Off the Map - A Pirates of the Caribbean AU

After drinking and eating himself into a near coma, Jack sleeps a good long while. The bed isn't the best in the world by far, but the company is better than the Dutch crew. When he starts to wake, he's loath to move from his position. The body wrapped around him feels so warm and comfortable. The odd familiarity of a body that's a perfect fit to his own is hard to pull away from. He roll over in Sam's arms and nuzzles against the selkie before he even realizes who he's in bed with.

"Good morning, luv..."

He opens his dark rimmed eyes and blinks a few times. Jack laughs to himself and sits up.

"Bugger. My apologies, mate. Rather forgot where I was."

Jack stretches as the present situation comes back to him. A small grin comes to his lips and he looks over the side of the bed for the large, red-headed Norse he left sleeping on the floor. Noble self-sacrifice always amuses him when he's not the one doing it.

"Wakey wakey, snow giant."

When the sun rises on Bastiaan's brilliant and doomed plan to take over the Dutch ship the boy limps out of the docks after being tossed behind some barrels by a member of the crew. He laid there in pain and humiliation for an hour until he had the courage to face the agony walking would bring. It'll be a long trip to safety. Especially if he's not taken in.
He keeps his head down and tries to cover his face with his hair. It's a bloody mess. His features are soaked and hidden under gore and his breathing erratic. The seat of his pants are so wet with blood and darker more horrible things it runs down the back of his legs.
The trip to the Jolly Roger is a long one and though he'd rather not be there the waitress he annoys might be the only one willing to let him sleep in a soft clean place while he heals or just dies. Both are an equal possibility.

He finds her with eyes half shut and stinging with blood and stares at her back, waiting for her to turn around.
"Help."

Mursi left the selkie and Jack alone in the opium house for several hours in the night. He would have preferred not to, fearing the pirate is letting his seal smoke poison,tossing him out into the hallway while he's with a whore, abusing him... Mursi could think of a hundred different outcomes of this. But the seal has been with that pirate for who knows how long. The selkie is attached to him. Clearly. But selkie's are such trusting gentle things...
He goes about his job putting his worries out of his mind. He has things to do. Jack will take care of the seal or he wont. All Mursi can do is get back to them and hope they are still on the island.

First he had to find the seal clothing. So he went about looking for a man the same hight and weight. Both Jack and the selkie are taller then a lot of the population. Mursi towers over them all at 6'6 but at a respective 5'10 the 'twins' are still taller then most men with their build. Mursi is getting irritated. The clothing on the tall men would be like wrapping them in a tent. The thin boys are too short. Even when he finds men the right size he lets five pass without robbing them. Their clothing is ratty. Somehow he just has a problem dressing the selkie in such things. But in the end... the seal is draped in dusty doll clothes.
He grabs a thin drunk who's just tall enough as he walks and swings him face first against the nearest building. A few pirates laugh as they pass. No one comes to the man's aid even as Mursi strips him. He leaves the man's money. Someone else will take it but he wont rob the drunk of everything he has for only being stupid and unlucky.

He pays the last of his coins to the celestial of the opium den for a bath of his own and to have his and the seal's new laundry done and mended. He comes back to the room with the clothing folded in his arms and finds the two of them curled up together in a nap, the seal's fingers curled in Jack's dirty hair. The pirate opens his eyes instantly and Mursi lays the clothing on the pillow beside him. The frock coat is a faded olive green and the shirt is the dame dingy white as everyone else's. Mursi let the man keep his trousers.

Bastiaan's brilliant plan consists of sneaking onto the ship while it's crewed by only a handful of men. Anything beyond that is still.. being worked out.
Getting on the ship isn't even a challenge. It's night and he keeps low. Bastiaan sneaks up the gang plank and then ducks behind a crate sitting against the railing of the deck. It's only then he realizes he has no way of getting the rest of the men off or getting the ship out to sea without his own crew.
Maybe he had time to escape again. Enjoy the adventure of being a stowaway for a few minutes and run off with a good story to tell the others. But doing so would take admitting that he came this far with a shit plan and no way out. So he stays there.

