An Aladdin/Pirates of the Caribbean crossover
Based on an idea by Hourglass
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Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting
The morning fog descended upon the ship “Sirocco”, homeward bound from a spice trade in India. Alone upon the bow, there stood a girl, no older than six of age. Despite her trappings of European-inspired fashion, she was clearly a beauty from the Arabian Peninsula with her deep tan skin, a ponytail of raven hair, and coffee-brown eyes. Upon her lips, there was a song, one she had learned from sailors on her father’s trips abroad.
Oh, I come from a land, from a far away place
Where the caravan camels roam
Where they cut off your ear
If they don’t like your face
It’s barbaric but hey, it’s home...
As she sang her song in the fog, the young girl wore the appearance of a wispy sea dryad; one that sailors believe would lure them to a watery grave with her song.
When the wind’s from the East
And the sun’s from the West
And the sand in the glass is right
Come on down, stop on by
Hop a carpet and fly
To another Arabian nigh-
Her song interrupted by the touch of a heavy hand upon her tiny shoulder, she turned and saw the stern face of a sailor.
“Miss Jasmine, I would stop singing,” he chided, “if I were you. These be pirate waters and they swarm like sharks when they hear singing.”
“Sailor, that would be all,” said the low, rumbling voice belonging to Lieutenant Rasoul, a formidable-looking man.
“She was singing to the pirates,” the sailor pointed to Jasmine. “Mark my words; we’re just begging to be attacked in these waters.”
“Consider them marked,” Rasoul replied, gruffly. “Return to your post.”
The sailor walked away from Rasoul and Jasmine, grumbling beneath his breath. “Bad luck to have a woman aboard, especially a miniature one.”
Jasmine stuck her tongue out, upon overhearing, but a reprimanding glare from Rasoul stuck it back in.
“Your father worries about you, taking you along,” the lieutenant said to Jasmine as he took her by the hand and escorted her along the deck. “Merely out of safety, with these threats and these degenerates and their talk of pirates filling your head.”
“Actually,” Jasmine replied brightly, “I think it’s all fascinating.”
“That’s what he’s worried about.” Suddenly, the whistle blew and the grip upon the girl’s hand was lifted as Rasoul ran to meet the call of the Captain. Jasmine sighed, boredom setting in. She leaned against the railing, staring down into the water.
Suddenly, her eye caught something floating in the water. No, not something. Someone!
“Hey!” she screamed. “There’s a boy in the water!” The rumbling of feet running and the shouts of three sailors could be heard as they quickly lowered a longboat and paddled up to the figure floating upon a barrel. When they emerged back onto the deck, they set down a small boy upon the deck in front of Jasmine. One called out an order to get the Captain when the bosun’s whistle could be heard. Black smoke could be seen overhead.
“Stay with him,” one of the sailors said to Jasmine as he ran off. “If he wakes up, inform either your father or one of the commanding officers.”
Kneeling down, Jasmine inspected the boy. He was about year older than she was. His complexion was that of an Arabian youth though his attire was a mish-mash of Hindi and Arab fashion. However, what caught her eye was a medallion, the sole fine accessory on this child’s body, peering from under his shirt. She reached towards it when his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. She jumped back as the boy released his grip.
“Are you all right?” Jasmine asked, worry in her tone. “What’s your name?”
“A-Aladdin al Ababwa,” the boy slurred. He looked at Jasmine, eyes wide. “Are you one of my seven virgins?”
Jasmine blushed, unsure of how to react. She sighed, shaking her head. “No, I’m Jasmine and you’re on the ‘Sirocco’.”
Aladdin smiled as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Seeing her chance, she pulled out the medallion and, upon inspecting it, an expression of shock appeared on her face. The tribal face upon that coin had reminded her of a picture in a book, the description recalling the symbols of pirates who ruled the East coast of Africa and its islands.
“You’re a pirate.”
Suddenly, the treading of feet upon the deck could be heard and she stashed the medallion into her bodice. She looked up and saw the gentle round face of her father, looking down on her.
“Jasmine, dear, how’s the boy?” he asked, warmly.
“He’s resting,” Jasmine replied. “He said his name was Aladdin al Ababwa.”
“Ah, I see. I can imagine he would be relieved to be among friends. Poor boy, to be a lone survivor.”
“What?” Jasmine stood up. “Was there an accident? It has something to do with the smoke?”
