Dear patient friends-- I am very sorry to not only have been so long with this, but also for the fact that when associated with the amount of time it has been since an update, this chapter is rather minimal in length and will have to serve as some sort of filler. My profoundest apologies to you all, but I feel that I am somewhat excused because of recent happenings. Just after the last time I put up a chapter a very close friend of mine was in a terrible car accident. She's fine, thank you for caring, but she does need plastic surgery and the doctors wonder whether she will regain sight from her left eye. Obviously this is not your personal concern, but I just wanted to try to make some explanation as to my tardiness and lackluster as of late. Please do try to enjoy this tidbit (for I felt that something was better than nothing) and I will do my best to pick up the old pace as far as adding new and better chapters. Thank you for your time, reviews are, as always, a welcome ray of sunshine in otherwise overcast times.
...TanzFieber
The seasons came and went, rain and shine, day in and day out. More sun and more storms. More days and more weeks. Years, even. More years… and what it came down to was the following: One pirate captain—dreadlocked and wearing kohl around his eyes; One seventeen-year-old girl— raven-dark featured with a flashing gaze; Three parallel lines— puckered slightly and white along the ridge. It was these last things, these chalky-white lacerations, that made all of the difference in the world.
It had been approximately three years—nobody kept accurate time out on the seas— since the day Kelsea Sparrow had nearly been stolen away forever by enemy pirates in the fog; since the day Jack Sparrow had wielded two blades to rescue his daughter back; since the Black Pearl had been scuppered; since the day Jack Sparrow had ordered his little girl punished; since the day Kelsea Sparrow had tried in vain not to scream as the lash found her shoulders; since the day three puckered parallel lines had arrived to serve as a permanent reminder of a father to daughter whipping. The Pearl had been fixed, not that it had been easy, but after some days of repairs drifting and improvisation, it had been possible to make it to port. Yes, the Pearl had been fixed, but there was no remedy for the three puckered parallel lines and the emotions they masked. And it was these last things, these chalky-white lacerations, that made all of the difference in the world…
SMOOTH SAILING…
"All hands on deck!" The shout rang out loud and clear, followed by the sound of many feet tramping up from the hold, from aft on the ship, down from the lines. Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of his ship, one hand resting easily on the dark-wooded wheel. Kohl-lined eyes flickered somewhat impassively as they took in the assembling crew of the Black Pearl.
When every last man (and one girl) had fallen into ranks, Duncan, spokesman for them all, called out. "All present 'n accounted fer, Cap'n!"
Jack took a deep breath of saltiness that clung to each breeze and glanced around again at them all. Each a faithful hand before the mast… He thought with satisfaction, until his gaze reached one face that was not completely meeting his own. Kelsea…
The girl in question was indeed refusing to meet the captain's stare, as had become the norm in the recent past. It wasn't just the old betrayal that still hung between them… It was that things had become progressively worse as the moons waxed and waned—starting with the night after it happened.
SAID FLASHBACK…
The sounds retching echoed around the cargo-hold. Jack Sparrow had, that very afternoon, had another man whip his only known offspring like a dog. Jack Sparrow had never known such regret and guilt. Jack Sparrow had had his head and shoulders inside an empty cask and had been violently sick. Jack Sparrow had seen the scarlet gashes across his daughter's back. Jack Sparrow had since then tried to eat something. Jack Sparrow had his head and shoulders inside an empty cask and was being violently sick— Again. The sounds retching echoed around the cargo-hold.
After a few more gags, the pirate captain of the Black Pearl slumped down to the wooden planks of the floor, his head in his hands. This whole scene seemed oddly familiar—the only difference being in the fact that moonlight now pooled at his feet instead of sunshine.
The same thoughts were running through his mind as before, the same 'how could I's, the same 'what can I do's. Unfortunately, even after an entire day of moping around and ignoring his concerned crew he hadn't come up with anything new. He was just plain wrong and terrible and mean and not understanding and just plain wrong— He knew, and felt completely and utterly wretched for it—Not that his feeling wretched would fix anything at all.
Thinking to himself that his stomach was safely empty so as to avoid more vomiting, Captain Jack pulled himself to his feet and made his wobbly way to the stairs. Perhaps he could talk to her now..? Probably not, but the off chance that she would listen was worth the try. So reasoning, he began that familiar uneasy climb to the captain's quarters.
