Disclaimer: Durn! I don't own them! (May this apply to any subsequent chapters, 'cause I'm lazy)
Notes: Well, here it is, actual fic, on this this site, No.1. Don't kill me for it; I get that enough without all this work. Firstly, there's a big, obvious time difference between The Princess Bride and Pirates of the Caribbean. Let us pretend it does NOT EXIST. This takes place in POTC time. Yeah. Otherwise, I sincerely hope you, whoever that may be right now, like (and review!) the story.
CHAPTER ONE
"Arrrrrgggggghhhh, I hope you didn't expect to get away that easy, mate, arrrrrrgggghhh, ahar, because ye should be a-knowin' who I am by now, matey laddo. I'm Joe the Fiendish, and I take no prisoners, ahar, so ye'd be best off runnin' away now, boyo, 'carse it be supper time!"
Joseph looked discreetly over at the blond man Captain Roberts had brought in as a judge, hoping for some sign that he was doing well. However, the unnamed master wore a practiced neutral expression that betrayed no hint of the thoughts lurking beneath. The man motioned with his head to continue, and Joe the Fiendish spat out another line as viciously as possible: "You yeller-bellied scoundrels ought ter be groveling at me feet, arrrggghh, because if I don't see ye asking fer mercy real soon like, grrrrrrrrrrrrrr, I'm gonna give you something to ask fer mercy about!"
'I can't believe Inigo thought this would be the best way to recruit a crew,' thought Westley, as he watched yet another child struggle his way through a sloppy string of pirate clichés and over-abused bestial grunts. 'How are we supposed to get real sailors out of this?'
The nervous boy peeked over his shoulder once again. Westley jerked his thumb towards the "prisoner," a real shrunken head on a pole, as kindly as he could. Joe pulled his lips back into a snarl and turned to face the victim. The head was Westley's idea. Half of the line outside on the ship had dissipated after the sixth gaudily dressed pirate-not-to-be ran out screaming.
The whole well-organized audition session was skewing horribly off course. Well, it was actually going exactly as planned, but Inigo had no idea how to hire a crew. Buttercup was on deck, mingling in the neatly roped off line, passing out compliments and hors-devours with equal generosity. And Inigo had the few real pirates Westley had found before the auditions up in the rigging, putting up brand new POLKA DOTTED sails. It was a bloody, deep red on black, but that couldn't make up for . . . polka dots. . .
Joe was finishing another brutal breath: "…And skallywaggers aboard this ship are all burnt at the plank, err, stake, or keelhauled, or hung by the thumbs until dead, which takes a while because you don't get to suffocate or anything, you have to, I mean, ter starve! Yes! Starve! Mrk mrk mrk mrk mrk! And, umm, you, ye, ye have to starve, and I… Can I stop yet sir, I didn't plan for it to be this long, and I don't have anything to say…"
"Oh, yeah, you can stop now." The fair haired but hard, sea roughened judge sat straighter. "Now, do you have any experience with sailing?"
"Well, when I came over from England to the Caribbean about five years ago, I helped on the deck, and I learned a bit how to work the rigging but my mother didn't let me actually help up there. And the second mate taught me to fence a little."
"Well, I'd say you've got it. When we get off, I'll train you a bit on your swordplay if you want. I'm first mate. Now, go on home, unless you haven't got one, in which case Buttercup on deck can get you a bunk in the crew's cabin."
Joe left, standing as straight as he could as the ship rose and fell, at anchor near a dock towards the outskirts of Tortuga. Westley had decided to move the Dread Pirate Roberts to new waters, as many of the pirates back in Florin were beginning to get suspicious of the strange changes in the famous pirate's crew. Also, Westley and Buttercup had decided it was safer for them and any children they may have to be well out of Prince Humperdink's reach.
Westley looked down at the list on his desk. That should be quite enough to crew the ship. Just a few more experienced sailors.
He got up, strode to the door of the cabin, and pushed it wide. "Right, we have only got enough room left for people who are serious about being pirates, and they have to know what they're doing. And no one else under sixteen!"
"Excuse me, sir, how old was that boy who just left?"
"Fifteen and a half. He's sailed before and has a grasp of swordplay. I somehow think most of you don't."
The girl, badly disguised in boy's clothing, harrumphed, "Harrumph!" and wobbled daintily down the gangplank, along with all but three men, who came up closer to the cabin as the deck cleared. There was a clean, short man, most likely a deserter from the British Navy, a rougher man who had a scar right across the bridge of his nose, and a much younger, humbly dressed one who stood in such a determined way that Westley was reminded of how he felt when he had stormed Humperdink's castle. He knew he would have looked like that, if he hadn't been unfortunate enough to be in control of his body only marginally more than a dead fish at the time. This young man trailed at the back of the group as Westley brought them into the cabin.
It turned out that both the older men had been at sea most of their lives, and the rough one, Jon Skaff, was a pirate of some years already. The other was called John Kitts, and after a swift interview Westley deemed him trustworthy. Both left as he finished with them.
The first mate opened his mouth, but before he could ask anything his questions were answered. "My name is Will Turner, I am one of the best swordsmen you are going to meet on this rock, and I need to find Jack Sparrow."
END OF CHAPTER ONE
Well, that wasn't too bad, now. Everyone still alive out there? Tell me how I'm doing. PLEASE. How else am I supposed to get better? Compliments are appreciated, but don't let that stop you. Anything you could flame me with could be put nicely and be called constructive criticism.
