Jack leapt off…
Maren was visibly shaking, the shuddering starting from her stomach and dancing down her limbs. Inhaling large gulping breaths, she attempted to soothe herself, this walking corpse was, despite of appearances, just Jack. The infuriating and passionate man, who swung the thin line between love and loathing in her heart, may look like a rotten skeleton to her gift, but her mind forced her to recall that Jack's touch had been one of flesh, not bone. His kiss was composed of lips and his tongue, for that sizzling lick, had been moist and warm. Jack was Jack, alive and well, and the reminder did wonders for her panic, washing it away like sin at a baptism.
"Come 'gain luv," hands held in harmless surrender, Jack's brow crossed, "Cause, keepin' in mind I drink me fair share, it sound'd like ye just said I be a skeleton?" To be positive of his state of mortality, Jack patted his torso down, it was all there, flesh, heartbeat, the frustrated erection, "Aye," the lopsided grin again, "ye might be wrong on this one, me medium."
To Jack's utter disappointment, Maren clutched at the blanket again and wrapped it securely about her person, "Course yer not really a skeleton," Jack noticed Maren's gaze was locked onto his boots, refusing to look at him fully, "But that be how I sees ye at the moment, so please Jack, no touchin' me."
Jack did nothing to mask his discouraged groan, "Well…turn it off already!" His blood still boiled feverishly and he squirmed, barely restraining himself from pouncing on the insufferable virgin.
"Give me a second!" she snipped, her eyes flashing angrily to his face, but then seeing that fleshless grin, grimaced and lowered to his boots again, "I be needin' to concentrate…and quite movin' 'bouts!" Abruptly, Jack stopped his fidgeting. "It's distractin' and very…disconcertin'," meekly she added, suddenly very ashamed of her fear.
"For someone that converses with dead people all the ruddy time," hands on hips and head cocked, Jack smirked down at her, "ye're very squeamish."
"Aye ghosts," bitterly, she bit at him, eyes nailed to the floor, "Skeletons flauntin' themselves all over me, that be 'nother story!" Determined and offended, Maren squinted her eyes tightly shut, repeating like a holy mantra that Jack was not a corpse, the curse of the Aztec gold was broken, and he was a living man of flesh and blood now…some very enticing flesh at that-no, she couldn't be sidetracked by that!
"Blessed be the Name!" emerging from the floor and clasping her ghost fingers under her chin, Kristy twirled about, her phantom skirts floating around an unfelt wind, "They bought ye clothes Maren! A whole new wardrobe, three dresses, nightgown, cloak, two sets o' pantalets-," Kristy glared suspiciously at Jack, "I thought Elizabeth lock'd that wanker out o' here!" Noticing Maren sitting resolutely on the edge of the bed, eyes welded closed, Kristy asked, annoyed at her cheery tidings being ignored, "Ye silly git, what ye doin' now?"
'Look at Jack,' Maren communicated silently, 'What ye see?'
The spirit complied befuddled, but bluntly honest, "Broad shoulders, tight arse, and a hell o' a stiffy," she giggled demonically, "What ye two been up to here?" Her eyebrows waggled suggestively, swiping her tongue over her teeth as she examined Jack's agitated state closely. A thin sheen of sweat had wet his forehead and though his breathing was slowed, it was deep and forced. The most telltale sign of unrequited lust was his dark eyes, wandering desperately over Maren's hidden form, sparkling smothered embers.
"Finish'd?" he ground out a smile in spite of his impatience, licking his lips anxiously.
Reluctantly, Maren cracked a blue eye and gambled a quick look at Jack…a fully restored, living Jack! His kohl-lined gaze watched her expectantly and his coppered skin glowed beautifully like never before, dear god, Maren had never been so relieved. The clothes he wore, the grime under his fingernails, down to his curly eyelashes all back to normal or as reasonably close to the normalcy equivalent Jack could ever hope to achieve. A half sob, half laugh escaped Maren's gasp, "Thank goodness!" the blushing medium leapt from the bed, comforter tugged along, to throw her small arms around Jack's neck and he gratefully wrapped his limbs about her slim waist.
