The Scroll Of Kesmehet
Chapter Four: The Importance Of First Impersonations
"Oooh, look at all of those soldiers in their red coats and tight breeches," Flavio gushed admiringly, pausing yet again to watch a particularly strapping young blond march pass him. His face visibly fell when the lad paid him no attention, and he scuttled closer to Jack, intertwining his hand with the bello captain's.
Or trying to, anyway.
"How many times must I say it! I. Do. Not. Hold. Hands. With. Men."
"But I'm a woman," Flavio protested.
"Or women either." The pirate paused, shuddering at a rather unpleasant memory concerning a member of the fairer sex and baby names. Not a particular experience he wished to repeat any time soon. "Especially not women."
"So it's more likely you'll hold my hand if I told you I was a lad, yes?"
"No. I just don't hold hands—ever. I'm very proud of my hands," he prattled on, oblivious as to what he was actually saying. "I don't want them to get… contaminated."
"They're very pretty," Flavio agreed, taking the opportunity to grab the unsuspecting male's wrist and lifting the discussed appendage for closer inspection, "but I wouldn't say they were clean. They're quite large as well, actually—"
"We are not going there!"
"Oh, Jackia, don't play coy; I know you're harbouring deep, dark, passionate feelings for me beneath that strong, well-muscled chest…"
It was true; Jack did harbour deep, dark, passionate feelings for Flavio beneath his undeniably strong and muscular chest: however, if he planned to act on them, he would require a very large kitchen knife, rat poison, and a very long, thick noose, for a start…
"Who will you hold hands with?" Flavio continued to interrogate. "Give me a vague clue here; a hint, a suggestion, a tip…"
"Not you!" And with this irrefutable rejection, the half-molested pirate had wrenched his wrist away from the stunned Italian's grasp, purposefully quickening his pace down the crowded streets of Port Royal.
The Italian pirate paused, watching Jack continue his furious stride with a confused and injured expression written clearly across his features. "Bill," he whined, looking at the Englishman with the pearl-tree fetish in befuddlement, "why is my Jackie being so cruel?"
This was the part that Bootstrap hated with a fiery passion that almost equalled that of the Pope's love for celibacy. Almost, but not quite. The religious leader was a eunuch, anyway. Jack had told him so.
"…He's not being cruel, Flavio," Bill drew attention to the barefaced reality with the resignation of a weary man and the infinite patience of a sage-cum-hermit, certain that the matter could not be debated any further.
However…
"But he just told me that he won't hold hands with me!" the younger pirate reasoned. "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why would you lead someone on like that if you're not even going to hold hands with her?"
The black-haired sailor immediately caught the misuse of English pronouns, knowing full well that such disregard was not born of limited linguistic knowledge; he was almost certain the pirate before him was a Londoner, in spite of his impressive Italian inflection and obvious mastery of that lovely idiom. "Flavio, we've been through this—"
"Is it 'cause I'm fat?"
The random enquiry threw Bill off balance completely. "Wha—? No, it's not because you're fat—"
"But I am fat, is that what you're saying?"
"No! You're very slim—"
"Oh, so now I'm a walking skeleton!"
"NO! You're fine," Bootstrap insisted, not even bothering to wonder how he'd gotten himself into a situation where he was consoling a sexually-confused Italian with a faint Londoner's accent on his body mass. "Your body is perfect."
"Oh, really?"
Uh oh…
Flavio drew back, looking up at Bill in a flirtatious manner that was quite disturbingly effective. "Exactly what are you trying to say, Bootie?"
Bill closed his eyes, reliving several months of mortifying sailing just because of that completely… illogical… pet name… "Flavio, your promise?"
"Remember yours?"
He did, but the day that Bootstrap Turner was to go underwear-shopping with a man was the day Jack Sparrow sought professional help for his rum addiction. Which, judging by the captain's drinking activities of the past week or so, was distressingly likely…
"Look, when I've paid off all those gambling debts—"
An unladylike snort cut through the flimsy excuse. "What gambling debts? You just pick everybody's pockets, in any case… And since when do you actually gamble, anyway?"
"I'll try to get Jack to take you," Bootstrap ducked desperately.
"That's what you always say," Flavio dismissed with a flick of his hand.
"No I don't! Flavio, you didn't even know who Jack was until eight days ago!"
