Fic: "Chapeau Foe" (POTC)
Title: "Chapeau Foe"
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters and I earn no profit from their depiction.
Summary: Even Jack Sparrow has to occasionally answer for his bouts of larceny. Written for flameandignite’s prompt of "Anamaria and her floppy hat" over at raise_the_dead.
A/N: Thanks to danglingdingle for her read-through. I tag lilfluffykitten with "Gibbs and his flask."
So, the Commodore was looking for crew to man Jack Sparrow’s new ship, was he? Anamaria paid the serving wench the price of two drinks for the information and hurried out of The Faithful Bride to catch up with her quarry.
Following at a distance, trying to keep to the shadows, she could nonetheless hear Jack and Mr. Gibbs (she’d only heard him called “the Commodore” up to that point, by gobs around town who described him as former Navy - she hadn’t cared enough before to wonder how the old man earned the gibe, but Sparrow’s involvement threw a new shine on things). Their talking was loud enough to raise the dead, and she wondered if the captain’s peacock need for attention was the only thing making him announce his business to all and sundry, even as doing so made it easier for her to eavesdrop from a safe distance.
The boy walked a bit behind the two older men, saying nothing, but looking around quite a lot, his grip on his sword - his detection was the one Anamaria spent much of the journey to the docks stepping into shadows and between other people to avoid. Clearly he was acting as Sparrow’s muscle here, or at least his eyes and ears. And likely the brain, too, in this particular outfit, she snorted.
She had no charity toward Sparrow - he’d lost to her in that card game, then stole her fishing boat while she slept a rare night at the tavern, courtesy of those winnings. She knew he was no fool … but it made her feel better to think it, especially since she wouldn’t be seeing her boat anytime soon. If at all - there was no way he would need or have room for a crew aboard the Jolly Mon, so she concluded he must’ve abandoned (or sank) it in favor of something grander.
Distracted by anger, she nearly missed the young man’s sweep of the area behind them. Stepping hastily to her right, she frantically cast for something to provide a cover. Two codgers were having a drunken, slow parody of a scuffle near a barrel - without hesitating, Anamaria snatched the floppy-brimmed hat from the head of the one closest to her, yanked it down over her face, and threw herself into the fight to blend in. She didn’t look up for what was probably two whole minutes - then, she pushed the hat back, glanced around, and noted Sparrow’s party had moved off toward the docks.
“Tha’s my ‘at,” one of the drunks slurred, frowning at Anamaria’s head.
The other looked between his archrival and his newest opponent. “Is not - s’my ‘at!” he charged.
“How you figger?” the other fired back, swaying.
“You stole it offa my ‘ead!” the second prize fighter charged. “‘S what we’ve been fightin’ over, ye great bloody git!”
The first man frowned. “‘Ave not - you stole my woman!”
“Only ‘cause you took th’ hat!”
As they traded fresh blows, Anamaria backed away, the wide brim still pulled over her fine-boned features. She would sleep in the back of the smith’s barn tonight again, and rise early to be at the docks; the hat should help as a disguise until she wanted to reveal herself. She would get an audience with Sparrow, come hell or high water, and she would either get her boat back or she’d take it out of his hide in some other fashion.
And it would sure amount to more than his smelly hat.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters and I earn no profit from their depiction.
Summary: Even Jack Sparrow has to occasionally answer for his bouts of larceny. Written for flameandignite’s prompt of "Anamaria and her floppy hat" over at raise_the_dead.
A/N: Thanks to danglingdingle for her read-through. I tag lilfluffykitten with "Gibbs and his flask."
So, the Commodore was looking for crew to man Jack Sparrow’s new ship, was he? Anamaria paid the serving wench the price of two drinks for the information and hurried out of The Faithful Bride to catch up with her quarry.
Following at a distance, trying to keep to the shadows, she could nonetheless hear Jack and Mr. Gibbs (she’d only heard him called “the Commodore” up to that point, by gobs around town who described him as former Navy - she hadn’t cared enough before to wonder how the old man earned the gibe, but Sparrow’s involvement threw a new shine on things). Their talking was loud enough to raise the dead, and she wondered if the captain’s peacock need for attention was the only thing making him announce his business to all and sundry, even as doing so made it easier for her to eavesdrop from a safe distance.
The boy walked a bit behind the two older men, saying nothing, but looking around quite a lot, his grip on his sword - his detection was the one Anamaria spent much of the journey to the docks stepping into shadows and between other people to avoid. Clearly he was acting as Sparrow’s muscle here, or at least his eyes and ears. And likely the brain, too, in this particular outfit, she snorted.
She had no charity toward Sparrow - he’d lost to her in that card game, then stole her fishing boat while she slept a rare night at the tavern, courtesy of those winnings. She knew he was no fool … but it made her feel better to think it, especially since she wouldn’t be seeing her boat anytime soon. If at all - there was no way he would need or have room for a crew aboard the Jolly Mon, so she concluded he must’ve abandoned (or sank) it in favor of something grander.
Distracted by anger, she nearly missed the young man’s sweep of the area behind them. Stepping hastily to her right, she frantically cast for something to provide a cover. Two codgers were having a drunken, slow parody of a scuffle near a barrel - without hesitating, Anamaria snatched the floppy-brimmed hat from the head of the one closest to her, yanked it down over her face, and threw herself into the fight to blend in. She didn’t look up for what was probably two whole minutes - then, she pushed the hat back, glanced around, and noted Sparrow’s party had moved off toward the docks.
“Tha’s my ‘at,” one of the drunks slurred, frowning at Anamaria’s head.
The other looked between his archrival and his newest opponent. “Is not - s’my ‘at!” he charged.
“How you figger?” the other fired back, swaying.
“You stole it offa my ‘ead!” the second prize fighter charged. “‘S what we’ve been fightin’ over, ye great bloody git!”
The first man frowned. “‘Ave not - you stole my woman!”
“Only ‘cause you took th’ hat!”
As they traded fresh blows, Anamaria backed away, the wide brim still pulled over her fine-boned features. She would sleep in the back of the smith’s barn tonight again, and rise early to be at the docks; the hat should help as a disguise until she wanted to reveal herself. She would get an audience with Sparrow, come hell or high water, and she would either get her boat back or she’d take it out of his hide in some other fashion.
And it would sure amount to more than his smelly hat.