*AN: Okay, nothing is mine. I'm sure you know this.
And on with the story.
Still un-beta-ed. So tell me if it don't make sense. I tried to condense it. What do ye like better?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Repercussions
Well. This was interesting. He had expected a struggle, a fight. What he didn't expect was the fading feeling of pain in his chin, and a sudden melting reaction on the part of Anamaria. He grabbed her and firmly pulled her closer, and she responded by twining her arms around his neck. The familiar rush of desire swept Jack, and he deepened the kiss, to which Anamaria responded with a moan. Her lips clumsily tried to copy his, but she soon gave up and let him do what he wished. This led Jack's now fogged brain to a rather startling conclusion: She had never been kissed?
However, habit soon took over. He backed her into the door, then through to her room, kissing her madly. She was responding in a similar manner. The bed knocked into their knees, and Jack responded by habit- bending her backwards and untying the back of her dress. But nothing prepared him for the way she suddenly broke away from him, shoving him backwards and screeching in panicked fury. She jumped on top of him and had her fist pulled back before she seemed to regain a modicum of sense and leapt back off of him. "Get out," she ordered him, breathing heavily.
"Luv, I give the orders," he retaliated, rising to his feet in an unconsciously intimidating manner.
Anamaria rallied her failing courage and said, "What, the infamous womanizing Captain Jack Sparrow has to resort to rape?"
Jack narrowed his eyes, stung, and retorted, "Ye weren't exactly objectin' back there, luv."
Anamaria recoiled, and replied hotly, "Well, I'm objecting now. Leave my room!" Her voice rose dramatically on the last word.
Jack put his hands out in front of him and made soothing motions while he backed out. He would settle this later. "Fine, luv, fine. I be leavin' now, watch me leave," he murmured and he walked out into the hall.
Anamaria sighed, plopped down on her bed, and tried to puzzle why she had panicked so. She just connected the scene with one earlier in her life when Jack popped his head back into her room. She yelped and leapt forward to smack him.
"Wait!" Jack ducked and held up her sword. "I brought this to comfort ye as ye rejected my brand o' comfort tonight."
Anamaria softened, slightly, and said, "Thanks, Jack. Now, out!"
He quickly pulled his head back and shut the door. Anamaria tottered back over to the bed and collapsed, sword in hand. She remained there, and didn't fall asleep until early the next morning.
Anamaria slowly marched down the aisle, with Jack at her side. She was quite sure that the well-to-do of Port Royal were gossiping madly about Elizabeth's wedding, even if they were sitting in a church. After all, who could resist such a delectable tidbit-- a Governor's daughter, marrying a tradesman, even if he was a focus and wealthy one- wealthy through questionable means and, let's not forget milady, known as a pirate's son. Add to that your matron of honor, a respectable daughter of a local wealthy merchant, and replace her with a unknown mulatto, and her husband, a white man, a supposed privateer?
Elizabeth was going to be the subject of gossip for weeks.
Anamaria doubted she'd mind all that much.
She stood through the ceremony, lost in thought. She thought about Zeke, and Ada, and how they would be terrorizing poor Constance and Patience. She thought about her father, for the first time in years, and her mother. What kind of relationship did they have? Nothing as grand as Will and Elizabeth, that was for sure. They had bother matured. All with love. The Whelp was a great deal more confident, and more at ease with his lady love. Elizabeth had steadied, and while still stubborn, much more diplomatic about it. She was still impetuous, but no where near as much. She was a true lady. Anamaria sneaked a look at Jack. For once, his aura was not screaming, 'Look At MEE!!' Instead, he seemed content to watch Liz and Will devote their lives to each other in front of the entire town. He was standing with a content, calm, pleased air that automatically made Anamaria wary. He was never like this. His cleaning up for the occasion had even progressing to trimming his beard, and untangling his hair into a neat ponytail. A few braids and trinkets were still visible. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Back to Life as Normal
Anamaria walked in the door, with Jack right behind her. His duty served, he was quite ready to re-braid his hair and make off while the getting was good. Besides, now the two lovebirds were on their honeymoon-- that meant that they would probably be even more lovey-dovey than ever. Anamaria was just anxious to take off the dress. And maybe check on the kids.
They were met in the parlor by Will and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth began, " 'Ria, I know you don't have your boat yet."
Anamaria raised her eyebrows in interest. "Aye, that I don't. Jack said we'd sail for another Port to look in, probably somewhere in the Bahamas."
Will broke in. "So you probably don't want to haul the kids around, right?"
Jack looked up and mouthed "Thank you!"
Anamaria considered the idea. "I wouldn't want to be imposin' on ye honeymoon." She replied slowly.
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I am slowly going crazy re-arranging this house all day, and Will will have to be at the smithy. I'd love to do it."
Anamaria shrugged. "Sure, then. It shouldn't take more'an a coupla weeks. I just need to find me clothes an' say goodbye to the kiddos."
Will smiled. "Good. I should get used to this now, huh?"
Jack grabbed his shoulder and took him aside. "Aye, lad, 'cause ye might be changin' ye mind with one hour o' the lil' one."
Will laughed.
Anamaria rolled her eyes at Elizabeth. " 'E's laughin' now." she said warningly.
Elizabeth looked mildly alarmed. "They can't be that bad, can they?" She asked. "They seemed like perfect angels--"
She was interrupted by a loud slamming upstairs, closely followed by a loud yell that sounded like a very bad word in Scottish.
Anamaria looked at her. "Does that answer your question?"
Back at the Pearl that night, Gibbs was on night watch. Jack invited Anamaria into his cabin for a drink and a discussion about her boat.
They ended up in a philosophy discussion. Typical, when both were on their way to getting stark raving drunk.
"Ye see, most people, that is all they look at is the outside. Why, how do you think I get away with what I do? Look drunk, people assume ye are drunk, and phip! Off ye go outta their damnable prison and onto the sea." Jack waved about his near-empty rum bottle to illustrate his point.
Anamaria nodded in agreement. "Aye, that's all the nobility concern their fancy lives with. Makin' everythin' look pretty. Pretty house, pretty town, pretty uniform, pretty wife. Who cares if the foundation's bad, or the wife stupid, or the uniform absolutely bloody impractical? Well, the husband might if the stupid wife accidentally burns down the pretty house."
Anamaria snorted drunkenly in amusement at the hypothetical wife's predicament.
"How else do ye think we made so well at the damn wedding?" Jack asked her.
"We looked good." Anamaria exaggerated her nodding. Then she stopped. "Well, we looked like them." She corrected.
Jack lifted his chin arrogantly. "_I_ looked good, thank you. But," he sniffed, "what else can I do? It's the burden of being beautiful."
Anamaria snorted again, and rum came out her nose. "Oh dear God." She chuckled quietly.
Jack paused reflectively. "Well, the nobles do care about somethin' other than looks, luv." Anamaria looked at him questioningly.
"Pedigree. Who descended from who." He waved his bottle around again. "Descended. Sounds like the blighter fell down a set o' stairs."
Anamaria wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Families. Whose family is good enough "to associate" with whom." She growled. "Blood. Whose damn blood is special enough to be blue."
Jack grew still, sensing a great deal more passion behind those words than a drunken midnight philosophical theory.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Drunken Confessions
"O' course," Anamaria spat, "The blood doesn't count if ya a bastard."
Jack started in surprise, and looked at her with incredulity in his eyes. She nodded. "Aye, I'm the bastard of a nobleman, a bloody aristocrat in the bloody Americas." She relaxed a bit, a tiny, itty bit, resigned to telling her history. "He was a good man, I suppose. A man, at any rate. He had a slave mistress, as many masters in the South do, only his was without the added sin of having a white wife. He actually like my mother, and my mother liked him in return. Grew to love him, I suppose, out of her original intentions of breeding more-like-white children. Which is all a black slave woman can aspire to, I learned. To aspire to have children that can pass in a white world as white. Breed the black out." Before her musings turned more bitter, she turned course. "She died birthing me, as many did. I wasn't supposed to live, but I did. And my father didn't get bitter, he saw me as a blessing. He raised me as a legitimate daughter, as much as a white master can a mulatto slave. He taught me my letters and numbers, and how to farm. His passion was jewels, and he taught me about rubies, and diamonds, and pearls. He loved pearls. He taught me, in theory, how pearl-diving was done, and where. How, in the Caribbean, the daring could make fortunes, diving for the seeds of the sea. Then he died. I revered to my slave state, and after being raised as an equal, a daughter, I couldn't take it. To be sold, like chattel? I had avoided the auctions before, but because I had ignored them, not because they offended my delicate sensibilities. But now that I had taken time to think about it, it wasn't right, by God's morals or man's. No one should ever be sold. Ever. For any price. No person should be a slave, except if they committed a crime and it was punishment, but no honest, free person should be subject to that.
I was supposed to, but I was spared.
The night before the auction I ran away. There was never another alternative. I ran South, to the Caribbean, to where I had heard such wonderful tales. They never expected me to run to where there was sympathy for slavery. But what the white people never expected was a slave to pretend to not be a slave in the South. It was too daring. But for me, too perfect.
The charade lasted me to the Carolinas. There a bunch of young men, boys really, came across me begging passage to one of the island ports here. They said they would, and foolish teenage me, thought they were being noble and generous."
