The Troubles of Jack
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,408
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,408
Reviews:
3
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.
Stormy Weather
The waves crash against the ship, throwing it along the crests of water like a toy boat. Water plummets down upon the weathered planks of the deck, and Capitan Sparrow’s men cry out for assistance as they yank on the ropes and try to steady the Pearl as best they can. Jack emerges from the bottom deck to be pelted in the face with salty rain, lowering his hat over a brow to shield his eyes from the onslaught.
And that’s when he sees it.
Probably before anyone else does, they being so distracted by steadying the boat on the choppy waves and all.
A ship. A big ship. With black sails.
“Pirates!” Jack squeals, spinning on his heel and trotting comically back to the cabin door.
Gibbs yanks him by the back of his shirt.
“Wot’s that ye say, Cap’n?” The older man throws his neck back, glaring eerily at his Capitan.
“Oh.. nothin’.. jus… pirates, is all.” He raises a shaky finger, and stabs at the air. Gibbs looks, and sees the ship leering blurrily in the distance, blinking as water pricks into his eyes.
Pirates, you see, are an unusual thing to see gliding along the carribbean… unusual since Jack regained his ownership of the Pearl say, oh, five years ago. Ordinarily, one mention of Jack’s name and pirates flee from the ports, clutching their groins and hiding their loot, considerably the liquid kind.
But these are black sails, all right, and Jack is most certainly cowering like a child under the shadow of his second-in-command, Master Gibbs himself.
The older man shakes his jowls. “Well don’t just stand there, Jack, DO something!”
That’s when Gibb’s old, gray-blue eyes (a little glazed over with age, but still working as good as ever) catch up on the mass of black curls standing in the doorway of the cabin. It was the boy they had dragged up from the waves, looking considerably drier than he had a few hours previous. He was looking… more desheveled than he had when Gibbs had first tucked him into that confining cot, however, and with a twist of his gnarled, sea-bitten face the man knew with certainty that Jack had been up to something.
A crack of lightning severs his thoughts and he goes back to bellowing orders at the crew.
Jack gives a tentative whimper, then hops his nimble body up to the deck and grabs the wheel (not bothering to look back to see if the lad he had, mere moments ago, been shagging had taken a post), spinning it dramatically against the wind. The ship squeals and rocks, and icy rain pecks at his face, his men struggle with the sails.
Marc clings to the doorway. Legs still feeling weak, and numbly registering the danger of the situation, the boy gets seasick and grips at his stomach. Keeping a worried eye on the Capitan-That-Shagged-Him (what was his name again? Sparrow?) he realizes with a pang of fear that the ship is being turned against the other… parallel, the two ships bounce closer to one-another on the black waves.
“Telescope!” Jack bellows, holding out a bejweled hand. The item flings through the air and lands with a wet clap into his outstretched palm. He peers through it, biting at his tongue, holding the scope with one hand while he jiggles at the wheel with the other.
What he sees he finds simultaneously suspicious and relieving: the other ship has not opened it’s cannons. Their crew does not weild pistols. His gut tenses; there is a menacing figure standing on the deck opposite. A flamboyant red feather in his tricorn is the only indication of identity on the form, other than it is obviously a form belonging to a man.
His ears are deafened by the clattering of the rain on the deck, and the wild wailing of the wind crashing through the sails. He thinks he hears: “The Gray Maiden!”.
The massive ships creak on the waves, a minute clearing of ocean between them. For a long moment, neither crew signal to the other, and there is a heavy static in the air broken only by the rapid pattering of rain on the planks.
Then, suddenly, the rain stops. A massive black cloud hangs above the ships like a ghost.
“Who is your Cap’n?” The mysterious figure calls out.
Jack can barely hear him, but, hopping down, he calls out: “This be the Black Pearl. And I be Cap’n Jack Sparrow!”
“This be the Gray Maiden. And I be Cap’n Jasper McGregor.”
There are gasps peppered throughout Jack’s crew. He kindly ignores them, as such gestures smudge his ego. Peering down at the Maiden, who holds easily two hundred men on board (an army compared to Jack’s pitiful thirty or so), he puts his fingers at the edge of his hat and smiles broadly. “I believe we have some pirate matters to discuss, McGregor.”