Jack leads the selkie into the Jolly Roger. He tells him they're going to get a better crew; one safer for the both of them. The selkie is taken down to a less ridiculous level of ruffles for the time being, though he still looks like Jack's simple minded fop cousin. They take a seat at a table where Jack takes out a quill, ink and a piece of parchment from the bag. He truly hates doing this himself, but he hasn't yet found Gibbs. Damnedable drunk. Probably spent himself utterly destitute and had to take on with a crew for a bit. That, or someone's shot the bastard. It would be a real shame.

After a while with little to no attention --aside from a whore who comes by to slap Jack and demand monies owed-- Jack climbs onto the table to rile up a bit of attention for their cause. He needs at least a few men to replace those lost, damn it. They'll never get that overly decorated Dutch monstrosity out of port with just the few hands they have.

"Gentlemen! Who among you possesses the fortitude to sail under a pirate flag and face terrible dangers in places here-to unknown to man in pursuit of wealth immeasurable?!"

Upon making port in Tortuga, Jack dealt out a share of the ship's wealth to each of the remaining crewmen who wanted off ship and sent them ashore. Some planned to take on with other crews, others were simply hoping to purchase passage home to their families for a while. It mattered very little to Jack. The pirate just wanted to keep his new ship and crew it with men who did not have a history of forcing sex on a creature wearing his face. There was just something far too unsettling in that. He keeps on as few of the Dutch crew as possible.

Once the distribution of wealth had been settled up, Jack took to shore with a bag of supplies to trade off and took the selkie along with him. He made his way to a familiar brothel and paid the madam for a private room for himself and his companion for a few hours.

On the dirty bed of the whore house, Jack opens the swag bag and takes out the selkie's skin. Now time's come for the trade off and he's made sure it happens inside and a good ways from the water. He won't have the seal just running off on him.

"Now then, you'll have yer skin back and yers t'keep, as promised. An' you'll be granting a wish of mine, as per yer own end of the wager, will you not? Simple and quick as that? Course, you'll never make it t'water without being caught. Not from here. An' even once you've hit water, well, you'll be caught again, likely as not and kept as pet on another ship."

He doesn't much trust in the selkie's promises and he doesn't want the thing feeling too terribly confident about escape. It's awfully useful, besides.

Bastiaan has decided to steal a ship. It wasn't a sudden thought to just cross his mind one morning. It happened about mid day. While he ate a stale biscuit he'd taken off someone else's plate at the Jolly Roger... they were done with it (see: passed out from drink.) He sat beside the snoring smelly sailor, munching thoughtfully. He started watching the docks once again, same as he did a year before when looking for work as a cabin boy.
Bastiaan was raised on Tortuga and has the same history as (probably) all of the other children there. Mother is a prostitute. Not many honest women on the island with no honest men. If being a bastard and having a 'working' mother was ever pointed out to Bastiaan as something to be ashamed of he'd laugh. He's never been off Tortuga and though he's heard a lot of stories even most pirates feel no need to bring up that most children around the world can put a face to their father. Because most of the pirates can;t either. The children that get off the island will figure that out and the ones that don't- just don't. Besides the yelling and accusation of 'whoreson', 'bastard', or 'cockstain' being thrown out in drunken anger the kids are clueless. Bastiaan especially, being the king of only hearing what he wants to hear.

His life was the same as all the other kids. Not different in any way. He's never been to school. His mother is busy working and he runs wild.
Though at a wizened 36, mom is one dried up dutch whore. Bastiaan has to think about how he's going to take care of himself after she dies. He wont have the shelter of the room she pays for if he can't make his own money. And while most mothers tried their best to shove their sons into the arms of blacksmiths, sailors, and the like (while their daughters went to the only three professions open to them) Bastiaan's mother thought the best route for him was in her own line of work. She was hopeless for a better life for him and he seemed suited to it with his smooth delicate face and the way he took things. Nothing touched him so the little bit of her that could still care hoped this wouldn't either.

