By the way, that's a cute hat you're wearing
And a smile so hard to resist...
What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?
~Bob Dylan, "Sweetheart Like You"
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Tortuga was alive with excitement as always, the drinking and dancing a nonstop engagement despite the brutal thunderstorm wreaking havoc on her streets. Jack walked them with a confident swagger, at home among the scoundrels, drunkards, and whores. The aromas of cigar smoke and whiskey, mayhem and sex tantalized him, and he issued silent thanks for the fact that he was sober enough to appreciate it.
For now.
He exchanged a knowing look with Gibbs, who walked alongside him as they approached a load tavern, outside of which stood a familiar redhead, dry beneath her gaudy parasol.
Scarlett's brilliant blue eyes beamed when she saw the now rich and famous Captain Jack Sparrow advancing on her, and she fluttered forth to cover the distance between them. "Jack! You've come back to us."
"Couldn't help myself, love." He took one of her gloved hands in his sooty one, gracing it with an overdramatic kiss. "Your beauty transcends the Caribbean." Of Captain Sparrow's varied areas of expertise, his ability to charm was one for which he was famous.
"Oh, stop it, Jack, you're making me blush."
Jack hid his amusement at this; with a face as heavily powdered as Scarlett's, one could undoubtedly set fire to her hair and yet see nary a hint of color in her cheeks.
"That old gypsy woman said you'd be around soon enough, and I kept my hopes up. Have you brought me anything, Jack?"
This first bit of information caught Jack's attention, taking full hold of it as his gaze wandered away from the redhead. "Where might I find the old hag?"
Scarlett pursed her crimson lips in disappointment. "She's taken up at the Arawak."
Jack nodded. "I thank you, lovely. Don't go getting yourself lost, now. I'll be back." A wink and a smile. She returned the gesture, then turned and entered the tavern, leaving Jack and Gibbs alone.
After his long silence, Gibbs spoke, loudly to combat the thunder. "Ahh, so you're lookin' to see the fortune teller, are ye Jack? I was wonderin' why ye'd've sailed back to Tortuga when everybody here already knows your story."
Raising his eyebrows a bit, the younger man stared down at his first mate in scrutiny. "Because I'm in the market for a new one. An' she's never steered me wrong before." That said, Jack turned on his heel and started off toward the Arawak Inn, leaving Gibbs to have a few drinks at the tavern.
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Having returned to Lord Faulkner's small estate, Aveline had managed, not without great difficulty and a tear in her dress, to sneak undetected into her bedchamber, entering through the window after having painstakingly scaled the wall. Once inside, she paused momentarily in order to catch her breath; her ladylike upbringing had left her ill-suited for this sort of physical exertion. She wondered how well she would manage scaling the anchor line...
No time to think, she told herself, only to act. Her energy restored, she quickly set about her next task: quietly trashing the room. She carefully turned over smaller pieces of furniture, tore the linen of her sheets and the gossamer of her bed curtains, and tipped over the candles atop her dressing table. And then, the note:
Commodore,
Catch me if you can.
Captain Jack Sparrow
Aveline hadn't the faintest clue whether Captain Sparrow would ever say such a thing, nor whether he would ever bother to leave a note. Nonetheless, she presumed, the Commodore would be anxious enough, and Faulkner desperate enough, to chase the Black Pearl around the Spanish Main in search of her; it was as good an excuse as any to go after Captain Jack. Even if it was a ridiculous, highly unbelievable ruse...
"Thank you, Jack Sparrow."
For an added dramatic touch, she pricked a finger and smeared a touch of blood across the faded parchment – it was utterly grotesque. The contrast of violent red against soft beige appealed to a darker part of Aveline, and she spent longer than she should have examining the spurious note. A crack of thunder in the distance jarred her, and looking outside, she saw that the skies had darkened, draping the early afternoon in a dismal grey shroud. Making haste, she threw the note to the floor, fetched the dagger from her drawer, and then reached into her hope chest, retrieving a slightly heavy satchel of coins: her dowry. She'd stolen it from Faulkner's chamber a fortnight ago, and planned to use the gold to do her bidding once she reached Tortuga. Tying the bag around her narrow waist with a piece of rope, Aveline bid her bedchamber a final farewell, and descended the wall outside her room to return to the harbour and board her ship.
As she took off through the streets, the clouds above birthed a storm, a baptismal for Aveline as she set off to start her life anew.
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A small bribe had easily handled the Arawak's owner, and Jack scaled the inn's rickety old staircase en route to the old woman's room, mostly confident, but partly worried about the news he would soon receive. He reached the top floor, and there she stood, clad in black and awaiting him outside her door, having anticipated his visit. Ayida was a small woman, shrinking no doubt, her dark native skin resembling century-old leather. Her eyes shone like polished onyxes against the stoniness of her face, and she wore the fragile silver threads of her hair in a strong braid that touched the floor behind her bare heels. She was an Arawak herself, residing in the inn that had turned the name of her people for profit, and using her room there to practice the age-old voodoo rituals of the Haitians. In his sober states, Jack was quite fascinated by it all.
Now, however, his mission was entirely self-centered.
Ayida flashed him a gold-toothed grin, which he returned in kind, and beckoned for him to follow her into her room. When he'd shut the door behind him, she turned her black eyes on him in outright scrutiny. An awkward moment passes between them and then, at last, she smiled.
"You return sooner than I think, Jack. I know you return, but I think after the storm."
