Streets of Tortuga

Title: Streets of Tortuga.
Or: Rum Rum Rum, as fast as you can.
- The title could be changed anytime.

Genre: so far: Action(?). Later on I'll integrate some romance. Yay, that DOES mean smut! ;)
Pairing: J/OC
Rating: G to R for extensive drinking and homicide. Might go on to NC-17 in the later chapters.
Summary: Jack bumps (if you can call it like that *giggles*) into a girl with an unpronouncable name, a little pirate-wannabe with a headache: Sijtje.
In this first chapter, Sijtje starts remembering. Her first night she spent in Tortuga, immediately falling for its charme. Unfortunately, she fails to distinguish between the things you can and should do and the things you can but should not do in Tortuga.
Setting: Tortuga (well, at least that's where it all starts. As always.). Some 15 years before the movie, Jack being young but Captain of The Pearl already.

Notes: Sijtje is - indeed - a Dutch name. Please don't let me write down how to pronounce it - I can't! Meet me in person and I'll tell you.
Things written between [ ]-brackets are Sijtjes thoughts.

Disclaimer: Don't own Jack. Otherwise he'd be in my bed, not in the streets of Tortuga! Sadly, he's from Duckburg.
Not makin' any money with this - more like losin' it by watching the movie over and over again. Dont sue - just givin' Jack a li'll sexual excercise, what could be wrong with that?

Feedback: yes, PLEASE. But easy on the goods darlin'!
punx@gmx.li

---

Chapter 1: -- Yesterday --

So this was Tortuga? Whores, thieves, criminals - and Pirates. Opium dens, brothels, shaggy bars and other places where no "fine lady" would ever go.
Sijtje immediately loved the place. For somebody who didn't fear being robbed or raped, for a girl who feared boredom more than anything, Tortuga was paradise.

She slid one hand down her right leg, under her skirt. Satisfied when the reassuring cold metal of two of her throwing knives and a small dagger met her hand, she left the harbour, savoring the salty smell of the sea, lots of rum and nameless dirt in the streets. Savoring the feeling of being free.
Crisscrossing through the alleys, stepping aside for swaggering groups of sailors and prostitutes and their customers, taking care of 'business' in the middle of the street every now and then, she tried to decide where to go first.

"The Swaying Anchor" [- well... I guess we can do better than that. No real pirate would ever go into a pub that has a nonsense-name like that! Better find something else soon, I need a drink!]
As if in response to her thoughts the door opened, spitting out a group of certainly pirately-looking men who were singing something about really bad eggs.
[All right then, "The Swaying Anchor" it is. Either pirates can't read or they are even more mad than I would've thought. Or they simply don't care where they get drunk.]
She sighed, making for the pub's door.

"Luv, I'm not sure if you really wanna go in there. That be no place for ladies!", a determined voice behind her announced. His stinking breath certainly did not improve her thoughts about his statement.
Sijtje sighed again, turned around and looked into the face of a still young, yet definitely worn out fellow.
Fattish yellow hair hanging around a face that looked like it had given up the hope of ever being washed. Blue eyes, staring at her from the middle of all that dirt. A crooked nose, the mouth a black hole full of crumbled teeth. A terrible stench of she didn't know what exactly - and rather wouldn't find out. A shabby, once white shirt and something she took for trousers. She couldn't tell exactly, since they were dirty and torn. The rapier and the belt, both decorated with gold didn't seem to belong to him, really. God, he didn't even seem to notice or care how he looked: like a madman.

"Thank you, *sir*, but that's why I'm going in there."
"Ah, a lass with style, I like that." He held up a dirty arm with an almost empty bottle of a dirty looking fluid - probably rum. The other hand he laid tentatively around her shoulders. "How 'bout us two havin' a drink, talkin', havin' some fun? Y'know, just you an' old buccaneer Philippe Vasquez and a few bottles of rum."
"I'm sorry, MISTER Vasquez, but I'm most definitely not interested." With that, she produced her dagger from its hiding place just over her right knee, turned around and pointed it at his throat. To her surprise, he started to laugh out loudly and for real.

"Luv, not even in Tortuga ye can kill a guy that didn' do nothing 'xept asking you out for a drink without havin' to suffer the consequences. Gov'nor Le Vasseur likes drinkin', fightin' and whorin' - but killing is another story. Ev'rybody killed here means one person less under his command - and that he don't like. But rest assured, ye're lucky and stumbl'd int'one o'the good guys. I like yer style, lady, that's why I'm gonna give ye a good piece 'a advice: not ev'rybody's as nice as I am, so ye better be careful who y'point tha' cute li'l dagger at 'r ye won't last one night in Tortuga. G'night!"
With that he left her in front of "The Swaying Anchor", still holding her dagger and watching sheepishly how he disappeared into one of the little alleyways around.
"Now I *really* need a drink! And why keep the people calling me 'lady'? I bloody hate that. Guess, I'm not looking 'piraty' nor mean enough just yet.", Sijtje sighed and came to the decision to be changing into her old comfy Dutch Mercenary's outfit next chance she got. First things first, howerver. She turned around and entered the pub.

--

After half a mug of rum ("s'rry missy, it's rum or nothin' 'ere") she started giggling. Really, that Vasquez-guy *had* caught her by surprise. And hadn't she come here in the hope of meeting interesting people?
Now then, what to do next? Sitting here in the pub, drinking rum and cleaning her nails with the tip of one of her throwing knives was just fine, but what about the adventures, the pirates, the freedom she had come here for in the first place?

