Yet another darling fan fiction based upon the brilliance of Terry Rossio
and Ted Whatshisname. First chapter does not quite pertain to any
relevance as of yet, the rating doesn't like to go up until we're well unto
the thickened plotline. I am not new to the adventures of Fanfiction.net,
but I am quite rusty. Please review and I shall be inclined to acquiesce
to any requests (depending on the request … ^^). Enjoy!
Author's Note: I do not own any content (characters, lines, scenes, etc.) that is from Disney Production's "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl".
An enticing dawn descended upon the dark horizon, a crimson flame seeping through the translucent clouds, and a sole ship broke the crystalline surface of the Caribbean. Humming a ridiculous tune out of the corner of his mouth, Captain Jack Sparrow found himself consulting the compass "that didn't point North".
"Mmhm," he stared at the seemingly broken needle as his right hand absently steered the ship.
Steps sounded from below, thudding against the stairway leading to the deck. His first mate, Anamaria's, mussed, brown head poked out from the opening. The morning beauty was broken by her harsh outcry in the stillness of dawn.
"Cap'n! Where're ye aimin' ter sail this time? Ye promised me an answer by the mornin's break."
Snapping the compass closed with an abrupt motion, Jack stared at the woman. Breaking into a toothy, er, gold-toothy, smile, he exclaimed, "Well, so I did! We'll be payin' some old friends a visit."
"Yer old friends or old friends?"
Eyes averted to the looming coastline, Jack grinned even wider – "Jus' old friends."
Port Royal
"Sir, I'll need a name and a shilling from you to keep this boat at dock," the dock quartermaster began.
Bending over to stare the plump, balding man in the eyes, Jack smiled roguishly and said, "How about five shillings and we forget the name?"
Looking flustered, the quartermaster stared at his African assistant, a boy of nigh twelve years old. The boy shrugged, with an excited look on his face. But the man continued, "I've done that before an –"
"Seven shillings?" Jack dangled a pouch precariously in front of the man's face. The quartermaster paused, as his assistant nodded enthusiastically in approval.
"Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Johnson," he said firmly, watching the pouch drop into his open book of names and ships. Pressing his hands together, Jack thanked the man while slowly walking away – backwards. When out of earshot, he turned around, laughed and muttered, "Old fool didn't even know that was his own purse!"
Keeping to the shadows, and evading the multitude of British soldiers that adorned the dock, Jack made his way towards the market area of the port. Hiding behind statues and wagons, and ducking into little niches, the rascal made his way towards a door with a sign of a hammer and an anvil on it. He grinned mischievously in déjà vu, as he slowly pushed the door open and entered stealthily.
The place had cleaned up considerably. The same sorry looking donkey stood quietly on the side, munching morosely upon musty hay. At least that snoring excuse for a drunk's gone. A 'thunk!' echoed behind him, and he spun around. Glancing at the dirty, snoring man in the chair, he sighed. I suppose some things ne'er change.
There seemed to be a larger collection of swords on the rack, gleaming brilliantly in the dying sunlight that spilled through the edges around the windows. Int'restin'. He pulled one from the rack, and as he did so, he felt a menacing object touch his shoulder.
"You're the one they're looking for."
Turning around, Jack found himself staring straight into Will Turner's smirking face. The blacksmith's eyes danced lightly in the fading light, as his hand clutched a glimmering blade. Stepping backwards, Jack ran the length of his own blade down the other.
"Do you think it wise, boy – crossing blades with a pirate?" He smiled with a smirk that equally matched his opponent's.
He lunged at Will, swirling an arc of flashing steel into the air, and the fight began. Parry, lunge, deflect, lunge – they swept throughout the room, metal clashing with metal, smirks on both the men's faces.
"So – d'ye still practice three hours a day with these things?" Jack shouted between attacks.
Will laughed as he replied, "Course I do!" Moving quickly to dodge the pirate's blow at his right shoulder, "Maybe not three hours – but I practice all the same!"
"Good to know ye haven't abandoned Mrs. Turner for a singing profession as a eunuch!" Jack grunted, as he evaded the donkey. "How is your bonnie lass, anyways?"
"She's fine! A little cantankerous as of late, but fine!"
Jack spun around and knocked Will off balance, directing the tip of his blade at the boy's neck. Looking down at Will, an impish grin playing upon his lips. "Why? The goods of a pirate turned blacksmith aren't good enough?"
Will turned a heated red, "No."
Jack reached out a hand and pulled the younger man to his feet.
"Good to see ye again, Will. I hope ye aren' as aggressive with Mrs. Turner as ye are with swordplay."
