A/N: Be gentle, guys. I've never written fanfiction for movies before. Things to announce:
1) I love the idea of a young Captain Jack Sparrow
2) I love the idea of a young Captain Jack Sparrow annoyed
3) I love playing with words
Capische?
Let the games begin!
***Chapter One***
The deck of the ship was not the smartest place for Evan 'Wallop' Jenkins to get drunk. It was the most common, however, which is the reason that, on this particular morning, he was slumped against the rail, limbs outstretched, with what he could have sworn was the worst hangover since...Hell, at least yesterday. A particularly fierce swell of the ocean made Wallop groan and hold an arm up to shield his eyes, and then vicious tilt in the opposite direction made the same arm fly to clutch at his stomach. This motion was not noticed by any other member of the crew, all of which was devoted to its early-morning routine.
The notion that the deck of the ship was not the smartest place to pass out drunk was derived from the fact that if one is lying there, one is almost certainly underfoot, which may not be such a substantial problem on the open ocean, but when the ship is currently docked, it is even less of a brilliant maneuver to lie right in front of the door leading to the interior of the ship. Wallop discovered this truth when, quite suddenly, the door to his left swung open and hit him in the side.
Orly, who still held the door open while Wallop ducked to the side of the boat and retched into the ocean, laughed and greeted him, "Mornin', Wallop! Have a good drink las' night?"
"Couldn't you have used the *other* door?" Wallop asked, irritated, wiping his mouth.
"Not this morning." Orly drew himself up importantly. Having spent six months in the British Royal Navy before turning pirate, he had acquired some peculiar traits. One of said traits was that he felt the need to announce anything of significance, or, at least, what had been deemed significant on his former ship. This was why, at this point, he bellowed to the crew, "Cap'n on deck!" Then he shoved Wallop a few feet to make way.
A few of the crew turned to watch the Captain emerge, but, seeing as the Captain spent most of his time on deck while awake, it was really nothing special for him to come out of his cabin in the morning. If nothing else, the men manning the Black Pearl were nonchalant when it came to standard procedure.
Orly stood to the side of the door, heels of his boots pressed together, back ramrod-straight, in what would have been the perfect imitation of a member of the Navy had he not been filthy and clad in ratty old clothes.
Then Captain Jack Sparrow swaggered through the door, eyes focused upward, admiring the gorgeous blue sky and silken white clouds. Stopping after a few feet, he closed his eyes and took a good, long sniff of the sea air--and *that* was when he finally looked to the figure at the toes of his boots.
"Sir," greeted Wallop, holding one hand over his eyes while the other tossed off a salute. Sparrow rolled his eyes as if to say 'you spoiled my entrance,' and stepped over the crewman. Then he strode to the rail, resting his hands on it, and looked into the port that beckoned.
"D'you know why they call it 'la Vache'[1]?" Sparrow queried of his first mate, Barbossa, who'd just come pacing out after him. The pair had spent most of the previous night deliberating on two topics: 1) how they were going to acquire what they were searching for at la Vache, and 2) how many goblets of wine they could drink before one started flirting with the other. [2]
Barbossa came forward to the rail, rubbing a temple. "No."
"How many times do I hafta tell ya, mate, to understand the locals you hafta *understand* the locals," Sparrow declared.
"Don' wanna speak French. Itsa sissy language," slurred Barbossa, leaning onto the rail and staring out at the dock. He was regretting his decision to drink last night. While nowhere near senile, he was old enough to feel the consequences of the consumption of alcohol a great deal more strongly than his Captain, who was apparently feeling no ill effects.
Shooting him a look, Sparrow said, "Look, you never hear me *speaking* the language. It just helps to *understand* it, is all."[3]
After a pause, slightly longer than usual due to the sluggishness of Barbossa's thought that morning, the reply came. "Why do they call it 'la Vache'?"
"'Cos no one 'Vache'-s theirselves, so it smells like a big dead cow."[4] Sparrow smiled at his own joke, then called out to the nearest crewmember--Orly--to gather some men and lower the gangplank. Turning back to Barbossa and seeing the puzzled look on the first mate's face, he told him, "And that's why you gotta learn the language."
Once the gangplank was set, Sparrow and Barbossa went about their predetermined duties: the Captain was to head into town with a rather difficult mission, while Barbossa stayed near the dock to resupply the ship (they were short on food, and, due to Sparrow's no-kill policy, had been unable to rob the most recent ship they'd plundered of its supplies, lest that crew starve to death). So as Captain Sparrow swaggered down and along the dock, Barbossa sat down, holding his head, and began ordering people about.
