A/N: [Jessi] hello people. This is a joint fic. A sorry in advance to everyone who is a native Spanish speaker and is cringing at our Spanish… at least we didn't translate it off of an online dictionary. And yes, the chapter title alludes to Kaitlin's [padfoot's pirate] own potc fic. Read and Review! We love criticism and praise.
Disclaimer: the mouse owns the pirates, the mouse owns the lions, the mouse owns the ducks, the Mouse owns the transvestite Chinese warrior women. Hell. The mouse owns it all.
My Sundown
"I need you to show me
the way from crazy,
I want to be so much more than this…"
-My Sundown, Jimmy Eat World
Chapter 1: Piratical Encounters
The pub was busier this week than usual; three ships had landed in the harbor, and it seemed as though every man from each of the crews had come into the Sleeping Dragon for their rum.
Keen ebony eyes surveyed the cacophonous crowd. The two strongmen leaning together against the wall had begun to move towards the small brawl that was overturning tables in the northwest corner, a revealed leg suggestively nudged against the stockinged calf of a merchant, and another over there. Bar maids were almost as bad as the working women.
"What can I get you?" A girl addressed him. She was plain, although her coloring suggested she wasn't from Britain. She had red and gold glass beads tucked onto strands of hair, with trinkets attached as well.
"A pint."
He followed her with his eyes behind the bar and watched as she filled his drink. As she set it down at the table, he asked, "what's your name lass?"
"Marisol Thorton."
"Marisol. Interesante. De dónde es?"
"Havana."
"Sit with me Miss Marisol?" He flashed his dirty teeth.
"Not tonight Señor-"
"de Marcos. Then mañana." She just smiled indulgently at the old man and went to go fill some more glasses. His graying hair was scraggly and he scratched his stubble on his small pox scarred cheeks.
As the night grew stale, he downed the rest of his third ale, stood, nodded his goodbye to Marisol, who simply smiled in return, and surveyed the room one last time before creaking up the stairs to the room in which he was staying.
An hour or so after the departure of Señor de Marco, the tavern door swung open to reveal an obviously overjoyed man. He grinned widely, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth.
The entire pub stopped guzzling their mead to watch him with bated breath. He chortled.
"Drinks all 'round!" he shouted, and everyone raised mugs in salute to the stranger who would soon be supplying them with free liquor. The man who ordered drinks for everyone was soon found in the middle of a circle of anxious fans, listening to his latest story of conquest.
Several of the barmaids were flirting shamelessly with the dark stranger, and a particularly friendly tavern wench was nearly sitting on him, running her hand up the inside of his thigh. She batted long, dark lashes at him, her hand moving further up his leg until she was rubbing his stomach underneath his billowy shirt. Soon she was perched on his lap, straddling his legs. He took a brief break from regaling the drunkards with his story to plunder the whore's mouth with his tongue. The man lifted her off of his lap, and she took his hand and led him up the stairs to a vacant bed.
Once the last of the pub's most
devoted patrons had trickled out the front door, Marisol
bid good night to the bar's owner and began her slow ascent up the stairs to
the small room she occupied. The banging of a wooden bed frame against a wall
was audible from behind the door that the stranger and the barmaid had
disappeared into hours before. A shriek of pleasure, followed by a throaty
grunt escaped through the crack under the door. Staccato-ed, rasping breaths
punctuated the silence between Marisol's footfalls.
She
rolled her eyes in disgust, trying to push the couple's encounter from her
mind. The sounds of their lovemaking haunted her dreams.
*~*~*
After the chaos of the night before, the pub was relatively quiet. There had been a small skirmish between two men over a lass, but other than that a quiet night. Setting two bowls of stew and rum in front of a set of customers, Marisol noted that de Marco had extracted himself from his room and had graced the room with his presence, silent though it may be.
"What can I get you señor de Marco?" she asked warmly.
"I shall have a pint, some stew and your company, as business is slow," the older man mocked.
"I shouldn't-"
"Señorita Thorton, the other maids can take care of it. I have noticed they do take time out of work to entertain patrons."
