Ooh, revised first chapter! Really only added about one new word but hey. Thanks to Huntress for pointing out one little flaw in my plot. Now I have a whole new plan, so yay! Here you go, please review!
Chapter One- "Return to Tortuga"
Everything was going great in Jack Sparrow's life. At that moment he couldn't be happier. His revenge on Barbossa was complete, his ship was returned to him, and he was now coming in to port in his favorite place (on land, anyway), Tortuga. The only thing he regretted was having had to leave Ana Maria over at Chum's Corners, a no-account harbor town on a no-account island. He had no doubts about her making it on her own; he knew she'd be fine. He wouldn't want to run into her again after this, however.
But it had to be done. Upon leaving Port Royale, nothing had come to the pirate ship but misfortune. First, a storm came up like you wouldn't believe; the pirates were often unsure as to whether they would make it out alive! Then, when the storm had passed, the breeze had died completely. The sails wouldn't even twitch; there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so the sun baked down on the decks. Four days it went on like that. Then Jack had had a run-in with Captain Fellis, a rival pirate captain; far below himself, Jack was sure of that. But still… he had his eye on the Pearl. Doesn't everyone? Jack thought with a smug smile as he turned the helm to port, bringing the ship in, ready to weigh anchor.
That Fellis man had tried to make a trade for her! A trade, for the greatest ship on the ocean? There is nothing equal in value. Jack had turned him down flat, perhaps calling him a name or two, and the man had stormed off. Jack was sure he'd be back. Fellis would try to take the Pearl, try to take her by any means possible. But Jack wasn't worried. Not yet, anyway.
After the unpleasant meeting with Fellis the crew of the Black Pearl discovered that some manner of insect had infested the entire food supply, rendering it completely inedible. That was when they had started to speak of the bad luck a woman brought to a ship. Jack had never given much note to bad luck or superstition, but even he had to admit that this was worse than anything that had happened on this ship before. Excluding mutiny, of course.
So to placate his own worries and more importantly, that of his crew, Ana Maria was given a substantial amount of money and left at Chum's Corners. He feared more than a slap if he ever ran into her again. However, after she was gone, things started going well for the Black Pearl. Weather was fair, they recovered their supplies, and they managed to overtake a number of trade ships, gaining supplies and more importantly, making a name for themselves once again, restoring the general public's fear of the infamous Black Pearl.
So now Jack left the deck of the Pearl as the sun set slowly behind him, swaggering down the dock with that unique gait of his, and he thought he had never felt happier. He even began to whistle as he made his way to the tavern for a bit of rum. Yes, things could not be better.
Things could not be worse. Today had been the worst day of Lydia's life by far, and she had had a lot of bad days. She was a barmaid at the Sandy Crab tavern, the owner of which was about the most horrid man she knew, although, she really didn't know very many people. Those who came in for a drink never paid her mind, other than to take the drink she brought. And many were too slobbering drunk to care to have any kind of conversation. So Lydia was alone; no one cared to even know the name of a no-account barmaid, she was of no importance to the rest of the world.
At her job in the tavern she was paid in food and lodgings, but didn't as often receive the former seeing as her tendency for clumsiness often displeased her boss. Tripping was one thing that her employer couldn't tolerate, and the one thing that Lydia could do very well. So Lydia's life was spent performing the same monotonous duties day in and day out, while all the time she wished of something greater, anything other than the drudgery she was currently reduced to. With a sigh she turned her mind from these familiar longings and back to the mundane job of a tavern waitress.
Carefully she walked to the bar-counter for the next order of alcohol to be delivered to a table in the smoky tavern. She vaguely noticed a new fellow enter. Walking as if he's already had a bit too much rum, she mused as she picked up the platter of mugs.
She shook her head and smiled slightly at the thought, and returned to focusing on not stumbling and spilling the tray of rum she was attempting to get to a table of already rowdy sailors; more likely pirates. She was only about two feet away when she caught her foot on the hem of her dress and lost her footing. In a tumultuous flurry she went flying, along with the drinks, and crash-landed into the pirates' table. She heard the glasses shatter as they hit the ground. Rum splashed everywhere, angry shouts and profanities drowned out the giddy song and laughter of the tavern, and she even felt a few swift kicks from the intoxicated seamen whose table she had upturned.
During her fall (or rather, flight) she had completely uprooted the table and landed sprawled in a rather awkward position. She struggled to sit up and begin profusely apologizing to the men, as she always had to when something like this happened. Still fighting to get up from the mess, she put her hand down on some broken shards of the demolished mugs. She winced and looked at her palm as beads of blood started oozing out of the wounds. Giving sitting up another try she angrily wondered why no one ever helped her.
Suddenly, a hand was offered. She looked up incredulously. It was the man she had watched come into the tavern. Looking at his eyes she could tell he was not in the least bit tipsy, just… walked funny. He had long dark hair and a braided goatee, he seemed to have been outdoors a lot, but then again, so had just about every man in Tortuga. His eyes were a deep brown, dark enough to match her own. For the moment, she couldn't do much more than gawk unceremoniously at the man.
"Well, do you want help or don't you, mate?" he asked impatiently.
She quickly took his hand and he swung her to her feet. She came up face to face with this man who had actually offered her help. He seemed surprised as their faces came within inches of each other. Lydia breathed in sharply and a pleasant sensation filled her nose. He smelled of the sea. They gazed at each other for what seemed like a very long moment, and Lydia dimly realized they were still holding hands. Then the thought jolted into her brain: they were holding hands!
