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The moment the Black Pearl dropped anchor in the port of Huelva, just off the Andalusian southwestern coast, Jack Sparrow was more than ready to acquaint himself with all the goodies the town had to offer - which mostly came down to the rum and the women. The latter was especially enticing, if the famed Españolas were as stunning as they were said to be.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about the Spanish Armada swooping in and spoiling all the fun since, apparently, they were preoccupied with fighting the Austrians… with the help of the French… somewhere in Italy… after the death of a Polish king... or whatever nonsense was going on in politics those days. The obscure port was just a smudge on the map anyway, attracting mostly scoundrels and blaggards such as himself, and so Jack expected to find some like-minded company on land - people who didn’t scowl at the black sails his girl wore so proudly.
The sun was already halfway behind the horizon, casting its last rays over the valley surrounding the harbor, so there was very little time to make use of daylight before night fell. Knowing that, Jack’s crew worked in haste, all hands on deck replenishing the supplies and redying the ship for their next, big adventure. As for the captain himself, he had more important things on his mind, such as surveying the local taverns and getting a little taste of the Iberian hospitality.
He didn’t plan on staying too long, for his Pearl loathed being left without her captain even if only for a short period of time. In his heart, he could sometimes hear her calling out to him, begging him to return to her as soon as he could, like a jealous lover competing against dry land over the pirate’s affections. Jack would do anything for her, but his men needed some rest, and he had to take care of his fleshly cravings before his mental well-being became affected. After all, prolonged abstinence was said to have driven many a sailor completely mad, and it wasn’t like he had an abundance of sanity to spare in the first place.
After ordering his crew to look after the ship, and at least try not to drink themselves to death while they were at it, Jack slung a bag full of coconuts over his shoulder - the ladies like them some exotic fruit - and set off. With a gold-filled grin shining through his moustache, he strolled through the streets of Huelva, trying to spot a nice place to drink in peace, gamble a bit, and, most importantly, fornicate.
The town itself was quite picturesque with its white merchant dwellings neatly stacked along the narrow cobblestone paths, and the lush greenery peeking out from the balconies and open courtyards. It was very quiet that evening, the streets eerily empty, all the upstanding citizens already tucked in their beds. Jack hoped to find some life inside a local tavern, and after wandering some of the darker alleys for a bit, he finally came across a modest-looking establishment, aptly called La Ardilla Loca. The captain licked his lips in anticipation. Perhaps The Crazy Squirrel would live up to its name by facilitating a wild night with some red-headed wench, who appreciated a man with a big sack of nuts?
Sadly, it was not meant to be, for as soon as Jack set foot in the dimly-lit inn, he realized there were no wenches in sight, and the only ‘crazy’ the place guaranteed came in the form of some deranged, one-legged tar by the bar. Drunk out of his mind, the man was raving and ranting something about the upcoming fall of the Bourbon dynasty, completely unaware that not a single soul seemed interested in his angry tirades. The rest of the patrons didn’t fare much better, some half-asleep, some half- dead , all of them shrouded in a mist of apathy. Jack had attended funerals more joyful than that, including his own. Scrunching his nose in dismay, the captain turned on his heel and left, distancing himself from the pit of misery as far as he could.
It took him a while to stumble upon another tavern, but he eventually located a worn-down shack on the outskirts of the town, right on the edge of a thick forest. The distinct tang of old ale and sweat lingered in the air around it like a thick cloud, which gave Jack some hope. If there was one thing the pirate had learned in Tortuga, it was to never judge a taphouse by its rotting façade… or its foul stench for that matter. After all, it was a well-known fact of life that some of the worst-looking hovels usually provided the best entertainment.
With that in mind, Jack made his way over to La Ropa Sucia with a glint in his eye and a spring in his step. Once inside, he was welcomed by a cacophony of laughter, shanties and drunken chatter, which was a nice improvement from the dreary aura of the previous hole. Satisfied with the standard of frivolity, the pirate took a seat at the bar, throwing his bag under the chair.
“Quiero… erm… una jarra... de rum , por favor,” he called out to the barkeep, mentally wincing at his pitiful attempt at speaking Spanish. Hopefully, he hadn’t just accidentally ordered a bucket of piss.
The broad-shouldered man behind the counter eyed Jack with some suspicion, squinting when he noticed the large bag under his feet, then dragged his gaze up again, clearly demanding an explanation. Not really in the mood to divulge the minutiae of his brilliant plan, the pirate tossed him a coin and told him to hurry up - well, he assumed he did, if “rápido” was the right word to use. Luckily, it must have done the trick, for a moment later, a sturdy pitcher filled with his favorite liquor was placed in front of him, and no unnecessary questions were asked. Jack took a large swig, enjoying the sweet and spicy flavor washing over his palate. It didn’t take him long to finish the whole thing, achieving the state of slight inebriation that made the world so much more tolerable. Then he asked for a refill, mostly for maintenance purposes.
With his thirst quenched and his spirits lifted, he decided it was time to take care of his other urges, especially the increasingly twitchy one in his breeches. Looking around the inn like a wolf on a hunt, he was trying to seek out a nice lassie with an aptitude for - as the Bard would call it - making the beast with two backs. At first glance, the place was filled with jubilant people, which was good, but upon closer inspection, something concerning became painfully obvious - the sore lack of a female presence, which was not good . Not good at all.
Jack’s face fell, his disappointment almost palpable.
“Who hurt this town?” He muttered under his nose, his shoulders slumping in resignation. Did the citizens of Huelva have an aversion to women? Or had they locked them away in order to shield them from the irresistible charms of a certain Pirate Lord?
Normally, the captain wasn’t too picky when it came to satisfying his carnal needs. It didn’t matter whether it was a bloke or a hussy playing with the little sparrow downstairs, as long as they got the job done. Nevertheless, after spending several months at sea, surrounded by fellow carriers of the prickly organ, Jack developed an appetite for an ample bosom and a nice, tight-
“Oi, señor,” Jack turned to the barkeep again, using all of his intellectual powers to form the most crucial of questions, “dónde están… chicas?” His hands flew to his chest, making half-circular motions to help him get his point across clearly. The man chuckled, then leaned over the counter, looking Jack straight in the eyes.
“Busca compañeras, ¿ey?”
The pirate grinned nervously and nodded. “A busty companion, si, si.” Then, just to make sure there were no misunderstandings, he decided to add more details. “La señora, savvy? No hombres. Just tell me… dónde... a bordel-lo... would be...” Bloody hell, he hated Spanish.
