Subsist
By Suslin
DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters below, not even the ones I made up. I only own the white chocolate and raspberries.
Thank you to Aurora Conlon, babee-munky, Brooklyn Myst, cloudizacutie, Diamond-Dancer, DragonLadyKhushrenada, ElvishWhispers, Jay Alpha, Jehan's Muse, JesusFreak, Lady LifeCharm, Maeko-Nohara, OceanGirl28, QueenofSparrows, Rachel, Sienna3, Simbelmyne, Steff7, Tempest in Blue, Tinania Lindaleriel and yOUdON'TnKOWmE for all the wonderful reviews.
NOTE: Jehan's Muse gets the award for putting up the most valiant defense against the influences of het. Congratulations.
Here is chapter 3. And Jack is in it, as promised.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Captain Jack Sparrow was the kind of person who, when sober, was so paralyzing shy that whenever confronted with a crowded room of people, he always sought out secluded corners and stayed there. That was part of the reason he drank so much. To wash away the fear of being thought a fool and to cease caring what others thought. But tonight, even though he was not sober, he still sought out the closest corner of the tavern his crew had chosen to visit that night, a bottle of brandy cradled in his arms, his worn leather hat tipped low over his eyes.
The tavern, The Whistling Elk, was well known for its malt beer and the loose tongues of its patrons. Everyone, excluding Jack, had wanted to go because it would be the best place to get the latest gossip and also the best place to get drunk on good beer. Jack had wanted to go to an inn called The Amber Tree, figuring since most rum was amber-colored, they probably had a lot of rum. But no, no one wanted to go to the Amber Tree. They wanted malt-beer. Jack hated malt beer. He had tried it when he was seven and hadn't touched the stuff since. Jack scowled at the bottle of brandy in his lap. He didn't like brandy much either. But it was alcohol and better than malt beer and that's all that mattered at the moment.
Jack shifted in the torn leather booth he was wedged in, preparing for a light nap, when he heard his name. His ears pricked up instantly and he sat up, looking around for the owner of the voice. Peering around the end of the booth, he saw two men sitting at tall stools at bar, mulling over their drinks.
"I don't see why Jerry doesn't just kick them out. They're way too rowdy, they take away everyone's money in card games and they scare away customers. It's just not right." The man grumbled. He was portly and Irish, as his head full of bright red hair and thick accent attested to. He wore a long green coat and fashionable black buckle shoes, which characterized him as merchant sailor. A slow grin played across Jack's face as he saw the man's clothes. If he proved to be too much of a fat, arrogant prick, they could always pay him a little visit once his merchant vessel set sail. The port city was neutral territory and therefore they could not raid each other's ships when they entered the harbor. Once they were out in open sea, though, they were free to do as they liked.
"Yes, well, if you think the crew is bad, you should see the captain," a silky voice replied. "He bathes himself in rum and thinks he is the better for it. He's an artless, ill-breeded coxcomb." Jack frowned deeply. He looked around the booth at the second man. He was not built unlike Jack, just was smaller and paler and his face had a delicate bone structure. His was clean-shaven and hair was dark and tied back with a ribbon, which Jack rolled his eyes exasperatedly at.
"What a coward," Jack mused. "Insulting me behind my back instead of to my face." Jack shook his head sadly at the man. "What a fool." Jack stretched out onto his stomach watching the men as they continued to trade insults back and forth about him and his crew. He propped his chin in his hands, wondering when he should step in and say something. The look on both their faces would be priceless.
"He's the bastard son of a bankrupt Scotch peddler and his brother's slave," the second man proclaimed finally and Jack knew this was his chance.
"Excuse me," Jack said waving at the two men. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just thought I heard you try to insult me. If I might say so, your skills at insulting people leave much to be desired. So let me explain something. An insult is not an insult unless it's insulting. It's only insulting if it's not true. Or if it's exaggerated. So, you just called me the "bastard son of a bankrupt peddler and his brother's slave." Is that correct?" The two men stared at Jack, dumbfounded.
"Right, so, since I am the bastard son of a bankrupt peddler and his brother's slave, that wasn't insulting. Because, quite literally, it is true. Savvy?" Jack cocked an eyebrow at them. The dark-haired one recovered first.
"So, it's the drunken fool himself. What an honor," he said, disdain dripping from every word. Jack grinned grimly. He got up and strode slowly over to the man. When he was about a foot away, he drew out his pistol. Pointing it between the man's eyes, he looked away, annoyed that he had to pay so much attention to the man. He looked back, then sniffed.
