This was an Accident
I never had the intention of writing Pirates of the Caribbean fanfiction. I blame the British. Also, the Sparrington ship, for attracting as many talented writers as it has, luring me in like this. It's shameful. Here's the Prologue to an epic that I accidentally started.
Title: The Raptors of Misdirection and Waxing Gibberish
Fandom:Pirates of the Caribbean; sparrington
Rating: PG for now, NC-17 in later chapters
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington is making himself quite at home in my head, the snarky British bastard.
Dedication: This is all Norrington’s fault. I woke up one day with him in my head, metaphorically sitting across from me sipping tea and raising his eyebrows expectantly. Considering that I’ve written the man on a roleplay website that never took off, this was not wholly surprising, but then he asked, nay, demanded that I write him. So I did, and that would be how chapter one came about. It was all downhill from there. The Prologue? It showed up a lot later.
Warning:Ye be warned that this tale will eventually contain slash and higher ratings. Also, I made great and liberal use of the bits of Jack Sparrow’s and Norrington’s past histories that can be found on Wikipedia: namely, the bits about the Wicked Wench and Jack’s parting-ways with Beckett what with the slave cargo, et cetera, which I do not actually explain the reasons behind in detail; so you may want to go read that bit if you don’t know about all of it already. When the story gets around to the bit of Norrington's past history that I pilfered from wikipedia, I'll point that out, too.
Summary: It all starts with one day’s head start, and then suddenly the commodore is in Tortuga, in disguise. Jack Sparrow recognizes him, and shortly afterwards, on a mostly-unrelated note, chaos ensues around them both. Consider this a re-imagining of the events of DMC and AWE.
Prologue
Tinker, tailor,
Soldier, sailor,
Rich man, poor man,
Beggar-man, thief.
Army, Navy,
Med’cine, Law,
Church, Nobility,
‘R nothing at all.
A laird, a lord,
gentleman, bard,
bawd-man, law-man,
or pirate chief.
Jack had been singing the tune under his breath in an absent-minded fashion as he rowed his way to Tia Dalma’s hut. This would be the first time he asked a truly supernatural favor of her. This was the first time his own near-magical charms had failed him so spectacularly that he felt justified resorting to real magic, bartered and bought instead of stolen or tricked.
To his surprise, the priestess-goddess-woman sang back as soon as he reached the doorway of her eclectically-decorated home.
Another man who loves the sea,
What kind of soul will this one be?
Soldier, Sailor,
Hoarder, Hunter,
Good man, Judas,
Treasure man, Thief?
Jack stared at her for a long moment, lost in thought, then shook his head to recover himself, and gave her a gracious gold-edged smile as he doffed his hat and rested it over his heart. “Tia Dalma. Glad to see you in good spirits.”
She smirked a little as he bowed low, taking her outstretched hand reverently in one of his own and brushing his lips over her knuckles. “You yourself not so, witty-Jack. You gone dark now, an’ not jus’ because you barter your soul to de devil.”
Jack’s shoulders stiffened, but the rest of his graceful swagger remained intact as he stood up straight and wrapped both of his hand around the one of Tia’s, squeezing in a manner that could have passed for affectionate. “Aye. That’s true enough.” His eyes lowered to the bandage wrapped around his wrist and halfway up his forearm; beneath it, the brand on his skin was still healing. He could feel the pain of it to the very bones: hot and sharp and good reason for him to drink as much rum as he did lately. “I suppose that some burns leave behind more darkening char than others; it can color one’s perspective.”
“Jack...don’t tell me you blackened over so much you don’t shine no more,” Tia purred.
The pirate grinned wickedly, making him look steely and determined. “Darling, if there is one thing that I will always be, shiny is probably it.” The array of gold teeth in his grin drove home the point.
That earned a soft laugh from the Voodoo lady, and she shook her head at him, one hand stroking his cheek. “Treasure-man, Trickster-man, what is it you be wantin’ from Tia?”
