"An' do ye really think th' whelp's gonna 'preciate th' lengths ye're goin' to t' save his skin?" Barbossa taunted, drawing a couple of lazy circles in the air with the tip of his sword. He shifted his weight to his rear foot, awaiting answer.
Jack concentrated on catching his breath without trying to look like that was precisely what he was doing. He didn't have the indefatigable energy of the undead quite yet, despite palming that cursed coin. Then again, maybe he was just out of practice having to battle for so long, to stall and stall and stall some more for an opportune moment. Not having one's own ship didn't give one much opportunity to hone raiding skills. And running up these damn hills -- what was this, a cave or the Alps? Briefly, he felt guilty for leaving Will to deal with the many while he took on the one, but reasoned his one could do a hell of a lot more damage to the lad than the other few combined.
"Now see, that's th' attitude 'at got ye into this position," Jack tossed back, paraphrasing the mutineer's earlier comment on deck of the Pearl. "Ne'er takin' the long view of events, mate. Livin' in th' moment … as it were," he gestured toward a moonlit bony elbow.
"Aye, well, least I'm not throwin' 'way a perfectly good chance a' gettin' back me ship t' impress someone inta a bunk I don' have." The mad captain's jaundiced eyes crinkled in an unholy grin. "Though 'e is pretty, I'll give ye that, Jaaaack." He deliberately drew out the name, and it occurred to Sparrow he was getting damn sick of that, among other things. "Prettier 'n 'is da, any rate. Worthless cur." The mutineer spat at the ground near his opponent's boots.
The stories were that Jack Sparrow never lost his composure, but he knew Barbossa's triumph at the moment Jack's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed in a thin line at both charges. "Talkin' instead o' fightin' ain' gonna get ye very far," he pointed out in a reasonable tone, crinkling his own saccharine smile at his former first mate. "Jus' take longer to lose. But mebbe ye' know 'tis your only chance o' drawin' out this parody o' livin'?" He lunged at the older man, gratified when Barbossa leaped back, his coat nearly cut by Jack's blade. "How 'bout them apples, eh?"
They fought a bit longer, Jack giving precious quarter rarely for a quick search around at Will's progress. The younger man parried, slashed, stabbed, punched, and kicked as well as any pirate, and Jack felt a slight swell of pride that he was the one to discover him tucked away in that smithy and introduce him into his birthright element. It wasn't an environ suited for many men -- or women -- but old William would've been proud to see how quickly his son adapted, given precious little time to get used to things.
"Now that's touchin'," Barbossa spoke above the clang of their blades several minutes later. He was clearly directing his gaze past Jack's shoulder, and the shorter man resisted the urge to turn and follow it. He studiously ignored the comment, concentrating on his parrying. "Looks like ye've competition o'er there, Jaaack."
"Tell me, man, are ye incapable o' sayin' me name correctly, or jus' too stupid t' know when t' stop?"
"Seems 'is bonny lass'll be th' one t' die nex' to 'er fair lover," the older man pressed, his eyes delightedly searching Jack's face for a reaction. "Or would it be *yer* fair William, eh?"
He ignored the gibe, sublimated his thoughts and any feelings to the back of his mind as he fought, trying to force Barbossa into a compromising position so he could strike when the blood was hot in the gold chest. It wasn't until much later, when he was alone in the cave with all the swag and assorted pirates' cold bodies, that Jack even attempted to think about the whole thing.
When Elizabeth told him his ship had set sail, with what sounded like sincere sympathy in her voice, Jack had elected to stay behind. His reasoning was that if the Black Pearl never returned -- but he suspected it would once Anamaria was sure no threat remained on the island; what pirate worth her salt would pass up that much treasure? -- he still didn't want to go back where he knew the noose awaited.
Nor, as he did not add aloud to the young couple, did he wish to watch the eventual gathering of Will's courage to tell Elizabeth of his feelings for her. In the end, he'd nodded at them both -- Elizabeth, unfailingly regal and assessing, and Will, gaze going between the two of them with puzzlement -- and turned to head back to the cave to await his fate at the hands of the gods and the pirates, without so much as a goodbye.