“El único lugar lleno de mujeres en este pueblo es-” the chap started to explain, but he was talking too fast and Jack had to stop him mid-sentence, unable to understand a single word.
“Me no comprende, mate,” he all but whined, spreading his arms helplessly. How was he supposed to interpret a foreign language at that point, when he wasn’t sober enough to use his own properly?
Just then, an idea popped into his head, and it was so clever that the captain almost congratulated himself for his quick wits. He mimicked scribbling something on his palm, then glanced at the barkeeper pointedly.
“La... or... el... or whatever mapa, savvy?”
The burly man blinked twice, his expression unreadable.
“Muy bien,” he finally said with a shrug before going out to the back of the inn, where he presumably kept his writing tools.
Jack waited patiently for his return, except he wasn’t patient at all, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his knee. The little sparrow was becoming more and more irritable as well, itching and squirming from the long-term neglect, and the captain had to resist the urge to console it on his own right there and then. He knew well that exercising some self-restraint would pay off later, though that thick-skulled Spaniard wasn’t making it easy by taking his time drawing up that map.
When the man finally came back, carrying a piece of paper with some zigzagging lines and an ‘x’ marked on it, Jack’s eyes lit up with glee. The barkeep slid the map across the countertop, his hands never leaving the tattered edges, but when the pirate made a move to grab it, the paper was immediately snatched away from his reach. Jack frowned in confusion, then noticed that the Spanish bloke was rubbing his thumb against his fingertips, indicating that he expected reimbursement for his service.
“Ah, of course, pecunia non olet, eh?” The captain shook his head, begrudgingly producing another coin. He supposed it was only fair - everything came with a price, after all. Lucky for him, a drunk geezer seated nearby had more silver on him than brains, too busy sloshing his ale to notice his pockets had become considerably lighter.
After the bargain had been struck, Jack took a moment to study his purchase before hiding it in his coat.
“Muchas gracias,” he said on his way out the door, his speech a bit slurred. It was entirely possible that the two jarras of rum coursing through his veins had something to do with it.
“Don’t forget your sack, mate, ” the Spaniard replied with a cocky smirk, his perfect English as startling as a worm poking out of a half-eaten apple.
The captain sent him an incredulous look that quickly melted into a glare. Putting up an air of indignation, he went back for his coconuts, threw the bag over his shoulder, then stormed out of the tavern without a word, his nose held high. The outburst of laughter that escorted him outside was particularly annoying, but at least he got something out of the whole ordeal.
Now, lets find me some wenches.
-&-
The sky was already wrapped in a blanket of darkness, the silver moonlight the only thing illuminating Jack’s surroundings. It was enough to avoid blindly crashing into a tree, but the captain didn’t love the idea of strolling through the woods in the middle of the night all by his onesies. Unfortunately, according to the stupid map, that was exactly what he had to do if he wanted to find the coveted temple of bodily pleasures.
“Tha’ brothel better be worth it,” he grumbled to himself, hacking his way through the bushes with his rusty cutlass. There was an extra sway in his step, his recent loss of sobriety affecting his sense of balance considerably. On top of that, his sack was starting to weigh him down, and he couldn’t wait to finally dispose of the bothersome load.
Despite these hindrances, Jack eventually managed to find a well-trodden route that presumably led to the den of debauchery. Feeling a sudden bout of exhaustion, he let his feet drag him forward, relying mostly on the power of will - or the power of lust, not to put too fine a point on it. To make things worse, the winding path turned out to be much longer than he had anticipated, and he began to wonder if all that effort was even warranted. Maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands - so to speak - and just be done with it?
Just as he was ready to give up, turn around and get back to his Pearl, a faint sound of giggling echoed through the forest. The jubilant voices were unmistakably feminine, which meant that they weren’t conceived by his delusion-prone mind. There was only one place where a bunch of ladies could be so joyful at such a late hour, and Jack’s eyes lit up.
Pricking up his ears, he followed the noises, and as the trees thinned out, he was led into a clearing where a large Gothic structure stood proudly in the middle of the glade. The captain’s jaw dropped in surprise. The stained-glass windows were impressive enough, even without the benefit of sunshine lighting them up, but the pointed arches, the pinnacles and the spires were truly breathtaking.
“Tha’ be one fancy whorehouse,” Jack muttered, still in awe of the sight before him. Looking closer, he couldn’t help but notice that this house of ill repute had another unusual feature - a tall steeple with a golden cross at the very top.
Well, the pirate was not one to judge. The Spanish were said to be quite religious, so maybe their wenches liked to visit the chapel and immerse themselves in prayer after a long night of work? Jack himself wasn’t really interested in theology, his belief system kept on an as-needed basis, but he was willing to say the rosary and even sing the gospel if that resulted in him getting his own piece of heaven in a lassie’s bed.
His musings were interrupted by another wave of laughter coming from the western side of the building, and Jack rushed over there with the speed of a hawk in flight. There was a soft glow of candlelight shining through one of the pointed windows, so he figured that was the place where all the fun was being had. Once he found the hefty door that led inside, he pushed it open and invited himself in - or rather, barged in with the grace of a wild hog.
“‘Ello ladies, may I interest ye in some coconuts?” He slurred out, swaying on his feet, holding his sack high up for everyone to see. His grandiose entrance was met with an awkward silence, and about a dozen pairs of wide eyes staring at him in shock. Much to his relief, those were all female eyes, their youthful owners rooted in their spots as if they had been frozen in time. The pirate wasn’t particularly bothered by their reaction, knowing that his charismatic presence tended to have that effect on people. What did pique his curiosity, however, was the wenches’ modest attire, especially the gray veils on their heads and the equally gray tunics that covered far too much skin for his liking.
Jack frowned, not really sure what to make of their appearance, then took a good look at the room, mentally noting all the things that stood out to him. There were two brass chandeliers hanging over a large, wooden table - good, several bottles of wine on the aforementioned table - very good, a creepy statue of an angel in the far corner of the chamber - eh? - and an oil painting of a lady... holding a toddler...
Jack could almost feel his brain twitching as it finally put two and two together.
Oh. Bugger. “This ain’t a brothel, is it?”
It was a rhetorical question, really, because at that point Jack had no doubts where he was, and his discontent quickly manifested itself on his face.
