Title: The Odyssey
Rating: PG-13, though language is mild. Just keeping all my proverbial bases covered for further developments.
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow's ransoming of young siren Leila Shipman leads him to not one but *two* of the greatest adventures of his life. Reviews are greatly appreciated, be they flames, criticism, or compliments.
Author's Note: The inspiration for Leila came from listening to Lara Fabian's "Leïla." Sample it at http://www.lara-fabian.com! (Discography, Carpe Diem, Track #3)
CHAPTER 4: THE PLAN
Captain Shipman was so incredibly livid that his face practically matched his bright red uniform. And unfortunately for Governor Hope, he was bearing most of the Captain's verbal attack, various insults and raves complete with phrases only sailors dared to use. "What a goddamned, bloody clever plan you had there, Hope," he scoffed. "You could have gotten my daughter killed!" His breathing was somewhat labored, his expression very...unfavorable. Governor Hope flinched a bit as he spewed another long set of curses.
"Captain," the governor began, putting up his hands defensively out of habit.
"What?!" the scarlet-faced Captain demanded, the table shaking as he brought his hand down. The Governor jumped nearly a foot.
"N-No offense meant in any regard, Captain, b-but the fact is your daughter is still alive. And, while it may look like that bloody pirate has the upper hand, we also have some tricks available for our own use. For instance, I have been to Greencove Island before," Hope paused.
"Yes, and what a huge accomplishment for you. Shall I award you a medal?" The Captain's sarcasm was unmistakable. The Governor knew he was reacting this way out of fear for his daughter, but it took every ounce of propriety and civility he had to restrain himself from doing something -very- rash.
"Captain, the West shore is covered with rock formations and various alcoves. From my experience helping to settle many of these small islands, I know forces that are few in number can be easily tucked away." The flattering crimson on the Captain's face had begun to fade, so Governor Hope continued with a firmer voice. "That pirate gave us the advantage right when he requested we sail first. Of course, I am sure he reasoned if we hadn't have sailed first, we would have been able to corner and board his vessel and have him against land. But this way, he assumes, he is against the sea and -we- are against the land...so he can escape if need be. Captain, he will not harm your daughter if he believes he can still get money out of you."
The captain nodded, adjusting his powdered wig. He looked a lot more reasonable. "So, Sparrow's thought was to have an escape route available to his ship?"
"Exactly," Hope replied, patting the man on the back, though wishing he had thought better of it considering the look he received.
"Well," the Governor cleared his throat, his brown eyes shifting somewhat nervously, "we can set up a few men, probably no more than five or six, in a handful of alcoves along the West shore. Sparrow expects after his threat of your daughter's life you won't try anything else to risk her safety and you will indeed come alone."
The Captain was silent for a moment. "So," he started, "to summarize, dear Governor, you're saying that we actually have the secret advantage and can easily capture him and save my daughter with no ransom money involved?"
The Governor couldn't help a grin. "Exactly."
Captain Shipman patted him affectionately on the shoulder. "My good man, we may tie our families together yet."
*******
Leila's emerald eyes stared almost longingly upon the moonlit sea, her once updone mahogany hair now in disarray over her shoulders and down her back. She blinked a few times, attempting to fend off sleep as best she could before sighing gently.
What her father had done was a bit reckless, she thought, but brave. She didn't want this pirate to get his ransom money any more than her father did. She let her thoughts drift for a moment, her chin resting on her palm.
After a few moments of soul-searching, she came to a realization that she couldn't help but admit. Truly, when she was alone in this little whitewashed room, looking out at the Caribbean, she was happiest (when she was absent certain company, of course). The joy she once had in the vacations to The Queen's Island had diminished more and more with each passing year, and London society was a nightmare in itself. Leila had always loved the sea, ever since she accompanied her father on one of his first trips to The Queen's Island. Back then it wasn't much more than a few thatched houses, a rudimentary headquarters, and emerald and sapphire beaches. The wind was always warm and the sea always welcomed her many explorations, though they were usually met with disapproval from her father or whoever was given the duty of watching over her that particular afternoon.
