Geneva was beginning to doubt her own senses. Normally, her intuition was quite good, but in the moment, it seemed as though she had been wrong. She wasn't quite sure what she expected to happen, floating in the middle of the ocean, but she had expected something. She could have sworn she felt something on the sea. She had a special connection with ocean, and she just knew when it came to this sort of thing.
However, it had been a few days, possibly even a week. Nothing had happened yet. The only thing she was met with was the lapping of the ocean against her tiny rowboat. She knew it wouldn't have been worth it to try and row all the way to the African coast. She had pinpointed exactly where she was in the ocean, using a means that was far beyond her own understanding. Everything having to do with her senses and the ocean was based on intuition. She wasn't quite sure where this information came from, and she wasn't sure how in the world she knew so much about the sea when she never had before. But it must have had something to do with Calypso.
She had decided against rowing to shore, even though she knew exactly where she was in the ocean. She had no food, no fresh water, and only the clothes on her back. Her hat did shield her from the sun a bit, but that was the only good thing she could think of that she had. And yet, she wouldn't row to shore. As much as she was beginning to doubt herself, she still wouldn't leave her spot. She was waiting for something. She didn't know what it was, but she could still feel it, rather faintly.
It didn't come very quickly. It took its time, as if she had nothing better to do than float in the middle of the sea. But it did come. For a while, the feeling was very faint, and she could only barely make out that it was even there, that it even existed. Then suddenly, after about a week and a half, it became more prominent. It only grew after that point, and then, there came a time when it was no longer a feeling, but a tangible entity, as the silhouette of a large ship loomed through the fog of the early morning.
Geneva stood in the rowboat and shouted across the ocean to it. She knew they couldn't hear her, but they were coming her way to begin with. Soon enough, the ship passed about fifty meters from her measly little boat, and she finally caught its attention. There were shouts aboard the huge vessel, and Geneva grabbed the oars and began rowing hard and fast toward the ship.
The ship's main sails were tied up in order to slow it down, and when Geneva had finally reached the starboard side, they threw a few ropes down for her to grab hold of and climb up. She was rather pleased with this find. The ship appeared to be headed north, which was absolutely fine by her.
A few men pulled her over the railing, and her act began. She landed hard on the hull and winced, groaning a bit.
"Good grief, lad!" exclaimed a man behind her, pulling her up to her feet. "How long have you been in that tiny thing?"
"He's thinner than a stick!" said another man. "Must have been weeks!"
"Captain!" called another voice. "You'd better take a look at him!"
More soft exclamations made their way through the crew, all of them seeming to come from men of various British backgrounds, but British nonetheless. Within a few moments, Geneva had pinpointed where a few men were possibly raised in Britain.
A man with longer black hair and a rather plain but suitable hat pushed his way through the crew toward her. His face was tanned and quite dirty, but he was dressed quite well. He had light brown boots that came up to his knees, and a long, deep brown coat that came down to his calves. Underneath his jacket was a white tunic which had a collar that tied in the front, somewhat like Geneva's, and that was tucked into his dark colored trousers. He was a plain sort of man, but he had a different air than most of the people Geneva had come across so far. He was rather young, probably in his late twenties at most.
As he stood before her, he looked her up and down, a suspicious look playing across his face.
"What's your name, sailor?" he asked, not bothering to really look Geneva in the face. He was still inspecting her.
"George Mason, sir," she said, perfectly matching the accent of the man to her right. It didn't really matter what British accent she copied. As long as she was British, these people would probably be more accepting of her being on the ship.
"George Mason," repeated the captain, muttering to himself as he studied her. He finally looked at her face after some time. "How long have you been out here?"
"I'm not sure," Geneva stammered. "I think it was nearing a couple of weeks now."
"And you're still alive?" the captain asked, rather surprised.
"I think so..." Geneva said, returning the captain's look with a confused expression of her own.
"How in the world did you end up in the middle of the ocean, lad?" the captain went on, eyeing the swords at her sides.
"I escaped from a pirate ship, sir," she said, almost shivering. "They was going to kill me, they was. I heard them talkin' about it. So I took a rowboat when nobody was watchin' and I got away."
The captain said nothing, and for a moment, Geneva saw a different look in his eyes. He seemed convinced, but she wasn't sure he was entirely. She'd have to be careful.
"Oh, please, sir, don't throw me overboard," Geneva begged, stepping weakly toward the captain, panic rising in her voice. "I thought I was going to die out there! I think I would have died if your ship hadn't come along and—!"
