Author's Note – I wrote this story while my younger sister (some may know her as fanfic authoress Sweetlilbee) was in the shower and while I was supposed to be working on a chapter for another story. Muaha.

Curly, this one's for you and all our crazy-haired, degu-escaping, DDR-exhausting, jumping-out-from-behind-closed-doors, finding-you-anywhere-in-the-house-and-sneezing-on-you adventures.

Pirates do bathe, you know. They just don't do it very often.

Why not?

Well, because there are often consequences. For instance:

Observe the stout and noble-hearted Gibbs preparing for his bath. The water he has fetched is ready and warm, and has filled the tub up just to his liking. He has drawn the aged but still useful curtain about his bath in one private corner of the deck, so that he might continue to enjoy the full fresh air and the wide blue sky of a summer afternoon in the Caribbean. He has a sliver or two of fragrant soap – a smell unseemly in large doses but useful in cleaning masses of hair and facial hair – and a soft cloth to run over his sun-and-wind-hardened skin.

Curtain drawn, he shirks his skivvies and, one foot and the other, eases himself slowly into the water. His entrance causes only the smallest amount of water to flow up and over the lip of the tub – pirates are ever at home in the waters – and he becomes the picture of contentment. As many can attest to, there is a certain difference between the far-away warmth lent by an overhead sun and the all-encompassing and bone-penetrating warmth of being immersed in a lovely bath. As such, it is not long before Gibbs has relaxed completely with his arms causally resting on either tub edge and his head to the chin the sole parts of him above the water. His eyes close serenely.

Had Gibbs' eyes been open, he surely would have seen the grisly shadows cast on the bathing curtain by the waving tentacles that approached him from behind. As it was, he remained unaware of them until they crept down over the top of the encircling curtain and settled, slick and icy-cold, on his bare chest in the water.

Observe Gibbs fleeing with a bellow over the open deck with his bare bottom winking in the afternoon sun, and Captain Jack Sparrow's roar of laughter behind the curtain as he withdraws his octopus tentacles on sticks.

Now observe the brave and valiant William Turner preparing for his bath. William is certainly not a fool. He will also enjoy his bath in the open air and under the open afternoon sky, but he was among those who watched Gibbs with glee the afternoon before and will not be had in the same way. He draws his water, too, so piping hot that it nearly makes the filling-pots unbearable to touch, but he places the tub instead by the deck-railing, so that he might only be snuck up on in one direction. It is this direction that he faces as he settles himself into the water. Clearly, he has taken precautions.

William Turner begins the careful ritual of bathing, beginning with his often-booted feet and working up to the glory that is his hair. Rich and scented oil – traded from a place that no member of the crew can seem to remember – is rubbed vigorously between his palms before it is applied to his hair, which truly is a marvel for remaining so full-bodied and sleek in spite of the merciless salt and unrelenting winds …

So run William Turner's thoughts as he washes his hair in the tub that he has taken care to guard from all manner of harm. But if he had perhaps been paying more attention, he might have caught the muted chuckles of the crew members that were not so far away, and certainly would have caught the whistling-through-the-air of two newly airborne squid carcasses that were bound for his bathtub. As it was, he remained unaware of them until they land with heavy squelches, one across his chest and the other atop his head.

Observe Will's strangled yelp and leaping up (inadvertently over the deck railing) and the water thrown up by his landing below, and Captain Jack Sparrow's roar of laughter from the forecastle deck alongside his roughly made slingshot.

Lastly, observe the kohl-lined and sultry Captain Jack Sparrow himself preparing for a bath in the same clawed-footed tub.

…

…

Oh – sorry. Observed for a moment too long, did I? Sorry, sorry.

Ahem. Yes. Jack Sparrow.

And we know that Jack Sparrow is not a fool – no, he will not fall so easily for trickery involving deceased sea-creature parts – and so he is content to have his bath in the middle of the deck with the curtain drawn. Nothing can frighten him so much as to force his departure from such a warm haven in the open air and under the afternoon sky. The water fills the tub to the brim with him inside, his braided beard sways idly in the steaming water, and his now clean and ringed fingers are linked with the utmost calm behind his head. His trademark hat has been readjusted to sit over his face and block out the sun. Clearly, he is in no need of precautions.

It is unfortunate for the Captain that Gibbs and William Turner are also well aware that Jack Sparrow is no fool, and so do not waste theirs nor the reader's time with frivolous attempts that are sure to fail. No, they do not try anything so foolish (though some might call it creative) as to deploy aquatic creature parts against him.

Observe that instead, they employ the whole of the crew. And, while Jack dozes and soaks in the sun and the warm water, they quietly haul the tub to the edge of the deck and throw the whole of the thing overboard.

As I said, when pirates bathe, there are often consequences.