Disclaimer: Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.

Chapter 4

Besides a piercing look during their introduction, Sparrow made no comment on Turner's parentage. The youth himself seemed unaware that his late father had also been a musician, having been raised single-handedly by his mother. In any case, he clearly idolized the former rock icon and hung on every word the other said, a fact that amused the guitarist to no end. As for Lizzy, she was thrilled at being included in the band's crew, and insisted on coming along for the recruitment of the others. It was a point that neither Sparrow, Swann, or Norrington were pleased about. However, she didn't give them any choice in the matter. Though not one to throw fits or tantrums, she had a sly way of getting what she wanted. They thought it wise to just agree, rather than finding out that she'd followed them and gotten into trouble.

At the moment, they were dressed down and squeezed in Sparrow's dilapidated van. It was a miracle that the vehicle even held together while parked, or so Norrington thought in disgust. He'd claimed shotgun next to the guitarist, while his colleagues, Gilette and Groves took center. Squeezed blissfully in the back were the young couple. As they drove deeper into the less savory parts of town, Norrington's scowl grew along with Sparrow's grin. It was with a sour face that he stepped out of the van and followed Sparrow into a bar. The sign was just hanging on, gaping neon glyphs blinked out the name Tortuga. A whiff of what could only be dead rodent and piss greeted their arrival, causing Norrington's nose to twitch.

Thankfully, Lizzy was silent. With little trouble, the group found an empty table at the back, though it looked like it hadn't seen a clean rag since the last decade. Majority wisely decided not to order drinks. Sparrow cheerfully swallowed the pig's swill served, while Turner looked warily into the murky depths of his untouched whiskey sour. After sitting in the eye of the storm for a good fifteen minutes, Norrington finally spoke up.

"So, where is the man you're supposed to meet?"

"Oh, he'll be along in due time."

"Like within the day?" Norrington snapped at him.

Sparrow just waved his hand unconcernedly, eyes on the crowd. His eyes brightened for a moment at the sight of a woman approaching them. Norrington withdrew at the strong scent of cheap perfume and liquor, but Sparrow leant forward only to meet with the open palm of the lady's - if she could be called that - hand. He choked back his aborted cry of 'Scarlet' and fell back in his seat.

"Not sure if I deserved that."

Then, he started to rise again.

"Giselle!"

"Who was she?"

"What?"

He was met with another sound slap. Shaking his head at the second blow, he retreated once more to his seat.

"I may have deserved that," he admitted ruefully.

Just as Norrington was about to lose his patience, a stout man plopped down on the empty seat next to Sparrow and warily eyed them.

"Now, who's all this?"

"Ballast," was the cryptic reply. "Lady and gents, this be Gibbs."

Chapter 5

Lizzy had her long legs tucked underneath as she curled up in sleep. At her side on the loveseat was a drowsy Turner, and behind them, Gilette kept watch. The redhead's back was to a wall of the dingy apartment Gibbs called home. He muttered some choice curses in his mother's native tongue as a rodent scurried at his feet.

Groves, on the other hand, stood at attention behind his superior and Sparrow. The trio watched as Gibbs presented the rag-tag team that was to serve as roadies and stagehands.

"So, this is your able-bodied crew?" Norrington noted dryly.

"Appearances can be a misgiving - "

"Misleading," the other hissed at him through gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes... You, you over there!"

"That would be Cotton," said Gibbs.

"Mr. Cotton," Sparrow continued, "do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death? Mr. Cotton! Answer, man!"

Groves choked back a laugh as Gibbs spoke up again.

"He's a mute, sir. Poor devil had his tongue cut out, so he trained the parrot to talk for him. No one's yet figured how..."

"Mr. Cotton's...parrot. Same question."

"Rock and roll! Rock and roll!"

"Mostly, we figure, that means 'yes'."

"Of course, it does." Sparrow smirked at Norrington. "Satisfied?"

"Well, you've proved them mad," the man replied sardonically.

"And what's the benefit for us?" Another of the 'crew' asked.

