For tiamary, "Old Christmas Revived, Part I" 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 One)
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 1
****
All you that to feasting and mirth are inclin'd,
Come here is good news for to pleasure your mind,
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse:
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
A long time together he hath been forgot,
They scarce could afford for to hand on the pot:
Such miserly sneaking in England hath been,
As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen;
But now he's returned you shall have in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled,
And all hospitality hath been so dead,
No mirth at our festivals late did appear,
They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer;
But now you shall have for the ease of your grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
****
Christmas in Tortuga was a multi-national affair, with sailors and merchants from all over the world, each bringing their own customs and flavor to the celebrations. And what celebrations there were - from the delicious English feasts of roasted boar’s head, minced pies and plum puddings, to the decidedly French fare of fresh oysters and the many canapés, pâtés and hors d’oeuvres. Roast goose was plentiful as well, and all celebrations, regardless of the heritage, were washed down with copious quantities of rum, wine and ale.
The air was festive, if not fresh, and the many shops and taverns along the muddy lanes were festooned with gaily colored decorations and greenery. The store front of the dress shop, The Painted Lady, was bedecked with ribbons and bows, along with bountiful amounts of silk draping. The proprietor, Pierre Bouspeut, was putting the final touches on the window display when the tinkle of a bell announced a visitor to the shop.
“Bonjour! Bonjour!”
Pierre called down from his perch on a chair. He hurriedly placed a final bow on his creation and descended to greet the newcomer with cheer.
“My dear Mister Gibbous, how pleasant a surprise!”
Joshamee Gibbs smiled as he shook the diminutive dressmaker’s hand. He didn’t get a word out before a squeal of delight and blur of gold tackled him in a big hug.
“Josh!” Giselle gave him a big kiss on the cheek, which reddened considerably. “We were hoping t’ see you for Christmas!” She peered over his shoulder at the street beyond. “You didn’t happen to come…”
Gibbs patted her hand. “…on the Black Pearl, aye. Jack is still on board, refusing to turn anchor watch over to anyone.” He shook his head and added with a sheepish grimace, “Can’t say I blame him, not after what happened last time he were in port.”
“Now Josh, that was not your fault,” Giselle protested. “How was you t’ know that blackheart Barbossa was planning t’ steal the Pearl?”
“Or that the filthy swine would sneak the henbane into your rum, no?” Pierre added. “But, the good Capitaine Sparrow, he has regained the Pearl? How fortuitous!”
“You must tell us all about it,” Giselle said eagerly. “We should celebrate!”
Pierre clapped his hands. “I shall fetch us a bottle of my finest wine, and we will be, how is it you say? All the ears?”
“Aye, that’ll about do it.” Gibbs said with a smile.
****
“Don’t know why the Captain picked us,” Pintel groused, shifting his burden to the other shoulder. “How was we t’ know the stupid blighter was going t’ jump ship?”
“T’weren’t no way of knowing,” Ragetti agreed, as he maneuvered the heavily laden one-wheeled wooden cart through the rutted street. “Don’t think no one was expectin’ the cook to just up and leave, especially with this being the season and all.”
“Stupid blighter,” Pintel scoffed. “Was bad enough Captain Jack blamed us for leaving him behind.”
“Again,” Ragetti modified the statement. “Though he were happy enough for us helping t’ leave Barbossa on that island.”
“Captain Barbossa didn’t like that one bit.”
“Now, that’s what I call ironic.”
The two men shared a chuckle before resuming their trudge towards the waterfront. Their new Captain, the thrice-charmed Jack Sparrow, had seen fit to reward the two of them by assigning them the tasks of the now defunct ship’s cook, which included procuring provisions for their stay in port for the Christmas season. They had spent the better part of the morning haggling at the local markets for fresh produce and meat. They also stocked up on the essentials - flour and sugar, corn meal and lard. Barrels of salted fish and smoked pork as well as crates of fruits and other foodstuff rounded out their load.
The grand prize of the day, though, was shuffling along behind them on the end of a frayed rope.
Snorting and snuffling, the small pink piglet was taking her merry time, stopping to root in every promising pile of refuse along the way. A particularly enticing one stopped the poky porker along with her two plodding companions, in their tracks.
“Come on, you,” snarled Pintel, giving the rope a jerk. “We ain’t’ got all day.” He continued to tug to no avail; the piglet had rooted under a large pile of garbage so that only her plump rump and curly tail were visible. Pintel continued to jerk on the rope, his foul mood worsening with each tug.
“Get off there, you mangy, garbage-eatin’ hunk of putrid pork,” Pintel sputtered, an extra hard tug landing him in the muddy street. “Why you…” His attack launched at the unsuspecting pig was thwarted by Ragetti, who bodily blocked the way.
