Beating the Odds Chapter 1: May I Please Speak To Simone?, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

AN: Hello, everybody! I got this idea while gawping at the gargantuan cruise ship currently loitering in the Port of Seattle. I'd been trying for a while to write something PotC-related, but it just wasn't working out. I was completely aghast at the number of lame, sappy PotC stories with personality-deficient female original characters(aka Mary Sues) who, surprise surprise, end up with Jack Sparrow. Zounds, I was disgusted. Sheesh. Well, this is somewhat in the genre of A Loss of Authority, meaning that it's probably accidentally slightly AU, the writing is less than excellent, and is rather silly. Also, I have absolutely no idea where this story is going, so be forewarned: it may wander about a bit. Oh, and by the way, there is no Ocean Blvd. Being geographically impaired, I made up a street name. Sue me. This chapter's a bit useless, and is really just stalling for time. Avery is a character in an original story I'm working on right now, but so far he doesn't have any significance in the story yet, as far as I can see. Then again, my plans are a bit hazy…which often means nonexistent. Ta!

Disclaimer: Must I? …OK. I *sniff* do not own *sniff* Pirates of the Carribean. *copious weeping, sobbing, wailing, etc.* Go ahead! Rub it in!

Chapter 1:

Simon Donaghy sifted through his 'mail', sighing dejectedly. There was always loads of it, which, on the surface, could be considered quite flattering (and indeed, a sign of a high and busy social status) yet it was more depressing than encouraging to find that every single white envelope was addressed to 'Occupant'.

He opened the first one, and read the first line. "Cardholder, you have shown the financial responsibility and sound fiscal planning to become a Gold Mem—"

Rrrrrrrip.

That one hit the trash.

He opened the second envelope.

"We would like to inform you that our interest rates are—"

Rrrrrip.

The credit card offers descend into recycled oblivion.

He got a certain degree of satisfaction from that sound.

He went through the pile, as envelope after envelope went sailing through the air to join the previous junk in the prime location of the recycle bag. At last he reached the last one, a small, thin white envelope, just like the others, and he almost tossed it in the trash without a glance, but something stopped him. Glancing at the front, he gaped. It was addressed:

Mr. Simon Donaghy

144 Ocean Blvd.

Seattle, WA

98109

Wow, he thought, amazed. Personally addressed to me. God save us. He was about to open the astounding document when the trill of his remote phone filled the room. He jogged over to it and picked it up. "Hey, Simon here. Who is this?"

"Guess," came a sarcastic alto voice over the phone.

"Liana! I wasn't expecting you to call this early. What's up?"

"Nothing much, really," replied his girlfriend, sighing. "Just browsing the Web. Looking at P—random websites. You know. The usual eclectic collection."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Don't think I didn't notice that slip. Let me guess—you're gazing worshipfully at Pirates of the Caribbean fan sites again. Pictures, probably. Am I right?"

"It was fanfiction, actually," replied Liana defensively. "And anyway, you have to admit—"

"Don't even go there," warned Simon.

"That Jack Sparrow is, without a doubt—"

"Be quiet or face certain death." He shook his head helplessly. Liana's obsession with Pirates of the Caribbean was reaching something of a disturbing level. She had seen it in theatres five times, and spent the rest of her free time conversing about it with her fellow obsessives…Simon actually loved the movie, but admitting that to Liana would be the absolute worst thing to do, as then she would bombard him with even more e-mail forwards of countless photos of everyone's favorite protagonist. Watching it left him with a strange desire to whack people with swords, which was not entirely unpleasant. "Lia, d'you really think that it's smart to be saying this to the person you're going out with?" he said wistfully. "I mean, if you're going to date a movie character, that's probably going to interfere with our relationship…" He knew this phrase would tick her off, as she'd used it about how much time he spent out sailing with his older sister Katie, who was obsessed with sailboats and kept dragging Simon out onto her new finds. Liana had half-accused him of incest. He smiled at the memory.

"Oh, stuff it," she retorted. "Let me obsess as I want."

"Fine," said Simon, "I surrender. Obsess all you please."

"Oh, good!" replied Liana eagerly. "Hey, um, therefore…d'you think that you'd like to accompany me on a trip to the movies this Saturday?"

Simon groaned. "Dear God, Liana, please don't tell me it's to go see—"

"Here's a sample of the wailing that's going to commence if you don't come with me," announced Liana. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE---"

"Gyaaah! Stop! I'll go! I'll go!"

Liana could wail like a banshee. It was very disturbing, and also ideal for blackmail.

"Oh, yay!" said Liana happily. "Rapture! Thanks! It's playing at about 3:30pm for a matinee. Shall we go then?"

"Whatever," said Simon, defeated. He heard the familiar beep that meant someone was on the other line. "Sorry, Li. I gotta go."

"OK! Ta!" She hung up. Simon pushed the 'phone' button.

"'Lo?"

"Hello…can I speak to, um…" The light female voice sounded hesitant, unsure. "Simone?"

