A/N: Six months into hibernation, and I finally woke this thing up. Elena's point of view is probably one of the most fun I've ever portrayed in a story. But describing Jack probably adds to that.
xD I'm hoping for a few more reviews this time, but if I can't get 'em, ah well. I thrive off reviews because otherwise life is boring.
Enjoy, would you? Oh, and don't worry. You'll be seeing more of Reno later.
"A man is never drunk if he can lie on the floor without holding on."
Joe E. Lewis
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Sobriety and Its Pains
When I awoke, the world seemed to be on fire. Or perhaps that was only the intense glare of the sunlight shining directly into my eyes enough to make my tired mind think it was on fire. Either way, it hurt. I could feel the harmful UV rays burning onto my retinas and scorching all the way through to leave a sunny imprint on my mind. Automatically, I groaned and rolled over—and took note of the fact that my bed was unnaturally wooden and my back was stiff from lying on it all night.
A part of my subconscious could not quite comprehend why I felt so decidedly tired. Or why my bed seemed to have been moved somewhere outside. Living amidst so much smog and pollution, I actually enjoy the outdoors a good deal. Sunshine and flowers and cute, picturesque little streams—I love it all. The same as I love raging river rapids and rock climbing and camping with few or no resources, actually. I wouldn't be a Turk otherwise if I lacked ability to put up with the extreme in addition to my adoration of all things cute and sugarcoated.
Not only that, but I'm actually a morning person. To me, there's nothing better than waking up and feeling as though you actually got some sleep even though it's five-thirty in the morning and still dark outside. To Reno, there's no greater form of torture. And all of us, as Turks, know about torture. My attitude is always best in the morning (especially after a good cup of coffee with some cream and about six packs of sugar thrown in there), optimistic around noon, and steadily on a downhill course by nightfall.
All of this contributed to why it just didn't make sense that I would suddenly wake up and feel hot, sweaty, miserable, and, above all else, exhausted. True, maybe waking up on the literal wrong side of the bed might affect my attitude more than I was used to, but the last time I'd ever felt so drained when first waking up was back in grade school, when I had been sick with a stomach virus.
…Oh. Sick.
My eyes opened a little wider as I fought the urge to squint them, letting the harsh sunlight fully reflect off my golden-brown irises. Sun. Blue sky. Clouds. Sails. I sat up a little straighter and my back screamed in protest, but went ignored for the time being. The sight of coarse, wooden masts and the taste of salt in the air were slowly bringing the events of the previous night back to me. Rather than overflowing, they were trickling back. Sort of like a goopy, overly viscous mud puddle.
For how long I had been asleep, I wasn't entirely sure. It had most certainly been night the last time I had bothered cracking my eyes open a slit. Maybe my vision was just unreliable though; everything was all so blurry. And a fever usually makes memories hazier anyway. My hand instinctively flew up to my forehead, but the fever was gone by now.
Unfortunately, the hangover was not. I apparently had not been conked out long enough to sleep it all off. See, this was precisely why I usually never bothered with alcohol in the first place. Where in the world(s) was my Advil now? I needed some desperately, and as my location seemed to be onboard a mostly unfamiliar, currently-sailing ship, my luck seemed as though it was in its normal state: screwed.
The first thing I recalled after my location and the reason behind the intense pain in my head just had to go and be Sparrow. Forget the Advil. I wanted my gun. The very thought of my kooky, pirate kidnapper was more than enough to double the throbbing in my skull. My intentions now turned murderous and with a sudden bloodlust that only a Turk can perfect after years of tedious practice, I attempted to leap up off of my crate to stalk off elsewhere. How long it would take to locate him didn't matter; where could he possibly hide on a ship?
Unfortunately, my plans had to be put on hold as I hardly could get a step in before the entire world was spinning, and the ground rushed up to meet my face. Wooziness, dizziness, and nausea combined with my headache weren't something I had taken to account in getting to my feet so quickly. Even before I could take my literal hit to the deck, my eyes were jammed shut as I internally cursed at myself, awaiting the pain that was sure to come. On the bright side, maybe my smooth maneuver would result in getting Jack to come into view anyway.
Then again, I might then be in too much pain to move and he would find the time to go into an appropriate fit of snickering at my expense. That sounded about right.
