Author's Note: Oi, there! Just wanted to take a moment and welcome you to this little dandy here, and give you a bit of backstory and context, since this is a ridiculously long, 11,000 word shanty. Hopefully you'll stick around long enough to finish it and hit the little review, follow, and favorite button on the way out.

I got this idea after listening to Grace Potter's "Something That I Want", (Disclaimer: surprise, I don't own it!) from Disney's Tangled. I just imagined Jack Sparrow and a bonnie lass doing a dance of uncircumstancial meeting, and what exactly it would be like. Basically, if you listen to the lyrics, it's the perfect song for a Jack/OC story that could actually develop well into an actual piece, but for now, it's a oneshot - perhaps someday I'll take it further. So, needless to say, I just had to do this. Maybe it's good, maybe it's not, but it's taken me six hours to write, and I'm posting it.

Enjoy, me hearties, and let me know your final thoughts! Savvy?


The air was thick in the Caribbean city of Port Royal when she strode out to meet the stable nestled against a stunning backdrop of tropical foliage, now skillfully hidden behind the eerie swirl of gray fog that had veiled the night. Somewhere, now out of sight, the trees rustled with the light breeze that simultaneously tousled the brunette's curls over her shoulder as she fastened the cloak's clasp at the nape of her neck. Gently pulling the hood over her head, she lifted the hem of her skirt and shouldered open the heavy doors, carefully.

The quiet of the night was serene and welcoming as she stepped into the stable, which was darkened save for the beams of moonlight filtering through the roof's wooden planks. Upon her sudden entrance, the stable's inhabitants snorted in recognition of their master; the horses lined on either side of the stable's stalls either turned to acknowledge her presence or stomp their hooves in protest. A smile filtered onto her lips as she dropped the cloak's hood, and moved to the northern corner of the barn to light a lantern.

Striking the match against the rough wood of the wall, she lit the lantern and the corner was suddenly awash in the warm light. Lifting it, she crossed to the first set of stalls, where she met the first animal of her interest – the midnight black stallion, which snorted and stomped his hood in protest as she beckoned him forward with a click of her tongue and a crooked finger. He approached hesitantly, his massive weight sending spiking vibrations through her feet, until the soft velvet of his nose rubbed against her fingertips and he lifted his head over the stall's door to greet her.

Hanging the lantern from a nearby hook, she touched the animal with both her hands, nuzzling her nose against his and smiling against his mane. He was rippling with musculature, and was strong in the shoulders, and he had a spark of wild in him that her father had warned her about, having crossed the turbulent ocean from England as just a foal. Now accustomed to the Caribbean lands and climate, he served as the governor's personal steed, and her father had seen to it that he received the best care known to any stableman in Jamaica.

She often came to the stable in the night, after the house was asleep and the earth was quiet. Only once the sky was truly dark, and the rolling sea beyond the city's garrison walls were thick with blackness did she dare venture out – the ruckus of the nightlife and the dangers of the city were forgotten behind the governor's house, and she could be in no safer place. Most of the time, even in daylight, she felt safer here – away from wandering eyes and prying judgments, as well as the mysterious call of temptation that seemed to entangle itself with the abyss of her gut.

She couldn't bear to watch the city every day, or mingle with its sojourners from sea, as the desire for freedom rooted itself deeper each and every time she ventured from these safe walls. She watched the white masts of the ships come and go from their corner of the Caribbean, and desperation fueled her, pushing her ever forward in her desire for adventure and liberation, while forever confining her to her reality of service in the governor's household.

Many years before, on the crossing to England, she had tasted the sea. Then she'd been a young girl beside her mistress, the governor's daughter, as they'd both stood at the railing of the large galleon gazing across the crystalline sea to the sparkling horizon of promise and adventure. Then, she hadn't known the truth of her station, or the reality of her family's misfortune – her mother's disease had driven her father to difficult work as they'd tried to manage expenses, and her death had pushed him beyond his means of grief. A fresh beginning of honest work and promising hope had driven him to sign with the governor, who had been sent to Jamaica to oversee the settlement of Port Royal. He'd needed a stableman, and his daughter had needed a maiden, and she and her father had been ripe for service to enlist.

Her love of the sea had not been diminished. While the rolling tempests and the dangers of threatening enemies shrouded the tales of the sea with intimidation and fear, she was not dismayed. Being on the ship, during the crossing, had been the last taste of true freedom she had ever known – the Caribbean had brought nothing but hard work and servitude to ideals and flights of fancy she cared little to nothing about.

Politics, and war, and the King disinterested her – what she loved most was a sense of carelessness; not having to worry about the day's next coming, or having the liberty to decide one's own journey. The sea promised a future crafted at the hands of one's own passion, and did not hold stabbing grief– it was fascinating, and true, and free. It demanded no payments, sought no superiority, and was not a respecter of men. It did not identify station, or class, or gender, nor did it require anything beyond one's means. It required steadfastness, and dedication, and passionate knowledge – all things that she now clung to for life.

It was painful to step outside the confines of the governor's house to see freedom tempting her like a siren; beckoning her out and calling to her in whispering promises and fantasies conjured up in her own dark imagination. Often times she had retreated to the quiet cove just out of Port Royal during the evening hours to walk in the tide and drink in the spray of sea, while simultaneously writing her own adventures in her heart and sealing them away in her memories.

The stars overhead were her compass, the horizon her charts, and the imagination of her mind her vessel. Her dreams were the outcome of such fanciful ponderings, and were welcome each night as she put to bed the day's work, as well as it's disappointments.

She closed her eyes against the horse's neck, slowly running her fingertips along his smooth coat, the animal drinking in the affection by lowering his head and bringing it around to nudge her elbow. She smiled and giggled when he snorted at her ministrations, until she flicked one of the wooden beads tied in his flowing mane. She tipped her head to the side and fingered them slowly, before her eyes flickered away from the animal to the saddle resting on the stand opposite her, across the stable.

Her lower lip rolled inward, and she gnawed it in contemplation as she looked back to the animal and gave it a strong pat. In the back of her mind, she could feel the warm waters of the ocean tickling her feet, as well as taste the salty air against her face. She closed her eyes, and inhaled a sharp breath.

Leviathan, the stallion beside her, stomped his hoof and dipped his head to continue nuzzling the grain bag hanging from the stall's separating wall. Stealing the prized stallion for a midnight ride was not an unfamiliar endeavor to her, though it would be increasingly dangerous. Many of the city's soldier's had doubled their patrols around the fort's perimeter, given the recent threat of invading forces and growing Spanish fleet infringing upon their borders.

