Righto, picking up where we left off… Jack's trying to reclaim his soul from the Devil after being cursed with the Black Spot by Captain Orion Peril (whom Jack thinks is the Vice Admiral Jason Stone), whom has additionally captured Alex. Will is still at the Tortuguan inn with whatshername… Elsey…that's the one…
Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl and most fearsome pirate in the entire Spanish Main, sat, soaking wet in Tortuga's town square's main fountain, sulking. His hair dripped onto the back of his neck, and for once his jingling trinkets were silenced, their bells and chimes soaked almost to drowning point. Jack's white shirt clung marvellously to his torso; hence he was the subject of many adoring glances and gossip around the town's fountain that morning. For once, Jack felt uncomfortable with the stares; he was surrounded by stocky, large Amazonian-like women with biceps big enough to crack walnuts with; a tribute to their hours of hard scrubbing and washing.
Trying to avoid their not-so-subtle gazes, Jack looked down at the water lapping at his waist. Around him floated mismatched socks and other odd assortments of women's washing. Unlike when he had dashed past the old washerwoman previously at dawn, it was now past ten of the clock, and Monday – washing day – was in full swing. Jack had had several offers from the washer-women who were more than willing to wash his clothing - or himself - free of charge, but Jack felt they had already undressed him sufficiently enough with their eyes. Plus, he just wasn't in the mood. He was wet, hung-over and irritated, and working on a limited time-frame. The cleansing of his soul took precedence over the cleaning of his clothes. And in all honesty, washer-women just weren't Jack's type.
Father Deprey preformed Jack's baptism rites between to two ham-armed women half-heartedly scrubbing undershirts on their ribbed washboards, more interested in gazing avidly at Jack than removing stains. Father Deprey was struggling to make himself heard over the rasping of the women's knuckles over their ribbed washboards, and the vigorous lapping of the water against the sides of the town fountain. He was also struggling to secure his spot in front of Jack; women were elbowing him constantly as they scrubbed their clothes clean.
"Tell me again why I'm sitting soaking wet in Tortuga's drinking water?" Jack asked through gritted teeth.
"The fountain and any water within it has been blessed by the church, hence why town's fountains are more oft than not situated right outside the church." Father Deprey explained.
"And here's me thinking they put it there because it's good Feng Shui."
"What?" The priest asked distractedly, looking like he was enjoying the experience of dosing Jack's head under water. He might have incidentally, totally inadvertently held Jack's head under for a smidgeon longer than necessary. But, then again, the man was a known pirate; to completely cleanse his soul's sins away he'd probably need a more vigorous washing than usual.
Jack emerged from underwater - spluttering and gasping for breath – several moments later. He narrowed his dark eyes at the priest in malice, kohl running down his cheeks. Father Deprey tried to stifle a grin. Jack placed a hand on his now-exposed pistol. Although the powder would be wet and therefore unusable, the Father's smile slid off his face as quickly as Jack's kohl.
"Are we done here?" Jack asked waspishly, fingers still wrapped around his silver pistol. The Father nodded regally. Jack lurched to his feet, dripping oceans of water and upsetting the water-level of the fountain, and clamoured over the side of the fountain. Every movement and flail of his arms sent a spray of water from his inundated sleeves, arcing into the air and raining back down to earth. The Captain of the Black Pearl then trailed after the priest back into the church, sloshing water and coated with ladies undergarments; some inadvertently obtained as they floated by him during his baptism, others more willingly and deliberately draped over him by infatuated women as he had struggled out of the fountain.
Father Deprey stood at the altar, preparing the implements Jack had recommended. He had just finished gathering the wine, bread and holy water and was lighting the sacred candles when Jack squelched up beside him. Deprey turned to regard the sodden pirate. He was still dripping streams of water, from his tricorn hat to his one water-logged boot, leaving a large puddle at his feet and smaller, boot-sized puddles up the aisle. The water mixed with the ash of the incinerated bats, leaving a nice thick grey mixture for Father Deprey to clean at the end of the day. The pirate's dreadlocks were plastered to his forehead and kohl ran down his face, giving him the look of a grieving mourner who had just wept at the grave-side of his beloved. To combat his morose appearance, in stark contrast, ladies bloomers and brassieres of all shapes and sizes hung from various areas of Jack's sopping being. Father Deprey believed no man could desecrate the House of God more than the man standing before him, even if they tried for sixty years over.
"Eat this," the man of God commanded, thrusting the bread into Jack's hands. Jack grudgingly bit off a small portion of the bread and chewed it, a look of extreme displeasure over his features.
"Not bad, but what it really needs is - "
"Wine," Deprey sighed, passing over a new bottle of wine, "I would pour it into the chalice but…" Jack had already raised the bottle to his lips. After several gulps Jack set the now half-empty bottle back on the altar.
"Trust me mate," Jack wiped a sleeve over his mouth, "Where I'm headed, I'm going to need that." The Father frowned at Jack's cryptic reply, but merely held out his hand for the parchment bearing the black-spot. Jack pushed the sodden parchment into the Father's waiting fingers. Deprey suppressed a shudder of horror as he thought of Saint Basil's dedication in painstakingly transcribing the entire Bible by his own hand, only to have it torn to pieces and desecrated hundreds of years later, at the hands of a Godless pirate.
Grimly he laid out the battered parchment flat over the altar, blessed a pitcher of holy water and dipped his hands in, sprinkling the blessed water over the spread parchment. As soon as the water touched the paper, it began steaming and hissing. The remaining water in the pitcher began boiling and bubbling. The Father stood back in fear and shock, while Jack leapt into action. He picked up the steaming parchment and threw it onto the brightly-burning candles placed in on the stand beside the alter. Despite that the paper was soaked through, flames raced up the sides and begun devouring the thick parchment. The gold-leafing melted and the delicately hand-painted pictures merged into one giant black skull dominating the page. Black smoke rose above the candles, forming the wispy shape of a grinning skull with blazing red eyes. The smoke grew thicker and acrid, blinding Jack and choking him. It felt as though the smoke had tattooed itself onto his eyeballs, and wispy tendrils were wrapping themselves around his throat, tightening and strangling him. Before the smoke claimed him, Jack could see the flames leap higher, reaching towards the vaulted dome of the church, racing up the rich tapestries and down the plushly-carpeted aisle. He hoped that Father Deprey had managed to get out in time…He was beginning to like that pompous priest.
1000 sugar-coated apologies; I went on holidays and to cut a long story short, I thought there was internet connection. There was no internet connection.