Entry tags:
PotC fic: Keepsakes (Jack/OFCs, PG-13, 1/5)
Title: Keepsakes
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shyaway
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/various OFCs
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters belong to Disney.
Summary: Five women reflect on what Jack Sparrow left behind, with laughter and regret, with gratitude and dislike...
Charity remembered the lad. He'd been brash and cocksure and swaggering like a thousand other sailors she'd known, but his eyes - now they stuck in your mind.
Her own ample charms had caught his attention. Those and her low price. In her adopted home of Singapore, there were women for every taste. From the cool flower-like courtesans whose rich lovers treated them better than they did their own wives, as long as their mistresses' bloom lasted, to jolly, desperate Charity, who would take whatever she was offered, there were women to be bought whatever your budget.
One night, many years ago now, she reflects, as she walked the streets, as she had done many times before and since, the boy had requested the pleasure of her company.
Out for what he could get, of course, just like they all were. Just like she was. So she was surprised when the boy insisted on taking her back to his room. Well, if he wanted to be gallant, she'd not be the one to stop him. She returned to his inn with him, where he'd bought the drinks and introduced her in a vague sort of way to his friend, a handsome man who looked much more respectable than the youth. Charity, perched on the lad's lap, suggested that he might like a turn too. The man shook his head no. The boy laughed and said, "William, you old woman, your wife will never find out."
William would not be drawn, so Charity contented herself with a single client and a comfortable bed.
---
Later, her fee earned (coin well spent, she flattered herself), her eye fell again on the inking she had noticed earlier. Many of the sailors who had hired her had them. She always liked them, appreciating the stories behind them. One fellow had had a different picture for every country he'd visited. The best had been a big one of a tiger's head, for the time he had saved a shipmate from a mauling in India. There were some real bores as well, of course, but even so there were enough interesting tales to be heard to make it worth her while to ask about them.
"What's that?"
"It's a sparrow."
"Looks sore," she said, letting her hand wander over it. Maybe she could get him to pay for another shag.
"Haven't had it long."
She continued her attentions to the half-healed tattoo with her mouth. He watched her with interest. "Why'd you get a sparrow?"
"It's my name," he said, caressing her shoulder. Success, Charity thought. Tell him he has to pay twice now, or after? "Jack Sparrow."
That had been said with pride. "Well, Jack Sparrow," she said, moving up again to kiss him on the mouth, "what do you say to another tumble with your little Charity?"
The corner of the pretty mouth quirked up lasciviously. "Not so little," he leered. "It would be my pleasure, missy."
---
"What the bloody hell do you mean, you'll only pay me for one of them?!"
"I mean, Miss Charity, that I spent the rest of my money downstairs on that wine that you so freely partook of," Jack said, buttoning up his breeches. "And since you didn't inform me of the extra charge, I assumed that you were ever so kindly giving me two for the price of one -"
"You arrogant bastard!"
Jack blanched as she looked around for something to throw. Nothing came to hand so instead she yanked on her shift. Being unclothed left her at a decided disadvantage in disputes with customers. The current troublesome client was pulling on his boots and looking round for his shirt. Any minute now he would be gone.
"Are you sure you don't have the money?"
"As I said, I can pay what we agreed in the first place." A dig in his pockets produced the required coin. Charity snatched it out of his hand and demanded that he turned his pockets out. Eyebrows raised, he did so. Nothing of interest was revealed.
"Damn it."
"Now do you believe me?"
She thought of what she could have earned that night from myriad men if only she hadn't been charmed by those dark eyes. That was why she'd given up a whole night to the stripling, wasn't it? Ridiculous. She should without question have known better.
"Damn you."
"There's no call for that. Look, lass, if it means that much to you, I'll go and borrow the money from William."
"No!" She dashed to the door to block his exit, though the only move he had made was to pick his shirt up. If she let him out of her sight he would certainly not come back.
He eyed her warily. "Don't trust me, eh?" he said finally. "I don't suppose you meet many you can trust in your line of work. How's this then: you come with me. We'll get the loan together. Savvy?"
She considered the offer. Quite likely he would make a run for it as soon as they left the room. On the other hand, this could be the only way to get her money. None of the sots in the inn would help her recover her due.
Did the man William have the means to pay her either? Suddenly, with absolute clarity, she remembered that before they'd gone upstairs he himself had run out of cash and it had been Jack who'd stumped up for his last round. With the money that should have been spent on her. So no joy there then.
He extended his right hand, whether to escort her out of the room or to shake on a deal that they had not yet made, she wasn't sure. Simmering with defeat, she looked down at his outstretched arm. The sparrow again caught her eye.