Her heart thudded against her chest in desperation, and she could no longer refuse. If she could not sail, and be free of this life of servitude – if she were forced to work at the whim of another for the rest of her days – she couldn't not refuse herself this taste of freedom, or any other. A quick gallop out of the city to the familiar

A quick gallop out of the city to the familiar cove would harm no one; after all, she'd done it many times before with other mares. What the governor or his daughter did not know would not harm them, and her secrets were already far outnumbered. The excitement throbbed through her skull, and sent a spike of heat down her chest to ricochet throughout her body. The memories from England – of her mother dying inland, without ever having tasted freedom herself – haunted the back of her mind, and propelled her forward.

The memories from England – of her mother dying inland, without ever having tasted freedom herself – haunted the back of her mind, and propelled her forward. She would not die never having experienced freedo, like her dear mother. She would not die a servant to another's desinty while rejecting her own. If she could not be free of this life, then she would make her own freedom; even if for only a desperate moment. There was too much beyond this city – too much in the world, on the sea – to miss, and if she even for a moment could taste the savory drink of liberation, any consequence would be worth the risk.

There was too much beyond this city – too much in the world; on the sea – to miss, and if she even for a moment could taste the savory drink of liberation, any consequence would be worth the risk.

Stepping out of the stall, she crossed to the saddle, and hoisted it with strong arms. The callouses on her hand rubbed against the smooth leather as she hefted it over the side of the stall's door, and slipped back through. Patting the animal's neck solidly, she heaved the saddle onto him, and he bristled beneath its sudden weight. The black stallion lifted his head while munching another mouthful of grain, watching as she began to cinch the strap and tighten the leather around his belly. She glanced up at his eyes, which watched her passively, and gave him a smirk.

The black stallion lifted his head while munching another mouthful of grain, watching as she began to cinch the strap and tighten the leather around his belly. She glanced up at his eyes, which watched her passively, and gave him a smirk.

"We're doing this, Leviathan," she said forcefully, as she finally pulled the last of the straps firmly into place. Turning, she reached across the stall for the animal's bridle, and approached him to reach out a hand and nuzzle his soft nose into her palm, again. "For just a moment, I will be free of this life," she concluded, the spite in her voice like sheer venom as she bridled the stallion and guided the reins over his head.

Running her fingers through his mane and tousling the beads braided into it, she gripped the saddle's horn and hoisted herself up skillfully over the saddle. Sitting herself firmly in the seat, she pulled the cloak's hood up again and gripped the reins tightly, wrapping the leather firmly around her hands to jerk the stallion's head up. He bristled, shifted his weight defiantly, and tried to buck his head back and forth in protest to the idea. She resisted, and flicked her heels into his sides, propelling him forward out of the stall and to the main door.

Maneuvering him sideways, she bent low from the saddle and lifted the stable's latch to push open the door with a quick hand and a grunt. The fog greeted her again, this time thick enough to shroud the view of the harbor, and hide the masts and vessels anchored there. Overhead, the sky and stars and moon were veiled and offered little to no light. However, the Caribbean was alive, and the distant shriek of a monkey simultaneously called across the night as a gunshot and the bawdy cries of the nightlife partakers echoed across the slumbering city.

Bringing Leviathan around, she eased him out of the stable slowly, watching the perimeter of the governor's acreage for any sign of eyes and patrols around the area. Satisfied that the area was clear, she ducked her head and drew her hands into the folds of her cloak, quietly guiding the stallion past the mansion and onto the main road.

Leviathan's shoed hooves ground into the dirt road quietly, as she checked over her shoulder to the darkened house. Biting her lower lip, she swallowed back a nervous breath and tried to hide the trembling waves of excitement rolling through her nerves, but she couldn't – a wide smile pulled at the corner of her lips, and once she was out of earshot from the governor's mansion, she dug her heels into Leviathan's side with a sharp kick, and they bolted off into the foggy gray of the night.

By memory alone she was able to navigate to the cove, and once she had managed to locate the small, unmarked path through the jungle, she swung off of the horse and hit the ground roughly. Looping the reins over his head, she wrapped them around her fist and clicked her tongue softly, tugging Leviathan forward onto the small path weaving into the island foliage.

It was a short, one hundred yard walk through the foliage from the main road, and she knew it by heart. Once, shortly after her arrival to Port Royal as a young girl, she'd navigated her way from the main road outside the garrison to the cove through this very way. She'd marked it with carvings from a knife she'd stolen from the kitchen, which still remained discarded in these very woods somewhere as she'd tossed it away insignificantly as a child.

Soon, the crash of the ocean against the shore drowned out her heavy breathing as she peeked her head through the break of foliage, to gaze upon the white sandy beach. The fog was clearer, now, and not as thick over the lapping waters of the ocean as they pulled in and out from the sands. The fresh spray of salt water on her skin was welcome and rejuvenated her, and she burst out of the foliage swiftly, tugging the animal along behind her until Leviathan was birthed out from the jungle, too. Dropping his reins, she raced for the water, and kicked off her slippers; toes now buried within the smooth sands as she approached the water's edge.

Dropping his reins, she raced for the water, and kicked off her slippers; toes now buried within the smooth sands as she approached the water's edge. Leviathan was content to meander along and taste the sample of greens not readily available at the stables as she graced the water's edge. She didn't even mind her cloak or the hem of her dress – she burst into the water unabashedly, her items of clothing now heavy with water as she pulled herself out to waist-depth. The water was warm, and dark, and mirrored the sky overhead as the fog was clearing. Soon, when she looked up, she could see the graceful moon shining down to reflect off the sea's surface, as well as the sparkling array of stars.

The water was warm, and dark, and mirrored the sky overhead as the fog was clearing. Soon, when she looked up, she could see the graceful moon shining down to reflect off the sea's surface, as well as the sparkling array of stars.

As the ocean retreated from shore, she felt its power rush through her fingers and pull at her cloak and dress. When it crashed back in, it propelled her backward towards land, and she laughed as if it had playfully shoved her in a rough game. Tripping over the hem of her dress and cloak, she tumbled into the water; it crashing over her head in a loud roar of power and promise.

She unfastened the cloak and balled it up, tossing it back towards Leviathan's grazing spot as the horse watched her curiously, a long fern hanging from his mouth as he ate. Dragging the back of her sandy hand across her forehead, she shook the droplets of water from the ends of her curls, which were now heavy and crusted with salt. Glancing up to the sky, she closed her eyes as a breeze of ocean wind floated in from the expanse. She inhaled its fresh and clear scent, before she rubbed the back of her neck and looked out across the water.

