PotC: Thunk
Title: Thunk
Fandom: PotC
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Spoilers: everything leading up to the last scene of DMC
Summary: the last scene of DMC through Will's perspective. much italics abuse. but hey. the guy's got angst. what can you say? (oh, and the tense is a little wonky.)
Notes: This was my absolute first piece of fanfic--or at least, the first piece I wrote after I knew what fanfic was. (before that, I'd started writing a few stories about book characters that were crap and never went anywhere, so those don't count.)
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
The knife slams into the table. He twists it out, splintering the wood, before stabbing the table again. Will knows he should be feeling grief, anger, something, but a wall seems to have formed inside him, holding back all emotions, leaving him numb. Jack was gone. It fails to register. Jack couldn’t be gone, couldn’t be dead. Jack Sparrow was the definition of alive, all flamboyant gestures, omniscient eyes as dark as the kohl he wore, the swish and sway of the ocean in his walk. You couldn’t kill something like that.
Thunk.
God damn it.
Will accepts the mug Tia Dalma hands him, taking a sip. She was talking about his father. He didn’t care right now.
“It doesn’t matter now. The Black Pearl is gone, along with her captain.” There. He’d declared it. Still the wall remains solid.
Thunk.
Sultry bayou air wafts through the shack, bringing in the chirping of crickets and the faint lapping of water against the makeshift dock. Ragetti sniffles in the corner, hunched over his drink.
Thunk.
Gibbs stands up, raising his mug, proposes a toast. “To Jack Sparrow.” Everyone follows suit, adding their own remembrance.
“He was a good man.” Elizabeth’s voice makes Will pause, set down his mug. A chink had formed: a flash of anger, jealousy. Does he love her enough to let her go? He rounds on her.
“If there was anything that could be done to bring him back-”
And Tia Dalma turns his question, meant only to test Elizabeth’s heart, into a surge of hope.
Fandom: PotC
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Spoilers: everything leading up to the last scene of DMC
Summary: the last scene of DMC through Will's perspective. much italics abuse. but hey. the guy's got angst. what can you say? (oh, and the tense is a little wonky.)
Notes: This was my absolute first piece of fanfic--or at least, the first piece I wrote after I knew what fanfic was. (before that, I'd started writing a few stories about book characters that were crap and never went anywhere, so those don't count.)
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
The knife slams into the table. He twists it out, splintering the wood, before stabbing the table again. Will knows he should be feeling grief, anger, something, but a wall seems to have formed inside him, holding back all emotions, leaving him numb. Jack was gone. It fails to register. Jack couldn’t be gone, couldn’t be dead. Jack Sparrow was the definition of alive, all flamboyant gestures, omniscient eyes as dark as the kohl he wore, the swish and sway of the ocean in his walk. You couldn’t kill something like that.
Thunk.
God damn it.
Will accepts the mug Tia Dalma hands him, taking a sip. She was talking about his father. He didn’t care right now.
“It doesn’t matter now. The Black Pearl is gone, along with her captain.” There. He’d declared it. Still the wall remains solid.
Thunk.
Sultry bayou air wafts through the shack, bringing in the chirping of crickets and the faint lapping of water against the makeshift dock. Ragetti sniffles in the corner, hunched over his drink.
Thunk.
Gibbs stands up, raising his mug, proposes a toast. “To Jack Sparrow.” Everyone follows suit, adding their own remembrance.
“He was a good man.” Elizabeth’s voice makes Will pause, set down his mug. A chink had formed: a flash of anger, jealousy. Does he love her enough to let her go? He rounds on her.
“If there was anything that could be done to bring him back-”
And Tia Dalma turns his question, meant only to test Elizabeth’s heart, into a surge of hope.