A/N 1: I have to go to the bathroom! Er, um…hi! Don't worry, I don't really have to go to the bathroom. I just thought…um…never mind. Can you believe it? We finally updated! Oh yeah, oh yeah! Um…yeah…Hey, just to warn you, if blood and gore make you queasy, you might want to just skip the beginning of this chapter. It's fairly…graphic. So beware. Oh yes, before I go, I just want to apologize for a certain Author's Note…my last one was, well, um, uncalled for. I'm so sorry reviewers! Please don't leave me! I love you! (whoa, Soap flashbacks) Well, anyways, enjoy and please review!
A/N B: Cicada: I have returned! I, Cicada the glorious. All shall love me and despair! Or you can just despair. I don't mind. You can choose. I sent Minion and robot drones to destroy Carole the Guitar, my arch nemesis, so you probably won't hear from him. Unless he fails…How great my wrath shall be if he fails. But he won't. Oh…I hate you Carole. Swift shall be my revenge! You can learn more about Carole at and help me defeat her by donating chinchillas to my "Help Cicada Destroy Carole the Guitar in An Elaborate Plan That Involves Chinchillas" fund. To the FIC!
Disclaimer: This disclaimer is meant to be sung to the tune of "12 Days of Christmas," in the spirit of Christmas, during which we went to court.
On the list of stuff that the lawyers didn't give us: Twelve sweaty pirates, eleven drowning Hispanics, ten monstrous cannons, nine bottles of rum, eight dirty hoe-bags, seven flying mudballs, six walkers swimming, five gaping wounds! four-legged women, three eggheads, two drool drops, and Aragorn and his sword too!
Note on Disclaimer: It should be noted that this disclaimer was highly inaccurate. We, at one point, did own eleven drowning Hispanics, but the lawyers took them away on charges of cruelty to Hispanics. We also owned seven flying mudballs, four-legged women, three eggheads (ourselves and Minion), and the drool. The lawyers took them all away because they are mean. Well, they took everything but us. They tried very hard to take us away, but we ar two clever! We got away, but the little incident is how we came into possession of the five gaping wounds. They lawyers let us keep those…but we wish they hadn't. So…(sniff) yeah. Whaaaaaaah (sobs uncontrollably)
Chapter Seven : The Silver Lining
La Rubia Diabla's bow broke through another twenty foot wave. The wind buffeted the sailors about as if they were mere rag dolls. Sheet after sheet of rain sliced through their clothes and stung their flesh like icy needles. Lightning danced above their heads like a destructive ballerina dancer of doom. Thunder was its glorious symphony.
"Capitán, yo no seguro cómo mucho más la barco lata tomar!" (Captain, I'm not sure how much the ship can take!) Alonzo, the first mate (and a very average man) cried out with average desperation. Captain Pedro, stationed at the wheel, sighed wearily. Concern for his ship and his crew marred his already hideous features. He appeared to contemplate his first mate's query (it was hard to discern any emotion or facial expression from his heavily scarred face), and then shouted over the din of the storm, "Aumento lona! Y alumbrar la barco!" (Raise canvas! And lighten the ship!)
"Sí, Capitán!" (Aye, Captain!) Alonzo shouted with mild enthusiasm; he turned to the rest of the crew with average speed and shouted mildly, "Ustedes oiga la Capitán! Cualquier cosa nosotros lata permitirse perder, ver ese lo es perdido." (You heard the Captain! Anything we can afford to lose, see that it's lost.) The crew, which consisted of 11 Hispanics (including Alonzo and excluding Captain Pedro (FYI, he's also Hispanic)), and one Cretin (from Crete), hurried to carry out the Captain's bidding. Cannons were unharnessed and heaved over the railing, crates of textiles, sugar cane, and booze were hoisted overboard as the ship's drunkard wept with bitter sorrow, and lastly the chickens and the women were thrown screaming and clucking into the boiling sea. But despite the crew's valiant efforts, La Rubia Diabla could not escape the growing waves and its inevitable watery doom. A twenty-five foot wave fell hard on La Rubia Diabla and began the ship on its watery descent into Davey Jones' locker. The one Cretin and a Hispanic came sputtering up from below deck.
