A Most Unusual Interest
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
41
Views:
5,411
Reviews:
56
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
41
Views:
5,411
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.
7
A Most Unusual Interest Chapter Seven (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Up in the sky!
It’s a bird, it’s a plane…it’s UBERBETA!!!! Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE
™, Prophetic Muse and Hamster Witch gets large quantities of chocolate because
she n it. it. J Readers/Reviewers: Thank you! And…feedback?
Myrtle
stared out the porthole to the rolling sea. She had not been allowed out of her
small cabin since the previous morning when Jimmy and Dawson “fought over her,”
as Captain Sparrow had put it. That’s
ridiculous…what’s to fight over? They
seemed amenable to the idea of a woman aboard ship and everyone said how good
of friends that nice lady captain and Jack are… Belatedly, it occurred to her what “good friends” meant to the
men when it came to women. Oh…my. That’s certainly plausible. Anna Maria was fiery enough to make Myrtle
have hope for her own career on the high seas—That woman doesn’t answer to
anyone! And she has her own ship! Maybe she can teach me to run such a large
one… It was her secret shame that
she was only expert at small skiffs and two man boats while her father and
Richard had both spent time on large ships in their youth. But they’re gone from my life now… As
soon as I get justice, I am free…
The sea was darkening with the
coming night and above her head, she heard the heave footfalls of men going about
their duties. It had been days and days
since the horror on The Nautilus and she wondered if her lack of grief
was some defect in her soul. She had
cried and raged, sure, but the proper ladies her sister Hazel and to a lesser
extent, Willow, were always on about would not be seeking revenge. They would
be mourning and pleading with the navy to seek out the pirates who did this… Pirates.
Those men…they couldn’t have been pirates! She leapt to her feet so quickly she tripped over herself and hit
the wooden floor with a thud. And
that’s why no one ever asked you to dance, she scolded herself
inwardly. Pulling herself to her feet,
she rubbed at her chin and came away with bloody fingers. “Bugger,” she spat, tasting the word for the
first time and liking how improper it sounded.
“Bugger it.”
“Bugger what?” Jack asked dryly,
leaning against the doorframe. He had
come in when she fell and was highly amused if not a bit concerned at her
outburst.
“My bloody chin.”
“Is that a description or a value
judgment?”[1]
Myrtle snorted mirthlessly. “Those men,” she declared with blood
dripping from her chin, “weren’t pirates!”
Jack leaned forward, his brows
creeping up in interest at botr wor words and the fact this “lady” was
disregarding not only a gash on her chin but did not seem to care that she
looked like Hell. “How do you figure?”
“They didn’t take anything!”
“Pardon?”
“All the goods were left on the
ship—the powder stores, our jewelry, the money…All of it! They just…”
She trailed off, seemingly finally feeling the pain in her chin as she
winced. ey jey just murdered everyone
but me.”
“Not all pirates steal, dove.” He crossed to, pe, peering down at her wide
gray eyes in her round face. “You look
sick.”
“It’s the blood,” she
breathed. Jack was not as intimidating
as she would have expected. He was
fascinating. He loonothnothing like the
pirates in her beloved books and dreadfuls, nothing like the monsters she had
heard described by officers and ladies in drawing rooms. Instead, he looked…”Exotic,” she murmured.
“’Scuse me?”
Myrtle flushed brightly and stepped
back. “I need some cotton wool for my
chin, please. And those men most
definitely were not pirates!”
“Lass, just because they did not
steal your jewels and blow your ship to the heavens does not make them anything
less than a pirate.”
Myrtle jerked her dripping chin up
defiantly. “What do pirates do, sir?”
“Lie, steal and pilfer our weasley
black guts out[2],” he
responded glibly.
“Murder?”
“Sometimes…” he responded more
slowly.
“Captain Sparrow, I know in my
heart these men were not pirates. They
were something else entirely… I know it
but cannot name why.”
Jack sighed and wished for his
rum. “I’ve come to tell you you’re
allowed on deck this evening. Jimmy and
Dawson are belowdecks for duty.”
She frowned at the subject
change. “Captain…”
“Wear a dress,” he added.
