Jack sat up in his bed. Eyes flickering side to side, he wondered how he had gotten aboard the Pearl. It had last been seen in the hands of Barbossa, after all. Besides, he himself was supposed to be on a merchant vessel, bound in the direction he was heading, allowing him hammock and board for help in navigating the waters.
He looked about curiously. It was most definitely the captain's cabin. The darkness was penetrating, and he couldn't see much beyond the fact that it looked exactly as it had before Hector had gotten his dirty claws on it.
Spinning to the side, Jack stood with as little movement as possible. He cautiously side-stepped, as if in a sword battle. His beads clicked together, the only other sound besides his boots padding softly on the wooden floor. Quickly walking the perimeter, he wondered what sort of magic was happening to him.
It wasn't like he had not been involved in voodoo material before. Easily coming to mind was the foray onto L'Isle de Muerta, quickly followed by the Davey Jones fiasco and slipping alongside his search for the Fountain of Youth.
He made a soft sound of acceptance, then turned and came face-to-face with a tall mirror. The wrought-iron frame was ornate and spoke of Eastern influence- in fact, it had the distinct flavor of Singapore. Jack shivered at the thought, shaking himself. His reflection crossed its arms.
Pausing, Jack lifted a hand. The reflection scowled. Stepping back, the reflection stepped forward, out of the mirror, its arms moving to mimic Jack's surprised position. One hand was raised as if grasping something delicately, little finger flagged out. The other rested on the belt buckle, lax and unmoving.
As Jack took a step forward, the shadow took a step forward and to the side. Jack moved to the side as well, circling slowly. Step, to the side, step, to the side, over and over. Eventually the shadow maneuvered him into moving back, until he was in the mirror looking at the Jack on the ship.
When he attempted to go back through, his reflection approached. His hand reaching out came into contact with smooth glass, a new mirror. The reflection shimmered until it showed his new surroundings- a familiar brothel located in Tortuga. Turning around revealed that he was now in the same room he had met, and experienced relations, with both Giselle and Scarlet.
Speaking of the two, they were both engaged in very interesting acrobatics on the bed. Jack approached cautiously, taking a moment to enjoy the image of one woman atop the other. He smiled slightly at the thought, recalling one night where he had had two similar looking whores engage in similar acts. Just to watch, of course. Curiosity and all.
And while it was such an interesting show, Jack felt the urgent need to leave. He headed for the door, swaggering from side to side as if he were drunk. It was habit, walking to the sway of the ship- he didn't bother correcting it; it made his opponents underestimate him.
Opening the door, he was shocked at the scene before him. He and Elizabeth were engaged in some delightful acrobatics of their own. It appeared that every questionable action Jack had ever thought of was being reenacted on the rather large brothel bed in the middle of the room. He took a step towards them, and the door slammed behind him.
Jack noticed a chair off to the side, and decided to sit and wait to see what happened. He had just sat when, out of the blue, it as no longer him and Elizabeth. For some odd reason, Tia Dalma was the one his shadow's fingers were caressing. This was all well and good, of course. He had no qualms about watching himself and Tia Dalma- she was a rather attractive woman, after all, if attached to a fishy character (pun intended).
He enjoyed the show for a while, not even bothering to blink when Tia Dalma was switched out for Anamaria.
He did, however, leap to his feet with a yelp when it was no longer Anamaria. In fact, he was no longer engaging in relations with a woman at all.
He didn't think he'd ever get the sight of Will on top of him out of his mind for a rather long time.
He raced to the door, trying to get the door open. It was locked fast. The sounds behind him threw him into somewhat of a panic, and when he glanced back, he tried all the harder.
Someone obviously wished to cause him discomfort, for the person had yet to remain the same for longer than about five minutes. And this time, it was Barbossa at the wheel.
The handle broke off when it was switched with Davey Jones. And while Jack could probably have handled a human Jones, this one was stuck in a rather compromising situation with Tentacle Jones. He would never be able to wash that image from his mind, no matter what he did.
Before the door was coerced open with the help of Jack's body, he was forced to watch himself perform engagements with each crew member on his vessel, Will's father, half of the pirate lord's (men, all of them!) and his own father. A rather scary thought.
He broke through the door, leaving the sticky situation behind. Instead, he faced a new horror.
He was walking down the aisle. He, himself, was wearing a dress. A dress and a corset, complete with shoes and cap, adorned his slim figure. While he had entertained notions of what it would be like to wear something like that, he in no way, shape, or form wanted to actually try the fashion. And most certainly not during a wedding, walking down the aisle to Norrington, of all people!
He screamed again, mouth wide in horror, and scrambled for the handle. The door opened once more, and he fled backward, stumbling and nearly falling. The door slammed shut again, and only then did he recall what he had last seen in the room.
Silence greeted him. With apprehension, he turned to find himself face to face with Beckett. Not only that, but a stark naked one, at that.
His eyes nearly popped from his head. He vaguely heard the good captain say something about making an honest man out of Jack, but at that point, Jack was already scrambling to the door. He'd take cross dressing and weddings to stuck up pricks than a liaison with Cutler Beckett.
He fell through into a new world. This one was once more on the Black Pearl, but this time Gibbs was wearing an apron and looking like a housewife scolding her husband.
The whole mess was turning out to be a nightmare.
Back and forth he went, between the room in the brothel and whatever came next on the other side. Every person he had ever met was subject to be included in his intimate life one way or another.
At one point, he walked into a room full of kids, each one the likeness of himself when he was their age. They swarmed over him, suffocating, calling him daddy and father and pop and all manner of endearments. He had to bat them off his limbs, where they stuck like leeches, and wade through the sea of child flesh to the door. Another room had held both Will and Elizabeth doing wicked things to his person.
The third time of walking into a scenario of him and Elizabeth had her her dressed in a shirt, boots, and bandanna. She had one foot resting on a chair, looking very much like a pirate queen. In fact, it would have made a perfect portrait for recruiting women into the pirating industry, if not for the fact that she lacked any pant or leg wear on her lower half.
While this would have made him ecstatic in the beginning, his eyes were scarred by every other person he had seen himself with to enjoy the scene. Instead, he turned and bolted for the door.
It opened up to an endless abyss. Nothing but blue, as far as the eye could see, awaited him. He pinwheeled his arms, scrambling to stay on the precarious threshold of the doorway. To no avail, he pitched forward into a never ending free fall, left with the memories of what everyone and their brother (quite literally) had done to him for the rest of eternity...
The boat threw him out of his hammock and onto the floor, jarring him from the nightmare.
A/N: Here's the thing. I have no idea what I'm trying to get across in here, so don't ask. This is my first foray into the Pirates fandom, and for that much, this is bound to be a weird story that has a horrible plot. All of my firsts tend to be like this.
This is written for Anne la Jordanie's birthday. She wished for a Sparrabeth, but since I cannot think of a plot, she gets this story instead. I hope you enjoy, Anna.
Please, critique me as badly as you wish. I don't care if you liked it or not- I find the idea rather funny.
Ria