The marketplace was bustling and bright, and the Captain found it quite easy to blend in with the locals by merely pulling his hat down over his eyes and making sure his sword and pistol remained hidden. As he trudged his way through the crowd of stalls and patrons, he snatched a few berries from a stand on his right, popping them into his mouth one at a time. When he reached a promising-looking vendor (i.e. one that didn't look too hostile), he questioned him as to where he could find the person he was seeking. Receiving a quick answer and a curious look, he spotted the place at the far end of the street, thanked the vendor, and headed towards it.
A nondescript little shack in a dirty corner was the destination. Sparrow lifted the filthy piece of material covering the entrance and peered inside. The place was rank, and a good deal larger than it appeared from the outside. Stepping through the entranceway, Sparrow was greeted with a harsh, "Who are you and what's your business?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack told the large Jamaican, "and I've come to barter with you. If that's not too much trouble," he said, smiling jokingly.
"Sparrow, eh?" rumbled the man.
"Call me Jack, if it pleases."
"Well, *Jack,*" he chuckled thunderingly, "m'name's Ponto Cordone, but most call me Cord. What brings such a high-blown man as yerself here? I've heard stories, y'know. Youngest pirate Captain since...well, ever, I suppose," he laughed. "How old are ya, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?"
"Twenty-five," answered Jack tightly, seating himself carefully on the least muck-encrusted stretch of ground.
"Naw! Really? Lemme give ya some advice, son," Cord leaned in a bit too close, allowing his hot breath to flow over Jack's eyebrows, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "Grow a beard." He laughed raucously, leaning back again, much to Jack's relief. Jack waited patiently until Cord quieted down. "So what'cha come to barter for?"
"I've heard tell," Jack started, feigning indifference, "that you've got a key that'll open any door in the world. Thought it sounded int'resting, so I stopped by."
"Oh? Where'd you hear that?" asked the Jamaican just as casually.
"I forget," said Jack a bit more intensely.
"And what do ya got to barter for it, eh?" Cord expected some token that wasn't worth a dime; something befitting the youngest pirate Captain since ever. So, naturally, he was surprised when the gold-plated Charm of Chrysalis emerged from Jack's pocket. A noise of wonder escaped Cord's lips. "No...it can't be."
"It can be, and it is," Jack held out the artifact for inspection. "Will you trade?"
After leaning in as close to the trinket as he could without poking his own eye out, Cord looked up at Jack. "Yeah, I'll trade. Here." Reaching behind his large mass, he revealed from a stained box a small parcel. From this he shook out into Jack's hand a large blue jewel, the color of the sky on a perfect day. This Sparrow examined quite closely--it was about the size of a small coin around, and it was carved and faceted into a point, much like a diamond. After a long moment, he asked, still staring at the jewel,
"This is a key?"
"Trust to it, boy, it's a key all right." Cord had long since stowed the Charm of Chrysalis.
"How does it work?"
"Ya hafta say a rhyme to open a door wit' it."
Jack finally looked up from the jewel, pocketing it and staring into Cord's wide face. "A rhyme?"
"_Twenty gents stood up to greet
A wounded whale before their feet.
And in its final exhalation
Came this, and then the sad cessation._"
There were a bit too many long words in there for Jack's liking. "Repeat that?" Cord did. "And that's supposed to take me through any door."
"Any door in the world."
"How?"
"See fer yerself, boy." Cord's thick index finger extended, and he pointed to the floor next to Jack's leg. The jewel rested in plain sight, where it would have fallen had Jack's pocket had a hole in it. A quick reassurance that the cloth in his pocket was solid was enough to convince Jack that Cord was either very skilled at pickpocketing, or that he had a genuine article on his hands. The jewel disappeared into his pocket once again.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Cord," Jack said, then got the Hell out of that malodorous shack.
Cord's laughter rumbled after him.
"Twenty gents stood for a whale," murmured Sparrow to himself as he strode into the market again, hand in his pocket, turning the jewel over and over between his fingers. "No, that's not it. Uh--Twenty gents stood up to meet a hefty whale upon their feet...no, no..." Then he spotted a group of British soldiers patrolling the square, awkwardly carrying their rifles and searching the crowd with their eyes. "No..." Sparrow strolled up to them, concealing his weapons.
"What are you fine gentlemen doing out this morning? Not that it's any of my business..."
"It's--it's the public's right to know," one of the soldiers informed him, then turned to his companions, asking them doubtfully, "isn't it?"
