Shards of Crusty Glass-Part Two
Title: Shards of Crusty Glass Part 2 of 4
Author:meowbooks
Rating: PG
Words:583
Characters: The Jar of Dirt, Jack, Tia Dalma, The Compass
Disclaimer: Ah, no I don't own PotC.
Summary:This is an idea that I've had since DMC so no AWE spoilers are to be found here. The story of the Jar of Dirt! This is turning out a bit longer than expected...
x-posted:potc_fic ,pirategasm
If you missed Part One...
Shards of Crusty Glass:Part Two
The captain, my captain, kept me near, pacing the decks of his ship, hissing at the monkey, sitting at his desk as he pored over the charts strewed across it, in all things, but dreaming the first few days. I could tell he wasn’t always this worried, jittery, hide away, sea scared thing. When he woke everyday, felt the sea moving beneath his salt stained boots, his eyes still shut, he would smile at home in those moments before waking or when in deepest of dreams, he was himself. All that would disappear when reality tore into his dreams, waking him, shaking natural confidence and ease.
He improved at cloaking the unease, especially around Turner, the young brown hair one after the fourth day of my employment as…what ever it was I was suppose to do. She had only told me I would help him, not how. I hardly felt I helped. I just sat there in his arms or in a trunk.
I pieced together what it was he feared bit by bit as I learned more about him, from what he said, did, and what I learned after my journey with him was over. He had made a deal with the sea devil, Davy Jones to raise the ship we sailed on from the sea and be its captain for 13 years at the end of the last year he would serve him as a slave, body and soul working on Jones’ Flying Dutchman for a hundred years losing his memory of the life he had now until he had none left and became part of the ship itself. Two years after the deal was made Jack’s first mate mutinied against him and left him to die on an island. The next ten were spent trying to get revenge and his ship back. The last year he had that, but now the year was up and Jack had no intention of fulfilling that agreement.
On the fifth night of sailing we dropped anchor next to a pitiful ship, stuck dead in the water, the hull was split in two and the pieces slanted inward to form an obtuse “v”. Jack placed me back in his trunk that sat in his cabin, shut the lid, and turned the key in the lock. I was surrounded by darkness.
That darkness, that sea chest, I loathed it. I could see nothing, I could do nothing, and I could hear everything! I could hear the pistol and baldrics argue over who was more important, the books quote philosophy, the charts wrinkling over where they were going, but the most maddening sounds were that of outside. All I could think about was what was outside of that musty box.
Everything was outside of that box. Things changed everyday out side of that box.Things such as the sun and its extraordinary ability to burn for hours, dip below the watery horizon and later resurface undaunted by its wet trip. Nothing was constant. The wind whistled a different way answering the sails' calls for her, the sails were always a bit more worn, more salt sprayed onto the Pearl, with every second.
The queen of change, the sea never stopped moving. I say queen because that is the way my captain saw the sea, though the sea has no gender. I was still weary of it, but I began to realize it reminded me of the mystical one. She always moved as if she were searching for something. There was always something beneath what I could see, something hidden. Yes, I had always known her, but it would be a lie to say we who sat on her shelves knew all her secrets.
Part Three...
Author:meowbooks
Rating: PG
Words:583
Characters: The Jar of Dirt, Jack, Tia Dalma, The Compass
Disclaimer: Ah, no I don't own PotC.
Summary:This is an idea that I've had since DMC so no AWE spoilers are to be found here. The story of the Jar of Dirt! This is turning out a bit longer than expected...
x-posted:potc_fic ,pirategasm
If you missed Part One...
Shards of Crusty Glass:Part Two
The captain, my captain, kept me near, pacing the decks of his ship, hissing at the monkey, sitting at his desk as he pored over the charts strewed across it, in all things, but dreaming the first few days. I could tell he wasn’t always this worried, jittery, hide away, sea scared thing. When he woke everyday, felt the sea moving beneath his salt stained boots, his eyes still shut, he would smile at home in those moments before waking or when in deepest of dreams, he was himself. All that would disappear when reality tore into his dreams, waking him, shaking natural confidence and ease.
He improved at cloaking the unease, especially around Turner, the young brown hair one after the fourth day of my employment as…what ever it was I was suppose to do. She had only told me I would help him, not how. I hardly felt I helped. I just sat there in his arms or in a trunk.
I pieced together what it was he feared bit by bit as I learned more about him, from what he said, did, and what I learned after my journey with him was over. He had made a deal with the sea devil, Davy Jones to raise the ship we sailed on from the sea and be its captain for 13 years at the end of the last year he would serve him as a slave, body and soul working on Jones’ Flying Dutchman for a hundred years losing his memory of the life he had now until he had none left and became part of the ship itself. Two years after the deal was made Jack’s first mate mutinied against him and left him to die on an island. The next ten were spent trying to get revenge and his ship back. The last year he had that, but now the year was up and Jack had no intention of fulfilling that agreement.
On the fifth night of sailing we dropped anchor next to a pitiful ship, stuck dead in the water, the hull was split in two and the pieces slanted inward to form an obtuse “v”. Jack placed me back in his trunk that sat in his cabin, shut the lid, and turned the key in the lock. I was surrounded by darkness.
That darkness, that sea chest, I loathed it. I could see nothing, I could do nothing, and I could hear everything! I could hear the pistol and baldrics argue over who was more important, the books quote philosophy, the charts wrinkling over where they were going, but the most maddening sounds were that of outside. All I could think about was what was outside of that musty box.
Everything was outside of that box. Things changed everyday out side of that box.Things such as the sun and its extraordinary ability to burn for hours, dip below the watery horizon and later resurface undaunted by its wet trip. Nothing was constant. The wind whistled a different way answering the sails' calls for her, the sails were always a bit more worn, more salt sprayed onto the Pearl, with every second.
The queen of change, the sea never stopped moving. I say queen because that is the way my captain saw the sea, though the sea has no gender. I was still weary of it, but I began to realize it reminded me of the mystical one. She always moved as if she were searching for something. There was always something beneath what I could see, something hidden. Yes, I had always known her, but it would be a lie to say we who sat on her shelves knew all her secrets.
Part Three...