"One Day" Chapter 6 -- Dance with the Devil
Title: One Day - Chapter 6
Author: lady_di75
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Pairing: J/E (ultimately), W/E
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagined scenarios; the rest belongs to Disney, and my heart belongs to Jack
Warning: None -- be advised this is part of a WIP updated at random intervals!
Summary: The captain of the Flying Dutchman takes a meeting with a scheming Captain Barbossa, in which an offer is made that he is sorely tempted to accept.
A/N: Many thanks and grateful hugs to djarum99 for her thorough, generous and enthusiastic beta :)
ETA: Re-posted due to technical glitches :p
Chapter 6 -- Dance with the Devil
The captain’s cabin of the Black Pearl seemed a study in contrasts and contradictions, Will noticed, though he did so without surprise. The two men who had vied so long for her command were themselves so diametrically opposed to one another, it was essentially only the Pearl herself that gave them any common ground whatsoever.
Will stalked the breadth of the room, his stance radiating agitation, while Barbossa made an elaborate show of choosing - and rejecting - several identical chartreuse apples from a wooden bowl upon the table before finally selecting one and settling into his chair.
Pirates.
What was it Elizabeth had shrieked that day on Isla Cruces? “Wobbly-legged, rum-soaked pirates!”
She’d had enough of the lot of them that day. Now, hearing the Code’s tired refrain from Barbossa, even the Ferryman himself could embrace the sentiment. With a sigh, Will realized three truths. The first being that had he been Jack Sparrow, he’d have relished the feeling of shooting the maddeningly smug look from Barbossa’s face, too.
The second, then, being that had he been Hector Barbossa, he, too, would probably have decided to have abandoned Jack on a deserted island. At least twice.
The third being that despite all proverbial nonsense to the contrary, dead men did indeed have far too much to say.
“He fell behind? And you left him? After everything that’s happened, you marooned him again?” Will glowered, incredulous and exasperated. He watched as Barbossa’s teeth ravaged the apple’s delicate skin, not sure what sort of response he expected.
“I can assure ye, Captain Turner, that I left him in the able hands of two of Tortuga’s finest young ladies,” Barbossa confided with a lecherous wink, “but regrettably, it would seem that our respective agendas would have rendered our accommodations insufficient.”
Will blinked, once, before half a bemused grin unraveled his scowl. “So the Pearl isn’t big enough for the two of you, then?”
“Nor the prize she be after,” Barbossa’s leer widened, the familiar manic gleam returning to his eyes.
“Ah.” Will nodded knowingly. “Try and steer clear of the kind that come cursed by heathen gods, then, hm?” He looked out the cabin windows at the smoldering and sodden flotsam that remained of the ship whose destruction had brought him here. “But why all this, then?” He turned towards Barbossa, a puzzled look clouding his eyes as he lowered himself absently onto a chair. “What cargo was worth all this?”
“T' be honest - we are bein’ honest, Captain Turner? - the cargo was really secondary in this particular… negotiation, if ye will.” Barbossa’s wild eyes were still alight with just enough madness to send Will’s mind reeling; there was some terrible grand scheme that Barbossa was revealing to him little by little, feeding him hints and clues like so many table scraps tossed to a faithful hound.
He was beginning to find it irritating. Abruptly, he stood, nearly knocking the chair backwards. “Barbossa, if you’ve something of any value or import whatsoever to share with me, then I suggest you do it before I lose my patience with word games and childish riddles. Thanks to you, I’ve a fair score or more to take upon my own vessel now, and I’ll not -- ” The rest of Will’s declaration was suddenly lost, the unsaid words evaporating from his mind as he turned incredulous eyes upon Hector Barbossa, who let out a sharp, triumphant laugh.
“You killed all those men…” Will’s voice began to rise, as the incredulity in his eyes boiled over into unadulterated rage. “Did you think - you presumed - to summon me?!”
For all that had befallen William Turner in his young life, he had essentially remained the same gentle, straightforward, plain-dealing man he had always been. Of course, he knew himself to be a deadly swordsman, clever and capable of employing manipulation and cunning when the situation warranted, but he still mostly preferred honesty and direct speech to the brand of constant sleight-of-hand, -gun, -sword, and -tongue that typically defined his interactions with pirates. All of which made his outrage at having been the object of such a cloak-and-dagger scheme that much more likely to result in the Black Pearl’s third untimely journey to the ocean floor.
