A Pirate's Life for Me

Ficlet - Twitterpated

2009-12-28T02:05:59Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Twitterpated
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

Summary: Can you hear me now?

A/N: A bit of silliness to cheer my darling dingle. And a tip of the hat. ;) Set in the Walk AU.

****

Will was busy at his desk with the new designs for the Barrymore account, a new and very important client, whose satisfaction could lead to more lucrative jobs in the future. This particular piece was an elaborate reproduction of an 18^th century iron gate, complete with half-pin barrel hinges. The intricate design for the scroll work had Will working later than usual, as he was determined to have a final drawing for his early morning meeting the next day.

“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”

Will scowled at his cell phone as it jingled for the fifth time in as many minutes. He knew he should just ignore it, or put it on silent mode, but he was expecting a call back from the museum regarding an exhibit scheduled for the following month.

“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”

Throwing down his pencil, Will picked up the phone and read, “I’m starving.”

Sighing, Will typed a quick message back. “Eat something.”

“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”

“And the cupboard is bare.”

“Go to the store if you’re hungry.”

“I am lost without my Boswell.”

Will bit his lip. The idea had seemed so simple at first. Unlimited text messaging, the ability to contact one another when necessary without having to call. Except Jack seemed to think of texting as a way to alleviate boredom.

“I’ll be home in an hour. You won’t starve.”

“I’m withering away…”

Will decided the best thing to do was ignore him. After all, Jack was a grown man, there was really no danger of him actually starving to death. Besides, he really needed to get these drawings done.

“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”

“AUGH!!!!” Will picked up the phone and called Jack. Drumming his fingers, he waited, one ring…two rings…three rings… “Oi! You’ve reached the voicemail of the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow. I’m obviously not available. So leave a message. Savvy?”

Now where did he go? Will frowned at the phone and practically shouted at the beep. “Jack! I can’t work with constant interruption. Don’t text again unless it is a life threatening situation. And, seeing as you can’t die, that means, stop. Period.”

Ah, silence. Will worked uninterrupted for 15 minutes before he began to feel the first twinge of guilt. After 25 minutes of silence, he began to wonder whether he had been too impatient with Jack. After 45 minutes of no contact Will threw his pencil down in disgust. How could he concentrate?

Will picked up the phone and texted a message. “How about I pick up Chinese take-out on my way home?”

Silence.

He sent another message. “Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so sharp. I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want. Promise.”

Silence.

“Jack! Say something!”

“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”

“Anything?”

****

Will whistled as he drove through the early evening traffic. He had managed to finish the drawings, as well as set up an appointment for the following week with the museum. He had a paper bag full of cartons of take-out, along with a chilled bottle of wine to wash it down with. And best of all, he had a hungry, horny immortal pirate waiting for him at home.

****

Scrabble Drabble 2.5

2009-12-27T16:15:52Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Word Spar
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them.
Words: 250
Prompt: None in particular

Summary: A battle of words, inspired by a Christmas gift of Scrabble.

****

The snow continued to fall, blocking all the roads, and closing the local businesses. Jack had managed to trudge though the icy terrain to the local corner grocer, procuring enough supplies to last the week, if necessary. This is how the two men found themselves in front of a blazing fire on a Tuesday morning, drinking hot cocoa and playing a friendly game of Scrabble.

Well, it started out friendly. Until Will challenged Jack’s choice of words one too many times.

Will had begun the game with a perfectly good word. WALK.

Jack smiled and laid his tiles down. JACK.

“You can’t use a proper noun,” Will had pointed out.

“There’s nothing proper about that t’all,” Jack had argued. “In fact, if you ask me, it is much more improper than proper.” He said, sitting back with a smug smile. “Oh, and I get double word for that.”

“Fine,” Will said tersely, adjusting the score. He studied his tiles and quickly put down WILL. “There.”

Jack’s mustache twitched. He spelled out LUST.

Will countered. WAIT.

Jack sniffed. CANT.

“You can’t use contractions,” Will sighed.

“Are you challenging me again?”

Will didn’t answer, just put down, LATER.

RUM.

SAVE.

READY.

SHAME.

Jack flashed Will a pointed look and spelled, SEX.

TOOL. Will added, and raised an expectant eyebrow.

Jack smiled. BEST.

THROB. Will adjusted himself in his chair.

Jack nodded. HARD.

WANT. Will smiled.

AYE.

There was no more need for words, proper or otherwise. Unless it was the word, SATED.

****

Drabblish Thing - Truth be Told

2009-12-27T01:31:46Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Truth Be Told

Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them.
Words: 450
Prompt: Honesty at jackwill

Summary: Is Honesty always the best Policy?

****

“Great.”

Jack looked up to find Will frowning at a letter he’d just opened. “What?” he asked, placing a finger in his book to mark his place.

“Remember that woman we met at the museum’s open house last week? The one with the polka dot dress?”

“The one with that dreadful voice?” Jack placed a hand on his breast and imitated in a falsetto, “Oh Mister Sparrow, I am afraid you are most mistaken! The East India Trading Company was a legitimate company, run by honest, stalwart, respectable gentlemen, all thoroughly loyal to the Crown. Your facts are wrong, I tell you, wrong, wrong, wrong!”

“Yes, that one.” Will folded up the letter and tossed it to Jack. “Apparently she has taken offense at your remarks.”

Jack scanned the paper, a twitch of the mustache belaying his stern voice as he replied, “Not sure what her problem is, I only told her the honest truth.”

“The EITC was a bunch of thieving, murdering scallywags, worse than any respectable pirate who sailed those waters.” Will quoted. “I imagine your reference to her great-great-great grandnephew, Cutler Beckett, as ‘a twisted, impotent eunuch, who made up for his lack of balls and inability to fire his own cannon with his fleet of ships’ did not endear you to her, either.”

“They always say that honesty is the best policy,” Jack groused.

Will shook his head, smiling at the recollection of the irate woman. “Unfortunately, not when the recipient is a museum patron whose endowment enabled you to be employed in the first place.” Will chuckled. “I imagine she was expecting an edifice of grandeur for her illustrious ancestor, not a recounting of his atrocities.”

“See, Will, that is why studying history is so important,” Jack said. “To remember the truth, not cover it up in a cloud of lies, just to make some self delusional fool feel good about themselves.”

“True.” Will slipped an arm around Jack and pulled him close. “I will tell the director tomorrow you stand by your research. After all,” he kissed Jack’s cheek lightly, “I would not want you to change the truth for any amount of endowment. Museums are to preserve the truth, not alter it.”

“I suppose he wants to fire me,” Jack mumbled, burying his nose in Will’s hair and breathing deeply. “No matter, would rather stay home with you. I can help you in the shop.”

Will shook his head, and murmured back, “No, the museum needs you. Who else can give them first hand knowledge of the Age of Sail?”

“You just don’t want me handling your tools,” Jack teased.

“Jack, you can gladly handle my tools any time you wish.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

*****

Christmas Fic List by mamazano

2009-12-24T22:51:24Z

For those who might be interested, I have compiled a list of my Pirates of the Caribbean Fan Fiction which have a Christmas theme. Something for everyone, a gift from me to you. Enjoy!

****

Secret Santa 2008- Good Will to All

Jack has divised a scheme for Will to meet with Elizabeth. Set post-CotBP, at Christmastime.

Act I, Act II, Act III

****

Christmas Drabble series in the Ordinary Man AU: (W/E, G) In collaboration with danglingdingle.

Drabble 1 – Will you wish upon a star
Drabble 2 – Your heart is in your dreams
Drabble 3 – Words whispered on the wind
Drabble 4 – Nothing's going to stop us now...

****

Hunting of the Sparrow (WIP, Rated R)

Set in an AU out of my own eggnog induced fog. Lord Cutler Beckett has decided to celebrate Boxing Day in his own fashion…substituting the traditional Hunting of the Wren with another bird…Captain Jack Sparrow.

1 – Setting the Trap
2 – The Trap is Sprung
3 – The Bird is Flown
4 – The Net is Cast
5 – The Bird is Snared
6 – Bird in the Hand
7 – Tethered Flight
8 – Caged Flight
9 – Swift of Wing

****

The Graveyard Ghost – (Jack, Will, G) Forever is a very long time. Set at Christmas.

Leap of Faith – (Jack, Will, G) Set at the end of the Graveyard Ghost.

Hound of Hell – (Jack, Will, G) Set at the beginning of the Graveyard Ghost.

Resurrection Man - (Jack, Will, G) A sequel to the Graveyard Ghost

Nativity - (Jack/Will, R) A Coda to Resurrection Man.

****

Christmas!Crack – Santa Jack (J/W, R) With the economy as it is, Jack Sparrow finds employment at the local Mall.

Christmas Parody - When Scripts Collide (G) When scripts collide…or what happens when you watch too many Holiday reruns.

Wassailing - Pirate Style (G) What happens when they start piping Christmas music everywhere.

Tis the Season (Jack, Will, G) Even the most parsimonious personalities can be persuaded...with the right leverage...

****

One Day (J/E, W/E, PG-13) - Secret Santa 2007. Prompt: Gibbs and Mistletoe. Setting is 10 years after AWE.

****

Old Christmas Revived (G,) Written For: For the 2009 merrypirates fic exchange, for Tiamary, who requested a story that includes tidbits about how Christmastime was observed in the Caribbean in the 1700s. The crew of the Black Pearl on holiday in Tortuga. Set post-AWE, at Christmastime.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 ,Chapter 4 , Chapter 5

MerryPirates Christmas Fic - Old Christmas Revived (5/5)

2009-12-24T03:34:00Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Old Christmas Revived - Chapter 5

Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with an extra special OC
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

****

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored
Chapter 5

****

The cooks and the scullion, who toil in their frocks,
Their hopes do depend upon their Christmas box;
There is very few that do live on the earth
But enjoy at this time either profit or mirth;
Yea those that are charged to find all relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

Then well may we welcome Old Christmas to town,
Who brings us good cheer, and good liquor so brown;
To pass the cold winter away with delight,
We feast it all day, and we frolick all night:
Both hunger and cold we keep out with relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

Then let all curmudgeons, who dote on their wealth,
And value their treasure much more than their health,
Go hang themselves up, if they will be so kind;
Old Christmas with them but small welcome shall find;
They will not afford to themselves without grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

****

“Whatcha got there?” Giselle asked Cotton, who was setting some wooden figures on top of a crate.

Pierre bent down to get a closer look and clapped his hands, exclaiming, “It is a crèche!”

Scarlett picked up one of the little wooden figure and turned it over in her hand. “Why Mr. Cotton! Did you carve this yourself?”

Cotton just smiled as the rough and rowdy crew of pirates took turns examining the figurines and commenting among themselves.

“Oh look! A shepherd. See ‘is sheep there?”

“A donkey! And this must be one of them Wise Men.”

“And ‘ere’s Mary, and Joseph.”

Giselle looked up from where she was kneeling next to the crate and asked, “Where’s the baby Jesus?”

Pierre answered for Cotton. “It is a tradition in my country not to place the babe in the manger until the stroke of midnight on the eve of Christmas.”

“Which by my calculations,” Gibbs said, pulling out a pocket watch and consulted it. “Should be right about … now.”

As he spoke the ringing of church bells pealed in the night and a collective cry of voices could be heard echoing from the ships in the harbor and upon the shore, “Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas, everyone!”

Cotton pulled a small wooden figure from his pocket with a flourish and bowing, handed it to Giselle. Smiling widely, she bent and delicately placed the tiny wooden babe in the manger, as the men all cheered and clapped each other on the back.

Ragetti stood, and taking the wassail bowl from his head, he reverently placed it over his heart and spoke:

And this shall be a sign unto you;
Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

“Whoot’s ‘e doin’ in a manger?” one of the more drunk crew members asked.

“Well there weren’t no room in the inn, now were there?”

Giselle touched a gentle finger to the figure of the baby. “Must have been difficult, her having t’ give birth all alone in a strange place. No family, no nothing.”

“Ah, ma chérie, she was not alone,” Pierre said smiling. “She had Joseph beside her, to protect her and her baby.”

****

Jack slipped by, and made his way to the bow of the Pearl. Sitting out on the bowsprit, eyes towards the horizon, a half empty bottle of rum dangling from one hand, he sought to make sense of his maelstrom of emotions. The multitude of stars above, stretching to infinity did not answer his unspoken questions, nor did the dark sea beyond the Pearl’s bow.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

He knew where his heart truly lied, he knew and yet was helpless to change what fate had dealt them.

“Find Elizabeth, Jack. Take care of her for me.”

The words echoed on the distant wind.

Closer ones interrupted his thoughts.

“A person oughtn’t to be alone, ‘specially on Christmas.”

Giselle smiled, when Jack glanced down at her from his perch, the breeze fluttering her skirts. Lost in thought, he had not heard her approach.

“Was hopin’ we might get t’ spend some time together,” she continued, in a soft voice. “You know, fer old time’s sake, and all that.” She glanced up, hopeful.

Jack sighed and took a long swallow of rum. Pointing towards the lights of the other ships in the harbor, he said simply, “There’s many a fine gent looking for a bit of company tonight. A face as lovely as yours ought t’ have her pick.”

Giselle glanced out at the water and shook her head. “I’m not lookin’ fer that, Jack.”

Sighing again, Jack scuttled along the bowsprit and hopped onto the deck. Handing the bottle to Giselle he said with finality, “I’m not lookin’ for that, either. Done found it, and lost it once again.”

“Not like you t’ give up, Jack. I’m sure you’ll find it again, one day.” Giselle laid a hand on his sleeve. “You just have to know what you want and go after it. S’what you always tell me.”

Jack didn’t answer, just gave her a quick smile as he joined her at the rail. The two of them gazed at the lights of Tortuga in comfortable silence.

“Looks almost pretty, from here,” she said finally, laughing softly.

What seemed a lifetime ago, he’d sailed into this very port, trailing along on a fool’s mission to rescue a certain damsel in distress. Seemed fate was handing him the same mission, and yet who was it exactly that needed rescuing this time?

“…and you really need to see the wonderful crèche Cotton carved!” Giselle prattled on.

“Come again?” Jack shook the past from his mind.

“The crew. They asked me t’fetch you, Jack.” Giselle sighed. “Weren’t you even listening?”

“The crew. Right.” Jack draped his arm around her shoulder. “Tell them I will be with them shortly.” He gave her a gently push. “Go on, I won’t be long.”

