why, exactly, but he did.

"And what, pray tell, would you have to bargain for such services? As much as your story tugs at me heartstrings, I don't exactly see any profit in it for me to dispense mine or my men's time for such notions."

Now she was the one considering him. She looked ready to rebuke him yet a calm wave came over her and she allowed common sense and consideration to take over instead of blindly jumping ship. It didn't take long for her to finally blurt out, "We have some money. And there's alcohol—uh, whisky, tequila, beer, and some rum I think too, over there. Behind the counter."

That was a welcome change. And it stirred up his interest. He gave her another gold-flecked smile.

"I think we might be able to arrange somethin' after all," he said. Tilting his head back, he shouted over his shoulder, "Mr. Ladbroc, you still there, lad?"

"A-Aye, sir, I am." A wavering voice affirmed.

"Go back t' the Pearl and fetch our good doctor. We have a few patients for 'im."

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"We're either dead, tripping balls on some kind of deranged dehydrated-induced hallucination, or we're in the loony bin and wigging out to whatever medicine they're dripping into us."

Too right, Lupin thought, although she kept her comment silent for the time being. This entire day had been one run-on surreal phase, one event right after another. The line between what was thought to be real and imagined was blurring all too often until they were blended too well together. There was no way any of this was real. She was almost expecting to see a film director or camera crew to pop up at any moment, laughing at her and Bish's expense at the whole ordeal. She was almost expecting their two patients to be in on it, as well, faking their sickness and revealing they were actors of some sort as well.

Well, if this is some kind of elaborate Punk'd level-prank, now's as good a time as any to come along and ruin the illusion that we believe that any of this is real.

First there were the Elric brother lookalikes and now a Captain Jack Sparrow lookalike? And they even had the great wooden galleon spruced up to look like the Black Pearl. It all seemed too great a coincidence. And yet, Lupin couldn't quite trust her eyes. She also didn't want to trust her gut, nor anything else, for that matter. From the occasional, doubtful glance she sent and even received from Bishquet, she knew her friend was feeling the same uneasy turmoil.

But who in the hell would waste all this money just to fuck around with me and Bish? None of our families or friends are rich enough to do even a quarter's worth of this setup, and it's not like we go around, harassing people that badly enough. It's not like we dared anyone to screw with our heads like this.

It almost got to the point where she wanted to pull Bish aside and speak to her in the corner about her thoughts. But not here. Not here, in front of these people. She refrained from voicing her concerns or letting it show outwardly too much, however, and returned her focus to the current roster of activities going on.

The Jack Sparrow lookalike had called for a man he deemed close enough to a medical practitioner that they could hope for. He was dressed similarly to his fellows that had tried to board earlier: wool trousers, loose linen shirt, an unbuttoned waistcoat, a loosely tied sash around his waist and a cutlass dangled from a leather belt with a dash of leather boots to complete the attire. He eyed them for a moment, nodded and muttered a greeting whilst toting a bag in hand that jangled with each step.

"He isn't gonna go Jack the Ripper on them, is he?" Bish asked uncertainly as the man crossed the threshold toward the first beleaguered young man. Lupin shook her head, but said nothing else. Her eyes kept drifting between the two men lying on the deck, to the makeshift doctor, and lastly they lingered long and hard on the Jack Sparrow lookalike. He watched everything from his own little corner, a hand casually draped across a spoke of the Little Black Flag's wheel. She found his eyes were darting all around, quietly drinking in the scenery while his man worked.

Their gazes met for a moment, and her back and shoulders tensed up. She had to fight the urge to reach for something protective. The other man's lips twitched, but he didn't quite smile. Somehow, she felt like he was laughing at her silently, even if his face was rather blank.

"These men are incredibly ill, sufferin' from bein' out in the sun for too long—they'll die if we don't bring down their temperature. I need medicine for their fever. Have you tried feeding them anything?"

An elbow in her side made Lupin jump and she glanced at Bish first. The other woman jerked her head towards the doctor on the ground, who was glowering at them both.

"Some dried fruit," Bish answered.

"They managed to keep down some water, too." Lupin added. The man nodded with a soft grunt.