Jack concentrated on catching his breath without trying to look like that was precisely what he was doing. He didn't have the indefatigable energy of the undead quite yet, despite palming that cursed coin. Then again, maybe he was just out of practice having to battle for so long, to stall and stall and stall some more for an opportune moment. Not having one's own ship didn't give one much opportunity to hone raiding skills. And running up these damn hills -- what was this, a cave or the Alps? Briefly, he felt guilty for leaving Will to deal with the many while he took on the one, but reasoned his one could do a hell of a lot more damage to the lad than the other few combined.
"Now see, that's th' attitude 'at got ye into this position," Jack tossed back, paraphrasing the mutineer's earlier comment on deck of the Pearl. "Ne'er takin' the long view of events, mate. Livin' in th' moment … as it were," he gestured toward a moonlit bony elbow.
"Aye, well, least I'm not throwin' 'way a perfectly good chance a' gettin' back me ship t' impress someone inta a bunk I don' have." The mad captain's jaundiced eyes crinkled in an unholy grin. "Though 'e is pretty, I'll give ye that, Jaaaack." He deliberately drew out the name, and it occurred to Sparrow he was getting damn sick of that, among other things. "Prettier 'n 'is da, any rate. Worthless cur." The mutineer spat at the ground near his opponent's boots.
The stories were that Jack Sparrow never lost his composure, but he knew Barbossa's triumph at the moment Jack's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed in a thin line at both charges. "Talkin' instead o' fightin' ain' gonna get ye very far," he pointed out in a reasonable tone, crinkling his own saccharine smile at his former first mate. "Jus' take longer to lose. But mebbe ye' know 'tis your only chance o' drawin' out this parody o' livin'?" He lunged at the older man, gratified when Barbossa leaped back, his coat nearly cut by Jack's blade. "How 'bout them apples, eh?"
They fought a bit longer, Jack giving precious quarter rarely for a quick search around at Will's progress. The younger man parried, slashed, stabbed, punched, and kicked as well as any pirate, and Jack felt a slight swell of pride that he was the one to discover him tucked away in that smithy and introduce him into his birthright element. It wasn't an environ suited for many men -- or women -- but old William would've been proud to see how quickly his son adapted, given precious little time to get used to things.
"Now that's touchin'," Barbossa spoke above the clang of their blades several minutes later. He was clearly directing his gaze past Jack's shoulder, and the shorter man resisted the urge to turn and follow it. He studiously ignored the comment, concentrating on his parrying. "Looks like ye've competition o'er there, Jaaack."
"Tell me, man, are ye incapable o' sayin' me name correctly, or jus' too stupid t' know when t' stop?"
"Seems 'is bonny lass'll be th' one t' die nex' to 'er fair lover," the older man pressed, his eyes delightedly searching Jack's face for a reaction. "Or would it be *yer* fair William, eh?"
He ignored the gibe, sublimated his thoughts and any feelings to the back of his mind as he fought, trying to force Barbossa into a compromising position so he could strike when the blood was hot in the gold chest. It wasn't until much later, when he was alone in the cave with all the swag and assorted pirates' cold bodies, that Jack even attempted to think about the whole thing.
When Elizabeth told him his ship had set sail, with what sounded like sincere sympathy in her voice, Jack had elected to stay behind. His reasoning was that if the Black Pearl never returned -- but he suspected it would once Anamaria was sure no threat remained on the island; what pirate worth her salt would pass up that much treasure? -- he still didn't want to go back where he knew the noose awaited.
Nor, as he did not add aloud to the young couple, did he wish to watch the eventual gathering of Will's courage to tell Elizabeth of his feelings for her. In the end, he'd nodded at them both -- Elizabeth, unfailingly regal and assessing, and Will, gaze going between the two of them with puzzlement -- and turned to head back to the cave to await his fate at the hands of the gods and the pirates, without so much as a goodbye.
