Title: Fit for a King
Rating: R (suggestive situations)
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett and their guests
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him
Summary: The voyage to Tortuga proves to be rather stormy for Jack and Pierre, while Scarlett and Thomas weather another type of storm on the Griselle.
Fit for a King
On the sixth day out of New Providence the parley was breached. And then, just as quickly, unbreeched. Having exhausted all avenues of attack, Pierre Bouspeut decided to cut to the quick.
Snip snip.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"
Jack took several strides to where Pierre sat under the stern windows and ripped the fabric from his hands – literally. The rending sound brought another string of oaths from the already irate pirate.
"What the bloody buggering hell am I suppose to wear now?" Jack's eyes bugged out as he held up the remains of a pair of breeches – his breeches. Or what was left of them.
Pierre only shrugged. "It seemed the best way to tear them away from you, oui?"
Jack was livid. "By tearing them up??" He held up the shredded garment in dismay. "If you wanted me out of me breeches, couldn't you have just asked like a normal person?"
With only his shirt remaining, Jack kept a tight hold on what was left of his breeks as he stomped across the cabin and rummaged through a side locker. He needed some rum… quick.
"I am afraid, mon cher capitaine," the singsong voice of Pierre came drifting across the room, "that the rum you search for so…so désespérément, it is not there."
Jack whirled in alarm. "Why's the rum gone?" he roared.
A knock on the door answered Jack's question.
"Where'd ya want us t' put 'em, Cap'n?"
"We fetched the lot of 'em fer you, just like you asked…even the ones with the pretty pictures on 'em."
Jack stared in astonishment at the two crewmen. The homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye stood at the doorway, their arms laden with bottles of wine.
When did they come aboard?
"Ah! Merci beaucoup!" Pierre clapped his hands in glee and rose from his perch under the stern windows. "You may place them there, on the table."
"Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n," the tall, skinny one said, blinking his one blue eye. "Didn't mean t' interrupt, what with you bein' under the weather and such."
"It was mighty nice of you t' share yer rum with the crew," added the short, ugly one. "Always did say the cap'n was a true gentleman of fortune."
They deposited the bottles on the table and noting Jack's glare, quickly took their leave.
"You gave me rum to the crew?" Jack asked the petite Pierre through clenched teeth.
Pierre waved his hand and said airily, "They say that God made wine to gladden the hearts of men." He shrugged. "The rum, it was giving you the bad humors."
Jack, who was most definitely in a bad humor by this time, decided he'd had enough.
"Bullocks! There's nothing wrong with me humors, 'cepting having t' put up with the likes of you! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a word with me crew."
Jack turned and headed for the cabin door, still clutching his shredded breeks.
Bloody thief! First me breeches, now me rum? Mr. Gibbs better remind me, once again, why the foppish fool-headed friggin' frog is on board me ship.
--
The storm moved in from the sea without warning, lashing rain and lightning upon the coast. Scarlett woke with a start as the thunder crashed overhead. It took her several seconds to remember where she was. Another flash of lightning illuminated the cabin, followed by a deafening clap of thunder, and she cringed, an involuntary whimper escaping her, as she covered her ears with her hands.
Worried that Giselle would awaken and be frightened, Scarlett fought back her own fears and hurried across the room, the lightning outside lending an eerie blue light to her path. To her relief, she found her friend sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by the violence of the storm.
The steady drumming of the rain masked the sound of Thomas returning to the cabin.
"Scarlett?" he called out as he lit a lantern. "Are you…"
The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the noise of the storm. Not wanting to disturb Giselle, Scarlett rounded the corner of the screen, shrieking slightly as another clap of thunder reverberated throughout the cabin. Thomas caught her in his arms and held her close, an oasis of safety.
"Best be getting used to storms, lass, if you're going to live in these parts." He nodded his head towards the screen. "How's your friend?"
"Sleeping." Scarlett said with a wry grin. "Though I imagine Giselle would be liking this if she were awake. She always said the big storms were exciting."
Thomas smiled down at her. "And you?"
"I'll never get used to them, no matter how long I live here." Scarlett flinched at yet another loud boom.
"Well," Thomas said, eyes twinkling in the soft lantern light. "I've always heard the best way to overcome a fear is to occupy your mind elsewhere." He demonstrated by running his hand down her back, pulling her closer.