"Well, you aren't proving yourself much of a fortune teller then, are you?" It was intended a jest, and received as such. She emitted a throaty, knowing laugh.
"Jack, you tell the redhead you come for her. You lie, captain."
The fearless pirate was somewhat taken aback. "Yes, well... Often times it proves beneficial to flatter a lass or two."
"You no try to flatter me, Jack."
"I learned my lesson last time, Ayida." They exchanged a private glance, Jack's eyes assuring the woman that he didn't intend to cheat or rob her, and she accepted this small gesture. Of course, she'd known then he was going to rob her, as she knew now that he wouldn't dare.
"So, what you want know, Jack? You greatest pirate in Caribbean, why you need me?"
Jack opened his arms in a movement of surrender. "A little guidance never hurt a man. I can accept whatever you have to say, Ayida."
She waved a hand at him, unimpressed. "You no need worry, Jack. You in crossroads, but you also in line for great gift."
He arched an interested eyebrow. "Great gift?"
"You have key to immortality soon. You wait, Jack. That all you need. You no reach peak of life. Life never end for you if you wait."
Jack closed in on her, the look in his dark eyes rather severe. "You mean to tell me, that I'm going to live forever?"
"Yes, that what I tell you. You live forever and ever. Just wait. It comes to you."
"What do I need to do?"
"Wait."
"There must be some catch. Is there a curse?"
"No curse, just wait, you." She waved her hand once more, instructing him to leave. "You go, you done."
Jack reached into his pockets for a shilling or two, but Ayida vehemently shook her elderly head. "You no pay, Jack, you no get fortune, you no get spell. You get guidance, truth, like you ask. Go."
Grateful, Jack removed his hat and bowed to her before taking his leave. When he had left the voodoo woman's presence, he repressed the urge to click his heels in jubilation. After taking a brief turn as a member of the living dead, Jack didn't disbelieve anything he was told, save Scarlett's insistence that she was capable of blushing. No, nothing had happened to dissuade Jack from believing that it was possible for a man to live forever, and quite frankly, he rather liked the idea of it.
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By the time Aveline reached the harbour, she found herself facing heaven's wrath, as the lightning and rain she'd watched nearing the island the previous night had finally touched its sand and soil. She was drenched, her ivory dress as wet as it would be when she swam out to the anchor line, and her perfectly arranged upsweep had liberated several curly locks of hair to stick to the sides and back of her throat. Outside, she felt truly awful, but inside, she was overcome with joy. That ship was freedom.
The storm seemed to be beating the sea, winds whipping and lightning lashing her as her surface curled and cowered away from the onslaught. Struggling to stand against the wind, Aveline knew that swimming the few yards out to the anchor would be arduous to say the least, but noting that the pier was suitably distracted with unloading and reloading the ship, she knew this window of opportunity would be her best. Keeping an eye on Fulbright, who was fully preoccupied with supervising the trade sailors, Aveline hiked up her skirts and waded out as she had that afternoon, jumping and dodging the waves as they rolled in, out to her knees, her hips, her ribs, until finally it was deep enough to swim. She found an ally in the ocean current, which was running eastward and in the direction of the ship, and her only obstacle became swimming against the constant foray of incoming waves. Several eons... no, minutes... later, she reached the side of the Mary Alice, and began feeling her way along the outer hull toward the rudder, near which trailed the heavy rope attached to the anchor.
At long last, she was able to reach out and grab hold of the rope, her body beaten, her fingers splintered, her breath shallow. As she struggled to climb up to the quarter deck, Aveline wondered if she'd have the energy in her to complete her quest, and more importantly, to satiate her all-encompassing thirst for vengeance. For the first time, she felt as though she weren't strong, as her muscles wailed in protest of the heavy exertion to which she subjected them, and her lungs threatened to surrender their battle to supply her with much-needed air. The wind whirled past her, sending the taut rope for an awkward toss, and as Aveline held on for life, (albeit less that dear), she swore that if she could just manage to reach the quarter deck, she would sign her soul off to the devil himself in order to complete her mission.
For when her pathetic dagger found a warm sheath in her father's cold heart, she knew, her own death would be all that awaited her.
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"Maraud and embezzle, and even high-jack, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!"
The cheerful choruses emanating from the tavern below beckoned to Jack, inviting him to join the merriment. Looking down at the sleeping redhead by his side, the wily captain decided that a hasty exit would be best for both of them. After all, best not to let her grow too attached to him, seeing as she was a mere mortal...
Glancing out the window, Jack frowned at the stormy skies, for they prevented him from accurately estimating the hour. Two o'clock? Three? He smiled suddenly, an intimate, cocky smile. Only two o'clock, and I've already managed to ensure my future greatness and secure a conquest.
You've had her before, his subconscience reminded him.
Still, not bad for a twosies, considering she loathed me, is it, mate? What else is there?
Rum. Lots and lots of rum.
The enticement of this last notion was fleeting, for all too soon did Jack remember the next noteworthy item on his agenda.
Anamaria's ship. Bloody hell...
Ahh, qué será, será. Slipping out of the bed and into his britches, Jack silently admitted that continuing on with his merry pirate ways was undoubtedly the select path for him. Immortality – that could mean so many things, really, best not to be wastin' one's creativity on debating vocabulary when it was no doubt better suited to inspiring debauchery.
A ship she wants, a ship she gets. All the more fun for me...