Disclaimer: I do not own any PotC character. Disney retains all bragging rights.
Author's Note: This teeny weeny ficlet grew out of strange dreams I've had of late and general confusion over various kinds of foodstuffs. It is a one-off and not really much of anything, although it was fun to write. Tell me what you think…thanks!
***********************************************************
"You mean to tell me," Jack Sparrow began loudly, teeth bared, narrowing his eyes at the hovering Elizabeth and bracing for a fight, "This is meant to be cold…" chunks of gazpacho cascaded off the bowl of his upturned spoon, splashing lustily back into his dish (somewhat) and onto the table (largely), "This is meant to be raw…" Jack stabbed a chopstick pitilessly at a resigned-looking piece of tuna sushi, "…and meant to be eaten with a pair of bleeding twigs?" He brandished the chopsticks in the air, waving them wildly in strange circles as Elizabeth looked on, feigning boredom.
"And lastly," the pirate lowered his voice and gestured delicately with grimy, bejeweled fingers, "you stand ready and eager to convince me that this dazzling array of culinary splendour …" much rolling of kohl-laden eyes here, "…is, even at the most base level, edible?"
Jack snatched a handful of warm escargot from a dish and thrust it towards Elizabeth, "This? And this?" His determined palms clutched a handful of slightly wilty seaweed salad. "And what about these?" Slender frogs' legs hung dubiously from the pirate's questioning hands. "And these?" At a near fever pitch of froth he paused dramatically, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, all of the breath came out of him like a punctured balloon. He looked worse off than the seaweed as he reached miserably towards the final offending food. Jack's anger was quickly dissolving into quiet despair as he held aloft a tentacled piece of calamari, jiggling the meat briefly for effect.
On her feet across the table from the faltering pirate, Elizabeth's eyes flashed. With great deliberateness, she leaned in to Jack, palms flat on the table before him, her flushed face coming to rest one slender inch from Jack's. He swallowed hard.
"'Yes,' Captain Sparrow," she intoned slowly, "the answer to all of your myriad of questions, is 'yes.' 'Yes.'" She edged forward, now a hair's breadth away from a vaguely swaying Jack, and smiled the crookedest, evilest, most depraved smile she could conjure.
"Dig in."
Jack returned the gaze sorrowfully, deflated.
"I hate it when you cook," he pouted, "Damn your blasted 'fusion,' Swann."