Dark Lady-Chapter Four
Title: Dark Lady
Chapter Four: Carving Through Deception
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Jack, The Dark Lady (OFC, sort of, more on this in the note), Gibbs and sundry members of the crew. Stir well and serve immediately.
Disclaimers: I make no claim on any of this. Disney owns all rights. I just loot and plunder.
Rating: PG-13 to R (this chapter-PG-13)
Notes: The plotbunny comes from
compassrose7577, in a conversation we had over my witching hour fic “Song of the Black Pearl.” It just hit me and the rest as we say is history. Now, there is a lady in this fic, and no, her name is not Elizabeth Swann. For those of you concerned, she is neither an OC nor a Mary-Sue. So read on, gentlepirates and meet the Dark Lady.
This chapter: Jack discovers some things about his Dark Lady that are rather shocking.
Back to chapter three.
*--------------------------------*
When Jack woke, he was alone in his cabin, but evidence of his visitor was there in the basin of water and the damp cloth over his eyes. He shifted the cloth enough to note the weak morning light seeping through the windows of his cabin. The sky was gray and threatened a storm before the day was out. Groaning, he rose, pleasantly surprised to find his head had ceased to ache and the stomach pains that had driven him back to the ship were gone as if they had never happened.
“Lass? Ye be about?”
“Always…” Jack noticed with an uneasy feeling that that corner had most definitely been empty before she emerged from it. “Are you well, my captain?”
Jack scowled down at the thin braid of hair around his tanned wrist. “As well as can be expected, luv, what wit’ a sea-goddess playin’ mind-games wit’ me an’ a haunt in me own cabin.”
Jack winced and silently cursed his own inability to put a curb on his own tongue when he saw the crestfallen look on her fine-featured face. “So I am still not welcome here?”
“Lass…” Jack cleared his throat. He hadn’t felt this out of sorts since Lizzie had shackled him to the mast under the pretense of a kiss. “Shouldn’t ye be looking fer the light an’ seekin’ wotever tis that keep ye here on the mortal coil… real world… living realm… wot have ye!” Jack scowled. “Why hasn’t ol’ Will come fer ye, himself-like?”
She sagged gracefully onto the edge of his bunk, green silk pooling around her. Her dark eyes hovered somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “How many times must I say it? I am no more ghost than you are. I have no business with the captain of the Dutchman. Even now, he is halfway to the Spanish Main for the crew of a Galleon that went down.”
Jack blinked at her as she cut herself off with a little gasp. “An’ how would ye be knowin’ that, lass, iffen ye ain’t a haunt?” He asked shrewdly, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. “Leastwise, far as I know, t’aint no one human who can know ‘bout the Flying Dutchman, most ‘specially when tis half the ocean away.”
The hands that had come up to cover her mouth lowered slowly. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”
“Wot am I s’posed t’be figurin,’ lass?” Jack growled. “An’ how is it ye know where Will is?”
She looked out the window, raising a slender hand to point. “She sings to me, a haunting, mournful song, but a good one. Her song was once a tortured, tormented thing, when He was at her helm. Now it is almost joyful.”
“Wot in blazes are ye babblin’ about?” Jack almost shouted. “Who’s singin,’ dammit?”
“The Dutchman. She sings to me as I once sang to you.”
Jack deflated, looking down into those dark, fathomless eyes. “Wot?”
She sighed and some of the life went out of her face. “Until you figure it out, my captain, I cannot tell you. That is my part of the bargain I struck.”
“Bargain? Wit’ who?”
She said nothing, but her eyes cut down to his crossed arms. “You know that. I can’t say what the game is, but we are just pawns in it.”
Jack hissed, glaring down at his wrist. The thin band of braided hair was a mocking reminder of just whose game this was. When he glanced up, he spat a startled curse. His bunk was empty of any sign of his visitor. Like before, she had vanished the moment his attention wasn’t on her.
In a truly black mood, Jack stormed up to the quarterdeck. Everyone knew the signs of their captain in a foul temper and were careful to avoid him, even Gibbs, who was nursing a hangover of epic proportions. Jack prowled the deck like a caged wolf, muttering angrily under his breath. Even Cotton’s parrot was uncharacteristically silent after one squawk had earned it a murderous look and a hand hovering dangerously close to the pistol shoved in Jack’s tattered sash.
Even in his foul mood, Jack careful not to direct his brewing rage on any of his crew. He’d seen mutinies over far less and he had no wish to be the victim of a mutiny again.
When the silence grated on his nerves he whipped around to face the crew, all of whom suddenly looked far too involved in their tasks. “Get lost, the lot o’ye. Gibbs, yer on shipwatch wit’ me, the rest of ye, get yerselves ashore, an’ I don’t want to see yer scurvy hides til morning.”
The crew scattered like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Gibbs took himself off to keep watch from the aft deck, leaving Jack to prowl the rest of the ship like a restive cat. Jack was ready to chew nails and spit tacks and Gibbs wanted nothing to do with it. He’d only seen Jack in a true temper twice before, and those had been enough for him. He studiously looked anywhere but at his captain.