“¿Quién eres tú?” One of the nuns gathered the nerve to speak up, her freckled features a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. The captain ignored her, still in mourning over what could have been and what wouldn’t be, so instead, he dropped his bag and wordlessly sauntered over to the table, while the women just stood there, gawking at him helplessly.
Jack snatched one of the bottles and sniffed the rim - sacramental wine, he was sure - then proceeded to gulp down half of its contents. The pungent liquor proved to be worthy of his throat, so he decided to claim it as his own, considering it a well-deserved consolation prize for all his troubles.
“Are you a pirate?” Another nun asked, her thick Spanish accent hitting the r’s particularly hard.
“No worries sisters,” Jack responded, making his way towards the exit, “‘s not conversion I’m lookin’ for t’night, so adiós.”
“Or… you could stay?” A shy voice suggested, stopping him dead in his tracks.
He spun around with a swift twirl that made the trinkets in his hair jiggle, and faced the group, one eyebrow raised incredulously.
“We could use some… company, you know,” the English-speaking one continued, and to Jack’s surprise, the rest of them nodded in approval.
The captain scratched his chin while considering his options. On the one hand, they were women and they had wine, which was always a perk, on the other hand, they were not the type of women he was looking for. However, going back to the boneyard that was La Adrilla Loca was out of the question, and the only reason to return to La Ropa Sucia would be to strangle the barkeep. That left him with the last alternative - reuniting with his own crew, which was probably three sheets to the wind at that point.
The night just keeps getting better and better...
Before he had a chance to make up his mind, the decision had been made for him, as the nuns swarmed him like bees, pulling at his sleeves and pushing his back lightly, guiding him to sit in one of the chairs. The next thing he knew, their veils were taken off, revealing twelve fetching young ladies, who weren’t as prudent as their ‘profession’ suggested. As a matter of fact, they were quick to make him feel very comfortable, their eager hands massaging his shoulders, caressing his chest and rubbing his inner thighs. Tilting his head back, Jack closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure, letting them play as much as they liked.
Well, who would have thought? The night actually got so much better!
The sisters found Jack to be a fascinating specimen, so they barraged him with questions about his life, his infamous ship, the souvenirs in his hair, and the tattoo on his forearm. The captain entertained them by recounting some of his wildest adventures, enjoying the way they gasped and chuckled in response to his mostly-true stories. As the night went on, they kept drinking wine and exchanging tales, learning more and more about one another.
Jack had found out that the girls weren’t all that interested in contemplating spiritual matters, as most of them had been sent to the convent by their God-fearing familiers for their ‘sinful conduct.’ The rigid discipline of that place and the vows of chastity they had been made to take were supposed to improve their behavior, assuring their redemption in the eyes of the “Lord”.
Jack had also discovered that the order was run by a bunch of older nuns, who made sure that the younger ones carried themselves in a proper manner by filling their days with prayers and manual labor. The abbess in charge - Fernanda-Teresa - was said to be particularly dreadful, described by the lassies as scarier than the devil itself. Short and stout, what she lacked in stature, she made up for in her booming voice and mean personality. Her bad temper was legendary in the convent, and she wasn’t averse to corporal punishment. Jack knew a thing or two about feisty old ladies - he’d been raised by one himself. They were a force to be reckoned with, that was certain, but he found it ridiculous that all of these young women were so terrified of some pint-sized matron.
Fortunately, they didn’t have to worry about Feranda and her entourage bursting in and putting an end to the party, for the girls had come up with a magnificent ruse. During supper, they had been very eager to serve tea to their elderly overseers, having added a special ingredient to the beverage - el láudano. Jack had burst out laughing upon hearing that, knowing what a strong opioid the substance was. The grannies would sleep like rocks that night while the lassies enjoyed their time off, laughing and drinking wine till dawn. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time they had pulled a stunt like that, and Jack was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” the captain commented with mirth, his golden grin stretched from ear to ear. “Ye’d make for some good pirates yerselves, says I.”
The nuns giggled at that, and one of them - Freckles - felt particularly emboldened to brush her hand against Jack’s groin, her salacious gaze letting him know it was no accident. Jack couldn’t blame the poor thing for struggling to suppress her desires. In all fairness, the same desires had led him to that place in the first place. However, unlike him, these lassies had been trapped in that miserable convent, unable to make their own choices, prohibited from tasting all sorts of flavors the world had to offer . It was a shame, really, to have such beautiful creatures confined to a life of celibacy, and Jack felt he would be providing a social service by letting them experience the joys of copulation. Aye, his generosity and kindness knew no bounds!
With a glint in his eye and a cheeky smirk, he let Freckles know that her invitation had been accepted. But first, he had to take care of a more basic need that had been brought upon by a combination of wine and rum pushing down his bladder.
“Ladies, nature be callin’ I’m ‘ffraind,” he announced to the group, getting up from his chair, “but do not d’spair, I’ll be righ’ back.”
Undeterred by the wobbling and flailing of his limbs, he managed to stumble outside, directing his steps towards the pillars by another entrance, a bit further away from the chamber the girls were in. He was no savage, after all. With his back towards the building, he proceeded to relieve himself onto the grass, whistling an old tune all the while.
“Were you sent here by my father?” A heavily-accented voice sounded from behind him, prompting Jack look over his shoulder. What he saw was a stunning, dark-haired woman stepping out of the shadows, her white sleeping-gown bathed in a pool of bright luminescence. The frown on her face did little to mar her angelic features, but her brown, almond-shaped eyes sparkled with such fervor, that it gave her an aura of an angry sea nymph. The pirate felt like he was committing an act of sacrilege just by standing in her presence, and it didn’t help that the most unholy part of him was out on display. Unfortunately, he wasn’t finished yet, so he was stuck in a rather compromising position, unable to do anything but stare in awe of her radiant beauty.
“Well? Answer me!” She snapped, keeping a safe distance between them despite the boldness in her tone. Jack had already forgotten the question, but at least the trickling came to an end, the last drop coming out not a second too soon.
“Huh?” He asked dumbly, pretending not to notice that she’d taken a little peek at his asset while it was being tucked back into his breeches.
“Did my father send you?” She repeated impatiently, revealing a flintlock pistol she held in her hand.
“Actually, I sent meself,” the pirate replied in a casual tone, his nonchalance masking the uneasiness he felt at seeing the weapon. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he knew better than to antagonize her in any way. From what he had seen so far, these nuns were full of surprises, and this one seemed to be the most unpredictable of them all.
