Inferno's Children
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,615
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,615
Reviews:
1
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.
Chapter 2 - The Black Pearl - May 15th, 1725
Title: Inferno's Children - A Day in the Life...
Author: Hellborne (the_ferret_mom@yahoo.com)
Age Rating: 17+
Disclaimer: Characters, if you saw them in the movie, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / is used for thoughts. # is used for speaking in French. * - * - * is used for scene changes and passages of time.
Summary: Three lives, one fire, and the scars they bear for the rest of their life.
Warnings: H/C, Angst, Het, Non-Con
Betas: The two greatest BetaGoddesses in the world, Pendragginink and Littlebird! You're both truly magnificent, and I wouldn't be able to write half as well without you!
NOTE: I live for reviews. Being quite depressed lately about my health and missing my job, I could really use some reviews...and don't think I'm begging for kudos! I happen to love flames and constructive criticism just as much and sometimes more! Lord knows, without constructive criticism, I'd have never fixed some of the boo-boos I've made!
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Chapter 2 - The Black Pearl - May 15th, 1725
"I'm fine, Ana."
The new captain of the Black Pearl wheezed out his words as he strode slowly out of his cabin and climbed the ladder to the helm with difficulty, his movements studied and shaky; he made it up the last few steps by determinedly hauling himself along the handrail. He was quite stiff and weak from lying immobile in bed for the ten months following the accident two years ago, but exercising his limbs daily for the past fourteen months had made him nearly as strong as he'd ever been, and though excruciating, the daily therapy had rendered the extensive scar tissue nearly flexible enough for most of the activities allowed him: his knees would now actually bend enough to climb steps now, though he was still having problems with the ladders on the ship.
Ana stayed close, right behind her captain, ready to catch him if he lost his balance again. He'd been able to totter around in the cabin for several days now, but out on the deck was a different thing altogether. They'd tried this short stroll to the helm for the first time the previous day and he'd landed in an exhausted heap at the foot of the ladder, sobbing from the pain and effort of staggering to the quarterdeck and climbing halfway up to the helm.
No one discounted him for that.
Everyone knew what Captain Phoenix had been through, and they all respected him for the fortitude required to live through it without cracking under the incredible agony. It was a million to one odds against survival at all after being burned so badly.
The late Captain Sparrow had died in that fire; Phoenix hadn't, so the crew voted to make him captain if only he'd live, which was unlikely, the condition being that when he was able to make it to the ship's wheel unaided, he would at that moment become Captain and Master of the ship.
Today he'd made it.
Phoenix stood proudly at the helm of the Pearl, out of breath, every muscle screaming in fatigue, and wheezing horribly, but happy as a pup in a bowl of gravy; his feet planted firmly, legs spread slightly for balance, his hands determinedly gripping the wheel, fingers clinging to the spokes not merely for steering, but to help him stay upright as well.
/Fourteen months of exercise and I still can't stand on my own longer than a toddler!/
Standing still was the difficult thing, walking was far easier; he basically just fell forward and then caught himself.
He wore nothing but black clothing. Thin cotton and the finest of smooth linens, thrice combed before spinning, the flowing bagginess of everything he wore made him look like an Arabian prince, though the "turban" covered his entire head like the wrappings of an Egyptian mummy. He peered out through a layer of loosely woven black cotton gauze to keep from going blind: his flame-damaged eyes being quite sensitive to the light.
Captain Phoenix carried no weapons; he was still relearning to use his hands and arms in most all ways including holding himself up by the bars carefully positioned around his cabin by his accommodating crew in order to help him keep his balance and learn to walk again.
Seeing the island of Tortuga in the distance, the pirate captain corrected for a slight drift. They'd be there by nightfall--maybe sooner. He reveled. It had been so long; he could feel the wind at the back of his head, the pull from the current on his arms and the thrum of the rudder cable, rumbling gently like a purr through the deck of the Pearl as she answered to his hand. He felt like purring himself.