To my great surprise, the following crash of head on wood never came—I was rescued, swept into unknown arms as though I was as light as my sister and not short, stocky. Whipping my blonde head around to see just what was going on, as Jack could hardly be the type to find the time to bother saving me when it was of no profit for him and when it had proven such a challenge to look after me while sick with a temperature, I was startled.
More memories oozing back to me, my tired mind reminded me of the unrecognizable voice that I'd heard in the midst of my sick episode. Up until this point, I had suspected that the voice might be nothing more than a hallucination from my fever. It wouldn't have been unusual to imagine that a fellow victim was on this seventeenth-century vessel, suffering from Sparrow's antics and almost as annoyed with him as I was. Now, however, I could see that that wasn't the case at all. There was actually someone else sane around, someone who knew of my kidnapping and might be able to assist me.
But perhaps what I was suddenly more preoccupied with was how the face I was suddenly staring into was surprisingly almost as memorable as Jack. Gruffer, dirtier really, but nonetheless with an almost timid quality to it and brown eyes that sparkled (did I really just use that participle in regard to a guy?) with some unknown fire. They weren't the same sort of brown eyes that Jack was in possession of, certainly. While the most striking I had ever seen, those particular eyes shone with nothing more than avarice and selfishness. I could remember that much.
He looked about as tired as I felt, this Mr. Turner that my incomprehensible enigma of a kidnapping pirate barked orders at. Everything about him was rough, from the hands gripping my arm and waist protectively to the sun-weathered skin of his face. If anything, he was worse off, with circles under his eyes that were possibly on the verge of extending to his kneecaps. But he couldn't have been a day older than me.
I felt a wave of pity wash over me for the poor young man. That is one of my problems. Despite the fact that I pretty much make a living as a hired killer—though, don't worry, they put that in nicer terms at ShinRa—my sugarcoated side has this insane need to help people out. When I'm not, you know, supposed to be shooting them and stuff. I swallowed once or twice, realized the pathetic state I was in, and unsuccessfully attempted to straighten up just a little bit. My dignity was probably a thing of the past here anyway, but I could dream.
"Um. Thanks...er…" Yeah, all the weapons I'm authorized to use and perhaps the thing people should fear most about my five-foot-two stature is my oh-so-incredible coherency. I just can't win. Some days, it's like my mouth won't shut off; the more nervous I get, the more I'm like a stuttering lawn sprinkler that keeps gushing out absolutely worthless pieces of information. And other days you can't even get me stringing together sentences correctly, as my face flushes too much and. Both usually happen in the midst of Tseng's office, and both result in the same amount of humiliation either way.
Not only was I at a loss for words around my roughly handsome savior, but I had only just now realized that I didn't know his name. Well, I had a last name, but that didn't count. These people were from the seventeenth century in a planet I'd never even heard of before, and I was from current-day Midgar. Calling people by their last name might have been all the rage then, but I was going to stick to my own customs. I would have been even more content to just mind my own business, but it seemed that Sparrow had been intent on yanking me out of my comfort zone and taking me away from any means of transportation that I had had arranged for getting back home.
At least it was only Saturday. I still had time to get back to Port Royal and the rocket with it. …I hoped. That was, if I could get back to Port Royal, and if Reno hadn't already woken up from his gutter-slumber and returned to Midgar without me. I wouldn't put it past him, the tomato-haired bastard. And if I hadn't already been asleep longer than one day.
He seemed amused by my inability to speak, smiling slightly. I noted with some satisfaction that, while the rest of him wasn't quite as clean as I would have preferred for someone holding me so unceremoniously, his teeth were brushed to near-perfection. And they couldn't possibly have had braces in this time period. That was both interesting and a relief that my germaphobic nature wouldn't be plagued looking at every single person I met here.
Understanding part of the reason behind my lack of communication here, Mr. Turner apparently decided to help me out. "William. But you can call me Will," he offered.
Will. Hmm. A nice name for a nice guy. And easy to remember too. Oh, and as an added bonus, 'William Turner' had a distinctly different, more sophisticated tone to it that was at least better than something mysterious enough to the point where it was infuriating, like 'Jack Sparrow.'