--

Two mugs of rum later it seemed like a good idea to jump onto a table and start singing and dancing. Anything to fight boredom.

Well, at least she couldn't complain about too few people paying attention to her; within ten minutes there was a great crowd of drooling men around her, offering her one drink after another between one dance and the next. Being blonde and tall certainly seemed to count for something here.
She even had 'her own' musicians - there wasn't a pub in Tortuga where you couldn't find some sailors with instruments. A flute, a violin and a trumpet, all looking quite battered and sounding like an elefant had stepped on them before they were put to use, soon underlined her dancing, which was becoming wilder with every offered - and gladly taken - mug of rum.
God bless her good looks, which earned her so many good friends and, more importantly, good drinks!

--

Sometime later in the evening it seemed like a good idea to abandon her audience and bustle out in the street, her stomach trying desperately to rid itself of the rum.
The urge to throw up became even more urgent, when she feeled a dirty hand on her bosom, a stinking mouth trying to kiss hers but missing by a few inches.
Swaying on her legs, trying to suppress the urge of vomitting, she stretched herself to her full height, dealing her attacker a hard slap into the face. "Go away!", she shouted, taking her dagger into her hand.
"'Not sure I deserved that', th'Cap'n 'd say", he mumbled drunkenly, his mouth releasing a foul stench of rum and rotten teeth. Not seeming to care about the red outline of her hand slowly forming on the left side of his face or the dagger in her hand, he brought his mouth to hers again, his filthy lips pressing on hers, his arms holding her tight so she couldn't escape.
The urge of vomitting was suddenly all gone [- a pity, really, I'd like to vomit into his face right now], instead a smouldering wave of anger started passing through her body. NOBODY had the right to touch her if she did not want him to.

It was not easy to make Sijtje boil with rage, but once one succeeded with that, her target better prayed for his or her life. One of the reasons why she couldn't stay in one place too long was the perspective of getting bored by people, building up anger until it all released itself in an outburst of fury.
Those outbursts usually meant a lot of screaming and slapping, being over just as fast as they had begun. Once, however, she had accidently hurt somebody severely, somebody she had loved more than anything in her life.
After that, she had sworn three things to herself, standing before her brother's grave.
One: never to stay in one place too long, always moving, never giving boredom or anger the chance to build itself up.
Two: never to bind herself to anyone. Having fun was okay, but actually caring for someone or even loving him was not.
Three: she was the one deciding. She was the one making the first step or rejecting people. She was the one deciding when and where to move or to stay. Her life belonged to her and her alone.

Someone hitting on her was allright, she was used to that. After all, she was a goodlooking girl and if someone she didn't want got too close to her, her slaps, dagger and knives usually convinced him to keep his distance.
But this... she had TOLD him to go away, she had slapped him, she had pointed a knive at him. What else was she supposed to do to get a little privacy when desperately needing it? What else was she supposed to do to be able to vomit properly and alone?

A boiling heat crept through her veins. Her eyes narrowed to slits, she lifted her left foot, swinging it back and then forward, hoisting her body in his direction, kicking his groin as hard as she could.
"Goal!", someone shouted.
"Not funny", her assailant mumbled, clutching his groin, doubling over.
Here she should have stopped, should have ran away. She didn't.

"Still wanting me, honey?", she asked, sugarsweetness in her voice, extending a hand to him.
"So, now you're sorry? That won't help you, girl. I'll get what I want, with or without yer consent." He stood up, coming close again, smacking her face hard, then pressing his lips agains hers, again.

Eyes clouded by a red wave of anger, she brought forward her dagger, stabbing, kicking, screaming, until her opponent lay before her in a puddle of his own blood, not moving anymore.

--

-- The morning after --

(...)
"Tortuga?" - "Aye, Tortuga." - "But how d'ya know of the rum, the men and the fights? I can't even remember myself, so how do you know about it?"
"Dear girl, you told me about the rum yourself, the men and the fights weren't too bad to guess. Just take a look at yourself."

Reluctantly, she did.
"O my God."
- "I don't think HE had anything to do with that, lass."

Looking at her torn dress and coat, both red with his dried blood, images of yesterday, all tangled up and dimmed by the rum, flew through her head.
She remembered running away from him, stopping only to vomit once or twice - that urge had come back as soon as she was away from him and with that from her anger that seemed to consume every other feeling.
Finally she must have collapsed here in this street, fainting rather than peacefully settling down for some sleep. And now this pirate had found her. Like this. If god hadn't anything to do with that, who had?

----

To be continued.

So, here it is, my first *real* chapter of "Streets of Tortuga". I can tell already that Sijtje's fits of rage, especially the one when she hurt 'the one she loved', will be very important for the rest of the story, so don't forget about that, even when I'm not mentioning them again for one or more chapters.
The next chapter will be from Jack's POV, read on please - and let me know, how you like it!

This is my first fanfiction ever, so please, please, R & R - but be easy on the goods, darlings!
And remember: english is not my native language, so I'm really glad about any suggestions about my writing, especially regarding mistakes & stuff, ok?

If I get some feedback, I'll keep on writing. Deal?

By the by. Thanks to Andy and Iamwickedcool for their feedback!