Wicklowe – I hope you'll like Viola. I know this looks like it's going to
go into one of those lovely one-dimensional romances (that I adore, mind
you).. but I think this is going to go someplace different. Just gotta have
some fun before we get there.
Sereture – You're right about the 'wif' thing. I type the dialogue as I say
it aloud and it doesn't sound as ridiculous when you're trying to do that
cockney accent aloud as when you're reading it in a silly little fic. Hope
you like this chap too.
Ashley—Jack's a perv? I believe that's what I was going for.
Anelen—I agree with you about it being out of Jack's character. Like I said
to Wicklowe, it looks like it's going towards fluffy romance, but I assure
you, it's not.
Hope everyone enjoys this one! (AN: Thanks in advance to FireValkyrie—I affectionately borrowed 'starkies.' To anyone that hasn't read her fic 'A Pirate's Life Indeed'.. DO IT! It's wonderful!)
Chapter Four – Little Room For Error
The sun trickled in through the small window, the few rays that managed to break their way through the cloudy window finding a direct path to Viola's eyes. This was the first thing that wasn't right. The sun had never awoken her in her own bed for her bedroom had no windows. The next thing that wasn't right was the cool sheet that enveloped her body that smelled so strongly of male. That overpowering scent of sweat from a long hard day that filled your lungs with a warm fulfilling feeling. No, her own bed had no scent of its own. Something was definitely awry here.
She forced herself to open her eyes. It certainly felt too early for her to be awakening. Her body was still weak and heavy with sleep and as she silently chastised herself for that last drink of rum the night before, she noticed that the bed she lay in did not belong to her, the room around her certainly did not belong to her, and the arm wrapped firmly around her waist most definitely did not belong to her.
Alright, what the hell was going on here?
She didn't have to look twice to figure out whose arm was draped so possessively around her waist. The pirate's branding and sparrow tattoo left her with little room for error. Captain Jack Sparrow. Honestly, what on earth did this man think he was doing? She was fed up with this man. He treated her alright considering their separate professions, she being the lowest of lows and him being the feared and abhorrent. But the look in his eyes as he stared intensely up at her, asking her questions she didn't want to answer... This was all just too much for her.
Using her many years of experience in escaping inebriated men, she slipped out from under him. She picked up her dress from the floor, and suddenly, the room moved around her and she fell face forward onto the floor. Something else was amiss here. 'Lord, tell me I'm not...'
She scrambled from the hard floor to the small window above the bed and her breath caught in her throat. Sparkling aquamarine velvet as far as the eye could see. The sun shone off the water like the diamonds she had seen on the queen when she lived in London as a child. It stretched out until it met the sky, equally blue and equally expansive. 'No..'
She scampered off the bed, consequently awakening the captain, and flew out of the room in just her starkies (AN: Thanks FireValkyrie) and out onto the deck. 'Oh, God, a deck..' She ran over the ship's edge searching the horizon for any strip of land. Nothing. She turned about and looked at the other side. Nothing. North, South, East, and West—nothing. 'Bloody wonderful.'
And now all the pirates on the ship were staring at her, too surprised to see a half naked woman come barging out of the captain's cabin to even begin leering at her. She was too angry to bother with propriety even though this was a band of filthy pirates. She scowled unapologetically and stormed back into the cabin. 'Or rather, stormed back into the captain,' she bitterly thought as she looked up at his amused smirk.
"I'll not allow you to charge me men for a free show you're only supposed t'give me, luv." She stared incredulously up at her, her jaw slightly dropped, her eyes flashing. As the reality sunk into her, she narrowed her eyes, her eyebrows knitting together in anger, and placing her two hands on his bare chest, shoved him with all of the strength her years as a bed companion had given her.
He had not expected to fly backwards as he did. He considered himself a strong man, for he beat most men in any battle, from the meaningless scuffles in the seedy pubs to the colossal brawls with those men in red coats. Certainly a woman could not defeat him. But defeat him she did, he realized, as he saw the ceiling loom above him and felt the hard floor smack his back and knock the wind out of him. This was not how he had hoped this conversation would go. He sat up abruptly and scowled up at her.
"What the bloody 'ell was that for?" She was standing at his feet, her fists balled at her hips, her elbows jutting out. She looked more like a child pretending to be a pirate than a woman trying to establish some authority.
"What do mean 'what the bloody 'ell was that for?" she slurred, ostensibly mocking him. "I should be asking you that, ye godforsaken cur."
"What did I do?" His eyes were wide, incredulous, truly shocked at her reaction. She didn't see his signature feigned innocence across his features. He really didn't know. He honestly didn't understand.
"Why am I here, Sparrow?" she asked slowly, wanting to hold on to every last bit of patience she could.
"Because I wanted ye here," he stated, as if it were the most obvious explanation.