The woman squinted her gorgeous eyes, not even trying to hide her distrust.
“Why are you here then?”
“Long story, luv.” Jack waved his hand dismissively. He was definitely too drunk to get into the details of the night. “I wish I could say it be fate tha’ brought me ’ere, but it was actually some barkeepin’ hornswoggler.”
Clearly dissatisfied with his answer, she raised the pistol threateningly, though Jack doubted she had it in her to pull the trigger. Still, he opted against testing that theory.
“Listen, darlin-”
“What do you want?!” She growled, her index finger coming dangerously close to the trigger.
“Whatever’s offered, honestly,” he shrugged, gracing her with a brash grin. She wasn’t impressed, if the piercing glare was any indication.
“This is hallowed ground we’re standing on!”
“Is it? All facts point to the contrary.” The pirate quipped, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder, where the sounds of the ongoing party could be heard. She must have been aware of the mischief the other sisters’ were up to, and even though she wasn’t involved in it, she didn’t actively oppose it either.
Suddenly, the woman stormed towards him, quickly closing the gap between them, then pointed her pistol at his chin, her eyes blazing with fire.
“Who are you?”
“Captain Jack Sparrow, at yer service,” he cordially introduced himself, pretending to be unbothered by the barrel pressed against the side of his face.
“Sparrow? Like a little bird?” She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lip as she cast her gaze downward suggestively.
“They’re known to be quite lively, luv.”
“Are they? All facts point to the contra-”
Before she had the chance to finish her riposte, Jack briskly grabbed the gun out of her hand, his reflexes much faster than a man in his state of inebriation had any right to retain.
Her smirk instantly disappeared, and his smug grin widened considerably.
“Ye don’t need that, darlin’,” he said, keeping the pistol aimed at the sky. “Ye even seen a man gettin’ shot? Not a pretty sight. Blood, and guts spilling over n’ all tha’.”
“You’d be my first,” she seethed, but a glint of jest shone in her eyes. Jack could hear his brain squeal at the remark, or maybe it was some other part of him that loudly voiced its enthusiasm.
Before he was able to gather his wits, he felt her body press against his, while her hand traveled to the needy spot between his legs, where some cupping ensued. Her soft touch was just what he needed, just what he craved, and he allowed himself to get lost in the waves of pleasure that washed over his body.
No sooner than his eyes stopped rolling in their sockets, a solid squeeze made his lungs gasp for air, and before he knew it, the gun was taken out of his trembling hand.
“You men are all the same,” she said, waving the pistol in front of him, a triumphant expression etched on her face.
“How would you know?!” Jack scoffed in response, still wincing from the soreness she had inflicted. Ignoring the pain, he jumped into action, sweeping her calf with the side of his foot, successfully knocking her off balance. His left arm wrapped around her waist mid-fall, preventing her from hitting the ground, but his right hand was quick to snatch the weapon the second she loosened her grip on it. When he yanked her up to a vertical position, she crashed against his chest like a stormy wave hitting the side of the Pearl’s hull. And just like that, they found themselves locked in a tight embrace, so close to each other that Jack could smell the fragrance of lye soap on her skin.
Flashing her a whole set of his golden teeth, he enjoyed the little pout she threw in return. The captain expected her to push him away, but she didn't even flinch, her hardened expression softening gradually.
“No point in gettin’ into a brawl with a pirate, luv. Will ye be a good girl now?” He murmured into her ear.
“That depends,” she responded, a bit too self-assured for Jack’s comfort, just as the sound of a coking pistol rang in his ear. “Will you be a good boy?”
Taken by surprise, he looked to the side, eyes widening upon seeing his own weapon pointed at his temple. That sneaky vixen must have withdrawn it from behind his belt when he’d been too busy boasting about his victory! As embarrassing as it was to admit it, he might have underestimated the girl’s smarts. Even more embarrassing was the undeniable fact that… he was quite fond of their little dance, and judging by her playful smile, it was safe to assume the feeling was mutual.
Still, he wasn’t going to be bested by a bloody nun.
“One thing ye should know, darlin’,” he announced proudly, prompting her to raise her eyebrows questioningly. The dramatic pause that followed could have been mistaken for an awkward silence, broken eventually by an even prouder statement - “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow!”
In a blink of an eye, he swung to the side and took a few steps back, ducking away from the line of fire. Before she had a chance to react, he threw her the pistol he’d retrieved earlier, which she instinctively caught with her free hand. Clearly confused by the sudden development, she needed a moment to readjust her stance, but it was enough time for the pirate to strike. Taking advantage of her brief distraction, he rushed at her like a swaying cobra, eyes firmly set on the guns in her hands. Just as she was about to take aim at his face, he grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her arms up, effectively directing the barrels skyward.
“Ye ain’t a killer, luv.” The captain shot her a teasing grin, for which he received a defiant huff. Undeterred by it, he swiftly leaned in and tilted his head, his coarse moustache brushing against her soft lips. She stiffened at that, but eased up soon afterward, allowing his tongue to slip inside and do some exploring. As he closed his eyes, his other senses took over the reins, letting him savor the sweetness of her mouth and swim in the echo of her soft moans. The moment of passion was brief yet intense, like a bolt of thunder from a cloudless sky hitting the ground with a great roar, before vanishing into nothing as quickly as it came.
When he stepped away and their gazes met, the air between them was thick with tension. While his face was a picture of utter delight, she looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to murder him on the spot, or beg him for more. Fortunately for Jack, in the event she chose the former, she’d be in for a little surprise, since he’d managed to steal a bit more than just a kiss…
“I’ll be keeping those, If ye don’t mind,” he happily informed her, showing off the two pistols he had just reclaimed. A flash of shock crossed her eyes, but it was soon replaced by a deep scowl.
“So, now what? Are you going to take me? Desecrate this place by corrupting my body and soul?!” She lashed out, her accent even thicker when laced with anger.
“Only if ye ask nicely,” Jack shrugged, sliding the guns behind his belt in a gesture of goodwill. Aye, he was a pirate, but he had his code, and as happy as he was to corrupt the innocent, it was only after they had expressed their willingness.
