Fic: Crossing the Bar (6/?)
Mar. 30th, 2006 12:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratAuthor: Honorat
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Anamaria, Gibbs, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: Anamaria decides something needs to be done about Jack. Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does?
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geek_mama_2 for the beta help.
1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
* * * * *
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
In the frenzy to restore some of the Black Pearl’s legendary swift flight to her, some time had slipped by before Anamaria noticed that Jack was not recuperating from whatever injuries he’d taken when his ship went down. Oh, he was playing Captain Jack Sparrow to the hilt, stirring up the crew like a stick in an ant hill, leaving whirlpools of activity in his wake as he rampaged the heaving, sea-swept decks, spinning miracles out of sailcloth and thin air in their race to bring the Pearl back to life before her clash with the Royal Navy warships that hovered like beasts of battle beyond the mouth of the harbour. But whenever he thought he had deflected all attention from himself, the fire guttered out of him like a rain-quenched candle. Nor did he lend his weight to hauling lines as he usually did when the torrent of tasks exceeded the number of hands that could turn to them.
What finally clinched her decision, however, was when Jack joined Cotton at the helm to guide the Pearl through a particularly nasty set of cross seas, nothing like the vicious waves that had nearly scuppered them, but capable of doing harm nonetheless. The captain had only managed to grip the wheel with one hand, and at that Anamaria was certain Cotton had borne the brunt of that tussle. She had to see to the ship, but she began to watch her captain just as carefully. He was holding his right arm unnaturally still, cradled protectively across his body, and his usual grace seemed to have abandoned him.
If what she feared was true, Jack was very much in danger of damaging himself beyond their limited means of repair. They had so little time before they would emerge far enough into open seas for the Navy ships to dare confront them. Every minute they could steal in the meantime was more precious than gold, increasing their chance of survival ever so slightly. But if she did not force Jack to submit to some cobbled together patchwork, he might not last out the coming battle.
Discretion warred briefly with what she frankly admitted was pure lily-livered cowardice. Jack Sparrow made the bloody awfullest patient. And he wasn’t going to forgive her any time soon for interrupting him. But a first mate had her duty to her captain and her ship.
Anamaria began mentally to cast about for allies.
Her eyes lit on Jip as he scurried past. Reaching out, she snagged him by the collar. Ignoring his startled yelp, she informed him, “I’ve got a little chore for you.”
* * * * *
“Mr. Gibbs,” Anamaria said briskly. “I’m goin’ t’ take out the captain and I need you to back me up.”
Gibbs scowled at Anamaria. He’d been considering enlisting her assistance for that very project for some minutes now. There was something blasted uncanny about how that woman read his mind. Jack was looking grayer by the moment, refusing to slow his pace at the expense of whatever it was that was causing him to stiffen up like a Navy martinet. He’d even stumbled during a particularly violent lurch of his ship, and Jack Sparrow never lost his balance when his ship moved. Yes, it was time his officers did something about their refractory captain.
While Gibbs didn’t see eye to eye with Anamaria on any number of matters, on this they were in perfect accord. Gibbs nodded shortly to the first mate and fell in beside her. Shoulder to shoulder they marched up behind Jack.
“Mr. Gibbs, I been thinkin’.” Anamaria grabbed Jack’s left arm. “This ship is goin’ t’ fight a hell of a lot better if her captain ain’t wiped out on her quarterdeck. What say you t’ that?”
Jack’s head whipped around with a thirty-two pound glare that should have knocked Anamaria’s head off her shoulders.
Gibbs took a firm grip on his right arm. “Anamaria,” he agreed heartily, drawing some of Jack’s fire, “for a lass, ye’ve got a powerful grasp o’ logic.” Fortunately, she also had a powerful grasp on Jack Sparrow’s good arm, or Gibbs expected he’d have been spitting a few teeth.
Between the two of them they began hustling their captain towards the mainmast fife rail in a highly undignified manner. They’d never get him to go out of sight of the work on deck, so this would have to do. Jack made an abortive attempt to escape, but his body wasted no time in informing him that pulverizing his mate and quartermaster would be a pleasure he would have to postpone for a more auspicious moment—assuming they survived to find one.
“Is this a mutiny?” Jack growled half-heartedly.
