Title: Time To HealRating: R (suggestive situations)
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett and their guests
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him
Summary: They say time heals all wounds. That remains to be seen.
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The crew of the Black Pearl was busy readying the ship for making port as they rounded the point and entered the horseshoe-shaped bay at Tortuga. Jack, except for a few lingering bruises, had fully recovered from the beating he had taken days earlier. Sporting a new pair of breeches, he stood at the helm, guiding his beloved ship through the mouth of the harbor. It felt good to be back at the wheel of the Pearl and free from the confines of his cabin.
And that clinging vine Pierre.
As if reading his mind, the sing-song voice of Pierre wafted across the deck.
"No, no Monsieurs! They mustn't be turned on their heads! It will ruin them!"
Jack peered at the scene below, where two of his crewmen were struggling with Pierre's manikins. As he spun about with a headless form in his arms, the belligerent homunculus appeared to be dancing with his, a true Danse Macabre.
"Don't know how we can be setting 'em on their heads," Ragetti said, "what with them being headless and all that."
"Shut up and help me get this one off me," Pintel groused, the teetering dummy almost as tall as he.
Pierre flitted around the two like a startled hen, whose chicks were being threatened by a hawk. He squawked and flapped his arms as the two men wrestled the dress forms towards the cargo net.
Gibbs joined Jack at the helm. He nodded his head towards the Frenchman. "What's t' become of that one, once we make port?"
"Don't think that right concerns us, do you Mister Gibbs?" Jack raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Our bargain – or I should say, yours – was only to see him safely to Tortuga." He waved a vague hand towards the busy harbor and crowded docks.
Jack had brought the Pearl sharp up on a port tack, while the hands began to lay loft to furl the fore and main courses and fore topmast staysail. They made their way past the point and entered the bay with the town off their starboard beam.
Gibbs eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Perhaps we'll be staying a spell this time, Cap'n?"
"Aye. A nice leisurely visit at that." Jack was looking forward to spending some time ashore and in the company of his two favorite ladies of the night once again.
Surely by now they'd had time to forget about that minor…disagreement.
"Let go starboard anchor," Jack shouted from the quarterdeck. His plan was to anchor further out in the bay but the wind picked up somewhat so that they couldn't find a good hold. He gave orders then to weigh anchor; it appeared they would have to choose another spot on the other side of the bay, closer in.
Glancing over at the docks, as the ship tacked in towards shore, Jack noticed a familiar ship moored there, a two-masted xebec, with a bright blue hull.
"Mister Gibbs!" Jack was grinning widely. "You happen t' recognize that fine vessel tied up there?" He waved an enthusiastic hand towards the other ship.
Gibbs peered in the direction Jack was indicating. "Aye, Cap'n," he smiled broadly. "'Pears t' be the Griselle, sir."
Jack was almost dancing in his excitement. "Aye, that it does, indeed."
Thomas, the captain of the Griselle, was an old friend of Jack's, though it had been several years since they'd last crossed paths. Jack's enthusiasm at seeing his long-lost friend once again, was tempered somewhat by recollections of their last meeting.
Foolish, really, to have gotten into such a fray over a woman. Flighty thing, she was, truth be told. Mind like a flying fish, jumping about all the time. God knows there's enough of those around; good friends are a much more scarce commodity. Well, time enough now to set things right. Water under the proverbial bridge and all that.
A string of exasperated French expletives floated up from the deck. Frowning, Jack jerked a thumb in the general direction of the sound. "What say we off-load our extra cargo in as expeditious and inconspicuous manner as possible, shall we?"
I'll never hear the end of it, otherwise. Bloody bad enough to have had t' be tormented the entire voyage. Don't need any further tormentin', especially from the likes of the good Captain Thomas.
Jack scowled at the thought of Thomas meeting Pierre. That might not necessarily be the best of social situations. Besides, as he recalled, he still owed Thomas a drink – several drinks, actually – the result of an unfortunate wager that Jack had unwisely made. Jack decided he would just send Pierre on his merry way before seeking out his friend. Perhaps even see if his two favorite wenches were available. What better way to renew old acquaintances than with plenty of rum and a salty wench or two?
