A/N: Ok, so, this is my first shot at writing Fanfiction in years, so forgive me my trespasses in the fandom. I'd just like to take this opportunity to say that if any of my characters start acting like Mary-Sues, slap me. If any of the canon characters start acting OOC, slap me. Please R&R, I'm really looking for critisizm on my writing style, as I fear it's been rather stagnant of late. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I do not own Jack, The Black Pearl, or any of the characters or plot devices mentioned or used in the Disney production.

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TAKE WHAT YOU CAN

(Give Nothin' Back!)

by EternaLei

It was roughly 10 o'clock of the morning, and sunlight was just beginning to filter through the filth-caked windows of the Dead Dog Tavern. It only penetrated a few inches into the gloom, however, before seemingly thinking better of the endeavor and turning right back out, leaving the gritty confines of the establishment gloomy and dank. Not to mention rather empty; bustling with drunkards by noon and well through the night, this hour of the day often left the Dead Dog free of patrons. Only one remained, and the bartender was beginning to accept him as part of the scenery. He'd been here for the better part of a month, ever since he'd floated in with the rumrunners. A month, and not a moment of it sober; the wretch drank rum every day of the week, save for Sunday. Then he just drank whiskey.

With a jerk, the mass of snarled hair and beads looked up from whatever drunken or sleeping state he'd been in for the last several hours. "Illavanudderwun," he slurred, waving one hand wildly and nearly falling off his 3-legged stool, which hadn't been too stable to begin with. At least, not since the incident with the Jamaican sailor and the Plantation man with the bearded wench....

"Comin' right up, mistah Sparrow," the bartender, MacCuluchy told him with a smile. He'd been absentmindedly cleaning out a filthy tankard with and equally filthy rag for the better part of 15 minutes, just in case his wife came in to make sure he was keeping busy. A distraction from the fruitless pursuit would be most welcome. Not that Mr. Sparrow looked like he needed another anything, lest it was a bath, but MacCuluchy was not one to question the customer's orders. As long as the sun rose in the east each morning there'd be folk miserable about it for some reason or another, and when men were miserable, it was his God-given duty to supply them with enough alcohol to drown those miseries well into the next season. So MacCuluchy bravely did his duty and plopped a chipped mug full of amber rum in front of Sparrow's face.

The pirate stared at it for several minutes, swirling the dregs of the liquid around pensively, not looking quite as hung over as he had minutes before. Then, in a single swig, he drained the entire mug and slapped it back on the bar top, along with a sixpence. "Another!" he cried. That day's drinking had begun.

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She's wasn't by any means gorgeous. On the contrary, 'Odd' was normally the first word to leap to mind. 'Crazy' tended to be the second.

Anyone walking past her might have taken her for a man. She wore a rather oversized black coat that came down to skirt the cobblestones with the dusty, frayed hem. Her current hat (She went through them at an alarming rate) was a brown leather affair, pinned up at either side and fixed with a crimson feather. She especially liked the feather. It added a dramatic flair to her appearance, in her opinion. Beneath the coat, most of her other clothes were men's attire; baggy trousers, a baggy muslin shirt with a very wide collar and large sleeves, and a few brightly colored sashes. The only feminine touch was a bodice over the shirt; she had discovered in the past you can hide lots of small, sharp things in a bodice.

At the moment she was casually leaning against the side of a rather seedy tavern. This part of town was commonly known as the dock district, and wasn't the nicest place on the island. Whenever good, upstanding folk had to pass through it for some reaosn or another, they did it as quickly as possible, doing their best to ignore all the lowlife. Naturally, none of them noticed the woman leaning against the window of the Dead Dog. More importantly, none of them noticed the absence of their coin purses until much later.

Kate Kidd smiled down at her newest catch before shoving it into her sash with the others. She was now developing a bit of a bulge around her middle – a bulge that clinked when she walked. She was doing very well today, and the hour not even noon! Of course, by midnight, there would be a very good chance that she'd have gambled it all away, but that would only mean she'd be out here pickpocketing again tomorrow morning. Assuming she was sober enough to stand...