As I shifted to where my feet were more reliably placed on the ship's deck, I decided to give it another shot at standing upright on my own. Being held up by someone I didn't even know was embarrassing after all, and after an entire night of being carried around by a drunken buffoon in potato-sack fashion, I wanted to prove to whomever else happened to be watching that I wasn't completely incapable of doing things for myself. It was so unfair. I was a talented young woman. Why was it that the Fates seemed to be set against my ever showing it to other people?
No wonder Reno had such a field day finding things to insult about me on a daily basis. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
"I'm—" I began to respond, feeling it only polite that he should know my name as well. But Will simply rose up a hand to cut me off, shaking his head marginally. I appreciated the gesture, actually. The only other experience I'd had with people interrupting my sentences was usually when Reno made some sort of grotesque noise effect in the midst of some explanation I had to give, proving that he was both disgusting and not listening to a single word that I was saying.
"Jack's already told me most about what happened. Miss Elena, correct?"
I was surprised he hadn't taken his pick of telling this Will either lass, darling, or love. Maybe my kidnapper wasn't quite as daring as he liked to pretend; he knew I'd just smack him for it the instant I found out upon awakening.
I could already feel my face heating up at the thought of what a conversation that must have been. Jack's hand motions alone gave me the impression that he would exaggerate whatever he could to get the most kick out of any particular story. "Oh," I mumbled, averting my eyes to the ground.
A moment of silence passed between us, and it wasn't as awkward as it might have been. Around someone so polite, I could feel more like myself. Even after suffering from hangovers, high temperatures, and all kinds of new lessons in humility. That was one good thing about the past: manners weren't completely forgotten by everyone. Thankfully, Jack Sparrow only made up a miniscule fraction of the population, which was good because no world could certainly handle two of him. The only other member of the male gender (males being more like a different species in themselves, I had realized long ago) that I knew who seemed so genuinely courteous would have to be Tseng. That might be a good thing if he actually seemed to be aware of my existence.
I had come into the Turks as an awkward high school girl, still apt to wear skirts and eager to please. And now, years later, I was more poised, slightly less of a chatterbox, and quite efficient at my job. And Aerith was dead—perhaps that was the biggest change of all. I knew better than to remind the leader of our group about the dinner that he had promised me what felt like so long ago.
Not only was that offer made before he suffered a vicious stab in his abdomen, nearly faced death, and had to be kept in the emergency room of ShinRa's finest hospital facilities for months at a time, but we had practically been different people then. I knew who he cared about, simply because I know almost everything about Tseng. And don't you dare call me a stalker. I feel close to him, is all; it's not like I follow him home.
Moving on with things, I would like to clarify: Will doesn't remind me of Tseng, really. That seemed to be the only thing between the two of them that I could recognize as a common factor. As far as looks, speech, and overall behavior went, they were fairly different. I felt something for my rescuer as I stood here silently observing the floor, but it wasn't what could be compared to all the things I thought I had felt for the Turk leader since my very first day of work. This was more like…genuine friendship.
And honestly, I was just as unfamiliar with that as I was with the various tangles, ups, and downs, of puppy love. I had grown up as second best to a near-perfect older sister with a father who taught military tactics. As a child, I hadn't exactly been the 'popular girl' on the block. It hadn't gotten any better in middle school days, thanks to Adina's early involvement with the Turks. I could recall being so angry with the way that nearly everyone I met would automatically assume that I was to follow in her footsteps. No one wanted to be friends with someone who was going to end up being a Turk. Turks were to be feared, not befriended.
I guess I sort of proved them right.
"Are you feeling better?" he inquired without warning. The sudden question jerked me out of my reverie, and I nodded hurriedly—which, as you might imagine, didn't do wonders for my cranium. Grimacing, I didn't honestly want to ponder what a lovely image I must have been earlier. Sprawled out across a crate, burning up with a fever that had to be over a hundred-and-one degrees, drunk, and utterly helpless for all my lethal-combat training against just one pirate. How attractive.
Will smiled sympathetically as though able to guess my thoughts. "I hope you'll get used to this sort of thing. Honestly, I'm not much happier to be here than you are," he said. I vaguely wondered just how and why he had been forced into the company of Jack Sparrow as well, but didn't feel like asking. If he wasn't up for explaining it freely, then it really wasn't any of my business. "You still look tired. Perhaps more rest would be the best—the sea isn't likely to be so calm again," he advised.
