Masquerade

Authors Note: I had a great scene for a story, but it doesn’t fit into any of my current ones. Hence a new one’s started with... I think an OC, Ana’s personality isn’t fitting the character I want her to be, and I can't go tampering with her attitudes and mannerisms... not cool of me. I don’t even know what her name should but I have an outline for this and it should be written pretty quickly, at least I say that now, lol.

Authors Note 2: The SLIGHT alterations to Jack’s appearance are only for a little while, I swear on pain of death. I would never, never, ever change Jack, not for anything so I hope you’ll understand for what you read later. As soon as this chapter’s over, or at least partially into the next one, it's the last you’ll see of this TEMPORARY image.

The mansion was the epitome of licentiousness and perversity for it had been transformed into a medieval castle complete with torches hung upon stonewalls and tapestry covering modern portraits. The inside at least was Renaissance its outward appearance would suggest nothing but propriety and wealth.

Tables were filled with goblets holding liquor laced with aphrodisiacs to stimulate body and mind. Hallways were littered with writhing bodies both costumed and not, separate rooms were set apart for fulfillment of fantasies.

Bondage ropes hung from ceilings, there was a ships wheel in one with the ‘damsel’ lashed to attention as a ‘privateer’ committed to saving her, though there was plenty of plundering from the looks of things. Well-bred ladies mingled with sailors and men of nobility cavorted with prostitutes.

Jack Sparrow had followed his quarry into the fine mansion’s window not knowing that a grand orgy was evidently taking place. This was a bit much even for him, though he’d never admit to any of his crew, he preferred for his conquests to be in a clean room of a tavern at the very least where he had enough time to relish attention on the willing female.

The man owing him seventy pounds disappeared in the party’s revelry much to Jack’s chagrin he found that he couldn’t leave via window again for they had all been locked, as had the ornate wooden door until precisely ten o'clock the following morning.

He didn’t hear any sounds coming from the room at the end of the corridor, he knew that hopes of staying there all night were dashed before they formed. From the clothes strewn all over the floor and hangers askew in the closet he rationalized that it must be where costumes were kept.

He had seen pirates in the hall, one that resembled the image he’d made for himself, but Jack would rather not flaunt his presence if he could help it. The black pants were fine, but the shirt, vest, boots, and adornments in his hair would have to change, at least for the time being, he had no intent of remaining a noble.

A white gentleman’s shirt was thrown onto the floor, Jack usually detested such attire but it wasn’t starched and stiff as those that he avoided. After putting it on and looking into a mirror he came to the conclusion that having such a tan from days spent shirtless at sea didn’t help his cause, but he wasn’t so obviously buccaneer anymore.

The gold coins, bone, beads, and silver he slipped into a small pouch at his waist, his pistol and cutlass stayed. He wouldn’t part with those for all of the weapons hanging on the mansion walls. The vest he hid by putting a black cape across his shoulders, and he found a black fabric mask that he tied underneath his hat.

Not like a pirate at all, which was the point, and also why he donned a pair of dusty black boots that obviously hadn’t seen the light of day in quite a long time. He didn’t care, they fit relatively well and looked fine with the hastily crafted costume. The cape concealed most of the sword and his effects, but the hat he had to leave in the same place the boots had been.

He doubted if even one of his crew would be able to tell it were him. None of this was strange to Jack, he had posed as a church cleric, officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, and various other disguises that seemed second nature soon as they were in place.

How did nobles behave? He hadn’t ever really deemed it necessary to take notice, pirating was his line of work what care did he have for dukes and earls, aside from their shipping ventures of course.

He kept his head up, which was natural to him anyway. Captain Jack Sparrow didn’t look up to any man nor would he ever grovel and scrape as many men chose to do. Adding a slight emphasis to the way he walked he figured it wouldn’t be wise to appear completely sober seeing as almost everyone was either inebriated or close on their way to becoming so.

He walked down the hallway curious to see what kind of establishment this was, it was obvious that the owner was both incredibly wealthy and reprobate. Stepping over a plump woman’s body he heard a loud cheer and something solid hitting wood.

Jack knew the sound well, whenever the pegs in the ship needed repairing putting them back into place yielded the same noise. Interested despite his better judgment he walked towards the sound disgusted by the spectacle that awaited him.

He was no green lad unaccustomed to such sights, it was his choice not to attend revelry such as this. Jack couldn’t ever see this as sporting, none of his crew would find this in the least bit amusing. More along Barobssa’s lot this type of fun was.

Chairs were overturned, tables tossed onto their sides, the men’s lust for the beauties lined up on the ballroom floor gave no consideration towards mundane things such as furniture. This was no bedchamber in Tortuga nigh four of those rooms could fit into this one with space to spare.

The large square that dominated most of the back wall towards the middle where tables and chairs would have been hosted a variety of women. Short, tall, dark, fair, redheaded it was obvious that none of them had been with a man before because most sobbed quietly or else huddled in what little clothing they had been given.

“Sold for two thousand pounds!” an auctioneer pushed blonde bountifully endowed lass into the waiting arms of a man wearing a cravat and buckskin pants. The girl couldn’t have been more than six and ten, yet after having paid the man fondled her lewdly ignoring her cringes and wincing.

