Disclaimer: Jack and other wonders belong to the Mouse. Not mine, no profit, no harm intended, savvy?
Chapter 2: A Diamond in the Rough
Gwen stared as the clean white sails of the Graymere grew smaller and more distant by the moment. Disbelieving in her sudden rotten turn of luck, she studied the ebony-hued wooden planks beneath her and the dark sails above her, full of the same wind she had fully expected to bring her safely into Port Royal. She noticed that even the wheel at the helm was as black as the heart of any lawless criminal. The Black Pearl. Only when she could no longer deny that she was, in fact, aboard the pirate ship did she allow herself to become aware of the men encircling her. No individual drew close enough to touch her, but the sheer number-a couple or three dozen-of them ringing her was more than enough to make her nervous.
Still struggling to completely recover her composure, Gwen slowly drew her feet under her and stood. She was careful to allow her body to settle into the gentle sway of her recently-found "sea- legs," rather than fight it, as she had when she had first boarded the Graymere. Now was no time for her to be stumbling about, not in the midst of her current company. Unconsciously, she smoothed her hands over her thighs, both to dry her clammy hands and to smooth her skirts down. Trying her best to ignore the taunts, jeers, and catcalls that had started the instant of her abrupt arrival on the pirates' deck, she sought about for a glimpse of the man she had earlier estimated to be the captain. Sure enough, the wild-looking man was even now approaching her, his men parting to make him a path to her.
This man, she thought distractedly, had to be one of the strangest men she'd ever seen in her life. Up close, he looked every bit as odd as he had from her ill-fated perch on the Graymere's mizzenmast- and more so. A dingy red strip of cloth was tied around his head underneath his dirty tricorne, the long ends of the material flipping about his shoulders in the sea-breeze. His dark hair, which she could still describe only as a mane, sported braids tied off haphazardly with long leathern strips, matted dreadlocks, several strings of variously-colored glass and wooden beads, and other bits of hair-jewelry she couldn't quite identify. He had a scruffy, shortly-trimmed beard which lengthened at his chin into what would be a goatee. Would be, that is, if it weren't gathered into two slightly uneven plaits, a bead or two strung onto the bottom of each one. His eyes were enchantingly dark, almost black, and were rimmed in kohl.
She caught herself staring into his bewitching eyes and forced herself to glance away, only to find her gaze met by other pirates. Instead, then, she settled her regard onto her own hands, noting as she did so that she had been clasping them tightly together, and her knuckles were turning a tell-tale white in her nervousness. She forced herself to release them, doing her best to assume a more relaxed and confident demeanor.
"Set me free," she implored softly as soon as he was near enough to hear her without most of his crew overhearing as well. She was hoping to avoid more jeers, which were admittedly quite disconcerting.
The man flashed her a beguiling grin, gold teeth glinting at her as his lips peeled back in almost unholy mirth. "Who's holding ye captive?" he asked, a deceptive charm seeping through his odd accent, the beads on his braided goatee swinging in a way she would almost find amusing if she weren't so apprehensive. "Seems to me it's you who've joined us on yer own pleasure, luv."
Gwen's cheeks colored, both in self-consciousness and shame at the truth of his words and awakened anger with herself for her own fantastic faux pas which had landed her (in a most undignified manner, at that) here amongst these ruffians on this wicked black ship. "Please," she tried again, hoping that if she ignored her own clumsy, unintentional arrival on his ship, he wouldn't bring it up again. "Captain..."
The captain smiled again, this time a more convincing and pleasant smile than before. Though he didn't immediately offer his name, he seemed pleased at her choice of calling him by his title. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, she continued, "Captain, I would be most grateful if you would allow me to return to my ship."
The captain swayed so unsteadily she felt sure he was about to fall over as he flung his arms out. Several rings gleamed and flashed on his fingers in the sun as he gestured dramatically toward the starboard side of the ship. "By all means," he said sweetly, as sweetly as one so grimy could possibly say anything. "Ye're of little use to me." By the way he seemed to half-slur his words together and the way he swayed (more so even than she with her still-amateurly-balanced sea-legs), Gwen was now convinced that he must be drunk.
A bit chagrined at the patronizing way he was treating her, she shifted her eyes from his face to where he was casually pointing with one hand. She almost expected- or at least hoped- to see a boat or some other transport waiting to take her back to her own ship. But of course, there was nothing. Even as she realized what it was he was insinuating, he grinned again, that same self-possessed grin she was already beginning to despise, and advised, "Ye'll probably find it a bit difficult to swim in that dress, though."
"Swim?" Gwen repeated, her heart sinking.
Her comment was lost as the crew, which had remained respectfully rather silent for their captain's sake, erupted into jeers again. "Don't do right to have a woman on board!"-"Make 'er swim!"-"Can't swim in that dress, looks expensive, best we hang on to it for ye!"-and other, less intelligible comments which Gwen interpreted roughly to mean that she was no more than entertainment for them. They were no more concerned for her own safety or return than they were for the return of the bags full of loot they'd made off with just a handful of minutes earlier.
