For tiamary, "Old Christmas Revived, Part IV" by mamazano
Moderator's Note: This was written in five chapters so I posted it as such. All parts will be linked at the bottom of each LJ Cut for easy sifting. If you come through at the halfway mark, and I'm not finished posting, please bear with me. Thanks! -'Drea
Title: Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored (Part Four)
Author: mamazano
Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with some OC’s
Disclaimer: Borrowed from Disney, without permission, with all intentions of giving them back…maybe.
Written For: For the 2009 merrypirates fic exchange, for Tiamary, who requested a story that includes tidbits about how Christmastime was observed in the Caribbean in the 1700s.
Summary: The crew of the Black Pearl on holiday in Tortuga. Set post-AWE, at Christmastime. Fancy that!
A/N: Tremendous gratitude goes out to all my darling danglingdingle, for her unflagging encouragement, unfailing support and spot-on suggestions, all of which have enabled this story to unfold.
A special thank you also goes out to stealmybike, for reading through the final draft for continuity and story flow.
*
Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored
Chapter 4
****
The court, and the city, and country are glad,
Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad;
Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly,
And hundreds be losers by cogging a die,
Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
Those that have no coin at the cards for to play,
May sit by the fire, and pass time away,
And drink of their moisture contented and free
"My honest good fellow, come, here is to thee!"
And when they are hungry, fall to their relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along,
Each room in the house to the musick shall throng,
Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass,
And each country swain trip about with his lass;
Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
****
“No, no, no, no, my dear Gibbous!” Pierre protested. “It is not the ‘leaping lords’ and ‘milking maids’ as you English say!”
The moon hung low on the horizon, the evening now mellowed; the celebration in town having weaved its way back to the Pearl once again.
Pierre and Gibbs, who were sharing a bottle of wine along with stories of Christmas customs from their homelands, were arguing good-naturedly over a child’s counting rhyme.
“I remember, clear as yesterday, my dear mum teaching me the words,” Gibbs said, ticking them off on his fingers, “It were a partridge in a pear-tree, two turtle-doves, three French hens, four colly birds, five gold rings, six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming, eight maids a-milking, nine drummers drumming, ten pipers piping, eleven ladies dancing, and twelve lords leaping.”
Pierre interrupted. “You English, and your love of the war. Drummers drumming, pipers piping. Pah!”
“Why I always ‘eard it were a King giving ‘is Lady a parrot,” a drunken sailor piped up. “Like Cotton’s there.”
Cotton glanced up from the piece of wood he was whittling and grinned, his parrot flapping its wings in agreement.
“Whoever heard of a King with a bloomin’ parrot?” Pintel asked, looking up from his dice game.
“I’ve heard that one, originally from Scotland, tis,” Ragetti offered, sitting regally with wassail bowl rakishly perched on his head. “King gave her a baboon, too.”
“Well we ain’t originally from Scotland, are we?” Pintel said, with a snort. “I’ve always heard it the way Gibbs tells it.”
“In my country, we give the gifts most useful, no?” Pierre said. “The partridge, the two turtle-doves, the three wood-pigeons,” he recited. “Four ducks flying, five rabbits trotting, six hares a-field, seven hounds running, eight shorn sheep, nine horned oxen, ten good turkeys, eleven good hams, and the twelve small cheeses.”
“Cheeses?” The men all fell about laughing and slapping their legs. “Leave it to the French to give cheeses!”
“What? You would rather we give the gift of the parrot? The Arabian baboon?” Pierre sputtered. “Or perhaps you English men prefer the La foi de la loi, the creed of the authority. Voilà.”
He began to sing solemnly,
“La premier' parti' d'la foi de la loi,
Dit' la moi, frere Gregoire.
Un bon farci sans os
La deuxieme parti' d'la foi de la loi,
Dit' le moi, frere Gregoire
Deux ventres de veau,
Un bon farci sans os.
A good stuffing without bones. Two breasts of veal.” Pierre translated. “Three joints of beef, four pig's trotters, five legs of mutton, six partridges with cabbage, seven spitted rabbits, eight plates of salad, nine plates of cheese, ten full casks, eleven beautiful full-breasted maidens, twelve knights with their rapiers.”
This was greeted by shouts of approval from the drunken crew.
“Full-breasted maidens, why that’s more like it!”
“A bloody buggering sight better than cheese!”
