x.O I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. Dreadfully sorry.
Next couple of chapters are rather complicated. Causing me some grief over how to make the plot twists understandable yet interesting. Geez. I haven't experienced enough in my life to come up with good situations.
BUT, good news. I at least have inspiration and no writer's block. :D Not to mention I got to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest on the 7th. That gave me TONS of inspiration. At least on Jack's personality and what-not.
Hope you enjoy the chapter. :)
And to those reviewers that disappeared last chapter: You all made me very sad. :' I love you guys. Why'd you leave me?
Paper Heart
As the wind blows through my dread locked hair, and cools my tanned flesh I almost feel adventure once again swooping down on me like an enemy pirate attacking from above. It's a feeling one never forgets. Once you've had the feeling, you crave it, like rum, it's an addiction you cannot escape, nor can it be ignored. I hold tightly to the crow's nest, lest I should fall, almost willing myself not to. It's a constant danger, but so is the life I live.
The life of a pirate.
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It didn't take long after Jack had stormed out on Mara for him to begin to once again wonder what sort of things the heavy-set girl was doing to his room. Or just what she was doing in general. And it was as he wandered about the deck doing his chores that it became obvious to several particular members of the crew that his mind was not at all on his work. Jack's gaze was never focused on the horizon and the Black Pearl was beginning to thus drift from her proper course under Jack's distracted guidance. His only focus seemed to be on the floor beneath his boots which served as the roof for Mara's cabin.
Anamaria was utterly fed up with Jack, and, through devices of her own creation, ended up sitting with Gibbs in the galley talking over mugs of rum. She noted Cotton taking his shift to clean dishes, and since he was mute and the cook was on deck, she decided it was a fine time to express her opinions to Gibbs about Jack's behavior.
"We'll never make it to Tortuga if he continues to act like this. We need to stop there and move on quick as we can, Gibbs, and that won't happen if he's too busy throwing daggers at that girl with his eyes."
"Whoa, whoa. Ana, take a step back here. You're talking too fast for this old sea dog and I didn't hear a word you just said." Gibbs took a sip from his mug of rum. "Alright, now what's yer complaint?"
Anamaria raised a brow at the older first-mate before her, and with a frustrated sigh, started again. "You're Jack's best mate—truth?"
"Aye."
"Have you any explanation for his recent moods?"
"Only one, but I don't think it's somethin' I should be talkin' 'bout without Jack's permission."
"Fine." Anamaria wiggled her chair closer to the table. "But as Jack's best mate, couldn't you tell him to pull out of this wretched disposition? He's obsessed with being upset over Mara and it's going to get us all killed." She began tapping her finger solidly on the table to ease her anxiety. "If the Royal Navy catches back up with us…" She eyed her pistol then turned her gaze back to Gibbs, eyes narrow. "We'll all be hung within a month's time if not already cut down or shot in the hell-fight that's gonna be raised."
"Jack's feelings are very well his own, Ana, you've got to understand that." Gibbs leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "I can't turn his heart any better than you can." The old sailor quirked his lips before lifting his rum to them and taking a long drink. The silence weighed heavily upon the two conspirators. Finally Gibbs moved to speak again. "He's in love with her, that's what, and he can't sail straight because he's too busy thinking about her."
Anamaria's jaw fell. "You're joking?"
"Nay, Ana. I'm not."
"He told you that; in those words?" Anamaria could barely contain the riot of questions and disbelieving comments just beginning to storm about in her mind.
"Well, no. But the last time we had ourselves a little chat up in the crow's nest he very clearly suggested that he was in love with her." Gibbs shrugged. "I always figured he was lookin' for someone as odd as him to settle down with, though she's a might bit odd I suppose it could work out... I mean-"
"That's crazy! He's not in love with her. I can see the pair squabble with my own two eyes. They hate each other. They absolutely, rabidly, unreservedly loath each other…"
Gibbs's head shook ever so slowly, drawing Ana's words to a halt. "That's not what he told me. Face it. They've got something between them. I think the anger is just their way of being in disbelief that they're actually falling in love. It's practically a hobo and a princess match-up if you think about it. Not surprising that they're fighting it."
Anamaria tuned her ear to the sound of Jack's warbling crooning up on deck and paused before speaking, though now softly. "I've had several talks with Mara when I've had to escort her to the galley and back and she's always seemed so genuine when saying that she hated Jack. If there's love there, its one-sided. I'm sure of that."
