To save yourself from being mildly to extremely confused, please read our first fic, Maggascotchi. ("Our" implying my sister and I--no, this is not some deranged writer with personality disorder. There are two of us behind these stories.) At any rate, here's the continuation. The narrative chapters will be interspersed with the Governor's personal thoughts.

Just when you thought you knew everything... :)

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July 1

Dear Diary Journal,

I appologize for scribbling. I must consciously remind myself that "diary" is not the proper, masculine term to use when I am recording the events of the day. Though I must admit, I like it better.

It is the miracle of miracles that I can even find the proper time to put down my thoughts. Port Royal—and my dwelling, specifically—has been upturned by rude, rambunctious rabble-rousers once again. But this time, pirates are not the only ones to blame. I can point fingers at a snotty Commodore, his blundering ex-Siamese twin brother, my hapless daughter, and my clueless son-in-law. Jack and Barbossa have actually caused less racket than I otherwise would have expected.

Why are these unlawful hooligans, piratical disgraces that once threatened my dear Elizabeth's life, not in jail? Simply because I suffered an inexcusable change of heart. After we discovered Elizabeth had not been kidnapped by some foolish-named pirate called Maggascotchi, and that she had merely staged the whole act, relief overwhelmed my reason. I was so happy to have my daughter back I could harbor no ill will towards anyone, so I allowed Jack Sparrow and Barbossa to walk free.

My amiability lasted about a week.

At first, I suffered no serious regrets when the two struggled to find employment and merge into proper citizenship; after all, years of living shameful lives are bursting full of habits hard to break. They were completely broke with nowhere to go, so I bit my tongue when Jack and Barbossa decided to move into the mansion. There were enough rooms—like closets and storage areas. However, they felt they needed more space, so Jack redesigned my master bedroom and moved me to the porch. Barbossa has occupied the kitchen and put his collection of stolen jewels and coins in my china dinette set. Then he stole the dinette set.

It was a bit much, but Elizabeth convinced me that it was the least we could do for the ones to whom we owed so much. As she pointed out, Jack was the one who had helped Will to find her; Barbossa was the one who had helped me to find her. "We should happily give them our dearest possessions," she declared. However, her mind started to change when Jack began trying on her corsets.

I knew not what future action to take. I could not very well evict them from my home. Such a thing would be callously ungrateful and potentially encourage them to return to their pirate ways. I implored Elizabeth to discuss the situation with her new husband Will Turner, but he admitted he could find no wrong in what Jack and Barbossa were doing. Truth be told, the young man has been a bit spacey lately. I am not sure whether he is immensely love-struck by my daughter or just enthralled with the legend that is Captain Jack Sparrow. He can find fault with neither. (Additionally, he has all the lemon meringue pie he wants, and Barbossa is proving to be a rather startlingly excellent cook.)

I realized, then, that I could not rightly evict either of them—but perhaps a force in uniform could. I called upon Commodore Norrington (who is not a force but does wear a uniform) to set the laws of cordiality upon them, and as of a half hour ago he was still screaming at them to return his sword and untie him this instant. I have not the courage to see what has become of him.

Lieutenant Gillette has been an avid visitor as of late, especially when the Commodore has strolled in. The young boy has made it his purpose in life to revive a brotherly relationship with Norrington; alas, my other son could not want less of it. Norrington still is in shock and denial over the revealing of my "deep dark secret," though I know eventually reality will settle on him and he will have no other choice but to accept it. I have offered to take the two out to see the Port Royal baseball team for an afternoon game, but Norrington claims he is allergic to leather gloves, wooden bats, freshly mowed field grass, and ballpark hotdogs. Which is why I have written a series of letters imploring the league to replace said components with pillowcases, plumbing pipes, Astroturf and Veggie Burgers. The reply frankly stated that Veggie Burgers were a ludicrous suggestion and simply out of the question. They are currently working on the rest, though.

Journal, I believe my dining room is on fire, but I cannot be sure whether or not that smoke is from there or the parlor. I would put down my feather pen to check—but I truly fear the worst. What can I do with these people? I cannot have them here and yet I cannot evict them! I feel I need a vacation—

No, that is it! I do not need a vacation, they do! Brilliant! I will send them all on a vacation, away from this place, away from me. They can go on a hiatus from Port Royal, where they can strengthen their friendship and learn to interact in a civilized, adult manner with one another.

I believe Jack Sparrow just accused Norrington of being a "Big-Nosed Whiney-Baby." Yes. I do believe "adult manner" was an apt phrase.

I will contact the Harbor Master at once. Since we managed to sink half his ships, he might be slightly wary of lending us another. I must see about renting one of those private planes he has recently purchased. Strange how these anachronisms sporadically drop into the picture.

I hear Barbossa calling out for Jack to retrieve the marshmallows for roasting. How sad that this is my life. No matter. Soon I will have them all whisked away to…to…perhaps Jack's old island that he so often was marooned on? How interesting a situation that would be! They would all be forced to get along and work together in a primitive setting, away from the bustle of city life with booming businesses and teeming crowds. A wonderful idea, if I do say so myself.

Getting them there may be a slight problem. I hardly expect any of them to express enthusiasm over the idea. I might have to make a few harmless, white lies to get them to board the plane.

I could easily convince Norrington to go if he thought that the trip would take them to a foreign jail, where Jack and Barbossa would be disposed.

Gillette would love a chance to spend some quality time with Norrington. I will simply say that is the purpose of the flight.

I will tell Jack that they are headed for Tortuga and surely arriving in time for Happy Hour.

Barbossa…perhaps a discount flea market that sells really big hats?

Will is easy. I will inform him that he will be touring the world's largest lemon meringue pie ever baked.

And Elizabeth would leap at the chance of visiting a spa of some sorts; I could even say that the idea is to have her male friends reformed in etiquette and appearance.

Perfect. Everything is seamless.

Gillette just burst in asking whether or not I especially liked the greater half of the downstairs. Apparently, it is now crisply charred. It appears I will have much refurbishing to do while my guests are vacationing.

While my guests are vacationing. Ahh. What a pleasant thought.

And now to make the grand announcement. I am sure they will be simply delighted.

Shall write later,

Governor Swann