Chapter VII
A Day of Surprises
"Everybody was kung-fu fighting! Those kicks were fast as lightning!"
"Could you not do that?" Vera asked Claire, suppressed laughter causing her voice to tremble. Her hand reached out to the dial on the dashboard, turning down the volume of the car radio, which was currently blasting.
Claire was wailing out the lyrics of Carl Douglas' song, Kung-Fu Fighting, in such a quavering, warbling voice that it was nearly impossible to tell if she was performing a mock impersonation, or if she was imitating one of the very worst auditions for American Idol, or another hit TV competition.
In fact, her key and tune were so off -and so loud- that Claire's singing had the very much undesired effect of causing neighboring cars to glare at them from their positions alongside the SUV, currently hovering before a stoplight as they were.
Claire rolled up her window to mute the sound, smirking privately at the mild-looking, forty-something man who was wearing brackish-colored, checkered shorts and using this interval to cross the street. Claire's behavior was lost on him, for he was staring pointedly at the miniscule crack in the sidewalk that was his destination, as he should be.
After all, everyone knows that trying to look all around yourself and attempt to investigate every little noise -discover every little rotten sounding singer within the confines of a car- in the middle of the road is a very unwise thing to do.
You may be injured. You may be killed.
Even worse, your checkered, brackish-brown colored shorts may be photographed by a rogue, roaming group of disposable camera enthusiasts (the Kodak kind, more specifically) and then sold via black market to a well-known corporate giant, whose CEO found the picture funny, and then sent it to a fashion magazine, where you were mocked mercilessly, and thus entered exile, living out your days as a hermit in the Himalayas, where you die contentedly at forty-two facedown in the snow.
Claire snorted at the ludicrous thought.
"What now?" Veronica asked shrewdly, recognizing the signs that proved her friend just had an epiphany concerning brackish-colored, checkered shorts.
By now, the man had safely reached the sidewalk, neither in the Himalayas nor featured as a 'fashion disaster' in Vogue magazine, and walked calmly home to feed his dog.
"Oh, I just had a funny thought." Claire replied complacently, omitting the details.
Which was quite nearly everything.
Shrugging, Veronica left it at that, knowing full well that some things that floated around in Claire's brain were just not meant for the rest of humankind.
Changing the course of her thoughts, Claire then brought up, "Oh, and by the way…why would we need an SUV to pick up men? Don't you think they have their own cars?" The lilt in her tone suggested that Vera was a little off her rocker when she thought of the idea.
"Well yes," Veronica responded, "but hey, you'd feel safer if one of us drove, right? And we're going to need a whole ton of room for guys that we've met. Speaking of which, I've got at least five numbers from last night. Oh shoot!" she said, one hand snapping the air in frustration, "I left them in the hotel room. Oh well, some of them might be here today. There was this one really cute-"
Claire interrupted politely, "Vera, if we were meeting them at a public place, we could always drive separately." She pronounced it like she was introducing Veronica to a foreign word.
Regaining control over her often over-active hormones, Veronica said, "Right, I know that too, but it's a really good way to get to know people. After all, the only thing to do in a car is talk! Unless, of course, you're stopped. Then you have a whole bunch of activities you can perform…"
Claire finally gave ground and said, "Okay, so let's just say the idea has merit."
Veronica gave a small laugh. "Whatever you say, sweetie."
Reaching the parking lot of the mission, they got out of the SUV and walked towards the entrance, getting in line behind a mob of men in amazingly authentic looking costume and they had a young man at their lead, who was wearing a green bandana.
Veronica dipped her head down to Claire's, and whispered, "Hey, he's fairly cute! How about I go ask his name, huh?"
Claire chuckled and hissed back, "You're incorrigible."
"Oh c'mon, you know I'm going to!"
"What, are you trying to imply something?" Claire laughed.
"Oh, always." Vera replied.
Claire's mother had once remarked some years ago, "That friend of yours is very sweet, but when you two girls are together, you act like children!"
There was no way to make a witty excuse or mumble something about the psychic bond between them.
It was true, completely and utterly inescapably. But hey, 'that's what friends are for', the saying goes. More or less.
When the mob entered the mission, Veronica and Claire paid their admission fees and followed after. Vera peered around the wide courtyard for the young man, spotting him at the far side of the square. He looked anxious and stuck very close to his gang, all of whom shared the same expression.