Jack leaned into the touch unconsciously, like a cat seeking to be stroked, but he did not let her charms dissuade him, and his voice was clear and firm when he replied, “I want to be a free man, as much as possible, and I need a ship that can provide: uncatchable and tricky like meself.” A faint grin tugged at his lips again, but did not reach his eyes. “I’ve already got the makings of one, traded my soul for her resurrection post-Beckett, but the Wicked Wench could stand a little... soul of her own. Preferably one to match me and mine.” He held Tia Dalma’s dark gaze with his own; hers was more fathomless, but his was blacker.
“Been a long time since anybody called for dat. Men dese days like to control an’ possess deir boats, an’ when a ship have a livin’ soul...” she warned.
“Aye. That’s exactly what I’m lookin’ for.”
Tia’s eyes were dark, like the mouths of a pair of sea-caves, and equally unfathomable as she dropped her hand from his face and rested it on her hip defiantly. “What is it you t’ink you can trade wit’ me, for me to give you one of my nymphs for dis?”
“Two things; both just little things, really.” Jack’s grin flickered back on, but his eyes were wide and cold, so the grin looked bitter and knowing. “This one, returned to you from Singapore.” He pulled from his coat pocket a small hand-carved statue, as tall as his thumb, of an elegant Asian woman dressed in regal finery; it was of a dark agate with lines of gold and green and slate-blue. “Small, but a fair trade, indeed, I believe.” His gaze was knowing and his voice was the low rumble of darkening storm clouds.
Tia met Jack’s gaze warily as she raised her open palm. The pirate placed the statue, which had one of her nymphs’ souls bound within it, in her hand. She inhaled sharply as she sensed the lost one within the figure. “The grandfather of Sao Feng caught her long ago,” she said softly, shooting Jack an almost-questioning look as her fingers curled around the statue, which seemed to vanish in her grasp, going somewhere it called home.
“And now I am afraid that I may never again travel through Singapore safely,” Jack huffed, his brow furrowed and a mournful frown momentarily tugging at his lip. “Ah, Singapore,” he sighed, then shook his head. “But I have one more thing.” His ever-moving hands gave a significant flourish. “It’s more of a gift than a barter, really, as I do believe it was meant for you.” He fumbled with a chain around his neck, taking it off and pulling the large locket at the end of it out from under his shirt. Bowing again, he held up the small heart-shaped crab-shaped music box, presenting it on one raised palm.
Tia’s breath caught, if only for a moment. “You stole dis from de ship of Davy Jones.”
“I thought it more than unfair, since he had two of ‘em,” Jack explained.
That seemed to relax her somewhat, and she slowly, reverently lifted the silvery trinket from Jack’s hand, staring at it with a soft look, as though she could hear the distant music of its double coming from the sea. Then she grinned harshly and met Jack’s gaze. “You give persuasive gifts, witty-Jack.” She put the chain around her neck. “Where is de ship you bargained wit’ Jones to raise from de depths?”
“I had the foresight to have my current, small crew beach her nearby for your inspection,” Jack purred, his eyes shining bright with anticipation.
“An’ you want a ship can escape anyt’ing? De fastest, and de most stealthy?” Her fingers toyed with the music box, but did not open it.
“You know me so well, love,” Jack sighed wistfully, a rakish grin on his face.
Tia cupped his chin and looked deep into his pitch-black eyes, seeing through him and smiling. “You get a precious one, witty-Jack; she strong, an’ fast, and moody as you.”
“And as shiny?” A wink. “I know from the stories that you’ve got at least one girl who’s all pretty and gold.”
She shook her head at him. “No, Jack. De Hawk is not for you. She meant for a hunter, not a trickster-man, witty-Jack. You will have her sister; your match is de Black Pearl.”
Jack Sparrow led her out to the beach once his crew slept. Jack stood aside as Tia pulled a string of black pearls from her sleeve and approached the beached ship. Then he watched his Wicked Wench transform into the Black Pearl; her coloration darkened, her hull and keel seemed sleeker, her masts and sails became more impressive, and her voice thrummed low in the back of Jack’s mind, making his eyes fall shut as he swayed on his feet, listening to her laughter and feeling the wildness of her mood. Oh, she matched him.
