"Filthy," she muttered under her breath, "just filthy -" she cleared
several scraps of parchment off the cluttered table that she supposed must
serve as a desk -"what a -" she disposed of some very dubious-looking
pieces of leather -"rat's nest-"
Meg gave up, swept everything onto the pallet, and began attacking the grimy table with a wet rag with a ferocity not often seen in corseted, high- nosed aristocrats. Then again, it would be speaking out of line to class her as one. "There," she panted, task accomplished. "You -can- at least- see- the -wood-"
She was, of course, in Captain Jack Sparrow's cabin; after lengthy thought she had decided to take him up on his offer but in turn had been suddenly and almost comically determined to prove that she was not 'another one of his wenches', something she still seethed about. Jacques! When this thought was brought to mind, another immediately chased it in - during her musings she had realized that the only other place that she could go was either the deck once more (not something she particularly coveted) or to the kitchens, with Jacques himself. For some odd reason she had immediately dismissed this idea - ask her and she wouldn't know why - the dull teenager would not be ideal full-time company, she reasoned at last.
"Oh, and he -" she put stress on 'he' -"is?" She glared at several empty, offending rum bottles. "Stinks to high heaven - wouldn't like to be in here when HE is, no doubt -" she began to pluck out of the jumble what looked to her to be items of worth -"as drunk -" she swept all the bottles into the wooden bucket she'd filched from the galley with a satisfying crash - "as a" -more debris flew into the bucket - "filthy" - she picked up a tiny pouch, stared at the precious (mineral) contents, considered at once dumping it in the bucket, then (guiltily) taking it, bit her lip and tossed it onto the bed - "cold-blooded-" - with a final sweep, the table was cleared - "rat!"
The table was much neater than before -cleaner as well - some inner eye she'd not known she'd had had surfaced and she had arranged the medley of pouches, boxes and various other things almost artistically. "No - no you- know-what would do that," Meg said aloud, surveying her work shrewdly. With a shocking afterthought, she whirled to eye the rest of the cabin. "What am I thinking? I haven't even done this yet!"
When Captain Jack Sparrow came flouncing into his cabin around ten at night, the first thing he saw was his young lady. ah, passenger, seated on the floor on some arrangement of blankets inspecting something in her hand. "Ah, so you have decided to -" he began, then noticed the rest of the place.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed violently. "What've you done to it?"
The floor had been scrubbed - no, scoured - thoroughly, as had all of the woodwork, just about everything little thing had been organized to Meg's whimsical tastes, and everything was spectacularly clean. The place looked like a room from the Kentsworth manor, if one was judging by cleanliness.
Jack did a double take, but before he could speak Meg addressed him. "Kindly refrain from swearing in my presence, Captain Sparrow, it reminds me that we are in such a rough-and-tumble place, something that you can see that I have been trying to ignore."
"That can't be all, can it, Meg?"
Captain Sparrow, Meg - she noted blandly that one was formal and the other was not, and it was the matter of which was which that would have bothered some. Yet still, every time someone said "Miss Kentsworth" it was practically enough to make her flinch. "Well, no." Her answer was cool. "It is a point that I am trying to make, distinguishing myself from any other. of your, ah. lady. companions."
She thought she'd seen a shadow of a smile cross his windchapped features; the next moment she knew it when that sardonic face contorted and those slightly smirking mouth burst into laughter.
Meg waited for it to abate; meanwhile she coolly took in every feature of this man without knowing that she was doing it - from the long black hair to the broad shoulders. and so on.
Finally he shook the last tears of mirth from his dark kohl-lined eyes. "I wouldn't expect for a commodore's daughter to know of such. things?" he inquired, mouth still retaining that impossible stretch between complete laughter and a wide grin.
"I didn't before I came here," muttered Meg; but she primly arranged her own features and responded more loudly. "Jacques," she said firmly.
