[PotC Ficlet] Apples
Title: Apples
Characters: Barbossa, Tia Dalma
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400+
Summary: Before he sails to Port Royal, Captain Barbossa orders applejack to drink.
Apples
***
"Applejack," Barbossa said when the serving wench brought around a mug of beer.
She smiled saucily. "Well! Good haul, captain?"
"Always." Never quite good enough, though, but always enough to buy him and his crew whatever they wanted. If they wanted girls and drink, good steel and fine velvet.
Not too many of them still wanted those things.
Music played, lively and bright. Voices filled the tavern, doing business and making merry. Barbossa watched money change hands, a thief roll a drunk, a serving wench slap a sailor, and enough beer and rum flow to keep even Jack Sparrow happy. Just thinking that name made his fist clench - the son of a whore had to have known what the coins would do. He must have, and Barbossa regretted every day he'd let Jack get away with shooting himself.
The serving wench came around with the applejack. He brought it to his mouth and inhaled. No smell, not with how much he enjoyed the scent of apples.
He drank it, and it might as well have been water.
Rage slammed through him like a wave, and he poured the rest of the applejack on the floor. Then he marked a sailor too drunk to think clearly but still sober enough to fight, and called his mother a whore.
***
Dawn found him spitting blood he didn't have on the street. He didn't grin - the fight hadn't been fun. If it had been fun, the curse would have deadened and destroyed it like it destroyed everything else he enjoyed.
"Apples! Fresh apples!" a woman called.
He whirled to see a darkie woman standing in the street behind him. She grinned at him with ink-blacked teeth. The tattooed dots under her eyes and the feathers in her matted hair said she'd never been a slave, and the apples in her basket were bright and green.
"Fresh apple, Captain Barbossa?" she said in a curious accent, pulling one from her basket.
"You know my name," he said flatly. In the past ten years, anyone he'd never met before that knew his name always turned out to be trouble.
"I know many people's names." She laughed throatily. "You want to know mine."
"No," Barbossa said even as he took the apple from her. "I really don't."
He bit into the apple, trying not to enjoy the crunch it made. The apple flesh was white and juicy. It tasted like air; he loved the taste of apples too much for the curse to let him have it.
"Thank you, miss." He tossed her a ruby he'd taken from a Spanish priest. "You won't see me around to buy tomorrow," he said as he turned away. "My ship sails today."
"Yes," she agreed. "To Port Royal and Mister Turner's legacy."
He whirled to find the street empty.
-End-
Characters: Barbossa, Tia Dalma
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400+
Summary: Before he sails to Port Royal, Captain Barbossa orders applejack to drink.
Apples
***
"Applejack," Barbossa said when the serving wench brought around a mug of beer.
She smiled saucily. "Well! Good haul, captain?"
"Always." Never quite good enough, though, but always enough to buy him and his crew whatever they wanted. If they wanted girls and drink, good steel and fine velvet.
Not too many of them still wanted those things.
Music played, lively and bright. Voices filled the tavern, doing business and making merry. Barbossa watched money change hands, a thief roll a drunk, a serving wench slap a sailor, and enough beer and rum flow to keep even Jack Sparrow happy. Just thinking that name made his fist clench - the son of a whore had to have known what the coins would do. He must have, and Barbossa regretted every day he'd let Jack get away with shooting himself.
The serving wench came around with the applejack. He brought it to his mouth and inhaled. No smell, not with how much he enjoyed the scent of apples.
He drank it, and it might as well have been water.
Rage slammed through him like a wave, and he poured the rest of the applejack on the floor. Then he marked a sailor too drunk to think clearly but still sober enough to fight, and called his mother a whore.
***
Dawn found him spitting blood he didn't have on the street. He didn't grin - the fight hadn't been fun. If it had been fun, the curse would have deadened and destroyed it like it destroyed everything else he enjoyed.
"Apples! Fresh apples!" a woman called.
He whirled to see a darkie woman standing in the street behind him. She grinned at him with ink-blacked teeth. The tattooed dots under her eyes and the feathers in her matted hair said she'd never been a slave, and the apples in her basket were bright and green.
"Fresh apple, Captain Barbossa?" she said in a curious accent, pulling one from her basket.
"You know my name," he said flatly. In the past ten years, anyone he'd never met before that knew his name always turned out to be trouble.
"I know many people's names." She laughed throatily. "You want to know mine."
"No," Barbossa said even as he took the apple from her. "I really don't."
He bit into the apple, trying not to enjoy the crunch it made. The apple flesh was white and juicy. It tasted like air; he loved the taste of apples too much for the curse to let him have it.
"Thank you, miss." He tossed her a ruby he'd taken from a Spanish priest. "You won't see me around to buy tomorrow," he said as he turned away. "My ship sails today."
"Yes," she agreed. "To Port Royal and Mister Turner's legacy."
He whirled to find the street empty.
-End-