Liberated and empowered, she stood again and marched back to the sea, this time fighting to go deeper to her chest. The sands were smooth beneath her feet and in constant motion with the moving water, but she didn't care. When it became difficult to remain upright, she stopped, and anchored herself in the water to brace against the ocean's powerful tide. Inhaling a breath, she closed her eyes as the ocean retreated and pulled back, and dropped her head below water as it pushed forward towards shore in another powerful wave.

There was a muted sense of wonder and power beneath the surface. For a brief moment it was just her, and the water, and the sand, as she lifted her feet from the ocean's floor and hovered in the water peacefully. She could feel its motion and power propel her back towards the shorefront, pulling at her dress and her skin and her hair. When she opened her eyes, the salt stung severely, but she didn't care – the rolling seafloor and crash of noise against her ears soothed the throbbing in her chest for a brief moment, until she closed her eyes and her back struck shore sharply.

The wave retreated back to the sea, leaving her washed up on shore. The sounds of the earth returned clearly as water fell from her in every place, and she lay spread-eagle across the sand. She swallowed back a breath and opened her eyes, which were stinging, but she didn't care. Her fingers dug into the cool sands as the swirling remainder of fog overhead retreated with the shift of winds, leaving her with a canvassed view of a sky littered with stars and a gleaming moon overhead.

For a long while, she sat and watched the cove as the ocean lapped against the shore; content to just sit in the quiet of paradise.

Her brow wrinkled, however, when something odd just beyond the rocked mouth of the cove bobbed against the horizon. It was a strange thing, as she didn't recall ever seeing it before, and she stood. As she did so, she squinted against the night, and was barely able to just make out the rippling canvas of a sail, illuminated dimly by the moon's overhead glow.

After a few moments of staring at it, small bursts of orange light on the horizon drove her to realize that it was a vessel, passing into the cove. She gasped, watching the ship enter through the rocked mouth of her quiet paradise, and frowned in displeasure – as her eyes scanned the expanse of water, her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and she froze in place on the sand.

Fifty yards out, she could see the longboat bobbing on the ocean waves towards shore. Terror gripped her heart for a brief instant before she tried to muddle together what exactly was happening. Port Royal hadn't seen traffic outside the harbor, to her knowledge, for almost six months – raids were infrequent as patrols had doubled, and the cove was hardly identifiable from sea, unless previous memory served.

Ships simply didn't anchor in the cove – they were required to anchor at the harbor, and pay the shilling required to do so. It was government regulation. For this vessel to abstain from such regulation could only mean one thing, and it pummeled into her gut like a firecracker of excited anxiety. Pirates, in the cove - in her own quiet corner of the world.

She could hardly formulate the thought without gasping. Scrambling backward, she whirled around to find Leviathan had meandered away from her some distance down shore, munching quietly on leaves and other greens. She flopped her sogged curls from out of her face and lunged for her cloak, picking up the sopping bundle to shove beneath her arm. If pirates were invading the cove, they would certainly make their way into Port Royal, and ransack the city in a chaotic hell of mayhem and destruction. The sooner she alerted the governor, the sooner the Commodore could mobilize forces.

If pirates were invading the cove, they would certainly make their way into Port Royal, and ransack the city in a chaotic hell of mayhem and destruction. The sooner she alerted the governor, the sooner the Commodore could mobilize forces.

Her skirts and petticoat were heavy as she ran down the shore, towards Leviathan, until she tripped over the hem and landed face-first in the sand, rather roughly. She squealed, and then quickly clamped a hand over her mouth lest her voice travel over the open water. The last thing she needed at the moment was to be acknowledged by invading pirates – it wouldn't bode well for her, or the city, if she were dead on this beach. Pushing herself up on strong arms, her heart pounded savagely against her ribcage as she gathered her cloak and the hem of her dress, pressing forward towards the unaware stallion.

Propelling herself across the sand, she finally reached Leviathan and lunged for him, throwing herself against his strong body. The animal hadn't expected her, so he reared back on his hind legs and whinnied out a shriek of surprise, before his hooves pummeled back into the earth. She panicked, discarded her cloak off to the side, and rushed to his front to retrieve the reins and calm the frightened animal. Pulling the reins tightly into her fist, she rested her palm against his nose and quieted him with a sharp whisper.

"Quiet, you scared ninny," she mumbled, clicking her tongue quietly and edging him towards the foliage, "we have to go, Leviathan; pirates are invading the cove, and we must alert the Commodore—" She dipped to retrieve the cloak as she guided the stallion past it, and bundled it under her arm securely. She was about to vanish into the shrubbery when Leviathan suddenly slammed to a halt, legs braced out defiantly before him.

She dipped to retrieve the cloak as she guided the stallion past it, and bundled it under her arm securely. She was about to vanish into the shrubbery when Leviathan suddenly slammed to a halt, legs braced out defiantly before him, and let out a snort of protest.

Startled, she frowned at the stallion, which was now backing away from the treeline and shaking his head back and forth in defiance. Confused, she tried to fight his retreat and pull him forward with growling commands, but the passionate spirit would not concede. Instead, he reared back in frustration again and let out another shrieking whinny. She screamed as he towered over her in stubborn anger, and tripped over the hem of her gown again and tumbled to the sandy ground.

Leviathan snorted again and slammed back down into the sand, only to take a step forward and paw the earth with another fearsome exhale. Startled and uncertain why the animal had been so possessed with fear and defiance, she scrambled backward in the sand away from him, as he reared again and shook his head back and forth. Never before had she witnessed Leviathan so inconsolable, and fear chilled her to the core as he dropped his hooves back into the earth once more with savage strength.

He frantically kicked out his back legs, and then reared again, and she hadn't realized how much closer this fit of rage had brought him. Now he was practically over her – when he slammed his hooves back to the sandy earth, she would be trampled under his massive, wild strength. She tried to reach for the reins dangling above her, but didn't dare touch him – when he jerked his head away from her to glance down, she saw that his eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty, as if he suddenly was unsure of what had happened. A sheer coat of sweat glistened on the stallion's body, and he snorted again, spit flying out of his mouth as he tromped down on the bit in his mouth.

