Dervish
Title: Dervish
Author: nelliedances/Miss Ruby Tuesday
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth
Warnings: Very vague DMC/AWE.
Disclaimer: Sure I own it; I also have a great bridge for sale in Brooklyn, if anyone’s interested.
Summary: Will and Elizabeth argue about her freedom. Future companion piece in the works.
Status: Complete
They had all had a little too much to drink. Elizabeth, who had certainly never been allowed in a tavern before, had allowed all the liquor to go to her head. She was overstimulated with the sights and sounds of Tortuga. So far tonight, she had see three barfights, been solicited six separate times, four of those by women who were well aware that she was also a woman, and seen one rather lewd act involving a man, some rhum, and two women less than a metre from where she stood. Oh, Will had tried to turn her away, to cover her eyes, but she had seen enough to be curious. She had never felt so alive in her life!
Will had only rented one room for the two of them when they'd arrived and it had made Elizabeth giddy with anticipation until he had explained he would be sleeping in a chair, watching over her, to make sure her virtue remained unbesmirched throughout the night. After all, he had said, who knew how many keys to each room there were? Tacitly, his intimation was that her virtue was to remain intact even if she wanted it just a little bit sullied. Will had been so steadfast in his insistence that they should not touch until they were lawfully, in the eyes of God wedded, that sometimes Elizabeth wondered if maybe... just maybe... there was a little truth to Jack's eunuch jokes. Well, she'd wondered after Jack had explained to her exactly what a eunuch was. He'd laughed heartily at her naivety, but he'd explained all about eunuchs and their roles within the royal harems of Persia and also of the Church's castrati; weaving her stories of boys with such perfect singing voice that, well, that needed to be preserved to any end. He'd left her red-faced and slack jawed after that explanation, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. It brightened his world just a little bit every time he could take her innocence down a peg or two.
After the first barfight, Will had insisted that she go up to their lodgings and stay safely ensconced for the night. Barring that, he suggested that he escort her back to the Pearl and she could be free from the debauchery surrounding them. She was drunk on the excitement, though, and wanted to stay. They'd had a loud row in the streets out in front of the tavern. He had accused her of not caring what happened to her person and not caring about how much he worried about her. She had countered with that he would keep her locked up in a little cage, never having any sort of fun at all. She'd stomped her foot and yelled that she was going to stay right here, with the rest of the crew and he'd seen fit to remind her that she wasn't quite part of the crew. That had enraged her and she'd flown at him, shoving him hard and telling him that she was just as much a part of the crew as he; she'd made her mark on the roster. His mouth had slacked open, as he sat in the muck and filth of the Tortuga streets, and he asked her how could she and more importantly, how could bloody Jack Sparrow have let her do such a thing?
She'd looked at him a bit too smugly for his comfort and said she'd persuaded him. It wasn't quite the truth. She'd snuck into his cabin after he'd fallen asleep, located the ship's roster in his desk, and signed it, then woke him. He'd argued with her, told her it wasn't binding because he didn't agree to it, and she'd reminded him that he himself had allowed her on the ship, and that was agreement enough. He's opened his mouth, shut it, and then clapped her on the back, complementing her on a well played trick. She certainly was more a part of the crew than some people who'd signed up fair and square.
He'd stood up, face beet red with anger, and yelled at her that if she wanted play the part of a crew member, she could sod off and stay with them. Let bloody Jack Sparrow watch her for all he cared. He was going back to the ship to keep watch. He thrust the room key into her hand and stalked off.
She hadn't really expected him to leave. They'd had rows before, more frequently on board than not about what she wanted versus what he expected, but he'd never out and out abandoned her before. For a moment, she considered running after his shrinking form and going back to the ship with him. She took a tentative step forward and then stopped. He was too far for her to catch up to without a lot of effort and she didn't really want to spend a boring night watching the Pearl, especially not with someone who would, most likely, not be speaking to her. Hang it, she had a room paid for and she was going to have a fine time with the rest of the crew. Bugger Will and his stupid notions of what was good for her.
