Jack; Yes, yes, yes. Back by popular demand.
Mungojerry; Ya sure 'bou' 'at?
Jack; Quiet, you. I happen to have a number of fans who keep asking for more. So if
you'll please keep your furry lips shut.
Mungojerry; Masta' o' th' empty threat.
Jack; Shut your pie hole.
Disclaimer (ooh, this part is always fun); Insert hyperspeed man talking about a bunch of legal crap, just like on the radio commercials. Okay, never mind. I don't own anything seen in PotC, or anything not seen (hee hee). I don't own Kevin McNally, Jack Davenport, Zoë Saldana or Jonathan Pryce. I definitely don't own any of the other lesser characters. I don't own Geoffrey Rush or Keira Knightley. I sure don't own Orlando Bloom, AKA Orly (what a dumb nickname). Unfortunately, my trio of snare drummers are missing from the picture (for those of you who remember my first story) but I do have a certain Muppet by name of Animal who is here with us today on the drum set. Say hello, Animal.
Animal; AAAAAHHHHHH! *BOOM-KU-KU-KU-GAK-KUDUDUDUUN- -CRASH*
Jack; Um … thanks for that. As I was saying … I don't own the divine, the nearly immortal, the gimoungously* talented ... (Animal begins to hack away at his drum set and scream incoherently.) –ahem- yeah, okay. Shut up, you - anyways, the magnet to women worldwide (say THAT five times fast), the incredibly Magnifique, the utterly intelligent, not to mention sexiest, (need I go on? Everyone knows whose name belongs at the end of this long list), the be— (Animal begins whacking away at the set again, a lot of orange fuzz blurring from all his head banging. Jack picks up Mungojerry and tosses the cat at the Muppet.) Take that! Ya wire controlled piece of colored felt. Ah, where was I? Ah yes. The beauteously remarkable, Johnny Depp! AKA Tanto's Giant Nuts... . Um, well. If you can tell me where THAT particular name comes from, then I'll really be impressed.
*Gimoungous Gigantic + Humongous = Gimoungous
(I also wave claim to any of the Dead Man's Chest stuff in this fic and actually, I didn't start using any DMC stuff until the end of chapter 10, even though there seem to be many a coincidence. I contribute it to being luck, like mind between the writers and me, and my taste for piracy. No, I do not own Stellan Skarsgard, Bill Nighy or Tom Hollander.)
Now for the other Disclaimer. I don't own Robin, Lizzy, or any of the other characters.
And without further ado, what you've been waiting (or not waiting) for ...
Pirates of the Caribbean; The Snake's Tongue and the Lost Blades
PART ONE: LA LANGUE DE SERPENTE
Prologue –The Homecoming
Libussa stirred her drink quickly while she leaned on her arm. She noticed a faint green tint to her grog, which made her curious as to what might be amiss with it. She looked into the glass and realized she'd accidentally stirred a calling pattern. She must have been really spacing to have done that without noticing. It was not a simple spell pattern.
She decided not to waste the energy being used to create the spell and took a gander in her tinted grog. What she saw was a bit shocking. Anyone else would be terrified to find pictures in their grog normally, but this was a superbly shocking sight to have Libussa, master of arcane, even at all moved.
It was a bird. A small brown and blue highlighted bird with forked tail feathers. The little bird was flitting about like normal birds do but it didn't see the danger just to its right. There was a snake a brilliant poison green color with eyes like red gems. It reared its head and opened its mouth, revealing pointed fangs that dripped a yellow liquid. The reptile lunged at the bird.
Libussa jumped, knocking her grog over. The liquid splashed over the table and caught a final image of the snake twisting around the bird before the liquid flashed and began to eat through the wood. What she could see of the grog was now a yellow color as if it had fallen from the very fangs of the snake.
…
BANG! Jack felt the small impact in his side and repressed a groan as he tried to ignore it. He had been sleeping peacefully for quite some time after a night of drinking and more. He really didn't want to get up right now.
He heard a small stifled snigger and knew Scarlette was awake and watching.
"Father, wake up!" a stubborn girl's voice demanded. "You promised! Come on! Get up!"
Jack merely grunted and rolled over onto his face. He heard the sound of impatient footsteps and an exasperated release of breath.
