Title: A Good Man
Author: Meg Kenobi (afirmation@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Pirates of the Caribbean, its respective trademarks, etc., etc, and those orders to cease and desist along with those restraining orders seem to suggest I don't own Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom either . . . go figure.
Author's note: I lied! Back by some demand, I have decided to write another chapter and then take it from there. Huzzah! Also, forgive me; I am a shameless slash writer and have to exercise great care to not let this get slashy . . . Also, given the time setting and that this is written with intent of not being a Mary Sue, I haven't made my lead a very liberated, independent woman. It just is not appropriate for the time.
----------------
"Damn," muttered Jack Sparrow, swaggering through the stinking, drunken crowds that lined the streets of Tortuga, knowing too well he was only a little rum short of collapse and certainly in no shape to go on a manhunt. Strumpethunt, he corrected himself, would be more accurate. He stumbled as he fought his way through the thinning masses, heading towards the island's opposite coast where a shallow reef made it ill fit for docking passing ships. There was quiet on the far shore, and a sort of desperate beauty. The waves were breaking beyond the reef with a soft roar, their perpetual motion distinguishing the line that blurred the midnight blue of a star studded sky into an ominously rolling sea. This, he remembered, was what had called him away from the land, forever chasing the horizon. Rebekah had followed him dutifully for so many of their younger years, utterly blinded by her love, but he had dropped her without thought when he found a crew willing to take him, blinded and conquered by the unending blue.
She sat in the sand ahead of him, pretending to take no notice of his none too graceful approach. The tides unfurled towards her, and she watched the ocean with an insatiable, unspoken desire. She turned her face to him in silence, the wind whipping her dark hair in angry, knotting licks about her face, her pale skin glowing vaguely in the moonlight, giving her a startling, unappealing wraithlike appearance. He sighed and took his hat off, fingering it nervously before speaking.
"It's really not all that glamorous. Looting. Plundering. Sailing. Pirate--ing, that's not a word, is it?" Despite herself, Rebekah laughed softly.
"It's not that I want to be a pirate, Jack, I want to get away from here." She paused as if contemplating whether it was wise to finish her thought. "And I want to be with you."
"I'm with you when I'm here, and it's not like you'd really be getting away from here. You'd just be taking all the smelly, toothless people off this big, pretty island, putting them on a little, ugly boat, and getting seasick with them."
"But you would be there," her voice as thick and she forced herself to stare at the water, not at his face.
"It's very odd you're marking that as a positive attribute, luv."
"Jack, this may amaze you, but there are women who fall beyond your three designations of whore, lady-pirate, and bar maid. There are women who marry respectable men, keep a house, raise children."
"If you're looking for a respectable man, you could do considerably better."
"Damn you," she whispered, "For being who and what you are. You didn't give me a choice in my obsession." She got to her feet suddenly and started back up the shore, but he caught her arm sharply, forcing her to look
" 'Beka, I am leaving tomorrow. You know perfectly well that I'm probably not coming back, and you would still end like this. Moonlight is a funny thing. You can be all poetic about it, but really it shows us how things really are, away from all the distracting glare of the sun. It reveals things in people," there was a dangerous undercurrent to what he was saying that she could not understand, but she was latched onto the rare severity of his voice. "Now I see you, and you're a great girl, pet, but this never worked. You're deluding yourself with romance and stories. You don't need me. You sell maps. You don't even need a husband. If you want to be a proper lady somewhere, by God, good luck. See if you can find somewhere better than here for granddaughter of a pirate, and daughter of a tavern. But don't wait for me to come back. And if you do, it won't be my fault."
Jack smashed his hat on his head and strode purposefully away, as quickly as he could.
"Jack," she cried, and he looked back for a moment. A great many things played across her face, but she simply whispered, "Goodbye."
*****************
Will played with the square of fabric between his hands, a delicate white handkerchief embroidered E.S. Jack was right, perhaps, gentlemen returned an item a lady dropped. A good man did not stand paralyzed in fear, feeling unworthy of speaking the woman's name. A good man did not pocket a lady's handkerchief and play it through his fingers until it wore thin from the pressure of his constant thought and touch. He felt pathetic, and found himself wondering what if his love was really as shallow as Jack had made it out to be. He found himself wondering why that would be so wrong.
"Bootstrap!" Jack's drunken voice roared from behind him in manufactured good spirits.
"I am Will, Jack, note my thoroughly absent moral fiber," Will spat without making eye contact. Jack cringed at the blatantly bitter tone of Will's voice.
"We could always call you Bootstrap. Look like him, you know." Jack cocked his head studying Will's profile, "But younger, less dead," he amended.
"A true compliment," he snorted.
"You've no intention of making this easier, do you?"
"What precisely are you talking about, Jack?"
"Perhaps making a concession of some wrongdoing here."
"You mean you want to apologize?" Will met Jack's eyes with great amusement.
"No. No, no, no. See, I'm not sorry. Might have been wrong," Jack was quick to reply
"How so?" Will prodded, eager to take full advantage of the moment
"You care about people more than boats. I could love an ugly boat."
