A Matter of Circumstance
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,853
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,853
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Matter of Circumstance
A/N: This is my first time actually posting anything on this webiste. I've been a long time lurker. Anyway, an idea like this has been in my head for a while, especially after being slightly disappointed with AWE. So I thought I'd post this as a (semi)response to another author's challenge of a You/Davy Jones fic. And yes, I know its a You/Insert story, but I've exercised my artistic license and given my OC/YOU a name and a past history. Don't like it...shove off.
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‘Lord, I’m dead…I’m dead, gone, deceased…dead…’ is the only thought your numb brain can process.
You’re vaguely aware of the pain in your lower extremities and the throbbing pain on the back of your head. White spots dance behind your eyelids and your body, though still, feels as though it is rocking back and forth.
“What shall we do with ‘er?” A rough voice speaks out of nowhere. Fighting all basic instincts, you keep your eyes closed. You do not fancy seeing the….whatever it is…that has come to greet you in the After Life.
This question is followed by a silence, and you become more aware of your surroundings. Your eyes are closed, yet you can feel grit and sand in the corners. You are wet and, most noticeably, every once in a while a fresh gush of water rushes to your side and hugs your curves before the rocking of the—is it ground?—pulls it away.
“Been a while since we ‘ad a woman’s flesh,” A different voice rumbles. This is answered by a number of catcalls and whistles. At this your breath catches in your throat, which leds to another discovery.
You’re not dead. Your heart is pounding a mile a minute in your chest, and your suddenly aware of your ragged breathing. Your clearly alive. And if you notice this, surely the other’s will.
“Aye, looks like she can ‘ear us!” A heavy foot prods your side and you shift slightly. This results in a swifter kick and your eyes snap open.
You come face to face with creatures straight out of your childhood nightmares. Men, or those who were once men, covered in a manner of sea life and vegetation. Your eyes roam over each and every one of them; and there are at least a dozen huddled around you. They simply leer down at you, watching for the first sign of a bolting escape. You shiver suddenly and, chancing a look down, realize that the dress you were wearing before is now shredded and thoroughly soaked through. Your smooth, slightly sun-kissed skin stands at attention to the breeze sweeping over your exposed flesh.
Two of the men move forward away from their comrades, and you shrink back in response. The group laughs at you and, despite the circumstances, you feel a blush creep to your cheeks. You decide to stop them before they get out of hand.
“Where am I?” You ask.
“Where are ye?’ One of the men nearest you, one who has seaweed for hair and a round hat on his head, mocks. “Yer on our ship, luv.” This is met with more laughter.
“Pardon?” You blurt before having time to think.
“A ship, darlin’.” Another one speaks, a smirk on his face. “Ye know, with sails and all.” More laughter. “Or ain’t ye ever seen one?”
“I have seen a ship,” You snap back, gaining your feet. This outburst causes the one man’s eyes to widen in disbelief while the rest now mock him. It also costs you a hard slap to the cheek. You stumble and your head whips to the side, causing your wet hair to stick to the now throbbing and bruised skin. Your eyes dart back to the man and you watch in paralyzed disbelief as he raises his hand to strike you again.
“Ye’ll not touch her!” Out of nowhere a hand—although to your stunned eyes it appears to be more of a claw—grabs the man’s forearm and twists it back. The offending man is thrown back a few steps, where he stumbles before regaining his balance. His eyes lower in respect.
“Don’t ye know the proper way to treat a lady?” The newcomer’s voice is the deep rumble of a Scot. However, it’s his tentacled appearance that has your full attention. And when he turns his attention back to you, you abruptly lock on to his intense cerulean eyes.
“What be yer name, lass?” He takes a sauntering step towards you. In response you take a step back, which only causes him to chuckle coldly. “I asked ye what yer name be, girl.” This isn’t a question this time, it’s a full out command.
You open your mouth and fumble with words, all the while looking like a fish out of water. Finally you manage to stammer it out. “Paxton, ah, Rose Paxton.”
“Well Miss Paxton, have ye any idea where ye be?”
Yes. You do. You may have grown up in a rather well off family, but they were sailors through and through. And you’ve heard the stories before; everyone has, mainly as an attempt to keep wayward children away from the water’s edge at dusk, or to caution hardheaded young men who rush into the sailor world.
“Y-yes.” You mutter.
“Do ye now?” The man sounds amused. “Then ye must know who I am.” The crew, which has grown in number, laughs.
“Yes.” You still haven’t torn your eyes from his own and you’re beginning to feel as though you’re drowning in them. “Your Davy Jones.” You whisper, said so quietly the words are nearly swallowed up by the sounds of the waves breaking against the bow of the ship.
The man, Jones, doesn’t look too surprised by your knowledge. Rather his blue eyes blaze and a smirk forms on his lips.
“Then welcome aboard the Flying Dutchman, Miss Paxton.”