Gibbs's face fell. "You're likely right. She does seem rather set on her 'boy back home'— But that brings me to another curious thing that Jack mentioned." The first-mate scratched at his whiskery chin for a moment. "He implied to me that he was willing to kill this boy just to win Mara's heart. Of course, I told him it was folly, but he didn't seem listen to a word I said. I'm not suggesting he's actually going to go kill this boy, but he did say he thought it was the only way he'd get her for himself."
"You're pulling my leg, Gibbs. Jack's not that daft. You know he's not that daft!" Anamaria leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "At this point, you're just being a gossipmonger, Joshamee Gibbs, and I don't believe a word you're saying."
Gibbs set down his rum with a loud bang. "I'm no liar, Anamaria. I'm just telling you what Jack said to me. He professed love and a desire to kill Mara's boy. Never mind if any of it goes anywhere, because it probably won't, but if these are the things that are in the forefront of his mind right now I can assure you he's got no sanity at the moment."
"Oh, good. His moods can be explained by a lack of sanity instead of a full-blown case of cupid's arrow. Holy mother of the world, Gibbs. Like that's any better!" The hot-headed Negro woman stood and tossed her mug into the basin of water that Cotton was still using to clean some utensils. "Let's just hope Jack straightens out presently. We need to get to Tortuga, get our supplies, then move on to Isla De Muerta to hide out for awhile. Hell, maybe we ought to consider leaving Mara in Tortuga. Forget the ransom. I just want Sparrow back." She turned back to Gibbs, her expression softened and weary looking. "How could he love someone that hates him and never notice how much I care about him?"
Gibbs sighed. "I know, Ana. I know." He stood to move beside her and placed one hand on her shoulder. "I always thought you two were a better match, but nothing is certain yet. Don't give up till he's down on one knee proposing to her." As an idea drifted into his mind, he smiled. "And she has to have accepted too. So you've still got yer chance."
Anamaria shook her head. "I just don't know anymore, Gibbs. I thought the only thing he could ever love was this ship." She moved to the doorway, Gibbs's hand falling from her shoulder and to his side; she placed her own hand on the door's frame. "It's just too much to think he can love anything else if it's not going to be me."
Gibbs watched Ana's crestfallen frame shuffle out of the galley and flopped back down into his chair to finish his rum. Things were indeed become twisted aboard the Pearl now that Jack was assumed to be in love with Mara who was obviously in love with the boy back home who probably loved Mara as much as Anamaria cared about Jack whose whole heart was usually occupied by a love for sailing (and the Black Pearl) but was now possibly open to Miss McArthur who really didn't love him at all and instead loved a boy back home who loved her back..
The twists of this life drama seemed to always come around in a circle and start again. But things were more uncertain to Gibbs's now that he had listened to some of Anamaria's objection and in the forefront of his mind, when it came to Mara and Jack, he knew he had been wrong. There was no love between them.
But in the back of his mind many questions were still alive and unanswered.
Gibbs finished his drink and with a heart-heavy sigh handed his empty mug to the mute dishwasher, Cotton, who stared at him with his usual wide-eyed silence. The old sailor stared back at Cotton for a moment and his lips twisted into a grimace. "Aye, I think yer lucky to be mute. You don't ever get involved in these ridiculous social affairs."
Cotton nodded silently and returned his attention to the washtub at his side. He watched Gibbs out of the corner of his eye as the first-mate yawned and stretched his back before exiting the galley in the same direction that Anamaria had disappeared to. He scowled and scrubbed more diligently at the plate under his fingertips. Not directly involved, yes, but when he knew more about what was going on than anyone else in the matter, how could he be excluded from the list of those 'involved'? He grumbled silently in his mind. Always and by everyone he was considered a non-threat—a mindless dummy. It was as if everyone believed that when his tongue had been cut-out so had his brain; but that wasn't true. They didn't know the story behind his forced silence. They didn't know he had been a calculated traitor to his previous crew or that when it came time, he had known the right things to say and how to say them—and to who—in order to save his own skin.
The only thing he hadn't calculated into his plan was that those he had betrayed might catch up with him and when they did they would very much want to even the score: a mistake never to be repeated.
Cotton pressed what was left of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and almost smiled. The ones who were dumb were the ones that had never bothered to find out that he could read or write before spilling their secrets to each other in his presence. He had no plans as of now to betray this crew, not wishing to risk further mutilation of his body, but he knew if he was ever given the choice of betrayal or death, the crew of the Black Pearl would get the open end of the pistol.
