Oki, here's the deal: the coconut was a huge disappointment, and my nanny died the Monday night after I posted my last chapter. And I feel like a horrible person, cuz I'm really not sad. Anyhow, I know its taken me a while to update, but I wasn't in the mood to work on this particular work—been too busy writing about this dream I had where Johnny Depp was a werewolf and I had to train him and...oh wait, I'm supposed to be talkin about my fanfic :;claps self in head;: duh! Anyhow, if you're interested about the whole werewolf thing just contact me. It was a real dream, so don't think less of me for that.

I know; I'm so mean for not updating sooner. According to my friend Liz, I'm bound to get shot anyways, so it might as well be from you guys! Lol, I'm just kidding! ...you guys know I'm kidding, right? ;:looks worried:; Anyhow, I just wasn't in the mood to write. So I dat down and got out a journal. I guess sometimes it just feels so much more fulfilling when you're writing it with a pencil, rather than typing it up on yer laptop, savvy?

Disclaimer: Truth be told, the mouse traps didn't work. ;.; So I continue to own nothing. Now, onward to Horsey-Debbie!

Chapter Five: Convincing Will

The heavy wooden door opened smoothly, quickly on well-oiled hinges to reveal a fairly fair and fairly young man, strands of light brown, shoulder-length hair coming loose from its tie as he's just been working. He took in the unfamiliar scene before him: a barefoot teenage girl in a light blue sarong riding sidesaddle and bareback on a fairly large mule, carrying familiar effects at her hip and cradling something out of sight in her arms/lap. "Can I, er, help you, miss?" he asked tentatively, seeing as how he had only recently acquired this smithy as his own and had never in all his years of experience had a female customer at his door.

"Aye, as a matter of fact, you can," she replied, carrying an achingly familiar -fake- accent he couldn't quite place. Her steed bobbed its head, tossing a matted forelock from its eyes. "Or, rather, we're hoping you can."

"We?" Will enquired, poking his head farther out the door to see whomever she was referring to. No one was there. He turned back to her, confused.

"Me 'n' Jack, of course!"

"Jack...?" He had his suspicions on who she meant. Putting two and two together, he finally placed where he'd last heard that accent. But 'Jack' was a very common name, so he couldn't be sure.

"Jack Sparrow—Captain Jack Sparrow!" she corrected herself irritatedly. "Surely you of all people should know who I'm talking about."

"I do. Where is he?"

The girl gestured toward her steed. "Right here. May we please come in?" Will replied with a confused stare. He didn't know whether she was playing a prank or if he should send her to a mental asylum.

"You expect me to believe that this...mule...is Jack Sparrow?"

The girl's steed pinned its ears and leashed out with its teeth. He barely dodged in time. It made a few irate sounds. "Why you little—how dare you insult the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow! You know as well as we mules can't mate! How can you insult a friend like that? Especially when he needs your help! That's stallion to you, mister!" she wagged an equally irate finger at him. Suddenly, with a squeal of pain, her steed shifted awkwardly to one side.

Hurts...

She hopped down. "What does? Are you alright?" Will looked at her, his confusion growing by the second. Who was she talking to?

...My hoof...

She stooped down to examine one of the horse's front hooves. "It's cracked. You're one of those breeds; you need shoes."

"I can make shoes," Will offered.

The girl and her horse met each other's gaze and there was a long silence. Finally, she sighed. "Fine, I guess it would benefit us both." Pause. "But we don't have any money to pay you with. Perhaps I can work it off?" Again, Will looked at her confusedly. Since when did teenage girls work off debts in a smithie? She looked at him with almost-pleading eyes. Heaving a sigh, he assented. "Cool...Erm, may we come in?"

Will raised an eyebrow. "Both of you?" he asked, surveying the large animal. He was just short enough to fit through the door without much trouble. He stepped back with a nod to make room. "Of course. Where have my manners been? I—."

"It's alright, Master Turner," the girl replied, her steed following them in. The horse made a few noises toward her. "I know, Captain, I know. Just gimme a chance, alright?" Yes. She was actually talking to this horse. And not in the fashion of a caring owner or closely-bonded companion. She waited for Will to close the door again. "Sir, I believe we have a problem to address. The shoes can stand to wait for a spell." The horse eased itself down onto its stomach, getting comfortable; this could take a while. "As you heard me say earlier, this is Captain Jack Sparrow."

Will looked from her face to the horse and back. "'S not possible."

"Not probable," she corrected him—and in a very Jack-like manner, he noticed. She rolled her eyes. "And this lack of belief from the man who fought with cursed, undead pirates."

"Well...how would it have happened?" He bit back the rest of the question: –if it has happened at all?

"He ate a Eohippus fruit, which, apparently, had magical properties. Next thing I know, he's greener than algae and taking us both over the side of the Pearl. I wake up, and there he is; a horse."

"And how do you know this is him?"

She shrugged. "He told me."

"He told you."

"Yes." Will gave her a hard, studying look, but all that ensued was a bewildered expression. "What? I had a bite—I was curious!"

"And that lets you understand what he says."

"Aye."

Silence. Awkward silence. "Might you have any proof?"

Another silence, which the horse broke with a subconscious nicker. "Aye. Jack, lemme see yer right foreleg, eh." The stallion, who had been dozing, twitched his ears and shifted his weight, sticking out the requested limb. She beckoned the young blacksmith closer to see. But all he could make out were a number of black squiggles, already hard to decipher from the dark fur. "It's his tattoo. And look lower; you can see the brand."

The tattoo, to Will, seemed nothing more than what he saw—which were random squiggles of darker fur. The brand he saw and acknowledged for what it was, but considered it merely an abusive prank by a bored someone with little enough heart to hurt such a handsome beast.

