A/N: This is a piece that a friend of mine talked me into writing. So, any problems with it, it is James' fault. He had heard a radio show about pirates right after the release of PotC in theater, and there was a little character in it called "Jolly Roger" (Don't we wish), who was just a tad bit on the flaming side. So, this is kind of a slash story, but Barbosa doesn't exactly appreciate the passes made on him. Anyway. I changed the name to Rogers for my story "The Mishappen Tales of Two Inept Pirates" and he made a cameo appearance in it. That was not enough for James, so I wrote this story to shut him up! Honestly, it is his fault! Barbosa fans, please, forgive me, and go shoot James for it!
Disclaimer and other goodies. I don't own any of this. I wash my hands of these characters! Barbosa belongs to Diseny, and I think that Rogers technically belongs to the warped people of WLW. The vision of Limbo is from Dante's Inferno, that Sparrow makes reference to in the movie. Somehow, it made it an appropriate setting. Beelzebub is not Satan, but a higher demon in the hierarchy of Hell. And lastly, just in case you don't know your mythology, Pasiphae is Minos' wife and the mother of the Minotaur. . . . and yes, I stole from my other stories for this! I have the habit of naming charcters terrible things, and this Limbo was used in "Travellers of the Night".
Chapter 1: Judgment
Limbo was a dull sort of place. It was not a very nice place nor a place where anyone would like to spend a large amount of time lurking about. Certainly, a person wouldn't want to write home about being there. The place had no scenery to speak of, just a slate black background with a swirl of grey mist every once and awhile, and this mist didn't nothing to inspire the inksplotch test, even to the most creative minds. So, needless to say, the tall once noble figure of the fierce and foreboding pirate Captain Barbosa was bored to say the least.
The once vile scourge of the sea stood with his arms crossed and fierce defiance in his eyes. It had felt like hours that he stood there. He had straightened his clothes four times and fluffed the plumes of his hat nine times, as he waited for the arrival of the judges. He had met no one since his death, but he knew to wait. Something deep inside of him told him that this was not the place to wander about. It could have been hours that he just waited there doing nothing, or it could have been days or maybe weeks. Time had not relevance in the World of the Dead, and it was all too much for a simple pirate to try and figure out. Not that it matter a pile of copper for him to know one way or the other about the time flow in the Ethereal Planes. Still, all in all, the terrible traitorous captain was a bit peeved about the whole thing. How long did it take a judge to send one ornery dreadful pirate on to Hell. He crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. A great frown crossed his translucent features. The place was decidedly uncomfortable, since not only was it just down right boring, but it was bloody cold, too. Since Limbo was a place for a dead soul, the illustrious captain could feel the frigid air.
Finally, after the eternity of waiting about like a louse, Barbosa was presented with the appearance of three majestic figures. The one in the middle was an older wise man of Ancient Greece. To his right hovered a man, who shone with the most brilliant light, that was harder to look straight upon, therefore hiding his features from view. He wore a shroud that seemed to trail far below his feet. He had a golden belt with golden keys hanging from it. Barbosa, being a pirate through and through, wondered how much would those keys fetch on the market and how he could filch them from this radiant being. To his ghostly judge's left stood a being of the most sinister blackest shadows. He had sharp horns on his head, and a tail curled about his legs. It twitched with irritation. His flaming red eyes could pierce through the most fearsome damned soul. He carried a pitchfork of the blackest obsidian. The ghostly pirate bet that piece would fetch a good price, too.
"Clarence Herbert Barbosa," spoke the ghostly Grecian.
"'Ey! Don't ye be callin' me that! Capt'n Barbosa will do, if ye don't mind!"
"You are to be judged for your crimes in life," spoke the ghostly man.
"Aye, I figured as much," Barbosa commented sarcastically.
"Shut up and listen! You are in no position to be defiant," the judge spoke, "I am Minos, the Judge of Hades," the figure spoke, "This is St. Peter," he motioned to his right, "He says that you are despicable horrific vile heinous revolting repulsive repellant beastly wretched wicked evil immoral monster . . . Did I miss anything?"
