Hey all. I'll be your host for today, and you can call me Creejak. This would be my first story, but please, I enjoy constructive criticism, so don't hold back or feel compelled to 'be nice'.
*Sips French Vanilla coffee and looks at his watch*
Ah, a few moments left. As for the pg13 rating, chapters of this story will be a little more violent in terms of actions, words, est. You'll be warned before I tell you the story if there is anything that may be offensive, so don't worry.
A Taste Of What Is Going On: Ragetti and Pintel were captured like their comrades. Yet what happened after that was either never recorded or the records were lost. Or perhaps, verbal records were passed down.
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Chapter One: In Sickness And Irritation
"Children, ladies and gentlemen, please gather around and get comfortable. Yes, the party is going fine, but what it's lacking is a good tale, and ol' Jak is going to tell you one. Now, there-"
"Misser Jak, whys your name spelted all funny like? I saw mommy write it down…"
"Because, it's a pirate name."
"A pirate name?"
"Yes, and if you're quiet, young 'uns, I'll tell you of a tale of two pirates. A true story of two real pirates whom long ago, lived and breathed, just like us."
"We'll be quiet!"
"There's a good group of kiddies. Now then, once, in the years of the seventeen hundreds… "
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The bars to the cell were cold to the touch, and hurt when they compressed against the gangly pirate's body. Yet slipping through the bars seemed an excellent idea, at least it did at the time. However, now that he was stuck, it seemed to be a horrible escape plot. Especially when the threat of being caught was forever present, and knowing that death awaited you if you stayed put.
"Hurry up, Ragetti!" a slightly short, and older pirates growled. His bald head gleamed humorously, yet the stringy hair that dangled at his head's side took away the humour, as it was grimy and filthy. The pirate was dressed in a grungy white shirt with numerous stains and rips within it that was left open to expose his chest, stomach and naval, a fancy cutlass belt with a silver buckle laid across his chest and girth, a few belts around his waist, and dark pants that were tucked into the tops of his boots. A dark grey vest that was almost hidden behind the rumples of his white shirt was also slightly visible.
"I'm tryin', Pintel," Ragetti said, wincing his eyes awkwardly. He only had one eye, at that. His left eye, dulled slightly as though he had taken sick, used to shine with a sick innocence, and his right eye was replaced by a slightly to-large prosthetic. Under his false eye, his skin was red as though it had been splintered many times, and the bulging of the eye didn't' help it. Greasy light brown hair that was styled in a messy pudding bowl cut with bangs that dangled only just above his eyes seemed to fall in front of his striped line of vision. Ragetti wore a ragged blue jacket (perhaps at one time it was a royal blue, but it had faded to a rather dreary storm-grey more then blue) that went to the back of his thighs, yet one half of it's tail-end was stuffed hastily behind one of the two belts around his waist. A cutlass belt that was less fancy then Pintel's went across his chest and back in the opposite direction of his friend, and beneath his jacket, a ridiculously long-sleeved faded red shirt with a deep cut in the centre of the chest was worn, the sleeved rolled up a bit yet still showing out of his blue coat. His black cotton pants went to his knees, where stockings should have been yet only scarred, bare legs shoed. Buckled shoes ended his simple attire.
At one point, each pirate had artillery enough to make a marksman jealous, yet it had been taken away upon his capture. All of their weapons had, the pirates that surrounded them in the damp, dank and largest cell Port Royale had to offer. Anxiously waiting freedom, some gave encouraging words to the ever so skinny and tall Ragetti, while others growled hasty threats at the lanky buccaneer.
"He's tryin' his hardest…Hurry up, Rug-head!" Pintel muttered darkly.
"I can't, it hurts, the bars are to close together. It's the stupid ones tha' go across, they're to close together!"
Groans of despair went up amongst the doomed prisoners. Indeed, Ragetti was right. The horizontal bars that crossed with the vertical bars made climbing through them impossible.
Ragetti slithered backwards from the progress he had made, cursing quietly under his breath. With a sickening cough, he backed himself into a damp, musty corner and kicked the few bits of straw away from himself. Muttering apologies that were perhaps sincere, he curled his knees to his chest and leaned a bit forward, rocking back a forth.
"It's not y'er fault, Rags," Pintel sued his comrades nickname in hopes of lightening the usually optimistic Ragetti's mood, yet to no avail. The pirate merely sniffed and hid his face between his knees, stifling another cough.
