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… (heart) yay!

Author Notes: I have reached chapter 8, 10 reviews, and over 1000 hits! This a delightful time for me, which is great because RL had been an uber-bummer. This chapter was nearly named, FLASHBACKFLASHBACKFLASHBACK!! You guys are very lucky that I opted for a more mature name, because we all know I didn't want to. After all, I should have got all of the silliness out last chapter with my bloody "pickled beginnings." Okay guys! Well, I am getting very, very close to the 40k word mark! celebrations and that means goodness for everyone. I think that the plot might be running a little bit too slow right now and am contemplating speeding it up. So, more dialogue! and less me just letting literary dribble poor out of me! Also, I have a knew soundtrack I am listening to while I write so any changes to style are unintentional and most-likely because of that! ;; Elizabethtown, Vol. 2! Heckyeah! ... REVIEW!

Thank you new reviewer "HEYDEPPY" I too love an evil jack. Jack should be evil!! Pirates?! ARGGGH!

as always, I love you, "SHADOWCAT!" your dedication makes my world a happier place! I hope you enjoyed your Disney-goodness.

Pirate Quote! Are you the pirate that I have heard stories about, are not?

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

The bronze on the knocker of the largest house in the town square of Nassau Port hadn't gained a single fleck of rust in over five and a half years. It was truly amazing. Lou had to marvel at the beauty of the shiny, reflective surface that shone like the morning sun. She could see her own face, unsmiling, look back at herself. Her hair had been let down to hang loosely in waves and curls about her shoulders. A hat was placed on top of it to keep her eyes and face away from the prying onlookers. Morbid-minded murmurs such as "beggar" and "heathen" sang from the streets, telling her that she did not belong in this town. Who does she think she is? She had heard as she walked past some of the ton with their parasols and high-heeled shoes. Rosalie was behind her, staring at her own feet, and a lovely shade of red; embarrassment, she was simple enough to still have decency, that was surprising. Lou was really quite lucky her friend was on the shorter side, not as curvy as herself, and could pass as a boy… or all of this moving about would have been bloody impossible. They would have stopped every second, probably mistaken as some sort of whores. That was really the only reason girls would be by themselves these days. This town, since about ten years ago, had held a fear of loose females. That's what happens when you are noticed, when someone screws you over. Nassau, a caller behind her declared fresh potatoes and corn available, was where she had earned her alias, "Knives," and had told herself to never return.

Her reflection looked far better than she would have thought it did. Lou had lived in about two feet of space for almost a week, jumped into the ocean and clung to a boat as it carried her to shore, snuck off of said boat and hid amongst the underbelly of the pier until she and Blaze could creep out and around to a small, secluded area they could sundry for a while. It had been a rather fulfilling day already and they hadn't even started. They hadn't even started, and she had already killed seven people. It was rather maddening, actually, how simple it still was to end life in her own aid. Still, now she held two pieces, was at the door of another, but this one would not be as simple as the one she had just taken moments ago. No, the best was, as they say, yet to come. Her hand came up, blocked the mock of her painted out in yellows and browns, and knocked swiftly at the door several times.

KNOCK.

A slam of a door years and years in the past woke Lou. Her eyes had split open, rushing and churning inside of her head with a worried, wide-eye look, and immediately gone to the door. There her father stood. It was hard to see his face, the way the light was behind him, and he looked much more like a shadow than an actual man. Her mother had told her of shadow men that carried away gold and treasure and immortality from the cities around them, cities like these, but she hadn't ever believed in them. Shadows that could become tangible? That was a laughable idea, the whimsical mutterings of an superstitious Spanish female. Lou was only six and a half, but she knew better than to believe in ghost stories; they had an awful way of disappointing. There was no disappointing glitch in the figure before her. A sliver of fear creep up her spine. The way he stood, eyes like gems glinting in the dim light from the living area, she believed her mother's tales.