"Ana, do you know the first thing I'm going to do when we make landfall?"
"Get drunk at the Bride with the rest of us?"
Phoenix laughed. "No, Ana, though I wish I could. I'm going to my favorite bathhouse and scare everyone including the mice away so that I can have a nice, private, bath."
Ana smiled at the deliberate emphasis on the 'private'.
"But Captain Phoenix, without the attentions of the ladies who work there, you'll end up having to wash yourself. Why bother with a bathhouse?"
"Oh, Ana. You have no idea. The bathing accommodations here on the Pearl are fine if all you want is to wash the dirt off a body, but the largest available bathing cask we have is too small for real 'bathing' the way I like it. I want to float and forget my pain in that wonderful, naturally warm water of the mineral springs they have there. Besides...I haven't been out of my cabin for well over two years, until yesterday."
/And nobody better EVER mention what a fiasco THAT was./ "Today is the first day I really feel ALIVE again, and I want to celebrate."
"But yesterday, you--"
/Bloody Hell! I might have known she couldn't keep her yap shut about that./ "Bugger yesterday. I tried to come out yesterday. I didn't make it up the ladder, enough said and there's an end. It doesn't count." As if that settled it.
"Yes, Captain. If you say so."
"I do, Ana. Would you like to accompany me to the bathhouse tonight? You could wash my back and I could wash yours." He leered, regretting that it didn't show through the bandages.
Ana shivered, a frisson of panic coursing through her. Her reaction was not lost on Phoenix, who grinned a lopsided grin beneath his head bandage. She could feel the leer even though she couldn't see it.
"As flattered as I am by that gracious invitation, no thank you, Phoenix. I've got prior arrangements at the Bride with the men."
Phoenix took Ana's hand in his gloved one. "Don't worry, Ana. I was only teasing you. I know what I look like, and I'd never force you, even to look at me now, let alone...."
"Phoenix, I've looked at you, nursed you and bathed you continuously for most of the time after the accident. I've gotten used to your appearance by now. It's just..."
"It's just that I look," he sighed heavily, "...like a monster now, I know." She started to object but he gently shushed her. "And you'd rather not...remember me...as one. Ana, I understand."
And what they both understood, was that 'remembering' him wasn't the issue. Remembering wasn't the activity that even thinking about doing never failed to spook Ana and dreaming about it, which she did far too often, caused her to jerk awake, shaking and drenched with sweat. She had tried to restrict her nursing of the man to those times when he was deeply asleep; it was easier somehow when he wasn't aware of her ministrations.
* - * - *
True to his prediction, the staff and patrons of the bathhouse shrieked and ran screaming when Phoenix emerged naked from the changing room. He grinned, doused the lights, and climbed into the large pool of clear, warm water that welled from natural hot springs. He now had the entire place all to his onesie and relaxing totally, he spread out, floating on his back.
/Nothing so restive as a nice, quiet bath./
He reflected that the water was close in temperature to his own; he could barely feel his body as he floated serenely weightless, which was a blessing, as he usually felt continuous pain brought on from the least pressure or movement, including the slightest touch of another.
Phoenix's rest was rudely interrupted only a few minutes later when the local constabulary burst in and started yelling at him, the light from the door blinding him. He righted himself and stood in the waist-deep pool.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
The men stared at him, aghast: their faces showing fear, disgust, and even pity--he detested the last. Pity should be saved for those who needed it, not the captain of a successful pirate ship. He smiled wryly at the sounds of someone retching their guts out; he was quite used to that reaction to his appearance by this time; who it was, he didn't care, nor did he care to look; it wasn't going in the pool and he certainly wasn't going to let them off the hook with any kind of explanation. After long moments, one man--a sergeant by the uniform--stepped forward, flinching and obviously uncomfortable.
"The bathhouse owner has ordered your removal. I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave."
Phoenix stood his ground.