“Now don’t be scaring her none, she’s just a baby.” Ragetti said, putting a hand out to stop Pintel. “You gots to be gentle with ‘em.”
“I’ll be gentle with ‘er,” Pintel grumbled. “Right into the stew pot.”
Ragetti was busy coaxing the piglet away from the garbage, cooing and cajoling her to follow them. “You see, you just have t’ know how to talk to ‘em, that’s all.”
“Well, I don’t make a practice of talkin' to pigs,” Pintel snapped back. “Unless yer countin’ the crew.”
The two men chuckled again and resumed their way towards the wharf.
“Won’t the Captain be surprised,” Ragetti said, smiling at the little piglet, now following docilely behind.
****
The rest of the crew of the Black Pearl were eagerly preparing for the holidays to come, scrubbing the decks and polishing the brass. Their captain had offered them a liberal amount of coin and time ashore to celebrate in the many taverns and brothels of Tortuga. But first he wanted his ship to be in shape, from stem to stern, and had set the crew to work early that morning.
While the bustle of preparation went on above decks, Captain Jack Sparrow sat alone in his cabin studying the chart in front of him. He was perhaps the only one on board ship not looking forward to Christmas. Memories he preferred would remain buried always seemed to surface this time of year, coming back to haunt him like so many ghosts. He swallowed a good portion of rum, the bottle already half empty though the sun had barely reached its zenith in the sky. Rum would not exorcise the ghosts, but would keep them at bay…temporarily.
And what was Christmas supposed to be anyway? His cousin Percy might preach the Nativity and Gifts of the Magi, but to Jack, Christmas just conjured up ugly beasts best left undisturbed. He took another long pull on the bottle, determined to ignore the celebrations ashore, using the time in port to see to the myriad of small details left neglected during his absence.
Such as the ship’s log. From the looks of it, that perfidious rotter Barbossa did not bother with a single entry during his brief tenure as Captain. Captain, bah! More like absconder and scoundrel. Jack could not summon a single dram of goodwill for the mutinous bastard. May he rot on that godforsaken spit of land… with not a drop of rum to ease his demise. No, dear Lizzie had seen to that.
Lizzie. Elizabeth. Captain Swann. Mrs. Turner. The dear ones always did have many names. Jack took another long swallow of rum, trying his best to erase the memories that kept threatening to spill over into unresolved emotions. How could that bastard have married them? Who in the bloody blazes would have ever done such a ludicrous thing? Jack tried to ignore the nagging voice that reminded him that it was he, as Captain of this ship, who had planted the insane idea in sweet Lizzie’s head to begin with. Well bloody buggering hell! She wasn’t supposed to act on it!
And Will. Jack slugged back another two aggravated swallows. Will Turner. Short for bloody William. Captain Will Turner. His destiny twisted and torn by the capricious gods themselves. Destined to exactly what? A lifetime, an eternity of servitude? How many Christmases would pass before he could set foot on land again? What goodwill was there to be had when good Will was not?
Jack slammed his fist down, scattering the items before him, staring blindly at the chart that promised that elusive eternity that he once held in the palm of his hand. He’d thought it a simple quest, and yet he still searched for that answer that escaped him and left him well alone. As always.
A knock on the door rudely interrupted his thoughts. Gibbs stuck his head in and announced that the Pearl was as shipshape as she could be and that he and the crew were eager to gather their shares and be off ashore to begin celebrating. Jack, welcoming the distraction, spent the next hour carefully divvying up the shares of the plunder to each crewman, duly making a note of each transaction in his logbook, ignoring the odd looks shared by his crew when it begun to appear as if Jack was merely stalling.
As the last of the crew finally shuffled out of the cabin, clutching their bags of coin, Gibbs turned to Jack, who was carefully blotting the last entry in the book. “Coming ashore, Cap’n?”
Jack waved a hand vaguely in Gibbs’ direction. “I’ve business to attend to, Mister Gibbs. You go on, have yourself a good time.”
***
Gibbs did not argue, No point really, he reasoned with himself as he made his way up the hill towards town. He hadn’t been successful in getting Jack off the Pearl since they’d caught up with her off the coast of Florida. After disposing of Barbossa, the crew had signed the articles and, to a man had pledged an oath of loyalty to their new captain. This did not make Jack sleep easier, but it did do wonders for morale. Three fat prizes later, and the crew amply compensated, it looked as if there’d be a good time ahead for all this Christmas season.
All except Jack. Well, he would have to just do something about that, now wouldn’t he? And Gibbs knew just the persons to ask for help.
