A/N: Hi, sorry for the delay. All I have to say in my defense is school and
work. I don't think further explanation is required. What can I say,
besides thanks for all the great reviews, I'll answer all your questions at
the end of the chapter, though I think I should address a recurring theme
or two I noticed in said reviews. On the subject of Will's botched past,
oops! Moving on, as far as confusion in the last chapter goes, I do feel I
could've done better with it, but I don't feel like rewriting it, so you're
gonna have to live with it. I hope this chapter will quell some of that
confusion. Enjoy the long-coming chapter five!
Time passes quickly on the sea, I muse as I gaze out on the warm, sparkling waters of the Caribbean. The sun just touches those blue depths off the starboard bow. I put my chin in my folded arms on the lacquered wood of the port bow as my hair is whipped around in the breeze. The darkening sky makes me think of Moth- Elizabeth's jewelry, and I try to quell the memories as they invade my brain. Moments like this have been blessedly few on The Spartan thanks to the seemingly endless amount of chores Captain Croft sets for me to do. Thinking on the good captain is much easier than thinking on my past, so I do that a while.
I believe Croft would fit Will's description of a good man, shockingly enough. As honest as possible in his business, tough when circumstances deem it, decisive without recklessness, a good man. I'm proud to be on his crew, even as a lowly cabin boy only fit to do menial labor. I decided early in the voyage that if I am to be a successful pirate, he wouldn't be a bad role model, after Jack. So I become a fly on the wall around him, learning his habits, how he deals with problems and handles his crew. May have earned myself a tongue lashing or two with my hovering, but the gain is more than worth the pain... No pain, no gain- ha, I like that.
The habits of a captain aren't nearly all I've been learning. I was quick to notice that The Spartan differed greatly from the ships the governor took me on as a child. Consequently, I discovered that I knew little more than jack shit about sailing. So after watching me stumbling through my first few chores, some of the more experienced crewmates took pity on a scrawny lad and imparted a little of their wisdom to me. Perhaps taking a more than a little advantage of my fellow shipmates, I mine them for more information on all manner of things, navigating advice, medical instruction, fighting tips; just about anything they're willing to teach me. I also ask as casually as possible after my two main goals for abandoning life as I know it in the first place, Jack and the mermaid's ransom. The results of such inquiry on either subject have not been encouraging, but hope springs eternal, as they say.
A harsh cry behind my left shoulder heralds the arrival of an enormous gray bird, and I watch it fly past The Spartan, flapping its great wings. An albatross, my mind informs me and I shudder. Of my memories of the governor's ship, one stands out in particular. The day I spotted a bird nearly identical to this one and ran to Governor Swann, brimming with questions. He was stoic as he answered them, his gaze following the impressive creature. He told me they were believed to be the souls of dead seamen. This eve, I send a brief prayer up to Heaven that this tremendous animal is not the soul of one particular seaman.
"Gawain!" Croft's booming voice jerks me from my dark thoughts.
I dutifully stand and face his tall, solid form as it climbs the steps onto the bow, "Aye, sir."
"I'm puttin' ye on grub duty in the galley, maybe it'll keep ye outta me quarters fer ten minutes."
"Aye, sir." I know now that lip does not earn praise when it comes to the captain, I've got the bruises to prove it.
I make my way to the galley, hopping nimbly over ropes and gear and crewmates, and wince at the blast of heat upon opening the door. Pete glances up at me from the gruel he's poking at in the communal cooking cauldron. Under normal circumstances I'd be thrilled that Peter would be suffering by my side, however Pete's knowledge of my true identity definitely doesn't fall under that heading. He and the twins followed me onto The Spartan, alright, but not because they trust me. I don't know how I'll earn that trust back, but so far they haven't spilled my little secret to anyone else, so that's a start. Right?
"Evenin', Petey," I say in a garish mockery of our former familiarity. He grunts in return and I smile brightly. Ah, progress. Just yesterday I barely garnered a stony glance from my dear friend. Together we dish out supper, but my attempts at conversation appear to be lost in the mail, for all the response I receive.