“This one’s a beauty, men!” Jack watched, stomach turning, as the next few were bartered off for gold, pound notes, and jewelry. They were most certainly virgins imported in for nights such as these, it made him ill to think that not even the harlots that roamed Tortuga would allow such depravity to be inflicted upon them.

“A passionate spitfire, lads.” another girl was pulled forward, Jack noticed that though she shed no tears behind her veneer of anger she was genuinely afraid. If only men had so much fortitude to face danger and still battle against the indomitable bounds.

“Two hundred pounds!” the first bid was offered before the auctioneer had a chance to speak his part.

“Wonderfully formed, she’s a bit older than the rest however she’ll take a little wooing before she comes to you’re bed willingly.” laughter accompanied that last remark, “She certainly fills out the dress, eh?”

“Four hundred pounds”

“And nice long legs to wrap around a man’s back, or break so’s she cant get away.”

“Seven hundred pounds!” a cruel looking man bid unconsciously stroking the braided whip at his side. The seller must have noticed the action because next...

“Luscious smooth skin just waiting for a touch of pain. Mar her delicate flesh if only you up the bid! C’mon, gents, give’er a few black, blues, and reds to cherish...”

“Two thousand pounds.” same person as before, Jack noticed, and the terror in the woman’s storm-grey eyes betrayed her sneer of disdain. It was a good strategy to outbid any competition before they got too attached, but he’d obviously never matched the indomitable will of Captain Jack Sparrow.

Her black hair set her apart from the fragile looking girls standing behind her, she had strength that they lacked and the same determination he recognized in himself. Clad in ocean colored scraps of material that showed more than it revealed she reminded him of a sea nymph ready to enact revenge upon the foolish mortals that riled her from graceful existence.

“One ruby ring set at nine thousand pounds.” Jack folded his arms and glared challenge through the mask where his eyes showed. He knew that with all of the gold and gems he’d added to the drawstring bag, compliments of card-games at the tavern, he had enough loot to outbid the whip master four times over.

Sinclaire Arason stared out into the crowd with rising panic. One moment she’d been walking home from the market, the next abducted and tossed into an awaiting carriage. From then on it had been the adventure of nightmares, they’d undressed her and given her a meager piece of clothing to replace her sturdy maid’s uniform.

Then all manner of vulgar questions had been asked with threat of pain and death awaiting if she didn’t answer, or do so honestly. Normally she would have rebelled against such appalling inquiries, what business was it of theirs if she’d ever lain with a man before, but the knife held to her throat was real enough as were the welts on her back.

Fighting didn’t help, which was why she had so many wounds to cover with the shawl they’d allowed her to drape over her shoulders. Then she was told to wait in the cold, damp storage room with other women also threatened with death if any sound should permeate through the walls.

This was what she had been reduced too, and how foolish of her to think that this had all been put behind her. She didn’t know which of the men frightened her more, the one who instantly bid as soon as pain was mentioned or the man all in black with a mask hiding his expression.

His hair was pulled back with a length of rope at the nape of his neck, a cape hid all but the merest outline of his figure. She pulled the shawl closer trying in vain to get warmth circulating through her body. The building reached twelve thousand with the whip man in the lead. That was the only weapon he carried yet it was enough to send fear spiraling in her mind.

“Twenty-thousand in the amount of the ring, a diamond bracelet, and this sapphire necklace.” Jack grinned waiting for the surrender he knew was inevitable. Silence fell over the crowd as they listened for a countering price. None of them could contemplate a mere wench would be worth twenty-thousand pounds.

The man in black didn’t even seem phased by the outrageous amount, a small smile showed amusement over the situation instead of horror at being beggared. Jack had a hundred times this amount stored away on Isla de Muerta and plenty more on his ship, riches meant nothing to him but a lot to his men. To keep them happy they pillaged, plundered, and looted as all pirates did.

“Going... going... gone!” as the gavel marked her fate Sinclaire felt ice pierce her stomach and she felt light-headed as the auctioneer reached for her.

“Don’t.” an authoritative voice rang out stopping them from hurtling her into the crowd. As Jack strode briskly through the crowd his cape slipped off one shoulder showing a silver and gold cutlass, flintlock pistol, and various other objects. She kept her eyes downcast in case he wanted to punish her for boldness, one of the lessons she’d learned well over the years.

They always saw the hatred in her eyes and men always managed to replace that with tears of pain. Never because of sadness or defeat, just black and blues that faded over time before more were inflicted. She could feel him staring at her and she couldn’t help the cringe when he moved abruptly.

She missed the scowl of anger directed towards the auctioneer as he handed over the promised items, he had shed the cloak wrapping it firmly around her to protect her from leers and crude gestures. Sinclaire could feel the warmth from his body still in the cloak, it was nice of him to do so but she had learned nothing came without a price attached.

This particular price was twenty-thousand pounds, no paltry amount, she found herself wondering what he would require of her. If she took the advice another girl had given her she’d keep her eyes closed and hope rutting didnt take long. What was more pain compared to the chance of freedom?

Authors Note 3: Do you like it thusfar? And another promise is that she’ll not stay so meek, subservient, and reserved. (blech, gag, choke, strangle) No mary-sue here, cross my heart. :) Thanks for reading, I’m onto the next chapter...