*
| Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five |
Title: Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored (Part One)
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 1
****
All you that to feasting and mirth are inclin'd,
Come here is good news for to pleasure your mind,
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse:
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
A long time together he hath been forgot,
They scarce could afford for to hand on the pot:
Such miserly sneaking in England hath been,
As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen;
But now he's returned you shall have in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled,
And all hospitality hath been so dead,
No mirth at our festivals late did appear,
They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer;
But now you shall have for the ease of your grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef.
****
Christmas in Tortuga was a multi-national affair, with sailors and merchants from all over the world, each bringing their own customs and flavor to the celebrations. And what celebrations there were - from the delicious English feasts of roasted boar’s head, minced pies and plum puddings, to the decidedly French fare of fresh oysters and the many canapés, pâtés and hors d’oeuvres. Roast goose was plentiful as well, and all celebrations, regardless of the heritage, were washed down with copious quantities of rum, wine and ale.
The air was festive, if not fresh, and the many shops and taverns along the muddy lanes were festooned with gaily colored decorations and greenery. The store front of the dress shop, The Painted Lady, was bedecked with ribbons and bows, along with bountiful amounts of silk draping. The proprietor, Pierre Bouspeut, was putting the final touches on the window display when the tinkle of a bell announced a visitor to the shop.
“Bonjour! Bonjour!”
Pierre called down from his perch on a chair. He hurriedly placed a final bow on his creation and descended to greet the newcomer with cheer.
“My dear Mister Gibbous, how pleasant a surprise!”
Joshamee Gibbs smiled as he shook the diminutive dressmaker’s hand. He didn’t get a word out before a squeal of delight and blur of gold tackled him in a big hug.
“Josh!” Giselle gave him a big kiss on the cheek, which reddened considerably. “We were hoping t’ see you for Christmas!” She peered over his shoulder at the street beyond. “You didn’t happen to come…”
Gibbs patted her hand. “…on the Black Pearl, aye. Jack is still on board, refusing to turn anchor watch over to anyone.” He shook his head and added with a sheepish grimace, “Can’t say I blame him, not after what happened last time he were in port.”
“Now Josh, that was not your fault,” Giselle protested. “How was you t’ know that blackheart Barbossa was planning t’ steal the Pearl?”
“Or that the filthy swine would sneak the henbane into your rum, no?” Pierre added. “But, the good Capitaine Sparrow, he has regained the Pearl? How fortuitous!”
“You must tell us all about it,” Giselle said eagerly. “We should celebrate!”
Pierre clapped his hands. “I shall fetch us a bottle of my finest wine, and we will be, how is it you say? All the ears?”
“Aye, that’ll about do it.” Gibbs said with a smile.
****
“Don’t know why the Captain picked us,” Pintel groused, shifting his burden to the other shoulder. “How was we t’ know the stupid blighter was going t’ jump ship?”
“T’weren’t no way of knowing,” Ragetti agreed, as he maneuvered the heavily laden one-wheeled wooden cart through the rutted street. “Don’t think no one was expectin’ the cook to just up and leave, especially with this being the season and all.”
“Stupid blighter,” Pintel scoffed. “Was bad enough Captain Jack blamed us for leaving him behind.”
“Again,” Ragetti modified the statement. “Though he were happy enough for us helping t’ leave Barbossa on that island.”
“Captain Barbossa didn’t like that one bit.”
“Now, that’s what I call ironic.”
The two men shared a chuckle before resuming their trudge towards the waterfront. Their new Captain, the thrice-charmed Jack Sparrow, had seen fit to reward the two of them by assigning them the tasks of the now defunct ship’s cook, which included procuring provisions for their stay in port for the Christmas season. They had spent the better part of the morning haggling at the local markets for fresh produce and meat. They also stocked up on the essentials - flour and sugar, corn meal and lard. Barrels of salted fish and smoked pork as well as crates of fruits and other foodstuff rounded out their load.
The grand prize of the day, though, was shuffling along behind them on the end of a frayed rope.
Snorting and snuffling, the small pink piglet was taking her merry time, stopping to root in every promising pile of refuse along the way. A particularly enticing one stopped the poky porker along with her two plodding companions, in their tracks.
“Come on, you,” snarled Pintel, giving the rope a jerk. “We ain’t’ got all day.” He continued to tug to no avail; the piglet had rooted under a large pile of garbage so that only her plump rump and curly tail were visible. Pintel continued to jerk on the rope, his foul mood worsening with each tug.
“Get off there, you mangy, garbage-eatin’ hunk of putrid pork,” Pintel sputtered, an extra hard tug landing him in the muddy street. “Why you…” His attack launched at the unsuspecting pig was thwarted by Ragetti, who bodily blocked the way.