Tightly she closed her eyes and rolled over, prayed that she would be left alone by the man that looked only vaguely like her papa. Under her breath, in a saintly whisper, she prayed the lord's prayer like her mother had told her to always do if she became fearful because of the night. "Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre. Venga tu rei--" Rough hands began pulling back her covers. Inside she told herself not to fret that it was only her father. His hand were rough because he was a sailor, it hurt your hands, he had always said. Eyes still shut tightly and face pressed into the crease where her pillow stopped and her straw mattress began, Louene didn't want to be pulled from her safety.

"Louene, we must go." It was her father. She opened her eyes and sat up in bed, looking him over. There was still something off about him. He looked like he was cold, though a sweat was covering his forehead, and he looked very, very sad.

KNOCK.

The night had been warm and as they ran in and out of tall buildings she sweated. The nice dress she had only ever worn but twice was covering her. She didn't understand why they must go so quickly, why she couldn't tell her mother goodbye that night, and where they were going to… It was all very new to her. The stiffness of her dress around her ankles made her feel uncomfortable; she much preferred boys clothes. They were easier to run around in, and the boys didn't make fun of her as much when she looked like one of them. A smile etched on her face as she thought of completely throwing Roberto in the mud earlier. They had all laughed. Dancing in and out of the lamplight, the streets and alleys they darted down completely empty. It seemed impossible to believe that this town was the same as the one she lived in all of the time.

They stopped in front of a large building, a building made of black wood that caught the attention of everyone who walked by… the whole town was always so colorful, why was this one shop not? Louene had once asked her Papa what the shop was for, but had never gotten an answer from him. It was full of odd things she had never seen before, some of them beautifully glowing, others dark and pleasing to the eye. Odd clothing, jewelry, clocks, and bobbles, Lou found herself wanting to know the secrets of all of them. Immediately her mouth opened to question her father, ask him what this place and what these things were, but he had told her to be silent. So, she would remain perfectly quiet.

Her father had always been much harder on her than her mother had been. He never accepted an excuse, no matter how good or perfectly planned it was. One night, after her father had stormed out to go to the bar and drink away the sorrows of a married man's life, her mother had used the word 'insatiable' to describe him. She hadn't know what it meant then, but had asked her the next week, when she had forgotten about the utterance. When a man is given the world, all he needs, and turns away for it because it isn't good enough. Really, so that her was father? Something in the back of her mind told her that because she wasn't good enough he was like this. If she did everything he told her more perfectly he would be… able to completely accept us. Lou's childlike mind was too young to understand the only person that could change her father's outlook on the word was her father, and that there was nothing she could do to save herself or him.

The door opened, a very pale man opened the door. His frame was slight and he looked yellow and moldy, like an apple that had sat too long in the air cut in half. Louene looked nervously up at her father, but he wasn't looking back at her, there were no soft expressions for her. He was just looking at the man an angry look on his face. Without knowing what to do Lou did the same, her expression angry but a little confused, fixed upon the awkward-looking man in the door of the Antique shop. Her father took steady, slow steps forward his glance never once going to her; but she followed him, did as an obedient daughter would. Her father must have been afraid to face this man alone, she thought. He had needed someone by his side. Oh, how unfortunate it was to rationalize acts of recklessness and cruelty.

The words he uttered next, broke her heart. "This is my daughter. I will give you to her, and you will take her from this place. She will settle my debt with you." Her eyes turned wide and shocked. At that moment she knew why her mother had warned her of shadows that stole in the darkness. Her father was no longer her father; he was a tainted soul. This would send him to hell, abandoning her would send him to hell. The face of the man looked more wicked, an apostle of the devil she was sure, than she had ever seen in her entire life. Was there some way to stop all of this? Her dress ruffled in the warm, wet breeze of the ocean. She was only a little girl, only a girl, what could she do to the men twice her height and three times her weight. Completely vulnerable, it was hell to feel vulnerable.

