Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

Greetings again, friends. And this is the second chapter to Really Bad Eggs. Hope you find it an enjoyment so far. I wrote out the first two chapters in math class, so the chapters won't normally be coming out as fast as this.

Respectfully,

Lip Balm

-

The last hour of the day was drawing to a long and tedious close, casting a cliché sunset over the horizon of blue. A number of fishing boats sailed across the azure glass, carrying a bucketful of fish or nothing at all. The tiny crafts bobbed in a tranquil motion on the water.

Almost as rapid as the day had begun, Port Royale was quiet, and there was no noise audible, but a few bickers of drunken men in a far away corner.

Jezebel Walker felt a pang of nausea as she hugged her knees tighter to her chest. It was awfully cramped in the old pickle barrel, and the sour odor had begun to tweak a nerve. But there was no need to be cramped in the creaky barrel for a moment longer, for the sun had finally set and it was still.

Jezebel stopped squirming and listened. Upon hearing nothing, she lifted the top just a crack and peered out with dark eyes. The coast was clear. She popped the top off and breathed in the salty air, happy to rid of the musty odor. Lifting a leg, she walked out of the ol' circular crate, grabbing a few pickles and shoving them deep inside her pocket. Dinner.

She had been stuck in that tight corner all afternoon and evening, breathing out of a tiny hole, and was forced to listen to old fishermen rant on about the biggest fish they've caught in their life time. Commodore Norrington, the ugly pig, had his men at her tail all day, because Jezebel had tried to steal a few shillings from one of his men's pockets. Picky ol' prune, Norrington was. A pickpocket was just as bad as a pirate to him. Of course, she was one…but he didn't need to know that.

It was completely dark now, and the stars were out, reminding her of the firefly stars back home. There was a screech of something ear splitting from in front of Jezebel, as she walked closer to the dock.

"ERROOOWW."

Jezebel reached for her sword and found it to be missing. It was only a damn cat, too. She had stepped on it's tail, without noticing. Damn cat, it could have attracted some unwanted attention.

"They took me sword," she said grimly, recollecting of the unpleasant event. "And me hat."

She touched her head, feeling naked and incomplete without the worn, leather, sun-baked thing. Jezebel reached into a small sheath on her thigh, holding her breath and released a sigh when she found nothing.

"And me dagger-DAMN!" Jezebel yelled out, kicking a stone and sending it flying across the dock and straight into the water with a ker-plunk.

She began to walk towards the town. Surely the Commodores men would have given up searching for her now. Twinkling lights burned into the darkness, something she had not seen for a long time. Legs cramped, she began to stretch them, squinting into the path ahead of her. The dock was rather old and creaky, and Jezebel felt completely vulnerable without her sword. And her dagger. And her hat, mind you.

"Well, at least it ain't Tortuga," she muttered grimly, remembering the whore infested place.

Her legs felt weak and tired as they walked rapidly towards the town. She was in need of something quick, and fast.

"A sword would be nice," Jezebel said. "But first, some rum."

A vague look swept through Jezebel's tanned features as she walked staggered towards the mass of lights.

-

"What do ye mean you don't sell rum," Jezebel cried out, pounding a grimy fist on the bar table. "What kind o' tavern sells no rum?"

"We're out, lady. Now go sit down afore I call some men for assistance," said the man calmly, running a hand through a mass of hair. A worried expression occupied his withered face as he glanced into a corner.

Jezebel sighed, rubbing her eyes irritably, containing her temper and forcing her legs to move towards the empty table in the far crook of the tavern. There was no rum. A terrible event that would top her terrible day. She glanced around the tavern and watched as a few drunken men lolled together, blathering nonsensically with great gesticulation.

"More rum, more bloody rum," came a voice from the opposite corner.

A woman carrying two large pitches refilled his mug happily, grazing a finger across his shoulders delicately.

"Thank ye, lassie," said the voice. "Great rum, yeh know."

Jezebel almost exploded on the spot. How was the man able to receive TWO large pitchers of rum, when herself had gotten none at all. Enraged, Jezebel quickly walked over to the drawling man, who was downing mugs full of rum by the minute.

"Where did you get that rum," she asked loudly, glaring at the man with kohl traced eyes.

"This is a tavern, love," the man said as he downed another gulp.

"I DO believe that the man said the rum was all gone," Jezebel spat, eyeing the rum carefully. It was true, there were two large pitchers, filled to the brim with glorious, glorious rum.

"That's because me ol' mate o'er there saves a special tank o' rum only for me when I arrive to Port Royale, savvy?" The man said this with a quick lift of his lips, revealing many gold teeth.

Jezebel knew that smile, but her anger was blocking out the familiarity.

"'Ow about you sit yer ass down, lassie," the man said with a subtle roll of eyes. "An' you can 'ave a drink with ol' Captain Jack Sparrow."

Jezebel lifted a mug carefully, cautious as to not let a single beloved drop of rum trickle out. Upon hearing the words escape the mouth of the Jack Sparrow man, the mug slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor, spilling the precious rum into a million different directions.

'Ope ye liked it. REVIEW OR DIE. Cackle. :P