"La barco, Capitán! Lo es hundimiento!" (The ship, Captain! It's sinking!) The Cretin screeched. Pedro acknowledged the Cretin's cry with a simple nod. He then turned his single eye up in dismay as he saw another gigantic wave rapidly approaching La Rubia Diabla. No otro (Not another), he thought in painful shock.
"Otro ola! Preparar por impacto!" (Another wave! Prepare yourselves for impact!) he bellowed to his generally faithful crew. He himself grabbed a length of rope and tied himself to the wheel.
"Agarre en, Poco Ojo! Yo deber no perder tú como bien!" (Hold on Poco Ojo! I shan't lose you as well!) he screamed into the night, suddenly grasping at his single eye.
"No de nuevo…" (Not again…) Alonzo muttered averagely, noting his Captain's odd behavior. The Cretin's scream was suddenly the only noise heard as the wave descended on the ship, plunging it down, down, down…The crew lost all hope of surviving the ordeal when suddenly the ship was thrown violently by another huge wave onto a coral reef that lay hidden beneath the waves. The jolt splintered the already weakened merchant ship in an explosion of men and wood. Two Hispanics were thrown from the deck and cast into the wild sea, never to be seen again. The Cretin was impaled on a stray piece of wood that had been dislodged from the ship. He screamed out in pain and horror as he looked down and saw the piece of wood that was once part of the mast protruding from his belly. Another wave pushed him off the quickly sinking deck and into the waiting maw of a nearby hammerhead shark. The last thing the Cretin saw was the shark's glimmering white teeth, thirsty for the blood that was already spilling from its victim's stomach into the salty ocean water. The jaws of the creature clamped onto the helpless man's leg and pulled him into the blue depths, where he was ripped apart and eaten…alive.
The rest of the crew, bobbing about on whatever was available--besides the shark--(pieces of wood, other crew members, the few crates that had not been dumped overboard), watched in horror as their fellow mate was pulled down to his bloody demise. Captain Pedro, still lashed to the wheel of the quickly submerging ship felt his lungs scream for air. He panicked, and tried desperately to unfasten the rope which he had, only minutes ago, knotted with the preciseness and tightness that only an experienced sailor is capable of attaining. He fought and thrashed, and just as he found himself about to suck in water instead of the precious air he craved, the wheel broke free of the ship, and floated to the surface. Pedro saw flashes of color before his eyes, and then he suddenly surfaced from the salty brine. He pulled his head from the water and gasped for air, then frantically felt about his face for his precious eye. "Poco Ojo, eres todavía con yo, mi amigo," (Poco ojo, you are still with me, my friend) he panted with relief. After several minutes of pulling in great quantities of oxygen, Pedro began to asses the situation. They were all going to die. OK, that was good. Next step, find a course of action that might result in the saving of their lives. His single eye wandered about the hopeless scene, taking in the ragged, soaked, and weary crew floating a few feet from him, the bloody spot where he guessed a crew member had been moments before, and then…an island! Not a hundred meters away, a glorious tropical paradise rose from the ocean floor, promising salvation.
"Alonzo…" he croaked weakly, raising his hand and gesturing toward the isle. Alonzo turned to his captain with an averagely weary air about him. His eyes followed Pedro's finger, which pointed to hope.
