Chapter 2, everybody! Now we get to see who plays Captain Jack...although if you remember that Tumblr post I did from back in the day, you already know. ;)

Moving on...I warned you all that PotC made me a major pirate nerd and wanting to do an original pirate story (Glint and the Pirates) just took that farther so...Port Royal was indeed a pirate den that had half to two-thirds of the city slide into the water thanks to an earthquake, so we're tying that bit of actual history into the sort-of AU world of PotC. Also it was actually considered bad luck for a sailor to know how to swim—personally I feel this is because if you got swept off a ship during a storm you had like a 0% chance of rescue so it was a question of how fast do you really want to die?

Also technically Wilba is human in this but I can't help but laugh at her fawning over Norrington because every time I picture it I end up getting Miss Piggy vibes. X'D

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Pirates of the Caribbean © 2003 Disney

It was a gloriously brilliant day in Port Royal, all its well-to-do citizens bustling about at their work, early-morning sun glinting and fracturing on the water like a sea of coins showing off their riches. It was calm, it was classy….

It was totally unprepared for piracy.

It was also totally unprepared for the lone figure on the small boat slowly sailing into port, standing on the mast as it inched in—why became clear when they realized that the small boat was sinking, just barely making it to dock before it totally disappeared beneath the waves.

The stranger on the mast stepped off to the dock perfectly, was past the dumbfounded dockmaster before he could properly comment.

He recovered quickly enough.

"Hold up there you!" he squawked, causing the stranger to pause. "It's a shilling to tie up your boat at the docks!"

The stranger very, very pointedly looked at the sunken boat, of which only the very tip of the mast poked out of the water. The dockmaster acknowledged this, moved on to the next point. "And I shall need to know your name."

The stranger nodded, stuffed a hand in his pocket—

Dropped several coins on the ledger.

"What do you say to three shillings, and we forget the name?" the stranger asked.

The dockmaster glanced at his assistant, who looked at him with eyebrows raised—

Snapped the ledger shut as he smiled at the stranger. "Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith."

The stranger bowed, backed away as the dockmaster walked off—

Was pocketing his bag of shillings as he went, cackling to himself at the con.


Willow was going to kill Wilba.

Forget the fact that this would be frowned upon and that a navy fort wasn't the best place to be attempting that, this was just her specific feeling due to the fact that she had been stuffed into a corset for something that hadn't even been there—just Wilba wanting to see romance everywhere. Wilson had been like he always was: stiff, aloof, nerdy, standoffish. Although she had enjoyed watching him splutter when Wilba dropped pretty pointed hints.

But no, there was nothing, like Willow had said, and now she had to deal with being in a corset.

Her comment, when Wilba first stuffed her in this, was that women in London must have learned not to breathe—recalling how London air was, this was probably fact.

But this wasn't smoggy dreary London, this was the sunny Caribbean and on top of being cut off from the perfectly serviceable Caribbean air she was also baking in the sun. There wasn't any room for a cross breeze in Fort Charles, not with everyone packed in like sardines to watch the ceremony, and with the stones and the sheer walls Willow felt like she was in an oven.

Keep fanning herself—she just had to get through the ceremony, and when that was over she had every intent of finding some cool storeroom or something and ripping all this off or fainting or something. You know, if they ever stopped with the preening up there. Maybe she should have suggested to Wilba that she stay behind and chat with Wilson, or get him dressed up and then they'd come up—no one would care if they were late. And they would have come, because Wilson was a stickler for rules and propriety and all that bunk, but at least it wouldn't be here. She could have staged a fainting spell or something so he wouldn't take her, Wilba and Warbucks could have come home to her laid up on the fainting couch with Wilson panicking over her. You know what yeah let's focus on that it had to be better than being stuck in the here and now.

Hopefully she'd last until the carriage ride home.


He definitely remembered Port Royal being bigger and more fun, had to take a bit and remind himself that this is generally what happened when half the city slid into the ocean and the other half was taken over by the navy. Well he needed a challenge.

So the important thing when it came to stealing something was to be unobtrusive without being sneaky—march right in like you knew what you were doing, and nine times out of ten people didn't want to be bothered with someone who looked busy.

Unfortunately, two navy guards spotted him and intercepted before he reached the gangplank.

"This dock is off-limits to civilians," the first one said.

"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't know," he said. "If I see one, I shall inform you immediately." Tried to sidestep—blocked. "I got a question—unless I miss my guess there's a big hup-de-do up at the fort. How is it that two upstanding gents such as yourselves failed to merit an invitation?"

"Someone has to make sure this dock stays off-limits to civilians," the second one said. Oi, navy men.

"Oh sure it's a pretty boat, but it seems to me—" Duo moved to block his sidestep again, although he was still free to gesture at the much larger ship out there. "That a ship like that one makes this one a bit superfluous, really."