Yes. She liked it best then. Her mother never did, though. The sea and sand always made her sick. Leila shifted, still trying to keep sleep at bay. She thought for a brief moment, then moved off the rather upscale-looking bed and over to the large, ebony chest of drawers in the corner. The paint was chipping and the wood was splintering in several places, so she figured this piece had made its home on this ship for a long while. She had searched through it earlier than evening for lack of anything better to do, and she had come across a -very- old, crumpled note. She hadn't taken it then, a little frightened somehow that it was against some code and she would have to bear the consequences, or that the note would crumble at her touch.
At that moment, though, she cared little and snatched it up out of the ancient but still rather ornate drawer.
She began to unfold it gingerly, but the sides began to crumble away in little yellow snowflakes. She stopped immediately, quickly tucking it back where she found it. She took a breath and fought back the urge to grab it up again, enthralled by the very idea that there might be something important scrawled upon that old piece of parchment. Her fingers itched but she disregarded it, knowing that if she dove upon the note it might crumble away to scraps.
Moving back toward the inviting warmth of the bed, her mind began to swim with the possibilities of what might be smeared in ink upon that note. A map, perhaps? To an old treasure? Even though her mind was swimming with possibilities, it was not long before long-denied sleep over took it.
The sea swirled in patterns of dark greens and blues, rocking the young woman deeper into sleep.
*******
Jack cradled the glass of rum in his arms like a baby, Gibbs lounging on his left. The seaswept old man let out a heavy sigh that broke the short silence. "That was a close one this morning, Jack. I never thought I'd actually meet a crafty British captain."
Jack let out a short laugh. "I'd say we've yet to, since that wasn't a very smart move. Plum got him on the bad side of nowhere." He tipped back the last of his rum and stood, though a little unsure on his feet. "No one gets the better of Captain Jack Sparrow. Nobody, nowhat, nowhere, nowhen, nowhy and nohow." He nodded once, grabbing his glass again and putting it to his lips, rather disappointed that there was nothing left. He pouted a little but decided not to refil it. The less alcohol in him tomorrow morning, the better.
The candles flickered, running down to the last of their wax. Biting into an apple as he sat back down, he took in a deep breath. "You know, Gibbs, I don't know what goes on in the minds of these pinched little buggers." He made a few wild gestures above his head. "They wear those bloody wigs and walk around with that lovely strut." He shook his head. "What the hell do those British strumpets see in -that-?"
Gibbs shrugged. "Security, I'm guessin.' Money is everything these days Jack."
He shook his head and held up a finger, his mouth half-full of apple. "No, Gibbs. Moneth always been everyfin."
The First Mate laughed, thought somewhat ruefully. "Yeah. It's always been that way. Though, that Elizabeth left that Commodore for--"
"Yeah," Jack interrupted, "but she was a bloody anomaly. A rather fine-lookin' one though, I must say." He grinned, bits of apple still remaining upon his teeth.
Gibbs shook his head, putting his hands on his knees and pushing himself into a standing position. "Well, Cap'n, I think I'm gonna head on up to the main deck and make sure everything's secured. See ya in the morning," he pat him on the back, sending his Captain lurching forward.
Jack turned and saluted his compatriot. "Stay aboard, friend. That sea is getting a little rough."
Gibbs nodded an affirmative as he headed above deck.
Capain Sparrow turned back around, watching the last few flickers of the candles before he blew them out. He staggered out of the galley, threw his apple core off the port side, and headed to bed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be rid of that Siren and have his gold.
That night, he dreamt of riches, women, and rum. His sleeping grin flashed in the moonlight.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Thanks to those of you who have offered your encouragement and compliments. The more reviews I receive (be they good, constructive, or flames), the more I know people are reading the story. And the more compliments I receive, the more I know people are enjoying the story! I have made a few revisions while the next Chapter sits in temporary stasis, waiting for a few more paragraphs to finish it off. :)
Rating: PG-13, though language is mild. Just keeping all my proverbial bases covered for further developments.
