Thanks so much, everybody, for your advice and encouragement! 'Tis greatly appreciated, so 'tis.
Here the story shall truly begin, though not until the end. Apologies for how long this is all taking, but I have a feeling that this story is going to be much more character-driven than I had expected. Jack!Muse is ever persistent, and keeps asking me whether he's going to get some, and I have a feeling I better get my arse moving to keep Jack satisfied…
Note, though, that I've revised this. I wasn't happy with the way it had first turned out, and Toranoko pointed out to me that Jack was quite OOC. I KNEW there was something wrong...I guess it was just one of those things where you don't see the forest for the trees...I should ask her to be my beta...Lord knows I need it...someone else to ounce off of, you know? Anyway...
~*~
No Heroes Amongst Thieves
A Novel
By: Roux
~*~
Chapter Five:
Of Histories and Histrionics
Something warm flickered across Caro's eyelid and she reached up to brush it away, but the warmth continued to quiver across her face. She mumbled and turned to nestle in the crook of the arm thrown across her naked torso, and the warm spot on Caro's face moved to her back, and she discerned it to be a fleck of honey morning sunlight. Caro adjusted herself so that her head was pillowed on the lovely chest beside her, her hand rising and falling with Tom's constant breathing. She watched him sleep for what was maybe a moment, maybe forever.
Caro caressed his face. Tom's breath hitched slightly, and she snatched her hand away, fearing that she had woken this angel from slumber. She sat there, hand to her collarbone, not daring to move. Caro didn't want to wake him. She didn't, she really didn't.
Somewhere a mockingbird chirped. A warm breeze wafted in through the curtained window from off the gulf, it's curling tendrils of air brushing across Tom's face. His sandy-brown hair fluttered slightly.
She didn't want to wake him, she didn't she didn't she didn't—
She did.
Caro wanted to rouse him, to hug him to her body, to kiss him, to love him. She wanted to hear him gasp and beg for mercy as his hips arched off the bed, straining with desire, and feel his sweet, hard body move over and inside her own, again and again. She wanted him to moan her name as he had done last night, but Caro wanted words of love and promise as well, whispered desperately into her ear as the throes of ecstasy overcame them both, and St. Elmo's Fire licked her eyelids; but what she wanted most of all, perhaps, was the loving embrace that came afterwards, and the comfort of being entwined in a pair of strong arms that encircle you, and only you, in that everlasting touch that holds one in that lovely place between sleep and awake; where dreams are not yet forgotten, and are real.
Idiot, sneered The Voice, he could never love you. You're just another notch in his bedpost.
How do you know he isn't a notch in mine? Caro shot back.
Fool, came the reply, he'll cut you whip you kill you
Tezez-vous!
She didn't answer with words but Her laugh echoed through Caro's ears, loud and manic, continuing as Caro slipped from the bed and dressed. By the time the Cajun pulled her slippers on, she was fighting to keep herself from smashing her head into the wall. The empty, cold darkness, along with its muteness, seemed more appealing as each second passed. Caro leaned over Tom, brushing her lips across the top of his head.
That's right, chienne. Kiss him goodbye; you'll never see his sorry ass again. Just like all the others, right?
Caro's face burned as her anger bubbled.
That's right; get angry!
Shut up.
Tom sighed softly and tossed his arm over his face, revealing a blue-green tattoo. He looked so content; so handsome, lying there.
Caro hated him for it.
She longed to take that pistol he had stowed beneath his pillow and squeeze the trigger, watching his blood soak the creamy linen sheets like a red fog, trickling down his forehead from a black pit smoking betwixt his eyes.
Why don't you do it? prompted The Voice. Go ahead, chienne, reach under the bastard's head and pump his brains full of lead. It's your call. Just a flick of the wrist and a pull of a finger, and he's gone. Just like that. You'd never have to see that ugly cow again.
"I'd nevah have seen 'im again anyway."
All She did was laugh.
