Soaring Scarlet: Chapter Two

Captain Jack Sparrow felt a moment of elation, of pure triumph in the wake of his true title being spoken. Long overdue triumph, if anyone bothered to ask him (which no one ever did ask him, come to think of it). Finally, someone had gotten his title right. He was a bloody captain, dammit, and deserved to be called such, instead of 'Mister Sparrow', or 'Jack Sparrow', or even the too-familiar 'Jack'. It was simple respect for his accomplishments, that was all, and he felt he deserved it.

"At your service, love." He said cordially with a broad, happy grin, one hand already reaching for his hat out of politeness, to give a sweeping bow. However, he was left fruitlessly patting a hat-less head.

"Where the bloody hell is me hat?" He roared, a far cry from the soft voice in which he'd been tormenting the girl with. The poor girl across the room jumped and looked as if she would fly right out of her knickers… although come to think of it, that might be okay… Never mind. There wasn't time. His hat was missing after all. His was a drunken rage, but not too drunk. It hadn't been the rum that had knocked him out; it had been the huge fist coming down on the back of his head like a hammer to an anvil. Now that he thought of it, he was going to have one hell one headache once the rum was out of his system.

"D'you have it?" Jack demanded wondering if she had taken it from him when she'd somehow managed to flop him down on the small bed, and when she shook her head timidly, he began pacing. "You have any idea what that hat means to me, lass?" Jack paused for a moment of thought and reflection. "Not as much as me ship, mind you, but still. A hell of a lot. Now...where did I leave it?" By now Jack was talking solely to himself, practically ignoring the girl. He tended to do that a lot, and he wasn't sure why. He really should pay more attention to his surroundings.

The girl now straightened up, still pressed against the far wall. "Perhaps you left it in the tavern?" She suggested quietly, motioning slightly in the direction of the door with one hand, sort of in a shooing motion that Jack found oddly endearing. Poor girl.

Jack stopped his drunken pacing, and looked at her warily. She was watching him with a look in her eyes he couldn't quite decipher, even though he was usually exceedingly good at reading people. Her dark chestnut hair was about her shoulders, a strand or two falling into her face, shading her dark gray eyes and Jack noticed that she was really quite pretty. Very pretty, actually. What a man could do with lips like those… Then he gave his head a shake, to dislodge the thought, but as it happened, it ended up coursing through his entire intoxicated body, turning into a full-blown shudder. He'd do well to leave as soon as possible, and forget her forever and ever and ever. He didn't want this to turn into another she-was-so-pretty-that-I-just-couldn't-help-myself fiasco that had gotten him into trouble with women (more poignantly, the women's men) before.

"Mayhap." Jack mused, settling himself down comfortably on the small bed he had risen from a few minutes previous, and tucked one leg under the other. He reached out and fiddled with a loose thread from the now-folded, thin blanket she had laid over him to offer some semblance of warmth; a vaguely caring, motherly gesture that Jack didn't care to speculate about at the moment. "That presents a problem, doesn't it love?" He looked up at her.

"Stop calling me that." She told him with a slightly defiant scowl. She moved to the small table across the relatively unfurnished room from the bed, and used an all ready burning candle to light a previously extinguished one. She placed on the candle on the dirty window ledge that framed an equally dirty window.

"What should I call you then?" Jack asked promptly, with a bit of a silly grin on his face. He wasn't sure what it was about the term 'love' that got women so riled up. Too familiar, maybe. He didn't know, but he thought it was bloody hilarious.

"Lena." She answered after a long moment, looking down at her hands. He grinned again, more in agreement than amusement, showing his teeth.

"Lena, Lena." He said, getting used to the feel of it in his mouth. An interesting name, not one that he had ever heard before. "Wait a second." A thought struck him as he said this, and he wondered why it had even taken him those few seconds to realize it. The girl was lying to him. Just to shake her up again, as he was finding that he so loved to do (she was like a little bird, nervous and flighty), one of his hands shot out and he yanked her down onto the bed across from him. "Your name's not Lena." He told her; a statement, rather than a question. "You almost snockered me into that one, darlin'." He leaned back against the wall again, feeling quite pleased with himself.