"Which is why I have to do the work," she grumbled.
"Bring me my ale, and we shall talk. It has been an era since I have been able to utter my native tongue."
"Un buen razon Señor," she saluted and went off to fetch his order.
"Estará aquí por mucho tiempo?" she also agreed, that it had been long since she had had a decent conversation in Spanish. Six years since she had been in a Spanish culture.
"no. estoy buscando a alguien."
"Quien?" she inquired curiously wondering what kind of people he associated with.
"Ah, es un secreto. Es de Havana, no?"
"Sí señor, y usted? No pienso que su accento es de Cuba."
"No, La America del sur. Viajo mucho." Her eyes lit up at the mention of travel, "Que quiere Marisol?"
"Espero que ver lugares más lentos de aquí. Mi padre, me deja aquí, y no volvió. Mi mamá murió cuando tengo 12 años. Quiero ver China, o España, quisas Africa."
"Es un sueño bueno. Mi padre tambien era un bastard drunk." She joined his chuckle, laughing uproariously at what could only be funny to them.
"Qué esperanzas tiene usted?" she queried.
"yo? Soy demasiado viejo a tener esperanzas, yo he vivido mi vida, con buena suerte y agradecimientos," he ran a hand through his greying hair and over his wrinkling face as though he wished he were younger.
"Señor de Marco, con sus palabras de suerte, usted habla como las piratas que van aquí," she half joked.
"no sabes?" he smirked rolling up his sleeve, "estaba una pirata por todo mi vida. O la mayor parte de la vida." She stared at the brand on his arm and glanced back into his face. It seemed as though their similar backgrounds allowed them to open up to each other faster.
"Pero, pero… tú eres cortez, y no estás malhablado."
"Todas las piratas no son de mismos, Marisol," he chastised.
She looked down into her own half-drunk glass of ale, "necesito trabajar."
"A mañana." He lifted his tankard.
"A mañana." She agreed clanking the aluminum with his and taking a swig. Standing up she left him alone at his small table, pushed into the corner. An unknown burden crawled off of her chest as she went about her work; it was a relief to speak in her native tongue, no matter if it was a pirate, or an old man.
*~*~*
As he had for the past two nights, de Marco thumped down the stairs, observing the pub. Marisol smiled at her friend. Bringing over a pint, just as he sat down, she stated, "No puedo hablar contigo ahora."
"Está bien." He saluted her with his ale and took a large gulp, settling against the wall to resume his watch of the door.
It was a busy night, similar to the night before the last. Brawls were too frequent today for the strongmen to waste sweat over, they simply watched for flashing metal; murders were bad for business. Monday was always a busy day; as if the Sabbath had been too long to abstain from their normal lives; although one could see that an average Tortugan wouldn't be able to direct you to the church; whether for too much drink, or simple ignorance, no one knew.
A man walked through the open door. He was roughly two score old, and pretty sapphire eyes scorched the crowd. Hurriedly standing before the stranger could scan the right side of the room, de Marco ducked behind the bar.
"Qué haces?" Marisol questioned looking down at the old man who was crouched beneath her skirts.
"A bottle of rum." A smooth tenor sounded from somewhere over the bar. He could faintly hear the sound of coin slapping onto the counter, while Marisol turned to get his order. De Marco strained his ears attempting to listen for the man's footsteps to walk away from the bar. As the soft thumping of leather faded away, he pulled on Marisol's skirts motioning for her to crouch under the bar with him.
Her eyes twinkled, laughing at the antics of the old man.
"I have to leave."
"Funny goodbyes South Americans give."
"That man you just served cannot see me."
"What is he, a man of the law?"
"No, but he wants something of mine. Puedes hacer algo para mi?" he asked slipping back into Spanish."
"What?"
"Does a man with a red bandana ever come through here? Jack Sparrow? He usually buys everyone drinks." Remembering back to the few days ago, she nodded.
