Groaning aloud, I gave up pretending that the bright morning sun wasn't burning my eyes. God, I had a hangover. I couldn't even remember the last time I drank that much. The night before, a moment after our meeting finished, I was left on my favorite bar stool as my 'business partner' went to seek out more enjoyable company. I, on the other hand, proceeded to drink as much rum as I could get in my stomach before passing out. It turned out to be a lot more than you might think by looking at me. I may be small, but my alcohol capacity is astounding.
Somewhere around glass six, Matthew came over to try and get me to go home. I vaguely remember trying to hit him before falling over, cursing, and starting glass seven. This morning I don't even know how I got home. That hasn't happened in a while either. I think this may have broken my semi-sober streak.
Speaking of Matthew, it was his fault I was even out on the street so bloody early. It was ten in the morning, for Christ's sake, and I'm sure I couldn't have made it home until at least four. But apparently someone else was in an even pissier mood than I was (probably over the attempted assault of the night before) and refused to put off my overzealous new employer. So, back to the bar it was, hopefully to find some coffee before my head fell off.
At the sight of the pirate captain, however, I almost decided to just get drunk again and not bother with the sobering up. The look he gave me encouraged me to reconsider that course of action, so I reached for the coffee Matthew had sitting out on the bar for me. Not that this was a routine or anything, it's just that sometimes I had a bad night and a few too many drinks. Usually it was enough for him that I made it into bed alone and got up the next morning, but today he frowned at me in an irritatingly father-like fashion. Deciding to ignore him I gulped a mouth of coffee, the burn of the hot liquid helping to clear my head some.
"I thought you were supposed to be a pirate," I grumbled to the man watching me with a suspicious air. "Why the hell aren't you still in bed, sleeping off last night like a reasonable person?"
"Hmm…" he pretended to think. "It could be because I didn' do anythin' last night to sleep off. I 'ad things to do, as I thought ye would, too."
An eyebrow quirked at me, making me eyes hurt as I followed its motion. Seriously, how much had I drunk the night before? This was getting ridiculous.
"I saw nothing so pressing that it required my immediate attention," I shot back, still grumpy at being awake and not sleeping off my hangover.
"Well, lucky for you that I'm here to correct ye," he replied. "We leave tonigh' an' I expect ye to be ready."
"What the hell is your hurry? I have things I'll need to do, Jack! I can't just pick up in a day and leave for who knows how long. I have a life I need to deal with, you know."
"That's what I've been tryin' to tell ye!"
Exasperated, I turned around, resisting the urge to rest my head on the bar. I had seen the rag that particular piece of furniture was cleaned, in the liberal sense of the word, with, and had absolutely no desire to get my face anywhere near it.
"Fine, then. I'll be ready by eight. I'm going to need some help getting my things to the ship, so unless you plan on carrying it yourself, I suggest you bring along some friends to help."
"How much stuff can ye need?"
"I have materials, you know. The things I work with? Or did you just expect me to go in, wave my arms, and fix whatever problem you happen to have run into?"
The look on his face told me that that was exactly the scenario he had envisioned. Sighing I turned to walk out, leaving Jack and Matthew standing watching my back.
"Don't be late, Sparrow," I added before the door closed behind me. "Matthew can show you where to find me. I'll be waiting for you."
When Ara came through the door, Jack had worked to hide his shock at seeing her. Matthew had tried to warn him, but honestly he had thought the man must be exaggerating the state he would probably find her in.
Face pale and eyes bloodshot, she looked like absolute hell. Although her speech seemed unaffected, he could tell from experience that she must be experiencing a world class hangover. Shuddering, he tried to keep his mind focused on the business at hand. She had been right. He didn't know her at all. The girl he thought he remembered would never have drunk that much.
In fact, he was remembering the first time she had ever had drank. They had been sitting on the docks, him holding a bottle of rum while he teased that she would never take a sip. Sufficiently challenged, she had reached out her hand for the bottle, taking a mouthful that had surprised him. Making a face she swallowed, causing Jack to laugh. She had laughed too, occasionally taking small sips when offered, but leaving the heavy drinking to Jack. A lady didn't drink hard alcohol, and she was much closer to a lady then than the woman she would become. He had thought it was cute, her small act of rebellion.
Speaking while his brain was elsewhere was a common state for Jack and he carried off a perfectly reasonable conversation while secretly he reminisced. It was the statement that lingered behind her as the door shut that brought him back into the present.
"Is she like that much?" he asked curiously of the older man.
"Not as often anymore, no…" he said slowly. "For a couple of years there, she was pretty bad. Every pay check turned into rum. I asked her once, why she did it. You know what she told me? Beer was too mild and vodka burned too much. I never pushed the question any further."
"How long 'ave ye known 'er?"
"Must be close to six years now. Met her in church of all places. You don't find too many people in a church around here, so I asked her what she was doing. 'Praying for guidance,' she said. I asked her what kind of guidance, and she says, 'The kind that will pay my bills for me and make me coffee when I drink too much.' So I say, if that's all you need, I think you just found it. I've taken care of her ever since. She drinks, sleeps, and tries to find as much trouble as possible while I keep her in work and coffee. The pay is good, what with the bar on the side, although I can hardly keep in rum for the life of me."
Jack listened intently to this description, frowning at the picture. Would this woman be dependable? And how on earth had she turned into this?
"You'll learn to love her for it, son," Matthew said gently. "She's tough as a rock, that girl. Nerves of steel and can hold more alcohol than most sailors. Being a barman that's something I can admire. I think she cracked a few years before I knew her and the breaks it left are stronger than iron now. I've seen her sick, down, and almost out, but never defeated. There's something to be said for that."
"The Hardest Part"
Coldplay
And the hardest part
Was letting go, not taking part
Was the hardest part
And the strangest thing
Was waiting for that bell to ring
It was the strangest start
I could feel it go down
Bittersweet, I could taste in my mouth
Silver lining the cloud
Oh and I
I wish that I could work it out
And the hardest part
Was letting go, not taking part
You really broke my heart
And I tried to sing
But I couldn't think of anything
And that was the hardest part
I could feel it go down
You left the sweetest taste in my mouth
You're a silver lining the clouds
Oh and I
Oh and I
I wonder what it's all about
I wonder what it's all about
Everything I know is wrong
Everything I do, it's just comes undone
And everything is torn apart
Oh and it's the hardest part
That's the hardest part
Yeah that's the hardest part
That's the hardest part