The odd look that she gave him was hard to discern, and Jack could only wonder what was brewing inside that pretty head of hers. He would never find out, it seemed, as she wordlessly turned on her heel and stormed off, fading into the shadows from which she’d originally come from. The captain watched her retreating back, head still reeling from their strange encounter. There was something special about her, some undefined quality that made the pirate miss her presence the moment she was gone. In a way, she was like the Caribbean Sea - calm and alluring when seen from afar, volatile and fierce to those who dared to explore its deep waters. And Jack, well, he had always enjoyed riding the high tide.
With a sigh, he readjusted his coat and gazed longingly at the pistol he took from her, when-
“Well? Are you coming or not?” The woman’s voice boomed through the darkness, the tone more of a demand than anything else. Jack blinked twice, stupefied, his mind taking a moment to register the command and relay the message to his limbs. When it finally did, he sprung after her like an overeager puppy, his appointment with Freckles long forgotten.
-&-
Sneaking through the same entrance she had gone through a moment earlier, he found himself in a gloomy hall with a spiral stairway carved out of stone. The woman he sought after was nowhere to be seen, but Jack wasn’t easily discouraged.
After climbing the stairs as stealthily as he could, he entered a dimly-lit corridor with a long row of arched doors on the left side. When the muffled sounds of snoring buzzed in his ears, he realized that the nuns’ cells were right there, one of them housing his mysterious lass. The diamond-worth question was - which bloody one?
As determined as Jack was to let the little sparrow finally leave its nest, he was a bit hesitant to go from door to door and risk waking up the sleeping grannies, considering that one squeak of a hinge could ruin everything. He didn’t think an old lady would take too kindly to seeing a buccaneer with a prominent bulge between his legs looming over her bed in the middle of the night. Then again, passing up the opportunity to have some fun with that stunning girl would be tragic. Jack could only hope she hadn’t played him for a fool by luring him in, never intent on showing up, making him wander the halls in vain like a lost lamb. The captain sighed in frustration as the internal conflict between reason and urge rendered him stagnant, but a decision had to be made sooner rather than later.
“Fine,” he grumbled to himself in a resigned tone, reaching for the doorknob of the first cell. He was about to turn it open when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the familiar nightgown disappearing behind the corner of the hallway. Without a second thought, he scurried after the woman, careful not to make too much noise with the heels of his boots. The moment he made the turn, he saw her shadow ascending another flight of stairs, so he took off in the same direction, hoping to catch up with her. The chase would last for a while, with her vanishing and reappearing like a silent phantom, and Jack following her through the maze of narrow corridors.
Once he reached the third floor, he wasn’t even surprised that his elusive girl had been gone again, but his patience was starting to wear thin. Letting out a small huff, he took a good look around the place and noticed that one of the doors had been left ajar. He tiptoed over there before cautiously poking his head inside, eyes sweeping around the gloomy cell, illuminated solely by a thin ray of moonlight that shone through the window. The austere interior was the epitome of modesty and - quite frankly - dullness, furnished only with a small cabinet, a tall candle holder, and a disappointingly empty bed. Jack craned his neck, peering through the darkness in search of the cell’s occupant, when suddenly, a pair of hands shot out from the shadows, grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling him inside.
The next thing he knew, his back was slammed against the door as it closed shut, and his mouth was being pried open by the same lips he had tasted earlier. The pirate quickly recovered and leaned into the kiss, hands blindly wrapping around the woman’s slim waist. As if on cue, her slender fingers traveled past his collarbone, pushing through the thick jungle of braids and dreadlocks, before making a stop at the nape of his neck, nails digging into his flesh possessively. She wanted him, and she wanted him badly, Jack could tell by the way her body trembled with need while her tongue hungrily ravished his mouth. His own desire was evident as well, as blood surged through his veins like a wild river, its current flowing in one direction, making him harder than he ever thought possible.
The woman probably felt him rub against her thigh, for she broke off the kiss right away, leaving both of them panting with heavy breaths. Jack's heart was pounding, ears ringing from the rush, but he didn’t even flinch as he waited for her next move. She, on the other hand, took a step back, casting her eyes to the floor, as if she suddenly had a change of heart. Her timid demeanor caught Jack by surprise - he had no idea what happened to the seductive Latina that had just dragged him into a whirlpool of passion, and why this blushing lass in front of him had taken her place.
“I am pure. I-I’ve never been with a man before,” she finally admitted in a low whisper, and Jack understood immediately. In any other circumstances, his typical reaction would be to make a boastful comment about how it was her lucky day, but when he saw the raw emotion painted on her face - a kind of vulnerability that was not to be taken lightly - he decided to bite his tongue for once. Still, he wasn’t sure how to handle such an innocent flower, since all of the women he’d bedded before were anything but , so he just brushed his fingers against her cheek gently, bringing her gaze back to him.
“What be yer name, darlin’?”
“Angelica,” she replied, and that glint in her eye was back again.
“‘F course it is,” Jack chuckled, amused that this heavenly creature had been named so accurately. He could only hope that the more devilish aspect of her nature would soon return.
She smiled at that, but didn’t say a word, so he waited, and waited, and waited for her to make up her mind, feeling the weight of her scrutinizing gaze. What was probably a brief moment of hesitation on her part, stretched to eternity in Jack’s mind, and just as he was starting to lose hope, she approached her bed and beckoned him over with her finger.
Suppressing the urge to jump with joy, Jack took a deep breath to compose himself. Wasting no time, he removed his hat, boots and coat, along with his precious effects, and tossed them carelessly to the floor. No sooner than he perched on the edge of the bed, he was hauled into another hungry kiss, and as their tongues met for the third time that night, her roaming hands arrived at his waist. Jack had to admit, his chaste lass was quite adept at unbuckling belts and unwrapping long sashes, for she managed to liberate his midsection in a heartbeat. When their lips disconnected, she all but glared at the layers of fabric that stood in her way, and the captain didn’t need to be told to get rid of them immediately.
After he had taken off his waistcoat, she was quick to do away with his shirt, pulling it over his head with such zeal that it almost tore at the seams. That left him sitting there in nothing but his breeches and the red bandana tied over his mane, but Angelica was yet to dispose of her nightgown, which sufficiently concealed all of her curves. Instead of undressing, she paused to take a good look at his upper body, clearly fascinated by the intricate tattoos that covered his arms. Tilting her head, she reached out and brushed her palms over the exotic patterns, the softness of her touch against his sun-beaten skin making him shiver in anticipation. Then, her hands wandered over to his smooth chest, exploring the vast plane of exposed flesh, but they didn’t dare to venture any lower than that, so Jack decided to take over from there.