"Give this to him," he handed over a worn parchment, "and tell him de Marco sends him a present. He'll also need this." He pressed a curious pewter trinket into her hand. It was sun shaped, but a curious cross with a loop at the top of it was carved into it.
"un llave por el tesoro ," he smiled. Patting her hand in goodbye, he whispered, "only Sparrow." And he was gone like that.
Tucking the parchment into the upper portion of her stocking, she found a cord and strung the sun onto it and hid the key in her bodice. She was gaining some odd looks from her co workers, so she stood up and began her work again, acutely aware of the soft parchment cool against her leg.
*~*~*
After a month, Marisol
was beginning to lose hope that Sparrow would return
to the tavern. Absentmindedly rubbing the ale from a mug with a rag, she
sang "Fifteen Men on a Deadman's Chest" under her
breath. The song had been
taught to her (and the rest of the pub) a few days ago by a tremendously
drunken merchant sailor.
Picking
up a dirty mug, she sang, "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, Yo ho
ho and a bottle of rum." Put that mug down, grab another one. "Drink and the
devil had done for the rest, Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum." Fill a glass
with mead. "The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike, The bosun brained with a
marlinspike. And cookey's... what's the next line?"
she wondered aloud.
"And
cookey's throat was marked belike, It had been
gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men, Like break o'day
in a boozing ken, Yo
ho ho and a bottle of rum," offered a voice behind
her.
Beads
clinked in Marisol's hair as she whirled around to
face the singer. She stared a bit and the face clicked.
"Captain
Sparrow, am I correct?"
A
dark eyebrow arched when she addressed him. "Have we met? I'm sure I would
have at least remembered such fascinating hair." He reached over the counter
to toy briefly with a golden charm dangling from a plait.
Shrinking
back from his touch, she smiled nervously. "No, we've never met.
But I have something for you. From Señor
de Marco."
A
look of shock flickered across his face. "de Marco? Interesting."
"Suzanne? I'm taking my break," she called to one of the other working bar maids, who nodded in response. She beckoned to Sparrow.
Leading him into her room upstairs, she shut the door. He swaggered to the bed and sat down, "I'm interested love, how do you know de Marco."
"He came in about a month ago, and we became-" she searched for a words, "friends."
"And what did the old man want little ol' Jackie for?"
"He mentioned treasure." Marisol watched his black eyes sparkle.
"What else? Capitan de Marco must be getting senile to give up his treasure to me."
"There's a map."
"Excellent, he leaned forward, waiting for her to produce said parchment. One minute passed. Two. "do I get the map love?"
"I want a profit for being the messenger."
"Sorry darling."
"Marisol."
"Excuse me?"
"The name's Marisol."
"Sorry, Miss Marisol, but you don't want to be fraternizing with pirates its looks bad to the law."
"I feed pirates, I can get something from them other than a shag and a shilling."
"Cheap whore," he murmured pensively.
"Ass. You know what I meant." He simply lent her a quick grin.
"Hows about this love, I go get the treasure, return here to pretty little Tortuga, and you get to come back to my ship with me and pick out one thing you want from my expedition."
"I don't want one thing Mr. Sparrow. I want enough so I can get out of here. Forty percent."
"a big messenger price. 5."
"35."
"7."
"35"
"9."
"35."
"9."
"27"
"9."
"25."
"9, it's a big treasure love. The Captain was ambitious when I was on his ship."
"15, or else you aren't going to get the map."
"I could steal it from you." He again flashed his surprisingly good teeth for a pirate.
"You could. But I demand 15, and to go with you."
"Women are awful bad luck love."
"You'll have worse luck if I don't come, you might evade me, and never give me my portion."
"Pirates honor." He held up his hand.
"Pirates dishonesty that's what it is."
"I'll raise it to sixteen, if you agree to stay behind."
"Done." She shook hands with him. Marisol reached under her skirts, and pulled the map from her inner thigh. Handing it to the pirate, she warned. "You promised."
"No worries miss Marisol." He stood, and bowed to her, flourishing his hand a bit, "it was a pleasure doing business with you." When he straightened, he once again reached for her beads.
