[POTC crack!drabble, Star Trek crossover] - "The Captain's Log" - for (djarum99) - PG
Ok loves, here's the first drabble in response to your Fourth of July requests. Many more to come, as I am working dilligently between fielding office calls (yes, it never ends). This one's a bit cracked-out, so enjoy. ;)
Prompt: Requested by djarum99. “Jack's captain's log - any time period.”
A/N: I’ve taken this a bit farther, decided to have some fun and answer the question: What would happen if Spock, McCoy, and Scotty left the Enterprise and traveled back in time, captured Jack, and brought him to the future to save Captain Kirk. Crack!drabble ensues.
And they call this damn-blasted bit of tin and glue a ship. I suppose they did have the decency to at least outfit her with proper rigging and what feels to be a sturdy - if somewhat metallic - hull. I’ve christened her The Grey Pearl, owing to her obviously inspired design (still nothing close to my midnight darling as far as character is concerned, but I digress) and her rather overwhelming hue, and have much to teach these scabrous dogs by way of sailing a proper ship. It’s no wonder they’ve lost their Captain, as ill-prepared for a sea voyage as they are.
They brought me to my grey-bellied girl today after dallying for some days in port (in what they claim is still Tortuga, but I can see none of it but for a familiar hill here and there) - “they” consisting of the fellow with the rather unfortunate ears, the cantankerous codger that continually argues with him, and the scalawag with the Scottish brogue and a penchant for drink. Decent fellow. Reminds me of Gibbs, all bothered about the collar as he gets concerning this ship and the manner in which she sails. Says he’s some well-aged Scotch at his disposal, which will have to do until superior libations become blessedly available (my soul, I swear, for a swallow of rum). The strange glowing box that serves as a replacement for the galley - “replicator” that Scotsman called it - has yet again failed to produce a palatable sip of rum - not even a droplet worth tasting, although what’s-his-name with the pointed ears assures me that rum can be had with the proper calibration of said buggering device.
The witchdoctor, jolly-old what’s-his-profession (if I hear, “Dammit, Jack, I’m a doctor, not a soothsayer/bricklayer,/pied-piper,” one more time, I’ll walk the plank meself) promises that the strange little blue-and green nuggets what pass for food on this barge are certainly safe for consumption. I’ve my doubts as to his sanity, but have attempted to remain mum on the subject until the opportune moment.
I am remiss to imagine why they’d abduct yours truly for this little excursion of theirs, except that they suspect their former Captain was shuttled away by some ghostly fiddle-faddle to the Isla de Muerta. They all - to a one - are cripplingly altruistic, a structural flaw which will no doubt serve me well as these proceedings drag on. A bit like the whelp before he turned fish-skinned.
Ah, here comes Scotty with the Scotch now (this lot’s about as inventive in their naming conventions as pirates, it would seem). I wonder if he’s of any acquaintance with sea turtles? In any case, he’s got my sea sponges and glue as well. Small miracles, mates, small miracles."
Prompt: Requested by djarum99. “Jack's captain's log - any time period.”
A/N: I’ve taken this a bit farther, decided to have some fun and answer the question: What would happen if Spock, McCoy, and Scotty left the Enterprise and traveled back in time, captured Jack, and brought him to the future to save Captain Kirk. Crack!drabble ensues.
And they call this damn-blasted bit of tin and glue a ship. I suppose they did have the decency to at least outfit her with proper rigging and what feels to be a sturdy - if somewhat metallic - hull. I’ve christened her The Grey Pearl, owing to her obviously inspired design (still nothing close to my midnight darling as far as character is concerned, but I digress) and her rather overwhelming hue, and have much to teach these scabrous dogs by way of sailing a proper ship. It’s no wonder they’ve lost their Captain, as ill-prepared for a sea voyage as they are.
They brought me to my grey-bellied girl today after dallying for some days in port (in what they claim is still Tortuga, but I can see none of it but for a familiar hill here and there) - “they” consisting of the fellow with the rather unfortunate ears, the cantankerous codger that continually argues with him, and the scalawag with the Scottish brogue and a penchant for drink. Decent fellow. Reminds me of Gibbs, all bothered about the collar as he gets concerning this ship and the manner in which she sails. Says he’s some well-aged Scotch at his disposal, which will have to do until superior libations become blessedly available (my soul, I swear, for a swallow of rum). The strange glowing box that serves as a replacement for the galley - “replicator” that Scotsman called it - has yet again failed to produce a palatable sip of rum - not even a droplet worth tasting, although what’s-his-name with the pointed ears assures me that rum can be had with the proper calibration of said buggering device.
The witchdoctor, jolly-old what’s-his-profession (if I hear, “Dammit, Jack, I’m a doctor, not a soothsayer/bricklayer,/pied-piper,” one more time, I’ll walk the plank meself) promises that the strange little blue-and green nuggets what pass for food on this barge are certainly safe for consumption. I’ve my doubts as to his sanity, but have attempted to remain mum on the subject until the opportune moment.
I am remiss to imagine why they’d abduct yours truly for this little excursion of theirs, except that they suspect their former Captain was shuttled away by some ghostly fiddle-faddle to the Isla de Muerta. They all - to a one - are cripplingly altruistic, a structural flaw which will no doubt serve me well as these proceedings drag on. A bit like the whelp before he turned fish-skinned.
Ah, here comes Scotty with the Scotch now (this lot’s about as inventive in their naming conventions as pirates, it would seem). I wonder if he’s of any acquaintance with sea turtles? In any case, he’s got my sea sponges and glue as well. Small miracles, mates, small miracles."