"Well, I'll bloody well NOT. I've paid for my bath. I'll finish it before I'm willing to go. You may tell the owner that I'll reimburse him for any inconvenience and loss of business for the evening."
Another man in plain clothes stepped forward, quaking in his boots. "That...", hesitant at first, the bathhouse owner rallied himself and claimed his due, "...that'll be two-hundred shillings then...Sir."
It was an absolute holdup and everyone knew it: the bathhouse wouldn't see that kind of income in a week if everyone in Tortuga who even DID take baths came there twice daily, but Phoenix smiled at the belated honorific. He knew every man had his price, and this one wasn't too high to pay for solitude and comfort.
However, his smile had an amazing effect on the small crowd of people standing before him. It was as if he'd waved a magic wand and made them all disappear with two of them nearly getting stuck in the door as it closed, leaving him alone in the darkness again. That made him grin all the wider.
/Maybe I should buy this bathhouse. No, nobody would want to work here unless I went through seconds. But where would I get a second who'd work for me?/
He chuckled.
Only on the Pearl would he find anyone made of strong enough stuff to deal with him directly. Everyone else was and always would be afraid of him. It was as if he'd been swallowed by the fires of Hell and a demon spat out in his place.
/Odd, I don't feel like a demon./ He chuckled again, lowering himself into the soothing, mineral-soft water again.
/Perhaps I should have a smith make me a devil's helmet. Now THAT would be funny! It would certainly rekindle the old legend of the Pearl right enough./ The spark of an idea smoldered in his thoughts as he floated in the warm darkness.
* - * - *
"My good sir, I would like to commission you for a helmet."
In a whisper so husky it made one want to clear their throat, the strange man in the black bandages described what he wanted; the blacksmith's smile grew wider, and delighted in understanding. He'd make the helmet for the man, yes, indeed, he would see it well forged from the finest of metals, a work of art so horrific that those who beheld it would KNOW that the man who wore it had also been flame-wrought and well-tempered, forged in the fiercest of fiery pits and forced to fight his tortured way out from the mouth of Hell itself.
* - * - *
TBC
Author: Hellborne (the_ferret_mom@yahoo.com)
Age Rating: 17+
Disclaimer: Characters, if you saw them in the movie, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / is used for thoughts. # is used for speaking in French. * - * - * is used for scene changes and passages of time.
Summary: Three lives, one fire, and the scars they bear for the rest of their life.
Warnings: H/C, Angst, Het, Non-Con
Betas: The two greatest BetaGoddesses in the world, Pendragginink and Littlebird! You're both truly magnificent, and I wouldn't be able to write half as well without you!
NOTE: I live for reviews. Being quite depressed lately about my health and missing my job, I could really use some reviews...and don't think I'm begging for kudos! I happen to love flames and constructive criticism just as much and sometimes more! Lord knows, without constructive criticism, I'd have never fixed some of the boo-boos I've made!
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Chapter 2 - The Black Pearl - May 15th, 1725
"I'm fine, Ana."
The new captain of the Black Pearl wheezed out his words as he strode slowly out of his cabin and climbed the ladder to the helm with difficulty, his movements studied and shaky; he made it up the last few steps by determinedly hauling himself along the handrail. He was quite stiff and weak from lying immobile in bed for the ten months following the accident two years ago, but exercising his limbs daily for the past fourteen months had made him nearly as strong as he'd ever been, and though excruciating, the daily therapy had rendered the extensive scar tissue nearly flexible enough for most of the activities allowed him: his knees would now actually bend enough to climb steps now, though he was still having problems with the ladders on the ship.
Ana stayed close, right behind her captain, ready to catch him if he lost his balance again. He'd been able to totter around in the cabin for several days now, but out on the deck was a different thing altogether. They'd tried this short stroll to the helm for the first time the previous day and he'd landed in an exhausted heap at the foot of the ladder, sobbing from the pain and effort of staggering to the quarterdeck and climbing halfway up to the helm.