He knew that he couldn’t say no. It was the least he could do, for them. Life, new life, had a way of reshuffling one’s priorities.

Resolute in spirit, if not mind, Jack rejoined the festivities on deck, where the remaining men were raising their tankards to all and sundry including the King, were it pirate or principality, their captain, their crew, their long-suffering mothers… leaving no one out as the rum flowed freely.

Jack bent down and studied the small wooden figures, picking up first Joseph and then Mary. With a smile he placed them gently beside the baby in the manger.

Ah, ma chérie, she was not alone. She had Joseph beside her, to protect her and her baby.

Scuttlebutt was that the pirate king had left these waters, and traveled east, back to the land of her birth. A bright star hung low in the Eastern sky, catching Jack’s eye, beckoning him, pointing the way.

They say that Wise Men from before time followed a guiding star, leading them to one worth more than any earthly treasure. Jack opened his compass and smiled as the needle held steady. He knew where his course now lay.

Snapping the compass shut, Jack made up his mind.

“Mister Gibbs!”

“Aye, Cap’n?”

“We have our heading.”

“Where to, Cap’n?” Gibbs asked, scratching his whiskers.

“East. We sail the day after Boxing Day on the morning tide.”

“Aye, Cap’n. I’ll have the crew on board, sir.”

A flurry of activity accompanied his words as a small piglet dashed across the deck, with Ragetti, wassail bowl and all, hot on her heels.

Shaking his head, Jack said, “I leave them in your hands, Mister Gibbs.”

Gibbs raised his cup. “To Old Christmas Revived.”

Jack raised his as well, clinking cups he said, “Hospitality Restored.”

Then, with a small salute he toasted the far horizon. “Here’s to you, Will Turner.”

Turning his gaze back to the guiding star, he raised his cup once more, “And Elizabeth, wherever you may be. Happy Christmas, luv.”

****

MerryPirates Christmas Fic - Old Christmas Revived (4/5)

2009-12-24T03:26:07Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Old Christmas Revived - Chapter 4

Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with an extra special OC
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

****

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored
Chapter 4

****

The court, and the city, and country are glad,
Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad;
Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly,
And hundreds be losers by cogging a die,
Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

Those that have no coin at the cards for to play,
May sit by the fire, and pass time away,
And drink of their moisture contented and free
"My honest good fellow, come, here is to thee!"
And when they are hungry, fall to their relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along,
Each room in the house to the musick shall throng,
Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass,
And each country swain trip about with his lass;
Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

****

“No, no, no, no, my dear Gibbous!” Pierre protested. “It is not the ‘leaping lords’ and ‘milking maids’ as you English say!”

The moon hung low on the horizon, the evening now mellowed; the celebration in town having weaved its way back to the Pearl once again.

Pierre and Gibbs, who were sharing a bottle of wine along with stories of Christmas customs from their homelands, were arguing good-naturedly over a child’s counting rhyme.

“I remember, clear as yesterday, my dear mum teaching me the words,” Gibbs said, ticking them off on his fingers, “It were a partridge in a pear-tree, two turtle-doves, three French hens, four colly birds, five gold rings, six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming, eight maids a-milking, nine drummers drumming, ten pipers piping, eleven ladies dancing, and twelve lords leaping.”

Pierre interrupted. “You English, and your love of the war. Drummers drumming, pipers piping. Pah!”

“Why I always ‘eard it were a King giving ‘is Lady a parrot,” a drunken sailor piped up. “Like Cotton’s there.”

Cotton glanced up from the piece of wood he was whittling and grinned, his parrot flapping its wings in agreement.

“Whoever heard of a King with a bloomin’ parrot?” Pintel asked, looking up from his dice game.

“I’ve heard that one, originally from Scotland, tis,” Ragetti offered, sitting regally with wassail bowl rakishly perched on his head. “King gave her a baboon, too.”

“Well we ain’t originally from Scotland, are we?” Pintel said, with a snort. “I’ve always heard it the way Gibbs tells it.”

“In my country, we give the gifts most useful, no?” Pierre said. “The partridge, the two turtle-doves, the three wood-pigeons,” he recited. “Four ducks flying, five rabbits trotting, six hares a-field, seven hounds running, eight shorn sheep, nine horned oxen, ten good turkeys, eleven good hams, and the twelve small cheeses.”

“Cheeses?” The men all fell about laughing and slapping their legs. “Leave it to the French to give cheeses!”

“What? You would rather we give the gift of the parrot? The Arabian baboon?” Pierre sputtered. “Or perhaps you English men prefer the La foi de la loi, the creed of the authority. Voilà.”

He began to sing solemnly,

“La premier' parti' d'la foi de la loi,
Dit' la moi, frere Gregoire.
Un bon farci sans os

La deuxieme parti' d'la foi de la loi,
Dit' le moi, frere Gregoire
Deux ventres de veau,
Un bon farci sans os.

A good stuffing without bones. Two breasts of veal.” Pierre translated. “Three joints of beef, four pig's trotters, five legs of mutton, six partridges with cabbage, seven spitted rabbits, eight plates of salad, nine plates of cheese, ten full casks, eleven beautiful full-breasted maidens, twelve knights with their rapiers.”

This was greeted by shouts of approval from the drunken crew.

“Full-breasted maidens, why that’s more like it!”

“A bloody buggering sight better than cheese!”

The men all hooted and hollered, falling about in laughter once more.

****

Jack Sparrow sat apart from the men, enjoying the festivities with certain reluctance, though not taking part. There were several things pressing on his mind, the first and foremost being the one he’d left behind all those months ago. Deep in thought, he barely noted the sound of revelry wafting across the water from the many ships crowding the harbor.

It had now been three nights since he’d awakened to the sound of a soft, wet splock, and found himself face to face with the ghost of Christmas past. Well, at least it might as well have been a ghost for the turn it gave him. There, stepping into his cabin, through the solid bulkhead was none other than the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, Will Turner, himself.

“I don’t suppose you could learn to knock, like normal blighters,” Jack had groused, once he’d regained his voice. Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d been visited in such a fashion, Jack still found Will’s sudden materializations to be rather disconcerting.

Will had only smirked that familiar crooked smile, making himself at home by lighting a lantern and pouring a glass of rum. “Sorry, Jack,” he’d said, sinking into the chair beside the bunk with a sigh. “I don’t have much time and well…” He waved a vague hand around. “My presence seems to cause some alarm these days.”

Jack sat up and took the glass from Will, draining it in one swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the glass back with a grin. “Can’t really blame ‘em for being alarmed, what with you appearing out of thin air like that.” His grin faded as he saw the solemn look on Will’s face.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your normal social call?” Jack said, motioning towards the bottle of rum by Will’s foot, who automatically reached down and handed it to Jack, before wearily burying his face in his hands.

Taking another swallow, and two more for good measure, Jack braved the question he dreaded to ask.

“What brings you here?”

“Elizabeth.”

The word hung heavily between the two men.

“Ah, yes. Her nibs.” Jack was the first to break the uneasy silence. “And how is our dear Lizzie these days?”

“She’s with child.” Will said, his voice low. He stood up abruptly and began to pace the cabin. “She’s carrying my child, and I cannot be there for her. For them.” He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.

Jack poured some rum in the glass and handed it to Will. “Here. Do you good.”

Will downed the rum and grimaced, sank back onto the chair, and stared pensively at the floor. “She’s all alone in the world now, Jack. All my grand efforts gone to waste.”

“From my recollections, Elizabeth is quite capable of taking care of herself,” Jack pointed out rather unhelpfully.

“Yes, but not in her condition. I need your help, Jack.”

“My help?” Jack took a swallow of rum and added, “Not so sure your charming wife would welcome my help.”

“She trusts you.”

“Ha!” Jack said. “All evidence to the contrary, my dear William.”

“I trust you.” Will said quietly.

Jack studied Will intently for a moment, then asked, “What pray tell, exactly am I supposed to…?”

“Will you go to her, Jack?” Will interrupted, his face earnest. “Would you see that she’s safe?”

“If I were to go,” Jack said, one finger raised, “and I’m not sayin’ I will, but if I do happen t’ change me mind, just where might this somewhere safe be?”

“That’s just it, Jack, I don’t even know where to start looking,” Will said, in anguish. “I don’t have much time, I am stretching it enough coming here.”

Jack pulled out his compass nonchalantly and tossed it to Will. “Perhaps this will help? Bit hard to go rescuing your distressing damsel without a heading.”

Will opened the compass whose needle quivered before swinging around to point at…

“You?” Will asked incredulously.

Rolling his eyes, Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “East.” He took the compass back and shook his head. “Really, Will. I would think you would have figured out how it works by now.” Leaning forward, Jack squinted at Will, calculating, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve no business in that direction, mate.”

Eyes flashing, Will set his jaw and returned the gaze, swallowing his helplessness to replace it with sworn determination. “What business do you have here, Jack? Are you planning on handing the Pearl over to the East India Trading Company or will you just sit here, drinking rum, and wait for them to blow her into pieces?”

Sitting up, Jack looked at anything but Will in obvious discomfort, gathering his abruptly splayed out thoughts that he’d tried so hard to hide from. Taking in deep breath, finger raised to argue, he met Will’s eyes, and promptly deflated.

“I hate it when you’re right.” There was not an ounce of sarcasm in Jack’s voice.

Suddenly, a worried look crossed Will’s face and his brow furrowed. “I have to go.” He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder almost apologetically and said with feeling, “Find Elizabeth, Jack. Take care of her for me.”

“Right.” Jack smiled briefly, and then added seriously, “No worries, mate.”

Will’s smile of relief remained behind long after he’d faded into the woodwork.

****

MerryPirates Christmas Fic - Old Christmas Revived (3/5)

2009-12-24T03:19:40Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Old Christmas Revived - Chapter 3

Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with an extra special OC
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored \
Chapter 3

****

Although the cold weather doth hunger provoke,
'Tis a comfort to see how the chimneys do smoke;
Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine,
For all that are willing or ready to dine:
Then haste to the kitchen, for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

All travellers, as they do pass on their way,
At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay,
Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest,
Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest
Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

Now Mock-beggar-hall it no more shall stand empty,
But all shall be furnisht with freedom and plenty;
The hoarding old misers, who us'd to preserve
The gold in their coffers, and see the poor starve,
Must now spread their tables, and give them in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

****

They formed a motley procession on their way to the waterfront. Several fiddlers led the way, followed by the crew, drunk and boisterous and singing off-key, weaving their way down the muddy street. Behind them came the feast, carried with much pomp and pageantry.

In the lead was Pierre, proudly carrying the flaming Christmas pudding, followed by Scarlett and Giselle with the minced pies.

Pintel and Ragetti were next, hauling a huge silver wassail bowl between them. Its contents were a potent potation indeed, a heady mixture of the richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing about the surface. The two recently recruited cooks, who had been liberally sampling the mixture, bobbed along as well.

“Don’t want t’ be servin’ the Cap’n an inferior drink.” Ragetti had sniffed, after his second cup. Pintel had agreed wholeheartedly, quaffing several cupfuls before an irate Pierre had shooed them away.

Behind them came Cotton, solemnly carrying the Christmas goose, stuffed with apples and prunes and roasted to perfection. On his shoulder, his parrot flapping its wings and squawked, “Don’t eat me. Don’t eat me!”

Marty followed, wheeling a barrow almost as big as him, filled with bottles of wine nestled in straw. Last but not least was Gibbs, carrying a large silver platter on which rested an enormous pig's head decorated with rosemary and sage and a lemon in its mouth.

The sight and smell of the movable feast attracted a large ensemble of followers, all of which crowded onto the narrow dock alongside which the Black Pearl was now moored. At the sound of the music and singing, the captain of the vessel emerged from his cabin to see what the commotion was all about.

“Bonjour, Capitaine Sparrow!” Pierre called. “We have brought you the Christmas feast, as you can see!”

“And half the town, it appears,” Jack said.

Pierre shrugged. “What is Christmas without a celebration?”

“Peaceful.” Jack folded his arms and jutted out his chin. “You weren’t expecting to bring that mob onto me ship, were you?”

“No, no, no,” Pierre said. “They will return to their taverns and have their own feasts.”

“Permission to come aboard, Cap’n?” Gibbs called.

“Aye, permission granted, Mister Gibbs,” Jack reluctantly agreed, eyeing the flaming pudding with suspicion. “But have Pierre puts that bloody fire out first.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Gibbs said grinning.

The gangplank was lowered and the crew carried the feast aboard. Planks were hastily placed across the deck guns, and covered with burlap sheets. The food was arrayed as grandly as if it were gracing a grand country manor’s sideboard.

“What do you think, my dear Capitaine?” Pierre asked Jack, waving a hand. “I have for you the traditional English Christmas, complete with the exhilarating wassail bowl and the boar's head, crowned with le bon garlands. The minced pies, the plum pudding, the goose roasted to perfection. Even the wandering minstrels singing the ancient carols, oui?”

“For a Frenchman, you’ve done a proper English feast, aye.” Jack raised his bottle in a half salute.

The fiddlers continued to play a collection of traditional carols and tunes, giving the celebration a festive air. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the torches and lanterns were lit, while the crew feasted and drank under the twinkling stars of Christmas Eve night.

As the last of the food was savored, and the wassail bowl drained to its dregs, Pierre clapped his hands and pronounced it time for the Christmas pudding to be cut and the ‘King of the Bean’ be crowned.

“It is a grand tradition in my country, the Gateau des Rois, the King’s cake,” Pierre explained. “Normally, we would wait until Twelfth Night for it, but alas, Capitaine Sparrow wishes to set sail before that. So, instead we shall partake of this fine English pudding, inside of which resides une fève, a lucky charm. The fortunate person who finds this charm shall be crowned the King of the Revels, the Lord of Misrule, the Master of Merry Disports.”

Pintel elbowed Ragetti and grinned. “I like that.”

“Traditionally, other items, they would also be hidden in the cake,” Pierre continued. “A pea for the Queen; a clove, for a rogue; a twig for the Cuckold, or a bit of rag that says that perhaps your morals might be in question.” Looking around at the drunken pirate crew, he shrugged. “But, with the present company, I did not see a reason to include these others.”

This caused much laughter and jostling amongst the crew, several of them clapping their companion’s back in merriment. The pieces of cake were distributed among the men, with the admonishment for none to eat until the last piece was cut.

“I got it!” The cry rang out and all eyes turned to see Ragetti proudly holding up the silver charm.

