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honoratBy Honorat
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I am a cursed woman, Mr. Disney. Compelled by greed for PotC stories, I was, but now I am consumed by it.
Summary: Something very odd is happening in the harbour at Port Royal. Jack Sparrow is arriving. Everyone lock up the silverware! This fits in with the “Odd Occurrences” challenge at Black Pearl Sails. More movie novelization.
Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geek_mama_2 for editing this. Here is a portrait of you in the Really Big Hat I’ve been promising you!
* * * * *
A Spectacular Entrance
The sun was just rising on another peerless Caribbean day, flushing the horizon a soft rose and shivering the surface of the water into prisms of light, when the ship sailed into the bay of Port Royal, capitol of Jamaica. Silhouetted against the luminous clouds of dawn, a man stood on her topyard, legs braced apart, one hand resting against the rail of the crowsnest, the other at his hip. A sharp morning breeze whipped the skirts and barrel cuffs of his charcoal greatcoat, tossing his long dark hair with the ends of the red scarf that held it back, and snapping the swallowtails of the ship’s white, red, and blue pennant. Beneath a battered leather tri-corn, the man’s dark eyes, heavily lined with kohl against the sea’s glare, scanned the perimeter of the bay, alertly noting the number and size of the tall-masted naval vessels anchored there.
The eclectic conglomeration of buildings that made up the town of Port Royal stretched out below his booted feet. Sharp-ridged headlands closed in on him like a refuge—or a trap. And above him on the cliff, the grim stone walls of Fort Charles, headquarters of the Royal Navy in the Caribbean, perched proud and threatening, bristling with cannon.
The stranger sailing into this harbour did not look like the sort of man who would be welcome here. Where an officer or a gentleman would have worn an elaborately powdered and curled wig, and even a respectable tradesman would have had his own hair neatly queued, this man allowed his overly-long locks to hang loose and knotted, a thick braid trailing down his back. On one side of his head, a tail of dark hair tied with a leather thong was decorated with a slender strip of bone. And the whole wild mass chimed and sparkled with assorted strings of beads, coins, and other small ornaments as the wind stirred it. Instead of a clean-shaven chin, his narrow, swarthy face sported a luxuriant moustache and a bedraggled beard, admittedly not uncommon with the lower classes. However, this man would be remarkable even among the riffraff that collected around the docks of any port town. From that beard dangled two small braids saucily tied off with beads.
If his appearance might at first seem absurd, that impression was given the lie by more dangerous elements. A black leather baldric with a heavy silver buckle was slung across his chest to accommodate a businesslike sword, and the butt of a pistol protruded from the faded, red and white striped sash and heavy belt around his waist, completing the picture of a man well-acquainted with trouble—both the finding and the causing of it.
Just now, he was finding trouble. A quick glance down caused the stranger to curl his lip in disgust. Seizing the line that held the pennant, he leapt off the yard and slid down the mast. It was not a very long drop. In fact, it was a very short drop indeed before he was standing up to the wide tops of his boots and trailing ends of his sash in sloshing salt water. Now salt water is all very well in the sea where it belongs, but it has no business being so plentiful in the bottom of a boat. The man bent over and pawed through various items bobbing in the bow of his vessel to no avail. Scrambling to the stern, he had better luck, discovering a bucket hiding behind a wicker basket. He splashed back towards the bow, seated himself on a crate by the mast, and began bailing.
The little ship bore the look of a vessel for which this was a common occurrence. Its red paint was present only in peeling strips. Its planks were gray and flaking. Although fading letters proclaimed it to be the Jolly Mon, there seemed very little for the small craft to be jolly about. Other than its absurdly thick main—and only—mast topped with its miniature crowsnest and supporting its one large, square sail, the Jolly Mon looked about ready to dissolve in the water rather than float in it. Nevertheless, its lone occupant seemed determined to keep his craft seaworthy, pitching bucket after bucket of water into the ocean where it immediately found its way back, returning through the gaps in the hull.
This process was interrupted suddenly as the Jolly Mon limped further into the harbour and its single crewmember caught sight of the great natural stone arch that jutted out into the bay. Across this arch, a plank had been wedged, and from this plank hung the grisly skeletal remains of three men. The stranger froze for a moment, a look almost of pain on his face, the bucket dropping unnoticed to the water at his feet. Rising awkwardly, the man stood in silent tribute as his boat drifted past the grim memorial. When he was opposite the gently swaying bodies, he swept off his hat to cover his heart. A fourth noose dangled empty beneath a sign that read, “Pirates Ye Be Warned.” As if he needed any more reminders that he was sailing in range of the guns of Fort Charles, home to the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean. Touching his free hand to the wide red bandana that wrapped his head and brushing the small strand of ornaments hanging from it, the man saluted the bodies respectfully, his dark eyes somber. Time and heat and scavengers had not left enough of the unfortunate pirates to tell who they had been in life, but he might have known them in better times.