Anamaria paused, and closed her eyes in pain. The memories and feelings of the night swamped her, not to the extent of nightmares before, but enough to make her take several deep breaths. "They tried to rape me. Somehow, I managed to keep my head when they ripped off my clothes and groped me, checking to see if I was a virgin. But while they argued to see who would go first, I grabbed a skinning knife that was nearby, and gutted the nearest one. Then I grabbed his sword.
I don't think I said that my father also taught me sword fighting. He was a strange man-he thought it was okay for men to seduce women, but raping women he didn't hold with. And raping mulattos was popular from where I was from. So like any good father, he wanted me to be able to defend myself. Since I couldn't do it with my name or wealth, he gave me the physical capacity and skill.
The bastards never thought I would have any skill. There was only four of them, and they never drew their own weapons." Anamaria's voice grew even more hollow.
"I killed them all. And then I shoved their bodies overboard, stole their boat, and taught myself to sail. I ate their supplies, snuck into a port, stole some paint, and re-painted the boat. I stole some supplies from there, too. I ended up pearl-diving off of the Spanish keys, and selling my findings to a fat merchant in Port Cara. Made next-to-nothing, but enough to live my life." She looked at him, into his eyes, her own so haunted and pained it made him ill. "You know the rest."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Duel, Part II
Anamaria's gaze turned abruptly to the bottom of her mug. She smiled grimly and said, "I ain't down enough rum yet, Capt'n, to be talkin' about such thin's." She grabbed the bottle of rum and swigged it.
Jack looked at her with his curious gaze. Anamaria avoided it, and chugged the rest of the bottle. The fire it created going down her throat was marvelous. It burned out any feelings of guilt. At least for the moment.
The rum left her judgment slightly off- balance. She looked up suddenly, and said, "Capt'n, I challenge ye to a duel. We didn't really finish the last one."
Jack cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "Fire in ye belly, luv?"
Anamaria stood up suddenly and said, "I hate it when ye call me that! I've told ye before and I be not tellin' ye again! Don't call me that! Ye call the whores that and any lil' pathetic creature that litters ye path that! I am not them! Anamaria, Jack! Call me Anamaria!" She took three steps and whipped out her sword. "Even Zeke and Ada remember to at least call me 'Ria." She wheeled on him, sword in hand. "And they be but children!"
Jack leapt up, and pulled his own sword. "Fine, _'Ria_" and he swung downwards. Anamaria met with an upward swing, and jumped backwards. Jack almost tipped forward, but regained his balance and lunged after her. She turned and ran out the door, onto the deck. Jack ran after her. He wasn't two steps out the door when he heard a step beside him and he circled to his right and met Anamaria's sword with his own.
As they danced across the deck of the Black Pearl, Jack realized that Anamaria was not motivated merely by finishing the duel that they had begun at the Turners'. She had to purge her mind of the memories she had, however drunkenly, revived during their discussion.
Consequently, Jack, who, despite all appearances, was no where near as smashed as Anamaria, did not unleash his full fury on Anamaria. Instead, he amused himself with shredding her clothing: near enough to look real, but not so close he might forget himself and accidentally gut her.
Not that he didn't consider it.
But only for a moment.
But suddenly, as his mind was brought back to the fight, he didn't have to hold back. Anamaria's blade was moving like a whirlwind, and he was hard pressed to counter her attack. She backed him up to the walls of his cabin. He attempted to sidestep his way out of it, but Anamaria mirrored his movement, and trapped him in the corner.
"Hah!" She breathed, their swords fighting for supremacy. She dropped her sword and brought it up in a reverse-butterfly pattern.
Jack brought his sword up with as much strength as he could muster, and them met with a ringing 'CLANG!'
Anamaria looked at her hilt in shock. Jack had completely shorn off her blade. She looked at him. He had the same look, only with a bit more awe then hers. He turned his gaze to her, only to see her collapse on the deck in a heap. Jack sheathed his sword, slowly, since the gift from Will seemed a lot more potent than he had initially thought. He then looked at the now snoring woman pirate asleep on his deck, in front of his cabin door, no less, and sighed.
"Can't have ye scarin' the watchman, can we?" He sighed, and bent over to pick her up. Heaving her once in his arms to adjust his grip, he kicked open his door. He then turned, kicked it shut, walked over to his bed-in a straight path, for once-and dropped her on the relatively large bed. (At least, for a ship) He then stripped himself of his effects, nudged the sleeping woman over, and collapsed on top of the blankets.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Anamaria's New Clothes
Anamaria looked down at her clothes is dismay. Never in the best of shape, now, they were complete shreds. She couldn't work like this in front of the crew! She stalked down the her space below decks- then, halfway through rummaging for new clothes, she remembered. The reason why her current clothes were in such pitiful shape to begin with was because she had no other clothes. She'd given her last pair of pants to Zeke, and her last shirt of Áda. She stomped back above deck, clutching a blanket about her. She'd just have to smile nice and borrow some off of the crew. After all, it wasn't like she wore dresses, right?
Right. None of the men had any spare clothes-- she had looked through their stuff secretively afterwards. Anamaria had snorted, half in frustration, half in amusement. How typical of males. They could work shirtless if they had to. She shouldn't. In an act of desperation, she asked Jack-- and he didn't have any either. What he did have-- and it made her blood boil for some unknown reason-- was a dress. Anamaria looked down grimly. A whore's dress, from the amount of cleavage popping out of the top of it. There were a few initial catcalls, and more than a few comments when she began her task of the day, swabbing the decks, but those were quickly put to rest with a glance. Anamaria thanked her lucky stars that the crew had a modicum of respect for her, woman or not.
Jack called her over. "Listen, lu- Anamaria," he corrected himself, but from the puzzled look Anamaria gave him, it was obvious the events of the night before escaped her. "I can't get any of the men to go in the nest 'cause Gibbs said somethin' about a storm comin'. He saw a shark or somethin' sing." Jack rolled his eyes dramatically. "They're terrified." But then he smiled, his "I'm-charming-so-you'll-do-what-I-want-pretty- please," grin. "So, my lovely lady, you'll show them the woman braver, right? 'Cause these be dangerous waters, and I don't want to stick my nose where it might get bit off by pirates jealous of me handsome mug."
Anamaria rolled her eyes and threw her skirts behind her. "Fine."
She eyed the rigging nervously, and thanked whatever gods watching her fate that her boots were still in relatively good condition. She would have to let the skirts dangle-
Damn the skirts. Anamaria whipped out a knife she kept stuck in her boot, just in case.
"'Ria!" Jack called from his wheel. "I'd be greatly appreciative if you would keep the dress in one piece. I might need that in the future, you know."
Anamaria was tempted to disobey him, but disobedience in front of the crew, when Jack had given her the dress when he really didn't have to, would not sit well. Especially with her own conscience.
Anamaria struggled up the ropes, fighting to keep the skirts from tangling her legs. She heard murmurs below her, and she paused to look down. From her position, almost halfway to the crow's nest, she could see the crew, already small, pausing in their tasks and looking upwards. It took her only a few moments to realize why.
"None o' ye better be lookin' up me skirt!" She bellowed. Most of the men turned back to their tasks, red faced. She turned her face upwards, towards the quickly- disappearing sun. A stray breeze caught her worn hat and it tumbled towards the deck.
"Jack!" She called, in a pleasanter tone than before.
"Cap'n!" drifted up to her.
"Fine," she muttered. "_Cap'n!_" she stressed. "Watch me hat!"
"Aye!" He tossed the word up before signaling one- handed from his post at the wheel for her hat to be brought to him.
Important things, hats.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Storm Hits
Anamaria woke to the sounds of shouting below. It had gotten dark. The boat was rocking wildly, tossing her about in the basket. Cursing, she looked over the rim. The sight made her pause-actually, she had to consciously remind herself to keep breathing. A huge storm-what a typhoon would look like, Anamaria supposed-was almost on top of them. She could see the sheets of rain hitting the waves, which were growing in height and violence. Anamaria looked down, and began cursing. There was a better chance of Beelzebub handing out sorbet in Hell than her getting down the rigging in her skirt. Angrily, she pulled out her knife from her boot and started hacking at the material. Granted, she would now really look like a whore, but better immoral than dead.
It was difficult, with the boat tossing, but soon enough the task was done. She threw one leg over the rail, then suddenly got nervous. Anamaria screamed, "Jack!" He looked up, and all he saw was a torrent of rain.
The temperature dropped like a hung pirate-but it didn't stop. Anamaria felt goosebumps pour down her back through her drenched shirt. The ropes were soaked, and climbing down was made even more difficult by her frozen hands. Her booted but numb feet scrabbled for a foothold. She screeched as she slipped.
Lightning flashed, outlining a figure struggling in the rigging. Jack started from the wheel, but he refused to leave his beloved Pearl to fight the storm alone. "Gibbs!" he hollered. "GIBBS!" Jack narrowed his eyes against the rain as he watched a figure aid another in tying a rope. The first made his way over to Jack as the second headed below- where the rest of the crew were now battening down everything that could move and resting while they could.
"Gibbs," Jack yelled, as soon as the figure got close enough, "Lash a rope to the port side, then watch 'Ria for me."
"Aye," Gibbs hollered, as he abruptly turned about and struggled back towards the railing. "Wait!" Jack suddenly looked as if he were patting himself down, and Gibbs, once he made his way back up to the quarterdeck, found a bundle of things thrust at him.