Tentatively, the captain took hold of her shoulders and leaned in, guiding her to lie on her back. She complied without protest, her gaze never leaving his kohl-rimmed eyes, but her hitched breaths betrayed how nervous she was. Despite the painful hardness he felt between his legs, Jack was determined to put her at ease before doing anything else, and he had a pretty good idea how to do just that. Ironically, the biggest obstacle turned out to be the bloody bed, its narrowness making it clear that late-night guests were not welcomed in the convent. Nevertheless-
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
In one swift motion, he crawled up the length of the bed, hovering over her still form, close enough for their shaky breaths to meet briefly, before he sat up properly, straddling her ankles. As she lied there, basked in the silver strands of the moonlight, she truly had an aura of a heavenly creature, and Jack grinned rakishly at the idea that he was about to introduce her to sin. His hands rested at the hem of her nightshirt, then proceeded to slide up the soft fabric, slowly but surely exposing more and more skin. Once the hem found itself above her knees, he paused and glanced up, eyes questioning, asking permission. When Angelica gave him a small nod of approval, he dove down, a delighted glimmer in his eye and a hum of anticipation leaving his lips.
-&-
Jack rested his head against the pillow, enjoying the way Angelica’s unclad body pressed against his own when she lay on top of him, her warm breath brushing over his chest. The narrow bed turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as not only did it somehow withstood all the late-night strumming that had occured between the two, but it also forced them to snuggle together afterwards. The pirate was as happy as he was exhausted, for what his lover lacked in experience, she had made up for in eagerness and stamina. She might have been a little shy at the beginning, but a few tongue-related tricks he’d learned in Singapore loosened her up quite effectively. So effectively, in fact, that she surprised him by demonstrating a lot of technique for one supposedly uncorrupted.
“Did it hurt a lot?” Angelica asked, her fingertips ghosting over the brand on his forearm, almost reluctant to touch it, as if afraid it was still sore.
“A bit, aye. Wouldn’t recommend it.” He tried to play it down for her benefit, of course, but the truth was, even the memory of the event was enough to send a jolt of pain to the scarred area.
“I didn’t know the English did that to people,” she said, a hint of disgust present in her voice. “Even to pirates.”
“Most of t’ time they don’t even bother. It’s off t’ th’ gallows n’ that be that. But sometimes they make an exception.” Jack shrugged lightly, his non-branded hand drawing circles on her back.
“You must have made them exceptionally angry,” she noted, her eyes betraying a mixture of curiosity and sorrow.
The captain smiled, but it was neither the arrogant smirk that he usually put on, nor his wide grin that sparked with gold. This one was laced with something others rarely got to see - an emotion he kept hidden below the surface of his carefree disposition, reserved only for the unfortunate occasion when he was all by his onesies and deprived of rum. Sadness.
“Let’s just say, yers truly ‘n th’ East India Trading Company had a little disagreement ‘bout the concept ‘f personal freedom.”
Lifting her head up, Angelica looked him in the eyes, frowning slightly, her gaze intense.
“What do you mean?” She asked, and Jack let out a long sigh.
“I believe that all persons have t’ right to live their lives t’ way them please. Fancy-free. Unchained. No man’s above another, no matter how pale their skin is, or how big their stupid wig might be.”
A long pause ensued after that, as they pondered what he’d said, both stuck in their own little worlds despite the physical closeness.
“I agree,” she finally said, her tone even, filled with conviction.
“Then why are ye here?” Jack asked, the question tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to think it through. “‘S the most dreadful place on Earth - present company excluded, tha’ is.”
“Jack.” Angelica’s beautiful little pout made an appearance once more, but she didn’t sound as offended as she looked, almost as if somewhere in the back of her mind there was indeed a kernel of doubt about the whole nunning business. At least that was Jack’s impression, so he decided to press further.
“Just ask yerself one thing, dear Angelica, is this the life ye truly want? Or is it the life ye want to want, but not really want.”
They held each other’s gazes for a long moment, but there was no animosity in the air, just genuine curiosity on his part, and uncertainty on hers.
“I promised to devote my life to the Lord,” she finally said, looking away, and the pirate couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Ye ‘ave already broken at least one promise, luv.”
“I’m still a novice!” She protested, a bit too defensively in Jack’s humble opinion. “I’m taking my vows in two weeks!”
“Ah, well, that’s plenty o’ time to change yer mind, eh?” He grinned, but she didn’t look amused, not in the slightest.
“Jack-”
“Come with me,” he cut her off, feeling a sudden wave of… well, he wasn’t sure what it was exactly. Passion? Optimism? Affection? There were stirrings of some sort, that was certain, and he just couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “I have a ship! The Black Pearl. It’s magnificent and huge- ish.”
Maybe it was the rum clouding his mind, or perhaps he had read too many of these damn Shakespear sonnets, but he could already picture them together at the helm of his galleon, with her by his side, the wind blowing in her hair the same way it filled the black sails, her soft lips whispering something in his ear…
“I’m not much of a pirate, Jack,” she stated somberly, as if she imagined the same thing he did, but lacked the confidence to truly believe it was a possibility.
“Yer not much of a nun either, luv. No offence.” He laughed, and in return she playfully pinched his cheek. “Think ‘bout it, Angelica. I can show ye the world. I’d take ye places ye never even knew existed. Ye’d taste fruit n’ spices ye never tasted before, discover new colors, and smells and-”
Before he had a chance to finish, she made a move to shut him up, and she chose the most effective method too - by pressing her lips against his, prying them open and exploring every crevice of his mouth with her delicate tongue. Jack allowed himself to be swept into a whirlpool of desire, feeling his whole body tingling with newfound elation, particularly evident in the nether regions. Angelica soon found herself on top of him, straddling his hips confidently, like a seasoned wench who knew exactly what she was doing, despite the fact it would only be her second time. A fast learner if he ever saw one.
Indeed, the Latina’s fiery nature resurfaced once more, crashing into him, enveloping him fully in her tight folds while he gasped and moaned under her ministrations. The world around them ceased to be, as if all of existence crumbled under this act of pure unholiness between a pirate and a soon-to-be nun. This union of two opposites had no right to ever occur, and yet it did, against all odds, with her giving up her innocence to this devilish man, her velvety flesh welcoming his hardness without remorse or doubt.
