A/N: Hi there to all you folks, again. I wish to thank all of your lovely reviewers. Please, continue! It lets me knw you are out there, and I do want to write this story right for whatever reason. I wish to thank Peipei for her insigtful review, and I have incorporated in aome of the reasons why Marita is somewhat mean to the commodore. She could have been worse.
The beginning of this is not very funny, but Marita is not really a funny character. So, bear with it. I am still trying to get them moving along, but it is hard. I thought their first real meal as being human again was important, and not only that, it was funny.
Cheer up, for those who are reading this story. I may have been late with this one, but I am having the joys of hay fever, and I don't feel as well as I should. The Harry Potter story is not getting in the way of this story. It is coming off the top of my head, and James' head. So, those are quick little jokes. This one I take a bit more seriously. Serious! What's that?!
Now as soon as Fanfiction gets back on line, I will post this little tidbit.
Btw, if you were on Fanfiction or Fictionpress, there may have been a thing called "adware" virus running amuck there. I spend a lot of time on the two sites, and my Norton antivirus came up with this virus after I had visited there. I think that they may have fixed it now.
Chapter 7: Dinner is Served
Marita picked up the plate of leftover pastries and separated out a portion for her two uninvited guests. She mused over her encounter with the handsome commodore. She didn't particularly hate him. If her life had been different, she may well enjoy his company, not that he would ever really flirt with her. Her cold bitter exterior wouldn't allow him, and she really was not of the right class. She would have been more civil with him, but there were extraordinary circumstances abound today. She owed the pirates her freedom, whether it was the two idiots in the back or the ones that were to be hanged, who ran her husband through with a cutlass, she was paying them back. She was always one to repay favors done. The civil law and order of man did little to help her. Norrington, unfortunately, represented that man made law in this patriotical society, and his judgment was no different than the others passed down on her and her situation.
She headed for the kitchen, that was located at the back of the bakery. She was going to check on the stew she was cooking there, then she was going to collect the two lamebrains from the bath. She flinched as she pushed the adjoining door open with her back. This could have been due to the pain of the old wounds there, but it was most likely the horrendous noises coming from her kitchen.
Pintel and Ragetti were getting quite hungry after their hard work, and Ragetti was really good at following the instincts of his internal organs to where food calleth. This was not to say that they didn't eat while in captivity of the Royal Navy. In fact, Ragetti was happy enough to eat anyone else's leftovers. It was more like the food was not the best quality (They could have broke out a window with the bread, and the soup was thin enough to mop the floor clean with.) and was a bit scarce and far between. So, in no time at all, they found themselves at the kitchen, and they readily helped themselves to the cooking stew at the hearth and two bottles of cooking sherry. They were already sitting at the table and were eating in typical pirate fashion. Basically, suffice it to say, dogs had better manners than these two exhibited, and proper eating utensils were not used in the manner in which they were created for.
Marita slammed the plate of bread on the table before them. She huffed a disgusted breath. They ignored her but not the bread she brought. Three real eyes and one wooden one lit up at the sight of good bread. (Well, the wooden eye was just there and didn't exactly approve of any kind of lighting up.) They both laid hands on the same loaf at the same time. They glared at each other and pulled at the tug of war with the bread until the irate baker bashed their hands with the broom handle. The both of them dropped the bread. Without hesitation, the two men dove under the table for it. The five second rule was not an issue here, but the other ravenous pirate was. With a triumphant smile on his face, Ragetti came up the victor. The one eyed pirate bit into the bread with great relish, but Pintel was prepared with more misuse of eating utensils. He promptly and without hesitation poked his partner in a tender spot with said utensil. The younger pirate yelped and dropped the bread into Pintel's lap and spewed morsels across the table. The older man wasted no time in picking up the loaf and biting into it. Never mind there was still another whole loaf on the plate.
Marita, having had enough of their ill manners, quickly returned with her musket. She took aim and shot the bread out of the smaller pirate's hands. Both Pintel and Ragetti found themselves wet once again.
"In my household, you will try to practice good manners. You will eat when you are offered the food and not before. Is that understood," she reprimanded.
"Good table manners are against the pirate's code, luv," Pintel remarked through a mouthful of stew and bread. Ragetti busied himself with collecting the remaining spewed bits of bread and slightly gun powdered bits of shattered bread. He'd eaten worse.
"If you cannot," she continued unaffected by the man's words, "I'm certain that I can get the commodore back here, and he can make sure you get your proper judgment."
"Sorry, ma'am," Ragetti apologized, having a distinct phobia about musket gun powder entering his system the hard way (The gunpowder on his bread didn't count) and certain ropes being tied around his scrawny neck.
