Here you go; I wrote a longer chapter, hopefully more interesting and everything. Don't say I don't love you guys.
Still smiling in amusement, Jack swaggered over to the fluttering piece of parchment, snatching it from its slow spiral through the air, sure it also contained the Black Spot, like Will's. As soon as he turned it over however, the cocky smile rapidly vanished from his face, only to be replaced with a look of mingled fury annoyance and despair. His piece of parchment was almost twice as big as Will's, and while Will's had been printed on a common printing-press, Jack's was obviously more rare. Riled, Jack threw his paper on the floor, made disgusted hand motions and snorts at it, and when he decided his reactions were not enough to justify the indignity the piece of paper was causing him, he began jumping up and down on it in rage, his mud-coated boots leaving smears and streaks over the yellowed page. After several minutes of swearing and ravaging the parchment, Jack calmly stepped off the soiled and crumple omen of death.
"You know what this means?" Jack asked grimly as he picked the paper up gingerly between two dirty fingers, like one would pick a dead rat out of an apple barrel. Will, who had been regarding Jack's actions warily, thankful for the solid metal bars separating them, replied nervously. It wasn't often he saw Jack lose control like that. Well, without the aid of several gallons of rum.
"You're going to die?" He ventured.
"No," Jack conceded heavily, "It's much worse than that." Here Jack once more regarded the parchment, a sardonic sneer twisting his gold-and-silver mouth, and fright flickering in his chocolate eyes. He folded the damaged parchment into quarters and tucked it grimly into the unknown depths of his oilskin coat. "I have to go to church."
Will was silent for a moment, trying to contemplate what exactly the Black Spot was, and why Jack was so calm about Will's, while so exasperated at his own Black Spot. "What exactly is it?" Will questioned softly, staring down at the innocent-looking piece of paper held in his hand, not quite sure what to make of it.
"The Black Spot," Jack began, sitting down heavily and leaning against the bars of his cell, "is a pirate curse."
"I'm cursed?"
"Aren't we all, at some point in time?" Jack replied waspishly before pulling his hat down over his eyes. His slightly muffled voice continued to emit from underneath the tricorne, "It goes with the territory of being a pirate. An Ancient Egyptian curse here, throw in some curse artefact here, I'm sure the pirates can handle it. While we're at it we'll put a damned ship of death on their tale too, just so they have something to do."
Will grinned his half-smile in amusement, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were sulking, Jack Sparrow." Jack pushed his hat up off his eyes with one finger, and fixed one eye on Will.
"It's Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please," he corrected, "And I'm not sulking. I'm in melancholy. There's a difference. Now, if you have nothing more intelligent to contribute to the conversation…" Jack tipped his hat back down over his face.
"Wait, you still haven't told me about the curse. You haven't even clarified if I am cursed."
"You're bloody well cursed, mate, good and proper." Jack conceded, leaning his head back against the cold steel, trying to soothe his pounding head, "The Black Spot is, in essence, a death-notice. One tears out a page of the Bible and swears an oath to the devil on it. The devil's duty is to take the soul of the poor bastard whom the page is given to, and believe me, the devil takes this duty very seriously. That gorgeous, detailed little black ink spot you have on your page there tells you ever so politely that you've been marked for death." Will looked at his piece of parchment with renewed interest and disgust.
"So why are you so unconcerned about my predicament, but so wholly worried about your own?" Will questioned angrily.
"Be-cause," Jack explained, drawing out the word and rolling his eyes in annoyance at Will's lack of understanding, "The Spot you hold has a very weak version of the curse on it. I mean, look at it; it's a printed Bible page for Christ's sake – no offence meant." Jack clasped his hands together in a little prayer-like gesture and jerked his head down in a repentive gesture, eyes fixed on the ceiling, before turning back to Will. With the Devil after him it wasn't a good idea to anger the only hope of salvation he had, "Where was I?" He muttered to himself, "Ah, yes, little spotty. It's almost an insult, that spot you're holding there. The devil won't place claiming your soul as a high priority."
"So why are you so special to the devil?" Will asked crossly, still stung at Jack's indifference to his Black Spot. Jack closed his eyes in defeat, banging the bar of his head against the steel bars.
"Be-cause, I'm more of a 'higher priority'. I mean, look at this." Here Jack passed his parchment through the bars to Will. Will took one look at it and could immediately see the point the seasoned pirate was making.