The navy men glanced over—decided to pass up sidestepping, lull them into a false sense of security. "Oh the Dauntless is the power in these waters for sure," the second navy guy said. "But none can match the Interceptor for speed."

"Oh really?" he asked. "I've heard of a ship that could beat it, nigh uncatchable—the Shadowchaser."

The second guy scoffed. "Let me rephrase: there's no real ship that can match the Interceptor."

First guy looked at second guy. "The Shadowcatcher is a real ship."

Second guy grimaced at first guy. "No it isn't."

"Yes it is, I've seen it!"

"You haven't seen it."

"Yes, I have!"

"You've seen a ship crewed by shadows that sailed straight out of the abyss to swallow you whole?"

First guy paused. "No. But I have seen a ship with black sails."

"Oh, and no ship not crewed by shadows what sailed straight out of the abyss to swallow you whole could possibly have black sails, therefore couldn't possibly be any other ship than the Shadowcatcher, is that it?"

First guy looked chagrined. "No."

"Like I said, there's no real ship that can match the Interceptor," the second guy said, turning his attention back—

And realizing that while they were arguing, he had taken the opportunity to sneak aboard the ship in question. "Hey! You! Get away from there!" Run up to where he was toying with the wheel, both of them leveling bayonets at him. "You're not authorized to be up here!"

"So sorry," he said, flashing them a toothy grin. "It's just that it's such a pretty boat—ship."

"What's your name?"

Real answer would probably get him into trouble. "Smith. Or Smithy, if you like."

"What's your purpose in Port Royal, Mister Smith?" the second guy demanded.

"Yeah and no lies!" first guy added.

"Well then," he said. "I confess: I'm here to commandeer a ship, sail to Tortuga, pick up a crew and proceed to raid, pillage, and plunder my weaselly black guts out. Savvy?"

"I said no lies," second guy said weakly.

"I think he was telling the truth," first guy said.

"If he was telling the truth he wouldn't have told us!"

"Unless he knew you wouldn't believe the truth, even if he told it to you," he pointed out—which got both of them nodding until it sank in. Well, this would be fun….


So this wasn't fun.

Willow had progressed past dizzy a while ago now and was barely functioning, offered no resistance when Wilba dragged her over by the balcony overlooking the water to excitedly give her a play-by-play of everything, gushing over Norrington "Isn't he so dreamy? And you know what he did? Do you know what he just did? He proposed to me, can you believe it!?"

That was asking a bit much of her right now, honestly. "I can't breathe."

"Me neither—isn't this exciting?"

Yeah, sure—here was hoping she pitched the right way as darkness overtook her.


"And then they made me their chief," he said, right smack in the middle of a story that had the two guards riveted—

All three of them looked over at the splash, confusion rippling through them—

Confusion was replaced by comprehension at the sound of someone at the top of the cliff yelling—someone had fallen off and into the water.

"Will you be saving her then?" he asked the guards.

"I can't swim!" one said, the other shaking his head.

He groaned, shucked his jacket, hat, and several other items off. "Pride of the king's navy you are—don't lose these," he ordered, shoving everything at the nearer guard before diving off into the water and currently regretting the fact that necessity had long ago required that he learn how to swim. Get closer to the billowing white shape slowly sinking—

Flinch at a ripple going past him, skin prickling—okay that was bad, whatever it was.

Reasoning that it wouldn't be the first time he had been cursed for dragging someone out of the water, he grabbed the girl and started for the surface—had to pause and rip the heavy dress off, resume the swimming—

Gasp at breaking the surface, shoved her at the guards before hauling himself back onto the docks.

"She's not breathing!" one guard fretted.

"Oh good grief do I have to do everything around here?" he groused, muscling through—ah, corsets were back in fashion. Yay.

But good news—getting rid of the corset solved the problem of the girl being unable to breathe.

The bad news—it also revealed something he hoped to never see again.

The girl was still recovering when he grabbed the coin hanging from around her neck, scrubbing a thumb against it to be sure—dangit it was one of those coins, he could feel the magic in it.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded of the girl—

She was cut off from answering and him from further interrogation by a sword at his neck. "On your feet."

"I didn't hear a please," he tried—decided from the increased pressure that he probably ought to humor the guy.

"Arrest that man!" some blustery guy stormed as some other girl ran up to the sodden one.

"Daddy, you can't arrest the man who saved my friend's life," the girl said, fussing over the second one.

"That seems a fair point," he agreed, still grimacing at the steel to his neck. Huffed a breath when the sword was taken away from his neck.

"I believe thanks are in order," sword-guy said, extending a hand—he flexed his out of habit.

"Eh, thanks, but I make it a point not to shake hands with just anybody."

