Disclaimer: If I had all the money from PoTC's success, my friend, Crissy,
and myself would become fluent in French and move to the Riviera where we
would pose as locals, baby-sit Johhny's kids, and make him fall madly in
love us. Of course, I'd have him on weekends and for any major premiers,
lol.
Note: Thanks for the reviews! I went to bed with 65 and I woke up with 77! This is so awesome! DayDreamBeliever14 . . . I'M TELLIN' THE STOREEEY . . . you will understand soon enough. I feel like some prophetic being . . . this is too cool, lol. Enjoy!
Here's To Freedom (Chapter 22)
"Cut my hair," Jack muttered angrily under his breath, shaking his head as he slipped silently through the shadows of the deserted market place and made his way to the Governor's mansion, his near brush with cleanliness still fresh in his mind.
If he'd ever had the inclination to strike a woman, it would, most definitely, have been Elizabeth Turner the instant she suggested such an idiotic idea. Considering all the times that she had slapped him, he couldn't say it would have been unwarranted.
The woman was completely vexing, he thought to himself, quickly ducking behind a nearby carriage to avoid being noticed by some townsfolk that were coming along. If she had questioned his affection for Natalie one more time, he would have gone absolutely out of his head! Who the hell did she think she was, anyway?
Suddenly, he was yanked from his thoughts as the carriage pulled away, leaving him standing, completely defenseless, beneath the streetlight just as two women, chattering away, passed in front of him. Nodding as they merely bid him a good evening, he sighed with relief, thanking his lucky stars that the female species was completely obsessed with talking.
Waiting for a few moments until their hushed voices were no longer audible, Jack crept alongside the building behind him and peeked around the corner to make sure all was really clear this time. His eyes widened as they fell upon the luminescent house on the hill ahead with scores of people roving about in front of it.
This was going to be quite the challenge.
Retreating behind the cover of the wall again, he took a deep controlling breath and sent a silent prayer skyward to keep him from the gallows. Practicing his relaxed-and-natural look, he made sure that he looked as put together as was humanly possible . . . for him . . . , straightening the worn leather hat that sat atop his head and using a bit of his spit to twist the ends of his mustache into an upward curl before re- emerging into the night.
Jack walked at a brisk pace, but only fast enough to look like a man with a mission and not a fugitive, running for his life. Pushing his way through the crowd, he tossed out nonchalant grins and greetings as he went:
"Why hello there . . . So good to see you . . . Excuse me . . . Pardon me, Madame . . . Great hat . . . I know . . . Good evening to you as well . . .," he called, hurriedly moving to the gates, only to be met by a couple of gentlemen who he'd long since forgotten . . . and had enjoyed doing so.
Mullroy looked up briefly, calling "NEXT!" before letting out a slow yawn. He had been standing outside in the hot, humid night for hours now, and he wanted very much to go home and catch some sleep. Actually, he thought, removing his tri-cornered cap for a few moments to dab off some of the perspiration that had since accumulated, having a post inside the Governor's mansion instead of on the lawn would have even sufficed.
Glancing over at his partner, Murtogg, he furrowed his brow. The two of them had always been separated from the lines of British troops, now that he thought about it. Not once had they been assigned to something really important . . . usually, it was only lookout duty.
Just once, Mullroy mused, he wanted to do something heroic and daring for the Crown. He wanted to be more than a bloody glorified doorman!
"Next!" he barked, still waiting to receive the vellum summons of the following guest. With an exasperated sigh, he tapped his shoe against the cobble stone walk and raised his eyes to the mob standing before him. "I 'aven't got all evenin', people, so 'ave your invitations ready!"
Recognizing the two bumbling idiots who had foiled his first attempts to commandeer the Interceptor all those years ago, Jack didn't stay put to see what they would do next.
Quickly, he slipped back into the jumbled horde of testy civilians and moved, covertly, to the more sparsely populated fringes, waiting for a moment before making a run for the palace walls. With a low whistle, he gazed upon the extremely high, moss-covered stone barrier with nervous anticipation.
"Well, Jack; let's see if you've still got it."
Slowly, he scaled the fence, digging his boot-clad toes into the foliage and holding on to the edges of the rough stone with a white knuckle grip. Oh, the things he did for love.
Soon enough, he reached the top and was then faced with the question of how to scramble back down to the other side. Climbing down backwards was out of the question and to jump would mean certain death, or one hell of an injury, so his eyes searched the night for another way to the ground. Suddenly, a grin crossed his lips.
Not two feet from the wall was a big, strong tree, almost beckoning him with an outstretched branch sitting right in front of him. Lifting his eyes to the heavens, he leapt towards it, finally grabbing hold in the last couple of seconds he was airborne.
"Oh," he grunted, rocking back and forth, trying to swing his legs over the limb, "To be a teenager again!" Jack's grip starting to loosen, he continued to dangle until his fingers lost hold and he dropped.
His heart in his throat, he stifled the yell that threatened to burst forth from his lips any moment, and flailed about as he fell, hoping, against all hope, to catch onto something that would keep him suspended. Unfortunately, his luck ran out.
