Back at her usual place behind the counter, Isabel began an "attempt" at cleaning up the barstand...somewhat, anyway. She sighed, picking up a dirty rag that had earlier been thrown aside, and started wiping away the spilt rum, along with odd tidbits whose origin she didn't want to find out. A loud *thwack* rang out suddenly, and she nonchalantly looked up in the direction of the noise, expecting perhaps another brawl or something of the like. What she actually saw was that strange, bejeweled man with matted black hair teetering precariously on his chair as if he had just been slapped. Which indeed he had, she deducted as she spotted a thin, golden haired strumpet walking away in a huff. Isabel giggled, despite herself.
"Who'd o' thought he'd show up 'ere, eh?" came a voice from behind. Isabel rolled her eyes when she felt a masculine pair of hands grab her waist and shrugged them off in a rather bored manner.
"Who d'ye mean?" She looked up briefly from her work. Griffin nodded over towards where the man and woman were sitting.
"That bloke there, Jack Sparra', o' course."
Isabel gave a tiny start. That...that was Jack Sparrow? The infamous Jack Sparrow that everyone knew and talked about? The one who was a feared legend throughout the entire Caribbean? She blinked, looking him over again from afar, and couldn't help but give a little snort of disbelief.
"You're drunk aren't ya?" she asked Griffin, raising an eyebrow.
"No more 'an usual," he grinned. Isabel bit her lower lip, wondering if that swaggering man, who by all appearances seemed to be drunk, was truly the Jack Sparrow she'd heard of all this time. Giving a little shrug, she shooed Griffin away, telling him about some new whore the owner had contracted not long before, and began walking toward a noisy table where a man was yelling about needing more rum.
She couldn't help a weary sigh.