Disclaimer: I own nothing, still.

"Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me!" Jack was standing at the bar . . . or more accurately, on the bar. Two mugs full of rum in his hands and, of course, singing at the top of his lungs that catchy little pirate ditty the whelp's strumpet had taught him long ago that he had a special affinity for. Some of his crew had joined in with the singing but for the most part he was being ignored due to the various "scenery". Completely oblivious to this, and to the few fair strumpets vying for his attention, he jumped down and blindly handed one of the mugs to Gibbs, who happened to be one of the ones accompanying him in song even though his words were so slurred as to be incomprehensible.

They had almost made their way back to their usual table when, despite having been leaning on each other for support, Gibbs tripped over the arm of a passed out pirate, and fell head first into the pig pen. This in turn caused Jack to totally lose his balance, which was precarious even when sober. In keeping with Jack's relentlessly good fortune, he landed on the exact chair he had been headed to in the first place. In keeping with Gibbs' bad fortune, (despite his meticulous care not to upset the volatile lady luck), he ended up covered in mud and on top of something . . . or someone.

"Jack, I think there is a woman in here." He sputtered out, rolling over in an attempt free himself from the motionless lump and giving the pigs a good fright, which they articulated quite loudly in unpleasant squeals.

"Good Gibbs. May be the only attention you'll get the whole night." Jack answered smoothly, his head already tipping to one side as inebriated darkness began to sweep over him.

Once Gibbs finally got the mud out of his eyes he was able to determine that the woman was unconscious and not dead. He also noticed something else that made him scurry back in haste to put space between him and lady as if she'd rear up any moment and strike him.

"Cap'n Jack, you better get in here."

"Bloody, rum soaked pirate." Sparrow mumbled as he tentatively stood, waiting for the rocking of his vision to level a bit before attempting to take a step, and finding himself annoyed that his plans for a night spent passed out with his head on the table had been delayed, even momentarily.

"What? You can't handle her all by yourself?" He joked as he stepped into the pen, his boots sucking up mud loudly. Jack Sparrow was used to all manner of smells, but he flinched as the atmosphere inside the pin assaulted his nose.

"Not quite the place for a romantic rendezvous, eh?" He smirked to Gibbs, who paid him no mind because he was too intent on the person he'd almost crushed.

Sparrow opened his mouth for another rejoinder until he caught a good look at the woman. As soon as he saw who it was he stopped joking. Casting his eyes about in case this was all a trap or, even more likely, simply a rum inspired hallucination, he quickly decided that whatever be the case, it would be bloody ungentlemanly of him to leave her there much longer.