A boat with my name on it - by Cunien

Ahoy?......... well it seems most of yous have mutinied and deserted this here fic and left it on it's onesey! Never mind, I still have my faithful bosun Cal - are you alright with being bosun? You could be cabin boy or ship's cook or doctor? First Mate is Sara, but she aint nowhere to be found - must have toddled off in one of the Jolly boats.....*sigh*

Ooh, but random confessions of love, ala Hellyn are welcome!

Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.

He's a gentleman of fortune and that's what he's proud to be, and when you're a professional pirate you can swear in cockerney!........... ..............
Sorry.
I've been watching Muppet's Treasure Island and the songs have gone to my head. What I meant to say was - Warning: here be mild swearing.

I've also just finished reading the real Treasure Island, and I seem to have borrowed a few of Long John Silver's and you may lay to thats for Jack to say. Don't you just love pirate speak?!?

Anyway, on with the tale - Jack's banging his glass on the bar because he thinks you aint listening.

Chapter 3 - Jolly things.

So I find myself treading water, and even that can't crush my indomitable spirit right then. The water was warm and to be honest, I needed a bit of a wash - I was beginning to develop a rather interesting smell.

Well Taffy's splashing and wriggling around next to me like a fish on a line. He sloshed himself over to me, half drowning in his panic and grabbed hold of me.

He proceeded to do that stupid thing stupid people do when they're too stupid to have learnt to swim (which is even more stupid when you consider he lives in the Caribbean, which is mostly water by all accounts) and pushed down on me to try and get his head above water.

This, of course, only nearly drowned me, so once I'd gotten free of him and managed to swim away a little, it took a hell of a lot of goodness in my heart to swim back and help him.

Taffy was in too much of a panic to master himself and be of much use in the situation, so with me pushing underneath him and him half-heartedly trying to pull himself up I finally managed to get him on to the jetty. He lay in a spreading puddle on the scorching wooden dock and babbled to himself what I took to be a prayer.

Not that I'd know what a prayer sounds like. Honest.

I joined him on the jetty and fished out my hat, which was dancing merrily on the little swell coming in from the open sea. I took off my coat and sat there to let the sun dry me a little, and all the while, even after my near death experience with Taffy I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

I was sitting there scheming, thinking of all the ways Taffy and I could get that boat.

My little heart was bent on it now, and when my heart gets a hold of something it won't let it go without a fight I can tell you.

From my vantage point in the water I had managed to get a really good gander at the boat as the girl rowed it past. I had to dodge out of the way of the oars a few times though, and I'm quite sure the girl was purposefully trying to hit me with them, but that's beside the point.

The Jolly Mon.
That was her name, burned into the side with great care. The fact that it had been burnt in by using a piece of glass and the sun's rays instead of painted on endeared it even more to me.

I liked the name.
The Jolly Mon. Nice isn't it?
I like jolly things.

It reminded me of a girl who once had the pleasure of knowing me, called Monique. She was a stroppy little french tart, not jolly at all. All the same the name struck a cord if only for it's irony.

I wanted that boat.
I needed that boat.

I sat there, drying off in the sun beside Taffy, who I think had passed out at this point, and made grand plans for my future with the Jolly Mon.

I'd sail her to Port Royal, and then find myself a big ship. I'd keep the Mon though, as a jolly boat or some such, I was that fond of her by then. And then we'd sail the ocean blue, with her beside me all the way, my ever faithful Jolly Mon.

Yes, I intended on headed back to Port Royal, the place I hate most in this world.

Well you know me, and you'll know I can't stay still for long before my feet start to itch again and I'm off wherever the wind may take me. So why, then, would I be so eager to head back to Port Royal, a place that makes me break out in a rash just to be there? A big, puss oozing crusty boils rash?

Well I'll tell you.
Like I said, I needed a ship. Not a boat, a ship.
Now there was a time when Tortuga's port was full to the gunnels with the finest ships on the ocean. Big Spanish galleons, frigates, Dutch flutes and pilfered naval sloops.

But looking about me that day, there was but one ship in the harbour. Plenty of bleeding row boats, a skiff or two, and one tatty old sloop named the Jemima, who was, quite frankly, past her best. And I can't imagine her best was all that good neither.

Why was I presented with such a sorry sight, you ask?

Well, it's been a hard few years for gentlemen of fortune like myself, and you may lay to that.

Morality and goodness is spreading across the Caribbean like a plague. And the canker at it's centre is....bleeding Port Royal.

Marines swarm there from the Old world, and now there's hardly an island in the Spanish Main where you won't find a hive of them, infesting these clear blue waters and golden sands with their horrible ethics.

So, most men have turned Privateer.
Dear Lord, I hate them bleeding Privateers. About as much as Marines and donkeys. And row boats.

They've as good as turned Turk aint they? I mean, all they are is Pirates like the rest of us, except they have a fancy high-to-do letter of the marque' - a Royal excuse to be what they are anyway.

Well, excuse me, but Jack Sparrow doesn't need King Georgie's permission to do what he was born to do.

And you want to know what really gets up my nose?
That there letter from the King says go ahead, it's fine to rape, plunder, pillage and pilfer - as long as you're doing it to the Spanish.

Now I've been about a bit me, seen the world. I stake my hat that I've seen one of every nationality you care to mention. And do you know what I've found?

All men are the same.
Yep, they really are - the same base, greed-fuelled animals. You, me, the bleeding King of England. Be they black, white, yellow or blue, every jack-lad of them's only out for number one. Every man for himself.
Or woman, as the case may be.