"P- Papa?" Lou had never stuttered before in her life. He was not moved, did not answer, and she was taken away from the first and only home she had ever known. By shadow men. Her life had been stolen by men who were shadows; treasure and immortality had been taken and hidden, and she had been wont to find it since.

KNOCK.

"Girl! Girl, where is my whiskey. Where have you hidden it, ye bloody tramp?! WHORE WHERE ARE YOU! WHERE HAVE YOU. I WILL FIND YOU." The old man, god he was so old hair was coming out of his nose but no where else, stumbled around drunkenly and tried to reach her. His son had gone out for the evening, so she wasn't going to just sit there and allow him to get so drunk he passed out and pissed himself again. Who had to clean all of that stuff up? Lou wrinkled her nose at the very thought of it, but did not come out of her hiding place. The whiskey bottle was inside of a dollhouse he had given her as a present. "I will find ye, ye bloody strumpet." All of his presents were tainted though. An old perverted man who used her as a slave wasn't really showing her affection with such things, no… he was trying to keep her quiet. Her clothes were very fancy, jewels were all over her porcelain dolls, but she had never desired such things. All of her requests to go out and play and to have boys play clothes were laughed at… he had always been a cruel fool.

When she had arrived her years ago it was because this man, her 'daddy' had lost his real daughter to a bout of yellow fever. The plague had spread over the entire island where he had lived and the merchant hadn't been able to leave until the epidemic had already done it's damage on his family. His wife's most precious thing, her daughter, had passed away, and she had lost her mind to madness due to the pain inside. Not even the life of her son mattered to her. It was really by chance that Lou's father had been given no other choice at that moment by the sirs company in Tortuga. Rivera had pleaded for anyway to settle his debt, to save his own life. Somehow she had gotten thrown into the mix and had been bartered away. Of course, his wife hadn't lived more than a year after she had arrived, but for some reason, she hadn't been discarded.

Maybe even he believed that she was Angelina now, but Louene remembered her own name, the name her mother had given her. Louene Rivera. One day, she was determined, people like this, people who lived in such debauchery would pay. "WHERE IS MY WHISKE--!" Although she had covered her ears to not be able to hear him, she still did. Her eyes were closed so tightly that she could see little dots through the black. Her breath came in shallow gasps, afraid to breath to deeply to be discovered and punished. She heard his wild scream and the fire of a pistol that had cut him off mid-drunken rage.

BOOM! Another shot was fired. One of her eyes cracked open. There was a thin stream of light coming through a crack in the door jam. She had cut out he tiny sliver of wood herself with a butcher knife she had stolen from the kitchen while the cooks and maids weren't looking. It had been a grand adventure. The first grand adventure of the only female pirate captain to ever sail the seas, Captain Louene Rivera. It was her only wish, to sail the sea as her father had, and to ruin people like those that she lived with. Then when she had enough money to buy everything her mother ever wanted, then she would return and be the best daughter she could ever be. Pressing her eye up to the peephole and forcing her breath to a decibel so low she barely felt the oxygen, Lou allowed curiosity to get the best of her.

She hadn't wanted to see this… not this kind of bloodshed. Every fiber of sense she had told her to be quiet, but she screamed. Shrieked. As loud as she could. Her captor's blood was all over the floor. His head was on the other side of the room, separated from his body, and she was screaming like the little girl she was. The door to her closet was thrown open a moment later. A hatchet was in her face. She would feel the blood fall off of the end and splatter on her arm. "Cap'n! I found a girl, what'cha want I should do wiff her?" An old man with a snow white hair that dripped down his back in a long, tight braid appeared before her, pulling the other man out of the way. He looked at her hard, thinking it over.

It seemed like he had a plan, there was a gleam in his cloudy, film-covered eyes. He knew something that she did not, he saw with eyes unseeing. "You are 'is child, then?" There was a choice to make, play the noble and hope she was left alone… or, or she could play the savage and attempt to win their sympathies and thus her own. This was her moment to change her own destiny, this was opportunity to stand and fight for what she believed.