Tap. Tap. Tap… Went Jack's fist on the heavy door, for he felt that knocking would be too much at this late an hour—and also for how guilty he was feeling. Reluctant taps, it turned out, were all he could muster.
However, the replying call he was expecting/dreading didn't come. He tried tap-tap-tapping once more, a hair louder this time, but still nothing. Perhaps she was asleep--? Taking a deep breath, the pirate captain pushed the portal inward and winced at the creak and blinked in the darkness that fell out of the room.
Peering around, Jack waited with baited breath for something to be thrown at him whilst his eyes adjusted to the inky blackness and silence that enveloped the cabin. Once again though, what he was expecting/dreading simply did not happen. Instead, he was eventually met with the sight of a floor scattered with bloody rags—gulp—and a bed full of one slumbering teenager—sigh.
Trying to quiet the flip-flopping in his stomach, Jack made his way over to the quiet form of his daughter striving to make as little noise as possible—
CLANG!
Jack froze and cursed mentally in seven different languages, only three of which he had previously realized he knew, as his knuckles struck the upright handle of a lantern. However, there was no movement from the bunk. Kelsea had been exhausted—now sleeping like a rock.
By now standing at the girl's side, Jack could still only dimly make out her outline on the sheets. He could see that she was sleeping facedown, and that her shirt was still pulled up off her shoulders and therefore was riding up over the back of her head, but beyond that was obscured by the darkness.
Bugger… he couldn't see… didn't want to see… shouldn't see… needed to see the damage that had been wreaked across his daughter's back at his bidding. So thinking with a heavy heart, Jack suddenly remembered that lantern and cast about for it in the darkness.
CLANG!
More non-English cuss-words streamed silently out of his mouth as his groping hand once again knocked into the illusive light… and yet, still there was no movement. Bloody hell, what is she, dead--? He thought furtively before shaking his head at the horrifying idea. No… No, she was just tired. And rightfully so… The pirate captain tried to quiet his irrational thoughts as he dug through his pockets for matches.
After a few fumbling moments, fire was struck and touched furtively to the wick and an orange orb of light flickered to life in the otherwise dim room. Shielding his eyes for a moment, Jack Sparrow held up the lantern and finally turned to see what he couldn't/shouldn't/didn't want to/needed to see…
Young Kelsea Sparrow's upper shoulders were a blood-caked mess, and that would be putting it lightly. It was like watching a car-accident… he couldn't look away… The damage was terrible upon otherwise smooth skin—three of the five cuts looking far nastier than the rest. It was obvious that the girl had done her best to mop up the mess, but from the looks of things, infection was imminent if the wounds were not treated properly.
Jack reached out, entranced by the horrific sight, and gently touched the girl's shoulder blade along one of the slashes… and at this she did jerk awake.
"N-no… STOP—!" he pulled back as she startled into wakefulness. The raven-haired teenager floundered for a moment, tried to sit up, and suddenly seemed to remember her injuries. "MmphOUCH—!"
Falling back to the pillows with her breath coming ragged, Kelsea gritted her teeth before turning her head to the side to see what it was that had touched her sore cuts. Her eyes were met with the shadowy form of Jack, who had backed up towards the desk. Neither spoke for a few weighty moments. Finally, a throat was cleared.
"Kels…"
Wriggling and wincing, the girl painstakingly managed to scoot her shirt back down to hide the lacerations. Taking a breath after doing so, she raised a harsh eyebrow at her father. "Somethin' ye wanted, Captain."
The emotional pain was clear in Jack's face at the harsh statement—for it certainly wasn't a question—and he groped fruitlessly for the right words.
"I… I jus' thought… ye need t'clean yer…" He sighed and quailed under her gaze. "D'ye need any help, Kelsea?"
Defiant as anything, the dark-eyed teen only grimaced and pushed herself to her feet, standing uncomfortably before him. "Thought mebbe I made it clear earlier that I don' need yer help." And with that, she strode stiffly by him, out of the room with a last parting shot. "I'll be in me own cabin f'ye need anythin', Cap'n Sparrow."
JUST A WHILE LATER...
"OUCH—BLOODY HELL—!"
Jack was startled awake by pained yells, and he peeled his face off of the charts on his desk to sit up. However, it was only seconds before his bleary mind cleared with the thought of where the noises might have come from. Kelsea—she needed him--! With that in mind, the pirate captain got to his feet and made a hasty trip across the hall and into the other room. The scene that met his eyes when he arrived made him stop short.