Sparrow's ever-gesturing hands twitched sporadically and a painfully wide grin stretched on his face. He pulled off the newsboy cap on the person in question, and dark locks cascaded to curtain smooth caramel skin.

"Ah, my dear An - "

A slap greeted him.

"I suppose you didn't deserve that either," Norrington said, amusement ill-concealed.

"No, that one I deserved."

The woman nodded furiously.

"You stole my money!"

"Actually..." Another sound slap. "...borrowed, borrowed without permission. But, with every intention of paying you back."

"But, you didn't!"

"I will!"

She jabbed his chest with a sharp manicured nail.

"I will."

"With interest," Norrington chimed in.

"With interest!" Sparrow hastily agreed.

"Part of the prize money," Norrington continued, smirking.

"What money? That money?! Aye! That money. What say you?"

"Aye!" The woman led the cry of the crew.

"No, no, no, no, no, it's frightful bad luck to bring a woman aboard," Gibbs protested.

"It'd be far worse not to, however," Sparrow said regretfully with a shrug of shoulders.

"Besides," he added as an afterthought, "we need a PR rep. And you won't find a better cutt-throat agent better than Anamaria."

Chapter 6

As rock music went, Norrington had to admit that Sparrow was good, not as grating to the ear as he expected. Cradling a Swann-loaned guitar and crooning an angst-laced love song, it was clear that the man was in his element. After a few nervous, clumsy starts, Turner was drawn in as well, whereas Gibbs apparently had played drums for Sparrow before.

It was just a few months before the competition, but Sparrow didn't seem the least worried about having three or so songs ready. Only after Turner gave voice to his worry did the lead admit he had some songs written up. Clearly, he was one to hold his cards close. Norrington didn't blame him, knowing what had happened with the man's previous group. After jamming for awhile, they were now playing the song Jack called Dark Lady, an allusion to the Pearl from the sound of it.

Stepping out onto the terrace, Norrington looked down from the apartment Swann had rented for the band's benefit. It came with a soundproof room for practice, and beds or couches for everyone. Not a penthouse, but Sparrow didn't seem to care. He'd probably sleep on a garage floor as long as he had a guitar and a place to play at. Norrington lit up the cigarette that Anamaria held out to him, shaking his head at her offer of another. He didn't believe in vices or addictions, be it smoking, drugs, drink, or plain debauchery. A side-effect of his days on the force.

Watching the city lights, he and Anamaria stood in silence for a moment. Then, the woman turned to look at him from where she leaned against the cool metal railing.

"So, what are you here for?"

Norrington nodded back into the glass-closed room. Fast asleep under Turner's jacket was Lizzy, Gilette nearby.

"Ah, Turner's lady."

"Indeed."

"Stiff Brit prick."

The woman's amused smile dulled the edge of the comment, full lips then taking another drag.

"And you? Is it really just the money?"

"Hah," she snorted. "I guess you could say I love this life. Never knew anything else really. Grew up on the streets, aimed high with rock and roll, rose, fell... Don't know the meaning of giving up, so here I am."

"You go back a long way with Sparrow?"

"Suppose you could say so...though I doubt anyone really knows him. He definitely isn't the same hotshot I used to watch from afar. That was back when he was running the Buccaneers. Things were different then."

"He tell you what happened?"

"Jack tells no one anything."

Her laugh was jagged with underlying emotion this time. She'd felt more for Sparrow then she'd admit. There was history there. Norrington could tell from the way she looked at the guitarist at times. But, he also noticed that whatever it was for Sparrow it was long over.

"What were they playing inside?"

"Dark Lady."

"Ah." A sound full of meaning.

She wished it was about her, he could tell. But, Sparrow was not a man to love one alone. To hold him to that was to lose him. He was just too in love with his music, all centered on his lost Pearl. How could one compete with that? Anamaria had obviously given up though some feelings might linger. Her dark eyes gleamed with the city's neon as she turned back, the sound of Sparrow's own cigarette-roughened voice cutting through the glass.

He was still singing as he stepped into the living room.

"Dark Lady, who holds you now?
Fickle you are with your favors.
Taunt me with whispered sweet nothings 'Cause that's all you've got to give..."