"Land ho!" I briefly allow my eyes to slide shut as I relish the phrase.
A crewmate catches me in my moment of stillness, "Gawain! Quit yer lolly-gaggin' an' get ta' work! Ship ain't gonna dock herself." This phrase brings to mind one of Will's stories of Jack, and I loose the laziest smirk in recorded history on the man. The results are immediate. "I'll knock that look right off yer face, boy!" he shouts at my retreating back as I begin my docking duties.
Stepping into Tortuga, I quickly decide, is akin to stepping into a tub of gravy in that I instantly desire a good, long bath; preferably back on board the Spartan. Tortuga also appears to be the choice breeding ground for pirates, in more ways than one. Every sagging, gray hovel is either a brothel or bar it seems, and I find myself grateful we arrived in the daytime. I fear quite tangibly for my safety as I never have in Port Royal. At this realization I grin, I could get used to this town.
"First time in Tortuga's a thing ta' remember," remarks a voice beside me. I turn to see Captain Croft, a pipe in his dagger-slash of a mouth, staring into the depths of the town.
I gaze at him a moment before again filling my vision with Tortuga, "Aye, sir."
"I have a feelin' ye' won't be returnin' to the ship."
"Aye, sir."
"Take care, then, lad. Don't start any fights ye' can't finish."
"Aye, sir." I left Captain Croft there, and marched at a steady clip into the city my father knew so well.
It's a funny thing, having two goals you want with equal fervor to reach. You can't decide to be happy or mad to close more distance on one than the other. That is the way of things as I trundle through the rotten oyster that is Tortuga on my sea legs, pumping whoever is conscious for any information regarding the whereabouts of Captain Jack Sparrow or the enchanted island containing the mermaid's ransom. Regarding the latter, I find little more than tales among Tortuga's denizens, though that's more than can be said for the former. I swear, I was closer to finding Jack when I thought him no more than a fictional character of my bedtime. There isn't the whisper of his name upon the foul air, as if he never existed at all. The albatross circles my thoughts like a carrion bird, though that may be just the blue parrot that seems to have been over my shoulder all day.
I stare dejectedly into the warm amber of my drink at a bar, can't recall its name. Night has long since fallen and I forget to be afraid of the town I so recently criss-crossed. I wonder idly where Peter and the twins are, and why I'm not so torn up about their rejection of me. Knowing getting sloshed wouldn't help the situation, I drop a coin on the table and make for the exit, my thoughts now revolving around finding a bed unoccupied by a prostitute. Though this predicament doesn't distract me from the pair of shadowy figures matching me step for step a distance behind me. I try to lose them, going down pitch-dark alleys and maneuvering through barrels of dubious origin, but they seem to serve a purpose too great to go half-assed about.
My depression is changing again, boiling, melting, transforming into a hot anger. Who do these fools think they are, harassing me?! I'll fix them. Entering an alley marginally wider than most, I turn slowly to face them. In the shadows the most I can glean from their appearance is at least one undoubtedly masculine build and the stone-like stance of both as they stand silent before me. I'm taken by surprise when the smaller of the two comes at me quick as lightning and I find myself pressed hard up against the wall, hands grasping ineffectively at the dark and rough one wrapped around my neck.
"Yer lookin' fer Jack Sparrow?" a hiss emerges from the blackness under a large hat. At this I stop planning an escape that would impair this person's speech. The wheels of my mind turn in a new direction instead. The hand loosens on my neck marginally so I can answer.
"Why yes," I respond with a brashness that shocks even me, "You folk haven't heard tell o' him o' late, have ya'? I been havin' a devil of a time all day-" The hand tightens again, soundly stopping my inquiry.
"You listen here right good, boy-o," the darkness orders and gives my body a light throttle, just to make sure it had my attention, "You best quit askin' after Sparrow if ye' know what's good for ye'."
"Why?" I bite out between gasps of air.
