1. Anamaria was actually pretty good at stealing ships. When she commandeered the Gull, she snuck her out of port under the eyes of the harbormaster, the original owners, and a brace of royal marines without anyone the wiser.
Sparrow only had to steal the Gull from her, which hadn't been nearly as hard back when she trusted the bastard.
2. They sailed the Gull together all the way to Singapore, where the one public house they found where they were able to successfully order a drink was run by an expatriate Englishwoman named Marion. Anamaria was never quite able to recollect, after the fact, exactly who had started off the three-way drinking contest. It may even have been her.
Everything was incredibly blurry by the time Sparrow fell off his chair, but Anamaria distinctly remembered Marion leaning over his prostrate form and saying, with careful enunciation, "Never try to out-drink a Russian sapphist."
Something in that sentence sounded distinctly wrong. "You're not Russian," Anamaria said when she finally figured out what.
Marion grinned. "For all you know," she said.
"Right," Anamaria said, and resolutely downed the last shot of vodka that she remembered that night.
3. "I am in the process of dying," Sparrow said from his curled-up position in the prow the next day. "Get your own damn ship ready."
Anamaria gritted her teeth and continued doing just that. "Next time," she said, "tell me before you cheat the harbormaster, all right?"
"I don't speak the language," Sparrow complained. "And I need rum."
She got them underway before anyone took a shot at them, took them out to open water, and tied the rudder in place before vomiting over the side. As Sparrow refused to move for the rest of the day, she considered that more than her fair share of responsibility.
4. The first time they met, actually, Anamaria had already figured out that as a woman on board she had to prove herself twice to any other man aboard, and as a negro woman she had to prove herself four times over. So when Sparrow made a crack about wanting to see her sword handling she'd drawn on him before he finished the sentence.
He stared at her for a moment, then took a couple steps backward and drew his own sword. She let him make the first move, then sprung. Parry, riposte, lock, sweep. Jack's sword was on the deck within seconds.
"Goodness," he said, then smiled. "Remind me never to fight you fair."
She snorted and re-sheathed her own blade. "Remind me never to let you have a chance."
5. She had him over the barrels of rum in the hold because it put his arse on more or less the right level. With her right hand she dug fingers into his hip, and with her left she steadied the wooden phallus she'd harnessed to her own body.
He made all kinds of gratifying noises as she thrust into him, and every time he started to get a little too anxious, she pressed deep inside him and held still until he subsided. After the third or fourth time she'd done this he shouted, "Damnation, don't you ever get tired of that?"
She laughed. "I've gotten mine a few times already," she said. "I can continue for as long as I like."
"Anamaria," he pleaded, "I am going to die of this."
She leaned forward and pressed her face to the sweating curve of his back, smirking against his skin. Then she re-settled her feet and started rocking again, in and out, every thrust grinding the base of the phallus deliciously against her sex. Jack braced his knees against the barrel and started straining upwards to meet each of her thrusts, making high keening noises in the back of his throat, reaching down to rub at his prick as she continued to drive her toy into him.
Finally his moans turned into full-throated gasps, and then cries. She closed her eyes and thrust harder, faster, until the tingling in her sex spread into rolling waves of pleasure, one after the other fanning out and flaring into bright, brilliant pulses of joy.
"All right," Sparrow finally admitted when he had his breath back, "I don't believe I've ever had the patience to get a bloke to feel that."