Author's Note - Happy Easter to all and to all a good ... Easter! May all of your dreams be filled with marshmallow peeps and Cadbury mini eggs.
Chapter Twenty-one
"Give me back my bird."
The afternoon was fair. While Melanie, Jack and Will were at the ship's helm, the rest of the crew was monkeying around in the rigging or below deck or sleeping in the forecastle, and the little waif Carly was holding out her browned and leathered hand to an amused Dana Flint.
"Give. Him. Back."
Dana, losing the battle not to laugh out loud at this impertinent little girl, asked, "Why? Pip's mine."
"No he isn't!" Carly protested. Her voice threatened to rise to a pitch that would confirm her short years. "I found him! I taught him! He's mine." Dana pretended to think hard about that.
"But I like him." She scratched the bluegreen feathers on the top of the bird's head and he muttered contentedly. Carly stuck out her bottom lip.
"I like him, too."
"Well you're not really being fair," said Dana reasonably. "I mean, you've already got a little fellow to sit on your shoulder. If I let you have Pip, you'll have something to sit on each shoulder and I won't have anything." Carly glanced at Milton who was indeed perched happily on her shoulder. She twitched her arm, and the black and white monkey obligingly moved and settled instead on the top of her curly head of hair.
"There. Now I have two empty shoulders. There's plenty of room."
Dana nodded. "Excellent. They are indeed. But if you look closely - " she jiggled her arm as well and Carly watched Pip flap up to perch on the woman's leather hat, " - you'll see that my shoulders are just as empty as yours. So now, what are we supposed to do?"
Carly opened and closed her mouth while Dana smirked, and it should be made clear that it is quite a feat for someone so brash as a pirate to be rendered speechless by anything. In defeat, she puffed out her small chest and clambered up into the rigging that swung overhead. Milton kept his perch on her head easily, and Dana chuckled when the little girl was out of sight. She did not think she had heard the last of that discussion.
In the forecastle of the Yellow Dart, Jones and Carine were reclining in hammocks that swayed gently with the motion of the ship. Carine was trying to sleep before her evening watch, but Jones was singing. What he was singing sounded like a rousing drinking song, and it was just loud enough to keep her awake:
"We arrived in December and London was cold,
We stayed in the bars along Charing Cross Road;
We never saw nothin' but brass taps and oak,
Kept the shine on the bar with the sleeves of our coats.
You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,
I've been gone for a week, I've been drunk since I left;
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest.
The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb,
And the spirits we drank like a ghost in the room;
I'm knackered again, come on, sleep take me soon,
And don't lift up my head till the twelve bells at noon.
You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,
I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left;
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest."
Jones continued to hum merrily. "But you're no' drunk," Carine piped up. "Are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'm just remembering other days."
Carine smiled wearily. "I think Melanie wo' like tha' song."
Jones returned the smile. "It is a favorite of mine."
"You know," Carine said conversationally, "that song is so good, that in a few years I'm sure we'll all hear i' again on an album by a Canadian group called Spirit of the West."
"I completely agree," Jones agreed. "And I'm sure that everyone will support their music by going out and buying three of each of their albums. Perhaps four."
"Ooo, I cer'ainly 'ope so."
Jones regarded her. "I see that you were trying to sleep. I'm sorry I've kept you awake." Carine dismissed him with a lazy wave of her hand.
"Narry a worry, friend. You've a pretty voice. S' mo' than I can say for some on this ship." Jones raised his eyebrows in question, and Carine went on to explain about the singing talent - or, more accurately, the lack thereof - of her sister, and they both had a good laugh. Of course, because no one actually gets to hear this conversation, the author can't get bludgeoned for writing it. So nyah.
At the helm of the Yellow Dart, Captain Melanie had regained her title with her ship and was grudgingly referred to as Captain once more. Jack was being very closed-mouthed about the origin of the letter and in particular the winged stag on the red wax seal, but it was clear that he knew the place to which he was directing Will and Captain Melanie's ship. Melanie, in contrast, could hardly have been called a closed-mouthed person about anything at all, and had been making it very plain for a very long time the fact that carrying Will towards his destination without proper payment or compensation ran against the very fiber of her being.
"Carrying you towards your destination without proper payment or compensation runs against the very fiber of my being," Melanie made plain. She jabbed a finger in Will's direction and fixed him with a glare. "I hope you realize what gratuitous amounts of praise and favors you owe me."
"I will pay you back in any way that I can," Will reassured her. "Though when that will be, I cannot say."
Jack was stroking his little beard. "Well you know, mate, there are ways and ways o' repayin' favors on the lonely ocean."
"And just how many of those ways do not require both a cot and a few free minutes between watches?" Melanie inquired with an arched eyebrow.
"Not many," admitted Jack with a small smile.
