Disclaimer: I don't own Captain Jack Sparrow, all the Peter Pan references,
or the following poem. Sniffle. I do, however, own the mermaid—she's all
mine! Heh.
A/N: PoTC isn't your average pirate movie, because it doesn't just have your normal pirates, its got ZOMBIE pirates—not to mention curses, Aztec gods, parrots that have a mind of their own, etc. PoTC is as much a semi- historical pirate tale as it is a fantasy story, in my opinion. So why can't mermaids be thrown into the mix as well?
A few important notes: 1) *=italics, cause FanFiction.Net hates my computer, and my computer hates FanFiction.Net. Very annoying. 2)Here be a one chapter story only, folks! 3)Keep in mind that this takes place long before the movie, but before Bill Turner's death and before Jack was captain of the Black Pearl. 4)Jack's island in this story is NOT the one that Barbossa stranded him on twice.
Mermaid
Be wary, young sailor, Of wind and high water. The sea has a secret, The sea has a daughter. She'll swim along starboard, And capture your heart. With a flip of her tail-fin, Underwater, depart.
--From Mermaids!, Dann & Dezois
Secrets of the Sea
"I bloody well hate that Captain Hook," Jack Sparrow muttered as he stomped furiously across the beach of the uninhabited island that he was now stuck on. It was a large beach and he shoved his way through the sea grass, kicking aside the seashells as if they were the source of all his problems. "'Im and that bloody little boy with the green pants and the firefly always following 'im around. Ye 'ear that, Hook?" Jack stopped stomping and glared off at the ship retreating off into the ocean's horizon. "I hate you!"
He glared at the ship for a moment before resuming his furious stomping and muttering, digging the toes of his boots into the sand. "Knew I should never have trusted 'im the moment I saw that suspicious lookin' leg of his. 'Never trust a man with a wooden leg, ever,' me mother told me, me mother said it was bad luck, she did, why couldn't I have decided to listen to 'er this *one time!* And that parrot, Hook's ruddy parrot, aye, he was very suspicious and untrustworthy lookin' as well, 'ee was..."
Jack suddenly felt very tired and hot after swimming through the ocean from the ship he was thrown off of, and now he had the afternoon sun beating down on his back. Letting out a soft groan and still muttering to himself, Jack stumbled over to a nearby palm tree and collapsed in the long sea grass and sand underneath it, relishing in the shade it provided from the sun. The relief was momentary, however, as he quickly remembered what situation he had gotten himself in.
"Bloody hell, *now* what am I goin' to do?" Jack yelled, throwing his arms up into the air. "I hate these little islands, with their *sand* and their *palm trees*, and that's it, nothin' but *sand* and *palm trees* and a few *twigs* and a *crab*--"
Jack glared at the small sand crab that, as he now noticed, was scrabbling across the ground at his feet. "Nothin' but me and a crab...well, that's just savvy, in'it? Maybe I could have a pet crab, like Hook and 'is blasted parrot and that lad and 'is firefly..."
The crab paused at Jack's feet, and he watched it warily. "I'll give the crab a name," He muttered, leaning forward to study it. "Bastian's a good name. Aye, Bastian..." Then, quite suddenly, the crab—or rather, Bastian—started moving very quickly away from Jack. Jack started in surprise, before sitting up and staring after it.
"Oi, you! Bastian!" Jack shouted, leaning forward as he watched the crab scuttle away to a large clump of sea grass on top of a sand dune. "Oi! Where're ye going? Hey—!"
Even though it was only in the form of a crab, Jack really didn't feel like losing the little company that he had on this island, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he had left his spot under the tree and dived after the crab onto the dune.
He soon found out the hard way (and not for the first time in his life) that not everything is as it seems.
For this "sand dune" wasn't really a sand dune. As soon as landed face first on top of it, the sea grass and the sand disappeared from beneath him and he fell into what appeared to be a trap of some sort. Screaming bloody murder as he fell, his arms and legs flailed and flew everywhere until he landed with a thud on the hard, wet sand on the bottom of the hole.
Almost as soon as hit the bottom, Jack sat up and waved his arms around to clear the sand out of the air. Coughing, he pushed the sea grass off of himself and stood up, wobbling slightly. He frowned around in the darkness, trying to regain his bearings and figure out what had happened.
He appeared to have fallen into a hole that was obviously manmade, with the wet sand packed against the sides and strips of wood supporting the walls. He seemed to be about seven feet below the surface of the beach, and the hole was about eight feet wide.
"Well, this is just completely pointless," Jack muttered. "What's this 'ole for? And...oh, lovely, now I'm trapped in this blasted thing..." He soon found out, though, that he wasn't trapped there after all—there was a ladder propped up against the side of the hole. Jack stared at it. Strange.
He moved towards the ladder, glad to find a way to get out of the dark, wet hole. He had barely taken a few steps however, before he banged his toe on something on the ground.
Jack hopped up and down, clutching his toe and cursing creatively in English, French, Spanish, and several Asian languages. "*Merde...*" He hissed. "Is the whole world against me? What *was* that?"
He knelt down onto the ground, feeling around, and his hands found what appeared to be a wooden crate of sorts. He quickly figured out that there was no cover to the crate, and he reached inside to see what it contained.
His hands touched something hard. Smooth. Cold. Round. In fact, there seemed to be several of these hard, smooth, cold, round objects... He took one in his hand and soon realized what it was, a slow grin spreading across his face, the pain in his toe forgotten.
