"The ship is arriving!"
Cheers erupted around Port Royal, mainly those of tearful wives that were hoping dearly not to be widows. Young children were dancing and playing, hitting each other with wooden swords and yelling at each other in pirate talk. Older people, the fathers and mothers of the sailors, were mingling amongst other parents about their children. The Jamaican town was abuzz, and only became more and more excited as the creamy sails became visible in the Atlantic.
"Caleb, Judith, come now," Melinda Richardson called to her children, rounding them up beneath her hands. "Your father is captaining on that ship right over there, you see. Soon, he will be with us once more! He has gathered up goods for this colony back on England, doing great service!" She kissed each of them on the forehead anxiously.
More and more people celebrated as the boat carried itself to the space beside them, waving to the sailors aboard. They grinned as well, pausing their duties for long enough to wave back at their families.
"Jonathon!" Melinda called, her eyes trained on the figure at the wheel. He was lankier than she remembered, but he still had the broad shoulders and the tanned skin she remembered. His hair was kept short, as she could tell under his hat. I never gave him a hat, she thought absentmindedly. It must be new.
"Daddy!" Judith yelled, jumping up and down.
Caleb nudged her out of the way. "Captain!" He called with a childish smile. That did catch Jonathon's attention on board, it seemed. He turned his head, the hat marring most of his features. His jaw was no longer clean shaven, but stubbled with prickly black hair. Melinda didn't mind, though, as long as she had her husband back.
The captain raised a hand to them, waving with what seemed to be a tight smile. They didn't notice the tenseness of it, however, and only cheered and waved to him more.
Soon, more and more sailors were climbing off the ship, running into their families' arms. Jonathon took his time on the ship, going back into his quarters presumably to fetch a few things. All the men were chatting away, staying for the governor's announcements that were surely soon to come.
"Damn it," Melinda whispered under her breath, making sure nobody heard her speak the unladylike words. "Come down to your family." As if he could hear her words, he emerged.
"Jonathon!" Melinda cried, running into his arms as soon as his feet touched land. He smelled of salt and spices, from months overseas. He held her back in his strong arms, steadying her frame that was shaking from joy.
Without warning, she leaned back and kissed him, pushing herself as much against him as what was socially acceptable. After a surprised pause, he kissed her back, winding one arm around her waist and the other against the back of her head. She laughed against his lips, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking off his hat.
Judith screamed.
Long clumps of hair flew over Melinda's arms, and her eyes immediately widened. Instead of warm brown eyes, she met ones that were intensely black, smudged in kohl. She flew away, pushing him back into the group of sailors behind him. Yells erupted, and guns were soon cocked to his head. The man eyed the weapons distastefully.
"Alright, alright, I see what this is about," Captain Jack Sparrow began, bending down to pick up his hat. The barrels of the guns followed him as he did, but he showed no anxiety. He grabbed it, blowing off the dirt before placing it back on his head. "Ye all want to throw a party for me, innit? Well, don't let little ol' me spoil yer plans, go right on ahead."
"Pirate," the first mate hissed through clenched teeth, thrusting the gun closer to Jack's face. "I should have known we had an infestation, what with the rum disappearing at frightening numbers."
Jack pointed a finger at him, waving it in his face. "Now, now, Samuel, we both know the rum wasn't even very good. I was doing ye all a favor by finishing it off, if ye don't think about it."
"Bloody pest," Samuel growled, pressing the barrel close against his throat. "I should just kill you right now, and present your head to the governor on a silver platter."
Jack nodded, agreeing, before looking over Samuel's shoulder in mock astonishment. "But if ye do that, ye'll miss out in catching the famous Captain Jack Sparrow right over there."
Samuel rolled his eyes. "I'm not falling for that one."
But the children weren't so clever, turning their heads. Caleb raised his voice, tearing out of his mother's hold to jump and point out at the sea. "It's the Black Pearl!"
Everyone immediately turned, catching sight of the black sails marring the peaceful blue sky. Chaos was immediately unleashed, sailors saying rushed goodbyes to their loved ones before pushing them towards their respective houses hurriedly. Jack looked around innocently and tucked his hair back up into his hat, quickly springing into a run away from the havoc. He thought he was in the clear, until he felt a kick at his boots. He stumbled, catching himself, and then looked down with pursed lips.