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow's ransoming of young siren Leila Shipman leads him to not one but *two* of the greatest adventures of his life. Reviews are greatly appreciated, be they flames, criticism, or compliments.
Author's Note: The inspiration for Leila came from listening to Lara Fabian's "Leïla." Sample it at http://www.lara-fabian.com! (Discography, Carpe Diem, Track #3)
CHAPTER 4: THE PLAN
Captain Shipman was so incredibly livid that his face practically matched his bright red uniform. And unfortunately for Governor Hope, he was bearing most of the Captain's verbal attack, various insults and raves complete with phrases only sailors dared to use. "What a goddamned, bloody clever plan you had there, Hope," he scoffed. "You could have gotten my daughter killed!" His breathing was somewhat labored, his expression very...unfavorable. Governor Hope flinched a bit as he spewed another long set of curses.
"Captain," the governor began, putting up his hands defensively out of habit.
"What?!" the scarlet-faced Captain demanded, the table shaking as he brought his hand down. The Governor jumped nearly a foot.
"N-No offense meant in any regard, Captain, b-but the fact is your daughter is still alive. And, while it may look like that bloody pirate has the upper hand, we also have some tricks available for our own use. For instance, I have been to Greencove Island before," Hope paused.
"Yes, and what a huge accomplishment for you. Shall I award you a medal?" The Captain's sarcasm was unmistakable. The Governor knew he was reacting this way out of fear for his daughter, but it took every ounce of propriety and civility he had to restrain himself from doing something -very- rash.
"Captain, the West shore is covered with rock formations and various alcoves. From my experience helping to settle many of these small islands, I know forces that are few in number can be easily tucked away." The flattering crimson on the Captain's face had begun to fade, so Governor Hope continued with a firmer voice. "That pirate gave us the advantage right when he requested we sail first. Of course, I am sure he reasoned if we hadn't have sailed first, we would have been able to corner and board his vessel and have him against land. But this way, he assumes, he is against the sea and -we- are against the land...so he can escape if need be. Captain, he will not harm your daughter if he believes he can still get money out of you."
The captain nodded, adjusting his powdered wig. He looked a lot more reasonable. "So, Sparrow's thought was to have an escape route available to his ship?"
"Exactly," Hope replied, patting the man on the back, though wishing he had thought better of it considering the look he received.
"Well," the Governor cleared his throat, his brown eyes shifting somewhat nervously, "we can set up a few men, probably no more than five or six, in a handful of alcoves along the West shore. Sparrow expects after his threat of your daughter's life you won't try anything else to risk her safety and you will indeed come alone."
The Captain was silent for a moment. "So," he started, "to summarize, dear Governor, you're saying that we actually have the secret advantage and can easily capture him and save my daughter with no ransom money involved?"
The Governor couldn't help a grin. "Exactly."
Captain Shipman patted him affectionately on the shoulder. "My good man, we may tie our families together yet."
*******
Leila's emerald eyes stared almost longingly upon the moonlit sea, her once updone mahogany hair now in disarray over her shoulders and down her back. She blinked a few times, attempting to fend off sleep as best she could before sighing gently.
What her father had done was a bit reckless, she thought, but brave. She didn't want this pirate to get his ransom money any more than her father did. She let her thoughts drift for a moment, her chin resting on her palm.
After a few moments of soul-searching, she came to a realization that she couldn't help but admit. Truly, when she was alone in this little whitewashed room, looking out at the Caribbean, she was happiest (when she was absent certain company, of course). The joy she once had in the vacations to The Queen's Island had diminished more and more with each passing year, and London society was a nightmare in itself. Leila had always loved the sea, ever since she accompanied her father on one of his first trips to The Queen's Island. Back then it wasn't much more than a few thatched houses, a rudimentary headquarters, and emerald and sapphire beaches. The wind was always warm and the sea always welcomed her many explorations, though they were usually met with disapproval from her father or whoever was given the duty of watching over her that particular afternoon.
