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Petites Affaires	By : Anactoria Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 1065 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: It�s been a while since I updated, for which I apologise. There is also the introduction of a character whom many will no doubt regard as Mary-Sueish, for which I do not apologise. As always, reviews make the author�s world go round. ;)
III.
Jason Armistade was but seven years old when he chose to pursue the fickle and more often than not disappointing trade of the artist. The three years that followed this sudden conviction had been spent sketching miscellaneous household pets and objects in secret, whilst publicly he continued to follow all the quasi-ritualistic minutiae befitting his status as gentleman�s son and probable future naval officer: He learnt languages, mathematics, geography, history and the Classics under the guidance of various tutors; thrusted, parried, and pirouetted under the instruction of his fencing and dancing masters (the latter he shared with graceless, tottering Nell); fasted at Lent, attended church, and various other activities too numerous to list, thus deflecting any suspicions about his true choice of path.
Why Jason was so eager to hide his propensity for drawing was a matter of simple modesty: having never received the proper tuition of a drawing master, and being too shy to request one, Jason was convinced that his work would be the subject of much hilarity and ridicule, not least because his oranges tend to resemble carrot-coloured squares. He also believed that his mother would expressly forbid him from pursuing his art, as her chosen upbringing for her son was guided by the belief that her husband desired Jason follow in his father�s footsteps. Whether this truly was the case, or a logically-deduced fabrication on his mother�s part, Jason did not know.
For Jason, the crossing to India was surprisingly liberating, as only two tutors were willing to follow their shared pupil: the Classically-inclined clergyman Sterne, and the fencing master Radaelli; and, as neither gentleman were particularly used to sea travel (indeed, Radaelli found his first journey from Milan to London most disagreeable), Jason�s lessons were disbanded until such time as either gentleman was able to stand for five minutes without vomiting.
Add to this benevolent stroke of luck the providential presence of Alice Carlisle, Captain Jennings�s ward and orphaned niece. A twelve-year-old Scot, with skin as white and flawless as that of a porcelain doll�s and hair that ran down her neck and shoulders like rivers of blood, Miss Carlisle�s cold, arrogant beauty was one that could not be hidden in even the most dull of dresses; Captain Jennings was a man who had always lived and dressed simply, in browns and greens and other dark, earthy tones, and as such, dressed his niece from the same palette. Such drab colours served only to emphasise her almost unnatural colouring, and it had been when Jason had spotted her bright red hair on the London docks as she leant over the railing, clad in austere brown, bonnet dangling from her hand, for her first and last glimpse of England�s capital that he had realised, once for all, that he had to paint, he must paint�How could he not? he had found his muse.
Alice did of course agree to sit for him; despite her uncle�s best efforts, her vanity had yet to be quelled, and she flattered herself into thinking that this taller, younger boy must have found her attractive. (He didn�t, but that�s beside the point.) At twelve, she considered herself to be quite grown up, and believed that within months of her arrival at Bombay, one of those profligate Indian princes (of whom many forbidden tales had been whispered to her over quiet Bible studies), ensnared by her heavenly beauty, would whisk her away from her honest uncle�s clutches to live a life of decadence within luxurious palace walls. How wonderful, how exotic, how scandalous it would be when she, a Christian woman (though technically, still a girl), married a heathen Raja!�But until that anticipated moment, Alice would content herself with sitting very still whilst infatuated little boys attempted to do justice to her beauty with crumbling coal and scraps of paper.
And so it came to be that, on what Captain Jennings promised to be the last day of a long and tedious crossing, Jason was just adding the last details to Alice�s portrait when from the other side of the door came a shy, timid knock. For a moment, Alice and Jason merely stared at one another, the redhead half-risen, knowing as she did that Jason�s greatest fear was to have his hidden talent discovered. The children�s blue eyes met in confusion, searching one another for guidance; when a second rap, quieter and more hesitant than the first, sounded, Jason�s shoulders visibly relaxed, and Alice sank back into her seat; perhaps it was simply a sailor, sent down by her uncle to inform the pair that the Intrepid was ready to dock.
�Yes?� the boy called out, mimicking the imperious tone he heard his mother use on servants and social inferiors.
�J-J-Jason?� The voice was small, high, timid; a boy�s voice. �Jason, it�s Jack.�
Alice turned her head away from the door to shoot her portraitist an accusatory glare. Jack? she mouthed, blue-grey eyes reproachful.
�Jack?� Jason repeated, a crease appearing between his pale eyebrows. There was no Jack on the Intrepid! Why, he and Alice and Nell were the only children aboard; where on earth could he have come from?
�Yes.� There was a note of fear, the fear of rejection, in his voice now. �Do you know�Do you remember me? I sent you letters.�
Ah, Jack! The grin that appeared on Jason�s face was so sudden, so bright, that Alice flinched and backed away; he looked half mad, like an escaped Bedlamite.