"Shiver me timbers..." Jack breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. He seemed to have, quite literally, stumbled upon, of all things...a crate of rum?
His grin spreading even wider, Jack lifted up the crate of rum and held it over his head. Wobbling slightly under the weight, he threw the crate over the top of the hole and onto the beach above. Then he rushed over to the ladder—carefully watching where he stepped this time—and scrambled up it in his eagerness. He could almost taste the sweet rum on his tongue as he heaved himself over the top of the ladder and fell into the sunlight, the crate of rum at his side in the sand.
"Maybe this 'ere island ain't so bad after all..." Jack murmured as he lifted one of the rum bottles, uncorked it, and blissfully began to drink.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A few hours later, all thoughts of Captain Hook, crabs, fireflies, and ships disappearing off into the horizon had vanished. Jack's whole world consisted of three things: the sun, the beach, and rum. Lying in the sand in a drunken stupor, Jack distantly wondered if his world had ever consisted of anything else. After all, what could an honest pirate like himself desire more than sea, sky, sand, and rum?
"Nothin' could be better," Jack mumbled to himself as he watched a cloud roll across the bright blue sky, his accent even more slurred than usual by the alcohol. "I got me rum and me ocean and me beach and me girls...ah, no. Wait a second, me hearty, I ain't got no girls..." Jack frowned, thoughtfully considering the matter.
How could he have forgotten?
For what was the life of an honest pirate without women? And women surely wouldn't be able to survive without, from time to time, the company of an honest pirate or two. Or three.
Suddenly, Jack's little world didn't seem so perfect, after all.
Well, there were two ways to cure that: Women, or more rum. Jack frowned again, thinking. His options were quite limited, as it were.
Jack moved to take another hearty swig of his rum. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he leaned back and waited for the sweet alcohol to slide into his mouth.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited...
Yet there was no sweet alcohol sliding into his mouth.
Frowning, Jack sat up and waved the rum bottle in the air only to find that it was, in fact, empty.
Just as he had suspected.
No worries, however. There was plenty of more where *that* came from.
Carelessly tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder, Jack sat up and stared at the large crate of rum lying in the sand a few feet in front of him. How had it gotten all the way over there? Ah, no matter. He just had to...go get it.
Easier said than done.
Jack leaned forward towards the crate, sitting on his heels, but the world suddenly tilted sharply to the right and he fell back onto his rump. Grunting, he leaned forward again and, just as before, the world tilted sharply, this time to the left. Head spinning, Jack lay back in the sand. Maybe he'd just save that rum for later. Aye, that was a good idea...
So he lay on the sand, patiently waiting till he became sober enough to reach for more rum. As he lay there, however, tiredness took its toll, and he began to doze off. For the next few hours, Jack slipped in and out of sleep enough and had enough strange dreams involving crabs and men with wooden legs to be extremely confused when he finally awoke just as evening was setting in.
Upon finding that the sun was setting and that he had completely missed most of the afternoon, Jack groaned and sat up. He was certainly sober by now, he could tell, as he had a very bad headache—although the headache was probably a result of lying in the heat and sun for too long rather than the after effects of rum.
Ah, rum. Wonderful, sweet rum that would forever quench his thirst...
Jack's stomach suddenly gave a loud growl.
...but most likely wouldn't satisfy his hunger.
"Well, this is just bloody brilliant, is it not?" Jack asked the sky aloud. "Just lovely..."
Sighing, Jack dragged himself to his feet. There had to be food *somewhere* on this island, didn't there? There must be *something* to eat...berries, or something. He really didn't really feel like mustering up the necessary energy to catch a fish, but if it came to that...
"Something," Jack muttered. "Aye, there's got to be somethin' edible round 'ere..."
Stumbling over sand dunes and through sea grass, Jack made his way over to a large patch of green grass, trees, and bushes in the center of the island. Maybe he could find berries or something of the like...
Moving over to the bushes, he took off his hat in the shade and tossed it unceremoniously onto the grass, before beginning to pick through the greenery, looking for the fruit that he hoped lurked there.
He was getting a bit absorbed in his search as he pushed aside the bushes, humming to himself as he worked. He began humming louder, then he started singing softly—and soon enough he found himself singing a sea shanty at the top of his lungs in order to keep himself company.
Singing was an action Jack only took part in when he was either very drunk or very alone. Since right now the only company he had was his onesie, singing was a way to make himself feel a bit better.
"What shall we do with the drunken sailor..." Jack sang as he kicked aside a rock that had gotten lodged in the grass. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor, what shall we do with the drunken sailor—"
"—ear-lye in the morning!" Jack jumped, swinging around to stare around the island suspiciously—for it hadn't been his voice that had finished the song. The mysterious voice had been clear and pretty, not to mention an octave above what he had been singing.
Now, by no stretch of the imagination was Jack's singing voice clear and pretty. Quite the contrary, his voice was low and gravely. Yes, he could carry a tune for the most part, but by no means was his voice *clear* and *pretty.*
Jack stared off towards the beach, where the voice seemed to have come from. Cautiously he began to sing again, looking carefully out at the beach the whole while.
"What shall we do with the drunken sailor," Jack sang loudly, stepping forward. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" He left the patch of greenery and walked onto the beach, still staring out suspiciously. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor earl-ye in the morning?"