"Me effects." Jack grinned, and turned back to steering, or, at least, attempting to.
Gibbs tottered back down the stairs. He managed to find a rope, somehow behind a barrel that was tied a little loosely, and he lashed the soaked hemp to the rail as best he could. He glanced back at Jack, the crazed figure holding onto the wheel with one hand, glancing casually upwards.
Good God, was the girl still climbing down?
Gibbs looked upwards as well, when the ship rocked particularly hard towards the portside. He looked just in time to see the Pearl toss Anamaria off her rigging like an aristocrat would a piece of dirt.
Jack sighed noisily above the storm.
"Take the wheel!" He called, as he ran towards the waiting rope.
Gibbs stared at him in awe. "Ye knew this was gonna happen?"
Jack merely looked at him as he tied the rope around his waist. Then he nodded and dove off the rail.
It was difficult to say the least to find Anamaria. He searched for her in the dark waves, his eyes wide even as salt water attacked them viciously. He kept up a steady stream of swearing in his mind, as to mouth the words would be inviting the water to choke him, as well.
"Ria!" He called, chancing it. It came out as a choke as water swamped his mouth. He ended up swallowing a great deal of it, and his stomach attempted to rebel. He quickly quashed its rumbling and yelled again, "RIA!"
He thought he heard an answering cough from a few feet away. He struck out for the sound.
Lightning flashed again, a quick invasion of the eys, leaving Jack with the image of a darker shape underneath the already dark water. "ANA-" He called as he struggled towards her. His fingers brushed a scrap of fabric and he grasped hold of it as firmly as he could. He hauled her towards him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled at the rope tied around his waist. He was soon being hauled through the raging water with his limp burden firm in his embrace.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Thank God We're Alive and Whole
Jack grinned his trademark gold-flecked smile of thanks at the crew once he was standing- not quite upright, but standing- back on deck. They had just happened to notice the rope over the side, and they just happened to be the five largest, strongest guys on the crew. And they just happened to be finishing putting the rope through a pulley when they felt the tug.
Jack's luck was right back with him.
Except for one small thing. Anamaria, he noted with a disturbed frown as he knelt by her side, wasn't breathing.
This could be a problem.
Jack whipped out his knife from his waistband, and slit the laces of the corset carefully, trying not to cut her skin. As he peeled the evil contraption away, he hoped Anamaria wouldn't kill him for letting her flash the crew. His hopes were in vain-she had bound her breasts with several strip of fabric, covering her rather well. He allowed himself a tiny feeling of satisfaction that she wouldn't have do be in such a compromising position-even unconscious-before realizing something.
But she still wasn't breathing.
His heart stopped beating. An eternity passed, and frustrated, Jack brought his fist down to pound it on the deck. Distracted as he was, however, the fist ended up pounding right between Anamaria's breasts.
She reacted immediately. Her eyes flew open as she spewed water, curling on her side away from Jack. She retched an awful lot of water, Jack observed, pursing his lips. He bent over her and scooped her into his arms. He knew she would want to be out from under the eyes of the worried eyes of the crew. Anamaria wouldn't want anyone seeing her in such a vulnerable state-and quite frankly, Jack wasn't real comfortable with it either.
He tottered towards his only refuge-his cabin. Jack turned in his doorway to make sure that he didn't hit his burden in the head with the doorframe, and he noted that the crew had already disappeared below decks.
He kicked the door shut, threw Anamaria onto the bed on top of his covers, then collapsed next to her. He fell asleep with the sound of her soft breathing in his left ear.
Warming Things Up
When Jack next woke, he wished to hell he hadn't. His body ached like he had never slept, with the added bonus that his body was salt encrusted and his clothes were stuck to him like a shell. As his head lolled to the left, he noted Anamaria, in a similar condition curled up along his side, using his chest as a pillow.
He frowned when he realized that she was a burning ember compared to his rather clammy skin.
This motivated his blood. He eased out of bed, strode to the door and hollered, "GIBBS!"
Within moments, the grizzled old man barreled into the room. "Aye?" He panted.
Jack grinned at his prompt arrival, but waved his hands to keep Gibbs at a fair distance.
"I need fresh water to bathe meself and Sleepin' Beauty o'er there." He explained. "I be thinkin' we're sick, as she be burnin' up and I feel like we be in the Artic."
Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, 'tis bad luck to.."
Jack cut him off. "I just be needin' the water, and some clothes," he ordered more sternly, "Savvy?"
Gibbs nodded again, wheeled on his heel, and was out of the cabin.
Jack sighed, and turned back to the woman still sleeping in his bed. This had to be a first. A woman sleeping in his bed. His. On the Pearl. And he hadn't even slept with her. Well, okay, he had, but not in the biblical sense. And that was the sense that counted.
As if his thoughts of her were a signal, Anamaria began to toss and turn. Jack waddled over to the bed, as moving in sea-stiff clothes was uncomfortable to say the least. He took her hand in an attempt to calm her, anchor her to the physical plane.
Anamaria woke up with a start. He corset had (thankfully) been removed. That was her first thought. Her second was that Jack held her firmly with his wonderful hands by the shoulders. His eyes were concerned. She looked back up at him, startled. "What- what happened?" She stuttered, her hands plucking at the sheet in an attempt to pull it up over her chest.
"Ye had a nightmare." Jack said. Then he paused, his mouth moving slightly, but no words coming out. At least, Anamaria hoped no noise was coming out. His eyes rolled dramatically, and Anamaria noticed his kohl was smeared more than usual. "Well," he continued, "first ye fell off of the mast-ye clumsy girl-then when I got ye back on the Pearl, where ye promptly decided to stop breathin'. So I cut off ye corset, and ye still aren't co-operating, but I _convince_ ye to change ye mind." His smirk faded. "As far as I can tell, we both be gettin' a fever." Anamaria noticed his unusual pallor and slight shivers. "Ye runnin' higher than me right now, luv," he murmured. "Nothin' serious, but I just wanna keep ye rested. I sent for bathwater anyway, so we can have soft clothes again." Anamaria smiled softly and closed her eyes. Jack was dumbfounded. Anamaria was asleep, half- hell, three-quarters naked, in _his_ bed, and she had a _smile_ on her face? He scowled.
Someone knocked on the door. "Aye?" Jack called. Gibbs entered with a tub full of water, obviously for washing. Jack cocked an eyebrow in question. Gibbs explained, "We found it in the brig somewhere from raiding." He was followed by another crew member, Thomas. Jack nodded in appreciation as the giant black man bore a larger tub, full of water and meant for a person. Both crewmembers nodded to their captain before filing out. Jack wheeled towards the bed, noted that Anamaria was still asleep, and began stripping. He loved the sea, but when she turned him chalky white, it was time for a bath. Even if he had just had one two days ago.
He hummed his favorite song as he scrubbed at his body with the cold water and a rag. "And really bad eggs." he mumbled. A tossing sound drew his attention and he looked to the bed, where Anamaria was turning about wildly.
Jack cursed, grabbed his half dry, now clean under shorts, and leapt out of the metal basin. He stumbled across the cabin, attempting to dress and walk at the same time. Walking alone was usually difficult enough. He grabbed her in an attempt to restrain her, but he released her immediately. If she was burning up before, she was a positive firestorm now. He threw the covers back. Then he studied for a moment the sight she presented.
She still had on the binding around her breasts. Her skirts were a tangled, tattered mess that ended, approximately, at her knees. Her worn black boots came up to the top of her calves, and were beginning to chaff under her knees. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her bandana was long gone. Which reminded him.
Jack's eyes scanned the cabin, and locked on his target. There, he still had her hat. She would kill him-or at least threaten to a lot-if he had lost it.
He turned his attention back to his patient. She needed to cool down. Which meant a bath. But he would have to bathe her, as there was no doctor or other feminine person on board. And if she found out, figured out or caught him anywhere near her while she was naked, she wouldn't settle with threats of his death-she'd do it.
But he'd get to see Anamaria naked. Mustn't forget that.
Jack sighed as he tugged off the first boot. He'd have to risk it. They'd played at enough duels for him to defend himself reasonably well, and she wasn't the type to mutiny or backstab him. He'd stake his life on it. Hell, he'd have to. Jack pulled at the second boot. At least she had calmed down a bit. This fever was strange. While they both obviously felt listless, Anamaria was more prone to sudden fits and high fever, while he just moped around in bed, his energy sapped by a low one.
Although, he thought as he stopped in his task and felt his forehead, it might've gone up. The bath didn't help much.
Anamaria rolled to her side suddenly. Jack eyed her cautiously, his gaze traveling up the now bare leg to where he could see a scrap of fabric that didn't belong to the skirt. He held his breath as he brushed aside the tatters and beheld a tighter, smaller, more feminine version of the under shorts he now had on. Thank god for small favors. Now, instead of sudden death, he might only be mildly to severely tortured. Maybe maimed.
He cut off her skirt using a knife that was conveniently hidden behind the headboard of the bed. Then he scooped her into his arms again. This was beginning to become a pattern.
He then walked the three steps to the tub and plopped her in. Surprisingly, she didn't wake up. Jack frowned, and began wiping her body with the rag he had already used. The water was mostly still clean, he hoped, but the more important thing was that it was cool. That was what mattered.