Sometime in the chaos of flailing limbs and grinding bodies, a leg struck the candle holder near the bed, causing it to crash into the ground with a loud thud. Angelica froze, her eyes wide with fear, and Jack couldn’t help but groan in frustration. He understood her concern, of course, but the little Sparrow downstairs wasn’t as sympathetic.
“‘S alright dear, do go on,” he encouraged, so close to getting his release.
“What if someone heard it?” She whispered as loudly as she dared, but Jack was beyond caring at that point.
“Nah, everyone’s out cold. Yer sisters made sure ‘f tha’.” He assured her, remembering the laudanum-in-the-tea trick.
Angelica didn’t look too convinced, but to Jack’s great relief, her hips started swaying again, inviting his own to join the dance. Soon, any possible danger had been forgotten, as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment, their sweat-coated bodies rocking together in perfect unison. With his eyes half-open, Jack watched this beautiful creature ride him, marveled at the way her long neck stretched as she bent her head back, her perfectly-round breasts bouncing up and down with each thrust. What sent him over the edge, however, were the shameless moans of pleasure slipping out of her mouth, more enticing than a siren’s song. Not that he was the silent one in this exchange, allowing himself to grunt and growl, much louder than the previous time they had ridden the waves of passion.
As they came together, the cry of their release echoed through the room, only to be pierced through by an unexpected shriek. The next thing Jack knew, his lover’s gaze was filled with dread, her hands flying up to her chest to cover her bosom. When she turned her head towards the door, a sharp gasp escaped her lips. Jack craned his neck to the side, peering through the darkness in the same direction. There, stepping through the threshold of the cell, a stocky silhouette emerged from the shadows, her eyes gleaming with hellfire.
Fernanda-Teresa.
Time stopped for the longest split of a second in his life, with the three of them motionless and eerily quiet, but soon chaos crept into the room, crashing down on them like a mighty avalanche.
“Bugger,” Jack muttered, just as the little old lady ran out of the room, screaming like a banshee and knocking on doors in an effort to wake everybody up.
“¡Pirata! ¡Pirata!” She howled, her squeaky voice booming through the corridors. Angelica leaped out of the bed with the skill of a mountain goat, and before Jack had a chance to blink twice, she picked up her nightgown and hurriedly threw it back on.
“You have to go. Now!” She urged him, not even bothering to look up, busy collecting his clothes, strewn all over the floor.
Sitting up lazily on the bed, the captain scratched his head, more amused by the situation than worried. Just as he opened his mouth to make light of it all, a bundle of fabrics was hurled in his face.
“Get dressed!” Angelica hissed in annoyance, but there was a hint of fear in her tone as well. Reluctantly, Jack put on his breeches and smirked when she reappeared before him and swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, like a mother fussing over an unruly child.
Next came his vest, which she practically hung on him with such haste that he wished his own crew possessed the same skill when hauling on the halyards to catch the wind in their sails.
“Jack, please, you have to hurry,” Angelica’s imploring voice brought him back to earth, her hands already busy wrapping his sash around his waist. “Why do you have so many damn clothes?” She then growled under her breath, her accent stronger than before, and he chuckled in response.
Instead of making a snide comment, he reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she looked up sharply. If she wanted to scold him, she must have changed her mind after seeing his loving gaze, for her annoyed expression softened a little.
“Come with me?” He offered once more, his tone more serious, genuine. Angelica’s lips parted, but she didn’t say a word, perhaps silently weighing her options while she still had the luxury of choosing. Time was running out however, judging from the ruckus in the hallways, with old ladies running amok and shouting something in Spanish. Even Jack was feeling a sense of urgency now, knowing that it would be easier to escape while the nuns were still confused, and before their fear morphed into anger.
Suddenly, Angelica leaned in and planted a brief kiss over his lips, her hands still working around his midsection.
“Is tha’ a yes?” He asked hopefully, then winced when she pulled on his sash, tightening it so hard it robbed him of his breath.
“Go,” she said quietly, averting her eyes, and Jack couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment deep in his gut.
“¡Alejate!” A familiar shrill almost made them jump, though the sight before them was even more unnerving - Fernanda-Teresa barged into the cell once more, this time carrying a gun the size of a small cannon. Perhaps the weapon appeared much larger when wielded by a person of her minute proportions, but it was formidable enough to strike fear in anybody standing on the wrong end of its barrel.
“No!” Angelica screamed out as she sprinted towards Fernanda, arms spread wide, heroically shielding Jack from the line of fire.
“¡Muevete!” The older nun barked at her, swinging the pistol to the sides in an attempt to take aim at the wide-eyed pirate. There was so much fury pouring out of that tiny hag’s entire being, that Jack had no doubt the trigger was about to get pulled.
Briskly, the captain rolled out of bed, tumbling to the floor, where he found his coat, hat and his effects. The moment he got to his feet, fully dressed now, the fearsome old lady and his Angelica were already in the midst of a struggle, one gripping her gun so firmly her knuckles became white, the other desperately trying to yank it away. As he took a cautious step towards the door, hoping to benefit from the commotion and make a swift exit, a shot boomed through the room, making him duck on instinct.
Luckily, Jack was fast enough to avoid getting blown away, which would have undoubtedly happened, judging by the large smoking hole in the wall, torn at the exact spot where his head had been just a split second before. The discharge was so great that it caused the mad nun to fly backwards, pulling poor Angelica along, both crashing to the floor in a gray-and-white heap. Without a second thought, Jack leaped over them like a wild hare, finding a brief moment to tip his hat to his lover, before making a run for it.
The moment he stepped into the narrow corridor, he was met with a dozen yelling nuns armed with wooden spoons, rolling pins, and frying pans. The old ladies were scared of him, but not enough to back off and let him get on his way, adamant, instead, to clobber him with whatever object they held in their hands. Slithering through the angry crowd with his head low and face shielded by his hands, Jack took a few hits on his back, but somehow managed to get to the stairs, still in one piece.
“¡El canalla! ¡Bandido!” He heard the nuns yelling after him, which he presumed were not compliments.
“No need for name-calling,” he grumbled under his breath, before sliding down the spiral rail, distancing himself from his pursuers. Once he reached the lower floor, he hissed at the sight of more gray-veiled sisters crawling out of the woodwork, their nostrils flared, hands wielding broomsticks, ready to strike at any given moment. To make matters worse, the nuns from the upper level were already halfway down the stairs, commanded by Fernanda-Teresa, who must have overpowered Angelica and taken charge of the troops.
