The Trouble with Women

Chapter 11

Sunburn

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Vivien hated to admit it, but swabbing decks was much more difficult than she had previously thought. Not only was it time consuming, but it also took more effort than she'd imagined. And the longer it took the more time she was under the merciless Indian son. And the longer she was under said roasting hot sun, the more freckles she acquired. That as well as something she had come to know and dread—the sunburn.

Oui, l'hâle

A positively dreadful, not to mention painful, effect caused by too much exposure to the very thing that kept the world alive and warm. Vivien, however, was quite certain she could do quite fine without it. Her soft, pampered, relatively fair skin marred by permanent freckles was used to anything but the sun's hot rays. When a woman such as herself was mixed with something as giving, powerful, and relentless as the sun…the results were unfavourable.

Now, Vivien had managed to scrub clean half of the quarterdeck and the forecastle, and she was quite sure it was past noon. She wasn't stupid, no. The sun had long since passed overhead, beating a wave of constant heat down into the crown of her head. Yes, she had cleaned half the quarterdeck and was now sure the reason it was taking so bloody long was because of Jack's faithful crew.

The pirates had resolved to stomp over her shining work with dirty boots and grimy bare feet, tossing food about carelessly and lounging about as to stop her from completing her work. Thankfully, if Jack saw this he went into a sort of fit that had his arms flailing madly and him nearly toppling off balance as he shouting in an incomprehensible way.

Strangely enough, not one had approached her. Instead, they were content to glare and spit nasty words at her as she passed them by with her mop and bucket, hair disheveled and sweating beneath her cotton dress. The result of this endless torture was a hideous apparition known as "Vivien aggravé." This side of Vivien was rarely ever seen. She went about slopping water and muttering angrily under her breath while stomping about--before she was fixed with an angry stare from a crewmember, mind you. Nonetheless,it was a great change from the submissive, timid and cowardly young woman who had been brought aboard three days before, limp and unconscious.

This Frenchwoman had an unfavourable bridge of orange-brown spots called taches de rousseur hideux running along the top of her cheeks and nose. This Frenchwoman, where her skin had been pale and white, had a nasty red tinge to her flesh named hâle condamnable. This Frenchwoman, who had spent so much time clutching a mop as she would when strangling someone by the neck, had rubbed her palms and fingers raw with blisters. This Frenchwoman, who was used to having her hair curled and primped in the morning, now sported an unkempt and knotted brown wig resembling nothing less than a rat's nest. This Frenchwoman was not longer regal nor well-mannered, but a lowly woman of a pirate crew, kidnapped and forced to work, lying for her life. And in this new and strange place the total number of butlers and maids back in her manor was anything but impressive.

She was anything but the woman of three days before.

Vivien straightened her back awkwardly, painfully stretching out the kinks and knots that had built in her spine and muscles while she stood hunched over a mop or on her hands and knees scrubbing the deck with brushes. The sun was still taunting her, she noticed, and she saw even the tops of her hands were sporting a sunburn dotted with tiny freckles.

Snorting with disgust, she took a moment to lean on her mop and rest her eyes. Never would she be used to waking up this early, especially not every day!

Her work had brought her to the edge of the ship where the sea winds ran wild, cooling the layer of sweat and dirt accumulating on her forehead and exposed skin. Her arms were aching terribly, and her bare feet were prickly with stinging splinters as well as protesting for being used so long with aches and shooting pains. And her back, her back felt as though it would never again be straight! But she wouldn't complain. Je ne peux pas…she told herself bitterly, for she had settled an agreement with Jack Sparrow, and no doubt the sneaky man had gotten the better end of the bargain!

Letting loose a heavy sigh, she told herself once she went back to work she would not redo the sections of the ship Jack's crew had so kindly mucked up for her to clean again. She would give it a small, quick wash before heading up the fore castle and helm where Jack himself stood sailing his beloved and wash that too. Then, maybe, if she could find her voice, she would perhaps ask if he had given her maybe too much work, and maybe, just maybe, he would take pity upon her burnt and tattered person and relieve her of her duties for rest of the day. After all, she still had two more decks to clean…as well as the dirty dishes in the galley, she reminded herself.

Jack seemed a fair man once she got to know him a bit better…a pirate for sure but a relatively fair man…

Pas vraiment, she almost laughed.

