Fic Marooned Ch. 6: Crab Racing
Jul. 13th, 2005 11:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratBy Honorat Selonnet
Sixth in my Island Fic plus deleted scenes. The deleted scenes are done. From here on be dragons. This just appeared when I was thinking that something must have happened to get Jack and Elizabeth on friendly enough terms to be singing around a bonfire. This one is Elizabeth’s POV.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Canon
Cast: Jack and Elizabeth
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to an anthropomorphized rodent, but the crabs are mine, all mine (maniacal laughter)
* * * * *
There weren’t many options for amusement on this island paradise that was resembling hell more every moment. Elizabeth simply wanted to lie collapsed in the shade during the heat of the day. For the first time she was mildly grateful to Barbossa for making it impossible for her to remain modestly sweltering in that heavy dark dress. Her shift was more than enough in the relentless sun. She could feel her exposed skin burning whenever she ventured out of the shadows. But Jack Sparrow seemed incapable of sitting still for long anywhere, and his sun-bronzed hide was impervious to the worst the sun could do.
At first she was content—no, make that thrilled—when he would wander off, toting his rum bottle, on some incomprehensible foray down the beach or through the trees. She wanted him to leave her alone. However, she soon found herself listening for him, spooked by the silence of this prison island, broken only by the forsaken cry of the occasional seabird. Her thoughts were not good company. Fear nipped at the edges of her mind; her imagination kept parading images of Will’s fate, of her own fate, each time growing more disturbing. She discovered she had no taste for being alone. Worse, she suspected she was drinking more rum than she ought.
And so the next time the pirate hove into view, Elizabeth found herself trailing out to meet him. Sunburn, sunstroke, Sparrow’s company—all were preferable to loneliness. Jack seemed pleased that she had joined him. She wondered for an instant whether he also was escaping the demons his mind could conjure up. He did not seem to have any definite destination for his ramblings. Sometimes they would circle the island looking out to the sea which remained depressingly bare of longed-for sails.
“How likely are we to be able to hail a passing ship?” Elizabeth asked pensively.
Jack eyed her. “Are you wanting the truth or a comfortable lie?”
“The truth, of course,” she sighed. “Although, I suppose that’s given me an answer of sorts.”
“The truth it is, then,” he agreed. “I’m sure I can manage it, unfamiliar as I am with such a commodity.” He pointed all his fingers not involved in hanging on to the rum at the sea. “We’re not near any major shipping lanes—or any minor ones for that matter.” He glanced over at her. “Means a merchant vessel or indeed a pirate would be unusual. So that leaves the odd smuggler or a military patrol. Since something seems to have driven the rumrunners off, our most likely chance would be the British Navy, seeing as how this island is nearest to British territory.”
Looking down at the rum he was holding, Jack Sparrow hesitated. Then he flashed Elizabeth a wry grimace. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, when I say that I’m not particularly eager to see the Royal Navy out there. The end results for me of being permanently stranded on this island and of being rescued by your bloody friend Norrington are remarkably similar.”
Elizabeth wondered what it must be like to know that one had a bounty on one’s head—to prefer starvation to rescue.
“So is there any hope?” she asked.
“There’s always hope, love.”
Other times they waded out towards the reefs, watching the colourful fish dart away from their legs. Jack showed Elizabeth how to stand in the wet, tidal sand, letting the hissing foam rush past her feet and then slide silkily back to sea each time burying her feet a little further. The sand sucked at their legs, resisting when they tried to leave.
“The sea’s like that, love,” the pirate told her. “Spend enough time beside her, she’ll draw you in.”
Elizabeth thought she might be getting drunk. Her bottle of rum was only half full now, and although Jack Sparrow had certainly had a few swallows, the majority of the missing rum appeared to have made it inside her head where it was swishing around. She was not quite sure just how that had happened.