That was precisely how she found herself swinging round on the arms of many burly sailors to some sort of rollicking, unending tune. Her hat had been long since abandoned and her long hair flew free around her face as she spun and laughed. Will had worried for nothing. She was having a grand time! She spun out of Mr. Gibb's arms, his face glowing with what could almost be considered fatherly pride, in front of Marty who showed her the steps to a jig he was doing on top of a table. She snatched her mug of grog and drained it before getting ready to enter back into the fray.
A hot, sweaty arm stopped her progress and pulled her down into an equally hot lap. Elizabeth whipped her head around to find herself face to face with her rather intoxicated captain.
“'Ello luv, having a good time?”
She shifted a little in his lap to face him better, a stray thought, like an angel on her shoulder, reminded her what an improper position she had gotten herself into. Very deliberately, she snuffed out that tiny voice.
“I am! This is wonderful. I've never felt more… alive!”
“Grand!” He jostled her weight a bit, shifting her from one leg, into the centre of his lap. “Just making sure, since I am your watchful protector tonight and all.”
Her face fell into a wistful pout. “You heard that?”
“Aye, half of Tortuga did. But don't fret your pretty head on it. Our young Turner will go back to the Pearl, keep a good eye on her, and lick his wounds alone...” He leered a little on that last bit, causing her to giggle. She reached for his bottle of rhum, her chest very nearly colliding with his face.
“Jack,” she said, taking a very healthy, very unladylike swig from his bottle.
“Captain,” He shifted again.
“I...” she paused, her voice dropping and her eyes going wide. “I think I'm sitting on your pistol.” It was meant innocently enough. She squirmed again, suddenly feeling very awkward.
“That you are, luv!” he roared with laughter at her ignorance. He squeezed his arm around her waist in sort of a rocking hug. “We'll dance then. Let's see how well you remember the steps Marty taught you!”
In an instant she was off his lap, but still in his arms, leaving her dizzy, disoriented, and still holding his bottle of rhum. She took another deep swig. If it worked to fix what ailed the crew, then why not her? She barely had time to hand the bottle off to Gibbs before Jack was whirling her away to the centre of the room.
She didn't know why she had thought he couldn't dance. Perhaps it was because he was always drunk, perhaps because he never seemed to join in with the crew when they broke out singing at sea, perhaps it was because Will never danced and she just assumed. Whatever the reasoning, dancing with him was like dancing with the music itself. All she had imbibed that evening seemed to aid her feet in finding the right steps, and Jack's arm, still tight around her waist, guided her when her feet faltered. For a fleeting moment, she imagined that this was what Heaven was like. The dim lights of the tavern whirled before her eyes in a dizzying mix of yellows, burnt umbers, and browns and she allowed her head to loll forward; Jack's breath coming in hot bursts against her ear as they spun. He was talking, whispering things to her, but she couldn't catch all of it. Something about dervishes and India and sirens and mermaids. It made no sense, but it made her breath catch all the same. If she were to die tonight, she would die happy.
The song wound down and she lay panting, against his chest, his sweat staining her shirt and moistening her hair. He wiped a few sticky pieces roughly off her flushed forehead and bent to whisper in her ear.
“Ol' Jack's still got it, eh? Ever been spun like that at your society things with your commodore? Or in the back of the boy's shop at home?”
She shook her head, pressing her face to his throat while she caught her breath. His neck was slightly stubbled and rough against her face. She licked her lips so close to him that her tongue brushed against him, causing him to shudder, and for a moment, all she could taste was him and the salt of the sea. Will, on the rare occasion he had permitted things to go so far, had always had a tinge of metal and smoke. Never like this, never like Jack.
“Lizzie,” his voice was husky and she more felt it than heard it. “I think, perhaps, it's time we take you to bed. Can't return you to the dear boy exhausted, can we?” She nodded, so drunk on the liquor, the heat, the dance, and the closeness to Jack that she would have agreed to set course of the stars if he had asked. After all, it had been an exciting day and a better night. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
“I think, lads,” he said louder, looking at Gibbs. “That it's time for me to deliver our girl to the welcoming arms of Hypnos and his sons. I'll be back on decks of the Pearl in time for first tide. We'll sail then.” He tipped his hat to Gibbs, snatched his bottle from his hands, and hefted the drooping Elizabeth into his arms.
“Now, dearie, do be kind enough to tell me where you're lodged for the night. You're not exactly a light burden and I'd rather not carry you all over the Caribbean.” His voice faded from the ears of his men.