"Any chance you could pretty my hair up?" the Cuban girl smiled in acquiescence, and motioned to her vanity stool, where he sat. She drew a bag of beads and charms out of her drawer.
After a brief assessment of the
state of his hair, she also retrieved a comb from the top of her dresser.
Sparrow nabbed a flask from inside his coat and downed most of it in one gulp.
He belched loudly. Used to such vulgarity, Marisol
began braiding sections of his hair. The pirate proceeded to produce assorted
flasks and bottles of alcohol. By the time she had beaded three strands in his
hair, he was barely able to support the weight of his own head. He was nearly
unconscious when she finished the small strands in his beard.
Although
he already had physical character with his drunken saunter and red bandana, the
beads in both hair and beard gave him a more distinct look.
"Thanks,
love." Placing his hat on squint, he stood and tried to walk out the door. At
least, that's what Marisol assumed he had been trying
to do, since he barely made it onto his feet before passing out and crashing to
the floor.
Marisol briefly considered throwing a blanket over him or
propping his head up on a pillow but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. She
hopped onto her bed, collapsing almost immediately, facedown in the pillow.
Early the next morning when red was
beginning to streak the purple sky, Jack Sparrow rose from his state of
unconscious slumber on the floor, rubbing his sore neck. He checked his new
hair in the mirror, winking at his reflection.
Treading
quietly, he peered at Marisol's face, checking to
make sure that
she was, indeed, fast asleep. Assured that she would not be waking, he crept
out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Not
five seconds after he exited the room, Marisol
cracked an eye open, peeking around the room. Vaulting out of the bed, she
threw a few personal possessions into a small canvas bag and followed Sparrow's
path toward the harbor. She wasn't
stupid enough to think he would keep his word.
"So long Astoria,
I found a map to buried treasure
And even if we come home empty handed
We'll still have our stories
Of battlescars, pirate ships and wounded hearts
Broken bones and all the best of friendships…"
-So long Astoria, The Ataris.
Translations:
Interesante. De dónde es?: interesting. Where're you from?
Mañana: tomorrow
Un buen razon Señor: a good reason sir.
Estar aquí por mucho tiempo?: will you [formal] be here for a long time?
estoy buscando a alguien: I'm looking for someone
Quien: who
es un secreto. Es de Havana: its a secret. You're[formal] from Havana
Sí señor, y usted?: yes sir, and yourself?
No pienso que su accento es de Cuba: I don't think you have a Cuban accent.
La America del sur. Viajo mucho: South America, I travel a lot
Que quiere Marisol: What do you want
Espero que ver lugares más lentos de aqu: I want to see places far far away from here
Mi padre, me deja aquí, y no volvi: my father left me here and didn't return
Mi mamá murió cuando tengo 12 años: my mother died when i was 12
Quiero ver China, o España, quisas Africa: i want to see China or Spain, maybe Africa
Es un sueño bueno: it's a good dream
Mi padre tambien era un bastard drunk: My father was also a bastard drunk [spanglish]
Qué esperanzas tiene usted?: what hopes do you have?
yo? Soy demasiado viejo a tener esperanzas: me? I'm too old to have hopes
yo he vivido mi vida, con buena suerte y agradecimientos: I've lived my live with luck and gratitude
Señor de Marco, con sus palabras de suerte, usted habla como las piratas que van aqu: Mister de Marco, with your words of luck you sound like the pirates that come here
no sabes?: you don't know?
estaba una pirata por todo mi vida, o la mayor parte de la vida: i was a priate for my whole life, or the better part of my life.
Pero, pero… tú eres cortez, y no estás malhablado: but, but you're well spoken and polite
Todas las piratas no son de mismos, Marisol: not all the pirates are the same Marisol
necesito trabajar. A mañana: I need to work. To tomorrow
No puedo hablar contigo ahora: i can't talk with you right now
Est bien: ok
Qu haces: what are you doing?
Puedes hacer algo para mi: can you do something for me?
un llave por el tesoro: a key for the treasure.