She began shaking when he moved onto her hair. He pushed her head back to soak it in the water and he tried to detangle it a bit with his fingers. But soon her shaking became so violent that he feared she'd hurt herself in the small container she was in. He pulled her up, wrapped her in a spare blanket, and lifted her back into the bed. The shaking didn't ease, so he piled more covers on top of her. As Jack covered her body more and more, he longed to be beneath there with her, and not only because it was warm. He missed feeling her in his arms.
WHOA! He thought, leaning backwards sharply. Where did that come from?
But Anamaria shivering drew his focus back to her. Jack pressed his lips together, exhaled sharply, and crawled underneath the pile of blankets with her. He ignored their various states of undress-not because of any chivalrous attitude, but because the affect his thoughts might then take his body-- and pulled her tight against him.
He was warming up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Back at the Ranch.
Elizabeth watched Constance chase Ada down the hallway.
The little girl had been miserable all day yesterday, moping and moving listlessly as much as a toddler could be listless. Elizabeth, the maids, and later, Will and Zeke had all tried to draw her out, but she merely pouted and refused to speak except to demand, "Ria!"
Today, however, she had turned into a right hellion, running up and down the halls, getting into anything that moved, torturing the cat Elizabeth had adopted, and so on. Broken pottery shards littered the hallway upstairs, drawers were pulled haphazardly in the rooms, and rugs were upturned everywhere.
The maids were exhausted, and Elizabeth's patience was wearing thin. Children were the devil.
How did Jack and Anamaria survive days of this on board the Pearl?
At least Zeke was occupied, assisting Will at the forge. Although Elizabeth doubted how much help Zeke actually was, as Will had been working there for almost two years after he had bought out Mr. Brown. Thanks to the Commodore's recommendations, Will was flooded with commissions from the nobility and officers of the navy, allowing him to be as selective as he wanted to be. Besides, as Will slaved over each sword individually, and that took time, the supply never met the demand, and probably never would.
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile at her new husband's business savvy, which allowed them a much more finically secure lifestyle than others might have previously imagined for them; her father, for example. And, if the worst should happen, there was always a sizable amount of pirate gold hidden in a cove about half a mile south of their beach.
But it didn't solve the problem of Encantáda, trouble on two feet.
When Elizabeth heard the maid screech, she tiredly got off of the Louis XIV chair she was resting in and went downstairs to examine the latest sort of trouble.
However, she did not expect to find Patience held at gunpoint by a beanpole- like pirate, Constance unconscious on the floor, another grubby pirate bearing a sack that was cursing loudly in French, and another dirty pirate leering at her, a pistol in his hand. Elizabeth looked about wildly, and saw a short, fat pirate struggling to keep Ada in his grasp. She watched in horror as the pirate dropped the toddler suddenly and smacked her upside the head. Ada's eyes widened and she began to scream. Elizabeth joined her, calling out as loud as she could, "HELP!"
More filthy pirates swarmed through the first story window, and Elizabeth wheeled to run out the door. That was NOT the help she was intending to call.
The pirates looked at each other, and then lashed out viciously at the nearest target. The fat one smacked Ada again, and she fell quiet, sniffling. Patience fainted dead away, without any help, and the pirate bent to tie her up. The sack-carrying pirate lifted it high, and then dropped it. The baggage ceased its struggling. The other pistol-bearing pirate cracked the fleeing Elizabeth in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun, and she dropped to the floor like a rock. They hauled their booty out the window, and down to the beach, where two rowboats awaited them, as well as their ship.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- I've Got To Be Dreaming
Anamaria woke up in a state of panic.
She made it halfway to the door before Jack realized she was gone.
She took two more steps before he had grabbed her and dragged her into his arms. "Anamaria, wake up, luv." He murmured, his voice rough and low in her ear. " 'Tis alright, wake up."
Anamaria squirmed, only now realizing their various sates of undress. It made her body react in...uncomforting ways.
She pushed against his chest, struggling to get free. Jack released her suddenly, causing her to lurch and grab hold of his arms to steady herself.
She looked into his deep eyes, her own wild. "Jack, the kids, something's happened to the kids!" She whispered hoarsely. Urgently.
Jack blinked slowly.
Anamaria's panic grew to nigh unbearable levels. She cried out frantically, "Jack, the kids. Something happened to the kids. Ada's face hurts-- someone hit her. And Zeke- he doesn't jurt, but he's absolutely terrified. Terrified."
Jack looked at her with a mix of wariness and his own brand of worry. He gently brushed back a loose strand of her hair. "They're with Will and Liz," he said soothingly, locking his eyes with hers. "And no matter how much the demons destroy, I doubt that Will, or Liz, would ever let anything happen to them."
Anamaria's dead certainty did not waver. "No, Jack, I shouldn't have let hem outta me sight. I gotta go back." Her hands dropped from his arms and she turned from him. "And if ye have any spare clothes 'idden, and if I get 'em now, I won't slap ye. And it better not be a dress."
Jack smirked, sauntered over to a worn sea-chest and pulled out a clean white shirt and balck pants. Anamaria smiled happily and held outher hands. Jack dumped the undle into her arms and said, "By the way, Gibbs has already turned us around to Port Royal. So if ye want, while we work on the Pearl, ye can wander around and poke ye head in, if ye want."
Anamaria shoved her head through the shirt and nodded. She looked around the cabin. "Do ye have a belt o' somethin' I might borrow?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Me shirt, me pants, me shawls."
Anamaria perked up. "Where?" She inquired, her voice dripping with politeness.
Then, ignoring him, she began to rummage through the chest. She jumped up, clutching her worn blue hat. "Oh!" she cried out happily. "Jack! You still 'ave it!" She plunked the tattered object onto her head and turned back to the chest. She got herself under control as she pulled out a rainbow colored shawl, folded it, and tied it around her waist. She stalked out of the cabin, and barked out "Thanks!". Jack grinned to himself as he dressed. It would be a good day.
Anamaria reached the poop deck before the shaking started. Her hands trembled violently and her legs unstable. She tottered over to the nearest barrel, and slumped beside it. She used it to keep out of the crew's eyes while she gathered her strength. When did I eat last? She vaguely remembered broth. Anamaria's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hacking cough wrenched from her chest. I remember doing this lots. Almost immediately a shadow fell over her. Anamaria looked up. Cotton's gaze met her own, and he helped her to her feet. Anamaria was still shaky. The grizzled old man slung his arm around her in a casual, friendly manner and helped her to the galley.
The crew stared at their backs. Anamaria-- needing help?
Anamaria sipped carefully at her broth. Jean eyed her anxiously, and Anamaria forced a smile to her sore, cracked lips. 'It's delicious," she said but the skinny, middle aged French-chef-turned-pirate-galley-cook did not look relieved.
Instead, he scowled. "I already know zat et es bon, et es magnifique!" He spat. "But I du not know zat mademoiselle es bon."
Anamaria smiled against, genuinely touched by the (relatively-- six months old) new chef's concern. The crew was still mostly the one who had fought the undead- even though most pirates didn't stick around, something about the experience bonded them to each other and Jack and the Black Pearl. With three years of drinking together, the men- mostly middle aged, but still plenty horny-- wenching together, and joking around together, surviving storms and easy pickings, they had all become close.
No one had died-- even Cotton, the ancient, speechless, apparently sweet old man. Anamaria had come to look upon him as a grandfather, even if she did want to roast his "voice"- his pet parrot, a rude, obnoxious creature-- slowly over a pit.
The crew's teasing had relented from resentful to almost brotherly. Anamaria reflected in amusement over a memory.
Almost a year ago the "boys"-- as she referred to the crew in her mind-- defended her against several very drunk men. They had taken offense-- for some unknown reason-- to her state of dress. They didn't like woman "pretending to be what they weren't". Anamaria had had the first male, who had wanted to "show the whore her place" by the throat with her knife, but she was quickly overwhelmed by the other three. That was when the crew, led by Gibbs, ironically enough, happened by-- a true opportune moment.
They had thoroughly thrashed the drunks-- not killed, because that simply wasn't their style anymore.
Not to say that they hadn't crippled anyone.
Anamaria had finished her broth, and Jean had replaced her bowl without her realizing it. She sipped at it half-heartedly, her stomach full. Finally, she pushed it away and shoved her chair back from the table. Drawn by the noise, Jean appeared from behind the door. He looked at the half empty bowl, at her, grunted, swiped the bowl off the table and swept back into the kitchen. Anamaria called after him, "Merci!"
She heard Jean laugh. "Améliorez, chatton*."
Anamaria made her way slowly to the deck. She was greeted at the top of the stairs by Gibbs. "Jack wants to know if ye are ready to go." "What?" Anamaria frowned.
Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, we be just outside o' Port Royal. I'd be assumin' ye to be leavin' soon, with the tide an' all."
Anamaria turned back down the stairs to her "closet." It was her small room, adapted from an old cell for holding enemy captains. It was small enough for a chest and a hammock-- enough to survive comfortably. Anamaria collected her knives from her chest and grabbed a worn overcoat to keep off the chill. She checked her hat and walked back up the stairs.
Anamaria let Jack row to shore. He was in full regalia-- hat, bandanna, coat, kohl, attitude-- and his confidence that they would find all to be well irritated her. She didn't like to acknowledge her supernatural talent, but she was well trained by Nana, her childhood nurse. Besides, it did not do to ignore true dreams the voodoun spirits sent. Bad things would happen.