The girl claiming to be 'Lena' shot him a sickly sweet smile of sheer annoyance. "Almost." She agreed in a snotty tone of voice. Then she sighed. "My name's Bretta."

"Bretta." Jack said, mimicking his earlier repetition of her name, knowing that she wasn't lying this time. "S'that short for anything, love?"

"No," She answered curtly. "Just Bretta. And stop calling me that."

Jack's tanned hand was still wrapped around her relatively light lower arm, and when he noticed her distinct discomfort, he immediately let her go. He always tried to be aware of what made other people uncomfortable. Usually so he could exploit it, of course, but this girl had done nothing to warrant that just yet, so he would rather her be comfortable. She sort of scrunched herself to one side of the bed more than he thought would be possible, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh. Instead of laughing however, he (graciously, he thought) moved to a different subject.

"So Bretta, where exactly are we?" Jack asked, not only as a topic shift, but also as a positive step towards getting his hat back. He would have to backtrack to the tavern. It wasn't as if he could leave without his hat. That would practically be blasphemy!

"In relativity to the tavern, I presume?" Bretta asked, watching him with a careful look in her eyes, that of a trapped and defeated animal that knows the possibility of escape could not be too far off. "A couple of streets to the north."

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, as he gave a bit of drunken thought to her statement. "How'd you know where I wanted t'go?" He asked, eyeing her suspiciously, the paranoia brought about by his affinity to drink, and his notoriously bad short-term memory for things that he didn't necessarily deem important.

The girl shrugged and smiled a little at his confusion. "Well, you wanted to get your hat back, and that's probably where it is."

"All right then, let's go!" Jack said, grinning back at her shy smile that seemed something like an offering of amiability, jumping up with a bit of a bounce. The explanation was easily accepted. He wasn't really that suspicious of her intentions in the first place; she didn't seem like the suspicious type.

Bretta again got that cautious look in her eyes, so different from the smile she'd given him mere moments before, and part of him regretting saying anything at all. "Go where?" She asked slowly.

"The tavern of course!" Jack told her enthusiastically, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet. She came reluctantly, but she stood nonetheless.

"Why do I have to go?" She asked, sounding somewhat like a petulant child, as Jack blew out the candles, casting them into relative darkness. The only light in the small room was the moonlight shining through the filthy windowpanes. The things he could do to her in the dark… He discarded the thought again, as unimportant and more of a hindrance than anything that could be reality. Something about this girl made him think that she was not to be trifled with in that sense.

"Because love," Jack explained patiently, pulling the door open and shoving Bretta out the doorway with a hand at the small of her back. "The tavernkeeper didn't like me playin' footsies with his lass at all, so you'll have t'go in and get my hat for me, savvy?"

"Oh, oh, I don't...I don't think that's a good idea." Bretta told him sounding flustered and suddenly anxious, trying to backtrack towards the doorway and the relative safety of her tiny room.

Jack wondered why women always proved to be stubborn about little things like that; taking a walk, as it were. But instead of starting an argument with her, he let his eyes narrow and turn as cold and hard as stone, as he had learned was useful over the years. "Oh I think you are, love. I think you'll do exactly as I tell you."

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Bretta barely stifled a heartfelt curse when Jack rested one strong, tanned hand on his pistol. He had no idea what he was doing. "I can't. You don't understand. I can't go in there. The tavern keeper will kill me." He gave her a look that told her to stop stalling, so she nodded, completely exasperated with the man. How obnoxious he was, with his pirate dialect, and his stupid manly weapons.

Jack stepped from the building, accepting her defeat graciously and without any undue fuss, and closed the door behind himself in an oddly thoughtful gesture. They walked without talking for a few minutes, the only sounds in the otherwise silent streets the muffled thuds of Jack's boots against the rough stone and the occasional soft rasp of cloth against cloth.