"Give me one of those." The hand was withdrawn and his black eyebrows furrowed. "Give me one of those! Those - thingummies that sailors have. Like your sparrow."
His mouth opened in a silent 'oh'. "And that's what you want as payment?" Probably couldn't believe he was getting off so lightly.
No, she wanted gold. But if there was no gold to be had she would, as ever, take whatever she could get.
He could just have gathered the rest of his clothes and run. Charity was quite impressed that he did not. Somewhere, she can't now remember where - if she had ever known, the lad had spent a great deal of money on drink that night, and he had been generous about sharing it - needle and ink had been found. She did remember him asking what and where, and his look of curiosity when she'd told him she wanted a lamb.
"Repentant sinner, eh?"
"No, it's my name. Charity Lamb. Sounds like a bleeding saint's name, don't it. It was me mother who was the religious one, may she rot in hell ..."
She remembered him rolling his eyes impatiently as he set to work on her shoulder. Bloody hell, but she would not have thought that the prick of a needle could hurt so much.
After it was done, and she was twisting her head around to see the results, he had quietly and swiftly left.
Her clients liked her new adornment. So did she. It made up in a small way for that dark-as-sin boy having taken with him the coin for the first time, too.
---
Jack was reminded of her just the other day when the Black Pearl's crew was looting a merchant ship. The name of the fattest man aboard was Anthony Lamb, who had had with him far more barrels of rum than any civilian could drink. He'd been happy to share them with Jack, too, once Jack had grown bored of his protestations and offered to remove some of his spare flesh. As threats went, it wasn't a very serious one, Jack thought; Lamb could easily have done without some of those rolls, but he elected to hand over the rum instead.
That evening, as he opened one of the casks, the lettering on the side - LAMB - stirred something in his memory. Lamb, lamb ... something that had happened in Singapore ... Ah yes, the whore who had wanted a lamb tattoo. What had her name been? Something virtuous. Or was it something biblical? No, that had been Judith, the silly lass who'd laced her corset up too tight. It had been a pleasure helping her off with it.
To be sure, they were nice girls in Singapore. He knew of none so obliging. Except in Tortuga. And he had heard from some Dutch sailors, fresh from the Old World, that Amsterdam was just as ... welcoming ... as anywhere in the Caribbean.
No, he thought, taking a sip of rum. They would change their minds when they sampled the delights of Tortuga.
Author:
shyawayRating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/various OFCs
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters belong to Disney.
Summary: Five women reflect on what Jack Sparrow left behind, with laughter and regret, with gratitude and dislike...
Charity remembered the lad. He'd been brash and cocksure and swaggering like a thousand other sailors she'd known, but his eyes - now they stuck in your mind.
Her own ample charms had caught his attention. Those and her low price. In her adopted home of Singapore, there were women for every taste. From the cool flower-like courtesans whose rich lovers treated them better than they did their own wives, as long as their mistresses' bloom lasted, to jolly, desperate Charity, who would take whatever she was offered, there were women to be bought whatever your budget.
One night, many years ago now, she reflects, as she walked the streets, as she had done many times before and since, the boy had requested the pleasure of her company.
Out for what he could get, of course, just like they all were. Just like she was. So she was surprised when the boy insisted on taking her back to his room. Well, if he wanted to be gallant, she'd not be the one to stop him. She returned to his inn with him, where he'd bought the drinks and introduced her in a vague sort of way to his friend, a handsome man who looked much more respectable than the youth. Charity, perched on the lad's lap, suggested that he might like a turn too. The man shook his head no. The boy laughed and said, "William, you old woman, your wife will never find out."
William would not be drawn, so Charity contented herself with a single client and a comfortable bed.
---
Later, her fee earned (coin well spent, she flattered herself), her eye fell again on the inking she had noticed earlier. Many of the sailors who had hired her had them. She always liked them, appreciating the stories behind them. One fellow had had a different picture for every country he'd visited. The best had been a big one of a tiger's head, for the time he had saved a shipmate from a mauling in India. There were some real bores as well, of course, but even so there were enough interesting tales to be heard to make it worth her while to ask about them.
"What's that?"
"It's a sparrow."
"Looks sore," she said, letting her hand wander over it. Maybe she could get him to pay for another shag.
"Haven't had it long."
She continued her attentions to the half-healed tattoo with her mouth. He watched her with interest. "Why'd you get a sparrow?"
"It's my name," he said, caressing her shoulder. Success, Charity thought. Tell him he has to pay twice now, or after? "Jack Sparrow."
That had been said with pride. "Well, Jack Sparrow," she said, moving up again to kiss him on the mouth, "what do you say to another tumble with your little Charity?"