A shadow fell over Vivien's closed eyes, and since she was quite sure the sun had not so suddenly set over the horizon and let her be, she had to figure someone was standing before her. And she was supposed to be working…

She opened her eyes quickly, snapping to attention and nearly loosing her footing as well as tripping on mop. Her startled green eyes fell on Anamaria.

"Gibbs and meself have been wondering as to why ya've stopped swabbin' the deck, missy. And why there be a large stack of dishes waitin' to be cleaned in the galley but no one seems to be at it," she spoke calmly, hands planted firmly upon her hips and a calculating looked upon her dark face.

Briefly, Vivien's eyes darted around the deck in search of Gibbs, but instead found much of the crew—including one odd man hanging upside down from the sails—watching them with sneers and smirks, nudging each other and though there was some big joke going on that only she didn't know. She spotted Gibbs at the helm with Jack, conversing lightly, and their eyes only drifted over to Anamaria and herself once. Facing the female pirate now, Vivien came up with a suitable reply.

"I-I haven't been able to finish the deck yet," she stuttered rather softly, not wanting to rouse the mulatto woman's temper. It was strange how she seemed to melt under the fierce woman's stare.

Anamaria cocked an eyebrow at her and turned slightly to regard the deck. "Lass, compared to any of the men here, not only have you scrubbed this deck twice as clean as any of 'em ever could, you've also taken twice as long to do it," she stated, suppressing a small smirk.

At this, Vivien frowned, brow knotting. "It was terribly dirty…and Gibbs said to clean it, so I did…" she said in her defense

It was nothing less than a rueful smile gracing Anamaria's face now. "Aye. But around here cleanin' somethin' means dashing it with water and letting it dry by the sun. You've gone and scrubbed the whole thing clean twice over now, and it's no use—as ya might have noticed by now."

Oh, yes, Vivien thought. She knew exactly what the woman meant. The deck seemed to attract dirt, partly thanks to the inconsiderate crew, and no matter how much she when at it with a mop it just dirtied itself in half the time she took to clean it. The young woman regarded Anamaria silently for a moment before nodding sagely.

The mulatto woman nodded back, her long dark hair whipping around slightly in the warm breeze. "Good. Now, I have nothing 'gainst some good old fashion hard work and cleanin', but on this hunk of driftwood it ain't gonna get you nowhere. And that pile of dishes is still waiting, so I suggest ya scrub 'em off before coming back up to the quarterdeck and finishing the job," she explained rather patiently considering her mood that very morning.

Vivien decided right there that the female pirate just wasn't a very pleasant morning person. She nodded dutifully nonetheless, however. Now was not the time to get on Anamaria's bad side—her day was already at its worst.

"It'll do you some good to get out of the sun for a bit, too, I imagine," Anamaria added, eyeing Vivien with a hint of humour. As she turned to leave the Frenchwoman's voice stopped her progress.

"Ahh…Anamaria…?" Vivien's small, hesitant voice came.

She turned with a sigh, and expectant look upon her face. "Aye?" she demanded.

"Where…exactly, is the…um…the galley?"

After that moment, Vivien's day didn't seem quite so bad as it was. Anamaria and herself had come to some sort of odd truce in a conflict neither of them had really started. Vivien was shown the galley—Anamaria had told her she would give the woman a quick tour of the ship so she wouldn't become lost—but only once, she had been warned. The older woman was no guide nor a friend, she had made that quite clear. She was a pirate on a pirate ship and anything she ordered Vivien to do, she would. At Jack's consent, of course.

So, the young Frenchwoman cleaned all the dishes in the galley—alone, not evenvisited by the cook—dipping them in a barrel of water and scrubbing them all clean of the goopy mess that coated them with a scruffy cloth. She had wondered what had happened to the feast Jack had stolen from her manor, but let the thought slip aside without much consideration. She didn't really care.

And when she was done she dried her pruned, burned and raw hands before snatching two apples from a storage barrel in the corner of the galley. One she ate like a ravenous wolf before emerging on deck. And the second she took to with less ferocity, savoring the sweet taste. After all, the last thing she had eaten had been dinner the night before, a very long time ago by her standards.

Vivien found her mop and bucket once more, refilling the bucket before finishing her work. This time, however, she hesitated, her eyes darting up to the helm where Jack had stood the whole day, gaze nearly always focused on the far horizon as though he was watching for something. Waiting for something.

