Disclaimer: See first chapter.
Warnings: Mention of potential non-con. It DOES NOT happen. I've grown out of that phase. Anyway, language and violence (not-terribly descriptive torture and a not-so-battle scene). Misuse of sailing terms, I'm sure. Irony (rather blatant, actually). Innuendo.
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CHAPTER TWO—Port In The Storm
He'd lost his shoes. Will couldn't help but notice that his feet were bare, and cold as the rest of him. A strange thing to be concerned over, to say the very least. The men, they'd left for a little while, but they'd be back. They promised they would, and when they came, they had laid out exactly what they would do to him. It was a crying shame that he had no idea what they wanted from him, seeing as it was his fingers and toes that would be sacrificed next.
The world has a strange, unreal feel to it. Much like his time in the brig on the Pearl. A sense of fantasy, that what was happening couldn't really be happening, because things like this were what mothers told their children to frighten them to bed early. His hands were starting to swell in their bindings, the lack of blood flow to his hands making them sting. Flexing his fingers is what's keeping him awake.
They'd come this time, with a whip. Laid open the skin of his back, under the decks, so no one could see him. They taunted him, though, to scream. Let the world know how yer sufferin', mate, because they were having a hard time keeping the men away from the brig. Will had all but wept with frustration and pain, his mind desperately churning to figure out who these men were and why they wanted to hurt him so badly. He didn't remember them.
"Up on yer feet."
He startled, not sure when he had drifted off. He was loathe to call it sleep, because he felt just as tired now as he did before. Just as frightened by the hulking figures standing on the other side of the iron bars. When he wasn't quite fast enough, they grabbed his hair, and hauled him upright.
There were two that he dealt with on a regular basis: Mean and meaner. He still preferred to be beaten by the one without a tongue, he seemed to pull his punches just a tad. If he had put the full force of his weight behind it, he would have flattened Will's head. The other, he seemed more interested in prolonging the pain. It had been his idea to fetch seawater to pour over Will's open wounds, as it was his idea to move Will through the ship by the roots of his hair.
"Wouldn' mind turnin' this'n over a barrel." The man hauled Will up higher, so that Will's ear was level with the man's mouth. "Shame we's been markin' up that pretty flesh o' yours, boy. 'magine it's soft as a lass's, eh?"
Will licked his parched lips, wishing desperately for something to drink. All they'd offered him was seawater, never a great choice, unless you wanted to go mad with thirst. "You'd lose that bet."
"Haul ye up on the deck, and let everyone have a turn." The man continued as though Will hadn't spoken at all. "What say, Turner, ye're a strong buck. Ye could take it."
There were things William Turner could joke about. This was not one of them. He struggled as best he could, flailing with his bound hands at the man's face. They connected with a sickening crack, and in that instant, he let go of Will. The freedom, though, was short lived, as the man's partner reached out with a solid fist, and dropped Will to the deck in a stunned heap.
The pirate wiped the blood from his nose, glaring down at Will. The boy barely managed to get his hands beneath him, when he was being hauled up again. "Stupid, Turner. Stupid."
"I'd rather die than submit to… to that." He managed to stammer.
The man smiled at Will, "Oh, that can be arranged." He shoved Will into a small cabin, more of a nook, really. There was nothing in the room, save a table and a huge basin full of muddy water. "But first, we're gonna clean ye up. Ye smell like the bilge, matey."
The mute stepped forward with a length of chain in his hands. Will opened his mouth to ask what in that was for, but he never got the chance. With a laugh, they looped it round his throat, and shoved his head into the basin.
He could still feel it, in his mouth, his nose, burning down his throat. The elbow in the centre of his back, holding him down when his thrashing became—no. He was not going to think of it.
"Where are you, lad?"
Will looked up. Mr. Gibbs was taking his shift, relieving Jack Sparrow of the burden. It seemed superfluous; Will felt better than any man who had been stabbed had the right to feel. But even mentioning it sent Jack into what could only be described as an explosion. The man had no concept of range of hearing, and even so, it was a sound bet that the people of England would have been clapping their hands over their ears. "Come again." He had heard… He just didn't understand. No, not even that. Didn't want to.
Gibbs looked over, then turned another page of the book he was reading. Held it up when Will craned his neck, so that he could see that it was the Bible. "Ye were driftin'. Somewhere, not here."
"You know, for a pirate, you're quite poetic." Will countered, tugging the blanket up under his chin. He knew that he was in Jack's quarters, even though he had never set foot in them. He'd recognise the Pearl anywhere, the way the hull rolled with the waves, the creaks of her boards, the sound of the sails filling with wind. They were all special, they were all her. "I was here. Where else would I be?"