Thinking fast, or rather, not thinking much at all, Jack swung himself over the rail, grabbing two balusters for support, then dropped to the ground on the next landing, which - if his arithmetic was correct - must have been the first floor.
One more to go!
Ignoring the sound of clomping footsteps behind him, he repeated the maneuver, happy to reach the ground floor so quickly, without having to navigate the complicated maze of corridors that Angelica had previously led him through.
Just when he thought he was in the clear, several shots came his way, all of them dangerously close to hitting their target, striking the pillars he managed to dive behind at the last second. These crazy nuns were faster than he expected, and they must have possessed more bloody guns. Things were not looking good for the pirate, considering the women had the advantage in numbers, and it was their territory he had strayed into. He briefly considered using his own pistol to somewhat even the odds, but ultimately decided against it - firing at old ladies was not his style, and besides, Fernanda-Teresa’s gun was much bigger than his.
There wasn’t much time to contemplate his next move, so he just ran, and he ran fast, zig-zagging between weird statues of angels while blindly looking for the exit. Somehow, in the chaos of flying bullets, clouds of dust, hurled pots and angry cries, the captain managed to find the door leading outside and bolt out of this convent-turned-hellhole.
The early morning mist floated lazily over the ground, and Jack pierced right through it like an arrow, fleeing from the ferocious herd of vengeful nuns. They were very motivated to catch him, or at the very least cause injury, their shots - luckily - wide off target, hitting the trees in front of him. When they finally ran out of ammunition, they started throwing pots and fruit in his direction, and the pirate could only hope that cutlery wasn’t going to be added to their armament - he really did not want to return to the Pearl with a knife in his back and a fork in his arse.
Jack dared to throw a glance over his shoulder and was dismayed to see that the younger nuns also joined the chase, most likely to conceal their earlier ruse. They had to do it or face Fernanda’s wrath, but he didn’t think their heart was in it. Except one. The hardened expression on Freckles’ face, and the huge coconut she held in her hands, told him she was genuine in her sudden desire to hurt him, and honestly, he couldn’t really blame her, could he?
Jack didn’t think it possible, but somehow his legs found a way to work even faster, and soon the distance between him and the sisters increased enough for him to feel a bit boastful.
“Ladies, ye shall always remember this day,” he shouted at the crowd behind him, greening like a madman, “as the day you almost caught Cap-”
A sudden smack he felt between his shoulders - something hard, hurled at him with full force - knocked him off balance, causing him to slip off the edge of a slope and roll down into a wet gully.
“-Jack Sparrow,” he grumbled to himself as he slowly got to his feet, glaring at the stupid coconut that was the cause of his fall. Fortunately, apart from a bunch of leaves and sticks entangled in his hair, and a few bruises he earned on his way down, he remained unharmed. The Spanish war cries heard in the distance let him know that this wouldn’t be the case for long if he didn’t resume his run immediately. And so he did, the familiar path leading to La Ropa Sucia already in sight.
-&-
The sun was already halfway over the horizon when Master Gibbs woke with an undignified snort, his drunken slumber broken by a commotion on the main deck. After getting up from his spot under the main mast - he would usually pass out somewhere below decks, but that hadn’t been the case last night apparently - he bumbled over to the rails, where the rest of the crew had flocked for some reason. One glance at the port, and the Pearl’s quartermaster already knew what had piqued everyone’s interest - from a distance, their very own captain could be seen sprinting towards the docks, leaving a dusty trail in his wake, a screaming throng of nuns tumbling behind him.
With his wide eyes and arms flailing wildly, Jack looked like a nestling learning to fly, and the closer he got, the more intelligible his panicked shouts became.
“... hands on deck! …full canvas! …outta here!”
Sighing heavily, Gibbbs shook his head before throwing a knowing glance at Pintel and Ragetti.
“Every godforsaken port,” he mumbled under his nose before he turned to the crew to relay the orders.
-&-
Plopping down on his berth, Jack released a shaky breath, both exhausted after the long run, and relieved that his Pearl had safely sailed off into the sea, far away from Fernanda-Teresa and her mad posse.
“Nuns, Capt’n? Really?” His quartermaster had scoffed the moment he had rolled onto the deck, but Jack had simply shrugged it off, heading straight to his cabin to get some much-needed rest. And rum. Lots and lots of rum.
To make himself more comfortable, Jack tiredly took off his coat and removed the baldric across his chest before reaching down to his midsection to put away his pistol. That was when he noticed that there was not one, but two guns stuck behind his belt, and he was immediately reminded of the woman he had left behind. Hopefully, the older hags had taken their anger out on him, letting poor Angelica off the hook for that one.
She’ll be fine, no worries, an inner voice reassured him, and let himself relax a bit, knowing that his Spanish no-longer-maiden was perfectly capable of holding her own in a fight, even without her pistol. Besides, if things got heated, he was sure her sly sisterhood would provide some laudanum-flavored tea to abate the tension in the convent - one freckled exception notwithstanding.
A full bottle of rum and a short nap later - not necessarily in that order - Jack sauntered over to the deck, swaying a bit when mounting the companionway. Once he reached the helm of his beloved ship, taking over from Mr Cotton and his screeching parrot, a wide grin stretched his lips, his good spirits returning. It was almost noon, with the sun slowly but surely climbing towards its zenith, and the cloudless sky displaying the bluest of its hues. The pirate wished there was a certain fiery Latina standing by his side, but that particular fancy would have to wait for better days to come, hopefully with a more favorable set of circumstances.
For better or worse, there was one comrade that he could always rely on to make his fumbling presence known - Mr Gibbs, who was quick to join him on the quarterdeck, a crooked smile etched on his chubby face.
“Nice ‘f ye to honor th’ crew with ye presence, Capt’n.” He leaned in, mumbling into Jack’s ear. “One might think ye be too scared of th’ Lord’s vengeful hand t’ come out. Or too drunk.” He then chuckled at his own wit, patting Jack on the shoulder.
“I differ t’ beg!” The captain confidently slurred out in response, frowning at the unfortunate wording the moment it came out. Gibbs’ smile suddenly waned.
“Mother’s love Jack, bad luck befalls on th’ poor soul tha’ crosses a nun, don’t ye know tha’? What was ye doing in a Spanish convent, anyway?”
“Mistook it for a brothel,” the captain shrugged, looking at the horizon ahead. “Honest mistake.”
THE END