Instead of finishing the quarterdeck she made her way up to the helm, something on her mind that she intended to clear up. And Jack Sparrow was the only one who could help her.

"Come to visit ole Jack, have ye?" he greeted her offhandedly as she plunked the bucket on the stern with a loud clomp.

Vivien plunged the mop into the bucket and slopped it messily onto the wood at her feet, earning an odd glance from the pirate captain. She ignored the look. "I've come to speak with you," she corrected, keeping her eyes carefully averted to the deck as she began to sweep the sopping wet mop about her feet.

At this, Jack turned to the woman with his lips pursed slightly, one hand still safe on the large wheel before him. He watched her for a moment, kohl-lined eyes focused on her bowed head. He had noticed how she did that when speaking to him, unless she was feeling bold, of course. A truly odd habit, indeed…How did she ever expect grow a backbone if she shrunk from everyone's gaze?

"That's nice," he declared with a drawl. "But we're speaking right now, aren't we?"

Vivien continued to mop up the dirt that had accumulated along the wooden planks, not pausing once in her actions despite the ache and strain in her arms. "Well, yes…I suppose so," she started, and was going to say more—namely what was on her mind—when she was cut short.

"Ah, good. Then you won't mind telling me why you haven't finished swabbing the top deck, haven't started on the cabins and aren't even near cleaning the hold yet, hmm?" he spoke with that oddly slurred speech of his, one eyebrow arched into his red bandana.

She paused in her work. "A-actually, Captain…Sparrow, I was going to ask you something along those lines," she said hurriedly, butafterwardsknew it would do no good.

"What about, then, I wonder?" he questioned her.. "Don't tell me this is about your work because I intend on keeping entirely true to my end of the bargain."

Vivien cursed mentally, something she would never do aloud, and immersing the mop back into the bucket. Then, she almost hesitantly glanced up at Jack as she spoke. "Well…not really. But now that I think of it—"

Jack was grinning devilishly at her, a finger raised and a tsking noise on his tongue. "Unless you want to find yourself dropped off someplace remote and devoid of life, I wouldn't say another word, darling," he warned her playfully, yet she could hear the danger in his tone.

She supposed her face paled considerably, because the next moment Jack was squinting oddly at her.

"Got a tad bit of a sunburn, do you?" he asked, sounding mildly surprised, but then rebuked on that remark. "That goes to show what the easy life does to you, love." He spoke with a bit of a smirk, and Vivien's brow furrowed indignantly, her chin jutting, at which he merely shrugged innocently. "It'll get worse before it gets better, I'll tell ye that. But no worries. Once it's peeled you'll probably never burn again—have a nice strong tan like meself, aye?"

Vivien fell silent, not quite liking the Captain's show of indifference towards her. Maybe he wasn't as good a man as she had thought? Non, she told herself firmly, you stand up to him now and get it all off your chest! Stop being a coward, Vivien! And there was that nagging, foolish curiosity in the back of her mind, and she had to satisfy is lest she go crazy.

So she did, minus the marching bit and feeling quite nervous, if not vulnerable. She supposed asking questions just wasn't in her nature.

"Mons—Captain Sparrow…may I ask you another question?" she spoke, clutching the mop tightly in her hands.

Jack turned an inquisitive look upon her, a confused sort of smile on his face. "What is it now?"

Deciding not to point out how rude he was being, as that would most likely end with her skulking while sitting midst the grimy water in the brig, she paused. It took her a moment to gather her voice. And once said voice was gathered, she managed to speak. "Vous êtes…I mean, are you or are you not going to leave me in Madagascar…b-because I have a sneaking suspicion that you're considering doing so…" she said, and once it was out she realized how incredibly stupid it sounded.

Apparently, Jack thought so too, for he took the time to tear his dark eyes from the horizon to giver a positively lazy grin, laced with amusement and mocking. "That's the reason you came to speak with me, then? Why, I wonder…don't tell me you want to be left behind in ole Maddy? After all the trouble your dear self is going through to keep that treasure from me?" he slurred, raising his eyebrows at her. "If so, it pains me to tell you that you won't be leaving anytime soon. As much as I want you off my ship, darling, I don't plan on letting you go anywhere until I know I can find your dear Da's treasure without you. That is, unless you've changed your mind about the whole thing now?" He added the last part almost hopefully.

Fait attention, she told herself, staring at him warily with her eyes narrowed, you don't want to go back to Belfast, do you?

