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That Night in Tortuga

by Linaelyn

 

Fandom: PoTC    Rating: PG-13    Pairing: Gibbs/Giselle, implied Jack/Giselle    Full Header

 


Thanks fer the rum, mate. Much obliged. You wanted that tale? The one about Giselle? Aye.

T'weren't really a night, actually.

T'were more of evening, and a night, and a dawn afterwards. An' nothin' more. But T'were plenty, that.

Never thought th'lass would gimme th'time o'day. Certainly ne'er thought t'take Jack's place in her boudoir, if'n ye take my meaning.

But Jack had scarpered, made off with that Anamaria woman's boat, leavin' the poor lass high and dry. So when she comes round to me, askin' if I've seen hide nor hair of 'im, I says nothin' of Jack's likely whereabouts, seein' as no one else has seen fit to enlighten 'er to this point, and that bodes not well fer the reaction expected at ill news.

I never fancied Giselle's sort, much. Too much need for the rouge and the powder to make her charms obvious. In all honesty, I stay away from most of the strumpets.

'Sides. Cotton's usually willin'.

Cherie, with the ample bosom and the ready laugh, she's more t'me tastes, but the bony and blondie has its own appeal, fer a change.

So I pats Giselle on the shoulder, all father-like, though she's no more a daughter's age t'me than most of the whores of Tortuga, an' I bids her best o'luck with locatin' Jack's whereabouts.

That's when she busses me, bold as brass, an' says to me, all husky-like "I've need of Jack, but in a pinch, I s'pose you'll do."

Ye could have knocked me down with a feather, a fern-frond or a frilly petticoat. Take yer pick.

She takes me by the hand, pullin' me, bodily, through the redolent alleyways back to 'er little room, up the stairs above that place the Frenchman holds, the Etoile-Jaune? Ye've heard o'the place, I'm sure.

So, I'm draggin' along behind in 'er wake, an wonderin' a fair bit about what she has in mind fer me. We gets to 'er room an' she slams th'door behind me and the bolt's shot 'ome as quick as bobsyeruncle.

She's strippin' down t'skin, and as it's been a fair bit since I've seen the longitudes an' latitudes of th'fairer territories, I'm findin' m'self about as verbose as me mate, Cotton.

So that's when she asks me, if I'm willin'.

Just so's we're clear, I asks about payment.

She says she'll pay me in pure Crown Shillings, not even any barter involved.

I weren't expectin' that. But I'm still not above a good dicker, so it were a few minutes o'that, a'fore we settled on a price fer me services.

I spent the rest of the evening, and the full measure of the night, and on into the dawnlight of mornin', meeting her every demand, down to the finest detail.

So, aye, I'm the one what give 'er the tattoo that wraps all the way 'round 'er belly from the front to the back to the front again:

Jack Sparrow Is A Lying Goddamned Cocksucking Son Of A Bitch
 

 

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