Title: Death.
Fandom:Pirates of the Caribbean.
Characters: Jack Sparrow.
Rating: R.
Gerne: Humor.
Notes: To make up for the last drabble... for Zoe, who's being a dear and editing some of my novel. XD See dear? He ain't dead.
Death.
Being dead, Jack Sparrow decided after a moment, was terribly boring.
Oh sure, getting killed wasn't boring. It was actually pretty darn painful. Teeth here, acid there... he was actually glad he didn't need to eat, eating reminded him of digesting. Digesting reminded him of not nice things and since he didn't like not nice things, he didn't think about eating.
He shuddered.
What he liked to think about was rum, though. Of course, being dead as he was and being where he was - never mind he didn't know where he was - there was no rum, but that was mostly fine, he remembered rum and that was enough.
Rum reminded him of a blonde, an island and a dance, and that was aggravating.
He didn't think about, much less remembered, a certain kiss. Nope, he wasn't going to think about it, oh no. He wasn't going to think about lips that moved softly and harshly on his, lips that could smile and frown and grimace and smirk at him.
He wasn't thinking about her, at all.
He didn't think about the gleeful knowledge of being right. Mostly because being right had gotten him eaten, bitten and digested, but it has been established those were not nice things and he wasn't thinking about it. He liked being right, but he would have liked to be alive to enjoy being right.
He wasn't worried about her, either.
Being dead was boring, nothing to drink, nothing to fight... but at least he didn't have to worry about not so ladylike wenches that enjoyed kissing him to death. Literally. There were no blondes around, either... of course, there were no nothings around, but that was not the point. The point was... was...
Oh bugger.
Jack Sparrow was dead, bored and annoyed.
And rum deprived.
"When I get my hands on you, Elizabeth Swann..." He muttered distractedly, watching a bit of nothing pass by, "When I get my hands on you-"
He paused, then blinked. He wasn't sure what he was going to do... but he was going to do something, darn it. Something to get even, yeah, that sounded good. But without sea monsters and digesting bits. He was a good man, after all.
He floated around some more. Some how, he felt a bit disappointed by Death. Oh sure, it was a bitch to get killed, not nice and all, but it was lacking something. No flaming torment for him - not that he missed that - but no glorious chants or angels flying around... to tell the truth, it was pretty plain and... unimpressive. He wondered, for a moment, what would Elizabeth do in such a situation, then scowled darkly for thinking about her, then sulked about her, then finally sighed and stared at nothing some more.
But goddamn it, wasn't it boring to be dead.
Then he decided, he would stick around - not that he could really go anywhere else - and wait for a certain blonde who owed him an apology - 'um, sorry, you know, for throwing you head first into a sea monster's throat' - some rum - '...rescue signal?' - and a victory dance - 'I told you so!'.
He would wait for the lady pirate - snort - and then tell her a few things.
But not because he missed her or something.
And he certainly was not worried about her.
Not at all.
...he hoped Elizabeth would hurry up dying of something not too painful - no angry sea monsters, at all - so he could tell her what he thought about her.
Jack Sparrow sighed theatrically.
"I want rum."