She let go and began muttering apologies for the blood now on his hand. He just watched her, seeming to study her, almost, a tiny smile flickering across his handsome face as she fumbled through her apron for a cloth napkin, a scrap of fabric, anything! Oh, great job, bleed on someone nice enough to help you! she thought scornfully. Is there nothing suitable for a napkin in here?
"I'm really very sorry about this," she rambled on, still searching for a cloth. Her hand stung something awful, making in difficult. The man had said nothing after he had helped her up, just seemed rather amused by her antics. She began to become a little annoyed at his entertainment with her embarrassment. In addition to the fact that she knew she still had to tend to the other customers and clean up her mess, she was sure those mugs would be coming out of her "paycheck".
Suddenly the man spoke.
"Are you done? Because I'm just going to sit over there then," he said lightly, gesturing vaguely to a table in the corner. As he turned and walked, rather ungainly, over to his seat he simply wiped the bloody hand on his trousers. Well he could've done that sooner, Lydia thought agitatedly. She then began her duty of cleaning up after her own inability to walk.
Jack sat down heavily at the small table in the corner of the smoke-filled tavern. He shook his head as he watched the strange girl try and compensate for her little mishap. Or rather, big mishap. He smiled slightly as she brought the table to rights with a heave and apologized pathetically to the irate pirates. They all glared daggers at her as they sat down and she scurried to the bar to get them new drinks.
Jack's small smile turned into a frown as he saw her being severely reprimanded for her deed by the tavern owner. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. He was still in an impeccably good mood however, and nothing, for the moment, would spoil it; he would make sure of that. As another barmaid approached his table he ordered a pint of rum.
"Make that two," he alleged as an afterthought.
Lydia had gotten the pirates new drinks and assured them that they would be 'on the house'. She fetched a broom from behind the counter and proceeded to sweep up the splinters of what used to be mugs. The pirates now had their rum so they paid her little more mind, as she knew they would; she was of no consequence to them. As she swept she looked idly over at the seaman who had come to her aid.
His eyes followed a pretty young lass in a garish dress with extravagant, gaudy make-up plastered on her face. The man smiled and reclined nonchalantly in his seat, resting his hands casually behind his head. In spite of how charming that smile of his was, the scene utterly revolted Lydia. So, this man is no different from the rest of them, she thought disappointedly. I had rather hoped… But no, he was a scoundrel just like every other pirate that passed the doors of the Sandy Crab.
Sighing sorrowfully, she swept with more deliberation. After this task was complete she returned to the bar for the next order of drinks, shrinking under her boss's menacing glare. In her mind she kept grumbling to herself, getting crankier by the minute. The bad day was really starting to get to her. Up until now she had been able to maintain a level of tolerance, but she was getting rather tired of always being let down. She continued complaining to herself in her head when she suddenly realized who this order was for. Then her brain simply stopped. She stood stupidly in front of the table of the cocky pirate, holding two mugs of rum. Presumably, she guessed the second was for whichever woman he chose from the mélange of kitschy wenches wandering the tavern.
"That for me, darling?" he asked smoothly, indicating the two drinks in Lydia's hands. Agitatedly, she callously plopped the mugs down on the table, hard enough for liquid to slosh over the sides.
"Whoa, now! Easy, mate!" the man cried, distraught over losing the rum. Lydia rolled her eyes as she turned and walked away. And she thought he would improve her day. Hardly. Then, once again, he completely surprised her.
"Wait," he said simply. Lydia blinked. That one word made her stop dead and hesitantly turn back around to face the obnoxiously alluring pirate.
"What?" she asked apprehensively.
"What's your name?" he asked sincerely, leaning forward toward her across the table.
The question took her by surprise and she faltered awkwardly before answering.
"Lydia."
The pirate nodded and raised his mug of rum to her.
"And your name, sir?" she asked tersely, fearing he was mocking her in some distant way. (She had a tendency for paranoia, at times.) He looked at her over the rim of his mug. After gulping and setting it down he just looked at her for a moment.
"Captain Sparrow," he replied, a smile playing across his face, leaning back comfortably in his chair once again.
"Enjoy your rum, Captain Sparrow," she replied coldly, even though her heart was pounding, for more reasons than one. That smile of his really got to her, which made her disdain grow. But what really had her heart rate increasing was his name. She had heard that name spoken often in the slurred conversations of tavern customers. He was indeed a pirate, and a very notable one at that.
As she walked away towards the bar-counter yet again she began recalling stories of this captain and his ship, of the iniquitous mutiny and the curse of Barbossa, and the regaining of his vessel. Now what was she called… Lydia racked her brains, temporarily incapable of reaching the name of Captain Sparrow's ship. Pearl! That's it! The Black Pearl! she recalled the name triumphantly. Already a plan was forming in her mind, a plan of escape. There was no way she was going to spend her life amongst drunken blaguards, wasting away her years serving them rum, paying off a debt that wasn't even her own. Although, perhaps sneaking aboard a ship full of these same blaguards was maybe not the best idea she'd ever had, she was just crazy enough to do it; anything to rid herself of the wearisome toil that had been her life since she came to Tortuga, and the always imminent threat of the return of him.
Jack watched as the odd girl walked away. She was a curious one. Offhandedly scrutinizing her as she walked away, he decided she really wasn't too bad to look at, though not the most attractive thing he'd ever seen. However, there was something about her he just couldn't quite put his finger on… He shook his head again as he took another swig of rum. Then a slim figure slipped into the seat beside him with a giggle and his attention was diverted from the peculiar Lydia.