"Um," clearing her throat, Kristy growled out obnoxiously, "By all means, do'n be mindin' the ghost, she do'n need to know what's been happenin'." Again she was disregarded.
They shared a friendly hug, Maren relishing in his comforting body heat, soothing not only because of his warmth, but also as further proof to her senses that her vision was but a nightmare. Jack devilishly deducing how quickly he could shift the mood from friendly to sensual again, "All better now?" he cooed sweetly into her ear, rocking her side-to-side like a mother does a fretting child. Maren only nodded, laying her head against his broad chest and listening to the sweet rhythm of his heartbeat, the echo of his deep breaths in his lungs, both further evidence of his wellbeing. She was the perfect height to rest her ear at his heart, while Jack set his chin atop her head, turning his face to kiss her hair tenderly. "There, there, pretty gel," stroking her back, Jack chuckled and Maren savored the vibrations it sent through his chest, "What ye so work'd up for, eh? Jack be takin' care o' ye. 'Live o' undead, yer safe with me." Again Maren shook her head in agreement, desperate to feel the security of Jack's embrace and promising words. But suddenly her relaxation evaporated to trepidation thick with suspicion as Jack's hand drifted down her spine to cup her generous rump, squeezing the swell of her backside affectionately, "What say ye, we climb back in that comfy bed and pick up where we left off? I know a right tumble always sets me mind back at ease."
Well it was a tiny comfort to have the old, rude Jack back, even if it entailed the annihilation of what had the potential to be a heartwarming scene of relief and amity. Maren craned her swan neck to stare at him incredulously. "Jack," exasperated, she tried to pry his hold off of her posterior, but Jack's libido was unrelenting, "I just saw ye as a rottin', fleshless, heap o' bones," his vacant smile remained steadfast, desperately Maren continued to explain, "I'm hardly…'in the mood', understand?"
"Ah-ah!" shoving a finger under her nose, Jack adjusted his grasp around her waist with one arm, "But ye were 'in the mood', weren't ye? 'Fore ye open'd them pretty blues o' yers and gander'd at me all dead-like, ye were ready and willin' to wrestle ole Jack in the sheets, right?"
"What he blatherin' 'bout Pet?"
"Um…"
"Right?" Jack subjected her to his stare, sharp and scrutinizing.
"Maren?"
"…maybe," the medium muttered grudgingly.
"Well 'maybe' be an improvement at least," exaggerating a sigh, he rested his forehead against her, both grimacing when they made contact a little too solidly, "And what 'bout that other matter, in reference to yer acquiescence to rejoin the crew of the Black Pearl? Mmm?"
She smiled coyly, "Maybe."
"Maybe?" his eyebrows quirked.
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps? Not probably?"
Absently, Maren toyed with a loose thread at the collar of his shirt, "Maybe probably."
"Not possibly definitely?" Jack stuck out his bottom lip, pouting boyishly.
"No, definitely possibly."
"Perhaps ye should answer in 'absolutely aye' o' 'absolutely nay'."
"All right."
Furrowing his brow, Jack's fingers dashed around an unseen scale, "Now be that an 'All right, I'll give ye a decisive answer' o' 'All right, I'll give ye me final consent'?"
"Both."
"Both?"
"Aye."
"This aint one o' those maybe, perhaps, probably, possible aye's, is it?"
"Positively not."
He muttered the conversation once more under his breath, checking his comprehension of the verbal tango before his face erupted in satisfaction, "Spendid!" Jack leaned in for a kiss…
An embarrassed cough sounded from the doorway. Mad pirate and psychic barmaid froze in a strange tableau, slowly twisting blank faces towards the door. Elizabeth and Will stood self-consciously with parcels in hand, not quite meeting the others' eyes. "Are we interrupting something?" the lady of the house asked politely.
"Yes, get out," Jack snipped.