* * * * *
That day in Port Royal, the docks were as busy as usual. Against the lush tropical green backdrop of the headlands that rose above the half-timber and stone warehouses of the port, small boats belonging to merchants and farmers skittered over the turquoise surface of the water like insects, swarming around the outgoing vessels loading cargo and supplies. Close to an empty dock, the East India Company brig, the Richard Darley was loading bales of cotton from her boat while the crew of a local skiff attempted to pass over an indignant black goat for a price the Darley’s indignant quartermaster was disputing vociferously.
The ruckus died down, however, and all activity gradually ceased as the dockworkers and seamen and general layabouts became aware of a strange spectacle. First, an elderly sailor noticed a bailing bucket floating by. This was in itself not so unusual, but when he raised his head, he was struck dumb by a sight he had never seen in all of his 53 years at sea. His shocked silence drew the attention of his shipmates and then of the dockworkers and merchants surrounding them. All of them turned in awed amazement to watch as, not a ship, but the top of a sail and its mast slowly drifted into port. Poised in triumph atop the tiny crowsnest was a most unusual looking man. Unperturbed by the improbable disappearance of his vessel, he rode the diminishing mast towards the dock, one hand gripping the very tip, as though it were the main topgallant mast of a man-of-war and he far above the surface of the water. Slowly the sail was swallowed by the sea, leaving only the top yard showing; the little swallowtail pennant waved jauntily as the submerged boat bumped gently to a well-earned rest against the dock.
Without a pause, the stranger stepped just as jauntily off the crowsnest and onto the planks of the dock. Apparently oblivious to the stir his arrival had caused, he sauntered off down the pier, swaying as though he hadn’t quite left the sea. All eyes followed him in stunned fascination.
Port Royal didn’t know it yet, but Trouble had landed, and before the day was out, not one of its inhabitants would ever forget his name.
TBC
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I am a cursed woman, Mr. Disney. Compelled by greed for PotC stories, I was, but now I am consumed by it.
Summary: Something very odd is happening in the harbour at Port Royal. Jack Sparrow is arriving. Everyone lock up the silverware! This fits in with the “Odd Occurrences” challenge at Black Pearl Sails. More movie novelization.
Thank you
geek_mama_2 for editing this. Here is a portrait of you in the Really Big Hat I’ve been promising you!* * * * *
A Spectacular Entrance
The sun was just rising on another peerless Caribbean day, flushing the horizon a soft rose and shivering the surface of the water into prisms of light, when the ship sailed into the bay of Port Royal, capitol of Jamaica. Silhouetted against the luminous clouds of dawn, a man stood on her topyard, legs braced apart, one hand resting against the rail of the crowsnest, the other at his hip. A sharp morning breeze whipped the skirts and barrel cuffs of his charcoal greatcoat, tossing his long dark hair with the ends of the red scarf that held it back, and snapping the swallowtails of the ship’s white, red, and blue pennant. Beneath a battered leather tri-corn, the man’s dark eyes, heavily lined with kohl against the sea’s glare, scanned the perimeter of the bay, alertly noting the number and size of the tall-masted naval vessels anchored there.
The eclectic conglomeration of buildings that made up the town of Port Royal stretched out below his booted feet. Sharp-ridged headlands closed in on him like a refuge—or a trap. And above him on the cliff, the grim stone walls of Fort Charles, headquarters of the Royal Navy in the Caribbean, perched proud and threatening, bristling with cannon.
The stranger sailing into this harbour did not look like the sort of man who would be welcome here. Where an officer or a gentleman would have worn an elaborately powdered and curled wig, and even a respectable tradesman would have had his own hair neatly queued, this man allowed his overly-long locks to hang loose and knotted, a thick braid trailing down his back. On one side of his head, a tail of dark hair tied with a leather thong was decorated with a slender strip of bone. And the whole wild mass chimed and sparkled with assorted strings of beads, coins, and other small ornaments as the wind stirred it. Instead of a clean-shaven chin, his narrow, swarthy face sported a luxuriant moustache and a bedraggled beard, admittedly not uncommon with the lower classes. However, this man would be remarkable even among the riffraff that collected around the docks of any port town. From that beard dangled two small braids saucily tied off with beads.