“I don’t have one. I left them in Port Royal…”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“Trousers make more sense aboard a
ship…” She shrugged helplessly. “Why must I wear a dress?”
“You’re incitin’ too much interest
in me crew, lass. If ye can’t wear a
dress, wear somethin’…” He gestured to
her body vaguely. “Looser.”
Myrtle felt a smile tug at the
corners of her lips. “Sir, I’ve been
wishing my whole life to wear looser clothing.
Thank you.” The idea of never
having to wear a corset, stays, stomacher or any constrictive clothing again
had been one of the main attractions towards wearing trousers. Now, the idea of wearing baggy clothes that
hid her embarrassing figure…she could hug him for that alone.
Jack coughed to cover hisugh.ugh. “I’ll get ye a coat or somethin’. It’s cool on deck.”
She smiled now. “Cotton wool?”
“Aye, your chin…aye…” He nodded vaguely and bowed at the waist as
if doing honor to a great lady. “As you
request, dove.”
Myrtle sighed as he left, the smell
of rum and coconut lingering faintly.
Her chin had stopped bleeding freely but blood was tacky on her neck and
shirt. “I look like a real pirate,” she
laughed, catching a glimpse of herself in the warped looking glass over the narrow
storage chest at the foot of the bunk.
Her hair was pushed back from her face under a scrap of sail cloth, torn
from an old sail no long useable or repairable. Her clothes were filthy as were her face and her nails. And, the thought blithely, once in loose
clothing, no one could tell she had breasts or hips or any curves
whatsoever. Her long hair hung in a
braid over her shoulder and she frowned at it, picking up the sun dried plait
and considering it. If I cut it off,
she thought, I’d look even more male…
She abandoned the idea a moment later, the mental picture of her round
face capped by jagged, short hair too horrifying even for her. The footsteps over head thudded heavily now,
as if they were all in a hurry. “I
wonder what’s going on…”
Her answer came a moment later as
the ship heaved hard to port, the sound of a canon blast deafening.
[1] Borrowed
from Lois McMaster Bujold’s “Komarr” when one character is describing a plant
called bloody puffwad.
[2] Paraphrase
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Up in the sky!
It’s a bird, it’s a plane…it’s UBERBETA!!!! Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE
™, Prophetic Muse and Hamster Witch gets large quantities of chocolate because
she n it. it. J Readers/Reviewers: Thank you! And…feedback?
Myrtle
stared out the porthole to the rolling sea. She had not been allowed out of her
small cabin since the previous morning when Jimmy and Dawson “fought over her,”
as Captain Sparrow had put it. That’s
ridiculous…what’s to fight over? They
seemed amenable to the idea of a woman aboard ship and everyone said how good
of friends that nice lady captain and Jack are… Belatedly, it occurred to her what “good friends” meant to the
men when it came to women. Oh…my. That’s certainly plausible. Anna Maria was fiery enough to make Myrtle
have hope for her own career on the high seas—That woman doesn’t answer to
anyone! And she has her own ship! Maybe she can teach me to run such a large
one… It was her secret shame that
she was only expert at small skiffs and two man boats while her father and
Richard had both spent time on large ships in their youth. But they’re gone from my life now… As
soon as I get justice, I am free…
The sea was darkening with the
coming night and above her head, she heard the heave footfalls of men going about
their duties. It had been days and days
since the horror on The Nautilus and she wondered if her lack of grief
was some defect in her soul. She had
cried and raged, sure, but the proper ladies her sister Hazel and to a lesser
extent, Willow, were always on about would not be seeking revenge. They would
be mourning and pleading with the navy to seek out the pirates who did this… Pirates.
Those men…they couldn’t have been pirates! She leapt to her feet so quickly she tripped over herself and hit
the wooden floor with a thud. And
that’s why no one ever asked you to dance, she scolded herself
inwardly. Pulling herself to her feet,
she rubbed at her chin and came away with bloody fingers. “Bugger,” she spat, tasting the word for the
first time and liking how improper it sounded.
“Bugger it.”
“Bugger what?” Jack asked dryly,
leaning against the doorframe. He had
come in when she fell and was highly amused if not a bit concerned at her
outburst.
