What Would You Do? *1*

Author: Pilgrim
Title: What Would You Do?
Rating: NC-17 by the end possibly sooner depends on how the story progresses again
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PotC characters or movies (unfortunately); anything you recognize isn’t mine (god damn them to hell!) Before anyone asks yes, Oria is mine who else could have thought up such a creature?
Feedback: Please! First time fan fiction writer and desperate for tips, tricks, advice, stuff me full of info please! I want to improve and take over the world with my genius mwhahaha! Lol, only kidding but feedback would be fantastic, send it to raukarwen_deomene@yahoo.com or review!
Notes: So far unread, so really need feedback on it.

Chapter 3 - Letters

Oria watched silently as the crew abandoned the ship crowing in delight at the smoky presence of Tortuga, a fortnight since they had found the Isle de Muerta and the excitement had reached its’ peak once more at the prospect of spending the gold medallions. After all, the coins had been sat in their pockets since the last trip a few weeks ago; the chest was nearly empty after the months of hoarding the coins and spending them. A continuous journey between Tortuga and the Isle De Muerta, just enough time spent at each to sate desires. Barbossa stepped alongside her silently and watched the men drift away into various whore houses and taverns.

“Are you coming?” She stood as still and silent as a statue watching them disappear into the night like wraiths. She knew that was what they would become, she had seen the inscriptions on the chest, she knew the curse. Her lips quirked slightly as she thought of the shock on their faces as the curse came true, when they could no longer be sated by weeks in Tortuga. Oria prayed that day would come soon, and she prayed she would see their faces and laugh as they realised they were as cursed as her. Slowly her mind returned to Barbossas’ question.

“Not with you, I’m going alone.” Barbossa nodded, he had the feeling she wasn’t about to abandon them and strode down the boarding plank heading for the nearest tavern.

Oria watched him go silently before heading down to the crews’ quarters, throwing her jacket over her shoulders and pinning her hair under her hat before she stowed the gold medallions and a piece of parchment in her pockets. Slamming her hands into the pockets she stalked out of the crews’ quarters and headed for the beach.

Tortuga was just as hectic as the last time she had visited. Brushing past whores and drunks was no easy mission when they took over the majority of the narrow ill-conceived streets. Several times she was knocked off the path or pushed into a barrel or wall by over-eager men and women alike heading for taverns and rooms. When she finally reached the beach she was sure every inch of her had a bruise on from elbows or knees. She sat in the sand and watched the ocean for a few quiet minutes to gather her thoughts before applying a pencil to the parchment,

“To my dearest Will and darling wife Heather,
I miss you both very much; I don’t have anything to send to you at the minute except my love and prayers that you are both still well.
William, I’ve sent this for you to look after for me, I promise that I will return to see you again and claim this back. It’s a guarantee my lad. You must keep it safe for me Will, keep it safe and remember, never, ever trust a pirate. Steer as far clear of them as possible my son.
Heather, look after our lad, I’ll send money as soon as I can. May God bless you both and speed my way back to you.
Love,
William.”

Oria glanced down at the parchment, it wasn’t a bad copy of his style and writing, perhaps a bit neater from the years of calligraphy but it was adequate. She wondered about Bootstrap, had he escaped the ropes and cannon ball yet and managed to swim his way to England and back to his family or was he still down there. Waiting in eternal silence, watching the waves roll by several leagues above his head. It did not do to dwell on the situation; he had done his part, now she had to do hers.

Folding up the short letter she placed it in a crisp parchment envelope before stuffing it back into her pocket and heading for the blacksmiths’, one of the medallions clutched tightly in her right palm. The bell above the door tinkled gently as the door banged into it. Oria gazed around the side of the door, a heavily built man looked around and grinned wiping his hands on his grease ridden chaps.

“Want something lad?” She nodded and slipped through the heavy door meeting the bloodshot gaze of the man in the dimness. Tugging out a couple of coins she stepped forwards holding one of the medallions lightly in one hand.

“I need you to attach a chain to this pendant now and without questions. I’ll give you this in payment.” She held out two golden coins, the man leered down at them as she moved to place them on the counter. She wasn’t too willing on placing the coins in his podgy heat scorched hands.

“Pretty young lad ain’t ya, what say we forget the payment and ya help me with a certain… pressing issue I have.” Oria pulled her lip back in disgust and drew her pistol. She didn’t have the time to waste playing stupid games with this man and his sordid thoughts and dreams.

“How about no, you do it for one coin and you do it now and I’ll spare your pathetic little life, savvy?” He glanced down the barrel of the double pistol, she primed it with a cocked eyebrow and he nodded holding his hand out for the medallion. She dropped it into his palm and watched him carefully as he welded a thin gold chain she had found in Jacks’ cabin to it. He held it up for her to inspect, she fingered the new link carefully and found it sound. She handed him the coin warily, her pistol still aimed at his chest, “Nice doing business with you mate.”

Slowly Oria lowered the pistol as she headed for the door, her back was turned for one second and somehow the great lump had managed to drag out a shotgun. The wood next to her face exploded, she drew the pistol again and shot him in the chest but it wasn't an instant killing shot, it was intended to drag out death. He stared down startled, she hadn’t even been looking when she shot, his gaze met her unyielding one surprised. He patted his chest and looked at the blood coating his fingertips with wide eyes. He fell backwards stiffly his eyes rolling into the back of his head; slipping the pistol into her belt Oria leapt over the counter easily and felt in his pockets for the coin she had given him. He gazed up drowsily at her his breath rattling slightly, he scowled as he saw her features in the warm light of his forge.