In another part of the Caribbean Sea it was also raining heavily, but unlike the hapless sailors of La Rubia Diabla, the two caught in the downpour were quite enjoying themselves. Cicada ducked as Stephie lobbed a softball-sized mudball at her formerly fuzzy-haired head (it actually looked semi-normal when it was wet). Cicada, finding cover behind a barrel of rainwater, retaliated with her own mudball, but her aim was off by a couple of feet and instead of hitting Stephie, she caught an innocent man full in the face. The man, perhaps, might've let this act slide, except for two important factors. The first was that he was not the only person to be clobbered by a poorly-aimed mudball. He was, in fact, the seventh. The second, perhaps more important reason this man found he could not let this deed go unpunished was the fact that he was Governor Swann, and a certain white-wash incident was still fresh in his mind (and in his hair). The only question in the Governor's mind now was how to punish the mud-throwing miscreants. A night in jail, perhaps two, he thought, wiping the mud from his face. He grinned manically at the idea. But then his reasoning took over. Perhaps that is a bit harsh, considering the juvenile offense, he thought. But, as he mulled over his options, he watched as a rather large woman received a rather large mudball to her rather large stomach. The woman shouted loudly and angrily at the two fiends about "respecting other people". But I believe it is necessary, he decided. He began to advance toward the two girls and fat woman, malevolent grin still in place. As he walked up he attempted to call the several guards that were nearby to help him contain the two twerps but he, of course, failed miserably. All that came out was, "Commodore Norrington, as he's about to become! " but he valiantly continued to try and speak the words that would bring the guards to his aid. Stephie suddenly noticed his approaching figure, and tried desperately to notify Cicada, who had taken a mudball to the face and had retaliated by throwing mudballs around blindly (hence the fat woman being pegged). Stephie had been getting annoyed by the fat woman's speech, and now that the prospect of getting punished, injured, or in some way harmed by Governor Swann had presented itself, she decided it best to simply leave the scene. No time to spare - at least in her mind - Stephie grabbed the still incapacitated Cicada and began to drag her off to the place where they could hide and wait for the storm of the Governor and fat woman's anger to blow over -- the dock where the Black Pearl was harbored. The fact that that was where Jack would probably be was merely a coincidence (yeah right). While the Governor continued to try and form words and the fat woman continued to rant (not noticing the mute and frustrated Governor beside her), Stephie and Cicada slipped away to the pier.
"I think we're safe," Stephie declared, peering out from under the overturned boat she and Cicada had hidden beneath. With one more cautionary glance out, Stephie yanked Cicada out from under the boat and thrust her friend towards the ocean water, where Cicada was able to clean the mud from her eyes.
I waded out into the shallows to wash out of my eyes the mud that was currently impairing my vision. A million thoughts ran through my head, mostly along the lines of "mud in the eyes hurts", "I'm gonna invent a mud-throwing machine", and "cheese is tasty." As I used the salty water to wash out the filth, I learned something new: sea water is disgustingly filthy and it also hurts the eyes. As soon as the mud was gone, I lifted my head from the water and began splashing, mainly because I enjoy swimming in the rain. As my still blurry eyes slowly unblurred, I suddenly noticed, in the distance, a single extremely improbable cloud of fog that seemed to be moving towards the shore. As I watched, the cloud began to dissolve to reveal seven swimming silhouettes (alliterations are awesome). As they got closer I was finally able to discern their figures. There was a stout being…four creatures with mops of curly hair…and two humans with stubbly beards. The arch-angels in my head trumpeted a merry tune and then broke into a victorious "Hallelujah Chorus". It was the Fellowship of the Ring in all of their half-drowned glory! (sans Legolas and Gandalf, but still!) I tried to show my comrade Stephie the living (sexy) miracle that had appeared before my very eyes, but she was busy searching for a way onto the Pearl and ultimately to Jack.
"Stephie!" Cicada whispered frantically. Stephie, however, was rather preoccupied at the moment; having found an old oar buried in the sand, and was trying to use it was a ladder to reach the deck of the Pearl. "Stephie!" Cicada said again, her whisper becoming a suppressed yell.
"What?" Stephie hissed, tearing herself from her current activity to see what her friends so desperately need to tell her. She turned to Cicada, but her eyes quickly bypassed her fellow cretin.
"The Fellowship!" Stephie squeaked, her jaw dropping. "ARAGORN!" she screeched, dropping her oar and plunging into the ocean water and shoving past Cicada to reach her crush. Aragorn, who was currently trying to swim and also keep Frodo and Sam's heads above the water, looked up as he saw a girl he most certainly didn't recognize come toward him screaming his name. As the strange girl swam out towards him, her intent clearly sinister, the other came up swiftly behind the first and subdued her in a spectacular flying tackle. While the two struggled, Aragorn finally reached and managed to maneuver Frodo, Sam and himself onto the dock. Boromir, along with Pippin, arrived soon after; Merry (the only swimming hobbit) and Gimli, who Merry had to constantly remind to keep kicking, passed the dock and made it onto the beach where they promptly flopped down to rest.
"A-Ar-Aragorn!" Stephie drooled, struggling against Cicada's restraining arms. "Letgo! Must…get…to Aragorn!"