The corner of the pretty mouth quirked up lasciviously. "Not so little," he leered. "It would be my pleasure, missy."
---
"What the bloody hell do you mean, you'll only pay me for one of them?!"
"I mean, Miss Charity, that I spent the rest of my money downstairs on that wine that you so freely partook of," Jack said, buttoning up his breeches. "And since you didn't inform me of the extra charge, I assumed that you were ever so kindly giving me two for the price of one -"
"You arrogant bastard!"
Jack blanched as she looked around for something to throw. Nothing came to hand so instead she yanked on her shift. Being unclothed left her at a decided disadvantage in disputes with customers. The current troublesome client was pulling on his boots and looking round for his shirt. Any minute now he would be gone.
"Are you sure you don't have the money?"
"As I said, I can pay what we agreed in the first place." A dig in his pockets produced the required coin. Charity snatched it out of his hand and demanded that he turned his pockets out. Eyebrows raised, he did so. Nothing of interest was revealed.
"Damn it."
"Now do you believe me?"
She thought of what she could have earned that night from myriad men if only she hadn't been charmed by those dark eyes. That was why she'd given up a whole night to the stripling, wasn't it? Ridiculous. She should without question have known better.
"Damn you."
"There's no call for that. Look, lass, if it means that much to you, I'll go and borrow the money from William."
"No!" She dashed to the door to block his exit, though the only move he had made was to pick his shirt up. If she let him out of her sight he would certainly not come back.
He eyed her warily. "Don't trust me, eh?" he said finally. "I don't suppose you meet many you can trust in your line of work. How's this then: you come with me. We'll get the loan together. Savvy?"
She considered the offer. Quite likely he would make a run for it as soon as they left the room. On the other hand, this could be the only way to get her money. None of the sots in the inn would help her recover her due.
Did the man William have the means to pay her either? Suddenly, with absolute clarity, she remembered that before they'd gone upstairs he himself had run out of cash and it had been Jack who'd stumped up for his last round. With the money that should have been spent on her. So no joy there then.
He extended his right hand, whether to escort her out of the room or to shake on a deal that they had not yet made, she wasn't sure. Simmering with defeat, she looked down at his outstretched arm. The sparrow again caught her eye.
"Give me one of those." The hand was withdrawn and his black eyebrows furrowed. "Give me one of those! Those - thingummies that sailors have. Like your sparrow."
His mouth opened in a silent 'oh'. "And that's what you want as payment?" Probably couldn't believe he was getting off so lightly.
No, she wanted gold. But if there was no gold to be had she would, as ever, take whatever she could get.
He could just have gathered the rest of his clothes and run. Charity was quite impressed that he did not. Somewhere, she can't now remember where - if she had ever known, the lad had spent a great deal of money on drink that night, and he had been generous about sharing it - needle and ink had been found. She did remember him asking what and where, and his look of curiosity when she'd told him she wanted a lamb.
"Repentant sinner, eh?"
"No, it's my name. Charity Lamb. Sounds like a bleeding saint's name, don't it. It was me mother who was the religious one, may she rot in hell ..."
She remembered him rolling his eyes impatiently as he set to work on her shoulder. Bloody hell, but she would not have thought that the prick of a needle could hurt so much.
After it was done, and she was twisting her head around to see the results, he had quietly and swiftly left.
Her clients liked her new adornment. So did she. It made up in a small way for that dark-as-sin boy having taken with him the coin for the first time, too.
---
Jack was reminded of her just the other day when the Black Pearl's crew was looting a merchant ship. The name of the fattest man aboard was Anthony Lamb, who had had with him far more barrels of rum than any civilian could drink. He'd been happy to share them with Jack, too, once Jack had grown bored of his protestations and offered to remove some of his spare flesh. As threats went, it wasn't a very serious one, Jack thought; Lamb could easily have done without some of those rolls, but he elected to hand over the rum instead.
That evening, as he opened one of the casks, the lettering on the side - LAMB - stirred something in his memory. Lamb, lamb ... something that had happened in Singapore ... Ah yes, the whore who had wanted a lamb tattoo. What had her name been? Something virtuous. Or was it something biblical? No, that had been Judith, the silly lass who'd laced her corset up too tight. It had been a pleasure helping her off with it.
To be sure, they were nice girls in Singapore. He knew of none so obliging. Except in Tortuga. And he had heard from some Dutch sailors, fresh from the Old World, that Amsterdam was just as ... welcoming ... as anywhere in the Caribbean.
No, he thought, taking a sip of rum. They would change their minds when they sampled the delights of Tortuga.