Elbowing him viciously in the ribs, Maren laughed a little too loudly, "O' course not!" She waved frantically, taking liberally large steps away from Jack, "Do'n be silly, Cap'n Sparrow was just leavin'! Aint that right…Jack?" and glared so fiercely that Jack didn't even attempt to argue.
0000000
'This be scandalous for sure!' Maren examined her reflection in the mirror, biting her lip as she spun about to glance over her shoulder, 'Proper ladies should'n be wearin' no underwear that goes 'bove the knees.'
"Thems pantalets," huffing, Kristy scratched her chin in thought, also studying the article of clothing that deceptively appeared to be bloomers, but turned out to be about six inches shorter. The result was a saucy garment that tied two inches above Maren's knees, "Thems suppos'd to be like that, its call'd, little word ye might not heard tell of…fashion, ye silly twit!" She clarified, nose in the air, "None o' these hobnob gent-women wear bloomers anymore, got to be all French-like, savvy?"
'Style o' no,' Maren glared at her white knees peeking out from the frilly lace that hemmed the bottom of her drawers, 'Still scandalous.' The medium stood in her new cotton chemise, white stockings, whalebone corset, and risqué pantalets. Upon the bed were three dresses, a dressing robe, a long nightgown, another set of undergarments identical to the ones she wore, and fluffy petticoats. The linen was soft but flawlessly pressed, wonderfully beautiful even if it wasn't the beloved satin of her previous garment. The dresses were lightly colored, one blue, one red, and one grey. Modest but fashionable, Maren trailed her fingers adoringly over the tiny stitches, so richly crafted. This was not only the largest wardrobe she ever owned, but also the finest. Wealth was certainly easy to grow accustomed to.
Maren had informed Kristy of the fantastic events of the Aztec's curse and the disturbing vision of the undead Jack, but the ghost was far more interested in the particulars of his skilled, if somewhat oblivious, seduction of Maren. "Oh poor bugger!" merrily she laughed, head thrust back and throat guffawing loudly, "Just when he be raisin' them bids, ye deal him a bust." She kept up her gigantic hilarity until she breathlessly wiped away a happy tear, "Sorry bastard's ne'er gettin' laid."
Kristy in turn explained in minute detail the exact happenings of her conversation with Barbossa, that the servants of the Turner house were paid a 'bonus' to keep Jack's visits a firm secret, and that Jack had showed surprisingly little resistance to Elizabeth's insistence of purchasing his kidnappee a new wardrobe. "Aye, he act'd all pissy-prissy 'bout the whole idea, but I swears he was reachin' for that moneybag 'for he was even finish'd his bitchin'," she winked.
This small sentimentality Jack had omitted in his own narration of Elizabeth's whereabouts touched Maren, but she still bit out defensively as if it was nothing except common courtesy, 'Honestly, it be the least he can do!'
So here she stood in her new underwear, still crisp from the tailor, left alone by the Turners and Jack to dress for dinner. A swift bout of melancholy swept over her as she recalled that the handsome young couple had avoided eye contact with her. Maren had seen that familiar expression of nervous bewilderment so many times in her girlhood it seemed second nature to anyone around her…except maybe Jack who had reacted drastically yet enthusiastically and now appeared thoroughly delighted by every dire aspect of her gift. It was weirdly flattering to be finally appreciated as talented, a talented freak of nature maybe, but still extremely talented nonetheless. For the first time since her father's pride in her abilities, did Maren feel so respected and almost…cherished.
Shaking away those disturbing musings like sticky cobwebs from her head, Maren chose the blue dress and busied herself with loops and lacing, only semi listening to Kristy prattle on about the shopping trip. "Elizabeth be the sweetest creature ever, so friendly, always said 'please' and 'thank you' to the shopkeeps. Not orderin' peoples 'bout like some o' these rich bitches go on with. And Will! What a gentleman, but still a pub bloke if I ever saw one," Kristy grinned roguishly, "And has he ever got a fire in his britch's! By me grave, he could'n keep his hands off her! Every alley o' door he'd be tuggin' behind somethin' o' other and pin her to wall, kissin' her and whisperin' the deprav'd acts o' carnality he could force 'pon her. Sweet buggery, sure made me blood boil, o lack thereof!" she rolled her eyes. "Suspect Elizabeth must be possessin' a will o' steal, 'cause all she'd do was glare at him coy-like, with them slanty eyes and poutin' lips. Ye know the look, ye always givin' it to Jack what makes him antsy-," insulted, Maren huffed, but Kristy grilled on, "Anyway, so she do'n say a word, just slides her hand down his body to the equator where she pats him good, then leaves him high and dry! What a tease, eh? Ye two should 'come fast friends all right-."