Tia ran her hand along the blackened boards, and she told him the ship’s new name.
Approaching his new ship, Jack rested a hand beside Tia’s, feeling wholly and utterly seduced. The boards were warm and hummed softly under his touch. He repeated, “The Black Pearl,” under his breath, and his eyelids drooped as he listened to her. She did not use words, not really, but she knew his name. “She’s perfect, Tia. Beautiful.”
Tia smiled at him. “Never ‘ave I seen you look so solemn, Captain Jack Sparrow. Nor sound it, neider,” She sounded amused.
“Well. The occasion merits it,” he countered, but he was grinning now, his gaze heated.
“Take care of her, Jack Sparrow.”
“Aye, love. Like me own heart.”
Tia laughed. “You do take care of it, well, or I’d have stole it by now.”
He smiled at her, almost sincerely. “It’ll take a keener hunter than you, love, to capture that p’ticular treasure.”
“Aye, dat be true,” Tia mused with an all-too-knowing and all-too-amused look, but then she kissed his cheek, gentle as a breath of fog. “Come back some time, Jack Sparrow.” Her fingers stroked his arm almost suggestively, but then she pulled away, and walked away, returning to her river and her followers.
Jack glanced at her over his shoulder, and then climbed up the side of his ship to step on deck. By dawn, he had explored her from keel to crow’s nest and from bow to stern. When his crew awoke and exclaimed over their ship’s transformation, Jack stepped out on the bow and shouted a greeting to them.
“Good morning, mates! How’d you like to help me get my ship into the water, eh? The tide will be on our side soon enough.”
The crew obeyed, but came aboard almost hesitantly.
“Captain Jack?”
“Aye.”
“What in God’s name did you do to this ship?”
“Just some minor alterations, lads, from an old friend of mine. And a name change.” Jack grinned wide, his metal teeth glinting like aureate knives. “Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, me hearties.”
Story Index || Next
Title: The Raptors of Misdirection and Waxing Gibberish
Fandom:Pirates of the Caribbean; sparrington
Rating: PG for now, NC-17 in later chapters
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington is making himself quite at home in my head, the snarky British bastard.
Dedication: This is all Norrington’s fault. I woke up one day with him in my head, metaphorically sitting across from me sipping tea and raising his eyebrows expectantly. Considering that I’ve written the man on a roleplay website that never took off, this was not wholly surprising, but then he asked, nay, demanded that I write him. So I did, and that would be how chapter one came about. It was all downhill from there. The Prologue? It showed up a lot later.
Warning:Ye be warned that this tale will eventually contain slash and higher ratings. Also, I made great and liberal use of the bits of Jack Sparrow’s and Norrington’s past histories that can be found on Wikipedia: namely, the bits about the Wicked Wench and Jack’s parting-ways with Beckett what with the slave cargo, et cetera, which I do not actually explain the reasons behind in detail; so you may want to go read that bit if you don’t know about all of it already. When the story gets around to the bit of Norrington's past history that I pilfered from wikipedia, I'll point that out, too.
Summary: It all starts with one day’s head start, and then suddenly the commodore is in Tortuga, in disguise. Jack Sparrow recognizes him, and shortly afterwards, on a mostly-unrelated note, chaos ensues around them both. Consider this a re-imagining of the events of DMC and AWE.
Prologue
Tinker, tailor,
Soldier, sailor,
Rich man, poor man,
Beggar-man, thief.
Army, Navy,
Med’cine, Law,
Church, Nobility,
‘R nothing at all.
A laird, a lord,
gentleman, bard,
bawd-man, law-man,
or pirate chief.
Jack had been singing the tune under his breath in an absent-minded fashion as he rowed his way to Tia Dalma’s hut. This would be the first time he asked a truly supernatural favor of her. This was the first time his own near-magical charms had failed him so spectacularly that he felt justified resorting to real magic, bartered and bought instead of stolen or tricked.