"No," she answered simply, by now realizing that long thought out explanations and meaningful sentences didn't work around a man she found so imposing. Not to mention sly, smelly, rude, violent, positively striking…

Jack's voice cut her from her thoughts, and she had to fight down a blush as she realized the curve of her thoughts.

"That's a shame, love. I was rather hoping to have you off with the locals of St. Marie," he sighed in disappointment as if forgetting she was standing beside him and watched her reaction closely. Of course, it was only a bit of joke. Sort of. As much as he would love to have a woman besides Anamaria on board, he was afraid Vivien might not be the right one. She didn't seem the kind to have too much fun, which was a shame, really. A complete shame.

"What was that?" he asked suddenly, realizing that she had spoken.

"Captain Sparrow?" she questioned, cocking her head slightly with a tone that made it clear she was wondering if he was all there.

Of course he was! "Yes?" he asked, irritated, and then watched as she bit her lower lip, hesitating and contemplating maybe if her next words were not wanted.

"Where is…St. Marie?" she questioned him quietly, as if her asking would cause him to lose his temper.

Bloody Christ! he mentally swore, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.Did this woman think he was going to toss her overboard if she asked him a simple question? It was blood madness! He couldn't help but wonder how she had been raised, if she had been beaten as child or if she was just naturally deranged.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he focused his thoughts on St. Marie. He decided to give her a full description, a speech, to see if he could entice any sort of reaction from her other than fear, disgust, confusion or surprise. Sadly, those seemed to be the only emotions she was capable of, and he, oddly enough, found himself wanting to help the poor, pitiful woman. I gather she's never tasted rum, either.

"Ah, L'île St. Marie, a wonderful bit of rock just off Madagascar's northeastern side," he began with flourish, and continued with various hand gestures as if trying to explain it's splendor without words. "The world wouldn't be the same without it, I imagine. A place fit for a man such as meself. A rogue's paradise, the only rules are that there are none—except that there's never to be a shortage of drinks and the navy ain't invited. Can't say for meself if they know of the place, and if they don't I assure you they never will." He spoke with a mad grin on his face now, lilting his words cheerfully as if stuck in a pleasant memory. "St. Marie is a buccaneer's playground, darling, and a corsair's finest castle. A place of defense! A pirate's kingdom built on a small island, ye see? Fit only for the more colourful gents of society and full near to the very beaches with gold." Turning, beads clinging softly, he fixed the Frenchwoman with a smile that showed every one of his gold teeth. "In short, tis a lawless place filled with lawless people and bursting with lawless activities—piracy most prominent among them. Second most only to Tortuga. And certainly not a place a woman such as yourself could ever have head of or ever hoped to be. Your lot's pitiful, really…"

Vivien watched him closely as he trailed off with a shrug, not quite sure how he could make it sound as though she was missing out on something special—but clearly she was. Although, she didn't know if that was good or bad, but supposed she could live without seeing the place. So, lips pursed and looking quite confused, but enlightened at the same time (however that was possible) she replied with the only thing she could think of, "Oh…"

Jack smiled crookedly. "Don't worry your pretty little head over it, lass. It's safe to say you'll never set foot down there as long as ye live," he announced shortly, not clueless to the blush that had formed on the young woman's already reddened cheeks. Before she could get another word in, however, he was shooing her away.

"Now, I've never actually seen the deck clean itself, but if you'd be so kind as to demonstrate…?"

Frowning, Vivien took the hint and promptly turned away from the pirate captain, mop in hand. Recalling words that had once been spoken to her by Belfast, she repeated them in her head. Be obedient and don't do anything stupid. She repeated it several times until she was satisfied she would do just that. Jack was right, of course. She had a deck to finish, then the cabins…then the brig. And then she had to wash the dishes from supper before having anything herself…

But she couldn't help butdwell on his words andthink of St. Marie. A sort of dark foreboding lapsed over her mind at the thought of the place, and she couldn't help but feel on edge. Such a town was definitely not somewhere she wanted to be, she was quite sure of that.

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Translations:

L'hâle – the sunburn

Vivien aggravé – aggravated Vivien

Taches de rousseur hideux – hideous freckles

Hâle condemnable – damnable sunburn

Je ne peux pas – I can't

Pas vraiment – not really

Vous etes – you are

Fait attention – roughtly translated as 'pay attention'

--Cayenne Pepper Powder