"Might be able to salvage 'em, then," the makeshift doctor muttered. "They're toeing the line between the point of no return and the turn back point. We've got to get 'em cooled down more and some proper medicine in 'em or they'll cross over. Cap'n?"

The Jack lookalike didn't respond at first. His gaze was resting on the two comatose young men, his face drawn into a carefully calculated blank. A second call to him got through and he snapped his head upright and strode forward with a liveliness in his step.

"Right then. Bag the lads up, leave the girls and be sure to dispense them with just enough supplies to last them a day or so until someone else can come pick 'em up," he quickly relayed, to which the good doctor was already stashing away his instruments.

"Hey, what the hell d'ya mean, 'leave the girls'? What the fuck!"

"That wasn't part of the deal, man; we gave you the fucking liquor! You said you'd help us!"

Now he looked rather insulted. He pointed between the two of them as the good doctor—if one could even call him that any longer—continued packing up and toddling out toward the steps. Both young women ignored him as he went his way.

"I agreed to help the lads with a bit of an exchange for your good rum. Which, it turns out, aren't even by the barrel-full! You give me…sips. Sips of rum! Sips! And a few bottles of assorted this and that, I'll grant you that. If anything, I should be the one that's upset." He huffed, although in truth, he didn't appear upset at all. Maybe annoyed, but that was about it. "Not to mention, we never agreed anything on the likes of you two."

He ignored the seething glowers directed at him as he stepped lightly around the two men on the deck. "I will gladly take these ill men aboard my vessel, have them nursed back to proper health, and give them the option when they're well to serve before the mast or set them about their merry way. Wherever that may be."

The Jack lookalike paused to bark commands to several crewmembers that were awaiting orders outside on the Little Black Flag's deck. They came with the thunder of bare and booted feet slapping against hard surface. The ship shook lightly from their advance as they came inside, one by one, into the cool retreat of the wheelhouse. The captain's attention remained diverted as crewmembers slung out makeshift stretchers as the two women watched, aghast at the sudden downhill turn of events.

They were going to be left behind. This jerkoff Jack Sparrow impersonator was going to just take everything, including the two sick young men, and leave them with next to nothing on a broken boat.

Lupin's eyes darted between the captain, the men hauling up their sick counterparts onto the stretchers, to the dangling swords at all their sides. Her hand twitched to yank one out, or perhaps snag the flare gun tucked in the band of her jeans—something, anything, to forestall their being abandoned. She could hear the white noise of a growing roar pounding away in her ears and echoing inside her skull. She wiped slick, sweaty palms on her jeans, trying to steady their nervous shakes. A glance at her friend told her the same desperate thinking was galloping through her head as well.

Finally, a fit of desperate thoughts cobbled themselves together long enough for her to blurt out, "Parlay!"

Everyone stopped. Even the Jack lookalike stopped. His grin had faded, his swaying froze, and all eyes were on Lupin and Bish with baited breathes. For a long while, nobody said anything or moved. The men slowly turned toward their captain after an eternity passed. It might have been comical at any other point in time.

The captain seemed to have gathered his wits fairly quickly and he let off a soft chuckle and smiled, but it felt cold just looking at it.

"Luv, you've already conveyed your parlay and our business is done. We've completed negotiations. Chances are, you'll be picked up within the day, if not by tomorrow. You're near enough a high-traffic supply line. Might be you'll end up in Spanish or French hands, sadly enough, but if you know enough of either to get by, you could possibly barter passage back to Nassau, if not Port Royal."

The men looked to Lupin and Bish. Lupin was briefly stuck on his mention of the French and the Spanish—but it was something she couldn't linger on, no matter how irritatingly familiar it was to her. Beside her, Lupin could practically feel her friend was vibrating with pent up energy.

"Wait, wait, no, Loopy! You didn't say parlay—Lupin didn't say 'parlay' earlier before! You helped us out on your own terms, not under the terms of parlay. She's invoking it now, you have to stay and negotiate some more." Bish babbled excitedly, turning to her friend. While she was ready and willing to snag onto an idea—any that would delay them being left for dead—she kept the questions she wanted to ask to herself. For now.