No one discounted him for that.
Everyone knew what Captain Phoenix had been through, and they all respected him for the fortitude required to live through it without cracking under the incredible agony. It was a million to one odds against survival at all after being burned so badly.
The late Captain Sparrow had died in that fire; Phoenix hadn't, so the crew voted to make him captain if only he'd live, which was unlikely, the condition being that when he was able to make it to the ship's wheel unaided, he would at that moment become Captain and Master of the ship.
Today he'd made it.
Phoenix stood proudly at the helm of the Pearl, out of breath, every muscle screaming in fatigue, and wheezing horribly, but happy as a pup in a bowl of gravy; his feet planted firmly, legs spread slightly for balance, his hands determinedly gripping the wheel, fingers clinging to the spokes not merely for steering, but to help him stay upright as well.
/Fourteen months of exercise and I still can't stand on my own longer than a toddler!/
Standing still was the difficult thing, walking was far easier; he basically just fell forward and then caught himself.
He wore nothing but black clothing. Thin cotton and the finest of smooth linens, thrice combed before spinning, the flowing bagginess of everything he wore made him look like an Arabian prince, though the "turban" covered his entire head like the wrappings of an Egyptian mummy. He peered out through a layer of loosely woven black cotton gauze to keep from going blind: his flame-damaged eyes being quite sensitive to the light.
Captain Phoenix carried no weapons; he was still relearning to use his hands and arms in most all ways including holding himself up by the bars carefully positioned around his cabin by his accommodating crew in order to help him keep his balance and learn to walk again.
Seeing the island of Tortuga in the distance, the pirate captain corrected for a slight drift. They'd be there by nightfall--maybe sooner. He reveled. It had been so long; he could feel the wind at the back of his head, the pull from the current on his arms and the thrum of the rudder cable, rumbling gently like a purr through the deck of the Pearl as she answered to his hand. He felt like purring himself.
"Ana, do you know the first thing I'm going to do when we make landfall?"
"Get drunk at the Bride with the rest of us?"
Phoenix laughed. "No, Ana, though I wish I could. I'm going to my favorite bathhouse and scare everyone including the mice away so that I can have a nice, private, bath."
Ana smiled at the deliberate emphasis on the 'private'.
"But Captain Phoenix, without the attentions of the ladies who work there, you'll end up having to wash yourself. Why bother with a bathhouse?"
"Oh, Ana. You have no idea. The bathing accommodations here on the Pearl are fine if all you want is to wash the dirt off a body, but the largest available bathing cask we have is too small for real 'bathing' the way I like it. I want to float and forget my pain in that wonderful, naturally warm water of the mineral springs they have there. Besides...I haven't been out of my cabin for well over two years, until yesterday."
/And nobody better EVER mention what a fiasco THAT was./ "Today is the first day I really feel ALIVE again, and I want to celebrate."
"But yesterday, you--"
/Bloody Hell! I might have known she couldn't keep her yap shut about that./ "Bugger yesterday. I tried to come out yesterday. I didn't make it up the ladder, enough said and there's an end. It doesn't count." As if that settled it.
"Yes, Captain. If you say so."
"I do, Ana. Would you like to accompany me to the bathhouse tonight? You could wash my back and I could wash yours." He leered, regretting that it didn't show through the bandages.
Ana shivered, a frisson of panic coursing through her. Her reaction was not lost on Phoenix, who grinned a lopsided grin beneath his head bandage. She could feel the leer even though she couldn't see it.
"As flattered as I am by that gracious invitation, no thank you, Phoenix. I've got prior arrangements at the Bride with the men."
Phoenix took Ana's hand in his gloved one. "Don't worry, Ana. I was only teasing you. I know what I look like, and I'd never force you, even to look at me now, let alone...."
"Phoenix, I've looked at you, nursed you and bathed you continuously for most of the time after the accident. I've gotten used to your appearance by now. It's just..."