Joshamee Gibbs cleared his throat and turned to the remainder of the crew. “Well, you heard him. To your berths or rooms, now. We sail on the morning tide. And,” he paused. “No one breathes a word of this to Turner or you'll be kissing the gunner's daughter like a cabin boy. He's made his own bed leaving her on her own, he'll lie in it in time, and no one needs to hasten the day. Step lively now.”
Jack stumbled down the narrow hall of the inn, trying to simultaneously balance Elizabeth, not drop his drink, and wrench the door to her room open. He managed to accomplish his tasks and in turn, dumped Elizabeth rather ungracefully on the bed. She didn't even stir. She certainly had enough to drink, especially with that darling trick of snagging his own bottle. Bonny lass, she was. He'd never have left her alone in the manner Will had if she was his fiancée. Bloody fool, that Turner. Jack glanced over at her prone form on the cheap mattress. He supposed he ought to leave her to her stupor and head off to the waiting, if not welcoming, arms of Scarlett or Giselle. He stepped towards the door.
But on the other hand, this was her first time alone in Tortuga and he really ought to stay with her and make sure she stayed out of trouble. He was captain for a reason after all, and that was because he watched out for his crew. That and the rather generous cut of the plunder, he thought. This was the reason that was keeping him from sauntering down the hall, not because of his misplaced affection for her. That had nothing to do with it, nothing at all. He'd do the same for Gibbs.
Oh bugger. He wouldn’t do the same for Gibbs. He wasn’t fooling himself.
He finished the last of his rhum and lay down on the mattress next to her. Like a shark drawn to blood in the water, she immediately curled into him, an arm wrapping around his waist. The decision was made. It had been a long time since Jack had shared a bed with a woman without any expectations, aside from sleep. Bloody Elizabeth, she's be the ruin of his reputation yet. He tipped his hat down over his eyes and let Hypnos take him to the banks of the River Lethe to join Elizabeth.
The first conscious thought Elizabeth had was that she still felt woozy. No headache, but she felt very much like her head was swimming. She remembered bits and pieces from the night before: the very loud, very public row with Will, drinking... a lot of drinking... and dancing, with Jack. She smiled. Maybe the night hadn't ended so badly after all. She rolled over, only to find herself facing the man in question.
“Morning, luv. How's your head?”
“Spinning,” she said cautiously. She didn't remember getting to her room nor lying down with Jack, but they were fully clothed, so it couldn't've been that bad. Could it?
“Got you a prize.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. From the sleeve of his coat, he produced what looked like a large bracelet and dropped it on her stomach.
“What is it?”
“An anklet for my little whirling dervish,” he smiled his devil-may-care smile at her. “Want me to put it on for you?” She nodded shyly.
He took it and fastened it around her ankle, fingers lingering on her skin a bit too long, and sat back. “Fit for a princess,” he declared. “At least, that's what the hawker said.”
She got up from the bed, the tiny bells of the anklet jingling their own merry tune as she moved to embrace him. Like his fingers, her embrace lasted a breath too long.
“It's beautiful.”
“It suits you.” He coughed, the ghost of a blush tingeing his cheeks. “Didn't pay for it anyhow, if it didn't.”
She smiled, a genuine smile, one that made him think of paintings of angels he'd seen in Italy once. She touched her dirty, calloused fingers to his face and stopped. Her eyes were bright, but unreadable. He leaned closer, until he felt the brush of metal against his face.
Will's ring. Not his, even if he wanted it. Then again, so were the ships he raided.
“We'd best get going. We're sailing on the morning tide.”
“Oh,” Was that disappointment he saw in her eyes? Before he realized it, his arm around was around her waist, pulling her down to him, making her anklet sing. Her mouth opened slightly and she waited.
“If we don't reach the Pearl soon, dear William will have a fit, darling. He'll assume I've traded you for a goat or a bottle of rhum or something a bit shinier.”
And quick as he'd grabbed her, he was out the door, again leaving her light-headed and spinning. This time though, there was no music to guide her steps in this dance. She grabbed her hat and hurried after him. She didn't doubt for a second that he'd leave her behind if she didn't catch up.
“Bloody pirates,” she grumbled as she pulled the door shut.