Shaky legs forced her up, to stand in front of the man. He was a pirate, every bone in her gut echoed that he was to be feared. The despite the fact that he looked like a harmless old man, he could take her at any moment and force her head from her neck. Brake her in two, like a reed in shallows. "I- I am not of 'is blood, sir. My father gave me to 'im to settle 'is debts. I 'ate these people; they 'ave used me, Sir, and I but meant to be free. To sail as my father before me did, and I will make all of these fools pay for their cruelty and debauchery." A few men behind Ghost Conurei just laughed at her. This little girl, not over twelve, was telling them of how she would make these people, beyond even their touch, pay for their wrongs. It was surely laughable. They almost felt bad for the girl, because Ghost was surely about to kill her, end her like the old man. It was easier when no one saw. They could float in, steal what they needed from the citizens, and then retreat to where their home was, out on the sea.

The laughter didn't make Lou fear though, her eyes were still fixed on the Captain before her. He was all that mattered; he was who controlled her life like the swing of a cabin door. "Ye sound quite like a pirate, gel, for one so young and so frilly." His knees bent and in a smooth, graceful motion he dipped into a squat, taking a closer look at her, obviously. She took strong steps, despite her palpable fear of this man before her, and accepted his outstretched hand. He smiled cheekily at her, and his voice dropped down to a low volume. "Do ye know 'ow to cook, gel?" In his eyes as a promise of something more, something she could not like to…

"Yes, my mama taught me." He nodded and lifted back up, standing with a strict power in his shoulders. All of the men quieted.

"She be comin' with us, gents. We been needin' a new kitchen hand. And, just so ye know it, if a sliver of 'arm befall he I will be more'an enough to slit the entire crew's puny throats." There was fire in his eyes. She could feel it burning, scorching her face. No man had ever cared enough for her, not like this; is that what a father was supposed to be? Father. This was her new father. Edmunde Conurei. Feared and glorious, she was determined to become just like him one day.

KNOCK!KNOCK.

Somehow she found herself in front of this beautiful brass knocker again. Rosalie behind her, eyes waiting for some explanation to why her eyes had glazed over. To why her knocks had been so furious, but there was no answer for the girl. The door pulled in, without so much of a creek, falling back on itself and instead of the door came a footman. He was tall, one of those fancy wigs on his head. So, they were still pretending to belong to the ton. Lou paid no mind to the way he looked at her, like she was below to the family of urchin that lived beneath one's shoes or between people's toes. "I believe you have the wrong hou-" His voice, deep and haughty, was more than enough to get her riled up. Lou's glare hadn't silenced him though. It had been her hand, reaching out and snapping her joints around his clean, white cravat. Everything on her body, she herself, was more dirty than that single, white piece of cloth.

Lou smiled at him wickedly and said the words that she had been dying for someone to understand for years. "By Those. Who Bleach. The Bones. Of their Brothers." Every word was a bite, a chunk she was ripping from her to make her spirit clean. It was therapeutics, and she felt alive… Alive and very, very wanton. "And return those animals to their wives." She forced by the wide-eyed footman. He didn't want to believe that her kind still existed. No, she was supposed to be a relic, to be dead. It had been five years since he had ever seen these dangerous people. He stuttered 'L' unable to actually say her name, while Lou helped Rosalie over the threshold.

"Where is he?" She ordered, demanded he answer her with the mere tone of her voice, but he seemed unable. His face was white; his lips moving without sound, while he clung desperately to the banister no where else to run from her. It only took a few moments with her sea-colored eyes glaring at him for the boy to crack; he pointed, babbling senselessly, towards to large double-doors made of a fine chestnut-colored wood. Hidden behind the grandest of doors. Lou's boots clipped on the hardwood floor moving towards the study of this manor. A house she had once lived in, dozens of years ago, for a summer or two.