The men all hooted and hollered, falling about in laughter once more.
****
Jack Sparrow sat apart from the men, enjoying the festivities with certain reluctance, though not taking part. There were several things pressing on his mind, the first and foremost being the one he’d left behind all those months ago. Deep in thought, he barely noted the sound of revelry wafting across the water from the many ships crowding the harbor.
It had now been three nights since he’d awakened to the sound of a soft, wet splock, and found himself face to face with the ghost of Christmas past. Well, at least it might as well have been a ghost for the turn it gave him. There, stepping into his cabin, through the solid bulkhead was none other than the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, Will Turner, himself.
“I don’t suppose you could learn to knock, like normal blighters,” Jack had groused, once he’d regained his voice. Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d been visited in such a fashion, Jack still found Will’s sudden materializations to be rather disconcerting.
Will had only smirked that familiar crooked smile, making himself at home by lighting a lantern and pouring a glass of rum. “Sorry, Jack,” he’d said, sinking into the chair beside the bunk with a sigh. “I don’t have much time and well…” He waved a vague hand around. “My presence seems to cause some alarm these days.”
Jack sat up and took the glass from Will, draining it in one swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the glass back with a grin. “Can’t really blame ‘em for being alarmed, what with you appearing out of thin air like that.” His grin faded as he saw the solemn look on Will’s face.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your normal social call?” Jack said, motioning towards the bottle of rum by Will’s foot, who automatically reached down and handed it to Jack, before wearily burying his face in his hands.
Taking another swallow, and two more for good measure, Jack braved the question he dreaded to ask.
“What brings you here?”
“Elizabeth.”
The word hung heavily between the two men.
“Ah, yes. Her nibs.” Jack was the first to break the uneasy silence. “And how is our dear Lizzie these days?”
“She’s with child.” Will said, his voice low. He stood up abruptly and began to pace the cabin. “She’s carrying my child, and I cannot be there for her. For them.” He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.
Jack poured some rum in the glass and handed it to Will. “Here. Do you good.”
Will downed the rum and grimaced, sank back onto the chair, and stared pensively at the floor. “She’s all alone in the world now, Jack. All my grand efforts gone to waste.”
“From my recollections, Elizabeth is quite capable of taking care of herself,” Jack pointed out rather unhelpfully.
“Yes, but not in her condition. I need your help, Jack.”
“My help?” Jack took a swallow of rum and added, “Not so sure your charming wife would welcome my help.”
“She trusts you.”
“Ha!” Jack said. “All evidence to the contrary, my dear William.”
“I trust you.” Will said quietly.
Jack studied Will intently for a moment, then asked, “What pray tell, exactly am I supposed to…?”
“Will you go to her, Jack?” Will interrupted, his face earnest. “Would you see that she’s safe?”
“If I were to go,” Jack said, one finger raised, “and I’m not sayin’ I will, but if I do happen t’ change me mind, just where might this somewhere safe be?”
“That’s just it, Jack, I don’t even know where to start looking,” Will said, in anguish. “I don’t have much time, I am stretching it enough coming here.”
Jack pulled out his compass nonchalantly and tossed it to Will. “Perhaps this will help? Bit hard to go rescuing your distressing damsel without a heading.”
Will opened the compass whose needle quivered before swinging around to point at…
“You?” Will asked incredulously.
Rolling his eyes, Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “East.” He took the compass back and shook his head. “Really, Will. I would think you would have figured out how it works by now.” Leaning forward, Jack squinted at Will, calculating, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve no business in that direction, mate.”
Eyes flashing, Will set his jaw and returned the gaze, swallowing his helplessness to replace it with sworn determination. “What business do you have here, Jack? Are you planning on handing the Pearl over to the East India Trading Company or will you just sit here, drinking rum, and wait for them to blow her into pieces?”
Sitting up, Jack looked at anything but Will in obvious discomfort, gathering his abruptly splayed out thoughts that he’d tried so hard to hide from. Taking in deep breath, finger raised to argue, he met Will’s eyes, and promptly deflated.
“I hate it when you’re right.” There was not an ounce of sarcasm in Jack’s voice.
Suddenly, a worried look crossed Will’s face and his brow furrowed. “I have to go.” He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder almost apologetically and said with feeling, “Find Elizabeth, Jack. Take care of her for me.”
