Pairing: Jack and Elizabeth
Word Count: 863
Prompt: Truth
The Truth of It
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"You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company. You sacked Nassau Port without even firing a shot. Are you the pirate I read about or not?" Elizabeth urged, sporting a look of frustration and vivid emotional drive that emanated from her bright eyes.
He leaned back, pulling down the collar of his wet linen shirt with two long tar-stained fingers, revealing not one, but two russet scars on his right breast. The two infamous gunshot wounds he acquired in Singapore, a day Jack could remember all too well.
'Jack Sparrow! I welcomed you into my home and this is how you repay me?'
Jack stood nervously, hiding Sao Feng's young, scantily clad sister behind his back as she frantically dressed in shame.
'Now, now, lets not get all riled up about this Sao …' Jack began, trying to flash one of his dashing smiles, unknowingly backing into a barricade of Sao Feng's men.
'You cause me great insult, Sparrow. And now, you will pay.' He pulled out two flintlock pistols, artfully made of antique finished zinc cast metal and polished hardwood.
He found himself cornered and unable to escape even with the use of his wit or cunning. And at last the day had come where the infamous Jack Sparrow could not skillfully flee his fate. His destiny had finally arrived.
He began rolling up his sleeve with an unemotional grimace painted his lips as he hardened his expression. Another scar originating from the crook of his elbow, traveling down to the very edges of his wrist, this one appeared to be long, jagged, and unbelievably painful.
'Jack Sparrow, is it?' A menacing, monotone voice inquired as he stood firmly, his back turned to his young prisoner. He delicately sipped a small cup of tea made of fine white china, placing it back down on a thin tea plate that rested in his right hand, like a true gentleman. Yet, for all that knew him, Cutler Becket was no gentleman of any sort.
The young prisoner stood tall, chest held high at the sound of his name, shoulders square, hair considerably longer than most, with features young and clean. His hands tightly shackled; palms and forehead glistening with a light film of sweat.
'Maybe, Mr. Sparrow, I had not made myself clear in regards to our policies on slave cargo?' Beckett began, placing his cup of tea gently down upon his desk, slowly making his way toward Jack.
'As you may know, Mr. Sparrow, we have strict guidelines regarding privately owned cargo – the cargo that you were in charge of delivering to New England, am I right?'
"Yes, sir," he muttered.
He nodded. 'Cruel though it seems, Mr. Sparrow, the networks we hold with the Colonies are not to be served or disrupted – especially not by those creatures. So let me make this clear to you, we do not, under any circumstance, release our cargo until it has reached its proper destination. Is that understood?'
The young man paused; biting his lip. A darkly dressed man grabbed him tightly by the shoulder, visibly gritting his teeth. 'Answer, you ungrateful rodent!'
'Y-Yes,' he stammered nervously, feeling his heart race within the confinements of his rib cage, unknowing what punishment was to come.
'Mercer, I believe it's time to teach our little Sparrow a lesson in good business,' he stated, walking over to the small brick fireplace that lay adjacent to his desk.
Mercer forcefully pulled Jack down in a small wooden chair, grabbing a small, almost invisible piece of rope from his pocket to tie down his arms.
Beckett pulled out one of the numerous pokers from the fiery pit and held it up before his face. He slightly tilted his head towards Jack, revealing the dreaded letter "P" to his young prisoner.
Jack began to panic, his life, reputation and career would be in shambles as soon as the scorching poker ignited his flesh. He rebelled as best he could but found his efforts to be superfluous with both of his arms tied down and Mercer at his side.
'Mercer, see to it that Mr. Sparrow finds a way to calm himself.'
Mercer pulled out a small pocket blade and began to work on Jack's left arm, slicing it open, fumbling his fingers like an amateur at the sight of sanguine red, blood. He let it pour from his butchered forearm, until the frantic Jack Sparrow became still and silent.
'You've forgotten your place, Jack. Now the company will forget about you.'
He could only feel the initial sting of the brand, for he had lost too much blood to be able to watch it fester within the layers of his skin. He lost it all in the matter of minutes, but gained a new vigor for life in the years to come.
"No, love. I was making it all up, that's the truth of it," he replied sarcastically, sitting himself down on a soft patch of white sand. Scanning the open waters, he found that he had, once again, become the governor of that godforsaken spit of land but, now he had acquired a godforsaken governess.