Based On: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Humor/Drama
Title: Guilt Trip
Rating: T/PG-13
Summary: Cotton takes Jack on a first class guilt trip after he accidentally kills his parrot. Prequel to "Work is for Chumps."
Author's Note: Anything in bold/italic type represents Cotton's thoughts.

I can't believe you'd do this to me!

Cotton was publishing flashcards frantically before Jack Sparrow; the older sailor sniffling pitifully over the loss of his beloved parrot.

You cheeky, arrogant…

Jack cringed.

smug, devilishly handsome…

Jack's grin dissipated as Cotton scowled something awful in his general direction.

selfish, charming…

Cotton's eyes danced venomously as he raised his hand, flipping the final flashcard over with a gallant flick of wrist.

"Ninny!" was scrawled across the less than pristine surface of the tear stained flashcard in huge evil-looking letters stamped aloud and screaming in red ink. Jack winced, shrinking back into the solace of his worn jacket as Cotton began to weep aggressively, clutching at his garments and falling to the deck where he curled into the fetal position. Jack, being the comforting sort, cautiously picked his way past the quivering heap of man, who at this point was unfortunately parked in front of his cabin.

"Come on, man, it's not that bad!"

Cotton glanced up at the captain hopefully for a moment, wiping away his tears with one balled up fist.

"He's up to birdy heaven now, mate." Piped Jack, flamboyantly fluttering jeweled fingers toward the sky, and winked, adding, "Lot's of pretty ladies up there."

Cotton immediately curled up again as one shaking hand held up another, albeit, soaked flashcard.

He's gone to hell!

"Oh, no! Not parrot HELL!" Jack nearly keeled over with the force of his shout, "Anything but parrot hell!"

Cotton's eyes welled up, giving Sparrow (that scoundrel) only seconds to flee the violent waterworks. Anamaria, however, had other ideas as she grabbed him by the ear, pulling him to the corner and, being the adamant mistress that she was, proceeded to poke him repeatedly, I might add, between the third and fourth ribs on his "fighting hand side," as he liked to refer to his right side as.

"Ouch, woman! That arm is good for more than fighting!"

"Jack, it was your ribs I was poking, you twit!" and with those loving words of encouragement wrapped in sweet nothings, Anamaria viciously slapped her suitor upside the head.

"Ouch, woman!" cried Jack, hopping to and fro, clutching his head and muttering obscenities as Anamaria (the wench) dared to crack a smile.

"You call me 'woman' one more time and I…"

"You'll what…" cue cheeky smile, "woman?"

Anamaria growled something fierce before making to slap her fiend again; however, Jack, having gained an ounce of common sense since the last physical assault, sidestepped his enraged 'woman', barely missing the airborne missile that was her hand. Now, what Jack failed to notice was that he was perilously close to the section of his ship where the railing had been removed to make way for Cotton's parrot's memorial session. So, much to Anamaria's delight and Jack's pure, unadulterated horror, he lost what was left of his hazy balance and tumbled backwards off the side of his own ship. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen a captain fall off his own vessel, but let's just say it doesn't do your reputation as 'the most fearsome pirate in the entire ocean' very much good.

"Now, Jack Sparrow, you are not allowed aboard my ship until you agree and swear upon your life that you'll get Cotton a new parrot!" shouted Anamaria as she gleefully (and sadistically) watched a wet Sparrow bob up and down in the sea below. Jack frowned; it's my bloody ship! Mine, mine, MINE!

"Alright!" he bellowed, feeling the sinking pitch in the pit of his belly, "But I have no money!"

Anamaria silently pondered his declaration for a moment, drawing Gibbs, the Pearl's accountant, and Cotton, the baleful victim, aside.

"What do you think, Gibbs?"

"Aye, Jack has no money."


Make Jack my parrot.

"Cotton, you sadistic ba...!"

Better yet, make him my monkey.

"Cotton, monkeys don't talk."

"Well, they can if you…"



"Shut it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cotton's eyes lit up maliciously at the thought of making Jack his manslave, Anamaria trying her best not to squeal and banishing the temptation to shoot the old coot dead on the spot. Her eyes sparkled, mouth dropping agape as the best idea in the history of best ideas popped into her head.

"Let's get him a job!" quipped Anamaria, announcing her proposal with an enormously giddy air. Gibbs remained silent for a moment, allowing the not so horrid scheme to implant itself in his mind.

"Where will he work? No one wants a dirty, filthy, mangy…"


"Hairy, evil, stupid…"

"Shut it, Gibbs." Growled Anamaria, rubbing her hands together as yet another plan formed in the darkest recesses of her mind, "Jack will get a job," she purred, "And I know just the place."