Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… and yeah!

Author Notes: I was sad when this ended, like really sad. So I started the story back up while utterly inspired by the BEAUTIFUL PotC3:awe. I will definitely keep this now that I am out of high school and probably going to be very lonely when I go off to college in California --- like over fifteen hundred miles away. Crazy, but beautiful at the same time. Here I come crew team -- and Jack! This chapter is largely me trying to get back into the groove of this story. Sorry if everything is moving too slowly for everyone, but I am used to writing novels not short fiction. Long is sort of who I am --- heheh.

What vexes all men? A woman.

H e a r t I n AH e a d l o c k

Dark wood, of any sort other than Black Palm, has always been rather hard to find in the Main, and even harder to find on Tortuga, which by all accounts is the truly crude as far as human evolution goes. It is a precipice of debauchery, a citadel for all things wicked, and thus, cares very little for the kind of wood that things are made out of. There was, in fact, only one shop made entirely out of ebony -- or with any at all -- on the entire island. They had, dozens of years ago, great trunks of dark cypress sent over from the marshes of the New World. Those same manufactures had also, conscious of the small settlement's wanton nature, built far away from the port towards what is referred to as the "polite" Tortuga. It did little good, building so far away, because as the world grew so did the number of pirates which meant the settlement did as well until the port part of the city was on the shop's doorstep.

As the area around the dark wood became more and more cheaply manufactured; when the fine glass from France had a man tossed through it; and after a whorehouse was built next door, the quality of stuff and suppliers for those stuffs fluctuated until the building was barely distinguishable from any of it's next-door neighbors. It became just another part of the busty maid that is Tortuga, unimportant until crossed or desperately needed. And so we find the shop today, desperately needed. It's window's full of dust and grime, more grime than any sailor could ever find in the galley of any ship. It was a disgustingly unclean part of a disgustingly unclean town in our disgustingly unclean world, but that grime and goop made it no less vital to the inhabitants of this chaotic universe.

-- it was still needed. Needed by a pirate. A pirate that was more than just any old pirate. He, a pirate lord, was destined to be the most feared pirate in the Spanish Main, no -- the world. We all know of which pirate I speak, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, infamous, glorious, and… bearded. This was his town, his berth, and so it isn't unusual that he would know the location of such a well-hidden commodity. Hell, if anyone would know of it's existence it would bloody be Jack, creepy establishments that sold odd things located next to whorehouses were one of his specialties.

With the certain swagger that does completely encompass all things Sparrow he paraded down the small, dirt-covered street looking for the darkly-wooded shop. You could tell he was looking for something: his head, all of the hair swinging from one side to the other, bobbled and, of course, by his gesticulation. Despite the odd display, no one paid him any mind; although, I am sure it would have been quite amusing, just watching his movements for a while and attempt to piece together reason for all of their extravagance. The way his eyes darted confidently yet inquisitively from one building to the next, the chime of ornaments in his hair clinking together with every exaggerated twist and bend, and the ever glinting smile of this man on a mission, a mission with the promise of rum, was a normal sight to all of the individuals on this side of town. Jack was back for a bit, but it was no call for alarm -- he would be off with another load of hearts by the morning.

We can only hope that Jack did indeed intend to walk into the Antique shoppe on the far reaches of town and not into the home of the lovely "pleasure women" next door for once he turned the doorknob he had little chance to turn back. The suck of the slight breeze whipping the stench of blood against his face like the hand of one of his less-than-pleased lovers, the threshold into that small, unimportant shop was the bloody Rubicon. The slight chill of the metal beneath his callus, sea-hardened hands; warm, moist air from the sea rushing around him, and the low moan of inevitability whispering through his gut. This was going to be a life-changing moment.

"'elp. Oh, merciful mother, save me. 'elp. Please 'elp." It wasn't exactly the type of greeting he had expected from a shop clerk. It, in fact, was a rather large reason for him to turn around and walk back out that heavy ebony door. Only the promise of money, lots of money, rum, lots of rum, and eternal life -- lots of life --- kept him moving. It was rather close call, though, and for a second he did indeed think that he wouldn't step, cautiously, over the silver threshold into the room. He closed the door, with naught but a whisper, behind himself, and gave the room a once-over.

A sigh ran through him as he examined the swine whining about on the floor. The heavy-set man squirmed about almost unnaturally trying to get Jack's attention and assistance. "'elp. Oh god, thank you. I 'urt, oh I 'urt." The only thing that moved at the man's exclamation was a dark brow on Jack's face. The clerk, normally a fierce man who kept all dealings around the antique's as fair as possible, in his favor of course, was holding his right hand to his chest. There was also a deep bruise and cut at about the man's temple. His cravat looked more like fire-coral than a piece of fine silk. It was covered in thick, warm blood -- some of it was beginning to brown it had been there so long. He really was a wreck. So much for being a fearsome shopkeeper; he looked rather about to cry.

"You 'ave something of mine." He began to go over the other artifacts completely ignoring the bleeding mass in favor of his own profit. There had to be something shiny in the entry way of an antique shop, right? The guard was down; Jack saw absolutely no harm in kicking him around a while. While waiting for the bled-out man on the floor to wrap his head around what he had just told him he examined a sugar bowl made of ivory and porcelain with gold detail. Gently lifting the lid he looked inside the top of the container and apparently found nothing of interest because moments later it was set back down and completely forgotten.

"It's g-g-g …It's go-go-" The man was very pale, probably from blood loss, and sweating everywhere; however, his trembling Jack liked to think was out of fear. He had worked up quite the reputation for himself again, especially in Tortuga, and was quite proud of what only his name could do to the right people in pain --- such as this bloke.