"Because it's none o' yer damn business, that's why!" is the response, accompanied by a more forceful throttle which sets my head spinning and my eyes clouding over.
The clouds clear, but my brashness remains fully intact. Maybe I shouldn't be a pirate; have you noticed just how stupendous my survival instinct is yet? "So I take it Captain Sparrow lives then, eh?"
No words come from beneath the hat, only a growl of rage fit for a wild cat, and then the flash of a freshly-sharpened knife that apparently came from the humid air. Its silvery blade reflects the moonlight briefly under the hat, and an epiphany flashes through my sudden adrenaline rush as I register the feminine features twisted in fury in the darkness. Adrenaline reclaims the throne of my mind quickly though as the female assailant's knife makes its acquaintance with the skin over my windpipe.
"Hey!" a voice suddenly cries out from the mouth of the alley. I turn my attention away from the knife whose blade is steaming up under my breath and look out of the corner of my eye toward the voice. I can only guess the new dark shape I see is its owner. I try not to roll my eyes as I watch said owner stumble into the alley, so obviously drunk I can feel it in my bones.
"You- you," the young man as it happens stutters and slurs, "You leave that boy alone, ya' hear?" He points a finger a foot to the right of my attacker. Then the second of the pair of my assailants, a rather old man it is revealed, emerges from the darkness and tries to take hold of the drunken hero. However the boy's reflexes must still be pretty good, if the sound punch lay on the attacker's cheek is anything to go by. The old man exchanges a look with my mystery would-be murderer and begins to walk in the opposite direction with a hand pressed to his bruised face.
"This changes nothing," the woman murmurs to me, "Leave off askin' o' Sparrow, wonder lad here won't be around ta' save ya' all the time." In a heartbeat it is just wonder lad and me, rubbing at my throat, in the alley.
Even if he won't remember my gratitude, I stick out my hand to the young man, "Well, thanks fer the helpin' hand, sir, glad ya' came by."
The hero peers at closely at my out-raised appendage momentarily, then goes to take it, misses, tries again, misses, then at last grabs the right image and pumps it as he grins up at me triumphantly. I grin back, at least until my hero slumps forward and lands at my feet, profoundly unconscious. Now, if that's not the perfect way to end your first night in Tortuga, what is?
A/N: And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, responses to reviews!!!
Roxanne Harvard: That had to have been the most well-rounded review I've ever received, and I'm grateful for it. Well, what can I say? I'm glad you liked the parts you liked, and I'm sorry you didn't like the parts you didn't like. I'll try in the future to increase the former and decrease the latter. Or is it the other way around? To my defense about OOC-ness, however, you may recognize that I was working with subject matter to which the movie didn't really give many hints as to how the characters may react, so you can see how I had to wing it for the most part. I tend to see Will as a doting father in response to Elizabeth's harsher parenting style, if you disagree, that's entirely your choice.
evanescence kiks ass: I hope this chapter has cleared you up on the gang's reactions. Again, I don't really like the last chapter any more than you do, but there you go. As for the Turner's reactions to Guinevere's departure, don't hold your breath is all I can say. Remember this is first person, can't exactly go skipping around characters. Again, I'll be keeping everyone's favorite Captain's whereabouts or lack there of a secret for now. I hate to do this to you, but deal, okay? Hang in there, he's coming! Or maybe he's not...
Gambit Gurl Isis: Another reviewer I hope I've gotten straightened out with this chapter, though I certainly hope they don't find out she's a girl too. About the ship/land thing, well- God bless happy accidents. Keep reading, fellow review whore!
lotrfan1: Wow, glad you're enjoying the story so much! Favorite authors, me? Well, you're just sweeter than pie! Keep reading, I've got some great things in store for little Miss Gawain.
Raquel Greenleaf: Like I said about Will's past, oops! Hope you can look past discrepancies like that and see this story for the genius it really is... Or, you know, just excuse my idiocy and keep reading.
Grinning Contrivance: Thanks for the compliments, I actually was a little nervous about my slang. Though it just seems to come out on its own while I'm typing, if that makes sense. Keep reading!
