Yeah. So. I basically have no excuse as to why I've abandoned this story, other than lack of inspiration. But I was thinking about the story line a few minutes ago, and a little plot twist made its way into my mind, so here I am. Enjoy.

Chapter Three

Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, staring blankly into the distance, occasionally adjusting the ship's direction, but only by a few centimeters. They were sailing toward Tortuga, where Jack had decided that he and his crew would lay low, until the parents of the girl in the brig had discovered her missing, and posted a large reward for her return. He sighed at that thought – he had never imagined that he, Captain Jack Sparrow, would be forced to kidnap innocent civilians in order to get by... it just wasn't... him.

But with the Isla de Muerta going all 'pear-shaped', as Gibbs had so eloquently put it, there was nothing else that he could really do. He sighed again, furrowing his brow. He needed rum.

Jack was startled out of his reverie by a crew member approaching the helm. Once his eyes had refocused, and he shook his head a bit to clear it, he caught the younger man smirk.

"Deep thinking, eh Jack?" he inquired.

"Captain. It's Captain. What do you want, whelp," Jack muttered.

"Bloody hell, Captain, do ye need some assistance in removing that stick from yer arse?"

"Go ta' 'ell, Ty," Jack scowled, "Yer lucky I don't keelhaul ye fer insubordination."

"My mum would 'ave yer head, and ye know it," Ty smirked.

"Go check on tha' lass in tha' brig, will ye? An' bring 'er some food or somethin'. We can't 'ave 'er dying... it would defeat tha' purpose."

Ty complied, and swiftly walked down the steps to the helm, shortly disappearing below deck.

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Helena opened one eye, and as soon as she saw the iron bars and the dark wood, the other rapidly popped open. She rubbed her eyes, praying that what she was seeing was a dream, just a figment of her apparently over-active imagination. When she opened her eyes and her surroundings hadn't magically transformed, she pinched her arm, wincing when she felt a jolt run through her arm.

Sitting up, she regarded her surroundings with distaste. The floor was wet and slimy with god-knows-what, and the air smelled musty. It wasn't very bright, but she gathered that she was in a cell of sorts, and, judging by the rocking of the floor underneath her, on a ship. At this revelation, she started to panic.

"Oh God. What am I doing here? What did I do to anyone that they would feel the need to lock me up in the bottom of a bloody ship! Is anyone planning on getting me out of here? It's damp and I'm going to catch a bloody cold if no one is careful! Is anyone listening to me? I'm bloody wet down here, and no doubt bruised to top it off! IS ANYONE BLOODY LISTENING TO ME?"

Because of her shouts and curses, Helena didn't hear a pair of boots on the stairs, their owner wincing at the volume of her words.

"She's got a pair of lungs on 'er, alright. I'm only halfway down the bloody stairs and I can hear 'er loud an' clear," Ty muttered. "Jack could've warned me, at least."

Helena was still ranting when Ty entered the room, water in one hand and bread in the other.

"OI, WOMAN!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard over her threats and shouts, which had increased in volume to a near-scream.

Surprised, she stopped, not bothering to shut her mouth. There, before her was a man, a bit older than her, if she had to guess. He had dark brown hair that was tied back into a tail, and tan skin, from working on the ship, she gathered. He was tall, much taller than her, and had a well-defined body, from what she could imagine, under the dirty clothes he wore: black pants, a white shirt, and a pair of brown boots. His eyes were beautiful, a light green that seemed to radiate with intensity. And those cheekbones, Helena mused, almost... girlish.

"What's yer name, lass," he said.

"Why? And why am I down here? What did I do that I had to be captured by god-knows-who, and sent down to this... wretched... place?"

"Why should you give me your name? Because I asked. And it's only polite that you answer if someone should ask you a simple question such as that. And you did nothing. Well, unless you consider being born wealthy your fault. But back to the original question: What is your name?"

"Helena. Helena Butler. But I still don't understand..."

"You don't need to. Here, have this. The captain will want to see you before long, I imagine," Ty said, cutting her off, and handing her the water and bread. With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared back up the stairs.

"Wait!" Helena called to his retreating footsteps, "I at least deserve to know your bloody name!"

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Later, when the little light that there was for Helena had faded, she heard footsteps on the stairs once more. This time, though, it wasn't the good-looking stranger that had brought her food before, but a big, burly man, who was dirtier than her cell, which was saying something. He unlocked the cell and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her out as she protested

The crew member escorted – dragged – Helena up the stairs, and through a winding maze of hallways and corridors, until they reached the doors to the captain's cabin. Even from in the hallway, Helena could hear voices, one slurred and deep, and the other... familiar. It was the voice of the man who had come earlier to give her food. Suddenly, she found herself getting apprehensive, and as the crew member pushed her closer and closer to the door, and then knocked on it, she was beginning to be afraid. She had heard tales of what happened to ladies that were captured by pirate ships, and, judging by the disarray that this ship was in, she had gathered that this was, indeed, a pirate ship, with real pirates.

"Enter," said the slurred voice from within.

Bloody hell, Helena cursed silently.

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Let me know what you think!

-- Ella Raven.