*Better, kitten.
And on with the story.
Still un-beta-ed. So tell me if it don't make sense. I tried to condense it. What do ye like better?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Repercussions
Well. This was interesting. He had expected a struggle, a fight. What he didn't expect was the fading feeling of pain in his chin, and a sudden melting reaction on the part of Anamaria. He grabbed her and firmly pulled her closer, and she responded by twining her arms around his neck. The familiar rush of desire swept Jack, and he deepened the kiss, to which Anamaria responded with a moan. Her lips clumsily tried to copy his, but she soon gave up and let him do what he wished. This led Jack's now fogged brain to a rather startling conclusion: She had never been kissed?
However, habit soon took over. He backed her into the door, then through to her room, kissing her madly. She was responding in a similar manner. The bed knocked into their knees, and Jack responded by habit- bending her backwards and untying the back of her dress. But nothing prepared him for the way she suddenly broke away from him, shoving him backwards and screeching in panicked fury. She jumped on top of him and had her fist pulled back before she seemed to regain a modicum of sense and leapt back off of him. "Get out," she ordered him, breathing heavily.
"Luv, I give the orders," he retaliated, rising to his feet in an unconsciously intimidating manner.
Anamaria rallied her failing courage and said, "What, the infamous womanizing Captain Jack Sparrow has to resort to rape?"
Jack narrowed his eyes, stung, and retorted, "Ye weren't exactly objectin' back there, luv."
Anamaria recoiled, and replied hotly, "Well, I'm objecting now. Leave my room!" Her voice rose dramatically on the last word.
Jack put his hands out in front of him and made soothing motions while he backed out. He would settle this later. "Fine, luv, fine. I be leavin' now, watch me leave," he murmured and he walked out into the hall.
Anamaria sighed, plopped down on her bed, and tried to puzzle why she had panicked so. She just connected the scene with one earlier in her life when Jack popped his head back into her room. She yelped and leapt forward to smack him.
"Wait!" Jack ducked and held up her sword. "I brought this to comfort ye as ye rejected my brand o' comfort tonight."
Anamaria softened, slightly, and said, "Thanks, Jack. Now, out!"
He quickly pulled his head back and shut the door. Anamaria tottered back over to the bed and collapsed, sword in hand. She remained there, and didn't fall asleep until early the next morning.
Anamaria slowly marched down the aisle, with Jack at her side. She was quite sure that the well-to-do of Port Royal were gossiping madly about Elizabeth's wedding, even if they were sitting in a church. After all, who could resist such a delectable tidbit-- a Governor's daughter, marrying a tradesman, even if he was a focus and wealthy one- wealthy through questionable means and, let's not forget milady, known as a pirate's son. Add to that your matron of honor, a respectable daughter of a local wealthy merchant, and replace her with a unknown mulatto, and her husband, a white man, a supposed privateer?
Elizabeth was going to be the subject of gossip for weeks.
Anamaria doubted she'd mind all that much.
She stood through the ceremony, lost in thought. She thought about Zeke, and Ada, and how they would be terrorizing poor Constance and Patience. She thought about her father, for the first time in years, and her mother. What kind of relationship did they have? Nothing as grand as Will and Elizabeth, that was for sure. They had bother matured. All with love. The Whelp was a great deal more confident, and more at ease with his lady love. Elizabeth had steadied, and while still stubborn, much more diplomatic about it. She was still impetuous, but no where near as much. She was a true lady. Anamaria sneaked a look at Jack. For once, his aura was not screaming, 'Look At MEE!!' Instead, he seemed content to watch Liz and Will devote their lives to each other in front of the entire town. He was standing with a content, calm, pleased air that automatically made Anamaria wary. He was never like this. His cleaning up for the occasion had even progressing to trimming his beard, and untangling his hair into a neat ponytail. A few braids and trinkets were still visible. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Back to Life as Normal
Anamaria walked in the door, with Jack right behind her. His duty served, he was quite ready to re-braid his hair and make off while the getting was good. Besides, now the two lovebirds were on their honeymoon-- that meant that they would probably be even more lovey-dovey than ever. Anamaria was just anxious to take off the dress. And maybe check on the kids.
They were met in the parlor by Will and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth began, " 'Ria, I know you don't have your boat yet."
Anamaria raised her eyebrows in interest. "Aye, that I don't. Jack said we'd sail for another Port to look in, probably somewhere in the Bahamas."
Will broke in. "So you probably don't want to haul the kids around, right?"
Jack looked up and mouthed "Thank you!"
Anamaria considered the idea. "I wouldn't want to be imposin' on ye honeymoon." She replied slowly.
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I am slowly going crazy re-arranging this house all day, and Will will have to be at the smithy. I'd love to do it."
Anamaria shrugged. "Sure, then. It shouldn't take more'an a coupla weeks. I just need to find me clothes an' say goodbye to the kiddos."
Will smiled. "Good. I should get used to this now, huh?"
Jack grabbed his shoulder and took him aside. "Aye, lad, 'cause ye might be changin' ye mind with one hour o' the lil' one."
Will laughed.
Anamaria rolled her eyes at Elizabeth. " 'E's laughin' now." she said warningly.
Elizabeth looked mildly alarmed. "They can't be that bad, can they?" She asked. "They seemed like perfect angels--"
She was interrupted by a loud slamming upstairs, closely followed by a loud yell that sounded like a very bad word in Scottish.
Anamaria looked at her. "Does that answer your question?"
Back at the Pearl that night, Gibbs was on night watch. Jack invited Anamaria into his cabin for a drink and a discussion about her boat.
They ended up in a philosophy discussion. Typical, when both were on their way to getting stark raving drunk.
"Ye see, most people, that is all they look at is the outside. Why, how do you think I get away with what I do? Look drunk, people assume ye are drunk, and phip! Off ye go outta their damnable prison and onto the sea." Jack waved about his near-empty rum bottle to illustrate his point.
Anamaria nodded in agreement. "Aye, that's all the nobility concern their fancy lives with. Makin' everythin' look pretty. Pretty house, pretty town, pretty uniform, pretty wife. Who cares if the foundation's bad, or the wife stupid, or the uniform absolutely bloody impractical? Well, the husband might if the stupid wife accidentally burns down the pretty house."
Anamaria snorted drunkenly in amusement at the hypothetical wife's predicament.
"How else do ye think we made so well at the damn wedding?" Jack asked her.
"We looked good." Anamaria exaggerated her nodding. Then she stopped. "Well, we looked like them." She corrected.
Jack lifted his chin arrogantly. "_I_ looked good, thank you. But," he sniffed, "what else can I do? It's the burden of being beautiful."
Anamaria snorted again, and rum came out her nose. "Oh dear God." She chuckled quietly.
Jack paused reflectively. "Well, the nobles do care about somethin' other than looks, luv." Anamaria looked at him questioningly.
"Pedigree. Who descended from who." He waved his bottle around again. "Descended. Sounds like the blighter fell down a set o' stairs."
Anamaria wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Families. Whose family is good enough "to associate" with whom." She growled. "Blood. Whose damn blood is special enough to be blue."
Jack grew still, sensing a great deal more passion behind those words than a drunken midnight philosophical theory.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Drunken Confessions
"O' course," Anamaria spat, "The blood doesn't count if ya a bastard."
Jack started in surprise, and looked at her with incredulity in his eyes. She nodded. "Aye, I'm the bastard of a nobleman, a bloody aristocrat in the bloody Americas." She relaxed a bit, a tiny, itty bit, resigned to telling her history. "He was a good man, I suppose. A man, at any rate. He had a slave mistress, as many masters in the South do, only his was without the added sin of having a white wife. He actually like my mother, and my mother liked him in return. Grew to love him, I suppose, out of her original intentions of breeding more-like-white children. Which is all a black slave woman can aspire to, I learned. To aspire to have children that can pass in a white world as white. Breed the black out." Before her musings turned more bitter, she turned course. "She died birthing me, as many did. I wasn't supposed to live, but I did. And my father didn't get bitter, he saw me as a blessing. He raised me as a legitimate daughter, as much as a white master can a mulatto slave. He taught me my letters and numbers, and how to farm. His passion was jewels, and he taught me about rubies, and diamonds, and pearls. He loved pearls. He taught me, in theory, how pearl-diving was done, and where. How, in the Caribbean, the daring could make fortunes, diving for the seeds of the sea. Then he died. I revered to my slave state, and after being raised as an equal, a daughter, I couldn't take it. To be sold, like chattel? I had avoided the auctions before, but because I had ignored them, not because they offended my delicate sensibilities. But now that I had taken time to think about it, it wasn't right, by God's morals or man's. No one should ever be sold. Ever. For any price. No person should be a slave, except if they committed a crime and it was punishment, but no honest, free person should be subject to that.
I was supposed to, but I was spared.
The night before the auction I ran away. There was never another alternative. I ran South, to the Caribbean, to where I had heard such wonderful tales. They never expected me to run to where there was sympathy for slavery. But what the white people never expected was a slave to pretend to not be a slave in the South. It was too daring. But for me, too perfect.
The charade lasted me to the Carolinas. There a bunch of young men, boys really, came across me begging passage to one of the island ports here. They said they would, and foolish teenage me, thought they were being noble and generous."
