Disclaimer: My tale has borrowed characters. Borrowed characters has this tale. And had it not borrowed characters… I could possibly actually get paid for it. Oh well.

Me Hat
(It Has Three Corners)

This cookie comes from sometime between Honest and Dishonest Men and Significance
A very loud noise suddenly caught the attention of everyone in the bar. The brawlers and dancers paused and began looking about, trying to discover what had happened. Some of the more inebriated souls amongst the company instantly fell to the floor, clutching various body parts, each drunkenly believing he'd just been shot. All eyes (except for eyes belonging to the men who'd just been "gunned down") soon settled on one corner of the room, though. In that corner on the floor lay two halves of an unfortunate table. Sprawled on top of the destroyed table was a rather large and rather unconscious man. And sitting near the scene of this apparent accident sat a particular Jack Sparrow who liked people to remember he was a captain.

"Heeee… h- he tripped," Captain Jack Sparrow slurringly explained to the staring crowd. The captain seemed to notice his leg was still extended and slowly bent his knee, dragging his foot out of the walkway.

Activity in the tavern resumed its normal fervor as soon as the cause of the noise was known, and Jack took that as his cue to move along. He stood to leave and reached up to tug his hat down farther over his head…

…but his hand landed on his hair. He frowned. This wasn't quite right. He patted and poked the top of his head until he was quite convinced that, indeed, there was no hat to be found upon his crown.

He patted down the rest of his body, checking to see if perhaps his hat were resting on his shoulder or behind his knee. When this search, too, failed to produce his hat, he expanded his hunt to include all nearby tables, chairs, and bar-flies, and he expanded his methods to include sight, touch, smell, and sound. He discovered some interesting sights and textures and heard some strange things. He smelled things that made him glad he hadn't decided to use his sense of taste as well in aiding his search. But all this still returned to him no hat.

Finally, it occurred to him that he perhaps left it at another bar earlier that evening. In fact, there was a good chance he had done so. He was almost certain he remembered removing it earlier… And there was a woman, mingling with the crowd in the bar, who had a very familiar-looking backside… He shook his head to refocus. Ah yes… so all he would have to do is go back to that bar, whichever one it was, and retrieve his hat.

It was a good plan. It was a very good plan, in fact. Wonderful idea. Andthus his thoughts ran on as he headed out into the raucous Tortuga night. He turned into the very next bar he came to, The Angels' Roost, still congratulating himself for his great and magnificent plan. He was so pleased with his glorious plan, in fact, that he went directly and ordered a pint of rum to celebrate his own genius.

When the barmaid returned with his drink, he urged her to sit down for a moment, and he immediately began to share with her what a great plan he had devised.

"What sort of plan?" the stained and soured scum woman asked.

"I'm going to look for it!" Jack announced.

"Look for what?" she responded automatically, a foul odor wafting from her mouth as she spoke.

"The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything!" Jack slurred enthusiastically.

"Another one of those, eh?" she said peevishly as she scratched at her long hooked nose. "I thought you preacher-types steered clear of hellholes like this. T'isn't as if we don' get-"

"Me hat!" Jack interrupted her, as though just remembering.

"What about your ruddy hat?" the barmaid asked irritably

"It… has three corners," Jack began, looking at her as if expecting her to suddenly burst out with a detailed account of where his hat currently was, as well as everywhere that it had ever been.

"You think yer hat's going to give you the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything? What's a hat got to do with the godforsaken four corners of the world?"

"Three corners," Jack corrected, "has me hat."

The barmaid stared at him appraisingly, then she abruptly stood. "Let me know if you want a refill. I'm not here to talk about the corners of your damned hat."

"If it didn't have three corners, though, it wouldn't be my hat," Jack said gently.

The world-wearied woman scowled unbecomingly and stalked away.

Jack realized that this bar had four corners in it. But his hat only had three corners in it. Dead end. He frowned and stood. He stood a bit too quickly, though, and nearly lost his balance. A friendly set of arms caught him before he had tipped too far, though, and set him aright again. His hat didn't have arms, either. So it certainly couldn't be in this fourcornered, armed bar. He continued his search.

The next bar Jack found was The Sphinx. He veered through the doorway and sought out a drinkandsome answers.

A grizzly bartender was the first person he spotted that might be able to give both, and so he approached him. The bartender slid him a tankard as Jack began to present his problem to the sage-looking man. "Me…" Jack frowned, searching for the word. He gestured wildly, waving his hands around his head.

The bartender only stared dumbly, shaking his head in confusion.

"It has three corners," Jack hinted.

"What has three corners?"

"Three corners…" Jack said, drawing his hand in circles as though to draw the word out of the bartenders' mouth. "…has me…"

The bartender furrowed his brow as Jack helpfully patted his own head and pantomimed a hat-shape. "Yer hair?" he suggested.

"If it doesn't have three corners, then it's not me… er… it's not mine." Jack answered.

The bartendergave him a baffled look. Three-cornered object that sits on someone's head… He had no idea with this insane man was jabbering about. He walked away, leaving Jack without any more answers to help him on his quest.

Jack frowned and looked down at his feet in dejection. The hem of the skirt ofsome tavern wench standing very near him… looked somewhat familiar. Which was odd, since neither he nor his hat owned a skirt. He sighed discontentedly at his unfruitful search and left the bar.

He soon found another tavern which seemed promising: The Stranger's Harp.

