Not a Treasure of Silver and Gold - Jack Sparrow x reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 - 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐚'𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐬

You stood there and watched until you couldn't see the Calgarian anymore. The feeling of loneliness and sorrow rushed your body and you just wanted to throw yourself into the fluffy sheets of your bed in Nassau and cry in your pillow. 

But you knew you couldn't do that anymore. You needed to move on. And so, you brushed off the nagging feeling of sadness that haunted you since the beginning of your journey and prepared yourself for your new life in Tortuga. The new life that you had chosen for yourself.

You walked down the dank and dirty port's landing stage and over the drunk and vomiting men you had seen earlier, all of them with bottles of rum in their hands. You were disgusted by them.
Not because you didn't like the rum they drank, you had tried it once and quite liked it, but because it was just irresponsible to drink so much of it. 

As you came to the end of the rotten port and walked through the town of Tortuga, there were buccaneers, swashbucklers, cutthroats, drunkards and pirates; everything, Chris had mentioned.
You saw even more vomiting men and scantily clad women, supposedly prostitutes, and heard  laughing, shouting, gunfire, pirate songs and all sorts of other noises that could be heard a half mile away. There were barroom brawls, shootings and people everywhere, who stumbled past you. And all that before it was even noon.

Tortuga seemed to be a town that never sleeps.

A very dirty and uncivilized town, you now realized.

You continued fighting your way through the crowds and looked for a pub or tavern. The first thing you needed to do was to find a place to stay and work. On your right you spotted a tavern that was more an oversized shack than a real house. And still, it was full of brawling and screaming men and women.
A little unsure you entered the tavern. Inside, it was dirty and crowded. You couldn't see the floor anymore, but that was probably better that way. You didn't even want to know what was rotting down there and was responsible for the fishy smell.

Tankards were clashed for toasts or clapped on the table for refills. Occasionally, even thrown at someones head. You instinctively clutched your sack of clothes, the only thing you owned, tighter as you walked through the drinking crowd in the pub.

A drunken, greasy-looking man, maybe in his late 40s, spotted you between all the people. He couldn't walk straight, stumbled towards you and held out his hand. "Hello, pretty lady," he mumbled. As he wanted to grab you by your waist, you shrieked and tripped backwards into a woman who let go of the mug in her hand spilling its whole content. She looked at you with an outraged expression and started to insult you with the most vivid insults you had ever heard.
While you apologized to the woman, the man who was after you had recovered from his failed attempt to touch you and tried to grab your waist again while looking at you with a disturbing grin.

You stared at him in shock, not able to move. You weren't used to such uncivilized behavior, and you watched motionless as his hand kept getting closer to you.

But before the man could reach your waist, somebody behind him took the empty bottle of rum, he held in his hand and smashed it on the man's head. Half of the pub started to laugh as the men felt unconscious on the dirty rotten floor.

You started to question the decisions you had made in your life that had brought you here, in this specific situation, and rushed to the pub's counter much more energetically and faster than before and left the still complaining woman as fast as you could.

Behind the counter was a man with long, matted hair that hadn't seen a brush for decades, you assumed. Sweat was dripping from his forehead and large patches had also formed under his armpits. When he opened his mouth, you could see lots of gold, black and yellow teeth.