Title: "Funny Old World"
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: (Almost) all characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, the Walt Disney Company, Terry Rossio and Ted Elliot, Jerry Bruckheimer, Gore Verbinski, etc. And, of course, James Marsters and Johnny Depp.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: An adventure with two poets.
Setting: Post "Chosen" —and post "yo-ho."
"Funny Old World"
Part Four
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"So, my friend," Captain Jack said, "Cards on the table, right?"
"Fine," Spike said cautiously.
"Ah! You hesitate; that's very wise, very wise indeed. Look before leaping into something that might very well turn up fishy. But let me tell you, mate, I think we can strike a bargain to benefit both of us."
"All right, then, if we're going to be so bleeding honest, tell me this—what are you up to?" Spike asked bluntly. "You've got a scheme in mind, I can see that. You planned to come here from the first moment we met. What do you want?"
Jack's black eyes reflected the lamp's tiny point of flame, and for once his expression was serious, even grim.
"I want my ship back," he answered.
"What ship?"
"My ship. The Black Pearl. Stolen away, mate, stolen away, by knavish, craven, sneaking, false, cold-hearted scoundrels. How do you think I ended up on that island? Marooned—and not for the first time. It's getting to be a bloody habit."
"How exactly do you steal a ship? I mean, they're a bit large, aren't they? Full of masts, and sails, and whatnot?"
A reminiscent grin flickered across Jack's face. "It's not as difficult as you might imagine, as a matter of fact. Those who are placed in command can be lax, very lax indeed—and easily distracted." His expression grew somber again. "But not me, mate. We'd just made port in Holetown, Barbados. Most of the crew was ashore, spending their last shillings on gaming and wenching, the silly buggers—I don't inquire s'long as they turn up in time to make sail. Me, I was on baboon watch with six men, making her ready. And we were ambushed." His eyes grew opaque and his voice hard. Despite his exotic garb, his mannerisms, and his habitual good humor, all at once Captain Jack looked like a very dangerous man. "Overrun. The ship was stolen away, and us with it. They tried to force my crew to join them, and when they wouldn't, they were put off at various islets to the south—and me on OUR little island paradise. And off they went with my ship."
"Who did? Pirates?"
"Of course they were pirates. Everybody hereabouts is some kind of pirate, mate; we've no use for law and order here. These particular miscreants were foreigners—newcomers. Spanish, mostly; at least they spoke Spanish. But you mistake my meaning, my friend; I don't begrudge an honest robbery. There's one thing, though, I cannot abide."
"What's that?"
Jack was very still, though his eyes positively glittered.
"Betrayal, mate. Betrayal. They came for the Pearl, and the Pearl alone, and they didn't find us unmanned through simple good luck."
"Someone sold you out, you mean?"
Jack's coat hung over the back of his chair; he reached into its deepest pocket and drew out a strange bundle of greenish figured cloth, curiously torn, which he unfolded and placed between them.
"D'you know what this is?" he asked.
Almost involuntarily, Spike pushed back, away from the table.
"It's a goblin sack," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Ugh! They used a goblin? That's disgusting!"
"That's it exactly. This scurvy little demon was planted somewhere on my ship, waiting and spying. When it saw the crew disembark, it clawed its way out and flew off to its master with the news. And on they came without warning, three dozen of 'em; we were lost before it began." Jack leaned forward, his posture taut with leashed anger. "SOMEONE put it there. I've a suspicion who; I know where to find him." His lips curved into something resembling a smile. "And he's going to tell me where they took the Pearl."
"So what do you want me to do? Kill him?" Spike said. "Because, like I told you, I don't…"
"No, no, mate—I respect your principles, I really do." Jack relaxed against the back of his chair again, and now his smile was genuine. He raised his tin mug and swirled the wine within it meditatively. "Do you know," he said, taking a swallow, "I would so much rather see 'im paralysed with terror than dead. Shaking, groveling, and gibbering with fright. Squealing his slimy little guts out, the blistering sea-weasel. No, all I ask is that you do your little party trick, with the fangs and all, and then he'll tell me what I want to know. There's no point going 'round killing people, is there? Unless you 'ave to, of course."
Spike sipped some rough red wine and considered the proposition. It seemed pretty reasonable, on the face of it.
"And what do I get?"
Jack leaned forward again, his face intent.
"What do you want, mate?" he asked. "What do you really want?"
"I want to go home," Spike responded without hesitation. "Back to my own time and place. I've got unfinished business to take care of. People who—who need me. But that's not possible."
