Chapter Five "Aflagonaship"
"A' right, Norry," Captain Gibbs explained, "long as ye be on this—er, 'scuse me—me ship, ye'll be needin' te carry yer own weight."
Commodore 'Norry' eyed the sailor-gone-pirate. "I see," he murmured. "However, I am the Commodore of the British Royal Navy, and I, certainly you understand, should be awarded with the power to govern this ship—seeing as I hold your fate in my hands. Noose, freedom, noose, freedom."
"Funny," smirked Captain Gibbs, "because, the way I be seein' it, yer the one outnumbered 'ere. Yer Royal Navy is miles away from 'ere, and without Seacrest's cell phone, you have no way of contactin' 'em. Looks like yer fate is in me hands. Maroon, mop, maroon, mop. Yer choice, Norry."
Norrington quirked an eyebrow.
"…Mop?" he asked.
"Aye," confirmed Captain Gibbs, gesturing to a slimy bucket of seawater and a grimy mop, "mop."
"You must be kidding," Norrington tried. "I can't…touch that! It's filthy!"
"Anamaria!" called Captain Gibbs to the helm.
"Aye, sir!" she inquired.
"Steer us off towards 'at fine island, o'er there. Good ol' Norry 'ere wants to go fer a swim!"
"NO! I mean, no, no," he cut-in through clenched teeth, glaring at Captain Gibbs. Then added stubbornly, "I'll mop."
"Good choice!" the captain cheered, slapping Norrington on the back, almost sending him to the deck. He strutted off, leaving a horrified Norrington staring aghast at the grubby handprint on the back of his uniform.
A half-hour later Norrington was still moping and mopping, throwing the sludge on the deck, desperately trying to devise a plan.
"YO HO! YO HO! A PIRATE'S LIFE FER ME!" Captain Gibbs came flying out of nowhere, bashing into everyone's favorite Commodore, sending him head-first into the heap of muddy goo on the deck.
"You better enjoy that life now because it's not going to last much longer!" shrieked Norrington, who, in his haste to retaliate, skidded across the deck and landed with another loud face-plant.
"WE KIDNAP AND RAVAGE AND DON'T GIVE A HOOT! NORRY IS MAD AND SMELLS LIKE A BOOT! DRINK UP ME HEARTIES, YO HO!" Captain Gibbs continued, empty bottle of rum in hand.
"Idiot!" raged Norrington. "I'm stuck on a pirate ship with a drunk captain, I'm covered in muck, I, apparently, smell like a boot, and I am no closer to rescuing the love of my life who rejected me for a lemon-meringue-pie-loving, poor excuse for a blacksmith! Could life get any worse?"
SMACK! Captain Gibbs's glass beer bottle hit Norrington square in the forehead. The last thing the Commodore saw before passing out was Gibbs passing out.
"So remember to vote for Arnold and Gillette. Thank you. God bless you. You are all wonderful. And God bless California."
Arnold Schwartzenegger descended from the podium amid frenzied applause from the crowd at the Skull and Crossbones. A nervous Gillette teetered after.
"Uh, excuse me, Governor?" he began timidly. "I don't know if I really want to go into politics, honestly."
"Gillette. Let me tell you something. When I first came over here, I was a great bodybuilder. But I did not stop there. I went on to become a great actor. But I did not stop there. I became Governor of California."
"And let me guess. You're not going to stop there?"
"No, this is good. But I am running for a second term. And I want you to run with me as my right-hand man. I've seen how you work with the Commodore, and you have many admirable qualities that I am looking for."
Impressed, Gillette asked, "Really? Like what?"
"You look great on camera. That is all I need right now."
"Uh, Governor," Gillette, once again uncertain, pressed, "maybe I should just be the guy to decorate at your rallies. You know, drop the balloons?"
"Ha ha, that's funny. Americans love a sense of humor. Keep them laughing."
Gillette was about to make a vain protest one last time when a voice barreled into the Skull and Crossbones.
"JJJAAACCCKKK!"
"My God, the fourth time!" Jennifer Aniston complained, throwing up her hands.
"It's not for me, is it?" asked a disappointed Nicholson.
Gillette looked up to find someone that looked extremely like the Governor standing in the doorway.
"Will! Back already?" Jerry Bruckheimer questioned.
"I'M NOT WILL!" the figure exclaimed. "I'M THE GOVERNOR!"
