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As man hath caused a blemish...
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
16
Views:
2,830
Reviews:
30
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
16
Views:
2,830
Reviews:
30
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.
Polite Introductions?
Cassiopeia - :) Lol yeah I had a tough time with pirate speak the first time round :s hope this isn't too bad- oh and btw your fic? ROCKS! I'll leave a review just as soon as I remember :))
Capt_Davy_Jones_Lover - yay ^_^ Thanx, I'll try to keep the supply up with the demand ;)
Sundragon - Yay and ta daa *points downwards*
gambit_gurl_isis - thank you :)
darkandcoldbeauty- I'll try my best :)
A/N: - ok peeps I'm really REALLY REALLY sorry this is so short :( I swear the next chapters will be much longer :)
Chapter One
“What…what…what are you?” I stammered, wide eyed and suddenly wide awake…for some inexplicable reason. Like being confronted with…well…a half octopus, half pirate…thing…yeah. Like that was real discriptive. Sighs. Alright. So I was looking up - trying not to wet myself with terror...have I mentioned that already? Into eyes that were...frighteningly blue. I've never seen eyes like it. His face was still defined by the strong bones beneath it but over those was an odd, aquatic skin. The tentacles that hung from his jaw and head looked like they should have been hair and a not exactly neat beard. He was broad shouldered and a little thick in the body - although that could have been from the many layers of clothing he wore. Honestly this...this thing looked like it had been plucked out of the sixteenth century...have I mentioned his left hand being a crab claw yet?
“Captain Davy Jones” Came the amused reply. Wow what a voice. A tiny part of me quivered then, when he spoke. It was an interesting voice...rich and dark and dangerous...if it hadn't been spoiled by the way he was looking at me, I would have probably deemed him 'crush' material straight away. It was an awful feeling, like being an interesting bug at the wrong end of a microscope. I was waiting to be squished. Bravado took over. It’s a fear thing. If I get really, really frightened my mouth takes over and I come over all suicidal,
"You're not real” My mouth said without intervention of my fear locked brain, “you don't exist you're just a myth" I said, finding an ounce of scorn to try and cover over the absolute wetting-knickers type terror in the face of reality, "This is a dream" But for a dream it felt incredibly real,
"Is that a fact, lass? I am indeed the stuff of nightmares" He replied in a thick rough Scottish drawl - was that a hint of humour in his eyes? No, just disgust, “an’ now you have my name I trust you’ll return the honour” He said, the mocking lilt to his words almost making him likable, if not for the fact a crab claw the size of a cricket bat closing round my throat and lifting me to my feet, the rough, sharper inner edge threatening to cut into my skin but never once breaking it,
“Ellen Spyce. Lenny for short” I choked out, my voice high pitched and cut off, “w-what do you want with me?” I choked out, my hands rising to try and pry away the claw - which was attached to him by the way – but barely noticing the contrast between the sharp inner edge at my throat and the smooth shell that my hands scrabbled uselessly at,
“Want? Nothin’” He said, there was laughter behind me. Male laughter. A group in fact. It sounded like the kind of laughter you get in a pub after about midnight and everyone had had far too much to drink. Dirty laughter, dangerous, “I’m here to offer you a gift”
“Gift?” I managed to choke out, my feet were barely touching the boards now, one trainer squeaking against the wet wood, the other foot clothed only in an increasingly wet sock,
“You’re diein’, lass” He said with a smirk, eyes so blue it was frightening glittering with cruelty as his claw closed a little tighter as if for emphasis, “but I can offer you release, a way out…will you serve? One hundred years before the mast?” He asked, bringing me closer to a face that was more octopus than human,
“Wh-”
“Do you want to die?” The Captains tone was almost gentle. I battled against nausea fighting up my throat. This was like a nightmare, exactly like a nightmare, the same sense of stomach freezing horror gripping my stomach as I looking into those eyes, feeling my life – small though it was – slipping past me,
“No…please…” I gasped out and was promptly dropped,
“Will you serve?” He asked, leaning down as I choked and rubbed at my throat,
“I will serve” I coughed, there was a roar from the crew – I didn’t dare turn to look at them – and Jones snorted in amusement, nodding his head as if he’d won a bet or something, “why me?” I growled, my voice sounding foreign thanks to mild strangulation,
“You’re a pirate, Spyce. I’m duty bound to offer you the deal” The tentacled Captain said in distracted tones already conversing with something- some one that looked more like a starfish than a person,
"A pirate? Me? You've got to be joking! I get seasick on wet grass for gods sake!" I yelped - it's the truth. I really did get seasick, *really* bad,
"Pirate isn't something you do...it's something you are" He said over his shoulder, as he walked away surrounded by crewmen, monsters of the deep, his peg leg (if you could call it that…) making an off beat bass noise against the boards as he moved. He walked as if telling the whole world to piss off. He had to throw his weight to one side, keeping it off his bad leg, which forced his shoulders up and forward making him look even *more* formidable and...interesting...
"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked, finally managing to drag myself to my feet. I ran after his retreating back, reaching out to put a hand on his broad shoulder, "wait! You can't do this- uff" I was off by a back handed slap that sent me spinning back down to the deck. I didn't even bother to roll over and face him, clutching at the bruise I could feel forming - and I do not bruise easily. I was rolled over by a leather boot,
“Do not presume to be treated differently because of the delicacies of your gender, Miss Spyce. Report to Mister Clay for detailin’ an’ welcome t’the crew” Another mirthless smile and the Captain of the Flying Dutchman was swallowed by his crew. I stood, alone in amongst strange men, soaked to the skin, shivering, in pain and – to add insult to injury – with only one shoe.