Pintel swallowed his mouthful and pronounced a good hearty belch. He patted his belly with pride. A disgusting smile crossed his lips.
The younger man smiled nervously showing those rotted teeth again. "Pintel says he's sorry, but ye be a good cook, and 'e apologizes for our rudeness, too, ma'am. 'E knows all those funn' frenchie ways 'n' all, ye know."
"I don't give a rat's ass about your French manners. You are living on borrowed time here."
Pintel mumbled some comment, but Ragetti didn't let him finish. Dim he might be, but telling their hostess about being walking rotting cursed corpses for ten years would never do.
"You will do what you are told," she continued, as she removed a bag of gunpowder from the folds of her skirts. She knew that she would be using the gun, and she made sure to snatch a bag from under the counter before she reentered the kitchen. She set about reloading the musket in a manner that would have done a trained soldier proud, and it would have most likely frightened the wits out of the commodore. Women weren't suppose to know those kinds of things. "or St. Peter will take your head," she added, as she patted the gun lovingly.
Pintel opened his mouth to say something, but Ragetti, sensing impending danger, elbowed him in the chest hard enough to cause him to gag. That was alright. He just swallowed it back down. He'd eaten worse even in the last twenty minutes.
"I have a list of chores for you to do to earn your keep. I want these done before you retire for the evening. There are some things you need to do tomorrow as well," she announced as she pulled a piece of paper from her apron.
Pintel and Ragetti looked at each other with the identical blank expression. "Readin' ain't one of our strong points, madam," Pintel pointed out.
"Yeah, we be simple pirates, and Barbosa weren't too keen on us learnin' new skills. It was often a real scary experience when we did. 'Sides, Pintel, 'ere, 'e used to be a fisherman 'fore 'e joined the ranks of piracy, and me, I was 'is assistant."
"That's 'cause ye were a lousy littl' street rat when I met ya. Pickin' me pockets you were," the squat little man replied as he took up one of the pastries and stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth.
"I got me punishment fer that, now didn't I. What were that thing ye 'ad in yer pocket. It were all icky and slimy!" Ragetti complained.
"Serves ye right for picking a working man's pocket!" Pintel growled back.
Da 'ad a real job," he replied, as he helped himself to one of the pastries, "'E did carpentry, but I ne'er saw 'im makin' any kind of carpets. Anyways, there were fourteen of us. We 'ad to make a livin' somehows."
" Did yer father e'er get 'is pants on? No wonder 'e ne'er made any carpets. Yer mum kept 'im too busy."
"Da wore pants. 'E ne'er got caught in dresses like we did!" Ragetti replied, not quite getting it. He, then remember Marita there, and his face flushed bright red.
"Enough of this," she cried out, "I want the two of you to clean this kitchen and the store front before you go to bed tonight. I want to be able to eat off the floor when you are done." She glanced at her confused audience. She narrowed her eyes. "I want you to sweep and mop the floors and do the dishes," she clarified, "There are bags of sugar and flour in the cellar. I want you to bring one of each up here and leave it here in the kitchen I need those for tomorrow's business. I get up quite early in the morning to start baking, so bring them up after you have done the floors. There are bed clothes laid out for you in the bedroom over there," she pointed to a door on the far right of the kitchen, "These used to be the servants' quarters in better times. The room is a nice room and the beds are clean. Keep them that way. You may use them for whatever you see fit, but try not to burn down the bakery in the process. You are under no circumstance allowed to go upstairs. Those are my rooms, and I do not wish to be disturbed." She glared at each of them for emphasis.
"This be a baker'. Whatcha doin' with servant's quarters?" Pintel asked through a mouthful.
"My husband had money, but I wanted to run a bakery. Fortunately for you, my helpers have left to new jobs now," she answered.
Pintel looked at Ragetti with a self satisfied look of "I told you so", but the taller pirate was more enthralled with other things to notice.
"In the morning, I want you to chop more wood for the hearth and the oven. You will do the laundry . . ."
"Speakin' of the laundr', what 'bout these clothes? Won't the feller these belong to be wantin' 'em back?" Pintel asked suspiciously.
"He doesn't need them anymore," she replied flatly.
Pintel and Ragetti looked at each other in shock. "I told ya so," the older man mouthed again.
The taller pirate, not being fluent in lip reading, muchless any other kind of reading for that matter, replied, "Huh?"
"He was killed by the pirate raid two months ago," she replied.
The pirates looked at each other, then they tried to count back to two months agao unsuccessfully. They had dared too much brain work for the day. Pintel thoughtfully scratched his backside. Oh well, that's where his brain was located anyway. A passing thought about he'd been awfully itchy of late passed in through one ear and out the other and didn't hit anything in between.