"--ear-lye in the morning?"
Jack froze. He had continued singing the song himself, only to find that another voice had joined him at the very end. As his voice went down with the melody, hers—for he was fairly sure that this was a girl's voice—had gone up, creating harmony.
"Ah..." Jack looked around, frowning slightly. Instinct kicked in and his hand began to move to the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. "Is anybody...ah...there?"
To his amazement, a shrill, high pitched giggle came from somewhere along the shoreline. The giggle was unlike anything he had ever heard, however—it had a tinkling quality to it, almost like the sound of a running brook.
"'Ello?" He called out again, wondering suddenly if he wasn't alone on this island, after all. And, if it was a young woman on this island...well. That would make things...interesting, to say the least.
"Hello!" The cheery, feminine voice called out. Jack froze again, looking around wildly for the source of the voice.
"I'm over here, silly!" The voice called out again, followed by the tinkling laughter that Jack had heard before. Jack stared off in front of him, trying to see past the sand dunes to the shoreline—where the voice seemed to be coming from. He rushed backwards and picked up his hat before taking a step forward.
"That's right, silly!" The voice said, laughing yet again. "Keep on walking! You'll find me!"
Jack began to walk forward again, quicker this time, clutching his hat in his hand. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they went searching for the woman and her voice. However, his mind distantly wondered how in the world she could see him if he was behind the sand dunes and she was down at the shoreline...
Jack half ran and half fell to the top of the sand dunes, as his feet—stupid buggers--were being the nuisance they often were. At the top of the sand dunes he stared down at the beach, not quite believing what he was seeing.
The source of the voice was lying at the point where the surf met the sand, half in the water and half out. At first, when he originally caught sight of her, and he saw her beautiful face—her long reddish blonde hair—her shapely upper body--his heart had quickened and a grin had begun to play on his lips. But then he noticed that she wasn't quite...normal...due to the fact that she didn't have any legs. In place of her legs was one long tail fin, such as one that might appear on a dolphin.
"Hello!" She called out cheerily to him, waving and beckoning him forward. Jack continued staring, swaying on the spot, trying to figure out if he had slept in the sun too long and his brain had gotten a bit cooked.
"You've finally lost it, Sparrow, s'all there is to it," Jack muttered to himself, then he shook himself slightly. Ramming his hat onto his head with such force he nearly fell over, he began to make his way down the beach, staggering and muttering about fairy tales and fish ladies and singing crustaceans.
He ceased his drunken actions some fifteen feet away from the strange fish lady. Digging his heels firmly into the sand so as not to fall over, he stared at her. She was no longer looking at him, but was instead trailing one delicate hand through the water, humming "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" under her breath.
"Yer not a fish," Jack stated flatly, after having gotten some control of his bearings.
"Of course I'm not!" She laughed. "Do I look like a fish to you?"
"But yer not a woman, either."
"No, I'm not," She agreed.
"Then what in the name of Davy Jones' Locker *are* you?"
"Pardon?" She inquired curiously, looking at with her eyes shining in amusement.
"What *are* you? You 'ave the body and voice of a woman—but you've got a ruddy tail!"
"I'm a mermaid," She said calmly, still trailing her fingers in the water.
Jack stared at her for another moment before abruptly sitting down in the sand. Crossing his legs, he studied her from afar.
"Aye," He muttered. "A *mermaid*..." He'd heard stories of mermaids, of course, but they had mostly come from old men, long past their pirating years, sitting drunk in the corners of pubs in Tortuga. He had never believed any of the stories—despite what anyone else might have thought about him, he considered himself a practical man. He didn't believe something until he saw it. Or heard it, or smelled it, or the like. Hence, he hadn't believed the stories of mermaids...yet here one was, right in front of him.
How odd.
"That must be...fascinating," Jack said carefully, never taking his his eyes off her. "Bein' a mermaid, I reckon," He leaned forward, watching her. "What's it like?"
"Oh, it's *wonderful*," The mermaid said enthusiastically, looking up from the water and at Jack. "I get to play under the sea all day, and meet such fine young sailors such as yourself." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving Jack a brilliant smile.
Jack grinned at her. "Well, to be perfectly 'onest--because I'm truly an 'onest man, ye see--I'm very pleased to be seein' you as well. I was worryin' I was going to be stuck on this 'ere island all by me onesie forever, ne'er to see anything so pretty again."
The mermaid giggled her wonderful giggle. "Oh, well, you're a charmer! How did you get to this island?"
Jack leaned back slightly, tipping his hat and grinning again, becoming more comfortable with her by each passing moment. She's a sight to behold, he mused. Beautiful, she is. "That's a bit of a long tale, that is, darling. But I can summarize it, if you so wish." He looked at her expectantly.
"Please, do tell!"
"Of course, love! Right, well, I was lost, ye see—without me hat or me gold—in a Spanish colony. No one, naught one person, spoke English, ye see, and me Spanish...well, s'not the best. So..."
Jack launched into a wild tale of his days spent in a Spanish colony—a colony that he doubted even existed, let alone he ever visited it. He loved telling stories; it was among his favorite things to do, and it often became a pastime of his while on ships or in pubs. He especially loved telling tall tales that had no merit to them at all, but sounded good and impressed people; plus they often helped him out of sticky situations.
