A/N: To all of you who have reviewed and especially those who keep on reviewing...I love you and want to have your babies.
Ok maybe not the babies but I am sure about the love. It is so fantastic to have the encouragement...I'm getting all teary here.
Alright I'm back. Apologises for the extreme lateness of this chapter but I was sprung by a take home exam which sucked all my grey matter out through my eyeballs. It is also waaaaayy longer than I anticipated but what can ya do?
Enough crap from me, onwards and outwards(my favourite direction).

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Rogue was flung unceremoniously into a cell, landing painfully on the cold flagstones. The guards locked the iron door and marched off quickly while Rogue tried to sit up. She managed it with difficulty due to all the bruises and strained muscles she'd got since arriving in where ever the hell this was.
Or whenever the hell she muttered wincing as her shoulder muscles protested.

The guards had neglected to take her wrist shackles off so she was left to wriggle about as best she could to relieve the pain. Having absolutely no success she then flexed her shoulders and using a trick she'd picked up from Mystique, she slid her body through her linked hands, bringing them to the front of her body. With the pressure relived she felt slightly more comfortable, although one a scale of one to ten she still felt like shit.

Well well, what're you doing in here? a voice greeted her from behind.

Rogue closed her eyes and sighed she just couldn't deal with anymore of this shit. It was too weird, even for her.

Oh fuck off! she breathed irritably not turning around I've had a really crappy day so far and if ya piss me off anymore I'm gonna beat ya to death. So just shut up and leave me alone!

Well no need for that. Only making conversation. People just don't have any manners, all I offer is a kind greeting and a threat's my reply

Just shut up! Rogue moaned laying back upon the cold stone, the shock from her travel and the absorption draining all her remaining energy.

Slowly she focused her breathing, calming her body and relaxing her mind, shutting out the babbling of her cellmate. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I will not go insane. I am calm and focused. I may be trapped in the distant past, alone, tired, hungry, filthy and accused of witchcraft but I am in control. I may be locked in a cell with a strange criminal but I am calm.
Giving up on the stupid relaxation exercise she opened her eyes. The heavy stone slabs of the ceiling met her gaze and she sighed again. she whispered Still not a dream

Realising her cellmate had gone quiet she risked a look around. Whoever it was leaning comfortably against the stone wall, legs crossed at the ankle and a small tricorn hat pulled down over his eyes.

Obviously siesta time at the old jailhouse or my cellmate is Mr I'm so relaxed with the whole imprisonment thing that you could cool tea on my belly. Rogue scowled at him, just to be sure but he made no further effort to talk to her.

Slightly reassured by this she decided to take a closer look at her surroundings.
The cell was fairly small and almost perfectly square. The front and part of each side was made from a flat lattice of iron giving a clear view into each cell from the outside and between the different cells. The rear was of the same rough grey stone as the floor with a small ledge running the length of it, half of which was occupied by her new roommate. Straw was scattered across the floor and piled in the corners of the ledge. Her new friend' appeared to be using some as a pillow against his back.

Walking toward the opposite wall she noticed it was covered in graffiti. She traced her gloved fingers, with difficulty because of her shackles over the words carved into the rough grey stone. Curses and prayers and tallies marking the days spent by the criminals in this cage. They made a cold chill race along her spine so she turned away from them and her gaze was caught once more on her cellmate.
From what she could see around his hat and baggy clothing he was not a big man, but the arms crossed over his stomach showed a wiry strength and his hands bore the calluses of hard work. He shifted and she quickly swept her eyes away, glancing instead out of the small window above him, also covered by an iron grille, that looked out over the harbour below and let the late afternoon sun filter into the cramped prison.

The next to theirs was filled with a sullen looking group of men all of whom were filthy and ragged. They sat talking amongst themselves in mutters and Rogue thought they looked born guilty. They probably think the same about me she though wryly.

She yawned, still exhausted and slowed walked to the other end of the ledge and sat. It felt good to rest for a moment. She was sore all over and the angry mutters of Mr Fat Hands was giving her a headache. He kept switching from prayers to God to rescue him and curses directed at her, some of which she wasn't quite clear about. Was it insulting to be called strumpet of Beelzebub? It sounded insulting but she didn't understand two of the three words used so she decided just to ignore it.
The man's psyche seemed to realise her indifference and changed tactics. He began whispering terrible things about the torture of witches and what was in store for her. She wanted to protest that she was American and she had rights but as she had swiftly come to realise none of those things mattered here. In fact she wondered if America even existed yet. Some of the things he was saying were just to horrible to contemplate. The rack? This wasn't the Middle Ages, surely they wouldn't still be using something like that. And she didn't even want to know what thumb screws were.

With these grim thoughts and the chatter in her head creating half formed fancies behind her eyes she attempted to rest which was difficult enough already with the hard, damp stone freezing her bones and dirty straw which scratched and irritated her bruised skin. Nevertheless Rogue leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Exhaustion won over apprehension and she dropped into a light doze.