"Were we 'ere at that time?" he questioned his younger partner.
"Uh . . ."replied Ragetti, as he squinted his left eye close, leaving him in the dark once again. What else was new. He scratched behind the corresponding ear. "I ain't sure. Was that the time we were 'ere lookin' fer that coin, that Miss . . ."
Pintel hit him hard enough in the back that the younger man fell forward in his stew. Oh well, Ragetti was still hungry anyway.
"Bit lonely 'round 'ere with no man to protect ya, eh? Some nasty riff raff could give ye trouble," Pintel observed wickedly.
Ragetti raised his face from the stew. A sinister sneer crossed his face. It might have been quite fearsome, if he didn't have stew all over his face. The image wasn't helped any by the fact that he was unconsciously digging around in his stew for that wooden eye. He found it, licked the clinging stew from it, then popped it back in place. He believed that Pintel and he had heard their true calling, and they were so good at terrorizing helpless women. It fitted so well with the pirate code.
Marita was anything but helpless. She narrowed her dark eyes at them and said in a clear stern voice, that had a good bit of terrorizing in of itself. "St. Peter is all the man I need."
"'Ave a 'ard time gettin' it to fit, dotcha?" Pintel remarked, forgetting about the terrorizing in favor of being his normal obnoxious lecherous self.
Ragetti's eyes grew wide. A shocked expression crossed his face, and if it wasn't so covered with stew, it would have been several interesting shades of red. In a way, he himself, was glad that they wouldn't have to try to bully her. Since the curse was broken, he felt more inclined to do skirt chasing than the murdering and raping, and not particularly in that order, but the residue of the curse remained.
Fortunately for the two of them, she didn't feel inclined to waste anymore gun powder on them. Otherwise, Pintel would now be dead, and Ragetti would be lonely without the only person he could truly match wits with. "If I didn't need help around here, you would already be gone from here."
Pintel elbowed Ragetti and commented, "See, whatcha tell ye. Best not be eatin' any of those sausages she be bringin' out or might put in yer stew!"
Ragetti looked down at his stew. It tasted fine by him. Marita filled up two bowls of stew. She hefted St. Peter under her arm. She picked up the bread and pastries from the store front and her daily earnings. It would never do to leave money unguarded with two rogues in the house. She left the two men to their own devices. That could have been dangerous indeed.
The beginning of this is not very funny, but Marita is not really a funny character. So, bear with it. I am still trying to get them moving along, but it is hard. I thought their first real meal as being human again was important, and not only that, it was funny.
Cheer up, for those who are reading this story. I may have been late with this one, but I am having the joys of hay fever, and I don't feel as well as I should. The Harry Potter story is not getting in the way of this story. It is coming off the top of my head, and James' head. So, those are quick little jokes. This one I take a bit more seriously. Serious! What's that?!
Now as soon as Fanfiction gets back on line, I will post this little tidbit.
Btw, if you were on Fanfiction or Fictionpress, there may have been a thing called "adware" virus running amuck there. I spend a lot of time on the two sites, and my Norton antivirus came up with this virus after I had visited there. I think that they may have fixed it now.
Chapter 7: Dinner is Served
Marita picked up the plate of leftover pastries and separated out a portion for her two uninvited guests. She mused over her encounter with the handsome commodore. She didn't particularly hate him. If her life had been different, she may well enjoy his company, not that he would ever really flirt with her. Her cold bitter exterior wouldn't allow him, and she really was not of the right class. She would have been more civil with him, but there were extraordinary circumstances abound today. She owed the pirates her freedom, whether it was the two idiots in the back or the ones that were to be hanged, who ran her husband through with a cutlass, she was paying them back. She was always one to repay favors done. The civil law and order of man did little to help her. Norrington, unfortunately, represented that man made law in this patriotical society, and his judgment was no different than the others passed down on her and her situation.
She headed for the kitchen, that was located at the back of the bakery. She was going to check on the stew she was cooking there, then she was going to collect the two lamebrains from the bath. She flinched as she pushed the adjoining door open with her back. This could have been due to the pain of the old wounds there, but it was most likely the horrendous noises coming from her kitchen.