�Jack!� he cried, and Alice crossed her arms and huffed as the boy abandoned his sketch to wrench open the door. Curious, her eyes followed the young blond as he hesitated, looking hesitantly down at his darkened fingers before turning and�to her outrage�wiping off the coal with one of her virgin-white handkerchiefs, the one she had held clasped to her breast in the angelic pose he had chosen for her sketch. She felt briefly avenged when he reached up to run a nervous hand through his pale hair, leaving a soot-coloured streak in his wake.
�Jack,� he said again when he considered himself presentable, his hand reaching down for the doorknob; �How did you get on here? I thought�I thought��
The words died on his lips as his blue eyes fell on something that made him freeze; irritated at being so casually ignored, Alice rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts as she attempted to peer around his shoulder to see this Jack that had so brazenly interrupted them.
�What happened?� Jason gasped, stepping backwards in wonder. A laugh forced itself from his throat. �Did you�did you actually swim here?�
�Er, a little bit�� she heard the boy answer, his voice bashful. Jason stared a little while longer whilst Alice silently manoeuvred herself to catch a glimpse of a dark, bowed head, water dripping steadily from cropped hair, over Jason�s tall shoulder. Jason guffawed at his reply, and Alice stamped her foot, annoyed that she was not the focus of the boys� combined attention. The sound of her heel slamming on the wood made the dripping boy raise his head, startled to discover her presence.
For the longest moment, the two of them stared at one another, unable to believe their eyes. Jack had never seen a redhead before; he�d always thought that hair ranged from very fair to very dark, with varying shades of browns and blonds in between; he had no idea that there were other colours to be had�blond, black and brown were the only options he was aware of�and yet, here stood a girl with hair the colour of the dying sun, and skin white as death.
Likewise, Alice had never before seen a child of his colour before�was he an Indian? She couldn�t be certain. Alice had spent nearly all of her short life in the small fishing town of Monimaskit; she had seen some of the better-off families keep black slaves and, like Jack with hair, she believed that the shadings of skin were limited; one could be very pale, like her, and if very unlucky, freckled. Skin could also turn temporarily red in the summer before peeling off to reveal layers of darkened, golden flesh; as Monimaskit was permanently overcast, this was the darkest Alice believed Englishmen could become. And on the other side of the spectrum were the blacks, the hides of whom were always the smooth, shining shade of varnished teak; and that, as far as Alice was concerned, was that.
But this boy�s skin was brown, smooth, golden brown; and because he was too dark to fit into her (extremely limited) definition of white, and far too pale to be black, Alice naturally viewed him with growing suspicion.
Jason, situated as he was between the two of them, could not fail to notice their mutual stares; his yellow head whipped from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until he had to stop and shake it for fear of growing dizzy.
Personally, he couldn�t understand why they were so fascinated with one another; being a Londoner, he had seen (even if he hadn�t socialised with) people with all kinds of hair, all shades of skin, unlike Alice, who would have viewed a swarthy Spaniard as exotic and strange. And it goes without saying that redheads weren�t unfamiliar to him. After another second of silence had passed, it suddenly dawned on Jason that the reason the strangers were so enthralled with one another was simply because they had yet to be introduced. Cursing his poor hosting skills, he stepped aside with a smile and politely invited the younger boy in.
Jack hovered in the doorway for a moment or two longer before nodding, whether to himself or in acceptance of Jason�s suggestion, neither blond nor redhead knew; at any rate, he did step over the threshold, a grey towel wrapped tightly about his shoulders, closing the door gently behind him.
Now it was down to Jason to take charge of the silent conversation; he was, naturally, very excited, as not only had he met Jack half an hour sooner than anticipated, but he was also about to introduce two people, something he had never done before. He couldn�t help but feel that by doing so, he would take one irreversible step closer to adulthood; and even though he had never performed an introduction before, Jason did know how it was done:
�Miss Carlisle,� he intoned, quite formally, almost pompously, �this is Mister�Master?�Mister Jack Teague; Mr Teague, Miss Alice Carlisle.�
Oh God, had he done that right? Jason couldn�t help but fret, his hands twisting nervously as two pairs of incredulous eyes turned on him. He smiled as they continued to stare at him, as bemused as though he had just uttered Arabic. And then Alice�s greyish eyes had turned from him to regard Jack thoughtfully, her hands pressed primly to her stomacher, white fingers neatly interlaced. Something about Jack must have met her approval, for she stretched out a hand, white and smooth as marble, smiling politely as she waited for the younger boy to accept it.
It goes without saying that Jack viewed the proffered digits with one of fear�s many cousins gnawing at his innards: gaucherie. What on earth did she want him to do? Hell, what was he expected to do? Social niceties were one of the few things Peter had yet to (or rather, attempt to) teach him; Mr Armistade�s reasoning was that Jack was too young to care for such triflings, and to be fair, the gentleman was right; but now, trapped in a cabin with Miss Alice Carlisle�s hand hovering expectantly under his nose, Jack found himself wishing that Mr Armistade hadn�t been so bloody understanding. Her long, white fingers and small, slender palm, outstretched as expectantly as they were, made his stomach squirm and intestines twitch.