"I knew the boy would come to no good," the captain said more softly, laughter lines disappearing from his face, "if it comes to." he eyed the spaciously neat cabin - "this." His mouth pulled downward yet again, and Meg went slightly cross-eyed with annoyance. Laugh this, laugh that, all she'd done was tell him what she was up to. One would think he didn't like the job she'd done, and then the next minute that he did.
"I'm sleeping down here," she announced imperiously, one hand drifting about the folds of her mound of blankets.
"Aye, aye, whatever y'like lass," said Captain Jack Sparrow more absently now, and then his gaze flung about and latched onto the object in her hand. "And what would that be, love?"
"Oh this?" asked Meg. A leather strap dangled from her upheld hand, secured about a leather holder in which a metal flask was secured. "I just found it while I was clearing out your place - under the pillow, funny place to be -"
"May I have that back, love?" he interrupted her, and now there was a slight desperation in those normally cool tones.
Meg clasped it fondly. She had been right. It did smell of alcohol. "Why?" she asked innocently, and then pushed it a little bit. "I was thinking of dropping it over the deck, might make an interesting splash, you know?"
"Lass - love - Meg." Jack was getting panicky. "Just hand it over, and nobody gets hurt -"
"Hurt?" Her hazel eyes darted up, and then widened monstrously.
"It's an expression, savvy?" Jack pasted what he thought to be a reassuring smile on his face.
"No-o - why do you want it anyway? I think drinking is a vile habit," she added.
One could practically see Jack's mind overheating. "Drink? I don't drink, lass! It's -er, Nicholson's thing, gave it t'me for safekeeping, which is why you - cannot - throw - it - overboard."
"Oh I suppose," said Meg demurely, dropping the flask into Jack's grateful hands. "I just hope you're not lying."
"Lying, lass? Wouldn't dream of it." Jack hastily pocketed his rum flask and settled onto his pallet, squinting at the girl seated so innocently on the floor of his cabin.
Meg smiled at him. It's going to be so fun getting to know each other, she thought. Pirate or not, Jack Sparrow has it coming to him.
Yes, I know, terrible ending but I needed to get it done! I'm going to be gone for about nine days, be back around August 10, okay? Please review!
Meg gave up, swept everything onto the pallet, and began attacking the grimy table with a wet rag with a ferocity not often seen in corseted, high- nosed aristocrats. Then again, it would be speaking out of line to class her as one. "There," she panted, task accomplished. "You -can- at least- see- the -wood-"
She was, of course, in Captain Jack Sparrow's cabin; after lengthy thought she had decided to take him up on his offer but in turn had been suddenly and almost comically determined to prove that she was not 'another one of his wenches', something she still seethed about. Jacques! When this thought was brought to mind, another immediately chased it in - during her musings she had realized that the only other place that she could go was either the deck once more (not something she particularly coveted) or to the kitchens, with Jacques himself. For some odd reason she had immediately dismissed this idea - ask her and she wouldn't know why - the dull teenager would not be ideal full-time company, she reasoned at last.
"Oh, and he -" she put stress on 'he' -"is?" She glared at several empty, offending rum bottles. "Stinks to high heaven - wouldn't like to be in here when HE is, no doubt -" she began to pluck out of the jumble what looked to her to be items of worth -"as drunk -" she swept all the bottles into the wooden bucket she'd filched from the galley with a satisfying crash - "as a" -more debris flew into the bucket - "filthy" - she picked up a tiny pouch, stared at the precious (mineral) contents, considered at once dumping it in the bucket, then (guiltily) taking it, bit her lip and tossed it onto the bed - "cold-blooded-" - with a final sweep, the table was cleared - "rat!"
The table was much neater than before -cleaner as well - some inner eye she'd not known she'd had had surfaced and she had arranged the medley of pouches, boxes and various other things almost artistically. "No - no you- know-what would do that," Meg said aloud, surveying her work shrewdly. With a shocking afterthought, she whirled to eye the rest of the cabin. "What am I thinking? I haven't even done this yet!"