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Rogue jolted awake suddenly what seemed like ages later although it couldn't have been more than a few hours judging from the sky outside.

From what she could see through the small window it was night and strangely a dense fog filled the air. She wasn't sure if fog was supposed to exist in the tropics but there was fog outside so she wasn't going to question it.
It had also gotten colder, the chill in the air adding to the cool of the stone cell and causing her to shiver. She had somehow slid down to lie horizontal on the stone ledge, her knees curled up to her stomach.
Torches had been lit and stood in iron brackets along the wall outside the cells, their light casting flickering shadow and gold across the prison but they did little to dispel either the darkness or the cold.
The man in her cell was seated exactly as before and he didn't appear to have moved. Good, she thought I wouldn't want him to have tried anything while I was asleep. Not that he could have done anything she added darkly, Not with my powers.

She could hear sounds, low murmurs and whistles. Sitting up, a painful process with all her bruises, she looked for the source and quickly found it.

The men in the cell next to hers were crowded around the door, arms waving through the bars at a dog that stood on the other side. It was the smartest looking dog Rogue had ever seen, regarding the scrambling desperate men from under shaggy grey brows. It had a big metal ring in its mouth from which hung several large keys. The door keys she realised quickly.

They have a dog guarding the doorkeys. Okay.

Rogue figured she had stopped being judgemental about one disaster ago but it still seemed a stupid idea. What if it dropped them or ran off and tried to bury them?

Taking another look at the dog she changed her mind. It looked like it knew what it was doing, she swore she'd never seen an animal look that smug before. Obviously the other prisoners didn't realise this because they kept on calling and whistling.

You can keep doing that forever, the dog is never going to move came a smooth voice from beside her. Her roommate was awake and apparently as unimpressed with the efforts of the others as the dog was.

One of the men turned toward then and his eyes shone with fear and desperation.

Oh excuse us if we haven't resigned ourselves to the gallows just yet he retorted and rejoined his fellows.

Her cellmate said nothing, merely grinning beneath the brim of his hat, as if he saw a joke none of the others did. Rogue's curiosity was aroused by this man, his confidence particularly in the face of his imprisonment fascinated her.
She half hoped he would attempt to talk to her again but he remained irritatingly silent. Letting out a pointed sigh she leaned back. She shouldn't want to talk to him anyway, she had to focus on getting out of here and back home in one piece.

Nothing disturbed the quiet of the night outside the jail. Not even the sound of crickets or cicadas broke the stillness. It was a little creepy Rogue realised and there was a heavy sense of foreboding in the air.

Shivering she rubbed her arms and curled herself against the wall, as far from her cellmate as possible. He showed no more signs of moving but now she knew he was awake she was a little more cautious.
There was a faint pop fizz sound, like someone setting off a firework in the distance. It was followed by another and another and Rogue was just beginning to wonder what they were when an explosion shattered the quiet of the night and rocked the wall of the fortress. Shouts and screams could be heard above them as the soldiers reacted to the attack.

What is it? Rogue demanded scared out of her wits for about the fifth time that day.

her cellmate answered, not moving from his prone position. But when another blast rocked the prison and he sat up , listening intently.

I know those guns he said, springing up and standing to stare out between the rusty grill at the back of their cell.

Its the Pearl he breathed, a note of reverence in his tone. Before Rogue could ask what the hell that meant one of the other prisoners spoke.

The Black Pearl ? he whispered in awe, coming to the grille that separated their cells. The other men had ceased their enticements with the first shot and also drew close.

I've heard stories. he continued, darting a conspiratorial look between his friends and her cellmate. She's been preying on ships and settlements for near ten years. Never leaves any survivors.

The other men nodded, and Rogue wondered not for the first time that day, what the hell was going on. She had no idea what they were talking about but from attitudes of the men they could've been telling ghost stories.

The man looked back over his shoulder with the same mocking grin.

No survivors? he said, shooting Rogue a brief glance before continuing Then where do the stories come from I wonder?

The other men looked confused at this and the man's smile grew wider, clearly enjoying his superior intelligence. Or what he thought was his superior intelligence Rogue reflected sourly.

Flinching as another cannonball struck and several blasts issued from the guns on the wall adjacent, Rogue knew that they were talking about what ever was attacking them and she figured it must be a ship but she didn't get the reactions of all the men. Maybe it was just the enemy had a bad reputation. At least she hoped that was all it was but that annoying voice, her own this time, at the back of her head was telling her this was wishful thinking.
Annoying as he was, this guy seemed to know what was going on so Rogue decided he was her best chance for making sense of it all.

Does this happen often here? she shouted over the din of the cannon fire.

He completely ignored her, intent on watching whatever was happening outside. Gritting her teeth she yelled again.

Hey I'm talking to you!