Bastiaan didn't take well to such things at the age of 11 and ran off. Since then he came home only when he knew his mother was passed out from drink or working so he could curl up in his corner of the room without being pestered to bring money home. He has his own plans of a career. And since pleading, begging, and demanding to be let onto a ship as a cabin boy only turned into more of the same he's come back to the island (never left technically. He was never let off the damn ship in the one port they sailed to) and ready with a new plan.


He finally saw his chance. A Dutch ship. The Zeven Rob docks and off that ships sways and lilts Captain Jack Sparrow. Bastiaan races back to the Jolly Roger and grabs Maria de la Luca, a woman that he can often score meals from with the promise that he'll leave her the hell alone afterward. The boy crawls under a table, waiting for the waitress to come close enough and then grabs her wrist, yanking her down with him.

The plan. You see, the plan was quite simple. At least Maria thought it was. The plan didn't involve much money, none at all really. It didn't involve any breaking of laws. Well it did... maybe. Probably. But that wasn't the point. It wasn't as if Maria CARED about THOSE laws and they weren't the kind of laws that affected people like Alex and Liz; definitely not Liz. Why you ask? Because who in their right mind would EVER think that Elizabeth PARKER would stow away on a pirate ship by either pretending to be a whore or a man? No one really. And that's why it was such a grand plan. 
 
"The plan is stupid, Maria." Alex had tilted his head slightly, his mouth opening in an expression on unrestrained shock and I-really-must-be-hearing-things disbelief. He had stared at her like that for a quick second before shaking his head and looking right at Liz, who Maria should have known would have supported him. They always did that. "Liz. Tell her it's stupid." 
 
Funny how no one had thought so at the time. 

Maria unconsciously strummed her fingers down a guitar as she sat on her bed. If one was desperate enough to call it a bed. It was bunch of rags and old clothing scraps her mother had stuffed into a sack and sewed all together when she was fifteen. It was surprisingly comfortable, not that she let on. After all the bed was another way the higher powers were against her. There was an entire story with the bed. One that involved some rich twiggy flake, de la Luca's being crazy,  their money not being good enough., and this thing being created. Maria preferred not to think of it. It pissed her off and that was never a good thing. She would rather concentrate on the current situation. How to get the hell out of Tortuga. 
 
That's what exactly what she did. Her mind focused on the week just before Alex had left for Port Royale. Liz's uncle had found a suitor, that luckily had died of a mysterious cause that Maria blamed on cholera, and they had been throwing ideas around how to get her out of it. How to get them the hell off of the putrid island they unfortunately called home. 
 
Maria, of course,  had a plan. Planning wasn't her forte.  She usually left the planning to Liz and then Alex explained it to her.  However, there have been moments in their years of friendships where a demon would over take Maria (at least that's the way Jeff Parker had put it) and refused to let go.  There in those moments a plan would be born.  A plan that would ninety-five percent of the time be rejected.  Sometimes Maria would understand why but this time she couldn't imagine the reason. 

It was the best plan they had. Okay, it probably was a bit presumptuous to call it a plan. It was more of an idea she had while looking out the window-simultaneously getting seasick just from watching those crazy, uncontrollable waves crash around-and decided to run with it. She had to admit that she didn't LIKE where her mind had run to and escaped from her. Taking a pit stop at the outhouse. However, it was a sort of plan. The best thing they had. Even more then that it could actually be done. At least she thought so. 
 
Quickly noticing that her blonde friend was growing annoyed, Liz stepped in as referee. There were times Alex's straightforwardness and Maria's tactlessness needed a clear voice of reason. "It's not a stupid plan ..." She started slowly, ignoring Maria's triumphant look and the growing disbelief on Alex's features. "It's simply highly ... highly ..." 
 
"Stupid? Unthought-of? Oh, I don't know ... insanely crazy?" 
 
