Disclaimer: I own nothing... My house is a box, my bed is a ten year old issue of Weekly World News ("Chipmunk Gives Birth to Alien Twins") and my cat is a stuffed pillow with glass eyeballs glued on...
A/N: Yes, finally I managed to take the beer from Jack! I have to keep an eye on him at all times. Unfortunately, now he's started looking through my "Seventeen" and "Teen People" magazines, and is about to tear out a Christina Aguilera picture (which somewhat resembles her clothes-that-are-hardly-clothes look on the "Stripped" cover...) Maybe he'd like to hear a little "Dirrty." *rolls eyes* Men...
Well, enough of this! Keep reading, my friend. And, because of Jack's constant whining, I've added a little "coziness." (His term, not mine!) He wanted a blond... Well, there'll be more "coziness" in later chapters, I assure you!
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Four: A French Experience
Jack led Anne through the dark streets, the sky dark with no stars, and the faint ghost of the moon shining out from a wisp of cloud.
"Where are we going?" she asked. Jack paused to sniff the air, and gave no answer. Then he rounded a corner and they were in an even smaller alleyway.
"Jack?"
He continued to ignore her question, and quickened his pace. She could barely see the back of his head, but the clunk of his boots on the cobblestones and the rustles of the beads in his hair and the coins in his pocket made it quite easy for her to follow him. Anne sighed, grabbed the back of his coat, and slammed him against the wall of a building beside them.
"Tell me right this instant where the hell we're going you bloody bastard, or I promise you yer mustache won't be lookin' too curly!" she growled. He chuckled nervously (not that he was REALLY afraid of her).
"He he, easy on the goods, love-" her finger was in his face, pointing at him threateningly.
"I am not a 'LOVE!' I am no one's LOVE! So you will either call me Ms. Bonny or Anne, or I will rip out your tongue and feed it to the gulls!"
"Alright, alright, if you insist, lo-Ms. Bonny," Jack replied. She stepped back from him and smiled.
"So... Where was it we were going?"
"Ah, let me tell you, I can smell a tavern a mile away. That's where I'M going; you may wander about wherever your little black heart desires. But if you'll take my advice, Anne, you'll stay with me. 'Tis not safe for a woman to be out on the streets alone at night."
"Not safe for a woman, eh? Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Sparrow, 'woman' means nothing at all to me," she said, turned on her heel, and strutted down the street in the opposite direction they had been walking. He stared after her a moment, trying to decide what she meant by her last statement, then decided there were more important things to do.
"Me rum's waiting!" he said to himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jack sat at a table in La Coucher du Soleil, a tavern hidden in the dark corner of an alley by the dock, but, as should have been evident by the sign, it was a French tavern. Not exactly the best thing when Jack spoke not a word of the language. This problem was clear right when he tried asking for a drink.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur," said the rather attractive young barmaid. "Qu'est-ce que je peux vous offrir?" Jack stared blankly at her. (A/N:Translation: Good evening, Mister. What can I get for you?)
"Uh..." The blond girl stuck out a hip and put a hand on it, gazing at him boredly.
"Pardon? Parlez-vous Français?" she asked. (A/N: Translation: Excuse me? Do you speak French?)
"I have no idea what you're saying, love," Jack said.
"Je ne comprends rien," Blondie sighed, obviously getting impatient. (A/N: Translation: I don't understand a word you're saying.
"RUM! I WANT RUM!" Jack shouted. She laughed and nodded.
"Oui, monsieur, rhum." The girl walked away. Jack leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on the table, trying to relax. The girl came back soon and poured the bottle of liquid into a pewter tankard*, sliding it over to him. He took a swig and gestured to the chair next to him.
"Take a seat, darling," he said. The girl understood and sat down.
"Je m'appelle Nathalie," she said. She was wearing a lot of dark eyeliner that made her light blue eyes pop out.
"Amusing," Jack said out loud. The barmaid, Nathalie, raised her eyebrows at him.
"S'amuser?" she said. "Oui, s'amuser..." (A/N: Apparently she misunderstood his "amusing" for "s'amuser": "enjoy yourself.") She made a comfortable spot for herself in his lap and began kissing him. I'll make a note that these French strumpets are quite good, Jack thought. For some reason, whether it was the rum or the, ahem, situation that he was in, but he suddenly felt his thoughts drifting to Anne. Where was she, and was she alright? His pause caused Nathalie to momentarily take her lips away from his.
"Non bien?" she said, frowining.
"No, you're really good at this love!" Jack replied, catching her meaning. But no matter how much he tried to vanish it from his mind, the thought kept coming back. He needed to look for Anne. He gently pushed the girl off his lap and stood up, taking a few shillings from his pocket and throwing them on the table for her. Then he put on his coat and hat, and walked out into the night.
"Bonne nuit, Capitaine Sparrow!" the French wench called. (A/N: See, I'm so good at rhyming!)
~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Sorry for the shortness of chapter, I promise to get back to the nice stuff now. Let's see if Jack liked it.
Me: So, what did you think?
Jack: That's it? (BTW, Johnny Depp's girlfriend/wife is French, which is partly why I thought of it... The other part is that I'm taking French and wanted to add a little of the language because it's so beautiful)
Me: PG-13, remember? I don't particularly like writing romance. I'm only doing it in this story because I have to, HISTORY requires it!
Jack: I love history!
*Pewter is made of lead, a metal that can be bad if it gets in a person's blood. Since Jack was constantly at taverns and pubs and drinking from pewter tankards, I formed the opinion that he might have gone "mad" from the lead. This scientific notion is thanks to my Earth Science teacher, Miss S.! Wooo! Everyone clap! And review!