Caro jerked her hand back yet another time. It had been creeping under the bed linens, searching…
And The Voice came back with full force. Caro clutched her head and tried to force It to stop—
Laughinglaughinglaughing shut up shutupshutupshutupshutup ha ha ha blast him kill him you damn bitch shutupshutupshutup stop stop Stop STOP
"STOP!"
Oh, all right, She decided, pausing as if to listen to Tom's sleep-induced movements. Quit your bellyaching. I'll stop. For now.
Caro grit her teeth and dug her nails into the bedpost, leaving crescent moon indentations in the soft wood.
For now.
*~*~*
"You seen Caro?"
Carlos ambled into Le Sable et Passoir, watching Luc make lunch at the stove behind the bar. He swung over the countertop and nipped a bit of ham from the skillet; it burned his fingers and he juggled and blew upon the sizzling meat to cool it, and Carlos yelped as a stray spatter of frying fat exploded in his face.
"Serves you right, boy. You did not ask." Luc went back his pan. "And no, I haven't. Thought she was with you."
Carlos sucked a scalded finger and shook his head.
"Last I saw her she was with that hombre; Tim, was it? No," he continued reflectively, "Tom. That was it."
"That sailor? Blond; brown eyes? Rather lanky?"
"That's him."
Luc paused in his cooking. "She wouldn't," he said despairingly. "She daren't."
"Yes she would," said Carlos matter-of-factly, "it's Caro we're talking about here, señor, not an angel. She's not innocent any more, Luc."
Luc was quiet. "She never was," he said softly. "She came to me when she was sixteen and she looked as if she had been around to see the beginnings of this earth and would live until its end." He poked a piece of crackling ham sadly.
"I remember that," started Carlos. "I was eight when she came." He stopped. "But that wasn't the first time I'd seen her, Viejo." He spoke in a low voice, as if Carlos hadn't wanted to say anything at all.
"Where was she?" asked Luc in a monotone.
"En la calle, Viejo."
Luc sighed, suddenly feeling very old.
"I had a feeling. She wouldn't tell me; still won't. Don't know why. Babies don't just come from nowhere. What was that?" He'd heard the door open and something step inside, breathing rather hard. He leaned over the counter to shout up the stairwell. "'Ello? Bonjour?"
*~*~*
Caro ignored Luc and closed the door behind her. When the latch clicked shut, she pressed her clenched fists up against the wall and pushed with all her might, hoping maybe to move it somehow, mouth open in a silent, angry scream. She'd almost lost it back there, godammit!
Caro pounded the wall with her fist, slightly satisfied with the loud thump and dull, throbbing pain in her hand. She hit the wall again, and her hand pulsed with a wonderfully painful ache.
"Hello?"
Caro willed herself to relax; her fae-like features slackened, her brow smoothing, mouth drawn up in her usual easy smile, and her eyes twinkling with false, yet plausible, happiness.
"Salut, Luc!" she chirped brightly. She ducked down into the main barroom and helped herself to toasted ham-and-cheese spread atop a croissant. Munching her brunch almost mechanically, staring straight ahead, she tried to quell the boiling hot feeling rising in her chest.
"Well hello to you, too!" greeted Carlos dryly. Caro stopped chewing and glared at Carlos, mouth full.
"Eghwo Carwof. 'Ow ahh 'oo?" Her tone was annoyed.
"Fine," said Carlos grimly, wiping specks of food from his face.
"Unhgee?" A bit of half-eaten croissant was thrust under Carlos' nose.
"Thanks, but no," sniffed the Spaniard disdainfully. Caro's short reply was muffled slightly by the food in her mouth.
"Fought 'fo," she nodded.
*~*~*
"He's not coming."
"Yes he is, jus' be patient. You can't come anyway, why do you care?"
"I can't come?"
"Is dere an echo in 'ere? No, ya can't come, for reasons that I shall keep close to th' vest."
"Meaning that you just don't want me to come."
"You're a lot smarter then y'look, Carlos."
"Why can't I come?" His tone was whiny, reminding Caro that Carlos was only seventeen, and still young and obnoxious, and that she would have to refrain from pushing the toad over the side of the roof.
"We're going ta visit Dite*."
