Summary:
Companion fic to How My Perfect Life Was Inverted. The elusive enigma of Jack Sparrow's life is revealed as he searches for a clue leading to the treasure hoard of an unmarked island in the Pacific Ocean… Before his adversary can acquire the plunder and hijack whatever else happens to catch his fancy…AN:
The (mostly) darker side of How My Perfect Life Was Inverted; in a sense, the same story, but a different perspective and focus, and several chapters of back-story first which will put the chronology of this story way behind my other fanfic. Hope it's worth it though! This will be written in first-person but the PoV will mainly alternate between two people: Jack Sparrow and an OC, Andrew Wilson. There will be other perspectives, but the main one will be Jack's, obviously, with Andrew close behind. Basically the same scenarios from different points of view.Disclaimer:
I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean; that belongs to the multinational mouse machine. I do, however, own my take on Jack Sparrow's beginnings, the random scenes I've decided to place during the movie and all of the events set after. :PGentlemen And Rakes
Prologue:
A Matter Of Honesty (Jack's PoV)Wealth, however got in England makes
Lords of mechanics, gentlemen of rakes
—Daniel Defoe
People had always asked me, "How'd you stumble upon a life o' piracy, Jack?" either drunkenly or flirtatiously, depending on the gender of the enquirer and which way their sexual preferences swung. I'd always give him or her a sidelong glance; my lips would curl into a knowing smirk, I'd tip back my tankard (and sometimes, through sheer misjudgement, sputter it all out again), lean back on my chair (or stool, as the case may be) and, if the occasion would permit itself, prop my feet upon the table for good measure, and relate my entire life to the small crowd now gathered around me: a tale of intrigue, lust, courage, wit and greed to rival that damnable Robinson Crusoe everyone was gullible enough to take as fact.
What would come out, naturally, was utter bullshit. But it was elaborate bullshit, if I may say so myself, and more probable than the truth could ever be.
No one's ever interested in the truth.
Although, to be honest, I have tried honesty, but gave up when it became apparent that I would be considered a liar no matter what. I just lost faith in honesty; honesty was no longer my friend, no matter how desperately I fought to keep it that way. No really; I was as virtuous as a monk when I first set out to become a pirate.
Honestly.
And let's be honest; half the people who are interested are those I wouldn't turn my back to for three seconds, and as for those that I would… they just weren't interested. My few acquaintances were all just a bunch of self-involved bastards, no insult intended. Excepting Mr Gibbs, but even he preferred my tall tales to the mundane facts. And by the time I'd made my acquaintance with the man, my faith in truth was shattered, so either way it was a lose/lose situation.
All I'm really trying to say is that veracity is worthless to all but the Christian confessor. And even then he'd prefer you'd committed your seven deadly sins with malicious intent than as a case of weakness or misjudgement on your half. (Something about converting the largest number of depraved, debauched swine to the path of righteousness in a bid for sainthood.)
Why am I so cynical, you may ask? Exactly what terribly traumatic event could have befallen me that bred such distrust of the entire human race (and, dare I say it, certain furry, tree-climbing members of the animal kingdom)?
You think it'll be obvious, wouldn't you? Although I tend to keep the tale of Barbossa's backstabbing under wraps to all but a select few, hints of my undergoing a mutiny (although the identities of the principal mutineer and ship were somehow omitted) had in some way leaked out, and it was now a well-known fact that I had been marooned. However, with a reputation as ambiguous as my own, the reasons of why I had been sentenced to the worst of all of piracy's punishments varied from source to source. But returning to my question… Yes, the mutiny and what followed did shake up my faith in humanity to a considerable degree. But it wasn't Barbossa alone that had triggered my suspicion.
You see, Barbossa wasn't the true traitor in this little exploit of mine. It was someone else; a man I had know since childhood, a brother to me.
I hadn't told Joshamee Gibbs of his betrayal. Indeed, I hadn't even told anyone of his existence. Not until I knew for a fact that he was dead; not until I saw him take his last breath before my very eyes.
I'd never forgotten him: don't mistake me for a merciful man, for a man so gracious in his bearing, he would simply forgive and forget such a treachery as that which I had suffered.
I would have been satisfied in my knowledge that he would die a natural death if I had continued to believe that I would never lay eyes upon his perfidious form for as long as I lived.
As it was, I saw him this morning, just as I was leaving the Pint and Garter (one of Tortuga's many establishments of questionable repute). Or rather, attempting to (there were just some critters I couldn't bring myself to shoot, but I'll explain that later).
At this very moment in time, my mind was set on simply one thing: borrowing Anamaria's fishing dinghy. (With every intention of returning it to its rightful owner: what would I need with such a pathetic vessel when I've commandeered His Majesty's finest from Port Royal for my own less-than-patriotic ends?)
I wasn't surprised to see him with his arms around one of the Garter's more desirable whores; like me, he enjoyed the feel of a beautiful woman in his arms. Overhearing my struggle to escape the clutches of such an irresistible sentry, it was the strumpet who'd first appeared, scantily-clad, startled from sleep and looking just as alluring as the night before, if not more so. When my gaze returned to her for a second time after freeing myself from the human vice, I'd noticed the man behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and looking for all the world like a protective husband. I had the presence of mind to give her the most charming smile I could summon in a state of such rage and abhorrence before taking my leave of the happy couple and my aspiring sentinel.
Knowing him, he'd probably fancied himself to be in love with her. He fell in and out of love so very easily; usually with no harm done to either party. Unless his ardour was such that his fancy turned into obsession: deep, dark, consuming and absolutely destructive to all who were involved. I'd only seen it happen twice before. I pray to God that it won't happen again: the results weren't very pretty in either case.
I might occasionally come across as somewhat eccentric, but it was he who was the madman, Andrew Wilson. And believe me, I should know. I knew him better than anyone else did in the world.
Did you know that it was Andrew Wilson who was the true mutineer in that little catastrophe of ten years ago, not Barbossa?
It's amazing how omitting a person can change the account of my mutiny and marooning completely, isn't it?
x!x-
AN:
Well, this is all I've got so far; it shows the dark side of the little world I've created, which won't be appearing in How My Perfect Life Was Inverted until somewhere in the middle, towards the end. What do you think of it so far? It'll be set before, during, and mostly after the movie, but the parts set during the film will be "deleted scenes", as it were. Knowing me, I probably won't be updating until a fortnight or so; that's not too bad, is it?Review please!