“Now don’t be scaring her none, she’s just a baby.” Ragetti said, putting a hand out to stop Pintel. “You gots to be gentle with ‘em.”
“I’ll be gentle with ‘er,” Pintel grumbled. “Right into the stew pot.”
Ragetti was busy coaxing the piglet away from the garbage, cooing and cajoling her to follow them. “You see, you just have t’ know how to talk to ‘em, that’s all.”
“Well, I don’t make a practice of talkin' to pigs,” Pintel snapped back. “Unless yer countin’ the crew.”
The two men chuckled again and resumed their way towards the wharf.
“Won’t the Captain be surprised,” Ragetti said, smiling at the little piglet, now following docilely behind.
****
The rest of the crew of the Black Pearl were eagerly preparing for the holidays to come, scrubbing the decks and polishing the brass. Their captain had offered them a liberal amount of coin and time ashore to celebrate in the many taverns and brothels of Tortuga. But first he wanted his ship to be in shape, from stem to stern, and had set the crew to work early that morning.
While the bustle of preparation went on above decks, Captain Jack Sparrow sat alone in his cabin studying the chart in front of him. He was perhaps the only one on board ship not looking forward to Christmas. Memories he preferred would remain buried always seemed to surface this time of year, coming back to haunt him like so many ghosts. He swallowed a good portion of rum, the bottle already half empty though the sun had barely reached its zenith in the sky. Rum would not exorcise the ghosts, but would keep them at bay…temporarily.
And what was Christmas supposed to be anyway? His cousin Percy might preach the Nativity and Gifts of the Magi, but to Jack, Christmas just conjured up ugly beasts best left undisturbed. He took another long pull on the bottle, determined to ignore the celebrations ashore, using the time in port to see to the myriad of small details left neglected during his absence.
Such as the ship’s log. From the looks of it, that perfidious rotter Barbossa did not bother with a single entry during his brief tenure as Captain. Captain, bah! More like absconder and scoundrel. Jack could not summon a single dram of goodwill for the mutinous bastard. May he rot on that godforsaken spit of land… with not a drop of rum to ease his demise. No, dear Lizzie had seen to that.
Lizzie. Elizabeth. Captain Swann. Mrs. Turner. The dear ones always did have many names. Jack took another long swallow of rum, trying his best to erase the memories that kept threatening to spill over into unresolved emotions. How could that bastard have married them? Who in the bloody blazes would have ever done such a ludicrous thing? Jack tried to ignore the nagging voice that reminded him that it was he, as Captain of this ship, who had planted the insane idea in sweet Lizzie’s head to begin with. Well bloody buggering hell! She wasn’t supposed to act on it!
And Will. Jack slugged back another two aggravated swallows. Will Turner. Short for bloody William. Captain Will Turner. His destiny twisted and torn by the capricious gods themselves. Destined to exactly what? A lifetime, an eternity of servitude? How many Christmases would pass before he could set foot on land again? What goodwill was there to be had when good Will was not?
Jack slammed his fist down, scattering the items before him, staring blindly at the chart that promised that elusive eternity that he once held in the palm of his hand. He’d thought it a simple quest, and yet he still searched for that answer that escaped him and left him well alone. As always.
A knock on the door rudely interrupted his thoughts. Gibbs stuck his head in and announced that the Pearl was as shipshape as she could be and that he and the crew were eager to gather their shares and be off ashore to begin celebrating. Jack, welcoming the distraction, spent the next hour carefully divvying up the shares of the plunder to each crewman, duly making a note of each transaction in his logbook, ignoring the odd looks shared by his crew when it begun to appear as if Jack was merely stalling.
As the last of the crew finally shuffled out of the cabin, clutching their bags of coin, Gibbs turned to Jack, who was carefully blotting the last entry in the book. “Coming ashore, Cap’n?”
Jack waved a hand vaguely in Gibbs’ direction. “I’ve business to attend to, Mister Gibbs. You go on, have yourself a good time.”
***
Gibbs did not argue, No point really, he reasoned with himself as he made his way up the hill towards town. He hadn’t been successful in getting Jack off the Pearl since they’d caught up with her off the coast of Florida. After disposing of Barbossa, the crew had signed the articles and, to a man had pledged an oath of loyalty to their new captain. This did not make Jack sleep easier, but it did do wonders for morale. Three fat prizes later, and the crew amply compensated, it looked as if there’d be a good time ahead for all this Christmas season.
All except Jack. Well, he would have to just do something about that, now wouldn’t he? And Gibbs knew just the persons to ask for help.
*
| Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five |