If one were to assume that there were moments of rest in a place like Tortuga, where the rum flowed like water and promiscuity was not considered anything but the norm, one would have assumed wrong. Morning, noon, and night, Tortuga was the same place. That Will had decided some time ago, in between bungled bounds on the seas with Captain Jack Sparrow that always ended up with the two of them, impetuous pirate leading a wary Will, stirring trouble in any manner of licentious location, and as he wandered the noisy streets of the settlement he felt that the place would not change any time soon.
Stepping over snoring pirates he'd been since dusk, as well as avoiding eye contact with several painted ladies. In the past, he and Jack had deduced, after many embarrassing episodes, that they were both much too popular with the wenches. Whether it was good or bad, both of them had decided it best to avoid them altogether and as much as possible.
"Why—it's Will Turner!"
The plan, however, was rather vague and so it never worked. Will was pretending to admire a rather sickly cat that stared up at him from a pile of trash on a porch when Giselle, who he'd caught sight of before he'd turned on his heel to face the ramshackle house he stood in front of, called his name and marched toward him. The cat blinked and skittered off down the alley, and Will sighed.
"Traitor…"
"Who you talkin to?" Giselle, with a hand holding her yellow hair in its coil atop her head, narrowed her painted eyes. "Jack's here? Where'd he go?"
"He's not. Good day, Gis—"
"What?" She jabbed him in the shoulder. "What sort of fool do you take me for, Will Turner? I just saw you and you was talkin to someone and now that someone's gone, just as I holler at you!"
"I wasn't talking to anyone."
"Yes you was!"
"No I wasn't."
"Uh huh!" Giselle grabbed his hand and tugged him back to face her. "I heard you!"
"Well, I suppose if you heard…" Will furrowed his brow and frowned at her. "What did I say?"
She frowned back. "I don't know but I heard you talkin. Where is he?"
Will considered the question. In theory he had not lied thus far in the conversation, a marvelous feat on the island of Tortuga. And, because she'd not asked for particulars, if he answered her—thus sending her off in search of whatever it might have been she was searching for that she hadn't mentioned by name—he would also not be lying. Though he was fairly certain that even the fierce debate in his head was somehow as immoral an act. Finally, he sighed and nodded over his shoulder. "Down the alley."
The woman squealed and threw her arms around him. "You're too kind, love!" When she pulled away she winked at him. "See me later if you fancy a thank you."
Wincing, Will watched the woman walk away. Despite his having turned down countless such offers from the women of Tortuga, Giselle included, before, they never seemed to get the hint that he did not consider the invitation of interest. Flattering though it sometimes could be, it was also harrowing. Women, as he'd come to find out, had a tendency to be quite the persuasive sort.
"Women," agreed a hearty brogue of a voice. "Never ending, the trouble they cause."
Having also come to find out that the camaraderie of most of the pirates of Tortuga was nothing to smile about, Will glanced warily up at his new and unlikely compatriot. A monster of a man the pirate was that clapped a brawny arm around his shoulders, sunstreaked lock of hair falling over one of his glassy green eyes. Certainly he was a pirate, Will decided, not only smelling the sweat and rum on him, but finding a rather scary looking scar jagging across the man's cheek and under the scruff of his thick blond beard. Quite suddenly, the pirate turned them around and Will opened his mouth to protest.
"Let's have a drink," the other suggested, nodding at the well-lit tavern at the end of the street they stood on. "You look like you could use one!"
Deciding against adding that the pirate himself looked to have had one too many a drink already, Will allowed the bigger man to lead him toward the place he recognized on approach as one of Jack's regular rowdy haunts. Fistfights were spilling out of the doors of The Faithful Bride as he and the pirate walked up the pavestone path to the place. A snarling drunk slashed at Will with a shaky dagger and the big man clocked him with a mighty fist, sending him face down in the dirt. Hoping that the sudden skirmish was not a forewarning of what was to come, Will nodded his thanks and let his somewhat unsavory savior lead him into the especially unsavory saloon.
Immediately, a round, red-faced ruffian rushed them, rum sloshing as he staggered to stand straight. The pirate righted him, as well as his tipped hat, and nodded. Raising a brow, Will watched the other stammer his thanks and stumble off into the wrangle-gangle tangle that comprised the patronage of the tavern. Several fracases seemed to fray into one furious free-for-all. Pirates not fighting were making merry with either mugs or wenches, or even both, Will noted, as to the side one very fancy looking fellow with a cup at his mouth was being attended to by two busty brunettes.
"Some sailors have all the luck."
The wistfulness in the pirate's voice drew Will's frown upwards, and he arched a brow at the solemnity of the man's face, following his gaze back to the so-called lucky sailor. "Or so it seems," he said, remembering a similar scene from days past when Jack had been the lucky one and the two women luckier, as both Jack and Will had discovered a long time later that eve that the ladies had run off with a quite a lot of the loot he'd been lugging.
"Two mugs of your darkest, deepest ale."
Will turned at the pirate's request to find they were at the bar. A pretty little woman filled two mugs and slapped them to the bar top. She smiled at Will, flushing when he smiled back and nodding at the coins the pirate offered for the order. Will looked down at the mug shoved in his hand. Overflowing with a pungent dark liquid it was, but he didn't have time to take a sip as he was steered toward an empty table and shoved unceremoniously into a chair. He watched as the stranger, sitting on the bench on the other side of the table, took a long drink of the ale.
"Good stuff!" The pirate nodded at him. "Drink up."
Still watching him, Will took a sip.
"Your captain looking for a new set of hands aboard?"
Will opened his mouth to say that he didn't know, when he remembered that he hadn't a captain. He scowled and took a heartier drink of the ale. "I'm not a pirate."
The other's brow knit over his mug and his eyes narrowed on him. Tilting his head every which way possible, and finally leaning across the table and turning Will's face every which way possible, he frowned first at the unweathered, unscarred, and altogether unpiratey Will and then at his drink. "Perhaps it's been one too many tonight."
For quite awhile they had sat in silence, both of them downing mugs of the dark ale, and suddenly Will wished to break it. With what was the problem, he decided, studying the fair but sturdy man, of whom he knew absolutely nothing, before him.
The pirate clapped his mug to the table and nodded. "How many too many's that?"
"Five."
A deck of cards smacked the middle of their table between them and they looked up to find three men standing. One was tall, one was short, and one was shaking. The short one grinned and then, all together, the three pulled barrels to the table and sat there.
The tall one leaned close to Will, his yellow teeth basking in the candlelight, and the less strange of the strangers thumped a fist on the table. The skittery man jumped and smiled nervously at Will, who feared for the worst. He looked up at the man whose name he had yet to learn, and was relieved to see a broad grin on his face.
"Well mates, let the games begin!"