If his appearance might at first seem absurd, that impression was given the lie by more dangerous elements. A black leather baldric with a heavy silver buckle was slung across his chest to accommodate a businesslike sword, and the butt of a pistol protruded from the faded, red and white striped sash and heavy belt around his waist, completing the picture of a man well-acquainted with trouble—both the finding and the causing of it.
Just now, he was finding trouble. A quick glance down caused the stranger to curl his lip in disgust. Seizing the line that held the pennant, he leapt off the yard and slid down the mast. It was not a very long drop. In fact, it was a very short drop indeed before he was standing up to the wide tops of his boots and trailing ends of his sash in sloshing salt water. Now salt water is all very well in the sea where it belongs, but it has no business being so plentiful in the bottom of a boat. The man bent over and pawed through various items bobbing in the bow of his vessel to no avail. Scrambling to the stern, he had better luck, discovering a bucket hiding behind a wicker basket. He splashed back towards the bow, seated himself on a crate by the mast, and began bailing.
The little ship bore the look of a vessel for which this was a common occurrence. Its red paint was present only in peeling strips. Its planks were gray and flaking. Although fading letters proclaimed it to be the Jolly Mon, there seemed very little for the small craft to be jolly about. Other than its absurdly thick main—and only—mast topped with its miniature crowsnest and supporting its one large, square sail, the Jolly Mon looked about ready to dissolve in the water rather than float in it. Nevertheless, its lone occupant seemed determined to keep his craft seaworthy, pitching bucket after bucket of water into the ocean where it immediately found its way back, returning through the gaps in the hull.
This process was interrupted suddenly as the Jolly Mon limped further into the harbour and its single crewmember caught sight of the great natural stone arch that jutted out into the bay. Across this arch, a plank had been wedged, and from this plank hung the grisly skeletal remains of three men. The stranger froze for a moment, a look almost of pain on his face, the bucket dropping unnoticed to the water at his feet. Rising awkwardly, the man stood in silent tribute as his boat drifted past the grim memorial. When he was opposite the gently swaying bodies, he swept off his hat to cover his heart. A fourth noose dangled empty beneath a sign that read, “Pirates Ye Be Warned.” As if he needed any more reminders that he was sailing in range of the guns of Fort Charles, home to the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean. Touching his free hand to the wide red bandana that wrapped his head and brushing the small strand of ornaments hanging from it, the man saluted the bodies respectfully, his dark eyes somber. Time and heat and scavengers had not left enough of the unfortunate pirates to tell who they had been in life, but he might have known them in better times.
* * * * *
That day in Port Royal, the docks were as busy as usual. Against the lush tropical green backdrop of the headlands that rose above the half-timber and stone warehouses of the port, small boats belonging to merchants and farmers skittered over the turquoise surface of the water like insects, swarming around the outgoing vessels loading cargo and supplies. Close to an empty dock, the East India Company brig, the Richard Darley was loading bales of cotton from her boat while the crew of a local skiff attempted to pass over an indignant black goat for a price the Darley’s indignant quartermaster was disputing vociferously.
The ruckus died down, however, and all activity gradually ceased as the dockworkers and seamen and general layabouts became aware of a strange spectacle. First, an elderly sailor noticed a bailing bucket floating by. This was in itself not so unusual, but when he raised his head, he was struck dumb by a sight he had never seen in all of his 53 years at sea. His shocked silence drew the attention of his shipmates and then of the dockworkers and merchants surrounding them. All of them turned in awed amazement to watch as, not a ship, but the top of a sail and its mast slowly drifted into port. Poised in triumph atop the tiny crowsnest was a most unusual looking man. Unperturbed by the improbable disappearance of his vessel, he rode the diminishing mast towards the dock, one hand gripping the very tip, as though it were the main topgallant mast of a man-of-war and he far above the surface of the water. Slowly the sail was swallowed by the sea, leaving only the top yard showing; the little swallowtail pennant waved jauntily as the submerged boat bumped gently to a well-earned rest against the dock.
Without a pause, the stranger stepped just as jauntily off the crowsnest and onto the planks of the dock. Apparently oblivious to the stir his arrival had caused, he sauntered off down the pier, swaying as though he hadn’t quite left the sea. All eyes followed him in stunned fascination.