"Yeah," said another soldier. "Yeah, they've a right to know. So, uh," he turned to the last soldier, "why'n't you tell 'im, Larry?" When Larry didn't answer, the soldier nudged him.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, we're looking for a pirate we heard was comin' into town to start some trouble, we heard."
Jack's brow creased. "What pirate would that be, men?"
"We 'eard...tell 'im what we 'eard, Larry," the soldier nudged Larry again.
"Huh? Yeah, yeah. We heard some young bloke was gonna come start somethin', so our Sargeant sent us out here, he did. Told us we could use some trainin' up. Yeah."
"Larry!" Larry was once again jabbed in the ribs with an elbow. "You wasn't supposed to tell people we're training."
"Oh? Why not?"
"S'bad luck."
"Well, thank you, you've been very helpful," Jack interjected. "Good day, gentlemen." Cursing whoever had given these fools loaded firearms, he then made his first mistake: he tipped his hat at them.
To a casual observer, this would simply seem a polite gesture, but to the soldier who had first spoken, who was actually paying attention, it revealed all. This was no mere merchant; for one thing, he was wearing a hat typically worn by a scalawag, and for another, no merchant would be wearing such a ring if he were wearing clothes that were as shabby as these. So as the Captain vanished anew into the crowd, the soldier nudged his closest companion--Larry--and said, "Hey--that's the pirate!"
"Who?" observed Larry intelligently.
"The--the young bloke--the guy we're s'posed to be chasing!"
"Oh!"
"C'mon, Larry, Fred! We've gotta go catch him!" the observant soldier cried, darting into the crowd, rifle held high and tipsily. Larry and Fred followed close behind.
To be continued...Feedback is greatly appreciated.
[1] This was an actual place. No kidding. I looked it up on a historical map. Spiffy, eh? I don't know if it was anything like I describe here, but, hey, fiction is fun, right?
[2] Seven, and Barbossa later swore that the candlelight softened Sparrow's features.
[3] For those of you who don't know, Johnny Depp lives in France. Well, *I* thought it was a funny coincidence...
[4] 'la Vache' means 'the cow' in French. Pronounced "vahsh," as in the French pronunciation of "wash." Get it, get it? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink? Okay, it's not that funny, but I'm not about to lose sleep to come up with a whopper of a joke, here. Besides, *Jack's* the one who said it.
A/N: And that's chapter one! I *love* feedback, by the way. ::wink, wink::
1) I love the idea of a young Captain Jack Sparrow
2) I love the idea of a young Captain Jack Sparrow annoyed
3) I love playing with words
Capische?
Let the games begin!
***Chapter One***
The deck of the ship was not the smartest place for Evan 'Wallop' Jenkins to get drunk. It was the most common, however, which is the reason that, on this particular morning, he was slumped against the rail, limbs outstretched, with what he could have sworn was the worst hangover since...Hell, at least yesterday. A particularly fierce swell of the ocean made Wallop groan and hold an arm up to shield his eyes, and then vicious tilt in the opposite direction made the same arm fly to clutch at his stomach. This motion was not noticed by any other member of the crew, all of which was devoted to its early-morning routine.
The notion that the deck of the ship was not the smartest place to pass out drunk was derived from the fact that if one is lying there, one is almost certainly underfoot, which may not be such a substantial problem on the open ocean, but when the ship is currently docked, it is even less of a brilliant maneuver to lie right in front of the door leading to the interior of the ship. Wallop discovered this truth when, quite suddenly, the door to his left swung open and hit him in the side.
Orly, who still held the door open while Wallop ducked to the side of the boat and retched into the ocean, laughed and greeted him, "Mornin', Wallop! Have a good drink las' night?"
"Couldn't you have used the *other* door?" Wallop asked, irritated, wiping his mouth.
"Not this morning." Orly drew himself up importantly. Having spent six months in the British Royal Navy before turning pirate, he had acquired some peculiar traits. One of said traits was that he felt the need to announce anything of significance, or, at least, what had been deemed significant on his former ship. This was why, at this point, he bellowed to the crew, "Cap'n on deck!" Then he shoved Wallop a few feet to make way.
A few of the crew turned to watch the Captain emerge, but, seeing as the Captain spent most of his time on deck while awake, it was really nothing special for him to come out of his cabin in the morning. If nothing else, the men manning the Black Pearl were nonchalant when it came to standard procedure.
Orly stood to the side of the door, heels of his boots pressed together, back ramrod-straight, in what would have been the perfect imitation of a member of the Navy had he not been filthy and clad in ratty old clothes.
