James Norrington stumbled (for stumbling inquires a man is not certain of what he is doing) down the dark and trodden path that led to the tavern. Likewise, Sparrow paralleled him on an opposite road. His feet were in a firm march and only a hood devoured his face. James was completely concealed.

James entered. He approached the barman and he received a key. And he walked up the steps.

A few moments later, Jack entered. He approached the barman and he received a key. And he walked up the steps.

The rooms each entered differed only in that they were directly beside each other. Each contained a crude bed with a single nightstand and thick maroon curtains filled with dust an evening for which a shilling they could spend the night and do what they pleased with the woman who contaminated the room yet even further.

James' girl, he imagined, would be quite plump and disgustingly wretched and would hold all of the characteristics of a stereotypical woman of her status. Her breasts would spill over her "gown" and her makeup would be dramatically overdone. What he found, however, was much different. Her pale face was specked with only a splash of rouge. Her hair dangled thinly in its poor up-do and her dress was for more conservative than he might've imagined. As he twisted the knob of the door, she had immediately begun undressing with a shocked expression doubting her young beauty. He was just as surprised as she to find such a specimen behind the doors which belonged to his key- the key that seemed much too large to grasp in his already large hands.

Jack deserved the experienced woman with a blooming chest and a mass of curls that tumbled over her thick head. He appreciated the woman with the extravagant legs and with the extra weight around her middle. The idea was so familiar to him. He approached her the second his foot stepped inside. And he was the one who took to undressing her.

James entered her. Each second panged harder with guilt at his heart and the moments leading up to it. He could not continue. Her eyes were tightly clenched and she showed no emotion aside from resistance. Instead, he lay beside her.

She eyed him with curiosity but she did not speak until his lips parted first.

"What's your name," he questioned her. His eyes were hungry for answers and she found it intriguing.

"Melanie." Her weak voice was soft and his ear strained to decipher what she had said. But he was intent and patient and he had finally solved it. He found she was only seventeen, a victim of lost parents and poverty. 'As any other whore,' he thought. She opened her story to him, expressed her grief of her profession and of the hardships she faced. She felt, somewhere deep inside him, his ability to feel. And as she wept, he held her, allowed for her teardrops to stain his coat. He quietly listened to her words, enveloped her tears and cherished her ability to trust him. He played his role well. When he left, say give or take seven hours after Sparrow, he left her a surplus of money and his address if she needed a hand. And he held her a final time with geniality and an open mind. Yes, he imagined, she was capable of savior and this he was determined to offer her.

And Jack's? She appropriately spread her legs. And he had his pleasure and he slapped her a wet kiss upon her cheek as he left. But oh, she would remember him alright. He and his loving that could make a girl go crazy.