So I don't hold much with the privateer's code of let's kick Johnny-foreigners arse' .

Don't get me wrong - if the Spanish feel like coming round and knocking on old Mother England's door then I'm all for showing them what we Brits are made of (and I don't mean that literally).
I just don't like this license to annoy our enemies thing'.

It can't be said that any gentleman of fortune is an upstanding citizen, but believe it or not, I do have morals. They may not lie with those of the Crown and the Marines, but they're morals none the less. And if there's something that can be said of Captain Jack Sparrow it's that when he plunders, he plunders indiscriminately, regardless of nationality or ethnic origin.

Besides, what's the point of being a scallywag and a rogue if you're allowed too? If it's, God forbid, legal ?

I also don't hold with this sharing half the plunder with the crown neither.

Are you still there?

It looked like you'd drifted off for a minute. I've got a lot more tale to tell, but don't worry - it gets more exciting later on. I'm just trying to give you a little insight into my way of thinking see? Just so you know where I'm coming from A little trip into old Jack's head - it's a lovely place innit?. Bear with me.

And pour me another rum while we've paused for a breath luv - that's it, now don't be stingy, I won't say when' so fill it to the top - cheers me dears.
Now where was I?

Ah yes, explaining my reasons for returning to Port Royal, heaven on bleeding earth.

So all the best ships were in Port Royal, captained by Privateers and paid for by the crown.

Oh, I'd have no remorse about confiscating' one of them lovelies and putting it to better use, you may mark my words.

While I sat there planning out my grand designs the sun was sinking low into the sea and the hurly-burly at the dock was beginning to dwindle. Still I sat there, because to be honest I had nowhere better to be.

After and hour though, I started to think about rum.
I got to my feet and let them carry me where they would, and sure enough they took me to the door of an inn.

But my feet must have some brains, because they didn't take me to any of the inn's where the Giselle's and Scarlet's and other strumpets awaited me with murderous intent and one hell of a right hook.

So I looks up at the sign board swinging above the door and read the name The Bay Inn' - un-imaginative, but written with the loving pride of someone who'd only just learnt their letters and would make use of them at every opportunity.

This was one of the few taverns on Courtesan Bank where I hadn't offended anyone. Well not yet anyway.
So congratulating my clever feet I strode through the door and headed straight for the bar.

A large quantity of rum and an equally large amount of money later and I was propping up the bar, telling everyone who would listen about my boat the Jolly Mon and all the adventures we'd had together. The barman was looking at me with something like pity in his eyes, but I didn't care so long as he filled up my glass when I told him to.

But I still had enough wits about me to shut up like a clam when I saw this familiar figure walk through the door.

She obviously didn't see me gawping like a fish, and walked over to stand right next to me at the bar.

The usual eh, Anamaria? the barman asked.
She grunted and sat down beside me, reaching into some pocket to pay for the drink. Before she could withdraw any money though, I'd slapped a few coins down on the bar and said This one's on me, eh sweetheart?

I gave her one of my winning smiles, hoping to dazzle her with my charm and gold teeth, but alas no. She glared at me again.
If there's something to be said for Anamaria it's that she's a first class at distilling all the hatred and loathing in the world into one look.

My smile withered under it's intensity.

So she looks at me and says I don't need anyone to pay for my drinks. but I could tell what she really meant to say was You are a puny man and I crush you beneath the heel of my boot.

To be sure. I said, but I didn't take back the money and Anamaria made no move to replace it with her own. After a few minutes the barman, looking very confused, made a grab for the coins, put them in his pocket and made good his escape before we could change our minds.

Now I'm a patient man. When something's worth having it's worth waiting for.

And the Jolly Mon was worth having.
So I sat there all night and barely said a word. I tried to strike up a conversation once or twice, but Anamaria would just stare coldly at me until the words dwindled into nothing and I hid behind another swig of rum.

Now before I go any further I'd just like to make it clear that I had quite a head-start on Anamaria where alcohol consumption is concerned. By the time she walked in the tavern I was already far gone.

So when she finished her drink, she looked pointedly at me, and I took out some more coins and bade the barman fill both our glasses once more.

This happened too many times to count.
To be honest by the end of it I was in no state to even remember my name, let alone my numbers. Every time I looked down the amount of empty glasses and bottles on the bar seemed to have doubled. I was quite sure they were breeding and multiplying while my back was turned.

Anamaria on the other hand seemed as right as rain, and the thought crossed my mind at one point that she was doing this on purpose, you know, getting me absolutely merry with rum by making me order all those drinks. Well it would have been unsociable for me to have had her glass refilled and not have ordered any more for myself wouldn't it?

I must have passed out sometime around midnight.

I vaguely recall a flash of pain as I fell face first into the empty bottles and glasses that littered the bar.
But I don't remember anything after that.

TBC....

Well Jack told me there'd be a lot more Anamaria in this one, but there isn't. Oh well, he's not exactly a very reliable source is he, even on his own story.

I promise there will be large quantities of our favourite lady pirate later one.

Sorry the chapters a bit boring - just needed to sort some things out - give you an insight into Jack's head, like he said, so that you'll fully comprehend his hankering for the Jolly Mon. Excitement later. I think.

Thankyou to everyone who reviewed after I'd begun writing the beginning of the story where I'd gotten all sad and lonesome! Cheers me dears!x.x.x