Gibbs closed the Bible with a decided thump, setting it down in his lap. "I'm not interrogatin' ye, lad."
A strange choice of words. Will wiggled down a bit farther under the sheets. He wished he could pull them up over his head, and make the last few days not happen. Days, weeks, whatever it had been. However long he had been at the mercy of Captain Beathard and his crew. "It was nothing."
There was a long, pregnant silence. Will didn't dare look at him, keeping his eyes on the bare planks of the wall. When he lost interest in that, he let himself look around, at the artefacts that Jack Sparrow had collected. He had expected gold and silver, but the pirate had surprised him. No swag, not the kind that you'd expect. No, he decorated with wooden masks, and statues. There was a chart on one wall. Plain, simple, austere. Everything Jack Sparrow was not.
In his inattention, he missed Gibbs move. The pirate didn't touch him, just came near him. Will flinched away, seeing a meaty fist coming at his face, even though, on retrospect, the movement was little more than a nudge of the elbow. "Reaction, lad." Gibbs said knowingly at Will's accusing glare. "Nothing ye say?" He leaned forward. "Ye almost died, yanno."
Will touched his chest. Not something he'd like forget any time soon. The thrust of the knife into his chest, crunching against his collarbone, sending a spike of pain through his body. Enough to make him cry out, and it had been a long time since he had done that. He remembered fairly little from that point on, save the pain. "I was supposed to die." They had left him in that tavern for dead. It would have been a grand joke, that he had drank himself to death. A true legend among the pirates.
Gibbs made his comment a trifle more slowly. As though he's considering it, this time. "Almost left ye for drunk, there, we did. Good thing yer lass's reputation for makin' scoundrels and scallywags pay is well-earned, else ye would be another dead sailor in a tavern." He patted Will's arm, another contact that made Will want to jump out of his skin. He managed a tight smile when the pirate gave him a concerned look. "I best be tellin' the cap'n that ye're awake again. 'e wants to discuss some things with you."
"Like when in bloody hell will I be getting me bed back?" Jack demanded, later. Sitting where Gibbs had sat, his elbows rested on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. "I've been sleepin' on a bloody hammock, I've got rope marks all up and down me back. I'm getting too old fer this nonsense, lad. Ye've been goldbrickin' long enough."
When Will tried to sit up, Jack pushed him back down, though. Had everything to do with the way the younger man's face went absolutely white at the change in altitude. With all the care and attention of a mother hen, Jack fluffed the pillows so that Will was at an angle, able to see without craning too much. "Not in so big a hurry you have to kill yerself." Jack assured him. "Gave us quite a scare, mate. Well, not me. I knew ye were gonna live, but ole Gibbs, he weren't too sure."
Gibbs had reported it in the other direction, but Will hadn't the strength to split such a fine hair. He nodded wearily. "You were the only one, then."
"Who were they, Will?" Jack asked. "Names, boy. Of the ship, or her crew."
"Captain John Beathard." Will supplied without a second's hesitation. He ran down what he could remember of the ship in his memory, as spotty as it was. Jack listened without a word as Will made rueful comments, such as only ever seeing the ship from the inside. Or, his favourite one: that they had neglected to introduce themselves before they beat him to a bleeding pulp. "He… He knew who I was, Jack." This was said with a faint trace of accusation.
"Don't look at me." Jack held his hands up in surrender. "I've never 'eard of the blaggard."
"No. I expect not." Will closed his eyes, retreating into the depths of the pillow.
"Beathard. 'aven't 'eard too many names like that." Jack stroked his beard, his eyes off in the distance. Pondering. "Wouldn't mind an introduction, though. At the end of me sword, naturally." He glanced at Will. "Ye tired?"
"I can't seem to stay awake." Will confessed. "Even talking is tiring."
"Best let ye rest, then." Jack didn't leave though. Not for a long time. Just as Will's breathing evened out, and he started to doze off, Jack asked, "Wha'd they want from ya, lad?"
"Treasure." Will whispered.
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On the open waters of the CaribbeanElizabeth tossed her duffel under her bunk, trying her very best not to draw too much attention to herself. So far, she'd tricked an old drunken man into believing that she was a boy, but there was a far cry from pulling the wool over everyone else's eyes. They'd said nothing to her, barely looking at her as she found a place to stow her gear. Mr. Gibbs's admonition that it was bad luck for a woman to be aboard a ship still rang in her ears, even though she knew damned well that she had proved her mettle. Just because he accepted that she could be part of a working crew did not mean that every pirate on the ocean could.