Laughing Sparrow: You know, I haven't quite decided where Gibbs will fit in for the future chapters, but if it means that much to you, I'll try to make it soon, okay? Hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
Padme87: Glad you're enjoying, sorry for the late update!
Time passes quickly on the sea, I muse as I gaze out on the warm, sparkling waters of the Caribbean. The sun just touches those blue depths off the starboard bow. I put my chin in my folded arms on the lacquered wood of the port bow as my hair is whipped around in the breeze. The darkening sky makes me think of Moth- Elizabeth's jewelry, and I try to quell the memories as they invade my brain. Moments like this have been blessedly few on The Spartan thanks to the seemingly endless amount of chores Captain Croft sets for me to do. Thinking on the good captain is much easier than thinking on my past, so I do that a while.
I believe Croft would fit Will's description of a good man, shockingly enough. As honest as possible in his business, tough when circumstances deem it, decisive without recklessness, a good man. I'm proud to be on his crew, even as a lowly cabin boy only fit to do menial labor. I decided early in the voyage that if I am to be a successful pirate, he wouldn't be a bad role model, after Jack. So I become a fly on the wall around him, learning his habits, how he deals with problems and handles his crew. May have earned myself a tongue lashing or two with my hovering, but the gain is more than worth the pain... No pain, no gain- ha, I like that.
The habits of a captain aren't nearly all I've been learning. I was quick to notice that The Spartan differed greatly from the ships the governor took me on as a child. Consequently, I discovered that I knew little more than jack shit about sailing. So after watching me stumbling through my first few chores, some of the more experienced crewmates took pity on a scrawny lad and imparted a little of their wisdom to me. Perhaps taking a more than a little advantage of my fellow shipmates, I mine them for more information on all manner of things, navigating advice, medical instruction, fighting tips; just about anything they're willing to teach me. I also ask as casually as possible after my two main goals for abandoning life as I know it in the first place, Jack and the mermaid's ransom. The results of such inquiry on either subject have not been encouraging, but hope springs eternal, as they say.
A harsh cry behind my left shoulder heralds the arrival of an enormous gray bird, and I watch it fly past The Spartan, flapping its great wings. An albatross, my mind informs me and I shudder. Of my memories of the governor's ship, one stands out in particular. The day I spotted a bird nearly identical to this one and ran to Governor Swann, brimming with questions. He was stoic as he answered them, his gaze following the impressive creature. He told me they were believed to be the souls of dead seamen. This eve, I send a brief prayer up to Heaven that this tremendous animal is not the soul of one particular seaman.
"Gawain!" Croft's booming voice jerks me from my dark thoughts.
I dutifully stand and face his tall, solid form as it climbs the steps onto the bow, "Aye, sir."
"I'm puttin' ye on grub duty in the galley, maybe it'll keep ye outta me quarters fer ten minutes."
"Aye, sir." I know now that lip does not earn praise when it comes to the captain, I've got the bruises to prove it.
I make my way to the galley, hopping nimbly over ropes and gear and crewmates, and wince at the blast of heat upon opening the door. Pete glances up at me from the gruel he's poking at in the communal cooking cauldron. Under normal circumstances I'd be thrilled that Peter would be suffering by my side, however Pete's knowledge of my true identity definitely doesn't fall under that heading. He and the twins followed me onto The Spartan, alright, but not because they trust me. I don't know how I'll earn that trust back, but so far they haven't spilled my little secret to anyone else, so that's a start. Right?
"Evenin', Petey," I say in a garish mockery of our former familiarity. He grunts in return and I smile brightly. Ah, progress. Just yesterday I barely garnered a stony glance from my dear friend. Together we dish out supper, but my attempts at conversation appear to be lost in the mail, for all the response I receive.
"Land ho!" I briefly allow my eyes to slide shut as I relish the phrase.