'Me dear Kristy, be ye insinuatin',' Maren growled while hunching over to put her boots on, 'that I be a tease?'
"Be Jack a drunk?"
Opening her mouth to retort with something equally scathing and witty, Maren was interrupted by a knock on the door, "Miss Attle, are you decent? I have come to fetch you to dinner," it was Elizabeth, sounding assuredly warm and welcoming.
"One moment Missus Turner," Maren glanced at the mirror to check her reflection. Her image demanded a pause to admire herself, the blue of her sparkling eyes, the pale sheen to her braided hair, and the fabric hugging her tempting figure. A thought arose unbidden, I hope Jack likes it… halting everything, what was that! Merciful God, she'd only confessed her love that morning and already her heart was dictating her life to her. Well sod that! Maren wasn't going to be controlled by some bloated organ in her chest cavity. The details of her life, such as her physical appearance, were for her satisfaction and hers alone! Who cares what Jack fancies? The man was a lunatic, besides the strangest things seemed to spur him about. Yesterday it was her blush, today it was a slap in the face, Jesus knew what'd wind him up tomorrow…
Resolutely, Maren reached for the door, stalling a moment to ask Kristy silently, 'Did the Turners talk 'bout me?'
The ghost didn't require an explanation to the question, understanding the years of ostracism forced upon an extremely unique and lonely girl, "Aye, they mutter'd 'bout how strange 'twas-."
'Ye mean how strange I am,' she interjected, pathetically meek.
"Mostly they gabb'd at how scar'd they was, all terrifi'd to hear Barbossa's voice 'gain and get a glimpse into those digustin' thoughts that was runnin' in that sick-shit head o' his. But I tell ye, Gibbs is right, ye have to be a special person for Jack to 'like' ye and Jack 'likes' these people, they be good people, Pet. Not two licks after they was frettin' 'bout how frighen'd 'twas, then they were laughin' at how brave and brassy ye were to strike Jack o'er the noggin with that board. Aye, good people 'em two, be patient with 'em, lend them a bit to adjust to the whole ghost thing," Kristy fritted her hands about in dismissal, "And aint no reason why the lot o' ye shouldn't be family by the end o' the night."
Letting her grasp drop on the handle, Maren peered adoringly over her shoulder, 'How is it, ye always know just what to say?'
"A lady always knows exactly what to say," her lips pursed, Kristy spoke with crystal refinement then added more to her norm, "And aint I a fuckin' lady?"
0000000
"By the Father, Son, and Davey Jones," enthralled and amazed, Jack swished the sword through the air, catching the light gracefully off its blade. Three wooden crates were displayed in the middle of the den and stacked inside each, sheathed in plain leather, were meticulously crafted swords. He rolled the hilt around the palm of his hand, "Whatever I'm payin' ye whelp, 'taint 'nough."
"You are paying me a small fortune Jack," Will had his arms crossed before his chest, attempting to accept Jack's exuberant compliments and praises with proper modesty, but a self-satisfied grin was shining upon his face, "Besides, anymore wealth on my part and people might question as to where I am acquiring said fortune."
"Oh my," reverently, Jack replaced the weapon in its sheath and returned it to its resting place in the crate, "Business with a thievin', dishonest blackguard, whatever will the neighbors think?"
Will laughed, his voice ringing like brass bells, "I rather suspect they will think I am providing another service for the British Navy."