With that being said, he turned quickly to go. As far as I could see, he was the only other person on the ship, after the one specific pirate that I didn't much want to think about. The thought that perhaps William Turner might be a pirate as well was absolutely preposterous, so I kept it well out of my head. He was obviously just another victim here. I could only assume that he was being forced into some duty of the crew, and a frown etched itself onto my features. Hopefully he wouldn't be the only one doing the work for this entire voyage…especially as I had no earthly idea how long this voyage was to take.
I was a bit confused, however. What had he meant about the water? Thus far I had noticed the incessant swaying of the ship—after the harshness of the sunlight, it was one of the first things that had seemed perceptible. I was actually quite proud of myself for having not felt even so much as a single bout of seasickness yet. The swaying was annoying, but tolerable after everything had seemed like it was swaying so much more less than twenty-four hours ago. It hadn't seemed particularly calm to me, though it was definitely no raging storm. But if it was the calmest we were going to get, I was in for one hell of a time.
"Are you always this flirtatious, I wonder? I'm almost jealous, Elena. It's not anything like the behavior you showed me last night."
The frown quickly turned into a scowl. "Ha ha." Just the person I hadn't wanted to see. And what was up with his need to slip innuendo into every single sentence that left his lips? His filthy lips, I might add. The gold-and-silver rainbow residing in his mouth was obvious proof that he didn't take care of his teeth the way that Will did.
He had crept up beside me instantaneously without my noticing almost as soon as Mr. Turner had departed for some unknown duty or other. Grr. I wouldn't be surprised if he had army-crawled over all the way on his ship's soaked deck just in order to irritate me further with his inexplicable powers of silent approach. Or maybe he just knew that I would be no happier with his presence than if he had come up to me being as noisy as possible in a gargantuan pair of clogs and went into an Irish river-dance.
I would be thoroughly detesting him either way, and now that I really thought about it, he was probably aware of this fact. And I was too angry with him for seeming to know everything to bother sympathizing the fact that it was a lose-lose situation for him in this case.
"Do you always kidnap an innocent young woman straight out of bars and trap her on a sailing vessel that she knows absolutely nothing about while she's suffering from a state of inebriation and has done absolutely nothing to you in the entirety of her life?"
"Well, maybe the young woman shouldn't have gotten herself intoxicated in the first place if she already knows she can't handle her liquor. Besides, love, I'm a pirate."
I had been trying not to look at him, as the smug was already discernible through his tone of voice alone and I didn't want to look at his face for fear of making it worse. But I could take it no longer; I whipped around (much to my dizzy mind's horror) and glowered at him. There was the smirk. His eyes were dancing with amusement, as though my anger was something to be watched on some sort of soap opera and not the actual feeling of a living, breathing person.
He was detestable, somehow even more so than he had been the previous night in all my drunken glory. I couldn't stand how smug his every action was, particularly the last little bit he had tacked onto his response. As though that was adequate justification for every single fault in the world, and as though he was better than me simply because of his job occupation. Stupid pirates. Stupid pirates with overpowering, liquid-like eyes and a grin to rival Satan himself.
It was silent for a few brief moments as there was an unspoken staring contest between the two of us while I kept up my glare. He won, needless to say.
Smirk widening, he continued to talk to me, for reasons unknown. "But of course, we were speaking hypothetically just then, weren't we?" he mused. My scowl was infallible. "It has inevitably come to my attention, in any case, that you seem to be in a considerably better state than you have been. Therefore I can't help but wonder…when you were planning on getting to work?" And he looked truthfully confused by this, eyebrows quirking as his head tilted to one side while he studied me. I felt similar to some gruesome reptile exhibit in the zoo.
My mouth dropped open. I could very well have died from some disease that my immune system was ill-suited to combat in such an environment and he was still set on having me onboard his ship for another crew member? "Of all the—what work would that possibly be!? The last time I checked, I don't owe you anything! I didn't even know you and you put me here against my will! If anything, you should take me home. Now."
"Which way would home be?"