It was little Caleb, looking up at him with a mixture between anger and admiration. "You're a pirate."
"Aye."
"You're the actual Jack Sparrow, aren't you?"
Jack huffed femininely, bending down to his level to widen his eyes at him. "It's Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow. How truly difficult is it to remember a name and it's honorific?"
Caleb crossed his arms. "You're only a captain if you're on a ship." He pointed to the Black Pearl. "Why aren't you on your ship?"
Jack furrowed his eyebrows, as if deep in thought. "Well, e'ry now and again I like to go on land and eat little boys for dinner, sometimes with a slice of bread and a cup a' tea." He grabbed out with his hands. "Oh, lookie here, I found one!"
Caleb darted down to pick up a rock, and threw it straight at Jack's face. The sharp edge skidded off his cheek, taking some skin with it.
"Bugger!" Jack exclaimed, pressing his dirty sleeve against the cut. It began pouring out blood. "The bloody hell did you do that for?"
But he was gone, off to gather his friends to come back and terrorize the pirate more. Jack flailed his arms, keeping the children back, and then sprinted away. Their taunting calls trailed after him until he was out of sight in one of the small canopies that littered the island. "Little devils," he muttered under his breath, tearing the end of his sleeve off with his teeth and holding it to the wound.
He looked around, absentmindedly fiddling with the compass he stored in the pocket of his crisp breeches. The afternoon sun was blazing through the trees, a variety of Caribbean birds chirping at each other high up in the palm trees. The air was strangely cool for mid-Autumn, making the humidity surrounding him more bearable than normal.
He licked his thumb, rubbing it against his eyes to take off the kohl. Now, back to the reason he was truly here. The Pearl needed supplies, and whatever could be stolen from the ship back on the harbor won't be enough. He needed to blend in as much as possible to get what he needed.
Stroking his (now shaven) chin, he wandered until he found the outskirts of the town. There was a cottage there, away from the other houses, as if they didn't want it to be a part of their group. He found some humor in it, letting out an airy chuckle, before continuing on into the town.
It didn't take him long to get everything he needed, but it did take a lot of energy. Every time he got a batch of fresh supplies, he had to drag it into his waiting spot near the Pearl's usual cove. But, now that everything he needed had been bought, he sat down behind one of the cliffs and waited.
His cut was now crusted with dried blood, and the sweat ran into it, making his eyes water. The sun was now low out at sea, burning into his eyes twice as badly. He eyed the large package of rum beside him, licking his lips. One bottle, and his misery would go away…
"No, mate," he muttered to himself, grabbing onto his wandering hand as if he could restrain himself. "Save that for the journey to Tortuga."
He stood up from the rock he had been sitting on, popping his aching bones. Making sure his sleeves were rolled down enough to cover his tattoos and pirate brand, he made his way towards the village.
"There better be a tavern," he grumbled.
Elizabeth Swann was, all ladylike pretenses aside, bored out of her damn mind.
Looking out to the muddled sunset, she sighed, curling a stray hair around her ear. Yes, she had gotten what she wanted: a husband, and a life outside of piracy. But Will would not return to her for another eight years, and life outside of the dangerous quests and barbaric pirates wasn't what she had hoped for. It was bland, and she found herself missing it terribly whenever she looked out to sea on nights such as these. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was supposed to be a pirate.
Sighing, she looked around her cottage. It's not as if her life was unfavorable. She had made friends over the decades of living on the island, her home was perfectly placed away from the others, and her father had left her a large inheritance that ensured that she would never have to work a day in her life. Life was perfect for a 'widow' in Port Royal.
But she didn't want perfect. She wanted freedom, adventure, danger, everything a pirate had. It had escalated from mere childhood fantasies; she was a pirate. Jack had made sure she was King, that she could have the freedom she wanted. And what was she doing? Sitting at the same table, day after day, looking out to the ever-changing sea for a sign of her husband or, more rarely, black sails. She stood up hurriedly, her emerald dress shuffling around her legs.
She figured that it was in fact time for one of her annual rebellions.
Running to her closet, she threw off her dress and tore the pins out of her hair with a wince. She redid the curls, braiding her hair and flopping it over itself before securing it once again. She slipped out of her dress and into her sailing clothes, wrapping her chest along the way. The clothe was soft, unrestricting, and free against her skin. She grinned.