Bretta noticed Jack giving her sideways glances every now and then, but she steadfastedly ignored him. Just because he was absolutely infuriating didn't mean that she had to pay any attention to him. He stayed silent for a few minutes more before blurting out "Aren't you wearin' any shoes?"

Bretta looked up with surprise at the question. "No. Why?" She'd never worn shoes, even as a child. At first, her mother had been too poor to buy any shoes for her small, but growing daughter, and then as Bretta got older, she had simply gotten used to walking over the roughest surfaces without shoes. Callouses had built up and when she finally bought a pair of shoes, she found that she lost all sensitivity to the ground below her. With shoes, she often became unbalanced, even dizzy. So, no shoes.

"Don't your feet get cold, love? I mean, Bretta." He asked, his eyebrows knitting together in a perplexed manner.

Bretta smiled, amused at his apparently concerned question, and the way he'd tried to remember to call her Bretta, not 'love'. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow sounding worried about her feet getting cold. That thought was good for a laugh or two. "No. I don't need them. I never have. I need to feel the earth beneath my feet."

"Huh." Jack said, dropping the subject as suddenly as he had brought it up as they stopped in front of the tavern. He surveyed the building with a look of distaste upon his face, his upper lip curling slightly, as if he were looking at something truly disgusting. "Okay love, this'll be nice 'n simple if you do what I tell you."

"Right." she said in a slightly sarcastic tone, crossing her arms over her breasts, and watched him expectantly. Maybe he would actually come up with a plan that wouldn't get her killed… but probably not. She didn't think it sensible to hold out much hope.

Jack looked at her with an unusual expression, then began outlining his plan, demonstrating with his ever-moving hands. "Ah-right, here's how it goes. You and I waltz in like a couple of happy little bluebirds, tweetin' and the whole bit. I expect them to be eating cookies, and they'll ask us what we want. You sing (in opera, of course) 'Captain Sparrow's hat.' They quiver in fear at the fearsome sound of me name, and your stunning vocal talents, as we do a quick polka, as a final blow. They'll give us me hat, we take the cookies (for proper nourishment, obviously), and find a back door, still on with the tweetin' and chirpin', only this time like canaries." Jack paused for a moment to take a breath. "Close your mouth, love, you'll swallow a bug."

Bretta snapped her mouth shut, not having realized that it was open. Was he insane? Was he even serious, at all? "So...so that's your plan, is it?" Bretta asked, completely nonplussed. She'd saddled herself with a lunatic.

Jack winked jauntily at her and grinned, his gold teeth glinting in the moonlight. "No, of course not. I'm not crazy. I don't know how t'waltz."

Bretta could do nothing but roll her eyes at him in absolute disbelief, and he laughed at her, a low rich sound. Suddenly, Bretta was aware that she had goosebumps all up her arms, but not because it was cold. Something about him…

"C'mon, love." He said with laughter still filling his voice, shaking her from her reverie. "I'm not certifiably insane, if that's what you're wonderin'. I do have a plan. You go in, get me hat, come back out, and give it to me. Then I'll take you home and disappear, leaving you to your ordinary everyday activities, savvy?"

"No!" Bretta exploded, a long way from how amiable she had felt only moments before. "I'm not going in there! Your hat be damned! I am not going to die over some stupid hat."

Jack exhaled in an exaggerated sigh of impatience laced with a heavy sprinkling of amusement. Then with no further ado, he pulled out his pistol and aimed it right between her eyes, cocking it with an audible 'click'. "Please, love? It's really not a big deal. I don't really feel like shootin' you over this, and if you just go in there, you ain't going t'die. I honestly need my hat before I go."

"Ugh." Bretta groaned. She turned and looked at the building with a sense of trepidation. "You bastard. I hope that when I'm dead, you'll feel a smidgen of regret." She shot over her shoulder at him as she marched up to the tavern door. Opening it, she slipped inside, quiet as a mouse. Maybe she would be able to blend in with the crowd and retrieve Jack's hat without making a scene. But then again… maybe not.