There was no chance to think, and she didn't have any sense other to scream again, when suddenly a pair of hands whisked away the reins above her and guided Leviathan's head away from her. He snorted again in defiance, and stomped his hoof into the sand, only to jerk his head back in an attempt to rear against the offender. However, the familiar click of a tongue seemed to appease his anger, and the animal relaxed only slightly, now fully guided away from her a few feet to her right.

She was gasping for air and propped herself up on an elbow, as sweat poured off her brow and down her face. Swallowing back a heavy and dry breath of panic, she watched, horrified, as the figure consoled the governor's horse not but ten feet from her. He guided the animal's nose into his palm placatingly, whispering quiet words of comfort to the stallion as she tried to recollect the gatherings of thought swirling through her mind like a churning sea.

She was breathless, overwhelmed, and terrified all at once as the man's attention dropped from the animal, and followed over to her place in the sand. With a jerk of his head and tug of the reins, the man guided the animal back to her as she struggled to her feet. Her legs were weak and her head was light as she staggered to a stand. She heaved breaths in an attempt to calm her galloping heart as the stranger filtered into view fully, and she could make out the details of his face.

He was of average built, roughly five foot ten, complete with a tricorn captain's hat and dark waistcoat, which otherwise was unidentifiable in the thick midnight. However, she couldn't mistake his sea-boots, or his filthy breeches as anything other than articles belonging to a sailor – the scarf tied around his waist, mingling with a complex baldric were evidence of that alone. What gave him away, however, was the dark dreadlocks and odd myriad of antiquities braided into his hair, complimented with a scarlet scarf tied around his head. He was a pirate; complete with a braided goatee and matching dark mustache, as well as dark eyes and even darker mysterious.

He was a pirate - complete with a braided goatee and matching dark mustache, as well as dark eyes and even darker mysteries. Never mind the fact that he was filthy, and smiling at her salaciously, as if he had never before seen a woman before. Regardless of his last female interaction, she was paraylzed, and watched him with gauged attention. Chiseled features stared across the distance between them, which was no greater than five feet. She swallowed back a nervous burst of energy, and opened her mouth to speak – but, nothing besides a squeak of fear erupted from her throat as he stepped toward her, a brow arching over his right eye in a pleasantly surprised expression.

In a graceful motion, he swept off his hat and bowed at the waist to her, before lifting his eyes to give her a look that she was certain had disarmed many a lady before. Perhaps not a lady, but an individual of female gender, regardless. She backpedaled away from him half a step, her eyes glancing behind him to where the abandoned longboat rested down shore. The corner of his mouth twisted in a teasing grin, ultimately revealing a smile complete with precisely cut false teeth.

He glanced over her body, again. "Well, well," he said coyly, his voice smooth with an accent she could not place, "isn't this a dandy surprise; a distressed damsel lopping about on the shore of this cove. Fancy that." He stood and plopped the hat unceremoniously back to his head, nodding to the stallion now at his right side, "Seems a bit late for a ride along the shore, young missy," he teased her now with a wagging finger, "there's trouble afoot, girl – pirates be sailing the waters of Port Royal tonight. Lucky for you, Captain Jack Sparrow isn't so much the unscrupulous rogue as previously imagined."

She frowned at him, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Perhaps if you turned your little ship around, sir, there wouldn't be as much trouble as you let on," she snapped at him, realizing that he was content to tease her and nothing else, as he registered her comment with a surprised expression, "And I am not daft – you are no Captain Jack Sparrow," she finished her thought, suddenly unsure of where her bravado of strength had sprung from. As she started for the reins, he jerked them aside, snapping his head back to stare down his nose at her, curiously.

"Says who?" He seemed confused and suddenly unsure of his own presence, before he shook his head gestured at her with a swaying hand, dazzled with a display of glittering gems and jewelry. After she didn't reply, he waved forward her comment, as if annoyed she was withholding conversation, "Well? Do you have a name, or do you not?"

"My name is of no consequence to you," she inserted sharply, stomping towards him, "and if you were half a respectable gentleman, you would give me back my horse and leave me on my way. Obviously your intentions lie elsewhere, otherwise we would not be having such an elaborate and otherwise worthless exchange of banter." Sticking out her open palm, she crooked her fingers for him to comply, "The reins, if you please."

He jerked them away sharply. The pirate stared at her hand and then back up to her, before he chuckled and shook his head again, this time wagging a slow finger as he narrowed his gaze at her. She'd seen the look before – when he began to sidestep around her, guiding Leviathan as he did so, her stomach plummeted into her feet, and her heart sorely began to throb again.

He was behind her, now. "On the contrary, young miss, your name does merit consequence to me," she bristled and gasped when he stepped into the mold of her back; his beard now lightly scratching the soft of her neck as his lips graced the back of her ear. "It's bad luck not to meet a woman and know her name," he said breathlessly, "and I am not keen on bad luck, love."

She lifted her chin stubbornly and gulped strongly, willing herself to contain the tremble that had now plagued her nerves like a diseased wind. Her stomach was churning uncomfortably, and her ears were pulsing with hot blood so severely that she, at any moment, expected her head to drop from her shoulders in an explosive burning in her throat was becoming unbearable as sweat poured down her temple and slicked down her spine, effectively soaking whatever of her was not already covered in saltwater.

He teased her with a chortle, "You see, love," he started, "a thing decadent as you might well belong to the governor of these waters, or some other rich and powerful man that promises a hefty reward should you be…taken, under unfortunate circumstances," a chuckle rumbled around his chest for a moment before he clucked his tongue warningly, "Unless, of course, you were trying to escape said powerful beau and this becomes a different situation entirely. So give us your name and we can determine this thing right here and now, hm?"

The brunette gasped, and her eyes widened. He paused only for a moment, to draw in a slow breath, and chortle, "What's it going to be, love?" into her ear.

She was suddenly without words, or coherent thought. "You are Jack Sparrow," she breathed, her voice light with a tremor of fear, "incorrigible fiend," she finished with a cry. She whirled around on the heel of her foot, and slap him strongly across the jaw. She gasped and squealed, clapping a hand over her mouth out of surprise, before she stumbled backward and corrected herself.

The smack cracked across the air sharply, and he staggered, slapping a hand to the blaring red spot in surprise rather than in response to pain. He gaped at her a moment before his brows rose and she backpedaled through the sand away from him, now visibly trembling at her actions. Her eyes flecked to the ocean, and then back at him, as he advanced towards her strongly.

