The strange woman had been laid in Jack's cabin. In the longboat, they had found a carpetbag with her effects in it.
Jack reached for the rum. Delicious, enticing rum. It's amber-riddled nectar was the perfect escape from all of life's problems. As he rolled the bottle between his palms, a thought occurred to him: Why not wake the wench up, see what she had to say for herself?
He walked towards the prostrate form of the woman. After lifting up the hem of the dress, he uncorked the bottle of rum and poured it over the wound. The woman's eyes flew open. She gasped in pain and in a breathy voice said, "Où suis-je?"
"Pardon, didn't catch that?" Jack said. But the woman took no notice. She moaned in pain and cried out, "Veuillez m'aider, il blesse... sil vous plait, monsieur..."
Lovely. She couldn't speak English.
"Please, I beg you, do something."
Never mind. Apparently the wench could speak the language of the civilized.
"Well, a'right. But what do you expect me to do about it? I'm not a doctor, woman." This quieted the strange woman for a moment. Then, much to Jack's dismay, she spoke up again.
"Give me your liquor."
She had gone too far. Ask for Jack's liquor? One had to be daft to commit such a fallacy as that.
"No! It's my rum! You can't have it."
The woman groaned and shut her eyes. "Stupid fool, I don't want it for the recreation. It's to dull the pain, imbecile."
Silence.
"Besides, if you don't give it to me, I won't be quiet and will become a constant nuisance."
Enough incentive for Jack. "Here, woman, take the rum. Just shut up…No! Wait, what's your name and where did you come from?" The last bit came out in a bit of a rush.
She reached for the now vacated rum bottle and looked at Jack.
"Christine…Giry. France. Paris, to be more specific." She took a swig from the rum bottle, and kept drinking until she sank back onto the bed, motionless.
"Well then, what the hell are you doing in the middle of the bloody Caribbean, stupid cow?!" Too late. Christine was fast asleep, in a rum-lined cocoon.
Jack grabbed her carpetbag and started rifling through its contents. There was a pair of strange looking shoes. They appeared to be for some purpose other than walking, seeing as they were made of silk and had a very hard toe. An old photograph of a man holding a violin, and a dried out red rose, with a black ribbon tied around it. Strange woman. Very strange woman.
Back above decks, Mr. Gibbs turned to Jack.
"We be nearin' the river, Cap'n."
A devilish grin overtook Jack Sparrow's face.
"Break out the longboats, Gibbs. It's time we pay a visit to Tia Dalma."
A/N: hey guys! Sorry for not leaving a note on the first chapter…my bad.
Anywhoo, my name's Icy, and I'm obviously the one writing this lil' story. First off, I'd like to express my huge love of reviews, and my immense hate of ghosts (people who read but don't review) Any kind of review is welcome, and I take criticism to heart.
The first person who reviews gets cookies…and if that person can guess "who" Christine is, they get extra cookies. It shouldn't be that hard. But here's a few hints: The shoes are pointe shoes. The language is French. Her hair is long, brown and curly. She's about sixteen years old. And the rose, not a coincidence.
--icy.