Yes. She liked it best then. Her mother never did, though. The sea and sand always made her sick. Leila shifted, still trying to keep sleep at bay. She thought for a brief moment, then moved off the rather upscale-looking bed and over to the large, ebony chest of drawers in the corner. The paint was chipping and the wood was splintering in several places, so she figured this piece had made its home on this ship for a long while. She had searched through it earlier than evening for lack of anything better to do, and she had come across a -very- old, crumpled note. She hadn't taken it then, a little frightened somehow that it was against some code and she would have to bear the consequences, or that the note would crumble at her touch.
At that moment, though, she cared little and snatched it up out of the ancient but still rather ornate drawer.
She began to unfold it gingerly, but the sides began to crumble away in little yellow snowflakes. She stopped immediately, quickly tucking it back where she found it. She took a breath and fought back the urge to grab it up again, enthralled by the very idea that there might be something important scrawled upon that old piece of parchment. Her fingers itched but she disregarded it, knowing that if she dove upon the note it might crumble away to scraps.
Moving back toward the inviting warmth of the bed, her mind began to swim with the possibilities of what might be smeared in ink upon that note. A map, perhaps? To an old treasure? Even though her mind was swimming with possibilities, it was not long before long-denied sleep over took it.
The sea swirled in patterns of dark greens and blues, rocking the young woman deeper into sleep.
*******
Jack cradled the glass of rum in his arms like a baby, Gibbs lounging on his left. The seaswept old man let out a heavy sigh that broke the short silence. "That was a close one this morning, Jack. I never thought I'd actually meet a crafty British captain."
Jack let out a short laugh. "I'd say we've yet to, since that wasn't a very smart move. Plum got him on the bad side of nowhere." He tipped back the last of his rum and stood, though a little unsure on his feet. "No one gets the better of Captain Jack Sparrow. Nobody, nowhat, nowhere, nowhen, nowhy and nohow." He nodded once, grabbing his glass again and putting it to his lips, rather disappointed that there was nothing left. He pouted a little but decided not to refil it. The less alcohol in him tomorrow morning, the better.
The candles flickered, running down to the last of their wax. Biting into an apple as he sat back down, he took in a deep breath. "You know, Gibbs, I don't know what goes on in the minds of these pinched little buggers." He made a few wild gestures above his head. "They wear those bloody wigs and walk around with that lovely strut." He shook his head. "What the hell do those British strumpets see in -that-?"
Gibbs shrugged. "Security, I'm guessin.' Money is everything these days Jack."
He shook his head and held up a finger, his mouth half-full of apple. "No, Gibbs. Moneth always been everyfin."
The First Mate laughed, thought somewhat ruefully. "Yeah. It's always been that way. Though, that Elizabeth left that Commodore for--"
"Yeah," Jack interrupted, "but she was a bloody anomaly. A rather fine-lookin' one though, I must say." He grinned, bits of apple still remaining upon his teeth.
Gibbs shook his head, putting his hands on his knees and pushing himself into a standing position. "Well, Cap'n, I think I'm gonna head on up to the main deck and make sure everything's secured. See ya in the morning," he pat him on the back, sending his Captain lurching forward.
Jack turned and saluted his compatriot. "Stay aboard, friend. That sea is getting a little rough."
Gibbs nodded an affirmative as he headed above deck.
Capain Sparrow turned back around, watching the last few flickers of the candles before he blew them out. He staggered out of the galley, threw his apple core off the port side, and headed to bed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be rid of that Siren and have his gold.
That night, he dreamt of riches, women, and rum. His sleeping grin flashed in the moonlight.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Thanks to those of you who have offered your encouragement and compliments. The more reviews I receive (be they good, constructive, or flames), the more I know people are reading the story. And the more compliments I receive, the more I know people are enjoying the story! I have made a few revisions while the next Chapter sits in temporary stasis, waiting for a few more paragraphs to finish it off. :)
