Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien
Well I said there would be a young-Jack fic, but that's been put on hold for a while as this tale was deemed more important by Sir Sparrow.
I meant to post this chapter earlier but I've been in London Engerland baybee to see the Lord of the Rings exhibition which was the most stunning thing ever ( Excuse me while I come across all fan-girly- we saw Legolas's costume! Orlando Bloom actually wore it!)
and I bought a pack of movie cards on a total whim and inside was a card with Viggo Mortensen's autograph. His actual autograph. Not reproduced. The real thing - there was a one in a very big number chance that you could get a special card inside, either with a characters costume on it, or an even slimmer chance of an autograph. And I got one! HUZZAH!
So I have something that Viggo Mortensen actually touched.
Oh Dear God I am one lucky girl.
Disclaimer - I'm too overcome to say anything more than this isn't mine, though I own all original characters, ships, objects and Viggo Mortensen's autograph.
Also a few lines have been shamelessly pilfered in true pirate style from Monty Python.
Chapter 1 - Consorting with the Devil.
Now before you jump to conclusions, I'd like to make it clear that none of what I'm about to relate was my fault.
Well maybe some of it was, but the beginnings were definitely innocent. If that's a word you can use to describe the doings of Captain Jack Sparrow.
I was green back then, believe it or not. Green as bilge water. Been at sea for years, and many of them as Captain, but you see, this was before all my trouble with the bastard Barbossa, and looking back I get to wondering if I could've been any more naive if I tried.
The problem is, the winds can turn on a man at any time, be he Captain or slave. It's like the see ain't it - she'll have anyone, seadog or lubber - they all taste the same to her in the end. If she wants to claim you - then she's a bloody siren ain't she? She'll tempt you forth with blue skies and good winds, but before you know it all hell's broken loose and you're hanging from the fore topsail yardarm by your fingernails, thinking that you may have made the wrong decision somewhere along the line.
Course I never understood any of this really, until the day I watched my ship sail away, leaving me nothing but a man on a beach. Suddenly it meant nothing to anyone, whether I was a Captain or a Cabin boy.
But this was all before then, and I was happy as Larry. I had a ship, a crew - friends that I trusted.
Rum enough for today, and who need think of tomorrow?
So the day in question, we've put into port - Kingston as it happens. Now Kingston isn't as big as Port Royal, and it's the best place to be when you have the misfortune of landing yourself in Jamaica. It's not as respectable see - still too law abiding for my liking though, I mean, it's no Tortuga. But it's a big port for slaving, and that inevitably fills the place with the kind of people that are just this side of legal.
My kind of people then.
Well most of the men had gone off to the Inns or the brothels. Me - I had a bottle of rum in my hand, and wasn't interested in the brothels. Now don't be calling my manhood into question here - I just like to think that Old Jack can get a woman into bed on the strength of his charm alone.
My first mate, Barbossa, had gone off drinking and whoring with the men, while old Bootstrap had offered to come a-wondering with me. Now, not that I didn't enjoy Bill's company, but I sometimes get to thinking that spending every minute of every day in the company of 50 or so other men ain't good for me. So when I came ashore, back in those days, I always enjoyed a little time by myself.
So I go strolling through the port right, and along the way I pick up a few stragglers - a couple of dogs, two kids and a donkey. Dogs'll follow anyone, I seem to have that affect on grubby young lads, and donkeys are just malicious - they know I don't like them so they follow along behind me just to give me the willies.
Well out of the town the dogs had lost interest and I'd scared the lads away with a few well timed Aarrrghh!'s , but the bleeding donkey wouldn't take the hint!
When I stopped and turned around, so would the creature, and there I am playing a game of bloody grandmother's footsteps with the mangey beast!
I hate donkeys.
After a few miles I turned round and confronted it. I hated having my back to it - I could feel it's mean little eyes boring into me with it's evil glare.
What you looking at? I ask.
The donkey brays in answer, but it sounds too much like a laugh for my liking.
So I keep walking right, and come up to this little brook. Pretty little place it is, a grassy bank with a white-washed church perched atop it like it's just been balanced there by the hand of God. It's the kind of place that has it's own personal beam of light, constantly shining down on it no matter the weather.