"How about if I put it this way? If you and your friend here aren't out of this tavern by the time I count to three, I'll shoot your brains out. Are you savvy with that?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Will woke up the next morning, soaked from head to foot in dew and mud, his neck cramped, his eyes puffy and his face lined with salt from the tears he had cried the night before. Seagulls were veering about and calling to each other above the sun-soaked water. Will sat up, rubbing his neck and squinting into the morning sun. The tent from the night before and all the decorations had been taken down. All the guests had gone home and Elizabeth had left with Norrington. Will closed his eyes and felt at his aching heart. Something felt different, a feeling inside of him had been ripped out and another replaced it.
The new feeling swept across him, chilling him to the bone, and he shivered. He gathered his limbs in to himself and hugged his knees tightly. The anger and sorrow he had felt the night before was gone. Now, he just felt numb and alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Elizabeth sat in bed, aching in places she didn't even know existed. She was tired and hungry and she wasn't used to her new surroundings yet. After the excitement of the wedding, everything seemed to be going downhill.
When she had woken up, Edward wasn't there, which had frightened her terribly. She had rushed out of the room, nearly knocking over a maid who told her he had to go attend to his duties as a commodore. Nearly collapsing in tears, the maid had comforted her and had told her to go back to bed and sleep more. But she couldn't. Her mind wandered back to such early memories as when her nurse had peeled her grapes for her and when she first met Will. His face swam in her vision and she held her head in her hands. He seemed to be such a forbidden thing now that she was married, but she still loved him. She knew that. She didn't love the commodore, but she was married to him.
Elizabeth pulled the sheets over her head. The night before she had felt awkward and clumsy under Edward's skilled hands. He was patient, though, almost to the point where Elizabeth cried in frustration. She had tried to please him, but found she didn't know how to. She felt her cheeks flush with shame from the memory and she buried her head in the soft down pillow.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Dammit! What you mean you have rum?" Jack demanded of the bartender, waving around his empty brandy bottle. "All this time I've been drinking this stupid brandy and you've had rum? Why didn't you tell me?" The bartender, who had not dealt with drunken pirate captains before, put a hand on Jack's arm.
"I think you've had enough to drink." He said, patting Jack's arm soothingly.
"But there's rum!" Jack protested, throwing the man's arm off. "A man does not let an opportunity to drink rum slip by just because he's had too much to drink. Not when there's more rum to be had. Now give me the stuff or I'll throw this bottle at you."
"Sir," the bartender began. "I think you should go home."
The glass shattered just a moment later and the bartender, who didn't duck in time, was showered with glass shards. He blinked stupidly once or twice, then reached for the nearest bottle of rum and handed it to Jack. Even when drunk, Jack could wield a brandy bottle with amazing accuracy and skill.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Will made it back to the shop just after the seven o' clock bell had chimed. As he stepped into the shop, Master Brown descended upon him.
"Where on earth have you been? The shop was supposed to open an hour ago!" He roared. Will stared at the man and sighed.
"I went to a wedding reception."
"Was it your wedding?"
"No."
"Well then there's no excuse."
"It was the wedding of the girl I love." Master Brown was suddenly quiet.
"Oh, Will. I'm sorry. " Will pushed past him and went to get his sword from the acid bath. He got a towel, then pulled it and put on the table next to the basin.
"Who was she?" Master Brown asked.
"Elizabeth Swann." Will answered stiffly. More silence followed. Will got a ceramic jug and poured the acid from the basin into the jug. The put the jug aside, then wiped down the blade. The acid had eaten away at the softer metal surrounding the blade, revealing the fine grain that had been created in the process of folding the metal.
"Elizabeth Swann got married?" Master Brown asked meekly.
"Yes."
"To whom?"
"Commodore Norrington."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Will." Will reached for a block of Osage orange wood and began to fashion a handle to go with the blade.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"What do you mean Elizabeth Swann got married? Of course she got married!" Jack announced after one of his crew members had told him that he had heard of the marriage of the governor's daughter. "I'm just terribly disappointed that we didn't get invited. All sorts of drinks are abound at weddings. Champagne and such. So, she and Will got married, did they? Good for them."
"Sir, that's just the thing."
"Though since I saved Will's life, I would expect some gratitude in return. But no, he didn't invite us to his wedding." Jack sighed. What has become of friendship?" He lifted his rum bottle to his lips and only a few drops spilt into his mouth. "Loyalty?" He asked, dropping the bottle onto the table. "Hos-pitality?" Jack stumbled over the words, but managed to keep them intact. "Tell me, what has become of them?"
"Miss Swann didn't marry Will Turner."
"What?"
"Sir, they said that she married the commodore." Jack moaned. Mostly because he didn't have anymore rum, though.
"Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Bloody women. Going off and marrying people they aren't supposed to. Someone needs to go knock some sense into her. With a big stick."