She had left a note for her father. More than Will had left for her, but if the old woman's information were true, he hadn't had the chance to do so. It was carefully worded, so as not to worry the dear Governor Swann, but it gave him the facts: She was gone looking for Will. If the Royal Navy thought nothing of his disappearance, if it was not important enough for them, she would make it her priority. He was, after all, to be her husband.
Father had already tried to convince her to forget Will. Commodore Norrington was still more than willing to be her husband, even if he would always only be the second choice. "All things considered, Elizabeth, shouldn't we be considering that young Mr. Turner might, in fact, be dead?" He couldn't understand why that only strengthened her resolve to find him.
"Hoy, there, boy." A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Elizabeth spun around, her heart leaping to her throat. Her first thought was that she had been found out.
It was the old man, looking a hair more sober than he had been in the tavern. He was frowning at her with a face that only made the expression ridiculous. She had seen it before, on the face of a horrid little pug dog one of her friends had owned. A panting, drooling, bug-eyed little thing. Mr. Watson was trying to be fearsome, but it was coming across as nothing more than absurd. "Guv'na." She nodded.
"What'cha doin' on this ship, boy?" He demanded, giving her a good, sound shake that would have rattled her teeth. "I don' be takin' on no stowaways."
"'d be a rather po' stowaway, gettin' caught 'ready." Elizabeth tried to shake loose, but he wouldn't let her go. "ye 'ired me las night, ya did."
That earned her a glare, but she could see the cogs turning in his head, trying to remember what he had done on that drunken binge. "Well, we're already underway…" He stepped back. "Ye realize what ye be gettin' yerself into, here, lad?"
"Said this ship was 'eadin' inta Tortuga." Elizabeth challenged. There had been quite a bit the old man had revealed in a drunken stupor. Will's Master Brown had been a falling down drunk, one who slept a great deal of the time. It was a rather startling contrast. "Is she or ain't she?"
Watson grabbed her arm, of a sudden, and dragged her bodily from the crew cabins. Elizabeth lowered her head as she was rushed passed startled crewmen, who all craned around to see what kind of bee had gotten into Mr. Watson's bonnet. Up on the deck, she was taken towards the quarterdeck, undoubtedly, to speak to the captain. Not what she had wanted. Ruefully, she thought, that that was the change. Last time she had been on a pirate's ship, she had purposely wanted to speak to Barbossa. At least she had had some semblance of a plan then. Right now?
"Cap'n?" Mr. Watson hauled Elizabeth up the stairs to the quarterdeck. "Cap'n, need ta be speakin' to ye for a second." He threw Elizabeth forward, so that she landed in an undignified heap at a pair of bare feet. "Foun' this in the hold, sed he'd been 'ired to work fer us." That brought a good deal of chuckles from the crew who had assembled to see what was going on.
If Elizabeth needed anymore of a confirmation that this was a pirate ship, she needn't look further than that.
"If ye 'adn't been bleedin' drunk!" Elizabeth snapped over her shoulder, before she dared look at the captain of the vessel. Her heart nearly froze in her chest, for the second time in such a short period.
The woman stared down at her with cold blue eyes. Eyes that had seen many things, Elizabeth was sure. She would have been a handsome woman, save for the scar that cut across her cheek, a wicked, ragged looking thing that could only have been received in a knife fight. Ageless, if Elizabeth had ever seen it. "He's gotcha there, Watson." The woman pirate came closer, glaring down at Elizabeth. "Ye know where ye be, boy?"
Elizabeth pushed herself up off the deck. To her surprise, the pirate woman stood a good half-head shorter than her. Clenching her hands into fists at her side. "I'd 'oped ta be aboard a ship sailin' ta Tortuga."
The woman raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. "Only buccaneers and scallywags sail into Tortuga, boy. What be ye're name?"
"Charlie." Elizabeth wet her lips. "Charlie Turner."
"Well, Mr. Turner." The woman laughed, spreading her hands. "Be ye a scallywag?"
"Aye!" Elizabeth put a trifle too much enthusiasm into that. A red hot flush crawled up her cheeks. Appropriate, she hoped, for a young boy caught in an act of bravado. "Well, nay. Bu' I'm thinkin' of going on the account."