"…" I hesitated, having not expected him to comply so willingly. Momentarily dropping my anger as I had to temporarily think about all the unfamiliar scenery (so far, I had the options of blue, blue, and more blue all around me as clues to just where we were at the moment), I finally turned down the corners of my mouth again for fear that he would think I was forgiving him. "Take me back to Port Royal and I can find it from there."
"I'm afraid Port Royal's out of the question. So you can't go home. So I would suppose that leaves work as one of the only other things to take up your time at the moment."
"No!"
And Jack was suddenly smirking again, regarding me with open amusement. The palm of my hand tingled as I contemplated striking his face with the flat of it. He had already known I would say no and saw fit to ask anyway. And he still wouldn't take me home no matter what. I could see it as plain as day across his face. I was fuming, ready to explode like a volcano. Screaming would have been a magnificent option, only I think it would have signified that he had won this round of verbal browbeating.
Inhaling sharply, I struggled to control myself while he sidled around so that he was facing me from an angle, partially to my side and halfway in front of me. "What do you even want from me?" I demanded, attempting to perfect a convincing display of both stoicism and authority. I had the sinking feeling that I was failing miserably at both, but chose not to admit to my defeat openly. Almost instantly I regretted the question—chances were I would either receive an answer regarding what our conversation had been about at the bar last night or something far more perverted from his seemingly one-track mind. Though perhaps it wasn't so one-track after all; he had been more observant than me while hauling my frame all around Port Royal until he got to the docks.
Especially in the midst of that run-in with whatever commodore it was that wanted Jack arrested for life. I didn't blame him. But I hadn't even noticed that torch there (it might have had something to do with the fact that my position had been on the dirt, sprawled out and too dizzy to stand up on my own). It had been quick thinking on his behalf, though I would rather he have not noticed a single thing and wound up behind bars.
Norrington probably thought I was some cliché damsel in distress. And now Will, come to think of it. I knew Reno did; he saw fit to mock whatever girly habits I had picked up on a daily basis, after which I would always be forced to remind him curtly that I was, in fact, a girl. I am still waiting for this realization to sink in with some shock to him and teach him that, while I am an efficient Turk, my thoughts, wants, and needs are more often than not different than a twenty-something-year-old, red-haired male with nothing better to do in his life than torture and/or blow people up, then go out to a bar and not come into work in the morning until at least an hour after the assigned time.
It was sad that what everyone else saw as the charming qualities of a girl needing her hero, Reno and Jack seemed to see for what it was: klutziness. And Tseng, of course, didn't see anything at all but the mouthpiece of his cell phone. Or possibly the cup of coffee when he pulled an all-nighter on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Rather than answer immediately, Sparrow stalled. As usual. I couldn't comprehend his hand motions at all as he lifted up a finger. It was almost like he was preparing to check the wind's direction, but he couldn't seem to find what position he wanted to put it in. Finally he clenched his hand into a ball and returned it to his side. If I ever understand the man, I'll be sure to let you all know in the future. "Tell me, darling," he began suddenly, "how much longer do you suspect you would have lasted in a place like that, being as…er, intoxicated as you were?" His eyes were opened wider than I had yet to see them—or possibly I just hadn't been observing closely enough last night.
Again, I noticed the close and unexpected proximity between our faces and sidled an inch or so away from him. Not only am I semi-claustrophobic, but I feared the repercussions of breathing in the same oxygen as he. The question itself was also not what I had quite expected from the gaudily dressed buccaneer. It had been so casually stated, but raised an issue I had yet to think over with myself. Unfortunately, as I get more and more frustrated and impatient, I fail to think things over as I should. It was one of the many qualities in a hot-headed blonde that had caused me numerous mistakes out on my Turk missions, and a sense of something like self-detestation at times.
Reno and Rude never made such clumsy mistakes, for all that they were both far more liberal than I would ever be. Inelegance was such a costly quality, and the level with which I held myself was always quite low whenever such mistakes of mine happened. But then again, my self-esteem was never exactly a mountain peak. Actually performing my job isn't as bad as one might think. I faced difficulties the first few times, but as the body and mind grow accustomed to habit, nothing else matters, and consciousness gives way to subconscious. Sadly, it's when I'm alone in my apartment that I battle the constant issue of feeling like the awkward, misunderstood young woman in a harsh world rather than when I am out rearranging people's body parts like a jigsaw puzzle.