"...and then—fancy this--they made me their chief—"
Jack stopped short, staring at the mermaid's sudden change in demeanor; she had sat up straight, turned, and stared intensely out at the ocean. "Wot is it, love?"
"They're back," She whispered, looking around at him. "I have to go now—you can get off this island with them. Good luck, sailor! Fare thee well!"
Before Jack's mind could even form a response, the mermaid had leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek, and turned away—her tail fin flipping, she soared through the air and into the water, out of sight.
Jack sat immobile, trying to process what had just happened, until he noticed what the mermaid had noticed—out on the horizon, a ship making a definite course toward the island. Jack scrambled to his feet and squinted against the setting sun. It was quite close and getting closer, and he was surprised that he had not seen it before. It was too small and not grand enough looking for a ship of the Royal Navy, and there was no Jolly Roger flag to show Jack that they were pirates...
Rumrunners, Jack realized. That's where the hole in the ground and all the rum had come from; the rumrunners must use this island to hide the rum from the Royal Navy.
"Well, isn't this just brilliant?" Jack muttered to himself. "Those flaming rumrunners lost me mermaid!"
Though, those rumrunners could come in handy...yes, he was quite confident of his abilities to negotiate a passage off the island with them. With little else to do, Jack flopped back down onto the sand to wait for the ship to reach the island.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tortuga's most popular pub, The Faithful Bride, was unusually quiet that night. There were no scuffles, no bullets whizzing through the air, and no fists flying. Even the prostitutes were silent--their hands were at their sides and they were watching the storyteller with awe. The bartender had stopped taking orders for drinks, and those who were already drunk sat swaying in the corners, listening blearily to the tale that was being told. There was a crowd around the storyteller, who sat at a small table in the center of the bar. He was a very animated storyteller; his hands waving everywhere and his face very expressive—easily capturing the interest of that night's drinkers as he spoke.
"And then, I says to meself, I says, 'It's finally happened, mate, you've finally lost it," The storyteller told the drinkers. His voice was very slurred, partly because his natural accent caused it to be so, and partly because he had had many a bottle of rum that night. His fingers curled and twisted through the air as his story was told. "'This is it mate, this is the end.' And do ye know why I said that? Do ye know why I decided to say that to meself?"
"Why?" Whispered a pretty young prostitute, leaning over the table till she was very close to him, captivated by his story.
"Because, ye know what I saw then?" The storyteller continued in a low voice, looking into the young woman's eyes.
"What?" She whispered, leaning in even closer.
"Somethin' very few of even the finest men on all the seven seas ever get to see," The storyteller said, dropping his voice even further so that the whole bar automatically leaned in a bit nearer to him. "And I consider meself lucky, ye know, because I saw..." He paused for effect. "...a mermaid."
There was a loud snort off to the storyteller's left. The mood that the storyteller had created was immediately broken, and everyone who had been listening laughed and shook their heads, beginning to disperse. The prostitute giggled, patted the storyteller on the cheek, and walked away. The storyteller scowled as the man who had snorted scooted his chair closer to the chair of his friend, and gave him a skeptical look. "A mermaid, Jack?"
"Aye, a mermaid!" Jack Sparrow said defensively, glaring at his friend. "Twas a mermaid, Bill, I saw her! A young, beautiful, mermaid-"
Bill Turner slapped his hand on Jack's shoulder, a small smile twitching on his lips. "Course it was, mate. Course it was."
"Aye, it was! A mermaid—"
"Jack, I think ye could do with some more rum, no? Why don't I take care of that for you?" Bill picked up Jack's empty mug from the table and started to move off to where the bartender was.
"There was a mermaid, Bill, there was!" Jack called after him. Several people in the bar laughed slightly at hearing his shout. Jack glared at them and, standing up, he half walked and half fell over to where Bill was leaning against the counter and having the bartender refill his mug.
"There *was*, mate," Jack insisted, tapping his fingers against Bill's shoulder to emphasize his words. "There was, and she was gorgeous—is me story too far fetched for you?"
Bill laughed as the bartender handed Bill two filled mugs, who in turn handed one of them over to Jack. "Just a tad, mate. Just a tad."
Jack accepted the mug, giving Bill a sincere sort of look. "Bill, have I *ever* told you a story that I do not believe to be true meself?"
"Do you really fancy an answer to that, Jack?"
"Aye," Jack sighed, putting on the air of a deeply troubled and misunderstood man. "Mate, I *know* that I've told many 'true tales' that in truth have no truth to them whatsoever—truly—but this one *does* have truth to it, and that's the truth!"
Bill wisely remained silent, leaving his space on the counter to stand next to Jack and, swinging an arm around his shoulders, gave him a cheerful look. Then, he lifted his mug into the air. "I propose a toast," He told Jack, who was looking at him with his eyebrows raised. "How about-- to your tall tales, rum, beautiful mermaids, and friendship, aye?"
Jack gave in and grinned, lifting his mug as well. "To me tall tales, rum, beautiful mermaids, and friendship!" They clinked mugs and each took a good, long drink. When they were done, Bill returned to leaning on the counter as Jack slammed his mug down. They exchanged knowing grins.
"But there *was* a mermaid. And she was young and beautiful, savvy?"
"Aye, Jack. I'm sure she was."
~*~
A/N: This is my first PoTC story, so please review! If you can, comment of my characterization of Jack—I find him the slippiest (is that a word?) character that I've ever dealt with in fanfiction, even worse than Voldemort in Harry Potter...I hope he came out alright!