Lupin kept a steady, if nervous gaze, on the captain. The men looked back to the Jack lookalike as well. For a moment, there was a flicker of doubt in his dark eyes. They flicked back between his men's faces, the sick men between them, and the two women behind the rest. At last, he nodded his head toward the door.

"Get the lads aboard the Pearl. I'll only be a moment."

They scuttled away with their sick wards in hand, filing out one-by-one into the muggy Caribbean heat. Their chattering faded as they got to the deck blow and across toward the gunwale where several longboats waited. Only after he was assured his men were out of earshot did the man left behind stir. He made no show to hide how his hand slid toward the pommel of his sword.

"You think you're clever invoking the right of parlay. That only works for pirates."

"You're a pirate, aren't you?"

Somehow, he didn't think the good humour in the woman's voice was well-intended. In fact, it was borderline sarcastic. He ignored it, for now.

"I am. But you two are not. And that is my point," he rebuked, pivoting on his booted heel to face them. Suddenly, Lupin felt smaller than usual. "I meant the truth of it when I said you're close to supply lines. You'll be picked up within a day—"

"What year is it?"

There was a brief hesitation from all three. Lupin glanced over at her friend, a little dumbfounded by the sudden and out-of-the-blue question.

"Bish?"

Silence fell down in full force, crushing down on the three of them like the choking air they drank in. Yet another cursory remark that had left the captain speechless and thunderstruck, but it had done the trick to stall, even if only for a moment.

"I'm not sure it has anything to do with whatever is running through that pretty skull of yours, but I'll humour you. It's 1738, luv. Have you missed a few months? Or perhaps a year?"

He was distracted by the exasperated scoff from the one called Lupin.

"Bullshit. Drop the act. You've done a wonderful reenactment, but I'd really like to make that phone call home to my family. We're done with whatever game you're playing, it's not funny anymore."

"If I thought this was funny, I'd be laughing. Isn't that what funny things are supposed to do?" The man narrowed his eyes at the two of them and lurched forward unexpectedly, his baubles and beads alike jangling as he did. They both tensed—Lupin for the flare gun, Bish for the crowbar at her feet. Only then did he stop, a mere foot away from the two of them, head turning to and fro as though he were a bloodhound with a scent.

"You look almost like a Spaniard, but you…you got the look of a Colonist girl, and yet you aren't from the Colonies, let alone England. Nor anywhere else for that matter, I'm guessing. Both your accents are wrong, they're…muddled. Not quite Yank or Spanish, but close. And you asked a rather odd question about what year it is. That's a mite more than unusual. A lesser man might not stop to think about it, thinking you're lost, delicate and deluded young ladies wilting in the heat."

"I'm wilting," Bish piped up, trying to break the tension, although her joke fell flat in the wake of the tension. The Jack lookalike breathed out slow and steady, leaning back to his full height as he reconsidered the two women as though for the first time. His eyes roved over them, carefully scrutinizing details he must have glossed over in their first meeting.

"What year d'you think it is, eh?"

"2009," both Lupin and Bish replied simultaneously without delay. The expression on the man's face didn't change, but his eyes…

There was something that flashed in his eyes. It was too quick, gone in a wink before either of them could discern anything from it.

"You didn't miss just a year. You skipped ahead two centuries. Now that is very interesting."

The evidence didn't seem too farfetched. This ship was of strange design—familiar, and yet at the same time, it was alien to him. The materials for the ship itself, the design of the quarterdeck, the odd little cold storage for the drinks down below, even the shelving inside here were covered in odds and ends he wasn't acquainted with. Buttons and levers, there were so many of them. A part of him wanted to buzz around and start poking, prodding, learning. But he was still interested in the case of the misplaced women before him.

The missing puzzle pieces were back on the table and they were sliding into place now.

He smiled abruptly, and there was more warmth to it now as he showed off flecks of gold teeth.

"I think we might be able to parlay after all, luv."

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Additional Note: [Edit 8 Sep 2015] Apologies for the lack of the Elric brothers, they're currently out of commission for the time being, but we'll get back to our regularly scheduled crossover next chapter. Promise. :)