"Ahoy! Kate!"

So much for anonymity. Kate pushed the brim of her hat up and turned to see a golden-haired wench with a bright smile running towards her. Mary Higgins- Also known by a few of her patrons as Bloody Mary, due to her bloody awful cooking...

"Allo, Mary, how goes the day?" Kate asked lazily, her nonchalance contrasting with Mary's bubbly cheerfulness.

"Oh, wonderful, we just got a new import of rum at the tavern, and one of the sailors tipped me mighty fine for a, er, favor, and I just got a new dress!" she exclaimed, gesturing to a parcel under her arm. One of many parcels, actually. It seemed that MacCuluchy had sent the lass to run errands. Mary was now standing right in front of Kate, and the latter being the shorter of two, was about face-to-face with the bar-wench's generous bosom, propped up by the tight lacings of her bodice. "It's so pretty, I'll have to show ye! And the trim will match that necklace ye, er, borrowed for me last Christmas!"

Kate tried to remember the necklace in question and failed. She often nicked fancy things, and if she wasn't up for pawning or gambling them, she'd often hand them over to her friend. "That's lovely, Mary," she replied in a rather disinterested tone." I take it business is well then?"

"Oh yes!" Kate was astounded by the naïvety Mary managed to maintain, despite her line of work. "Profits've been good, specially with that storm the other week that kept a lot 'o folk tied to the docks for a whiles!" Her smile suddenly dissipated, and was replaced by a pouting of her scarlet lips. "Though there is one chap- very good-looking fella – who we just can't seem to cheer up. He's been racking up a tab to house a small army, but he dun respond to nuthin me or the girls say."

"Does he now?" Kate remarked absently, eyeing a man in a powdered wig strutting confidently down the street. Well, eyeing his pockets, to be more exact.

"Aye. He just sits there and drinks his rum and dun say a word to nobody, 'cept to call for more rum. He even slept in the bar 'cause MacCuluchy felt too sorry for 'im to throw 'im out. Will ye be comin' to gamble tonight?"

"Of course I'll be gambling," Kate retorted, turning her attention away from the rich twit, who'd just turned down the opposing street. Dammit.

"I dun think ye should, Kate," Mary replied in worried tones. Kate hated it when Mary got motherly, especially since the rogue outnumbered the wench in years. "You'd be so much better off if ye didn't bet off all your money..."

She sighed. "Does it cross your mind, Mary, that I got the majority of that money from gambling in the first place? I'm good, don't worry about me!"

"Sorry, Kate," Mary replied, looking prettily distraught. She really was a pretty girl, what with her curly golden hair and round blue eyes, and figure to make many a sailor whistle. If only she didn't paint her face so gaudily... Kate was quite a contrast, her pale-brown hair coarse, wild, and long, mainly from neglect, and her boyish face narrow and browned by sun. She was scarred and bony, and built like a board.

"Dun worry about it." Kate returned her vision to the scene of the bustling port of Isla Mugriento. Even though it was now technically a British settlement, no one had yet bothered to change the Spanish name. Back when it had been under control of the Spanish, the island had been a loathesome hive of scum. It had been cleaned up considerably over the years, but certain places, like certain people, never change. It was still just corrupt enough for the law to have a blind spot that Kate fit in to quite nicely. Being a gambler, thief, con, and general ne'er-do-well island-hopping scallywag had definite perks. "Here, I'll buy ye luncheon-"

"Oh, dun worry 'bout that! I have to go cook these potatoes anyway! I suppose I'll see ye in a bit...."

"Aye, a bit." Kate shot a smile at Mary as the other girl ducked into the Dead Dog Tavern. It was a disgusting place, and while this meant Kate was naturally attracted to it, she couldn't help but feel sorry for Mary. She wasn't right for this sort of life – she ought to have been one of those wealthy stitching pansies married to one of the British commanders at the fort.

But, she wasn't; she was a bar wench and Kate was a worthless waste of oxygen with roughly 6 purses shoved in her belt, and there wasn't anything either of them could do about it.

Well, except for the purses.

Kate began to smile deviously...