"You won't be thrown overboard, you imbecile," said another man, gruffly pulling her backward away from the captain, who recoiled a bit from her in annoyed disgust. "Will he, sir?"
The captain didn't say anything and looked about at the crew.
"What are we going to do with him, Captain?" asked another man who was by the captain, probably the first mate. The captain hesitated, shriveling his nose at the thought of having to make a choice.
"Have him swab," he muttered, and immediately, the first mate grabbed Geneva by the shoulders, gave her a "welcome aboard the Wicked Wench," and sent her off to work with a pail and rag. Another man gave her a generous amount of hardtack, which she was grateful for, and she was glad that it wasn't soggy or infected with bugs. She was beginning to become more used to that food as time went on.
For a while, nobody really seemed bothered by her presence on the ship. Nobody seemed suspicious, and she kept to herself for the most part. She was able to swab the decks quite easily, as she had become good at it over her time aboard ships. As a result, the decks were kept quite a bit cleaner than normal, which nobody seemed to complain about. The ship was rather large and nice looking, and it looked even nicer with a clean deck.
So, it went on like that for about a week. Her sole job on the ship was to swab the decks, and occasionally, she got to help with actual work on the ship. She had never done much as far as working a ship, but she understood exactly how ships worked. They were intriguing to watch, and she enjoyed the chance to help, even though it was certainly a bit difficult. It required a degree of precision, and there was very little margin for error, as it was under most captains, so most of the time, Geneva learned by watching.
She hadn't quite been on the Wicked Wench long enough to know very much about the captain. She didn't see a whole lot of the man either, as he kept to himself most of the time. This wasn't to say that he was a very shy individual at all, though, for he could be quite outspoken. He seemed to know what he was talking about, though, and he was respected aboard the ship.
It was a bit odd that Geneva still didn't know his name, though. Not once had she ever heard any of the crew call him by his name at all; they only referred to him as "captain" or "sir," at least from what she heard. So, she knew what ship she was on, but she had no clue who the captain was.
That wasn't the only odd thing she encountered, though. The longer she spent on the ship, the more she realized that although it appeared to be a British ship, it didn't seem to be manned by people who had deep loyalty in the British crown. The ship wasn't specifically marked as a pirate ship, but it had the air of one, and Geneva wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from. It did give her a reason to wonder where the ship was actually headed, although it seemed to be headed north as things stood at the moment.
The more suspicious Geneva became, the more little details seemed to stand out to her. She spent her time secretly observing the crew, but mostly the captain, only to find that she was being observed by him. She knew that he wasn't entirely convinced by her act. And, judging from the fact that she had been getting an odd feeling about the ship for a while now, he must have been studying her for longer than she had been studying him. She didn't have any choice now but to try and act as close to character as possible. She would give him no reason to suspect her.
She could almost feel when he was watching her every passing day. He really was being tough. At this point, she wasn't sure whether she was going to be safe much longer. No one else seemed to be acting hostile toward her at all, but if the captain was the one that called the shots, she could easily be overpowered by his orders. She really didn't like this situation at all, but at the moment, she couldn't do anything about it except wait.
Geneva was swabbing the decks that morning, just as she did every morning. It had been just over a week since her arrival on the Wicked Wench. At the moment, she wasn't feeling any odd vibes, and she guessed that the captain wasn't watching her, which gave her a bit of relief.
She was on the port side, scrubbing near some cannons. She stood up and examined the progress that she had made across that entire side. It had only taken her about an hour to do that, and she was proud of herself for being able to do such an annoying task so easily. Satisfied with her work, she crossed over to the starboard side and began the process again, starting this time on the end closest to the poop of the ship.
Just as she was beginning, she heard boots coming down the steps from the poop deck right behind her, and she turned and saw the captain sauntering in her direction. She paid no real mind to him, nodding toward him in acknowledgment and peeking at him from under the brim of her hat. He didn't pay too much attention to her, and instead wiped his finger across the railing. He inspected it, raised an eyebrow, and passed her, not saying a word. Geneva looked at the railing to see if there was any debris that she had missed so far, which she hadn't. Just as she was turning about to look after the captain, she felt her hat being knocked off her head. She hadn't taken it off since she'd gotten there, simply because it hid her face from view rather well.
"You're a bit too good at swabbing, lad," said the captain, and Geneva immediately recognized the feeling of her dagger hilt brushing the skin under her breast. She kept it hidden and out of sight, that way she could grab it if she needed too in a desperate situation, as this one was probably about to turn into.
