Scarlet Before Dawn
Gleefully dismantling fanon and playing with a character too often stereotyped.
It had been several minutes since he had ceased his frenzied movements and now Jack lay sprawled awkwardly in sleep, half atop her and half twisted in the ratty bed sheets. His weight was heavy as lead and Scarlet was thankful that he faced away. She couldn't abide another's breath on her as they slept, especially when their breath stank of gum rot, tobacco and rum. It was an unusual grievance for one of her profession, she knew, but the stinking warmth of men's breath made her skin crawl and stomach roll.
She thrust his arm from her waist peevishly, wanting little else but to rinse her insides of his parting gift, and sat up, pushing against his boneless weight until she was free of foreign limbs and hair. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder as she reached for her discarded shift, noting his slack jaw and closed eyes with satisfaction. With any luck, he wouldn't wake for hours, allowing her time to cleanse herself in peace.
She stood carefully, mindful of the stiff ache in her limbs. Jack had been more vigorous than regular practice, though such treatment was not unheard of from him, and it had been a rough encounter. At least it had been a quick encounter, Scarlet thought cynically. She tested her weight on her feet and winced involuntarily as a burning bolt of pain seared from waist to thigh. Slowly she moved to the washstand and poured a measure of warm water into the basin.
Scarlet knew that the other working girls viewed Jack as something of prize, but she knew better, having known Jack since she was barely thirteen. He had been twenty-four at the time, clever as a fox and cocky as the devil. Her first memory of him was still vivid in her memory. She had no doubts that the sight of his stark white bare bottom as he rutted with a whore in an alleyway would leave something of a lasting impression in any mind. He had thrown her a smug grin that fascinated her young, innocent self. And just like that, the devil had found himself a new toy.
With little in the way of introduction, Jack introduced Scarlet to the ways of the world, taking it upon himself to be her teacher. He wasn't no gentleman, that was for certain, but she supposed it could have been worse for her. She had seen the harsh treatment of other women at the hands of men unlike him and she counted herself fortunate for Jack's selfish pleasure seeking. Bruising and bleeding weren't to his taste.
And while the last fourteen years had changed much, Jack remained the single constant in her turbulent existence. His brief appearances were regular as clockwork and it was well worth her trouble to entertain him during the few hours he was in port, for Jack always paid well and he never lasted more than a few moments. She snorted quietly as she bathed her used body. The sailors were all the same, pirate and navy alike, quick to the ready and even quicker to the finish.
Carefully, she cradled the basin filled with its soiled water and walked to the unlatched window. It didn't take much pressure from her elbow to throw open the worn wooden shutter and soon the contents of the bowl were splattered against the dirty cobblestones with scarce a movement from the bed's snoring occupant. She smiled wryly as she returned the washbasin to the sand. With enough rum in his system and after such strenuous activities, Jack could sleep through a raid.
Wary of her body's tenderness, she gingerly sat upon the edge of the bed and permitted herself a quiet moment to study her long-time associate. The years had been kind to him, she reflected, running an experienced eye along the weathered contours of his unshaven face. He had always been a handsome man, and the sun and sea had done little to diminish his good looks. Slowly, not being a well-educated woman, she counted the passage of years on her rough fingers and was surprised to discover that Jack was rapidly nearing forty. At such an age, it was pure luck that the scoundrel was still alive enough to give her a tumble. Most pirates these days barely saw their thirties and few dared to dream that someday they too might reach Jack's ripe age of thirty-eight.
Not that Scarlet was young tart herself. Time might have been kind to Jack, but she was sporting more lines and sag then she cared to admit. She looked at the young women who walked the streets and wondered if she had ever been so saucy in her youth. She couldn't recall; her late teens and early twenties were filled with too many smoky pubs and impatient lads. Those girls were the new generation and Scarlet belonged to the old. At twenty-seven she was an old maid; and had naught but scars to show for it.
It was a train of thought that had been with her for a long time now. Scarlet was well aware that she was losing her looks and had taken keenly to the idea of opening her own house. She believed she would be a good madam, teaching the new strumpets a bit of manners and earning a nice pay in return. Scarlet had even found the perfect location, all she needed was the money to buy it.
She pursed her lips as she watched Jack sleep. He wouldn't understand and would more than likely laugh at her aspirations. Jack didn't believe her capable of much besides aiding in his pleasure. Well, she'd show him, she thought as her gaze landed on the worn coin bag that was securely tired around his neck with a length of leather thong. He hadn't paid her yet.
When she left the small rented room, both her spirits and his coin bag were considerable lighter.