AN: Thanks for the sweet reviews guys...
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"Oy!" Jack shouted, wrapping his hands over the bars of the cell and pushing his head as close as possible to the door. "GAOLER!"
Annamaria followed suit. "Hello! Gaoler! We need to speak to you!"
Jack rattled the iron lattice and kept shouting, rolling his eyes at Annamaria as he did so. Minutes passed while they both tried vainly to attract the turnkey's attention. Finally they heard the unmistakeable sounds of someone stirring upstairs, and then a succession of sounds as the gaoler made his heavy, clunking, grunting journey down the stairs into the dank cells. He stomped over to the cell and Annamaria noticed in horror that his fly was unbuttoned. Oh God, she told herself, don't look below shoulder level. Don't look below shoulder level...
"Whaddayawantinthenameofbloodyhell!" he snarled. Jack even took an unintentional step back to avoid the lethal spray that splattered over the bars.
"We want to see the chaplain, savvy? I don't want to die without...you know, talkin' to him or whatever he was down here offering a couple of nights ago. Eternal paradise," Jack continued with his best ingratiating smile, "and other such things."
The gaoler raised himself up and cleared his throat. "Why should I get the minister for yer if you didn' want 'im when 'e came?" Both Jack and Annamaria stepped back, anticipating what was to come. But the well-directed missile hit Jack full in the cheek.
"That's a very interesting thing you just did, gaoler, which will assure you of - " Annamaria cut Jack off mid-threat. She smiled nervously at the man, and said firmly: "And we forgive those who trespass against us. We repent, and are sorry for all our sins. I want to talk with the chaplain before I die."
The gaoler stopped in mid bluster. Looking at Annamaria with a new kind of respect, he stomped off, muttering to himself about the "bloody fickle prisoners changin' their mind every three seconds". Stopping at the top of the stairs, he shouted down, "I'll GET yer the bloody priest then I'm goin' back to bed!", followed by a few more (thankfully) unintelligible words, and they could then hear him clumping off.
"AND your fly's undone!" Jack bellowed after him, and then turned to Annamaria, who giggled. "You noticed too, didn't you...he won't be back until it's time to take us to the gallows. That'll give us a few hours head start." He paused, and then asked, "Where did you pick up all that religious lingo, luv? Did you steal the Book of Common Prayer in your thieving ways?"
Annamaria laughed. "No - before I was a thief...before I was - liberated - I was brought up in an orphanage. The mistress was very interested in the religious education of her charges. About the only thing she took an interest in, actually, but that should come in quite useful for us."
They waited for a few moments in silence. "We're going to need something that'll take the chaplain's attention away from me for a few moments luv. Can you think of anything that'll provide a distraction?" Jack said, looking up the passage.
As he turned around he saw Annamaria swaying on the spot, and beginning to fall. She had fainted. Jack took a quick couple of steps towards her and caught her just as she nearly hit the ground. He was concerned, and stroked her cheek gently. He didn't want to have to leave her behind in the escape. He whispered her name and got a shock when her eyes opened suddenly.
"Something like this?" she whispered back, and grinned wickedly. Jack helped her up, chuckling ruefully at himself for being taken in.
"That'll do perfectly, darlin'...you had me fooled."
They waited a few moments in silence. Then the chaplain came slowly down the stairs, almost tripping over his cassock as he tried to gain purchase on the slippery, mildewy steps. He was almost a complete opposite to the gaoler, meek and mild, and Annamaria felt half sorry for him as he fumbled with the keys to their cell. Jack had moved toward the back of the cell, where the gloom was heaviest, and the rum bottle lay empty on the stones.
"You will speak with me now, Jack Sparrow?" the minister asked.
Came the voice out of the dark corner, "That's Captain Jack Sparrow to you, mate."
The chaplain turned to Annamaria. "And you, my child? Will you take the sacrament of communion and die spiritually, in the grace of God?"
"I shall," she answered, and began to sway like she had done before.
"My child, what is wrong?" The minister exclaimed, catching her like Jack had done. Annamaria dared to open one eye a little and looked out through her lashes. She saw Jack raise the bottle.
With a sardonic smile, Jack said, "Father, forgive us," and clocked the reverend on the head with the empty rum bottle. As he collapsed to the ground, unconscious and likely to stay that way for several hours, Jack was already stripping him of his vestments.
"Won't he be cold?" Annamaria wondered aloud.
"Oh yes, hadn't thought of that." Jack said, creasing his brows in thought. "I'll have to dress him in my clothes, I suppose. Quite a nice old man, really, but I wish I didn't have to leave my stuff with him...maybe he'll keep them for me."
As Annamaria's opinion of what Jack was wearing clearly was at odds with the wearer's, she remained silent on this matter, however much she smiled inwardly.
