Disclaimer: Anything concocted by Disney is not mine!
A/N: Holy moly! (has minor heart attack) I never knew there would be so many reviews in such a short amount of time. Thanks to each and every one of you, for knowing this story is becoming a big hit makes me immensely joyful. In fact... (dance parTAY time!) Gallagher and Jack are grateful that you are interested in their tale. Why am I keeping you? (sigh) Me and my babbling. Anywho, enjoy the next chapter, mates! You've earned a bit o' fun!
PineAppleLint
* * *
About two hundred miles off the coast of Isla de Fuego...
"I want that key found."
"The woman will not speak, Captain."
"Dammit." A firm fist meant for strangling slammed down onto the table. Perfect white teeth suddenly showed as handsome red lips curled back into a filthy grin. "Bring her in. Perhaps I can convince her."
"Aye, sir." The large, meaty first mate turned, and in a matter of seconds his form that filled the doorframe had vanished.
He was not a patient man. He had practically tasted it, it had been so close, and now everything he had worked so hard for could be lost, thrown down into the dark, black abyss of the sea if this wench did not open her disobeying mouth to speak the truth. Everything could be ruined.
And he would not allow that to happen by some meddling bitch. He would make her scream if he had to.
"Here she is, sir." Thomas, the first mate, appeared with the feeble Hispanic woman in his arms. She writhed in his grasp, murmuring frantically against the gag wrapped firmly between her lips and teeth. Thomas threw her to the ground in front of his boots, and she landed on her hands and knees.
He crouched next to her slowly, as if not to alarm her. His fingers gently stroked her gray hair and he said in a hushed voice, "Do ye want to tell me somethin', Gerterrez? Have ye been defiant enough?" He took the black gag out of her mouth and let it hang from her bruised neck. "Does it mean nothin' to ye that yer island is now a smolderin' pit?"
She spat at his feet and hit the bullseye. Saliva dripped from his black boot, running down to the floor. He watched it in disgust.
She shrieked as he backhanded her, causing her to hit the floor yet again. She tasted her own blood rolling across her tongue.
"Who has the key?" he demanded, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eyes.
"Show mercy, senor!" she pleaded.
"Not until ye tell me where the GODDAMN key is!" he hissed, his fingernails making crescents on her cheek. She whimpered and he smiled evilly.
He grabbed her and heaved her onto her tiny, bare feet, pressing her ear to his mouth as he spoke in an ominous whisper.
"I will not hesitate to kill ye, Senora Gerterrez. That key is rightfully mine by blood. Give me the name of the occupant of the key, o' yer own blood will splatter the floor."
"I won't tell you," she replied fiercely. He shook his head with mock sadness.
"If that's the way it has to be..." he said, "Then I will have much pleasure in torturing you, senora."
Thomas appeared in the doorway again, this time with the cabin boy in tow. "Sir, the lad says he saw somethin'."
The young blond haired, freckled boy squirmed under the captain's heated gaze.
"Well?" the captain barked, "Out with it!"
"I was in the t-t-tavern," the youthful lad said softly, "She was there." He pointed to the old, bleeding woman.
"And?"
"There was a woman there, sir. Very pretty. Long black hair, grey eyes. I heard some of their discussion."
The captain raised his brown eyebrows and he smirked, "Who is this...woman?"
"Her name was Gallagher, Captain. Terrence Gallagher. I recognize her from the warrant posters."
"Thank ye, Eli," the captain nodded, "That will be all from ye. Now as for you," he turned to Thomas, "Take Senora Gerterrez down to the brig. Her stupidity overwhelms me. Kill her. I don't want a mess, understand?"
Gerterrez started to scream right before the gag was shoved back into her mouth and she was picked up from the floor.
"Aye, Captain Malvado."
* * *
Terrence had been locked up in her cabin all damn day, searching through an array of books and maps, searching for anything at all that could give her some clue as to what this key could belong to. After all, every curse had a story behind it, and it was most common for such supernatural occurrences to be documented out of pure curiosity. She sighed and rubbed at her eyes, digging her knuckles into her eye sockets as if she could rid herself from the fatigue she felt shivering across her body.