Nothing. She was really mad now and had to take a deep breath to stop herself from bitch slapping him across the back of the head. Satisfying as it was it wouldn't probably convince him to give her information, which, she reminded herself sternly, was what she needed.

Suddenly the whistle of a cannonball became louder than before. Rogue was just turning towards the wall, when the man threw himself atop her, pushing her to the floor and covering her body with his. An instant later the back of the cell exploded inwards with a shower of red hot sparks. Grit showered down over Rogue and her protector, filling her nose and mouth which made her cough repeatedly.
As soon as she was sure the danger had passed she shoved him off. He rolled nimbly to his feet, ignoring her scowl. He was just lucky she was mostly covered up or his heroics could have ended very badly. Shaken by the contact and by the constant gunfire, she backed away, scared of what might happen if he tried to touch her. For his part the man just looked at her with a bemused expression and then, apparently shrugging off her ungrateful attitude, turned to see what damage had been done.

The shot had blown out a good portion of the back wall of the other cell and the gleeful dirty men poured out, one pausing to comment to her cellmate as he scrambled over the debris,

My sympathies friend, you've no manner of luck at all.

Now that was just unnecessary Rogue said to his back.
From his slumped shoulders and position staring out of the small hole in the back of their cell she could recognise his despair. Seems she wasn't the only one who was unlucky. She could understand his feelings, getting out of here would solve a lot of her most pressing problems. But she was becoming more and more resigned to the fact that the universe was out to get her.

All of sudden the man straightened and turned toward her a gleam in his eyes. Rogue backed away, nervous of his intentions but he moved past her without even seeming to notice her.
Rogue watched in bemusement as he rushed to the front of the cell, thrusting his hands through the bars to grasp the bone the other men had used to entice the dog. The mangy creature was huddled under a bench against the wall but he looked over as the man waved the bone at him.
He whistled and called softly.

Come on doggy.

Just when Rogue was about to point out the uselessness of his actions the animal actually moved toward him, keys still held tightly in its mouth. Seeing this she shut her mouth. Someone was definitely out to get her.

The dog was crawling slowly to them on its belly and the man continued to coax it saying,

It's just you and me now. It's you and ol' Jack , come on. Come on, good boy. That's it, good boy, come on! The dog was almost within reaching distance and Rogue sat forward, beginning to think it might actually work.
Her cellmate, who was apparently called Jack, kept up with his honeyed whispers.

Bit closer, bit closer. That's it, that's it, doggy. Come on you filthy, slimy, mangy cur. he said never changing his tone or his ingratiating smile.
A crash from above broke the spell and the dog jumped up and scampered away down the corridor the heavy ring clasped tightly in his mouth.

Jack stretched his arms imploringly, forlornly waving the bone.

No, no, no, no, no, I didn't mean it. I didn't... he called desperately after the fleeing animal.
He slumped forward, arms hanging through the bars and his forehead resting against the grimy metal.

The clatter that had frightened the dog grew louder and a red coated soldier tumbled down the stairs and landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom.
Two sets of boots clomped down after him and two men appeared, one after looking around noting with disappointment This ain't the armoury.

The other had noticed her cellmate and a vicious smile curled his lips, revealing yellowed teeth. Rogue drew back into the shadows, breathing quietly and suddenly very conscious of her bound hands. If they attacked she would be a distinct disadvantage and she doubted her cellmate would do much to help her, so she tired to stay as still and quiet as possible to avoid their attention.

He approached the cell, where Jack was now standing, his hands gripping the bars tightly. His hair hung in dreadlocks around his face which was covered with a light pattern of scars.

Well, well, well, look what we have here Twigg. he said addressing his companion who had joined him, Captain Jack Sparrow.
The other man, his head half covered by a ridiculous looking stocking cap, spat on the ground in front of Jack.

Last time I saw you, he said cruelly you were all alone on a godforsaken island, shrinking into the distance. His fortunes aren't improved much. he shared a grin with his friend.

Jack took their insults and smiled at them, seeming not much worse off for being behind bars.

Worry about your own fortunes, gentlemen. he cautioned The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers.

Dreadlocks snarled and grabbed Jack's throat. The smaller man leaned back to ease the force of the hold and drew Dready's arm into the moonlight.
Rogue barely suppressed a gasp. Where the moonlight touched the marauder's arm, bone and rotted cloth and muscle were revealed where the flesh had been. It looked like he had been dead for a month.
She was seriously freaked now. Nothing she had been through had prepared her for dead rotting pirates that walked around and tried to strangle people.
Jack seemed much less fazed than she was.

So there is a curse. That's interesting. he said in tones of having had a story confirmed.

You know nothing of Hell. Dreadlocks growled, roughly releasing him. He turned and both men stalked out, swiftly ascending the stairs and disappearing from view.

Jack remained where he was, gazing off into the distance.

That's very interesting. he murmured thoughtfully.

The sound of the guns continued in the night.

Rogue spoke into the silence after a while, Freaky skeleton pirates. That's different.


TBC