* * * *
Natalie walked into the ball room a new person that evening. The hundreds of people swirling before her eyes, the cacophony created by all of those whispers, and even the presence of the abominable Eatons didn't seem to faze her.
With an ally by her side, it didn't seem so overwhelming anymore.
She glanced at James from the corner of her eye and watched as his wandered about the bright, crowded room. "It's incredible isn't it?" she asked with a quiet smile.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she had noticed his astonishment, but replied, "Definitely. I've commanded thousands of troops, but this is so much . . . more." Looking over at her he grinned, unable to comprehend what he himself had just said, and asked, "I don't suppose that made any sense did it?"
"No," Natalie smiled, "I know what you're saying. I think it's the different colors. With all of the movement it feels more like symptoms of typhoid than a party, I fear."
James chuckled softly at her words, but not for long. From his post, he noticed Clark Eaton conferring with his father, and returned his gaze to hers. "Natalie, don't look now, but I believe your fiancée is getting a bit jealous," he said with a smile, "He's getting quite adamant with his father there."
Her eyes widened and sparkled with glee. "This is entirely too much fun, James. Let's make the whole world jealous. May I have this dance?" she asked, curtsying low while trying, in vain, to suppress her ear-to-ear grin.
"Why, Natalie, I'd be delighted." Holding out his arms, she stepped into his embrace, placing one hand upon his shoulder and the other in his. With his right hand resting at her waist, they spun off onto the dance floor, enjoying every minute of their time together.
* * * *
Geoffrey Eaton nearly choked on his brandy as he watched Natalie Swann getting closer to the Commodore, with his mindless dolt of a son nowhere to be found. He had practically handed Clark a bride and the boy couldn't even keep her under his thumb for ten minutes? Did he have to do everything?
Suddenly, his pride and joy made his entrance from the door leading in from the gardens and came barreling over to him, words spilling past his lips like a babbling brook. A babbling brook that he would enjoy stopping up forever.
"Clark!" he said in a harsh whisper, "Get a hold of your self, man! Now tell me, SLOWLY and CALMLY, why your betrothed is over there cavorting with another man? Can you do absolutely nothing correctly?"
Taking a deep breath, Clark began to recount the evening's earlier events. "I went out, just as you bid me to, and I was charming, as always, but her and the Commodore . . . they just ignored me. Walked right by me, they did, arm in arm." Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, "I don't like it, Father. I don't like it one bit."
"You really are insufferable," Geoffrey said hopelessly. "I'll fix this, somehow . . . I'll go to the governor, and we'll make the announcement early . . . before you ruin anything else." Massaging his temples, he sighed and shook his head, motioning for his son to leave him alone. "Oh! What did I ever do to deserve this?"
Note: Thanks for the reviews! I went to bed with 65 and I woke up with 77! This is so awesome! DayDreamBeliever14 . . . I'M TELLIN' THE STOREEEY . . . you will understand soon enough. I feel like some prophetic being . . . this is too cool, lol. Enjoy!
Here's To Freedom (Chapter 22)
"Cut my hair," Jack muttered angrily under his breath, shaking his head as he slipped silently through the shadows of the deserted market place and made his way to the Governor's mansion, his near brush with cleanliness still fresh in his mind.
If he'd ever had the inclination to strike a woman, it would, most definitely, have been Elizabeth Turner the instant she suggested such an idiotic idea. Considering all the times that she had slapped him, he couldn't say it would have been unwarranted.
The woman was completely vexing, he thought to himself, quickly ducking behind a nearby carriage to avoid being noticed by some townsfolk that were coming along. If she had questioned his affection for Natalie one more time, he would have gone absolutely out of his head! Who the hell did she think she was, anyway?
Suddenly, he was yanked from his thoughts as the carriage pulled away, leaving him standing, completely defenseless, beneath the streetlight just as two women, chattering away, passed in front of him. Nodding as they merely bid him a good evening, he sighed with relief, thanking his lucky stars that the female species was completely obsessed with talking.
Waiting for a few moments until their hushed voices were no longer audible, Jack crept alongside the building behind him and peeked around the corner to make sure all was really clear this time. His eyes widened as they fell upon the luminescent house on the hill ahead with scores of people roving about in front of it.
This was going to be quite the challenge.
Retreating behind the cover of the wall again, he took a deep controlling breath and sent a silent prayer skyward to keep him from the gallows. Practicing his relaxed-and-natural look, he made sure that he looked as put together as was humanly possible . . . for him . . . , straightening the worn leather hat that sat atop his head and using a bit of his spit to twist the ends of his mustache into an upward curl before re- emerging into the night.
Jack walked at a brisk pace, but only fast enough to look like a man with a mission and not a fugitive, running for his life. Pushing his way through the crowd, he tossed out nonchalant grins and greetings as he went:
"Why hello there . . . So good to see you . . . Excuse me . . . Pardon me, Madame . . . Great hat . . . I know . . . Good evening to you as well . . .," he called, hurriedly moving to the gates, only to be met by a couple of gentlemen who he'd long since forgotten . . . and had enjoyed doing so.