Pintel and Ragetti were getting quite hungry after their hard work, and Ragetti was really good at following the instincts of his internal organs to where food calleth. This was not to say that they didn't eat while in captivity of the Royal Navy. In fact, Ragetti was happy enough to eat anyone else's leftovers. It was more like the food was not the best quality (They could have broke out a window with the bread, and the soup was thin enough to mop the floor clean with.) and was a bit scarce and far between. So, in no time at all, they found themselves at the kitchen, and they readily helped themselves to the cooking stew at the hearth and two bottles of cooking sherry. They were already sitting at the table and were eating in typical pirate fashion. Basically, suffice it to say, dogs had better manners than these two exhibited, and proper eating utensils were not used in the manner in which they were created for.
Marita slammed the plate of bread on the table before them. She huffed a disgusted breath. They ignored her but not the bread she brought. Three real eyes and one wooden one lit up at the sight of good bread. (Well, the wooden eye was just there and didn't exactly approve of any kind of lighting up.) They both laid hands on the same loaf at the same time. They glared at each other and pulled at the tug of war with the bread until the irate baker bashed their hands with the broom handle. The both of them dropped the bread. Without hesitation, the two men dove under the table for it. The five second rule was not an issue here, but the other ravenous pirate was. With a triumphant smile on his face, Ragetti came up the victor. The one eyed pirate bit into the bread with great relish, but Pintel was prepared with more misuse of eating utensils. He promptly and without hesitation poked his partner in a tender spot with said utensil. The younger pirate yelped and dropped the bread into Pintel's lap and spewed morsels across the table. The older man wasted no time in picking up the loaf and biting into it. Never mind there was still another whole loaf on the plate.
Marita, having had enough of their ill manners, quickly returned with her musket. She took aim and shot the bread out of the smaller pirate's hands. Both Pintel and Ragetti found themselves wet once again.
"In my household, you will try to practice good manners. You will eat when you are offered the food and not before. Is that understood," she reprimanded.
"Good table manners are against the pirate's code, luv," Pintel remarked through a mouthful of stew and bread. Ragetti busied himself with collecting the remaining spewed bits of bread and slightly gun powdered bits of shattered bread. He'd eaten worse.
"If you cannot," she continued unaffected by the man's words, "I'm certain that I can get the commodore back here, and he can make sure you get your proper judgment."
"Sorry, ma'am," Ragetti apologized, having a distinct phobia about musket gun powder entering his system the hard way (The gunpowder on his bread didn't count) and certain ropes being tied around his scrawny neck.
Pintel swallowed his mouthful and pronounced a good hearty belch. He patted his belly with pride. A disgusting smile crossed his lips.
The younger man smiled nervously showing those rotted teeth again. "Pintel says he's sorry, but ye be a good cook, and 'e apologizes for our rudeness, too, ma'am. 'E knows all those funn' frenchie ways 'n' all, ye know."
"I don't give a rat's ass about your French manners. You are living on borrowed time here."
Pintel mumbled some comment, but Ragetti didn't let him finish. Dim he might be, but telling their hostess about being walking rotting cursed corpses for ten years would never do.
"You will do what you are told," she continued, as she removed a bag of gunpowder from the folds of her skirts. She knew that she would be using the gun, and she made sure to snatch a bag from under the counter before she reentered the kitchen. She set about reloading the musket in a manner that would have done a trained soldier proud, and it would have most likely frightened the wits out of the commodore. Women weren't suppose to know those kinds of things. "or St. Peter will take your head," she added, as she patted the gun lovingly.
Pintel opened his mouth to say something, but Ragetti, sensing impending danger, elbowed him in the chest hard enough to cause him to gag. That was alright. He just swallowed it back down. He'd eaten worse even in the last twenty minutes.
"I have a list of chores for you to do to earn your keep. I want these done before you retire for the evening. There are some things you need to do tomorrow as well," she announced as she pulled a piece of paper from her apron.
Pintel and Ragetti looked at each other with the identical blank expression. "Readin' ain't one of our strong points, madam," Pintel pointed out.
"Yeah, we be simple pirates, and Barbosa weren't too keen on us learnin' new skills. It was often a real scary experience when we did. 'Sides, Pintel, 'ere, 'e used to be a fisherman 'fore 'e joined the ranks of piracy, and me, I was 'is assistant."
"That's 'cause ye were a lousy littl' street rat when I met ya. Pickin' me pockets you were," the squat little man replied as he took up one of the pastries and stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth.
"I got me punishment fer that, now didn't I. What were that thing ye 'ad in yer pocket. It were all icky and slimy!" Ragetti complained.
"Serves ye right for picking a working man's pocket!" Pintel growled back.
Da 'ad a real job," he replied, as he helped himself to one of the pastries, "'E did carpentry, but I ne'er saw 'im makin' any kind of carpets. Anyways, there were fourteen of us. We 'ad to make a livin' somehows."