"Mother," the voice complained. "He won't get up. Make him get up."
"All right, I'm up!" Jack exclaimed. It was better to get up now than to have Scarlette wake him up. She was utterly cruel sometimes.
They were in the captain's cabin aboard The Black Pearl. It was the year 1769 and Jack and Scarlette were but a few hours away from Port Royal. They had not been there in five years. They had left just after the Seven Years War had concluded and had been pirating endlessly since then, collecting new and dangerous stories.
Sharon jumped off the bed and stood stubbornly with her arms crossed and feet planted firmly. "Hurry up!"
She had convinced Jack to teach her some harder moves in swordplay. She wanted to be able to beat her childhood friend Will Turner.
"I'm hurrying, child, now go out and wait for me. I'll be there in a minute." Sharon scampered outside, giving her father a warning look. She closed the cabin door behind her and Scarlette laughed loudly.
"It's amazing what control she has over you," she pointed out. "It's adorable."
Jack gave her one of those don't-say-another-word-about-it-or-I'll-have-you-for-breakfast looks. She only laughed at him. He slipped on a shirt and vest, cinching them at the waist with a beaten striped sash. He belted his sword sheath over them tightly, added a second, more ornamental belt, and checking to make sure his sword was attached.
Scarlette stood, dislodging the gargantuan cat that had adopted her some years back from her lap. The creature was convinced that she was his mother and followed her everywhere while on the ship. Scarlette smiled at Jack once she was free of the cat and while he was checking himself, tiptoed over to him, moving silently in stocking clad feet, her trousers and loose shirt making stealth easy. She made 'spider fingers' over his back and he jumped.
Her laughter was interrupted by Jack's smirk. She stopped immediately when she saw that particular look. He grinned even further when she started waving frantically. "No, no, I'm sorry. It was only a joke. Please don't. I'm sorry!" He picked her up at the waist and deposited his tiny wife up on the rafter shelf above the window.
She rolled into a ball. "There are spiders up here!"
"You asked for it," he answered cockily.
"I HATE spiders!"
"That makes two of us. Why don't you just jump?"
"Jump? I can't jump! One; It is ten feet to the ground and I might break a leg. Two; you know the ship needs new floorboards. It's been almost 25 years since this ship was last looked at. The floor is rotten! If I jump, the boards will break and I'll fall to my death." She quieted as a particularly large spider spun its way into her line of sight. She became very still, not daring to move, lest she upset it.
"Jack ..." she squeaked out of the corner of her mouth. "There's a big spider over here. You might want to let me down now."
He grinned rakishly and started towards the door. Scarlette yelped as the spider dropped from its web onto her leg. Jack opened the door and called back to her in a goading voice before leaving. "It's only about six feet, luv." Jack left the room and closed it before she had a chance to get down and start after him.
He met Sharon on the fore deck and pulled out his sword. "Are you ready, little one?"
«Bien sur, » she told him. «Mais, est-ce que tu as prête? »
"What did you say? Dammit! Why did I ever let Scarlette teach you French? I can't understand anything you just said! Ouch!" While Jack was complaining about his daughter's lapse of language, she struck out with her blade, almost hitting her father. He barely parried in time, giving her the riposte almost automatically, which she in turn parried. This went on for some time as a warm up. Jack rolled his shoulders back to prepare for the next part.
"Don't move," a threatening voice told him. He turned his eyes to the left and saw the blade almost against his neck. He turned to find Scarlette, her sword drawn. She had a dark look on her face.
"Down from the shelf, are we?" Jack asked her, grinning wildly again. He couldn't help it. Sharon stepped back to watch, knowing that the scene ensuing would most likely be great entertainment. Watching her parents fight would undoubtedly be more fun that learning new maneuvers.
"Why Mr. Sparrow. You should not be teasing me now," she told him in a faux sweet voice.
"And why is that?" he asked her with more confidence than necessary. "Is it that time of month?"
All the men on the ship that had stopped to watch the scene suddenly shook their heads, muttering on the stupidity of THAT particular question and continued on their duties.
"Not quite, dear," Scarlette muttered blandly, not missing a beat. "But I have a gift for you."
"Really?" Jack asked, genuinely surprised and immediately curious. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing really," she said nonchalantly, looking to the sky. "Nothing you'd be interested in."
