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Chapter Seven - Runaway Child

It was only a matter of hours since Jack had left the Pearl, and even after Mr. Gibbs awoke from his drunken slumber, the bottle was out again, and he was chugging its contents dutifully. It was not a pretty sight to see, the life of a drunken, dirty pirate, who didn't even have good looks to soften the existence. Yet old Mr. Gibbs had no one to please and look well for, so his rum was the solitary object of his affections.

"Aye, that's the stuff, Gibbs," said the intoxicated swashbuckler as he patted his abdomen slowly.

Out of nowhere, a miniscule lass appeared and took to climbing up Mr. Gibbs' legs as a means of amusement. With a rather slow reaction, Mr. Gibbs took a wavering swipe at her, and muttered with a low belch, "Monkey! Go find your own banana tree..."

Mercedes giggled gleefully as he twisted and turned to try to shake her off his back. She grabbed his ponytail and tugged it violently.

"Blasted monkey! Don't break my hair."

"Mung-kee!" Mercedes shouted with her little voice.

With a growl of irritation, and a more powerful strike (yet not enough to hurt the lass), Mr. Gibbs managed to unseat the Sparrowling and she landed on the deck with a firm thud. Tears welled in her russet eyes, yet it was more because of a hurt soul than rump. With another swig of his drink, Mr. Gibbs wiped his mouth on the back of his dirty hand and the two began to gawk at each other, one with glazed eyes, and the other with doleful ones. He pulled his leg back, ready for a soft kick, but she whimpered and scrambled to her feet. She scampered off, leaving a hiccupping pirate slumped against a wall.

"Bring me back a banana," Gibbs mumbled as he turned his eyes away from the escaped little girl.

The candle between them flickered softly. It was still midday, but the light in the pub was quite dim. Felix had his hands folded under his chin, his elbows on the table as he gazed at Sam. Then one hand reached out and caressed the cut on her pretty cheek. She shied away from him at first, but then steadied and forced herself to let him do what he wanted. "What happened to your perfect face, luv?"

Echoes of memories of that horrible night flashed through her mind. They were on board his ship, The Huntress, and the wine had been particularly fine that evening, and before she could defend her honour, he had her in his grasp, as he led her to his bunk. In an instant, he was down on her, and all she could do was struggle helplessly as he did as he pleased. His arms were everywhere, groping her body, and as his left arm moved, the cufflink of his shirt made a little scratch on her face.

He was not the man she assumed he was upon their meeting, she thought with a sigh of regret. He does not remember that night well with all the drink.

She faced him squarely and shrugged the subject off. "T'is but a scratch I received from colliding with the corner of my bunk."