Anamaria paused, and closed her eyes in pain. The memories and feelings of the night swamped her, not to the extent of nightmares before, but enough to make her take several deep breaths. "They tried to rape me. Somehow, I managed to keep my head when they ripped off my clothes and groped me, checking to see if I was a virgin. But while they argued to see who would go first, I grabbed a skinning knife that was nearby, and gutted the nearest one. Then I grabbed his sword.
I don't think I said that my father also taught me sword fighting. He was a strange man-he thought it was okay for men to seduce women, but raping women he didn't hold with. And raping mulattos was popular from where I was from. So like any good father, he wanted me to be able to defend myself. Since I couldn't do it with my name or wealth, he gave me the physical capacity and skill.
The bastards never thought I would have any skill. There was only four of them, and they never drew their own weapons." Anamaria's voice grew even more hollow.
"I killed them all. And then I shoved their bodies overboard, stole their boat, and taught myself to sail. I ate their supplies, snuck into a port, stole some paint, and re-painted the boat. I stole some supplies from there, too. I ended up pearl-diving off of the Spanish keys, and selling my findings to a fat merchant in Port Cara. Made next-to-nothing, but enough to live my life." She looked at him, into his eyes, her own so haunted and pained it made him ill. "You know the rest."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Duel, Part II
Anamaria's gaze turned abruptly to the bottom of her mug. She smiled grimly and said, "I ain't down enough rum yet, Capt'n, to be talkin' about such thin's." She grabbed the bottle of rum and swigged it.
Jack looked at her with his curious gaze. Anamaria avoided it, and chugged the rest of the bottle. The fire it created going down her throat was marvelous. It burned out any feelings of guilt. At least for the moment.
The rum left her judgment slightly off- balance. She looked up suddenly, and said, "Capt'n, I challenge ye to a duel. We didn't really finish the last one."
Jack cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "Fire in ye belly, luv?"
Anamaria stood up suddenly and said, "I hate it when ye call me that! I've told ye before and I be not tellin' ye again! Don't call me that! Ye call the whores that and any lil' pathetic creature that litters ye path that! I am not them! Anamaria, Jack! Call me Anamaria!" She took three steps and whipped out her sword. "Even Zeke and Ada remember to at least call me 'Ria." She wheeled on him, sword in hand. "And they be but children!"
Jack leapt up, and pulled his own sword. "Fine, _'Ria_" and he swung downwards. Anamaria met with an upward swing, and jumped backwards. Jack almost tipped forward, but regained his balance and lunged after her. She turned and ran out the door, onto the deck. Jack ran after her. He wasn't two steps out the door when he heard a step beside him and he circled to his right and met Anamaria's sword with his own.
As they danced across the deck of the Black Pearl, Jack realized that Anamaria was not motivated merely by finishing the duel that they had begun at the Turners'. She had to purge her mind of the memories she had, however drunkenly, revived during their discussion.
Consequently, Jack, who, despite all appearances, was no where near as smashed as Anamaria, did not unleash his full fury on Anamaria. Instead, he amused himself with shredding her clothing: near enough to look real, but not so close he might forget himself and accidentally gut her.
Not that he didn't consider it.
But only for a moment.
But suddenly, as his mind was brought back to the fight, he didn't have to hold back. Anamaria's blade was moving like a whirlwind, and he was hard pressed to counter her attack. She backed him up to the walls of his cabin. He attempted to sidestep his way out of it, but Anamaria mirrored his movement, and trapped him in the corner.
"Hah!" She breathed, their swords fighting for supremacy. She dropped her sword and brought it up in a reverse-butterfly pattern.
Jack brought his sword up with as much strength as he could muster, and them met with a ringing 'CLANG!'
Anamaria looked at her hilt in shock. Jack had completely shorn off her blade. She looked at him. He had the same look, only with a bit more awe then hers. He turned his gaze to her, only to see her collapse on the deck in a heap. Jack sheathed his sword, slowly, since the gift from Will seemed a lot more potent than he had initially thought. He then looked at the now snoring woman pirate asleep on his deck, in front of his cabin door, no less, and sighed.
"Can't have ye scarin' the watchman, can we?" He sighed, and bent over to pick her up. Heaving her once in his arms to adjust his grip, he kicked open his door. He then turned, kicked it shut, walked over to his bed-in a straight path, for once-and dropped her on the relatively large bed. (At least, for a ship) He then stripped himself of his effects, nudged the sleeping woman over, and collapsed on top of the blankets.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Anamaria's New Clothes
Anamaria looked down at her clothes is dismay. Never in the best of shape, now, they were complete shreds. She couldn't work like this in front of the crew! She stalked down the her space below decks- then, halfway through rummaging for new clothes, she remembered. The reason why her current clothes were in such pitiful shape to begin with was because she had no other clothes. She'd given her last pair of pants to Zeke, and her last shirt of Áda. She stomped back above deck, clutching a blanket about her. She'd just have to smile nice and borrow some off of the crew. After all, it wasn't like she wore dresses, right?
Right. None of the men had any spare clothes-- she had looked through their stuff secretively afterwards. Anamaria had snorted, half in frustration, half in amusement. How typical of males. They could work shirtless if they had to. She shouldn't. In an act of desperation, she asked Jack-- and he didn't have any either. What he did have-- and it made her blood boil for some unknown reason-- was a dress. Anamaria looked down grimly. A whore's dress, from the amount of cleavage popping out of the top of it. There were a few initial catcalls, and more than a few comments when she began her task of the day, swabbing the decks, but those were quickly put to rest with a glance. Anamaria thanked her lucky stars that the crew had a modicum of respect for her, woman or not.
Jack called her over. "Listen, lu- Anamaria," he corrected himself, but from the puzzled look Anamaria gave him, it was obvious the events of the night before escaped her. "I can't get any of the men to go in the nest 'cause Gibbs said somethin' about a storm comin'. He saw a shark or somethin' sing." Jack rolled his eyes dramatically. "They're terrified." But then he smiled, his "I'm-charming-so-you'll-do-what-I-want-pretty- please," grin. "So, my lovely lady, you'll show them the woman braver, right? 'Cause these be dangerous waters, and I don't want to stick my nose where it might get bit off by pirates jealous of me handsome mug."
Anamaria rolled her eyes and threw her skirts behind her. "Fine."
She eyed the rigging nervously, and thanked whatever gods watching her fate that her boots were still in relatively good condition. She would have to let the skirts dangle-
Damn the skirts. Anamaria whipped out a knife she kept stuck in her boot, just in case.
"'Ria!" Jack called from his wheel. "I'd be greatly appreciative if you would keep the dress in one piece. I might need that in the future, you know."
Anamaria was tempted to disobey him, but disobedience in front of the crew, when Jack had given her the dress when he really didn't have to, would not sit well. Especially with her own conscience.
Anamaria struggled up the ropes, fighting to keep the skirts from tangling her legs. She heard murmurs below her, and she paused to look down. From her position, almost halfway to the crow's nest, she could see the crew, already small, pausing in their tasks and looking upwards. It took her only a few moments to realize why.
"None o' ye better be lookin' up me skirt!" She bellowed. Most of the men turned back to their tasks, red faced. She turned her face upwards, towards the quickly- disappearing sun. A stray breeze caught her worn hat and it tumbled towards the deck.
"Jack!" She called, in a pleasanter tone than before.
"Cap'n!" drifted up to her.
"Fine," she muttered. "_Cap'n!_" she stressed. "Watch me hat!"
"Aye!" He tossed the word up before signaling one- handed from his post at the wheel for her hat to be brought to him.
Important things, hats.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Storm Hits
Anamaria woke to the sounds of shouting below. It had gotten dark. The boat was rocking wildly, tossing her about in the basket. Cursing, she looked over the rim. The sight made her pause-actually, she had to consciously remind herself to keep breathing. A huge storm-what a typhoon would look like, Anamaria supposed-was almost on top of them. She could see the sheets of rain hitting the waves, which were growing in height and violence. Anamaria looked down, and began cursing. There was a better chance of Beelzebub handing out sorbet in Hell than her getting down the rigging in her skirt. Angrily, she pulled out her knife from her boot and started hacking at the material. Granted, she would now really look like a whore, but better immoral than dead.
It was difficult, with the boat tossing, but soon enough the task was done. She threw one leg over the rail, then suddenly got nervous. Anamaria screamed, "Jack!" He looked up, and all he saw was a torrent of rain.
The temperature dropped like a hung pirate-but it didn't stop. Anamaria felt goosebumps pour down her back through her drenched shirt. The ropes were soaked, and climbing down was made even more difficult by her frozen hands. Her booted but numb feet scrabbled for a foothold. She screeched as she slipped.
Lightning flashed, outlining a figure struggling in the rigging. Jack started from the wheel, but he refused to leave his beloved Pearl to fight the storm alone. "Gibbs!" he hollered. "GIBBS!" Jack narrowed his eyes against the rain as he watched a figure aid another in tying a rope. The first made his way over to Jack as the second headed below- where the rest of the crew were now battening down everything that could move and resting while they could.
"Gibbs," Jack yelled, as soon as the figure got close enough, "Lash a rope to the port side, then watch 'Ria for me."
"Aye," Gibbs hollered, as he abruptly turned about and struggled back towards the railing. "Wait!" Jack suddenly looked as if he were patting himself down, and Gibbs, once he made his way back up to the quarterdeck, found a bundle of things thrust at him.
