Hey everybody,

Yeah, I'm doing a new story. Sparrow or Swann is done, so I'm bored. Let me tell you something: I HATE my story On The Run. It's now deleted. So I'm doing this one. Hope you like it!

Love,

SSM ;)

Oh yeah: Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates Of The Caribbean. So please don't sue me, I only get ten bucks a week as it is.

oOo

I waited behind the old desk, trying to ignore the sounds of shrieks and giggles coming from the numerous amounts of bedrooms behind me.

A clearly drunken man staggered into the room and draped himself over my desk.

"Who's 'ere, love?" He drawled at me. I wrinkled up my nose at the smell of alcohol on his breath. He was obviously stone drunk. A fine bead of drool slipped its way out of his mouth and splattered onto my desk. I considered refusing him acsess to the girls, but the words of my boss flowed into my head.

"Never turn down a willing, paying customer."

I studied the list in front of me. "Um… Scarlet, Clara, Nicole, Mary, Janet, Beth and Kim." I replied.

"You're not going ta spread your pretty little legs for me, are ya darlin'?" The man slurred.

"Sorry Mr Johnston, not tonight." I answered, smiling through gritted teeth.

He gave me a smirk. "I'll 'ave Scarlet then."

"A fine choice Mr Johnston, I'll go get her for you."

I pulled myself up from my chair and strode over to the back room where the whores waited for their next job. I slunk around the other girls, pruning and preening themselves in front of the mirrors that lined the room, and wandered up to the thin blonde girl Mr Johnston had requested.

"You've got a job, Scarlet." I said, watching her swipe herself with a brush with enough eye shadow on it to sink most of the boats in Tortuga.

"Who?" She asked carelessly, applying white powder from a little case to cover up the fine wrinkles that lined her face.

"Mr Johnston. Your favorite customer."

She groaned, slamming down the little case and causing powder to blow up and settle on the table, giving the impression that it had snowed. "You've gotta be kiddin' me, Charlotte. That man can't go for six hours without a shag. He better pay well."

She rose and gave me a shove out of the way. "Let's get on with it then. What room's free?"

"Number seven."

"Alright. Send 'im in."

She sauntered off, pulling the neckline of her dress as low as it could go.

I rolled my eyes and went back to the desk, where Mr Johnston was having a conversation with my inkbottle.

"So, how 'as the weather been?" He slurred to it.

I bit my lip and sat down in the seat. "Scarlet's in room seven, Mr Johnston."

That took a few seconds to register. He looked at me cluelessly, his eyes not really focusing. "Oh." He finally answered. "I'll go now."

As soon as he staggered off, I lay down on the desk, cradling my head in my arms. I haven't always worked at 'The Wilted Rose'. Far from it. I lived in Port Royal, with my four sisters, for my entire life. I'm the youngest. My mother died when I was around eight, and I think I was the most effected by it. The twins, Dianne and Debra where eighteen at the time, and both had already married. Dianne had even had her first child. Suzanne was sixteen, and was busy flirting with the boys she found while working in the local pub, and Anne, who was just fourteen, was always down in the docks, chatting to the men in the Navy. I was the one who was still attached to my mother, in that little girl way. I guess I dealt with it by going down to the streets and seeing how many items I could steal.

Needless to say, my sisters all married and I was still fooling around in the streets. Father got fed up. On my nineteenth birthday, Father told me that I was promised to Mr Benjamin Baker. Mr Baker was… nice… as nice as a forty seven year old man could be. He was Father's best friend. They grew up together. I found that a little bit scary that my future children's father was the same age as my Father.

I ran away. I took my life savings and bought a ride on the first trader's ship I could see in the dock. It just so happened he was headed for Tortuga. And here I am, one year later. I managed to get the job as the receptionist at one of the brothels in town. I'm not saying I'm the Virgin Mary, I have had some jobs. But I'd like to think of myself not as a prostitute. Everyone else is free to call me what they want. But all I'm saying is that I only do it when I'm despite for a bit of cash. I manage to pay for a five-shilling-a-week room in one of the pubs around the corner, and that leaves me five shillings a week to get what food I can. It's surprising how much food I can buy with that. If I get the bread from the day before, I can make my pay stretch.

I haven't heard from my family since I left. Not that they know where I am. I could just see Father's face if he knew I was working in a brothel…

" 'Ello? Are ya deaf, little missy? I've been here for at least a minute, tryin' ta get ya attention. I'll say it one more time: Can. I. Get. A. Girl?"

I blinked at the man who stood in front of me, looking agitated. "I'm so sorry, sir. Let me go get someone for you." I stammered, getting up quickly and rushing over to the back room.

My life had certainly changed. And it was about to change again.