Scarlett shivered, whether from his touch, or the storm, she wasn't sure. On the next clap of thunder, he claimed her lips, his kiss firm, hungry. She surrendered herself to him, and he proceeded to 'distract' her as the storm continued in its fury.
Thomas turned out to be as generous a lover as Jack, taking the time to please her, as well as himself. Grateful for all his help, and kindness, Scarlett found herself actually wanting to please him in return, and more surprisingly, enjoying herself for the first time in what seemed a lifetime.
Later, as she lay in the crook of his arm, sated and still, her passion as spent as the storm, Scarlett realized she hadn't even noticed it go.
--
Jack was able to restore his good humors by commandeering several bottles of rum from his crew. After determining from Gibbs that the pestilent Pierre was, in fact more friend than foe, Jack decided to give the diminutive dressmaker another chance.
A chance to redeem himself… and replace his breeches.
Later that afternoon, and three quarters of a bottle of rum later, Jack glanced across the cabin with a drunken grin at Pierre, who sat diligently sorting through a pile of swag. Earlier that day, Jack had allowed the Frenchman to scour the hold for items that might be helpful for the singular task to which he had been assigned.
"Well?" Jack raised an eyebrow as Pierre held up several items.
"An assortment most excellent, oui," Pierre waved his hand at the pile in front of him. "The merchant you took this from must have been very rich, no? Look at these fabrics, fine silk and lovely velvets." He puffed out his chest and smiled, throwing his arms wide. "I shall make you the finest outfits, fit for a king!"
Jack grinned. It was a tempting thought. But, bloody impractical aboard ship. He could think of a much better use to put those fabrics to: his two favorite wenches. That gesture most certainly would put him back in their favor.
"Only need me a pair of breeches."
Pierre pouted. "You are certain? I cannot make you a nice waistcoat? Look at this fabric!" He held up a lovely red silk. "A new sash perhaps?"
Jack shook his head. "I know a lovely redhead that would look even lovelier in that color."
Sighing, Pierre set aside the silks and pulled out a bolt of broadcloth. "This is all I have left to choose from, mon capitaine." He looked truly devastated.
"Perfect!" Jack flashed Pierre a golden grin. "How long will it take?"
Pierre shrugged. "If I work most ardently, no more than one, perhaps two days."
"Well get to it, mate! Snap to. I'm going t' be needin' me breeches when we make port."
Jack smiled in anticipation of his return to Tortuga. With Pierre and his talents, there should be no argument with the two lasses. No doubt, by now, they were regretting their last behavior and would be waiting for him, with open arms.
Who could resist?
--
The morning dawned clear and bright, the previous night's storm leaving the air refreshed and cool. Scarlett yawned and stretched, enjoying a few minutes of blissful oblivion before bringing her present situation back to mind.
Thomas had already risen and was nowhere in sight. Scarlett lay for a few minutes on the plush cushions that had served as both bed and cocoon, smiling as she recalled the gentle passion that he had bestowed upon her. For a brief moment, she had actually forgotten who she was and allowed herself the luxury of enjoying the desire of an attractive, virile man.
Silly. You'll only end up getting hurt.
The voice in her head nagged at her, reminding her of who she was, what she was. Sighing once more, she rose and went to check on Giselle. It was imperative that she find them both a place to stay, and the only way to afford that was to get back to work. As nice of a luxury as her stay on the Griselle had been, it was only temporary, a brief respite from the harsh reality waiting on shore.
Scarlett found Giselle awake, though groggy. Her eyes were both blackened and puffy, although the swelling had gone down considerably. When she saw Scarlett, she tried to smile, wincing at her swollen and split lips. Running her tongue along her mouth, her greeting came out in a croak.
"Letty! I thought… I was afraid… I'd never see you again."
"Shhh!" Scarlett hurried over and took Giselle's hand. "Don't try to speak. You're safe, now." She poured a cup of water from the ewer next to the bunk. "Here, drink this," she said in a soothing voice, holding her friend up so she could take a sip.
Giselle swallowed some water, clutching onto Scarlett's hand for support as she laid back on the bunk. She closed her eyes and for a moment Scarlett thought she had drifted off to sleep. But then she opened her eyes, and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
"You were right, Letty. I should never have trusted them." She stared up at Scarlett and began to whimper. "I don't know why they were so mean, Letty. I was being nice, did everything they asked. Why did they want to hurt me?"
Scarlett held her hand and tried to reassure her, but inside she was seething - at the senselessness of the act and something else, something she'd never seen before in Giselle's eyes: shame.
--