Captain Sparrow was already three quarters of the way down his second bottle without a noticeable change in his behavior. Well, she supposed his curses were becoming more inventive when he came across treacherous conch shells with his bare toes. And possibly stone cold sober he would not have captured two shilling-sized rock crabs, drawn two lines in the sand a pace apart, and insisted that they hold a race. He’d even named the disgusting little creatures—Pintel and Ragetti—he’d said.
“Which one do you want, love?”
She curled up her lip and exclaimed emphatically, “Neither!”
“Come on,” he disapproved. “Musn’t be squeamish. Pick one!”
That last had been a command, and the pirate was looking mulish and dangerous again.
Reluctantly, she pointed at one of the small crabs. Might as well humour him. There were worse things a drunken pirate could be trying to force her to do. “That one, then.” They both looked exactly alike to her.
“Ah! Ragetti!” Jack handed her the crab, and she shivered as she took it between thumb and forefinger. The tiny legs waved about seeking purchase with little prickling touches on her skin. She almost dropped the thing.
Crouching like two children, Jack and Elizabeth lined up their crabs. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, unable to believe she was actually doing this, but Jack seemed entirely absorbed and entertained. On the count of three (Jack did the counting of course), they let the animals loose. Both crabs scuttled forward, but then Ragetti got disoriented and headed back to the start line. No matter how much Elizabeth headed him off, he seemed determined to go the wrong direction. Jack was laughing like a boy, odiously triumphant, as Pintel scurried toward the finish line. However, soon the crab veered off course, refusing to cross the line.
“Hah!” Elizabeth smirked.
Jack retrieved the wanderer and they tried the race again with similar results.
“Nevertheless,” he claimed, “Pintel got closer to the finish than Ragetti, so I win.”
“Do you always have to win?” she complained.
“Of course, love,” Jack grinned madly. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?”
“Even if you have to cheat?”
“Pirate!”
As if that explained everything. Probably it did. Annoyed, Elizabeth changed the subject. “How do you know this one’s Ragetti?” She was not going to touch it again.
Jack picked the crab up and held it entirely too close to her face. It waved its small pincers menacingly and she backed up. “He’s had a run in with something,” Jack pointed out. “Missing an eye.” It was true. The little monster glared at her with a single eye stalk.
“It’s defective!” she pointed out peevishly. “You can’t have a fair race with a defective crab.”
“You had your pick.” Jack sounded smug.
Then he noticed that Pintel was getting away, making rapid little crab hieroglyphs on his way to the sea. Dropping Ragetti, Jack lurched off in pursuit of the escapee. Elizabeth thought she had never seen anything quite so funny as the pirate scrambling through the sand, drunkenly trying to grab the tiny creature. Of course the rum might be clouding her judgment. She laughed so hard she had to sit down in the sand.
Mission accomplished, Jack returned with prisoner in hand. On the way back, he scooped up the less energetic Ragetti, who had also been heading seaward. Reaching Elizabeth, he looked down at the still giggling girl. A strange look crossed his face.
“You should try that more often, love.”
She squinted up at him, puzzled. “Try what?”
“Laughing. Rum. Both, if that’s what it takes.” Before she could dodge, he chucked her under her chin like her father might have done. “It suits you.”
Thinking back, Elizabeth really couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed and played, free and unfettered by convention and expectation. It had certainly been before her hair had gone up and her skirts down and her father had started preaching propriety and the inadvisability of consorting with blacksmith’s apprentices.
Uncomfortable under Jack’s scrutiny, she pointed at the creatures he was still absent-mindedly holding. “What are you going to do with them?”
Jack looked at the two crabs in confusion, as though he couldn’t quite remember why he’d bothered to chase them down. “I don’t suppose they’re much worth eating,” he mused, curling his lip.
Elizabeth came back to the present with a jolt. They were marooned, not taking a day at the beach. Would it come to that? Would she be so hungry those disgusting creatures would look like food?
Jack grimaced. “Don’t think I’m that hungry yet.”