Jack snarled to himself as he made a fourth circuit along the railing, ending up on the bowsprit. Damn Tia anyways! She’d done her level best to muck with his life before and now that she'd come back into her full powers, it seemed he still wasn’t safe from her.
And what of his mysterious visitor? Ghost or no, she had far too much she wasn’t telling and Jack was getting fair tired of all the mysteries and mucking about.
Jack took out some of his aggressions by pulling a small hunk of sandalwood he’d traded for out of one of his many pockets and cutting at it sharply with a thin knife no longer than his finger. The sweet smell of the wood was oddly calming and Jack lost himself in the whittling.
It was to be a gift for Lizzie when she finally gave birth to Turner’s child, though Jack had no intention of actually delivering the gift himself. Life was fair hazardous around Elizabeth Turner. She’d been enchanted by a fan she gotten while aboard the Empress, carved of the same sweet-scented wood. He calmed as the wood took shape under his sharp blade.
He’d gotten the idea from one of Lizzie’s own crewmen during a bout of friendly drinking and a bit of dicing. The man had told him of a creature that was enough like Elizabeth Turner to make them sisters. A faint painting on one of his charts had spawned the idea and he’d begun carving the figure of a woman with the face of a fox. Tricky devils, were the fox-spirits the man had told him tales of. A right image, that was, of Lizzie as one of the scheming creatures.
Jack smiled as the figure took shape out of the wood. He was a fair hand at carving, learned when he was still just a lad, and had watched a ship’s figurehead taking shape under the hands of a master. Laughing at the irony, he’d done the small figure up in a carved representation of the dress Lizzie had been wearing the first time they’d met in Port Royal. With a touch of whimsy, he carved a sword under the figure’s folded hands. That was Elizabeth, all right. Pretty as a hothouse flower with swordblades for petals.
Jack was smiling more now, the familiar actions of the blade biting into the wood a soothing distraction from thoughts of Tia’s curse and his haunt’s mysterious words.
A smile that dropped from his face as he looked up from the motions of his hands and at something he’d seen a thousand times. The blade fell from his fingers, clattering to the deck.
He’d seen that form hundreds of times in his dreams and hundreds more than that in his waking moments. His eyes had skimmed the graceful curves endless times, but now he looked at it as if for the first time.
The first stinging drops of rain descended as Jack stared at the Black Pearl’s figurehead; the refined features the same as the wistful lady’s who haunted his cabin.
On to Chapter Five.
Chapter Four: Carving Through Deception
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Jack, The Dark Lady (OFC, sort of, more on this in the note), Gibbs and sundry members of the crew. Stir well and serve immediately.
Disclaimers: I make no claim on any of this. Disney owns all rights. I just loot and plunder.
Rating: PG-13 to R (this chapter-PG-13)
Notes: The plotbunny comes from
compassrose7577, in a conversation we had over my witching hour fic “Song of the Black Pearl.” It just hit me and the rest as we say is history. Now, there is a lady in this fic, and no, her name is not Elizabeth Swann. For those of you concerned, she is neither an OC nor a Mary-Sue. So read on, gentlepirates and meet the Dark Lady.
This chapter: Jack discovers some things about his Dark Lady that are rather shocking.
Back to chapter three.
*--------------------------------*
When Jack woke, he was alone in his cabin, but evidence of his visitor was there in the basin of water and the damp cloth over his eyes. He shifted the cloth enough to note the weak morning light seeping through the windows of his cabin. The sky was gray and threatened a storm before the day was out. Groaning, he rose, pleasantly surprised to find his head had ceased to ache and the stomach pains that had driven him back to the ship were gone as if they had never happened.
“Lass? Ye be about?”
“Always…” Jack noticed with an uneasy feeling that that corner had most definitely been empty before she emerged from it. “Are you well, my captain?”
Jack scowled down at the thin braid of hair around his tanned wrist. “As well as can be expected, luv, what wit’ a sea-goddess playin’ mind-games wit’ me an’ a haunt in me own cabin.”
Jack winced and silently cursed his own inability to put a curb on his own tongue when he saw the crestfallen look on her fine-featured face. “So I am still not welcome here?”
“Lass…” Jack cleared his throat. He hadn’t felt this out of sorts since Lizzie had shackled him to the mast under the pretense of a kiss. “Shouldn’t ye be looking fer the light an’ seekin’ wotever tis that keep ye here on the mortal coil… real world… living realm… wot have ye!” Jack scowled. “Why hasn’t ol’ Will come fer ye, himself-like?”
She sagged gracefully onto the edge of his bunk, green silk pooling around her. Her dark eyes hovered somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “How many times must I say it? I am no more ghost than you are. I have no business with the captain of the Dutchman. Even now, he is halfway to the Spanish Main for the crew of a Galleon that went down.”