Author: nelliedances/Miss Ruby Tuesday
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth
Warnings: Very vague DMC/AWE.
Disclaimer: Sure I own it; I also have a great bridge for sale in Brooklyn, if anyone’s interested.
Summary: Will and Elizabeth argue about her freedom. Future companion piece in the works.
Status: Complete
They had all had a little too much to drink. Elizabeth, who had certainly never been allowed in a tavern before, had allowed all the liquor to go to her head. She was overstimulated with the sights and sounds of Tortuga. So far tonight, she had see three barfights, been solicited six separate times, four of those by women who were well aware that she was also a woman, and seen one rather lewd act involving a man, some rhum, and two women less than a metre from where she stood. Oh, Will had tried to turn her away, to cover her eyes, but she had seen enough to be curious. She had never felt so alive in her life!
Will had only rented one room for the two of them when they'd arrived and it had made Elizabeth giddy with anticipation until he had explained he would be sleeping in a chair, watching over her, to make sure her virtue remained unbesmirched throughout the night. After all, he had said, who knew how many keys to each room there were? Tacitly, his intimation was that her virtue was to remain intact even if she wanted it just a little bit sullied. Will had been so steadfast in his insistence that they should not touch until they were lawfully, in the eyes of God wedded, that sometimes Elizabeth wondered if maybe... just maybe... there was a little truth to Jack's eunuch jokes. Well, she'd wondered after Jack had explained to her exactly what a eunuch was. He'd laughed heartily at her naivety, but he'd explained all about eunuchs and their roles within the royal harems of Persia and also of the Church's castrati; weaving her stories of boys with such perfect singing voice that, well, that needed to be preserved to any end. He'd left her red-faced and slack jawed after that explanation, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. It brightened his world just a little bit every time he could take her innocence down a peg or two.
After the first barfight, Will had insisted that she go up to their lodgings and stay safely ensconced for the night. Barring that, he suggested that he escort her back to the Pearl and she could be free from the debauchery surrounding them. She was drunk on the excitement, though, and wanted to stay. They'd had a loud row in the streets out in front of the tavern. He had accused her of not caring what happened to her person and not caring about how much he worried about her. She had countered with that he would keep her locked up in a little cage, never having any sort of fun at all. She'd stomped her foot and yelled that she was going to stay right here, with the rest of the crew and he'd seen fit to remind her that she wasn't quite part of the crew. That had enraged her and she'd flown at him, shoving him hard and telling him that she was just as much a part of the crew as he; she'd made her mark on the roster. His mouth had slacked open, as he sat in the muck and filth of the Tortuga streets, and he asked her how could she and more importantly, how could bloody Jack Sparrow have let her do such a thing?
She'd looked at him a bit too smugly for his comfort and said she'd persuaded him. It wasn't quite the truth. She'd snuck into his cabin after he'd fallen asleep, located the ship's roster in his desk, and signed it, then woke him. He'd argued with her, told her it wasn't binding because he didn't agree to it, and she'd reminded him that he himself had allowed her on the ship, and that was agreement enough. He's opened his mouth, shut it, and then clapped her on the back, complementing her on a well played trick. She certainly was more a part of the crew than some people who'd signed up fair and square.
He'd stood up, face beet red with anger, and yelled at her that if she wanted play the part of a crew member, she could sod off and stay with them. Let bloody Jack Sparrow watch her for all he cared. He was going back to the ship to keep watch. He thrust the room key into her hand and stalked off.
She hadn't really expected him to leave. They'd had rows before, more frequently on board than not about what she wanted versus what he expected, but he'd never out and out abandoned her before. For a moment, she considered running after his shrinking form and going back to the ship with him. She took a tentative step forward and then stopped. He was too far for her to catch up to without a lot of effort and she didn't really want to spend a boring night watching the Pearl, especially not with someone who would, most likely, not be speaking to her. Hang it, she had a room paid for and she was going to have a fine time with the rest of the crew. Bugger Will and his stupid notions of what was good for her.