Kelsea Sparrow was kneeling with her torso on the bunk, her shirt once again pulled up, and beside her… crouched and sponging at her wounds… doing the job that he himself should have been doing… was Mr. Cotton.
All three froze, each taking in each others presence with a certain sullenness. Jack was confused and hurt and upset. Cotton was doing a job that was, as her father, his by right. She had needed help and hadn't come to him first. She had… she had replaced him.
For his part, the elderly crewman could see the agitation in his captain's face and was currently wondering if he should just get up and leave the two alone. However, as he made to move, a hand closed around his wrist.
Kelsea Sparrow propped herself up slightly, and although she too felt a slight pang at the look of betrayal that was being sent in her direction, she did her best to ignore it. He had betrayed her first. "All apologies fer disturbin' yer rest, Cap'n Sparrow… Mr. Cotton was jus' helpin' wiv me… injuries."
Jack winced as if he had been slapped, but he knew deep down that he really could not say anything. His heart aching like it never had before, the pirate captain of the Black Pearl nodded wordlessly and turned on his heel. He left the room to the sound of his daughter hissing in pain as seawater was sponged onto her raw wounds, and could think of nothing else besides getting himself very. Very. Drunk.
PRESENTLY…
And now Jack Sparrow stood looking, whilst Kelsea Sparrow stood not looking, and the rest of the crew felt the certain uneasiness that had become trademark of the pirate-daughter duo. Finally, it was Jack who realized that his men were all awaiting his orders.
"Alrigh' mates, it has come t'me attention of late that some o' ye are, shall we say, dissatisfied wiv th'way thing's've been goin' aboard the Pearl. Is that th'way yer all feelin' then? That ol' Jack isn't servin' yer best interests as captain?" He paused here with a flourish toward the helm, and waited for someone to speak up. As usual, it was Duncan who acted as the crew's voice.
"'Tis not that we're dissatisfied, more… a bit bored. Thing's've been good, Cap'n, don' get us all wrong… but ye've got t'admit that s'been some time since we did a speck o' honest piratin'. Th'boys're gettin' fat n' lazy in these rich times!" The mate explained, and the rest of them chuckled appreciatively, satisfied that he had put it properly without offending the captain.
Captain Jack stroked his mustache pensively and took a few swaggering steps across the foc'sle before answering. "I'll accept that reasonin', an' therefore 'ave come up wiv a proposition that I daresay will appease all of ye." He waited a moment and watched in satisfaction as they all moved surreptitiously closer—everyone enjoyed listening to Jack Sparrow's propositions.
"So here's th'bargain, mates: Don' know if any of ye've noticed, but fer th'past few days we've been blowin' afore an' Westerly breeze… an' we're goin' t'continue. As a general course, then, th'Black Pearl is bound fer a little place I like t'call… India."
There was a moment of silence before a ragged chorus of "Aye's" rang out across the dark-wooded decks. As the men cheered, Jack smiled a dashing golden smile, obviously pleased with the reaction. "Aye, bound fer th'exotic an' always prolific waters of India an' th'Orient. Riches, pleasurable company an' adventure t'thrill th'heart an' soul of any salt here, eh? What say ye t'that?"
As the cheering continued Jack turned with a wave of his hand and settled his eyes on the horizon as his jeweled hand settled on the helm of the Pearl. Feeling their eyes on his back, the pirate allowed himself a pleased inward smile before turning back and feigning surprise that they were waiting.
"Well? Back t'work ye scabrous dogs!" And every man scrambled to their posts… Except for that one bohemian of a seventeen-year-old—the one with flashing obsidian eyes and a brilliant smile that was seen less and less these days. The one with a quick wit and an even quicker sword. Kelsea Sparrow, the daughter that Jack had lost but not lost somewhere along the way…
Said girl stared intensely at her father's back for an extra few moments, took a step forward as if she was going to call his name, but then shook her head and made for the mainmast. Jack would steer the ship and Kelsea would watch from the crowsnest, it was the unspoken agreement… the rift between pirate and girl much wider than the distance between them…
But India… Perhaps a new place would remedy the situation? Jack certainly hoped so, and secretly so did Kelsea. Each stared out at the crimsoning horizon with their own thoughts, willing each gust of warm Caribbean air to push them closer to someplace different.