Chapter Two
Captain Jack Sparrow had been half-drunk for nearly two days now, so it came as no great surprise when a brown haired young woman appeared on the beach in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. She was dressed rather oddly, as if for the cold of winter instead of the scorching hot rays of the Caribbean sun, but from what he could tell of her profile, she was fairly attractive. For a mirage. He watched as she turned slowly and took in the endless ocean, a perfect aquamarine jewel, like a favourite earring of his he had lost in a bar fight some years ago.
She seemed satisfied with the view, and sat down to remove her boots, stockings and overcoat. Jack noticed she was dressed in trousers of a material similar to the type ships' sails were made of, though it was blue. Odd. She also wore a grey sweater and her slightly frizzy hair was loose around her shoulders, like a common peasant girl's. What a strange mirage his mind had conjured up. He watched as she rolled the legs of her trousers up to her knees and waded into the sea. Her whole body seemed to relax as the small waves lapped and foamed against her nicely rounded calves, and she tilted her face back to the warmth of the sun.
After a few minutes, she began to walk up the slight incline of the beach. Then she spotted him, propped on his elbows, a bottle in one hand. "Oh." She stopped dead in her tracks. The mirage speaks, he thought. "I'm… I'm sorry, I, um, didn't know this, er, island was occupied." She took a few backwards steps toward her discarded clothes. "I just had a sort of general idea of where I wanted to go," she muttered, "and, um, I just… ended up here."
"Tha's all right, love," Jack slurred, making an effort to rise into a sitting position. He failed miserably. "Stay a while. I could do with some company on this deserted island. Well," he gestured gracefully to somewhere behind him, "usually deserted." She hovered uncertainly. "Come on, come on." He beckoned her closer with elegant fingers, rings glinting in the sunlight, the blue-black tattoos etched into his tanned arms stretching over taut muscles.
"I really… shouldn't," she protested, though somewhat weakly. She frowned and squinted. "Are you… a pirate?"
"I am indeed, lass," he replied, finally succeeding in pushing himself up off the sand. He stumbled toward her, the bottle still hanging loosely from one hand. "Are you a mirage?" he frowned. She shook her head no, and he beamed, displaying several gold teeth and a few missing ones. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service," he said with a clumsy bow. She said nothing, only cocked her head to one side. "Have ye heard of me?"
"No-o…" she said slowly.
"Ah." He fluttered his fingers in the air as if waving away a swarm of annoying gnats. "That's all right. Come siddown, have a drink wi' me." He fell abruptly onto his rear, but seemed not to notice. His attention was fixated on the bottle now, which he lifted to his chapped lips.
"I don't drink," she said softly, looking very uncomfortable indeed.
"Don't drink?" he sputtered through his mouthful of rum. After swallowing, he added, "We'll 'ave to fix that. Try a bit." He offered the bottle up to her, sloshing its meager contents around so the amber liquid was lit from within, small bubbles illuminated in an instant, gone the next.
"I'd rather not." She was backing toward her things more quickly now.
"Don' go, don' go," he pleaded quickly, hand outstretched. He must have sounded really desperate because she stopped. "I been stuck here two days already, just me and me lonesome. Won' you spend just a bit o' time with a poor ol' pirate, lass? Please?" He grinned charmingly, squinting his black-ringed eyes against the sun. The beads in his mangy hair jingled as he moved and one hand was still outstretched toward her. His sleeve was pulled up, revealing a "P" brand and a tattoo of a sparrow in front of the setting sun. His fingers trembled slightly, from the drink or from desperation even he did not know. "Please?" he whispered again.
The girl hesitated.