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Entry 793
It is very quiet.
The shock of Mara redecorating my cabin is wearing off and I don't feel so angry about it anymore. When she said all she wanted was a journal as payback for my mistake she was just like every normal woman and she didn't really mean that was all she wanted.
So, I figure she's going to keep taking it out on me, stubborn girl that she is, with every turn of this adventure, and I'm just going to have to get used to that. C'est la vie, as the French say. Scuppers under, if I must, I'll sail by ash breeze.
But Davy Jones take my soul if I ever let myself become becalmed. She's going to wear completely down before I do, and that's that.
When I'm finished writing for the night I've got the stars to entertain my sleepless mind. It's such a beautiful night. Sleeping out on deck is far more exhilarating than sleeping in that stuffy Captain's cabin—any day—no matter what any old sea salt says. The only thing good about being Captain is being the one to decide where you're headed: what sights you see. Other than that, it's less worrisome to be a sailor than a Captain. I appreciate that simplicity more than I thought I would.
It is so quiet.
Hah. I can't hear Mara at all. She's utterly silent. How soothing… How-
Frustrating, actually. I want to find out what she has been doing all day! I want nothing more than to know exactly what she's done to my cabin. But, no, I just have to practice patience. I have to restrain myself and trust that anything she changes can be put back to the way it was…
I'm beginning to feel that my motives have turned from money to vengeance. I believe that I genuinely want to get back at Mara for what has happened, and the embarrassment I've suffered. A healthy motive to kidnap a girl? Possibly not.
But I'm doing it anyway, aren't I?
I'll get no answer from you, my Paper Heart—my journal—but I know the truth within my flesh:
I am a wretch— a filthy, devilish wretch who cares nothing for the feelings of others.
Shall I be changing my ways then, since I recognize them as crooked?
No.
I am who I am— and I don'tchange who I am forany sort ofpity, merciful reason or excuse.
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The Journal of a Lady in Distress;
Captive by Pirate
Day 18
By Miss Mara McArthur
Despite the title of my exposé announcing that it is day eighteen of my captivity, this is the first time I have had a chance to write of it.
Quite simply put: Life has been dreadful.
It began with my violent kidnapping from Port Royal—a place I have called home for a few short years—and I have remained in said state for much longer than pleases me. Indeed, I have spent much time during my captivity wondering if my decision to live so close to pirate infested waters was a good one. I'm beginning to be quite concerned about what possessed me to move to Port Royal.
But enough of that sort of speech. It is time now to focus on only the facts.
After being kidnapped, I was most improperly treated. First, I was tossed overboard into chilly waters then thrown into a damp cell to rot for days upon days. By the time they took me out again I was nearly dead. Then they nursed me back to health only to play many wicked mind games with me by taking my clothes and leaving me with only a blanket to hide under—and in the presence of a man!
I begged my clothes returned to me and only after a long, cruel laugh did the wicked pirate Captain return to me what was mine. And he is a beast! Sinful, dark brown eyes stare at you surrounded by some kind of dark powder, perhaps Egyptian kohl, and his filthy locks of dark brown hair have been improperly kempt to appear in bunches— And trinkets have been pinned in the clumps to make him look even more wild! His skin is dark and burnt and he always smells of rum and liquor. Everything about him speaks so plainly of his villainous ways and were it not for the tri-cornered hat that he wears so compulsively, you would likely be able to see the horns that sprout from his skull. His nails are filthy and the grime can be recognized as dried blood if you are unlucky to be close enough to look! I dread every time that I must gaze upon him. (And he forces me to see him often, just to torture me for he knows he is hideous!)
It is just dreadful.
And to think, within a week we shall be stopping in a place they call Tortuga. The crew talks of other pirates we will see there. But I do not wish to go. They say no one from the Navy ever goes there because it is outside the jurisdiction of Britain. Well, if it is, then why am I, an upper-class woman, going there if a male British officer will not!
Oh. I do dread the coming hour when I must step off of this boat to my doom. I fear I will not be a captive on this ship for the long years with which Captain Sparrow has threatened me if I get off this ship. I am desperately frightened.
To my loved ones in Port Royal, I am quite sorry that I will be unable to say goodbye in person. Pray that my death will be quick and painless despite the fact that it seems my destiny is to be tortured mercilessly.
To Jesse, c'est la vie, my love. I would have wed you if my life had not gone in this lonely direction.