Jack blinked at her as she cut herself off with a little gasp. “An’ how would ye be knowin’ that, lass, iffen ye ain’t a haunt?” He asked shrewdly, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. “Leastwise, far as I know, t’aint no one human who can know ‘bout the Flying Dutchman, most ‘specially when tis half the ocean away.”
The hands that had come up to cover her mouth lowered slowly. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”
“Wot am I s’posed t’be figurin,’ lass?” Jack growled. “An’ how is it ye know where Will is?”
She looked out the window, raising a slender hand to point. “She sings to me, a haunting, mournful song, but a good one. Her song was once a tortured, tormented thing, when He was at her helm. Now it is almost joyful.”
“Wot in blazes are ye babblin’ about?” Jack almost shouted. “Who’s singin,’ dammit?”
“The Dutchman. She sings to me as I once sang to you.”
Jack deflated, looking down into those dark, fathomless eyes. “Wot?”
She sighed and some of the life went out of her face. “Until you figure it out, my captain, I cannot tell you. That is my part of the bargain I struck.”
“Bargain? Wit’ who?”
She said nothing, but her eyes cut down to his crossed arms. “You know that. I can’t say what the game is, but we are just pawns in it.”
Jack hissed, glaring down at his wrist. The thin band of braided hair was a mocking reminder of just whose game this was. When he glanced up, he spat a startled curse. His bunk was empty of any sign of his visitor. Like before, she had vanished the moment his attention wasn’t on her.
In a truly black mood, Jack stormed up to the quarterdeck. Everyone knew the signs of their captain in a foul temper and were careful to avoid him, even Gibbs, who was nursing a hangover of epic proportions. Jack prowled the deck like a caged wolf, muttering angrily under his breath. Even Cotton’s parrot was uncharacteristically silent after one squawk had earned it a murderous look and a hand hovering dangerously close to the pistol shoved in Jack’s tattered sash.
Even in his foul mood, Jack careful not to direct his brewing rage on any of his crew. He’d seen mutinies over far less and he had no wish to be the victim of a mutiny again.
When the silence grated on his nerves he whipped around to face the crew, all of whom suddenly looked far too involved in their tasks. “Get lost, the lot o’ye. Gibbs, yer on shipwatch wit’ me, the rest of ye, get yerselves ashore, an’ I don’t want to see yer scurvy hides til morning.”
The crew scattered like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Gibbs took himself off to keep watch from the aft deck, leaving Jack to prowl the rest of the ship like a restive cat. Jack was ready to chew nails and spit tacks and Gibbs wanted nothing to do with it. He’d only seen Jack in a true temper twice before, and those had been enough for him. He studiously looked anywhere but at his captain.
Jack snarled to himself as he made a fourth circuit along the railing, ending up on the bowsprit. Damn Tia anyways! She’d done her level best to muck with his life before and now that she'd come back into her full powers, it seemed he still wasn’t safe from her.
And what of his mysterious visitor? Ghost or no, she had far too much she wasn’t telling and Jack was getting fair tired of all the mysteries and mucking about.
Jack took out some of his aggressions by pulling a small hunk of sandalwood he’d traded for out of one of his many pockets and cutting at it sharply with a thin knife no longer than his finger. The sweet smell of the wood was oddly calming and Jack lost himself in the whittling.
It was to be a gift for Lizzie when she finally gave birth to Turner’s child, though Jack had no intention of actually delivering the gift himself. Life was fair hazardous around Elizabeth Turner. She’d been enchanted by a fan she gotten while aboard the Empress, carved of the same sweet-scented wood. He calmed as the wood took shape under his sharp blade.
He’d gotten the idea from one of Lizzie’s own crewmen during a bout of friendly drinking and a bit of dicing. The man had told him of a creature that was enough like Elizabeth Turner to make them sisters. A faint painting on one of his charts had spawned the idea and he’d begun carving the figure of a woman with the face of a fox. Tricky devils, were the fox-spirits the man had told him tales of. A right image, that was, of Lizzie as one of the scheming creatures.
Jack smiled as the figure took shape out of the wood. He was a fair hand at carving, learned when he was still just a lad, and had watched a ship’s figurehead taking shape under the hands of a master. Laughing at the irony, he’d done the small figure up in a carved representation of the dress Lizzie had been wearing the first time they’d met in Port Royal. With a touch of whimsy, he carved a sword under the figure’s folded hands. That was Elizabeth, all right. Pretty as a hothouse flower with swordblades for petals.
Jack was smiling more now, the familiar actions of the blade biting into the wood a soothing distraction from thoughts of Tia’s curse and his haunt’s mysterious words.
A smile that dropped from his face as he looked up from the motions of his hands and at something he’d seen a thousand times. The blade fell from his fingers, clattering to the deck.
He’d seen that form hundreds of times in his dreams and hundreds more than that in his waking moments. His eyes had skimmed the graceful curves endless times, but now he looked at it as if for the first time.
The first stinging drops of rain descended as Jack stared at the Black Pearl’s figurehead; the refined features the same as the wistful lady’s who haunted his cabin.
On to Chapter Five.