"Hey!" Maria frowned, a bit hurt that he was rejecting her plan so soundly. Yes, it was crazy but she didn't see him offering anything stable enough with uncraziness. Maria was also very annoyed. Just because he was her best friend didn't mean she wouldn't hit him. "Watch it there, matey. There is nothing wrong with the plan. Tell him Liz." 
 
Liz floundered for a moment when two pairs of light colored eyes turned at once in her direction, 
"She's right Alex." She continued in what her friends considered the dreaded 'logical' tone. Well, at least Maria saw it as dreaded, Alex only half paid attention to it. Maria wasn't the only one who went into bouts of paranoia. Alex's moments were simply more restrained and called 'anxious worrying'. "It's not stupid, but-" 
 
"Ha!" 
 
"She said but." 
 
"You're sitting on it." Maria said in smug sarcasticness. 
 
"BUT," Liz cut in, ever the peacemaker, and continued her thread of conversation. "It's not exactly plausible Maria." 
 
Alex didn't really resort to childish outcries but he did give his best friend a pointed look. One Maria chose to ignore to give her little, darling Liz a look of hurt betrayl. It caused Liz to feel bad for only a moment. Maria had many degrees of hurt betrayal; this wasn't a serious one and would be forgiven once things were explained. Only because Maria didn't stay angry with Liz the way she did with other people. It was either because she couldn't or because she wouldn't. Liz had yet to figure it out and surprisingly, it was something Maria wouldn't tell. 
 

“Alex!!” Dropping everything in her hands suddenly onto a nearby table, Maria made to rush to the other third of her. “Alex, I missed ya soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo mu-" Her excited chatter was cut off by a rather large hand that was suddenly thrust in front of her and barring her from moving. "Hey! Move it ya tub of disgustin' lard.” Going quickly from excited happiness to irritated glaring, Maria narrowed her clear green eyes at the imbecile who had dared gotten in her way. “Can’t ya see I’m trying t' go somewhere?”  
  
“Dash … my dwinksssssss…” The man slurred as he stumbled onto his feet. “Me want …”  
  
Pulling her head back slightly as the man leaned into her to speak, she wrinkled her nose, placed the tips of her fingers on the middle of his chest, and gave him a none so delicate shove back. “Ya want t' start washin'. Didn’t yer mother ever tell ya not t' breathe heavily on people with diarrhea breath?”  
  
“Yuzzz, aints nose … nose … lady.” The large man who had fallen with a rather large crash was currently lolling his slobbering head uncomfortably on the floor. Looking up Maria’s rather short skirt.  
  
Her eyes widened as she let out a gasp of surprised and disgusted, affronted, annoyance before they narrowed into little slits. “I’ll show ya ‘nose lady’ ya piece of cra-Umf!” She screeched behind the hand that had suddenly covered her mouth.  
  
“Maria. Remember the talk Uncle Richard gave you about kicking patrons in their unmentionables?” A calm and level voice asked.  
  
“Mmmf, mm, UMPH!” She exclaimed as she crossed her arms against her chest.  
  
“Maria. He’s still a patron.” Her other third, Liz Parker of the sadly always logical, reminded her. “Even if he is scum.”  
  
“Mmmf, mmf?” She quested in a pleading whine.  
  
“No. Not even a little bit.” Liz laughed.  
  
“Mmf.”  
  
“And I love you too. Now will you promise to behave if I remove my hand?”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Maria stamped her foot to the ground once in petulance before nodding. What was the point of being a barmaid if you had to slave without the kicks? Pun very much intended.  
  
"Glad to see that I'm gone for a year and that some things never change."  
  
Features lighting up once again Maria pulled away from Liz and launched herself at the tall and gangly form of Alex Whitman.  

