Parrots: PotC
"It don't do to go talking 'bout parrots, young master Turner."
Will looked over at Gibbs, his hands stilling on the rope.
"Now you can't possibly tell me that those are bad, not with Mr Cotton wandering around so happily."
"Bad luck?" Gibbs let out a roat of laughter and slapped Will on the back, nearly sending him top over tea-kettle. "Not a bit of it, no indeed. Powerful good pets, are parrots, and they'll always do for supper in a pinch. No no, it's the Cap'n as won't abide talk of birds."
Will cocked his head to one side and frowned.
"And why is that, do you think?"
"Well," said Gibbs, inflating his chest like a pigeon and settling himself comfortably against a mast, "the story goes that the Cap'n, when he were little more than a boy himself - "
The story went, as the stories tended to, that Jack had been terribly corageous, and various of the military persuasion had been most thoroughly outwitted, and there had very nearly been a hoarde of treasure but for a parrot shouting out a map reference at a most unfortunate moment. Mr Gibbs had told the story with the utmost relish, and this one, in Will's opinion, had sounded almost plausible.
He was still turning it over in his mind when he ran across Jack a little later. The Captain was up on the poop deck, laying on his back with his legs almost vertical, crossed at the ankle and propped against the Pearl's figurehead. He was whittling something, turning it every now and again and holding it up to the light - he held the knife extraordinarily delicately, for such a deadly-looking instrument. He stopped what he was doing when Will approached, tilting his head up enough to blow the sawdust from his chest before squinting up at the new arrival.
"Why the parrots?" Will blurted out after a moment or two of silence - no man, in his opinion, ought to look nearly so annoyingly appealing while considered upside down.
"Eh?"
Jack made no move to sit up, so Will sat down instead, leaning against the for'ard rail.
"What is it about parrots that so offends you?"
Jack's face looked suddenly a good deal less sunny.
"It was Pearl."
Will looked confused.
"The Pearl?"
"Not the Pearl. She was a parrot, named after a ship. Bloody thing."
"Why, what happened?"
Jack struggled semi-upright, leaning back on his elbows, and quickly cast about to make sure no one was around. Will leaned forward, conspiratorially.
"'She'," Jack eventually whispered roughly, "was a he."
"...and?"
"And he was too fond of a trinket I had in my hair, alright? Always said we should have got the thing a mate."
It took a good couple of minutes, but eventually Will began to laugh, one hand trying desperately to stifle it. Jack's scowl deepened.
"Bloody bird made my head hurt."
Will looked over at Gibbs, his hands stilling on the rope.
"Now you can't possibly tell me that those are bad, not with Mr Cotton wandering around so happily."
"Bad luck?" Gibbs let out a roat of laughter and slapped Will on the back, nearly sending him top over tea-kettle. "Not a bit of it, no indeed. Powerful good pets, are parrots, and they'll always do for supper in a pinch. No no, it's the Cap'n as won't abide talk of birds."
Will cocked his head to one side and frowned.
"And why is that, do you think?"
"Well," said Gibbs, inflating his chest like a pigeon and settling himself comfortably against a mast, "the story goes that the Cap'n, when he were little more than a boy himself - "
The story went, as the stories tended to, that Jack had been terribly corageous, and various of the military persuasion had been most thoroughly outwitted, and there had very nearly been a hoarde of treasure but for a parrot shouting out a map reference at a most unfortunate moment. Mr Gibbs had told the story with the utmost relish, and this one, in Will's opinion, had sounded almost plausible.
He was still turning it over in his mind when he ran across Jack a little later. The Captain was up on the poop deck, laying on his back with his legs almost vertical, crossed at the ankle and propped against the Pearl's figurehead. He was whittling something, turning it every now and again and holding it up to the light - he held the knife extraordinarily delicately, for such a deadly-looking instrument. He stopped what he was doing when Will approached, tilting his head up enough to blow the sawdust from his chest before squinting up at the new arrival.
"Why the parrots?" Will blurted out after a moment or two of silence - no man, in his opinion, ought to look nearly so annoyingly appealing while considered upside down.
"Eh?"
Jack made no move to sit up, so Will sat down instead, leaning against the for'ard rail.
"What is it about parrots that so offends you?"
Jack's face looked suddenly a good deal less sunny.
"It was Pearl."
Will looked confused.
"The Pearl?"
"Not the Pearl. She was a parrot, named after a ship. Bloody thing."
"Why, what happened?"
Jack struggled semi-upright, leaning back on his elbows, and quickly cast about to make sure no one was around. Will leaned forward, conspiratorially.
"'She'," Jack eventually whispered roughly, "was a he."
"...and?"
"And he was too fond of a trinket I had in my hair, alright? Always said we should have got the thing a mate."
It took a good couple of minutes, but eventually Will began to laugh, one hand trying desperately to stifle it. Jack's scowl deepened.
"Bloody bird made my head hurt."