When Captain Jack Sparrow came flouncing into his cabin around ten at night, the first thing he saw was his young lady. ah, passenger, seated on the floor on some arrangement of blankets inspecting something in her hand. "Ah, so you have decided to -" he began, then noticed the rest of the place.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed violently. "What've you done to it?"
The floor had been scrubbed - no, scoured - thoroughly, as had all of the woodwork, just about everything little thing had been organized to Meg's whimsical tastes, and everything was spectacularly clean. The place looked like a room from the Kentsworth manor, if one was judging by cleanliness.
Jack did a double take, but before he could speak Meg addressed him. "Kindly refrain from swearing in my presence, Captain Sparrow, it reminds me that we are in such a rough-and-tumble place, something that you can see that I have been trying to ignore."
"That can't be all, can it, Meg?"
Captain Sparrow, Meg - she noted blandly that one was formal and the other was not, and it was the matter of which was which that would have bothered some. Yet still, every time someone said "Miss Kentsworth" it was practically enough to make her flinch. "Well, no." Her answer was cool. "It is a point that I am trying to make, distinguishing myself from any other. of your, ah. lady. companions."
She thought she'd seen a shadow of a smile cross his windchapped features; the next moment she knew it when that sardonic face contorted and those slightly smirking mouth burst into laughter.
Meg waited for it to abate; meanwhile she coolly took in every feature of this man without knowing that she was doing it - from the long black hair to the broad shoulders. and so on.
Finally he shook the last tears of mirth from his dark kohl-lined eyes. "I wouldn't expect for a commodore's daughter to know of such. things?" he inquired, mouth still retaining that impossible stretch between complete laughter and a wide grin.
"I didn't before I came here," muttered Meg; but she primly arranged her own features and responded more loudly. "Jacques," she said firmly.
"I knew the boy would come to no good," the captain said more softly, laughter lines disappearing from his face, "if it comes to." he eyed the spaciously neat cabin - "this." His mouth pulled downward yet again, and Meg went slightly cross-eyed with annoyance. Laugh this, laugh that, all she'd done was tell him what she was up to. One would think he didn't like the job she'd done, and then the next minute that he did.
"I'm sleeping down here," she announced imperiously, one hand drifting about the folds of her mound of blankets.
"Aye, aye, whatever y'like lass," said Captain Jack Sparrow more absently now, and then his gaze flung about and latched onto the object in her hand. "And what would that be, love?"
"Oh this?" asked Meg. A leather strap dangled from her upheld hand, secured about a leather holder in which a metal flask was secured. "I just found it while I was clearing out your place - under the pillow, funny place to be -"
"May I have that back, love?" he interrupted her, and now there was a slight desperation in those normally cool tones.
Meg clasped it fondly. She had been right. It did smell of alcohol. "Why?" she asked innocently, and then pushed it a little bit. "I was thinking of dropping it over the deck, might make an interesting splash, you know?"
"Lass - love - Meg." Jack was getting panicky. "Just hand it over, and nobody gets hurt -"
"Hurt?" Her hazel eyes darted up, and then widened monstrously.
"It's an expression, savvy?" Jack pasted what he thought to be a reassuring smile on his face.
"No-o - why do you want it anyway? I think drinking is a vile habit," she added.
One could practically see Jack's mind overheating. "Drink? I don't drink, lass! It's -er, Nicholson's thing, gave it t'me for safekeeping, which is why you - cannot - throw - it - overboard."
"Oh I suppose," said Meg demurely, dropping the flask into Jack's grateful hands. "I just hope you're not lying."
"Lying, lass? Wouldn't dream of it." Jack hastily pocketed his rum flask and settled onto his pallet, squinting at the girl seated so innocently on the floor of his cabin.
Meg smiled at him. It's going to be so fun getting to know each other, she thought. Pirate or not, Jack Sparrow has it coming to him.
Yes, I know, terrible ending but I needed to get it done! I'm going to be gone for about nine days, be back around August 10, okay? Please review!