“Aye,” The dark figure purrs. “Shall ye join us for a spell?”
And that’s when he sees it.
Probably before anyone else does, they being so distracted by steadying the boat on the choppy waves and all.
A ship. A big ship. With black sails.
“Pirates!” Jack squeals, spinning on his heel and trotting comically back to the cabin door.
Gibbs yanks him by the back of his shirt.
“Wot’s that ye say, Cap’n?” The older man throws his neck back, glaring eerily at his Capitan.
“Oh.. nothin’.. jus… pirates, is all.” He raises a shaky finger, and stabs at the air. Gibbs looks, and sees the ship leering blurrily in the distance, blinking as water pricks into his eyes.
Pirates, you see, are an unusual thing to see gliding along the carribbean… unusual since Jack regained his ownership of the Pearl say, oh, five years ago. Ordinarily, one mention of Jack’s name and pirates flee from the ports, clutching their groins and hiding their loot, considerably the liquid kind.
But these are black sails, all right, and Jack is most certainly cowering like a child under the shadow of his second-in-command, Master Gibbs himself.
The older man shakes his jowls. “Well don’t just stand there, Jack, DO something!”
That’s when Gibb’s old, gray-blue eyes (a little glazed over with age, but still working as good as ever) catch up on the mass of black curls standing in the doorway of the cabin. It was the boy they had dragged up from the waves, looking considerably drier than he had a few hours previous. He was looking… more desheveled than he had when Gibbs had first tucked him into that confining cot, however, and with a twist of his gnarled, sea-bitten face the man knew with certainty that Jack had been up to something.
A crack of lightning severs his thoughts and he goes back to bellowing orders at the crew.
Jack gives a tentative whimper, then hops his nimble body up to the deck and grabs the wheel (not bothering to look back to see if the lad he had, mere moments ago, been shagging had taken a post), spinning it dramatically against the wind. The ship squeals and rocks, and icy rain pecks at his face, his men struggle with the sails.
Marc clings to the doorway. Legs still feeling weak, and numbly registering the danger of the situation, the boy gets seasick and grips at his stomach. Keeping a worried eye on the Capitan-That-Shagged-Him (what was his name again? Sparrow?) he realizes with a pang of fear that the ship is being turned against the other… parallel, the two ships bounce closer to one-another on the black waves.
“Telescope!” Jack bellows, holding out a bejweled hand. The item flings through the air and lands with a wet clap into his outstretched palm. He peers through it, biting at his tongue, holding the scope with one hand while he jiggles at the wheel with the other.
What he sees he finds simultaneously suspicious and relieving: the other ship has not opened it’s cannons. Their crew does not weild pistols. His gut tenses; there is a menacing figure standing on the deck opposite. A flamboyant red feather in his tricorn is the only indication of identity on the form, other than it is obviously a form belonging to a man.
His ears are deafened by the clattering of the rain on the deck, and the wild wailing of the wind crashing through the sails. He thinks he hears: “The Gray Maiden!”.
The massive ships creak on the waves, a minute clearing of ocean between them. For a long moment, neither crew signal to the other, and there is a heavy static in the air broken only by the rapid pattering of rain on the planks.
Then, suddenly, the rain stops. A massive black cloud hangs above the ships like a ghost.
“Who is your Cap’n?” The mysterious figure calls out.
Jack can barely hear him, but, hopping down, he calls out: “This be the Black Pearl. And I be Cap’n Jack Sparrow!”
“This be the Gray Maiden. And I be Cap’n Jasper McGregor.”
There are gasps peppered throughout Jack’s crew. He kindly ignores them, as such gestures smudge his ego. Peering down at the Maiden, who holds easily two hundred men on board (an army compared to Jack’s pitiful thirty or so), he puts his fingers at the edge of his hat and smiles broadly. “I believe we have some pirate matters to discuss, McGregor.”
“Aye,” The dark figure purrs. “Shall ye join us for a spell?”