POTC fic: "Who Cares?"
Title: "Who Cares?"
Rating: PG
Characters: A bunch. No real pairings.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I don't make any money writing these jokers.
Summary: Lots of AUs set during CotBP. A blatant look at shameless self-interest at several crucial turns.
A/N: Unbetaed. Not really structured; just an idea I had from the potc100 community's recent "What If?" challenge and an entry by aravah here. This is most assuredly NOT a drabble (unless you want to call it a series of six-and-a-half).
On a ship, the pirate captain regaled and distracted two gob-faced boys with tales of derring-do, annoyed when he was interrupted by a distant splash. Fortunately, the lads were easily reengaged.
On a dock, the lady watched in fascination as the pirate was revealed and marched off to the gaol in chains. When she would have protested, fear of censure kept her lips sealed; she was already exposed in her underthings!
In a smithy, the apprentice shrugged and went back to his anvil as the loathsome pirate slipped out the front door. If the King’s men wanted him so badly, let them arrest him in the streets.
In a smithy, the apprentice could hear the screams and explosions of the invasion beyond thick, barred doors. He lay awake, thinking on how he’d grab up a couple of swords should they break into the shop; after all, as long as they were outside, they weren’t threatening him.
The apprentice pondered the commodore’s words as he explained why questioning the pirate would be fruitless. This decorated man was older, wiser, and well versed in combat. Satisfied, the apprentice nodded and went back to his master’s shop to tidy it up after the night’s vandalism.
The pirate waited until the boy (strong lad!) had gone in front to lead the way up out of the gaol, and struck him hard on the back of the head with his pistol butt. Gingerly, he stepped over the unconscious form and fled out and to the docks, somewhat sorry to lose the potential muscle.
The cursed pirate captain blew the bejesus out of the Interceptor, sinking her and all hands with cannonballs to aft, then ordered his crew to comb the wreckage underwater for the cursed gold. Not that it mattered - without the proper blood, they were cursed right along with Davy Jones into eternity.
The pirate shook his head as one of the cursed pirate captain’s men ran the lady through her back with his sword. Dissolute, dishonorable wretch that would wait ‘til someone’s back was turned, and a female at that, he tsked.
On an island, the pirate’s words and a devil of a drink convinced the lady all was lost for them and the object of her affections. They spent the month until their death locked in a perpetual haze of hot Caribbean rum and furious copulation.
At the back of the cave, the pirate waited, plotting how best to kill the cursed pirate captain once he was uncursed by the blood fountaining from the slashed throat of the boy slumped across the chest of medallions.
The lady stayed put, fiddling with her hair in the cabin of the great Navy vessel, never knowing the apprentice lay eviscerated on the floor of the cave.
“This is wrong,” the lady murmured, twisting a fan in her grip as the pirate’s neck snapped.
Thank God I’m not hanging next to him, thought the apprentice as he worked through the public spectacle, drowning out the jeers of the crowd with hammer to anvil.
The Commodore’s nostrils flared as he thought of his men surrounding on the parapet, watching him be made a fool by a scoundrel and a boy with a misplaced sense of romanticism. “Arrest them,” he commanded, nodding sharply at his lieutenant. “To the gallows.”
The pirate regarded the distant fort speculatively from his newly regained ship. The Commodore’s generosity might not extend to another day, should their paths cross, and one could rarely ask for a better opportunity than to have him and most of his forces crowded onto a single high parapet. “Ready on the guns!” the pirate cried. “Bring ‘er broadside, ye gobs!”
The girl was startled by the lieutenant behind her. Unable to hide her spoils in time, she was forced to hand over the golden skull medallion from the boy’s neck. The Lieutenant set his mouth in a hard line, glanced at the unconscious form, and shook his head. “Deliver him to the brig,” was his command, over her girlish objections.
Rating: PG
Characters: A bunch. No real pairings.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I don't make any money writing these jokers.
Summary: Lots of AUs set during CotBP. A blatant look at shameless self-interest at several crucial turns.
A/N: Unbetaed. Not really structured; just an idea I had from the potc100 community's recent "What If?" challenge and an entry by aravah here. This is most assuredly NOT a drabble (unless you want to call it a series of six-and-a-half).
On a ship, the pirate captain regaled and distracted two gob-faced boys with tales of derring-do, annoyed when he was interrupted by a distant splash. Fortunately, the lads were easily reengaged.
On a dock, the lady watched in fascination as the pirate was revealed and marched off to the gaol in chains. When she would have protested, fear of censure kept her lips sealed; she was already exposed in her underthings!
In a smithy, the apprentice shrugged and went back to his anvil as the loathsome pirate slipped out the front door. If the King’s men wanted him so badly, let them arrest him in the streets.
In a smithy, the apprentice could hear the screams and explosions of the invasion beyond thick, barred doors. He lay awake, thinking on how he’d grab up a couple of swords should they break into the shop; after all, as long as they were outside, they weren’t threatening him.
The apprentice pondered the commodore’s words as he explained why questioning the pirate would be fruitless. This decorated man was older, wiser, and well versed in combat. Satisfied, the apprentice nodded and went back to his master’s shop to tidy it up after the night’s vandalism.
The pirate waited until the boy (strong lad!) had gone in front to lead the way up out of the gaol, and struck him hard on the back of the head with his pistol butt. Gingerly, he stepped over the unconscious form and fled out and to the docks, somewhat sorry to lose the potential muscle.
The cursed pirate captain blew the bejesus out of the Interceptor, sinking her and all hands with cannonballs to aft, then ordered his crew to comb the wreckage underwater for the cursed gold. Not that it mattered - without the proper blood, they were cursed right along with Davy Jones into eternity.
The pirate shook his head as one of the cursed pirate captain’s men ran the lady through her back with his sword. Dissolute, dishonorable wretch that would wait ‘til someone’s back was turned, and a female at that, he tsked.
On an island, the pirate’s words and a devil of a drink convinced the lady all was lost for them and the object of her affections. They spent the month until their death locked in a perpetual haze of hot Caribbean rum and furious copulation.
At the back of the cave, the pirate waited, plotting how best to kill the cursed pirate captain once he was uncursed by the blood fountaining from the slashed throat of the boy slumped across the chest of medallions.
The lady stayed put, fiddling with her hair in the cabin of the great Navy vessel, never knowing the apprentice lay eviscerated on the floor of the cave.
“This is wrong,” the lady murmured, twisting a fan in her grip as the pirate’s neck snapped.
Thank God I’m not hanging next to him, thought the apprentice as he worked through the public spectacle, drowning out the jeers of the crowd with hammer to anvil.
The Commodore’s nostrils flared as he thought of his men surrounding on the parapet, watching him be made a fool by a scoundrel and a boy with a misplaced sense of romanticism. “Arrest them,” he commanded, nodding sharply at his lieutenant. “To the gallows.”
The pirate regarded the distant fort speculatively from his newly regained ship. The Commodore’s generosity might not extend to another day, should their paths cross, and one could rarely ask for a better opportunity than to have him and most of his forces crowded onto a single high parapet. “Ready on the guns!” the pirate cried. “Bring ‘er broadside, ye gobs!”
The girl was startled by the lieutenant behind her. Unable to hide her spoils in time, she was forced to hand over the golden skull medallion from the boy’s neck. The Lieutenant set his mouth in a hard line, glanced at the unconscious form, and shook his head. “Deliver him to the brig,” was his command, over her girlish objections.