Notes from the Author: For my second entry, something a bit more lighthearted than the first. Just a little mandatory hooker-humor, and, good news: Jack's back to his old self, hurrah! I just couldn't allow him to wallow in his angst for long...Thank you to those who've reviewed, and to those who haven't..**brandishes the Mighty Cutlass of Doooom at ye**
Ascent into Legend
Chapter II
All around and in the street life danced chaotically by, like a swarm of flies on a bucket of sun-warmed bait. People of all manner of shapes, sizes and states of dress and drunkenness were scattered about, and though Midnight had long since gone, the street was lit up as bright as day with the gay, glowing faces of the revelers. While the good people of Tortuga (what few there were) lay with their pillows over their heads, the heady, wild folk kept each other company in a flurry of laughter and an easy flow of rum.
The raucous scene that lay before him pulled Jack's spirits up like no other redbird could, putting him in a mind to shed the sullen mood he'd sunken into. The Black Pearl lay with water a fathom-and-a-half above her barnacles in the harbor, but in this damned depression he could hardly be asked to drag up a brilliant plan for her rescue, could he? Making this acknowledgment perked him up considerably, as, if he were going to rush headlong into some new harebrained scheme or another, he would much rather do in his usual fashion—with a crooked grin on his face and a pint in his fist. A happy Jack is an efficient Jack, yes sir, and make no mistake!
"In the noise and colors of the street, with gaudy streamers flying from the brothel houses and liquor running in the gutters, it was easy to get lost in all the merrymaking. Jack himself was no stranger to nightlife in Tortuga, indeed, he picked up his heels and pranced down the boulevard with the experienced feet of an old coat. Even in the moonlight his swaying gait and figure were easily distinguishable, and from the red-swathed balconies issued a spray of catcalls and whistles.
"I haven't been the same since you met my pillow, Jack," one buxom madam called, ruffling her bedraggled, uncurled hair.
"I haven't been the same since I met your pillow, either, love," he thought, reflexively scratching his head. A month to sea with headlice would make any sailor choose his pleasurable company more wisely.
"We thought you'd drowned in yer rum, Jack!" cried a snaggled-toothed harlot, snorting loudly at her waggery. Jack play-frowned at her and raised his empty hands, as if to bemoan his lack of rum to drown in.
"Been saddled with old Gibbs," he replied, pursing his lips flirtatiously at the terrace-maids. They giggled loudly and wiggled their bosoms at him from the railing, no doubt inviting him to "saddle up" with them. He ambled toward the side of the road and took a long glance up, swiftly garnering a torrent of playful banter about his wandering eyes.
"Present, ho! me lovelies." he ordered, and the ladies above him cackled as they hauled up their skirts for him in a comical display of pink ruffled pantaloons. Jack recognized the familiar fares at once (successfully neglecting to reason that they all still wore their old undergarments might stem from the fact that they were, in fact, overlooking their washing), and took due note of any new drawers (as there were apt to be, as more respectable young ladies lost their respectability every day). For their compliance, they received a roguish wink, and a momentary show of his rarely bared head as he bowed in a mockery of a gentleman.
"Jack, be a sport and leave some o' the ladies for an old sot like me," came a voice that sounded like it had once had a commanding air about it, but had long since lost it somewhere rolling in the mud. "No honest man –hic– like me could dare compete with such boyish good looks."
Jack whirled around unsteadily to peer out the owner of this voice and quickly laid eyes on a man of incredible importance in Tortuga, to fit his incredible girth. He was a former military man, once respectable among the nobility of Port Royal and Kingston, who'd taken heavily to drink after the death of his wife and who had, as a result, been eventually dismissed from the service. He was a lighthearted fellow of a generous hand who had taken to life in Tortuga in earnest, and who also, by chance, was oft inclined to use his familiarity with the Royal Navy and Caribbean aristocracy to the advantage of his fellow drunkards, harlots, and general unsavory outcasts. Needless it was to say that, with as many times as he'd led his sympathetic Navy mates astray during the chase, he had a good many friends among the ranks in Tortuga.
""Why Duck, you bootlicker," said Jack to his old friend, flouncing away from the balcony to where Duck Chumbler sat against a crumbling fountain in the street, surrounded by a bevy of slightly unappetizing womenfolk, and a half dozen empty bottles (which explained the willing tolerance of slightly unappetizing womenfolk). Duck was a man of presence even when drunk off his arse, a man of such magnificently large proportions that you couldn't help but be aware of him. His was a sentimental soul, and, though his bursting heart had nearly burst through the tarnished buttons of his old uniform, old Duck still wore all the polishings of a Navy man, from his uncomfortable boots right up to his little powdered wig, which had fallen dangerously askew during his romancing.
"With compliments like that, I suspect I should throw down piracy this instant and take up the honorable business of being pleasurable. Reckon I could pull in?" Jack finished, and pulled a hearty laugh from the rotund baboon. The ladies surrounding Duck giggled also, and fluttered their kohled eyes lavishly at the swarthy joker. Their chuckles didn't last long, though, for a newcomer was fast approaching, and she looked in the mood for anything but laughter.
"Jack Sparrow! I'll have yer ruddy head!"
"Uh oh. Duck, ladies, if you'll excuse . . ." Hearing the irate female voice shrieking behind him quickly put Jack in the mood to exit, stage left. But, before he could take one stumbling step toward safety (aye, before he could even finish his sentence), he was rounded on.
SLAP!
"That seems to happen quite a lot," he muttered, and stared frankly at what he suspected might be an extraordinarily pretty woman, once the paint was chipped off. He screwed up his eyes and tried to picture her face white where now it was all red.
"Ophelia?"--hard glare from the lady in question--"Ah, that is, I meant to say, Katherine."
"That's right, Katherine." she replied, holding up her fist and shaking it horribly at him. "And seein' as ye can recall me name so well, maybe ye can explain this." Fist-shaking now very close to Jack's rapidly crossing eyes.
"I'd say that was your fist—your very lovely and powerful fist, of course," Jack replied quickly, stumbling around his brain for any relevant memories. He found many—women of Tortuga (or, for that matter, the world) seemed to have a penchant for beating up on him.
"No, you damn bumblin' fool of a pirate! This," she opened her fist and shoved its glittering gold contents under his nose. She went on, rather violently. "Did ye think I'd ne'er get it open, eh? Did ye think I were too witless t' open a locket?"
"Of course not, love," Jack replied in his most soothing voice. Duck and the girls were, by now, guffawing with sheer abandon. Katherine, however, ignored them all and plowed on unhindered.
"Did ye think I didn't know me own name?" She threw the locket to his feet and spat after it. "Where did she drag that up from? That can't possibly be healthy." "Juliet, it says, Juliet! Do I look like some tawdry trollop named Juliet, eh Jack Sparrow?"
"Ahem, Captain,"
Juliet--err, Katherine--hurrumphed very loudly, turned on her heel, and stalked away. Several piercing whistles emitted from the balcony as the vexed madam sulked against the purse of a very burly, and very drunk customer, leaving Jack to smile charmingly and shrug his shoulders, even as a welcoming party of less-vexed Jennies welcomed them to their bosoms and their beds.
A few footnotes for easier reading: 1. A fathom is a length of 6 ft. Arr, fear my pirate speech! 2. Ophelia and Katherine are two characters from Shakespeare. Ophelia appeared in Hamlet, and was described as a sweet, innocent, maidenly girl. Katherine, however, was the shrew in The Taming of the Shrew, who was sharp-tongued, quick tempered, and prone to violence. Now we know our star madam up there is definitely not Ophelia. Heh.