Unseasoned Ties

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything that remotely has anything to do with POTC. If I did I probably wouldn't be writing this, I would be basking in the glory.

Author's Note: I originally put this story on Fanfiction.net but they became frustrated with me. I decided to post it here. I'm probably going to be changing some things. Small details and large details. Anyway, review and tell me what you think.

Summary: You're in your first year of college. You live with your best friend in an apartment that both of your parents help pay for. You feel stuck and can’t seem to figure out anything that you may want to do with your life. You tend to escape through books and movies, getting lost in worlds that you are not a part of. To protect yourself you tend to be brutally honest and say whatever slams into your head first, not thinking until later. One night you decide to watch a movie all by yourself, and you suddenly get the alternate world you have always dreamed of. Complete with a dashing pirate.

CHAPTER 1


You haul yourself up the stairs to your apartment, feeling tired and worn out from your day at school. You got into yet another argument with your English professor over what was really going on in ‘A Clockwork Orange’. ‘It’s not my fault he’s a complete and utter moron,’ you think to yourself as you dig for your keys at the bottom of your worn out shoulder bag. It gets on your nerves when people assume it’s only about senseless violence, if only someone would actually pay attention. You finally feel the sharp edge of the apartment key against the pad of your fingertips and right as you’re about to pull it out, the apartment door swings open. You look up to see Anya, your best friend for seven years and current roommate.

“Jesus, why the hell are you standing out here? I thought that creepy guy from 12B was back to stare at my tits some more,” she says with a slight smile on her face.

“I assumed you had locked the door, what with the creepy guy and all. Wouldn’t want him to accidentally walk by and have a sudden urge to come in uninvited. Besides, there’s a reason why you put your tits out on display, for guys to look, and they do,” you say as you push by your friend and walk into the living room. Anya shuts the door and makes a show of locking it before she prances over to the kitchen to finish whatever horrible dish she was in the middle of devouring.

“Well yeah, I just seem to have that impact on boys. The tight clothes only help. You seem grumpy, what’s the matter with you anyway?” Anya asks as she stares you down with a demanding ‘tell me now’ look on her face.

“Nothing...I just had another run in with that horrid little troll I am forced to call a professor. I don’t see what the problem was. I’m sure he’s used to being called daft by now,” you answer as you make your way over to the refrigerator to pull a bottle of water out.

“What book did he insult you with this time?” Anya asks tonelessly as she picks at her food. After studying it, you come to the conclusion that it is health food and therefore not edible.

“Clockwork Orange. He shouldn’t even be allowed to touch it, let alone talk about it. God I just love incompetent college professors. You would think that the college would make sure that the professors were capable of original thought.” You start feeling frustrated all over again just thinking about that stupid bastard.

Anya gives you a strange look as she gets up to start washing the dishes she tainted with her food, “I don’t get you, it’s just a book, get over it. I didn’t even like the movie. I don’t understand what you see in that stuff anyway.”

“Yeah well no one seems to ‘get’ me, so what’s one more?” you mutter to yourself as you start walking to your bedroom, “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow Anya.”

Her response is muffled by the shutting door, but you’re pretty sure she said ‘good night.’ Either that or she said ‘the food’s right.’ You walk over to your stereo system and play whatever was in the CD tray last. From the first cords, it’s obviously The Smiths. Seems to fit. Peppy music combined with often sad lyrics. Your room is the one place you can go to and feel completely comfortable and relaxed. You can’t even remember what the walls looked like bare. They are covered with posters, pictures, cards, and random items that you’ve acquired throughout the years. Most of the posters are of your favorite movies and bands.

‘What do I do with myself now? I’m not tired, but I couldn’t be in the same room with Anya anymore, or I would have said something cruel that I would have regretted,’ you think to yourself as you stand in the middle of your room. You look around and notice your ‘Dead Man’ poster, remembering that Johnny Depp movies always seem to take your mind off things. You kneel down to your movie collection under your TV and finally decide on watching ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’.

“There’s nothing Johnny Depp as a pirate can’t cure,” you say to yourself. You settle down in your comfy bed without changing your clothes, figuring that you’ll do that when the movie is over.

Reaching for the remote to the stereo, you shut it off, while starting the movie with the other controller in your right hand.