Another bout of laughter erupted form the crew. Elizabeth stood her ground, finding that resolve that allowed her to stand on the deck of the cursed Black Pearl, and stare Captain Barbossa's skeleton right in the face. As wrong as that statement was…
The woman pirate slashed her hand through the air. "Aw'right, cut it out." She was still smiling, though. "Well, Mr. Turner, ye say me first mate hired ye to serve aboard the fine ship Siren's Call. I wasnae informed of this, but as ye're 'ere…" She nodded to someone, and momentarily, a young man came forth with a Bible. "I need ta be askin' ye, Mr. Turner, are ye literate?"
"I can sign me name." Elizabeth offered. She could probably read far better than this entire crew put together, but that wasn't the issue. Young Charlie Turner wouldn't be able to.
The woman laughed. "All right. Now, Mr. Turner…" She took the Bible from the man, and held it out to Elizabeth. "Lay yer right hand on the Bible…" She waited. "Uh, the other right." Elizabeth switched hands. "Now, Mr. Turner, do you 'ave the courage to stay true in the face of battle, and through all danger, serve the Siren's Call, and 'er cap'n, Tanis…" At this, she paused. "That'd be me, lad, through both the thick and the thin?"
Elizabeth nodded. "tha' I do."
"Will ye sign the articles as a free man?" Captain Tanis arched her eyebrows at that. Elizabeth nodded to that. "All righty, then, lad." She thrust the page under Elizabeth's nose. "Sign yer name on the bottom."
She had to make it look like she was having trouble making the letters that formed Charles Turner. Her neat cursive writing that she had honed through years of tutelage would not be advantageous to her particular situation.
That seemed to be enough for Tanis. The captain snatched the articles up, studying the signature. Then, she smiled. "Welcome aboard the Siren's Call, Mr. Turner." She nodded to Watson. "See tha' 'e finds his-self some work to do."
Her relief was so great, Elizabeth really didn't care that the first task she was appointed was swabbing the decks.
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The island they headed for was not the infamous Isle de Meurte. Jack Sparrow had long ago set it up as his cozy little home away from home (not even under pain of death would he have revealed it's location to Barbossa), a place with a secluded inlet that could be put under fairly heavy guard, when the need arose. This would be the case, now, on the outside chance that anyone had followed them to it. After all, when a ship is to be careened, she is at her most vulnerable.
Jack Sparrow oversaw the hustle and bustle with the ease of a man used to command. He said nothing of the fact that Will Turner was sitting still on the beach, wrapped up in a blanket because between Ana Maria (far from Will's ideal of femininity, but apparently she thought he was a nice looking bit of stuff, and it would be a shame if he died before they could make a bunk shake. He regretted asking) and the ship's surgeon, they both insisted he be kept warm. Well, the word he would use would be sweltering, but every time he tried to stand up, one of the pirates would undoubtedly come over, and sit him back down again.
"Bunch of blithering mother hens." He muttered to himself. He had thought that every man was in it for himself, the atmosphere of looking out for number one permeated the rest of the relationships.
"Wouldn't want ye ta be sick too much longer." Will started at the sound of Gibbs' voice. "But ye know that ye're entitled to share in the profits, lad? Wouldn' have the Pearl, t'weren't fer you and Miss Elizabeth. Ye start puttin' in an honest day's work, ye'll be getting yer share, but until then, you get portions of the rest of the crew's dividends." He grinned. "Right now, they'd rather give up a few measly shillings here and there, then have ye cut out another piece of the pie altogether. Lose more thataway."
Will leaned back against the tree he had been parked under, and frowned up at the man. "I don't want any money."
"Shut yer trap, and let us handle it." Gibbs nodded, and left again.
"Honest day's work?" He wrapped the blanket tighter, thought better of it, and threw it off. "As if one of you has ever done an honest day's work."
"Ye look bored, mate."
Will looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun. Jack did the decent thing, and dropped into the sand beside him, facing out towards the water where the Pearl was being pulled over onto her side. When the tide went out, that was when work would start, and it would have to be done quickly. The lines came flying down to the men waiting, up to their chest in the high tide. With a lover's sigh, the Pearl let them tilt her over, with her hull facing the open sea, so that they could repair the battle scars, and scrape off whatever had decided she might make a good home. "I'm being smothered with good intentions." He commented ruefully.
"Bad intentions, I'd think." Jack leaned back against the broad base of the palm tree, tipping his hat forward over his eyes. "Rather surprised to find ye out here. Figgered you an yer Miss Elizabeth would be making babes by now."
Elizabeth. Will shut his eyes. "I figured so as well."