Veronica shrugged, with a concealed point in their direction. "Oh, I don't know. He and his friends seem really worried. I guess I shouldn't get involved…at the moment."
Claire patted her back and said wisely, "Self restraint is a stepping stone on the road to purity."
Vera growled, but not unkindly, "Oh shut up, you."
Claire sniggered. "Aww, don't you think that was profound of me?"
"Not any more so than Yoda." Veronica said sneeringly.
Claire feigned gasping in horror. "How dare you insult the wise and venerable Jedi master?"
Rolling her eyes and making no comment, save a laugh, Veronica patted Claire on the head indulgently.
"It's great to know you care." Claire said dryly. Vera smirked.
-x-
Will was at a loss of what to do. There appeared to be a myriad of activities to do, but this did not have the feel a pirate gathering. He even saw tiny children running around, looking happy. That was, beyond a doubt, abnormal. This was no pirate gathering!
"Alright, men, disperse if you'd like. But act sociably; this…pirate gathering is not as it seems."
The crew disbanded, forming smaller groups that huddled together and roved around the square cautiously. Some of the crewmen were from more contemporary times, and so, found it easier to adjust, but fewer and fewer joined his crew, still choosing not to believe in him. More commonly, superstitions had diminished noticeably.
It was still there, but not as strong as it once was.
The result of that was less persons gathered upon his deck, ready for judgment. Only a meager number of a few hundred trickled through each year, and for over thirty years, no one feared death. It was a remarkable thing- a good thing, but it pronounced the passing of time even more, saddening Will further.
He turned to follow a small knot of children, who looked like they were heading somewhere important, when he froze, and a confused, energetic feeling was sent whizzing all through his body, freezing him mid-step and stopping his heart -metaphorically speaking-.
There was a man in the process of sashaying over towards a lovely blonde wench who eyed him coyly, an average thing at pirate gatherings, but something was so distinctly, tantalizingly familiar that the temptation seduced him completely.
Will walked forward a few paces. He couldn't resist. There was no harm done if he was proven wrong. The urge was entirely overwhelming.
He asked loudly, "Jack Sparrow?" he added hastily, "Captain."
The fellow spun on his heel, leaving the blonde annoyed. She tromped away angrily.
But the man- the man…there was the beaded, adorned hair, the braided beard, the kohl-rimmed eyes…just as Will remembered him. The corners of the man's mouth twitched, spreading out in a dazzling golden teeth filled grin. It was like he was chewing a mouthful of coins.
"Whelp!" he said enthusiastically.
Chapter VII, part II
The man approached leisurely, taking his time. His gait was unusual, arms flung out, hips swaying. It was so familiar though, so very good to see. So normal.
Will was too stunned to move. Now that they were closer, the man had a better look at him. "Ah. Still cursed by the afore-instated curse, I see. Sorry 'bout that, mate."
Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't changed much over the years.
His skin was smoother, his hair less wiry, gleaming with a far younger luster. It was hard to tell, however, as it was still dreadlocked. Less lines marred his face, and he seemed, shockingly, cleaner. So did his clothing; as if it was used only on occasion.
Although it was not his original garb, it looked very similar; still a haphazard assortment of garments and accessories that looked like he threw them on in the dark. His fingers were bejeweled with glamorous rings, but they were, most likely, fake.
A colorful sash was tied around his waist and knotted at the hip. His sword -in its sheath- remained steadfastly buckled on, and a baldric was draped over one shoulder.
Everything was still new though, even Jack, who looked only a few years older than Will now. He must have found the Fountain of Youth. There was no other explanation, save some other half-known curse, charm or spell of some manner. But the Fountain of Youth was the most recent of Jack's schemes for immortality, in Will's knowledge.
He noted, with a second glance, that the old pirate's compass was gone, and under the tricorn hat, the red bandana persisted still. It was worn, frayed, patched and faded ten times over; a relic from the past, but it alone was familiar.
It, along with those chocolate eyes, which were smiling at Will fondly.
"It's very good to see you." Will breathed, his own eyes still wide. So much had happened, so very much that it was hard to keep track of all the fantastical events. Was it even midday yet? He didn't believe so. It was unbelievable. "You look good, Jack."
