"D!" Jack repeated.
"Now I haven't heard that name in a long while, Jack Sparrow!" said D, a chuckle escaping her lips. "Men! Stand down! This is an old acquaintance!" The men talked amongst themselves as they released any prisoners. D placed a hand on the blonde's sword. He nodded and retracted it. The strange pirate let out a hand to pull Jack to his feet. She was only a few inches shorter than him, but she looked at him with a smile.
"I haven't seen you in eight years!" the woman pirate exclaimed. She held out a hand and Jack took it, her shake firm and strong.
The blonde boy stepped forward and whispered to D, "Captain, this is the man that --?"
"Aye, he is. Although I must admit I wasn't expecting to see you again, at least not today."
Jack grinned. "Yer captain now, aren't ye?"
D flashed her brilliant devilish smile once again. "That I am. That plus a crew an' ship." She waved her hand towards the ship beside the Pearl. She was slightly larger than the black ship and she was painted almost new. One could never guess that she'd spent at least 12 years at sea. In black curly letters, the name la Grenouille was printed near the bow.
"That's a French ship," Jack pointed out.
D shouted some orders to her men who began moving around on the ship, some returning to the la Grenouille. She turned back to Jack.
"Indeed, a French ship."
"You are not French."
Captain Blackbird's smile faltered the slightest bit, a hint of anger flashing in her golden eyes.
"I am not French. It doesn't matter at the moment. I believe now is a time called for celebration!" Both crews erupted in cheers, swords pointing to the air and shots being fired. Jack grinned.
"Sounds like a mighty fine idea, Captain," he said.
She pulled her dark red hat from her head, the dark curls on her head absorbing the rays of the sun. She held the hat to her chest and bowed slightly. "I never believed I would have the pleasure of seeing you again, Captain Sparrow."
"Seems even the great Blackbird can be mistaken at times," Jack said lightheartedly. She grinned as she replaced her hat.
"Get out the drinks n' fiddles!" she yelled at her crew. "Tie the ships together an' make sure the sails are down! It's about time to rest our bones!" Another cheer rang through the men as well as laughter. Jack laughed with them.
"Dear,
Blackbird! Ye haven't forgotten the definition of a good time!"
"If I had, they wouldn't be
with me today," she replied. The blonde pirate, still beside her, grinned, his
mouth shining with gold and silver. "Ah, Jack! This is me first mate, Cesar
Palomeque. Quite useful on deck and wonderful at keepin' the mates in check.
Mighty worthy friend, as well." Cesar held out a hand and Jack shook it after a
moment of hesitance.
"'Tis a pleasure to meet thee!" Cesar said enthusiastically.
"Interestin' comin' from ye," Jack said nonchalantly, "ye being the one who held a blade to me throat."
"As if I was to trust thee!" Cesar said, holding his palms to the sky in defense. "Is that not how we of our kind are meant to act?"
Jack turned back to Blackbird. "Ye've been tellin' some stories?"
"Only vague ones, dear Jack. Now, I think it is time for merrymaking, unless you object?" Her eyes twinkled in excitement.
"S'long as there's a bit of rum, darlin', then let the games begin!"
~
"New song!" shouted Cesar. "Play something happy! Vivaldi doesn't give you dance!" The men cheered and urged Rafael, the fiddle player from the la Grenouille, to start another happier song. Rafael beamed and slowly placed his bow on the bottom string. The men fell silent, awaiting the next tune. Then the bow swung back and forth, an Old Italian tune rising from its strings. The men applauded and several stood near the fire, kicking their legs out and shaking their bodies to go along with the tune. Those with long hair let it fly and swish through the air. One man slammed his heel on the boards beneath him to make a steady beat along with the fiddle. More rum was passed around and several laughed as one dancing man collided with another, both falling to the floor.
Jack watched with fascination. "I've never seen it done quite that way," he said in awe.
"Rafael brought a wonderful gift with him when he came aboard," Blackbird replied, a mug of cool rum in her hands. She took a small sip and set it down on the wood beneath her. "That man's got talent."
"He does," replied Jack. His fingers drifted over his own cup, feeling for once that he shouldn't drink too much this night. He had the feeling that important matters would be discussed. After several minutes of pure euphoria, Rafael finished his Italian song and the men cheered once again.
"Another, another, another!" they chanted.
Rafael smiled, his tanned face covered in a thick layer of sweat and several strands of his straight glistening black hair falling into his face. "Mind if I play one last piece of Vivaldi? It's something knew he wrote that I'd like to give a go."
"Aw, Raf, ye're always tryin' ta stick sad music inta happy times!" yelled out one man.
"Can't dance ta nuthin' like that!" yelled another.
"Let him play," Blackbird yelled over the crowd. They fell silent, a few coughing in embarrassment. Rafael gave a relieved glance at the captain and immediately picked up another tune, a long soft tune that hung heavy over the crowd. There was no dancing at this one. The cries of the fiddle were strange, not meant for such a happy instrument. The violin was a better candidate for the piece he was playing.