Barbossa’s eyes followed Will’s hand to the hilt of his sword, even as he continued to chuckle softly. “Now, now, Captain Turner - lest ye forget, I’ve been dead once already, and besides, what good would it do ye to kill me? Only add to the number o’ pathetic phantoms ye’ll already be ferrying to Fiddler’s Green this night.”
When Will spoke, it was through tightly clenched teeth. “Why did you seek the Dutchman? You spilled innocent blood to summon Death-why?” His knuckles were white, belying the force of his restraint.
With maddening languor, Barbossa rose. At his full height, he stood nearly half a head taller than the Ferryman, and had this been a confrontation with lesser man, his stature might have been considered intimidating. "I’m after the same prize that I’d warrant a certain mutual friend of ours seeks for himself. And I fear he has something of an advantage at the moment,” Barbossa admitted with palpable reluctance, though his eyes had yet to lose the luster of mad anticipation, “for though the erstwhile Captain Sparrow lacks a ship, he is in possession…” Yellowed talons closed around a large scroll upon the table’s scarred surface, and began to unroll what Will recognized as Sao Feng’s charts to World’s End. “… of a rather significant bit of information.” Barbossa revealed a gaping hole in the center of the chart, now a frame for his hideously grinning mug. “And, if ye recall, Jack also happens to possess a compass what leads him to that which his heart desires most.” He cast a swift but pointed look at Will’s marred chest, then his preternaturally unlined face.
“I still fail to see how any of this,” Will spat, gesturing angrily at the useless charts, “is my affair, or how you might possibly think to concern me with the whereabouts of Jack Sparrow’s bloody compass. I’ve had quite enough of it, and all trinkets of that sort.”
Barbossa squinted irritably at him, sighing as if he indulged a child slow to catch on. “Yer much like yer old man, Turner, ye know it? A good man, but without a clear view of the bigger picture.” He spread his hands with a flourish in the air. “What do ye know of the conquistadores, Captain? The Spaniards what came here, mad for lost cities made of gold?”
“I know of Cortes, Barbossa - surely you’ve not forgotten him?” Will shot back. Barbossa spared him a withering look before continuing. “La Florida once had herself a gov’nor by the name of Juan Ponce de Leon - he came to the mundo nuevo as an adventurer and explorer to map the Floridian peninsula, searching all the while for a treasure the likes of which had only appeared in fairy stories and the ramblings of madmen - a spring that would grant eternal youth to any who drank of its waters.”
Will all but laughed aloud at the solemnity with which Barbossa related the tale. “The fountain of youth? You said it yourself - it’s nothing more than fairy story and an old man’s dream. So you mean to tell me that Jack has the map, and the compass to lead him to an imaginary fountain in the middle of the Floridian wilderness, but he has no boat to get him there… you, on the other hand, have no map and no compass, but you do have quite possibly the fastest vessel in the Western Hemisphere.” Will paused a moment, raising an eyebrow as Barbossa nodded once. “Good luck with that, then,” he offered by way of farewell as he stepped towards the cabin door.
“Turner,” Barbossa’s voice called him back as his hand reached for the latch, “if I were a bettin’ man, I’d wager my hat that Jack has managed to find himself another ship by now - and just who d’ye suppose would be able - nay, even willing - to provide him with that? Only two people I can think of… and how convenient that they both hold court, as it were, in Shipwreck Cove.”
Will turned slowly, ghastly understanding dawning upon his face. Barbossa grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How is the little lady these days, Captain Turner? Not seen much of her lately? A shame…” he tutted. “The way I understand your little arrangement - and please, feel free to correct me if I have the details a bit muddled - is that you get to see her… once… every ten years. Tell me: how many more decades d’ye reckon the Pirate King has coming to her? Four?Five, perhaps, a hearty lass like herself?” Barbossa stood nearly at Will’s shoulder now , and he lowered his voice before finishing his final pitch. “I think now ye might understand the lure of such a prize… aye, Captain Turner?”