�You�re supposed to kiss it.� It had been Alice Carlisle who had spoken, her voice bored and haughty; startled, Jack�s dark eyes darted up to see her own pale pair looking superciliously down her nose at him.
�Beg pardon?� he asked stupidly, and Alice flicked back her red hair and rolled her cold, rain-coloured eyes in exasperation.
�My hand,� she added, for clarity; �A gentleman would take my hand, bow down, and kiss my fingers.�
There was something about the whole idea of kissing a stranger�s hand that struck Jack as being particularly disgusting; and besides, Jack was beginning to find himself liking Miss Alice Carlisle less and less as the seconds dragged on.
�No,� he said, and she raised her dark, slightly red eyebrows.
��No�?� she repeated, her lips curling as though Jack had said something particularly stupid, or odd, or both. Beside them, Jason Armistade wrung his fingers and twitched nervously; as far as first introductions went, this, he was certain, was fast turning into one of the worse.
�No,� Jack repeated, more firmly than before. �I�m not going to kiss your hand, Miss Alice Carlisle; furthermore, I don�t want to kiss your hand. Why should I? I ain�t a gentleman. And besides,� he added, mimicking her disdain with a sniff so accurate that Jason smiled despite himself, �I�ve no way of knowing where your hands have been.�
Alice Carlisle�s jaw tightened even as her cheeks reddened, and she snatched her hand away with considerably less grace than she had offered it.
�How discourteous you are, Mr Teague,� she stated, and there was something about her voice, her words, her overall pomposity, that struck Jack as being very amusing; but he never had the chance to comment on it, let alone offer a witty repartee, for at that very moment came Mr Armistade�s steady footfalls and clear, ringing voice.
�Are you boys ready to disem�Oh!� he stopped, his eyes falling on Alice, whose arrogance immediately fell away from her even features as, half-scandalised, half-intrigued, she took in the wet, well-spoken gentleman whose brown feet were bare and whose eyes looked at her with polite inquisitiveness. �I suppose you must be Miss Carlisle,� he said instead, and Jason, after violently quelling the urge to leap into his father�s arms, slinked away to make room for his parent.
�Yes sir,� Alice answered meekly, jerking her head as she bobbed down into an unpractised curtsy; Jack couldn�t help but find her apparent clumsiness viciously vindicating. Peter smiled, reaching down to briefly clasp her fingers, and Jack saw, with much suppressed hilarity, that the gentleman made no attempt at kissing her skin; clearly Mr Armistade consider Alice Carlisle to be more of a girl than the lady she visibly believed herself to be. As luck would have it, Peter Armistade was considerably handsome enough for Alice to ignore this slight shortcoming; her free hand reached up to coquettishly cover her lips as she quietly giggled, the way she�d seen girls three or four years her senior do when greeted by their beaux; behind her, Jack and Jason exchanged confused, disbelieving looks, perplexed by her sudden change in demeanour.
�Captain Jennings�s niece, am I correct?� he queried, and she nodded again. In a gentler tone, he said softly, �I was very sorry to hear about your father; he was a good and honourable man.�
This time, Alice made no gesture at giggling or nodding or any other simpering mannerism; her blue-grey eyes remained firmly fixed on the floor, and her shoulders were so still that Jack believed she�d stopped breathing.
�Thank you, sir,� she said at last, and Peter, knowing he�d touched on a sensitive topic, merely nodded and drew her out of the cabin, away from the desk with its scrap of parchment and whittled charcoals, away from the two boys, one as fair as the other dark, who stood staring after the two of them.
�Captain Jennings has informed me that we�re all but ready to dock,� he threw back over his shoulder as he guided Alice towards the stairs. He paused mid-step, and hesitated.
�Jack?�
�Yes, Pe�Mr Armistade, sir?� Jack replied.
�You threw yourself into the sea.�
��Yees�?�
�And you�ve upset your mother.�
�Very probably,� Jack nodded cheerfully.
�So much so that she may just throttle you.�
�So?�
�To death.�
��Oh.� Jack�s spirits were noticeably damper than before.
�Have you any plans for avoiding this?�
There was a silence in which both Jason and Alice watched curiously as Jack jutted out his lower lip and furrowed his smooth forehead.
�I�ll simply pout and remind her how small and sweet and bouncy I am,� he declared, and Peter snorted.
�Yes, because that�s worked so well before.�
GigglesforJohnnyDepp: Ah, don�t we all, don�t we all? Thanks again for reviewing, and sorry for the wait; the next chapter will (hopefully) be up sooner!
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Petites Affaires