Mara McArthur
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Mara stared down at what she had written, tears forming in her eyes. "It's not really all that bad," she mumbled to no one but herself. "But it does feel awful." As she clutched the journal it began to bend in her tight grip and her tears became hot and spilled into the hollows just below her eyes. "I cannot make myself any happier by lying about my treatment. Tomorrow I will write a correction, but today…"
Mara's attention drew itself to the rest of the room. Though more cheerful and feminine than it had been, she was still unhappy with it. The windows were stuck shut and it was stuffy because she didn't want to open the door for chance that Sparrow would show up at her portico. She had few candles to light it and it was night time, forcing her writing to be scribbled and unsure because of the dim lighting. She didn't care to admit, that even in her situation, she was bored. "I haven't even got anymore sewing to do. Nothing. There's no cross-stitch patterns of quilting material, just what's left of Sparrow's pants and a blouse which I couldn't find use for. What am I to do with that?" As her eyes drifted to her lap, she began to study the dress she was wearing. As a well-to-do woman of the upper-class she had never been forced to wear the same dress for a week straight, let alone eighteen days. It was dirty, and somewhat more worn that it ought to have been. There were also several tears in the material from accidents she'd had while building the canopy of her bed. And this was supposed to last her until she could be freed when she was supposedly trapped here forever?
A dubious idea.
She scrunched up her nose and began to scratch at a stain with her nail. Something had to be done about clothing; and she wasn't going to get the solution from Sparrow! Slowly, her scratching stopped. Her eyes narrowed, and glistening with angry tears, they turned the blouse and cut-up pants on the floor. A solution had now been formed in her mind. She sprang up from the desk chair and leapt upon the clothing. The pants could be re-sewn together—fashioned into britches!—and the shirt was good as-is. She smiled as she took the pants back to the desk to work on them. She'd save her dress for when she had to get off the ship or for when the navy finally caught up with the ship. She could put the dress back on when she thought she was about to be rescued so she'd be ready to go home! But in the meantime; she would wear pants—a daring idea—but a practical one. Nothing would suit life on a ship better than britches and a loose shirt.
Mara smiled at her own resourcefulness. It would not be the first time she'd worn pants, but if she could survive life on the Pearl and escape back to Port Royal, it would certainly be the last.
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Jack Sparrow was having a pretty darn good day.
According to the calculations his navigator had made after shooting the Sun at its zenith they were within a week's time of Tortuga. Perhaps less, but they wouldn't know that until they had found their new longitude and that would require a few more clear nights when the moon finally made an appearance. It had been gone on holiday during its "new moon" cycle and had succeeded in making Jack a very impatient man. He was ready to be at his destination or at least know specifically how far he was from it.
This newfangled way of book sailing was quite often handy, but tiring. He'd had to hire a specific navigator and he'd also had to learn patience. It took time to wait for the right periods in the day to take the measurements and it took time for the calculations to be derived from what information was gathered through the ship's sextant. But Jack was happy to admit that for once in a great while he was having a very good day.
Anamaria couldn't say the same. She'd grown more miserable as Jack had shown signs of being more content. Somewhat sub-consciously, but mostly willingly she had become colder to Mara and had passed off the duty of bringing the girl meals to Mr. Cotton; who did the task with his usual obedient silence. Gibbs had wisely begun to keep his distance from Ana because he knew precisely what was putting her on edge. Her mood swing was why he'd tried to convince her it wasn't his business to leak the details of his conversation with Jack, but, as usual, Ana had easily pulled all the information she'd wanted from him. He personally never understood how that happened, but everyone else knew it was because he was addicted to gossip and tales, specifically about Jack, and was always looking for a time to spread more rumors about the pirate Captain.
Jack didn't particularly mind.
The Pearl's Captain leaned hss back against the deck railing—grinning—with his arms crossed over his chest. He watched his men work, quite happy to take in the smell of the salty sea breezes that blew across the ship. His head nodded slowly. Yes! tThings were finally returning to normal.
Jack's eyes caught sight of the cabin door opening and for a moment his breath caught in his throat.
A glimpse of his cabin!
But, ho! Treachery! She'd found a bucket of whitewash Jack had been using for a few projects and had begun painting the walls of the cabin with it! It was irreversible damage to his room!
He steadied his trembling breath and started towards Mara who'd come out, backwards, carrying a dirty plate, cup, and some utensils. The look of her made him want to laugh despite his frustration. Eyes twinkling, he winked at Anamaria. "I see now why you defended the lass, love. If she's got enough spunk to wear britches she's got enough spunk to be a pirate woman same as you."