Right around the part that Jack Sparrow gets slapped for the second time, you start nodding off without realizing it. The last thought you have, is that you couldn’t possibly fathom hitting that man if your life depended on it. Well at least not out of anger.


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The suns rays slice through your eyelids and slowly bring you back into consciousness. You fling your arm across your eyes as you think to yourself, ‘since when do I have a huge window in my bedroom?’ Realizing that for some reason your bed isn’t as comfortable as you remember it to be and there just may be a rock embedded in your ass, you groan as you open your eyes just to be blinded by the sun.

“What...the fuck?” you mutter as you slowly sit up.

‘Last time I checked I didn’t fall asleep outside in some random location,’ you think as you look around. You come to the conclusion that you are in some sort of alleyway behind a rather unattractive looking building. Slowly standing, you brush the dirt off your worn out faded jeans and flick a leaf off of your shoulder. Reaching up to brush the hair out of your eyes you realize that there are also leaves strewn about your hair as well.

‘Oh well, I don’t know where I am, so it doesn’t really matter if I look horrid.’ Leaving the concern of your hair to deal with later, you start to make your way out of the alley and into the street.

‘What the hell is going on and where the fuck am I?’ you ask yourself as you look around you. The street is littered with people, all seeming like they have nothing better to do then roam around the street at ungodly hours. You assume it’s fairly early in the morning, even though you have no facts to base your assumption on. The air smells oddly sweet and reminds you of the ocean when you used to go sailing with your grandparents years ago. Looking to your left you see some docks and scattered ships resting in the sea.

‘Well there’s the reason for the smell, I’m a genius,’ you tell yourself. You decide to walk towards the ocean, because the other option does not look appealing. To your right everything seems too withdrawn and depressing. At least the ocean can’t seem depressing. Pondering over your predicament you watch your feet kick a small stone in front of you only to catch up to it in order to kick it again. Not really paying attention to what is going on in front of you, you come to a sudden halt and slam backwards onto the ground when a body harshly collides with yours.

“Watch where ya goin’!” a gruff voice shouts at you. You look up to see a huge monster of a man towering over you and giving you the most contaminating look you have ever seen before. Without bothering to help you up, he moves around you and keeps walking. As you watch him walk away you realize that he’s not dressed right. In fact, now that you look, no one is dressed right. The whole scene looks like you just stepped into the 1800s somehow.

“Well it’s official,” you mutter, “I’m either having a really real dream, or I am mentally ill.” You stand back up and brush yourself off once again. While rubbing the dirt off your right elbow you feel a sharp pain at the contact. Bending your arm so you can see the offending area, you see that the skin has peeled back as a result from the fall and there are some small stones embedded in the flesh. Wincing, you pull the little stones away from their happy home. You frown at the sight of blood, now spilling more freely from your elbow.

“Oh great. That is just god damn terrific. Not only do I not know where the fuck I am, I’m now bleeding. Lovely.” You continue walking while trying not to notice the men leering at you as you pass by them. At least the women aren’t glaring at you, they seem more interesting in pleasing whatever man is closest. Well there are a few women glaring, just the ones who are sidled up to a leering man.

Glancing to your left you spot a beat looking bar and wonder if maybe they will have a phone you could use. You walk over to the door but before you can open it, the door swings open at you nearly smacking you in the face. A man with a long disgusting beard comes stumbling out. He has spittle covering his chin and bits of food stuck in his beard. At least you hope it’s food. He notices you and starts grinning at you like a half-wit. Fighting the urge to vomit or say something to provoke anger in the hideous little hobbit, you push by him in order to get through the door. Apparently you pushed him a tad too hard in his current unstable state, because he just dropped to the ground. Poking him a little with the toe of your black Dr. Martens you decide that he is gone for the day.

“Sucks for you,” you tell his sleeping form right before you walk into the bar.
For how calm it was outside, you are slightly stunned at how loud and crowded it is on the inside. It makes you wonder for a second what this town is like once the sun sets. A sign on your right catches your attention for a moment. You get closer and squint your eyes to try and read the writing. Most of the words are so worn that you can’t read them. But one word stands out from the rest, Tortuga.

‘Tortuga?’ you think, ‘how the hell did I come to be in Tortuga? That sure makes sense. It’s 1800 and I’m in Tortuga. I’m not insane at all. Nope, sane as ever.’ You leave the sign when you manage to locate the bar, or what you hope is the bar. You start making your way over to it, pushing past women rubbing against drunk men, and trying to avoid the many fights breaking out. Somewhere behind you, you hear someone yell, “I’ll kill ye ya dirty dog!”