“Right.” Jack smiled briefly, and then added seriously, “No worries, mate.”
Will’s smile of relief remained behind long after he’d faded into the woodwork.
*
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Five |
Title: Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored (Part Four)
Author: mamazano
Rating: G
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with some OC’s
Disclaimer: Borrowed from Disney, without permission, with all intentions of giving them back…maybe.
Written For: For the 2009 merrypirates fic exchange, for Tiamary, who requested a story that includes tidbits about how Christmastime was observed in the Caribbean in the 1700s.
Summary: The crew of the Black Pearl on holiday in Tortuga. Set post-AWE, at Christmastime. Fancy that!
A/N: Tremendous gratitude goes out to all my darling danglingdingle, for her unflagging encouragement, unfailing support and spot-on suggestions, all of which have enabled this story to unfold.
A special thank you also goes out to stealmybike, for reading through the final draft for continuity and story flow.
*
Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored
Chapter 4
****
The court, and the city, and country are glad,
Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad;
Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly,
And hundreds be losers by cogging a die,
Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
Those that have no coin at the cards for to play,
May sit by the fire, and pass time away,
And drink of their moisture contented and free
"My honest good fellow, come, here is to thee!"
And when they are hungry, fall to their relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along,
Each room in the house to the musick shall throng,
Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass,
And each country swain trip about with his lass;
Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
****
“No, no, no, no, my dear Gibbous!” Pierre protested. “It is not the ‘leaping lords’ and ‘milking maids’ as you English say!”
The moon hung low on the horizon, the evening now mellowed; the celebration in town having weaved its way back to the Pearl once again.
Pierre and Gibbs, who were sharing a bottle of wine along with stories of Christmas customs from their homelands, were arguing good-naturedly over a child’s counting rhyme.
“I remember, clear as yesterday, my dear mum teaching me the words,” Gibbs said, ticking them off on his fingers, “It were a partridge in a pear-tree, two turtle-doves, three French hens, four colly birds, five gold rings, six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming, eight maids a-milking, nine drummers drumming, ten pipers piping, eleven ladies dancing, and twelve lords leaping.”
Pierre interrupted. “You English, and your love of the war. Drummers drumming, pipers piping. Pah!”
“Why I always ‘eard it were a King giving ‘is Lady a parrot,” a drunken sailor piped up. “Like Cotton’s there.”
Cotton glanced up from the piece of wood he was whittling and grinned, his parrot flapping its wings in agreement.
“Whoever heard of a King with a bloomin’ parrot?” Pintel asked, looking up from his dice game.
“I’ve heard that one, originally from Scotland, tis,” Ragetti offered, sitting regally with wassail bowl rakishly perched on his head. “King gave her a baboon, too.”
“Well we ain’t originally from Scotland, are we?” Pintel said, with a snort. “I’ve always heard it the way Gibbs tells it.”
“In my country, we give the gifts most useful, no?” Pierre said. “The partridge, the two turtle-doves, the three wood-pigeons,” he recited. “Four ducks flying, five rabbits trotting, six hares a-field, seven hounds running, eight shorn sheep, nine horned oxen, ten good turkeys, eleven good hams, and the twelve small cheeses.”
“Cheeses?” The men all fell about laughing and slapping their legs. “Leave it to the French to give cheeses!”
“What? You would rather we give the gift of the parrot? The Arabian baboon?” Pierre sputtered. “Or perhaps you English men prefer the La foi de la loi, the creed of the authority. Voilà.”
He began to sing solemnly,
“La premier' parti' d'la foi de la loi,
Dit' la moi, frere Gregoire.
Un bon farci sans os
La deuxieme parti' d'la foi de la loi,
Dit' le moi, frere Gregoire
Deux ventres de veau,
Un bon farci sans os.
A good stuffing without bones. Two breasts of veal.” Pierre translated. “Three joints of beef, four pig's trotters, five legs of mutton, six partridges with cabbage, seven spitted rabbits, eight plates of salad, nine plates of cheese, ten full casks, eleven beautiful full-breasted maidens, twelve knights with their rapiers.”
This was greeted by shouts of approval from the drunken crew.
“Full-breasted maidens, why that’s more like it!”
“A bloody buggering sight better than cheese!”
The men all hooted and hollered, falling about in laughter once more.