"It's just that I look," he sighed heavily, "...like a monster now, I know." She started to object but he gently shushed her. "And you'd rather not...remember me...as one. Ana, I understand."
And what they both understood, was that 'remembering' him wasn't the issue. Remembering wasn't the activity that even thinking about doing never failed to spook Ana and dreaming about it, which she did far too often, caused her to jerk awake, shaking and drenched with sweat. She had tried to restrict her nursing of the man to those times when he was deeply asleep; it was easier somehow when he wasn't aware of her ministrations.
* - * - *
True to his prediction, the staff and patrons of the bathhouse shrieked and ran screaming when Phoenix emerged naked from the changing room. He grinned, doused the lights, and climbed into the large pool of clear, warm water that welled from natural hot springs. He now had the entire place all to his onesie and relaxing totally, he spread out, floating on his back.
/Nothing so restive as a nice, quiet bath./
He reflected that the water was close in temperature to his own; he could barely feel his body as he floated serenely weightless, which was a blessing, as he usually felt continuous pain brought on from the least pressure or movement, including the slightest touch of another.
Phoenix's rest was rudely interrupted only a few minutes later when the local constabulary burst in and started yelling at him, the light from the door blinding him. He righted himself and stood in the waist-deep pool.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
The men stared at him, aghast: their faces showing fear, disgust, and even pity--he detested the last. Pity should be saved for those who needed it, not the captain of a successful pirate ship. He smiled wryly at the sounds of someone retching their guts out; he was quite used to that reaction to his appearance by this time; who it was, he didn't care, nor did he care to look; it wasn't going in the pool and he certainly wasn't going to let them off the hook with any kind of explanation. After long moments, one man--a sergeant by the uniform--stepped forward, flinching and obviously uncomfortable.
"The bathhouse owner has ordered your removal. I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave."
Phoenix stood his ground.
"Well, I'll bloody well NOT. I've paid for my bath. I'll finish it before I'm willing to go. You may tell the owner that I'll reimburse him for any inconvenience and loss of business for the evening."
Another man in plain clothes stepped forward, quaking in his boots. "That...", hesitant at first, the bathhouse owner rallied himself and claimed his due, "...that'll be two-hundred shillings then...Sir."
It was an absolute holdup and everyone knew it: the bathhouse wouldn't see that kind of income in a week if everyone in Tortuga who even DID take baths came there twice daily, but Phoenix smiled at the belated honorific. He knew every man had his price, and this one wasn't too high to pay for solitude and comfort.
However, his smile had an amazing effect on the small crowd of people standing before him. It was as if he'd waved a magic wand and made them all disappear with two of them nearly getting stuck in the door as it closed, leaving him alone in the darkness again. That made him grin all the wider.
/Maybe I should buy this bathhouse. No, nobody would want to work here unless I went through seconds. But where would I get a second who'd work for me?/
He chuckled.
Only on the Pearl would he find anyone made of strong enough stuff to deal with him directly. Everyone else was and always would be afraid of him. It was as if he'd been swallowed by the fires of Hell and a demon spat out in his place.
/Odd, I don't feel like a demon./ He chuckled again, lowering himself into the soothing, mineral-soft water again.
/Perhaps I should have a smith make me a devil's helmet. Now THAT would be funny! It would certainly rekindle the old legend of the Pearl right enough./ The spark of an idea smoldered in his thoughts as he floated in the warm darkness.
* - * - *
"My good sir, I would like to commission you for a helmet."
In a whisper so husky it made one want to clear their throat, the strange man in the black bandages described what he wanted; the blacksmith's smile grew wider, and delighted in understanding. He'd make the helmet for the man, yes, indeed, he would see it well forged from the finest of metals, a work of art so horrific that those who beheld it would KNOW that the man who wore it had also been flame-wrought and well-tempered, forged in the fiercest of fiery pits and forced to fight his tortured way out from the mouth of Hell itself.
* - * - *
TBC