Mullroy looked up briefly, calling "NEXT!" before letting out a slow yawn. He had been standing outside in the hot, humid night for hours now, and he wanted very much to go home and catch some sleep. Actually, he thought, removing his tri-cornered cap for a few moments to dab off some of the perspiration that had since accumulated, having a post inside the Governor's mansion instead of on the lawn would have even sufficed.
Glancing over at his partner, Murtogg, he furrowed his brow. The two of them had always been separated from the lines of British troops, now that he thought about it. Not once had they been assigned to something really important . . . usually, it was only lookout duty.
Just once, Mullroy mused, he wanted to do something heroic and daring for the Crown. He wanted to be more than a bloody glorified doorman!
"Next!" he barked, still waiting to receive the vellum summons of the following guest. With an exasperated sigh, he tapped his shoe against the cobble stone walk and raised his eyes to the mob standing before him. "I 'aven't got all evenin', people, so 'ave your invitations ready!"
Recognizing the two bumbling idiots who had foiled his first attempts to commandeer the Interceptor all those years ago, Jack didn't stay put to see what they would do next.
Quickly, he slipped back into the jumbled horde of testy civilians and moved, covertly, to the more sparsely populated fringes, waiting for a moment before making a run for the palace walls. With a low whistle, he gazed upon the extremely high, moss-covered stone barrier with nervous anticipation.
"Well, Jack; let's see if you've still got it."
Slowly, he scaled the fence, digging his boot-clad toes into the foliage and holding on to the edges of the rough stone with a white knuckle grip. Oh, the things he did for love.
Soon enough, he reached the top and was then faced with the question of how to scramble back down to the other side. Climbing down backwards was out of the question and to jump would mean certain death, or one hell of an injury, so his eyes searched the night for another way to the ground. Suddenly, a grin crossed his lips.
Not two feet from the wall was a big, strong tree, almost beckoning him with an outstretched branch sitting right in front of him. Lifting his eyes to the heavens, he leapt towards it, finally grabbing hold in the last couple of seconds he was airborne.
"Oh," he grunted, rocking back and forth, trying to swing his legs over the limb, "To be a teenager again!" Jack's grip starting to loosen, he continued to dangle until his fingers lost hold and he dropped.
His heart in his throat, he stifled the yell that threatened to burst forth from his lips any moment, and flailed about as he fell, hoping, against all hope, to catch onto something that would keep him suspended. Unfortunately, his luck ran out.
* * * *
Natalie walked into the ball room a new person that evening. The hundreds of people swirling before her eyes, the cacophony created by all of those whispers, and even the presence of the abominable Eatons didn't seem to faze her.
With an ally by her side, it didn't seem so overwhelming anymore.
She glanced at James from the corner of her eye and watched as his wandered about the bright, crowded room. "It's incredible isn't it?" she asked with a quiet smile.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she had noticed his astonishment, but replied, "Definitely. I've commanded thousands of troops, but this is so much . . . more." Looking over at her he grinned, unable to comprehend what he himself had just said, and asked, "I don't suppose that made any sense did it?"
"No," Natalie smiled, "I know what you're saying. I think it's the different colors. With all of the movement it feels more like symptoms of typhoid than a party, I fear."
James chuckled softly at her words, but not for long. From his post, he noticed Clark Eaton conferring with his father, and returned his gaze to hers. "Natalie, don't look now, but I believe your fiancée is getting a bit jealous," he said with a smile, "He's getting quite adamant with his father there."
Her eyes widened and sparkled with glee. "This is entirely too much fun, James. Let's make the whole world jealous. May I have this dance?" she asked, curtsying low while trying, in vain, to suppress her ear-to-ear grin.
"Why, Natalie, I'd be delighted." Holding out his arms, she stepped into his embrace, placing one hand upon his shoulder and the other in his. With his right hand resting at her waist, they spun off onto the dance floor, enjoying every minute of their time together.
* * * *
Geoffrey Eaton nearly choked on his brandy as he watched Natalie Swann getting closer to the Commodore, with his mindless dolt of a son nowhere to be found. He had practically handed Clark a bride and the boy couldn't even keep her under his thumb for ten minutes? Did he have to do everything?
Suddenly, his pride and joy made his entrance from the door leading in from the gardens and came barreling over to him, words spilling past his lips like a babbling brook. A babbling brook that he would enjoy stopping up forever.
"Clark!" he said in a harsh whisper, "Get a hold of your self, man! Now tell me, SLOWLY and CALMLY, why your betrothed is over there cavorting with another man? Can you do absolutely nothing correctly?"
Taking a deep breath, Clark began to recount the evening's earlier events. "I went out, just as you bid me to, and I was charming, as always, but her and the Commodore . . . they just ignored me. Walked right by me, they did, arm in arm." Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, "I don't like it, Father. I don't like it one bit."
"You really are insufferable," Geoffrey said hopelessly. "I'll fix this, somehow . . . I'll go to the governor, and we'll make the announcement early . . . before you ruin anything else." Massaging his temples, he sighed and shook his head, motioning for his son to leave him alone. "Oh! What did I ever do to deserve this?"