“My bloody chin.”
“Is that a description or a value
judgment?”[1]
Myrtle snorted mirthlessly. “Those men,” she declared with blood
dripping from her chin, “weren’t pirates!”
Jack leaned forward, his brows
creeping up in interest at botr wor words and the fact this “lady” was
disregarding not only a gash on her chin but did not seem to care that she
looked like Hell. “How do you figure?”
“They didn’t take anything!”
“Pardon?”
“All the goods were left on the
ship—the powder stores, our jewelry, the money…All of it! They just…”
She trailed off, seemingly finally feeling the pain in her chin as she
winced. ey jey just murdered everyone
but me.”
“Not all pirates steal, dove.” He crossed to, pe, peering down at her wide
gray eyes in her round face. “You look
sick.”
“It’s the blood,” she
breathed. Jack was not as intimidating
as she would have expected. He was
fascinating. He loonothnothing like the
pirates in her beloved books and dreadfuls, nothing like the monsters she had
heard described by officers and ladies in drawing rooms. Instead, he looked…”Exotic,” she murmured.
“’Scuse me?”
Myrtle flushed brightly and stepped
back. “I need some cotton wool for my
chin, please. And those men most
definitely were not pirates!”
“Lass, just because they did not
steal your jewels and blow your ship to the heavens does not make them anything
less than a pirate.”
Myrtle jerked her dripping chin up
defiantly. “What do pirates do, sir?”
“Lie, steal and pilfer our weasley
black guts out[2],” he
responded glibly.
“Murder?”
“Sometimes…” he responded more
slowly.
“Captain Sparrow, I know in my
heart these men were not pirates. They
were something else entirely… I know it
but cannot name why.”
Jack sighed and wished for his
rum. “I’ve come to tell you you’re
allowed on deck this evening. Jimmy and
Dawson are belowdecks for duty.”
She frowned at the subject
change. “Captain…”
“Wear a dress,” he added.
“I don’t have one. I left them in Port Royal…”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“Trousers make more sense aboard a
ship…” She shrugged helplessly. “Why must I wear a dress?”
“You’re incitin’ too much interest
in me crew, lass. If ye can’t wear a
dress, wear somethin’…” He gestured to
her body vaguely. “Looser.”
Myrtle felt a smile tug at the
corners of her lips. “Sir, I’ve been
wishing my whole life to wear looser clothing.
Thank you.” The idea of never
having to wear a corset, stays, stomacher or any constrictive clothing again
had been one of the main attractions towards wearing trousers. Now, the idea of wearing baggy clothes that
hid her embarrassing figure…she could hug him for that alone.
Jack coughed to cover hisugh.ugh. “I’ll get ye a coat or somethin’. It’s cool on deck.”
She smiled now. “Cotton wool?”
“Aye, your chin…aye…” He nodded vaguely and bowed at the waist as
if doing honor to a great lady. “As you
request, dove.”
Myrtle sighed as he left, the smell
of rum and coconut lingering faintly.
Her chin had stopped bleeding freely but blood was tacky on her neck and
shirt. “I look like a real pirate,” she
laughed, catching a glimpse of herself in the warped looking glass over the narrow
storage chest at the foot of the bunk.
Her hair was pushed back from her face under a scrap of sail cloth, torn
from an old sail no long useable or repairable. Her clothes were filthy as were her face and her nails. And, the thought blithely, once in loose
clothing, no one could tell she had breasts or hips or any curves
whatsoever. Her long hair hung in a
braid over her shoulder and she frowned at it, picking up the sun dried plait
and considering it. If I cut it off,
she thought, I’d look even more male…
She abandoned the idea a moment later, the mental picture of her round
face capped by jagged, short hair too horrifying even for her. The footsteps over head thudded heavily now,
as if they were all in a hurry. “I
wonder what’s going on…”
Her answer came a moment later as
the ship heaved hard to port, the sound of a canon blast deafening.
[1] Borrowed
from Lois McMaster Bujold’s “Komarr” when one character is describing a plant
called bloody puffwad.
[2] Paraphrase