"Correction: I'm the Governor!" Schwartzenegger replied.
"No, let me assure you, he be the Governor," said Barbossa, stepping in from behind Swann.
"Well, let me assure you. Californians know how to vote correctly. This isn't Florida."
"California? I'm the Governor of Port Royal!" exclaimed Governor Swann, completely exasperated.
"Governor Swann! What are you doing here?" asked Gillette.
"We have come to stop the wedding! Where's Jack? Where's Norrington? Where's my mind?"
"They've all gone out looking for Elizabeth and Maggascotchi," explained Gillette. "I'm on a special mission here at the pub. I guess I'm helping Mr. Schwartzenegger run for a second term."
"Well, matey, we don't have time to diverse into politics, do we?" muttered Barbossa, agitated with every second that delayed him from getting revenge upon Jack. "It means we be leavin'. Now."
"Wait, wait," Arnold cut in as Barbossa and Governor Swann each grabbed one of Gillette's arms and began dragging him out of the pub. The ex-bodybuilder lifted both pirate and Governor off the ground with the ease of flicking a toothpick. "Gillette is working for me now. He stays."
The Governor's feet dangled helplessly in the air. "No, he goes."
"You will not terminate my plans," Arnold said seriously. "I say he stays."
"This is great!" cheered Bruckheimer. "Quick! Somebody grab a camera!"
"He is the most photogenic person I have seen out here. Ha ha. And he's funny."
"He's my son!" shrieked Governor Swann.
PLOP! Arnold dropped both the Governor and Barbossa back to the floor in an instant.
"WHAT?" asked just about every conscious person in the pub.
"It all be part of a deep, dark secret," smiled Barbossa. "Let's go Gillette. Jack Sparrow—er, Elizabeth be waitin'."
A dazed and confused Gillette stumbled after the first two men ahead of him.
"Wait, I don't understand…"
"I'll explain everything on the way, son," said the Governor, and the group left the pub, hearing Arnold sob behind them,
"I never knew my father…! Hey, I will get pity votes now!"
Through blurry vision, Commodore Norrington squinted his eyes to focus on Cotton's face, looming above him.
"Strange," he murmured, "God looks an awful lot like Cotton…"
God suddenly smiled a semi-toothy, tongue-less grin, making Norrington shiver. The Commodore looked over God's shoulder, where one of His angels was floating behind him.
"Ye be lucky yer not dead," she said bluntly.
"What?" Norrington asked, groggily.
"That lump on yer forehead," she answered, while Cotton pointed to his own head.
Norrington lifted a hand to his head, suddenly aware of a throbbing pain echoing through his temples. "Who shot me…?"
"No one," Anamaria said off-handedly, "you just got the downside of Gibbs's drunken escapade. The rest of us thought it was kind of funny. And you wouldn't believe how much more likable you are when you're mouth is shut."
Norrington warily dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his head. "What's going on? Did we reach Elizabeth yet? Where's our idiot Capitan?"
"He's below deck, lying in the Captain's Cabin, sleeping off the rum last time we checked."
Norrington's eyes flickered from Ana to Cotton, to the pile of sludge he was still next to…
"I'm still on deck?" he questioned, looking around.
"Yeah. I mean, why bother taking you to a room—you'd just stink up the place more."
He ignored the comment. "Where are we now?"
"Headed fer Tortuga—"
"Tortuga! What makes you think Elizabeth will be in Tortuga!"
"Nothing."
He stared incredulously.
"We just need more rum. Think ya can finish swabbin' the deck while I take th' helm?"
Norrington couldn't move.
"Good," she said, walking off.
"This isn't fair," Norrington mumbled to himself, grabbing the mop and beginning to wash in disgust. "What did I ever do to deserve this? I used to be a fine, respectable, attractive young man. Then, then, I had to run into Jack Sparrow. And then I had to meet Will Turner. And then I had to lose Elizabeth to that blacksmith! Why? Why? Why?"
He glanced up to find Cotton, still standing beside him, that impish grin cracking across his face.
"Are you enjoying the show?" Norrington asked sarcastically. "Why aren't you mopping!"
Cotton responded with a series of intricate hand gestures.
"Ah, I see. You're mourning for your beloved parrot," snarled Norrington. He stopped. "My God, what's happening to me? I understood him!"
Cotton clapped his hands enthusiastically, then gestured for him to keep mopping.