"Me effects." Jack grinned, and turned back to steering, or, at least, attempting to.
Gibbs tottered back down the stairs. He managed to find a rope, somehow behind a barrel that was tied a little loosely, and he lashed the soaked hemp to the rail as best he could. He glanced back at Jack, the crazed figure holding onto the wheel with one hand, glancing casually upwards.
Good God, was the girl still climbing down?
Gibbs looked upwards as well, when the ship rocked particularly hard towards the portside. He looked just in time to see the Pearl toss Anamaria off her rigging like an aristocrat would a piece of dirt.
Jack sighed noisily above the storm.
"Take the wheel!" He called, as he ran towards the waiting rope.
Gibbs stared at him in awe. "Ye knew this was gonna happen?"
Jack merely looked at him as he tied the rope around his waist. Then he nodded and dove off the rail.
It was difficult to say the least to find Anamaria. He searched for her in the dark waves, his eyes wide even as salt water attacked them viciously. He kept up a steady stream of swearing in his mind, as to mouth the words would be inviting the water to choke him, as well.
"Ria!" He called, chancing it. It came out as a choke as water swamped his mouth. He ended up swallowing a great deal of it, and his stomach attempted to rebel. He quickly quashed its rumbling and yelled again, "RIA!"
He thought he heard an answering cough from a few feet away. He struck out for the sound.
Lightning flashed again, a quick invasion of the eys, leaving Jack with the image of a darker shape underneath the already dark water. "ANA-" He called as he struggled towards her. His fingers brushed a scrap of fabric and he grasped hold of it as firmly as he could. He hauled her towards him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled at the rope tied around his waist. He was soon being hauled through the raging water with his limp burden firm in his embrace.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Thank God We're Alive and Whole
Jack grinned his trademark gold-flecked smile of thanks at the crew once he was standing- not quite upright, but standing- back on deck. They had just happened to notice the rope over the side, and they just happened to be the five largest, strongest guys on the crew. And they just happened to be finishing putting the rope through a pulley when they felt the tug.
Jack's luck was right back with him.
Except for one small thing. Anamaria, he noted with a disturbed frown as he knelt by her side, wasn't breathing.
This could be a problem.
Jack whipped out his knife from his waistband, and slit the laces of the corset carefully, trying not to cut her skin. As he peeled the evil contraption away, he hoped Anamaria wouldn't kill him for letting her flash the crew. His hopes were in vain-she had bound her breasts with several strip of fabric, covering her rather well. He allowed himself a tiny feeling of satisfaction that she wouldn't have do be in such a compromising position-even unconscious-before realizing something.
But she still wasn't breathing.
His heart stopped beating. An eternity passed, and frustrated, Jack brought his fist down to pound it on the deck. Distracted as he was, however, the fist ended up pounding right between Anamaria's breasts.
She reacted immediately. Her eyes flew open as she spewed water, curling on her side away from Jack. She retched an awful lot of water, Jack observed, pursing his lips. He bent over her and scooped her into his arms. He knew she would want to be out from under the eyes of the worried eyes of the crew. Anamaria wouldn't want anyone seeing her in such a vulnerable state-and quite frankly, Jack wasn't real comfortable with it either.
He tottered towards his only refuge-his cabin. Jack turned in his doorway to make sure that he didn't hit his burden in the head with the doorframe, and he noted that the crew had already disappeared below decks.
He kicked the door shut, threw Anamaria onto the bed on top of his covers, then collapsed next to her. He fell asleep with the sound of her soft breathing in his left ear.
Warming Things Up
When Jack next woke, he wished to hell he hadn't. His body ached like he had never slept, with the added bonus that his body was salt encrusted and his clothes were stuck to him like a shell. As his head lolled to the left, he noted Anamaria, in a similar condition curled up along his side, using his chest as a pillow.
He frowned when he realized that she was a burning ember compared to his rather clammy skin.
This motivated his blood. He eased out of bed, strode to the door and hollered, "GIBBS!"
Within moments, the grizzled old man barreled into the room. "Aye?" He panted.
Jack grinned at his prompt arrival, but waved his hands to keep Gibbs at a fair distance.
"I need fresh water to bathe meself and Sleepin' Beauty o'er there." He explained. "I be thinkin' we're sick, as she be burnin' up and I feel like we be in the Artic."
Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, 'tis bad luck to.."
Jack cut him off. "I just be needin' the water, and some clothes," he ordered more sternly, "Savvy?"
Gibbs nodded again, wheeled on his heel, and was out of the cabin.
Jack sighed, and turned back to the woman still sleeping in his bed. This had to be a first. A woman sleeping in his bed. His. On the Pearl. And he hadn't even slept with her. Well, okay, he had, but not in the biblical sense. And that was the sense that counted.
As if his thoughts of her were a signal, Anamaria began to toss and turn. Jack waddled over to the bed, as moving in sea-stiff clothes was uncomfortable to say the least. He took her hand in an attempt to calm her, anchor her to the physical plane.
Anamaria woke up with a start. He corset had (thankfully) been removed. That was her first thought. Her second was that Jack held her firmly with his wonderful hands by the shoulders. His eyes were concerned. She looked back up at him, startled. "What- what happened?" She stuttered, her hands plucking at the sheet in an attempt to pull it up over her chest.
"Ye had a nightmare." Jack said. Then he paused, his mouth moving slightly, but no words coming out. At least, Anamaria hoped no noise was coming out. His eyes rolled dramatically, and Anamaria noticed his kohl was smeared more than usual. "Well," he continued, "first ye fell off of the mast-ye clumsy girl-then when I got ye back on the Pearl, where ye promptly decided to stop breathin'. So I cut off ye corset, and ye still aren't co-operating, but I _convince_ ye to change ye mind." His smirk faded. "As far as I can tell, we both be gettin' a fever." Anamaria noticed his unusual pallor and slight shivers. "Ye runnin' higher than me right now, luv," he murmured. "Nothin' serious, but I just wanna keep ye rested. I sent for bathwater anyway, so we can have soft clothes again." Anamaria smiled softly and closed her eyes. Jack was dumbfounded. Anamaria was asleep, half- hell, three-quarters naked, in _his_ bed, and she had a _smile_ on her face? He scowled.
Someone knocked on the door. "Aye?" Jack called. Gibbs entered with a tub full of water, obviously for washing. Jack cocked an eyebrow in question. Gibbs explained, "We found it in the brig somewhere from raiding." He was followed by another crew member, Thomas. Jack nodded in appreciation as the giant black man bore a larger tub, full of water and meant for a person. Both crewmembers nodded to their captain before filing out. Jack wheeled towards the bed, noted that Anamaria was still asleep, and began stripping. He loved the sea, but when she turned him chalky white, it was time for a bath. Even if he had just had one two days ago.
He hummed his favorite song as he scrubbed at his body with the cold water and a rag. "And really bad eggs." he mumbled. A tossing sound drew his attention and he looked to the bed, where Anamaria was turning about wildly.
Jack cursed, grabbed his half dry, now clean under shorts, and leapt out of the metal basin. He stumbled across the cabin, attempting to dress and walk at the same time. Walking alone was usually difficult enough. He grabbed her in an attempt to restrain her, but he released her immediately. If she was burning up before, she was a positive firestorm now. He threw the covers back. Then he studied for a moment the sight she presented.
She still had on the binding around her breasts. Her skirts were a tangled, tattered mess that ended, approximately, at her knees. Her worn black boots came up to the top of her calves, and were beginning to chaff under her knees. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her bandana was long gone. Which reminded him.
Jack's eyes scanned the cabin, and locked on his target. There, he still had her hat. She would kill him-or at least threaten to a lot-if he had lost it.
He turned his attention back to his patient. She needed to cool down. Which meant a bath. But he would have to bathe her, as there was no doctor or other feminine person on board. And if she found out, figured out or caught him anywhere near her while she was naked, she wouldn't settle with threats of his death-she'd do it.
But he'd get to see Anamaria naked. Mustn't forget that.
Jack sighed as he tugged off the first boot. He'd have to risk it. They'd played at enough duels for him to defend himself reasonably well, and she wasn't the type to mutiny or backstab him. He'd stake his life on it. Hell, he'd have to. Jack pulled at the second boot. At least she had calmed down a bit. This fever was strange. While they both obviously felt listless, Anamaria was more prone to sudden fits and high fever, while he just moped around in bed, his energy sapped by a low one.
Although, he thought as he stopped in his task and felt his forehead, it might've gone up. The bath didn't help much.
Anamaria rolled to her side suddenly. Jack eyed her cautiously, his gaze traveling up the now bare leg to where he could see a scrap of fabric that didn't belong to the skirt. He held his breath as he brushed aside the tatters and beheld a tighter, smaller, more feminine version of the under shorts he now had on. Thank god for small favors. Now, instead of sudden death, he might only be mildly to severely tortured. Maybe maimed.
He cut off her skirt using a knife that was conveniently hidden behind the headboard of the bed. Then he scooped her into his arms again. This was beginning to become a pattern.
He then walked the three steps to the tub and plopped her in. Surprisingly, she didn't wake up. Jack frowned, and began wiping her body with the rag he had already used. The water was mostly still clean, he hoped, but the more important thing was that it was cool. That was what mattered.
