AN: See, just like I promised… Don't get used to it, although with a lot of GENTLE prodding from my pyromaniac best friend and beta-reader for one fic (not this one, so sorry if it's always slightly screwed up with typos or whatever) I should update at least once a month. Like I said, don't get used to it… Has anyone actually pitchforked me yet? You must all hate me so…

Hey, jennifer123—it's REVIEW whore, to be exact… And this is definitely sooner, so ha!

How My Perfect Life Was Inverted

Chapter Six: Confess Thy Sins

Mass was just as dull as I'd remembered it from my schooldays; needless to say I'd spent most of it plotting and planning to smallest detail what I would say to the poor priest who'll have me. After an eternity of sitting, listening to the Glory of God and His Divine Will and how when speaking of Him nouns and pronouns are immediately capitalized, I was finally pulled aside at the end of the service as all the women left for their exciting day in the nunnery. I was slightly pleased to discover I'd become a celebrity of some sort—Sister Sierra, the slut the Spaniards brought in…

Another Mother kindly pointed me to the English church nearby, some distance from the convent, and with a slight smile I proceeded to travel merrily towards the building. I think I was actually skipping as I made my way to it, humming tunelessly and smiling to whatever poor common fools up at this time in the morning (although early-risers were not uncommon). My head was uncovered—Cécile had conveniently forgotten to bring me that horrendous headpiece all the other holy women were wearing—and my brown hair blew liberally around my shoulders in the cool morning breeze.

Bursting into the little chapel, I strolled leisurely down the aisle, veering right at the end towards the confessional. Knocking, I slipped in unflappably, smiling flirtatiously at the silhouette opposite me whilst twirling the blood-red rosary someone had dropped in my room between my fingers. I was in a very sunny mood. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I sang in French—I had always been good at French and German at school, although my Latin did leave much to be desired. I could hear the rustling of fine robes opposite me followed by cursing that left my jaw slacked. "Father?" I repeated in English, leaning forward, squinting my blue eyes in an attempt to make out his features.

"Yes, my child?" he'd responded immediately in very clear French. Obviously, he'd been well-educated as a boy, being able to speak both French and English with such clarity. But I wondered just how far his education went…

I started slightly at the unexpected reply, but as I drew backwards, I quickly recomposed myself. I could have sworn I'd heard him smiling. "I… I have…" Damn it; where had all the brilliant schemes and double entendres gone? My mind struggled for some unholy crime with which to indict myself with, but came up with nothing. Stupid mind. "I have committed adultery!" I'd blurted out slightly hysterically. Could I sound any faker? I could sense his scepticism, so I decided to build on my unstructured statement. "I am unmarried, and last night, a sailor…" I froze, frowning. Sailor was slightly random.

"You woke up in a sea-rat's bed," he summed up quite crudely.

"Well, yeah," I lied, feeling more than slightly confused. This was not how I'd thought this little meeting would go…

"I see," he muttered. "When?"

I blinked. "W—When?" I repeated idiotically.

"Yes, when. How long ago?" he demanded a tad more impatiently than I would have thought.

"Why, last night, of course," I elaborated. What type of priest was he?

"Well in that case, I wouldn't have said you've sinned," he said annoyingly calmly. "More like made a mild mistake." I could imagine him—whatever he looked like—winking knowingly at me. "Trust me, darlin', it happens to the best of us." I flinched—where the hell did that accent come from! "But I forgive you, and so does the Lord," he continued, "so no guilty consciences, alright?"

My jaw dropped. That was it? I'd seemed to have lost the ability to move my tongue or lips, so I just sat there, gaping at the crisscrossed screen separating me from this unruffled priest. Suddenly I was overcome with the sudden urge to slap the smug grin no doubt spread across his arrogant features. What the hell did he look like, anyway?

"Just go on home and…read the Good Book for five hours straight," he instructed. "If that doesn't get you on the verge of suicide, I don't know what will," he muttered in an annoyed whisper to himself. So I had irritated him; a spoilt brat finally defeats piety. Victory for the impersonating nun! As opposed to the genuine priest…

There was only silence between us, broken by the distant sounds of a marching regiment. "Now if you don't mind, I must be leavin' ye." I could sense him inclining his head respectfully towards me; heard those robes rustle as he moved out of the little booth.

I was suddenly overcome by the strangest desire to see his face—smack it if need be. So I followed suit, also exiting my compartment. As I stood in the filtered sunlight, blinking, I saw a dark-clad figure moving hastily away from me, to the door. "Wait!" I called after him, gathering up the skirts. I could hear the silent curses as he halted before spinning on his heel towards me.

"Yes?" he snapped irritably, his face shrouded in shadow. My curiosity was yet to be satisfied; angrily, I strolled towards him, waiting until I was level with him before I said—whatever the hell it was I was going to say. But I never got the chance.

Several things happened at once; the doors to the little chapel suddenly burst open, soldiers of two main ranks stormed in, and I heard the nasal voice of a tall man in a neat shirt and breeches screech, "There he is! There he is! That blasted pirate! With my robes!"