"Well, why you're just standing there, you have the opportunity to appreciate one of my gifted monologues," Norrington announced, and then dissolved into Norry's Daydream of his Perfect Life……
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General Norrington was lounging about in his three-story mansion. His wife, Elizabeth Norrington, was intently working on a sampler that proclaimed, "The Pride of the Royal Navy Gen. Norrington". Practicing their sword-fighting skills were the children, Norrington, Jr., Little Norrington, and Li'l Norry (who, with that name alone, had been offered countless rap deals with music industries across the Caribbean).
"My life is so perfect," sighed Norrington, happily.
"And you're the most perfect, attractively conceited person I've ever met," sighed Elizabeth.
"We have a wonderful house, wonderful sons, and a wonderfully Jack Sparrow-free life."
"And no blacksmiths to speak of, my dearest General Honey-Bunch."
"Thank goodness for that, Sweetie-Sugar-Buns. Your father has gotten a brand new wig, and with his prestigious position as Governor of Port Royal, he gives us all the money we'll ever need and I'll never have to work another day of my life!"
"Isn't it wonderful, Schnookums?"
"And Gillette has been shipped off to China!"
"And he sends us all those wonderfully cheap products," smiled Elizabeth.
"But best of all, most wonderfully wonderfullest of all that is wonderful, is…"
Norrington pressed a button on a remote that he cradled in the palm of his hand, and the back wall of the room swung open.
"I have a personal, unlimited Ice Cream Parlor!"
"Complete with three-hundred and nine wonderful flavors…"
"Chocolate, vanilla, graham-cracker, and chocolate chip cones…"
"Forty-two different kinds of sprinkles…"
"Hot fudge, medium-hot fudge, imported nuts, freshly picked bananas…"
The family looked at each other fondly.
"And, best of all, no lemon meringue!" they all chorused joyfully, then dissolved into wonderfully fake, sitcom laughter.
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"Well, that was pointless," muttered Norrington after finishing. He sighed. "The day I get an ice cream parlor is the day I find out I was a Siamese twin!"
Jack was in his cabin, reapplying the kohl beneath his eyes for what had to be the thousandth time.
"JACK!" called Will from up on deck. "What's taking so long?"
"Hafta look me best fer Maggascotchi!" Jack replied, finishing up. He studied himself in the mirror, grinning widely, discovering a piece of yesterday's lunch lodged between his teeth. He went to scrape it out when he froze. "'Ey! Will!" he shouted. "Does Maggascotchi like pork?"
"Eh, yeah?"
"All right-y then," Jack beamed, letting it there. "Ne'er been 'ne fer dental hygiene meself!" He marched up on deck. "We at Tortuga, yet?"
"Almost," Will replied, taking his eye away from the spyglass. "About an hour away."
"'At's fine, Willy-boy, so's 'ow 'bout you tell me more 'bout Maggascotchi."
"Umm," Will said nervously, "I think I've told you everything I know about her…"
"Awe, c'mon, Will! I need to know everything 'bout dis girl! What's her favorite pastime? How many bottles of rum can she down? How long does it take her to grow mold between her toes!" By this time, he was shaking Will by the shoulders. "I wanna make a good first impression!"
"Jack…are you sure this is healthy? You're sounding a bit obsessed…"
"Wha's wrong wit it?" he questioned defensively, releasing the blacksmith and pacing around deck. "Ye'll get yer girl, and I'll git mine!" He stopped, turning to Will, throwing his hands out enthusiastically. "We could 'ave a double wedding! Drinks all around!"
"Oh, Lord," Will mumbled to himself, "what have I started…?"
"Will! Gimme 'at spyglass!"
"Why?"
"I think I see somethin'!"
"I don't see anything."
"GIVE IT TO ME!" Jack exploded, prying it from Will's hands. He looked through the eyepiece, leaning over the railing of the ship, trying to get closer to whatever it was he was looking for. "Look! A flag! A flag! A flag, a flag, a flag!" he bubbled.
"A flag…?"
"A flag on a ship! Aflagonaship! Aflagonaship!"
"What flag on a ship?"
"Dis one!"
Jack shoved the spyglass back into Will's hands and directed his sight out across the ocean, straight in front of them.
A battered ship floated off the coast of Tortuga, raising a skull and crossbones flag that read, "Maggascotchi".