A/N: PoTC isn't your average pirate movie, because it doesn't just have your normal pirates, its got ZOMBIE pirates—not to mention curses, Aztec gods, parrots that have a mind of their own, etc. PoTC is as much a semi- historical pirate tale as it is a fantasy story, in my opinion. So why can't mermaids be thrown into the mix as well?
A few important notes: 1) *=italics, cause FanFiction.Net hates my computer, and my computer hates FanFiction.Net. Very annoying. 2)Here be a one chapter story only, folks! 3)Keep in mind that this takes place long before the movie, but before Bill Turner's death and before Jack was captain of the Black Pearl. 4)Jack's island in this story is NOT the one that Barbossa stranded him on twice.
Mermaid
Be wary, young sailor, Of wind and high water. The sea has a secret, The sea has a daughter. She'll swim along starboard, And capture your heart. With a flip of her tail-fin, Underwater, depart.
--From Mermaids!, Dann & Dezois
Secrets of the Sea
"I bloody well hate that Captain Hook," Jack Sparrow muttered as he stomped furiously across the beach of the uninhabited island that he was now stuck on. It was a large beach and he shoved his way through the sea grass, kicking aside the seashells as if they were the source of all his problems. "'Im and that bloody little boy with the green pants and the firefly always following 'im around. Ye 'ear that, Hook?" Jack stopped stomping and glared off at the ship retreating off into the ocean's horizon. "I hate you!"
He glared at the ship for a moment before resuming his furious stomping and muttering, digging the toes of his boots into the sand. "Knew I should never have trusted 'im the moment I saw that suspicious lookin' leg of his. 'Never trust a man with a wooden leg, ever,' me mother told me, me mother said it was bad luck, she did, why couldn't I have decided to listen to 'er this *one time!* And that parrot, Hook's ruddy parrot, aye, he was very suspicious and untrustworthy lookin' as well, 'ee was..."
Jack suddenly felt very tired and hot after swimming through the ocean from the ship he was thrown off of, and now he had the afternoon sun beating down on his back. Letting out a soft groan and still muttering to himself, Jack stumbled over to a nearby palm tree and collapsed in the long sea grass and sand underneath it, relishing in the shade it provided from the sun. The relief was momentary, however, as he quickly remembered what situation he had gotten himself in.
"Bloody hell, *now* what am I goin' to do?" Jack yelled, throwing his arms up into the air. "I hate these little islands, with their *sand* and their *palm trees*, and that's it, nothin' but *sand* and *palm trees* and a few *twigs* and a *crab*--"
Jack glared at the small sand crab that, as he now noticed, was scrabbling across the ground at his feet. "Nothin' but me and a crab...well, that's just savvy, in'it? Maybe I could have a pet crab, like Hook and 'is blasted parrot and that lad and 'is firefly..."
The crab paused at Jack's feet, and he watched it warily. "I'll give the crab a name," He muttered, leaning forward to study it. "Bastian's a good name. Aye, Bastian..." Then, quite suddenly, the crab—or rather, Bastian—started moving very quickly away from Jack. Jack started in surprise, before sitting up and staring after it.
"Oi, you! Bastian!" Jack shouted, leaning forward as he watched the crab scuttle away to a large clump of sea grass on top of a sand dune. "Oi! Where're ye going? Hey—!"
Even though it was only in the form of a crab, Jack really didn't feel like losing the little company that he had on this island, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he had left his spot under the tree and dived after the crab onto the dune.
He soon found out the hard way (and not for the first time in his life) that not everything is as it seems.
For this "sand dune" wasn't really a sand dune. As soon as landed face first on top of it, the sea grass and the sand disappeared from beneath him and he fell into what appeared to be a trap of some sort. Screaming bloody murder as he fell, his arms and legs flailed and flew everywhere until he landed with a thud on the hard, wet sand on the bottom of the hole.
Almost as soon as hit the bottom, Jack sat up and waved his arms around to clear the sand out of the air. Coughing, he pushed the sea grass off of himself and stood up, wobbling slightly. He frowned around in the darkness, trying to regain his bearings and figure out what had happened.
He appeared to have fallen into a hole that was obviously manmade, with the wet sand packed against the sides and strips of wood supporting the walls. He seemed to be about seven feet below the surface of the beach, and the hole was about eight feet wide.
"Well, this is just completely pointless," Jack muttered. "What's this 'ole for? And...oh, lovely, now I'm trapped in this blasted thing..." He soon found out, though, that he wasn't trapped there after all—there was a ladder propped up against the side of the hole. Jack stared at it. Strange.
He moved towards the ladder, glad to find a way to get out of the dark, wet hole. He had barely taken a few steps however, before he banged his toe on something on the ground.
Jack hopped up and down, clutching his toe and cursing creatively in English, French, Spanish, and several Asian languages. "*Merde...*" He hissed. "Is the whole world against me? What *was* that?"
He knelt down onto the ground, feeling around, and his hands found what appeared to be a wooden crate of sorts. He quickly figured out that there was no cover to the crate, and he reached inside to see what it contained.
His hands touched something hard. Smooth. Cold. Round. In fact, there seemed to be several of these hard, smooth, cold, round objects... He took one in his hand and soon realized what it was, a slow grin spreading across his face, the pain in his toe forgotten.