We all have weaknesses, however, so I am not about to list these complaints aloud.
"I…well…um…" I was slowly stammering off into my sentence as I slowly but surely realized that Jack Sparrow was not truthfully the worst company that could have come along and picked me up while I was so vulnerable last night. Even if it sure seemed like it. Had Jack yet to bring me physical harm, with the exception of my headache? No. Had he molested me, or otherwise brought about inappropriate contact between the two of us? Well, aside from hoisting me up like a sack of garden-grown vegetables, no, he hadn't.
In comparing him to the rest of the men that had been present in the tavern, I had actually gotten out lucky. And this little realization hit me like an oncoming eighteen-wheeler over about five layers of ice.
"Mm. So the lady shouldn't have gotten herself intoxicated after all," he nodded.
From the subtle sarcasm underlying his tone, I could already tell that normally he would prefer women to be intoxicated almost constantly on their best days. That raised several other questions, including the reason for which he had gotten me out of there if I mattered so little and was apparently so lacking of intelligence. It wasn't like I had even remotely been his problem before he had sat down at my table and fairly egged on my downing of rum.
He continued as though completely oblivious to the fact that he had gained any such foothold in the conversation between the two of us, going on as though he was always this conceited one-hundred percent of the time, whether or not he was the victor in any debating. "I would take this as a sign to signify that you are indeed aware now of the fact that I saved your life—to return the favor is your choice entirely, but it would be such a shame was I forced to live with any…er, regrets."
My eyes narrowed. He was scarcely the type to come across as ever feeling anything that even hinted at remorse, much less even a second thought. Perhaps only if he missed out on his hourly alcoholic beverage. Otherwise, I wondered if there was anything he lamented over, anything he felt any such semblance of apologetic behavior over. That would be nice, as much as I otherwise detested his behavior. To never have to worry or feel that you had done something wrong, whatever the actual case might be—I was pretty sure I could never perfect such lack of morals, though.
But I remained silent. He had saved my life, and I hated feeling indebted. Whatever it was that he wanted, I could probably pay it off and then be out of here in no time. So long as he didn't mistake me for a prostitute or anything like that, which I wouldn't put past him either.
He leaned forward, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had now taken to swaying on a near-constant basis, as easily as the wind was filling up and leaving the sails. I now noticed for the first time through my bleary-eyed gaze that he was considerably more graceful on sea-legs than he had been on land. On land he more resembled a lizard running around in a perpetually drunken stupor. Or at least that seemed like the probable possibility. I haven't exactly seen a drunken lizard before, but his freakish hand motions combined with his seemingly untrustworthy, wobbly step brought that as the only comparison in my mind.
Now it was so much more elegant. I wasn't having much trouble right now at all, but the occasional lurches and sways were giving me more than a few dips of my own. For him, it was like some kind of art form. Vaguely I wondered how long he had spent his life at sea—and then quickly put the thought from my mind. That didn't matter, because he was criminal and I didn't care anyway.
"It's all I ask, love. As you can see—" He paused abruptly in the midst of his sentence to gesture wide around the ship with his arms. It was completely empty as far as I could see; Will must have gone somewhere below deck. "—my crew is in rather a sad state at the moment. I require a little return for the favor of getting you out of there alive and well. Say it's not too much, eh?"
There must have been something showing in my face, for as hard as I was trying not to even look his way—a difficult feat, with him only two or so feet away—something slipped through my resolve right then. Stupid, stupid pirates. Finally I glanced towards him, stiffened my back, and attempted to make up for the head-and-a-half distance between our heights. My feet ached and stung bitterly within the high heels that I was apparently still wearing, and while my desire for a nice, hot shower instantly tripled, I was at least grateful for the slight boost I was being allowed from them. "Fine." Already Jack's mouth was opening to give some sort of response that was no doubt more amused than he was entitled to do, so I cut him short by jamming my pale finger directly into his chest. For all of my five-foot-two glory, I at least had several long, painful months of Turk training to back me up. "But I am not a part of my crew, you are not my captain, and so help me, you will take me home!"