By Suslin
DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters below, not even the ones I made up. I only own the white chocolate and raspberries.
Thank you to Aurora Conlon, babee-munky, Brooklyn Myst, cloudizacutie, Diamond-Dancer, DragonLadyKhushrenada, ElvishWhispers, Jay Alpha, Jehan's Muse, JesusFreak, Lady LifeCharm, Maeko-Nohara, OceanGirl28, QueenofSparrows, Rachel, Sienna3, Simbelmyne, Steff7, Tempest in Blue, Tinania Lindaleriel and yOUdON'TnKOWmE for all the wonderful reviews.
NOTE: Jehan's Muse gets the award for putting up the most valiant defense against the influences of het. Congratulations.
Here is chapter 3. And Jack is in it, as promised.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Captain Jack Sparrow was the kind of person who, when sober, was so paralyzing shy that whenever confronted with a crowded room of people, he always sought out secluded corners and stayed there. That was part of the reason he drank so much. To wash away the fear of being thought a fool and to cease caring what others thought. But tonight, even though he was not sober, he still sought out the closest corner of the tavern his crew had chosen to visit that night, a bottle of brandy cradled in his arms, his worn leather hat tipped low over his eyes.
The tavern, The Whistling Elk, was well known for its malt beer and the loose tongues of its patrons. Everyone, excluding Jack, had wanted to go because it would be the best place to get the latest gossip and also the best place to get drunk on good beer. Jack had wanted to go to an inn called The Amber Tree, figuring since most rum was amber-colored, they probably had a lot of rum. But no, no one wanted to go to the Amber Tree. They wanted malt-beer. Jack hated malt beer. He had tried it when he was seven and hadn't touched the stuff since. Jack scowled at the bottle of brandy in his lap. He didn't like brandy much either. But it was alcohol and better than malt beer and that's all that mattered at the moment.
Jack shifted in the torn leather booth he was wedged in, preparing for a light nap, when he heard his name. His ears pricked up instantly and he sat up, looking around for the owner of the voice. Peering around the end of the booth, he saw two men sitting at tall stools at bar, mulling over their drinks.
"I don't see why Jerry doesn't just kick them out. They're way too rowdy, they take away everyone's money in card games and they scare away customers. It's just not right." The man grumbled. He was portly and Irish, as his head full of bright red hair and thick accent attested to. He wore a long green coat and fashionable black buckle shoes, which characterized him as merchant sailor. A slow grin played across Jack's face as he saw the man's clothes. If he proved to be too much of a fat, arrogant prick, they could always pay him a little visit once his merchant vessel set sail. The port city was neutral territory and therefore they could not raid each other's ships when they entered the harbor. Once they were out in open sea, though, they were free to do as they liked.
"Yes, well, if you think the crew is bad, you should see the captain," a silky voice replied. "He bathes himself in rum and thinks he is the better for it. He's an artless, ill-breeded coxcomb." Jack frowned deeply. He looked around the booth at the second man. He was not built unlike Jack, just was smaller and paler and his face had a delicate bone structure. His was clean-shaven and hair was dark and tied back with a ribbon, which Jack rolled his eyes exasperatedly at.
"What a coward," Jack mused. "Insulting me behind my back instead of to my face." Jack shook his head sadly at the man. "What a fool." Jack stretched out onto his stomach watching the men as they continued to trade insults back and forth about him and his crew. He propped his chin in his hands, wondering when he should step in and say something. The look on both their faces would be priceless.
"He's the bastard son of a bankrupt Scotch peddler and his brother's slave," the second man proclaimed finally and Jack knew this was his chance.
"Excuse me," Jack said waving at the two men. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I just thought I heard you try to insult me. If I might say so, your skills at insulting people leave much to be desired. So let me explain something. An insult is not an insult unless it's insulting. It's only insulting if it's not true. Or if it's exaggerated. So, you just called me the "bastard son of a bankrupt peddler and his brother's slave." Is that correct?" The two men stared at Jack, dumbfounded.
"Right, so, since I am the bastard son of a bankrupt peddler and his brother's slave, that wasn't insulting. Because, quite literally, it is true. Savvy?" Jack cocked an eyebrow at them. The dark-haired one recovered first.
"So, it's the drunken fool himself. What an honor," he said, disdain dripping from every word. Jack grinned grimly. He got up and strode slowly over to the man. When he was about a foot away, he drew out his pistol. Pointing it between the man's eyes, he looked away, annoyed that he had to pay so much attention to the man. He looked back, then sniffed.
