Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed; I'm really glad I'm doing okay so far. You may notice that Pintel and Ragetti end up being... well, romanticised in this story. Not in the slash sense (though that is a possibility I've not ruled out) but following the vein of turning pirates into bad-guys-who-weren't-that-bad-really-when-you-get-right-down-to-it. I apologise to those who prefer the straight approach to pirates.
Disclaimer: As before. Disney are gits, because they own them, I don't, and they're not selling. Bah. The song-lyrics aren't mine either, but are performed by Placebo and owned by their respective record company.
I hold an image of the ashtray girl
As the cigarette burns on my chest
I wrote a poem that described her world
That put my friendship to the test
And late at night
Whilst on all fours
She used to watch me kiss the floor
What's wrong with this picture?
What's wrong with this picture?
Farewell the ashtray girl
Forbidden snowflake
Beware this troubled world
Watch out for earthquakes
Goodbye to open sores
To broken semaphore
We know we miss her
We miss her picture
Farewell the ashtray girl
Angelic fruitcake
Beware this troubled world
Control your intake
Goodbye to open sores
Goodbye and furthermore
We know we miss her
We miss her picture
Hang on
Though we try
It's gone
Hang on
Though we try
It's gone
Sometimes it's faded
Disintegrated
For fear of growing old
Sometimes it's faded
Assassinated
For fear of growing old
Can't stop growing old...
-This Picture
Chapter Two: Kiss the Floor
Pintel found himself wondering whether at any time in his life Jack Sparrow had ever had any control over his arm gestures. How many people had been concussed or scarred for life by the flailing limbs? Would one of those poor souls end up being him? Was it perhaps the basis of Jack's plot to take over the world? Not that Pintel thought that Jack Sparrow planned to take over the world. That was Ragetti's theory, and in the middle of the night perched up on the fore when you had forgotten what it was like to have toes, the idea seemed fairly plausible.
As it was, nobody was really in danger from Jack's arms at the moment because he was standing at the top of the stairs and the crew were gathered at the bottom on the main deck, listening to what the captain was telling them. Pintel had stopped listening about ten minutes ago, on the basis that he'd probably pick it up from somebody else. Ragetti was standing by his shoulder and was staring at Jack with a vacant expression, his right eye drifting lazily inwards, giving him an even more clueless look that usual. He seemed lost in thought, and Pintel wondered whether it had anything to do with world domination. Perhaps Ragetti was plotting to do it before Jack. The idea made Pintel's mind twist, trying to fit itself into reality, but eventually gave up before it hurt itself.
"Those two!"
"Yah, I vote for them two!"
"An' me!"
Pintel blinked, and found himself under close scrutiny of the rest of the crew. He felt Ragetti shrink and cower beside him; being the centre of attention was, they agreed, a Very Bad Thing. He tried an innocent smile, but the gazes were not averted.
"Well," Jack's voice rolled over the heads' of the crew, "Thankyeh, Masters Pintel an' Ragetti, fer volunteerin' ter watch the Pearl." A gold-laden smile flashed in their direction.
Pintel blinked again. "Wot?"
"'s very gracious of you gennelmen, I mus' say." Jack's smile didn't waver, and Pintel got the feeling that he did not like what he was being told. "Not many people'd give up a night on land so's ever'one else can have 'emselves a merry time, eh?"
Slowly realisation filtered into Pintel's mind, and smacked it with a heavy blunt object. Oh, bloody hell.
It was only a matter of minutes before Pintel and Ragetti were left standing morosely on deck watching their crew row out of sight, their illustrious captain standing in the front boat with his arms flung wide as though awaiting an embrace. The crew had left them with parting gifts of sneers, sarcastic remarks, withering glares and one consolidating (and patronising) look from Bootstrap Bill. The Pearl seemed very empty and quiet when the crew were gone, and even the creaking deck seemed to taunt them: Oh dear, what have you got into now? What are you going to miss? What a long, long night it's going to be...
"Hell!" It was the only word Pintel could think of, which was fairly disappointing because, if there was one thing you learnt from being a pirate, it was just how creative swearing could be.
"Ah, ne' mind, Pint," Ragetti said. "We'll go next time, eh?" The words of comfort were lost on Pintel. It was hard to be comforted by someone fishing splinters out of his own eye-socket.