"Shiver me timbers..." Jack breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. He seemed to have, quite literally, stumbled upon, of all things...a crate of rum?
His grin spreading even wider, Jack lifted up the crate of rum and held it over his head. Wobbling slightly under the weight, he threw the crate over the top of the hole and onto the beach above. Then he rushed over to the ladder—carefully watching where he stepped this time—and scrambled up it in his eagerness. He could almost taste the sweet rum on his tongue as he heaved himself over the top of the ladder and fell into the sunlight, the crate of rum at his side in the sand.
"Maybe this 'ere island ain't so bad after all..." Jack murmured as he lifted one of the rum bottles, uncorked it, and blissfully began to drink.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A few hours later, all thoughts of Captain Hook, crabs, fireflies, and ships disappearing off into the horizon had vanished. Jack's whole world consisted of three things: the sun, the beach, and rum. Lying in the sand in a drunken stupor, Jack distantly wondered if his world had ever consisted of anything else. After all, what could an honest pirate like himself desire more than sea, sky, sand, and rum?
"Nothin' could be better," Jack mumbled to himself as he watched a cloud roll across the bright blue sky, his accent even more slurred than usual by the alcohol. "I got me rum and me ocean and me beach and me girls...ah, no. Wait a second, me hearty, I ain't got no girls..." Jack frowned, thoughtfully considering the matter.
How could he have forgotten?
For what was the life of an honest pirate without women? And women surely wouldn't be able to survive without, from time to time, the company of an honest pirate or two. Or three.
Suddenly, Jack's little world didn't seem so perfect, after all.
Well, there were two ways to cure that: Women, or more rum. Jack frowned again, thinking. His options were quite limited, as it were.
Jack moved to take another hearty swig of his rum. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he leaned back and waited for the sweet alcohol to slide into his mouth.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited...
Yet there was no sweet alcohol sliding into his mouth.
Frowning, Jack sat up and waved the rum bottle in the air only to find that it was, in fact, empty.
Just as he had suspected.
No worries, however. There was plenty of more where *that* came from.
Carelessly tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder, Jack sat up and stared at the large crate of rum lying in the sand a few feet in front of him. How had it gotten all the way over there? Ah, no matter. He just had to...go get it.
Easier said than done.
Jack leaned forward towards the crate, sitting on his heels, but the world suddenly tilted sharply to the right and he fell back onto his rump. Grunting, he leaned forward again and, just as before, the world tilted sharply, this time to the left. Head spinning, Jack lay back in the sand. Maybe he'd just save that rum for later. Aye, that was a good idea...
So he lay on the sand, patiently waiting till he became sober enough to reach for more rum. As he lay there, however, tiredness took its toll, and he began to doze off. For the next few hours, Jack slipped in and out of sleep enough and had enough strange dreams involving crabs and men with wooden legs to be extremely confused when he finally awoke just as evening was setting in.
Upon finding that the sun was setting and that he had completely missed most of the afternoon, Jack groaned and sat up. He was certainly sober by now, he could tell, as he had a very bad headache—although the headache was probably a result of lying in the heat and sun for too long rather than the after effects of rum.
Ah, rum. Wonderful, sweet rum that would forever quench his thirst...
Jack's stomach suddenly gave a loud growl.
...but most likely wouldn't satisfy his hunger.
"Well, this is just bloody brilliant, is it not?" Jack asked the sky aloud. "Just lovely..."
Sighing, Jack dragged himself to his feet. There had to be food *somewhere* on this island, didn't there? There must be *something* to eat...berries, or something. He really didn't really feel like mustering up the necessary energy to catch a fish, but if it came to that...
"Something," Jack muttered. "Aye, there's got to be somethin' edible round 'ere..."
Stumbling over sand dunes and through sea grass, Jack made his way over to a large patch of green grass, trees, and bushes in the center of the island. Maybe he could find berries or something of the like...
Moving over to the bushes, he took off his hat in the shade and tossed it unceremoniously onto the grass, before beginning to pick through the greenery, looking for the fruit that he hoped lurked there.
He was getting a bit absorbed in his search as he pushed aside the bushes, humming to himself as he worked. He began humming louder, then he started singing softly—and soon enough he found himself singing a sea shanty at the top of his lungs in order to keep himself company.
Singing was an action Jack only took part in when he was either very drunk or very alone. Since right now the only company he had was his onesie, singing was a way to make himself feel a bit better.
"What shall we do with the drunken sailor..." Jack sang as he kicked aside a rock that had gotten lodged in the grass. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor, what shall we do with the drunken sailor—"
"—ear-lye in the morning!" Jack jumped, swinging around to stare around the island suspiciously—for it hadn't been his voice that had finished the song. The mysterious voice had been clear and pretty, not to mention an octave above what he had been singing.
Now, by no stretch of the imagination was Jack's singing voice clear and pretty. Quite the contrary, his voice was low and gravely. Yes, he could carry a tune for the most part, but by no means was his voice *clear* and *pretty.*
Jack stared off towards the beach, where the voice seemed to have come from. Cautiously he began to sing again, looking carefully out at the beach the whole while.
"What shall we do with the drunken sailor," Jack sang loudly, stepping forward. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" He left the patch of greenery and walked onto the beach, still staring out suspiciously. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor earl-ye in the morning?"
"--ear-lye in the morning?"