"Need anythin', Captain?" Brookes asked, sticking his head through the door.
"Did I tell ye you could enter?" she snapped and instantly softened when Brookes frowned in concern.
"I'm sorry," she added tiredly, "I'm just so damn frustrated."
"What's wrong, Terrence?" he questioned quietly, shutting the door behind him. He was her first mate, and was the one person on board whom she could confide in most. They had a special bond, an undying trust that made them such good companions.
"This," she stated, pointing to the silver key lying peacefully on her desk, "There's somethin' goin' on and I don't know what it is. And I don't like that feeling very much, Brookes."
"What's wrong with it?" Brookes said, eyeing the key wearily, leaning over to inspect it.
Gallagher leaned back in her chair and ran a finger through the black tendrils swirling around her nape. "I think it's cursed, me boy."
"Another curse?"
"Aye. And I don't know what to make o' it."
Brookes was silent for a moment before commenting, "Maybe Pete knows somethin', since he's so big on curses, bad luck and the like."
"Send 'im in," she ordered with a smile, "I don't see how it could hurt." He nodded and left her in a hurry. She stared at the open books littering her desk and snorted. She knocked a few loose papers to the floor in exasperation. There was nothing there on a cursed key. Sure, there were stories about singing sirens, cursed medallions, enraged creatures popping out of the sea, but none whatsoever about a dinky key.
"Ye wanted to see me, Captain?" Pete asked calmly and he walked in the room. She accidentally got a whiff of month old garlic and couldn't help but let out a strangled cough.
"Ah, yes," she said, regaining her composure, "I was wonderin' if ye knew anythin' about this." She pointed her index finger to the key and his eyes immediately widened.
"Where did ye get that?" he asked, backing away timidly.
"What? What is it?" she pressed, "Tell me."
"I do not know for sure, Captain," he whispered, "But that, that engraving," he leaned in and examined the serpent, "Why, I think that's a symbol from ancient times."
"And what does it represent, might I ask?"
"The Devil."
* * *
Six long days later...
Jack gazed up at the approaching night, bidding the reddish pink sky farewell as the stars began to wink mischievously at him. A drunk ran into him with a high pitched laugh, immediately yanking Sparrow out of his dream world.
"Bugger off," Jack muttered and pushed the rank man off of him and began to swagger down the dirt streets, his loyal crew following right on his coat tails. Their excited talk and bellowing laughter reached his ears and Jack smiled warmly. They all deserved a drink after those three and a half long months of wreaking havoc in the Spanish Main.
Even though he felt more relaxed, Tortuga was not the place to let your guard down. His hand was close to his pistol and sword if the opportunity arose for him to need them. A carriage barreled past them, the black horses gaining speed, their long manes flying in the wind and their harsh snorts a bit louder than the shouts and gunshots whirling around them.
Jack paused in his tracks, grinning as he came across two pictures posted side by side on a crumbling brick wall consumed by the dark. It was a warrant for him, the drawn picture actually very flattering, and the other was for Terrence. He reached up and touched that beautiful face of hers, the small sketch not doing her justice. He ripped them down and placed them both into his pocket. A souvenir. Not like anyone cared about warrants in Tortuga...everyday misfits and criminals were walking the streets and buying drinks.
"Captain Sparrow," a sly, female voice proclaimed across the road. He turned his head, his dreads almost taking his eye out in the sudden movement, and stared at the five whores perched sexily by the streetlamp. They ran their hands down their bodies and slowly lifted their skirts as if to tempt him and his male crewmembers. Their long dresses glowed in the dim lamplight and moonlight, and were lifted high enough to reveal appealing garters.
"Not tonight, me beauties," he called with a wink. They pouted at his turn down, but in a matter of seconds they moved on to stalk more willing prey.
He could almost feel the sexual tension amongst his men, and he called back over his shoulder in amusement, "Later, boys. Let's get some rum first and loosen up, aye?"