Suddenly all the men were up, slapping him on the back, placing the empty wassail bowl on his head for a crown, finding a cloak and staff for him to wear. The merrymaking spilled out onto the dock and soon the men were dancing and drinking with each other and the tavern wenches who’d followed them down to the pier.

Leading the procession, Ragetti announced his first, and most likely his last command. “I proclaim a celebration!” Carrying him on their shoulders, the men headed back towards town.

“He makes a good Lord of Misrule,” Pierre said as they watched the parade weaving its way through the streets.

“More like fool,” Gibbs said with a shake of the head. “Whoever heard of having a pet pig on board a ship anyways?”

****

MerryPirates Christmas Fic - Old Christmas Revived (2/5)

2009-12-24T03:02:53Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Old Christmas Revived - Chapter 2

Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with an extra special OC
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored
Chapter 2

****

The butler and baker, they now may be glad,
The times they are mended, though they have been bad;
The brewer, he likewise may be of good cheer,
He shall have good trading for ale and strong beer;
All trades shall be jolly, and have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

The holly and ivy about the walls wind,
And show that we ought to our neighbours be kind,
Inviting each other for pastime and sport,
And where we best fare, there we most do resort;
We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

The cooks shall be busied by day and by night,
In roasting and boiling, for taste and delight;
Their senses in liquor that's nappy they'll steep,
Though they be afforded to have little sleep;
They still are employed for to dress us in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

****

The moonlight cast a silvery sheen across the deck of the Black Pearl, while the men on anchor watch did their best not to doze in the peaceful hours before dawn. Their captain had taken first watch and had retired to his cabin at eight bells, giving strict instructions to be awakened if anything suspicious were to occur.

So when Marty heard a thump, then hushed voices, he’d hurried to the captain’s cabin and knocked softly. The door opened a crack and a bleary eye peered out.

“Captain!” Marty whispered, “You better come.”

Jack poked his head out and listened. A shuffling was heard and a muffled curse and then a squeal? Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Jack slipped through the door, pistol in hand. Crouching beneath the stairs he placed a finger to his lips and motioned with his head for Marty, knife at the ready, to do the same. They waited in silence to see what materialized.

“Watch it, you moron! You wanna wake the crew?” Pintel whispered loudly, somewhere to port.

“You try then,” Ragetti whispered back in a hurt tone. “It ain’t so easy you know.”

There were more thumps, and shuffling and another muffled, what definitely was, a squeal. Jack peered around the corner to find the two men with their arms full, literally, with a squirming burlap sack. As he watched in surprise the bag squealed again and began struggling more intensely.

What the bloody hell…? Jack wondered silently.

As if to answer his unspoken question, Ragetti said proudly, “I can’t wait to see the look on the Cap’n’s face when he sees what I caught.”

“You caught?” Pintel said with exasperation. “You wouldn’t of caught it if I hadn’t set the trap.”

“But whose idea were it to set the trap?” Ragetti argued back.

Pintel stopped and wagged a finger at Ragetti. “Yer idea was to catch one of them infernal birds yer always squawkin’ about.”

Pleased with his joke, Pintel chose that moment to let go of his end of the sack, which was a mistake. With one more great effort the bundle squirmed free, revealing a young, flawless piglet. Startled, the little pig took off across the deck, with the two men scrambling after it.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Pintel shouted.

“Yer the one that let go!” Ragetti shouted back. “Quick, catch ‘er before she goes in the sea and drowns.”

“When was the last time you saw a drowned pig?”

The small pig ran by, with Pintel and Ragetti in hot pursuit. Jack swooped down with one quick move and snagged the piglet, holding the squirming, frightened animal firmly in his arms. “I prefer my dinner to be less lively,” he said to the two men, who skidded to a panting halt in front of him.

“Aye, Cap’n,” Pintel said giving Ragetti a glare.

“Do tell me this isn’t on the menu,” Jack said handing the pig back to Ragetti.

“No Cap’n, she’s too little, and…well, I’ve been thinkin’…”

Jack raised an eyebrow at the stammering cook as Marty eyed the little pig hungrily.

“Big enough to roast,” Marty told Ragetti, who protectively held the pig away from him.

“I’ll just be puttin’ her in a pen,” he mumbled and hurried off down below deck

“Remind me again why I didn’t maroon those two?” Jack said, watching their receding backs.

Marty just grunted in reply.

****

Dawn broke to a flurry of activity along the wharfs. Several new ships had dropped anchor in the night and were busy offloading their cargos into boats, which were met with great excitement at the dock by the town merchants, all eager to fill their shops for the festive days ahead. Their shouts as they haggled over prices carried across the water to where the Black Pearl rest at anchor. There was no mistaking one voice in particular, the sing-song French accents of the dressmaker Pierre, engaged in heated battle with a Mrs. Pomfrey over a particularly elegant bolt of silk.

“Madame! This cloth, it is too magnifique for the likes of your atrocities.”

“Why I never!” The red-faced seamstress straightened, fists balled on waist. “How dare you insult me frocks in such a fashion!”

“Fashion? The grotesques you call gowns? Bah!” Pierre waved her sputtering protests aside. “Whereas Pierre Bouspeut, he creates the beauty, the elegance, the…”

The remainder of his speech was muffled, as the insulted Mrs. Pomfrey saw fit to liberally apply the bolt of cloth in question to the smaller man’s head.

A pair of arms and several shouts later had separated the two combatants. “None of this now,” Gibbs said as he pulled the dressmaker aside. “There’s plenty to go around.” He bent down and picked up a slightly squashed hat from under his boot. “I believe this is yours, ma’am?” he asked, straightening the brim as best he could.

The flustered woman snatched the hat from Gibbs and crammed it on her head. “You keep that French fop away from me shop, you here?” she screeched.

“I would rather die then set foot in the chamber of the horrors!” Pierre spat back.

From their vantage point at the Pearl’s rail, Jack and Marty watched with evident humor.

“So much for the spirit of Father Christmas,” Jack said with a joyous grin.

Marty shrugged. “It’s Tortuga.”

****

A thump on the side of the ship signaled the boat from shore. Jack watched as Gibbs helped Pierre up the sea ladder, the latter’s arms full of his latest conquest. Shoving the brightly colored cloth into Gibbs’ arms, Pierre advanced on Jack with open arms and a beaming smile.

“Ah, Capitaine Sparrow, what a wonderful coincidence!”

Jack, anticipating the Frenchman, sidestepped the embrace neatly, grabbing Pierre’s hand in a greeting instead, with a smile of his own. “I see you have not lost your touch for getting what you want,” Jack said, with a nod towards the hard-won silk.

“That woman, she is a cow!” Pierre sniffed. “Quel désastre! She makes the dresses, most hideous, and charges too much. The poor girls, they come to Pierre, begging me to do the repairs. Pah! She would only make the sow’s ear out of the lovely silk.”

Pierre glanced around. “But what is this I hear, about you not leaving the ship? How am I to cook you the fattened goose, the plum puddings you English are so fond of, if you do not come to my feast de Noël?”

Jack waved away the words. “Christmas, blah.”

“C'est quoi, ça? How can you say ‘Pah!’ to Christmas!?” Pierre sputtered.

“Blah.” Jack repeated and jabbed a challenging finger at Pierre. “Christmas or not, we weigh anchor day after tomorrow.”

“But Christmas, it is Twelve Days, no? What of your men, do they not want to make merry?”

“Bloody buggering hell!” Jack threw his arms up in exasperation. “We’ve already been in port three days as it is. Hell, half the crew won’t make it past four without running out of coin.”

“Or killing themselves.” Ragetti piped up helpfully.

“Right!” Jack said brightly. “So we shall give Tortuga two more days, and then we’re off. Seems bloody fair, if you ask me. ”

“And the feast?” Pierre batted his eyes hopefully at Jack.

“Bon appetit!” Jack said, with a wave and a whirl of coat tails as he headed back to the relative sanctuary of his cabin.

“Merde! He is the most stubborn ass!” Pierre straightened his lace cuffs and sniffed. “If the good Capitaine will not come to the feast, then the feast shall come to the Capitaine. Mister Gibbous! I shall need two assistants.”

Gibbs smiled as he caught sight of Pintel and Ragetti sneaking away.

“Aye, aye, Pierre. I have just the two for you.”

****

“This reminds me of Christmas up at the big house, when I was a girl.”

Giselle paused in her stirring, and wiped a hand across her brow. With her disheveled hair and that spot of flour on her nose, cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the hearth, she looked as if she were fifteen once again.

“Cook always used to let us help stir the puddings,” she giggled, eyes far away in reminiscing. “Those not old enough to reach the table had to stand on a chair.”

“Aye, we always took a turn with the Christmas puddings,” Gibbs said, smiling fondly at Giselle. “Everyone in the family would take a stir, east to west. T’was good luck.”

“How about you, Letty?” Giselle asked Scarlett, who was busy preparing the stuffing for the goose. “Did you have plum pudding at Christmas?”

“It wouldn’t be Christmas otherwise.” Scarlett put down her knife. “I remember going to church with my family, Stir-up Sunday we called it. The prayers would open with, ‘Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of they faithful people, what they plenteously bring forth the fruit of good works…’ and so on.” She smiled, eyes twinkling with good humor. “But we always changed the words to, ‘Stir up, we beseech thee, the pudding in the pot. And when we do get home tonight, we'll eat it up hot.’ Mother always scolded us after church, and then hurried home to start the puddings.”

They all laughed.

“And what about you, Pierre?” Gibbs asked the Frenchman, returning from the cellar with an armful of wine bottles. “Did you have plum pudding for Christmas?”

“The plum pudding? Pah! It is a most English of foods. Only the English would put la viande hâchée menu, the chopped beef, and the mutton in the pudding.” Pierre sniffed. “No, the plum pudding is for the barbarian.”

“Oi! Watch it!” Pintel growled from his corner by the sink where he sat peeling potatoes, a surly expression on his face.

Pierre waved away his protest. “But is this not why the English, they are so fierce? Why the other countries, they all tremble in fear of you English pirates? Your mothers all fed you the plum puddings.”

“I think you’re fierce,” Ragetti told Pintel, who only scowled more.

“So what did you French eat?” Gibbs asked, stopping to take a swallow of rum.

“We ate the Gateau des Rois, the King’s Cake,” Pierre said proudly. “It is a cake, most magnifique, a cake which requires the utmost of care, attention, and the finest ingredients.” He paused and held up a finger. “But before you can begin to mix the cake, all the ingredients, they must be prepared, the flour, it must be dried and sifted, the currants, they must be washed, the nutmegs grated, the spices pounded, the candied fruit cut into the most thin of slices, the almonds bruised with the rose water, the sugar sifted, and the eggs whisked.” He shrugged. “It is a most complicated cake, one the simple Englishman with his boiled pudding, would not comprehend.”

He set the wine bottles on the sideboard and dusted his hands. “But we are here to prepare the English feast, no? So we shall have the plum pudding, and minced pies.” He snapped his fingers at the two men in the corner. “I have been told you have caught the small piglet, oui? What is more English than the roast pig?”

“You can’t roast Penelope!” Ragetti sputtered. “She’s just a baby! T’would be barbaric it would.”

“Ah, the fierce pirate, he has made a pet out of the pig, no?” Pierre smiled. “There is no need to worry about your petite pet, monsieur Ragetti. No. The English Christmas feast requires the boar most enormous, its head served on the platter, with the garlands most gay.”

Gibbs shook his head. “First goats, now pigs,” he muttered. “More like Noah’s ark than a pirate ship.”

“Come, come, we must not waste time,” Pierre clapped his hands. “We still have much to do, the hour, it is growing late. I, myself, shall now prepare the beverage requiring the most skillful mixture, a drink that is too, how is it you say? Too abstruse, too complex for the comprehénsion of the ordinary person.”

He pulled a large silver bowl out from a cupboard and held it high. “The pièce de résistance, oui? Behold, the wassail bowl!”

****

MerryPirates Christmas Fic - Old Christmas Revived (1/5)

2009-12-24T02:37:57Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Old Christmas Revived

Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with an extra special OC
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

Written For: For the 2009 merrypirates fic exchange, for Tiamary, who requested a story that includes tidbits about how Christmastime was observed in the Caribbean in the 1700s.

Summary: The crew of the Black Pearl on holiday in Tortuga. Set post-AWE, at Christmastime. Fancy that!

A/N: Tremendous gratitude goes out to all my darling danglingdingle, for her unflagging encouragement and unfailing support, not to mention spot-on suggestions, all of which have enabled this story to unfold.

A special thank you also goes out to stealmybike, for reading through the final draft for continuity and story flow.

****

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored
Chapter 1

****

All you that to feasting and mirth are inclin'd,
Come here is good news for to pleasure your mind,
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse:
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

A long time together he hath been forgot,
They scarce could afford for to hand on the pot:
Such miserly sneaking in England hath been,
As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen;
But now he's returned you shall have in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled,
And all hospitality hath been so dead,
No mirth at our festivals late did appear,
They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer;
But now you shall have for the ease of your grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.

****

Christmas in Tortuga was a multi-national affair, with sailors and merchants from all over the world, each bringing their own customs and flavor to the celebrations. And what celebrations there were – from the delicious English feasts of roasted boar’s head, minced pies and plum puddings, to the decidedly French fare of fresh oysters and the many canapés, pâtés and hors d’oeuvres. Roast goose was plentiful as well, and all celebrations, regardless of the heritage, were washed down with copious quantities of rum, wine and ale.

The air was festive, if not fresh, and the many shops and taverns along the muddy lanes were festooned with gaily colored decorations and greenery. The store front of the dress shop, The Painted Lady, was bedecked with ribbons and bows, along with bountiful amounts of silk draping. The proprietor, Pierre Bouspeut, was putting the final touches on the window display when the tinkle of a bell announced a visitor to the shop.

“Bonjour! Bonjour!”

Pierre called down from his perch on a chair. He hurriedly placed a final bow on his creation and descended to greet the newcomer with cheer.

“My dear Mister Gibbous, how pleasant a surprise!”

Joshamee Gibbs smiled as he shook the diminutive dressmaker’s hand. He didn’t get a word out before a squeal of delight and blur of gold tackled him in a big hug.