Unfortunately, he didn't hear the joke, Jack was too distracted, a familiar state for Jack's inebriated senses, by a lean bladed sword with an oddly weighted guard and handle. He retrieved it from the box, confused and cross-eyed, "What's this now? Can't be a long-sword, the double-edge be too impractical. Still, too bizarre a balance for fencin'," he garbled as an afterthought.
"Only for a person of your own model Jack," with a fulsome grin, Will respectively took the blade from Jack and presented it against the palms of his hands, "But for a person of the feminine persuasion, this is a specifically accommodating sword."
"Somethin' enlightens me that ye aint referring to Paulson," catching on, Jack began listening intently, fiddling with the beads in his hair.
"I am referring to Anamaria of course," the excitement was building in the master blacksmith, urging his clipped words to rush out in indulgence of his art. "Think of it! A practical sword made functional for a woman. What a challenge it was! There were so many varying factors. The proportion of her legs to her torso, the proportion of her arms to the length in her step, the proportion of the strength in her upper body as opposed to the strength in the lower half, and that is only the relative size differences! Think of all the variation in muscle capacity and usage. Why that alone took me a month of deciphering. Did you know, Jack, that a woman's center of gravity is located lower in her body than that of a man's?" Will was a tad breathless.
"Really?" Jack muttered, impressed, but quickly recovered his semblance of lady-expert by defensively barking out, "Course I knows it, read up on the matter a long time 'go in that one book…wossaname, ye know, that Indy book? Karla no…Karma Suti…Sutri…Sutra! That be it, the Kama Sutra!" Winking at Will and sadistically delighting in his innocent flush, Jack beamed happily, "Now that was a fascinatin' read, let me tell ye, there be this one diagram o' how a single man can pleasure six women at the exact same time-."
"So what of the sword?" hasty to change the subject, Will waved the weapon about, "Do you think Anamaria will like it?"
"-course the ladies at his feet would have to do most o' the work themselves," the pirate finished his musings before addressing Will, "What? Oh, um…the sorry thing is…Anamaria can be, well a bit stubborn 'bout her sex. Sensitive subject for her."
"So?" Will's drew his brows together.
"So," expanding his syllables, Jack spoke cautiously, "She be littl' paranoid 'bout not bein' treat'd none different from the rest o' the crew, savvy? Everythin' has to be same-same, totally equal. If the men use them kind o' swords," he pointed to the crates, "she uses them kind o' swords."
"But Jack," desperately, Will attempted to reason, "she will fight easier and better with this sword."
"Do'n matter, she'll reckon I'm patronizin' her," catching the dejected expression shadowing Will's face, Jack hurried, "Not to say I wo'n try, mind. Only once Anamaria has her mind set…" Jack's hands fluttered around as if this gesture expressed the thought process of all womankind.
Will tried not to be too disappointed, but he had worked very hard on the weapon. For months, he had driven Elizabeth, the maids, and the cook half-crazy with measurements and posing, researching the female physic to create the perfect sword. And though he hadn't dared admit it to Jack, he had studied the potential of a woman's flexibility and balance from the Kama Sutra, on a purely professional level of course (though Elizabeth did assist him in 'demonstrating' several of the more choice articles in question and at the moment the, the erotic book was tucked securely away under their mattress with certain pages bookmarked for future reference). In short, this blade was no longer a mere sword, but a labor of love, a composition of determination, and a work of art. And damn it, Will was proud of it! Why must Anamaria be so insecure with her gender?
The sound of footfalls descending the staircase stirred Will from his pouting. Elizabeth and Maren were coming down and Will blinked at them, an idea struck, "Jack, why not give the sword to Maren?"
"Maren?" incredulous, Jack followed Will's gaze to the stairs, "Are ye out o' yer mind? With her and her mood swings, she'll cut me throat 'fore the night is out…o' certain other valuables o' me person." Jack flashed his gold teeth in a charming smile while Maren and Elizabeth drew closer. The barmaid could have been mistaken as one of the lady's peers, a wealthy plantation owner's daughter or a young lieutenant's wife perhaps.