‘Get it over with already then,’ you think as you carefully step over the form of a passed out man. A woman in a red dress, that’s barely managing to hang on her frame, knocks into you and spills her drink down your arm. You shriek as the burning liquid trickles down your elbow and into your wound.

“What the freaking hell are you drinking?” you yell at her as you try to carefully wipe your bleeding elbow free of the painful substance.

“Jus’ some rum darling. Why ya ask? Ya wanna share?” she softly asks you as she glides her body up to your side.

“Well that sounds quite appealing and I would take you up on that offer of yours, I just intensely don’t want to. Sorry. Now get the hell off of me,” you reply in a saccharine sweet voice dripping with sarcasm. You push her away from you and force your way through the crowd until you finally stop in front of the bar. The man behind the bar looks nice enough, nice compared to the guys on the same side as you anyway.

“Excuse me!” you shout over the chaos around you. He turns to look at you and you watch as he scans your body down and then back up to settle on your face. “Now that you’re done violating me, you think you can direct me to a phone I can use?” you impatiently ask, already changing your mind about him being a decent guy.

“A wa?” he asks with a rather bewildered look on his unshaven face. After twenty minutes of trying to explain to the man what you are asking of him, you give up all hope.

“Never mind,” you say, “can you at least give me a towel?”

He reaches down below the bar and comes back up to hand you a scrap of cloth that obviously could not pass for even remotely clean. You wrinkle your nose as you take it with two fingers holding it away from you. Looking back to him and seeing the cruel smirk playing on his lips, you scrap the idea of asking him for a different piece.

Instead of fighting your way back out of the bar, you make your way over to an empty table in the corner to the left of the bar. You let your body fall into the chair as you relax. Holding the cloth up to your nose, you inhale the strong odor of alcohol. Figuring it probably wouldn’t make your elbow worse, you decide to use it anyway. Maybe the stinging will make it feel better even. You lay it on your lap and fold it into a perfect square. Using the table was quickly decided against. You wouldn’t be surprised if many sexual encounters were had on that table. You press the cloth on your elbow and cradle your arm to your chest. It stings, but you don’t really mind. In a way it makes it feel better, and makes you feel better as well about being stuck in an unknown place. If nothing else, the pain is a welcome familiarity.

Sitting in the corner allows you to truly take in your environment. Everyone is drunk you decide and there is no way any of those women are here to chat. The whole scene seems very familiar to you, as if you have seen it all before, but you just can’t seem to place where from.

‘It’ll come to me eventually,’ you tell yourself as you start flicking pieces of food off the table while watching the people around you. You make a game out of the flicking, five points if you manage to peg someone. Ten if that someone is drunk. The points begin to rack up.

‘There is not even one semi-attractive looking man in this entire place,’ you amazingly think as you glare at anyone who dares look at you. You’re a bit surprised that one of the drunken fools hasn’t tried to join you yet, but when you take into account that you’re glaring at them all, it makes sense.

‘Now where am I?’ you wonder. You can’t be near home, you no longer live near the sea. ‘Maybe I blacked out and that’s why I don’t remember. Short term memory loss. Maybe I was kidnapped and brainwashed, then left here years later. It happened on Alias,’ while you’re going through possible explanations of your whereabouts, you fail to notice a certain man now standing at the bar with a rather determined look on his face. Picking invisible fuzz balls off of your favorite ‘Sex Pistols’ t-shirt, you think about how out of place you must look for the first time.

You are so lost in thought that you don’t notice that the same man who was at the bar, is now walking over to your table. You don’t see the slightly feminine sway in his walk or his unique attire. You don’t see the lopsided grin and the warm eyes. You don’t notice his approach at all until he is right in front of your table, clearing his throat loudly to bring you out of your concentration. He slams a mug down on the surface in front of you and you watch as golden brown liquid splashes out the sides. You assume it is alcohol and start to form a scathing insult for this man who so rudely invited himself to join you. Getting ready to send him off on his embarrassed way, you quickly look up past the slightly ill-proportioned grin on his face and into his endlessly deep brown eyes.

“Oh....,” you softly exhale as your eyes finally meet his.