Jack froze. He had continued singing the song himself, only to find that another voice had joined him at the very end. As his voice went down with the melody, hers—for he was fairly sure that this was a girl's voice—had gone up, creating harmony.
"Ah..." Jack looked around, frowning slightly. Instinct kicked in and his hand began to move to the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. "Is anybody...ah...there?"
To his amazement, a shrill, high pitched giggle came from somewhere along the shoreline. The giggle was unlike anything he had ever heard, however—it had a tinkling quality to it, almost like the sound of a running brook.
"'Ello?" He called out again, wondering suddenly if he wasn't alone on this island, after all. And, if it was a young woman on this island...well. That would make things...interesting, to say the least.
"Hello!" The cheery, feminine voice called out. Jack froze again, looking around wildly for the source of the voice.
"I'm over here, silly!" The voice called out again, followed by the tinkling laughter that Jack had heard before. Jack stared off in front of him, trying to see past the sand dunes to the shoreline—where the voice seemed to be coming from. He rushed backwards and picked up his hat before taking a step forward.
"That's right, silly!" The voice said, laughing yet again. "Keep on walking! You'll find me!"
Jack began to walk forward again, quicker this time, clutching his hat in his hand. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they went searching for the woman and her voice. However, his mind distantly wondered how in the world she could see him if he was behind the sand dunes and she was down at the shoreline...
Jack half ran and half fell to the top of the sand dunes, as his feet—stupid buggers--were being the nuisance they often were. At the top of the sand dunes he stared down at the beach, not quite believing what he was seeing.
The source of the voice was lying at the point where the surf met the sand, half in the water and half out. At first, when he originally caught sight of her, and he saw her beautiful face—her long reddish blonde hair—her shapely upper body--his heart had quickened and a grin had begun to play on his lips. But then he noticed that she wasn't quite...normal...due to the fact that she didn't have any legs. In place of her legs was one long tail fin, such as one that might appear on a dolphin.
"Hello!" She called out cheerily to him, waving and beckoning him forward. Jack continued staring, swaying on the spot, trying to figure out if he had slept in the sun too long and his brain had gotten a bit cooked.
"You've finally lost it, Sparrow, s'all there is to it," Jack muttered to himself, then he shook himself slightly. Ramming his hat onto his head with such force he nearly fell over, he began to make his way down the beach, staggering and muttering about fairy tales and fish ladies and singing crustaceans.
He ceased his drunken actions some fifteen feet away from the strange fish lady. Digging his heels firmly into the sand so as not to fall over, he stared at her. She was no longer looking at him, but was instead trailing one delicate hand through the water, humming "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" under her breath.
"Yer not a fish," Jack stated flatly, after having gotten some control of his bearings.
"Of course I'm not!" She laughed. "Do I look like a fish to you?"
"But yer not a woman, either."
"No, I'm not," She agreed.
"Then what in the name of Davy Jones' Locker *are* you?"
"Pardon?" She inquired curiously, looking at with her eyes shining in amusement.
"What *are* you? You 'ave the body and voice of a woman—but you've got a ruddy tail!"
"I'm a mermaid," She said calmly, still trailing her fingers in the water.
Jack stared at her for another moment before abruptly sitting down in the sand. Crossing his legs, he studied her from afar.
"Aye," He muttered. "A *mermaid*..." He'd heard stories of mermaids, of course, but they had mostly come from old men, long past their pirating years, sitting drunk in the corners of pubs in Tortuga. He had never believed any of the stories—despite what anyone else might have thought about him, he considered himself a practical man. He didn't believe something until he saw it. Or heard it, or smelled it, or the like. Hence, he hadn't believed the stories of mermaids...yet here one was, right in front of him.
How odd.
"That must be...fascinating," Jack said carefully, never taking his his eyes off her. "Bein' a mermaid, I reckon," He leaned forward, watching her. "What's it like?"
"Oh, it's *wonderful*," The mermaid said enthusiastically, looking up from the water and at Jack. "I get to play under the sea all day, and meet such fine young sailors such as yourself." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving Jack a brilliant smile.
Jack grinned at her. "Well, to be perfectly 'onest--because I'm truly an 'onest man, ye see--I'm very pleased to be seein' you as well. I was worryin' I was going to be stuck on this 'ere island all by me onesie forever, ne'er to see anything so pretty again."
The mermaid giggled her wonderful giggle. "Oh, well, you're a charmer! How did you get to this island?"
Jack leaned back slightly, tipping his hat and grinning again, becoming more comfortable with her by each passing moment. She's a sight to behold, he mused. Beautiful, she is. "That's a bit of a long tale, that is, darling. But I can summarize it, if you so wish." He looked at her expectantly.
"Please, do tell!"
"Of course, love! Right, well, I was lost, ye see—without me hat or me gold—in a Spanish colony. No one, naught one person, spoke English, ye see, and me Spanish...well, s'not the best. So..."
Jack launched into a wild tale of his days spent in a Spanish colony—a colony that he doubted even existed, let alone he ever visited it. He loved telling stories; it was among his favorite things to do, and it often became a pastime of his while on ships or in pubs. He especially loved telling tall tales that had no merit to them at all, but sounded good and impressed people; plus they often helped him out of sticky situations.
"...and then—fancy this--they made me their chief—"
Jack stopped short, staring at the mermaid's sudden change in demeanor; she had sat up straight, turned, and stared intensely out at the ocean. "Wot is it, love?"