Caro hadn't changed her outfit; the skirt was nice and comfortable in the muggy Louisianan weather, and air tickled her soft, bare, brown legs most delightfully to no end. Her dainty slippers had been set to the side and her naked toes wiggled happily in the dusky sunset, free of their satin prison. Caro's shirt still clung to her shoulders, and the loose cotton at the bottom flowed about her midriff, and if Caro squinted her eyes and concentrated, the soft brushes of cloth were rather like fingertips teasing her flushing skin. Carlos sniffed and made the sign of the cross.
"That old witch? Voodleoo and all that heretic nonsense?" He rolled his eyes Heavenward as if sharing with God an exasperated look.
"She's not much older than I, Carlos, you God-loving choir boy, you. And it's Vodoun."
Now his tone was satisfied. "So you admit she's a witch, then?"
"No, she's more'n dat. She's so many diff'rent t'ings, dat girl." Caro's eyes softened as some long-forgotten memory sprung into her head, warm and lazy, blocking Her out for the time being. "She can see right through your skull; can look into yo' eyes and read yo' soul. Her hands are healin' ones: soft and strong, and her eyes speak volumes. When one is with Dite, words are not needed."
Silence followed this little soliloquy, and Caro reveled in it, head thrown back in barely concealed contentment, the ends of her curled hair skipping over her shoulders and the back of her arched neck, her snub freckled nose twitching with the aroma of a thousand New Orleans suppers cooking, silky eyelids held together, her sable lashes nearly brushing the smiling curve of her cheek as her lips parted, ends turned up towards the diamond stars.
"Bonjour, monsieur capitaine." Her eyes didn't even open; she just knew he was there…how long had she known? Had she guessed? Ah, well…on with business.
"Well, I'm here."
Her reply was obviously tinged with poorly hidden mirth. "What do you expect me to do, stand up and clap?"
Jack considered this. "That would be rather nice, thanks."
Caro laughed aloud at this and stood up, stretching. She cracked a kink in her neck and ruffled a disgruntled Carlos' hair. "Stop looking so sullen; your face will stick like that."
And if it were possible, the lad scowled even more deeply than before, rather reminding Jack of a certain trip aboard a certain commandeered ship with a certain stick-up-his-arse blacksmith….
"Are you ready?"
Jack scratched his chin. "Whenever you are, love."
"Good, then. Follow me." And with this she climbed over the side of the roof and down the walls, again, using the bricks and balconies as handholds. Jack wasn't prepared for this sudden surge of energetic movement, and he startled and climbed down after her, catching a glimpse of her heels dancing around a corner as his own feet touched the dirt street. He didn't waste any time with pleasantries, and so he followed the girl, losing her twice, to a stable towards the outskirts of town.
As he ran up, rather winded, he watched silently as she led two horses from their stalls and to where he had stopped.
"You can have Dreux. I'll take Iris."
Sparrow legged up over the horse's back. "These yours?"
"No."
All right then. That worked, too.
He waited for a seemingly tireless Caro to climb atop her own horse, and observed as she lent down and whispered into its flickering ear. Jack could have sworn the horse nodded, but they were off again, Caro riding at a full-blown gallop, her skirt billowing out behind her.
"Where are we going?" shouted a suspicious Captain Jack as the wind whistled past his ears. He dug his knees into the horse and attempted to imitate Caro, who moved with her own steed as if they were one. "Well?" he called again. He waited. No reply. "Where are we going?" he persisted.
"Be patient, capitaine, and close yo' mouth! Ya might catch a bug and have yo' dinner early!"
Jack, for lack of something witty to say or better to do, shut his mouth and kept it shut for the remainder of their horse-traveled journey, using the softly singing silence to think his own thoughts.
*~*~*
Jack found his eyes widening a bit in surprise. His hand caught his hat, which had begun to slip from his head.
"We're here."
Jack had heard, but he didn't acknowledge her statement.