To his surprise, the priestess-goddess-woman sang back as soon as he reached the doorway of her eclectically-decorated home.
Another man who loves the sea,
What kind of soul will this one be?
Soldier, Sailor,
Hoarder, Hunter,
Good man, Judas,
Treasure man, Thief?
Jack stared at her for a long moment, lost in thought, then shook his head to recover himself, and gave her a gracious gold-edged smile as he doffed his hat and rested it over his heart. “Tia Dalma. Glad to see you in good spirits.”
She smirked a little as he bowed low, taking her outstretched hand reverently in one of his own and brushing his lips over her knuckles. “You yourself not so, witty-Jack. You gone dark now, an’ not jus’ because you barter your soul to de devil.”
Jack’s shoulders stiffened, but the rest of his graceful swagger remained intact as he stood up straight and wrapped both of his hand around the one of Tia’s, squeezing in a manner that could have passed for affectionate. “Aye. That’s true enough.” His eyes lowered to the bandage wrapped around his wrist and halfway up his forearm; beneath it, the brand on his skin was still healing. He could feel the pain of it to the very bones: hot and sharp and good reason for him to drink as much rum as he did lately. “I suppose that some burns leave behind more darkening char than others; it can color one’s perspective.”
“Jack...don’t tell me you blackened over so much you don’t shine no more,” Tia purred.
The pirate grinned wickedly, making him look steely and determined. “Darling, if there is one thing that I will always be, shiny is probably it.” The array of gold teeth in his grin drove home the point.
That earned a soft laugh from the Voodoo lady, and she shook her head at him, one hand stroking his cheek. “Treasure-man, Trickster-man, what is it you be wantin’ from Tia?”
Jack leaned into the touch unconsciously, like a cat seeking to be stroked, but he did not let her charms dissuade him, and his voice was clear and firm when he replied, “I want to be a free man, as much as possible, and I need a ship that can provide: uncatchable and tricky like meself.” A faint grin tugged at his lips again, but did not reach his eyes. “I’ve already got the makings of one, traded my soul for her resurrection post-Beckett, but the Wicked Wench could stand a little... soul of her own. Preferably one to match me and mine.” He held Tia Dalma’s dark gaze with his own; hers was more fathomless, but his was blacker.
“Been a long time since anybody called for dat. Men dese days like to control an’ possess deir boats, an’ when a ship have a livin’ soul...” she warned.
“Aye. That’s exactly what I’m lookin’ for.”
Tia’s eyes were dark, like the mouths of a pair of sea-caves, and equally unfathomable as she dropped her hand from his face and rested it on her hip defiantly. “What is it you t’ink you can trade wit’ me, for me to give you one of my nymphs for dis?”
“Two things; both just little things, really.” Jack’s grin flickered back on, but his eyes were wide and cold, so the grin looked bitter and knowing. “This one, returned to you from Singapore.” He pulled from his coat pocket a small hand-carved statue, as tall as his thumb, of an elegant Asian woman dressed in regal finery; it was of a dark agate with lines of gold and green and slate-blue. “Small, but a fair trade, indeed, I believe.” His gaze was knowing and his voice was the low rumble of darkening storm clouds.
Tia met Jack’s gaze warily as she raised her open palm. The pirate placed the statue, which had one of her nymphs’ souls bound within it, in her hand. She inhaled sharply as she sensed the lost one within the figure. “The grandfather of Sao Feng caught her long ago,” she said softly, shooting Jack an almost-questioning look as her fingers curled around the statue, which seemed to vanish in her grasp, going somewhere it called home.