Jack noticed how the blue color of the new dress stained Maren's eyes azure, fathomless like the depths of the ocean lit only by the full moon…son of a bitch, that cursed repressed poet in Jack kept daring to escape! No more fluffy thoughts, damn it, they weren't his way and Jack was all too aware of exactly what was to blame for his seemingly romantic inclinations…virginity. Virgins always put men in the queerest moods, as if their very presence was a gentle form of mental emasculation. Also, the three near-hit-and-misses of the past twenty-four hours didn't help to clear his mind much. Well there was only one natural cure for virginity and Jack always did enjoy playing 'doctor'. 'Tonight,' he decided, 'no more excuses, tonight for sure.'
0000000
They exchanged a few pleasantries at the dining table, casually munching away on fine china. Will and Maren sat opposite Elizabeth and Jack, who had his napkin tucked in his shirt collar and, after pouring the other three wine, abruptly kept the bottle for himself. Unbeknownst to the Turners, he was also tormenting poor Maren under the table, sliding a suggestive boot under her dress to rub her calf. The host and hostess attempted to keep the conversation circulating, but they were continuously distracted with the ominous empty chair that Jack had laid out especially at the head of the table for Maren's ghost-friend. Two pairs of curious eyes constantly swiveled back to that vacant seat as if to check that it hadn't moved or disappeared mysteriously.
Finally Elizabeth, though embarrassed she might make her present company, both seen and unseen, uncomfortable, just had to ask, "Is…she," she gestured towards the chair from which Kristy waved cheerfully, "here now?" For some reason, such a direct inquiry seemed untactful to her, admittedly she hadn't a clue when it came to supernatural protocol what was proper and what wasn't. Does one speak to a ghost in third or first person?
"Pardon?" a sidetracked Maren kicked Jack's shin hard, satisfied with his stifled grunt and the retreat of his foot. "Oh," noticing where Elizabeth was pointing, Maren nodded, "Aye, she's there all right."
Both Elizabeth's and Will's stares were anchored to that bare seat, one of them gulped loudly. "Well," Elizabeth breathed deeply and on exhale resolutely smiled, "Then, on behalf of my husband and I, let me welcome our first spirit to the dining table." She gracefully raised her glass and the others followed suit, Jack with his bottle, "To Miss…-," pleadingly she looked to Maren.
"Miss Ellsworth," Maren supplied, "Miss Kristina Ellsworth."
"To Miss Ellsworth and Miss Attle, new friends are blessings," procuring her glass to click musically with the others, she then saluted to Kristy.
"Here here," Will tipped his drink to the ghost as well.
Shy from the touching endearment, Maren shrugged, "Please call me Maren." Kristy cleared her throat, "And Miss Ellsworth, Kristy."
"Then you must call me Elizabeth and Mister Turner, Will."
"And Jack a son of a bitch!" Will interjected.
Everyone giggled at the jest, even Jack who added, "She already does that mate."
The lines that defined Kristy's phantom shape blurred rather comically when she blew her nose on the sleeve of her tattered dress, "Ghah! Thems tearin' me up! We ne'er had a more civil reception, eh Pet? They be so very kind, and good, and friend-." Somewhere Kristy's perverted paranoia, bred from the harsh streets of lower London, spoke up, "Ye do'n reckon them two one o' those trader types? Ye know, exchange bedfellows, the Ole Switcharoo."
Maren choked on her wine, her shocked eyes wide.
"Aye, strange fetish 'tis, but I suppose whatever floats yer boat, I certainly not be one to judge. It's always the quiet ones too, ne'er would have suspect'd. I can see it now, ye all sit down for drinks in the study, sweet and innocent-like, then BAM!" snapping her finger, Kristy waggled her eyebrows, "'Fore ye can think, Will'll have pounced on yer virgin arse and Jack and Elizabeth will be snoggin' on the floor like dogs! Lordy, ye do'n think maybe them bloomin' orgy-ists, do ye? Instead o' two pairs, they're plannin' one big quadruplet! What sick bastards…can I watch?" she whined.