" . . . insidious abominable contemptible loathsome . . ." added St. Peter.
Barbosa tipped his hat to the bright glowing saint. "And I thank ye, sir," he replied pleased with himself.
Minos held up his hands. "We get the idea, St. Peter."
The holy being nodded his head and became silent from more descriptive terms and not so nice adjectives he could think of for the foul soul before him.
"Barbosa, you have made no repentance for the crimes you have committed against mankind, so there is no Purgatory for you," Minos stated plainly.
The spirit spread his hands. "I ain't wantin' to do no repentance neither. I'm proud of me achievements. It ain't eve'yday that a man gets to give his goodie goodie captain a good kick in the balls, throw him from his own ship, then become a cursed undead monster and get to kill, burn and pillage any and eve'ything along the way. It would have been nice to do a bit of raping, too, but one can't have it all."
"Your soul shows no desire to want to return to reap your revenge upon your murderer," Minos pointed out.
"And what kind of a damned soul would you be if you don't want to be knee deep in your killer's blood, gore, and guts and want to tear out his beating heart and force feed it to his dying mouth, then tear out his intestines and jump up and down on them, then . . ." the black demonic figure spoke in a cryptic blackest of voices, that had the ability to chill the damned to paralysis.
"Yes, Beelzebub, we get the idea," replied Minos, as St. Peter's purest white light started to acquire a slight shade of green."
"Arrr!" Barbosa remarked in pride, "That be part of the pirate code. Sparrow be a daft fool and all, but he won fair and square, and I be dead. 'E be the better pirate therefore, even if the bastard shot me in the back. It be all part of the pirate code. 'E who wins be the best. None of this posh holy goodie goodie stuff," he remarked as he nodded to St. Peter, as he still did some calculating on how to get those golden keys. "No 'ard feelings. It's just the way it is," he added with a nod to the demonic figure. That obsidian pitchfork was really looking nice.
Minos spread his hands. "Heaven nor Hell wants you, and I have enough headaches here in Limbo without a thieving pirate running amuck. I've got enough trouble with that damn half bull making complicated mazes everywhere as it is. I think he misses the one back home. Anyway, I can't even find my way back from the lavatory because of it . . ."
Barbosa raised an eyebrow at this and looked mightily confused. Ethereal bodies had those sort of problems, too!
" . . . I don't need to have a pirate running about here nipping my keys and selling them to the lesser demons, terrorizing the clientele, and tempting Pasiphae. Of course, you don't look like her kind of animal," he remarked. "So, therefore, it is my judgment upon you that you will return to the world of the living as an invisible incorporeal ghost . . ."
"Now, there goes those big words again. I keep tellin' ye folks that I be a simple pirate . . ."
"Oh, shut up and let me finish," the Grecian judge remarked, "You have no say in your judgment anyway, so you will find out soon enough what it all means. You will return with a fellow ghost pirate, that you killed with your own hands . . ."
"What! I am going to be stuck with that damn Turner! Oh, don't tell me I am going to get stuck with that self-righteous piece of . . ."
"No," Minos replied. Barbosa gave a sigh of relief. "Your mate will be Charles Alexander Rogers."
Barbosa's jaw dropped open as the new delicate figure of the ghost appeared from thin air. Rogers was dressed in more frills and ruffles than sociably acceptable even among pirates. He had perfectly placed and combed ringlets of hair. His powdered face and makeup were done up to a tee, and it must have taken his manicurist hours to get his nails just right. He stood a good half a foot shorter than the majestic captain and just half as wide. This was not to say Barbosa was fat. Quite the opposite. The captain was of a muscular built, but Rogers was a scrawny little piece.
The new arrival waved his bejeweled hand in a delicate way. "Heighty ho, Captain, love! It looks like we are going to be ship mates again! Isn't it just peachy!" he exclaimed in a high pitched fruity voice.
"I take it back! I'll take Turner! Give me Turner!" complained Barbosa in utter terror. Minos raised his hands and the two condemned ghosts disappeared. Barbosa's anguished cry of "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" echoed throughout the void.