That was precisely how she found herself swinging round on the arms of many burly sailors to some sort of rollicking, unending tune. Her hat had been long since abandoned and her long hair flew free around her face as she spun and laughed. Will had worried for nothing. She was having a grand time! She spun out of Mr. Gibb's arms, his face glowing with what could almost be considered fatherly pride, in front of Marty who showed her the steps to a jig he was doing on top of a table. She snatched her mug of grog and drained it before getting ready to enter back into the fray.
A hot, sweaty arm stopped her progress and pulled her down into an equally hot lap. Elizabeth whipped her head around to find herself face to face with her rather intoxicated captain.
“'Ello luv, having a good time?”
She shifted a little in his lap to face him better, a stray thought, like an angel on her shoulder, reminded her what an improper position she had gotten herself into. Very deliberately, she snuffed out that tiny voice.
“I am! This is wonderful. I've never felt more… alive!”
“Grand!” He jostled her weight a bit, shifting her from one leg, into the centre of his lap. “Just making sure, since I am your watchful protector tonight and all.”
Her face fell into a wistful pout. “You heard that?”
“Aye, half of Tortuga did. But don't fret your pretty head on it. Our young Turner will go back to the Pearl, keep a good eye on her, and lick his wounds alone...” He leered a little on that last bit, causing her to giggle. She reached for his bottle of rhum, her chest very nearly colliding with his face.
“Jack,” she said, taking a very healthy, very unladylike swig from his bottle.
“Captain,” He shifted again.
“I...” she paused, her voice dropping and her eyes going wide. “I think I'm sitting on your pistol.” It was meant innocently enough. She squirmed again, suddenly feeling very awkward.
“That you are, luv!” he roared with laughter at her ignorance. He squeezed his arm around her waist in sort of a rocking hug. “We'll dance then. Let's see how well you remember the steps Marty taught you!”
In an instant she was off his lap, but still in his arms, leaving her dizzy, disoriented, and still holding his bottle of rhum. She took another deep swig. If it worked to fix what ailed the crew, then why not her? She barely had time to hand the bottle off to Gibbs before Jack was whirling her away to the centre of the room.
She didn't know why she had thought he couldn't dance. Perhaps it was because he was always drunk, perhaps because he never seemed to join in with the crew when they broke out singing at sea, perhaps it was because Will never danced and she just assumed. Whatever the reasoning, dancing with him was like dancing with the music itself. All she had imbibed that evening seemed to aid her feet in finding the right steps, and Jack's arm, still tight around her waist, guided her when her feet faltered. For a fleeting moment, she imagined that this was what Heaven was like. The dim lights of the tavern whirled before her eyes in a dizzying mix of yellows, burnt umbers, and browns and she allowed her head to loll forward; Jack's breath coming in hot bursts against her ear as they spun. He was talking, whispering things to her, but she couldn't catch all of it. Something about dervishes and India and sirens and mermaids. It made no sense, but it made her breath catch all the same. If she were to die tonight, she would die happy.
The song wound down and she lay panting, against his chest, his sweat staining her shirt and moistening her hair. He wiped a few sticky pieces roughly off her flushed forehead and bent to whisper in her ear.
“Ol' Jack's still got it, eh? Ever been spun like that at your society things with your commodore? Or in the back of the boy's shop at home?”
She shook her head, pressing her face to his throat while she caught her breath. His neck was slightly stubbled and rough against her face. She licked her lips so close to him that her tongue brushed against him, causing him to shudder, and for a moment, all she could taste was him and the salt of the sea. Will, on the rare occasion he had permitted things to go so far, had always had a tinge of metal and smoke. Never like this, never like Jack.
“Lizzie,” his voice was husky and she more felt it than heard it. “I think, perhaps, it's time we take you to bed. Can't return you to the dear boy exhausted, can we?” She nodded, so drunk on the liquor, the heat, the dance, and the closeness to Jack that she would have agreed to set course of the stars if he had asked. After all, it had been an exciting day and a better night. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
“I think, lads,” he said louder, looking at Gibbs. “That it's time for me to deliver our girl to the welcoming arms of Hypnos and his sons. I'll be back on decks of the Pearl in time for first tide. We'll sail then.” He tipped his hat to Gibbs, snatched his bottle from his hands, and hefted the drooping Elizabeth into his arms.
“Now, dearie, do be kind enough to tell me where you're lodged for the night. You're not exactly a light burden and I'd rather not carry you all over the Caribbean.” His voice faded from the ears of his men.