Then Captain Jack Sparrow swaggered through the door, eyes focused upward, admiring the gorgeous blue sky and silken white clouds. Stopping after a few feet, he closed his eyes and took a good, long sniff of the sea air--and *that* was when he finally looked to the figure at the toes of his boots.
"Sir," greeted Wallop, holding one hand over his eyes while the other tossed off a salute. Sparrow rolled his eyes as if to say 'you spoiled my entrance,' and stepped over the crewman. Then he strode to the rail, resting his hands on it, and looked into the port that beckoned.
"D'you know why they call it 'la Vache'[1]?" Sparrow queried of his first mate, Barbossa, who'd just come pacing out after him. The pair had spent most of the previous night deliberating on two topics: 1) how they were going to acquire what they were searching for at la Vache, and 2) how many goblets of wine they could drink before one started flirting with the other. [2]
Barbossa came forward to the rail, rubbing a temple. "No."
"How many times do I hafta tell ya, mate, to understand the locals you hafta *understand* the locals," Sparrow declared.
"Don' wanna speak French. Itsa sissy language," slurred Barbossa, leaning onto the rail and staring out at the dock. He was regretting his decision to drink last night. While nowhere near senile, he was old enough to feel the consequences of the consumption of alcohol a great deal more strongly than his Captain, who was apparently feeling no ill effects.
Shooting him a look, Sparrow said, "Look, you never hear me *speaking* the language. It just helps to *understand* it, is all."[3]
After a pause, slightly longer than usual due to the sluggishness of Barbossa's thought that morning, the reply came. "Why do they call it 'la Vache'?"
"'Cos no one 'Vache'-s theirselves, so it smells like a big dead cow."[4] Sparrow smiled at his own joke, then called out to the nearest crewmember--Orly--to gather some men and lower the gangplank. Turning back to Barbossa and seeing the puzzled look on the first mate's face, he told him, "And that's why you gotta learn the language."
Once the gangplank was set, Sparrow and Barbossa went about their predetermined duties: the Captain was to head into town with a rather difficult mission, while Barbossa stayed near the dock to resupply the ship (they were short on food, and, due to Sparrow's no-kill policy, had been unable to rob the most recent ship they'd plundered of its supplies, lest that crew starve to death). So as Captain Sparrow swaggered down and along the dock, Barbossa sat down, holding his head, and began ordering people about.
The marketplace was bustling and bright, and the Captain found it quite easy to blend in with the locals by merely pulling his hat down over his eyes and making sure his sword and pistol remained hidden. As he trudged his way through the crowd of stalls and patrons, he snatched a few berries from a stand on his right, popping them into his mouth one at a time. When he reached a promising-looking vendor (i.e. one that didn't look too hostile), he questioned him as to where he could find the person he was seeking. Receiving a quick answer and a curious look, he spotted the place at the far end of the street, thanked the vendor, and headed towards it.
A nondescript little shack in a dirty corner was the destination. Sparrow lifted the filthy piece of material covering the entrance and peered inside. The place was rank, and a good deal larger than it appeared from the outside. Stepping through the entranceway, Sparrow was greeted with a harsh, "Who are you and what's your business?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack told the large Jamaican, "and I've come to barter with you. If that's not too much trouble," he said, smiling jokingly.
"Sparrow, eh?" rumbled the man.
"Call me Jack, if it pleases."
"Well, *Jack,*" he chuckled thunderingly, "m'name's Ponto Cordone, but most call me Cord. What brings such a high-blown man as yerself here? I've heard stories, y'know. Youngest pirate Captain since...well, ever, I suppose," he laughed. "How old are ya, anyway? Eighteen? Nineteen?"
"Twenty-five," answered Jack tightly, seating himself carefully on the least muck-encrusted stretch of ground.
"Naw! Really? Lemme give ya some advice, son," Cord leaned in a bit too close, allowing his hot breath to flow over Jack's eyebrows, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "Grow a beard." He laughed raucously, leaning back again, much to Jack's relief. Jack waited patiently until Cord quieted down. "So what'cha come to barter for?"
"I've heard tell," Jack started, feigning indifference, "that you've got a key that'll open any door in the world. Thought it sounded int'resting, so I stopped by."
"Oh? Where'd you hear that?" asked the Jamaican just as casually.
"I forget," said Jack a bit more intensely.
"And what do ya got to barter for it, eh?" Cord expected some token that wasn't worth a dime; something befitting the youngest pirate Captain since ever. So, naturally, he was surprised when the gold-plated Charm of Chrysalis emerged from Jack's pocket. A noise of wonder escaped Cord's lips. "No...it can't be."
"It can be, and it is," Jack held out the artifact for inspection. "Will you trade?"