"NEVER!" Cicada was not quite sure why she objected, she just knew that no good would come if Stephie got near Aragorn. But, despite Cicada's vice-like grip, Stephie somehow managed to squirm away. "You shall NOT PASS!" Cicada roared, throwing herself betwixt Stephie and Aragorn. She reached down into the water, searching for something to stop Stephie's advance on Aragorn, and pulled up…a small octopus. She gave the octopus a confused glance, shrugged, and chucked the thing at Stephie face, where it stuck fast. "I win!" Cicada howled triumphantly. Stephie plunged around, flailed and flopped, trying to get the eight-legged freak off her face. The cephalopod clung on as it was sent on the ride of its life.
Boromir, still panting from his long swim, watched the…battle(?) for a while with the frightened amusement. He then looked around and noticed the entire Fellowship also watching in rapt attention. The…battle(?) raged on for a full twenty minutes until the girl finally managed to wrench the frightened creature from her face. Suction cup marks riddled her face like a pox, and the shorter girl, Merry and Pippin all clutched their stomachs and fell down laughing hysterically. The laughing girl, however, when she fell, fell into water and came up sputtering and spitting water moments later.
After the laughter subsided, Frodo used this opportunity to ask (though not expecting a very intelligent answer) the two seemingly insane beings where on Middle Earth they were.
"Excuse me?" he asked, but he was ignored by the girls, who had, in the few seconds it had taken Frodo to decided to speak, engaged in a pitch-whatever-you-can-get-your-hands-on fight. "Pardon me!" Still no answer. "HEY!" he screamed in a very un-Frodo like display of anger. Both girls froze, Stephie holding a large rock and Cicada dropping a clam.
"Yes?" Cicada asked cheerily (she gets happy when yelled at - weird home life).
"Can you please tell us where we are?" he asked, his calm demeanor returning.
"We're in Port Royal!" Cicada answered, odd grin still in place. Boromir came to the aid of his diminutive friend.
"And where is Port Royal?" he said, his voice tinged with slight annoyance.
"It's in the Caribbean!" Cicada answered, eyes glowing with amusement. Boromir sighed. It seemed futile to try and get and useful information from the mollusk-wielding girl. He then turned to her companion who, he hoped, was smarter than the other girl.
"Can you, perhaps, shed more light on our location than your…friend?" he asked. But the girl merely stared blankly at Aragorn (and drooled). Aragorn had been watching the poor stricken girl throughout the conversation between the clam-girl, Frodo, and Boromir and had had the idea that perhaps the drooling girl might respond if he was the one who asked her questions. Her reaction (or lack thereof) to Boromir gave weight to his theory, and he decided give it a whirl and ask the girl himself. He turned his piercing blue eyes toward Stephie and said, "Where are we?" Stephie's jaw dropped. Did he just look at me? Heck, did he just say something to me! She was so caught up in wonder that Aragorn's question didn't even register in her small mind at first. Despite the rather stupid look on the girl's face, Aragorn decided she would eventually answer once the question finally sunk in. He didn't know how long that would take, so he prepared himself to wait. Boromir stifled a sudden urge to wade over to the girl and slap her dumb-looking face.
Stephie's lips finally began to move. "We're…in…Port Royal," she managed. Aragorn sighed.
"We've established that! But where is Port Royal?" Boromir demanded, losing patience. At Boromir's slightly harsh words Stephie's brain finally woke from its fangirlish malfunction.
"We're in the Caribbean," she said, a small giggle following her words as the realized that was not they wanted to hear. "It's on Earth. Not Middle Earth, mind you. I don't know exactly how to explain it but, eh, well, you're kinda far from home…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say next. "But we don't mind you being here at all! Do we, Cicada?" she said hurriedly, glancing over at her friend.
"Hey! You're dead!" Cicada shouted, pointing to Boromir. A look of aggravation flitted across his face.
"Yes, thank you for pointing that out," he sneered sarcastically.
"As a matter of fact, we all are, or were," Aragorn said quickly, hoping to still Boromir's sarcasm. Pippin suddenly butted in. "I don't know exactly how it happened, but one minute we were dead and well, being happily in the Halls of Ma…Macrons…Marfes?" he looked over to Merry for help.
"Mandos, Pip," Merry reminded him.