"Am I?" she replied, inquisitively, her voice just beckoning the captain to go on. She knew this captain was different from the ones she'd outsmarted before. He wouldn't be easily outsmarted. She slowly reached for her sword, trying to do it nonchalantly.
"Easy, love," the man said, putting his hands up. "I'm not about to throw myself into a fight with the likes of you. That is, if you are who I think you are."
Geneva stopped and raised her eyebrows at him, an amused expression playing across her face. She dropped her male disguise, but kept her accent.
"If I am who you think I am?" she inquired in her regular female pitch of voice. The captain looked her up and down, and then flashed a rather charming smile.
"If you are who I think you are," the man repeated in confirmation. He was sly. But so was she. Geneva said nothing, and only looked at him, waiting to see what he'd say. He studied her for a moment longer.
"You are the sea lioness," the man said slowly, and Geneva smiled.
"That's a generous title you've bestowed upon me, Captain," she replied, crossing her arms. She was quite amused with this man.
"And your name is not George Mason," he went on. "Although you almost had me convinced at the very beginning." Geneva rose an eyebrow.
"What gave me away?" she asked.
"Like I said," the captain replied. "You swab too well." Geneva smiled coyly. This man was something else.
"So," he continued, taking a step towards her. "What's the sea lioness' real name?"
"Geneva Dalma," she said slowly, really eyeing the man. She still had her guard up.
"I like that name," he said, smiling coyly. "Geneva. It's a French name, I believe. But that doesn't necessarily constitute that you're French at all."
"And you are?" Geneva said, ignoring his attempts at flirtation.
"Captain Jack Sparrow," he replied, putting extra emphasis on the 'captain' bit. Now, she had what she needed.
"You're quite young for a captain," she tempted him, and he took that bait without even batting an eye.
"But I am good at it, aren't I?" he said, looking into her eyes, and she imprinted on him. He didn't even notice.
"I've hardly been here long enough to testify to that myself," she chuckled, and Jack's smile became coy again.
"Ah, but you're a temptress," he said. "Your senses are said to be higher than those of a normal human."
"How is it that you know so much of me?" she asked, looking him in the eye with purpose. She had only been in Asia for five years, and already her name was spreading about the entire world?
"You've become quite talked about," Jack murmured, getting even closer to her. "But that shouldn't come as a surprise." Geneva mentally rolled her eyes. But if romancing him was a way to get information, then she couldn't pass it up.
"You are a flirt, aren't you?" she said, leaning backward against the railing. He took the invitation and stepped closer.
"Nonsense, love," he continued. "I am, in fact, quite sincere when it comes to women."
"How unfortunate," she whispered, reeling him in. "Isn't it bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship?"
"A mere superstition," he said. "Not only that; there's a distinct difference between a woman and a pirate woman."
"A pirate woman?" Geneva inquired, and Jack smiled, pulling back some. He had gotten quite close to her. Now, she could breathe again.
"Certainly, love," he continued. "You're a very well known one at that. There is good reason to fear a pirate woman such as yourself being aboard a ship, as opposed to just any woman. I'm sure you don't carry those swords just for show."
Geneva smiled, suggesting that was indeed true. "So, what do you plan to do with me then?" she asked, just toying with him at this point.
"There's not much that I can do," Jack replied nonchalantly. "Actually, I would rather not try to force you off the ship. Even I don't want to put these sea rumors to the test."
Geneva liked this. These stories made her feel secure and powerful, and it made people hesitant to take her on, simply because they didn't want to risk it.
"That's certainly no fun," Geneva pouted. But she was not interested in fighting at the moment. She wanted to know more about the ship. Something seemed very different about it.
"Where is this ship headed?" Geneva asked, and Jack turned back toward her.
"Tortuga," he replied.
"Tortuga?" Geneva inquired. She had never heard of that place before. Jack noticed her look of ignorance and smiled.
"You are a young pirate," he said, and she could only smile inwardly at the ignorance on his part. She was much older than she appeared.
"I'm surprised you've never heard of it," Jack went on. "It's pirate heaven. Always rum, girls, and fights. Just full of pirates."
Geneva only listened as he described it. He spoke quite a bit about the fact that there was plenty of rum, which wasn't all too important to Geneva. What did catch her attention was that it was a pirate island.
She hadn't really been sure about calling herself a pirate, but if this man—who was very likely a pirate himself—was calling her a pirate, then she must have been one. This only made her more interested in Tortuga.
She smiled. Somehow, her intuition seemed to serve her better than she ever anticipated it would.