A Most Unusual Interest
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
41
Views:
5,408
Reviews:
56
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
41
Views:
5,408
Reviews:
56
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
4
A most unusual interest, Chapter Four (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta…Sometimes I just get
the urge to wear an eye patch and go arrrrrrgh! I blame Errol Flynn.
Readers/Reviewers: Thank you for taking the time to read and drop me a
review when you get the chance! Sorry
the updates aren’t coming fast as planned but hopefully in the new year I
should be getting one out every other day!
The journey
to the Pearl had been uneventful, as had the boarding. It was what happened after that put Myrtle
at odds with the entire situation. The
men had not, as she had expected, send up a hue and a cry over having a woman
on board but rather at her attire. “No
lady dresses like that!” one of them had protested upon seeing her.
Stiffly,
she shot back, “I refuse to be on board a ship where I am fully intending to
pull my own weight if I am to wear heavy skirnd cnd corsets!”
Jack had
merely smirked and pushed his hat back to regard her more clearly. “She’s got herself a point… Can’t be workin’ the riggin’ in
skirts.” He whistled sharply and a
young man, scarcely older than Myrtle, appeared at his elbow. “Jimmy, this be Miss Myrtle MacLeod. She’s our…guide…on this little
adventure. Be showin’ her the ropes.”
Jimmy
grinned and raked a glance over Myrtle—truth be told her first “look” from a
man. She blamed the trousers. “Thank you, Captain,” she responded coolly. “Where may I put my things?”
A ripple of laughter moved
through the assembled crew. “Well,
dove, if you’re intendin’ on bein’ part of my crew,” Jack said with a slow
smile as he paced towards her, hands folded neatly behind his back, “you’ll be
bunkin’ with…the crew…” He paused as a
raucous cheer went up amongst the men. He knew they were playing in with his humor,
but Myrtle did not, judging by the horrified look that flickered across her
face before she straightened her back and jerked her chin up in a defiant
gesture. “But seein’ as how we’re short
on space belowdecks,” he continued, pausing again as his men groaned in mock
disappointment, “you’ll be sleepin’ in the quarters next to mine.”
Myrtle
tried not to let her relief show but she could tell Jack caught it by the
slight crinkling of his eyes. “That’s
fine, sir. Where are your quarters?”
“Mister
Gibbs, get Miss MacLeod settled please, then report back to me.”
“Aye, sir,” Gibbs muttered,
not at all amused about the turn of events.
Myrtle let
the first mate lead her through the gathered men towards the quarters she would
be staying in. She had not been aware
she had been holding her breath until her lungs began to ache and she had to
exhale. “Sorry,” she murmured at Gibbs’
exasperated look.
“I’m not
likin’ this at all, miss,” he muttered, opening a creaky wooden door and
motioning her in. “Not likin’ it at all…”
Myrtle bit
her lip, debating between a prim response and remaining silent. She compromised with, “I’m sorry you think I’ll
bring ill luck upon your ship, but I cannot let my sisters’ death have been for
naught.”
Gibbs fixed
her with an odd look before responding, “Nay, miss, Anna Maria’s been aboard
enough for me not to worry ‘bout womenfolk aboard. What I’m not likin’ is Cap’n Sparrow hiring us out for the crown.”
Myrtle
frowned, letting her satchel of meager belongings, bought on short notice from
the shops in Port Royal, drop to the floor.
“He’s not hiring you out…”
“Maybe not
for money, lass, but we’re hired out.”
She sighed
as Gibbs lumbered out, shutting the door behind him. The room smelled of lamp oil and oakum, not pleasant but not
repugnant, either. It had obviously
been used as a storage area recently, if the bits of detritus on the floor had
any meaning. The bed, though, she was
pleased to note, was clean and made. She
heaved her weary bones to the bunk, the stress of the past three days hitting
her hard and fast at the sight of the bed—her bed, she smiled to herself, her
bed on an actual pirate ship! It was
barely midday but she wanted to sleep. Surely,
she thought to herself, I can sneak in a few hours. Things looked calm above… As she pulled
her boots off and unbuttoned the jacket given to her by Will Turner himself, a
heavy knock fell on the door. “Yes?”
Jack opened
the door and swept her a small bow, standing aside to let a scrawny, dirty
blond youth enter ahead of him. “This
is Jimmy Daniels. Jimmy, Miss MacLeod.”
“How do you
do?” she asked politely, out of habit, as the young man stared at her openly.
“Jimmy will
show you what’s to be done. He’s been
on The Pearl since he was a wee lad of…how old are ye now, Jimmy?”
“Sixteen,
cap’n sir.”
“A wee lad
o’ younger years.” Jack’s grin winked
at her in the dim cabin. “I suggest ye
be puttin’ yer boots back on, dove.”