Capt_Davy_Jones_Lover - yay ^_^ Thanx, I'll try to keep the supply up with the demand ;)
Sundragon - Yay and ta daa *points downwards*
gambit_gurl_isis - thank you :)
darkandcoldbeauty- I'll try my best :)
A/N: - ok peeps I'm really REALLY REALLY sorry this is so short :( I swear the next chapters will be much longer :)
Chapter One
“What…what…what are you?” I stammered, wide eyed and suddenly wide awake…for some inexplicable reason. Like being confronted with…well…a half octopus, half pirate…thing…yeah. Like that was real discriptive. Sighs. Alright. So I was looking up - trying not to wet myself with terror...have I mentioned that already? Into eyes that were...frighteningly blue. I've never seen eyes like it. His face was still defined by the strong bones beneath it but over those was an odd, aquatic skin. The tentacles that hung from his jaw and head looked like they should have been hair and a not exactly neat beard. He was broad shouldered and a little thick in the body - although that could have been from the many layers of clothing he wore. Honestly this...this thing looked like it had been plucked out of the sixteenth century...have I mentioned his left hand being a crab claw yet?
“Captain Davy Jones” Came the amused reply. Wow what a voice. A tiny part of me quivered then, when he spoke. It was an interesting voice...rich and dark and dangerous...if it hadn't been spoiled by the way he was looking at me, I would have probably deemed him 'crush' material straight away. It was an awful feeling, like being an interesting bug at the wrong end of a microscope. I was waiting to be squished. Bravado took over. It’s a fear thing. If I get really, really frightened my mouth takes over and I come over all suicidal,
"You're not real” My mouth said without intervention of my fear locked brain, “you don't exist you're just a myth" I said, finding an ounce of scorn to try and cover over the absolute wetting-knickers type terror in the face of reality, "This is a dream" But for a dream it felt incredibly real,
"Is that a fact, lass? I am indeed the stuff of nightmares" He replied in a thick rough Scottish drawl - was that a hint of humour in his eyes? No, just disgust, “an’ now you have my name I trust you’ll return the honour” He said, the mocking lilt to his words almost making him likable, if not for the fact a crab claw the size of a cricket bat closing round my throat and lifting me to my feet, the rough, sharper inner edge threatening to cut into my skin but never once breaking it,
“Ellen Spyce. Lenny for short” I choked out, my voice high pitched and cut off, “w-what do you want with me?” I choked out, my hands rising to try and pry away the claw - which was attached to him by the way – but barely noticing the contrast between the sharp inner edge at my throat and the smooth shell that my hands scrabbled uselessly at,
“Want? Nothin’” He said, there was laughter behind me. Male laughter. A group in fact. It sounded like the kind of laughter you get in a pub after about midnight and everyone had had far too much to drink. Dirty laughter, dangerous, “I’m here to offer you a gift”
“Gift?” I managed to choke out, my feet were barely touching the boards now, one trainer squeaking against the wet wood, the other foot clothed only in an increasingly wet sock,
“You’re diein’, lass” He said with a smirk, eyes so blue it was frightening glittering with cruelty as his claw closed a little tighter as if for emphasis, “but I can offer you release, a way out…will you serve? One hundred years before the mast?” He asked, bringing me closer to a face that was more octopus than human,
“Wh-”
“Do you want to die?” The Captains tone was almost gentle. I battled against nausea fighting up my throat. This was like a nightmare, exactly like a nightmare, the same sense of stomach freezing horror gripping my stomach as I looking into those eyes, feeling my life – small though it was – slipping past me,
“No…please…” I gasped out and was promptly dropped,
“Will you serve?” He asked, leaning down as I choked and rubbed at my throat,
“I will serve” I coughed, there was a roar from the crew – I didn’t dare turn to look at them – and Jones snorted in amusement, nodding his head as if he’d won a bet or something, “why me?” I growled, my voice sounding foreign thanks to mild strangulation,
“You’re a pirate, Spyce. I’m duty bound to offer you the deal” The tentacled Captain said in distracted tones already conversing with something- some one that looked more like a starfish than a person,
"A pirate? Me? You've got to be joking! I get seasick on wet grass for gods sake!" I yelped - it's the truth. I really did get seasick, *really* bad,
"Pirate isn't something you do...it's something you are" He said over his shoulder, as he walked away surrounded by crewmen, monsters of the deep, his peg leg (if you could call it that…) making an off beat bass noise against the boards as he moved. He walked as if telling the whole world to piss off. He had to throw his weight to one side, keeping it off his bad leg, which forced his shoulders up and forward making him look even *more* formidable and...interesting...
"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked, finally managing to drag myself to my feet. I ran after his retreating back, reaching out to put a hand on his broad shoulder, "wait! You can't do this- uff" I was off by a back handed slap that sent me spinning back down to the deck. I didn't even bother to roll over and face him, clutching at the bruise I could feel forming - and I do not bruise easily. I was rolled over by a leather boot,
“Do not presume to be treated differently because of the delicacies of your gender, Miss Spyce. Report to Mister Clay for detailin’ an’ welcome t’the crew” Another mirthless smile and the Captain of the Flying Dutchman was swallowed by his crew. I stood, alone in amongst strange men, soaked to the skin, shivering, in pain and – to add insult to injury – with only one shoe.