“Josh!” Giselle gave him a big kiss on the cheek, which reddened considerably. “We were hoping t’ see you for Christmas!” She peered over his shoulder at the street beyond. “You didn’t happen to come…”

Gibbs patted her hand. “…on the Black Pearl, aye. Jack is still on board, refusing to turn anchor watch over to anyone.” He shook his head and added with a sheepish grimace, “Can’t say I blame him, not after what happened last time he were in port.”

“Now Josh, that was not your fault,” Giselle protested. “How was you t’ know that blackheart Barbossa was planning t’ steal the Pearl?”

“Or that the filthy swine would sneak the henbane into your rum, no?” Pierre added. “But, the good Capitaine Sparrow, he has regained the Pearl? How fortuitous!”

“You must tell us all about it,” Giselle said eagerly. “We should celebrate!”

Pierre clapped his hands. “I shall fetch us a bottle of my finest wine, and we will be, how is it you say? All the ears?”

“Aye, that’ll about do it.” Gibbs said with a smile.

****

“Don’t know why the Captain picked us,” Pintel groused, shifting his burden to the other shoulder. “How was we t’ know the stupid blighter was going t’ jump ship?”

“T’weren’t no way of knowing,” Ragetti agreed, as he maneuvered the heavily laden one-wheeled wooden cart through the rutted street. “Don’t think no one was expectin’ the cook to just up and leave, especially with this being the season and all.”

“Stupid blighter,” Pintel scoffed. “Was bad enough Captain Jack blamed us for leaving him behind.”

“Again,” Ragetti modified the statement. “Though he were happy enough for us helping t’ leave Barbossa on that island.”

“Captain Barbossa didn’t like that one bit.”

“Now, that’s what I call ironic.”

The two men shared a chuckle before resuming their trudge towards the waterfront. Their new Captain, the thrice-charmed Jack Sparrow, had seen fit to reward the two of them by assigning them the tasks of the now defunct ship’s cook, which included procuring provisions for their stay in port for the Christmas season. They had spent the better part of the morning haggling at the local markets for fresh produce and meat. They also stocked up on the essentials – flour and sugar, corn meal and lard. Barrels of salted fish and smoked pork as well as crates of fruits and other foodstuff rounded out their load.

The grand prize of the day, though, was shuffling along behind them on the end of a frayed rope.

Snorting and snuffling, the small pink piglet was taking her merry time, stopping to root in every promising pile of refuse along the way. A particularly enticing one stopped the poky porker along with her two plodding companions, in their tracks.

“Come on, you,” snarled Pintel, giving the rope a jerk. “We ain’t’ got all day.” He continued to tug to no avail; the piglet had rooted under a large pile of garbage so that only her plump rump and curly tail were visible. Pintel continued to jerk on the rope, his foul mood worsening with each tug.

“Get off there, you mangy, garbage-eatin’ hunk of putrid pork,” Pintel sputtered, an extra hard tug landing him in the muddy street. “Why you…” His attack launched at the unsuspecting pig was thwarted by Ragetti, who bodily blocked the way.

“Now don’t be scaring her none, she’s just a baby.” Ragetti said, putting a hand out to stop Pintel. “You gots to be gentle with ‘em.”

“I’ll be gentle with ‘er,” Pintel grumbled. “Right into the stew pot.”

Ragetti was busy coaxing the piglet away from the garbage, cooing and cajoling her to follow them. “You see, you just have t’ know how to talk to ‘em, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t make a practice of talkin' to pigs,” Pintel snapped back. “Unless yer countin’ the crew.”

The two men chuckled again and resumed their way towards the wharf.

“Won’t the Captain be surprised,” Ragetti said, smiling at the little piglet, now following docilely behind.

****

The rest of the crew of the Black Pearl were eagerly preparing for the holidays to come, scrubbing the decks and polishing the brass. Their captain had offered them a liberal amount of coin and time ashore to celebrate in the many taverns and brothels of Tortuga. But first he wanted his ship to be in shape, from stem to stern, and had set the crew to work early that morning.

While the bustle of preparation went on above decks, Captain Jack Sparrow sat alone in his cabin studying the chart in front of him. He was perhaps the only one on board ship not looking forward to Christmas. Memories he preferred would remain buried always seemed to surface this time of year, coming back to haunt him like so many ghosts. He swallowed a good portion of rum, the bottle already half empty though the sun had barely reached its zenith in the sky. Rum would not exorcise the ghosts, but would keep them at bay…temporarily.

And what was Christmas supposed to be anyway? His cousin Percy might preach the Nativity and Gifts of the Magi, but to Jack, Christmas just conjured up ugly beasts best left undisturbed. He took another long pull on the bottle, determined to ignore the celebrations ashore, using the time in port to see to the myriad of small details left neglected during his absence.

Such as the ship’s log. From the looks of it, that perfidious rotter Barbossa did not bother with a single entry during his brief tenure as Captain. Captain, bah! More like absconder and scoundrel. Jack could not summon a single dram of goodwill for the mutinous bastard. May he rot on that godforsaken spit of land… with not a drop of rum to ease his demise. No, dear Lizzie had seen to that.

Lizzie. Elizabeth. Captain Swann. Mrs. Turner. The dear ones always did have many names. Jack took another long swallow of rum, trying his best to erase the memories that kept threatening to spill over into unresolved emotions. How could that bastard have married them? Who in the bloody blazes would have ever done such a ludicrous thing? Jack tried to ignore the nagging voice that reminded him that it was he, as Captain of this ship, who had planted the insane idea in sweet Lizzie’s head to begin with. Well bloody buggering hell! She wasn’t supposed to act on it!

And Will. Jack slugged back another two aggravated swallows. Will Turner. Short for bloody William. Captain Will Turner. His destiny twisted and torn by the capricious gods themselves. Destined to exactly what? A lifetime, an eternity of servitude? How many Christmases would pass before he could set foot on land again? What goodwill was there to be had when good Will was not?

Jack slammed his fist down, scattering the items before him, staring blindly at the chart that promised that elusive eternity that he once held in the palm of his hand. He’d thought it a simple quest, and yet he still searched for that answer that escaped him and left him well alone. As always.

A knock on the door rudely interrupted his thoughts. Gibbs stuck his head in and announced that the Pearl was as shipshape as she could be and that he and the crew were eager to gather their shares and be off ashore to begin celebrating. Jack, welcoming the distraction, spent the next hour carefully divvying up the shares of the plunder to each crewman, duly making a note of each transaction in his logbook, ignoring the odd looks shared by his crew when it begun to appear as if Jack was merely stalling.

As the last of the crew finally shuffled out of the cabin, clutching their bags of coin, Gibbs turned to Jack, who was carefully blotting the last entry in the book. “Coming ashore, Cap’n?”

Jack waved a hand vaguely in Gibbs’ direction. “I’ve business to attend to, Mister Gibbs. You go on, have yourself a good time.”

***

Gibbs did not argue, No point really, he reasoned with himself as he made his way up the hill towards town. He hadn’t been successful in getting Jack off the Pearl since they’d caught up with her off the coast of Florida. After disposing of Barbossa, the crew had signed the articles and, to a man had pledged an oath of loyalty to their new captain. This did not make Jack sleep easier, but it did do wonders for morale. Three fat prizes later, and the crew amply compensated, it looked as if there’d be a good time ahead for all this Christmas season.

All except Jack. Well, he would have to just do something about that, now wouldn’t he? And Gibbs knew just the persons to ask for help.

****

Christmas Greetings

2009-12-24T01:27:16Z

How the Tomato Lab celebrates Christmas...

Happy Holidays to all my friends on Live Journal.

At Winter Solstice....

2009-12-22T01:11:27Z

excerpt from FROM WINTER TO SPRING
a solstice/equinox ritual
copyright 1996 by Torrey Philemon

WINTER - The Poetry

ANCIENT MUSIC by Ezra Pound

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gains the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm.
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

from FOUR QUARTETS: East Coker by T.S. Eliot

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark.
The vacant interstellar spaces......
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

HAIKU by Basho

Turn this way,
I also am lonely
This evening of winter.

from OUR QUIET TIME by Nancy Wood

In our quiet time
We do not speak, because the voices are within us.
It is our quiet time.
We do not walk, because the earth is all within us.
It is our quiet time....
We rest with all of nature....

I AM SINGING THE COLD RAIN
A Cheyenne Poem

I am singing the cold rain
I am singing the winter dawn
I am turning in the gray morning
Of my life
Toward home.

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me - Day Twenty

2009-12-20T16:05:15Z

Written by: danglingdingle (with a smidgen of tweaking by mamazano)

Title: Walk With Me - Day Twenty

Rating: PG-13 Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them.

Summary: Jack takes Will for a stroll down memory lane. Who knows where their path will lead.

Previous Walks: Day 1, Day 4, Day 8, Day 12 , Day 14 , Day 17

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.

~ Chief Si'ahl (Seattle)

--------------

The sight of the small willow hoop barely fitting into the pocket, covered with thin strings of leather, sinewy strands crisscrossing within to form an intricate web, a brown bead seated in the center, sent an ancient shiver through Will‘s spine.

Leaning back into Jack, who had been standing behind him eagerly, Will closed his eyes and lost himself into the security of Jack’s arms, gently dandled to meet another memory.

--------------

It was when Will's recurring nightmares, the ones where Jack was run through by Barbossa’s sword, became less frequent, the ones where Jack turned into a loveless monster in the cutting, cold light of the moon, abated, and the terror of waking up into another nightmare, over and over again to find a fleshless skull resting next to him, grinning a dead smile which tore the mind of the man teetering on the brink of slumber, where grown men were but babes again, afraid of finding their worst fears staring at them, if they dared to open their eyes when they, finally, finally awoke into reality.

Jack had gone beyond measure to banish the devils dwelling in Will’s mind.

Whenever Will had startled from his sleep, terrified, whimpering incoherent words among which Jack could make heartbreaking pleads to heathen gods, prayers begging for them to undo what they’d done, curses, promises of vengeance.

His efforts to claim Will into his arms for sense of safety, to pacify, were forcefully swatted away, the wisps and tendrils of evil spirits coiled around Will’s soul more powerful than a mere man’s love.

So Jack had waited, counting breaths, the beat of his own heart matching the pulse on Will’s neck as he fought his way through the eerie mists, avoiding, eluding the serpents lunging forth from the black dead trees of living Hell.

Night after night, Jack waited for the shuddering, deep breath separating Will from this world and that, and begun to guide him the rest of the way on the path which lead his beloved back to him.

He never embraced Will, not after the first realization that for Will, it was not Jack who held him. Jack did not take Will’s hand, nor soothed his face, for the time Will had jolted from his touch, the resulting blabber about bare bones having rooted deep into Jack’s core, was a time one too many.

Instead, he curled on their bed to find Will’s hand, and breathed.

Warm, living breaths, each one convincing Will further that he was safe, that it was Jack, for there weren’t a Caliban in existence which would waste time to give life, instead of taking it. As Will’s tense form relaxed, if only a little, Jack moved up along Will’s arm, gingerly brushing his lips against the skin, searching and finding small, smooth dots of burn scars, and bestowing a soft kiss on each.

Longer, bolder exhalations to show Will the rest of the way, assured by the wistful gasp of faint realization that it was “Jack,” and Jack lift himself higher.

Carefully, unthreatening, mindful that the strands of his hair did not fall on Will’s face to break the spell, Jack pressed his lips on Will’s temple, silently agreeing that it was him, wordlessly convincing that it would never be anyone else, and slowly moved to give finality to his guidance.

His kisses on Will’s eyelids, the lingering tenderness opened the last locks, and Will could open his eyes, only to close them again, as he gathered Jack close, enwrapped him into his gratitude, and after the final trembles of his knotted gut passed, the content of Jack’s scent in his nostrils, his leg thrown over his own, him being here, Will slept the rest of the night peacefully, knowing, that Jack would ward off the beasts when they’d emerge again.

When Will’s horrors stopped altogether, it was when Jack's nightly torture only begun.

Whether it was a mere coincidence, or if the demons that had bedeviled Will for years on end found more fertile, open ground in the convoluted mind of the older man, it made not a spit of difference, when Jack woke up in the middle of the night, trashing, his throat constricted around a desperate cry, and his chest covered in cold sweat.

Panicking, grasping the sheets frantically, Jack was only pacified when he found the slumber-warm form breathing peacefully next to him, and sleepily tightened his hold securely around Jack when his fingers dug into Will’s blessedly dry hair.

After a fortnight of sleepless nights, once Jack was reluctant to even try closing his eyes in fear of finding himself dragging Will’s lifeless corpse up on deck, the sole victim of a storm Jack himself had self-sufficiently chosen to face, instead of veering off, far and wide.

In the flickering light of a lantern in the small hours, when they sat talking in bed, Jack’s face buried in the crook of Will’s neck, his words lost into the man’s skin as he tried to formulate his nightmares into speech, yet, unable to utter them, as if blasting them out in the open would make them come true.

Knowing, understanding perhaps better than anyone else ever could, Will cupped Jack’s face and saw the remnants of his own fears in the dreading darkness of his eyes. “I once heard a story,” Will whispered softly, pulling Jack’s head to rest on his shoulder, shifting their covers to keep in their shared warmth.

As Jack wrapped his arm around Will’s waist with an encouraging mumble, tossing a leg over his as if to sleep, Will kissed the top of Jack’s head thoughtfully, and continued, his fingers finding the Hamsa braided into Jack‘s hair; “It started with a hoop of strength and unity, made of willow, given to the human kind by the good spirits which roam the earth and inhabit the trees and rock, even the seas.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

Will could hear the exhausted smirk through Jack’s voice, a rush of tenderness settling pleasantly into his heart at the sound. “I said good spirits. Not fickle and capricious.”

“Oh, alright then. Do go on,” Jack sank lower on the bed, his head on Will’s chest, and grasped Will’s arm to have it around him.

“To fight the good spirits, the evil ones--”

“I knew it!”

“The evil ones,” pointedly ignoring Jack’s remark, Will only found another trinket to fiddle with, “saw the night as their reign, and angered by the gift given to men, filled the night air with bad dreams, destroying the strength, and wedging cracks into the unity, until all became weak and disheartened.”

“Sounds about right.”

“But the hoop of willow had a spirit of its own, and upon seeing what was taking place, it came forth, and gave the men a spider, a bead, and soft feathers.”

“How maddeningly unhelpful.”

“The spider,” Will tugged a strand of Jack’s hair lightly, earning a small chuckle in return, “quickly wove a beautiful web across the hoop, and dragged the bead in the middle.” With his fingers traveling along Jack’s chest, Will illustrated his tale, “then it took the feathers and knitted them to the creation.”

