A/N- Greetings, fellow PotC lovers, and welcome to... MY PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN FIC! *insert dramatic and unnecessary music here*
Yes, I have stepped out of the realm of anime from which comes most of my few other works of fanfiction to bring you... A PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN FIC! *more dramatic and unnecessary music*
Blink.
Gotta get that fixed.
Anyways, back to the matter at hand. In trying to avoid the oft-used "Woman-meets-Jack, Jack-falls-for-Woman" plot structure (and don't get me wrong, there are some good ones out there, I've seen 'em with my own eyes), I have chosen to make the main character of my story a boy. Yes, he's male. No, he's not a legal adult yet. No, this is not a slash and/or rape fic. Hopefully, I still have your interest. Now, since every story has to have a little twist to make it different (or perhaps, more like the others, since all stories try to put in a twist), the main character has a disability. It shouldn't be too hard for you to figure out what it is. Now, go read the story and when you're done, I would be a happy camper if you left a review. Constructive criticism will be welcomed with open arms. Flames shall be used to spark my imagination… or something along those lines, I dunno. Thanks, and enjoy! ^^
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Chapter 1
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It's amazing how much you can learn about something when you shut your mouth and listen for a moment.
The vast majority of people choose, instead of fully understanding a given subject, to merely glean information (however slight) about it from some random and perhaps unreliable source and vocalize their opinions without true knowledge of said subject.
Speaking and listening (listening leading to understanding), become two completely separate things, instead of the two coinciding acts of humanity that they were once meant to be. Me, I don't have to choose between speaking and listening. Listening comes naturally. But that is, again, just me.
As I was saying; pirates are one such highly debated subject. How many of these people have actually seen a pirate? Met one? Sat down and shared a drink with one? Granted, that would be rather difficult, since it seems the few who have met pirates have met them out on the open seas with little protection and lots of "loot."
Those who have met pirates have my respect. They truly know the many, or few, faces of pirates. My parents are two such people. My siblings, unfortunately, are not.
-James Turner, 23rd day of the 8th month
Scritch scritch scritch. Sigh. Clap.
James Turner. Thirteen years old, and keeping a diar- JOURNAL! Journal, yes, journal. Good god, what have I become?
Standing up beside my trunk, I slide my journal beneath my bed. An evening ritual, that. I write a lot in the blasted thing, but I try not to admit to myself that I enjoy it. Unfortunately, it's about the only way I can voice my own thoughts and opinions.
"IS NOT!"
"IS TOO!"
"Well, you're just stupid!"
"Says the little girl with an imaginary parrot on her shoulder!"
Sigh. My afore mentioned siblings. Maybe if I stay in my room, I can avoid getting pulled into one of their arguments.
My name is James Martin Turner. My parents are William and Elizabeth Turner, two of the few people who have my respect in this bloody seaport town. At least they HAVE met pirates, unlike my siblings who, of course, take no better pleasure than in arguing about them.
"Are you accusing me of being daft?!" My little sister, Rebecca. She's been obsessed with pirates since she was old enough to understand (vaguely) the stories our parents would occasionally read to us about them. Little body with a shrill voice much too loud to issue forth from it.
"Oh, excuse me, are you saying you aren't?!" My older brother, William (or Bill). Seventeen, and despises pirates more than just about anything else. His hero is Vice Admiral Norrington, from whom he has adopted the phrase "Short drop and a sudden stop" for all pirates. I don't think he's yet forgiven our parents for their choice of his middle name; "Jack," after a pirate captain they knew several years back.
But right now their voices are beginning to fade as they move down the hall. I walk over to my door, open it slowly, and peak out. Just in time to see them turn a corner, still arguing. I slip out of my room, shutting the door as quietly as possible, and promptly head in the opposite direction, leading me down the stairs.
I can hear clanking in the kitchen. Mother must be preparing dinner. So to the kitchen I go, perhaps for a bit of a snack. Pausing in the doorway, I wait for my mother to take notice of me. Her back is to me, though, so she hasn't become aware of my entrance. I cough slightly for her attention, and she turns around.
"Hello, James dear." My mother smiles brightly at me, and I smile and nod my head politely at her. My mother immediately looks suspicious. "I know exactly what you're here for, James Turner, and you are NOT spoiling your appetite." I adopt a frustrated frown and cross my arms. "Pouting will get you nowhere, James. Though setting the table may get you dinner a bit sooner." I heave an over dramatic sigh (I seem to do that a lot in this house, for some reason) and walk dejectedly over to the silverware, counting out forks and knives and such for five and setting them on the table, then grabbing plates and putting them there as well. I sit down at my place after accomplishing my task and just watch Mother.
"They're nothing but dirty, rotten, thieving scoundrels, Rebecca! When are you going to learn that for yourself?" Mother and I both wince as brother and sister find their way to the stairs and begin to descend. Apparently their argument has yet to find an ending.
"But that's the intrigue, Bill! Pirates; roguish, handsome, devil may care scoundrels who go on exciting adventures, steal from the pompous rich, meet all sorts of exotic people! High seas romances, deeds of derring-do-"
"YOU have read from Mother's books one time too many, sister!" Bill and Rebecca have entered the kitchen. And I'm still in it. While they're arguing. Goodie.
"Children, CHILDREN!" Mother nearly has to yell to gain their attention. I lean forward in my seat, propping my head up with my hand, arm planted firmly on the table. Time to hear today's Stop Arguing or Else lecture. "What have I told you about arguing?"
"It's not MY fault, mother. If Rebecca would just grow up-"
"If Bill would just understand that pirates can be good men-" And now, at the same time:
"If JAMES would just take my side so that more people would support MY opinion than his/hers-" And here they point at each other while turning their heads simultaneously to glare at me. I raise an eyebrow and smile benignly, waving a hand at them in an unconcerned fashion.
Don't even BEGIN trying to pull me into another one of YOUR arguments.
"Arguing AGAIN? Don't you two ever quiet down for even a moment?" Everyone turns around at this. Father has just entered the house.
"William! A little help?" Mother asks exasperatedly, gesturing to Bill and Rebecca.
"Both of you; sit down, QUIET down, and eat your supper."
"But-"
"No buts!" Bill and Rebecca both adopt faces similar to the one I pulled when I didn't get my before dinner snack, and they sit down, Bill beside me and Rebecca across. Father walks over and gives Mother a quick kiss.
"I don't know how you do that." Mother whispers. Father winks at her before sitting down at the head of the table. Mother takes the seat by Rebecca, sitting between her and Father, and we say our evening prayer before beginning our meal.
I, personally, am neutral on the issue. Having never met pirates, and being subject to stories both of their exciting adventures and evil exploits, I have difficulty deciding which side to take. So I take neither. No point in taking one until I actually MEET a pirate, anyway. That's my logic and I'm sticking with it. Who knows? If Rebecca and Bill ever meet pirates, they might go to opposite ends of the issue. You just can't predict these sorts of things. Seeing is believing, as a wise person once said.
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Dinner has long ago ended. The residents of the house have retired to their rooms for the night. I am no exception. I sit on my bed, gazing out the window into the clear, starry skies. It is a quiet night in the Caribbean.
...
Pirates...
What's so great about them, anyway?