" Did yer father e'er get 'is pants on? No wonder 'e ne'er made any carpets. Yer mum kept 'im too busy."
"Da wore pants. 'E ne'er got caught in dresses like we did!" Ragetti replied, not quite getting it. He, then remember Marita there, and his face flushed bright red.
"Enough of this," she cried out, "I want the two of you to clean this kitchen and the store front before you go to bed tonight. I want to be able to eat off the floor when you are done." She glanced at her confused audience. She narrowed her eyes. "I want you to sweep and mop the floors and do the dishes," she clarified, "There are bags of sugar and flour in the cellar. I want you to bring one of each up here and leave it here in the kitchen I need those for tomorrow's business. I get up quite early in the morning to start baking, so bring them up after you have done the floors. There are bed clothes laid out for you in the bedroom over there," she pointed to a door on the far right of the kitchen, "These used to be the servants' quarters in better times. The room is a nice room and the beds are clean. Keep them that way. You may use them for whatever you see fit, but try not to burn down the bakery in the process. You are under no circumstance allowed to go upstairs. Those are my rooms, and I do not wish to be disturbed." She glared at each of them for emphasis.
"This be a baker'. Whatcha doin' with servant's quarters?" Pintel asked through a mouthful.
"My husband had money, but I wanted to run a bakery. Fortunately for you, my helpers have left to new jobs now," she answered.
Pintel looked at Ragetti with a self satisfied look of "I told you so", but the taller pirate was more enthralled with other things to notice.
"In the morning, I want you to chop more wood for the hearth and the oven. You will do the laundry . . ."
"Speakin' of the laundr', what 'bout these clothes? Won't the feller these belong to be wantin' 'em back?" Pintel asked suspiciously.
"He doesn't need them anymore," she replied flatly.
Pintel and Ragetti looked at each other in shock. "I told ya so," the older man mouthed again.
The taller pirate, not being fluent in lip reading, muchless any other kind of reading for that matter, replied, "Huh?"
"He was killed by the pirate raid two months ago," she replied.
The pirates looked at each other, then they tried to count back to two months agao unsuccessfully. They had dared too much brain work for the day. Pintel thoughtfully scratched his backside. Oh well, that's where his brain was located anyway. A passing thought about he'd been awfully itchy of late passed in through one ear and out the other and didn't hit anything in between.
"Were we 'ere at that time?" he questioned his younger partner.
"Uh . . ."replied Ragetti, as he squinted his left eye close, leaving him in the dark once again. What else was new. He scratched behind the corresponding ear. "I ain't sure. Was that the time we were 'ere lookin' fer that coin, that Miss . . ."
Pintel hit him hard enough in the back that the younger man fell forward in his stew. Oh well, Ragetti was still hungry anyway.
"Bit lonely 'round 'ere with no man to protect ya, eh? Some nasty riff raff could give ye trouble," Pintel observed wickedly.
Ragetti raised his face from the stew. A sinister sneer crossed his face. It might have been quite fearsome, if he didn't have stew all over his face. The image wasn't helped any by the fact that he was unconsciously digging around in his stew for that wooden eye. He found it, licked the clinging stew from it, then popped it back in place. He believed that Pintel and he had heard their true calling, and they were so good at terrorizing helpless women. It fitted so well with the pirate code.
Marita was anything but helpless. She narrowed her dark eyes at them and said in a clear stern voice, that had a good bit of terrorizing in of itself. "St. Peter is all the man I need."
"'Ave a 'ard time gettin' it to fit, dotcha?" Pintel remarked, forgetting about the terrorizing in favor of being his normal obnoxious lecherous self.
Ragetti's eyes grew wide. A shocked expression crossed his face, and if it wasn't so covered with stew, it would have been several interesting shades of red. In a way, he himself, was glad that they wouldn't have to try to bully her. Since the curse was broken, he felt more inclined to do skirt chasing than the murdering and raping, and not particularly in that order, but the residue of the curse remained.
Fortunately for the two of them, she didn't feel inclined to waste anymore gun powder on them. Otherwise, Pintel would now be dead, and Ragetti would be lonely without the only person he could truly match wits with. "If I didn't need help around here, you would already be gone from here."
Pintel elbowed Ragetti and commented, "See, whatcha tell ye. Best not be eatin' any of those sausages she be bringin' out or might put in yer stew!"
Ragetti looked down at his stew. It tasted fine by him. Marita filled up two bowls of stew. She hefted St. Peter under her arm. She picked up the bread and pastries from the store front and her daily earnings. It would never do to leave money unguarded with two rogues in the house. She left the two men to their own devices. That could have been dangerous indeed.