Elizabeth was relieved. She could imagine him trying to force her to eat them. “Why don’t you put them back where you got them,” she suggested hurriedly.
This appeared to be a good suggestion, because the pirate wandered off toward the shore, holding a one-sided conversation with the crabs. “Back to the sea, mates. I guess you’ll be wanting to be free.”
TBC
7 Survival is the Only Option
Sixth in my Island Fic plus deleted scenes. The deleted scenes are done. From here on be dragons. This just appeared when I was thinking that something must have happened to get Jack and Elizabeth on friendly enough terms to be singing around a bonfire. This one is Elizabeth’s POV.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Canon
Cast: Jack and Elizabeth
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to an anthropomorphized rodent, but the crabs are mine, all mine (maniacal laughter)
* * * * *
There weren’t many options for amusement on this island paradise that was resembling hell more every moment. Elizabeth simply wanted to lie collapsed in the shade during the heat of the day. For the first time she was mildly grateful to Barbossa for making it impossible for her to remain modestly sweltering in that heavy dark dress. Her shift was more than enough in the relentless sun. She could feel her exposed skin burning whenever she ventured out of the shadows. But Jack Sparrow seemed incapable of sitting still for long anywhere, and his sun-bronzed hide was impervious to the worst the sun could do.
At first she was content—no, make that thrilled—when he would wander off, toting his rum bottle, on some incomprehensible foray down the beach or through the trees. She wanted him to leave her alone. However, she soon found herself listening for him, spooked by the silence of this prison island, broken only by the forsaken cry of the occasional seabird. Her thoughts were not good company. Fear nipped at the edges of her mind; her imagination kept parading images of Will’s fate, of her own fate, each time growing more disturbing. She discovered she had no taste for being alone. Worse, she suspected she was drinking more rum than she ought.
And so the next time the pirate hove into view, Elizabeth found herself trailing out to meet him. Sunburn, sunstroke, Sparrow’s company—all were preferable to loneliness. Jack seemed pleased that she had joined him. She wondered for an instant whether he also was escaping the demons his mind could conjure up. He did not seem to have any definite destination for his ramblings. Sometimes they would circle the island looking out to the sea which remained depressingly bare of longed-for sails.
“How likely are we to be able to hail a passing ship?” Elizabeth asked pensively.
Jack eyed her. “Are you wanting the truth or a comfortable lie?”
“The truth, of course,” she sighed. “Although, I suppose that’s given me an answer of sorts.”
“The truth it is, then,” he agreed. “I’m sure I can manage it, unfamiliar as I am with such a commodity.” He pointed all his fingers not involved in hanging on to the rum at the sea. “We’re not near any major shipping lanes—or any minor ones for that matter.” He glanced over at her. “Means a merchant vessel or indeed a pirate would be unusual. So that leaves the odd smuggler or a military patrol. Since something seems to have driven the rumrunners off, our most likely chance would be the British Navy, seeing as how this island is nearest to British territory.”
Looking down at the rum he was holding, Jack Sparrow hesitated. Then he flashed Elizabeth a wry grimace. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, when I say that I’m not particularly eager to see the Royal Navy out there. The end results for me of being permanently stranded on this island and of being rescued by your bloody friend Norrington are remarkably similar.”
Elizabeth wondered what it must be like to know that one had a bounty on one’s head—to prefer starvation to rescue.
“So is there any hope?” she asked.
“There’s always hope, love.”
Other times they waded out towards the reefs, watching the colourful fish dart away from their legs. Jack showed Elizabeth how to stand in the wet, tidal sand, letting the hissing foam rush past her feet and then slide silkily back to sea each time burying her feet a little further. The sand sucked at their legs, resisting when they tried to leave.
“The sea’s like that, love,” the pirate told her. “Spend enough time beside her, she’ll draw you in.”
Elizabeth thought she might be getting drunk. Her bottle of rum was only half full now, and although Jack Sparrow had certainly had a few swallows, the majority of the missing rum appeared to have made it inside her head where it was swishing around. She was not quite sure just how that had happened.