So the donkey eyes me up in a calculating fashion. I take out my cutlas and run at it screaming. Well, it worked with the grubby kids following me.
But instead of running away like any normal God-fearing animal would, this bloody beasts rushes me! Yes - it runs at me!
I turned tail and ran away, like a girl.
But in my struggle to switch tack and run up the slope instead of down, off comes my hat, tumbling away from me.
Well, it was a sort of every man for himself' moment there, with the donkey running me down, so I admit I paid little thought to my treacherous hat.
When I reached the church, I turned around to gloat at the donkey, sure that it would have given up it's chase by now.
But of course the evil things still coming at me, my hat in it's mouth like a trophy.
We stopped and stared each other down for a moment, man to donkey. He had my hat, and I wasn't about to let him chew it to pieces. Apart from my deep emotional bond with my hat, it's a matter of principle ain't it? First my hat, and then what next? Give them an inch and they'll take a mile.
So we're standing there for fully five or six minutes, getting our breath back and wondering who's going to make the first move.
Slowly, I took out my pistol.
You know what this is don't you? I asked in what I hoped was a threatening tone.
The donkey just stared malevolently.
Obviously it didn't.
But Captain Jack Sparrow isn't that easily beaten. No - in a staring match there ain't many souls that can beat me.
Without warning the donkey turned and lolloped off around the side of the church, my hat still held captive in it's slobbering mouth. So of course I gave chase.
3 times round the church we went, me cursing and screaming and the donkey braying it's laughter.
On the third time round, the donkey stops abruptly, and me, right on it's tale, literally, I run straight into it and collapse in a wheezing pile on the floor.
The donkey looks over towards the church door, and I follow it's gaze. To find the Priest and the entire congregation staring at me in horror.
I picked myself up, trying to recover a little dignity - luckily I have that by the bucket load so it ain't hard to regain.
The good people of Kingston stare at me in silence.
Then someone screams
Now now.. says the Priest, trying to control the mounting hysteria.
3 times round the church! Anti-clockwise too! Ee's trying to consort wiv the Devil he is! screamed one.
Yeah! That donkey's is fam...fami-
Yeah! That's the one! Is fam-il-iar!
Bloody Hell! says I, which set them all to gasping and in hindsight probably wasn't the best thing to say, considering the circumstances.
If I was to have a familiar, do you honestly think it would be a donkey? I said grumpily.
Shut it! You're a witch!
Witch! Witch! Burn im! He's a witch! screamed a sallow faced woman, jumping up and down in excitement.
chorused the rest.
Wizard. Or warlock. A witch is a woman ain't it. I said helpfully.
The donkey laughed at me.
Eee just admitted it! He's a witch...Wizard! screamed Sallow face.
Burn him! yelled another.
3 times round the church! offered another feebly.
Quiet please! Quiet! said the priest loudly. Yes, 3 times round the church, especially doing so with an animal, is suspicious. But to truly convict this man more proof is needed, I am afraid. What makes you think he is a witch?
He looks like one! screamed a little old lady who's face almost entirely consisted of warts. She obviously didn't see the irony, as her bulbous warty nose was in the way.
Now hold your bleeding horses! I protested as the mob moved closer.
He turned me into a newt! shrieked one lad. We all turned to look at him.
......I got better....? he offered.
We could throw him in the river - if he floats then the Devil's looking out for him right? said one man helpfully.
And if he don't?! I ask
Well, if you don't, you'll meet a good Christian death - how's that?
I said. Just wonderful!
I managed to grab my hat before the mob closed in on me and lifted me above their heads. I dished out a few black eyes along the way, but there's no stopping an angry puritanical mob when they've set their mind to something.
Not the best I've ever written, but I do have tonsillitis so go easy on me eh? Chapters may come along a little slower than before, as the computer is out in my Dad's studio, and I'd forgotten how cold it gets in the winter - within about 5 minutes my right hand is frozen solid.
Also, the 3 times round the church thing? I'm sure I read that somewhere when I was doing a project on witchcraft for my welsh class. If you went round 3 times the Devil supposedly appeared, or some such.
Don't try this at home kids.