"They're back," She whispered, looking around at him. "I have to go now—you can get off this island with them. Good luck, sailor! Fare thee well!"
Before Jack's mind could even form a response, the mermaid had leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek, and turned away—her tail fin flipping, she soared through the air and into the water, out of sight.
Jack sat immobile, trying to process what had just happened, until he noticed what the mermaid had noticed—out on the horizon, a ship making a definite course toward the island. Jack scrambled to his feet and squinted against the setting sun. It was quite close and getting closer, and he was surprised that he had not seen it before. It was too small and not grand enough looking for a ship of the Royal Navy, and there was no Jolly Roger flag to show Jack that they were pirates...
Rumrunners, Jack realized. That's where the hole in the ground and all the rum had come from; the rumrunners must use this island to hide the rum from the Royal Navy.
"Well, isn't this just brilliant?" Jack muttered to himself. "Those flaming rumrunners lost me mermaid!"
Though, those rumrunners could come in handy...yes, he was quite confident of his abilities to negotiate a passage off the island with them. With little else to do, Jack flopped back down onto the sand to wait for the ship to reach the island.
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Tortuga's most popular pub, The Faithful Bride, was unusually quiet that night. There were no scuffles, no bullets whizzing through the air, and no fists flying. Even the prostitutes were silent--their hands were at their sides and they were watching the storyteller with awe. The bartender had stopped taking orders for drinks, and those who were already drunk sat swaying in the corners, listening blearily to the tale that was being told. There was a crowd around the storyteller, who sat at a small table in the center of the bar. He was a very animated storyteller; his hands waving everywhere and his face very expressive—easily capturing the interest of that night's drinkers as he spoke.
"And then, I says to meself, I says, 'It's finally happened, mate, you've finally lost it," The storyteller told the drinkers. His voice was very slurred, partly because his natural accent caused it to be so, and partly because he had had many a bottle of rum that night. His fingers curled and twisted through the air as his story was told. "'This is it mate, this is the end.' And do ye know why I said that? Do ye know why I decided to say that to meself?"
"Why?" Whispered a pretty young prostitute, leaning over the table till she was very close to him, captivated by his story.
"Because, ye know what I saw then?" The storyteller continued in a low voice, looking into the young woman's eyes.
"What?" She whispered, leaning in even closer.
"Somethin' very few of even the finest men on all the seven seas ever get to see," The storyteller said, dropping his voice even further so that the whole bar automatically leaned in a bit nearer to him. "And I consider meself lucky, ye know, because I saw..." He paused for effect. "...a mermaid."
There was a loud snort off to the storyteller's left. The mood that the storyteller had created was immediately broken, and everyone who had been listening laughed and shook their heads, beginning to disperse. The prostitute giggled, patted the storyteller on the cheek, and walked away. The storyteller scowled as the man who had snorted scooted his chair closer to the chair of his friend, and gave him a skeptical look. "A mermaid, Jack?"
"Aye, a mermaid!" Jack Sparrow said defensively, glaring at his friend. "Twas a mermaid, Bill, I saw her! A young, beautiful, mermaid-"
Bill Turner slapped his hand on Jack's shoulder, a small smile twitching on his lips. "Course it was, mate. Course it was."
"Aye, it was! A mermaid—"
"Jack, I think ye could do with some more rum, no? Why don't I take care of that for you?" Bill picked up Jack's empty mug from the table and started to move off to where the bartender was.
"There was a mermaid, Bill, there was!" Jack called after him. Several people in the bar laughed slightly at hearing his shout. Jack glared at them and, standing up, he half walked and half fell over to where Bill was leaning against the counter and having the bartender refill his mug.
"There *was*, mate," Jack insisted, tapping his fingers against Bill's shoulder to emphasize his words. "There was, and she was gorgeous—is me story too far fetched for you?"
Bill laughed as the bartender handed Bill two filled mugs, who in turn handed one of them over to Jack. "Just a tad, mate. Just a tad."
Jack accepted the mug, giving Bill a sincere sort of look. "Bill, have I *ever* told you a story that I do not believe to be true meself?"
"Do you really fancy an answer to that, Jack?"
"Aye," Jack sighed, putting on the air of a deeply troubled and misunderstood man. "Mate, I *know* that I've told many 'true tales' that in truth have no truth to them whatsoever—truly—but this one *does* have truth to it, and that's the truth!"
Bill wisely remained silent, leaving his space on the counter to stand next to Jack and, swinging an arm around his shoulders, gave him a cheerful look. Then, he lifted his mug into the air. "I propose a toast," He told Jack, who was looking at him with his eyebrows raised. "How about-- to your tall tales, rum, beautiful mermaids, and friendship, aye?"
Jack gave in and grinned, lifting his mug as well. "To me tall tales, rum, beautiful mermaids, and friendship!" They clinked mugs and each took a good, long drink. When they were done, Bill returned to leaning on the counter as Jack slammed his mug down. They exchanged knowing grins.
"But there *was* a mermaid. And she was young and beautiful, savvy?"
"Aye, Jack. I'm sure she was."
~*~
A/N: This is my first PoTC story, so please review! If you can, comment of my characterization of Jack—I find him the slippiest (is that a word?) character that I've ever dealt with in fanfiction, even worse than Voldemort in Harry Potter...I hope he came out alright!