After leaning in as close to the trinket as he could without poking his own eye out, Cord looked up at Jack. "Yeah, I'll trade. Here." Reaching behind his large mass, he revealed from a stained box a small parcel. From this he shook out into Jack's hand a large blue jewel, the color of the sky on a perfect day. This Sparrow examined quite closely--it was about the size of a small coin around, and it was carved and faceted into a point, much like a diamond. After a long moment, he asked, still staring at the jewel,
"This is a key?"
"Trust to it, boy, it's a key all right." Cord had long since stowed the Charm of Chrysalis.
"How does it work?"
"Ya hafta say a rhyme to open a door wit' it."
Jack finally looked up from the jewel, pocketing it and staring into Cord's wide face. "A rhyme?"
"_Twenty gents stood up to greet
A wounded whale before their feet.
And in its final exhalation
Came this, and then the sad cessation._"
There were a bit too many long words in there for Jack's liking. "Repeat that?" Cord did. "And that's supposed to take me through any door."
"Any door in the world."
"How?"
"See fer yerself, boy." Cord's thick index finger extended, and he pointed to the floor next to Jack's leg. The jewel rested in plain sight, where it would have fallen had Jack's pocket had a hole in it. A quick reassurance that the cloth in his pocket was solid was enough to convince Jack that Cord was either very skilled at pickpocketing, or that he had a genuine article on his hands. The jewel disappeared into his pocket once again.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Cord," Jack said, then got the Hell out of that malodorous shack.
Cord's laughter rumbled after him.
"Twenty gents stood for a whale," murmured Sparrow to himself as he strode into the market again, hand in his pocket, turning the jewel over and over between his fingers. "No, that's not it. Uh--Twenty gents stood up to meet a hefty whale upon their feet...no, no..." Then he spotted a group of British soldiers patrolling the square, awkwardly carrying their rifles and searching the crowd with their eyes. "No..." Sparrow strolled up to them, concealing his weapons.
"What are you fine gentlemen doing out this morning? Not that it's any of my business..."
"It's--it's the public's right to know," one of the soldiers informed him, then turned to his companions, asking them doubtfully, "isn't it?"
"Yeah," said another soldier. "Yeah, they've a right to know. So, uh," he turned to the last soldier, "why'n't you tell 'im, Larry?" When Larry didn't answer, the soldier nudged him.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, we're looking for a pirate we heard was comin' into town to start some trouble, we heard."
Jack's brow creased. "What pirate would that be, men?"
"We 'eard...tell 'im what we 'eard, Larry," the soldier nudged Larry again.
"Huh? Yeah, yeah. We heard some young bloke was gonna come start somethin', so our Sargeant sent us out here, he did. Told us we could use some trainin' up. Yeah."
"Larry!" Larry was once again jabbed in the ribs with an elbow. "You wasn't supposed to tell people we're training."
"Oh? Why not?"
"S'bad luck."
"Well, thank you, you've been very helpful," Jack interjected. "Good day, gentlemen." Cursing whoever had given these fools loaded firearms, he then made his first mistake: he tipped his hat at them.
To a casual observer, this would simply seem a polite gesture, but to the soldier who had first spoken, who was actually paying attention, it revealed all. This was no mere merchant; for one thing, he was wearing a hat typically worn by a scalawag, and for another, no merchant would be wearing such a ring if he were wearing clothes that were as shabby as these. So as the Captain vanished anew into the crowd, the soldier nudged his closest companion--Larry--and said, "Hey--that's the pirate!"
"Who?" observed Larry intelligently.
"The--the young bloke--the guy we're s'posed to be chasing!"
"Oh!"
"C'mon, Larry, Fred! We've gotta go catch him!" the observant soldier cried, darting into the crowd, rifle held high and tipsily. Larry and Fred followed close behind.
To be continued...Feedback is greatly appreciated.
[1] This was an actual place. No kidding. I looked it up on a historical map. Spiffy, eh? I don't know if it was anything like I describe here, but, hey, fiction is fun, right?
[2] Seven, and Barbossa later swore that the candlelight softened Sparrow's features.
[3] For those of you who don't know, Johnny Depp lives in France. Well, *I* thought it was a funny coincidence...
[4] 'la Vache' means 'the cow' in French. Pronounced "vahsh," as in the French pronunciation of "wash." Get it, get it? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink? Okay, it's not that funny, but I'm not about to lose sleep to come up with a whopper of a joke, here. Besides, *Jack's* the one who said it.
A/N: And that's chapter one! I *love* feedback, by the way. ::wink, wink::