Jack's gold embellished teeth glinted in the dim lamplight. "It's not PROBABLE, perhaps. But you'd be surprised at what's actually possible, even for common mortal like myself." He unhooked the compass he kept fastened to his belt, and placed it on the table between them. "'ave a look at this."
Spike had been wondering about that compass for some time, in point of fact. His vampire senses had picked up an occult emanation from the thing as soon as he drew close to it, something humans might well be unable to perceive. First, he thought Captain Jack himself might be generating some sort of a supernatural buzz, but on getting to know the pirate, he quickly realized that his new acquaintance was emphatically not a demon, werewolf, fellow vampire, ghost, sorcerer, warlock, or other variety of magic user. Jack, just as he said himself, was entirely mortal, if not exactly orthodox in dress, movement, and thought.
Spike picked the artifact up, and turned it over in his hands, examining the outside first. The compass measured about four inches square, with rounded corners, made out of what looked like low-grade silver, quite tarnished. A polished black slab of obsidian took up nearly the entire top of the case. The silver was engraved with the benign, smiling face of a fanciful sun, a pensive moon, four cherubs, puffing their cheeks out to represent the four winds, and various arrangements of stars which seemed to be constellations, albeit unfamiliar ones. The compass gave off a strange, spicy odor, so faint that, again, he doubted that humans could detect it; and his fingers tingled oddly where he touched it.
Spike flipped open the lid. An outer ring bore the normal points of a compass, but nestled within that ring was an enamelled face, richly decorated with odd symbols and figures. Arranged somewhat haphazardly, these included astrological designs, the trigrams of the Chinese I-Ching, and some strange symbols he couldn't identify at all, such as two triangles standing point down, with a three-sided square between them, and a circle with a diagonal line through it. Above the center pin was a startlingly realistic, life-sized depiction of a human eye; the iris was dark brown, like Jack's. Spike stared at the painted face for a long moment. Something else was odd about it…
"It doesn't point North!" he exclaimed.
Jack smiled. "Oh, indeed it does—if I want it to." He reached for the compass; Spike quite willingly handed it over, and then brushed his fingertips together. Jack continued, "This will direct me to any place I want to go, mate. All I have to do is ask. And I'll wager it will direct me to 'any time,' as well, if we put the question properly."
"How the bloody hell did you get hold of such a thing?"
"Ah," Jack said, placing one tar-stained forefinger aside his nose with a wink, "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Think I'll slip out for a stroll," Spike said. He and Jack had sat for nearly an hour in the sputtering lamplight, making desultory conversation over the last of the wine. But Spike began to feel restless—and he noticed Jack sending the occasional discreet glance toward the corner where Yvette lay, too. Sultry breezes wafted through the open window, laden with tantalizing scents of the forest, enticing Spike's senses. Finally, he rose, ignoring Jack's look of surprise, and moved toward the window. "Need to get my bearings, don't I? Be back before dawn. Don't wait up!" he couldn't help adding.
Swinging his leg over the sill, Spike couldn't repress a smile. He was quite aware that Yvette, tucked up in her ostensibly virtuous bed, was not asleep, and in fact never had been since their arrival. Indeed, her heart beat rather fast just now, and its rhythm increased by the minute. Slipping through the window, he heard Jack rise from his chair, and there came a soft intake of breath from Yvette. Well, he'd leave them to it, then. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Spike sped toward the edge of the jungle and passed beneath the dark, fragrant branches of giant tree ferns and palms into profound darkness.
His eyes adjusted to the night rapidly, and soon he could make out the contours of the trees, vines, shrubs, and ferns that rose from the forest floor. With heightened awareness, he stole through lush underbrush, drinking in its moist, green, and strangely seductive scent. Disturbing yet exciting smells met his nostrils, combining a faint undertone of decay with the intense savor of burgeoning life. A sense of freedom sang in his blood, the freedom of the true predator, unconstrained by scruples, morality, or even second thoughts, and for a moment he gloried in it; if his heart could beat, it would be pounding now, and he longed to throw back his head and howl. Indeed, just as the thought crossed his mind, a far-off monkey let off a cadenced, raucous wail, and he had to stifle a laugh.
The jungle swarmed with living things of all kinds. Spike's acute senses caught the sounds and scents of an exotic menagerie—insects, snakes, lizards, opossums, agouti, hummingbirds, tanagers, parrots, a whole troup of monkeys, and even some diminutive but sturdy wild pigs. None of these creatures detected his presence amongst them, and thus none feared him. He felt his face change and his vision grow even keener as instinct took over.
For despite Mademoiselle Yvette's excellent meal, Spike was still hungry. And what he needed now was blood.