Days passed and turned into a week aboard the Dutch ship. Jack waited as patiently as he was able. Certainly, it would be simple enough to break free of their holding cell, but then they would have the entirety of the crew to contend with and still be stranded at sea if they made it off ship. Without the seal skin, Jack's compass, and anything else of value besides their own bodies. So he waited, biding his time in anticipation of the opportune moment. As time passed, the crew became visibly more agitated with his presence and apparent uselessness. They were taking their wants and disappointments out on the selkie, which was sad to see, but Jack felt it was inevitable, regardless of his own involvement. With the debt they had been put into and the long months at sea for no hope of reward, the men were bound to become restless. The selkie, though, could take less and less as time went by. The men used him more than he was able to handle. Even before Jack showed up with hope of lightening the load, it was becoming too much. But now everyone was nearing the end of their mental ropes. The selkie went from attacking Jack when he'd take up more than a small corner of their tiny cell, to curling up in guilt and shame soon after, his moods as unpreictable as the fat captain of their floating prison.

Then men used the animal's fading sanity for entertainment, grabbing Jack through the bars and shoving him as hard as they could into the seal to get a fight. Jack wasn't hurt or damaged much because the seal was too weak but it was funny to them to see it and afterward the selkie was so exhausted they could drag him out without being bit and scratched (something that had started happening too often now).

The Captain put a stop to this to keep his meal ticket healthy and in tact. He moved the pirate back to his own cell. After a few days left on his own, with only occasional visits to the Captain's quarters --every one of them odd and slightly frightening with the way the man's moods would shift and change so suddenly-- Jack decided to risk giving in to the fat Dutchman's requests. If this was to be the price of avoiding the crew's clamoring for him and to remain safe and alive aboard the ship, then so be it. It wasn't so much giving in as just part of the plan, besides.

Sparrow had, for days, been promising groups of the men freedom from their debts and a chance to start over if only they mutinied. He asked if they had ever heard of him, the Great Captain Jack Sparrow. Or seen a ship with black sails.
By the time they were nearing land, Jack had spun a story to make him look like all of history's greatest sailors incarnate and the second coming rolled into one handsome frame. The crew were desperate enough.

Today, they would be dropping anchor and a small contingent of men would be going ashore with the captain to dig up the riches he had promised them. Some other sailor's hidden wealth awaited them. Thanks to the paranoia planted carefully by Jack's 'helpful' conversations, the captain had determined to go ashore with only his most trusted and loyal men. They would then shoot the least loyal upon return to the ship. Jack would keep them distracted for him, since he was so important to Jack and his 'brother'.


Jack is annoyed at being in his cell again. He's going to have to count on the selkie's cooperation and that's the only unsteady variable in his plan. He has enough confidence in himself and the effect he's had on the crew, though. The selkie may not be necessary.
He feels the rocking of the ship increase and knows that their closer to land. Then he finally hears the splash of the anchor hitting the water. Jack grins and waits to hear the longboat go into the water before getting up and going to the bars. If he's lucky, one of the crewmen will come down and open his cell. If not....
"Selkie! Wakey wakey, mate. 'Soon' has come."

Jack isn't even sure how many months he was with the tribe who had adopted him. The mermaid bite was deep and he was injured enough to be taken in. His long hair, hairless chest, and dark skin made him look enough like them to be accepted even with his... eccentricities. They took him in and accepted him and Jack was happy to take their kindness, food, shelter, and the gold they put in his food after noticing it in his teeth. He went through a lot with them and all of it in search of waters that would grant him immortality. Instead, he found a spring that smelled of dead fish and a broken man who claimed it gave him everlasting life. A man, gone mad after losing generation after generation of his children to age. Worshiped as an ancient god but miserable and unable to care for himself; the old Spaniard's sunken chest rasped and toenails scrapped against the rocks as he paced and told Jack his story, forgetting the pirate was even there through most of it, but going on and on. He'd stopped eating. Stopped drinking water. Tried to die over and over. None of the others drank the waters. They knew. And then it finally died when he slaughtered them all. Slaughtered them like Jack's tribe was being at that moment, he'd cackled, and watched as the pirate ran off in a futile attempt to save them.