"Of course I did; he was that wonderfully flamboyant sodomite you and the Turkish guard were talking about in Turkey over a lovely glass of wine whilst I sat in misery in that rat-infested little cell—they ruined my favourite garters, I'll have you know." Ah yes; if only such circumstances persisted… The imprisonment, not the garters. "How did you get out anyway? I was asleep when you made your successful little seduction. Any tips?"
"I did not seduce the guard! How many times do I have to say this? I bribed him with false information."
"If such information involves teaching him how to unbutton your breeches, then yes, that is what you did," Flavio persisted. "And technically speaking, that information wasn't false—"
"Just because you enjoy chasing after naïve sailors with absolutely no sexual experience whatsoever doesn't mean that all men do—"
"Of course it doesn't," Flavio concurred, more than a tinge of exasperation in his voice. "How many times must I tell you idiotic but oh-so-very-pretty English sailors? I'm a woman."
"No you're not!"
"Yes I am!"
"You're not!"
"…But I could be. There's a fifty percent chance I was born female and decided to impersonate a man impersonating a woman, you know."
Bootstrap paused for a fraction of a fraction of a second, calculating the possibility. "Well… Not really. Who on earth would spend so much energy conducting an elaborate scheme like that?"
"Me!" Flavio exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet in enthusiasm.
"No you wouldn't; if you were a woman, you'll simply be impersonating a man," Bootstrap reasoned.
"Oh, you are useless," Flavio snapped in disgust, quickening his pace so as to catch up with Jack. Bill followed.
"Fine, fine—alright!" Bill allowed, grabbing the younger sailor's elbow as he stalked alongside the unlikely couple. "Say you are a woman. Prove it."
Flavio's eyes snapped from Jack's uncomfortable expression to Bill's. "What?"
"Take your shirt off."
A sudden slap quickly dispelled any illusions Bill may have harboured of Flavio's agreement to his suggestion. Thank the heavens; perhaps there was some divine spiritual entity up there after all…
"See!" he yelled as Flavio stormed off with a reluctant Jack Sparrow in tow attempting to wrench his wrist from the walking mantrap. "If you were a woman, you'll take your shirt off without any hesitation!" Jack halted his desperate attempts of liberating his wrist from his prison to give Bill a dubious stare at this utterly fallacious statement.
"You've had plenty of chances to see me without my shirt, Turner," Flavio called back. "It's your own fault you didn't take advantage of them!"
Unable to resist such an obvious jibe, Captain Jack contributed to the heated discussion for the first time. "Can you really blame him?"
The third slap of their acquaintance made its long-overdue appearance, and Flavio immediately stormed back to Bill, leaning his black-wigged head against his shoulder affectionately.
Well, his mood swings were that of a woman's. Bill would admit that much.
"I stand by my belief that you're a man impersonating a woman—or trying to, anyway…"
"Trying to? Trying to!" Flavio drew back to look up at the male that was also on the Italian's seduction hit list. "Oh Bootie, if I hadn't had told you I was a man, you'll still be trying to bed me, you know."
"…I thought you promised never to mention that again? And I wasn't trying to bed you, Flavio—"
"Ah, yes, I forgot." The voice had taken a tone that was half-sympathetic, half-contemptuous, wholly offended. "You're incapable."
"I used to be!" Bootstrap corrected hastily. "It was the curse—"
"Oh, the curse," Flavio dismissed with a wave of his hand. "That's what all the eunuchs say. And believe me when I say that I knew a lot of eunuchs, Bootie."
"…I was never incapable, as such," Bootstrap continued in a small voice, looking down at his scuffling but immaculate footwear from which he earned his pseudonym. "There just wasn't any point…"
"I'll have you know I'm a fireball in bed," Flavio informed him. "And very professional—just ask my father. And trust me; believe me when I say I've had a lot of practice…"
"Now that's certain proof you're a man," Bootstrap seized. "Women are a lot more modest about their… virtue."
"Clearly you've never set foot inside a harem," the Italian pointed out with a hint of triumph in his voice, finger raised as an indication of emphasis that was a slight mimic of Jack's own flamboyant gesticulations. On certain levels, the two really were quite alike.
"Neither have you," Bill reminded.
Flavio opened his scowling mouth, closing it immediately as his golden eyebrows furrowed in thought. "…You're right; Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice has never set foot in a harem in her life," Flavio concurred, tossing his false hair. "It's not a place befitting a gentlewoman."
"How many times do I have to tell you, you are not the granddaughter of the Grand Duke of Venice!"
"But I could be," Flavio insisted unwaveringly.
