hi, i'm steph (gorthead) wrote in piratechallenge,
hi, i'm steph

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Challenge #8: A Glimpse, A Taste

Title: A Glimpse, A Taste
Author: gorthead
Pairing/Characters: Scarlett, Giselle, quick mention of Jack
Word Count: 411
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Character study
Summary: Scarlett is no pirate, but she's the next best thing.
Disclaimer: I don't own PotC and am making no money, but a friend of mine knows the actress who plays Giselle. Does that count? Either way, please don't sue me.
Spoilers: None at all
Warnings: Incredibly vaguely implied sex
Notes: I thought it would be hard to come up with an idea for this challenge, but this came so naturally. I never even considered other characters. It makes me want to do more with Scarlett; I've developed a soft spot for her. Also, to clarify, because it may be unclear: the prompt I used was 'hidden', in reference to Scarlett's thoughts, but it was more an inspiration than something I blatantly included in the fic.
Special Thanks: To my friend Shelley for having her birthday party tonight, thereby forcing me to get this finished with plenty of time to spare (for once!)

She could no longer remember when she’d first arrived in Tortuga or why. She’d been just a little girl; she had no memories of either of her parents save a vague sense of malice, of danger, of being unwanted. These thoughts no longer bothered her; they manifested themselves only very rarely, on the one night in each hundred where she found herself without customer, without companion. Even then, she usually had Giselle as company and they would often gossip about mutual acquaintances and shared patrons, drinking until sunrise. She had no cause to complain about the path her life had taken.

Scarlett often lost herself in the whirl of sex and drink, powder and kohl and tattered dresses. It was not an altogether unpleasant sensation; sometimes, on particularly introspective nights, she felt she was a part of a greater whole, an integral part of the amalgamation of scents and sounds that made Tortuga what it was. Other nights, she felt a whore. Most often, she felt entirely herself; she was where she should be, and she could not deny that she enjoyed herself on occasion. She relished the control she had over otherwise powerful men, the complete vulnerability present in pirate and privateer alike as she pleasured them, knowing she was often the first woman they touched after months at sea.

She did, too, have her favourite customers (regulars, all, and pirates). There were even a select few she considered more partners than clients, though she knew it was unwise. She sometimes wondered, smiling to herself, what it would be like, nothing but sea all around, being free in the truest sense of the word. She lived vicariously through the tales whispered to her in alleys, overheard in the tavern, and imagined she was there. (Occasionally she was, as men, too long at sea, relied on the memories of her tongue, the curves of her breasts, to hold themselves over until the next port.)

For her, it was just another night; they all blurred together over time, though each was unique, an experience in itself. Giselle hurried into the small room they shared, skirts bustling. “Guess who’s just turned up?” she asked, eyes mischievous, knowing.

“Who’s that, then?”

“Jack Sparrow.”

She smiled despite herself, playfully, indulgently. She was no pirate, but she tasted the freedom, the adventure, the recklessness every night. She shared in it in a way no one else could. No, she had no cause to complain at all.
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