"You took me from me home in the middle of the night...because ye wanted me?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice dripping with non-chalance, as he rose from his rather uncomfortable position on the floor. He walked about the room, gathering his shirt and effects, putting them on as he went about, as if this were truly the most normal thing for him. As if it were perfectly acceptable for him to pilfer a prostitute he frequented, make off with her in the night and sail off towards the horizon without even pretending to ask for her consent. Bloody pirates.
"Are ye tryin' to ruin me life, Captain Sparrow?"
Hope everyone enjoys this one! (AN: Thanks in advance to FireValkyrie—I affectionately borrowed 'starkies.' To anyone that hasn't read her fic 'A Pirate's Life Indeed'.. DO IT! It's wonderful!)
Chapter Four – Little Room For Error
The sun trickled in through the small window, the few rays that managed to break their way through the cloudy window finding a direct path to Viola's eyes. This was the first thing that wasn't right. The sun had never awoken her in her own bed for her bedroom had no windows. The next thing that wasn't right was the cool sheet that enveloped her body that smelled so strongly of male. That overpowering scent of sweat from a long hard day that filled your lungs with a warm fulfilling feeling. No, her own bed had no scent of its own. Something was definitely awry here.
She forced herself to open her eyes. It certainly felt too early for her to be awakening. Her body was still weak and heavy with sleep and as she silently chastised herself for that last drink of rum the night before, she noticed that the bed she lay in did not belong to her, the room around her certainly did not belong to her, and the arm wrapped firmly around her waist most definitely did not belong to her.
Alright, what the hell was going on here?
She didn't have to look twice to figure out whose arm was draped so possessively around her waist. The pirate's branding and sparrow tattoo left her with little room for error. Captain Jack Sparrow. Honestly, what on earth did this man think he was doing? She was fed up with this man. He treated her alright considering their separate professions, she being the lowest of lows and him being the feared and abhorrent. But the look in his eyes as he stared intensely up at her, asking her questions she didn't want to answer... This was all just too much for her.
Using her many years of experience in escaping inebriated men, she slipped out from under him. She picked up her dress from the floor, and suddenly, the room moved around her and she fell face forward onto the floor. Something else was amiss here. 'Lord, tell me I'm not...'
She scrambled from the hard floor to the small window above the bed and her breath caught in her throat. Sparkling aquamarine velvet as far as the eye could see. The sun shone off the water like the diamonds she had seen on the queen when she lived in London as a child. It stretched out until it met the sky, equally blue and equally expansive. 'No..'
She scampered off the bed, consequently awakening the captain, and flew out of the room in just her starkies (AN: Thanks FireValkyrie) and out onto the deck. 'Oh, God, a deck..' She ran over the ship's edge searching the horizon for any strip of land. Nothing. She turned about and looked at the other side. Nothing. North, South, East, and West—nothing. 'Bloody wonderful.'
And now all the pirates on the ship were staring at her, too surprised to see a half naked woman come barging out of the captain's cabin to even begin leering at her. She was too angry to bother with propriety even though this was a band of filthy pirates. She scowled unapologetically and stormed back into the cabin. 'Or rather, stormed back into the captain,' she bitterly thought as she looked up at his amused smirk.
"I'll not allow you to charge me men for a free show you're only supposed t'give me, luv." She stared incredulously up at her, her jaw slightly dropped, her eyes flashing. As the reality sunk into her, she narrowed her eyes, her eyebrows knitting together in anger, and placing her two hands on his bare chest, shoved him with all of the strength her years as a bed companion had given her.
He had not expected to fly backwards as he did. He considered himself a strong man, for he beat most men in any battle, from the meaningless scuffles in the seedy pubs to the colossal brawls with those men in red coats. Certainly a woman could not defeat him. But defeat him she did, he realized, as he saw the ceiling loom above him and felt the hard floor smack his back and knock the wind out of him. This was not how he had hoped this conversation would go. He sat up abruptly and scowled up at her.
"What the bloody 'ell was that for?" She was standing at his feet, her fists balled at her hips, her elbows jutting out. She looked more like a child pretending to be a pirate than a woman trying to establish some authority.
"What do mean 'what the bloody 'ell was that for?" she slurred, ostensibly mocking him. "I should be asking you that, ye godforsaken cur."
"What did I do?" His eyes were wide, incredulous, truly shocked at her reaction. She didn't see his signature feigned innocence across his features. He really didn't know. He honestly didn't understand.
"Why am I here, Sparrow?" she asked slowly, wanting to hold on to every last bit of patience she could.
"Because I wanted ye here," he stated, as if it were the most obvious explanation.
"You took me from me home in the middle of the night...because ye wanted me?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice dripping with non-chalance, as he rose from his rather uncomfortable position on the floor. He walked about the room, gathering his shirt and effects, putting them on as he went about, as if this were truly the most normal thing for him. As if it were perfectly acceptable for him to pilfer a prostitute he frequented, make off with her in the night and sail off towards the horizon without even pretending to ask for her consent. Bloody pirates.
"Are ye tryin' to ruin me life, Captain Sparrow?"