Will sniggered. "Good to see you, too. How fare the whores on Tortuga?"
Jack rumpled his companion's hair. "Ye haven' changed, Will – some things in this world need t'stay as they are. Let's get us a drink, shall we?"
Author's Note: I do not own any content (characters, lines, scenes, etc.) that is from Disney Production's "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl".
An enticing dawn descended upon the dark horizon, a crimson flame seeping through the translucent clouds, and a sole ship broke the crystalline surface of the Caribbean. Humming a ridiculous tune out of the corner of his mouth, Captain Jack Sparrow found himself consulting the compass "that didn't point North".
"Mmhm," he stared at the seemingly broken needle as his right hand absently steered the ship.
Steps sounded from below, thudding against the stairway leading to the deck. His first mate, Anamaria's, mussed, brown head poked out from the opening. The morning beauty was broken by her harsh outcry in the stillness of dawn.
"Cap'n! Where're ye aimin' ter sail this time? Ye promised me an answer by the mornin's break."
Snapping the compass closed with an abrupt motion, Jack stared at the woman. Breaking into a toothy, er, gold-toothy, smile, he exclaimed, "Well, so I did! We'll be payin' some old friends a visit."
"Yer old friends or old friends?"
Eyes averted to the looming coastline, Jack grinned even wider – "Jus' old friends."
Port Royal
"Sir, I'll need a name and a shilling from you to keep this boat at dock," the dock quartermaster began.
Bending over to stare the plump, balding man in the eyes, Jack smiled roguishly and said, "How about five shillings and we forget the name?"
Looking flustered, the quartermaster stared at his African assistant, a boy of nigh twelve years old. The boy shrugged, with an excited look on his face. But the man continued, "I've done that before an –"
"Seven shillings?" Jack dangled a pouch precariously in front of the man's face. The quartermaster paused, as his assistant nodded enthusiastically in approval.
"Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Johnson," he said firmly, watching the pouch drop into his open book of names and ships. Pressing his hands together, Jack thanked the man while slowly walking away – backwards. When out of earshot, he turned around, laughed and muttered, "Old fool didn't even know that was his own purse!"
Keeping to the shadows, and evading the multitude of British soldiers that adorned the dock, Jack made his way towards the market area of the port. Hiding behind statues and wagons, and ducking into little niches, the rascal made his way towards a door with a sign of a hammer and an anvil on it. He grinned mischievously in déjà vu, as he slowly pushed the door open and entered stealthily.
The place had cleaned up considerably. The same sorry looking donkey stood quietly on the side, munching morosely upon musty hay. At least that snoring excuse for a drunk's gone. A 'thunk!' echoed behind him, and he spun around. Glancing at the dirty, snoring man in the chair, he sighed. I suppose some things ne'er change.
There seemed to be a larger collection of swords on the rack, gleaming brilliantly in the dying sunlight that spilled through the edges around the windows. Int'restin'. He pulled one from the rack, and as he did so, he felt a menacing object touch his shoulder.
"You're the one they're looking for."
Turning around, Jack found himself staring straight into Will Turner's smirking face. The blacksmith's eyes danced lightly in the fading light, as his hand clutched a glimmering blade. Stepping backwards, Jack ran the length of his own blade down the other.
"Do you think it wise, boy – crossing blades with a pirate?" He smiled with a smirk that equally matched his opponent's.
He lunged at Will, swirling an arc of flashing steel into the air, and the fight began. Parry, lunge, deflect, lunge – they swept throughout the room, metal clashing with metal, smirks on both the men's faces.
"So – d'ye still practice three hours a day with these things?" Jack shouted between attacks.
Will laughed as he replied, "Course I do!" Moving quickly to dodge the pirate's blow at his right shoulder, "Maybe not three hours – but I practice all the same!"
"Good to know ye haven't abandoned Mrs. Turner for a singing profession as a eunuch!" Jack grunted, as he evaded the donkey. "How is your bonnie lass, anyways?"
"She's fine! A little cantankerous as of late, but fine!"
Jack spun around and knocked Will off balance, directing the tip of his blade at the boy's neck. Looking down at Will, an impish grin playing upon his lips. "Why? The goods of a pirate turned blacksmith aren't good enough?"
Will turned a heated red, "No."
Jack reached out a hand and pulled the younger man to his feet.
"Good to see ye again, Will. I hope ye aren' as aggressive with Mrs. Turner as ye are with swordplay."
Will sniggered. "Good to see you, too. How fare the whores on Tortuga?"
Jack rumpled his companion's hair. "Ye haven' changed, Will – some things in this world need t'stay as they are. Let's get us a drink, shall we?"