The difficulty now comes not in determining who was the most embarrassed - the flustered William or the amused Melanie - but comes in assessing why Jack said what he did. As will eventually prove true with Carly's determination to restate her claim on the bird Pip, a good subplot (or even a moderately interesting one) is never really forgotten. At the most, it is carefully and temporarily placed to one side, and may be glossed over by more important events and overshadowed by more interesting developments. But it is not forgotten.
In this same vein, Jack had not forgotten his previous interest in making Captain Melanie his new first mate - by fair play or otherwise - but had put the idea out of his head temporarily while other things had been occupying him. Things like meeting the Dread Pirate Roberts. Things like being marooned. Again.
There were few things that Captain Jack Sparrow despised more than being marooned somewhere - anywhere. He was certain that he would feel similarly if someone stuffed him into a dark box. He needed space in which to roam, he needed -
Ah, but there he went again, he thought, and caught himself. Jack could admit that having a long attention span was far from a prerequisite for becoming a pirate. On the contrary, for a buccaneer, it was a positive boon to shoot and slash first and ask questions later, if at all. And Captain Jack Sparrow would not have called himself other than one of those pirates. Usually. He did not like to admit that there was a useful piece of machinery underneath his hat - advertising it could cause his scallywag brethren to become distrustful and uncooperative - but there was. And it was in motion now.
He had told Gibbs that he 'had his ways,' and this was not untrue. Women, he was certain, were all filled with desire for him, though whether it was desire to bed him or slap him was something that he did not care to determine. It was enough that they gravitated towards him, and he could go from there.
But Melanie Cash was turning out to be a different- no pun intended - story altogether. Many years ago, they had been members of the same crew on the ship the Dusky Raven. Jack had only been on the ship a short time - he was hired on as an extra hand as he was making his way between ports - but it was long enough to meet and come to know the then young and haughty Melanie Cash. He had remembered her as well as any rarity such as a female pirate is remembered, and saw her briefly and randomly over the years - briefly enough that they had spent nights together, but randomly enough that they had continued on their way the next days without a look backwards. But now he was spending a large amount of time with her, and the blasted woman still hadn't succumbed to his by-no-means-insignificant charms. All he had to do was look to the gratuitous amounts of fan mail that he received to confirm that he hadn't lost his touch.
Oh well, he thought, and looked out over the water. There was time enough. Although the more he thought about it, the less true that actually seemed to be. Jack gingerly touched his jacket pocket and felt the envelope nestled there. It was far from easy to return to a place that he had long left behind, and purposely left behind, but now here he was, aiding Matthew and Gibbs in adjusting sails to catch more favorable winds to bring them to that place. Some days he was certain that he was going mad.
Well ... madder.
Chapter Twenty-one
"Give me back my bird."
The afternoon was fair. While Melanie, Jack and Will were at the ship's helm, the rest of the crew was monkeying around in the rigging or below deck or sleeping in the forecastle, and the little waif Carly was holding out her browned and leathered hand to an amused Dana Flint.
"Give. Him. Back."
Dana, losing the battle not to laugh out loud at this impertinent little girl, asked, "Why? Pip's mine."
"No he isn't!" Carly protested. Her voice threatened to rise to a pitch that would confirm her short years. "I found him! I taught him! He's mine." Dana pretended to think hard about that.
"But I like him." She scratched the bluegreen feathers on the top of the bird's head and he muttered contentedly. Carly stuck out her bottom lip.
"I like him, too."
"Well you're not really being fair," said Dana reasonably. "I mean, you've already got a little fellow to sit on your shoulder. If I let you have Pip, you'll have something to sit on each shoulder and I won't have anything." Carly glanced at Milton who was indeed perched happily on her shoulder. She twitched her arm, and the black and white monkey obligingly moved and settled instead on the top of her curly head of hair.
"There. Now I have two empty shoulders. There's plenty of room."
Dana nodded. "Excellent. They are indeed. But if you look closely - " she jiggled her arm as well and Carly watched Pip flap up to perch on the woman's leather hat, " - you'll see that my shoulders are just as empty as yours. So now, what are we supposed to do?"
Carly opened and closed her mouth while Dana smirked, and it should be made clear that it is quite a feat for someone so brash as a pirate to be rendered speechless by anything. In defeat, she puffed out her small chest and clambered up into the rigging that swung overhead. Milton kept his perch on her head easily, and Dana chuckled when the little girl was out of sight. She did not think she had heard the last of that discussion.
In the forecastle of the Yellow Dart, Jones and Carine were reclining in hammocks that swayed gently with the motion of the ship. Carine was trying to sleep before her evening watch, but Jones was singing. What he was singing sounded like a rousing drinking song, and it was just loud enough to keep her awake:
"We arrived in December and London was cold,
We stayed in the bars along Charing Cross Road;
We never saw nothin' but brass taps and oak,
Kept the shine on the bar with the sleeves of our coats.
You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,
I've been gone for a week, I've been drunk since I left;
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest.
The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb,
And the spirits we drank like a ghost in the room;
I'm knackered again, come on, sleep take me soon,
And don't lift up my head till the twelve bells at noon.