"I'm sorry, there's no Simone at this number," said Simon politely, and hung up. Principle of phone calls: Whenever they mispronounce your name, it's a telemarketer. Hang up immediately. He sighed and was about to go make some frozen pizza when he remembered the envelope on the table, and turned around. Opening it, he saw the single folded sheet of white paper, unfolded it, and stared at the flourished cursive type proclaiming 'Caribbean Sweepstakes Offer!!!"

Ah, so that's it. Sweepstakes. Why not? He scanned the paper.

Win an all-expenses paid, four-week cruise in the beautiful Caribbean! Just send in this easy to fill out form and you are eligible for the trip of your lifetime! If our sponsor, the HG Corporation, draws your name on August 27, 2003, you will receive a letter of congratulations letting you know the details of when and where to start this terrific vacation. And the best part is, this offer is FREE!!! We've enclosed a Business Reply Mail envelope so you don't even have to pay postage! What are you waiting for! Enter the Caribbean Sweepstakes now!!

Below was a perforated entry form, asking for Simon's name, address, birth date, etc.

Whatever…Simon thought about it. Living in Seattle, he could certainly use a climate change. Although, he thought, holding up a magnifying glass to the fine print, the likelihood of actually winning is…ah, what the heck? He quickly filled out the small form and tore it off, stuffing it in the supplied envelope. As he walked outside to put it in the mailbox, he heard a crash of thunder from far off, and glanced upward to see dark, ominous clouds moving in.

"Damn Seattle," muttered Simon as large raindrops began splashing onto the pavement. He opened his mailbox, stuck the envelope in, and closed it with a loud clang, then ran back inside to avoid getting soaked.

-*-

Later that evening Simon was out eating pizza with his friend Avery, moaning about his college professors.

"So now Hackett's decided that, with the start of a new year, she wants to make all the undergraduate students feel welcome—and her method of doing this, of course, is to load on a wonderful huge essay on technology's effect on culture. I mean, I don't know if she thinks the school counselor's not getting enough work or what, but I'm telling you, more than one person's going to have a nervous breakdown before this class is over…"

"I hear you," said Avery sympathetically. "University is brutal. You should have done what I did, man."

"Which would be?"

"Skip the school crap and go entrepreneurial, you know? In-de-pend-dence!" He got the inflection of their old high school principal so perfectly, Simon had to laugh. "I mean," Avery continued, "there's ah, more interesting things to do—"

Simon shook his head ruefully. Avery's 'entrepreneurial' endeavors weren't always exactly legal. Last time he heard, the guy was planning to plant a virus somewhere in Microsoft's system. "Nah." He shrugged. "I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this college thing, but I met Liana there, so it can't be half bad, right?" He grinned. Avery was perpetually without a girlfriend. It wasn't so much that they left him, but that he couldn't persuade himself to stay with the same person for more than two weeks. He had low tolerance for stability.

"Aaaaagh," groaned Avery, shaking his head vehemently. "Don't talk to me about women. In my opinion—"

Simon never did find out what Avery's opinion was, as just that moment his cell phone rang, treating the local Pagliacci's to a tinny version of 'Tequila'. "Hold that thought." He rolled his eyes and answered. "Hello?"

The voice was agitated and sharp, and sounded like it was coming from far away. "May I speak to Simone, please? Now?"

"There's no Simone at this number," replied Simon, annoyed. "Goodbye." He pushed the 'end' button and stuck the cell phone back in his pocket. "Second time today."

"Simone?" Avery hooted. "Ha! Sad!" Just then his cell phone rang, with a high-pitched screeching whistle that made Simon's ears ring. "Ah, crap. Hold on a sec. Hey, Avery here, what do you want."

Pause.

"No."

Longer pause.

"Must I?"

Short pause.

"Oh, all right, fine. You owe me for this." He hung up and smiled apologetically at Simon. "Sorry, I've gotta go. Dmitri's begging me to go help him move his crap into his new apartment."

"Ouch," commented Simon. "That's brutal. Is he paying you?"

"No…" Avery grinned in a rather evil manner. "However, I've got something in mind…"

Simon felt sorry for Dmitri. "'K. Catch you later."

"Adios, amigo."

Avery got up and left, making a suggestive gesture at a shocked elderly woman before making a casual exit out the door. Simon laughed, finished his pizza, and stood up to leave, but not before his phone rang again.

"'Lo?"

"Would Simone please come to the phone?!" said a frustrated voice over the phone, sounding exasperated. "Now?"

"Gyah! No!" yelled Simon into the receiver. "Take me off your list!" He jammed the phone back into his pocket and threw up his hands. "What does it take to get these people off my case!" He quit the building, leaving a few confused expressions behind him, and one knowing smile.

"Those telemarketers," agreed an ancient man with spectacles, turning back towards his granddaughter. "Mark my words, Natasha, I'm not going to let your mother buy you a cell phone when you're older. It's just another way to get accosted."