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Jack watched her disappear into the tavern, the very picture of despondency. He would have to think about that some. Why, oh why was it such a big deal to go into a bar and ask for a hat? Who would kill her for picking up a lost item? He didn't know, but as soon as Bretta got back with his hat, he intended to find out. The pirate waited patiently for the girl to reappear, counting the drops of water falling from the shingled roof. When he had reached two hundred and forty drops, he heard the beginnings of a scream that was abruptly cut off.

"Bretta?" He muttered in the vague confusion of the somewhat drunk, and made his way into the building to investigate. Pushing the solid wooden door open to the smoky interior, Jack pulled his pistol out again, just in case, of course. It never hurt to be prepared for the worst. He stepped inside, and the scene before him made his instincts go haywire. He suddenly didn't feel drunk anymore. "Bugger."

"Let her go mate, and we'll all be better for it." Jack said gravely, raising the pistol to sight it. He was far more alert than he had been all evening, the danger to the girl who had saved his life evident. The bartender, who had previously thrown Jack into the street, had Bretta in the air, one brawny hand wrapped about her slender throat. Her feet were kicking feebly by now, and her hands were clutching without avail at the man's, trying to free herself. Her face was that horrible shade of purple that Jack had seen on more than one occasion, although this time it was particularly disturbing.

The man glanced over to see the barrel of the pistol pointed at him, and promptly dropped Bretta. She fell, just barely gasping, to the floor, her legs crumpling under her. She laid quite still then, and Jack cursed himself that he hadn't just gone in with her. What was wrong with these people? This was supposed to be a friendly little port to have a drink in… and now this!

"Mate, th'girl was just in here to get my hat for me. You didn't have t'take such drastic measures. It's just a hat." Jack said, the hand with the pistol in it steady as a proverbial rock; the other hand gesturing wildly as was his custom. The man stared back at him in sullen silence, as if Jack had broken his favourite toy. "Now fetch me hat for me, like a well-behaved lad." Jack figured he might as well toss a little humiliation in there for good measure, after having been thrown from the tavern in such a discomfiting manner.

The bartender reached across and under the counter and grabbed Jack's hat. He tossed it, and Jack caught it with his free hand, plopping it on his head, almost sighing audibly with the relief of having the familiar weight on his head again. He had to remind himself to remember the girl, almost having forgotten her. He owed her this much at least. Jack made his way carefully over to where she lay motionless, and checked to see if she was still alive. He picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder, just about like a sack of potatoes. He clamped one arm about her legs, just above the knee. If she had been awake, he knew she would have had a screaming fit over the whole ordeal. Jack let a wicked grin come over his features… she wasn't awake, of course…

Enough wasting time, though. Jack touched his hat with the tip of his pistol with a wink. "Good day, kind sir. I imagine the redcoats are on their way by now, so I'll just be scampering off." For Jack had indeed noticed the bartender's wife leaving out the back, presumably running to get the night watchmen. With that last statement, Jack turned and shot out of the building into the street like an arrow from a bow. Turning left, he caught sight of four of the port town's finest coming that way, so he wheeled around in a wide arc, the girl almost slipping from his shoulder, and dashed off down the darkened street. "Fast little buggers." He muttered to himself.

"Hey!" One man yelled from behind him, obviously out of breath. "Jack Sparrow! Stop on pain of death!"

"Captain!" Jack corrected the man at the top of his lungs as he ran wildly. "Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack turned into an alleyway, and, weaving through the streets of the port town, he finally lost his pursuers. He headed towards the docks, shifting Bretta's weight on his shoulder. As the Black Pearl came into view, he grinned to himself. He'd had a nice visit; he'd have to come back again sometime.

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews (as those of you who have reviewed already know, I have been replying to them as they come). I hope this chapter is as well-liked as the first.

-Abby-