"Please, Captain, I-"
But he cut her off, swerving about in his drunken way to face her again, looking as though he'd had an inspiration. "Was yer husband aboard that ship with ye, me lass?"
Taken aback by the sudden change of subject as well as exactly what the subject was changed to, she merely stared at him for a moment. While her father had provided her with most of the essentials she needed to live as an upper-class young lady, it was true that one of the particulars she had lacked was a proper debut and season in society's main circles. At the age of nineteen, she certainly should have had, at the very least, a dedicated suitor or perhaps two or three, perhaps even a fiancée or husband. This was very true. However, she had missed that important part of an English lady's youth, and could only shake her head in response to the pirate captain's odd question.
Unconcerned, he pressed on, "Yer family, then?"
Again, she moved her head from side to side. "My father and mother are both dead," she offered, though he hadn't asked for such specific information.
The captain's kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed and despite Gwen's attempts to remain confident and dauntless, she was uneasily aware of the fact that he was sizing her up.
She'd lost her hat somewhere in her scrambling around the Graymere. Her brown curls were pulled away from her face and held in place with simple but delicately-jeweled hair-combs. The only other piece of jewelry she wore was a relatively inexpensive locket she'd taken from her mother's jewelry box after her death. Her father didn't know she had taken it. It was the only corporeal remembrance she kept of her dear mother.
Her locket swung on a chain long enough to allow to slide into the front her gown, where it nestled, protectively, between her breasts. Her gown itself was a fabulous affair, one that her widowed aunt had chosen specifically for the way its sage-green hue contrasted with her too-pale aristocratic skin and her chocolate-hued locks. The pale green silk was covered with golden embroidery that further belied how expensive it was. Gwen knew that he was in fact scrutinizing her value, rather than any beauty she may possess. She wasn't sure which she would have preferred, but could only hope that he would find something in his inspection that would keep her feet planted firmly on the ship, rather than kicking wildly in the water. His eyes flicked again to her hair, apparently to appraise the jewels in her hair-combs.
Then the captain closed the distance between them, startling Gwen. She took a step back, gasping when a pirate she'd not noticed behind her pushed her forward again with a hand at her back. The captain grinned again, but said nothing as he reached for the chain which held her locket. She raised her hand to slap at his unwelcome gesture, but he had apparently anticipated the pathetic attempt at an attack and caught both of her hands with one of his, while he examined her locket with the other.
Suddenly, the captain released her. "Yer name, lass?"
Seeing no profit in lying or being difficult, Gwen hesitated only a moment before she said boldly, "Gwendolyn Webster."
"Captain Jack Sparrow," he said proudly, introducing himself in turn. "And, mm..." She watched as he glanced toward the tiny white spot on the horizon that was the Graymere's retreating form. "Heading toward Port Royal, were ye? What's there for ye?"
"Nothing," Gwen answered quickly.
"So ye're just sailing around because ye feel like it, then?" the captain asked with a smirk, glancing around at his crew. They all grinned and laughed. "That's what we do, lass, not strumpets like you."
Gwen said nothing.
"Here now, luv," the pirate said, leaning close enough for her to smell an unfamiliar odor on his breath, which she assumed was the liquor that was to blame for his inebriated behavior. "There's no need to lie. Someone somewhere is waiting for a young lass like yerself to arrive. And we wouldn't want to disappoint them, now would we? Who is't that's awaiting ye? We want to make sure you make it back to them safe and sound."
Gwen forced herself to ignore the chuckling coming from the pirates around her who had apparently already caught on to whatever scheme their captain was planning. But she knew that he had easily figured out that somebody had had to pay for her expensive attire, so she admitted, reluctantly, that her Aunt and Uncle Webster were expecting her to arrive in Port Royal on board the Graymere within the week.
"There now, luv, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" He flashed her another of his golden grins. "Welcome aboard the Black Pearl," he said cheerfully, and then turned (and swayed heavily toward one side as he did so), flinging his hands up in the air. "Lock her up in the brig!" he shouted to his men as he staggered along toward the helm.
"The brig!" Gwen shouted indignantly after him as some of his minions moved to follow his orders. She'd actually allowed herself to begin to think that she might make it safely to her new guardians' hands after all. But the brig didn't seem like a very promising stop along the way to this goal. "I thought you said I'm not of any use to you!" she shouted at Captain Sparrow. "So why are you holding me captive?"
"P'raps I was a bit... hasty, then, luv," the captain said, turning to regard her again. "You aren't useful to me... yet," he amended, holding up a single finger to accentuate the "yet." He approached her again, swaggering (or was it staggering?) and grinning. "Ye are... a 'diamond in the rough,' if ye will, me lass. But, Miss Gwendolyn Webster," he went on, enunciating her name teasingly, "with the right polishing, and little ransom from yer anxious kin, ye'll be quite useful to me indeed. Now. Wouldn't want you to get hurt, tends to make the kin a bit upset, savvy? Take her below, boys." And with that, he turned on his heel and left her again, whistling tunelessly.