"Please." He gave an exasperated sigh as if talking to a child. It was quite a characteristic move for Jack. It was part of him to talk down to other people. "Please, do not tell me you sold it. I would be very, very," his playful voice reached a menacing tone. "very cross." As if to make his point Jack picked his pistol out of his belt and twirled it once or twice. He began at a leisurely oppressive pace to stalk towards the clerk.

The man, who had been twitching rather regularly, flew into seizures when the gun was pulled out. Hysterical would be the only way to describe his actions. Tears began to roll down the large man's cheeks, blood spurted around the room from the waiving of his bloody right hand. Jack almost put away his gun just to get him to just shut up. The pirate had never quite received such a reaction for an uncocked pistol. "Dress! Red dress. W-w-whore. Don't shoot me; don't kill me! The red d-d-dress. No! NO! I c-c-can't die like t-t-th-this, not like this…"

"MAN!" Jack had had enough. "Get a bloody 'old of yerself."

"RED DRESS!!" He shrieked madly without any sense or apparent reason.

Before Jack even knew what he was doing he had hurled the guy up into the air by his bloody cravat, his skin looked fake it was so bronze next to this man's paper white skin, and held him there. The other hand pressed the oily barrel of his pistol, metal against blood, to the wound on his temple. "Quiet!!" He stared, kohl-rimmed eyes piercing into the scared flesh he was supporting, until he was sure his demand would be obeyed. When he heard nothing but shivering breath, he continued. "Where is it?"

"S-she took'd it."

"The gel in the red dress?" Jack tried to follow the man, to learn what he needed to obtain the next piece of the puzzle. All he got was a nod in answer, but it was more than enough. "E'eryone in this town got a red dress, mate -- even the gents. Yeh be losin' more and more privilege to your life by the second -- I dislike wastes of my time. Tell me everythin' yeh know about 'er or you'll be the one makin' a sudden stop, savvy?" He growled out the last bit. After all, as a pirate threats were sort of part of the job description.

"When I entered the shop she was already 'ere, in the shadows. I don't know 'ow I could 'ave not noticed 'er in the back room; it is very, very s-s-small. She watched me get the items ready fer today, the important ones, and then spoke. It was a l-l-lovely voice, the one she 'ad, but it was surely the voice of the devil. Before I knew what was goin' on she 'ad pulled pistol on me, a little slip thing. I told 'er I wouldn't give her anythin'. I thought she was j-j-just blaggin', but -- then. -- then."

Jack hadn't paid any attention to the man's hand before. Sure, it was bloody, but he had just figured it scratched up a bit. Now, so closely placed to his own person it was unquestionably without digits. A nub, she had blown off all of his fingers. For a second he could do little more than eye it appreciatively. Most men who fancied themselves torturers lost the stomach for it once they could see bone -- a woman, a ruthless one, was responsible for this nub, though. He certainly hoped that he had not, in some past relationship, given her any reason to dislike him. Knowing his luck he decided he had probably killed the girls mother, father, and childhood pet.

"She did it one by o-o-one." Jack released him in an attempt to get the mangled hand away from his face. The wounded man fell to a heap on the floor. "'er dress was very beautiful, 'er brown hair done up fancy-like -- she look'd like royalty, a princess, -- a queen. The queen of pain." He edged away from Jack now free, attempting to escape from his second captor of the day. Jack let him go without another word.

Royalty. He would have no idea where to turn to if this wasn't Tortuga, but it was. This was his city and he knew every nook and cranny… every bar and every garter. He grabbed an old silk shirt off of the display next to him and used it to wipe the blood from his hands. Even without committing a crime he had still sullied himself. Funny ol' world, now isn't it? A slow smile churned up from the depths of all of his sadistic mirth. He had a heading thanks to one word of a delirious victim. The world was far more than funny, it was sadistic --- sadistic, but utterly glorious.

Halfway out of the door he poked his head back inside the shop settling a judgmental eye upon his informant. His expression was light, boyish, but it held a newly captured darkness; something he had only received after returning from inside the belly of the Kraken, after seeing it's dead, sightless eyes, after those defining moments that "make" a man into what he was always meant to be. "I better not 'ear anythin' of this, Griffin, from another mouth in this or any other town. Keep to yourself about this meeting with Captain Jack Sparrow or yeh mayn't survive another one, savvy?" It was gruff, but yet held the same flowery appeal as every word that Jack spoke. He was a master of making your think what you wanted to think.

Griffin thought that by the grace of the Father and Mother he had been given a second chance at life. When a few minutes had passed since after Captain Sparrow had left him alone the large man crawled up cradling his nub with his remaining hand and sped out of the back room. He needed a doctor and they were all the way at the docks. He prayed that his whole arm wouldn't become infected -- he prayed more in that day than he had in his entire life.

A/N: Comment and you will get more, that is the way I work. 3 3 comments a new chapter, only three. That's not much at all!!

Thanks to:
You don't but thanks anyway: I feel bad. Perhaps I was too obvious. ;; Oh wells, 3 you get a cookie for being so astute. Good Job! Also, I used the modern song not because I liked the artist or the actual song but because I thought the lyrics suited E'Louene rather beautifully. She has that "I use you." type of personality. I could have made something or used an old shanty, but I wanted it to be accessible to the audience. You will probably see more modern songs, too, just because that is the way I roll. I loved your uber-long review... make more!! 3
angelwingz21: Thanks! I guess I watch the movies too much and they just sort of wear off on me??
Day Dreamerz Rule: Heh, I'm glad you liked it and I have decided to continue it, although albeit a bit later than everyone probably expected it.

paineAPPLE