This week's prompt: fortuitous
Pinky and The Pirate
A young lad of seventeen with long black hair and dark eyes made his way through the mainroom of Tortuga's Faithful Bride. Every now and then he stopped, conversing with a sloshed seaman or tipsy tart, and then turning away, apparently unsuccessful in his endeavor. He had just failed to coax a fiery haired young whore out of a shilling or two, or her skirts, when he spied, near the door, a corpulent, well-dressed boy of about fourteen who was doing his best not to show how scared he was.
Beneath the smoky eyes the cracked lips broke into a devilish grin, revealing a set of crooked and blackened teeth.
The young man sauntered over to his target, taking in the wine colored coat trimmed in gold, the lacy cuffs of the creamy shirt, and greedily, the fine kid leather hat set with a stunning ruby feather that sat upon the boy's chubby brow.
The pirate bowed low.
"Ev'nin, your lordship." He addressed the boy, who started.
"What did you call me?" The boy countered sharply.
"I meant no offense, Dickie, but I don't know your name."
Warily, the boy replied, "It's Parkington."
The older boy smiled a little wider. "You can call me, Jack," he oozed.
The fat aristocratic cheeks parted into a shaky smile. "Everyone calls me Pinky."
Jack Sparrow suppressed a laugh.
"Well, Pinky. I gather you're not from around here."
'Pinky' looked as though he might deny the accusation, but he only shrugged and admitted, "No, I'm not."
"You wouldn't be running away would you Pinky?" Sparrow drawled.
"How did you know?"
In response, Jack just shrugged.
"Well, you're right. I was tired of my uncle's house. It's so boring there." The boy complained.
"And so you thought you'd come to Tortuga and have yourself a good time, eh?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Well then, Pinky, our meeting is truly fortuitous. I know just what do to." He hooked a conspiratorial arm around the boy and led him over to the bar.
A half a drink later, His Lordship Parkington Alexander Quimby, III lay unconscious, face down on the crude wooden bar. Jack Sparrow toasted his prostrate form.
"Havin' a good time yet, Pinky?"
He weighed His Lordship's small coinpurse with a practiced hand. An hour and a half later he left the Faithful Bride, with the fiery haired whore on his arm, and a black kid-leather hat perched jauntily on his head.
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A/N: Poor Pinky. He'll make it home alright though. I was having a hell of a time coming up with a response to this one, but I was watching the old Disney Zorro and Sergeant Garcia (like he does) was conning some kid out of his money for a bottle of wine. And voila! The shot was born!