"I'm not sure I deserved that," he said smartly, guiding Leviathan on behind him, "doing things the hard way gets no one anywhere, missy, so I suggest you just –"

Before he could finish, she dipped and swiped a handful of sand from the shore and pitched it at him. She sprung into action, launching herself through the sand, and into the foliage of the jungle leading to the main road. Her heart was roaring, now, like a cannon, as she batted away unfamiliar patterns of vine and leaves, on a path that she didn't know. Her foot struck a rock and she cried out, pummeling forward onto the ground amidst the leaves and other shrubbery.

Her big toe was bleeding, and a series of small cuts stung her arms and feet as she propelled forward, towards the main road. Adrenaline laced her veins like a quick poison, eating at her strength. One foot in front of the other, she could just distinguish the main road up ahead, and burst out from the foliage like an explosive force, tripping over a fallen log and flailing forward to land face-first into the road, again.

She groaned, and she felt the vibrations of thundering hooves beneath her body. She lifted her head and saw the cloud of dust following the galloping black stallion. The rider, inevitably the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, pulled back sharply on the reins and the animal came to a thrilling stop before her, him staring down at her, unimpressed with her attempted escape.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Feet aren't faster than hooves, if you were wondering," he thrust a hand downward and beckoned her up with a crook of his fingers, "now up you get before you wake the dead." He leaned over the saddle and nodded to her.

When she didn't respond, he said, "Come now, dear, we don't have all night," with an added hint of aggravation. He rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to harm you, lass – I was merely jibing. Just come."

Her mind was thick with swirling thoughts, the first of which was how she had happened upon the Captain Jack Sparrow, of whom she had only assumed existed in tales and word alone. If he were truly Jack Sparrow, then before her stood the very myth of the sea, and the very horizon she had been dreaming of since the crossing from England. Swallowing back a deep breath as her chest heaved for air; she looked up at him and nodded, clapping her hand into his.

He helped pull her onto Leviathan with ease, and pulled back the stallion's reins; the black beast protesting and backstepping out of defiance a few paces. He snorted out an agitated breath, before the pirate legend dug the heels of his boots into the animal's ribs and propelled him forward with a barking command of, "Go, you filthy beast!"

At the garrison, he pulled Leviathan to a stop, and swung off quickly. Handing the reins to her, he patted the stallion's neck and flecked a look up at her. Quirking a brow, he leveled a flat look, and sighed. "I regret crossing paths in such abrogating circumstances," he shrugged a shoulder, "but, would you happen to know where the prison is?"

She swallowed back a breath, "What are you planning to do?" She managed, Leviathan making a show of snorting and impatiently shifting his weight on his feet. She tugged the reins for him to comply, folding a wrinkled look down to the pirate, before looking ahead to the garrison's entry to the city.

He chuckled and looked down to his boots, "It wouldn't be very gentlemanlike to influence your mind with such offenses," he stepped away from the stallion and saluted her flippantly, "thank you for the ride, and – next time you decide to venture off by yourself; invest in a pistol, milady." He flashed a smile to her, and nodded towards the garrison, "Now get on before the watch spots us both and we're both hanged."

With that, he spun on his heel, and went to vanish into the shadows. She frantically looked between the city's garrison and the retreating form of Jack Sparrow, before she slung herself off the saddle and dropped the reins, rushing for the man who had almost entirely taken to the dark shadows along the garrison's wall.

Sharp stones made it both difficult and painful to walk; but she lunged for him and clamped her hand around his forearm, tightly. The fog had almost entirely lifted, but it didn't matter – she was visibly sweating, and the night air was heavy as she whirled him around to face her. He lifted a hand, gave her a surprised look, and swaggered slightly in place as he stared down at her short frame.

He looked from her, to Leviathan, to her again. "Have you gone mad?" he asked her, genuinely confused.

She didn't care, and ignored his comment. "I will take you to the prison," she nodded towards the garrison walls, "on account you take me with you when you leave, and drop me anywhere that is not here." His eyes widened in surprised shock, as her grip tightened firmly on his arm.

He laughed, heartily. "You can't be serious," he said with a simper.

She cocked a brow. "You don't want me to be any more serious, Captain," she said warningly, eyeing the garrison over her shoulder. She watched Leviathan for a moment as he raised his head to attention; ear twitching in recognition of something approaching the garrison's entrance. She turned back to the pirate captain, "Decide quickly," she dropped her voice into a whisper and pulled him into the shadows of the garrison walls, pressing her back against the smooth stone of the city's defensive wall, "Time is of the essence." She crouched in the shadows, watching quietly.

Surely enough, they watched as a redcoat curiously approached Leviathan and took him by the reigns. He contemplated the area in a sweeping scan, looking for Leviathan's rider before he shrugged and patted the horse's neck reassuringly. He guided the animal into the city, through the garrison's entrance, and soon they both were gone. The brunette noticed that Sparrow was standing over her, straining to listen for any other threats that would uncover them both.

Without looking away from the city's entrance, he offered her a hand and helped her stand. Then, he whipped a displeased look at her and grabbed her shoulder, before he shook his head dismissively and bypassed her.

"Forget it," he shuffled by her and inched along the wall carefully, until he came to the entrance.

Her mouth fell open before she could respond with a baffled, "I beg your pardon?"

"I said to forget it," he said over his shoulder, crouching low in the shadows to scout the garrison's entrance into the city. There were no guards visible around the perimeter, and he checked his weapons with the slight movement of his hand across his belted waist.

Bemused, she sunk to a crouch beside him and exclaimed quietly, "You just asked me where the prison was. I don't understand –"

He whirled around on the ball of his foot, his dreadlocks slapping her in the face. She sputtered, and batted them away with a waving hand as he gestured charismatically with a hand, "I said, no, young missy. You are far too young to make a decision such as that, and I am well able to locate this city's prison by me onesies. Savvy?" His brows snapped up as if to finish off the comment, she properly chastised – for the moment.

His brows snapped up as if to finish off the comment; she properly chastised – for the moment. Infuriated, she balled up her fist and stomped towards him, grabbing his arm to fling him back around. This man didn't even know her name and she was as exasperated with him as if she'd known her the entirety of her life. Frowning at him, she threw her hands into the air and exclaimed, "And, pray tell, how do you know that? You do not even know who I am!" She hadn't realized her tone had taken an edge to it – a louder edge than before.

Frowning at him, she threw her hands into the air and exclaimed, "And, pray tell, how do you know that? You do not even know who I am!" She hadn't realized her tone had taken an edge to it – a louder edge than before. He spun around again, quickly, and smothered her mouth with his filthy and calloused hand before he dipped his head towards her, as if making a point.