You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,
I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left;
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest."
Jones continued to hum merrily. "But you're no' drunk," Carine piped up. "Are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'm just remembering other days."
Carine smiled wearily. "I think Melanie wo' like tha' song."
Jones returned the smile. "It is a favorite of mine."
"You know," Carine said conversationally, "that song is so good, that in a few years I'm sure we'll all hear i' again on an album by a Canadian group called Spirit of the West."
"I completely agree," Jones agreed. "And I'm sure that everyone will support their music by going out and buying three of each of their albums. Perhaps four."
"Ooo, I cer'ainly 'ope so."
Jones regarded her. "I see that you were trying to sleep. I'm sorry I've kept you awake." Carine dismissed him with a lazy wave of her hand.
"Narry a worry, friend. You've a pretty voice. S' mo' than I can say for some on this ship." Jones raised his eyebrows in question, and Carine went on to explain about the singing talent - or, more accurately, the lack thereof - of her sister, and they both had a good laugh. Of course, because no one actually gets to hear this conversation, the author can't get bludgeoned for writing it. So nyah.
At the helm of the Yellow Dart, Captain Melanie had regained her title with her ship and was grudgingly referred to as Captain once more. Jack was being very closed-mouthed about the origin of the letter and in particular the winged stag on the red wax seal, but it was clear that he knew the place to which he was directing Will and Captain Melanie's ship. Melanie, in contrast, could hardly have been called a closed-mouthed person about anything at all, and had been making it very plain for a very long time the fact that carrying Will towards his destination without proper payment or compensation ran against the very fiber of her being.
"Carrying you towards your destination without proper payment or compensation runs against the very fiber of my being," Melanie made plain. She jabbed a finger in Will's direction and fixed him with a glare. "I hope you realize what gratuitous amounts of praise and favors you owe me."
"I will pay you back in any way that I can," Will reassured her. "Though when that will be, I cannot say."
Jack was stroking his little beard. "Well you know, mate, there are ways and ways o' repayin' favors on the lonely ocean."
"And just how many of those ways do not require both a cot and a few free minutes between watches?" Melanie inquired with an arched eyebrow.
"Not many," admitted Jack with a small smile.
The difficulty now comes not in determining who was the most embarrassed - the flustered William or the amused Melanie - but comes in assessing why Jack said what he did. As will eventually prove true with Carly's determination to restate her claim on the bird Pip, a good subplot (or even a moderately interesting one) is never really forgotten. At the most, it is carefully and temporarily placed to one side, and may be glossed over by more important events and overshadowed by more interesting developments. But it is not forgotten.
In this same vein, Jack had not forgotten his previous interest in making Captain Melanie his new first mate - by fair play or otherwise - but had put the idea out of his head temporarily while other things had been occupying him. Things like meeting the Dread Pirate Roberts. Things like being marooned. Again.
There were few things that Captain Jack Sparrow despised more than being marooned somewhere - anywhere. He was certain that he would feel similarly if someone stuffed him into a dark box. He needed space in which to roam, he needed -
Ah, but there he went again, he thought, and caught himself. Jack could admit that having a long attention span was far from a prerequisite for becoming a pirate. On the contrary, for a buccaneer, it was a positive boon to shoot and slash first and ask questions later, if at all. And Captain Jack Sparrow would not have called himself other than one of those pirates. Usually. He did not like to admit that there was a useful piece of machinery underneath his hat - advertising it could cause his scallywag brethren to become distrustful and uncooperative - but there was. And it was in motion now.
He had told Gibbs that he 'had his ways,' and this was not untrue. Women, he was certain, were all filled with desire for him, though whether it was desire to bed him or slap him was something that he did not care to determine. It was enough that they gravitated towards him, and he could go from there.
But Melanie Cash was turning out to be a different- no pun intended - story altogether. Many years ago, they had been members of the same crew on the ship the Dusky Raven. Jack had only been on the ship a short time - he was hired on as an extra hand as he was making his way between ports - but it was long enough to meet and come to know the then young and haughty Melanie Cash. He had remembered her as well as any rarity such as a female pirate is remembered, and saw her briefly and randomly over the years - briefly enough that they had spent nights together, but randomly enough that they had continued on their way the next days without a look backwards. But now he was spending a large amount of time with her, and the blasted woman still hadn't succumbed to his by-no-means-insignificant charms. All he had to do was look to the gratuitous amounts of fan mail that he received to confirm that he hadn't lost his touch.
Oh well, he thought, and looked out over the water. There was time enough. Although the more he thought about it, the less true that actually seemed to be. Jack gingerly touched his jacket pocket and felt the envelope nestled there. It was far from easy to return to a place that he had long left behind, and purposely left behind, but now here he was, aiding Matthew and Gibbs in adjusting sails to catch more favorable winds to bring them to that place. Some days he was certain that he was going mad.
Well ... madder.