Port Royal didn’t know it yet, but Trouble had landed, and before the day was out, not one of its inhabitants would ever forget his name.
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 01:17 pm (UTC)And MY HAT!!!! Squeeeeee!!!! (Not to mention the cute little boots.) Love the flower on the hatband, too. And is it just my imagination or is that a pink feather? Thanks so much for my reward.
*doffs hat with an elegant bow*
no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 02:49 pm (UTC)*Bounce* I am so glad you like the Hat (and boots). With a little run by Photoshop, that feather can be a pink as you like. You are welcome for your reward. Thank you so much for all the hours of work you've done.
If you can doff THAT hat elegantly, you are VERY good!
Iconage!!!
Date: 2006-04-18 03:28 pm (UTC)I bet -- it's an hour later there than here, right? We were both up late, but you had me beat there.
Re: Iconage!!!
Date: 2006-04-18 03:50 pm (UTC)I think I went to sleep at 6:30 a.m. I shudder to think of the condition of those seven pages I fired off to you then.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 02:52 pm (UTC)I especially love the last line. It is such an acurate opening to the rest of the film. I can just hear Jack thinking "Ah, but you have heard of me."
no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 02:57 pm (UTC)As for that last line, Jack is a bit of a glory hound, in't he. The only bad publicity is no publicity.
Thank you so much for commenting.
My, that IS a big hat.
Date: 2006-04-18 04:32 pm (UTC)And of course you captured Jack Sparrow's breathtaking entrance perfectly. You have such a talent for drawing pictures with words (as well as actual pictures *g*) in sentences such as this:
A sharp morning breeze whipped the skirts and barrel cuffs of his charcoal greatcoat, tossing his long dark hair with the ends of the red scarf that held it back, and snapping the swallowtails of the ship’s white, red, and blue pennant.
The whole opening paragraph, in fact, is especially lovely and vivid.
It Is a Very Big Hat LOL!
Date: 2006-04-18 05:15 pm (UTC)Those scenes on the dock give such an impression of frenetic activity, as though the eye can't take in everything going on. I'm relieved you liked that description. The goat was my favourite part.
Jack's entrance into the movie is such a stunning visual that I despaired of ever recreating it in text. Thank you for your kind words about it.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 07:15 pm (UTC)I love the extra little story we're given here, about the East India Trading Company-- it just adds to the beautifully detailed fabric you're creating from the movie canon. Everybody has a story to tell, even the split-shot extras. It was nice to see Jack's entrance not from his perspective but from an outsiders-- one of us, as it were. Jack's entrance is possibly my favourite from any film ever, and I love the way that, visually, it lets us all we need to know about Jack. An internal monologue would perhaps ruin the effect a little, so good on you :)
I love the ending, and Jack's embodiment of trouble: they may not know him, but they have heard of him...
no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 08:19 pm (UTC)I'm glad the effects of all that obsessing over detail show up in the finished product. There was an exercise a colleague of mine used for her writing students--take a scene from a television program and write it so that a blind person could appreciated it. That's pretty much what I try to do--recapture in text the effect seeing it had on me.
That is why this scene couldn't be in Jack's POV. In the movie, we are ever so gradually introduced to the character, as though curtains are going up on a stage, one after the other, revealing more and more of the scenery behind them. I wanted to maintain that effect in the text--that sense of grandeur at the beginning that gradually degenerates into the ridiculous without ever losing its poignancy and bravado. That rising curiousity as to who this man is and what he is doing. You are right that it is one of the greatest entrances of all time. I love writing Jack's internal monologues, but that would have ruined this moment where we can only see his thoughts in his expressive face and actions. And those are our only clues to the man behind the mask. There is mystery here it would be a mistake to solve at this point.
Those skeletal remains of pirates, in a tropical climate like that, could not have been hanging there many years--so I felt that part of Jack's respect might have had to do less with a fellow feeling for a similar risk-taker than with an acknowledgment that he might have been quaffing a pint with any of them in the past. That act of solemn ritual and deference for the dead when the rest of the world has obviously scorned and insulted the remains of those pitiful creatures set Jack apart for me right from the beginning.
I'm so glad you enjoyed this foray into such a beloved scene. Thank you so much for reviewing.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-19 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-19 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-19 05:57 pm (UTC)You take this scene I know so well (it plays in my head whenever I hear track 2 on the POTC CD, which is what's usually playing in my car) and make it new as you sketch Jack bit by bit, just the way the camera reveals him.