"Next time..." he growled, more to himself than to Ragetti. He leant on the side of the ship staring out at the small specks of the rowboats. "Ruddy next time. I'm ready ter bet the rest of me bloody hair that next time it'll be us stayin' behind again."
Ragetti watched his friend uncertainly; Pintel was obviously not in a particularly good mood, and there was no knowing what would cause his temper to snap when he was like this. Ragetti wasn't particularly thrilled about being left behind either, but as far as he could see (which, admittedly, wasn't particularly far), the situation was in front of them and they just had to put up with it.
"Well, 's not as though we had any choice, 'ey?" he tried, coming to stand by the other pirate. He pushed his eye into the socket as he spoke, trying to wedge it in as firmly as possible.
"Wotever 'appened ter democratic votes, an' all that?" Pintel asked, although it was obvious that Ragetti didn't know.
"I dunno, Pint. I guess it were kinda democratic. I mean, it were most o' the crew who voted fer us ter stay be'ind, y'know?"
Pintel sighed, and all the annoyance seemed to leave him. "Jus' feel... well, I jus' wish they'd bloody well pick on someone else fer a while."
"I hear ye, mate."
There was silence for a while. Ragetti looked despondent, his chin resting on his arms. Pintel frowned, thoughts chasing each other through his head: Just because we ain't goin' ashore, don't mean we can't 'ave no fun, right? I mean… our orders were to watch over the Pearl. The Pearl's full o' food an' drink an' stuff, an' that's two out o' three o' the things yeh'd get at the port. We gots the ship ter ourselves, ain't no one ter stop us. Though... Cap'n Sparrow knows that rum drop fer drop, an' they're bound ter notice stuff missin'... But we're always getting' blamed fer stuff we didn' do, so what's the difference in getting' blamed fer stuff we did do? Maybe just a little. Cap'n Sparrow knew 'e left two blokes on their own wiv all this stuff. We're pirates, right? Since when are we trustworthy?
Right.
"Raggers, my lad, I've got an idea!"
Ragetti glanced up. "If it's any fin' ter do wiv sneakin' ashore I ain't doin' it," he said flatly. "Too much trouble, an' knowin' our luck some bastard'll blast the Pearl ter smithereens when we're gone."
"Nah, I ain't suggestin' we leave," Pintel said, straightening up and making his tone more certain; something he'd learnt about Ragetti was that if your tone of voice said it all then he didn't bother with listening to the words. "I'm suggestin' we do the best we can wiv what we've got 'ere."
"What d'yeh mean, Pint?" Ragetti wrinkled his nose, looking confused. Pintel sighed; sometimes Ragetti was remarkably slow on the uptake.
"I mean, Rags, that we're on this ship on our own, with all o' this food an' drink, and no Barbossa, Bo'sun, Ketchum or no one ter give us hell fer takin' it."
"Bu'... bu' Pint, they ain't gonna be best pleased if we take all th' food!"
"I ain't sayin' we take all of it, mate. I don' think even you could eat all o' the food on this ship, hollow inside though yeh are." This was a commonly held opinion on board the Pearl: Ragetti was as skinny as a rake, yet he ate possibly more than most other crewmembers. Pintel, with his fairly sizeable waist, found this distinctly unfair. "C'mon, we've gotta eat tonight anyway, so why not 'ave a bit of fun with it?"
Ragetti stared at him for a moment, his eye distant as he contemplated the possibilities, then a grin spread across his gaunt face. Pintel grinned back, his blue eyes glinting with the mischievous streak that had failed to leave him in adulthood.
The pair of vagabonds were experienced enough in pillaging and plundering to be able to gather enough food for a feast within a few minutes. They were extra careful to make sure there was as little sign as possible of their raid (besides the obvious fact that there was a lot less food) and Ragetti triumphantly dragged up some prize rum from who-knows where (Pintel didn't dare ask).
Within a few hours it was night. The shadows had crept into the corners, the darkness sweeping over everywhere, engulfing all, wrapping everything in its protective cloak. Anchored away out to sea, the Pearl was lost in the shroud of night, its black sails blending seamlessly, giving no hint as to what was going on deep in its bowels.
Deep in those said bowels, two pirates were becoming, for lack of a better phrase, pissed out of their heads. Or, at least, one of the pirates was. Pintel was notoriously difficult to fill with alcohol, something that had become the source of many bets and challenges.