The captain frowned. "Now, the last time I heard that from a Turner, I was given the black spot." He stared at Will mistrustfully. "You aren't going to give me the black spot…are you?"
Will smiled warmly. "No Jack, I'm not. It really is good to see you." It was. The chances of meeting his old companion here were marginal, but it seemed fortune -or fate- had led them both to that one spot. Jack surely must have been keeping up with the times far easier, being able to live on land, and so Will had a man he trusted -for the moment- to guide him.
Jack returned the smile, if a little lopsidedly. He leaned forward, right up in Will's face, before realizing his miscalculated the distance between them and righted himself, putting a hand on Will's shoulder. "You too, whelp." He paused. "Now I need to find some rum."
Jack's complete acceptance of the situation wasn't very surprising to Will; the man had undergone so many countless bizarre, sudden and unexplainable circumstances that this encounter almost seemed commonplace.
Besides, Will himself was still too much in the clutches of shock to be bothered by it. If anything, he welcomed it, if a little dazedly.
"Jack, do you really need any more rum? You look like you've had a generous helping already." Will smiled.
A man standing behind him bitterly muttered, "Let him die of consumption! That would be a miracle." Will spun around faster than Jack had the time to react, an argument already forming in his mind. The man brought up a completely unprovoked and vicious attack, of which he had absolutely no right to.
The words died on his lips, and Will stared, unable to say anything.
Instead, Jack approached and defended himself. "I'm not drunk." He stated. "If I were, I would be seeing three of you. At the moment, I'm only seeing two, which, coincidentally, is more of you than I care to gaze upon." He stopped, for an instant, considering. "Well, to be honest, which I'm not, I'm half drunk. Or two-fourths drunk. Or three-sixths drunk. Whichever you'd prefer, really. I'm open for suggestions, you know. But not, most likely, from you." Jack explained.
He staggered off purposefully, and it was only diminished by the fact that he stood in the middle of the courtyard with no apparent destination. Not that that he needed one, really. He was, after all, Captain Jack Sparrow.
Will's gaze was still fixated on the man, who was scowling in the direction of where Jack had sauntered off to. The man was older, bearded, with a broad-brimmed hat and a capuchin monkey perched comfortably on his shoulder. The man was Hector Barbossa.
The monkey was, presumably, Jack the Monkey.
He smiled tight-lipped and humorlessly at Will. "Aye, ye must be wonderin' how both me an' Jack are here. Me in particular."
"Yes…" Will said slowly, the gears in his brain whirring and clicking, desperate for things to make sense, starving for information. He could only nod like a simpleton.
Barbossa had opened his mouth to explain, when Jack came back onto the scene, his timing flawless.
"Well it's like this…" Jack began. Barbossa glared at him but shut his mouth, pursing it into a thin, hard line.
"Some years after you became captain of your own little ship, the Pirate Court was destroyed by the East India Company, and it wasn't long before they soon began the eradication of the rest of the pirates. By this time, dear miss Lizzie had long ago resigned from her position as Pirate King, which left us all to our bickering again. Savvy?"
He didn't wait for Will to say anything. He simply continued.
"During this time, I was on a quest to get me ship back from a no-good slimy double-crosser."
Barbossa coughed. "If I may interject-"
Jack talked over him. "I was also looking for the Ountinfay foay Outhyay before he got there." He cocked his head at Barbossa, and was also referring to the Fountain of Youth in pig-latin, no doubt due to the vast number of people around them.
"And guess what…I got there before him!" His tone took on one of mocking.
Barbossa narrowed his eyes but finished for Jack. "And that left me, also seeking immortality, to revert back to my…ah," he chose his words carefully, "previous condition." He pulled a gold coin from his pocket, flashing it before Will's eyes only briefly before slipping it in again.
But it was enough.
Will didn't need to see the Aztec symbol to know what it was. Barbossa had intentionally cursed himself, so desperate he was for immortality.
Jack was still gloating.
"And you've been cursed that way for so long?" Will asked Barbossa, ignoring Jack's antics. The man was smirking infuriatingly and making faces at the monkey, who stared at him balefully and made irritated chattering noises.
Barbossa nodded. "Aye, so I have. However, ye can only step foot on land but once ev'ry ten years," he said. "So I think that my curse is far more favorable than yours, Mr. Turner."