Author: lady_di75
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Pairing: J/E (ultimately), W/E
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagined scenarios; the rest belongs to Disney, and my heart belongs to Jack
Warning: None -- be advised this is part of a WIP updated at random intervals!
Summary: The captain of the Flying Dutchman takes a meeting with a scheming Captain Barbossa, in which an offer is made that he is sorely tempted to accept.
A/N: Many thanks and grateful hugs to djarum99 for her thorough, generous and enthusiastic beta :)
ETA: Re-posted due to technical glitches :p
Chapter 6 -- Dance with the Devil
The captain’s cabin of the Black Pearl seemed a study in contrasts and contradictions, Will noticed, though he did so without surprise. The two men who had vied so long for her command were themselves so diametrically opposed to one another, it was essentially only the Pearl herself that gave them any common ground whatsoever.
Will stalked the breadth of the room, his stance radiating agitation, while Barbossa made an elaborate show of choosing - and rejecting - several identical chartreuse apples from a wooden bowl upon the table before finally selecting one and settling into his chair.
Pirates.
What was it Elizabeth had shrieked that day on Isla Cruces? “Wobbly-legged, rum-soaked pirates!”
She’d had enough of the lot of them that day. Now, hearing the Code’s tired refrain from Barbossa, even the Ferryman himself could embrace the sentiment. With a sigh, Will realized three truths. The first being that had he been Jack Sparrow, he’d have relished the feeling of shooting the maddeningly smug look from Barbossa’s face, too.
The second, then, being that had he been Hector Barbossa, he, too, would probably have decided to have abandoned Jack on a deserted island. At least twice.
The third being that despite all proverbial nonsense to the contrary, dead men did indeed have far too much to say.
“He fell behind? And you left him? After everything that’s happened, you marooned him again?” Will glowered, incredulous and exasperated. He watched as Barbossa’s teeth ravaged the apple’s delicate skin, not sure what sort of response he expected.
“I can assure ye, Captain Turner, that I left him in the able hands of two of Tortuga’s finest young ladies,” Barbossa confided with a lecherous wink, “but regrettably, it would seem that our respective agendas would have rendered our accommodations insufficient.”
Will blinked, once, before half a bemused grin unraveled his scowl. “So the Pearl isn’t big enough for the two of you, then?”
“Nor the prize she be after,” Barbossa’s leer widened, the familiar manic gleam returning to his eyes.
“Ah.” Will nodded knowingly. “Try and steer clear of the kind that come cursed by heathen gods, then, hm?” He looked out the cabin windows at the smoldering and sodden flotsam that remained of the ship whose destruction had brought him here. “But why all this, then?” He turned towards Barbossa, a puzzled look clouding his eyes as he lowered himself absently onto a chair. “What cargo was worth all this?”
“T' be honest - we are bein’ honest, Captain Turner? - the cargo was really secondary in this particular… negotiation, if ye will.” Barbossa’s wild eyes were still alight with just enough madness to send Will’s mind reeling; there was some terrible grand scheme that Barbossa was revealing to him little by little, feeding him hints and clues like so many table scraps tossed to a faithful hound.
He was beginning to find it irritating. Abruptly, he stood, nearly knocking the chair backwards. “Barbossa, if you’ve something of any value or import whatsoever to share with me, then I suggest you do it before I lose my patience with word games and childish riddles. Thanks to you, I’ve a fair score or more to take upon my own vessel now, and I’ll not -- ” The rest of Will’s declaration was suddenly lost, the unsaid words evaporating from his mind as he turned incredulous eyes upon Hector Barbossa, who let out a sharp, triumphant laugh.
“You killed all those men…” Will’s voice began to rise, as the incredulity in his eyes boiled over into unadulterated rage. “Did you think - you presumed - to summon me?!”
For all that had befallen William Turner in his young life, he had essentially remained the same gentle, straightforward, plain-dealing man he had always been. Of course, he knew himself to be a deadly swordsman, clever and capable of employing manipulation and cunning when the situation warranted, but he still mostly preferred honesty and direct speech to the brand of constant sleight-of-hand, -gun, -sword, and -tongue that typically defined his interactions with pirates. All of which made his outrage at having been the object of such a cloak-and-dagger scheme that much more likely to result in the Black Pearl’s third untimely journey to the ocean floor.