Ragetti, it seemed, was an entirely different matter. He was standing on the rickety table, a half empty bottle of rum in one hand as he swayed dangerously. His eyes were shut and an expression of rapture on his face as he pressed his free hand theatrically to his heart: "Ah, alas fer me love!" he cried, slurring his words slightly. He raised his other arm in a violent, sweeping gesture and narrowly avoided cracking himself on the head with the bottle; he barely kept his balance but recovered with magnificent flourish. "Alas, fer I 'ave losht 'er, losht 'er ter... ter... ter that bloody bastard... bastard wiv 'is bloody rings an' 'is band... band... bandy-anna-thingie... tha's 'er name, yeah... Anna's 'er name... oh, mercy me!"
Pintel just sat back in his chair, content to laugh at his friend's drunken antics, whoop every now and again as Ragetti staggered dangerously close to the edge of the table, and watch everything through the pleasant mist that seemed to have accumulated. This was as close as he really got to being drunk, without consuming the amount of alcohol that would give his stomach the mind to escape through his mouth. Everything seemed... well, wonderful, when he was like this. Yessir, everything was brilliant, he was happy and he was having a laugh. Yeah, Rags was an idiot but hey, that's what made it fun, yeah?
Ragetti had drifted into silence. His arms had dropped to his sides, and the bottle hung limply from one hand. He swayed slightly, stumbled and folded up gently. Pintel thought this hysterical, though his raucous laughter was broken off by the sudden arrival of a lapful of Ragetti, who blinked owlishly up at him.
"'ullo, Pinters."
"Awrigh', Rags?" Why did he get so annoyed with Ragetti? Really?
"Yeah, Pint." Ragetti showed no sign whatsoever of moving. "Yer real comfy, Pint." He grinned up at his friend, radiating drunken idiocy.
"Thanks, Rags. Yer a bony bastard, ye know that?"
"Can't 'elp it!" Ragetti giggled and leant his head against Pintel's chest. "'s nice when the rest of 'em ain't 'ere," he said absently. "Makes me feel better."
Pintel didn't like where this was going. What happened to the drunken laughing and joking? What happened to the hilarious quips that no one could remember the hilarity of the next morning? Why were they not dancing round the deck, tripping over themselves and singing loudly, before finally collapsing of combined exhaustion and giggles?
"Gerroff me, Rags." Pintel shoved the thinner man onto the floor, where he landed with a yelp. He lay there in a heap for a while, blinking and staring at the ceiling as though pondering what had just happened.
"Y'know what, Pint?" Ragetti slurred, still staring at the ceiling and gesturing with one hand (which still held the now empty bottle of rum). "I've been finkin'."
"Did it hurt?" Pintel rocked back on his chair, surveying the crumpled form of his inebriated friend.
"What, the finkin' or what it was about?" Pintel was surprised at Ragetti's perception.
"Either."
"What I'm finkin' about kinda hurt. Used to, I mean. Not really no more." Ragetti frowned; he found it difficult enough to make sense of most things usually, but with his mind blurred from the alcohol it was nearly impossible. Was he making any sense? He wasn't particularly sure, and Pintel was just sitting there staring at the table, which Ragetti didn't think was very helpful.
"Hurt sort of here, I mean," he waved a hand absently over his skinny chest. "I guess it ain't like proper hurtin'..." he trailed off, uncertain of what he was really trying to say. The beginning of a headache was beginning to form; a dull throb was starting up behind his eyes, mixing his thoughts up even more.
"Sure it's like proper hurtin'." Pintel's voice was dull, and he didn't take his eyes off the table. Ragetti frowned up at his friend from where he lay. "I'd go 's far as ter say it's worse'n proper hurtin'. Can deal wiv that."
"Why did yeh hurt, Pint?"
"Lots o' reasons. Mostly 'cause I were lonely, but I didn' realise." Pintel laughed, but it was hollow. "An'... an' there was a girl," he finished lamely.
"Me too."
The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and Pintel wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it. It wasn't that he wanted to keep secrets from Ragetti; it was just that he didn't want to talk about... well, about certain things, and this conversation had certainly crossed the line of Certain Things.
"It were jus' before I met ye." Ragetti doggedly continued, as Pintel did not seem inclined to say anything. "She were right pretty, she was, an' real sweet."