“And now I am afraid that I may never again travel through Singapore safely,” Jack huffed, his brow furrowed and a mournful frown momentarily tugging at his lip. “Ah, Singapore,” he sighed, then shook his head. “But I have one more thing.” His ever-moving hands gave a significant flourish. “It’s more of a gift than a barter, really, as I do believe it was meant for you.” He fumbled with a chain around his neck, taking it off and pulling the large locket at the end of it out from under his shirt. Bowing again, he held up the small heart-shaped crab-shaped music box, presenting it on one raised palm.
Tia’s breath caught, if only for a moment. “You stole dis from de ship of Davy Jones.”
“I thought it more than unfair, since he had two of ‘em,” Jack explained.
That seemed to relax her somewhat, and she slowly, reverently lifted the silvery trinket from Jack’s hand, staring at it with a soft look, as though she could hear the distant music of its double coming from the sea. Then she grinned harshly and met Jack’s gaze. “You give persuasive gifts, witty-Jack.” She put the chain around her neck. “Where is de ship you bargained wit’ Jones to raise from de depths?”
“I had the foresight to have my current, small crew beach her nearby for your inspection,” Jack purred, his eyes shining bright with anticipation.
“An’ you want a ship can escape anyt’ing? De fastest, and de most stealthy?” Her fingers toyed with the music box, but did not open it.
“You know me so well, love,” Jack sighed wistfully, a rakish grin on his face.
Tia cupped his chin and looked deep into his pitch-black eyes, seeing through him and smiling. “You get a precious one, witty-Jack; she strong, an’ fast, and moody as you.”
“And as shiny?” A wink. “I know from the stories that you’ve got at least one girl who’s all pretty and gold.”
She shook her head at him. “No, Jack. De Hawk is not for you. She meant for a hunter, not a trickster-man, witty-Jack. You will have her sister; your match is de Black Pearl.”
Jack Sparrow led her out to the beach once his crew slept. Jack stood aside as Tia pulled a string of black pearls from her sleeve and approached the beached ship. Then he watched his Wicked Wench transform into the Black Pearl; her coloration darkened, her hull and keel seemed sleeker, her masts and sails became more impressive, and her voice thrummed low in the back of Jack’s mind, making his eyes fall shut as he swayed on his feet, listening to her laughter and feeling the wildness of her mood. Oh, she matched him.
Tia ran her hand along the blackened boards, and she told him the ship’s new name.
Approaching his new ship, Jack rested a hand beside Tia’s, feeling wholly and utterly seduced. The boards were warm and hummed softly under his touch. He repeated, “The Black Pearl,” under his breath, and his eyelids drooped as he listened to her. She did not use words, not really, but she knew his name. “She’s perfect, Tia. Beautiful.”
Tia smiled at him. “Never ‘ave I seen you look so solemn, Captain Jack Sparrow. Nor sound it, neider,” She sounded amused.
“Well. The occasion merits it,” he countered, but he was grinning now, his gaze heated.
“Take care of her, Jack Sparrow.”
“Aye, love. Like me own heart.”
Tia laughed. “You do take care of it, well, or I’d have stole it by now.”
He smiled at her, almost sincerely. “It’ll take a keener hunter than you, love, to capture that p’ticular treasure.”
“Aye, dat be true,” Tia mused with an all-too-knowing and all-too-amused look, but then she kissed his cheek, gentle as a breath of fog. “Come back some time, Jack Sparrow.” Her fingers stroked his arm almost suggestively, but then she pulled away, and walked away, returning to her river and her followers.
Jack glanced at her over his shoulder, and then climbed up the side of his ship to step on deck. By dawn, he had explored her from keel to crow’s nest and from bow to stern. When his crew awoke and exclaimed over their ship’s transformation, Jack stepped out on the bow and shouted a greeting to them.
“Good morning, mates! How’d you like to help me get my ship into the water, eh? The tide will be on our side soon enough.”
The crew obeyed, but came aboard almost hesitantly.
“Captain Jack?”
“Aye.”
“What in God’s name did you do to this ship?”
“Just some minor alterations, lads, from an old friend of mine. And a name change.” Jack grinned wide, his metal teeth glinting like aureate knives. “Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, me hearties.”
Story Index || Next