I could feel my eyes widen; before I'd even had a chance to process what was happening, the so-called priest had grabbed me tightly round the waist, and I felt the familiar, if unwelcome, sensation of a pistol trained against my forehead.

How. Many. Times. A. Week?

I might have been more amused if I hadn't been so apprehensive at that very moment in time; guns tend to have that effect on most people, I find. I whimpered; I was vaguely aware of the man—the pirate using me as some sort of bargaining chip with the local law-enforcement squadron, threatening my life. I was conscious of the fact that we'd started moving towards the door, the officers parting for us like the Red Sea as we'd approached.

But that doesn't necessarily mean I was there.

Without warning, he'd released my waist (I'm woman enough to admit I was slightly upset by the sudden loss of physical contact, even though I'd yet to get a proper look at him) and grabbed my wrist, pulling me along with him like a dog on a lead. "Keep up, love," he commanded as he raced through the streets, weaving between stray townsfolk up and about and leading me into the heart of the bustling marketplace, "I still need you."

"Okay," I consented meekly, still unable to believe I was agreeing to help the same man that had put a gun to his forehead less than two minutes ago.

"Smart girl," he commented, before suddenly raising his voice. "'Scuse us—comin' through! Beg your pardon, sir, we're running a little late—A thousand apologies, milady!" and so forth. Still, in shock, I let the hurried, meaningless apologies wash over my ears in a daze, my mind concentrated on one thought: Janelle would be so jealous when she finds out. If she finds out—if she was real, remember?

"Hey, watch it, lad!" His voice suddenly cut through my thoughts. "We're late for a bloody exorcism here!" This comment, understandably, ruined my reputation; my foot caught on a loose stone, and sensing my fall, he released my wrist, letting me tumble to the ground. My stumble would no doubt serve as a sufficient distraction to make good his escape to his ship—and that's precisely what I did.

The mass had suddenly surged around me the moment I'd hit my head on the corner of a stall, knocking a few apples and sending me flying. As I laid there, I heard some gasps from the shocked women, and heard some of their concerned cries. There was some murmuring amongst the small crowd, but I didn't care; my head was throbbing painfully, and as I sat up, I reached to tentatively touch the tender area, gasping as I did so. My fingers came away stained with crimson liquid; I knew there would be some swelling and bruising in the days to come.

"Get out of the way—can't you see she needs air, folks?" The voice was unrecognisable, a woman's with a slight affected accent, and I felt her hands on my shoulder and elbow, helping me stand. The sudden movement sent the blood rushing to my head, and I grimaced in pain. Distantly, I heard a boy ask if he should track down the priest.

"Don't be such an imbecile, Jones!" she snapped, quite close to my ear. She looked up into my eyes, being quite a short, rounded woman of lower bourgeoisie. "My, my, aren't you a charming little doll," she said a little gentler, examining my features. I couldn't scrutinize her own; all I saw was various fleshy colours merging together, spots dancing before my eyes.

Flinging one arm around my waist, she half-guided, half-supported me as she led me away, out into a quieter side street. I did not ask her who she was or where she was taking me; I doubted my head would have been able to stand the strain of conversation. We continued walking, taking twists and turns, until we'd found ourselves in a respectable, if slightly shabby, residential area. Here the woman stopped and turned towards me. "You're the girl that came in on the Spanish ship, aren't you?" she asked. I nodded, wincing at the movement. Her face was still too bright to make out any of the features.

"Ah, I thought as much," she nodded. And then, "I suppose those women at the Madeleine forced you to join them?" I nodded yet again, feeling more and more light-headed as each second passed. "Such stubborn, nosy prigs you can never hope to meet than those French Catholic nuns. You poor child! Do you wish to be returned?" I shook my head vigorously, crying out. You'd think I'd have learned: no sudden head movements.

"There, there!" she said soothingly, treating me like I was a six-year-old when I was already well into my twenties. "I'll clean you up at my home—you can stay with me if you wish." Her hands cupped either side of my face, bringing it downwards. "Well, aren't you a pretty one, scruffy as you are?" she said in a motherly tone. "My sister would absolutely adore you if she could see you!"

I groaned; when in pain, I was in no mood for compliments. "Why, if I just clean you up even a little, you would be absolutely ravishing!" she was saying, and continued chatting as she slowly led me down the street, but I hardly noticed her presence. I had calmed down a great deal since last night, and although the throbbing temple was a distraction, was finally able to think with some form of lucidity.

I had no idea who this woman was; kindly she was, but exactly who was she and what did she want with me? By allowing her to lead me to her home, what was I getting myself into?

Secondly, I'd somehow stumbled into another time, if not another place and I wasn't at all panicked? Why was I simply just accepting this as fact, and then proceeded to flirt (if one could call that flirting—I've done better, I'm sure) with a pirate, escape from a nunnery, and now allow myself to be led into this overly-familiar woman's house without much more than a raised eyebrow? I wasn't that much of a pushover; au contraire, I've been told I was quite the opposite.

And most importantly, that pirate, the one who had 'advised' me, threatened me, and threw me to the ground…

Did he ever attend that exorcism?

-x!x-

AN: OK, now who honestly did not see that coming?