While Will's Black Spot was no more than an ink blot on a common scrap of paper, Jack's was different. Much different. His parchment, for starters, was quality - thick and gold-leafed, almost twice the size of Will's page. Instead of mechanical printing, Jack's text was hand-calligraphed in curling ancient Latin script, the borders hand-drawn and painted in expensive oils and decorated with scenes from the Bible. It was a page from a monk's personal Bible, written in the 1100's, stolen from an ancient monastery hidden in the hills of Rome itself. Even the ink blot was different. Will's was exactly that; a blot, while Jack's was far more sinister. The blotted ink had formed a misshapen skull, leering out of the page with unseeing eyes, damning the unlucky soul who had received the Black Skull.
"So how do we get rid of it?" Will finally asked, after they had spent over an hour in defeated silence.
"Easy for you." Jack finally muttered, heaving himself to his feet and stumbling wearily over to where Will sat. "Okay," Jack laced his fingers through the bars and began instructing, "Pirate lesson number… a lot. Lay out your parchment like so," here Jack managed to squeeze his lower-arms through the bars and lay out Will's page on the stone ground beside the bewildered blacksmith. "Now, give me your hand." Jack demanded, withdrawing his hands back to his side of the cell. Will offered his left hand through the bars, and quicker than he could blink, Jack had unsheathed his dagger hidden somewhere on his person and cut Will's finger. Drawing Will's hand through the bars so that they were once more on Will's side, Jack guided Will's finger over his flattened paper.
"In the name of the Father," here Jack pressed Will's finger to the top centre of the torn page, leaving a bloodied finger-print. He then directed Will's finger all the way from the top of the page to the bottom. A line of blood now passed vertically though the Black Spot.
"The Son," He pressed Will's finger to the left hand side of the page, and guided it all the way across to the right hand side. Another line now passed through the Black Spot; this time horizontally.
"And the Holy Ghost," Will's bloodied finger was now moved to the middle of the paper, directly over the Black Spot. "Amen." Jack finished solemnly. Will's page of the Bible now had a crucifix marked out over it in his blood. At Jack's last word, the piece of parchment crumpled up with an unearthly shriek, as if scorched by an unseen force, and disintegrated into dust.
Will cautiously opened a previously screwed-up eye.
"That's it?" He questioned disbelievingly.
"Aye, the Devil won't be too pleased with our friend the Vice Admiral." Jack murmured, "He promised him a soul, and it's escaped. And there's Hell to pay when the Devil loses a soul."
"How did you know to do that?" Will asked as he roughly bandaged his hand with a scrap of material. Jack shrugged, withdrawing his hands once more to his side of the cell. In contemplation, he turned his roughened hands palms up and regarded numerous small scars on his right fingers and thumb.
"I'd be a poor pirate if I didn't know how to break a simple curse of the Black Spot."
"Don't you usually need a priest to perform that kind of thing? Casting out demons and so on?"
Jack smiled a crooked smile, "Mayhaps, but I'm almost as qualified as they. After all, I did impersonate a clergyman at one point in my life." Will was silent as he contemplated why Jack would have dressed as a prominent church-figure, until after further reflection he realised it was probably best if he didn't delve too deep into Jack's past exploits.
"But what about you; how are you cursed?" Will persisted, a feeling of euphoria slowly engulfing him. One minute ago he was a cursed man; seemingly condemned to die a painful death and experience eternity in Hell. The next minute he was completed cleared, but for some reason, Jack was not.
"A lot more painfully." Jack muttered darkly. "Firstly, I have to escape this hell-hole before six days have passed."
"Why the sixth?"
"Because God made the world in six days, and on the seventh He rested, ergo, on the seventh day, my soul is no longer under God's protection and it's a free-for-all for the fate of Captain Jack." He growled. "If I manage to escape, I have to find a church, and a priest and -." Jack broke off, shuddering.
"And?" Will persisted.
"And I have to face a fate worse than Hell itself; a baptism." Will smirked, all trace of solemnity dissipated.
"Do you have to wear a baptism gown? " He grinned crookedly. Jack somehow managed to land a solid blow on Will's shoulder, despite the fact he had to throw the punch through the interlaced iron bars.
"Ouch." Will frowned, rubbing his shoulder. He regarded Jack once more, amusement dancing in his eyes, "With lace and frills and everything?"
Woo-hoo, no time to chat. Got to beat the clock and post this thing before my internet shuts down.
Except to pose this question: how are the dynamic duo going to escape this time? So many questions... sigh...
Apologies for any misspelt words: time waits for no man, and not much longer for the likes of myself.