“Dear, you don’t need to worry yourself,” her father placed his soft, pudgy hands upon her shoulders. “He needs all of the care you can give now.”
Jasmine frowned slightly, defeated, but looking at Aladdin, she managed a smile.
“That’s my girl.” The graying man chuckled warmly when a soldier came and hurried him along.
“al Malik, you and your daughter must return to your quarters. Orders from the Captain.”
“Yes, yes. Come along, Jasmine-” He turned to his daughter, but found that she had run off. “Jasmine? Jasmine!”
Dodging the sailors, Jasmine made her way to the bow, a great smoldering wreck of a ship laid in front of her. She gasped at the sight. She scanned the wreckage floating by when she saw it.
A ship of black, right down to the sails, was sailing away, flying a banner of dark blue and gold.
Ten years later...
Jasmine laid in her bed, restless from a dream. She sat up, her diaphanous nightdress clinging to her curvy form, and walked to her vanity. Opening up a box, she pulled out a piece of finery that was in desperate need of dusting. It stared back with its tribal façade as she clasped it on and looked at it in the mirror. Suddenly, a knock came upon the door and Jasmine quickly tucked it into her cleavage and hurried back into her bed.
“Come in,” she called out to those at the door who, when they opened the door, turned out to be her father, rotund and jovial, along with two maids bearing a parcel which she eyed immediately. “Good morning. What’s the occasion?”
“Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter?” al Malik chuckled as Jasmine got up from her bed and walked towards the maid bearing the parcel. Her eyes became lit with interest as she pulled out a Mantua-styled dress in a very pale lavender floral design.
“It’s gorgeous,” Jasmine replied, “but am I allowed to wear it?” European trade relations had introduced strange customs into the city of Agrabah, along with fashion such as these. Hamed al Malik, a merchant as well as the governor of this city, was delighted by these customs and this was often reflected on the gifts he gave his daughter, however strange or inappropriate.
“Oh, yes,” he answered as Jasmine and the two maids ducked behind a changing screen. “In fact, I was hoping you could wear it to Captain Rasoul’s promotion ceremony or Admiral Rasoul, as it is now.”
“I knew it,” Jasmine sighed as she took off her nightdress and allowed the maids to dress her in the strange undergarments, including a peculiar vest that cinched her tiny waist further.
“I believe that dress is all the rage in Europe.”
“European women must have learned not to breathe,” Jasmine groaned as they tightened her up.
Downstairs, Aladdin al Ababwa stood in the foyer, holding a quickly wrapped package. He rubbed the back of his heel with his other foot. He didn’t like wearing shoes. Since childhood, he had grown accustomed to being barefoot. In the forge where he worked, he was barefoot as well though common sense would tell him otherwise. Boredom descending upon him, he turned to the torch fixtures upon the wall. He tugged on it and, to his surprise, it broke off. A conviently placed vase covered up his deed, placing the fixture into the vase. Aladdin smiled as a servant passed by.
“Young al Ababwa,” al Malik called as he descended the stairs, “I see you have our parcel.”
Aladdin nodded and unwrapped the cloth, revealing an elegant. al Malik inspected it, enthralled by the inlaid gems and intricate calligraphic incisions in the hilt.
“It is made from a combination of steel and iron,” Aladdin explained. “Tempered to be lightweight but retains balance and strength.” With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the sword and grabbed it from the air with great fluidity.
“My,” al Malik gasped, astonished as Aladdin handed him the sword, “it’s quite a beauty. Give your master my compliments.”
The smile of pride Aladdin had dissolved as he bowed his head. “Y-yes. A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work praised.”
“Aladdin,” Jasmine said as she walked down the stairs, the fabric of her dress rustling. Aladdin looked up and smiled. “So good to see you.”
“Miss al Malik,” the youth replied, looking starry-eyed as Jasmine approached, uncomfortable in her gown.
“How many times must I ask for you to call me ‘Jasmine’?” Jasmine said, playfully.
“At least once more, Miss al Malik,” Aladdin replied. Jasmine chuckled softly when she heard her father clearing his throat.
“Ah, Jasmine,” he said, the doorman opening the door, “the ceremony starts soon. We best get a move on.”
“Yes, Father,” Jasmine replied. She curtseyed for Aladdin and walked out, followed by her father. Aladdin watched as Jasmine and Hamed al Malik climbed into the cab and disappeared into the crowded streets of Agrabah.
“Good day, Jasmine,” Aladdin said quietly.
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