Anamaria, half smiled, shrugged, and said nothing.
Jack watched as Cotton took the plate from Mara, who joked about it getting accidentally whitewashed with the rest of the walls, then waved at him as he silently hurried down to the galley. She straightened her shirt and pulled up on the pants before opening the door to her cabin. She paused then, and in what seemed to be a sudden decision, propped the door open. It was then that she noticed Jack's gaze following her.
Mara nodded at him, catching his eyes with her own, then jerked her head toward the cabin. "The whitewash stinks and the window is stuck. I assume it's no good for either of us if I suffocate to death."
Jack grinned. "No, it's really not at all." He uncrossed his arms and moved next to her, staring into the room with a heavy hearted sigh. "It'll look nice when you're through, though…"
"So it will."
"And are you going to do all the other walls too…?"
"Yes. They need to match, you know."
"Ah. A'course they do, love." Jack sighed. "I can get those windows open for you if you want."
Mara eyed the tall man suspiciously, but feigned squinting in the sun when he looked down at her. "That would be quite lovely, Captain."
Jack took a step into the room, then rocked backwards and turned to face Mara. "I see your talents have altered a pair of my pants to your own size. You must be very talented, love, to get them to fit you." He leaned his head back enough to take a look at her with one swift glance.
"Cut them off at the knees and added the extra cloth at the sides to make them wider. You, sir, are a very skinny sort of person. I'm surprised I got them to fit me too." Mara grinned. They were teasing each other in ways that had become non-hostile. When that had happened she wasn't sure. Maybe it had been her hiding away in the cabin so much that had given them enough of a break from each other to be peaceful, or just the near-ness to a port where they could get off the ship, had calmed them. Even coming to grips with being stuck on the Pearl for awhile might have done it, but no matter which way it went, it was nice to be able to talk politely even if he still irked her with the way he acted or thought. "Are you going to keep staring at these clothes or fix my window?"
Jack's head snapped toward the inside of the room, away from Mara and a thought process he had been following. He went to the window and glanced back at her with a shrug. "Sure, love. No big problem here, just a pull of a lever and a good shove then-" He paused to breathe as he pressed himself against the glass. "it comes free!" He grabbed onto the window frame to keep from falling out as the window popped open. "There you go!" He sprang to the door and stood on the outside edge of it looking in, somewhat eager to be away from the changes that were taking place in his old cabin.
Mara's mouth hung open for a short moment as the breeze raced through her room, then turned to Jack with a shocked, but happy expression. "No idea it was that simple."
"Well, you know now, do you not?"
Mara laughed and looked down at her feet. "I guess I do, Captain." She looked up and nodded to him before turning away to finish the whitewash.
Jack nodded curtly to the petite woman and also backed away to finish his own work. "That beats all. I never thought she'd go to wearing pants." He grimaced as he finished his train of thought from before, back when Mara had interrupted him about the window.
One question entered his mind. "How maddening am I to drive an upper-class woman to such lengths of impropriety?"
xoxxox
Becalmed - To have been made motionless by lack of wind.
C'est la vie - Such is Life. (Not a sailing term, my sillies! It's French, but I felt it ought to have a definition anyway. :P)
Sail By Ash Breeze - A shipping term that refers to using the oars for power when there is no wind to move the ship.
Scuppers - Holes through the ship sides which drain water at deck level over the side.
Shooting the sun - Using a device, such as a sextant, to find the latitude of a ship by measuring where the noon sun is in the sky and comparing it to what time of year it is.
Sextant - an instrument for measuring angular distances used especially in navigation to observe altitudes of celestial bodies (as in ascertaining latitude and longitude).
-.O Well, now, how was that, hmm? Is it getting any better?
New characters make appearances in the next chapter. :) I'm excited. You should be too. >D Buahaha.
Let me just say that the Commodore should be coming along any time now, someone is going to be the cause of much grief to Jack and his crew, and a certain scrawny and naive boy is going to challenge Captain Jack Sparrow to a duel to the death. Enter much crying, pleading, and blood.
Manythanks to - all my reviewers, but especially Mera Sparrow and Nicole Egeni who were the only ones to review chapter 4. :)
R&R if you can find it in your hearts to critique a weary and desperate writer. May'haps it will encourage me to write faster?
Hope you enjoyed. :D
...Oh. And I was kidding on the blood thing, by the way. :P
