The moonlight fell in its scattered beams and lavished the cell in
such light that it revealed the tired, soiled occupants within. None
smiled. None surrendered any sign of life, besides the snickering of those
too competent to surrender to their fate of imprisonment, and the nervous
whispering of those who did in fact yield to their doom.
"Might as well be all dead," Pintel remarked, glancing outwards toward the moon.
A fight hadn't broken out in at least three hours, since the sun had begun to set. Blood that had fallen from wounded jaws had gathered in tiny droplets throughout the compartment. The blood that was now spent so selfishly, and with a purpose other than to conceal the truth of the undead.
Ragetti sat, calm and collected, his shoulders propped against the corner wall. He held his knife and wooden eye in his hands, both he had managed to recover and conceal before he had been captured and, he thought ruefully, imprisoned. With an angry roll of his remaining eye, he continued to cut away thoughtlessly at the adornment (though, due to constant whittling extracted by boredom, the tiny wooden sphere was now reduced to the state of what he considered a "most uncomfortable fit") and remained content at brushing the shavings into the darkness.
"Oh, agree I do," he suddenly replied to Pintel's regretful muttering. "Been alive and sufferin' for nigh ten years, been dead, and yet, alive! Strange fate is it now we get what we seek, even when our own lives are about to end!"
"Turned philosopher, have you?" Pintel shot at him, rolling his eyes.
"No. I've just got me wits about me, is all. Days before appointment at the gallows can do that to one, I guess." He absently popped the eye back into his skull, blinking three times before he turned to face Pintel.
"Idiot," muttered Pintel.
"Am not!"
"Don't bet on that."
"You're the landlubber, always taking about "Me home", "Me Mum..."
"Lying idiot!" bellowed Pintel, hurling his fist at Ragetti's face.
The blow sent the wooden eye springing from its socket. It flew across the room and knocked one of the other men squarely on the forehead. The poor fools eyes rolled back into his head and he fell over, a stupid grin fixed on his face.
Ragetti, half-blinded and his vision dimmed all the greater by the absence of light in the room, struggled about, his knife still held in his hand as Pintel's hands clasped his neck, shaking him so that his head repeatedly struck the stone floor. The men around him began to laugh and cheer at the entertainment.
"Calling me that! Of all the-" he was cut short with a shrill cry of surprise.
Ragetti knew what had happened, though he could see nothing. His hand strayed from where it had been clutching the knife's handle to return at his waist. The knife now lay lodged in Pintel's heart. Blood surged from it. The chanting suddenly stopped, as all men paused and stood as still as stone to behold.
"Oh! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" shouted Ragetti, throwing his arms up in surrender. "I'm sorry, Pint!"
Pintel said nothing, only gaped at his companion below him.
After what seemed an eternity, he blinked and his face became a mask of horror. "It...it doesn't hurt," he managed to say.
"Pint!" Ragetti cried, still basking in sorrow and regret.
"No, it...I'm not dead!"
Ragetti stared at him, both of his eyebrows, even the one sheltering an empty eye socket, were raised. "What? Hey, that kind of reminds of me of when Barbossa'd shot you! Right in the very spot...you didn't die then, neither!"
"No!" said Pintel, grinning and clapping his companion on the shoulder as he pulled the knife from his chest. A sudden expression of realization broke upon his face as he stared down at the bloodstained blade. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Ragetti. "You stabbed me!"
"I didn't mean it..."
Those who had been watching drew forward with an air of curiosity about them. One man in particular approached, his eyes cavernous and glittered with disbelief. "The curse! The curse is upon us!" he cried, throwing his arms in the air.
The entire room burst into an uproar as men attempted to seize the knife from Pintel, determined to likewise seize their own lives to prove that which had been introduced to them. The man who had voiced the obvious stabbed himself directly in the heart. He doubled over, though more from impact than obvious pain. In an instant, he plucked the blade free and cast it upon the ground. Fresh blood splattered everywhere.
He raised his arms. "The curse!" he cried.
"Could not have come to us at a better time!" Pintel proclaimed, staring about him.
Ragetti looked up at him uncertainly. "What? But how?"
"Never mind the reason, you bilge rat! This is perfect!"
Another one of his former fellow crew-members, Twigg, stepped up. "When they hangs us, we'll be alive till the end! We won't die! Its a plan, mates! First man at the gallows ere day breaks. Let him render them all asunder!" The man shouted, throwing his dirt-caked hands into the air.
Cheering began to reside. There was no thoughtful silence, Ragetti noticed. No sign of contemplating this unexplainable event. All that mattered, he thought eagerly, was that the scoundrel buccaneer crew once under the command of the deadly Captain Barbossa now had their chance for freedom. For revenge.
To blazes with the reasons! Ragetti thought as he scurried into the corner once more, seizing his knife and wooden eye from the ground.
They'll all be time to figure it all out, later.
Later, when we're all free and the soldiers are all dead.
Sorry it took so long to update, I'm usually more responsible than this! Finals are coming up, and I have a lot of homework so I'm trying to balance...and...yeah. Sorry for no involvement of Jack or Will or anyone. They'll definitely be in the next chapter. This was kind of weird to write...oh well. Thanks for reading!
