"If every island were like this one, no man would ever feel unwanted."
Orlando bounced impatiently on his seat in the hotel lobby, wondering if that statement applied to his current surroundings. He couldn't wait to find out. Where the hell was Johnny anyway?
The answer became apparent when a dark figure swayed precariously down the wide stairs from the lift.
"Been sampling the delights of the mini-bar, have we?" Orlando asked, jumping up to catch Johnny's arm. If he sat down, they might never get going again.
"There's some luverly local rum in there, you know," said Johnny, in Jack Sparrow's ridiculous accent. "'S really good. Ver' smooth."
Johnny was weaving a little as they left the hotel, pulling Orlando along with his uneven progress. Orlando was starting to think they weren't going to get very far.
But Johnny perked up when he saw the bright lights of the strip of bars and shops outside the hotel. He set off walking fast, in an almost-straight line. Orlando had to run to catch up. Still, at least there was no nancing this time. Orlando thought he'd have to cross the street and pretend not to know Johnny if he started that in public.
"Where are we going?" he asked plaintively, as they hurried past bar after bar. "I'm thirsty!"
"Course you are," said Captain Jack. "But we're after the best, and the best isn't always easy to find. Aaaaaaah, but we might be in luck."
Orlando followed his gaze, which was fixed on a scruffy straw hut. There were no bright lights or loud music to attract customers, but there were a few people sitting against the wall, with bottles in their hands. Orlando could just make out some more customers inside.
Johnny pulled Orlando over to the hut, and pushed him firmly to the floor.
"You wait there, m'boy. This is a man's job."
The hiccup as Johnny departed was silent, but it was definitely there. Oh help.
Orlando thought, not for the first time, that there was such a thing as getting TOO far into character. Especially a character with such a ridiculous accent. But nobody would ever dare to say such a thing to the great Johnny Depp, and Orlando certainly wasn't brave enough to do so.
He thought fondly of Viggo, who had stoically endured being teased for getting so closely in touch with his inner Aragorn. It was all so different on this film; business-like, distant. He'd invited Johnny out for a drink in an effort to narrow that distance. He'd been quite surprised when the invitation was accepted, but he certainly wasn't going to change his mind.
This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind, though, if Orlando was honest with himself. The spot Johnny had chosen for him was well away from the other customers, and Orlando felt rather silly sitting there by himself. But nobody seemed to be looking twice at him, so he settled comfortably back against the wall. At least they weren't charging about any more.
Johnny reappeared eventually, with a bottle and two glasses. Orlando took them off him as he flopped to the ground. He didn't want his long-awaited drink poured all over the sand.
He poured a generous half-glass of the murky golden liquid for himself, and rather less for Johnny.
"I've a lot of catching up to do," he announced, forestalling Johnny's plaintive comment.
They lifted their glasses and drank simultaneously. And proceeded with the coughing, spluttering and eye-watering simultaneously too. Orlando REALLY wished he hadn't swallowed quite so much in one go.
"God, that's good," he muttered, as Johnny nodded agreement and reached for a top-up.
It took them less than an hour to get through the whole bottle, much to the amusement of the other customers. Orlando had to restrain his co-star from procuring another one. He had an early call the next day, and he had a feeling it was going to be quite difficult finding the hotel again as it was.
They swayed gently down the main street, trying to lean on one another and falling in a heap at regular intervals. Johnny was trying to sing the pirate song, but he couldn't remember any of the words. Except "Really bad eggs." So he sang that. Over and over and over, with no discernible tune.
Orlando sighed, and wished he could tell Johnny to shut up. But that just wasn't the done thing, and he had no wish to jeopardise his position on the movie. He knew what was good for his career, even after half a bottle of rum. He held his tongue.
They staggered into the hotel. Orlando was relieved to recognise the carpet in the lobby; at least they were in the right building.
Johnny wouldn't let him go back to his own room. Instead, he pulled Orlando by the arm until he'd followed Johnny into his suite. His capacity for speech being rather limited, the explanation was along the lines of "More rum. Good rum. Rum good."
Oh God. Johnny was poking around in the mini-bar for ages. Actually, it wasn't a very mini mini-bar at all. Orlando felt a bit of a jolt at the contrast with his own room, with the small fridge and noisy ceiling fan.
Eventually, Johnny turned and looked beseechingly at Orlando.
"But where has the rum gone?"
"You drank it, Captain Sparrow." Orlando couldn't seem to stop giggling at Johnny's perfect parody of himself. He pointed to the empty bottle on the table.
Johnny stood still for a second, wobbling slightly.
"Your room. Your room will have rum."
He strode over to Orlando, pulling his arm again until he stood up. Orlando wasn't entirely sure his room WOULD have any rum, but that didn't seem to qualify as grounds for an argument about it. There was a brief moment of panic about the state he'd left the place in. But when they finally found the right door, he was relieved to see that the maid had been in and tidied up.
Johnny sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. Unfortunately, he missed, and ended up in a giggly heap on the floor.
Orlando ran to help him up.
"Where's the rum?" Johnny asked blearily, as Orlando settled him carefully on the edge of the bed.
"It's gone," he said firmly.
They stared at each other for a second, knowing it had to come out in unison.
"But WHY is the rum gone?"
Orlando was the only one to follow it up with hysterical laughter. Johnny had already keeled over and passed out on the bed.