Power: Alternate title Davy Jones' Locker. . . If this story kicks off I'll change it back to that. . . if that's at all possible. . . Amos Jones and Jacque Cousteau (c) me.
Well this started out life as fanfiction about what happens to the people sent to Davy Jones' Locker. And a sister fic to my To The Depths, since it was going to feature the characters that refused Jones offer. Also both stories could reference/mention the other without it looking forced. But I didn't think people would find it interesting. . . So for the moment I've left it at a oneshot which looks into something that could have happened.
The seven surviving crewmen of the wrecked ship trembled and shook before him as Davy Jones paced the deck, surveying each man closely with icy blue eyes.
He paused briefly to spare a glance at his left hand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to move each finger individually. In fact, to his dismay, he discovered that they had completely fused together in the past hour, although he could still form a fist with them. Jones was also aware that something horrible was happening to his skin. It was taking on the appearance and texture of that of an octopus, or similar cephalopod. He wondered, with some degree of bitterness what the survivors thought of him.
The crewman he had come to a halt before seemed the most terrified and thus the most suitable potential recruit to start with. He stooped till they were face-to-face. "Do you fear death?" Jones had had plenty of time to refine his recruitment speech and version 5 was definitely his best.
"Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished?" Yes, this one was working nicely. "I can offer you an escape." He smiled and the man flinched. "What I ask in return is 100 years before the mast. Will ye serve?"
The survivor swallowed and choked out "I-I will serve."
He moved down the line. "And what say you?"
The man nodded. "Aye, sir."
"And me, sir," said the crewman next to him.
Davy Jones smile widened as he continued down the line of survivors. This was good. This was very good. Three already. "And you?"
"I do not fear death, sir."
His eyes narrowed. "Am I to take that as a no?"
"Aye, sir. No is my answer."
"To the depths, then." The next man agreed before he could ask, which left him with seventh. The survivor's gaze was on the deck but Jones could tell from his grey hair that he was advanced in years. "And you. What be your answer?"
The man did not respond.
"Speak, man. I have little patience." He noticed then that the crewman's shoulders were shaking.
And then he spoke. "Have ye not seen yourself, Davy?"
Jones' eyes widened. That voice. "No." It could not be.
He raised his head and met Jones' gaze with identical blue eyes, salty tears mixing with the blood on his face. "Can ye not see what's happening to ye?"
Before he could react, the man had pulled a small mirror from his shirt pocket and thrust it at him. "Look."
Davy Jones flinched back, repelled and fascinated by his own reflection. Good God, his nose was disappearing. He stared into the mirror for a few moments longer before, overcome by revulsion, he knocked the mirror from the man's hand.
"Cousteau!" Jones barked to his first mate.
"Oui, monsieur?"
"Take the new recruits to the ship. Leave me to deal with this one, alone."
"Oui, monsieur. Zis way, all of you."
The Captain glanced around the ship to make sure none of his crew was still present. He could see no one.
"What's to become of me, David?"
"That's for you to decide, Father."
"Why did ye send that monster to attack my ship."
Jones looked stung. "I didn't. The Kraken chooses her victims of her own accord. And I thought you'd retired."
He smiled wryly. "I spent too much time at sea Davy; it's in my blood."
An awkward silence in which the old man went back to staring at the deck. Then Jones reached down to tilt his father's head up. "Will you join me, Father, or won't you?"
Jacque Cousteau jumped when Davy Jones appeared beside him. "Make ready to set sail."
"Oui monsieur, and Capitaine?"
"Aye?"
"Zhat man? What became of him?"
A pause. "He refused," Jones replied bitterly. Then he vanished. His pipe organ sounded and the Flying Dutchman was soon enveloped in the notes of "Davy Jones' Melody".
Amos Jones clambered to his feet, brushing sand from his clothes. He raised a hand to carefully touch the gaping wound that split his throat. It was not hurting for which he was thankful. His name was shouted down at him. Amos turned and was stunned to see his ship, intact, and his friends waving to him.
Charybdis whined in pain. She was a young Kraken still, and the crew had put up a fierce fight; her tentacles were in shreds. Repeated attempts to contact Father had gone unanswered. She whimpered again, craving comfort and tilted herself so she could look up at the crew of the Dutchman with her left eye. The Kraken heard some sploshes and was soon being hugged, petted and stroked as a few of the more compassionate members of the crew tried to soothe her anguish.
"Easy there, Charybdis. The pain'll be gone soon."
Hurts.
"I know."
Father. . . ? She made one last attempt to contact him. His melody played on.
Power: So. . . interesting premise? For an interesting fic? Or should I just leave it at that. I like how the theme for this ex-prologue is parent-offspring relationship. . . Uh, not that Charybdis is literally Jones' daughter. That'd be weird. XD
For those reading To The Depths, chappie 8 is nearly finished. And Dreamlocked? God knows what's happening to that. . .