Captain Sparrow was already three quarters of the way down his second bottle without a noticeable change in his behavior. Well, she supposed his curses were becoming more inventive when he came across treacherous conch shells with his bare toes. And possibly stone cold sober he would not have captured two shilling-sized rock crabs, drawn two lines in the sand a pace apart, and insisted that they hold a race. He’d even named the disgusting little creatures—Pintel and Ragetti—he’d said.
“Which one do you want, love?”
She curled up her lip and exclaimed emphatically, “Neither!”
“Come on,” he disapproved. “Musn’t be squeamish. Pick one!”
That last had been a command, and the pirate was looking mulish and dangerous again.
Reluctantly, she pointed at one of the small crabs. Might as well humour him. There were worse things a drunken pirate could be trying to force her to do. “That one, then.” They both looked exactly alike to her.
“Ah! Ragetti!” Jack handed her the crab, and she shivered as she took it between thumb and forefinger. The tiny legs waved about seeking purchase with little prickling touches on her skin. She almost dropped the thing.
Crouching like two children, Jack and Elizabeth lined up their crabs. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, unable to believe she was actually doing this, but Jack seemed entirely absorbed and entertained. On the count of three (Jack did the counting of course), they let the animals loose. Both crabs scuttled forward, but then Ragetti got disoriented and headed back to the start line. No matter how much Elizabeth headed him off, he seemed determined to go the wrong direction. Jack was laughing like a boy, odiously triumphant, as Pintel scurried toward the finish line. However, soon the crab veered off course, refusing to cross the line.
“Hah!” Elizabeth smirked.
Jack retrieved the wanderer and they tried the race again with similar results.
“Nevertheless,” he claimed, “Pintel got closer to the finish than Ragetti, so I win.”
“Do you always have to win?” she complained.
“Of course, love,” Jack grinned madly. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?”
“Even if you have to cheat?”
“Pirate!”
As if that explained everything. Probably it did. Annoyed, Elizabeth changed the subject. “How do you know this one’s Ragetti?” She was not going to touch it again.
Jack picked the crab up and held it entirely too close to her face. It waved its small pincers menacingly and she backed up. “He’s had a run in with something,” Jack pointed out. “Missing an eye.” It was true. The little monster glared at her with a single eye stalk.
“It’s defective!” she pointed out peevishly. “You can’t have a fair race with a defective crab.”
“You had your pick.” Jack sounded smug.
Then he noticed that Pintel was getting away, making rapid little crab hieroglyphs on his way to the sea. Dropping Ragetti, Jack lurched off in pursuit of the escapee. Elizabeth thought she had never seen anything quite so funny as the pirate scrambling through the sand, drunkenly trying to grab the tiny creature. Of course the rum might be clouding her judgment. She laughed so hard she had to sit down in the sand.
Mission accomplished, Jack returned with prisoner in hand. On the way back, he scooped up the less energetic Ragetti, who had also been heading seaward. Reaching Elizabeth, he looked down at the still giggling girl. A strange look crossed his face.
“You should try that more often, love.”
She squinted up at him, puzzled. “Try what?”
“Laughing. Rum. Both, if that’s what it takes.” Before she could dodge, he chucked her under her chin like her father might have done. “It suits you.”
Thinking back, Elizabeth really couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed and played, free and unfettered by convention and expectation. It had certainly been before her hair had gone up and her skirts down and her father had started preaching propriety and the inadvisability of consorting with blacksmith’s apprentices.
Uncomfortable under Jack’s scrutiny, she pointed at the creatures he was still absent-mindedly holding. “What are you going to do with them?”
Jack looked at the two crabs in confusion, as though he couldn’t quite remember why he’d bothered to chase them down. “I don’t suppose they’re much worth eating,” he mused, curling his lip.
Elizabeth came back to the present with a jolt. They were marooned, not taking a day at the beach. Would it come to that? Would she be so hungry those disgusting creatures would look like food?
