(A/N) Yeah, I know, I changed some names and left others the same, blah, blah, blah, and the only reason I have to offer is that I’m too lazy to think up original names, and when I try, they end up being really awful. Here, I’ll try one right now, um... Joe... er... Bell. ... Joe Bell ... I’m suddenly reminded of the scene in Billy Madison where Adam Sandler gives that really awful essay answer, everyone applauds, until the guy says and I quote “Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.” You know, a simple wrong would have sufficed. Disclaimer: Lessee, I don’t own John Travolta, or Billy Madison or Adam Sandler or Pirates of the Caribbean or Captain Jack or Seinfeld or Newman or Tourette’s syndrome, oh wait, I don’t need to disclaim that. Do I? I wonder who would own the rights? Wait ...Disclaim? Is that even a word? Whatever.

A pirate captain stood triumphantly atop the mast of his ship as it sailed on the almost fluorescent blue-green seas of the Caribbean towards a lovely little port town overlooked by a fort. He was the quintessential pirate. Anyone, upon looking on him, thought immediately of the word “pirate,” and most had difficulty restraining themselves from immediately blurting it out; he was the Tourette’s syndrome of pirates. He was dark and mysterious looking, with a deeply tanned face, dark eyes, dark hair, a dark mustache, a dark beard, and dark circles under his eyes. He couldn’t really be said to be any age at all, but couldn’t be called ageless either. He was not particularly young or old, but he seemed to have the energy and wisdom of both periods, respectively. His beard was braided and beaded, and when his mouth opened, glints of gold, and various other colors inexplicably drew the gaze of anyone in sight. Some say it lent to this particular pirate’s powers of persuasion. His black hair was long with several dreads festooned with beads and the like, a bandana wrapped about his head and topped off with a perfect faded black tri-corner pirate hat. He wore a long captain’s coat, a sword, and several other things upon his belt. So many things, in fact, that one comes to wonder if he (and connectedly, pirates in general) just couldn’t bring himself to throw anything away. His pants were pirate pants, his boots, pirate boots, his sleeves, pirate sleeves. His clothes were worn just enough, but not too much, how he pulled that off one can only imagine. But, one must admit pirates do have a taste for style, even if the style is intended to intimidate rather than appeal.

This particular pirate had no peg leg, no eye patch, no animal friend perched atop his shoulder, because frankly he didn’t need them to complete the pirate look, and had always thought it was rather tacky anyway. Except of course in cases of actual disability, which usually meant the pirate was either not a very good pirate, or had very bad luck (neither good qualities to have in a pirate, particularly the first). Other than that, most were just faking it, some had actually had limbs taken off (posers), and then of course there was the case of an aging captain getting a helper monkey and dressing it up in tiny pirate garb. The idea of a monkey in a pirate’s hat was rather amusing to him, but still, he was too good a pirate for any of that.

The average person would be thoroughly impressed if they had just seen him atop the mast of the ship, the wind blowing his dreads majestically, and not actually the ship he captained itself. It was a tiny fishing dory, and it was gaining water fast. He jumped down to what was left of the deck and bailed a little, casually, apparently not too concerned with the fact that his ship was sinking.

Ascending the mast again, he peered at Port Royal through his telescope, one of the less useless items on his belt. Three rotting corpses swung back and forth beneath a rocky arch that jutted out of the bay, and next to them hung a sign saying in what he considered slightly over-the-top sinister lettering: “PIRATES YE BE WARNED”. The quintessential pirate removed his hat and held it to his heart in a gesture of respect for his departed kindred.

The boat kept on moving, even as it still sunk downward. The deck was entirely gone; the pirate had obviously given up the fight, standing with astonishing self-importance atop his mast. What could be seen of the vessel sailed eerily straight towards an open space on the pier. As it reached the dock the pirate indifferently reached out a leg from his post at what had formerly been the top of the ship, and stepped lightly onto the dock, keeping momentum as if nothing had just happened, or, more accurately, as though his ship, and only means of transportation off the well-policed island, had not just sunk to the depths of the bay.

A flustered, wigged man in civilian clothing managed to get out as he swaggered past him, “What? Hold up there you. It’s a shilling to tie up your boat at the docks. And I shall need to know your name.”

The pirate turned on his heel and looked at the harbormaster, sizing him up indifferently, and then looked at his boat with the little man with a touch of something very vaguely resembling irony in his gaze and a slight purse of the lips. A little of the crow’s nest was still visible above the murky water. He gave the little man a look that can’t really be expressed in words, simply a raise of an eyebrow, and the receiver getting a distinct feeling that he was very clearly wrong about something. The small, wigged man became suddenly and inexplicably uncertain how much of a case he could make.

Nevertheless, the pirate tossed him a few coins and responded with an amiable and wily smile, “What d’ye say to three shillings and we forget the name?” Was that a Cockney accent? It certainly went well with the drunken slur. The harbormaster seemed to consider the offer for only the shortest second.

“Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith,” the little man responded, quickly pocketing his backhander.

The pirate again swaggered back down the deck filching the little harbormaster’s purse of coins off of his post, turning to look at him, now distracted, shook it contemptuously and continued on his way.

(#1. Swagger is really the only word you can use to describe the way this particular pirate walks. You could use stroll but really it’s just not enough, you need a haughty, overly-relaxed, but still purposeful stride; and stroll cannot encompass the entire movement of his body, which can only be described with swagger. Strut comes close, but seems more John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever-esque or pimp-esque, (the two are not that dissimilar, seriously just get him a leopard skin wide-brimmed hat). Honestly, it was more like a drag queen or a rock star. A touch of drunkenness was added to the stroll as well, and it didn’t really seem to matter to him if he was drunk or not.

#2. A stupid pirate wouldn’t have looked at the harbormaster at all before absconding with his purse. A good pirate would’ve known whether they were under the harbormaster’s scrutiny and quietly grabbed and quickly absconded with the purse. Only this pirate, the quintessential pirate, would know the harbormaster was not observing him, still turn to look at him, grab his purse, shake it smugly in the direction of his turned back, then swagger see #1 off, in just the way he did. Too sum up, being a pirate is all about the attitude.)

(A/N) Short start, eh? All the chapters will be short but should come quicker that way, and I like shorter chapters anyway makes it easier to read for some reason. I haven’t really changed anything from the movie yet, just wait, next chapter it starts and then I just meander off for a little while. I get back but this plot’s gonna get a little more complicated. Will is Jonathan and he is rich, while Millie, who is not Elizabeth, (cause she always kinda bugged me “Try wearing a corset” Shut up, you’re not funny...) is a bar maid. On comes the alcohol humor; hehe 'cause drunk people are always funny. Ooh, and Norrington is Newman to Jonathan’s Seinfeld; that comes a little later.