Jack Sparrow looked on after the retreating trio. Barbossa, Will and Elizabeth. What a conniving whore. The pirate couldn't come up with one single valid reason as to why he had trusted her at any stage of the relationship- if that's what their little fling on Rum Runners' Island was labelled. He hoped se got a stone in her boot.
Oops, even better. He saw her make a faceplant into the sand before she hurriedly picked herself up and continued on her way to the longboat.
She deserved it. After all, only moments ago, she had traded his freedom for Will. She hadn't got much of a bargain, but in the process, he himself had been given a short straw. Now he was stuck with Cutler Beckett and Davy Jones.
Jack knew from previous experience that neither man (or crab/fish/sushi-thing) wanted him alive.
He gave Jones a nervous glance now. The beastie had a weird expression on his face. Moreover, he now feared for his guyginity (his status of not having had sex with a male- ever.)
"I want some boots," Beckett said aloud.
Sparrow and Jones looked at the man as if he had caught the dreaded stupid. Sure enough, he had.
"Really pretty ones," he continued.
Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow. "How about gumboots?"
"What?" Now Beckett and Jones thought he had caught the infection.
But he had not.
Captain Jack Sparrow shrugged. "A fangirl showed a pair to me once. They're oddly charming. Much like herself."
"Sounds amusing," Beckett said.
Jack rolled his eyes. "Hot pink, extra short to distort your actual height, with pretty little sunflowers in the side in cheap paint? Here they are!" As if producing a pair of the described gumboots by magic, the pirate clapped his hands together.
Funnily enough, they actually appeared.
"Gumboots!" Beckett exclaimed with evident happiness.
Davy Jones was equally surprised. "How did you do that, Sparrow?"
Jack clapped his hands again. "I don't know."
The boots disappeared.
"Aw, Jack! Bring them back!" Beckett had a sad face on.
In sympathy, he made them reappear. Then, just as Beckett reached them, a villainous plan emerged in the pirate's head. He clapped again. The boots disappeared. He clapped again, and again, and he began a regular rhythm, so the gumboots flashed in and out of existence. The EITC Caretaker was getting confused.
"Stop it, Jack!" But when he didn't, Beckett got very mad. He suddenly cocked his pistol at Jack's head. "I said stop it!"
The pirate clapped once more, and the pink boots became visible again.
"There's your poncy gumboots, so there," Jack huffed in a sulk.
"No, you put them on my feet." Beckett sat down on the sand expectantly, his gun still aimed at Jack. "Now."
Completely reluctant, Jack also took a seat, and began the disgraceful task of removing Beckett's older boots from his feet. Davy Jones looked on in apparent amusement.
"Me next," Jones said.
Jack Sparrow turned for a moment to observe Davy Jones' buckets. "The only thing I can do for you, mate, is push you over and hope you stick the landing."
He finally managed to pull the first boot off. In a chain reaction, he and Jones took on expressions of disgust.
"Ye gods, Beckett! Don't you ever change your socks?"
Cutler Beckett, being the owner of the guilty putrid feet, was immune to their smell. "I bet you don't," he retorted.
Jack sniffed, instantly regretting the action. "I'm a pirate. A pirate has an unwritten license to be a little off, savvy? But you don't!"
But he still had to finish the job. He gave a heavy sigh of relief when Beckett retracted his pistol from his grip when Jack had finished.
Beckett stood up, examining himself. "How do I look?"
Davy Jones coughed. "They're actually quite fetching."
"They really accentuate the colour of your eyes," Jack lied.
The pair looked at each other with a knowing wink.
"Really?" Beckett looked pleased.
He took a step forward. They really weren't such a great fit, unfortunately. Beckett tripped, creating a domino effect. As he fell, his flailing hands pulled hard on Jack's trousers, bringing them down to his ankles, and he, in turn, also stumbled, collapsing into Davy Jones, who fell to the sand, his bucket of water tipping over and spilling over. Seeing two men and a squid lying together there, one with his pants trailing down his legs, the shortest on top and facial tentacles squirming on the bottom of the bun, made a sexually stimulating picture.
Or it would have, if Jack weren't so objecting to the incident.
"Trust you to do something like that, Beckett!" he growled, and, not bothering to pull his pants back up, bounded into the clear ocean with a splash, washing the crab juice and cheap paint off of his body. It can be assured that Captain Jack Sparrow was not keen for a repeat of that episode.