For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day
Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
Immortal
Chapter Six: Then Where do the Stories Come From, I Wonder
All the best things in life take patience. Revenge, love…opportune moments. Jack had been living his long life by this maxim. Unfortunately, it was impossible to know when this 'opportune moment' would decide to appear. Jack lingered in the museum; like a ghost haunting a previous life. By no means did he remain in that one room all the time; only most of the time. He poked and questioned and behaved very, very suspiciously, but his air was so masterful nobody dared kick him out. At least, that's what Jack assumed.
The carved figures on the stone chest scowled at Jack. He glared back at them, and thought hard. Nothing can be impossible. He walked around the cursed chest again and measured its distance from the door. Nothing can be impossible; just difficult. There would be no use in chasing the exhibit around the country. The best bet would be to snatch the chest before it moved off again. Museum robbing would be a bloody bit harder than Jack's usual fair, although nothing Jack couldn't handle. He assumed.
Then, in walked a bored-looking trio: a lass and her two lads.
"Just take the pictures, so we can get out of here," she ordered them around. The lads responded quickly enough; whipping out their digital cameras.
She's done a might well for herself, Jack slowly smiled.
"Did he want captions with the pictures?" asked one lad.
The lass shrugged, "hey, this is your guys' extra-credit deal, not mine."
"Thanks for your support," the other grimaced and took out pad of yellow post-its. Turning to a cutlass display, he jotted down some notes. Jack slinked over to the group, quickly and quietly. He then towered behind the lad and read over his shoulder.
"You got it wrong, son," he hissed into the lad's ear, "A cutlass is the proper name. And it didn't belong to Henry Avery."
The lad jumped and spat a four letter epithet.
"Holy shi—whaddya trying to do! And I'm not your son."
Jack bared his feral smile.
"I'm helping ye with ye homework, lad. Ye got all yer facts confuddled."
The lass eyed him fiercely. She was a bloody handsome one, to be sure, with rather dark eyes and hair. Easily could be some grand-child of Anna Maria. The resemblance was uncanny when she was mad.
"Do you work here?"
Jack waved a finger, "Oh, come, love! Ye want to know about pirates, eh? Well, fortunately I know all that there is about pirates. I can answer all your questions -even some you didn't know you wanted to ask."
They looked at each other. Deciding, probably, that this helpful bum watched too many boat movies. However, the frowns of distrust fell away into grins of bemusement.
"Anything we ask?"
"Yeah."
"But, we mean, anything?"
"What have I been saying to ye all along?"
"Okay, then," began the lad who Jack had startled. Probably wishing to wreck revenge. With a sly gleam in his eye, he pointed to the sword.
"Okay, you said that's not Henry Avery's sword-"
"-cutlass. Not his cutlass."
"—whatever. You said it's not Henry Avery's. Then who's is it?"
Jack had an extremely self satisfied smile on his face.
"It belongs to William Turner."
They blinked.
"'Belongs?'" responded the lass, "we're not asking who is 'belongs' to. Who used it way back in whatever century?"
His infuriating grin would not stop.
"Oh, it still belongs to dear William. Only, it's in this museum. This means he can't use it. Shame, really, because it's still his."
"But wouldn't this Will be…uh… around two hundred years old or something?" The lad objected.
"Aye. You're a bright lad."
A stunned silence. The three teenagers looked Jack up and down, noticing in his messy ponytail, scruffy goatee, and glittering gold teeth. They didn't say anything for a while. Jack decided to press his advantage.
"Course, Will doesn't look his age. Runs in the family. See, I knew that whelp's father and he looked pretty fine for his age as well."
Pause. The lass narrowed her eyes.
"Wait, you knew this two-hundred year old guy's father?"
"Back on the Pearl. We were shipmates, he and I."
It amused Jack greatly to see the trio eyeing the nearest exit. However, despite their discomfort—maybe even because of it—they stayed.
"Are you some sort of pirate?" One of them asked, carefully humoring the bizarre man.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, if ye please. Don't be forgetting the captain part."
Jack gestured drunkenly. He radiated something between a cold-hearted thug and an enthusiastic child. The teenagers were unsure how to respond to this, to laugh or to make a quick escape. Again, they smiled at each other. Escape? This guy was too strange to pass up!
"Ok, who ever you are, if you're a pirate then how come you're not dead?" demanded one of the lads.
Jack had been anticipating this question and pounced on it.
"But I am," he protested.
Their expressions defied comment.
"Only, I'm not dead. Nor could ye call me alive. I'm immortal. Not really my choice, though. It was dear William's fault. Wait, I can't be honest about that as he didn't have that much say in the matter because when someone's shot and bleeding he cannot think for himself. Not really Elizabeth's fault either when ye think 'n it long enough. You could say it was me own fault for finding that bloody island in the first place, which did, in fact, start the whole fiasco."
"I'm confused…" began the lass.
"I'm not surprised, love," (the lads snickered at this address).
"So, how'd you become immortal?"
Thus came the innocent question.
"Why, you want to turn immortal yourself?" Jack teased through a scowl.
"Well, no," a lad clarified, irritated, "that came out wrong."
Ignoring the response, Jack tugged on the lad's shoulder and pulled him towards the stone chest, "Centuries ago, I was named captain of The Black Pearl and her crew of scoundrels…"
I apologize most sincerely for the great delay between chapters. I've had lots of drama going on in life lately. So you had better review this because it was a PAIN to write! Oh, and by the way, anyone care to identify the author, title and meaning of the opening stanza? And, finally, there will be NO random love interest between Jack and the teenager who looks like Anna-Maria. These teenagers have made their cameo appearance and they're otta here. Also, this was originally part of a longer-and I mean LONGER chapter but I decided to cut that up into a few parts. Look for the next chapter within the next two weeks.