A carefree smile graced her lips, making Rosalie feel incredibly uncomfortable. When Lou smiled it generally meant that things were about to get violent, blood-showing violence. Although Blaze had never before fancied herself a naïve person, this harshness, roughness wasn't supposed to be in the world, directly in front of her eyes. The way Lou stalked down the hallway was rather like the way she imagined a wild cat. It wasn't very large, no it was small compared to most animals that could inflict great harm, and it looked very slim and sleek and beautiful. The way Lou's body flowed from one limb to her torso to the other was the very example of bronzed, natural perfection, but still she looked like nothing very fearsome. However, when she was stalking down her prey, moving so fluidly she must have been blessed by Poseidon himself, a sliver of fear would crawl up your spine and you would wonder at your own reaction to her. A wild cat, untamable, Lou was here to slice down one more foe with lightning claws.

They reached the doors; Lou spread her fingers and stretched towards the knob, but it flung out. She stumbled a few steps backwards. Everything seemed to slow down for a while.

A man was standing before Lou, and Rosalie who was half-hidden behind her. This man's hair was white and done in a long braid down his back. It must have been a meter and a half in length at least. Angry, his expression was very angry. Eyes like his, the brightest blue ever imagined, so blue it looked almost white, weren't meant for anger, but he held more of it than Rosalie had ever seen in her entire life. The only thing that took away from the man's fair, gentlemanly appeal was the long scar running from the middle of his forehead, over his right eye, and to the base of his cheek. This was just all too much, again. Rosalie felt herself drop into the hollow of shock. Lou didn't look surprised at all, though. Not even at the pistol held in her face; not at the way that he moved closer to her, brining the gun just out of her reach, but pointed straight at her heart; and not at the long, deep, dreadfully foreboding chuckle that left him as he eyed the once-again pirate.

"So, you've finally decided you're finished playing barmaid, Lou's." Snake-eye. Rosalie let all of the air in her rush out. It was so hard to take experiencing legends. This man. He had been the one who ruined the greatest, and only famous really, female pirate who would even live; this man had stolen her friend's fortune; this man had stolen her crew. Why had Louene brought her here? Rosalie just couldn't understand anything that the woman did, all of her choices looked, at first, like they were made by someone who was bloody daft. Rosalie shot Lou a confused look, but her eyes were on the man in front of her. Fear took root in the dancer's belly, this was the very first time she had ever seen Louene look unraveled.

She was unraveled. Jason Conurei shouldn't have known where she was. Suddenly she felt unsure of the playing ground. Normally, -- well, always, she was the one in control, calling the shots. Why hadn't he come? Why was she still alive and safe and here to threaten his life. A big man came and grabbed her from behind, but she didn't resist. "If you knew, then why didn't you come kill me like ye did me crew?" Her voice was quiet; her eyes were asking from answers, asking permission to continue living. Louene Rivera wasn't supposed to ask permission; She was supposed to bring pain whenever possible. Her knives lay dormant, her hand's didn't even go for them as she began to be pulled away. One of his men must have seen the happenings at the dock, sent word while she was on the Pearl. They tried to pull her out of the room, but Lou shrugged out of his grip, anger setting fire to action. The flames and pains licked at the wounds long kept open inside of her. The man went to grab her arm again, but she took a step closer to the gun in her face. "Answer. Give me a bloody answer, Jason." Lou's breathing was hard and shallow, her eyes were fixed and refusing to blink; she looked like a goddess, here to smite the wicked.

Jason "Snake-Eye" Conurei smiled, but the gun didn't move an inch, it was still pointed at her heart. He was a smart man; after all, Rosalie had seen what she had done in the kitchen to that man in a matter of seconds. It was definitely a stupid thing to lower your guard around Lou. She held no warmth or regard for fair-play when it came to death. "Where is the fun of a making a dead person eat a dead heart, luv? I need you alive, full and well, to appreciate your death. I knew you'd come." A flash of insanity ran through his eyes. It was a glimmer of all things ill and disgusting. The entire room felt the hair on the back of their necks stand at attention.