TBC
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: (Almost) all characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, the Walt Disney Company, Terry Rossio and Ted Elliot, Jerry Bruckheimer, Gore Verbinski, etc. And, of course, James Marsters and Johnny Depp.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: An adventure with two poets.
Setting: Post "Chosen" —and post "yo-ho."
"Funny Old World"
Part Four
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"So, my friend," Captain Jack said, "Cards on the table, right?"
"Fine," Spike said cautiously.
"Ah! You hesitate; that's very wise, very wise indeed. Look before leaping into something that might very well turn up fishy. But let me tell you, mate, I think we can strike a bargain to benefit both of us."
"All right, then, if we're going to be so bleeding honest, tell me this—what are you up to?" Spike asked bluntly. "You've got a scheme in mind, I can see that. You planned to come here from the first moment we met. What do you want?"
Jack's black eyes reflected the lamp's tiny point of flame, and for once his expression was serious, even grim.
"I want my ship back," he answered.
"What ship?"
"My ship. The Black Pearl. Stolen away, mate, stolen away, by knavish, craven, sneaking, false, cold-hearted scoundrels. How do you think I ended up on that island? Marooned—and not for the first time. It's getting to be a bloody habit."
"How exactly do you steal a ship? I mean, they're a bit large, aren't they? Full of masts, and sails, and whatnot?"
A reminiscent grin flickered across Jack's face. "It's not as difficult as you might imagine, as a matter of fact. Those who are placed in command can be lax, very lax indeed—and easily distracted." His expression grew somber again. "But not me, mate. We'd just made port in Holetown, Barbados. Most of the crew was ashore, spending their last shillings on gaming and wenching, the silly buggers—I don't inquire s'long as they turn up in time to make sail. Me, I was on baboon watch with six men, making her ready. And we were ambushed." His eyes grew opaque and his voice hard. Despite his exotic garb, his mannerisms, and his habitual good humor, all at once Captain Jack looked like a very dangerous man. "Overrun. The ship was stolen away, and us with it. They tried to force my crew to join them, and when they wouldn't, they were put off at various islets to the south—and me on OUR little island paradise. And off they went with my ship."
"Who did? Pirates?"
"Of course they were pirates. Everybody hereabouts is some kind of pirate, mate; we've no use for law and order here. These particular miscreants were foreigners—newcomers. Spanish, mostly; at least they spoke Spanish. But you mistake my meaning, my friend; I don't begrudge an honest robbery. There's one thing, though, I cannot abide."
"What's that?"
Jack was very still, though his eyes positively glittered.
"Betrayal, mate. Betrayal. They came for the Pearl, and the Pearl alone, and they didn't find us unmanned through simple good luck."
"Someone sold you out, you mean?"
Jack's coat hung over the back of his chair; he reached into its deepest pocket and drew out a strange bundle of greenish figured cloth, curiously torn, which he unfolded and placed between them.
"D'you know what this is?" he asked.
Almost involuntarily, Spike pushed back, away from the table.
"It's a goblin sack," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Ugh! They used a goblin? That's disgusting!"
"That's it exactly. This scurvy little demon was planted somewhere on my ship, waiting and spying. When it saw the crew disembark, it clawed its way out and flew off to its master with the news. And on they came without warning, three dozen of 'em; we were lost before it began." Jack leaned forward, his posture taut with leashed anger. "SOMEONE put it there. I've a suspicion who; I know where to find him." His lips curved into something resembling a smile. "And he's going to tell me where they took the Pearl."
"So what do you want me to do? Kill him?" Spike said. "Because, like I told you, I don't…"
"No, no, mate—I respect your principles, I really do." Jack relaxed against the back of his chair again, and now his smile was genuine. He raised his tin mug and swirled the wine within it meditatively. "Do you know," he said, taking a swallow, "I would so much rather see 'im paralysed with terror than dead. Shaking, groveling, and gibbering with fright. Squealing his slimy little guts out, the blistering sea-weasel. No, all I ask is that you do your little party trick, with the fangs and all, and then he'll tell me what I want to know. There's no point going 'round killing people, is there? Unless you 'ave to, of course."
Spike sipped some rough red wine and considered the proposition. It seemed pretty reasonable, on the face of it.
"And what do I get?"
Jack leaned forward again, his face intent.
"What do you want, mate?" he asked. "What do you really want?"
"I want to go home," Spike responded without hesitation. "Back to my own time and place. I've got unfinished business to take care of. People who—who need me. But that's not possible."