'Jesus Christ Kristy!' Maren rolled her blue eyes, totally exasperated, 'Do me a favor and keep me out o' yer sick fantasies!' "Knock it off Sparrow!" shouting out loud, Maren jabbed the heel of her boot into Jack's toe that had begun to slink up her ankle again.
"Ouch!" his knee firmly thumped the table, shaking the dinnerware on top and startling their hosts. "That's Captain Sparrow, ye pissin' wildcat," he said, rubbing his sore foot and kneecap, endearingly put out.
"Jack," Elizabeth swiped at his arm, hissing under her breath "Leave her alone." Suddenly, she sniffed daintily, nostrils flaring, "Did I not request you bathe yourself before dinner?" Next to Maren, Will caught the psychic's gaze to wink and pointedly roll his eyes, apparently a very common argument was stirring.
The pirate released a haggard sigh before patiently explaining, "I told ye, woman, baths are wicked bad for a man's health. Proven medical fact that is! Baths make ye awful sick, all the prominent minds o' the scientific community agree. Just read up on this very matter while I be nabbin'-," hastily, he corrected, "borrowin' some necessary materials from a University 'round Hampshire way, specifically so I could come back here and argue with ye special. Sweats got…what's the word? Vitamins! Aye that's it, vitamins! When a human bein' perspires they release the body's nutrients in sweat and that very sweat acts like a barrier type deal to sickness and whatnot, so by washin' away this natural protection to the elements, one leaves their body vulnerable to all sort o' calamity." Smugly, he leaned back into his chair and folded his ringed fingers over his stomach.
"Jack," deceptively sweet, Elizabeth raised her aristocrat chin, "that was an extremely well versed and researched argument on the functions of the human form, not to mention very informative."
Cheerily, Jacked nodded, "Thank you, rather impressed meself."
"But," Elizabeth's smiled the kind of grin usually associated with menacing dorsal fins and dreaded sharp teeth, "Those keen minds of the medical world are not guests in my house, are not partaking at my table, and have never soiled my fine satin sheets with the most stubborn of stains and odors! And if they were here, I would readily inform them of their sheer ignorance." Breathy from frustration, Elizabeth bore on, "I ask you, which is more liable to ruin one's health? This preposterous theory of vitamins in perspiration or the obvious fact that urban living is so utterly filthy that the water is chewable and rarely is it properly heated for the colder climates of the north?"
"So what yer sayin' is?" Jack preferred his dirty palms up.
"Take a bath Jack."
Desperately, Jack's kohl eyes floundered about for an escape and landed on Maren, who watched Jack being nagged with keen interest, "Maren hasn't had a bath," he said lamely.
"Maren doesn't reek," Elizabeth poked at his arm again, then addressed Maren, her voice transforming to sociable grace in an instant, "However, you are most welcome to avail yourself to the washroom whenever you wish, you've but to ask."
A bath? A genuine bath? Not a wet rag or the convenient horse troth, but an actual tub, wood or perhaps even porcelain, filled to the brim with hot water? Biting her tongue to smother the goofy grin that threatened to shatter her coy demeanor, Maren forced her sentence out in a calm monotone, "Why thank you, a bath would be very much appreciat'd."
Jack's hands clapped and hissed while he rubbed them together, "Splendid! Then it be decid'd, after dinner Maren and I will retire to the washroom to have ourselves a lovely, and very lengthy if I might add, in duration of course, not in actual size mind ye, well as it pertains to the tub that is, in reference to length and other matters-but I'm gettin' 'head o' meself aren't I? A bath! Absolutely perfect, I'm always complainin' how I require help to scrub me back."
Glaring at him and praying that she might turn him to stone like Medusa herself, Maren growled, "Drop dead Cap'n!"
"If I do, I'm hauntin' yer dandy littl' arse," Jack smirked, "for ever and ever."