He watched
Myrtle from beneath the lowered brim of his hat as Jimmy taught her the proper
way to swab a deck. The girl was full
of lore on pirates, if the questions she asked Jimmy were any indication, but
she had no idea how a ship was run much less how to work on one. It would have been funny, he reflected, if
it were not his ship she would be learning on.
He winced as she knocked into one of the men, sending him sprawling
towards the railing. “Watch yourself,”
he called to his newest charge. “I can’t
be pickin’ up new crew at sea!”
Myrtle
ducked her head and muttered an apology to Dawson, who glared and went back
about his business. “I’m no good at
this!”
Jack
chuckled. “No one’s good at it the
first time or ten.” He nodded to Gibbs
who moved to take the wheel. “It’s time
you’re taking a break, Myrtle.”
“But…”
“A break,” he insisted, taking
the mop from her and passing it off to Jimmy in one smooth movement. “In my cabin.”
Her eyes
went very round at this. Surely,
she panicked, he doesn’t mean to…
“Stop
lookin’ at me like that,” he ordered. “I
ain’t about to harm you. I just want to
start getting’ an idea of what we’re lookin’ for. The sea’s a mighty big place to be lookin’, especially for a tiny
ship.”
Myrtle
sighed as he led her into his cabin, well appointed to her eyes. “It was not so tiny.” He did not respond but motioned for her to
sit down as he produced a bottle of rum from a cabinet set into the wall. “No thank you,” she demurred when he offered
her the first swallow. He shrugged in
indifference and drank deeply. “Um, it
was late afternoon…”
He waved
her off. “I’m not wantin’ your life
story…what’d the ship look like?”
She fell
silent for a moment, recalling the image from her last happy day. “It was brown.”
Jack
gritted his teeth in frustration. “So
are all the ships in the King’s navy.”
“The sails
were white…”
“Lass,
lass, lass!” He reached across the
table they had been seated at and grasped the sides of her head firmly, forcing
her to look him in the eyes. “Something
useful!”
Myrtle
gulped audibly. “Jolly Roger!”
He let go
with a growl, baring his teeth in either pleasure or annoyance, she was not
sure. His hands still close to her face
but his fingers splayed, he asked tightly, “What did it look like?”
“Like…like…” She closed her eyes and counted to ten,
trying to remain calm. “Do you have
some paper? A pencil?”
He frowned
thoughtfully, slowly lowering his hands.
“Aye, that I do… can you not describe it to me?”
“It’s
easier for me to draw,” she said quietly.
After years of stuttering, she had at age nineteen finally overcome the
problem only to find it rose again in times of extreme stress. She could feel it coming on even as Jack
rummaged in a desk drawer for writing utensils. Be calm, Myrtie, she heard Willow murmuring in her
ear. Be calm and this will be over
soon. She took the proffered paper
and pencil, scraps really of once larger implements, and bent over them, trying
to ignore the movements of the ship that Jack seemed unaffected by as he peered
over her shoulder. She inhaled
involuntarily, the scent of sea and rum and coconut and warm skin with a tinge
of sweat flooded her veins unexpectedly, making her freeze mid-line.
“What is
it?” he asked sharply, his voice resonating in her ear. “Forget?”
“N…no,” she
swallowed, trying to regain her sensebalabalance. “Just…the stress is catching up with me,” she finished lamely. Hastily, she drew out the rest of the flag
and pushed the picture away from her, hoping it would make this strange pirate
move to the other side of the table.
Instead, Jack reached for the paper and pulled it back so he could see
it from his current vantage point, making humming noises low in his throat as
he studied it. Damn, Myrtle
thought feverishly. It must be the
Caribbean air…
Jack blew
out a rum-tainted breath and stood straight, rubbing his hands together. “That’s a start then.”
“Do you
recognize it?”
“Can’t say as I do, but it’s a
start.”
“How are we going to find
them?” she asked urgently as he headed towards the door. “I can’t let them… I won’t let them get away
with killing my sisters!”
Jack turned
slowly to face her, the clink of beads in his hair the only sound in the room
for a moment. “Vengeance,” he said
slowly, tasting the words on his tongue, “is a bitter drink, dove. Worse than absinthe for makin’ one crazy.”
“He…he c..c…cut
off their heads,” she said brokenly, a sob rising with the sick in her throat. “He cut off their heads!” she screamed,
dropping to their knees.
Jack
watched, horrified, as Myrtle officially broke down. His hands flexed at his sides in uncertainty before he gave in to
old chivalry and groaned, crossing to her.