A/N: Yes, finally I managed to take the beer from Jack! I have to keep an eye on him at all times. Unfortunately, now he's started looking through my "Seventeen" and "Teen People" magazines, and is about to tear out a Christina Aguilera picture (which somewhat resembles her clothes-that-are-hardly-clothes look on the "Stripped" cover...) Maybe he'd like to hear a little "Dirrty." *rolls eyes* Men...
Well, enough of this! Keep reading, my friend. And, because of Jack's constant whining, I've added a little "coziness." (His term, not mine!) He wanted a blond... Well, there'll be more "coziness" in later chapters, I assure you!
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Four: A French Experience
Jack led Anne through the dark streets, the sky dark with no stars, and the faint ghost of the moon shining out from a wisp of cloud.
"Where are we going?" she asked. Jack paused to sniff the air, and gave no answer. Then he rounded a corner and they were in an even smaller alleyway.
"Jack?"
He continued to ignore her question, and quickened his pace. She could barely see the back of his head, but the clunk of his boots on the cobblestones and the rustles of the beads in his hair and the coins in his pocket made it quite easy for her to follow him. Anne sighed, grabbed the back of his coat, and slammed him against the wall of a building beside them.
"Tell me right this instant where the hell we're going you bloody bastard, or I promise you yer mustache won't be lookin' too curly!" she growled. He chuckled nervously (not that he was REALLY afraid of her).
"He he, easy on the goods, love-" her finger was in his face, pointing at him threateningly.
"I am not a 'LOVE!' I am no one's LOVE! So you will either call me Ms. Bonny or Anne, or I will rip out your tongue and feed it to the gulls!"
"Alright, alright, if you insist, lo-Ms. Bonny," Jack replied. She stepped back from him and smiled.
"So... Where was it we were going?"
"Ah, let me tell you, I can smell a tavern a mile away. That's where I'M going; you may wander about wherever your little black heart desires. But if you'll take my advice, Anne, you'll stay with me. 'Tis not safe for a woman to be out on the streets alone at night."
"Not safe for a woman, eh? Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Sparrow, 'woman' means nothing at all to me," she said, turned on her heel, and strutted down the street in the opposite direction they had been walking. He stared after her a moment, trying to decide what she meant by her last statement, then decided there were more important things to do.
"Me rum's waiting!" he said to himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jack sat at a table in La Coucher du Soleil, a tavern hidden in the dark corner of an alley by the dock, but, as should have been evident by the sign, it was a French tavern. Not exactly the best thing when Jack spoke not a word of the language. This problem was clear right when he tried asking for a drink.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur," said the rather attractive young barmaid. "Qu'est-ce que je peux vous offrir?" Jack stared blankly at her. (A/N:Translation: Good evening, Mister. What can I get for you?)
"Uh..." The blond girl stuck out a hip and put a hand on it, gazing at him boredly.
"Pardon? Parlez-vous Français?" she asked. (A/N: Translation: Excuse me? Do you speak French?)
"I have no idea what you're saying, love," Jack said.
"Je ne comprends rien," Blondie sighed, obviously getting impatient. (A/N: Translation: I don't understand a word you're saying.
"RUM! I WANT RUM!" Jack shouted. She laughed and nodded.
"Oui, monsieur, rhum." The girl walked away. Jack leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on the table, trying to relax. The girl came back soon and poured the bottle of liquid into a pewter tankard*, sliding it over to him. He took a swig and gestured to the chair next to him.
"Take a seat, darling," he said. The girl understood and sat down.
"Je m'appelle Nathalie," she said. She was wearing a lot of dark eyeliner that made her light blue eyes pop out.
"Amusing," Jack said out loud. The barmaid, Nathalie, raised her eyebrows at him.
"S'amuser?" she said. "Oui, s'amuser..." (A/N: Apparently she misunderstood his "amusing" for "s'amuser": "enjoy yourself.") She made a comfortable spot for herself in his lap and began kissing him. I'll make a note that these French strumpets are quite good, Jack thought. For some reason, whether it was the rum or the, ahem, situation that he was in, but he suddenly felt his thoughts drifting to Anne. Where was she, and was she alright? His pause caused Nathalie to momentarily take her lips away from his.
"Non bien?" she said, frowining.
"No, you're really good at this love!" Jack replied, catching her meaning. But no matter how much he tried to vanish it from his mind, the thought kept coming back. He needed to look for Anne. He gently pushed the girl off his lap and stood up, taking a few shillings from his pocket and throwing them on the table for her. Then he put on his coat and hat, and walked out into the night.
"Bonne nuit, Capitaine Sparrow!" the French wench called. (A/N: See, I'm so good at rhyming!)
~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Sorry for the shortness of chapter, I promise to get back to the nice stuff now. Let's see if Jack liked it.
Me: So, what did you think?
Jack: That's it? (BTW, Johnny Depp's girlfriend/wife is French, which is partly why I thought of it... The other part is that I'm taking French and wanted to add a little of the language because it's so beautiful)
Me: PG-13, remember? I don't particularly like writing romance. I'm only doing it in this story because I have to, HISTORY requires it!
Jack: I love history!
*Pewter is made of lead, a metal that can be bad if it gets in a person's blood. Since Jack was constantly at taverns and pubs and drinking from pewter tankards, I formed the opinion that he might have gone "mad" from the lead. This scientific notion is thanks to my Earth Science teacher, Miss S.! Wooo! Everyone clap! And review!