--
"Don't fret, Letty." Giselle reached over and patted her friend's hand. "We'll get you another one, don't worry." She tried to give Scarlett an encouraging look. "A better one!"
Scarlett shook her head, and managed only a tenuous smile back. It had been almost two weeks, since the brutal attack on Giselle. The cuts and bruises had all but healed, leaving only pale shadows of the horrors of what had been. Even more encouraging was the return of the sparkle in Giselle's eyes. Ten days she had lain in the bunk on the Griselle, listless and withdrawn, her eyes dull and vacant.
Someone else, perhaps one less resilient, might never have recovered. But Giselle was a fighter, and an eternal optimist, and even in the face of such brutality, was able to see something worthwhile in world around her. She now sat propped up among a pile of pillows, on the Turkish rug that covered the floor of the Griselle's Great Cabin. Cross-legged, in her thin chemise, hair braided and coiled around her head, she gave one a glimpse of the young, innocent girl she once had been, before life – and its cruel twists of fate – had caught her in its snare.
"But you worked so hard to buy me that one," Scarlett said, buttering a scone and handing it to Giselle. She added a dollop of jam to her own and took a bite, rolling her eyes closed with delight. In front of her, an elegant china platter, obviously a treasure pilfered from some merchant ship in a past raid, held a mound of fresh baked scones, nestled amidst an assortment of sweet breads, along with crocks of marmalade and honey. A bowl of oranges and a steaming pot of strong coffee rounded out the simple but satisfying meal.
It was a marvel the quality of life they'd found on a pirate's ship, of all places. Captain Thomas had insisted they stay, despite the fact that they had no way of repaying him for his hospitality. Losing her position at the bordello had not only cost Scarlett her income, but also her precious sewing box, the one Giselle had given her on her last birthday. She lamented the loss, knowing the levels of sacrifice her friend had made to acquire it.
"Trifles," Giselle said, around a mouthful of scone, waving a hand vaguely at the room. The gesture reminded Scarlett of Jack Sparrow, someone she'd almost trusted as a friend. Their last meeting had ended with harsh words and hurt feelings. She hadn't seen him since.
There was a soft knock on the door before it opened. Captain Thomas, on whose ship the two women were temporarily calling home, prodded the door open with his boot, his arms piled high with a colorful assortment of clothes. His blue eyes were twinkling as he carefully maneuvered his way into the room, finally depositing his load into one of the overstuffed chairs.
"Ladies, how are you this fine morning?"
He walked to the table, where Scarlett was sitting, and poured a cup of coffee, nodding his approval at the repast spread before him.
"I see Youssef has provided you some sustenance for the day." Thomas took a long sip of his coffee and closed his briefly eyes, with a satisfied sigh. Smiling, he gestured toward the chair bearing the clothing. "I have not been idle, myself, ladies. My good cook is not the only one that can conjure up delights."
Thomas stepped to the chair in a few long strides, and held up a gold gown of the finest silk, with intricate embroidery and fringed bodice. Bowing with exaggerated formality, he held out the gown to Giselle. "For you, madam." He glanced at Scarlett and winked.
Giselle's eyes lit with joy, and clapped her hands in delight. "Oh! It's beautiful!"
She struggled to stand, wincing at the movement. In one fluid move, Thomas picked her up by the waist, and set her lightly on her feet, with the ease as if she were a small child. With one hand bracing her by the shoulder, he held the dress up to her with the other, nodding his approval.
"Looks to be a perfect fit." Eyes sparking with tease, he chucked Giselle gently under the chin. "What say you try it on?"
Scarlett caught his eyes over Giselle's head. She nodded slightly, affirming his intuition. The best way for Giselle – or any woman-- to feel better about her self on the inside, was to feel pretty on the outside, once again. Rising, Scarlett sorted through the rest of the garments. There were several shifts and stays, as well as another gown, a rich burgundy. She raised a suspicious eyebrow, only to be met with the most innocent of looks from Thomas.
"How did you…?" Thomas hushed Scarlett, with a finger to her lips.
"I grew up with four sisters," he explained. "Best cure for the calamities of life; a new gown." He gave her a little nudge, towards the decorative screen that separated the sleeping quarters from the salon. "Why don't you go help your friend get over hers?"