They mumbled their approval and Anamaria let out a snort of laughter at their bursts of testosterone. She found the whole situation mildly humorous.
The Headless Chicken was by far not one of the classiest taverns in Tortuga, yet that was how they liked it. Making their way inside, the bartender waved to Sparrow, who nodded in return. The long creaky table in the back was instantly vacated, and the crew all sat down comfortably.
"Get out yer coin purse, Sparrow!" Gibbs called joyously, "We all want a round or two!"
Sparrow sat in the middle of everyone after motioning for a round of the best alcohol to be delivered over shortly. He leaned back, stretching lazily before perching his boots up on the table. His tricorne hat was cocked to one side, and his kohl had been reapplied before he got off of the Pearl and stepped onto the shores of Tortuga. It intensely rimmed his dark brown eyes, which were alert and twinkling with excitement. He tried to keep that lazy demeanor about him on the outside, but on the inside he was impatiently waiting for his bonny lass to show up in his arms. His eyes gave away this impatient, devilish manner he felt eating away at him, and the crew noticed.
"Here ye go, Captain," the wench said seductively, her green eyes scanning his slouched figure from head to toe, "Best rum we have."
"Thank you, me darling," he replied, grabbing a mug from her tray. Soon, each crew member sat nursing a mug of their own in ecstasy. He watched as the young woman picked up her tray and ran a finger across his shoulders as she walked away, swaying her hips for his benefit. But he wasn't interested. He focused back on the crew, who were staring at him, grinning.
"What?" he asked defensively before taking a swig, "What, do I have somethin' in me nose? In me moustache?" He ran a finger along his facial hair self-consciously.
"Ye need to relax, Sparrow," Anamaria commented, "It's like ye got a sword shoved up yer ass and ye can't sit properly."
"I am relaxed," he said, eyeing her, "Why wouldn't I be? I have me rum!"
"So what are ye goin' to do when she gets here?" she asked. Gibbs stopped his conversation with Nathaniel, and the two men began to listen in on the conversation. Soon, the whole table was silent, wanting to know what he had planned. Sparrow didn't like the silence, especially if it involved Terrence. He fidgeted, yet stopped when he thought up an acceptable answer.
"Well," he grinned, "I am thinkin' about givin' her a night she won't forget, if ye catch me meaning."
Gibbs muttered, "Bad luck when a woman starts hauntin' ye like that, Jack. Mark my words."
"Well, if it's bad luck, I happen to like it," Jack replied devilishly. Anamaria rolled her eyes.
"So ye plannin' on takin' her to that little inn by the shore?" Nathaniel pressed, "It's respectable enough."
"O' how about that one near the smithery?" Kenneth chimed in, "They have decent rooms."
"I have a better idea," Jack said, his wicked grin growing by the second, "How about I just forget about getting a room and take her to one o' the beaches?"
The men laughed and Anamaria got up from the table to go sit somewhere else, not being able to take listening to the subject any longer. This caused the boys to laugh harder.
"Aw, me beautiful Ana," Jack called, "You runnin' away from me already?"
"Screw you!" she called back sweetly and found a nice place to sit at the bar, turning her back to them.
"I think we disgusted her," Jack said with a shrug, "Anywho, how's that for an idea?"
"Right there near the dock?" Nathaniel asked with a shake of his head, "You're a daring fool, captain."
"Get yer mind out o' the gutter," Jack ordered with a smile, "A deserted beach, savvy? Nice and romantic, gels love that."
"Gallagher likes things nice and romantic?" Gibbs quirked an eyebrow. The crew snickered humorously.
"Good point, Gibbsey," Jack sighed, "Well I guess I'll skip the wooing part and get straight to business. She never was one for mushy beginnings, catching me drift?" Expecting to make the crew laugh with some more of his sinful, naughty talk, he stared at all of them, who were dead silent and staring past him with sheepish, embarrassed looks, actual blushes gracing their cheeks.
Dammit.
Jack let out a slow breath. "She's standin' right behind me, isn't she?"