"Now I'm really curious, luv," he admitted.
"Well …."
"Yes?"
"Here, I'll show you," she pulled out a small wooden box usually used for her jewelry.
"I am slightly suspicious by nature," Jack told her as he drew close enough to see the box. "What is it you have in that box?"
"It's a surprise," she pointed out blatantly. "I can't tell you what's in it because the surprise would be ruined. Don't you trust me?"
"Luv, trusting you is like trusting my female twin. It'd be a death wish."
"Ouch. I believe my feelings have been bruised."
Sharon was getting bored watching these two old people haggle over a box as if they were in a pawnshop. She yawned.
"Fine," he answered, sensing that he was losing the crowd's attention. "Let me have it."
"All right, but it's detailed so you'll have to get closer."
"All right, all right! Open the bloody box!"
"You asked for it, buddy," she shook the box for some reason and pulled off the wooden lid, flinging the contents of the box in Jack's direction.
"What the—" he began until he saw them. Three large spiders were airborne in his direction. Time seemed to slow down in which his eyes widened. He could see the individual eyes on the largest one, along with the moving mandibles that looked to him like the gates of Hell itself. Time resumed its normal pace and the spiders hit him one after the other.
Fwap, fwap, fwap! Jack stood for a moment, not wanting his men to see how terrified of spiders he was. Sharon and Scarlette were laughing in harmony … well, Scarlette was laughing. Sharon was giggling uncontrollably. One of the arachnids had landed on the edge of his collar and had already climbed partway up his neck. It reached the line of his jaw and lost its footing. Down it plummeted, but not to the ground. The spider slipped down the rough fabric of Jack's shirt, sliding along his darkly tanned chest.
Now, most people can handle the thought of touching something with gloves, but put in bare skin and they run screaming. Jack, to put it simply, freaked out. He ran about, trying to pick out the spider, who was attempting to escape by climbing up Jack's chest, sending him flailing even more with its tiny little claws scritch-scratching about on his tanned chest.
He climbed up on the railing and did a spectacular flop onto the water, his arms and legs wind milling like crazy.
"Guess he didn't have time to do his swan dive, eh?" Scarlette cracked. The men of the crew were in absolute hysterics. A rope ladder was thrown by Mr. Cotton and a sopping Jack climbed up from the Caribbean.
He grabbed his sword from where he'd dropped it and brandished the shiny blade in Scarlette's direction with an exotic and somewhat inebriated flair. She grinned almost as ferociously as he, and reciprocated the threat.
"Oh, boy," Gibbs muttered, trudging over to the helm. "Here we go again. One would think they were enemies … or siblings. Normal couples don't have world-renowned swordfights daily. Normal couples sit down and drink tea."
"More like rum, old friend," Jack corrected, lashing out at his wife, who parried without blinking.
"You sound like my dad," Scarlette added to Gibbs, feinting high and attacking low, while ducking under Jack's attempted mid swipe.
"I feel like yer dad. And his too."
He was cut off by a loud clang as the Sparrows ensued in yet another battle, more of wit and pride then of skill as a swordsman. While they were at it, Little Joaquin came up from below decks and watched with big eyes as his parents fought. He always got excited at the fights. He joined his sister at the railing.
Well, to say this was a fight to top all would be lying, for this happened just about every day. And it never stayed in one place.
About twenty minutes later, after chasing each other back and forth, Jack stopped and spoke in a playful but still challenging tone. "You fight like a dairy farmer."
"How appropriate," she countered. "You fight like a cow."
He grinned again and moved towards her. She jumped up and fled towards the fishnet rigging, climbing up the swinging ropes and hoisting herself into the crow's nest. She hadn't anticipated Jack following however.
He hopped into the nest as well and they had a stop and go fight around the beam in the center. Scarlette placed herself upwind so Jack had to contend with the merchant's jack being flown. The flag was whipping about and nearly blinding him.
She attempted to reach around and disarm him but lack of arm length gave her a disadvantage. He reached around and put a dagger in her sleeve, pinning her to the beam. He then disarmed her, the sword she'd been using falling point first and embedding itself in the deck directly in front of Gibbs. He gave Jack a dirty look and shook his fist.