The bodyguard appeared behind Lou again. He grabbed her arm, just above the elbow, and began dragging her off. She never let her eyes turn away from Jason. There was a distrust, an edge, and something more. Rosalie wondered why? Why had the Ghost's crew turned on themselves when they could have taken any other ship they wanted? That, however, was a question far too personal to ask either of these two people, so Rosalie kept it to herself.

Another man, not quite a buff though, went for Rosalie. He tried to begin to pull her away, but she wasn't going to be lead, like Lou, to the slaughter. She'd be damned if she died here and now for her friend's past transgressions. "Parlay!" The guy holding her looked at her like she had just grown a pair of extra ears. It was one of those, I-was-not-expecting-that looks. Although, his quite hilarious look was lost on Rosalie, because her eyes were on Snake-Eye. He was sort of like a Captain, right? Her father had always told her that if she had ever fallen ill to pirates (he had always had a huge fear of that) to say parlay and do her best to appeal to the Captain of the ship.

Conurei rolled his eyes at the request, after all, the girl could have just left the code out of it and been heard. She was only a few feet away from him anyway. "Very well, gel, ye've invoked the rite of parlay, so ye may speak." Rosalie freed her arm from the lax grip of her captor and neared the Captain. He had dropped the gun now that Lou had left the room.

"Thank ye kindly. E'Louene," Conurei smiled in a mocking way, obviously pleased to hear her fake name. "took me from Tortuga as a human shield. I be no use to yeh and ye be no use to me, so why don't yeh just let me walk out the door. I'll be out of yer hair, and you would loose naught that holds value." She finished with a very polite smile. Appealing to the Captain, she had no idea what her father exactly meant, but figured it had to be something about like this. He dressed a gentleman, so perhaps he really was… would let her free just out of the good of his heart.

"Nice try." Apparently, there was no goodness in his heart. "Now, what is the real reason that Lou has brought a dancer with her on such an escapade." A terrible feeling of déjà vu raged inside of Rosalie. He stepped closer and for a second his face flickered out, Jack was in Jason Conurei's place, and he was about to carve out flesh from her collarbone.

Lou was pulled to the attic of the nice, Italian-styled home. No one, from the outside, would ever expect the white building with fine black-timber accents would ever be home to such a chamber. Here the walls weren't exposed, brick and mud piled several layers thick to keep all light and sound out… and in. It was for torture, for interrogation, and for death; the warm air made the smell of blood unbearable, and the flies in the room swarmed around the few candles in the room. She let her eyes take in the entire room. Two cages, both had one form in each, two more guards other than the one holding her; dim light, multiple weapons on the side of the walls. Yes, this was a room meant for pain and for words spoken through metallic tastes and last breaths; however, this type of room was nothing new for her. Actually, she was quite surprised not to find rotting corpses or huge amounts of short, creepy men that laugh funny. Those generally ran rampant in this type of scenery.

One of the guards stood up and was barely over four foot six. He fixed an excited, bug-eyed stare on Lou, and she hated every fiber of herself for allowing her thoughts to jinx her. With everything but a skip in his step he walked towards her, his grubby little hands tugging at the bottom of his very, very bloodstained tunic. Lou almost grimaced at the look of him, but instead just remained in the more typical stone-faced expression waiting for him to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do to her. The glinting of the candlelight off of the cat-of-nine-tales behind him reminded her just how much control she didn't have over what was about to happen. She could have fought, downstairs, pulled out a knife, killed maybe one of the guards, before getting shot down by the entire island's best sharpshooter. It would have been a gamble, and it was possible that Lou could have one, but she didn't like those kind of odds. No, she liked odds when she knew she would win. Those were the best kind, in her opinion. "Her weapons have been removed?" A high-pitched, wheezy voice that echoed more than it should have rang through the air. Lou very possibly could have winced that time.