He didn't see the look Jack shot at him from the corner of his eye. Rather ridiculous, actually, underneath that hat and whatnot. Deciding that the boy would be best left alone about 'said strumpet,' Jack shut his eyes again, and settled back more comfortably against the tree. "I hope ye don't mind me askin', seein' as you were right nosy as a dog when we first met, but what in the name of all things profitable were ye doin' in that canteen, Mr. Turner?"
That brought a smile to Will's lips. "Dying."
"I mean, 'sides that. 'ow'd you come ta be there?"
The breath Will drew was shaky at best. When he didn't say anything for a long time, Jack begrudgingly opened his eyes again, just to make sure that young Mr. Turner hadn't drifted off between the answering and the asking. But, no, Will's eyes were open, and he was staring straight out at the sea. Tide hadn't gone out yet, wouldn't for a while. The rest of the men were going through the swag in the little shack they'd built themselves. No one out there but the few who watched for the tide to leave shore. "I convinced them that they didn't need me anymore." He smiled. "Little do they know…"
Jack tipped his hat back on his head. "Didn't need you fer what?"
Will's smile—it was a strange thing to behold. Not happy, no mirth at all. It was a smugness. Jack knew all about that, having gotten one over on countless people, including young Will, a time or two. "Isla de Meurte."
For a long time, there was silence. Absolute silence. Jack finally let out a whistle, flopping back into the sand. "They'd never 'eard of it before?"
"Oh, they had." Will hesitated for a moment. "I just held out through the beatings long enough to make them think that the bearings for that little spit of an island Barbossa marooned you and Elizabeth on were the ones for Meurta." He looked down at the weave of his blanket. Strange, what you can remember when you need it. "Pulled a good one on them."
Jack just shook his head. "You're out of yer bloody tree, son."
He smiled at that. "Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."
Jack favoured him with a smile. "Wasn't meant any other way, lad."
"Funny…" Will said softly. "I think it's funny that they knew my name." He bit his lip, a troubled expression crossing his face.
Jack opened his mouth like he was going to say something to Will, but movement on the water caught his eye. "Eh, EH! You crazy blaggards, what in the bloody blue blazes are ye doin'?" He yelled, shooting to his feet. "'Scuse me, Will. Somethin' I have ta take care of."
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Her first battle as a pirate was with a merchant carrier. Elizabeth, being the newest member for the crew, managed to gather all the jobs that the rest of the pirates did not want to do, from scrubbing the head to swabbing the decks. She was found out as a novice almost immediately. The other pirates, they were more than willing to show the sprog the ropes, for there was nothing more dangerous than sailing with someone who was completely clueless.
She wasn't as clueless as she let on, naturally, but she learned a fair bit more than her reading and anything that she had gleaned from her experiences on both the Interceptor and the Black Pearl. Freeing the ship from the crew of the damned, that was one thing, but to sail an actual schooner in the waters of the Caribbean, was quite another.
When the call came out, "All hand hoay!" she responded like the rest of the crew. Up from whatever they were doing, be it a friendly game of cards or perhaps some needed work, onto the deck of the ship. White sails on the horizon sent a murmur through the crew.
Elizabeth wiped her hands on her breeches, frowning out at the distant ship. "What's happening?"
Mr. Watson rolled his eyes. "Well, sprog, we be runnin' down tha' lovely little guppy in short order. How're ye with a sword?"
According to Will, she was advancing in leaps and bounds. She couldn't afford to think of him, just yet. Not their frequent practice sessions in the smithy, learning techniques other than winging the blade back and forth. He had the advantage of being slightly built, as compared to someone such as Norrington; Will could recommend styles that fit her body. No heavy-handed strokes with weight as a back up, she had to go for finesse, not brute strength. "Not bad." She admitted.
"Broad on the port bow! Overhaul her!"
Watson smacked Elizabeth in the middle of her back, directing her to where she should be. "I hope so, lad, I don' wanta be holdin' yer hand durin' battle."
As they drew nearer, details became more obvious. She was a merchant carrier, Elizabeth didn't need to be told that, so she didn't ask. Ran lightly armed, heavy in the hold. A fast ship, she could make the crossing from England in about a month. Even so, she had been on the water a long time, and she wasn't built to outrun a pirate ship.
The captain gave the order to run up the Jolly Roger. The smiling skull snapped and cracked ominously in the wind.
Some of the passengers had assembled on the deck to see what was coming up on her starboard side. "Grab yer boarding hook, be ready, lads!" Tanis came down from the quarterdeck, hand on her cutlass. A show of strength, Elizabeth hoped. Bloodshed didn't sit too well with her. "Fire me a warnin' shot!"