The eccentric pirate seemed as oblivious to the wrath of my anger as ever. "Ah! There's a good girl!" The responding glare he received only seemed to make his grin widen, exposing another two silver and gold teeth. It was like I was nothing more than some irritable Chihuahua that he had decided to get as a pet. Little dogs always work like that. The angrier they get, the louder they become, and the more it seems to just make people laugh.
But his face suddenly straightened out, though I could have sworn that he was still containing laughter somewhere in there. "Look, Elena, was it? I can assure you that, were it actually in my power, you would be on your way home at this very moment. I have a venture quite important to myself that I would be grateful for your assistance on. There aren't many lasses out there who have your expendable knowledge of how to fight," he explained, though it was about as helpful an explanation as handing a Lego construction booklet to a newly assigned engineer to a rocket ship and telling them to get started. "What I require on my jaunt is numerous battles. And I have every confidence that this is all within your abilities."
His eyes were shining, causing me to tilt my head back with some displeasure. It made me look shorter for one thing, but I hated the intensity that he was able to take on at a moment's notice. Wasn't the seventeenth century supposed to be mainly towards the belief that a woman's greatest fulfillment in life was to her husband, children, and home? All men were stupid, pig-headed bastards that just believed in their own chauvinistic theories and never gave young girls like me a fighting chance.
Yet here was the one man I was starting to hate most on the planet telling me that the very reason I was even still here, onboard a ship and not suffering from untold tormenting that no woman should have to put up with even after making the mistake of a night at the bar was because I could fight. His ideas and beliefs about me and my personality seemed to be flip-flopping with every second, and while this new revelation was unfortunately pleasing, I hated him all the more for it.
His brown eyes were regarding me absorbedly, as though waiting for something. So I stuck my ski-slope a fraction of a degree upward (as though that could make me any taller) and kept my rejoinders to a minimum, overly hostile manner. "Just so long as you don't expect me to start…hauling the masts or whatever, then I suppose I can help. Just for a little while." I thought with dread that this was going to take more than the weekend I had originally hoped for, but on the bright side, perhaps this would provide the perfect opportunity for getting Reno fired.
All of these years of waiting and it finally took someone else that I seemed to hate even more—I had, of course, thought that impossible—to get rid of the original subject of my loathing. But my tomato-haired comrade deserved it for subjecting me to all of this. Going out to one of the other worlds had been his idea, and if I could gain considerable information on this planet, surely everyone back at ShinRa would understand that none of this was my fault in the least. Hopefully I could get off with only a thousand or so sheets of paperwork to fill out rather than a pink slip.
My least favorite adventuring swashbuckler's grin was crooked, I saw with a great deal of aggravation. It was as though he already knew of my OCD and was attempting to push it to its most extreme limits. "As a lady of such high rank," he began, pausing to give me a sardonic half-bow before switching his wide eyes pointedly in the direction of the nearest staircase that led down below, "I'm sure you expect different quarters?"
"Well—"
"Fantastic. William should already be investigating the quality of the bunks for the rest of the crew I shall gather myself in a short time. He can lead you to your room. I highly recommend you not expect a grand suite, Princess," Jack advised. I suppose that the tone was meant to come off as courteous, but the entire time I could manage no other expression on my face for him than a look equivalent to swallowing several lemons covered in salt.
It was too much for me. The addition of another nickname, the hinting that my area of occupancy was to be nothing more than closet-sized—and all the while, he was so blatantly, nauseatingly haughty. I slammed my foot down and turned, ready to storm off. But consequently tripped myself over my high heels. Regaining my balance quickly, I yanked off the shoes with as much dignity as I could muster, and attempted not to think about what disgusting liquids and germs must have passed over this deck before my bare feet tread on it. As I was walking away with a great amount of infuriated gusto, I could hear him chuckling behind me. The Cheshire Cat grin I could imagine on his face was a good deal worse than Reno's. Or maybe I was just used to my Turk companion's own devil-incarnate grin after so many years and thus this one had a higher effect on me.
Forget whatever deals had been made. I was ready to jump off the ship and swim back to whatever land I could find if I had to. I would make my own way home, or die trying. And actually, dying didn't seem so bad after this throbbing hangover.