Tilting his head to the side, Pintel made his way through the crowd within the cell, muttering "Gang-way, already, idiot!" and "Watch y'erself, dolt!" until he had arrived and sat down beside Ragetti. "You alright, mate?"
Ragetti looked up, the dull gleam in his eye slightly alarming. In fact, now that Pintel could look closer, he noticed the paleness in the pirates skin, beneath the Caribbean tan. The lad also seemed to be breathing harder then usually, as though he was having troubles with the task.
Ragetti nodded once, forcing a smile onto his cracked lips. Nodding his head slowly a few times to prove his point further, he curled up with his back to his friend and lay down, facing the wall. His back racked as though he was swallowing coughs or sobs.
"No y'eh ain't."
"I am to!" Ragetti more or less shouted out, causing a few heads to turn in surprise. The pirate hardly ever raised his voice, and never had shown anger to Pintel of all people. A few quiet yet well disguised trembles in his voice and the shivering of his body betrayed that he in fact, was not all right. A moment of silent passed between the two men, and finally Ragetti admitted, "I'm cold, s'all."
"Y'er sick, ain't you? Really sick, eh…'S the bad thing about not bein' immortal anymore. We ain't used to feeling or eatin' or drinkin' or nothin'."
Heads turned once again at the mention of Ragetti being sick. Eyes flew wide and forms shuffled back as though the pirate had gone mad and would leap up and attack them all at no notice. Mutters of "Get 'im out of 'ere!" and other numerous concerned tones flew around.
It was all interrupted by the sound of keys clinking together, boots tapping upon the stone steps leading down to the cells were the pirates were, water sloshing in it's pitcher and stale bread sliding across the platters they were handled carelessly.
"Eh, any of you dead yet?" the words were said cruelly, the young man dressed in the traditional red coat and white breeches with black boots who had said the sneered. A man in a blue jacket, white pants and black boots preceded, a look of paranoia about his expressions. He was bending his tri-corn hat out of shape, gazing at the pirates as though they were plague-infested rats.
"He's sick!" a pirate by the name of Scratch said, pointing wildly at Ragetti's submissive form, the pirate's black dreadlocks and hair falling all over the place as his colourful hat choose that exact moment to slid of his head. A few murmurs of agreement went out amongst the villains.
"I am not!" Ragetti croaked out indignantly.
"Ah, well, you'll all get sick and die sooner, I suppose," the soldier said cruelly, only to be hit upside the head by the nervous lieutenant. The bread and water was handed out accordingly and very stiffly, many of the fiends grumbling insults and rude words at the two men.
"Now, bring forth the one who's sick," the lieutenant said, his eyes wide as though scared out of his wits, yet his tone commanding and voice loud. Pintel patted Ragetti on the back and helped his comrade get up, leading him slowly forward.
"Come, come, we haven't got all day, lads."
With foreboding movements, the two pirates moved quicker until they were looking directly through the bars of the cell.
"Name, please," the man asked, and then as an afterthought, " Both of you."
"Ragetti," Ragetti answered quietly. Being bolder, Pintel growled out his name with a hint of pride.
The lieutenant pulled a rolled up piece of parchment from his sleeve and looked at it. For a moment, his eyes scanned the list before he nodded. He looked into the cell at the glaring pirates and sighed almost regretfully.
"This is the list with the dates of execution, and who's sentence will be carried out upon that hour." The man turned around and stuck the list between two boards of wood mounted upon the opposite wall, so all could see it and those who could read could read it.
"Now then," he nodded to the redcoat beside him who nodded and fetched a riffle from the gun rack near the end of the walkway. He returned after loading it and aimed it inside the cell. A few of the pirates started, yet the officer merely took the keys from his belt, fitted the appropriate one into the lock and unlocked the cell. The door slid open a bit and he glared at Pintel and Ragetti.
"You two are to exit into that cell," he said, and pointed to the cell a little ways down and across the hall. The two pirates obliged, pausing only to ask why.
"You two are obviously near each other more so then others and if left ignored, others will be at risk. One of you is sick, and we will not tolerate other men who are to be hanged to be taken by disease when law should have its way."
After being locked in their new cell, the larger group of pirates stared at the two isolated ones in disbelief, before murmurs escaped their mouths. Pintel cast Ragetti a haggled look, and the only response he received was a few horrible hacking coughs with gasps in between.
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Now then, Pintel's name is pronounced Pin'tell and Ragetti's name is pronounced Rug'eht'ee. Just for those curious minds out there. Winks