There were screams as the cannonball roared by overhead, missing both the rigging and the mast. Certainly a good thing, as it gave the merchant ship something on which to run up the white flag. Elizabeth threw the boarding hooks with the rest of the crew, pulling in the good ship Lucinda without more than that single shot.
The merchant captain came forth, his hands up in surrender. He looked much like Commodore Norrington—Elizabeth thanked her lucky stars that it was not he that she had taken. She could well imagine being left on the ship, so that he could take her home to her father, probably with his big fingers twisting her ear like she was a little girl. "We do not wish battle, pirate." He addressed Mr. Watson, not the captain. "Take what you will, we offer no resistance."
Tanis laid her hand on Mr. Watson's shoulder, pushing him out of the way. "Now, where be the fun in that, guv'nor?" She offered him a cocky smile. "What ye think, lads?" She very flirtatiously walked up to the captain of the other ship, fooling with the lapel of his jacket. "Someone 'ere with a streak of yellow up his belly?"
The merchant stiffened. "Young lady, I suggest you take your hands off of me."
Tanis made a face to the rest of the crew. " 'Young lady?'" She gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, now, sir. Surely you mean, 'captain,'" she punctuated this word with a dagger against the man's throat. "Don' ye?"
"You?" The captain sneered down at her. "A mere wisp of a girl? What games are you playing?"
The blow was so fast, it was hard to see. The hilt of the dagger up to the man's temple, and an elbow under his chin. The man came up on his feet with the last bit, his teeth clacking together. Tanis offered him a catty smile. "Games?" A fist to his belly, sending him stumbling back. "Ye might be rethinkin' a few things, there."
When he came to take a swing at her, she laid him on the deck without much violence at all. However, when he came up to attack her, he found himself face-to-face with the business end of a pistol.
Tanis cocked it, shrugging her shoulder. "Ye think it'll make much difference ta me, love? Try it."
The merchant captain straightened his jacket, pointedly looking at her, not the weapon. "Well, then. Captain, we are more than prepared to offer our surrender."
"Tha's what I thought ya sed." Tanis nodded. "All right, ye dogs, search her stem to stern!" As the crew rushed forward, Tanis added her last little bit of insult to the injuries. "An' cap'n, I will be havin' tha' jacket."
When they returned to the Siren with their swag, Tanis did, indeed, have the captain's jacket. It was too big for her, but she rolled up the sleeves, and cinched a belt around it tightly. A belt that Elizabeth had seen on the body of one of the ladies who were standing off to the side, quite beside themselves with the 'terror' of having been attacked by pirates.
Dumping what booty she had taken into the pile on the deck, Elizabeth had to admit—this was rather a disappointment. So much for the highly totted lifestyle of a pirate, all flash and dash. She had been expecting to actually USE her sword skills.
The comment was met with a smile. "Aye, lad, t'would be a grand adventure, eh?" Mr. Watson shook his head. "How many pirates ye think we'd be keepin' aboard the ship, if we fully engaged every single time?" He seized a handful of the gold. "Wouldn' ye like ta be round to spend that?"
Elizabeth managed a tight smile. "Aye."
"'Sides, ye'll be needin' that." Watson leaned over, offering a conspiratorial wink. "We be landin' in Tortuga, mate. Rum and women far as the eye can see. Ye lain with a woman, yet, Charlie?"
Oh bloody hell. Elizabeth shook her head, feeling the red blush rising over her face. Mr. Watson took it wrong, but, she supposed, in a good context for her disguise. "Ah, don' get like that, lad. These women, they know the art of love. They'll teach ya 'til ya cannot walk straight."
Nice. Something to which to look forward.
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To Be Continued…
A/N: I don't want y'all getting used to my updating every day. That's not the norm. I just happened to finish a chapter today, and I decided to go ahead and give you the second part. I warn you now, I work slow.
Now, what I love the most: Reviews! First of all, thank you, and…
Ankhesenamun: I'm glad you think they're in character. It's one of the things (other than the weird narration) that I've been worried about. I hope the second helping still lives up to the standard of 'brilliant.'
williz: Whoo! Thanks again! "Charlie" was a spur of the moment decision, and my beta seemed to like "him." I'm glad "he's" appreciated.
And last but not least…
Forwyn Redearth: All right, all right, it was a poke. But I reacted like it was a slap. As in, quit questioning her, and keep writing. You're actually quite the driving force behind this.