A crewmate catches me in my moment of stillness, "Gawain! Quit yer lolly-gaggin' an' get ta' work! Ship ain't gonna dock herself." This phrase brings to mind one of Will's stories of Jack, and I loose the laziest smirk in recorded history on the man. The results are immediate. "I'll knock that look right off yer face, boy!" he shouts at my retreating back as I begin my docking duties.
Stepping into Tortuga, I quickly decide, is akin to stepping into a tub of gravy in that I instantly desire a good, long bath; preferably back on board the Spartan. Tortuga also appears to be the choice breeding ground for pirates, in more ways than one. Every sagging, gray hovel is either a brothel or bar it seems, and I find myself grateful we arrived in the daytime. I fear quite tangibly for my safety as I never have in Port Royal. At this realization I grin, I could get used to this town.
"First time in Tortuga's a thing ta' remember," remarks a voice beside me. I turn to see Captain Croft, a pipe in his dagger-slash of a mouth, staring into the depths of the town.
I gaze at him a moment before again filling my vision with Tortuga, "Aye, sir."
"I have a feelin' ye' won't be returnin' to the ship."
"Aye, sir."
"Take care, then, lad. Don't start any fights ye' can't finish."
"Aye, sir." I left Captain Croft there, and marched at a steady clip into the city my father knew so well.
It's a funny thing, having two goals you want with equal fervor to reach. You can't decide to be happy or mad to close more distance on one than the other. That is the way of things as I trundle through the rotten oyster that is Tortuga on my sea legs, pumping whoever is conscious for any information regarding the whereabouts of Captain Jack Sparrow or the enchanted island containing the mermaid's ransom. Regarding the latter, I find little more than tales among Tortuga's denizens, though that's more than can be said for the former. I swear, I was closer to finding Jack when I thought him no more than a fictional character of my bedtime. There isn't the whisper of his name upon the foul air, as if he never existed at all. The albatross circles my thoughts like a carrion bird, though that may be just the blue parrot that seems to have been over my shoulder all day.
I stare dejectedly into the warm amber of my drink at a bar, can't recall its name. Night has long since fallen and I forget to be afraid of the town I so recently criss-crossed. I wonder idly where Peter and the twins are, and why I'm not so torn up about their rejection of me. Knowing getting sloshed wouldn't help the situation, I drop a coin on the table and make for the exit, my thoughts now revolving around finding a bed unoccupied by a prostitute. Though this predicament doesn't distract me from the pair of shadowy figures matching me step for step a distance behind me. I try to lose them, going down pitch-dark alleys and maneuvering through barrels of dubious origin, but they seem to serve a purpose too great to go half-assed about.
My depression is changing again, boiling, melting, transforming into a hot anger. Who do these fools think they are, harassing me?! I'll fix them. Entering an alley marginally wider than most, I turn slowly to face them. In the shadows the most I can glean from their appearance is at least one undoubtedly masculine build and the stone-like stance of both as they stand silent before me. I'm taken by surprise when the smaller of the two comes at me quick as lightning and I find myself pressed hard up against the wall, hands grasping ineffectively at the dark and rough one wrapped around my neck.
"Yer lookin' fer Jack Sparrow?" a hiss emerges from the blackness under a large hat. At this I stop planning an escape that would impair this person's speech. The wheels of my mind turn in a new direction instead. The hand loosens on my neck marginally so I can answer.
"Why yes," I respond with a brashness that shocks even me, "You folk haven't heard tell o' him o' late, have ya'? I been havin' a devil of a time all day-" The hand tightens again, soundly stopping my inquiry.
"You listen here right good, boy-o," the darkness orders and gives my body a light throttle, just to make sure it had my attention, "You best quit askin' after Sparrow if ye' know what's good for ye'."
"Why?" I bite out between gasps of air.
"Because it's none o' yer damn business, that's why!" is the response, accompanied by a more forceful throttle which sets my head spinning and my eyes clouding over.
The clouds clear, but my brashness remains fully intact. Maybe I shouldn't be a pirate; have you noticed just how stupendous my survival instinct is yet? "So I take it Captain Sparrow lives then, eh?"
