Post by Alek on May 9, 2006 19:19:14 GMT -5
There were several things in his lifetime that Jack Sparrow remembered above all others. His mother's smile, for one, which had lit up a room like the sun over the horizon of the ocean with no land in sight. The day that he had come home to find his old house inhabited by some new family with a little brat of their own. Informed his parents were dead, he had gone back to his old ways. Pirating, that is.
He remembered getting the tattoo on his arm of a sparrow. Just a bit of a nod toward his last name which was, despite what people thought, his real last name.
His first boat, and the day it sank.
His second boat, and how it had never felt the same.
And then... the Black Pearl. He had lived and breathed and been obsessed with that beautiful boat, her black sails caught high in the wind, pushing him ever onward toward his destination.
The night it was taken from him.
What had happened afterwards was a drunken stupor, and he didn't like to think about those few months that he had spent desperately chasing his beloved boat across the world and back.
The memory of the most significance was, however, the memory of a splash. Yes, a splash into the ocean.
It had caught his attention, and in the split second of visibility, he saw a lady's skirts fluttering underneath the surface, and then they faded from view. When he found that the two men at his sides could not swim, he had dove in out of some dumb reflex.
By the end of the ordeal of saving her, she was in her undergarments, and he could not deny that he hadn't let his lies linger a few too many times.
A perverse pleasure had been gained in her giving his effects back, and he had savored the dull warmth of her body for a split second before throwing her back to her father.
They'd been abandoned on an island together. Alone. With a considerable amount of rum. For a few months afterward, he let his mind fill in what happened in the times that he lost, but for all the times he had tried, he could not find a hint in those beautiful eyes that anything had happened. It was that, ultimately, that made the creative daydreams stop, and he had run from them so he didn't have to see the two together.
Years had passed, but so little had changed. Yes, the Pearl was his again, but even with that responsibility he had continued his old ways: drinking, pillaging, and of course, flitting between women.
But as he sat on a dock, twilight fallen around him like a shroud that did little to hide the individual that was Captain Jack Sparrow, he found his mind's eye filled with images of her. The way her chest had heaved when the too-tight corset had been cut from her, and her eyes flew open as water rushed out of her lungs. The way he had only felt hints of her warmth and had only been given hints at what she hid from him under the soaked undergarment that day.
A grunt passed his thin lips as he ran a hand over his jaw, dark eyes somewhat glazed by the bottle of rum in his other hand.
"Yo ho, yo ho," a pause to take a long swig, and he threw his arms into the air, flimsy white sleeves of his shirt billowing for a moment in the seaspray. "A pirate's life for me."
Right. A pirate's life. That's what he wanted. Not her. Not any one woman! He could have as many as he wanted, and as much rum as he wanted, and as much gold, as much ocean- anything! Anything, so long as he kept that silly woman's face from his mind.
He could do that.
Laughing at himself, he threw back his head and downed even more of the rum.
Hours later, he walked back into town, lefts and rights flying by him until he reached the familiar building that he got the bottled rum from. A smile lit up his tanned face, and he turned to sneak to the back door... but in that instant, he felt all of the air rush out of his lungs.
In the midst of all these sinners... these drunkards and whores and loners stood the one person he considered truely pure. Truely innocent and lovely and- ahem.
Anger built up abruptly, and because Jack did not know how else to feel, he stalked up to Elizabeth, seizing her thin arm and turning her to face him. What the HELL was she doing in his place? Yes... yes, this was HIS place, not hers! Why was she here?!
"What are you doing here?" Wide brown eyes skimmed her face, and he resisted the urge to let them roam over her like he would once have done shamelessly.
He remembered getting the tattoo on his arm of a sparrow. Just a bit of a nod toward his last name which was, despite what people thought, his real last name.
His first boat, and the day it sank.
His second boat, and how it had never felt the same.
And then... the Black Pearl. He had lived and breathed and been obsessed with that beautiful boat, her black sails caught high in the wind, pushing him ever onward toward his destination.
The night it was taken from him.
What had happened afterwards was a drunken stupor, and he didn't like to think about those few months that he had spent desperately chasing his beloved boat across the world and back.
The memory of the most significance was, however, the memory of a splash. Yes, a splash into the ocean.
It had caught his attention, and in the split second of visibility, he saw a lady's skirts fluttering underneath the surface, and then they faded from view. When he found that the two men at his sides could not swim, he had dove in out of some dumb reflex.
By the end of the ordeal of saving her, she was in her undergarments, and he could not deny that he hadn't let his lies linger a few too many times.
A perverse pleasure had been gained in her giving his effects back, and he had savored the dull warmth of her body for a split second before throwing her back to her father.
They'd been abandoned on an island together. Alone. With a considerable amount of rum. For a few months afterward, he let his mind fill in what happened in the times that he lost, but for all the times he had tried, he could not find a hint in those beautiful eyes that anything had happened. It was that, ultimately, that made the creative daydreams stop, and he had run from them so he didn't have to see the two together.
Years had passed, but so little had changed. Yes, the Pearl was his again, but even with that responsibility he had continued his old ways: drinking, pillaging, and of course, flitting between women.
But as he sat on a dock, twilight fallen around him like a shroud that did little to hide the individual that was Captain Jack Sparrow, he found his mind's eye filled with images of her. The way her chest had heaved when the too-tight corset had been cut from her, and her eyes flew open as water rushed out of her lungs. The way he had only felt hints of her warmth and had only been given hints at what she hid from him under the soaked undergarment that day.
A grunt passed his thin lips as he ran a hand over his jaw, dark eyes somewhat glazed by the bottle of rum in his other hand.
"Yo ho, yo ho," a pause to take a long swig, and he threw his arms into the air, flimsy white sleeves of his shirt billowing for a moment in the seaspray. "A pirate's life for me."
Right. A pirate's life. That's what he wanted. Not her. Not any one woman! He could have as many as he wanted, and as much rum as he wanted, and as much gold, as much ocean- anything! Anything, so long as he kept that silly woman's face from his mind.
He could do that.
Laughing at himself, he threw back his head and downed even more of the rum.
Hours later, he walked back into town, lefts and rights flying by him until he reached the familiar building that he got the bottled rum from. A smile lit up his tanned face, and he turned to sneak to the back door... but in that instant, he felt all of the air rush out of his lungs.
In the midst of all these sinners... these drunkards and whores and loners stood the one person he considered truely pure. Truely innocent and lovely and- ahem.
Anger built up abruptly, and because Jack did not know how else to feel, he stalked up to Elizabeth, seizing her thin arm and turning her to face him. What the HELL was she doing in his place? Yes... yes, this was HIS place, not hers! Why was she here?!
"What are you doing here?" Wide brown eyes skimmed her face, and he resisted the urge to let them roam over her like he would once have done shamelessly.