Closing doors and opening doors.
Eyes ablaze with anger, Barbossa slammed the door of the captain's cabin closed and flung the useless roll of charts on the table. Whipping his hat off his head he threw it on the table too and paced around the room like a caged lion, his graying hair streaming behind him with every turn of heel.
Bloody ungrateful bastards, the lot of them! and bloody, bloody, accursed Jack Sparrow...!
The rage lasted for only one moment, or rather its hold on his thoughts did before receding. What he needed now was not rage, but a calm mind. With mutiny in the air (And he had been able to steal the Pearl from under Jack's feet not once, but twice, because of his ability to read the crew and gauge how close their mood was to throwing the captain overboard) he needed to think of a way to channel the men's discontent towards another target. And being angry wouldn't help, because he'd try to turn them against Jack, and at the moment that just wouldn't work.
He plopped onto the chair and studied the mundane charts for a moment, then slowly lowered his head. Silence, then a low rumbling sound as Barbossa raised his head once more and laughed. Ah, the irony of the situation. Slowly he leaned back and pondered: Jack had the charts, and that compass of his, but there was one thing he didn't have, and Barbossa was so much better at than him. And something that was always critically necessary when it came to dealing with such supernatural instances as the Fountain of Youth.
Lore. Wisdom. Knowledge.
With no more of that than a few overheard legends and sailor's tales, Jack was doomed to run into the Fountain's defenses and meet a most unpleasant death. And Barbossa was sure Sparrow knew, too. So his headstart was diminished by the need to gather some information. And he didn't have the Pearl, a fact that never failed to spread a warm feeling over the Spaniard's black heart.
With a new spring to his limping step, he stood up and headed for the drinks cabinet, opening the large double doors...
Into the sight of a bar that shouldn't be there, a place that Barbossa never expected to see again. For a moment he paused at the door, eyes narrowing.
Then again, time doesn't pass while I'm in there. And I could use some time to adequately plan how to deal with these mutinous curs...
Slowly, without losing sight of the cabinet's door, he stepped back to take his hat from the table and adjust it on his head. And then, with barely a look at himself in the mirror, he stepped through the threshold.
Bloody ungrateful bastards, the lot of them! and bloody, bloody, accursed Jack Sparrow...!
The rage lasted for only one moment, or rather its hold on his thoughts did before receding. What he needed now was not rage, but a calm mind. With mutiny in the air (And he had been able to steal the Pearl from under Jack's feet not once, but twice, because of his ability to read the crew and gauge how close their mood was to throwing the captain overboard) he needed to think of a way to channel the men's discontent towards another target. And being angry wouldn't help, because he'd try to turn them against Jack, and at the moment that just wouldn't work.
He plopped onto the chair and studied the mundane charts for a moment, then slowly lowered his head. Silence, then a low rumbling sound as Barbossa raised his head once more and laughed. Ah, the irony of the situation. Slowly he leaned back and pondered: Jack had the charts, and that compass of his, but there was one thing he didn't have, and Barbossa was so much better at than him. And something that was always critically necessary when it came to dealing with such supernatural instances as the Fountain of Youth.
Lore. Wisdom. Knowledge.
With no more of that than a few overheard legends and sailor's tales, Jack was doomed to run into the Fountain's defenses and meet a most unpleasant death. And Barbossa was sure Sparrow knew, too. So his headstart was diminished by the need to gather some information. And he didn't have the Pearl, a fact that never failed to spread a warm feeling over the Spaniard's black heart.
With a new spring to his limping step, he stood up and headed for the drinks cabinet, opening the large double doors...
Into the sight of a bar that shouldn't be there, a place that Barbossa never expected to see again. For a moment he paused at the door, eyes narrowing.
Then again, time doesn't pass while I'm in there. And I could use some time to adequately plan how to deal with these mutinous curs...
Slowly, without losing sight of the cabinet's door, he stepped back to take his hat from the table and adjust it on his head. And then, with barely a look at himself in the mirror, he stepped through the threshold.