* * *
A/N: Holy moly! (has minor heart attack) I never knew there would be so many reviews in such a short amount of time. Thanks to each and every one of you, for knowing this story is becoming a big hit makes me immensely joyful. In fact... (dance parTAY time!) Gallagher and Jack are grateful that you are interested in their tale. Why am I keeping you? (sigh) Me and my babbling. Anywho, enjoy the next chapter, mates! You've earned a bit o' fun!
PineAppleLint
* * *
About two hundred miles off the coast of Isla de Fuego...
"I want that key found."
"The woman will not speak, Captain."
"Dammit." A firm fist meant for strangling slammed down onto the table. Perfect white teeth suddenly showed as handsome red lips curled back into a filthy grin. "Bring her in. Perhaps I can convince her."
"Aye, sir." The large, meaty first mate turned, and in a matter of seconds his form that filled the doorframe had vanished.
He was not a patient man. He had practically tasted it, it had been so close, and now everything he had worked so hard for could be lost, thrown down into the dark, black abyss of the sea if this wench did not open her disobeying mouth to speak the truth. Everything could be ruined.
And he would not allow that to happen by some meddling bitch. He would make her scream if he had to.
"Here she is, sir." Thomas, the first mate, appeared with the feeble Hispanic woman in his arms. She writhed in his grasp, murmuring frantically against the gag wrapped firmly between her lips and teeth. Thomas threw her to the ground in front of his boots, and she landed on her hands and knees.
He crouched next to her slowly, as if not to alarm her. His fingers gently stroked her gray hair and he said in a hushed voice, "Do ye want to tell me somethin', Gerterrez? Have ye been defiant enough?" He took the black gag out of her mouth and let it hang from her bruised neck. "Does it mean nothin' to ye that yer island is now a smolderin' pit?"
She spat at his feet and hit the bullseye. Saliva dripped from his black boot, running down to the floor. He watched it in disgust.
She shrieked as he backhanded her, causing her to hit the floor yet again. She tasted her own blood rolling across her tongue.
"Who has the key?" he demanded, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eyes.
"Show mercy, senor!" she pleaded.
"Not until ye tell me where the GODDAMN key is!" he hissed, his fingernails making crescents on her cheek. She whimpered and he smiled evilly.
He grabbed her and heaved her onto her tiny, bare feet, pressing her ear to his mouth as he spoke in an ominous whisper.
"I will not hesitate to kill ye, Senora Gerterrez. That key is rightfully mine by blood. Give me the name of the occupant of the key, o' yer own blood will splatter the floor."
"I won't tell you," she replied fiercely. He shook his head with mock sadness.
"If that's the way it has to be..." he said, "Then I will have much pleasure in torturing you, senora."
Thomas appeared in the doorway again, this time with the cabin boy in tow. "Sir, the lad says he saw somethin'."
The young blond haired, freckled boy squirmed under the captain's heated gaze.
"Well?" the captain barked, "Out with it!"
"I was in the t-t-tavern," the youthful lad said softly, "She was there." He pointed to the old, bleeding woman.
"And?"
"There was a woman there, sir. Very pretty. Long black hair, grey eyes. I heard some of their discussion."
The captain raised his brown eyebrows and he smirked, "Who is this...woman?"
"Her name was Gallagher, Captain. Terrence Gallagher. I recognize her from the warrant posters."
"Thank ye, Eli," the captain nodded, "That will be all from ye. Now as for you," he turned to Thomas, "Take Senora Gerterrez down to the brig. Her stupidity overwhelms me. Kill her. I don't want a mess, understand?"
Gerterrez started to scream right before the gag was shoved back into her mouth and she was picked up from the floor.
"Aye, Captain Malvado."
* * *
Terrence had been locked up in her cabin all damn day, searching through an array of books and maps, searching for anything at all that could give her some clue as to what this key could belong to. After all, every curse had a story behind it, and it was most common for such supernatural occurrences to be documented out of pure curiosity. She sighed and rubbed at her eyes, digging her knuckles into her eye sockets as if she could rid herself from the fatigue she felt shivering across her body.