"You really shouldn't fall for dear William, by the way. He's already betrothed." That got me to stop in my tracks. I meant what I said when I told you that I have no romantic interests in Will whatsoever, but it explained whatever reasons he might have for continuing to persevere when he looked so dreadfully tired. "That would be why he wants to go gallivanting around the entire world, looking for her. I fail to see the attraction or the reasons for wanting one such distressing damsel, but apparently she means the world to him. It'd be a shame if he failed to rescue her from all odds and evils, I reckon," he continued slowly.
My fists were slowly clenching and unclenching. If Jack were truthfully a moron as he sometimes chose to come across, he could have chosen something so much more blunt to rub my nerves raw than he had. Damn him; he was observant and apparently skilled at turning whatever he needed to his own advantage. When you have fired off a gun such as I have in the past, you stop being a hopeless romantic, no matter what frilly interests you might keep up in your own time.
But one never exactly stops hoping that love is still somewhere out there…
I didn't want to let Will down, despite having only known him for a matter of minutes. There was something friendly and easygoing about him. And it would be even more of a shame if I were to leave him all alone with Jack.
I could hear the scuffing of my kidnapper's boots along the wood as he turned to attend business that I would rather know nothing about. I am a nautical novice and would like to keep it that way as long as possible. Killing, I can do. Main ropes and mizzen masts? Not so much. "Take this, lass, as a chance to rethink your decision on helping out with crew duties. It can get frightfully dull on a ship with nothing to do. I wouldn't want you fainting from sun-stroke or any such thing along those lines." He snorted, and continued to retreat while I wished there was something a little less heavy than the full crates lining the deck to chuck at his medallion-covered, bandana-donning head.
"Our first stop is Tortuga. Great place to practice on building up your level of alcohol intake, love."
---
The rest of the day was uneventful. I would be a bit more dull and depressed about this fact if I could, but after my conversation with the infamous Jack Sparrow, I was grateful for any time passed that wasn't in his presence. Finding Will had proven to be no trouble at all, and after being directed my room, I had been forced to leave him alone. A real conversation would have been nice, desirable really considering my only other company on this big hulk of a boat. But knowing Jack, he would be barking orders at the young man all day long, and I didn't want to get him into any trouble.
Nor did I want to let him know how much pity I felt for him. Unrequited love is really something, isn't it?
I was right in suspecting my room to be claustrophobic. It was filthy, covered in grime and the kind of mold that only accumulates with the constant presence of water in the air, which is of course only attainable upon a ship. At least it was orderly, this being mostly because it was completely devoid of anything besides one lone cot shoved up against the pitiful excuse of a wall. I had shuddered upon seeing it, not even bothering to ask if there were any previous stains on it. At this point, I just didn't want to know. There was no window in the room. Had my claustrophobia been any worse than it was regarding other people's close proximity to my face, I might have gone immediately insane upon stepping in there.
But I was still tired after last night's adventures, and after such an exhausting conversation with someone I was beginning to hate entirely so easily. Another nap didn't sound half bad right about now, much as I would rather detest all of Sparrow's suggestions. Oh well. At least it wasn't like he had actually meant anything he had suggested.
I might have cried after the first hour or so if I wasn't so irreversibly a Turk. There were far worse things that could have happened to be. If I was weak enough to be so pitifully lost in an unfamiliar world and kidnapped besides, then I somewhat deserved it. And I would get out of here, at least.
I was vaguely reminded of Alice. That had been my favorite of all the fairy tales I read growing up as a child. The little blonde girl who fell down a rabbit hole into a strange place, desperate to get back. She hadn't wanted to go among mad people either.
I already had a pretty fair idea of who would be my Mad Hatter. Only I was quite certain that what was in his favorite bottles couldn't possibly be tea.
A/N: Mmm. So much fun. It's just a little shorter than my last chapter, but I'm just proud for conquering my writer's block and getting on with the description. The next chapter should be longer, I hope.
D: I would totally make AMVs to this sort of thing if there were more clips of Elena. Ah well. At least I got to do one for Kaixel.
OH. And expect responses to my four reviews I got on the last chapter when I'm not so tired. I promise I'll come back and edit. :3