(no subject)
Barbossa sits at what has quickly become his usual spot by the lake, on a large flat rock from which he gets a good view of the Pearl. This time, though, he's busy with something entirely different, as he has occasionally been for the last few days. He holds a small, palm-sized leather-bound book in one hand and seems to be reading backwards through it. His brow is knitted, a worried frown across his face.
There's got to be something. We can't get to the Locker without some kind of supernatural guidance, and I know I heard of something, a long time ago...
His eyes narrow, suddenly, and he tilts his head. The thought is there, fleeting, and any attempt to look directly at it will only scare it away. He has to think carefully around it, build a fence of other thoughts to keep it in.
Singapore. There must be a reason why I thought of Sao Feng first, of all the Pirate Lords. Hell, it's been easy enough to convince the likes of WIll Turner that it's the best option but of course they don't -know- the other Brethren. But why was Sao Feng the first to come to mind? Why haven't I even considered any other alternatives...?
It is a fact that most of the time the mind works without actually telling its owner. Do you know those sudden inspirations that seem to come out of the blue and hit you like a hammer after you've been pondering a problem from a completely different direction for days?
Bullshit. It's all the work of those carefully hidden parts of your mind that toil endlessly like sweatshop workers, without thanks nor ever seeing the light. Feel bad enough already? Good, back to track, then.
The memory sparks up suddenly. He doesn't dare dwell on it, but instead backtracks through the pages of the small book in his hands until he finds it, tucked into a small note on the margin of one of the pages. And he starts to laugh. Laughter that starts as a low sound and a shake of his shoulders and finally erupts in a loud, if brief, outburst.
"Of course! Singapore!"
It's the simple, elegant nature of the double-dealing that pleases him most. No convoluted scheme holds more beauty than a simple, traditional double-cross. And at the same time it holds the solidity of planned courses. Not haphazard improvisation and insane wit, like Jack's endeavours tend to be.His mood has improved much when he again starts to ponder the finer points of the plan.
And now, who? Who do we send in there? Got to be careful there, don't want to send someone exceedingly bright, lest they puzzle out the whole delightful bit of duplicity involved. But it has to be someone who can actually sneak into the temple and get the charts, maybe even possibly fight his way out...
The smile that curls his lips would could wither a whole orchard of apple trees out of sheer wickedness.
"Well, well, well, mr Turner. Seems like we've found you an use at last."
There's got to be something. We can't get to the Locker without some kind of supernatural guidance, and I know I heard of something, a long time ago...
His eyes narrow, suddenly, and he tilts his head. The thought is there, fleeting, and any attempt to look directly at it will only scare it away. He has to think carefully around it, build a fence of other thoughts to keep it in.
Singapore. There must be a reason why I thought of Sao Feng first, of all the Pirate Lords. Hell, it's been easy enough to convince the likes of WIll Turner that it's the best option but of course they don't -know- the other Brethren. But why was Sao Feng the first to come to mind? Why haven't I even considered any other alternatives...?
It is a fact that most of the time the mind works without actually telling its owner. Do you know those sudden inspirations that seem to come out of the blue and hit you like a hammer after you've been pondering a problem from a completely different direction for days?
Bullshit. It's all the work of those carefully hidden parts of your mind that toil endlessly like sweatshop workers, without thanks nor ever seeing the light. Feel bad enough already? Good, back to track, then.
The memory sparks up suddenly. He doesn't dare dwell on it, but instead backtracks through the pages of the small book in his hands until he finds it, tucked into a small note on the margin of one of the pages. And he starts to laugh. Laughter that starts as a low sound and a shake of his shoulders and finally erupts in a loud, if brief, outburst.
"Of course! Singapore!"
It's the simple, elegant nature of the double-dealing that pleases him most. No convoluted scheme holds more beauty than a simple, traditional double-cross. And at the same time it holds the solidity of planned courses. Not haphazard improvisation and insane wit, like Jack's endeavours tend to be.His mood has improved much when he again starts to ponder the finer points of the plan.
And now, who? Who do we send in there? Got to be careful there, don't want to send someone exceedingly bright, lest they puzzle out the whole delightful bit of duplicity involved. But it has to be someone who can actually sneak into the temple and get the charts, maybe even possibly fight his way out...
The smile that curls his lips would could wither a whole orchard of apple trees out of sheer wickedness.
"Well, well, well, mr Turner. Seems like we've found you an use at last."