So much for holding the story hostage... Heh heh heh... I just couldn't help it! But Reviews would be seriously helpful.
I disclaim! I disclaim! I own All but Jack Sparrow, in this chapter.
"Jack! Oh, Jack, where are you?" A small black woman placed the pot she had been stirring in, and the wooden spoon she had been stirring with, down. She had a thick Nigerian accent, and the ragged clothes she wore told of her status. "Jack, come on, I need you here now." She rubbed her brow, and went reluctantly back to her stirring.
The said boy was running through the streets, his light caramel feet pattering on the dirt ground. His long black hair was a mass of tangled strands and dreadlocks, falling frequently into his dark brown eyes.
"Oi! You boy, get back here now!" Jack cast a look over his shoulder, and what he saw worried him. What had before been one large man were now three. They barrelled towards him, knocking the people and objects out of their way.
Jack suddenly jumped onto a stack of barrels, running up them. Had the men given up? No. One was attempting to scramble up the barrels, and with a wince Jack saw the ropes holding the barrels together strain. He turned forwards again, running as fast as he could. If he could just get to that alleyway, he would be safe. It was within four feet. Three feet. Two feet. He was almost there, when he heard the ropes snap.
The barrels tumbled, sending Jack with them. He ran on one, jumping as another almost collided with him. He didn't dare look back, and as soon as he caught his breath, he realised he was too far past the safety of that alleyway to go back. A wall- yes! Just short enough for him to reach the top of. He jumped, and grabbed onto the wall, pulling himself up.
And not a moment too soon. The three men that had been chasing him rolled straight past, caught up with the barrels. He saluted to them and watched them roll, straight down the river.
Merrily, he hopped back down off the wall, and strolled back towards home, the money and bread he had stolen bouncing with him, in the pockets his Ma had made for his trousers. Ma would be so pleased with him. Maybe she would buy him some of that chocolate that the Master's children seemed to adore so much.
A hand clamped on his shoulder. "Jack Sparrow?"
"Ah, you see, I think I saw a boy called Jack Sparrow. Went just ahead of those-" Jack turned around. "Oh." He tried his best to look innocent. "Yes sir?"
"Empty your pockets." The familiar face of James Durton looked down at him, face square and hardened.
"Ah, sir, you see, I have none. Ma couldn't get enough material to make me some proper pockets, you see?"
"Will you empty them, or do I have to empty them for you?"
"Oh, look, that is a pretty bird!" Jack pointed just behind Mr. Durton, and ducked to the side, trying to run away. "It flew before you saw it, huh?" He smiled in his best concerned look as he was dragged back by the ear. "It was a very pretty bird, I assure you. My guess was a parrot. You know, the ones that talk and talk-"
"-And will not shut up? Yes, I know someone like that all too well." Mr. Durton kept hold of Jack's ear as he walked through the town towards the prison.
"The cells? Come on mate, I am just a kid, ya' know? My Ma, she is very sick! She could die if she heard I was in the cells again!" Jack pleaded, flapping his arms around.
"Sick? I saw her the other day, and she was just fine." Mr. Durton stopped. "How about this. You empty your pockets, and I shall only take you home and talk to your Mother."
"Pockets? Oh. I was sorta hoping you would forget about those." Jack widened his eyes and wobbled his bottom lip, trying to pull a puppy dogface.
"Now, three men knew you stole from a market stall and the bakery. If I do not return the items, they might think I cannot do my job properly! Now, we would not like that, would we? So, empty your pockets."
"Yes sir." Jack mumbled, and gave the man the bread and two shillings.
"All of it." Jack handed him the rest of the money. "Good boy. Now, let's go to see your Ma."
"Please Mister, she is probably cooking, and the Master would be awful angry if dinner was late! Can I just run home to help her, and you could come tomorrow?"
"Sparrow." He raised his voice in warning, and then let his expression soften. "Who knew that behind those innocent eyes, there lies a devil? All right, off with you, before I change my mind! I will talk to your mother tomorrow."
Jack smiled his thanks at the man, and scurried off home, glad to have dodged getting punished for at least a day.
"Jack? Where have you been? You know, I called, and called. I thought they had chucked you back in the cells!" Jack's Ma cuffed him on the ear. "Now, could you run off and get me some rosemary from the market? Take the money from the pot, do not steal anything. Oh, and while ye're down there, buy some rum. The Master likes a little bit of rum with his food."
Jack nodded, took enough money from the clay pot they kept the cooking money in, and ran back to the market. He kept to the side, and crept over to the herb stall, careful to make himself unseen by the market guards.
"Shall I pay? Yes, no, maybe so?" He spoke aloud, his voice, which seemed cockney to most people, sounded too foreign and out of place in the bustling market. "Yeah, I will. Old Jimmy don't mind me!"
He slipped into the crowd, and made his way to the stall through the front. He realised, as he got closer, that Jim, the old and balding herb-seller, wasn't manning the stall that day. Instead, his youngest daughter, Sarah, was.
"Hello luv'!" Jack leant over the stall to talk to Sarah. She was a beauty, in her twenties, but not married, despite her looks. She had raven-black hair, full red lips, and sharp blue eyes that didn't miss a thing. "Just a pound o' rosemary for me today!" Jack flirted heartily with her, despite being just ten.
"Good-day, Jack." Sarah eyed him dryly. "Oi, you! Don't you go thinking I'm blind!" She turned and grabbed the handful of herbs that had been stolen just a moment ago. "And Jack, put back the poppy seeds." She measured out a pound of rosemary. "Three shillings and a ha'pence."
"That much?" Jack put the poppy seeds back, raising his eyebrows. "Why the High Pri'?" He chuckled at his own rhyme.
"I just feel like it today." She sniffed, slapping away the hand that was reaching for the parsley.
"Why's that?" Jack asked, handing her the money. "Maybe I could… ease your troubles."
"Sparrow, you are, quite frankly, one of my troubles." She gave him the rosemary. "I saw you earlier, so scram lest I think it best to alert the guards."
Jack smiled, pinched her behind, and ran, ducking into the crowds. Soon, he had a large bottle of rum in his hand, and was making his way back home, half-skipping.
"Dare I?" He looked around. "I dare."
He uncorked the rum, and took a swig. It was sweet and tangy, and sent a warm feeling down his body. He took a second, and swirled it before swallowing. The after-taste was bitter. He corked the bottle again, and ran the rest of the way home.
Not much to say here, other than:
Gimme an 'R' 'R' Gimme an 'E' 'E' Gimme a 'V' 'V' Gimme an 'I' 'I' Gimme an 'E' 'E' Gimme a 'W' 'W'
What's that smell? 'Review!'
Yes, I meant spell. Anywho, Please review, the countless hours I pored over my computer to do that little cheerleading chant should be enough! Alright, maybe not hours, but I got so darn frustrated!
Oh, and I meant to mention this before. The reason I used the term 'English Rose' was partly because I read it in another story guilty blush but also because, I am English, and when I went to New York New York, New York! a lovely (yet rather peculiar) little hot dog stand guy started singing some song about an English Rose to me when I asked him for a coke. Okay, that's not the whole truth. He had asked me where I was from, and it was after I said England that he started to sing. He was a Walnut Ninja, I seem to recall. Now, that wouldn't have stuck in my head, but, funnily enough, my name is very similar to Rose (try one letter different) so it scared me, quite a bit.
May Tra'ers guide you onwards
Razzy
goes off singing I love you baby, and if it's quite alright, I need you baby, to hold the morning's light, I need you baby, and If it's quite, I'm Okay. Those aren't the words, I don't think, but who cares?