A/N: Alrighty. Because I'm trying to finish another multi-chaptered fic, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this. But because this is a very big priority, I shall try to do so very often. Also, mucho thanks to rythmteck, who has been very encouraging! (*cough*Read her fic!*cough*)
Mr. J. Sparrow was, by no means, a criminal. A man who allowed people access to films that were not yet released from the theatres couldn't be compaired to such dastardly fellows as murderers and kidnappers. He was, in his eyes, a man The People appreciated. Wouldn't you appreciate being able to see your new favorite movie seventeen times a day for absolutely free?
Jack was a pirate. Mostly of films, as previously mentioned, but on rare occasions songs, software, and video games. This business didn't make quite a lot of money, but that was alright for him. There were times when artists, designers and directors would get so fed-up with what he was doing that they would drop a small fortune into his hands on the condition that he no longer uploaded their products. He would accept on the condition that they did not inform the authorities of where he was situated.
It was a cushy little arrangement. He sat in his office -- which was, in all truth, a large closet housing a desk, chair, and rubbish bin -- the glow from his computer screen dulling his eyes as he waited for some hoity-toity narcissist to get browned off and contact him. It didn't matter when he had to make an excursion into broad daylight, meeting said stranger at some obscure little cafè to arrange an accord. He was King of Streaming, Downloading and Generally Avoiding Copyright Laws.
He was webmaster of fluffiebunnies.com, an innocent name for an innocent-looking site. To a new user, the fluffiebunnies page seemed like a site for girls age 4 - 10: pink, purple, and decorated with adorable things one would not usually associate with illegal activity. But if you were clever and clicked on the tiny daisy .jpeg in the bottom-left corner of the "Fluffie Bunnies Fanclub" page, you would be taken to the real bunnies.com. A black background with silver lettering -- a font created by Jack himself. It was incredibly unique. Piracy had never been so well disguised.
And Jack and never been so pelased with himself.
Tucked into the tiniest corner in London, where practically no one could see it, sat a small restaurant by the name of Knighton's. It wasn't, exactly, a charming little place, but Jack had grown very fond of it through time. Knighton himself made an amazing black pudding... which, incidentally, was one of the two things Jack was waiting for.
He was seated at a two-person table outside, staring up at the foggy gray sky with a mix of excitement and anticipation. He always got this way before an exchange: Nervous and slightly sick. His black eyes darted around, focusing on something for a brief ammount of time before jumping to something else. A bird -- a sign -- a person. A person that was approaching.
Jack knew it was the man he was to be meeting with by one simple thing: clothing. These industry tycoons never realized that in order to be inconspicuous, you can't be dressed in a black trenchcoat with black sunglasses covering most of your face and a large black hat on. They never understood that while that may work in the movies they were so careful of protecting, real people happened to be a lot more suspicious.
For a moment the man looked bewildered, searching the area for another character dressed in a similar outfit of espionage. He was alarmed when Jack stood up, a smirk on his face, and went over to introduce himself.
"Might you be lookin' for the Captain?" he asked, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper.
"Er... yes." he said.
"Name?" His voice dropped an octave lower, the secretive feeling in the air thickening considerably.
The man's sunglasses slipped down his nose, so that only his eyes were visible. "Donovan Sutherland, for Edmund Broderbund... Am I speaking with the Captain?"
Jack's crooked grin broke the tensity. "Aye, lad. Now please, join me over here, and we can discuss business."
"I must say, Sir," Sutherland said, a wary tone to his voice. "Mr. Broderbund and I tried everything possible to get you into a compromising position -- this was our last way out. You're a peculiar man..." -- he took a seat at the small table across from Jack -- "No family, no friends, no lovers, no pets; there was nothing we could do but take part in this lovely little agreement."
"Which is exactly the way I want it," Jack replied, deciding to feel smug for the sake of his image. "Love is a weakness, Mr. S., and by not giving a blindman's cane, I get exactly what I want from people like you."
"How very clever, Captain."
Jack chuckled, pleased to see the briefcase that Sutherland was now sliding discreetly under the table. "Yes," he said, stroking his goatee in a very evil fashion. "I know."
Jack left the area about half and hour later, smiling at the weight of the black leather briefcase in his right hand. It had been an excellent deal, meaning he got the better end of it. Fifty-thousand dollars just to stop free viewings of The Tin Murderer 1, 2, and 3. In his eyes it was an overrated movie: A mad serial killer wandering around and gutting people with aluminum? Talk about unrealistic.
But as he walked, musing on the film, his path home was interruped by a torrent of wild civilians, and a slew of news broadcasting workers. He stopped in his tracks to do some eavesdropping.
A woman with incredibly tall blonde hair was speaking loudly over all the noise, looking straight at a camera labeled Channel 2 News: "Good morning, Elliot, Bianca. Today is a very happy occasion for a majority of people -- Thomas Swann has just joined the Cabinet."
Ah. Jack thought. Nancy-boy Swann... of course...
Thomas Swann was a leading politician in the community, who had founded such charities as Goodies for Grans and Thomas's Toy Shoppe. In Jack's opinion, the man was an idiot. A big, bloody idiot.
The Channel 2 woman was still speaking. "...We're just waiting for Mr. Swann and his daughter, Elizabeth, to make an appearance and, if we're lucky, a small speech..."
Jack rolled his eyes. Swann's daughter was probably as much of a moron as he was. Most likely spoiled to the core, covered in expensive clothes and whatnot. Namby-pamby, nose-in-the-air, worship-the-ground-I-walk-on spoiled. Jack wrinkled his nose with displeasure. He hated people like that.
He tried desperately to get through the throng of people waiting for the Swanns, but managed only to make it to the middle, where there was a large quantity of space that would be used as a kind of road. Jack muttered curse words under his breath, and sighed. He was going to be stuck here until they left. Stupid blighters.
I don't want to sound desperate, so I'll just say this: If you liked it, please review and let me know that someone out there wants me to continue. You can flame it you want, but it'll just be ignored.