“Then what happened?” Jack lift his head at Will pausing, the pleasant circling on his chest stopping, and found him frowning. “I’m trying to remember… A hawk.”

“A hawk.”

“Yes,” Will returned to fondling Jack’s chest, causing the man to pillow his head on Will’s with a content sigh. “The spider turned into a hawk, which had given the feathers.”

“No wonder you were confused.”

“And then it spoke.”

“Did it now?”

“The hawk explained that all the bad dreams would get caught in the web and get lost in the tangles, finding not a way out, but be locked away in the bead, while the good dreams would flow freely, dancing and slipping through the holes, and sliding down the feathers, delivering the blessings of the good spirits onto the sleeper.”

“I could use some of that.”

“Then it took the thing and flew high up to the roof of the Earth and fastened it there, so that all ill would be trapped in it, and would never plague the world again.”

“Obviously that didn’t work too well.”

Cued in by Jack’s half-asleep grumble, Will reached to douse the lamp and wiggled down the bed, nose level to Jack. “No. But it’s not the only one.” A tender kiss goodnight, and before long, the restful breathing of two men filled the cabin.

----------------

“Will?” Jack stood, mystified, at a market table in Mexico, staring at a ring covered with leather, sinew straining across it, with a bead in the dead center, dark feathers attached to it, perfecting the image Jack had formed in his mind from a certain description. Grinning, Jack turned to Will, sheer glee shining on his face; “You think this one will do the trick?”

Whether it was the great hawk under whose wings they were protected once the catcher of their nightmares was duly fastened to their cabin, or if it were the evil spirits having found men who together could best even the most fearsome of evils, it mattered none, as they slept peacefully in a tangled mess of their own, blessedly rid of death and bone-white rictuses.

Right until the next bell.

-----------------

“Of course it’s not the same one, but it’s the closest I could find.” Jack whispered, plucking the loop from Will and holding it up for them both to see, shaking it a little so that the feathers fluttered. Giving the dreamcatcher back to Will, but not letting go of his hand while he rounded to face him and regarded Will solemnly. “It was never meant to last forever.” Smiling through his forlorn tone Jack smoothed out the feathers to Will‘s palm, then delved his fingers under Will‘s sleeve, finding a scar to caress. “But it served well in giving us one.”

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me - Day Seventeen

2009-12-17T23:23:03Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Walk With Me - Day Seventeen

Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them.

Summary: Jack takes Will for a stroll down memory lane. Who knows where their path will lead.

Previous Walks: Day 1, Day 4, Day 8, Day 12 , Day 14

--------

The sound of the alarm clock brought a string of muffled curses from Jack as he fumbled around over his head before finding the intruder and promptly flinging it against the far wall, where it whimpered and fell silent. Will snuggled deeper into the warmth of their bed, sleepily making a mental note to buy a less annoying alarm clock, while Jack groaned and buried his face in the warmth of Will's neck, mumbling in his ear about the unfairness of work and why did he have to brave the bloody winter's chill when it was much more pleasanter here, in bed. With Will.

"Because you have a job." Will had reminded him, but not before enveloping Jack in an inviting embrace, which of course only delayed Jack that much longer.

"I'll blame the roads," Jack had grinned, as he navigated the more pleasing routes that made up the wonders of Will Turner.

Eventually the inevitable was faced, and Jack rose, showered and headed into town, promising the day's Calendar offering would not disappoint.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the warmth of his steaming cup of coffee a poor substitute for Jack, Will nonetheless was eager when he opened the day's pocket. Inside was a circular piece of plastic that brought back a torrent of memories.

Will rubbed the beige casino chip absentmindedly with his thumb, lost in thought once again. However, this time the memories were both pleasant and tragic. His mind drifted back to that hot, sultry summer, when rumba and revolution consumed the island, and the sounds of slot machines was replaced with machine guns echoing in those long-ago nights, shattering the peace of paradise.

--------

It had all started innocently enough, with a suggestion from Jack to spend the fortnight of leave granted to the Ferryman in steamy, sensual Havana, It was 1957, a time of unfettered freedom for the tourists that swarmed from the steamships, the weekenders descending from the nightly flights from Miami, the pleasure seekers who sought fun in the sun and romance under the stars.

Will would have been perfectly content with spending his time ashore in blissful solitude with Jack, but Jack had insisted that he see the Tropicana nightclub while they were in Havana. “Ask your average person who’s visited Havana what they remember,” Jack had said, “and it’s always the same three things – Morro Castle, a bottle of Bacardi and Tropicana nightclub.”

“Or a church,” Will had pointed out fondly.

“Ah!” Jack held up a finger, “I most pointedly referred to the “average” person. You, my darling, are anything but that.” He grinned wickedly and added, “Though, on this visit, we won’t be going to church. I have other, much more better plans.”

And so, that was how Will found himself with Jack in the backseat of a taxi, careening down the Malecón on their way to the famous Tropicana nightclub.

“It says here that Tropicana is the largest and most beautiful nightclub in the world,” Jack said, consulting his Tourist Supplement. “Well, at least, it has long boasted this, and no one has yet come forward to contradict it, so I’m supposing it’s true.” He turned a page and began to read off statistics.

“There is no nitery anywhere in the world that matches the Tropicana for beauty as well as size. Tropicana is located on what was once a country estate, its tropical grounds with palm trees amidst its outdoor tables cover more than 36,000-square-meters. Able to accommodate 1750 nightly customers, the Tropicana is a resort spa unmatched anywhere else. For in addition to musical extravaganzas featuring lovely Latin girls, the club also has legalized gambling that includes everything from dollar slot machines to dice and roulette.”

“Sounds positively… large.” Will said, sinking back into his seat with a resigned sigh.

Jack glanced at the cab driver and surreptitiously snuck a hand onto Will’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Precisely! And all that largeness leaves approximately 28,000 square meters of well-kept gardens for other, er, pursuits.”

Will slid his hand around Jack’s and smiled. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Tropicana was located on the outskirts of Havana, and it was quite dark by the time the cab drove under the concrete arch spanning the entrance to the long drive, on which colorful, blinking neon lights spelled out TROPICANA. The road was lined with stately royal palms, their silver trunks illuminated by their headlights. Further along, through the tropical tangle of ferns and vines alongside the drive, they glimpsed the famous Tropicana muses, life-sized marble nymphs frolicking in a circle amidst a multi-colored spray of water.

The cab drove past the fountain and pulled to a stop underneath a swooping fan-shaped canopy. Other guests were arriving and being greeted by uniformed attendants, elegant ladies in cocktail dresses, accompanied by dapper, tuxedoed men. As the cab rolled to a stop and the door was opened, Jack brushed off his white linen pants and donned his Panama hat, before stepped quickly out of the cab. Will followed more slowly, the bright lights dazzled his eyes, the swirling colors and exotic scent of the surrounding gardens almost overwhelming his senses, long dormant from many years at sea.

The present-day Will closed his eyes. He could see it still, the sparkling chandeliers, the wide expanse of red carpet, the gambling room, just off the main lobby with its green felt tables and slot machines, and beyond that the nightclub's two dining, dancing and show areas. One outdoors, with tall royal palms rising among and over the tables; the other, the famous Crystal Arch, a huge, modernistic arch-like structure for use in inclement weather.

They had chosen to sit outside, in a grove of palms under the stars, the night air perfumed with the sweet smell of jasmine and gardenias. The orchestra music swelled around them like waves on the shore, the tranquil murmuring of the other diners and rum helped ease Will’s initial trepidation of the cabaret until…

“Showtime! Señoras y señores. Ladies and gentlemen. And a very good evening to you all, ladies and gentlemen. Muy buenas noches, damas y caballeros. Tropicana! the MOST fabulous nightclub in the world. – el cabaret MAS fabuloso del mundo – presents …

The thing that got him were the girls in the trees. From Jack’s description, Will had expected dancers on stage and in the aisles, but somehow failed to imagine a mini-jungle teeming with semi-clad women gyrating from branch to branch, driven on by the pulsating music. La Tropicana was not for the faint-hearted.

“Quite a spectacle, wouldn’t you agree?” Jack asked, leaning back in his chair and observing the chorus line on the catwalk immediately above them. He squinted with one eye and added, “Sort of like fighting along a yardarm, come to think of it.”

The show did remind Will somewhat of a battle. He watched in amusement as those seated in the front rows duck as sequinned and befeathered mauraders high-kicked their way towards them. Behind them, a crew of dancers, camouflaged as chandeliers, were advancing while airborne reinforcements, stripped for action in G-strings and nipple tassels, descended illuminated ladders from the dark skies.

“Beats skeleton pirates any day,” Will agreed.

They left the dining room and bronzed-skinned beauties to the tourists and made their way to the gaming room, where Jack was determined to try his hand at roulette. They wandered around the casino, stopping now and then to play a game of chance. All around them was the carnival atmosphere of the casino, the constant movement and music, the roll of the dice, the turn of the roulette wheel, the clicks and bells of the slot machines.

While Jack played roulette, Will played the slot machines. Placing a coin in a machine, he suddenly chuckled to himself. How easy it would be to just poke a finger through the glass and stop the spinning disks and win the jackpot. Jackpot. Will laughed out loud, struck by the irony of the word. And why not? Why not seize the moment, instead of relying on chance to deal the cards? As he knew first hand, the fickle goddess Fortuna did not always smile down upon the hapless player in the game of life.

Had it been mere chance by which Her wheel had turned, much like the roulette wheel that Jack was placing bets against? Or had Destiny placed her hand upon the wheel and given it a spin? Either way, the facts remained that life was nothing more than a series of chances, each one to be either capitalized upon or squandered. Looking around at the sea of faces – the old, the young, laughing faces that drifted from game to game, from chance to chance – Will could not help but wonder what brought them together here in this space in time. Was it lust for gold, that age-old folly and blindness that had plagued mankind from the beginning of time? After all, what was this modern race for wealth and social position but the gambling away of life – a fascination which led men and women, despite the loveliness of a tropical paradise surrounding them, to spend their days and their nights in the painted and gilded halls of the casino, with its brilliant lights and varied crowd, watching the revolutions of a little ball round a spinning wheel.

Jack had his own explanation, when they had finally left the casino at two o’clock in the morning. As they walked through the casino, with its opulent fixtures: the glittering walls, the carpeted stairs, the majestic chandeliers, Jack had said, “All that glitters is gold, the rest is only fantasy.”

---------

Will reflected back on that night, traveling back to a time out of time. Havana time had been like that in those days. Stepping in and out of the Tropicana had been like stepping in and out of reality. Inside, it was glitz and glitter and wealth. Outside, it was gloom and darkness and poverty and simmering rage. On the drive through Havana on their way to the Tropicana, they had passed the beggars in the plaza, blind and disfigured, the children in the streets, like bunches of rags and bones. This was the other side of paradise.

Havana, “one of the wickedest cities in the world,” the “Monte Carlo of the Americas, a paradise of tropical joy,” a city of skyscrapers and luxurious mansions – this tourist conception, had never truly reflected Cuban life; for behind the romantic postcards sold for the benefit of visitors there existed the very real misery of millions.

Misery that had fueled a revolution.

Yet, Will smiled, there had been peace in paradise, if only for a short while. He stood and went to the window, beyond the frosted panes the snow lay thick upon the ground. Smiling to himself, determined not to let a revolution ruin his memories, he rummaged around in the cupboard over the refrigerator, pushing aside the many seldom used items stored there until he found them.

Humming to himself, Will set about preparing for Jack’s return from the museum. At the stroke of six, as the sound of Jack’s key scraped in the latch, Will carefully lit the candles and placed the needle of the ancient phonograph onto the spinning vinyl, the sounds of Benny Moré flooding the room. Will, dressed in a black silk shirt and white linen slacks, met Jack at the door, handing him a fresh mojito in a tall glass, complete with colorful umbrella. To Jack’s delighted smile, Will led him into the room and swaying seductively to the rumba beat asked, “May I have this dance?”

----------

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me - Day Fourteen

2009-12-15T04:09:43Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day Fourteen

Rating: PG-13

****

Standing there, flabbergasted, Will turned the packet this way and that, wracking his morning-muddled brain to the extremes to figure out what Jack would possibly be referring to with a condom, of all things imaginable. It wasn’t like they’d ever needed one. Well, by the time they existed… Oh, and for those few experiments which led to the mutual agreement that strawberries definitely should be consumed as strawberries, and cocks enjoyed au natural… But this. What was the meaning of this?

Jack, hovering around and following keenly Will‘s reaction, he thought to give the man a small hint; “Willow? Is there anything I could get you from the store?”

------------

Shopping with Jack was always an experience. For the most part, if they were shopping for something Jack wanted, it was a pleasant enough outing. But heaven forbid Jack be dragged along on something as mundane as quick run to the corner grocer for some essentials.

It was bad enough to have Jack wander off, only to round a corner and find him at the frozen meat bin, juggling the Cornish game hens. Or sampling the produce. Or trying out the different air fresheners by spraying them in succession.

Or when he gallantly offers to push the trolley, which usually results into him finding the most mischievous looking, freckle-faced kid around, and challenging him to a race to the dairy section. That is, if he doesn’t just use the trolley as a tank to infiltrate through enemy lines, which, Will must have handed to him, worked wonders in the circuses of upcoming holiday seasons.

But the time they were politely, yet unmistakably, asked to leave the premises and preferably never to return, was the time when Jack had amused himself by randomly planting packets of condoms in unsuspecting customers’ carts. Which had all been fine and well, until that one charming lady, two rascals in tow and her belly pointing towards the heavens caught him in the act, and couldn’t quite find the humour in it.

After a brief exchange of words between the woman and Jack, Will, having followed the absurd unfold, was uncertain whether to fall on the floor laughing, or simply gather himself and pose as the legal guardian of the lunatic. With a deep, calming breath, Will thought of smoked herrings, and opted for the latter.

Which, naturally, when you’re merely fetching some cheese and popcorn with Jack Sparrow, leads to said lunatic bowing down gracefully, apologizing profusely for his behaviour, and promptly appending himself to the nearest clothes rack, drooping from a clothes hanger and marveling enthusiastically in not very discreet volumes, about the novelty of knowing exactly how it feels like to be a pajama.

By the time they’d reached the house wares section, someone must’ve alerted the security, since Jack hadn’t gotten even half way through adjusting the row of alarm clocks to sound off three minutes apart, when he was rudely interrupted.