“Dove, get up! Come on, now that’s
a lass… over here now…” He half-dragged, half-led her to the bed as she wailed
and sobbed and hiccoughed, her eyes wild and body shaking. Unsure, he patted her back. “We’ll find them and…and then you can see
what you can see…”
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta…Sometimes I just get
the urge to wear an eye patch and go arrrrrrgh! I blame Errol Flynn.
Readers/Reviewers: Thank you for taking the time to read and drop me a
review when you get the chance! Sorry
the updates aren’t coming fast as planned but hopefully in the new year I
should be getting one out every other day!
The journey
to the Pearl had been uneventful, as had the boarding. It was what happened after that put Myrtle
at odds with the entire situation. The
men had not, as she had expected, send up a hue and a cry over having a woman
on board but rather at her attire. “No
lady dresses like that!” one of them had protested upon seeing her.
Stiffly,
she shot back, “I refuse to be on board a ship where I am fully intending to
pull my own weight if I am to wear heavy skirnd cnd corsets!”
Jack had
merely smirked and pushed his hat back to regard her more clearly. “She’s got herself a point… Can’t be workin’ the riggin’ in
skirts.” He whistled sharply and a
young man, scarcely older than Myrtle, appeared at his elbow. “Jimmy, this be Miss Myrtle MacLeod. She’s our…guide…on this little
adventure. Be showin’ her the ropes.”
Jimmy
grinned and raked a glance over Myrtle—truth be told her first “look” from a
man. She blamed the trousers. “Thank you, Captain,” she responded coolly. “Where may I put my things?”
A ripple of laughter moved
through the assembled crew. “Well,
dove, if you’re intendin’ on bein’ part of my crew,” Jack said with a slow
smile as he paced towards her, hands folded neatly behind his back, “you’ll be
bunkin’ with…the crew…” He paused as a
raucous cheer went up amongst the men. He knew they were playing in with his humor,
but Myrtle did not, judging by the horrified look that flickered across her
face before she straightened her back and jerked her chin up in a defiant
gesture. “But seein’ as how we’re short
on space belowdecks,” he continued, pausing again as his men groaned in mock
disappointment, “you’ll be sleepin’ in the quarters next to mine.”
Myrtle
tried not to let her relief show but she could tell Jack caught it by the
slight crinkling of his eyes. “That’s
fine, sir. Where are your quarters?”
“Mister
Gibbs, get Miss MacLeod settled please, then report back to me.”
“Aye, sir,” Gibbs muttered,
not at all amused about the turn of events.
Myrtle let
the first mate lead her through the gathered men towards the quarters she would
be staying in. She had not been aware
she had been holding her breath until her lungs began to ache and she had to
exhale. “Sorry,” she murmured at Gibbs’
exasperated look.
“I’m not
likin’ this at all, miss,” he muttered, opening a creaky wooden door and
motioning her in. “Not likin’ it at all…”
Myrtle bit
her lip, debating between a prim response and remaining silent. She compromised with, “I’m sorry you think I’ll
bring ill luck upon your ship, but I cannot let my sisters’ death have been for
naught.”
Gibbs fixed
her with an odd look before responding, “Nay, miss, Anna Maria’s been aboard
enough for me not to worry ‘bout womenfolk aboard. What I’m not likin’ is Cap’n Sparrow hiring us out for the crown.”
Myrtle
frowned, letting her satchel of meager belongings, bought on short notice from
the shops in Port Royal, drop to the floor.
“He’s not hiring you out…”
“Maybe not
for money, lass, but we’re hired out.”
She sighed
as Gibbs lumbered out, shutting the door behind him. The room smelled of lamp oil and oakum, not pleasant but not
repugnant, either. It had obviously
been used as a storage area recently, if the bits of detritus on the floor had
any meaning. The bed, though, she was
pleased to note, was clean and made. She
heaved her weary bones to the bunk, the stress of the past three days hitting
her hard and fast at the sight of the bed—her bed, she smiled to herself, her
bed on an actual pirate ship! It was
barely midday but she wanted to sleep. Surely,
she thought to herself, I can sneak in a few hours. Things looked calm above… As she pulled
her boots off and unbuttoned the jacket given to her by Will Turner himself, a
heavy knock fell on the door. “Yes?”
Jack opened
the door and swept her a small bow, standing aside to let a scrawny, dirty
blond youth enter ahead of him. “This
is Jimmy Daniels. Jimmy, Miss MacLeod.”
“How do you
do?” she asked politely, out of habit, as the young man stared at her openly.
“Jimmy will
show you what’s to be done. He’s been
on The Pearl since he was a wee lad of…how old are ye now, Jimmy?”
“Sixteen,
cap’n sir.”
“A wee lad
o’ younger years.” Jack’s grin winked
at her in the dim cabin. “I suggest ye
be puttin’ yer boots back on, dove.”