He was all set to cut right to the chase and get some rum and ask some questions… but he realized very quickly, as soon as he was inside, thatthis bar looked very different from any other bar he had ever soon. There weren't as many people within as could usually be found in such establishments, and the fireplace-scene before him was far too cozy and inviting… but what tipped him off was the fact that there was no actual bar from which to get his drink. This was a problem. He wasn't sure he'd be able to remember what his quest was if he didn't have a drink. Before he could back away and leave, however, two men hastened to pull him closer to their circle around the fire.

"What brings you here tonight, brother?" a leader-type of man asked as the others dragged Jack to the center of the assemblage, standing him up right before the cozy flame.

Jack frowned very deeply as he tried to remember if he had a brother or not. He might've mumbled out a bunch of tangled words to that effect. The dozen or so men immediately assured him, "You do here!", "You're not alone!", and "This can be your family!"

Jack blinked. He certainly didn't remember having a family this large. But he thought if they were family, perhaps they would know where his hat was.

"I'm looking for…" he began, "for…." Blast! He'd just had the word, not five seconds ago. "Haaaaa,….harrrr… Looking for h-ha-ho-hhh."

"Hope!" someone completed for him.

Jack pursed his lips and toyed with his goatee, trying to decide if that was the word he'd been looking for or not. He arrived at no conclusion and so instead he continued, "It has… er… has… co-corrrrr- cornerers."

"Colonels!" one his newfound brothers echoed. "You're in the Royal Navy?"

"Colonels has me… hh-hhhaaaa…"

"One of your colonels gave you hope? He sent you here?" exclaimed one of the men. "Praise be!"

Jack looked all about, thoroughly confused. This didn't seem at all as though it had anything to do with his hat. He decided to tell them so and announced his departure by means of a quick explanation: "If I hadden not colonel-cornerers, I wouldnent have a ha-harp."

This announcement did not have quite the effect he had hoped for. A gleeful shout went up, and the men thronged forward, eager to shake his hand and pat his back. "Free from the fiery gates!" the ringleader proclaimed joyously.

Jack, somewhat alarmed, ducked and tried to dodge the overly cheerful "brothers." He darted quickly to one side, lost his balance, caught a glimpse of a woman's chest amongst all the men, and fell seat-first into the fireplace. With a yelp and not a single look back, Jack abandoned the confusing non-bar full of confusing non-family members.

He wandered the streets of Tortuga, getting lost in brawling crowds, re-emerging only to be enveloped by clouds of smoke and deafened by yells and sounds of fighting, looking everywhere for his missing article. Eventually, he took refuge in the very next immoral wallow he could find: an errant-looking place called The Long Nine.

Once inside, he went in search of a quart of rum. He couldn't remember what he was looking for anymore. Rum usually helped with problems like that. He usually could think clearer if he had his hat, too. But since he didn't know where his hat was, he was hoping the rum would help him remember.

An attractive barmaid brought him his drink and then perched on the table nearest where he stood. Jack had downed nearly a quarter of the rum in the amount of time it took the girl to croon, "Why so glum, sailor?"

"I can'na find me… me…" He scratched his head thoughtfully, but couldn't come up with a word to fill in the blank. "It has… er…"

"I don't know what you're looking for, sailor, but I'll tell you what I'm looking for," she purred in response.

"… has me… If it- if it does nata…has… it's not…" Jack shook his head, giving up, and began to lower himself wearily into a chair to finish off his rum.

"You help me find what I'm looking for, and I'll help you," the whore suggested sweetly.

"Wao!" Jack exclaimed, leaping back to his feet again, having just been painfully reminded of his burned bum.

The tavern girl grinned at his apparent eagerness. She wasted no time in leading him to an upper room, and he unthinkingly followed, oblivious to all that had not three corners or that might make his arse stop smarting. The door shut behind him…

A few moments later, the door flew open, and a very bewildered Jack Sparrow ran starkers through The Long Nine- his own, unfettered and free. The bar's patrons burst into laughter at the sight of a man running away from a whore. Jack didn't notice them, though; he rushed straight to where Gwen stood, lurking in a corner.

Gwen? What was she doing here…?

He instantly forgot those questions, though. Never mind why or how she was here. He fell at her feet, clinging to her skirts as though she were the last bottle of rum on the earth. He looked up at her blearily, staring in fascination at the triangular-shaped thing she wore on her head.

"I'm l-looking for me pants," Jack told her.

Jack awoke with several very unusual sensations to sort through. First of all, his skull was full of miners trying to hammer their way out- a constant, painful pounding. Second, he was lying on his stomach, which he was not in the habit of doing. Third, he was very naked. And fourth, his rear was throbbing, which it usually wasn't in the habit of doing either.

He groaned and wondered what in hell's name he'd done last night.

"Good morning, sunshine," came a familiar voice. Jack looked up to see Gwen standing before him. "At least I found your hat," she informed him, grinning broadly. She handed him a glass of water, gave him a light smack on his tender bum, and turned away, ignoring his growl of pain. "Careful getting dressed, Colonel Corners," she called over her shoulder.

Fin
And now, for some author's notes:

I apologize in advance for the absurdity of this limerick :

After reading, submitting a review
Is like smoking a ciggy after a screw;
But Delphein suggests
That you try hard to guess
Which one is the better of the two.

The first choice will not make you wheeze
Or give you venereal disease.
So for amusemend needs,
I suggest that you read.
But when you read, do review, if you please.

Three questions for my faithful readers:

Were you upset by the unresolved state of affairs at the end of Significance?
Have you been hoping for another installment of the Jack and Gwen saga?
Where will you be as the clock strikes 12:00 a.m. Central Time Zone in the wee morning hours of Monday, March 7, 2005?