Author: Meg Kenobi (afirmation@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Pirates of the Caribbean, its respective trademarks, etc., etc, and those orders to cease and desist along with those restraining orders seem to suggest I don't own Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom either . . . go figure.
Author's note: I lied! Back by some demand, I have decided to write another chapter and then take it from there. Huzzah! Also, forgive me; I am a shameless slash writer and have to exercise great care to not let this get slashy . . . Also, given the time setting and that this is written with intent of not being a Mary Sue, I haven't made my lead a very liberated, independent woman. It just is not appropriate for the time.
----------------
"Damn," muttered Jack Sparrow, swaggering through the stinking, drunken crowds that lined the streets of Tortuga, knowing too well he was only a little rum short of collapse and certainly in no shape to go on a manhunt. Strumpethunt, he corrected himself, would be more accurate. He stumbled as he fought his way through the thinning masses, heading towards the island's opposite coast where a shallow reef made it ill fit for docking passing ships. There was quiet on the far shore, and a sort of desperate beauty. The waves were breaking beyond the reef with a soft roar, their perpetual motion distinguishing the line that blurred the midnight blue of a star studded sky into an ominously rolling sea. This, he remembered, was what had called him away from the land, forever chasing the horizon. Rebekah had followed him dutifully for so many of their younger years, utterly blinded by her love, but he had dropped her without thought when he found a crew willing to take him, blinded and conquered by the unending blue.
She sat in the sand ahead of him, pretending to take no notice of his none too graceful approach. The tides unfurled towards her, and she watched the ocean with an insatiable, unspoken desire. She turned her face to him in silence, the wind whipping her dark hair in angry, knotting licks about her face, her pale skin glowing vaguely in the moonlight, giving her a startling, unappealing wraithlike appearance. He sighed and took his hat off, fingering it nervously before speaking.
"It's really not all that glamorous. Looting. Plundering. Sailing. Pirate--ing, that's not a word, is it?" Despite herself, Rebekah laughed softly.
"It's not that I want to be a pirate, Jack, I want to get away from here." She paused as if contemplating whether it was wise to finish her thought. "And I want to be with you."
"I'm with you when I'm here, and it's not like you'd really be getting away from here. You'd just be taking all the smelly, toothless people off this big, pretty island, putting them on a little, ugly boat, and getting seasick with them."
"But you would be there," her voice as thick and she forced herself to stare at the water, not at his face.
"It's very odd you're marking that as a positive attribute, luv."
"Jack, this may amaze you, but there are women who fall beyond your three designations of whore, lady-pirate, and bar maid. There are women who marry respectable men, keep a house, raise children."
"If you're looking for a respectable man, you could do considerably better."
"Damn you," she whispered, "For being who and what you are. You didn't give me a choice in my obsession." She got to her feet suddenly and started back up the shore, but he caught her arm sharply, forcing her to look
" 'Beka, I am leaving tomorrow. You know perfectly well that I'm probably not coming back, and you would still end like this. Moonlight is a funny thing. You can be all poetic about it, but really it shows us how things really are, away from all the distracting glare of the sun. It reveals things in people," there was a dangerous undercurrent to what he was saying that she could not understand, but she was latched onto the rare severity of his voice. "Now I see you, and you're a great girl, pet, but this never worked. You're deluding yourself with romance and stories. You don't need me. You sell maps. You don't even need a husband. If you want to be a proper lady somewhere, by God, good luck. See if you can find somewhere better than here for granddaughter of a pirate, and daughter of a tavern. But don't wait for me to come back. And if you do, it won't be my fault."
Jack smashed his hat on his head and strode purposefully away, as quickly as he could.
"Jack," she cried, and he looked back for a moment. A great many things played across her face, but she simply whispered, "Goodbye."
*****************
Will played with the square of fabric between his hands, a delicate white handkerchief embroidered E.S. Jack was right, perhaps, gentlemen returned an item a lady dropped. A good man did not stand paralyzed in fear, feeling unworthy of speaking the woman's name. A good man did not pocket a lady's handkerchief and play it through his fingers until it wore thin from the pressure of his constant thought and touch. He felt pathetic, and found himself wondering what if his love was really as shallow as Jack had made it out to be. He found himself wondering why that would be so wrong.
"Bootstrap!" Jack's drunken voice roared from behind him in manufactured good spirits.
"I am Will, Jack, note my thoroughly absent moral fiber," Will spat without making eye contact. Jack cringed at the blatantly bitter tone of Will's voice.
"We could always call you Bootstrap. Look like him, you know." Jack cocked his head studying Will's profile, "But younger, less dead," he amended.
"A true compliment," he snorted.
"You've no intention of making this easier, do you?"
"What precisely are you talking about, Jack?"
"Perhaps making a concession of some wrongdoing here."
"You mean you want to apologize?" Will met Jack's eyes with great amusement.
"No. No, no, no. See, I'm not sorry. Might have been wrong," Jack was quick to reply
"How so?" Will prodded, eager to take full advantage of the moment
"You care about people more than boats. I could love an ugly boat."