"Call it an incredibly intuitive sense of the female creature," he bumbled, rolling his eyes, before furrowing his brow in question, "are you always this infuriating?"

She jerked from him, swatting away his hand. "Only when I meet incorrigible pirates," she shot back at him, drawing the back of her hand across her mouth to rid herself of the smell, and filth, of his hand. "And, if you –"

"Shh," he chastised her bitingly, "if it is clear by you, lassie, I would like to get into the city unnoticed by the swath of patrol rats that skitter around the city," he frowned at her, frustrated, "so if you'll let me be on my way, I will relieve you of my company and we can pretend none of this ever transpired."

She rolled her eyes, before she stood and grabbed the sleeve of his waistcoat, hauling him to his feet. Flabbergasted and caught unaware, he sputtered out an expletive that was crude as she shuffled him through the gates, meandering along towards the governor's house that was just up the incline of the hill. She lifted the hem of her skirt, until he jerked his arm away and flailed left, to the safety of the shrubbery outlaid around the property. She raised a curious brow at

She raised a curious brow at him, and stopped. "Have you lost your head?" he seethed at her, however quietly, as he popped his head out of the bushes and glanced around. He burned her with a sptieful glare. "Are you trying to get me killed, you insufferable strumpet?"

The brunette rolled her eyes and gestured outward with an extended arm. "That was the hourly patrol," she hissed at him, flecking her eyes up to the mansion resting quietly on the hilltop, "there will not be another until two. I suggest you come with me, should you want to remain unnoticed. Just because the patrol is not here at the moment does not mean there are not eyes – the governor has hounds that are impeccably perceptive." Turning from his dumfounded expression in the bushes, she started her trek back up the incline, into the shadow of the looming mansion.

He followed her to the stable, and vanished inside as she closed the door behind them. Heaving a sigh of relief, he swept off his hat and considered his surroundings as she dropped the door's latch firmly into place. Leviathan still must have been with the soldier, because he was not returned. Instead, the other horses watched her briefly, their attention locked on the newcomer whom they had never before seen. The atmosphere in the room intensified with their unease, as their tails began to flick uncomfortably and they began to snort at the newcomer.

She moved by Jack Sparrow, and he sauntered after her, studying the animals with a peculiar and cautious look on his face; as if he were half-hazard to approach or be in the same atmosphere as them. At the tack wall, she fumbled around for another match, and struck it against the wood to light another lantern. Once more, the room was tossed into a warm light, and she turned to address the pirate captain.

He watched her for a moment, until she flung a handful of her damp curls over her shoulder and approached one of the stalls. Hanging the lantern by the hook outside of the stall, she reached up to stroke the nose of a copper colored mare, who was nervously watching Sparrow as he approached at a slow, lazy pace. She studied him for a brief moment, unsure of why he traipsed about with a swaggering gait, before she shrugged it off and kissed the animal's nose.

Her heart began to pound uncomfortably as the silence grew between them, her fully aware that he was watching her with a mixture of gauged interest and lustful hunger commonplace of such men. However, she took heart – if Jack Sparrow had intended to harm her, he certainly would have done so, given he had ample opportunity to have done so already. She began to saddle the mare, her hands working fluidly, until he asked the next question. "If you don't mind me asking, dearie –"

"If you don't mind me asking, dearie –"

She interrupted him with a sharp snap of her eyes up from her work on the saddle's cinch. "Marianne," she said firmly, giving a final tug on the cinch to turn to face him, "my name is Marianne Stark. You may call me Marianne."

His hand wilted from its confident gesture, and he nodded in understanding. "Ah, yes – Marianne. A lovely name." Nodding once more, he waved his hand at her as if to beckon on his next thought. He continued, "If you don't mind me asking, Marianne," he smiled at her coyly, "what exactly are you looking for outside of Port Royal?"

He continued, "If you don't mind me asking, Marianne," he smiled at her coyly, "what exactly are you looking for outside of Port Royal that has you so desperate to leave?"

She looked away from him, eyes dropping to her feet, before she shrugged and crossed to retrieve more tack; this time a bridle that was beginning to fray and had been discarded. She furnished them to the mare and guided her out of the stall, the animal's shoed hooves clipping across the stable's cobblestone floor. Flicking a curl out of her face, she looked back to the pirate, and sighed heavily.

Swinging herself up onto the mare, she turned the animal to face him, and looked down to him. He was still awaiting her answer, though instead he flecked his eyes up to her in patient expectancy. Swallowing back a breath, she fisted the reins tightly, and let her other hand drop from the saddle's horn. She cleared her throat and responded quietly, "I want something that I've always wanted – something that I have told myself I need all my life: a chance for a life outside of death," she finally surmised, before she hung her head and closed her eyes. She could almost feel the warmth of her father's last touch on her skin, before the string of death slapped her back into reality to look up at Jack Sparrow.

"This place holds nothing but pain for me," she set her jaw and lifted her chin superiorly, "and a life of servitude to England provides no incentive to stay." He said nothing for a moment, until she glanced over her shoulder to the door and gestured with a jerk of her head. "I will take you to the prison in exchange for saving my life – then, you will be on your way," she cocked a brow at him, "do I have your word that no harm will come to anyone?"

Sparrow seemed to contemplate exactly what that meant, before he nodded solemnly at her and approached the mare. "We have an accord," he pronounced, flopping his hat back on his head and moving to the door. Once he'd unlatched it and nudged it open, he took hold of the saddle's horn before her and heaved himself up.

Jack fell into the saddle easily, and she guided the animal around carefully, toward the open door.


Marianne was not entirely sure why Jack Sparrow had needed to locate Port Royal's prison, but she was certain that it was for good reason, because he went well out of his way to make sure they arrived unnoticed. When they had arrived under the cover of darkness, after having dodged four night patrols and a prison convoy, it was then that she had learned that he intended to free a man from prison by the name of William Turner, whom she knew as Brown's blacksmith, the very man whom Elizabeth Swann had befriended all those fateful years ago while on the crossing from England.

When they had arrived under the cover of darkness, after having dodged four night patrols and a prison convoy, it was then that she had learned that he intended to free a man from prison by the name of William Turner, whom she knew as Brown's blacksmith, the very man whom Elizabeth Swann had befriended all those fateful years ago while on the crossing from England.