Jack returned to the tribal camp to find a war zone of fire and death. He had no weapons. He took a sword off one of the dead Spanish and fought, but when it was over most of the combatants were dead. The girl, Anaba --who carried Jack's unborn child inside her-- stood unspeaking in the middle of it.Her family was gone. Even her baby sister. Anaba was silent for the rest of the night as she and Jack sat and kept watch for more soldiers coming. Jack helped with the burial rights for the slain natives, carrying all the bodies to the sacred land. Then Anaba asked him to take her away on a ship to another land without her people. She couldn't bear to look at them anymore and she never looked at Jack after that night. She only saw her sister, Kimi, the sweet six-year-old that whispered secrets in Jack's ear and explained to the tribe that she and Jack would marry when she was of age. Anaba never looked back as she walked away from him, carrying their child in her belly. He took her in a small, stolen longboat and left her on a sparsely populated island off the coast where white men would take longer to spread.
With nothing left to him there, he pretended to be a lost Spanish merchant sailor to be put on the first ship out of the godforsaken colonies --the cursed new world.

While the Spanish may have been suspicious of him , the Dutch pirates who raided the Spanish galleon on it's return home seemed far more sure of what to make of Jack. It was upsetting. He had planned to ingratiate himself to the Dutch as a fellow pirate, as difficult as that can be, and parlay his way into safe passage to Tortuga. Before he could even speak, however, the sailors --who seemed thrilled to see him-- gathered around him petting his hair and telling each other that they'd found another one. They took him captive and dragged him onto their ship.

It would likely have helped if Jack spoke much Dutch, but his skills in that language lean mostly towards indecent proposals and obscenities. He rather wishes they hadn't been using words he understood. They kept talking about skin and held up the animal skin trousers he had been keeping as a memento of his tribe. They took them away and locked them up, for whatever reason. As he stood on deck, tied and confused, the sailors tugged and played with his hair --noting that 'this one has reigns!'-- and pulled at his beard having some negotiations over that. Ones which incited a great deal of laughter. They debated over him and congratulated the sailor who had captured him. 'He's different than Zeehond,'one pirate noted,'but he could be pretty if you shaved him.' Jack tried to argue, but he was hushed and a hand went over his mouth. 'This one is part bear, I think!' one man said, and they all laughed again. 'The biggest haul gets first go at the new one. The second best gets Zeehond!'said another, and they all cheered and hooted wildly. The take would be split by rank on board, but now they had a way to reward whoever hauled the most to the ship on his own. Jack was shown around to the crew, laughed about, and groped. He was knocked unconscious when he refused to stop fighting and be sweet like 'the other one', and then tossed into a cell in the brig while the crew set sail and counted up the haul. He wishes they spoke more English. Surely there's a mistake here.

It's a while before he starts to come to in his cell. He's a bit bruised and missing some of his effects, but mostly in tact. The brig is damp and dark as the depths of hell. It smells wretched. Ah, the familiar ambiance of imprisonment. There's some sound echoing in the hold. Perhaps he's not alone? Or perhaps this ship has more rats than most.

"Hello.. Do I have company, eh?"

He hadn't expected them to stay, any of them. William Turner wasn't entirely sure how he'd sail the entire ship by himself, but he was certain that it was possible. Odd how many things came to his mind now. No logic or reason surrounded these new epiphanies, and yet that did nothing to take away from the truth of them.

So he knew he could command the Flying Dutchman, sail it, and execute its purpose all on his own, if he had to. But men still stayed. Despite their mistreatment, there were still a few loyal to the cause. William suspected they merely feared what lay beyond, even now. However, he wasn't one to turn away good men, especially if their souls were too restless to be guided back.

So the Dutchman still had a crew, a third of its old size- they were less a part of the ship than before, and rightly so. The hands they had were all that was really needed, as it was. Captain Turner's father served as first mate; William was often struck by how much easier it was to think of him as a crewman than a relative. He almost hated that- when they had a bit of extra time, he'd talk with him about days more lively. But extra time was hard to find on this ship. And his father was always more well-suited to the riggings than the captain's quarters.

