AN: Wow two new stories in one night....freaky. Well this isn't an original idea (are there any?) But oh well. Takes place well before the movie. FYI
Dedication: To Norah! The Goddess of Imaginary (I heart Evanescence okay?) and of Imagery. She came up with this idea for the Moulin Rouge fandom and has generously allowed me to write a Pirates Version. So I think you all should read her version, Seven, her ff.net name is Black Tangled Heart. She is the most awesome writer in the world. Though she is under the foolish impression that I am better. Modest nay?
And without any further adieu......
The Sea and the Sin
Part 1: Barbossa
------------------------------------
The lowest circles of Hell are reserved for mutineers and betrayers. The fire and brimstone would enveloped each and everyone one of us in their burning arms.
I can smell that sulfur as I hold the one thing that bring me comfort in these days.
A shiny green apple.
I know that it cannot be sulfur that I smell, no more than it can be the soft scent of the apple. The curse will not allow me to process any of them; it wont let me sate any of my desires whether it be lust, hunger, or thirst.
But the curse cannot sieve off any of the pressing anger that surrounds my like a cloud o'er my ship during a particularly violent squall. That is all that I can feel anymore.
I cannot even seem to feel the juice that bleeds from the apple in my hand as my nail carve into the skin. I tend to not even realize the force that I can carry in my hand when I cannot feel the textures of any item that I carry in them. No wonder many of the apples in my fruit bowl have deep wounds in their hides.
Those coins striped everything from me.
They took my sensations, my senses.
They took my life and now I deteriorate while I cannot die.
In the moonlight they took my skin.
They took my crew. Jack's crew. My crew.
I seem to have two places reserved for me in those bowels of Hell. I led that mutiny and I betrayed Jack. Strange, I can still see the expression on that damned fool's face as the mutiny happened and the realization dawned.
I felt only a sharp stab of anger at those wide, surprised eyes as I held the cutlass to his neck. This man, this fool thought he could lead us, he thought that he could command us with his harebrained schemes and talks of 'opportune' moments. That man was never a true pirate. But he did have an air of charisma that made people lose their wits and inspire blind following in their weak minds. But all that charisma did was make me hate him.
The longer we stayed on the Pearl under that sod, the fury swelled like a vicious wave inside of me. Jack would swagger around topside, acting as he was constantly riding on a bottle of rum, turn his gaze on a sailor and they'd do his bidding,
None more than that blasted Turner. I still couldn't believe that he agreed to the mutiny in the beginning. Though I suspect that it was under the threat of Bo' sun's fist.
Watching Turner follow Sparrow like some little lost puppy antagonized me to no end. Sometimes the feeling grew so large that I could barely restrained my urge to throttle him 'til his head would unhinge itself from his shoulders.
I got my revenge, aye I did.
The anger abated like the tide for a while as I watched Sparrow's pet sink down into the inky darkness. It faded like that only one time prior. When I personally shoved Jack off the side of my ship, with both hands and feet bound.
I'm sure he was dead before he could even think of using that pistol I gave him. I only gave it to him to add weight and quicken his bloody descent.
But the red fury roared back in my ears when more information was revealed about the curse that had befallen us. We needed Sparrow's dog to lift the curse for us. But now his child was in possession of the coin and the blood.
I can't even feel the apple's stickiness, though its juices coat my gnarled hands. I can stare at my hands and wonder.
They don't look starved. Nor filled with the anger that replaces blood in my veins.
They simply look like an old seadog's weather beaten hands, filed with deep ridges. Each line with their own story. Old hands that have stolen life from countless of men. Now just simply covered in a poor mangled apple's blood.
Those hands will become bones under the moonlight. And the veins that store my anger will rot away. But the anger will still be there. Perhaps the rage is embedded deeper than I had previously perceived.
Meanwhile, our search continues for Turner's child and my only respite is that Jack is unable to stir the old anger with those pitiful eyes.