"Winter by Vivaldi," whispered Blackbird, recognizing the new tune. Jack glanced at her suddenly pale face. Her cheekbones were hollower than ever and it looked like she had seen a ghost. "It's a new piece, written last year." Rafael had his eyes closed, his jaw clenched shut and his arm moving the bow across the strings, the sound somehow coming from it. He felt it would be rude if he interrupted the song so he stayed seated and listened.
Finally the spell was broken when Rafael played the last long note on the fiddle. There was no clapping, only the scary silence even the waves couldn't break. Rafael gave a weak smile and started a new song, a happier one that finally broke the silence. The men once again resumed their cheerful disposition, the previous song forgotten.
"Jack?"
Jack twisted around to look at Blackbird, who was now focused on himself.
"Maybe we can talk some? But somewhere else?" Her eyes were pleading to him. She needed to say no more.
"I've got me cabin o'er there," Jack said, nodding his head behind them. "Will that suffice?"
Blackbird nodded. They both rose, the men did not object. The sounds of the fête were muffled as Jack closed the door behind them. Blackbird's eyes wandered around his cabin. The large painting of the sea turtles, the small bookcase opposite of his bed, the reading table with parchment and inkwell, the pen missing somewhere, various other materials in various other corners. After Blackbird seemed satisfied with the area, she set herself down in the chair that was set up for the desk. Jack too sat, but on the tip of his bed. They listened to the growing merriment outside, somewhat hesitant to start any conversation.
"It took me eight years to find you," Blackbird said suddenly.
"You were looking for me?" Jack asked in surprise.
"Can't say I was," she replied sadly. She stood up and began to pace the room, Jack's eyes still on her. "I had forgotten about you, actually. This was a surprise."
"You aren't the only one who was surprised."
Blackbird nodded. "I can't believe I didn't recognize this was your ship. This is the Black Pearl? The stories are true! She is a beautiful vessel and I see now why you were after her so hungrily all those years."
Jack nodded, the usual pride of his said ship absent. The air hung silent for a moment more. It was almost uncomfortable.
"How has life been treating you, D?"
She stopped pacing. Her hand lifted to brush some of her hair from her face. The expression she held was pained yet stern. "Better, indeed. But I'm still haunted." She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, staring at the floor.
"You never did tell me anything, D. You left before you could."
"I know." She took one more step and sat back in the chair, leaning back and setting her legs to rest on the desk. "I don't reveal that information. Ever."
Jack didn't answer.
"It's a difficult subject, that is. I'm sure you don't talk about your past either."
"I don't," Jack said quietly.
"But I think after eight years of not talking, I find you the worthy one to speak to."
Jack looked up at her, her face still holding the ever serious look, often masked with a grin, but now revealed. "What are you telling me, D?"
"I'm telling you what happened to me. I'm telling you why I'm here."
"Why you became a pirate?" Jack raised his eyebrows, full attention on her.
"No," she said harshly. "I've never been one to figure that out. Maybe you with you're twisted little mind can tell me that when I'm finished."
"I doubt that," Jack said gently.
"Do you?" Blackbird's golden eyes pierced Jack's. "Are you so sure, Jack Sparrow? This is coming from the man who once knew that the living dead didn't exist."
"What I'm saying is I can't tell you why you became a pirate. That's entirely up to you." He grinned. "But I shall do my best to make anything clear to you that your person can't see."
Blackbird smiled in return. "How's your relation with trust these days, Jack?"
He laughed. "You of all people I ever knew should know that when I say something, I intend to carry it out. Are you calling me deceitful?"
"Not at all. But I know others don't think so highly of you."
Jack scoffed. "Their side of the story always leaves out a few important parts."
"I know you're a man of your word --" she started before being interrupted by a loud shot outside. She looked at the door with such a look that if it were living, it would cringe.
"Mus' be blind drunk by now," Jack murmured.
"'Slong as they don't blast any holes in the floor," Blackbird said, slightly impatient.
"They're good men…and women," Jack said, remembering Anamaria. "They wouldn't damage yer ship."
Blackbird settled down slightly, his words sinking in. "Ready for a long night?" she whispered.
"What?" Jack choked out, taken by surprise.
"Not that, you idiot," Blackbird spat out. "I'm being serious!" She took a deep breath. "I've never spoken a word of this to anyone, save for this, and are you going to take me seriously?"
"Apologies," Jack said, regaining his composure. "I didn't mean…yes, I'm listening."
The room fell silent. Blackbird had her legs propped once more on the desk, one foot over the other. Her hands were folded in her lap, the chair leaned back slightly with her back against it. The usual expression of concentration, determination, and slight sorrow was plastered to her features. Her fair eyes drifted from her fingers to Jack.
"Okay…" she said. She licked her lips, her mouth slightly open with meditation. The jewel in her eyebrow glistened with the lamp light in the room. "1714. That was the year that I died."