Grabbing her hat and coat, she dashed out of the door, but not before plucking up a few gold coins from her purse. She figured that it was time to visit the tavern, and since women were constantly bothered there… the disguise was the best alternative, if it meant getting her a drink. A certain pirate had somewhat forced her to grow a liking towards rum.
She immediately threw her hat on as she walked out, staying close to the dim shadows so no one would see her. She didn't need any more rumors about her odd behavior spreading throughout the town. She ran into one of the canopies, taking the short way to the tavern.
The air was chill, chiller than usual in the sunset. Shrugging on the jacket, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and kept her head low, walking out onto stone pavement as she entered the town once more. Hearing the rowdy behavior from the building ahead of her, she drew her features thin to avoid future confrontation, and then pushed through the doors.
The overall loudness was more joyful than vengeful, she mused. Not like in the various taverns back on Tortuga, where the boisterous laughter was fueled just by others' misfortune. Not to mention the alcohol-induced fights that constantly destroyed the taverns. She didn't have to dart between sweaty men with pistols whenever she walked through the threshold, didn't have to hold her change in fear of being pick pocketed by fearless scoundrels when she pulled out a coin at the bar.
"Rum," she muttered in the most inconspicuous voice possible, using the back of her throat to sound more gruff and manly. The woman at the counter nodded, not saying a word while she shuffled around in her modest clothing to get a bottle. When she returned, however, a figure near Elizabeth leaned over the counter, cheekily grinning at the barmaid.
"I'll take a rum as well, love," he said, reaching out to ruffle a ribbon on her sleeve. "But I'm more interested to know the price of ye for a night."
The barmaid immediately grew red, tearing out of his grasp with a smack to the wrist. The man grunted, leaning back in his chair. Elizabeth watched the exchange with slight amusement.
"Now, darling, I'll be frank with ye," he began, licking his lips under the shadow of his hat. Elizabeth felt a twinge of something deep within her at the voice. "I don't play games. There be only one reason a woman like ye be working here, and that reason is to-"
A resounding SLAP filled the air before he could finish his words. It was the barmaid, her face twisted into annoyance with her hand still raised in the aftermath of the slap. The tavern grew deathly quiet.
Elizabeth's hand flew up to her mouth in shock. She would expect that in other places, but not here. Women never fought back on English land!
The man rubbed his cheek, which already seemed to have a sort of cut marring it. Wiping away the blood that seeped out of the reopened wound, he looked up to her again, smiling a bit more drily. Everyone seemed to lean forward, just to hear his lazy response:
"So, sweetheart, what ye're trying to say is that you cost more than the rum?"
The voices immediately returned, full blast, though all were directed towards the now-irritated man. Some pushed him around a bit, trying to start confrontations, until the crowd surrounded Elizabeth. She couldn't get through. Why the hell were these men suddenly standing up for a random barmaid?
Oh, right. It wasn't Tortuga, it was Port Royal. Every man was a white knight to a female that 'can't protect herself', and anyone saying otherwise was just a bloody pirate. Elizabeth's face twisted into disgust at the thought. If only they saw her handle a sword… Their patriarchal ideals would be flyingout the window!
Choice words were said, and soon, weapons were drawn by nearly everyone in the tavern. Impossible, Elizabeth thought. The English think through things more than this.
But alas, she was wrong, and soon everyone began to fight each other until they forgot what they were fighting about. Few left out the door, and those who did only left because they lacked a weapon. An Elizabeth was one of those people. If I can just… reach the door…
Finally, only sporting a few nicks, Elizabeth emerged through the doors and into the twilight. But, it seems as though she wasn't finished yet. A hard body slammed into her, thrown out of the bar, and almost knocked her over. She whipped around to see the figure stumbling back from her. "Who the hell-?"
But she knew who he was. She could see the golden teeth, the dreadlocks falling out of the tri-cornered hat, the expressive black eyes that seemed to stare right into her soul. Her heart pounded at the realization she had came to.
"… Jack?!"
"'Ello, Lizzie," He drawled, leaning forward to lazily grin at her. "I like wha' ye've been doin' with yer hair, love."
And then he fell forward, knocking them both over onto the ground, where a cut over his torso in the shape of an 'X' bled through the torn white of his sailor's blouse.