Jolly Mon looked about ready to dissolve in the water rather than float in it
Isn't it a wonder Jack didn't just punch a hole through the bottom when he jumped down?
Unperturbed by the improbable disappearance of his vessel
Just for the sake of reference, reading the above phrase caused small giggles (which I was attempting to stifle - I *am* at work even if it is my lunch break) to expand to something closely resembling wild cackles.
Cannot possibly say enough good things about this, so will just tell you I love it!
Hee!
GeekMama made me an icon from your HenderCat and HonoRat drawing. Okay with you I use it, or would you like to see it first? *bats eyes*
no subject
Date: 2006-04-19 07:06 pm (UTC)Isn't it a wonder Jack didn't just punch a hole through the bottom when he jumped down?
It is around a three day trip by sail from Tortuga to Port Royal. It's a wonder he made it into that harbour!
I do apologize quite insincerely for causing you to cackle at work. *snerk*
I'm so glad you liked this--and
By all means, use the icon. I'd be honoured. As you can see, she made me one too. Have you seen the final two drawings in that series yet?
no subject
Date: 2006-04-20 05:15 pm (UTC)I was trying to capture that slow reveal effect of the camera.
You most certainly did that! And your Jack description felt so fresh and new to give us that first taste feeling.
Have you seen the final two drawings in that series yet?
Not yet, but knowing they're posted makes me wish I read a bit faster.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 12:57 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed the description of Jack. He's not usually described from a point of view where he is unknown.
Here's the link to the fight and party scenes:
HenderCat and HonoRat: The Rest of the Story (http://honorat.livejournal.com/37117.html)
no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 01:55 pm (UTC)Hey, for once I'm reviewing something recent! Go me!
How many times did you watch Jack's entrance on DVD? Slow-mo and freeze frame? You've captured the look, the feel, even the tiniest of details that set the stage.
The stranger froze for a moment, a look almost of pain on his face, the bucket dropping unnoticed to the water at his feet.
When he was opposite the gently swaying bodies, he swept off his hat to cover his heart. A fourth noose dangled empty beneath a sign that read, “Pirates Ye Be Warned.” As if he needed any more reminders that he was sailing in range of the guns of Fort Charles, home to the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean.
These were fantastic descriptors! Even though everything here came straight from film visuals with no dialogue, you still manage to prove that its "your" Jack in that boat, with the interjected moments of seriousness in the obvious humor. I swear, the more I read your novelizations, the more I have difficulty separating what you've written from what's actually in the film.
I don't suppose I could nag you to finish this one, hmm? It really only needs another chapter, two at most, where he pays off the dock attendant and then finds (and falls in love with) the Interceptor. Then there's his run-in with our favorite marines. I'd love to see you novelize that conversation, with its Abbott and Costello feel to it.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 06:54 pm (UTC)I have no idea how many times I watched this scene :D Hundreds! Definitely freeze frame. I'd watch for how his clothes moved and what the lighting and weather looked like and what the background sounds were. I wanted to capture not only what happened, but how it made me feel the first time I saw it happening--the layers and layers of curtains going up on such a complex and mysterious and hilarious character.
Even though everything here came straight from film visuals with no dialogue, you still manage to prove that its "your" Jack in that boat, with the interjected moments of seriousness in the obvious humor. I swear, the more I read your novelizations, the more I have difficulty separating what you've written from what's actually in the film.
*bounce!* That is a wonderful compliment. I do try to make everything I write in my novelization consistent with what I saw in the movie. That just seemed a serious moment to me. In fact these types of things in the movie where what went in to my interpretation of the character in the first place, so it's hard to say what is feeding what. "My" Jack is the one that I saw when I watched the movie.
I do plan to finish this some day, although currently "Crossing the Bar" has my head firmly in its teeth. I feel a bit of obligation since it is such a cliff-hanger. It will be fun to try my hand at Murtogg and Mullroy eventually.
Thank you so much for the lovely comments.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-29 04:24 pm (UTC)And I have absolutely no problem with your finishing Crossing the Bar before anything else. I promise I'll review it eventually.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-16 08:31 pm (UTC)Sayla Ragnarok
P.S. had some grammar corrections and forgot to put my penname so this is probably going to comment twice, sorry.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-16 09:50 pm (UTC)I'm glad this gives you a laugh. Jack goes through the Looking Glass and shrinks :D That would be funny.
I have been frightfully busy this quarter, but I haven't abandoned "Crossing". I've got about seven pages written on the next chapter and will eventually complete it. I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Honorat