Only when Hell's fire chars the skin covering them and boil all blood away and cinder the bones beneath that, will my anger finally be sated.
Dedication: To Norah! The Goddess of Imaginary (I heart Evanescence okay?) and of Imagery. She came up with this idea for the Moulin Rouge fandom and has generously allowed me to write a Pirates Version. So I think you all should read her version, Seven, her ff.net name is Black Tangled Heart. She is the most awesome writer in the world. Though she is under the foolish impression that I am better. Modest nay?
And without any further adieu......
The Sea and the Sin
Part 1: Barbossa
------------------------------------
The lowest circles of Hell are reserved for mutineers and betrayers. The fire and brimstone would enveloped each and everyone one of us in their burning arms.
I can smell that sulfur as I hold the one thing that bring me comfort in these days.
A shiny green apple.
I know that it cannot be sulfur that I smell, no more than it can be the soft scent of the apple. The curse will not allow me to process any of them; it wont let me sate any of my desires whether it be lust, hunger, or thirst.
But the curse cannot sieve off any of the pressing anger that surrounds my like a cloud o'er my ship during a particularly violent squall. That is all that I can feel anymore.
I cannot even seem to feel the juice that bleeds from the apple in my hand as my nail carve into the skin. I tend to not even realize the force that I can carry in my hand when I cannot feel the textures of any item that I carry in them. No wonder many of the apples in my fruit bowl have deep wounds in their hides.
Those coins striped everything from me.
They took my sensations, my senses.
They took my life and now I deteriorate while I cannot die.
In the moonlight they took my skin.
They took my crew. Jack's crew. My crew.
I seem to have two places reserved for me in those bowels of Hell. I led that mutiny and I betrayed Jack. Strange, I can still see the expression on that damned fool's face as the mutiny happened and the realization dawned.
I felt only a sharp stab of anger at those wide, surprised eyes as I held the cutlass to his neck. This man, this fool thought he could lead us, he thought that he could command us with his harebrained schemes and talks of 'opportune' moments. That man was never a true pirate. But he did have an air of charisma that made people lose their wits and inspire blind following in their weak minds. But all that charisma did was make me hate him.
The longer we stayed on the Pearl under that sod, the fury swelled like a vicious wave inside of me. Jack would swagger around topside, acting as he was constantly riding on a bottle of rum, turn his gaze on a sailor and they'd do his bidding,
None more than that blasted Turner. I still couldn't believe that he agreed to the mutiny in the beginning. Though I suspect that it was under the threat of Bo' sun's fist.
Watching Turner follow Sparrow like some little lost puppy antagonized me to no end. Sometimes the feeling grew so large that I could barely restrained my urge to throttle him 'til his head would unhinge itself from his shoulders.
I got my revenge, aye I did.
The anger abated like the tide for a while as I watched Sparrow's pet sink down into the inky darkness. It faded like that only one time prior. When I personally shoved Jack off the side of my ship, with both hands and feet bound.
I'm sure he was dead before he could even think of using that pistol I gave him. I only gave it to him to add weight and quicken his bloody descent.
But the red fury roared back in my ears when more information was revealed about the curse that had befallen us. We needed Sparrow's dog to lift the curse for us. But now his child was in possession of the coin and the blood.
I can't even feel the apple's stickiness, though its juices coat my gnarled hands. I can stare at my hands and wonder.
They don't look starved. Nor filled with the anger that replaces blood in my veins.
They simply look like an old seadog's weather beaten hands, filed with deep ridges. Each line with their own story. Old hands that have stolen life from countless of men. Now just simply covered in a poor mangled apple's blood.
Those hands will become bones under the moonlight. And the veins that store my anger will rot away. But the anger will still be there. Perhaps the rage is embedded deeper than I had previously perceived.
Meanwhile, our search continues for Turner's child and my only respite is that Jack is unable to stir the old anger with those pitiful eyes.
Only when Hell's fire chars the skin covering them and boil all blood away and cinder the bones beneath that, will my anger finally be sated.