"How about if I put it this way? If you and your friend here aren't out of this tavern by the time I count to three, I'll shoot your brains out. Are you savvy with that?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Will woke up the next morning, soaked from head to foot in dew and mud, his neck cramped, his eyes puffy and his face lined with salt from the tears he had cried the night before. Seagulls were veering about and calling to each other above the sun-soaked water. Will sat up, rubbing his neck and squinting into the morning sun. The tent from the night before and all the decorations had been taken down. All the guests had gone home and Elizabeth had left with Norrington. Will closed his eyes and felt at his aching heart. Something felt different, a feeling inside of him had been ripped out and another replaced it.
The new feeling swept across him, chilling him to the bone, and he shivered. He gathered his limbs in to himself and hugged his knees tightly. The anger and sorrow he had felt the night before was gone. Now, he just felt numb and alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Elizabeth sat in bed, aching in places she didn't even know existed. She was tired and hungry and she wasn't used to her new surroundings yet. After the excitement of the wedding, everything seemed to be going downhill.
When she had woken up, Edward wasn't there, which had frightened her terribly. She had rushed out of the room, nearly knocking over a maid who told her he had to go attend to his duties as a commodore. Nearly collapsing in tears, the maid had comforted her and had told her to go back to bed and sleep more. But she couldn't. Her mind wandered back to such early memories as when her nurse had peeled her grapes for her and when she first met Will. His face swam in her vision and she held her head in her hands. He seemed to be such a forbidden thing now that she was married, but she still loved him. She knew that. She didn't love the commodore, but she was married to him.
Elizabeth pulled the sheets over her head. The night before she had felt awkward and clumsy under Edward's skilled hands. He was patient, though, almost to the point where Elizabeth cried in frustration. She had tried to please him, but found she didn't know how to. She felt her cheeks flush with shame from the memory and she buried her head in the soft down pillow.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Dammit! What you mean you have rum?" Jack demanded of the bartender, waving around his empty brandy bottle. "All this time I've been drinking this stupid brandy and you've had rum? Why didn't you tell me?" The bartender, who had not dealt with drunken pirate captains before, put a hand on Jack's arm.
"I think you've had enough to drink." He said, patting Jack's arm soothingly.
"But there's rum!" Jack protested, throwing the man's arm off. "A man does not let an opportunity to drink rum slip by just because he's had too much to drink. Not when there's more rum to be had. Now give me the stuff or I'll throw this bottle at you."
"Sir," the bartender began. "I think you should go home."
The glass shattered just a moment later and the bartender, who didn't duck in time, was showered with glass shards. He blinked stupidly once or twice, then reached for the nearest bottle of rum and handed it to Jack. Even when drunk, Jack could wield a brandy bottle with amazing accuracy and skill.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Will made it back to the shop just after the seven o' clock bell had chimed. As he stepped into the shop, Master Brown descended upon him.
"Where on earth have you been? The shop was supposed to open an hour ago!" He roared. Will stared at the man and sighed.
"I went to a wedding reception."
"Was it your wedding?"
"No."
"Well then there's no excuse."
"It was the wedding of the girl I love." Master Brown was suddenly quiet.
"Oh, Will. I'm sorry. " Will pushed past him and went to get his sword from the acid bath. He got a towel, then pulled it and put on the table next to the basin.
"Who was she?" Master Brown asked.
"Elizabeth Swann." Will answered stiffly. More silence followed. Will got a ceramic jug and poured the acid from the basin into the jug. The put the jug aside, then wiped down the blade. The acid had eaten away at the softer metal surrounding the blade, revealing the fine grain that had been created in the process of folding the metal.
"Elizabeth Swann got married?" Master Brown asked meekly.
"Yes."
"To whom?"
"Commodore Norrington."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Will." Will reached for a block of Osage orange wood and began to fashion a handle to go with the blade.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"What do you mean Elizabeth Swann got married? Of course she got married!" Jack announced after one of his crew members had told him that he had heard of the marriage of the governor's daughter. "I'm just terribly disappointed that we didn't get invited. All sorts of drinks are abound at weddings. Champagne and such. So, she and Will got married, did they? Good for them."
"Sir, that's just the thing."
"Though since I saved Will's life, I would expect some gratitude in return. But no, he didn't invite us to his wedding." Jack sighed. What has become of friendship?" He lifted his rum bottle to his lips and only a few drops spilt into his mouth. "Loyalty?" He asked, dropping the bottle onto the table. "Hos-pitality?" Jack stumbled over the words, but managed to keep them intact. "Tell me, what has become of them?"
"Miss Swann didn't marry Will Turner."
"What?"
"Sir, they said that she married the commodore." Jack moaned. Mostly because he didn't have anymore rum, though.
"Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Bloody women. Going off and marrying people they aren't supposed to. Someone needs to go knock some sense into her. With a big stick."