"Need anythin', Captain?" Brookes asked, sticking his head through the door.
"Did I tell ye you could enter?" she snapped and instantly softened when Brookes frowned in concern.
"I'm sorry," she added tiredly, "I'm just so damn frustrated."
"What's wrong, Terrence?" he questioned quietly, shutting the door behind him. He was her first mate, and was the one person on board whom she could confide in most. They had a special bond, an undying trust that made them such good companions.
"This," she stated, pointing to the silver key lying peacefully on her desk, "There's somethin' goin' on and I don't know what it is. And I don't like that feeling very much, Brookes."
"What's wrong with it?" Brookes said, eyeing the key wearily, leaning over to inspect it.
Gallagher leaned back in her chair and ran a finger through the black tendrils swirling around her nape. "I think it's cursed, me boy."
"Another curse?"
"Aye. And I don't know what to make o' it."
Brookes was silent for a moment before commenting, "Maybe Pete knows somethin', since he's so big on curses, bad luck and the like."
"Send 'im in," she ordered with a smile, "I don't see how it could hurt." He nodded and left her in a hurry. She stared at the open books littering her desk and snorted. She knocked a few loose papers to the floor in exasperation. There was nothing there on a cursed key. Sure, there were stories about singing sirens, cursed medallions, enraged creatures popping out of the sea, but none whatsoever about a dinky key.
"Ye wanted to see me, Captain?" Pete asked calmly and he walked in the room. She accidentally got a whiff of month old garlic and couldn't help but let out a strangled cough.
"Ah, yes," she said, regaining her composure, "I was wonderin' if ye knew anythin' about this." She pointed her index finger to the key and his eyes immediately widened.
"Where did ye get that?" he asked, backing away timidly.
"What? What is it?" she pressed, "Tell me."
"I do not know for sure, Captain," he whispered, "But that, that engraving," he leaned in and examined the serpent, "Why, I think that's a symbol from ancient times."
"And what does it represent, might I ask?"
"The Devil."
* * *
Six long days later...
Jack gazed up at the approaching night, bidding the reddish pink sky farewell as the stars began to wink mischievously at him. A drunk ran into him with a high pitched laugh, immediately yanking Sparrow out of his dream world.
"Bugger off," Jack muttered and pushed the rank man off of him and began to swagger down the dirt streets, his loyal crew following right on his coat tails. Their excited talk and bellowing laughter reached his ears and Jack smiled warmly. They all deserved a drink after those three and a half long months of wreaking havoc in the Spanish Main.
Even though he felt more relaxed, Tortuga was not the place to let your guard down. His hand was close to his pistol and sword if the opportunity arose for him to need them. A carriage barreled past them, the black horses gaining speed, their long manes flying in the wind and their harsh snorts a bit louder than the shouts and gunshots whirling around them.
Jack paused in his tracks, grinning as he came across two pictures posted side by side on a crumbling brick wall consumed by the dark. It was a warrant for him, the drawn picture actually very flattering, and the other was for Terrence. He reached up and touched that beautiful face of hers, the small sketch not doing her justice. He ripped them down and placed them both into his pocket. A souvenir. Not like anyone cared about warrants in Tortuga...everyday misfits and criminals were walking the streets and buying drinks.
"Captain Sparrow," a sly, female voice proclaimed across the road. He turned his head, his dreads almost taking his eye out in the sudden movement, and stared at the five whores perched sexily by the streetlamp. They ran their hands down their bodies and slowly lifted their skirts as if to tempt him and his male crewmembers. Their long dresses glowed in the dim lamplight and moonlight, and were lifted high enough to reveal appealing garters.
"Not tonight, me beauties," he called with a wink. They pouted at his turn down, but in a matter of seconds they moved on to stalk more willing prey.
He could almost feel the sexual tension amongst his men, and he called back over his shoulder in amusement, "Later, boys. Let's get some rum first and loosen up, aye?"
