If there's such a thing as colliding gracefully into a four-foot-wide tree, Norrington did it. Or so he liked to claim. And if there's such a thing as heroically breaking the donkey's fall, Norrington did that, too. Though the donkey might feel otherwise.
The Commodore had trampled out of the jungle, flinging braches out of his wig as he went along. He aimed for the donkey but missed horrendously on several occasions. Unfazed, the animal trotted after him.
"Well, Elizabeth, you're certainly looking gorgeous today," snarled Norrington, charging on ahead as the clip-clop-clip annoyingly trailed on his heels. "Tell me, darling, what is that fabulous scent you're wearing?" He placed a finger on his bottom lips, turning his eyes upwards as if examining the air for answers. "Hmm, I don't know, could it be, um, perhaps manure!"
The donkey whinnied smugly.
"Oh, well, Elizabeth, I'm so glad you're having such a grand time. Because this is just what I had in mind." Unrelenting in his pace, he flailed his arms outwards with overdramatic enthusiasm, as if encompassing the vine-tangled jungle. "With no way of rescue, now we can live among the flora and fauna and the screech monkeys and boa constrictors and the poisonous mushrooms for all time. Aren't you so happy you joined me?"
The donkey had a mouth full of mushrooms and was too busy chomping to answer.
Norrington would have kept stalking through the jungle had he not gotten his boot caught in a particularly stubborn vine. He had been struggling to yank himself out for some time when an oddly familiar voice floated towards him.
"That was quite a smooth landing for a plane crash."
The Commodore's head shot up. "Elizabeth?"
"The plane looks in perfect condition too. Odd."
"Elizabeth!" Norrington yanked himself forward, but his foot remained tied in the vine, and so he fell face-first into the jungle dirt. He pretended he didn't notice swallowing that bug. "Elizabeth!"
"Well, so long as we can patch up whatever needs repairs," her voice drifting, "I see no reason why we have to plague ourselves with this island for longer than necessary."
"E-liz-a-beth!"
"Perhaps we should talk to the pilot."
"Perhaps you should find Norrington!" the Commodore griped, tugging his foot, which was still vainly clasped in the vine. On a whim, he glanced up at the donkey. The furry animal's jaw slacked back and forth as he continued munching on the vegetation.
"Hey—hey, donkey. Come on, old boy. Go and get Elizabeth for me. Or Will. You like Will, don't you? Go get Will, bring him back!"
Dully, the animal stared back. His eyes glittered blank as stones.
"Come on, good old boy. I'm stuck here, but you go ahead. Be a hero! You'd like that, wouldn't you? Of course you would. We'd make you a regular in the Royal Navy. I swear it. Give you a medal and everything." Norrington waited, expectantly as the donkey leaned closer, seemingly complying, anticipating further instruction.
And then he passed out, with Norrington successfully breaking his fall again.
Grunting, the Commodore could just faintly make out Elizabeth's fading voice.
"Did you hear something?"
Another distant voice joined the discussion. "I hear the clinking of bottles! Where's me rum!"
"Shut up, Jack, you drunken idiot!" muttered Norrington, his mouth smothered by the unconscious donkey on top of him. "Elizabeth!"
It was to his greatest relief that Norrington heard the crunching of feet nearing, and when his fellow plane passengers appeared before him, they all took pity on his poor condition.
"Oh, Donkey!" cried Will, scooping the animal up off of Norrington. "I thought I'd never see you again!"
"He's a regular Geranimo," Norrington seethed. "Does somebody want to help me with this vine?"
"What happened to him?" asked Jack, poking a wavering finger at the animal.
"Looks a bit shaky to me," observed Elizabeth.
"He was eating mushrooms," offered Norrington quickly, still gesturing to his trapped snared foot. "Now, about me—"
"Perhaps we should find a doctor, Will," Elizabeth suggested. "Smelling salts."
"Great idea, Elizabeth. Maybe that'll revive him."
"No, not for the donkey. For me." She pinched her upturned nose, frowning. "He reeks. I'm feeling lightheaded just smelling him."
"What a wonderful idea, my darling. Let's go get the smelling salts together!" Norrington cut in, then held a hand palm-up, as if suddenly remembering something he'd forgotten. "Oh, wait, how silly of me. I'm stuck in a vine and I can't move!"
"Too bad you can still move your mouth," lamented Jack. He sighed, but his drunken stupor had put him in an amiable mood. "What the heck. Let's cut him out."
"Uh, Jack, I want a sober person to cut me out."
"Well aren't you a bit picky today, mate." Jack shrugged unsteadily, tossing his sword in Will's direction. It landed nearly five feet in the wrong direction. "'Ere. Ye do it. I'll go check on those smelling salts."
The second the words had left his mouth, an odd humming filled the air. At first, Norrington, Jack, Will, and Elizabeth stared uncertainly at each other, their eyes traveling out of the jungle towards the noise again.
Norrington cocked his head. "Locusts?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Bees?"
Will patted his donkey's head, worriedly. "A swarm of blenders?"
"Blenders?" Norrington repeated flatly.