Barbossa’s eyes followed Will’s hand to the hilt of his sword, even as he continued to chuckle softly. “Now, now, Captain Turner - lest ye forget, I’ve been dead once already, and besides, what good would it do ye to kill me? Only add to the number o’ pathetic phantoms ye’ll already be ferrying to Fiddler’s Green this night.”
When Will spoke, it was through tightly clenched teeth. “Why did you seek the Dutchman? You spilled innocent blood to summon Death-why?” His knuckles were white, belying the force of his restraint.
With maddening languor, Barbossa rose. At his full height, he stood nearly half a head taller than the Ferryman, and had this been a confrontation with lesser man, his stature might have been considered intimidating. "I’m after the same prize that I’d warrant a certain mutual friend of ours seeks for himself. And I fear he has something of an advantage at the moment,” Barbossa admitted with palpable reluctance, though his eyes had yet to lose the luster of mad anticipation, “for though the erstwhile Captain Sparrow lacks a ship, he is in possession…” Yellowed talons closed around a large scroll upon the table’s scarred surface, and began to unroll what Will recognized as Sao Feng’s charts to World’s End. “… of a rather significant bit of information.” Barbossa revealed a gaping hole in the center of the chart, now a frame for his hideously grinning mug. “And, if ye recall, Jack also happens to possess a compass what leads him to that which his heart desires most.” He cast a swift but pointed look at Will’s marred chest, then his preternaturally unlined face.
“I still fail to see how any of this,” Will spat, gesturing angrily at the useless charts, “is my affair, or how you might possibly think to concern me with the whereabouts of Jack Sparrow’s bloody compass. I’ve had quite enough of it, and all trinkets of that sort.”
Barbossa squinted irritably at him, sighing as if he indulged a child slow to catch on. “Yer much like yer old man, Turner, ye know it? A good man, but without a clear view of the bigger picture.” He spread his hands with a flourish in the air. “What do ye know of the conquistadores, Captain? The Spaniards what came here, mad for lost cities made of gold?”
“I know of Cortes, Barbossa - surely you’ve not forgotten him?” Will shot back. Barbossa spared him a withering look before continuing. “La Florida once had herself a gov’nor by the name of Juan Ponce de Leon - he came to the mundo nuevo as an adventurer and explorer to map the Floridian peninsula, searching all the while for a treasure the likes of which had only appeared in fairy stories and the ramblings of madmen - a spring that would grant eternal youth to any who drank of its waters.”
Will all but laughed aloud at the solemnity with which Barbossa related the tale. “The fountain of youth? You said it yourself - it’s nothing more than fairy story and an old man’s dream. So you mean to tell me that Jack has the map, and the compass to lead him to an imaginary fountain in the middle of the Floridian wilderness, but he has no boat to get him there… you, on the other hand, have no map and no compass, but you do have quite possibly the fastest vessel in the Western Hemisphere.” Will paused a moment, raising an eyebrow as Barbossa nodded once. “Good luck with that, then,” he offered by way of farewell as he stepped towards the cabin door.
“Turner,” Barbossa’s voice called him back as his hand reached for the latch, “if I were a bettin’ man, I’d wager my hat that Jack has managed to find himself another ship by now - and just who d’ye suppose would be able - nay, even willing - to provide him with that? Only two people I can think of… and how convenient that they both hold court, as it were, in Shipwreck Cove.”
Will turned slowly, ghastly understanding dawning upon his face. Barbossa grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How is the little lady these days, Captain Turner? Not seen much of her lately? A shame…” he tutted. “The way I understand your little arrangement - and please, feel free to correct me if I have the details a bit muddled - is that you get to see her… once… every ten years. Tell me: how many more decades d’ye reckon the Pirate King has coming to her? Four?Five, perhaps, a hearty lass like herself?” Barbossa stood nearly at Will’s shoulder now , and he lowered his voice before finishing his final pitch. “I think now ye might understand the lure of such a prize… aye, Captain Turner?”