Scarlette yanked at the dagger to no avail. It wouldn't budge. She leaned on it and the hole in the wood was forced to grow, lengthwise.
She wiggled it and pulled out the blade, brandishing the small dirk with a rather murderous fervor. Jack only laughed and advanced, sheathing his sword and catching her wrist. The dagger dropped to the bottom of the crow's nest and his hands moved to her waist. He bent over her in a threatening type way and she glanced down to the deck some thirty feet down as he pressed her to the edge of the nest suggestively.
"You wouldn't drop me would you?" she asked in a small voice, her hands on his chest, clutched in the fabric of his shirt.
"Maybe," he whispered, pulling her against him. She hissed.
"Cold! You're still all wet!" He grinned and hugged her tightly as she squealed. He picked her up under the knees and back and held her over the drop. She clung to him, only slightly afraid, not minding the wet so much anymore.
"Come on, Jack," she said nervously. "This isn't funny anymore. I'd say put me down, but you might take me literally."
He smiled silently at her and kissed her forehead. She relaxed a bit and he made a heaving motion with his arms. She nearly choked him in fear and grabbed him by a few dreadlocks for emphasis.
"Stop that!" she told him. "I won't let go if you do, you know."
"It's only payback, luv," he answered frankly.
"If I give up will you set me down?"
"Hmmm …."
"In the crow's nest, I mean?"
"Maybe …."
"What more do you want?"
"Hmmm …."
"Personal note. Never ask a maniacal pirate captain what he wants."
"You should take your own advice, darlin'," Jack told her.
"You win! Put me down ... IN THE NEST! Come on, Jack. Please? I promise I won't throw spiders on you anymore. It was your fault anyway. You put me up on that shelf again."
"Not my fault you lack in ... vertical stature."
"Shut up! It's not my fault you have a phobia of eight legged bugs. And you're not the epitome of willowy height, babe!"
"Well, in a way, it is your fault. You're the one who made the tarantula comment that night nearly eleven years ago while eating dinner in the Turner home."
"You remember that?"
"I remember. I also remember the time I tried to speak French to that inn keeper."
"Hey, I told you how to say the word. You need to not hold grudges for so long."
"Hey!" Anamaria shouted up at the bantering Sparrows. "You wanna get down here and get ready? We've arrived."
The Sparrows stopped looking at each other and looked around at the surrounding scenery. There was Port Royal, the last cay of a long string with its peak and ports. The Pearl was a few hundred yards from the dock.
Scarlette wriggled out of Jack's grasp and scaled down the rigging. Jack followed quickly. She walked into the cabin and stopped him when he tried to follow.
"I'm going to change, luv," she told him, speaking more out of habit than mocking. "You should go and recover that sword." She closed the door in his face and he shook his head.
Instead of complaining, he laughed shortly and retrieved the sword, waltzing right into the room. She would need his help getting into her dress anyways.
…
Somewhere in Port Royal, the Sparrows were being observed as they exited the Pearl. The voyeur laughed as he looked over each in turn. The small boy with his tight little plait of ebony hair and his large black eyes was too innocent looking. The girl, not much older was so much a blend of the two that she could not possibly be mistaken for anyone else's child, but she was not what he had in mind either. Too young.
He looked over the older ones, the main targets in his mind. Captain Jack Sparrow with his roguish charm would be a bit too large to tame for any length of time, not to mention, he was needed in a free but constrained state. Scarlette however, was a different story. She was petite and from what he saw was feminine. She wore a long satin dress made of a dark green though he could see the toe of a boot instead of slippers. She would be the ideal target. He wasn't much for terrorizing children and Jack would be too difficult.
If he had bothered to do his research on his targets, he might have reconsidered.
…
Well then. How do you like my return to grace eh? Just kidding. I had a difficult time writing my connecting details here. Maybe it's the weather. Or stress. I don't know. Maybe I can use the last story for school! As a work sample? No? Okay, never mind. It's not classroom appropriate anyway.
So this is how it's going to work. The first ten chapters are basically pure Langue de Serpent stuff … and from then on we get to have fun with Davy Jones and the lot.
P.S. Disclaimer to Monkey Island ™. Whoever knows why gets a prize unless your name is Heather Cook or Winter Gibbs.