Will could say nothing about it. While Barbossa's situation wasn't desirable, he had much more freedom than Will…unless he chose to become another Davy Jones. The answer was clear to him however.
He would never let that happen.
"So, that doesn't explain what you both are doing here. For that matter- what is this place?"
Jack was still too distracted to say anything in response. Will was pleased about that, however, since his answers were slurred and difficult to understand.
"This is a festival, imitating but oft romanticizing pirates." Barbossa said grimly. "Jack and I attend these events so that we may…reminisce on old times." He cracked a small, sardonic smile, nodding his head slightly. "And- before ye ask the question, Jack and I don't come together. We live in the same district and so end up going to the same festivals." The smile vanished completely. Barbossa looked morose.
"S'not my fault he moved in a few blocks away." Jack retorted, his attention finally focused on the conversation. He grinned. "He was none too pleased to find out who his neighbor was."
Barbossa still looked sullen.
Their predicament was strangely humorous to Will, who found it funny that the two were in an almost comical circumstance. To them, it was surely as if their rival had unwittingly pledged themselves in marriage to the other's sister, but from an uninvolved perspective, it was amusing.
"So you both come to these…imitation festivals to behave as you did in the old days?" Will asked, his curiosity aroused.
"Aye," Barbossa nodded. He, like Jack, looked healthier and cleaner, the jaundice afflicting his eyes was gone, his nails were clean, less brittle and much shorter, his skin less dry and his hair not as long. His beard was trimmed neatly, and even Jack the Monkey appeared groomed.
It was a drastic change from the weathered, unclean pirate that Will once sailed with.
"Why all these questions, mate? When's the last time you've been on land? Fifty years ago?" Jack laughed, and clapped Barbossa on the back, acting as if he'd said something funny. Hector hunched his shoulders and scowled.
When Will grew suddenly solemn, making no move to answer, Barbossa raised his chin and observed, "Ah, so it's been a while now, has it?"
"Yes," he replied, quieter and more subdued.
Jack, sensing the tension that was filling the air, felt a brief moment of nervousness, before energetically saying, "Great reunion, Will! Lovely. Now, for the drinks! What do you say to that, then? Aye?"
Will could tell that Jack swiftly meant to bring the topic back to rum, hoping desperately for a chance at ample rounds of alcohol.
"Do you never give up?" He asked, though he knew the answer all ready.
Jack's bright smile faded as he looked down thoughtfully for an instant, then brought his head up and said with the same vigor as before, "No!"
"This is madness." Barbossa growled irately. "Just buy yerself a drink, Jack, and be done with it!"
"Hector, Hector," Jack scolded gently, "Why would I buy meself a drink if I can get me good ol' pal Willy here to do it! Right, mate?" he directed his last question at Will, winking as if to imply something concerning generosity and coin spendage.
"Jack, I won't let you volunteer me for paying your fees." Will said sternly, the last vestiges of surprise evaporating, replaced instead with logic and wary actions. Jack, along with Barbossa, were two of the people he trusted most and less in the world.
Especially Barbossa and his sneaky monkey.
Hector grinned like a feral animal. "Ah, you see now, Jack, Bill's boy has outgrown you. No longer can you bully him into doing your plans or desires."
Jack looked put upon, and pouted in an almost petulant manner, resembling a naughty child whose toy has been taken away. "I can bloody well try!" he objected ostentatiously, drawing a few looks from people nearby.
"It won't do you any good." Will said bitterly, now growing quickly irritated by the captain and his childlike behavior.
A look of surprise flitted across Jack's face, betraying his amazement at being rejected by Will. He opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to remember that Will was still Captain of the Flying Dutchman, and quickly hastened to undue his actions.
"Terribly sorry, whelp. You're absolutely right. I'll buy me own drinks from now on, and you won't need to pay a penny. Savvy?"
Will assumed a penny was some form of payment, and so he nodded, relieved that the man had tact enough to change his tactics. Jack was heading into dangerous territory.
"Savvy." He replied thankfully. Jack beamed. That was one confrontation avoided. Will and Barbossa were fast becoming tired of Jack and his nagging.
"Can we move on to something useful?" Barbossa hissed.
"Gladly." Will said, eager to move on from the awkward subject.
"Let's be off then."
Today would be a day full of surprises.