"Don't forget the dog collar," she added.
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"Oy!" Jack shouted, wrapping his hands over the bars of the cell and pushing his head as close as possible to the door. "GAOLER!"
Annamaria followed suit. "Hello! Gaoler! We need to speak to you!"
Jack rattled the iron lattice and kept shouting, rolling his eyes at Annamaria as he did so. Minutes passed while they both tried vainly to attract the turnkey's attention. Finally they heard the unmistakeable sounds of someone stirring upstairs, and then a succession of sounds as the gaoler made his heavy, clunking, grunting journey down the stairs into the dank cells. He stomped over to the cell and Annamaria noticed in horror that his fly was unbuttoned. Oh God, she told herself, don't look below shoulder level. Don't look below shoulder level...
"Whaddayawantinthenameofbloodyhell!" he snarled. Jack even took an unintentional step back to avoid the lethal spray that splattered over the bars.
"We want to see the chaplain, savvy? I don't want to die without...you know, talkin' to him or whatever he was down here offering a couple of nights ago. Eternal paradise," Jack continued with his best ingratiating smile, "and other such things."
The gaoler raised himself up and cleared his throat. "Why should I get the minister for yer if you didn' want 'im when 'e came?" Both Jack and Annamaria stepped back, anticipating what was to come. But the well-directed missile hit Jack full in the cheek.
"That's a very interesting thing you just did, gaoler, which will assure you of - " Annamaria cut Jack off mid-threat. She smiled nervously at the man, and said firmly: "And we forgive those who trespass against us. We repent, and are sorry for all our sins. I want to talk with the chaplain before I die."
The gaoler stopped in mid bluster. Looking at Annamaria with a new kind of respect, he stomped off, muttering to himself about the "bloody fickle prisoners changin' their mind every three seconds". Stopping at the top of the stairs, he shouted down, "I'll GET yer the bloody priest then I'm goin' back to bed!", followed by a few more (thankfully) unintelligible words, and they could then hear him clumping off.
"AND your fly's undone!" Jack bellowed after him, and then turned to Annamaria, who giggled. "You noticed too, didn't you...he won't be back until it's time to take us to the gallows. That'll give us a few hours head start." He paused, and then asked, "Where did you pick up all that religious lingo, luv? Did you steal the Book of Common Prayer in your thieving ways?"
Annamaria laughed. "No - before I was a thief...before I was - liberated - I was brought up in an orphanage. The mistress was very interested in the religious education of her charges. About the only thing she took an interest in, actually, but that should come in quite useful for us."
They waited for a few moments in silence. "We're going to need something that'll take the chaplain's attention away from me for a few moments luv. Can you think of anything that'll provide a distraction?" Jack said, looking up the passage.
As he turned around he saw Annamaria swaying on the spot, and beginning to fall. She had fainted. Jack took a quick couple of steps towards her and caught her just as she nearly hit the ground. He was concerned, and stroked her cheek gently. He didn't want to have to leave her behind in the escape. He whispered her name and got a shock when her eyes opened suddenly.
"Something like this?" she whispered back, and grinned wickedly. Jack helped her up, chuckling ruefully at himself for being taken in.
"That'll do perfectly, darlin'...you had me fooled."
They waited a few moments in silence. Then the chaplain came slowly down the stairs, almost tripping over his cassock as he tried to gain purchase on the slippery, mildewy steps. He was almost a complete opposite to the gaoler, meek and mild, and Annamaria felt half sorry for him as he fumbled with the keys to their cell. Jack had moved toward the back of the cell, where the gloom was heaviest, and the rum bottle lay empty on the stones.
"You will speak with me now, Jack Sparrow?" the minister asked.
Came the voice out of the dark corner, "That's Captain Jack Sparrow to you, mate."
The chaplain turned to Annamaria. "And you, my child? Will you take the sacrament of communion and die spiritually, in the grace of God?"
"I shall," she answered, and began to sway like she had done before.
"My child, what is wrong?" The minister exclaimed, catching her like Jack had done. Annamaria dared to open one eye a little and looked out through her lashes. She saw Jack raise the bottle.
With a sardonic smile, Jack said, "Father, forgive us," and clocked the reverend on the head with the empty rum bottle. As he collapsed to the ground, unconscious and likely to stay that way for several hours, Jack was already stripping him of his vestments.
"Won't he be cold?" Annamaria wondered aloud.
"Oh yes, hadn't thought of that." Jack said, creasing his brows in thought. "I'll have to dress him in my clothes, I suppose. Quite a nice old man, really, but I wish I didn't have to leave my stuff with him...maybe he'll keep them for me."
As Annamaria's opinion of what Jack was wearing clearly was at odds with the wearer's, she remained silent on this matter, however much she smiled inwardly.
"Don't forget the dog collar," she added.