“You’re not a lad… you’re a woman.” She scowled down at him. Now really wasn’t the time for him to get into a debate about pirates and whether women should or shouldn’t become one. Still she couldn’t resist destroying all his previous perceptions of the trade.

“Actually I’m a pirate.” Oria found the coin in a small leather lined pocket accompanied by a fairly plain dull grey key. Drawing both from the pocket she turned on her heels and spotted the safe under the wooden counter. With a grin back at him she unlocked it to reveal several bags of money and some chunks of gold.

Smiling, pleased with herself she shrugged her jacket off and scooped the money and gold into it before folding it up and swinging it over her shoulder like a sack. A sword glinted temptingly and she quickly took it down from its’ perch and tucked it under arm.

Glancing down at the dying man she felt nothing; he had fired to kill, so had she only she had been true to her word and done the deed, she tipped her hat with a cocky grin and leapt over the counter. Closing the door behind her Oria grasped a burning brand and tossed it onto the thatch roof; she might as well let the fire conceal her handiwork. What people didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, besides fires happened daily and forges were very silly places, little sparks could get free or anything.

Strolling back to the Pearl to store the loot she watched as men rushed to put out the fire at the smithy’s some carried buckets of water while others were merely going to watch the spectacle unfold. The man had not been popular, often taking advantage of young lads that caught his eye. Many of those lads were now laughing and chortling as the roof collapsed literally around the blacksmiths’ ears.

The Pearl was cool and calm compared to the pandemonium of the island, Oria placed her jacket on what she still considered Jacks’ bed although Barbossa was now its’ occupant. Turning around she turned one of the candelabras’ arms a section of wall came loose, she pulled a sack out and poured her jackets’ contents into it before placing it back in the hide-away and shrugging the jacket back on with a grin. That was what she called a successful night, plenty of booty and no suspicion what so ever.

Footsteps echoed on the deck and she shut the trap door quickly as Barbossa stepped into the room and noted the slight scent of soot in the air. He chuckled as he looked her over noting the ash stains from falling cinders off a torch.

“So it was you who burned the smithies? Thought it might have been, did you get all the loot?” She tossed the blade she had salvaged towards him glad she had rescued it.

“Only that was worth saving.” Barbossa eyed it before placing it on the desk. It hadn’t been of the best quality and was of no interest to him.

“Why did you go the smithies?” She drew one of her swords swiftly and pointed it at his eyes. He reached for his own instinctively; Oria rolled her eyes and ran a finger along the edge of the blade.

“It’s slightly out of line, thought I’d better get it straightened. He had other ideas, thought I was lad and looking for business, I merely… righted his way of thinking.” Barbossa glanced down at the sword, he wasn’t sure if he believed her or not but then what possible harm could come of her going into a smithy. He couldn’t think of any rational explanation except the one she had presented, she sheathed her sword smoothly with a raised eyebrow. He nodded in acceptance and left to return to the whore houses, he’d only enjoyed the pleasures of two so far and the coins were weighing heavy in his coin purse.

Oria watched him leave the pier before taking out the medallion now turned into a pendant, medallions could be spent but a pendant was something kept and treasured. She slipped its’ heavy weight into the parchment envelope and left to find a ship that was sailing to England.

:/

Jack walked in to the Captains’ quarters and stood as smartly as he could considering he was once again intoxicated with rum. He swayed slightly with the ship as it rolled on yet another wave, he could feel a storm brewing.

“You wanted to see me Captain?” He blinked dumbly most of the words had been slurred and heavily accented. Jack cleared his throat sharply hoping it would shape up a bit better next time he had to speak. A piece of parchment was in front of the Captain, now this was a familiar scene. The same glint was in his eyes as had been in Cutler Becketts’ all those years ago. Jack felt the rum begin to fade away, soberness was returning at a rapid rate of knots. It was time to think, he could sense it.

“I thought I recognized you. You’re Captain Jack Sparrow; you’re wanted on several charges by the East India Trading Company. Let’s see.” He lifted up the parchment and studied it with a smirk, “That was my favourite, disappearing from under the noses of eight of those red coat chumps, closely followed by sacking Nassau port… without a shot fired. Tell me how did you do it?” Jack shrugged, these kinds of questions he could cope with. Still, he wasn’t about to drop the guard that had been creeping back up through the haze of rum.

“I just did.” The Captain was regarding him closely, so intently that Jack felt as if the man was burning a hole through him. “Are you going to turn me in at the next port then?” The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“There’s a big reward out for you, alive… or dead. I think we’ll see just how much you are worth to me on this ship. Then decide what to do with you, you’ve got three days to prove you’re worthy to keep.” Jack nodded, fair enough, no point in handing him over when there was no one to hand him over to. That look was still in the Captain’s eye and there was still that storm brewing on the horizon, men got lost in storms.

“Is that all?” Jack whispered, his voice barely rising above the brush of the waves against the ship. The Captain shook his head slowly, a quirk to his lips as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and observing Jack openly.

“How did you get stranded on that island?” Jack watched him silently for a few seconds before answering.

“I fell behind.” He turned sharply on his heels and left the room swiftly, the Captain frowning deeply trying to figure out the meaning behind it. There were already rumours about the man, he was a mystery to all who met him, no one knew anything about his past, he had risen from nothing into the beginnings of legend.