He attempted to slide off the back of the horse, but Dreux plopped stubbornly down onto his behind, causing Jack to topple off backwards and onto solid ground, hitting the earth with a dull painful thump. Jack jumped up almost immediately, and sagged down a bit as vertigo swept through him, and he watched Caro's face loom towards him, watched it double, waver, and then merge into one once more. Jack sniffed as if nothing had happened, adjusted his hat and brushed himself off, and looked up to see Caro's amused face.
"What?"
"I suppose I didn't see that?"
"See what?" he asked vaguely.
"Why?"
Jack tossed his head, sending his hair out of his face with a jingle of beads.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love." He turned around to face her.
"Savvy?"
*~*~*
The house (if one could call it that) that they stood in front of was situated right over the swamp; a long, wooden bridge waded out to the home, which, also made of wood, stood upon stilts that kept the sagging building from falling to the watery world below.
Caro dismounted and motioned for Jack to follow, treading across the bleached boards as softly as bare feet over grass, and he realized that she wasn't being cautious or quiet; she just moved quietly. Handy, that; and Sparrow followed her lead and rolled his feet, and had after much success, having been quite sneaky more than once.
The pirate took in his surroundings with vague interest. He was in a swampish bog sort of place, where trees grew broad and tall, sprouting from the water, and thick moss hung like spider webs from the branches, sometimes waving with the wind or drooping into the calm pools below, creating idle ripples that reached with wet fingers to shore. Birdcalls echoed through the thickets while Jack dodged a few offending fireflies; ducking, cursing, and swiping at them, he growled in annoyance. The swarm merely moved aside as soon as his hands drew near, so that he swatted only empty air, and Jack proceeded to make a few mad grabs for something other than nothing. Finally, following a few close calls and a near fatal accident involving an insect up his nose and having a permanent, built-in nightlight, Jack sighed mournfully, dropped his hands and tried to ignore the flashing, buzzing insects zooming about his head. Why bother? It was a lost cause.
As they came up to the front door, the veranda seemed to jump out in front of the captain; he curiously poked at a few of the chimes and charms hung from the veranda's roof, and they tinkled and sang as they brushed against one another.
Caro had turned to look at him; her eyes had moved from the trappings weaved and tied and braided into his brown mane to the jangling décor of the house.
"Don' tell me: you an' de house made arrangements to match."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
The door opened.
"You're late."
Caro looked solemnly at the ebony woman in the doorway, and spoke gravely. "T'ieves are never late, Dite. And nor are dey early. Dey arrive precisely when dey mean to."
The captain nearly laughed, but the woman glared at Caro, and Caro glared right back, and Jack sensed that perhaps this really wasn't a good time and swallowed his snigger. But before he could slip away to escape the uneasy crackle in the air; before anything seriously serious happened, both women began to chuckle, and then to giggle, and finally, to laugh.
Jack was confused. Again.
"Did I miss something, ladies?"
He was promptly ignored, and the two began jabbering in French. Jack rolled his eyes.
Women. No matter the age, no matter the race, no matter the language, women always nattered incessantly on about nothing. The absurdity of it—wait. They were looking at him. They were giggling. And pointing.
A candle sizzled to life in Jack's head.
They were talking. About him. They were giggling, for Christ's bloody sake, about him.
Jack grumped.
Why oh why had he never learned French?
He was being giggled about. Oh lord. Good thing he had decided to come alone tonight, or he'd never have lived this down. Ever. Jack looked over and saw that there was a pause in the conversation that he had rudely been excluded from.
"Are you two quite finished?"
Caro, by way of answering, produced the doeskin bag from out of thin air.
Jack stared at it, hard, for a second, but then regained what little composure he had lost.
"Where did you get that?" The words seemed to crawl out of his mouth.
"Oh." The answer was vague, and Caro flipped her hair, doing so with a bit more enthusiasm than probably was necessary, and Jack knew he had it coming.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love," she said, imitating Jack's deep, musical, wonderful slur.
He held his breath.
"Savvy?"
Jack just looked at her. He realized he was rather gaping, after a moment, and he cleared his throat and collected himself.