He watched
Myrtle from beneath the lowered brim of his hat as Jimmy taught her the proper
way to swab a deck. The girl was full
of lore on pirates, if the questions she asked Jimmy were any indication, but
she had no idea how a ship was run much less how to work on one. It would have been funny, he reflected, if
it were not his ship she would be learning on.
He winced as she knocked into one of the men, sending him sprawling
towards the railing. “Watch yourself,”
he called to his newest charge. “I can’t
be pickin’ up new crew at sea!”
Myrtle
ducked her head and muttered an apology to Dawson, who glared and went back
about his business. “I’m no good at
this!”
Jack
chuckled. “No one’s good at it the
first time or ten.” He nodded to Gibbs
who moved to take the wheel. “It’s time
you’re taking a break, Myrtle.”
“But…”
“A break,” he insisted, taking
the mop from her and passing it off to Jimmy in one smooth movement. “In my cabin.”
Her eyes
went very round at this. Surely,
she panicked, he doesn’t mean to…
“Stop
lookin’ at me like that,” he ordered. “I
ain’t about to harm you. I just want to
start getting’ an idea of what we’re lookin’ for. The sea’s a mighty big place to be lookin’, especially for a tiny
ship.”
Myrtle
sighed as he led her into his cabin, well appointed to her eyes. “It was not so tiny.” He did not respond but motioned for her to
sit down as he produced a bottle of rum from a cabinet set into the wall. “No thank you,” she demurred when he offered
her the first swallow. He shrugged in
indifference and drank deeply. “Um, it
was late afternoon…”
He waved
her off. “I’m not wantin’ your life
story…what’d the ship look like?”
She fell
silent for a moment, recalling the image from her last happy day. “It was brown.”
Jack
gritted his teeth in frustration. “So
are all the ships in the King’s navy.”
“The sails
were white…”
“Lass,
lass, lass!” He reached across the
table they had been seated at and grasped the sides of her head firmly, forcing
her to look him in the eyes. “Something
useful!”
Myrtle
gulped audibly. “Jolly Roger!”
He let go
with a growl, baring his teeth in either pleasure or annoyance, she was not
sure. His hands still close to her face
but his fingers splayed, he asked tightly, “What did it look like?”
“Like…like…” She closed her eyes and counted to ten,
trying to remain calm. “Do you have
some paper? A pencil?”
He frowned
thoughtfully, slowly lowering his hands.
“Aye, that I do… can you not describe it to me?”
“It’s
easier for me to draw,” she said quietly.
After years of stuttering, she had at age nineteen finally overcome the
problem only to find it rose again in times of extreme stress. She could feel it coming on even as Jack
rummaged in a desk drawer for writing utensils. Be calm, Myrtie, she heard Willow murmuring in her
ear. Be calm and this will be over
soon. She took the proffered paper
and pencil, scraps really of once larger implements, and bent over them, trying
to ignore the movements of the ship that Jack seemed unaffected by as he peered
over her shoulder. She inhaled
involuntarily, the scent of sea and rum and coconut and warm skin with a tinge
of sweat flooded her veins unexpectedly, making her freeze mid-line.
“What is
it?” he asked sharply, his voice resonating in her ear. “Forget?”
“N…no,” she
swallowed, trying to regain her sensebalabalance. “Just…the stress is catching up with me,” she finished lamely. Hastily, she drew out the rest of the flag
and pushed the picture away from her, hoping it would make this strange pirate
move to the other side of the table.
Instead, Jack reached for the paper and pulled it back so he could see
it from his current vantage point, making humming noises low in his throat as
he studied it. Damn, Myrtle
thought feverishly. It must be the
Caribbean air…
Jack blew
out a rum-tainted breath and stood straight, rubbing his hands together. “That’s a start then.”
“Do you
recognize it?”
“Can’t say as I do, but it’s a
start.”
“How are we going to find
them?” she asked urgently as he headed towards the door. “I can’t let them… I won’t let them get away
with killing my sisters!”
Jack turned
slowly to face her, the clink of beads in his hair the only sound in the room
for a moment. “Vengeance,” he said
slowly, tasting the words on his tongue, “is a bitter drink, dove. Worse than absinthe for makin’ one crazy.”
“He…he c..c…cut
off their heads,” she said brokenly, a sob rising with the sick in her throat. “He cut off their heads!” she screamed,
dropping to their knees.
Jack
watched, horrified, as Myrtle officially broke down. His hands flexed at his sides in uncertainty before he gave in to
old chivalry and groaned, crossing to her.
“Dove, get up! Come on, now that’s
a lass… over here now…” He half-dragged, half-led her to the bed as she wailed
and sobbed and hiccoughed, her eyes wild and body shaking. Unsure, he patted her back. “We’ll find them and…and then you can see
what you can see…”