The Sparrows |{Jack Sparrow x OC}|

Chapter 1

My body arched with the sultry rhythm of the night. The flute players deliver a sensuous note; my snakelike arms responded in tune. Each soft pluck of the strings signaled a sharp hop drop that caused the silver coins on my hip scarf to clink together softly. 

I swiveled just so that my black hair flipped at the right angles, causing a few British soldiers that had crowded around me to drop a coin or two. It's no longer amusing to me; how easily a woman could bend a man's will and wallet with only a single movement. 

The moonlight slipped through the cracked roof of the club, illuminating an array of faces, most familiar, some new. 

There's the governor, as usual. His wig poised on top of his balding head, though a bit tousled from doing god knows what. A proper politician, wouldn't you say? Our little hideaway on the aristocratic Port Royal gave these staunch men a little wiggle room to explore their depravities. And then there's the Admiral Norrington, on his third brew, staring into his nearly empty mug, his mind no doubt seeking his next overseas conquest. 

I make sure to know what's happening in the minds of these 'important' figureheads in Port Royal. 

My parents were pirates. Yep, the whole deal. Swashbuckling, peg-leg, eye-patch wearing scallywags. I'm joking, only mostly. They participated in the dark side of commerce, dealing in arms and treasure with not so upstanding people. They were the most virtuous people I've ever met. My father taught me how to defend myself with weapons. My mother; how to beguile and charm with words. I can survive because of the tools they gave me. 

And I did survive when they were murdered by British colonizers. Seeing what had become of my parents on our defeated ship, I painted myself as the angelic, pitiful little girl born to the wrong people. The soldiers treated me as such, knowing nothing of the searing heat of revenge swirling behind my bright, grey eyes. 

I grew up in the governors house, as a servant to him and, eventually, to his newborn daughter who is a decade younger than me. She is now a kind child, though rather sheltered. Always by the water that one, I wonder how she'll be as she grows up. 

I practiced my defenses my father taught me every day and learned to dance from a woman at the underground men's club, Mary's, that I stumbled upon one day while exploring the island. Her name was Nina. She told me I had the natural talent of making men bend to my will and hold on to my words like a drowning seaman. 

As she trained me in the art of dance, she also unlocked the key to how I would make a life for myself. "See, ma baby," she'd thoughtfully croon, "when yer in the comp'ny of a powerful man, reel in his trust as well as his desire... hang on to what he says, no matter how little it seem. There may be a time it could be of use to ye." 

An obvious ex-pirate she was, but she knew all the well-to-do men in Port Royal. And they knew her. That's why she wasn't swinging from the gallows. 

Blackmail. That's my profession. I sell my secrets to the Spanish, the French, British, hell, even some pirates have come to me in search of answers. I don't pick and choose, the whole lot of them are the same; greedy, pompous assholes. 

Just as the musicians winded down from a seductive melody, I noticed a man in the back of the house, a big feather on his black hat. He was entranced by my performance, and I was entranced by his newness. I'd never seen him here before, so I smiled lasciviously and started shifting my way toward him, giving another performer the spotlight so I could become acquainted with this obvious pirate.