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There, first little bit up. I know it isn't very long, but it's just to get things on a roll; the following chapters will (hopefully) be longer. Next chapter should be up soon. R&R...all comments welcome, and flames will be used to warm the Captain's tentacles after a hard day's work ;)
*****************************************************************************************
‘Lord, I’m dead…I’m dead, gone, deceased…dead…’ is the only thought your numb brain can process.
You’re vaguely aware of the pain in your lower extremities and the throbbing pain on the back of your head. White spots dance behind your eyelids and your body, though still, feels as though it is rocking back and forth.
“What shall we do with ‘er?” A rough voice speaks out of nowhere. Fighting all basic instincts, you keep your eyes closed. You do not fancy seeing the….whatever it is…that has come to greet you in the After Life.
This question is followed by a silence, and you become more aware of your surroundings. Your eyes are closed, yet you can feel grit and sand in the corners. You are wet and, most noticeably, every once in a while a fresh gush of water rushes to your side and hugs your curves before the rocking of the—is it ground?—pulls it away.
“Been a while since we ‘ad a woman’s flesh,” A different voice rumbles. This is answered by a number of catcalls and whistles. At this your breath catches in your throat, which leds to another discovery.
You’re not dead. Your heart is pounding a mile a minute in your chest, and your suddenly aware of your ragged breathing. Your clearly alive. And if you notice this, surely the other’s will.
“Aye, looks like she can ‘ear us!” A heavy foot prods your side and you shift slightly. This results in a swifter kick and your eyes snap open.
You come face to face with creatures straight out of your childhood nightmares. Men, or those who were once men, covered in a manner of sea life and vegetation. Your eyes roam over each and every one of them; and there are at least a dozen huddled around you. They simply leer down at you, watching for the first sign of a bolting escape. You shiver suddenly and, chancing a look down, realize that the dress you were wearing before is now shredded and thoroughly soaked through. Your smooth, slightly sun-kissed skin stands at attention to the breeze sweeping over your exposed flesh.
Two of the men move forward away from their comrades, and you shrink back in response. The group laughs at you and, despite the circumstances, you feel a blush creep to your cheeks. You decide to stop them before they get out of hand.
“Where am I?” You ask.
“Where are ye?’ One of the men nearest you, one who has seaweed for hair and a round hat on his head, mocks. “Yer on our ship, luv.” This is met with more laughter.
“Pardon?” You blurt before having time to think.
“A ship, darlin’.” Another one speaks, a smirk on his face. “Ye know, with sails and all.” More laughter. “Or ain’t ye ever seen one?”
“I have seen a ship,” You snap back, gaining your feet. This outburst causes the one man’s eyes to widen in disbelief while the rest now mock him. It also costs you a hard slap to the cheek. You stumble and your head whips to the side, causing your wet hair to stick to the now throbbing and bruised skin. Your eyes dart back to the man and you watch in paralyzed disbelief as he raises his hand to strike you again.
“Ye’ll not touch her!” Out of nowhere a hand—although to your stunned eyes it appears to be more of a claw—grabs the man’s forearm and twists it back. The offending man is thrown back a few steps, where he stumbles before regaining his balance. His eyes lower in respect.
“Don’t ye know the proper way to treat a lady?” The newcomer’s voice is the deep rumble of a Scot. However, it’s his tentacled appearance that has your full attention. And when he turns his attention back to you, you abruptly lock on to his intense cerulean eyes.
“What be yer name, lass?” He takes a sauntering step towards you. In response you take a step back, which only causes him to chuckle coldly. “I asked ye what yer name be, girl.” This isn’t a question this time, it’s a full out command.
You open your mouth and fumble with words, all the while looking like a fish out of water. Finally you manage to stammer it out. “Paxton, ah, Rose Paxton.”
“Well Miss Paxton, have ye any idea where ye be?”
Yes. You do. You may have grown up in a rather well off family, but they were sailors through and through. And you’ve heard the stories before; everyone has, mainly as an attempt to keep wayward children away from the water’s edge at dusk, or to caution hardheaded young men who rush into the sailor world.
“Y-yes.” You mutter.
“Do ye now?” The man sounds amused. “Then ye must know who I am.” The crew, which has grown in number, laughs.
“Yes.” You still haven’t torn your eyes from his own and you’re beginning to feel as though you’re drowning in them. “Your Davy Jones.” You whisper, said so quietly the words are nearly swallowed up by the sounds of the waves breaking against the bow of the ship.
The man, Jones, doesn’t look too surprised by your knowledge. Rather his blue eyes blaze and a smirk forms on his lips.
“Then welcome aboard the Flying Dutchman, Miss Paxton.”
*****************************************************************************************
There, first little bit up. I know it isn't very long, but it's just to get things on a roll; the following chapters will (hopefully) be longer. Next chapter should be up soon. R&R...all comments welcome, and flames will be used to warm the Captain's tentacles after a hard day's work ;)