They mumbled their approval and Anamaria let out a snort of laughter at their bursts of testosterone. She found the whole situation mildly humorous.
The Headless Chicken was by far not one of the classiest taverns in Tortuga, yet that was how they liked it. Making their way inside, the bartender waved to Sparrow, who nodded in return. The long creaky table in the back was instantly vacated, and the crew all sat down comfortably.
"Get out yer coin purse, Sparrow!" Gibbs called joyously, "We all want a round or two!"
Sparrow sat in the middle of everyone after motioning for a round of the best alcohol to be delivered over shortly. He leaned back, stretching lazily before perching his boots up on the table. His tricorne hat was cocked to one side, and his kohl had been reapplied before he got off of the Pearl and stepped onto the shores of Tortuga. It intensely rimmed his dark brown eyes, which were alert and twinkling with excitement. He tried to keep that lazy demeanor about him on the outside, but on the inside he was impatiently waiting for his bonny lass to show up in his arms. His eyes gave away this impatient, devilish manner he felt eating away at him, and the crew noticed.
"Here ye go, Captain," the wench said seductively, her green eyes scanning his slouched figure from head to toe, "Best rum we have."
"Thank you, me darling," he replied, grabbing a mug from her tray. Soon, each crew member sat nursing a mug of their own in ecstasy. He watched as the young woman picked up her tray and ran a finger across his shoulders as she walked away, swaying her hips for his benefit. But he wasn't interested. He focused back on the crew, who were staring at him, grinning.
"What?" he asked defensively before taking a swig, "What, do I have somethin' in me nose? In me moustache?" He ran a finger along his facial hair self-consciously.
"Ye need to relax, Sparrow," Anamaria commented, "It's like ye got a sword shoved up yer ass and ye can't sit properly."
"I am relaxed," he said, eyeing her, "Why wouldn't I be? I have me rum!"
"So what are ye goin' to do when she gets here?" she asked. Gibbs stopped his conversation with Nathaniel, and the two men began to listen in on the conversation. Soon, the whole table was silent, wanting to know what he had planned. Sparrow didn't like the silence, especially if it involved Terrence. He fidgeted, yet stopped when he thought up an acceptable answer.
"Well," he grinned, "I am thinkin' about givin' her a night she won't forget, if ye catch me meaning."
Gibbs muttered, "Bad luck when a woman starts hauntin' ye like that, Jack. Mark my words."
"Well, if it's bad luck, I happen to like it," Jack replied devilishly. Anamaria rolled her eyes.
"So ye plannin' on takin' her to that little inn by the shore?" Nathaniel pressed, "It's respectable enough."
"O' how about that one near the smithery?" Kenneth chimed in, "They have decent rooms."
"I have a better idea," Jack said, his wicked grin growing by the second, "How about I just forget about getting a room and take her to one o' the beaches?"
The men laughed and Anamaria got up from the table to go sit somewhere else, not being able to take listening to the subject any longer. This caused the boys to laugh harder.
"Aw, me beautiful Ana," Jack called, "You runnin' away from me already?"
"Screw you!" she called back sweetly and found a nice place to sit at the bar, turning her back to them.
"I think we disgusted her," Jack said with a shrug, "Anywho, how's that for an idea?"
"Right there near the dock?" Nathaniel asked with a shake of his head, "You're a daring fool, captain."
"Get yer mind out o' the gutter," Jack ordered with a smile, "A deserted beach, savvy? Nice and romantic, gels love that."
"Gallagher likes things nice and romantic?" Gibbs quirked an eyebrow. The crew snickered humorously.
"Good point, Gibbsey," Jack sighed, "Well I guess I'll skip the wooing part and get straight to business. She never was one for mushy beginnings, catching me drift?" Expecting to make the crew laugh with some more of his sinful, naughty talk, he stared at all of them, who were dead silent and staring past him with sheepish, embarrassed looks, actual blushes gracing their cheeks.
Dammit.
Jack let out a slow breath. "She's standin' right behind me, isn't she?"
* * *