Jack's gold embellished teeth glinted in the dim lamplight. "It's not PROBABLE, perhaps. But you'd be surprised at what's actually possible, even for common mortal like myself." He unhooked the compass he kept fastened to his belt, and placed it on the table between them. "'ave a look at this."
Spike had been wondering about that compass for some time, in point of fact. His vampire senses had picked up an occult emanation from the thing as soon as he drew close to it, something humans might well be unable to perceive. First, he thought Captain Jack himself might be generating some sort of a supernatural buzz, but on getting to know the pirate, he quickly realized that his new acquaintance was emphatically not a demon, werewolf, fellow vampire, ghost, sorcerer, warlock, or other variety of magic user. Jack, just as he said himself, was entirely mortal, if not exactly orthodox in dress, movement, and thought.
Spike picked the artifact up, and turned it over in his hands, examining the outside first. The compass measured about four inches square, with rounded corners, made out of what looked like low-grade silver, quite tarnished. A polished black slab of obsidian took up nearly the entire top of the case. The silver was engraved with the benign, smiling face of a fanciful sun, a pensive moon, four cherubs, puffing their cheeks out to represent the four winds, and various arrangements of stars which seemed to be constellations, albeit unfamiliar ones. The compass gave off a strange, spicy odor, so faint that, again, he doubted that humans could detect it; and his fingers tingled oddly where he touched it.
Spike flipped open the lid. An outer ring bore the normal points of a compass, but nestled within that ring was an enamelled face, richly decorated with odd symbols and figures. Arranged somewhat haphazardly, these included astrological designs, the trigrams of the Chinese I-Ching, and some strange symbols he couldn't identify at all, such as two triangles standing point down, with a three-sided square between them, and a circle with a diagonal line through it. Above the center pin was a startlingly realistic, life-sized depiction of a human eye; the iris was dark brown, like Jack's. Spike stared at the painted face for a long moment. Something else was odd about it…
"It doesn't point North!" he exclaimed.
Jack smiled. "Oh, indeed it does—if I want it to." He reached for the compass; Spike quite willingly handed it over, and then brushed his fingertips together. Jack continued, "This will direct me to any place I want to go, mate. All I have to do is ask. And I'll wager it will direct me to 'any time,' as well, if we put the question properly."
"How the bloody hell did you get hold of such a thing?"
"Ah," Jack said, placing one tar-stained forefinger aside his nose with a wink, "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Think I'll slip out for a stroll," Spike said. He and Jack had sat for nearly an hour in the sputtering lamplight, making desultory conversation over the last of the wine. But Spike began to feel restless—and he noticed Jack sending the occasional discreet glance toward the corner where Yvette lay, too. Sultry breezes wafted through the open window, laden with tantalizing scents of the forest, enticing Spike's senses. Finally, he rose, ignoring Jack's look of surprise, and moved toward the window. "Need to get my bearings, don't I? Be back before dawn. Don't wait up!" he couldn't help adding.
Swinging his leg over the sill, Spike couldn't repress a smile. He was quite aware that Yvette, tucked up in her ostensibly virtuous bed, was not asleep, and in fact never had been since their arrival. Indeed, her heart beat rather fast just now, and its rhythm increased by the minute. Slipping through the window, he heard Jack rise from his chair, and there came a soft intake of breath from Yvette. Well, he'd leave them to it, then. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Spike sped toward the edge of the jungle and passed beneath the dark, fragrant branches of giant tree ferns and palms into profound darkness.
His eyes adjusted to the night rapidly, and soon he could make out the contours of the trees, vines, shrubs, and ferns that rose from the forest floor. With heightened awareness, he stole through lush underbrush, drinking in its moist, green, and strangely seductive scent. Disturbing yet exciting smells met his nostrils, combining a faint undertone of decay with the intense savor of burgeoning life. A sense of freedom sang in his blood, the freedom of the true predator, unconstrained by scruples, morality, or even second thoughts, and for a moment he gloried in it; if his heart could beat, it would be pounding now, and he longed to throw back his head and howl. Indeed, just as the thought crossed his mind, a far-off monkey let off a cadenced, raucous wail, and he had to stifle a laugh.
The jungle swarmed with living things of all kinds. Spike's acute senses caught the sounds and scents of an exotic menagerie—insects, snakes, lizards, opossums, agouti, hummingbirds, tanagers, parrots, a whole troup of monkeys, and even some diminutive but sturdy wild pigs. None of these creatures detected his presence amongst them, and thus none feared him. He felt his face change and his vision grow even keener as instinct took over.
For despite Mademoiselle Yvette's excellent meal, Spike was still hungry. And what he needed now was blood.
TBC