All the guard did was nod, thrust her toward the obvious leader, turn and leave. She really, really wished she could follow him but, unfortunately, that wasn't going to be allowed quite that easily. He grabbed her wrist, and she wanted very much to cut his slimy hand off. Moments later a cell was unlocked, the cell on the right side, farthest from the door, and she was quite literally thrown into it. Lou had gotten thrown quite too much today. She was about to kill whoever did it next time with a bloody… pebble or something. A part of her found that idea incredibly funny and another part told her she was losing her mind because she was so close to him. He infected her, made her lose her edge; he was sort of like the personification of weakness for her. It wasn't really fair that he was also her only real enemy either. Well, she did have a few others, but they posed absolutely no threat Jason definitely did.

Stumbling into the cell wouldn't have normally been a problem. Pirates, all sailors for that fact, have this impeccable ability to right themselves after any stumble, due to far too much practice on ships; however, more happened in that instant she was thrown inside of the cell. Her head suddenly light from emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion (She hadn't slept on the Pearl due to paranoia of being discovered), decided to swim in the sea of her thoughts. She could feel her consciousness just slipping away. This place was safe for a while. This empty cell would be her home. A part of her knew she was falling, tried to grab onto something near and save herself a head injury, but there was nothing but air. Her hands waved, fingers tense with need, to find anything around her, trying to stop her own inevitable collapse, but found nothing. Nothing. Blackness reigned and she felt herself fade.

She could smell the sea, breath it in with every deep inhale she took. It's waves were soft and all around her. Her face was warm, the wind -- like breath -- bathing over her features and filling her with even more of the briny. There was more than salt and water though, there was also the taste of rum, it was almost in her mouth. She could smell it. Warm, safety, the ocean all around her. A part of her realized that she must have died. Lou tried to remember how she could have died, ended up in such bliss. Her arms wrapped tighter around the substance of the water, held it to herself, and prayed that this time would never leave. How long had it been since she had allowed herself to relax? A noise, a murmur of waves deep in the back of her mind, made her forget. She focused just on that moment, held all of the wonderful feelings that moment had to offer and just lived. It was a beautiful thing to not think, to just fall off the face of the earth.

"Lou Rivera."

The voice was deep, scratchy almost as if it hadn't been used in a long time. She tried to remember the word that they used to describe a voice like that. It reminded her of the black seas and fine silk; of prized tobacco and aged rum; it reminded her of someone she couldn't remember, but she couldn't forget. A soft sigh left her lips, she sucked in more of the sea. "Lou." The voice became insistent. Husky…. The husky voice became insistent. She felt bad to deny him her full attention, but she couldn't see him. All there was -- white and black -- she could perceive, but Lou couldn't determine where he was coming from. "… Lou!" Her eyes shot open, and it took her a many moments to see and many more to understand what she was seeing. His eyes were black, staring down into her own. She had her torso tossed across his own in the small cell, her arms were about him, and she seemed to know who this man was. The silly dual-braided-beard, the way his crooked smile showed off at least four gold teeth, and the kohl ink about his eyes.

Lou knew whose torso she was so casually wrapped around. He was her tormentor, of sorts; he was the reason all of this had gone so completely, gloriously wrong. Perhaps he wasn't the only reason, but he was definitely a contributing factor. "Although, I can't say I didn't enjoy ye droppin' in, luv. Would ye mind situating' a touch bit more uniformly, I think my leg has fallin' ill to your affects." The way he was grinning made her feel rather like a piece of meat, or like a sheep about to go into the slaughter house. Lou immediately decided that she hated this man, this Jack Sparrow, with every fiber of her being. He was a no good, an utterly deplorable pirate, and would hopefully never leave these cells alive.

A/N: Remeber!! REVIEW! and something else to remember. REVIEW!!! and a third thing! I am looking for a new beta. Thanks for reading guys!

Thanks: This will start to be personalized, due to the fact that ... it's a rule. CHECK YOUR PM BOX, TOO!

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