"Right, Mandos. Then the next we know we're above the water and falling!" he exclaimed, his eyes and hands animating the tale. The rest of the hobbits nodded in agreement and Cicada looked unnaturally interested. She pulled a perfectly dry notebook seemingly out of nowhere and began writing furiously with Jorge, her pencil/weapon.
"Oh!" she cried at last. "It all makes sense now!" A look of true understanding crossed her face.
"What makes sense?" Stephie asked, her pride protesting slightly at having to ask her friend for an explanation.
"Well," Cicada began, "The pirates' curse from Pirates of the Caribbean time make the pirates living, yet not living. Undead, if you will. In order for such an occurrence to…occur, there must be a direct link to the land of the spirits of the dead (i.e., the Halls of Mandos). I believe that there is a link between the two worlds -- Earth and Middle Earth -- that allows them to "share" an underworld, although it would be more accurate to say Pirates of the Caribbean mooches off Lord of the Rings. Anyways, when the Pirates' Curse began, a sort of hole would appear in the Halls of Mandos, due to the straddling of the border between life and death that occurs when the Curse is active. The hole might also act as a sort of vacuum. The hole would have been open since that last scene in Pirates of the Caribbean, which was…well, actually I'm not sure how long ago that was here. Hm…" She began to recalculate her theory in head and concluded, "I need more research!" She looked around at the confused face about her and added a sheepish, "At least that's one way of looking at it, but I'm pretty sure I'm right. Yeah. Okay."
Stephie was, needless to say, caught off-guard by her friend's display of understanding and wisdom (glorious!), and simply stood and stared in wonder and confusion at her friend.
"Oh," Pippin finally said. A lengthy pause followed his words as the Fellowship contemplated this idea. Suddenly Gimli spoke up. "Well, since we now know -- sort of -- where we are and how we got here, what do you think we should do?" he inquired, addressing the seven members of the Fellowship.
"I know! I know! Pick ME!" Cicada cried, returning to her old self and making a spectacle of herself. She bounced with her hand raised in the air, waving it wildly while yelling over and over for a few minutes. "You can stay with US! I'm sure Elizabeth and Will won't mind!" Boromir appeared apprehensive at the proposition, but Aragorn (their unofficial leader), after a few moments of intense consideration, decided it was the best (and only) course of action available to them.
"We will go with you," he glanced over at Boromir's worried face, "until…"
"-until we can find other accommodations," Gimli finished for him, also noting Boromir's pained expression.
"Let's go!" Cicada cried, her energy nearly palpable. She pulled herself from the water and onto the dock, and sauntered over to the two men and three hobbits. She hooked arms with Aragorn and Boromir (who had pulled themselves into comfortable sitting positions), yanked them up into upright positions, and skipped off in the general direction of the Swann Manor.
Hey there! Just a quick note here, we DON'T KNOW SPANISH! Cicada took it in like forth grade or something, but other than that, we have no idea what we are talking about. We used an English-Spanish dictionary on the internet to look up the words, and we weren't sure which forms to use so we kinda guessed. So, if you know Spanish and you are like, "hey, these guys don't know what they are talking about! They are stupid, ignorant fools! A disgrace to the human society!" we will not blame you, and we humbly ask for your forgiveness. For everyone else that doesn't know Spanish, we know exactly what we are talking about and I have taken Spanish for five years and know the correct grammatical form of every Spanish word.
Now. One last note. Boromir. We don't want you guys to get the impression that we hate him and that's why he's so sarcastic. On the contrary! We love Boromir! That's why he's sarcastic! We think it's kinda funny…and really, Cicada and I are rather dumb and stupid.
Cicada: What are you talking about, fool? You are the one that is dumb and stupid!
Stephie: Sure, whatever. Now, just know that we love Boromir and he's cool and we like him and everything. We are tight with Bor. Oh yeah. (Boromir mashes Stephie on head with blunt part of sword) Ouch! Painful!
Oh yes, ONE more note. I promise you, this is the last! The whole Halls of Mandos thing and life and death stuff that we blathered about are NOT what Cicada and I REALLY believe in REAL life (readers gasp). Really, we don't. Well, Cicada is kind of nutcase, but even she doesn't believe all that crap. FYI (isn't that a great acronym?), we believe in God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, Heaven, and Hell. Yup.
