Pairing/Characters: Jack, Elizabeth (not really shippy)
Word Count: 627
Summary: It's that time in the life of any Sparrabeth shipper- an island fic! Jack and Elizabeth discuss her heritage.
Disclaimer: As always, redorchard13's Ultimate PotC disclaimer applies.
Spoilers: Erm... for people who haven't seen CotBP, plenty.
Special Thanks: To my own grandfather, for being Irish and thus giving me a huge fascination with everything pertaining to that lovely country.
"So, 'Lizabeth," he slurred, squinting at her in the firelight, "how are you enjoying your first taste of the devil's drink?"
She took a contemplative swig.
"Not bad... though I have had alcohol before, you know."
"Drinking watered down wine at a posh dinner table's not drinking, love."
Snorting, she waved a finger at him.
"My grandfather. Used to give me whiskey." He raised his eyebrows and she nodded. "He was Irish, you know."
"Irish, eh?" He took a gulp from his own bottle, savouring the heat that sped down his throat against the chill of the night. "Well that might explain a lot."
"What on earth do you mean, Captain Sparrow?"
"You’ve got Sidhe blood. 'Splains everything."
"She blood?" Elizabeth giggled. "You might not have noticed Jack, but I am, in fact, a woman. It's surely to be expected."
"Believe it or not darling, that fact hadn't escaped me-" his gaze flicked over her shift-clad form; he'd have to have been dead not to have noticed "- but you misunderstand me. Sidhe. S-i-d-h-e- bloody Irish can't spell a thing, y'see. Means faerie folk."
She laughed a very unladylike laugh at that.
"You believe in faeries, Jack?"
"Elizabeth, I don't know if you'd noticed, but the world does seem to contain Aztec gods, cursed pirates, magical compasses and unfindable islands. I don't see that faeries are much of a stretch. And besides," he continued more genially, sitting up to look her in the eye, "I don't mean those silly little things in childrens' stories, all flutter and no backbone. The Sidhe folk, they're tricksome and strange, they'll offer you delicious things, tastes of another world, but there's always a much bigger catch than you think. They can make a man do things, be things he's not. Very dangerous they are."
Her rum bottle had been set down in the sand as she frowned at him, folding her arms beneath her breasts.
"And what makes you think I'm anything like that?"
"Well it would explain why you seem to have the entire male population of Port Royal lusting after you."
"I do not!"
"I suppose not the entire population. Some of them probably… aren't the marrying type." He laughed again at her confused expression, and gestured grandly with his free hand. "Got 'em all bewitched, you have, terrible faerie magic. Someone ought to warn dear William, before he gets himself further into hot water. Or your beloved Norrington." She pouted, and picked up her bottle again, turning out to gaze over the black sea as she drank. He copied her, drink-drooping eyes enlivened by the silvery moon and her twin on the waves, surrounded by the huge, glowing tropical stars.
“This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to me.”
He blinked, turning back to look at her. She was caressing the bottle in her hands, bandaged palm flat against the curve of the glass, staring thoughtfully down its neck.
“Lying on a beach drinking rum?”
“And discussing faeries. With an infamous pirate. Having been marooned here by the undead. Who got that way after being cursed by heathen gods.” She tossed her hair back and took a long swig. “My grandfather used to say there are some times when the only thing to do is have a stiff drink.”
“Well here’s to old Irish then.” Jack toasted Elizabeth’s absent grandsire. There was a gentle silence again for what could have been a few minutes, had time actually mattered for anything.
“So do you really think I’m some kind of otherworldly trickster, Jack? That I can make people… men… do strange things?” She looked genuinely concerned.
He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“Who knows, love. Like I said, it would explain a lot.”