Every day, he pined for something familiar to his old life. He did his best to keep his mind from Elizabeth, but found it nearly impossible. Eventually, he thought, he'd learned to use her memory to drive him- right now, it merely taunted, reminding him that he had nearly his full sentence to play out before he set his eyes on her again.

He looked out onto the water, as he often does now, and tried his best to keep his thoughts on those who would need his help.

Jack Sparrow has been an adopted member of the Creek tribe for several months now. he never planned to stay this long but he's run into certain... road blocks. His attempts to drive away the French and Spanish from his tribe and the path he needs to get through to find the fountain of youth were successful for weeks. But Anaba has taken his compass hostage and the troops are closer then ever before now.
Every night there were meetings with the braves and elders to discuss Jack's plans for the fountain. The braves interrupted and ignored her. The elders said the same things over and over again about eternal life not being for man or woman. It wasn't the way. Jack must not get to the fountain. Then more talk about the whites and the Spanish. The braves want to fight. The chief wants peace. And Anaba was cut out of conversation completely.
But the more she argues to at least discus the pros and cons of his plan the more she questioned the elders. Why not for people? What could be so wrong with living forever? Always being young and healthy? Every time one of them died from sickness or age how could they not wonder if maybe it's better to leave nature in that way. The more she was ignored the harder she argues and finally Anaba rejected all those around her. She'd made her decision to go with Jack. To have it for themselves and then share it with whoever wanted it.

But here were other complications. Late into the night she would argue and early in the morning she would sneak away. Jack would follow and she could hear him. No matter what he's learned with her she always knows the sounds of her man trailing behind her. She'd lose him and then bend in the bushes to vomit and dry heave, coming back and feeling ill until mid morning. This time the sickness hits her too suddenly and she stops where she is to spill it out onto the ground.

At night, when the tribe is sleeping and the only ones awake are those keeping guard, Jack slips out of his tent. The old woman keeping watch on him is damn quick when she's awake, but it's not hard to get by her as she sleeps. He's nearly nude as he creeps out of the teepee. He uses every bit of stealth he has and every trick he's been taught since his induction into the tribe. Jack stays close to the tent's side and keeps low as he moves around to the back side. He heads towards the woods where he hid his 'white clothes' earlier in the evening. The Spanish won't keep their distance long. He has to do something.

His clothing is already bloody and tattered. All it takes is to mash up a few berries and some dirt to add some wounds to his exposed skin. He pulls his hair up and wraps his head in his sash, letting the blood stain make it look like a bandaged head wound. In the dark, it's a decent enough disguise. So he makes his way to the Spanish encampment. He makes sure to move around the perimeter so his approach is from a different direction than his tribe's village and different from where the Spanish seem to be traveling from. For the most part, however, he hopes not to be caught.

Military are always so predictable. He guesses the sentry positions before he even sees them. There aren't very many. Clearly they haven't come up against much resistance in this area. Jack isn't surprised. What he wants, is for them to expect trouble, and from a different adversary than the native people. He knows the French and Spanish are both vying for this land. And the British Empire wants every scrap of land it can lay it's white gloved hands on. Making a colonizing army paranoid isn't exactly difficult. He moves up close very slowly, keeping low and covered in shadow. He's barefoot as he moves, and quieter than he once was.
Jack comes up to one of the carts, near where the horses have been tied. The troops munitions are well guarded, but their rations are not.

Jack finds one of the barrels in the cart to be full of strong brandy. He pulls the bung from the side and drinks a bit, then pours some over the soldiers' food supply, before tearing a bit of blue fabric from his waistcoat and stuffing it in the hole. He uses the flint from his pistol to ignite the soaked cloth and then starts to run. The small noises have already started to arouse suspicion and the sentry's are moving towards him.