Jack grimaced. “Don’t think I’m that hungry yet.”
Elizabeth was relieved. She could imagine him trying to force her to eat them. “Why don’t you put them back where you got them,” she suggested hurriedly.
This appeared to be a good suggestion, because the pirate wandered off toward the shore, holding a one-sided conversation with the crabs. “Back to the sea, mates. I guess you’ll be wanting to be free.”
TBC
7 Survival is the Only Option
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-19 06:58 pm (UTC)As everybody who has reviewed has said, your Jack is admirable. I find Jack a very difficult character to write: I can write him from the POV of another character, but getting inside his head evades me. A lot of people go completely over-the-top, and others do not go the distance. Jack is a very complex, subtle character, full of contradictions: both a bad man and a good man, both trustworthy and not... but your way of writing his thought tracks, with the occasional humourous note to remind us that yes, this is Jack dancing through the raindrops and yet sufficient gravitas in his 'true' story about the harshness of life is excellent. Elizabeth's reluctance to like Jack, and yet the fact that she is inescapably drawn to him are made very clear as well, and I like how you've written her. This scene is easily her turning-point in the film, and you have managed to capture her shifting values and personality very well.
On a more personal note, Pintel and Ragetti as crabs just thrilled me! Much as I have a soft-spot for Jack and Barbossa, Pintel and Ragetti are very special characters for me, and the idea that they indirectly provide sufficient entertainment for Jack and Elizabeth is a nice touch; especially Jack, as I don't think Elizabeth knows exactly who they are-- although Ragetti's 'defect' may have given her a clue.
I'd like to add you to my friends list, so that I can find your updates :) I hope that you write more soon, as this fandom is rapidly losing it's more original authors!
no subject
Date: 2005-07-19 08:37 pm (UTC)I do try to be accurate and close to the original movie where possible. As with the flintlock section, I hope anyone who has better information will feel free to correct me.
Jack is such a fun character to write. I'm glad you think I'm succeeding. He's so morally ambiguous that it's hard to decide what way he's going to choose in a number of circumstances. I have a lot more island scene written, including the entire ending, but I'm bogging down in some connections and in deciding how much of what I've written really belongs in this story. For instance the two shot scars and the impersonating a cleric stories turned up, and I think they might go better as a separate story.
I do think this scene is a major one on Elizabeth's journey to becoming both a more self-sufficient person and a more open and accepting one.
I do love Pintel and Ragetti,too. I've got a Ragetti fic in mind because it's so obvious that in spite of his occasional ineptness as a pirate and his very real vicious side, he is also a well-educated person. However did that happen? Plot bunnies multiply rapidly.
I'd be delighted to be on your friends list. I stopped by your LJ and noticed you are also an equestrian. I, too, love horses, although I'm currently in the market--as it were.
Thank you again for your kind words.
Honorat
no subject
Date: 2005-07-19 08:53 pm (UTC)I am by no means against slash-- I just find that many people simply put the two 'prettiest characters' (in the case of PotC, Jack and Will or Jack and Norrington) together rather than looking at the relationship presented in the cannon. Personally I find the relationship of Pintel and Ragetti slightly ambiguous and enjoy exploring it slightly further.
It's good to hear that the island series is continuing! I'm interested in hearing your takes on how Jack got those two shots and the 'impersonating a cleric' (after all, it made an impression on him), though the latter does sound like a seperate story. Still, you are the author and I'm sure you could fit it in :)
Ooh, a Ragetti fic! That sounds very interesting. What I particularly like about those two characters is that we know nothing about them, and Ragetti's character seems very complex: dense but intelligent, frightened but vicious... theories on these matters always attract me.
Ah yes, I am very much an equestrian ^^ I don't envy you at all, though: I hate buying and selling horses. A painful and complicated process to be sure. Good luck with that!
Fran xxx
no subject
Date: 2006-08-02 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-02 11:42 pm (UTC)