"Might as well be all dead," Pintel remarked, glancing outwards toward the moon.
A fight hadn't broken out in at least three hours, since the sun had begun to set. Blood that had fallen from wounded jaws had gathered in tiny droplets throughout the compartment. The blood that was now spent so selfishly, and with a purpose other than to conceal the truth of the undead.
Ragetti sat, calm and collected, his shoulders propped against the corner wall. He held his knife and wooden eye in his hands, both he had managed to recover and conceal before he had been captured and, he thought ruefully, imprisoned. With an angry roll of his remaining eye, he continued to cut away thoughtlessly at the adornment (though, due to constant whittling extracted by boredom, the tiny wooden sphere was now reduced to the state of what he considered a "most uncomfortable fit") and remained content at brushing the shavings into the darkness.
"Oh, agree I do," he suddenly replied to Pintel's regretful muttering. "Been alive and sufferin' for nigh ten years, been dead, and yet, alive! Strange fate is it now we get what we seek, even when our own lives are about to end!"
"Turned philosopher, have you?" Pintel shot at him, rolling his eyes.
"No. I've just got me wits about me, is all. Days before appointment at the gallows can do that to one, I guess." He absently popped the eye back into his skull, blinking three times before he turned to face Pintel.
"Idiot," muttered Pintel.
"Am not!"
"Don't bet on that."
"You're the landlubber, always taking about "Me home", "Me Mum..."
"Lying idiot!" bellowed Pintel, hurling his fist at Ragetti's face.
The blow sent the wooden eye springing from its socket. It flew across the room and knocked one of the other men squarely on the forehead. The poor fools eyes rolled back into his head and he fell over, a stupid grin fixed on his face.
Ragetti, half-blinded and his vision dimmed all the greater by the absence of light in the room, struggled about, his knife still held in his hand as Pintel's hands clasped his neck, shaking him so that his head repeatedly struck the stone floor. The men around him began to laugh and cheer at the entertainment.
"Calling me that! Of all the-" he was cut short with a shrill cry of surprise.
Ragetti knew what had happened, though he could see nothing. His hand strayed from where it had been clutching the knife's handle to return at his waist. The knife now lay lodged in Pintel's heart. Blood surged from it. The chanting suddenly stopped, as all men paused and stood as still as stone to behold.
"Oh! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" shouted Ragetti, throwing his arms up in surrender. "I'm sorry, Pint!"
Pintel said nothing, only gaped at his companion below him.
After what seemed an eternity, he blinked and his face became a mask of horror. "It...it doesn't hurt," he managed to say.
"Pint!" Ragetti cried, still basking in sorrow and regret.
"No, it...I'm not dead!"
Ragetti stared at him, both of his eyebrows, even the one sheltering an empty eye socket, were raised. "What? Hey, that kind of reminds of me of when Barbossa'd shot you! Right in the very spot...you didn't die then, neither!"
"No!" said Pintel, grinning and clapping his companion on the shoulder as he pulled the knife from his chest. A sudden expression of realization broke upon his face as he stared down at the bloodstained blade. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Ragetti. "You stabbed me!"
"I didn't mean it..."
Those who had been watching drew forward with an air of curiosity about them. One man in particular approached, his eyes cavernous and glittered with disbelief. "The curse! The curse is upon us!" he cried, throwing his arms in the air.
The entire room burst into an uproar as men attempted to seize the knife from Pintel, determined to likewise seize their own lives to prove that which had been introduced to them. The man who had voiced the obvious stabbed himself directly in the heart. He doubled over, though more from impact than obvious pain. In an instant, he plucked the blade free and cast it upon the ground. Fresh blood splattered everywhere.
He raised his arms. "The curse!" he cried.
"Could not have come to us at a better time!" Pintel proclaimed, staring about him.
Ragetti looked up at him uncertainly. "What? But how?"
"Never mind the reason, you bilge rat! This is perfect!"
Another one of his former fellow crew-members, Twigg, stepped up. "When they hangs us, we'll be alive till the end! We won't die! Its a plan, mates! First man at the gallows ere day breaks. Let him render them all asunder!" The man shouted, throwing his dirt-caked hands into the air.
Cheering began to reside. There was no thoughtful silence, Ragetti noticed. No sign of contemplating this unexplainable event. All that mattered, he thought eagerly, was that the scoundrel buccaneer crew once under the command of the deadly Captain Barbossa now had their chance for freedom. For revenge.
To blazes with the reasons! Ragetti thought as he scurried into the corner once more, seizing his knife and wooden eye from the ground.
They'll all be time to figure it all out, later.
Later, when we're all free and the soldiers are all dead.
Sorry it took so long to update, I'm usually more responsible than this! Finals are coming up, and I have a lot of homework so I'm trying to balance...and...yeah. Sorry for no involvement of Jack or Will or anyone. They'll definitely be in the next chapter. This was kind of weird to write...oh well. Thanks for reading!