Jack, dashing for his foolhardy escape, explained that he was ‘only disarming them, for the love of God, RUN!’ and skulking between the aisles, darting past innocent bystanders, who had arranged their most fetching smiles on their faces, undoubtedly suspecting they were on candid camera, since there just wasn’t any other explanation for a grown man to be running around while humming the James Bond-theme.

Jack, slightly breathless, halted in front of Will, saluted in full attention, and announced, to anyone who cared to listen, that the ‘mission was accomplished‘.

Indeed, somewhere along the line Jack had managed to find the cheese, the popcorn… together with a sign warning of wet floor.

Will glanced down the nearby aisle, where several employees were striding towards them with a determined air.

Plucking the sign and the nearly empty condom box from Jack’s hand Will placed the sign in front of a door marked ‘Employees Only‘, then, with a quirk of a smile, arm firmly around his waist, steered Jack towards the exit.

Both of them made their best efforts at blending in the queue, triumphing in succeeding with losing the bloodhounds from their tracks, and managed to pay for their purchases as if nothing out of the ordinary had never happened.

With the innocent flair of a choir boy, Will surreptitiously planted the next to last condom into the grocery sack of a young man they brushed past while leaving the store. Who knew what the young lad’s evening was about to offer. At least he came prepared.

Safely packed in their car from the flocks of frantic shoppers, not to mention avoiding the risk of getting arrested, Will turned to Jack, and could not restrain himself a second longer.

With Will rendered into a ball of howling laughter, and his head leaning uselessly against the steering wheel, Jack reached to stroke Will’s back, his own amusement mixed with his words as he struggled to get his words out; “You‘d rather I drove? I‘m not convinced of your driving under my influence.”

“Did you…” Will couldn’t get the rest out before another unrestrained snigger took hold of him. Scrunching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, he finally mustered; “You did notice you tossed one of those in a nun’s basket?”

After that, Jack, barely standing himself, got out and walked to the other side, half dragged, half lifted Will from the driver’s seat and lead him to the passenger side, where he slumped in a chuckling heap, each of Jack‘s antics flowing freely in his mind, in a stream which was unstoppable. “Good God how much I love you, Jack.”

----------------

Lifting his eyes from the silver packet which had the Pope, of all things as the décor, Will gave Jack a wicked grin, “Finish your coffee. We have shopping to do.”

----------------

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me - Day Twelve

2009-12-13T02:29:13Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day Twelve

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them.

Summary: Jack takes Will for a stroll down memory lane. Who knows where their path will lead.

Previous Walks: Day One, Day Four, Day Eight

---------

Will snirtled at his twelfth find in the depths of the pockets, the tiny plastic object rousing an immediate association with numerous little things, which, when combined, were truly worth savoring. No wonder Jack had seen it suitable to keep one of them…

---------

New to the town, Jack and Will perambulated around, looking in shop windows, savoring the crisp autumn weather. Halloween was two days away, and many of the storefronts were decorated for the season. The wind was brisk and there was a hint of snow in the air. Not the time of year when one’s mind turned to ice cream.

So, never one for the ordinary, when they passed the tiny ice cream shop, tucked between a hardware store and a beauty parlor, Jack insisted they go inside.

“Ice cream?” Will had asked, incredulously. “I’m freezing, Jack. Last thing I want is something cold.”

“It’ll be fun,” Jack tried to convince, pointing at a sign excitedly. “Look, they have thirty-one flavors to choose from.”

“Why would anyone need thirty-one different flavors of ice cream? What’s wrong with vanilla?”

“See? That’s the problem with the world these days,” Jack brushed aside the words, pushing the door open with an apprehensive Will in tow, the bell above jingling cheerfully. “It’s been reduced to one, bland, blur of a single homogenized flavor, no real sense of adventure anymore.”

“I like vanilla,” Will muttered in quiet indignance, but followed Jack into the brightly lit store. Its décor, black and white checkered floor and bright pink wrought iron, glass topped tables and chairs, complete with pink and white striped seats, made Will feel like he’d walked into Candy Land.

The shop was empty, except for a pimply-faced youth behind the counter, his shock of red hair sticking haphazardly out from under his white paper hat. One entire side of the store was taken up with glass-fronted ice cream coolers, one of which had Jack’s nose practically plastered against.

“Look, Will!” Beckoning the man who half expected Hansel and Gretel to appear any moment now, Jack marveled at the abundance of choice. “Have you ever seen such a selection?”

Will was studying the sign on the wall, listing the different flavors, including the Flavors of the Month; Pumpkin Spice, Egg Nog, Apple Pie a la Mode, these seasonal flavors he could understand. But… The Rummy? Frankenberry? Count Chocula?

“May I help you?” the teenager behind the counter asked in a bored voice.

Will smiled politely. “Not very busy tonight.”

“Nah, no one eats ice cream in October. You’re the first customers I’ve had.”

“Well then,” Jack said, joining Will, “You won’t mind letting us try a few flavors, will you,” Jack paused and read the boy’s nametag, “Nathan. You’ve got the time.”

“Sure,” Nathan said cheerfully. “Pick your poison.” He grinned, fetching a cup full of small, colorful , bright fluorescent spoons. At Jack’s raised brow he added, “For the season, you know. Aliens. Monsters. Brides of the Atom… ”

“You see, Will,” Jack explained, smirking at the eye roll Will gave at Jack‘s tone. “You can get a small, and usually pink, spoon sample of any ice cream.” Joshing Will on with the lecture, Jack nodded in all his exaggerated seriousness as if convincing a skeptical child of there really being Santa.

“And even multiple pink spoons! Or, like in this here instance, green, glowing spoons, if your little heart so desires. And you know what the whole goal is?” Leaning towards Will, cunningly readying to reveal a well kept secret, Jack whispered loudly; “If you have a taste, and you like it, you might try a whole scoop.”

Armed with a green spoon in each hand, Nathan saw his opportunity arise when Will only stared at Jack for a spell, then mouthed soundlessly ‘Vanilla.’

“So what first?”

Will studied the sign studiously, and then the colorful array of tubs in the cooler. Aided by a sharp jab of an elbow to his side, Will sighed resignedly, and frowned. “Um, I think I’ll try… Monster Mash?”

“And you?” Nathan turned to widely grinning, beaming Jack.

“The Rummy, if you‘d be so kind.”

---------

Thirty-one minutes, flavors, and a literal mountain of small bright spoons later, the weary Nathan, chin on hand, watched as the two men haggled over their flavors of choice.

“Vanilla,” Will said firmly.

“Coconut cream pie? Cookies and cream? Rocky Road?” Jack asked hopefully.

“No, Jack. I tried them all, at your insistence. I still like vanilla best.”

Sighing, Jack turned to the bored attendant and said resignedly, “We’ll take vanilla.”

“Cone or cup?”

“Cone.”

“Waffle or sugar?”

“Um, er, William. Which cone?”

Will smiled. “A pint. Hand packed, to go, please.”

“No cone?”

“No, Jack. You said it was my call.”

“Not even a sprinkle? A cherry?”

“We have everything we need at home.” Will thanked Nathan for his assistance, and took the bag with the ice cream. “Look, it’s snowing.” He pointed out the front glass window, where large, wet flakes of snow were beginning to fall.

“Might as well close the shop,” Nathan said. “No one ever comes in when it snows.”

The two men left him with a wave, and began trudging their way down the sidewalk towards their flat.

“Will? What toppings do we have at home?” Jack asked curiously.

Will just smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see.”

---------

Hours later, the two men were stretched on the rug in front of the hearth, the well served, empty container of ice cream discarded in favor of more tasty pursuits. Lulled by their lovemaking, Will reclined in Jack’s lap, while the latter ran his fingers lightly through his hair. Sighing deeply, Will snuggled closer to Jack, eyes half closed in peaceful bliss. His sleepy revere was interrupted by Jack, who asked suddenly, “Why did you insist on vanilla, when you could have had any flavor?”

Will kissed a trail down from Jack‘s neck to his ear, gathering his thoughts, then pressed his forehead on Jack‘s head with a content sigh. “I don’t need any other flavors, Jack. You‘re about all the spice and topping I could hope to handle.”

At Jack turning to look at Will, he captured Jack’s lips in the perfect balance of tastes, lingering in the delectable onslaught on his senses as his fancies were all there at once.

Parting, Will smiled gleefully, tenderly brushing his thumb over Jack’s lip; “Besides, vanilla is my favourite.”

---------

Twirling the brightly colored spoon between his fingers, the smile playing on his lips occasionally hidden with a lip-bite, Will sat on the sofa, the heady, tasty mix of Jack and vanilla ghosting on his tongue as if it had all happened yesterday.

A sudden rummaging sound from the kitchen disturbed his reminiscing, but before he could set out to investigate the source, Jack stood at the living room door, an opened pint of vanilla ice cream in hand, and licking his finger clean of the sample he’d apparently hadn’t been able to resist.

Jack’s eyes gleamed merrily as he offered the treat to Will with an innocent quirk of his brow, a nigh coy smile, and the most bewitching word he could conjure; “Breakfast?”

---------

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me - Day Eight

2009-12-08T10:59:07Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day Eight

Rating: PG

It was now day eight of the Christmas calendar. Will had been surprised, amused and even mystified so far at the assortment of memories Jack had chosen to stash in the previous pockets. Now, with the snow piling up outside the flat, and Jack off to the shop for some breakfast items (Darling, we cannot have a proper English breakfast without scones. And marmalade. Must have some of that as well,” Jack had ticked off on his fingers. “And those little pastries you are so fond of. I’ll just pop down to the baker’s and leave you to your thoughts.” Then with a kiss and a wink, Jack had departed, bundled up like an Eskimo, still not acclimated to the cold English winter.), Will settled down in front of the fireplace, mug of steaming hot coffee at hand, to see what the day’s pocket had to offer.

Will stared at the little wooden box, which Jack had tucked inside the calendar for this day. How had he come by it, he wondered. Will had thought it lost long ago. He glanced up at the clock on the mantel, Jack should be returning from the shop soon. His gaze returned to the box in his hand, as he lifted the latch and opened it, a torrent of memories washed him back into his past.

------

The churchyard was not as he remembered it, but smaller, shabbier, the weathered gravestones leaning, as if the sorrow permeating the air around them weighed them down. The worn gravel path was obscured by the previous night’s snowfall, unblemished by either man or beast.

Will Turner hesitated at the wrought iron gate set in the crumbling stone wall. His many years as Ferryman still did not erase the ache of loss, the years fading away as he recalled her dying words.

------

“Take this, Will. Your father wanted you to have it.”

His mother clasped her hands around his, pressing him to take the gold coin. The grotesque skull mocked him, the smell of death surrounding him.

“Go, find him,” his mother had whispered.

“But where?” Will fought back his tears. “How will I find him? He could be anywhere.”

His mother closed her eyes and Will thought she’d fallen asleep when she spoke again. “In my drawer.” She wheezed, each word a struggle.

Will went over to the dresser and opened the drawer where his mother kept all her keepsakes. Under the childish scrawls and clumsy drawings was a small hinged wooden box, the shape of a compass, but smaller. He remembered seeing his mother sitting by the window with it in her hand, watching, waiting.

Carrying it back to her bedside, Will held it out for her. Smiling, she nodded. “Open it.”

Inside the small box was an intricate design made up of tiny shells, arranged in geometric patterns. In the center were three words. THINK OF ME.

“Your father, he said these were common in the islands. Take this with you. That is where you’ll find him.”

------

Will brushed the snow from the stone, running a slow finger along the simple inscription. THINK OF ME.

Reaching into his pocket, Will took the small posy of flowers he’d bought from the flower girl in the lane and laid them gently on the snowy grave. Standing up, he laid his hand flat on the stone, letting the cold seep into his skin, all the while giving his own warmth to the tomb.

“I found him, Mum.” Will’s voice was quiet, as if he’d not want to disturb the peace. ”Found your Bill. He meant to return, but, well, things went wrong.”

Will paused, then added, “He’s a good man, just as you always said.”

As Will brushed his hand on the headstone, a calm settled within him. There was nothing more to be said, no need for words. Not anymore.

With a final sweep of a finger across the words on his mother’s grave, Will smiled and turned, leaving the grave without another glance.

He’d made his peace with both of them now. It was time for them to make amends of their own.

------

The tranquil nest of the memories was swept away by the tsunami of Jack’s return from the shop. Stomping snow off his boots, he burst into the room, arms full of brown paper bags spilling over with the bounty of his foraging. Life, bright wonderful life flooded the room as Jack babbled on about scones and snow and scandals, all the while shedding wet coat and scarves on his path to the kitchen.

Jack shut his mouth at the sight of Will palming the day’s trip to time long past, a look of worry passing his features, until he found Will’s eyes gleaming with mirth rather than sorrow.

Familiar with both the story behind the inscription on the headstone of Mrs. Turner, as well as the history of the Sailor’s Valentine in Will’s hands, as he’d been right there, watching from a distance, as his beloved made it to the end of a long, long path, Will’s words made perfect sense, as he looked at Jack, at the wooden box, and then Jack again; “Do you think we should pay her a visit?”

-------

Drabble - Inseparable

2009-12-06T04:21:40Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Inseparable

Rating: G

Characters: Jack, Giselle
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.
Words: 100
Prompt: One of a Kind at blackpearlsails

Summary: Jack allows Giselle to handle his most treasured possession...

****

“It’s one of a kind.”

“Don’t look all that much.”

“Well, that’s just it. If it looked like much, it’d be something you knew, henceforth, not so very unique.”

“Oh.”

“Here, take it in your hand, how’s it feel?”

“It’s heavier than I thought. So smooth!”

“Run your fingers along it. Now, have you ever felt anything quite like it?”

“No, never.”

“Told you. One of a kind. Like you. Don’t let many handle it. You can even try it if you want.”

“Really?”

“Well, go on.”

“You mean here? In front of everyone?”

“Why not?”

“Oh! It fits perfectly!”

****

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me - Day Four

2009-12-05T01:20:41Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day 4

Rating: PG

“Jack?” Will patted at the fourth pocket of his Calendar inquisitively, his fingers having touched upon nothing when he’d unbuttoned it on its hold under the framed canvas print of a duck in a coffee cup.

“Yes?” Jack looked up from his laptop, hair tousled, just undraping his morning-muzzled brain enough to perform basic maneuvers.