0000000
Maren hummed to herself offhandedly, brushing the pale strands of her hair into a silken waterfall. Staring dreamily into the mirror, she smiled as she remembered Narcissus, transfixed by his reflection in the water. Was she pretty enough to enchant herself into a flower? All modesty aside, she knew she was attractive, at least if drunken patrons of the Siren's Song could be believed, but there were doubts. Take Jack for example, sure he saturated their conversations with innuendos and invitations to bed, however, Maren had the suspicious certainty that Jack acted the fool for anything and everything in a skirt. Merciful God, she hated to admit it, but watching Jack flirt shamelessly with Elizabeth made her stomach sink like stone! It wasn't any sort of silly jealously; it was the numb realization that Jack, with his teasing flirtations, treated Elizabeth, whom was obviously only a platonic friend, exactly like he treated Maren. This playful insincerity was…was well, almost heartbreaking, certainly heart-wrenching at least. So Maren thusly concluded, that aye, she might be attractive, maybe even pretty, but nothing special, at least nothing special to Jack.
"Ahoy there, ye flesh mongrel!" Kristy wafted through the wall.
'Ahoy yerself, ye wraith wrench,' tossing the brush aside, Maren cocked her head curiously, 'Thought ye was intendin' to follow the Turners to bed and play spectator to a night of lover's bliss? What happen'd? Too disapoint'd they aint trader types?'
"No," Kristy shrugged, her stringy hair bouncing, "Aint in bed yet, Elizabeth hustled off to fetch the maids to draw Jack a bath, but the Cap'n disappear'd into hidin'. She's been shoutin' for him ten minutes solid, still no Jack, not even a hair from his cock. Reckon ye best mosey down there and offer to take his place 'fore they waste all that warm water."
'Now that be a fine idea,' swinging her hair over her shoulders, Maren stood to leave, 'Lucky ye caught me, I was 'bout to undress for bed.' She was absolutely oblivious to the tricky grin the ghost flashed at her back.
Leaving the light and warmth of her room, Maren walked down the darkened hallway, her steps echoing lonely and wooden from the floor. The curtains were drawn and the moon tinged everything silver, it was delightful. 'Which way I'm head'd?' Maren peered down a passage to her left.
"Straight on, then hang a right, down a wee bit o' stair then last door to the right 'gain, should be lit up anyhow," the phantom floated ahead, guiding Maren. She always enjoyed watching Kristy in the moonlight, she glowed shimmering and tainted violet, eerie and magical. The dead prostitute never looked lovelier, probably even in life.
Before descending the steps, Maren peered over her shoulders, eyes attempting to decipher the shadows. "What's the bloody hitch?" Kristy called from the bottom of the stairs.
'Only checkin'.'
"For bleedin' what?" a hint of impatience clipped her question.
'Jack,' satisfied, Maren hustled to catch up, 'He's got this nasty habit o' showin' up when he's not want'd.'
Kristy abruptly changed the subject, "So, ye movin' up in the world, eh? Think o' it, a hobnob, snob, stick-up-yer-arse, bathtub! Me littl' Pet's becomin' quite the refin'd young lady! Aye, this is the life, no tuff 'bout it," she erupted in a contented sigh.
'Hot water and scent'd soap galore! I swears, when I recieves me split o' Romulus' fortune, first thing we purchase is a bona fide bathtub, porcelain and tile, the whole pie,' blissfully, Maren blabbed on down the hallway, 'Aye and chocolate and champagne and servants and satin dresses and silk sheets and milkin' cows…did I forget anythin'?'
"Handsome farm-boys, half clad and all sweaty," Kristy pointed to a closed door, candlelight seeping under it, "That be the washroom."
Reaching for the doorknob, the barmaid twisted it to enter…
Maren should have noticed the impish smile, cleverly stifled on Kristy's face. She should've seen the white teeth gleam in the dim light. She should've wondered why, if Elizabeth had been shouting for Jack, why hadn't she heard the commotion? But above all, she should've knocked on the door first!
Instead she stepped into the steaming room and came face to face with the most breathtaking sight she'd ever dared to dream of-
Jack Sparrow was naked…
…and Kristy was laughing and laughing!