Joshamee Gibbs cleared his throat and turned to the remainder of the crew. “Well, you heard him. To your berths or rooms, now. We sail on the morning tide. And,” he paused. “No one breathes a word of this to Turner or you'll be kissing the gunner's daughter like a cabin boy. He's made his own bed leaving her on her own, he'll lie in it in time, and no one needs to hasten the day. Step lively now.”
Jack stumbled down the narrow hall of the inn, trying to simultaneously balance Elizabeth, not drop his drink, and wrench the door to her room open. He managed to accomplish his tasks and in turn, dumped Elizabeth rather ungracefully on the bed. She didn't even stir. She certainly had enough to drink, especially with that darling trick of snagging his own bottle. Bonny lass, she was. He'd never have left her alone in the manner Will had if she was his fiancée. Bloody fool, that Turner. Jack glanced over at her prone form on the cheap mattress. He supposed he ought to leave her to her stupor and head off to the waiting, if not welcoming, arms of Scarlett or Giselle. He stepped towards the door.
But on the other hand, this was her first time alone in Tortuga and he really ought to stay with her and make sure she stayed out of trouble. He was captain for a reason after all, and that was because he watched out for his crew. That and the rather generous cut of the plunder, he thought. This was the reason that was keeping him from sauntering down the hall, not because of his misplaced affection for her. That had nothing to do with it, nothing at all. He'd do the same for Gibbs.
Oh bugger. He wouldn’t do the same for Gibbs. He wasn’t fooling himself.
He finished the last of his rhum and lay down on the mattress next to her. Like a shark drawn to blood in the water, she immediately curled into him, an arm wrapping around his waist. The decision was made. It had been a long time since Jack had shared a bed with a woman without any expectations, aside from sleep. Bloody Elizabeth, she's be the ruin of his reputation yet. He tipped his hat down over his eyes and let Hypnos take him to the banks of the River Lethe to join Elizabeth.
The first conscious thought Elizabeth had was that she still felt woozy. No headache, but she felt very much like her head was swimming. She remembered bits and pieces from the night before: the very loud, very public row with Will, drinking... a lot of drinking... and dancing, with Jack. She smiled. Maybe the night hadn't ended so badly after all. She rolled over, only to find herself facing the man in question.
“Morning, luv. How's your head?”
“Spinning,” she said cautiously. She didn't remember getting to her room nor lying down with Jack, but they were fully clothed, so it couldn't've been that bad. Could it?
“Got you a prize.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. From the sleeve of his coat, he produced what looked like a large bracelet and dropped it on her stomach.
“What is it?”
“An anklet for my little whirling dervish,” he smiled his devil-may-care smile at her. “Want me to put it on for you?” She nodded shyly.
He took it and fastened it around her ankle, fingers lingering on her skin a bit too long, and sat back. “Fit for a princess,” he declared. “At least, that's what the hawker said.”
She got up from the bed, the tiny bells of the anklet jingling their own merry tune as she moved to embrace him. Like his fingers, her embrace lasted a breath too long.
“It's beautiful.”
“It suits you.” He coughed, the ghost of a blush tingeing his cheeks. “Didn't pay for it anyhow, if it didn't.”
She smiled, a genuine smile, one that made him think of paintings of angels he'd seen in Italy once. She touched her dirty, calloused fingers to his face and stopped. Her eyes were bright, but unreadable. He leaned closer, until he felt the brush of metal against his face.
Will's ring. Not his, even if he wanted it. Then again, so were the ships he raided.
“We'd best get going. We're sailing on the morning tide.”
“Oh,” Was that disappointment he saw in her eyes? Before he realized it, his arm around was around her waist, pulling her down to him, making her anklet sing. Her mouth opened slightly and she waited.
“If we don't reach the Pearl soon, dear William will have a fit, darling. He'll assume I've traded you for a goat or a bottle of rhum or something a bit shinier.”
And quick as he'd grabbed her, he was out the door, again leaving her light-headed and spinning. This time though, there was no music to guide her steps in this dance. She grabbed her hat and hurried after him. She didn't doubt for a second that he'd leave her behind if she didn't catch up.
“Bloody pirates,” she grumbled as she pulled the door shut.