“It’s empty,” giving the pouch one more brush, Will turned to Jack, equally drowsy, still, the excitement of finding yet another item linking them to their past pounding in his chest. “There’s nothing there.”

Squinting through one eye, Jack checked the number on the pocket, then leaned back, crossing his legs under the table, reaching his coffee mug, and waved an airy hand, “It’s there,” Jack smiled cunningly into his mug, “I swear I’m not cheating.”

______________

“Guess which one?” Jack stood in the room, barely gotten back from negotiating a parallel, alternative means for the East Indian Trading Company’s monopoly over the spice trade, hands behind his back, looking at Will with glee sparkling in his eyes.

"I'm not sure I want to see what is in either," Will said with a dubious glance at the man in front of him. “How did it go?”

“Fine, fine,” Jack waved a hand to sweep the unimportant issues aside. “With a bit of luck, we’ll not have the King’s Navy at our tail while making large sums of money deporting black pepper to Portugal…” Lifting his chin expectantly, Jack saw the matter handled. “Now guess.”

“Left,” Will announced with a smirk, knowing full well that Jack’s right hand was empty, the swish giving him away.

Jack rolled his eyes inward dramatically and put out his left arm, hand still clenched in a fist. With a dramatic pause between each, he slowly opened his hand, one bejeweled finger at a time. There appeared to be nothing there.

"You cheated," Will said, giving Jack a knowing smirk. "As per the usual."

"I did not!" Jack waved his open palm under Will's nose impatiently.

Will squinted at Jack’s hand, peering closer until his nose was practically touching. He gingerly plucked the small object from Jack’s palm and held it up to the light.

“A… bean?”

“Not just any bean, my dear.” Jack took the tiny red seed and held it reverently. “This here is a magic, lucky bean.”

“Magic lucky bean.” Will folded his arms. “And you are Jack the Giant Slayer.”

Jack seemed stunned for a moment, then carefully leaned closer to Will, saying in a quiet voice; “Darling, there ain’t such thing as giants,” he straightened himself, thoroughly confused, “how could I’ve slain one? …Unless, there’s a bean stalk you’d like me to climb…”

Picking the small bean from Jack, Will smiled at him fondly, “Yes, Jack, that’s about the size of it.”

"Oh, no worries, then," Jack smiled smugly, pointedly ignoring any indication of anything than his point in case: the red seed on Will‘s palm, no bigger than an average peppercorn. "Now that is not just your ordinary garden variety bean you have there."

"You already said that," Will said, studying the trinket, frowning at it, "It appears to have something stuck in it." He began to wriggle the small white stopper awkwardly, biting his lower lip in concentration.

"Here, let me," Jack said, helpfully, holding both his hands under Will‘s.

Seeing it best to let Jack do the honours, Will dropped the bean on Jack’s palm, following keenly as the miniscule cork unstoppered.

“Now,” Jack started in an educating tone, “in here, what you’re about to find is nothing less than twelve elephants.”

“Elephants,” Will said, incredulously. “In there.” He pointed to the red bean Jack held between thumb and forefinger.

Jack just gave an enigmatic smile and gently tapped the bean against his palm. Out fell several small white objects, no bigger than mites of dust.

“Elephants,“ Jack beamed, “granted, you need to look carefully, in order to see their finer features,” Jack demonstrated with his hand the trunk of an elephant, “but they are elephants nonetheless.“ Pausing for an enchanting spell, Jack bowed forward, sharing a secret; “And each one will grant you a wish.”

“There are thirteen of them,” Will stated soundly, much to Jack’s astonishment.

“What do you mean?”

“The elephants, there’s thirteen of them.”

With Jack inspecting his hand suspiciously, Will poked at the stopper, “thirteenth.”

“Humph,” Jack said, giving the miniature elephants a jab. “The legend only specifies twelve – twelve wishes, one for each elephant. Seems a bit greedy of you to be wanting thirteen of ‘em.”

“You were the one that brought up the wishes.” Will held up the ivory stopper. “And, if the elephants grant wishes, logic would say number thirteen is just as lucky as the other twelve.”

“But you must understand,” Jack tried to hold his nerves, stepping to the table in the room, “it’s the inside that counts. The, shall we say, excessive one, in on the outside.” Daintily, Jack spread the miniature beasts on the wood, quietly spreading them out, counting.

“The biggest one is still an elephant,” Will grumbled begrudgingly, not entirely buying into Jack’s theory, yet, his interest piqued at the impossibly small items on the table. “How are they made?”

“Nobody knows,” Jack proclaimed with certain pride of the undecipherable. “It’s magic.”

Will opened his mouth in a silent, all-encompassing, “Ahh.”

Jack sighed, conceding to the fact that there were, indeed, thirteen elephants, and gave a meek look at Will, then promptly licked the tip of a finger, picked one of the wafer-thin elephants up and after giving it a quick, suspicious glare, did what any other logical person would do in a similar situation, and popped it into his mouth.

“What are you doing?!” Will’s alarm was obvious.

“What? Twelve elephants, Will. Satisfied?” Keeping his lips nigh sealed, Jack uttered, “suddenly twelve’s not enough for you? You‘d wanted that one more wish?”

Chuckling, his eyes gleaming, fully understanding that Jack couldn’t possibly bring bad luck aboard the Pearl once they embarked, Will took a step forth, shaking his head slowly, holding Jack‘s gaze. “It was just granted.”

“Oi!” I’m not that easy,” Jack joined Will’s mirth with feigned indignance, swallowing just in time with Will’s lips sealing his own, the slight possibility that Will was conniving, and only trying to get his unlucky wish back flashing in his mind when their tongues met, Jack soon forgot all his niggles, as Will broke the kiss enough to mumble a sincerely curious question, “Mmph, Jack? Why twelve?”

“Ah!” Lifting a finger, Jack smiled against Will’s lips, then descended into a deep, thoughtful frown, pecking small kisses at Will’s lower lip. Finally, he lowered his hand resignedly, then landed it firmly on Will’s bottom. “I have no clue, love.”

______________

Staring at the red seed, lost in a reverie, Will almost didn’t notice Jack getting up and coming to him, startled, pleasantly, at the low, silent voice asking, Jack sliding his arm around Will’s shoulders, “What d’you reckon, eh?” Jack looped Will eyes to look into his own. “Any of those wishes come true?”

Wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist, Will gently uncorked the ancient bead, and shook out a single flake of an elephant upon his palm. Reaching his lips to Jack’s ear, Will closed his fingers over the minute ivory item, his eyes fluttering shut, as he claimed, “each and every one, Jack.”

______________

Ficlet Series: Walk With Me

2009-12-02T03:36:36Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Walk With Me - Day 1

Rating: G

****

On the morning of December the first, Will drowsily slouched himself toward the kitchen, giving himself a small laugh as the floor seemed to dip under his feet still, even when Jack had graciously spent the past two days easing the withdrawals of the sea with the lull of his own.

Rubbing his eyes with one, and getting a glass out of the cupboard with his other hand, running water from the tap until cold enough, Will paused to double-take on what hadn’t fully registered on the first glance.

On the kitchen table sat what seemed to be a bundle of cloth wrapped into a roll, about a cubit wide, a bright fir-green ribbon tied in a bow around it, against which leaned a simple, white card.

Chucking down his drink of water, Will deposited the glass on the counter and approached the roll with increasing curiosity.

The card bore his name, written by Jack’s hand, and inside the folded cardboard, there were a few lines introducing Will to what to expect of the packet;

‘Within there lies histories, lived and re-lived, some of them remembered, some forgotten, some, mayhaps, even better to be left there, which we cannot know, before we find out on our own.

Will you, Will Turner, do me the honour of allowing me to take you on a stroll down the memory lane?

Yours,
Jack’

Tugging open the bow, Will found the wrap of cloth heavier than he’d anticipated, and carefully unraveled it, revealing rows of pockets, each neatly stitched to the canvas wrap, each closed with an assortment of buttons, some of which Will instantly found familiar.

On each pocket, there was an embroidered number, all twenty-four of them, and although the stitches of the pockets themselves proved Jack still knowing how to mend a main sail, the numbers were iron-on patches.

Straightening his personal Christmas calendar out, Will patted some of the bumps, then, intrigued, unbuttoned the pocket declaring this day.

Will fingered the red beads of the rosary, each with its distinctive black cap. Rosary beans, found all over the islands, beautiful and deadly.

****

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Jack had said the day they’d picked up the souvenir at the local market stall. “How many paternosters were mumbled over these deadly beads, I wonder.”

“Deadly?” Will ran the smooth beads through his fingers, each one identical to the next.

Jack nodded. “Aye, beautiful and deadly.” He took the rosary from Will and held it up in the sunlight. “There is enough poison in just one of these bright beauties to kill a grown man.” He turned the beads over and mused, “Remember seeing a mate of mine, on one of me first ships, die a dreadful way after eating just two of these, on a dare.” He shuddered. “Took him three days to die, weren’t nothing any of us could do.”

“That’s terrible!” Will looked at the assortment of necklaces and bracelets on display, like so many drops of blood on the table’s cloth. “How can they sell them if they are so poisonous?”

Jack forked his fingers and said in an ominous voice, “Because they ward off the evil eye.” He picked up a bracelet and added, “The locals call them ‘jumbie beans’ for that very reason.”

Turning to the wizened old woman running the booth, Jack held up the rosary and asked, “How much?” before delving into his pocket for the coins. Then, with a flourish, he placed the red beads around Will’s neck. Patting them gently to Will’s chest, Jack smiled. “No evil spirit shall haunt you now, dear Will.” He let his fingers linger on the beads before snapping his fingers and saying brightly, “Just…try to keep them out of your mouth, love.”

“Promise,” Will smiled as the two resumed their stroll through the marketplace.

****

Vignette: Nativity

2009-11-28T20:43:50Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Nativity

Rating: R

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner (J/W)
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

Warnings: Religious imagery that some may consider blasphemous.

Summary: Forever is a very long time...

A/N: A sequel to the story, the Graveyard Ghost, and follows Leap of Faith, and Resurrection Man.

“We can live without religion and meditation, but we cannot survive without human affection.”
~ Dalai Lama

****

And so, on this Christmas morn, Words became Flesh, and in the Flesh, they became One, through the restorative power of earthly Wine turning to Blood turning to divine Love. No longer did the world lie in endless darkness, the Hound no longer bayed at his door. Wrapped in the warmth of Will’s arms, Jack drank the Blood and ate the Flesh from his lips, blessing the Guiding Star which had led them.

In humble sanctuary, they gave each other a gift more precious that Gold, and like the Phoenix bird, built their funeral pyre out of myrrh and frankincense, their burning desire for Life eternal, if only to live this moment again, chasing away the sadness, demons and sorrows of mortality.

In a tangled, cinnamon scented version of a long forgotten scripture, the pure Light had returned in the World, and in Him, there was Life; and in the Life was the Light of men…And the Light shone steady, surrounding, guarding, the unwavering flame alighting him; giving Birth to Love, the Love to Life, the Life to Love, cycling infinitely, and in that Love was their Rebirth.

Drink this wine, he’d said to the Flame, and offered openly his sinless heart, holding the vessel from which it was served against the mouth that licked, finding fulfillment, until the final drop, and still, did not let go. For there was more; A union consecrated by even the most frightful God.

And so, on this Christmas morn, they were born anew.

****

Ficlet - Resurrection Man

2009-11-28T03:59:27Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Resurrection Man

Rating: G

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.

Summary: Forever is a very long time...

A/N: A sequel to the story, the Graveyard Ghost, and follows the vignette, Leap of Faith.

****

“So, what d’you reckon we should do now?” Jack asked, unhurriedly stretching his legs to the blazing fire, obviously at peace with himself and the surrounding world.

Will glanced at the pub’s multi-paned window, comfortable heat settling into his limbs caused by the drink, the hearth, and the company. “Snow’s piling up out there,” he observed quietly. “Traveling is out of the question tonight.” He gave a look around the snug room, half full of revelers drinking to the season. “I suppose I’d better see if the landlord has any rooms to let.”

“Won’t be finding any room at the inn, not at this time of year.” Jack gestured towards the door. “But, it just so happens,” Jack perked up and leaned forth, the hearth giving him a soft, warm flair, “I’ve a place, just down the road. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and dry, and…warm.” He then rose, and placed his hat on his head, with that familiar gesture Will remembered so well. “I believe you’ll find it a bit more comfortable resting place than the graveyard.” Jack’s eyes twinkled in the firelight, his entire countenance speaking of a man who’d had the world’s weight removed from his shoulders when he stepped in front of Will and offered out his hand. “If you don’t mind joining me?”

“I can’t think of anything that’d make me happier,” Will said, matching smile for smile, and taking Jack‘s hand.

For a passing, brief second, neither man knew how to let go.

“Off we go then,” Jack cleared his throat and chucked down the rest of his mull, unsure if the flush he felt spreading across his face came from the spiced wine, or the ease with which Will first threw on his own coat, patted even his sleeves, and held out Jack’s as if he’d done so a hundred times before.

Jack shrugged on his coat with a thanks, and shouldered his way to the bar to purchase a bottle for the road, only to be halted by a gent at a nearby table suddenly turning to grab Jack by the lapel of his coat. A bleary eyed patron pointed at him, squinting, and upon recognition, said excitedly, “Blimey! You! Ain’t you Harper’s Ghost?”

“As I am neither dead nor dying, I find that highly unlikely,” Jack answered amusedly, following his afterthought as he noticed Will having proceeded to the intended purchase, “Although, much like Mr. Scrooge, I too, have been visited by a ghost from Christmas past.”

“You’ve seen ‘em, then!” A companion of the first man said. “Always knew o’ Harper was tellin’ the truth.”

“Now, Ned, you’ve not said nothin’ of the sort!” The first man set his pint down and wagged an educating finger at his friend. “If I recollect, you weres just sayin’ yesterday how Harper’d be seeing ghosts in his bottle again.”

“What was he like, this ghost?” Ned the now-believer gawked at Jack and asked, ignoring the other.

Will, a bottle of rum, and one of the tavern’s own produce - the spicy mull in hand, stepped up and said, “I‘m afraid, gentlemen, that he also was neither dead nor dying. In fact, I‘d hesitate to call him a ghost at all.”

“So there ain’t no ghost? At all?” Ned sat back, a rather crest-fallen expression on his face.

