pyrate of ill repute -- The Dock

"Ohoho, yes," Jack chuckled richly, leaving the oars in their oarlocks and abruptly lurching forward and, heedless of the rocking longboat, pinning Chaylsie down and, while smiling apologetically into her face, letting his hands take a quick inventory of what weaponry she might have on herself and confiscating them. Letting her up just as swiftly as he had had her down, Jack gave her a wickedly sorry expression. "Ye'll not be needin' these, love, can't have ye carrying out those threats, now can we?" he rambled as he dug the oars deep and glided up beside the Pearl's lovely dark hull. For a moment, he simply rested his hand on the side, breathing deeply of her essence (the Pearl, not Chaylsie) before snapping his eyes open and barking at Chaylsie, "Up ye get, ye scurvy pyratess. I trust ye know how to climb?" He himself stood and balanced the boat for Chaylsie to, presumably, get out and climb up. His dark eyes watched her, waiting, and then he was unfortunate enough to glance across the water and see Anamaria and Chanel floating towards him at an alarming rate. Colorful language burst from his mouth and he waved her back, "Ye have the gold ye be needing, Anamaria, what are ye doing?" The eloquent tenor was somewhat strained as his mouth went through a series of expressions before turning with a familiar expression of bottled-up annoyance to Chaylsie. "Up! Now!" the pyrate ordered, keeping one hand on the ship while he advanced towards her with every intention of hauling her up the side of his ship if he had to take her with his teeth. But it was futile, to think he'd scale his way up before Anamaria's boat arrived. So he sighed and propped one scuffed boot on the bench of the longboat and held on to the rope of the Black Pearl with one hand and watched them darkly. A boat bearing an agitated Gibbs, a seemingly bewitched Stephen, and a very imperious Almalure was headed his way also. Several more embellished words found themselves escaping his tongue with gleeful naughtiness and Jack bound the longboat so as to be able to haul it up upon climbing over the rail before climbing behind Chaylsie. May as well get a head start, he figured, teeth gritted somewhat as it became apparant that he would have four women aboard, making the ratio of men to women 3:4. Gibbs. Would. Kill. Him. And probably make each and every wench of them walk the plank, which, as the idea struck him, did not sound so very bad. Give them a few guns--no, no guns, Jack affirmed--food, yes a bit of food, and...oh what the heck, a longboat too...and sort of...drop them off on that island he was so...fond of. Jack pushed Chaylsie unceremoniously over the rail ahead of him and climbed over himself, peering over the edge to see Anamaria's boat drawing nigh. "Sorry, love," he murmured offhandedly to Chaylsie, taking her wrist and hauling her to her feet in what might have been a gallant manner had he not been staring intently out towards the two longboats he had no desire to see. Well, a little desire. They would ALL have to work. And call him Captain, dang it! Every one who set foot aboard his ship, possibly with the exception of Chaylsie, since she was his prisoner of a sort. "Well, love, I suspect ye be wanting a shirt," he said, turning to her at last and pursing his lips beneath that mustache as his eyes slid down to the makeshift top. "Ah, here," he said, having no desire to go hunting for one at present, so he stripped off his own faded, full-sleeved buccaneer shirt and handed it with a smile to Chaylsie. "Now..." he pulled the telescope ((why can i never remember what the things are called? NOT a telescope...a...something...)) from his cloth 'belt' and focused it on Stephen's longboat. Grumbling, he recognised Almalure's trunk and Gibbs' distraught face. Stephen, the scurvy dog, had helped the wench carry the blasted thing! Had he not, Almalure wouldn't be there. Floating towards him. Being rowed by Stephen! He half-heartedly wished the boat would sink or capsize, but despite his heroic streak he had no desire to dive over the side of his ship and rescue a drowning girl in a corset today; he was feeling far too villainous. Pacing the rail, he rapped the telescope ((whatever)) against his calico-covered thigh and tracked their progress, waiting until they were within hailing distance before shouting down to them, "Put yore lazy backs into it, ye shiftless dogs, I call for all hands on deck and longboats in their proper so we can set sail! Ye be wastin' daylight!"

He scowled at them as they rowed up, tramping back to Chaylsie where his face regained its poker stance. "I'll be showin' ye you're cabin, love, unless ye be hankering to share mine...?" The mocking brow arched, a smile curling the ends of his comely mustache as the sun illuminated his deeply tanned skin, now attractively shirtless and every inch the wanton ruffian pyrate. Gorgeous, oui, but he had no doubt as to what Barbossa's daughter would say to his proposal, and unconsciously he readied his cheek for its second blow of the day.

((aha! gibbs has magicked himself onto alma's boat! poor stevie-boy, he's going to get it from jack))