"Ha ha, very funny," he scoffed, ignoring Caro's smirk and Ebony Woman's puzzled frown. He coughed and adjusted his hat, forgetting he had done so already. "Yes, very funny indeed are we going to do this, or aren't we?" he asked finally, his temper getting the better of him. Actually he was rather impressed, but there was no hurry to tell Caro that was there?
Ebony Woman's face went solemn, and Caro went serious.
"Captain Jack Sparrow," said she, "this"—indicating Ebony Woman—"is Aphrodite."
"Aphrodite?"
Caro glared.
"Aphrodite it is, then! Pleasure to meet you, madam; Captain Jack Sparrow at your 'umble service."
Aphrodite was a tall, elegant, slender woman, at least a head taller than Jack himself; she had full, dusky lips and shining chocolate skin, and both contrasted nicely with her amber eyes, which were almost a wonder to look at for one so dark. She wore a patterned robe such as the ones her African peoples wore, and she had twisted her hair up with a length of the same golden fabric. She was obviously a proud woman; her chin she held up high, and her eyes challenged your own gaze when you looked into them, no matter if you wanted to argue with her or not. Her high forehead and cheekbones framed her face, and there was no argument whatsoever that perhaps this was one of the most beautiful creatures Jack had ever seen.
Beautiful, Jack realized with a slight sag of his shoulders, and quite unavailable.
Ah, well. He'd get lucky some other night.
They were now all standing in what seemed to be the kitchen of Aphrodite's house, and it was quite a kitchen to behold.
Like the porch, many things dangled from the ceiling along with herbs and flowers. Jars of unnamed items lined the shelves, and there were a few multi-colored rugs upon the floor. On top of the rugs was a table, and strewn across it was a red tablecloth, similarly patterned to Aphrodite's garments, and upon that were a few white-tallow candles, their wicks ashy and black; a mortar and pestle with a ground substance in the mortar that could quite possibly have been bone (Jack could make out a tiny fang in all the whitish dust); a fox skull; and a clay pot of tea set in the middle of three cups and their saucers, steam twirling from the spout.
Aphrodite gestured for them to sit down, and she poured them steaming hot tea from the pot. As Jack brought it to his lips, he sniffed it. A myriad of spices drifted up in the curling steam, and Jack took a sip, not caring that the liquid burned his lips and tongue. Caro sipped languidly next to him, her body slack and eyes alert, as always.
There were a few minutes of silence as they all drank their brews, and Jack relaxed as the tea seeped through his veins.
"What have you to show me?" said Aphrodite, after a time, in her deep, rich voice. "Nobody visits without a reason."
"I always have a reason," protested Caro, "and it's always to see you chére."
"I stand corrected," smiled the woman. "But you have come this night with a purpose. What is it?"
Caro tipped the bag of bones out onto the table, and Jack, even though he had seen them before, thought they looked eerily familiar. He squinted at the bones, hard. And then he realized…
They had fallen in the exact same way as the night before…. down to every last piece, and nothing, not even direction, had been overlooked. Jack narrowed his eyes, not sure if he believed all this...But then again, it's not like he hadn't dealt with the undead, as it were...
"Ah."
"What d'ya see, Dite? Was I correct in assuming dat—"
"Yes, girl, now quiet."
Caro glanced over at Jack and flashed a quick smile at him. He smiled back, though it was really more like just a quick thinning of lips...
"A wooden lady; a bird in flight, dancing out of grasping hands…When your heart feels right, boy, do not fly, for you will fall. Trust your instincts. A watery mistress; her hold on you is tight, it seems. An ox…you are a stubborn one, no? Do not let truth fog your eyes, child." She bent her head to further examine the white fragments. "And lastly, I will tell you this. 'Courage is not bought, but earned. Look to the white pillars where scroll and sword walked hand in hand. The lion's share of rewards will be found where Night walks within Day.'
"The Spring of Life Eternal is found."
(AN) Heh…That was a LONG ass chapter…Are you all still alive? I certainly hope this chapter is a bit better now...I really don't want it to be a Mary-Sue...right now it's my BABY!!! ::bawls::
And if Jack seems OOC, tell me, PLEASE, and I'll do the best I can to fix that...
* pronounced Die-tee