"You'll not get away with your life, you French pig!"
He shouts in Spanish. Then he darts off with long, hushed strides into the darkness. He pulls his filthy and leaf covered coat over his head and runs through the ankle deep swamp to the north to cover his tracks. Everything is lit up around him when the brandy keg blows, but he keeps heading towards the darkness. Anaba told him if he goes too far into the swamps, he'll never find his way out, but right now he'd prefer being lost to being murdered by a horde of furious Spaniards. Once he feels he's not within his pursuers' range of vision, he scales a thick willow tree as fast as he would a main mast. He hides in the branches, covering himself in his coat and thick layers of hanging gray moss. In the darkened canopy of the swamp, they shouldn't even be able to find him with torches. However, he fears he'll be spending the entire night here.

Jack has been with his new tribe for a few weeks now. He's learned enough of their language to get by, but is trying to gather more words each day. He's helped out a bit with the women's work and went on a hunt, though most of the time was wasted with the braves laughing at Jack's utter lack of skills with a horse and a bow. It was decided he was more suited to staying at camp with the women and children. That suits Jack fine.

It's a quiet moment, after dinner is finished and much of the tribe is gathered around the fire, laughing and telling stories. Jack goes off to sit by the tent he's been sharing. In the dim light, he unrolls the strange, circular map, and matches it against a map of the area he's been working on with charred wood and a piece of animal hide. He opens his compass, watches the needle fall quickly to a definite direction. He's so close. It's been hard to wait. His arm is healing, though, and it will be safe to leave soon.

"Bit more patience, Jacky. Soon, mate."

Humm mmm ummm. Hummm huuu mmmhh.

A cold wet cloth is laid on Jack's forehead. He's surrounded by the smells of meat cooking, fresh dirt, and fur. It's hot inside the hut but the slight breeze comes in from the open flap. Children laugh, sneaking inside to get a look at the stranger before they're shooed out. The braver boys dare each other to lift up the animal fur covering the pirate and pinch his toe before running.
The woman looking after him chides them sharply, grabbing a close one by the ear and twisting it.

She comes back humming and speaking softly to a fussing infant sharing the hut with them. She takes a seat on the other side of the hut, picking up the baby and re wrapping it in the blanket as she sings.

Jack can't remember how long ago he lost the wind, but the sail on his small ship has been hanging slack for some time now. He's thankful each time the sun goes down, and mourns each rising. It's far too hot now, so it must be midday. There was a bit of breeze in the night, but he was passed out and missed the best of it. He ran out of his meager ration of salt-pork and is down to a small crust of damp and moldy bread. Though his water ran out quickly as well, he brought far more rum than anything else. So Jack drinks. Some part of him knows it's only making things worse, but that voice is getting more faint by the minute and soon the liquor will have killed it entirely.

He drains the last from his current bottle as he lays splayed across the inside of the small boat, an arm and a leg hanging over the sides. Jack stares at the sun through the empty glass and tosses the bottle overboard, letting it bob along away from him.

"Bugger. This won' do at all. ... Because we 'ave t'ave something in us, tha's why. Hardly see where it's much good."

Jack flips open his compass and watches the needle move, humoring himself and his own curiosities to satisfy an argument he's having. The needle settles in a direction and he shifts the till a bit where his shoulder rests on it to aim the almost motionless vessel more in the proper direction. The pirate then blows on the lifeless sail, which continues to hang there.

"See? No good. Nothin' t'be done but wait. ... We could ask favour of Calypso... Of course we could, were she still bound t'give so much as an inkling of attention, but she's not so we can't, so I won't. Anything's worth the trying. Not that 'anything'. I doubt she's much pleased with us, mate. 'Ave a drink, eh?"

He shifts to his side and hunts down another bottle with rum still in it. He uncorks it, holds it in toast to nothing at all.

"I do hope you're enjoying your freedom, love. Lord knows it's doing me not a bit of good."

Jack pulls his hat down over his eyes, tips the bottle up, and prepares to drink himself unconscious.