Amy, Jack whickered, seeing Will's doubtful expression, he doesn't believe us.

"Other foreleg, Jack," she pressed, not willing to give up on Will just yet. She showed him the scars, and the old bullet wounds on his chest. She showed him the beads and coins and other baubles woven into his matted mane. Even noted the two golden hoops going through his left ear, though the chance of Will ever having actually seen Jack's ears was slim. "And his hat." Will glanced at the proffered hat. It was Jack's all right. And, if this horse wasn't Jack—of which he was growing more and more sure—something must've happened to him for his hat to be here without him. The two were inseparable. He reached out to take it, but was intercepted by an irate stallion. He snatched his hat out of Will's hands with an angry snort, dancing back to his girl, his steps seeming a bit unsteady, almost as if he were drunk, ((w00t equine swagger!)) bobbing his head and making the hat flop around. He looked quite the playful type, and Amy had to stifle a giggle at the sight of him. "Give it here, Jack; your teeth are bound to ruin it." She held out her hands to the horse, who, grudgingly and with drooping ears, placed it in her safe embrace. "Aw, poor baby," she teased, patting his neck. He snorted indignantly, throwing his head up. She laughed again. "Here." She placed the hat on his head so it was hanging lopsidedly from one ear. He pointed his nose upward, drawing back his upper lip and showing off still-golden teeth as he 'chuckled', a human reaction still instinctive within his depths.

Will watched with almost sad eyes. He wanted to believe her. Really he did. Everything she said or did suggested some amount of influence from his old friend—but, try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to truly believe, couldn't help but to be skeptical. "I hate to interrupt, but it's growing late and I'll be closing soon. If we're going to make shoes for your horse, we'd better work on them now."

That was it; he'd called Jack 'her horse.' Amy's jaw dropped. After all that, he still didn't believe them. She snapped her mouth shut and licked her lips. "Yes," she answered curtly, "I suppose we should."

XxXxXxXxX

Hours later, the girl, bereft of the sarong and in breeches once again, held the stallion steady, a tight hold on the halter which had been fitted around his head, as the blacksmith fitted the shoes. He reached out for a few nails, hammering them into the hoof with quick, accurate skill, shaped by years of experience. Jack shied at first at the strange sensation, but Amy kept him steady tightening her hold on the halter. "Easy, easy. Shhh," she murmured gently, in a calm, soothing voice. "Feels strange, don't it?" The horse nickered a response.

There was not a doubt in Will's mind that they could actually speak to and understand one another. But that it was Jack she was talking to he just couldn't believe. "Apologies, Miss," he said, finally breaking his own silence. "For...not believing you..."

"So are we."

"It's just...I..."

"It's fine. I understand. But we need your help. We have to get him changed back. We don't know how it happened or if it's permanent or what, or how we're going to undo it, and we have to get him changed back soon so we can figure out how I got here so I can get back home to my family and—a-and..." she broke off, realizing she'd gone off into a panicked babble.

"Get home?" Will's eyes narrowed slightly in thought. So much of what she showed suggested she had been in recent contact with Jack. He believed she knew him. He might've been the way she got to Port Royal. That made sense. But...what?—did Jack kidnap her? Was that how they'd met? Back home...He wouldn't...would he? She's just a lass... The girl sighed and conversed with the stallion—whom she was, by the way, still restraining by the halter. With an even bigger sigh, she explained. Everything. "So..." Will mused when she was finished, "you're not from this...world, then?"

Amy nodded, finally dropping the faux accent. "Yeah. That's about the size of it." Will didn't respond. He was deep in thought, trying in vain to remember where he'd heard of something like this before. Then she straightened up from the table she'd been leaning against and stretched luxuriously, cat-like. "Y'know, I think I'll turn in for the night." She had after all been riding for the better part of the day.

"Er, well I still have a little work to do." The store might have been closed, but that didn't mean the work was done. "I don't really have a spare room made up, so..."

"No, I'm good." She found a place out of the way on the upper level of the smithy, turned in place once, and plopped down on to the floor. Out like a light (erm, lantern?) in twenty seconds.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Contrary to most beliefs, Caribbean midnights are freezing in relation to its days. And Amy, having grown accustomed to the warmth, now shivered in her slumber as Will was working on his last order of the night. He looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, magnified by new shoes, and saw the stallion plod over to her. He lifted her gently with his snout and lay down by her, so that she was leaning against him. She stirred slightly, but stopped shivering.

Of course, Amy knew none of this she was too busy dreaming. Her sleep had started out sound and peaceful, but then a strange picture came to her that made her want to laugh. For some reason, she was remembering a line from an old movie about how iron is magnetic. Then her mind had reminded her that horseshoes were iron. She saw Jack walking along when his front left hoof hit some magnet poking out of the ground. Powerful magnet, that one. But, see, he didn't know he was stuck. He kept walking until he was yanked back by his securely anchored foot. He tugged. And tugged again. Then he twisted around and snorted annoyedly at the magnetic plate. He put another hoof against it to try and pull his first hoof off. All in vain; now both his front hooves were stuck. Back hoof reaches forward to try and free the front hooves. Now three hooves are stuck. With a powerful yank on the part of those three legs, the magnet is lifted free from the ground. Jack totters forward again, one foot, then three, as lopsided as a one-footed badger. In her dream, she heard herself laugh, felt herself fall to the ground and grasp her aching sides. A small, unconscious smile stretched across her face as she slept.

Oki,I know it's been a while, but pleezpleez don't kill me. Yes, I know one can get shot and live. Just remember this mate: He's Captain Jack Sparrow. Oh, and Biology is annoying. See you next chapter!

Now then, I would be much obliged if you would press that blue/grey button down there labeled 'Go' and send a review. They're very encouraging, savvy?