“Oh, the ghost was real, all right, contrary to what my less-than-superstitious companion here might be telling you,” Jack hastened to reassure the disappointed man while Will hid his chuckle in a cough.

“And,” Jack grinned at Will, “as in Mr. Dickens’ wonderful tale, he offered his partner a second chance, a chance to make right all the wrongs of his past.” Jack fished in his pocket for some coins and set them on the table. “A round, landlord! For all these fine gents, in the spirit of Christmas past, present and all the other kinds.”

Amidst the cheering and toasting, Jack and Will managed to slip out of the pub unnoticed, and made their way up the snowy street. The storm had passed, leaving the dark, clear sky ablaze with stars. The moon glistened on the virgin snow, so like a Christmas carol from long ago.

Draping a companionable arm around Will’s shoulders, and gaining Will’s arm around his waist in return, Jack stopped to take in Will’s face as if to confirm that his senses weren‘t betraying him, then shook his head once with a deep, delighted sigh. Composing himself, and with heartfelt cheer and an all-encompassing wave over the harsh, blue scenery, Jack declared, “Ain’t it just the perfect weather for a little stroll, my dear Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?”

****

Drabble - Tis the Season

2009-11-27T16:52:49Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Tis the Season

Rating: G

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.
Words: 100
Prompt: Charming at blackpearlsails

Summary: Even the most parsimonious personalities can be persuaded...with the right leverage...

****

“I met him, once, you know.”

“You’ve met him.”

“Aye. Christmas before last. Went to see him about the local Mariners’ fund.”

“You? Jack Sparrow, collecting for charity?”

“The boys asked, as a favor. Times were tough, they needed someone of the more persuasive nature.”

“And you were able to persuade Mr. Scrooge to part with some of his money?”

“Aye! He’s quite charming, you know. Not t’all like they say. He was more than happy to oblige a small bequest, in the spirit of the season, of course, once he saw the point…”

“…of your sword, no doubt.”

“Precisely.”

****

Havana Revisited - No Peace in Paradise

2009-11-25T14:37:03Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Havana Revisited - No Peace in Paradise

Rating: R

Characters: Jack/Will

Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them. Over and over it seems.

Special thanks as always to the brilliant danglingdingle , for her beta magic, suggestions and so much more.

Havana Revisited - Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , 8 , 9 , 10

A/N: Set in 1957 Havana on the eve of a Revolution.

****

Havana Revisited – Part 11 – No Peace in Paradise

****

“Does he have to keep doing that?”

The blonde American woman asked the waiter, looking down her nose at the adjoining table. “Our travel agent assured us this was the finest hotel in Havana, and yet we find ourselves seated next to these horrible people. I cannot believe your establishment allows that sort to dine here. I demand you remove them, or I will go to the Tourist Counsel and lodge a complaint!” Her voice rose to a shrill pitch, catching the attention of the other diners around her.

The object of the woman’s scorn and obvious disgust was at the moment deeply engrossed in telling a tale to his captivated audience.

“And there they were, Davy Jones, Captain of the Flying Dutchman, fighting on the yardarm against the infamous pirate, Captain Sparrow.”

“Captain Sparrow? Any relation?” Marta asked, raising a skeptical but elegantly shaped eyebrow.

“I’m told I’m a spitting image of him,” Jack said, with a wink for Will. “So there they were, meeting blow for blow, their swords clashing as the raging maelstrom swirled beneath them,” he continued, with a flourish.

Jack had skewered one of the baby octopi on the tip of his knife, and it was now dancing across the rim of the paella pan, a plastic cocktail sword in hand, battling against an olive-headed fork opponent in a furious fight to the death.

“Meanwhile,” Will added in an ominous voice, getting into the spirit of the moment, “the cursed crew of the Dutchman were fighting the other pirates in hand to…fin combat.” He danced a prawn menacingly towards Mercedes, who shrieked and giggled at the antics.

The couple at the next table watched with open contempt. “They are nothing but barbarians,” the man growled.

His wife gasped in horror as she watched Jack deal the death blow, decapitating the octopus head with a swipe of the cocktail sword, sending the diminutive cephalopod flying through the air to land neatly in her martini with a splash.

“Oh! Oh!!” She leapt up, hurrying to wipe the drink off her gown, her husband clumsily trying to help.

The waiter rushed to assist, signaling for a busboy to fetch the maitre’d.

“Sorry!” Jack called to the woman, flashing a golden grin her way.

“This is an outrage!” The woman’s face turned red as she sputtered. “I have never seen such, such… such grievous behavior in my life!”

The maitre’d quickly reassured the American couple they’d be duly compensated, with their dinner and drinks on the house. Handing them a handful of casino chips, he apologized profusely and quickly escorted them to another table. Then, with thunder in his eyes he stalked back across the dining room.

“Captain Sparrow, I am going to have to ask you and your guests to leave the premises at once.”

Jack waved a hand towards the crowded room and said cordially, “No worries, my dear Claudio. We were just going.” He rose and pulled out the chair for Marta. “My friends have promised to show us around your lovely city.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a $50 bill, reached for Claudio’s hand and shook it, clasping his own hands around the monetary apology with a wink, “Perhaps this will make up for the earful you’re bound to hear.”

Claudio kept his stern face but gave Jack a wink in return. “I am sure the management will see to it that the Americans are amply compensated for any inconveniences.”

Will helped Mercedes with her wrap and the four of them made their way towards the door, their path taking them past the table where the disgruntled tourists had been relocated. As they passed Jack leaned over with a light touch on the woman’s shoulder, and whispered loudly.

“It’s pronounced egregious.”

****

“So what do we do now?” Will asked Jack, once they reached the lobby of the hotel.

Jack nodded his head towards the reception desk. “Find a new hotel, for starters.” He chuckled and added, obviously indulging in a shared memory, “I wager we have once again overstayed our welcome.”

Marta sniffed, seeming like she felt they should have never chosen such a bourgeois establishment in the first place.

“Does this happen often?” Mercedes asked innocently.

“Jack has a tendency to see rules as mostly guidelines.” Will gave her a ghost of a smile. “And a low tolerance for them being arbitrarily enforced,” his smile adapting a whole different feel when he turned to see Jack strolling back with his arms spread wide and his head tilted with glee, as if to wonder, ‘What can I do?’

Jack, having returned from settling the bill, overheard this last statement and laughed. “Rules, written by the privileged to keep the undesirables from getting too close to the privileged, while the privileged give not a thought to the fact that it is the undesirables who give them the privilege of being the privileged to begin with.”

“Exactly! The rich oppressing the poor,” Marta said vehemently, no longer able to contain her revolutionary fervor. “Imperialist pigs. That is who stays here.”

“And you’re convinced that everyone who stays at this hotel is an imperialist pig.” Clearly put off by the sudden outburst, Jack withdrew his arm he’d intended to offer to his date.

“They’re all corrupt, these people.” Marta said, waving an arm around the crowded lobby. “All these fucking Americans. Absolutely corrupt. They are the ones who keep Batista in power and make him rich while he fucks the country and keeps everyone poor.” She crossed her arms and added, “They’ll be the first to go come the revolution.”

Exchanging baffled looks with Jack, Will attempted to calm the strident woman down.

“Jack and I did not come here to oppress anyone. And I am sure these other people didn’t either,” he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “A simple vacation is all we had in mind.”

“Simple?” She raised her voice, causing more than a few heads to turn their way. “You come here for what? To gamble? To spend your filthy Yankee dollars on sex shows? You are no better than the others.”

Jack gritted his teeth, and grasping her elbow, steered the irate woman towards the front doors with a clear warning in his sharp whisper. “We are going to leave now, quietly. Or would you rather have us all arrested for disturbing the peace?”

Once outside, Jack flagged down a taxi, and unceremoniously deposited Marta in the back seat. Leaning to the driver’s window, Jack held out a handful of dollars and instructed him in a low growl, “Take these women wherever it is they are going.”

“Cowardly bourgeois pig!” Marta spat.

Jack bowed with a flourish. “I wish I could say it has been a pleasure.”

Mercedes turned troubled eyes from her friend to the men. “Thank you, Captain Sparrow, Captain Turner.” She smiled sadly , “I had a wonderful time.” Glancing down shyly, Mercedes then looked back up and added in a cheered tone, “I hope the pirates won.”

This as their departing words, Will and Jack watched as the cab pulled away from the curb and headed down the drive. Signaling for another, Jack suddenly looked weary, the weight of the ages upon his shoulders when he sought to brush his hand on Will’s consolingly. “Did they?”

Havana was no longer a peaceful paradise.

****

Fuck this shit.

Jack tapped on the taxi driver’s shoulder and said curtly, “We’ve changed plans. Take us to Cojimar.”

“But Señor,” the cabbie said, “it is many miles away.”

“This should get us there.” Jack stuffed several large bills into the startled man’s breast pocket, his patience running thin. “That should cover any fares you might miss tonight.”

“Sí, Señor,” the driver beamed, putting the car in gear and merging into the night’s traffic. “A lovely night for a seaside drive.”

Settling back in the seat, Jack surreptitiously intertwined his fingers in Will’s and wearily closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the seat. Squeezing Will’s hand gently, he murmured, “I promise to make it up to you.”

Will ran his thumb along the back of Jack’s hand in lazy circles. “I have seen worse. I only hope you are not thinking I…”

Shaking his head with a warning look, Jack changed the subject. “I hope the fishing is as good as they say in the tourist books,” he said loudly, nodding casually towards the cab driver, who seemed inordinately interested in their conversation. Sliding his hand unobtrusively from Will’s, Jack fished a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with flourish.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Jack gestured to the view as the sped along the Malecón. Up ahead, the dark outline of the Morro fortress overlooked the moonlit bay, the lantern of the lighthouse setting a languid rhythm as it glowed and dimmed and glowed again.

Will nodded, the sight of the peaceful water helping to soothe his troubled mind. The two men settled into an easy silence, their fingers again, as if on their own accord, finding each others’ in the darkened cab, the simple contact grounding them both.

Jack stared out the window without seeing. How did it come to all this? A simple holiday, that was all he’d hoped for, time to spend with Will, a respite, away from all the death and despair that came with his duties as the Ferryman. A chance to reacquaint with one another, to be in peace, blessed peace, without the worries of the worlds, and what was left of the worlds that still plagued them, was to be talked and talked about, and finally, put to rest.

They would leave Havana. Put this town to their rudder, set sail for Key West on the morning tide. Away from the craziness that had come over Cuba, far away from the inevitable bloodshed that would surely erupt, as it always did. They’d seen enough of that, enough conflict in their many years, quite enough to last them several lifetimes.

Perhaps they’d visit again one day, when life had returned to normal on the innocent island. But for now, Havana had lost its charm. Robbed of it by power – hungry hands greedily scraping at every inch of the bottom, and throwing what they found carelessly aside, since nothing would ever be enough.

Sighing, Jack leaned back and gave Will’s hand a squeeze, the rejoining caress banishing Jack’s anxiety, and carrying his mind into marveling once again at how just the slightest touch of those fingers could erase and smooth out all his worries, ease all the burdens of daily life, distilling all time into one moment, one touch, one heart.

One soul.

****

Drabble and a Half - Hound of Hell

2009-11-25T03:05:45Z

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Hound of Hell

Rating: G

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.
Words: 150
Prompt: Bear at jackwill

A/N: Set at the beginning of the Graveyard Ghost, but can stand alone as well.

****

Some days, it was too much to bear. One would think the gut-wrenching pain would subside, and that time would heal, or that, at least, his vivid memories would be shrouded under new memories, buried under the sand of the hourglass which ran for everyone but him.

And yet, here he stood again, nearly one hundred years later, sorrow rending his heart asunder like it was only yesterday.

Jack Sparrow thrust his hands into his pockets, fingers in prickling fists, half frozen from the bitter wind blowing a steady, sharp cut off the Heath, and forced himself to read the inscription on the gravestone, the one he’d painstakingly written out; the final chapter in a life too short.

William G. Turner, A Good Man.

Turning his collar up against the wind, he turned to go. Immortality, his self-summoned curse, followed obediently, snapping at his heels like the Hound of Hell.

****

Vignette: Leap of Faith

2009-11-11T20:14:34Z

Written by: mamazano

Title: Leap of Faith

Rating: G

Characters: Jack Sparrow, Will Turner
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just like playing with them.
Words: 350
Prompt: Fall at blackpearlsails

A/N: Set at the end of the Graveyard Ghost, but can stand alone as well.

Tremendous gratitude goes out once again to danglingdingle , whose wisdom helps lift my ordinary words into the realms of sublime. Oh, and extra gold stars for putting up with my continuous randomness.

Things can fall apart, or threaten to, for many reasons, and then there's got to be a leap of faith. Ultimately, when you're at the edge, you have to go forward or backward; if you go forward, you have to jump together.
~ Yo-Yo Ma

****

The two men were sitting comfortably by the blazing hearth, hot drinks between them, with most of the bees buzzing in their bonnets squashed, except one.

“Why?”

Just one word yet it encompassed over one hundred years of wonder.

Will did not need an explanation, he knew what Jack was asking. Why did he drink the water? Why did he choose to take that leap of faith?

“Something you said to me once, actually.”

“Really? And that would be…?”

“There comes a point in one’s life, when one must listen to their own soul.”

“Ah, yes.” Jack took a sip from his cup and asked, eyes twinkling, “And what did yours have to say?”

“Not much,” Will said wryly. “Change.”

“And so you listened to your soul’s urges and whispers.”

“Yes.”

Will took a deep breath. “I was ready to end it all, and might have if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

“And yet, you didn’t. For which I am eternally grateful, by the way.” Jack paused, then asked the real question burning in his heart. “And seeing me again changed your mind. Might I ask why?”

Will shook his head and, remembering, ran a hand across his face. “I wasn’t really living anymore, just going through the motions. Comfortable in my own familiar discomfort, I suppose.”

“The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know, is that it?”

“Pretty much, yes. And then, you showed up. And reminded me of life, of what living was.” Will leaned forward, earnest. “You woke something inside of me, Jack.”

“Yes, I got that part,” Jack said, smiling with worried eyes. “But what made you finally take that leap?”

“Because that’s what people do, Jack,” Will said, eyes intent on Jack. “They leap. And hope to God they can fly...because otherwise people just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, why the hell did I jump?” He paused for a moment, then continued, voice choking with emotion.

“But here I am, Jack, soaring. Finally reunited with the person who had faith…No, knew that I could fly.”

****