"Before yeh met me?" Pintel frowned in Ragetti's direction. "Gods, yeh must've been young, mate."
"Sixteen," Ragetti said defensively.
"Exactly, mate."
"That ain't too young—" Ragetti began.
"Ter me it is, mate. Too young ter actually 'ave proper feelin's fer one person, that is."
"Jus' 'cause you never cared fer no one don't mean I'm the same," Ragetti protested. Hurt flashed across Pintel's face, then came the expression Ragetti was all too familiar with: the shutters came down, and all emotion was wiped away. He knew he'd gone too far.
"I'm sorry, Pint," he said, ducking his head, waiting for a verbal rebuke, or to be smacked upside the head, but Pintel's face remained impassive; he only did that when his feelings had really been hurt. Guilt washed over Ragetti and he felt inclined to move over to his friend. "Pint, 'm sorry. I din't mean it like that."
"S'awrigh', Rags. Yer bloody right." There was a long pause, whilst Ragetti waited for Pintel to carry on. "I did care 'bout someone else though. On'y once, an' it were... well, it were years ago."
"When, Pint?" Ragetti's curiosity was peaked, and he was pleased to see that Pintel had decided not to carry on acting as though he didn't care.
"I dunno... it don' matter anymore though. She's dead." He didn't let Ragetti interrupt though, but carried on, staring hard at his feet. "She weren't... well, she weren't pretty or anythin'. She were plain really, bu' she were the mos' beautiful girl I knew." He laughed slightly. "Sounds stupid ter say it now, but I weren't no pirate then, an' it weren't so frowned on ter 'ave feelin's an' stuff. She was called Sophie, an' she worked in a bakery. Never ate somethin' so good as the stuff she made." He laughed again. "I loved this girl, an' I go rememberin' shit like that. Bloody 'ell!"
"I'm sorry, Pint," Ragetti murmured.
"So ye keep sayin'."
"No, I mean... I mean abou' Sophie. How'd she die?"
Pintel looked at him for the first time in a while, his face a mixture of confusion and sadness. "She were killed when a bunch o' pirates attacked the town," he said hollowly. "Bloody ironic, eh?"
"Yeah..." They drifted into silence. After a moment Pintel came and sat on the floor beside Ragetti, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms on top of them. Ragetti glanced over at him, and saw the calculating look on his friend's face.
"What 'appened to Anna?" Pintel asked quietly.
"I lost 'er." Even the mention of her name brought memories flying back: the way her brown hair bounced around her shoulders, the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, the way she'd giggle and flick his nose when he pulled a face at her...
"What d'yer mean?" Ragetti couldn't quite trust himself to look at Pintel, so he kept his gaze focused forwards. "Raggers?"
"Some other bastard came along. She liked 'im better. Said... said 'e 'ad more guts, an' she preferred people who weren' like walkin' sticks." That had hurt. That had hurt even more than the betrayal. "She were on'y the same age as me, an' this bastard were at least twenty. I really, really liked 'er, an' she jus' threw it all back in me face..."
Pintel was silent, but he moved closer and slung an arm around Ragetti's shoulders. "Sorry, Rags," he said gently. "She's probably kickin' 'herself now, though." Ragetti snorted. "No, I'm serious, mate. Bet that idiot dropped 'er like an anchor soon's someone else came ter 'is fancy. If she were as sweet as yeh said she'd've 'ad enough sense ter know that yeh'd look after 'er better than anyone wiv muscles where 'is 'eart should be." In spite of himself, Ragetti smiled weakly. He didn't know why people thought Pintel was a heartless sod; deep down he was as soft as anything. Very deep down, admittedly.
"Thanks, mate."
"Don' mention it."
There was a long silence as the two pirates sat together on the floor; both lost in their own thoughts and memories. Eventually, Pintel stood up.
"C'mon, let's go fer a walk or summat, make sure there ain't no one sneakin' around on deck or anything'."
"Sure thing, mate. Should get rid o' me headache anyway."
Whew, that one was tough to write! And yes, I am well aware that Pintel and Ragetti are hardened criminals etc., but I view them like toasted marshmallows: all crispy on the outside, but all soft and gooey on the inside. And twice as nice as normal marshmallows
Please leave a review! Arr!