No words come from beneath the hat, only a growl of rage fit for a wild cat, and then the flash of a freshly-sharpened knife that apparently came from the humid air. Its silvery blade reflects the moonlight briefly under the hat, and an epiphany flashes through my sudden adrenaline rush as I register the feminine features twisted in fury in the darkness. Adrenaline reclaims the throne of my mind quickly though as the female assailant's knife makes its acquaintance with the skin over my windpipe.
"Hey!" a voice suddenly cries out from the mouth of the alley. I turn my attention away from the knife whose blade is steaming up under my breath and look out of the corner of my eye toward the voice. I can only guess the new dark shape I see is its owner. I try not to roll my eyes as I watch said owner stumble into the alley, so obviously drunk I can feel it in my bones.
"You- you," the young man as it happens stutters and slurs, "You leave that boy alone, ya' hear?" He points a finger a foot to the right of my attacker. Then the second of the pair of my assailants, a rather old man it is revealed, emerges from the darkness and tries to take hold of the drunken hero. However the boy's reflexes must still be pretty good, if the sound punch lay on the attacker's cheek is anything to go by. The old man exchanges a look with my mystery would-be murderer and begins to walk in the opposite direction with a hand pressed to his bruised face.
"This changes nothing," the woman murmurs to me, "Leave off askin' o' Sparrow, wonder lad here won't be around ta' save ya' all the time." In a heartbeat it is just wonder lad and me, rubbing at my throat, in the alley.
Even if he won't remember my gratitude, I stick out my hand to the young man, "Well, thanks fer the helpin' hand, sir, glad ya' came by."
The hero peers at closely at my out-raised appendage momentarily, then goes to take it, misses, tries again, misses, then at last grabs the right image and pumps it as he grins up at me triumphantly. I grin back, at least until my hero slumps forward and lands at my feet, profoundly unconscious. Now, if that's not the perfect way to end your first night in Tortuga, what is?
A/N: And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, responses to reviews!!!
Roxanne Harvard: That had to have been the most well-rounded review I've ever received, and I'm grateful for it. Well, what can I say? I'm glad you liked the parts you liked, and I'm sorry you didn't like the parts you didn't like. I'll try in the future to increase the former and decrease the latter. Or is it the other way around? To my defense about OOC-ness, however, you may recognize that I was working with subject matter to which the movie didn't really give many hints as to how the characters may react, so you can see how I had to wing it for the most part. I tend to see Will as a doting father in response to Elizabeth's harsher parenting style, if you disagree, that's entirely your choice.
evanescence kiks ass: I hope this chapter has cleared you up on the gang's reactions. Again, I don't really like the last chapter any more than you do, but there you go. As for the Turner's reactions to Guinevere's departure, don't hold your breath is all I can say. Remember this is first person, can't exactly go skipping around characters. Again, I'll be keeping everyone's favorite Captain's whereabouts or lack there of a secret for now. I hate to do this to you, but deal, okay? Hang in there, he's coming! Or maybe he's not...
Gambit Gurl Isis: Another reviewer I hope I've gotten straightened out with this chapter, though I certainly hope they don't find out she's a girl too. About the ship/land thing, well- God bless happy accidents. Keep reading, fellow review whore!
lotrfan1: Wow, glad you're enjoying the story so much! Favorite authors, me? Well, you're just sweeter than pie! Keep reading, I've got some great things in store for little Miss Gawain.
Raquel Greenleaf: Like I said about Will's past, oops! Hope you can look past discrepancies like that and see this story for the genius it really is... Or, you know, just excuse my idiocy and keep reading.
Grinning Contrivance: Thanks for the compliments, I actually was a little nervous about my slang. Though it just seems to come out on its own while I'm typing, if that makes sense. Keep reading!
Laughing Sparrow: You know, I haven't quite decided where Gibbs will fit in for the future chapters, but if it means that much to you, I'll try to make it soon, okay? Hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
Padme87: Glad you're enjoying, sorry for the late update!