Will shrugged. "Or the airplane."
"THE AIRPLANE!"
The group madly dashed out from the jungle—well, they tried to, at any rate. Elizabeth more or less delicately pranced her way out, Jack swooned and wobbled, and Will was a bit preoccupied trying to lug his unconscious donkey with him.
The plane, unscathed from its "crash landing," sat harmlessly in the middle of a clearing outside of the jungle. Its propeller was twirling madly and its engine was making a metallically hollow chug-chug-chug-womping noise.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" cried Jack, waving his arms madly at the plane as they emerged from the vegetation. "Don't go! We need that plane! Please! Don't go! Don't go! Don't—"
"It's not going," Elizabeth broke in, slapping Jack over the head. She indicated the propeller, which had slowed to a pathetically laboring twirl. "Something's wrong."
"I should say so." Jack was no longer looking at the plane, though, but towards the jungle again. Norrington had just emerged, his uniform frayed and torn.
"Wha' 'appened to yer boots?" Jack inquired, still swaying from rum.
"I had to leave them in the vine so I could manage to get out," Norrington said thorugh clenched teeth. "Remember? You abandoned me?"
"We did no such thing," Elizabeth replied in a huff. "We merely forgot about you."
"You have an olive branch in your hair, Socrates," Jack added with amusement.
"Shut up." Norrington yanked out the twig, nearly pulling his hairpiece off entirely. His disheveled wig was looking more and more Don King-ish by the second. Changing the subject seemed like an appropriate motive of self-defense. "When is the plane leaving?"
"It's not leaving." Barbossa, who had up until this point not made a second appearance, now emerged from within the plane. His laptop was tucked neatly under his arm. As he hopped out from the side door, he informed the rest of the group, "We're out of fuel."
Norrington scoffed. "That's ridiculous. We can't possibly be out of fuel. The Governor assured me we had plenty for a trip to our destination plus a trip back. We should have only used half of what we had so far."
"Yes, well, apparently, weaving up and down and crash landing consumes much more fuel than what a typical flight would." Barbossa added concisely, "The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. And we zig-zagged a bit."
Elizabeth dubiously glanced him over. "Is that what the pilot said?" Elizabeth inquired.
"No, that's what my college Internet course said," replied Barbossa, patting his computer affectionately. "Genius stuff."
"Well, what did the pilot say?"
"The pilot hasn't said much. He apparently doesn't speak English."
"What?" Norrington snorted. "Of course he does! He's the Harbor Master!"
Jack looked at him piteously as if he had lost his mind. "And that makes perfect sense, a Harbor Master flying a plane."
"The plane in itself makes perfect sense," retorted the Commodore.
"And so does the landing strip," chimed in Will.
The others blinked. "Landing strip?"
"Sure. The thing we landed on." Will, his arms still supporting the donkey, nodded off towards the plane. Sure enough, a perfectly constructed landing strip had been paved. No wonder the landing had been so smooth.
Norrington scratched in chin, perplexed. "Who would've paved a landing strip in the middle of a deserted island?"
"Pittsburgh?"
"Oh, yes, Will, I'm sure. How stupid of me. Of course it would be Pittsburgh."
"That's what the sign says."
Stupefied, Norrington and the rest followed Will's pointing finger. Just beyond the plane, a yellow, diamond-shaped sign on top of a pole stood, proclaiming,
PROPERTY OF PITTSBURGH"We landed in Pittsburgh?" questioned Jack.
"Of course not, you idiot," snapped Norrington, "unless Pittsburgh suddenly is an island."
"Well, the Harbor Master suddenly is the pilot."
"Well, I'm suddenly getting stupider listening to you talk."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, disgusted. "Barbossa, are you sure the Harbor Master isn't fluent in English?"
The pirate shrugged. "You could ask him yourself."
"I think I will."
"Well, you can't now."
"Why not?"
"Because he's gone."
"Gone? Gone where?"
"He said he's going to find some fruit."
Pause. "Wait, I thought you just said he couldn't speak English."
"I did."
"Then—then how could he have told you where he was going?"
Something dawned on Barbossa. "Ohh, good point."
"So he can speak English?"
"Yes, I guess he must." Barbossa snapped his fingers, annoyed. "Darn it, and he sounded so convincing when he said he didn't understand a word of what I was saying!"
Understandably, Elizabeth was confused. "How did he say it?"
"He said, and he looked at me so sincerely, too, 'I swear to you, Barbossa, I have absolutely no clue to what it is you're saying to me. None at all. You see, my good friend, I don't speak a word of English. Never learned it. Sad story, really.'"
Elizabeth looked amazed. "And what dialect did he say all that in?"
Barbossa nodded wisely. "English. Otherwise I wouldn't have understood it, either."
"Hey, guys, I can speak Swahili!" Norrington sneered.
"Ooh, really? Enrich us!" prompted Barbossa.
Norrington cleared his throat, and said in perfect English, "You are all idiots."
"Wow!" Will clapped cheerfully, "do it again, do it again! I almost understood that, I think!"