"But you're not!"
"But I could be; there's a very high chance that I'm a Venetian noblewoman impersonating a female pirate impersonating a man impersonating a woman—"
"No, there really isn't!"
"Says the man who's rewritten the laws of nature just so he can claim pearls grow on trees—"
"Pearls did grow on trees!" Turner insisted. Flavio rolled his eyes, blowing a stray of false ebony out of his eyes in exasperation. "Well, they did! …Didn't they?"
Flavio shrugged his slight shoulders. "That's what I saw in that trance, all right," he agreed. "But that doesn't automatically mean you can prance around telling French merchants to stop farming oysters, Bootie! They're absolutely delicious!"
"I was trying to save their profits!" Bill justified. "I used to work alongside the captain on a slave ship… Funny story, really, involving a one-eyed, wooden-legged prostitute and a pineapple…" His tanned hand slammed to Flavio's parting lips in anticipation. "And no, that is not code for any form of rape or seduction that your disturbed mind conjures up."
"Of course not," Flavio suggested in a tone that clearly indicated his disbelief. "Oh, Bootie—don't pout at me, it's a lovely name—and the potential for debauched innuendos is unequalled—"
Bootstrap could feel the same stress, frustration, and exasperation that Jack was undoubtedly suffering from rise up within him. Of, course he'd suffered the same hardships that Jack was currently forced to endure when he'd first encountered Flavio, and he hadn't felt any the worse for it. Unshakeable belief in pearl-trees aside, of course—there was always a slight mental side effect, but with Jack, Bill was certain there was no potential for a great loss as far as that aspect was concerned. "How many times must I tell you to drop it?"
"And how many times must I tell you I need silk corsets?" Flavio pandered back.
"There's no such thing!"
"Of course there is—it's a basic stay made of the same basic materials with whalebone lining the inside—a completely normal corset with silk covering it, actually. And I want one—all my silk stockings just look wrong with leather—"
"Flavio, nothing will change the fact that you just look wrong in female undergarments."
"And how would you know? You've never given me the chance to model for you…"
The pirates' discussion faded in and out of Jack's hearing as they both continued to shadow the captain, and he found himself wondering how on God's green earth the pair had attracted absolutely no attention whatsoever in a town as bustling Port Royal. Especially on market day. And he was almost certain that their debate wasn't exactly common…
Ah, Port Royal. Lovely little city, really, with a lively mixture of trades and personalities that made the port town an interesting fusion of wealth and poverty, propriety and depravity, respectability and scandal… Of course, there was that little matter of that ponce Norrington prancing around in his little wig with his little sword and little medals and his gigantic warships; but really, what could a man do? And truthfully, Jack wouldn't even be visiting the town that had tried twice to hang him if it hadn't been for Bootstrap's insistence that he and his son reunite.
"No, I will not model the latest range of women's drawers for you! And I don't care if every man does it!"
"You're so very much a sodomite, you know that? A heterosexual man would jump into a female's drawers without hesitation—"
"Not this one!"
Jack leaned against the wall outside of Mr J. Brown's (or so the sign claimed) quaint little shop in exasperation. To be frank, Jack would have been less likely to agree to this little detour had it not been for the fact that he was harbouring a hope—however slim it may be—that the blacksmith just the other side of the door would be sufficiently pretty enough to provide distraction for… some people…
"Mio bello Jackia, my only love, my darling, my angel, my only reason for living—"
…It was a very slim hope…
AN: I just found out today that it's really not that hard to get men into dresses—you leave a pile of clothing in front of them with the script of a German woman shopping and they jump right in with oranges for cleavage. I'm not kidding…
-anapants-: "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" huh? Wow, I've actually heard of that—haven't seen it, but you know… I kind of grew up knowing about drag queens—I lived in Thailand until I was five and kept visiting ever since, and all of their cabarets and tourist attractions are FULL of them. We call them "lady-boys" and laugh because they all look like BEAUTIFUL women. Prettier than the Thai girls who ARE women, actually… it's quite disturbing… That's really how I got the idea for Flavio's character…
VagrantCandy: I'm glad you thought so too. It was really all Jack's own fault; if he actually walked as though he was a sober man, he wouldn't have had to worry about the rumour mill working over time to his disadvantage…
Jess: It's true, and you know it, child. Now, when you review to insult and/or argue with me, I'll like you to actually COMMENT on the chapter. And Flavio. Especially Flavio. Thank you. Corset!