While Will was a friend to the name Swann, Marianne did not understand how he had affiliations with Captain Sparrow. She'd never once heard of Jack Sparrow having docked at Port Royal, at least publicly, though she knew many of the sailors that arrived at the harbor provided false names and paid off the harbormaster for anonymity. It still made no sense, however, that Jack Sparrow knew Will Turner the blacksmith – or why Will would even be in prison to begin with.

After subduing the prison guards expertly, Marianne followed Sparrow down the stairs to the cell block, which was primarily empty save for two occupied cells. The one prisoner was either dead or unconscious, for he remained unmoving in the corner of his cell beneath his window. Had the smell not perpetually been wretched, it would have perhaps been an indicator. However, as they approached the other occupied cell, Marianne realized it belonged to Will, who was sitting in the corner, his back to the iron bars.

Her heart was ramming against her ribcage to the point of where Marianne assumed that by night's end, she would have a deep bruise marring her skin. Her mouth was dry and she was sweating, and her skin was thick with dried sea water and salt; as was her hair. She'd managed to tie it back with the torn petticoat from her fall in the jungle, which provided some relief. However, there would be no relief from the burning agitation of unease that she felt following Jack Sparrow, so she pressed ever closer to him while glancing over her shoulder.

Quietly, Sparrow approached the cell, guiding her forward with a beckoning hand. "Psst," he spat quietly, clearing his throat, "young William. Head's aloft, boy, and look behind you."

Will perked up, and glanced over his shoulder. In a split instant, he whirled around entirely and grabbed the bars of the cell in his hands, rattling them as if it would suddenly release him from his current state. His eyes were wide as he looked up to Jack, who was now standing, until he himself rose to meet the pirate at eye-level.

"Jack!" He exclaimed in a hush, "What in God's name are you doing back here?" He looked to Marianne, and his face fell into that of horrified confusion, "Marianne Stark? What are you doing here with Jack Sparrow?"

Jack nodded at him, and smiled, before he shrugged his shoulder and waved his hand through the air. Then he glanced at Marianne and furrowed his brow back at Turner, who was still as equally unsure of the entire situation as he had been a moment before.

Jack looked around the prison for a moment and sighed, "You think for once the keys to these blasted cells would just by lying around?"

"You haven't answered me," Will said hastily, looking back at Marianne, "and neither have you, Miss Stark. What are you doing here with a pirate captain in the middle of the night?"

Marianne gave him an uneasy smile and lift of her shoulders, before she rubbed the back of her neck nervously and sighed. Jack marched away to locate the cell's keys, before she dropped to a crouch and began to examine the cell's lock.

Suddenly, Will thrust his hand through the bars and grabbed her wrist to stay her action. "Marianne," he said quietly, flecking his eyes past her to glance at Sparrow, who was in the corner, "what are you doing? He is untrustworthy, and –"

"Got it!" Jack exclaimed suddenly, marching back quickly, bearing a uniform hanger between he and Will's form behind bars. He beamed proudly, before he straightened the hook of the uniform's hanger and knelt to begin picking the lock. "Amazing what types of things people leave hanging around a prison," he mumbled, working the straightened hook into the latch.

He chuckled, "You'll be sprung in just a minute, young Turner. Just one more moment –"

With a heavy lift, the lock disengaged, and popped free. Will pushed it open and stepped through, now face-to-face with Jack, who discarded the hanger over his shoulder. He grinned at Will, gave him a quick once-over, and frowned while wrinkling his nose, as if suddenly unimpressed with the blacksmith's appearance. Will, too, looked equally upset, and was breathing hard. His face was also pink with heat.

Unfazed, Jack spun on his heel. "Come now, we don't have all night," Jack persuaded, "I don't think the guards will stay cold for long," he chuckled and grabbed for Marianne's hand, hauling her towards the staircase, her now between the two men, "Stay close, dearie –"

William suddenly stepped in front of Jack, around their duo, and threw up a staying hand at the top of the stairs. Jack jerked to a halt, surprised, and Marianne poked her head around his form to consider the sight. Her eyes also fell to the guards still sprawled out before the prison's entry, and she swallowed back an uneasy breath. She didn't release Jack's hand, however, as Will scowled at them in confused anger.

"Would either of you like to explain –" Turner started.

Frustrated and annoyed, Jack rolled his eyes and flapped his hand through the air dismissively. "You were in prison, and considering that you saved my life last time, consider us square, at the moment." He shot Will a disinterested look, "And now, if you please, I'm on my way back to the Pearl to pillage and plunder meself into a drunken stupor. Sound right?"

Will's gaze turned to Marianne. "And you, Miss Stark, what are you doing -?"

Jack interrupted, immediately. "This bonnie lass has a horizon to pursue, Mr. Turner, so I highly advise you allow us our leave." Jack sidestepped Will, and bypassed him with a brush of his shoulder against the blacksmith's. "Good night, young Turner, and fare thee well – until the next problematic circumstance!" He chirped brightly, jerking Marianne along behind him. With a light salute, he swung up onto the copper mare, and extended a hand to her.

Marianne, stupefied, stared up at him with her mouth aghast. Jack rolled his eyes and sighed dramtically, "Don't stand around with your mouth full of flies, dearie; let's get on, shall we?"

The corner of her mouth twitched into a half smile as she took his hand, and helped herself onto the mare. Falling into the saddle behind him, she wrapped her arms around his middle securely and rested her chin on his shoulder to speak into his ear wistfully, "You said you wouldn't take me out of Port Royal," she concluded, "what changed your mind so suddenly?"

He pulled back the reins just as Will ran out after them, calling after Jack harshly. With a sharp kick to the mare's sides, they burst off into the night, Jack navigating the streets expertly under the cover of darkness. Patrols now entirely forgotten, they had roused the entire garrison as they galloped through Port Royal's streets swiftly. Jack glanced over his shoulder at her and laughed heartily, shrugging a shoulder.

"Suffice it say that you and I aren't so different, Miss Stark," he pushed the mare faster, through the gates of the harbor, until he jerked back the reins strongly to bring the animal to a stalling halt. Her shoed hoofs slid against the harbor's dock as he swung off and helped her from the animal, glancing around the dock for any sort of route that would see them to a safe escape.

He continued his thought with a muttered, "Where is Gibbs?" before a head popped over the side of the dock, belonging to the familiar and weathered face of Joshamee Gibbs.

Marianne gasped. She recognized the older man as the one whom had sailed with her and her father on the crossing from England. He had been a quartermaster then, around the same age as her father, and had been a dear friend to her as she had served as Elizabeth's maiden. It was him that had entrusted her with tales of the sea and freedom therewith, and he had been the one who had instilled in her her love of the ocean.