She began shaking when he moved onto her hair. He pushed her head back to soak it in the water and he tried to detangle it a bit with his fingers. But soon her shaking became so violent that he feared she'd hurt herself in the small container she was in. He pulled her up, wrapped her in a spare blanket, and lifted her back into the bed. The shaking didn't ease, so he piled more covers on top of her. As Jack covered her body more and more, he longed to be beneath there with her, and not only because it was warm. He missed feeling her in his arms.
WHOA! He thought, leaning backwards sharply. Where did that come from?
But Anamaria shivering drew his focus back to her. Jack pressed his lips together, exhaled sharply, and crawled underneath the pile of blankets with her. He ignored their various states of undress-not because of any chivalrous attitude, but because the affect his thoughts might then take his body-- and pulled her tight against him.
He was warming up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Back at the Ranch.
Elizabeth watched Constance chase Ada down the hallway.
The little girl had been miserable all day yesterday, moping and moving listlessly as much as a toddler could be listless. Elizabeth, the maids, and later, Will and Zeke had all tried to draw her out, but she merely pouted and refused to speak except to demand, "Ria!"
Today, however, she had turned into a right hellion, running up and down the halls, getting into anything that moved, torturing the cat Elizabeth had adopted, and so on. Broken pottery shards littered the hallway upstairs, drawers were pulled haphazardly in the rooms, and rugs were upturned everywhere.
The maids were exhausted, and Elizabeth's patience was wearing thin. Children were the devil.
How did Jack and Anamaria survive days of this on board the Pearl?
At least Zeke was occupied, assisting Will at the forge. Although Elizabeth doubted how much help Zeke actually was, as Will had been working there for almost two years after he had bought out Mr. Brown. Thanks to the Commodore's recommendations, Will was flooded with commissions from the nobility and officers of the navy, allowing him to be as selective as he wanted to be. Besides, as Will slaved over each sword individually, and that took time, the supply never met the demand, and probably never would.
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile at her new husband's business savvy, which allowed them a much more finically secure lifestyle than others might have previously imagined for them; her father, for example. And, if the worst should happen, there was always a sizable amount of pirate gold hidden in a cove about half a mile south of their beach.
But it didn't solve the problem of Encantáda, trouble on two feet.
When Elizabeth heard the maid screech, she tiredly got off of the Louis XIV chair she was resting in and went downstairs to examine the latest sort of trouble.
However, she did not expect to find Patience held at gunpoint by a beanpole- like pirate, Constance unconscious on the floor, another grubby pirate bearing a sack that was cursing loudly in French, and another dirty pirate leering at her, a pistol in his hand. Elizabeth looked about wildly, and saw a short, fat pirate struggling to keep Ada in his grasp. She watched in horror as the pirate dropped the toddler suddenly and smacked her upside the head. Ada's eyes widened and she began to scream. Elizabeth joined her, calling out as loud as she could, "HELP!"
More filthy pirates swarmed through the first story window, and Elizabeth wheeled to run out the door. That was NOT the help she was intending to call.
The pirates looked at each other, and then lashed out viciously at the nearest target. The fat one smacked Ada again, and she fell quiet, sniffling. Patience fainted dead away, without any help, and the pirate bent to tie her up. The sack-carrying pirate lifted it high, and then dropped it. The baggage ceased its struggling. The other pistol-bearing pirate cracked the fleeing Elizabeth in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun, and she dropped to the floor like a rock. They hauled their booty out the window, and down to the beach, where two rowboats awaited them, as well as their ship.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- I've Got To Be Dreaming
Anamaria woke up in a state of panic.
She made it halfway to the door before Jack realized she was gone.
She took two more steps before he had grabbed her and dragged her into his arms. "Anamaria, wake up, luv." He murmured, his voice rough and low in her ear. " 'Tis alright, wake up."
Anamaria squirmed, only now realizing their various sates of undress. It made her body react in...uncomforting ways.
She pushed against his chest, struggling to get free. Jack released her suddenly, causing her to lurch and grab hold of his arms to steady herself.
She looked into his deep eyes, her own wild. "Jack, the kids, something's happened to the kids!" She whispered hoarsely. Urgently.
Jack blinked slowly.
Anamaria's panic grew to nigh unbearable levels. She cried out frantically, "Jack, the kids. Something happened to the kids. Ada's face hurts-- someone hit her. And Zeke- he doesn't jurt, but he's absolutely terrified. Terrified."
Jack looked at her with a mix of wariness and his own brand of worry. He gently brushed back a loose strand of her hair. "They're with Will and Liz," he said soothingly, locking his eyes with hers. "And no matter how much the demons destroy, I doubt that Will, or Liz, would ever let anything happen to them."
Anamaria's dead certainty did not waver. "No, Jack, I shouldn't have let hem outta me sight. I gotta go back." Her hands dropped from his arms and she turned from him. "And if ye have any spare clothes 'idden, and if I get 'em now, I won't slap ye. And it better not be a dress."
Jack smirked, sauntered over to a worn sea-chest and pulled out a clean white shirt and balck pants. Anamaria smiled happily and held outher hands. Jack dumped the undle into her arms and said, "By the way, Gibbs has already turned us around to Port Royal. So if ye want, while we work on the Pearl, ye can wander around and poke ye head in, if ye want."
Anamaria shoved her head through the shirt and nodded. She looked around the cabin. "Do ye have a belt o' somethin' I might borrow?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Me shirt, me pants, me shawls."
Anamaria perked up. "Where?" She inquired, her voice dripping with politeness.
Then, ignoring him, she began to rummage through the chest. She jumped up, clutching her worn blue hat. "Oh!" she cried out happily. "Jack! You still 'ave it!" She plunked the tattered object onto her head and turned back to the chest. She got herself under control as she pulled out a rainbow colored shawl, folded it, and tied it around her waist. She stalked out of the cabin, and barked out "Thanks!". Jack grinned to himself as he dressed. It would be a good day.
Anamaria reached the poop deck before the shaking started. Her hands trembled violently and her legs unstable. She tottered over to the nearest barrel, and slumped beside it. She used it to keep out of the crew's eyes while she gathered her strength. When did I eat last? She vaguely remembered broth. Anamaria's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hacking cough wrenched from her chest. I remember doing this lots. Almost immediately a shadow fell over her. Anamaria looked up. Cotton's gaze met her own, and he helped her to her feet. Anamaria was still shaky. The grizzled old man slung his arm around her in a casual, friendly manner and helped her to the galley.
The crew stared at their backs. Anamaria-- needing help?
Anamaria sipped carefully at her broth. Jean eyed her anxiously, and Anamaria forced a smile to her sore, cracked lips. 'It's delicious," she said but the skinny, middle aged French-chef-turned-pirate-galley-cook did not look relieved.
Instead, he scowled. "I already know zat et es bon, et es magnifique!" He spat. "But I du not know zat mademoiselle es bon."
Anamaria smiled against, genuinely touched by the (relatively-- six months old) new chef's concern. The crew was still mostly the one who had fought the undead- even though most pirates didn't stick around, something about the experience bonded them to each other and Jack and the Black Pearl. With three years of drinking together, the men- mostly middle aged, but still plenty horny-- wenching together, and joking around together, surviving storms and easy pickings, they had all become close.
No one had died-- even Cotton, the ancient, speechless, apparently sweet old man. Anamaria had come to look upon him as a grandfather, even if she did want to roast his "voice"- his pet parrot, a rude, obnoxious creature-- slowly over a pit.
The crew's teasing had relented from resentful to almost brotherly. Anamaria reflected in amusement over a memory.
Almost a year ago the "boys"-- as she referred to the crew in her mind-- defended her against several very drunk men. They had taken offense-- for some unknown reason-- to her state of dress. They didn't like woman "pretending to be what they weren't". Anamaria had had the first male, who had wanted to "show the whore her place" by the throat with her knife, but she was quickly overwhelmed by the other three. That was when the crew, led by Gibbs, ironically enough, happened by-- a true opportune moment.
They had thoroughly thrashed the drunks-- not killed, because that simply wasn't their style anymore.
Not to say that they hadn't crippled anyone.
Anamaria had finished her broth, and Jean had replaced her bowl without her realizing it. She sipped at it half-heartedly, her stomach full. Finally, she pushed it away and shoved her chair back from the table. Drawn by the noise, Jean appeared from behind the door. He looked at the half empty bowl, at her, grunted, swiped the bowl off the table and swept back into the kitchen. Anamaria called after him, "Merci!"
She heard Jean laugh. "Améliorez, chatton*."
Anamaria made her way slowly to the deck. She was greeted at the top of the stairs by Gibbs. "Jack wants to know if ye are ready to go." "What?" Anamaria frowned.
Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, we be just outside o' Port Royal. I'd be assumin' ye to be leavin' soon, with the tide an' all."
Anamaria turned back down the stairs to her "closet." It was her small room, adapted from an old cell for holding enemy captains. It was small enough for a chest and a hammock-- enough to survive comfortably. Anamaria collected her knives from her chest and grabbed a worn overcoat to keep off the chill. She checked her hat and walked back up the stairs.
Anamaria let Jack row to shore. He was in full regalia-- hat, bandanna, coat, kohl, attitude-- and his confidence that they would find all to be well irritated her. She didn't like to acknowledge her supernatural talent, but she was well trained by Nana, her childhood nurse. Besides, it did not do to ignore true dreams the voodoun spirits sent. Bad things would happen.
*Better, kitten.