****
Jack Sparrow sat apart from the men, enjoying the festivities with certain reluctance, though not taking part. There were several things pressing on his mind, the first and foremost being the one he’d left behind all those months ago. Deep in thought, he barely noted the sound of revelry wafting across the water from the many ships crowding the harbor.
It had now been three nights since he’d awakened to the sound of a soft, wet splock, and found himself face to face with the ghost of Christmas past. Well, at least it might as well have been a ghost for the turn it gave him. There, stepping into his cabin, through the solid bulkhead was none other than the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, Will Turner, himself.
“I don’t suppose you could learn to knock, like normal blighters,” Jack had groused, once he’d regained his voice. Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d been visited in such a fashion, Jack still found Will’s sudden materializations to be rather disconcerting.
Will had only smirked that familiar crooked smile, making himself at home by lighting a lantern and pouring a glass of rum. “Sorry, Jack,” he’d said, sinking into the chair beside the bunk with a sigh. “I don’t have much time and well…” He waved a vague hand around. “My presence seems to cause some alarm these days.”
Jack sat up and took the glass from Will, draining it in one swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the glass back with a grin. “Can’t really blame ‘em for being alarmed, what with you appearing out of thin air like that.” His grin faded as he saw the solemn look on Will’s face.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your normal social call?” Jack said, motioning towards the bottle of rum by Will’s foot, who automatically reached down and handed it to Jack, before wearily burying his face in his hands.
Taking another swallow, and two more for good measure, Jack braved the question he dreaded to ask.
“What brings you here?”
“Elizabeth.”
The word hung heavily between the two men.
“Ah, yes. Her nibs.” Jack was the first to break the uneasy silence. “And how is our dear Lizzie these days?”
“She’s with child.” Will said, his voice low. He stood up abruptly and began to pace the cabin. “She’s carrying my child, and I cannot be there for her. For them.” He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.
Jack poured some rum in the glass and handed it to Will. “Here. Do you good.”
Will downed the rum and grimaced, sank back onto the chair, and stared pensively at the floor. “She’s all alone in the world now, Jack. All my grand efforts gone to waste.”
“From my recollections, Elizabeth is quite capable of taking care of herself,” Jack pointed out rather unhelpfully.
“Yes, but not in her condition. I need your help, Jack.”
“My help?” Jack took a swallow of rum and added, “Not so sure your charming wife would welcome my help.”
“She trusts you.”
“Ha!” Jack said. “All evidence to the contrary, my dear William.”
“I trust you.” Will said quietly.
Jack studied Will intently for a moment, then asked, “What pray tell, exactly am I supposed to…?”
“Will you go to her, Jack?” Will interrupted, his face earnest. “Would you see that she’s safe?”
“If I were to go,” Jack said, one finger raised, “and I’m not sayin’ I will, but if I do happen t’ change me mind, just where might this somewhere safe be?”
“That’s just it, Jack, I don’t even know where to start looking,” Will said, in anguish. “I don’t have much time, I am stretching it enough coming here.”
Jack pulled out his compass nonchalantly and tossed it to Will. “Perhaps this will help? Bit hard to go rescuing your distressing damsel without a heading.”
Will opened the compass whose needle quivered before swinging around to point at…
“You?” Will asked incredulously.
Rolling his eyes, Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “East.” He took the compass back and shook his head. “Really, Will. I would think you would have figured out how it works by now.” Leaning forward, Jack squinted at Will, calculating, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve no business in that direction, mate.”
Eyes flashing, Will set his jaw and returned the gaze, swallowing his helplessness to replace it with sworn determination. “What business do you have here, Jack? Are you planning on handing the Pearl over to the East India Trading Company or will you just sit here, drinking rum, and wait for them to blow her into pieces?”
Sitting up, Jack looked at anything but Will in obvious discomfort, gathering his abruptly splayed out thoughts that he’d tried so hard to hide from. Taking in deep breath, finger raised to argue, he met Will’s eyes, and promptly deflated.
“I hate it when you’re right.” There was not an ounce of sarcasm in Jack’s voice.
Suddenly, a worried look crossed Will’s face and his brow furrowed. “I have to go.” He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder almost apologetically and said with feeling, “Find Elizabeth, Jack. Take care of her for me.”
“Right.” Jack smiled briefly, and then added seriously, “No worries, mate.”
Will’s smile of relief remained behind long after he’d faded into the woodwork.
*
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Five |