While she had never again seen Joshamee Gibbs since that voyage, she had never fully forgotten the man. And now, as he was standing before her, she felt as if she were standing at a crossroad of memories and reality, with the entirety of her future and everything she had dreamed standing within grasp.

The man began to climb the ladder from the dinghy tied below on the water. "Right where ye need me, Cap'n," he pulled himself onto the dock from the ladder and gave a frumpled look to Marianne, extending a hand out to her in question as he furrowed his brow at his captain. "Don't mind me askin', sir, but – ye brought a girl with ye?"

Jack waved it off dismissively, making his way down the ladder. "I shall explain it fully on the morrow, Master Gibbs – now, if you'd be so kind, let's disembark. If we hurry, we will make the Pearl by sunrise." Dropping into the boat, Sparrow gathered the pack and extra baldric to drape over his shoulder. Then, he retrieved the stained-glass bottle of what appeared to be rum from the floor of the dinghy, grinning at the substance with jovial approval before making his way back up the ladder.

Swaggering to a stand, he nodded at Gibbs and gestured to the mare. "I assume you've brought extra transport, Gibbs?"

He thumbed over his shoulder, "Aye, sir, just like we arranged," he gave a curious look to Marianne and crinkled his nose, before slapping his thigh out of confusion, "Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but I dare say yer familiar to me," he scratched his beard, which again sparked another memory, and confirmed to Marianne that this was indeed the man who had crossed with her from England.

She smiled at him and nodded, grabbing the reins of the copper mare and swinging herself back up into the saddle. Jack extended to her the extra pack, before he pulled himself up behind her and uncorked the bottle of rum with his teeth. Taking a long drink of it, he gestured out before him with the bottle, as if signaling for her to go.

She nodded to Gibbs and extended a hand, leaning in the saddle to reach him. "You do know me, Mr. Gibbs," she nodded to him, "my name is Marianne Stark. You sailed with my father and I from England almost ten years ago."

His face twisted into one of realization, before his eyes popped open in understanding and he shook her hand fervently, a smile spreading on his face. "Mother's hope – you're right!" He exclaimed, "You're little Miss Annie Stark – you still working for the governor and his young lass?"

She shrugged a shoulder and looked over it to Jack, who was busy admiring his bottle of rum and checking the braces of pistols now adorning his person. "Well, technically speaking," she released the man's hand and took the reins, drawing them back sharply in a strong fist, "I was working for the governor's daughter."

As if just hearing this information for the first time, Jack's head snapped up in acknowledge of the conversation, and he tapped her shoulder with two fingers flattened into a 'V'. "Governor's daughter? You worked in the governor's house?" he asked, a brow spiking up in impressed realization.

She nodded, once. "Yes," she concluded strongly, "emphasis on the word 'worked'."

He raised his brows in a surprised manner, before he looked down to Gibbs and shook his head. "Well," he began, "no use commemorating the past at a time like this. Let's move on," Jack finished with a satisfied smack of his lips as he finished he draw on the bottle, "those soldiers won't lag behind for long, and I'd rather be well on my way to sunrise than stick around here any longer than absolutely necessary. Master Gibbs, I shall see you at the cove." Reaching around Marianne's front, he grabbed the reins from her and circled the animal back towards the entry to the harbor.

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs called after them, until Jack landed a sharp kick to the mare's sides and sent them off in a speeding gallop.

They went quickly throughout the city, Marianne guiding the animal on expertly until they arrived at the passage through the foliage of which Marianne had already tread once. Swinging off the animal, Jack offered her a hand and helped her off, before landing a sharp smack to the horse's rear and sending her galloping back into the city, through the garrison's wall.

Marianne led him through the brief passage of foliage, until they burst forth from the jungle and found themselves back at the cove. The sky was clear, and the waves were white-capped as they crashed onto the shore – their prints still remained in the sand a few yards down, where he had rescued her from Leviathan's rage, and the beginning of the rest of her life had started. What had birthed as fear and trembling had now grown into excited energy, and she could barely contain the fluttering inside her chest, or the pulsating heat in her skull.

Taking another draw of rum, Jack staggered for a moment, and looked over at her with a careful expression. "There is still a chance for you to reconsider, dearie," he nodded towards the ocean, where The Black Pearl bobbed off shore, awaiting the arrival of its captain, "the open sea is no place for an unescorted bonnie lass like yourself – and neither is a pirate ship like the Pearl."

She swallowed thickly and sighed, lifting the tie of curls off her neck. After a moment, she brushed the salt from her arms, and dug her feet into the cool sands of the cove. A smile pulled at the corner of her lips, and she shook her head, watching the vessel off shore – while so couldn't imagine a life other than Port Royal, she couldn't fathom imaging a life of staying, either. She was not born to be a servant to England, and she would not spend the remainder of her life as no one of regard.

She looked back at him, and shook her head. "Something tells me I am in good hands," she announced, nodding to him.

He looked down his nose at her. "And you are certain this is what you want?" He questioned again, before waving her towards the longboat, "It is a long way to anywhere that isn't here, Marianne Stark," he cautioned again, "once you have given yourself to the sea, it is very rarely that a man returns. If this is what you desire, make damnably well sure."

After they arrived at the longboat, Captain Jack Sparrow propped a foot on the edge of the longboat; the ocean crashing around his feet, before he extended a hand to her. "Well, what says you, love?" He cocked a brow beneath his tricorn hat, and beckoned her with a crook of his finger.

She smiled at him, and took his hand.


Something That I Want

By: Grace Potter

She's a girl with the best intentions
He's a man of his own invention
She looked out of the window
He walked out the door
But she followed him
And he said, "What'cha lookin' for?"

She said, "I want something that I want
Something that I tell myself I need
Something that I want
And I need everything I see."

Something that I want
Something that I tell myself I need
Something that I want
And I need everything I see

He's been livin' in a pure illusion
She's gonna come to her own conclusion
Right when you think you know what to say
Someone comes along and shows you a brand new way

She said, "I want something that I want
Something that I tell myself I need
Something that I want
And I need everything I see."

Something that I want
Something that I tell myself I need
Something that I want

And I need everything - 'cause

It's so easy to make believe,
It seems you're livin' in a dream
Don't you see that what you need
Is standing in front of you?

I want something that I want
Something that I tell myself I need
Something that I want
And I need everything I see

Something that I want
Something that I tell myself I need
Something that I want
And I need everything I see.