The Universe's Mixer

Mel ducked.

"This is like that time with Urkonn," she said, crouching lower. "And the girders."

She made a face at her Watcher. "Why do you all have to throw things at me?!"

She swept her leg out and kicked away her attacker--a newly-risen vampire--while something else whizzed by her left ear. She kicked again, harder, and the vampire fell back, shaking its head to clear it.

"Seriously." Kick. "Wes." Kick. "Thought you'd be..." Twirl of scythe. "I don't know." Vampire charge. "More..." Slice, slash, stake.

"Creative. Or something."

She smiled. And ducked again.

Captain Sparrow found himself hard pressed to remember the last time he'd seen his first mate.

He knew he had one.
He knew she was tallish. And curvy. And Amazon-like. And a good cook. And her name was Zoe.

But he could not remember the last time he'd actually seen her. On the ship. Where she technically lived. And should, technically, work. It's not like the ship was going anywhere, but there was such a thing as courtesy.

Jack didn't stay on the Pearl all the time, either. He roamed about, frequenting bars, visiting the female companion or two, trying to find his friend Karen, occasionally perhaps wondering about Hannibal or someone else he'd met. He always came back, though.

A floorboard creaked behind him now as he opened the door to his quarters, and without thought, Jack removed the pistol from his pocket, drew it, and turned to face the person or thing that created the squeak.

"Ah," Jack said, a pleased smile spreading across his face. "Not a good idea to shoot the first mate." He thought of Barbosa. And grimaced. "Never does end well."

"Mistress Washburn, what kept you?"