A/N: Yeah, yeah. Thanks to my two reviewers. …This update's really lame, but oh well. -hands them Agent Lupeias plushies- More ConCrit, please.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't own. Own Alice. Yay.

Alice was miserable. She was wet and cold and dirty. Ew. To top it all off, she knew she was in Pirates of the Caribbean. But there were no drool-worthy men in sight. (Although that one Navy officer on that side street wasn't too bad.) No Jack. No Norrington. No Will. Not even Groves or Gillette.

She'd read about this sort of thing- Mary-Sues get dropped into Middle-Earth/Potter verse/PoTC and all the men immediately fall in Lurve. She'd always thought of those as completely inane and just plain bad writing. But at least they were warm and dry. She was going to come own with pneumonia and die, or something. Stupid 1700's people with bad medicine.

So, before she caught a deadly disease and died a horrible death, she should get new clothes. People were looking at her like she was either a dangerous criminal or a loony. Neither was a good prospect for a woman in Victorian era… This was the West Indies, right? British-owned. Her vocabulary needed a change, too, then. Crap. It looked like that merchant was talking to a officer about her, too.

Run? Talk? Run? Talk? …Run like hell. The officer had loads of advantages: He was fit, athletic, in dry clothing, and knew his way around. Alice could only hope she'd find somewhere to hide.

No such luck.

SLAM! The sound of a closing cell door rang through the prison. Alice blinked. That wasn't supposed to happen. She was at least supposed to be in Jack's cell. But no, she was stuck in the smaller, damp one with the group of pirates between her and his cell. Fun.

She glared balefully at Jack when he did enter the jail, because even though he got out she was gonna stay in here and rot. Or be hung. Or both. Joy. Jack just grinned charmingly before he was dragged into his cell.

She ignored the 'Here, Doggie' conversation. She waited for the cannons in sulky, pouty silence. She was STILL wet, and cold, and going to die. The Caribbean was anything but a paradise.

"Didn't even do anything." She muttered. "If you look at them cross-eyed the slam you in a cell. Bloody English pig-dogs."

BOOM.

Hole in wall.

Hole that she couldn't even dream of using to get out of here because it was three feet to the bloody right.

She hated this place.

"So, what are you in here for?" Jack asked dejectedly. He hadn't spotted the bone yet.

"Jaywalking." Alice said sarcastically.

Jack didn't answer. "Heeere doggie, nice doggie, d'you want the nice, juicy bone? That's it you mangy, scabrous cur…"

The dog heard a noise and ran.

"I didn't mean it!"

Two nasty-looking pirates thundered down the stairs after killing the guard. "This ain't the armory!"

"No shit, Sherlock." Alice muttered, and scotched into the shadows as Jack conversed with the pirates.

Alice waited. Maybe Will would get her out, too. ...Yeah, right. That'll happen.

Alice resigned herself to a cruel and unusual death.

BOOM!

…Was that hole in HER jail cell?

Oh, it was. Happy day. She saluted to Jack. "Have a nice death!"

A/N: Yes, yet another reference. Agent Sanguine doll to people who understand it, Agent Lupeias ones to plain ol' reviewers. Mr. Hungry Pirate dolls to people leaving Constructive Criticism. Yay.