"Afraid it'd show a certain brand, pirate?"

"Oi now do I call you names?"

"Wait he said he was here to commandeer a ship—I told you he was telling the truth!" one of the guards he had been wheedling shot, stepping forward. "These are his, sir."

"Search him for anything else," sword-guy said, examining the belongings that didn't follow him into the ocean. Pick up the gun—"No additional shot nor powder." Compass—"A compass that doesn't point north." Sword—"And I half expected it to be made out of wood."

He grimaced at that—okay so this was one of his low points—twitched when one of the guards, in turning out his pockets, also pulled out something he didn't want getting around.

"What is this, a logbook?" the guard asked, turning the book over. Peered at his vest. "Where were you keeping it?"

"I got very spacious pockets," he said, tugging on his vest. "Once fit a whole tree in there."

The guards remained befuddled, and he did his best to remain straight-faced as sword-guy took the book and flipped through it.

"A blank logbook," he observed, shutting it and examining the cover. "But I recognize the decal." Look up at him. "Maxwell Carter."

"What, no adjectives? Not even a captain somewhere in there?" Max asked, lacing his hands behind his head.

"I don't see a ship, captain."

"I'm in the market, as it were."

Stuffy-guy had apparently had enough. "Hang him!"

"Daddy!" stuffy-girl barked.

"It'd almost be a waste of rope," sword-guy said, looking him up and down. "You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."

"But you have heard of me," Max pointed out—grimaced when, in pointing at the guy, he ended up with shackles on his wrists.

"Daddy—commodore," stuffy-girl said, rounding on sword-guy. "I really must protest. This man saved Willow's life!"

"One good deed is not enough to absolve a man of a lifetime of wickedness," sword-guy said.

"But it does seem enough to condemn him," Max pointed out.

"In. deed."

Uh-huh. Well, seeing as how they were nice enough to let go once he was shackled—

"Hey!"

"So in other news, I'd be liking my effects back, please," Max said, tightening the chains around soggy-girl's neck. "And my hat."

"You jerk!" soggy-girl exclaimed, struggling.

"You seem surprised. Oh Commodore!" Tightened the chains some more. "This is a time-sensitive matter."

Good news, sense of chivalry and propriety meant Max was getting his stuff back—grabbed the gun, had soggy-girl belt the rest on him while he held her at gunpoint. Granted, she was steaming enough that she was drying quickly, but details. "The book goes in the vest, by the way," he told her.

"Despicable," she muttered, tightening the last belt.

"That's a matter of opinion," Max pointed out. "I saved your life, you saved mine. We're square." Spin her back around, put the gun to her head as he started backing them away. "Ladies and gentlemen, assorted naval officers—you will always remember this as the day you almost caught the magnificent Maxwell Carter!"

Flung the girl forward before taking off, grabbing a rope and hitting a lever so he was yanked up and away from the pursuing officers—barked a laugh when that dropped a cannon on the pier and dumped a lot of them into the water—yelped when his upward momentum shifted sideways and started flinging him around.

"Now will you shoot him!?" snooty-guy demanded.

Okay so the open fire order was expected, real glad it was harder to hit a moving target, still winced when some of the bullets whizzed far too close and ricocheted off the chains and the wooden spar little hot balls of lead hurt, dangit—leap for a neighboring spar, down a rope real quick, flee across a bridge—well he'd had better first days in a port. Hid in an alcove, waiting for a troop of officers to go by—

Trying to slip the shackles wasn't working, examined them to find that a bullet had rendered the usual means by which he flipped them off inoperable. Even the guy with the keys wouldn't be able to get this off. Great—huff, look out the alcove—

Tipped his head when he noticed a sign above it, angle a bit to read it…a blacksmith, huh?

That could be useful.

Slip in, scan the room—big, might have been a storehouse or barn once upon a time, had a donkey tied up to a roundabout for some reason…ah right there was the forge. Start across—

Freeze when he heard a soft clink.

Whip his head around, scanning—spotted some old guy snoring in a chair, bottle next to him suggesting itself as the source of the noise. Sneak up to him, tap him on the chest—barked out a sharp noise—nothing. The guy was insensible. Shrug, go back to what he planned on doing to begin with.

Hammering the shackles wasn't working and was aggravating enough that he gave up after a few minutes—look around, trying to pick out something that'd actually be helpful—tip his head at the sight of the gears above his head and attached to the roundabout. What was this, some workaround to keep the forge running? But there, where two gears met—that'd be enough force to snap the chains. Slid a glance to the donkey—

The donkey was more amenable to moving once a hot poker was introduced to it—lash the chain to one of the gear's teeth, follow it around as it met the other gear—ah, FINALLY! Now to get these off—

All that ground to a halt at the sound of the door opening.