“Let me see,” Anamaria considered. “A mutiny is when we want t’ be gettin’ rid of our captain, but we seem t’ be tryin’ t’ keep this bloody daft one around a bit longer.” She looked critically at Jack. “God only knows why.”
At that moment, the Pearl buried her bowsprit into the face of an oncoming sea. The mass of water cannonading over the forecastle bowled men over, washing them forty feet down her decks, slamming those unlucky enough not to grab a line into rails and bulwarks. For one heartstopping moment, Anamaria was certain they’d lost somebody, but as the deck reappeared, she breathed again to find the considerably more battered and bruised crew still intact.
Gibbs had been the closest one to the lifeline. He’d held to it and Jack, while Anamaria had clung to Jack. Apparently that ordeal had taken all the fight out of the captain. Head hanging, white under his tan, his breath ragged as he wrestled the pain back into submission, Jack allowed them to haul him unresisting to the rail surrounding the mainmast and the pumps.
The captain roused himself enough to give the men labouring and sweating at the pumps a teeth-gritted grin. “Good work, lads,” he managed.
They grunted back at him, too exhausted to do or say anything more.
Since Jack seemed in no condition to make a break for his freedom at the moment, his captors let him go. Sure enough, he merely folded his arms around his chest and stood shaking.
“Sit down before you fall down, Jack Sparrow,” Anamaria ordered, “and let me take a look at that.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jack saluted sloppily with his left hand. “Harpy,” he muttered under his breath. He sank down onto the fife-rail.
“I’ll just be makin’ sure the boys ain’t breakin’ the ship, or somethin’. He’s all yours,” Gibbs said smugly, departing with alacrity before his captain could tie into him with that cutlass of a tongue he could wield on occasion. For once he was glad there was too much to do for his presence at an attempt to doctor the captain to be anything more than redundant. It was payback time for Anamaria. This would make up for any number of bad weather watches. “Good luck!” he called back.
“Sod off, ye blasted coward,” Anamaria grumbled. She turned to her intractable patient and glared at him.
Jack stared back at her mulishly. “What?”
“Take your shirt off, Jack,” Anamaria snapped.
“I thought you’d never ask, love,” Jack smirked, then winced, his breath hissing in sharply, as he tried.
“Just what I thought, y’daft fool. Y’ broke some ribs, didn’t you?” Anamaria groused. “Let me get that.”
She tried to be careful as she drew off the captain’s coat and vest, but the heavy, wet cloth refused to let go without a fight.
“Watch what you’re doin’ there,” Jack complained. “A body’d think you’d never undressed a man before.”
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Anamaria stopped trying to be careful. Jack went another shade paler. Nevertheless, as she drew his soggy shirt over his head and then slipped it forward off his arms, the captain kept up his aggravating commentary.
“I do like a lass who’ll take the lead once in awhile. Oww!” Jack’s pained outcry had little to do with his injuries and everything to do with the slap that was ringing his ears. “Blast it, woman! Are you tryin’ t’ kill me?”
Anamaria caught a good look at him and successfully swallowed any squeak she might have made. “Looks like someone beat me to it,” she said.
Jack craned his neck and peered at his chest, eyes nearly crossing. “Well now. You’re a rank apprentice when it comes to wallopin’ your captain, eh darlin’?” he suggested. “This here is master work.”
Across his torso, from right hip to opposite shoulder, the imprint of the Black Pearl’s wheel marked him with contusions that were the angry red and purple of a Caribbean sunset after a storm. No wonder he’d been moving so carefully.
Reaching for the nearest bit of exposed wood, Jack patted his ship comfortingly. “Never mind, love. I know I deserved that.”
Anamaria snorted. “I’ll say.”
Jack scowled at her. “Nobody asked you.” He glanced pointedly at his chest. “Do you want to get busy with whatever witchdoctorin’ you’re plannin’ before I freeze to death in this rain?”
He was shivering and showing signs of gooseflesh. Immediately contrite, although she’d never let Jack know it, Anamaria scanned the deck for her other accomplice. He came galloping along the pitching planks, barely visible behind the armful of supplies she’d sent him to find. Sliding to a halt beside her, Jip announced brightly, “Here’s the things you ordered, ma’am.”
Trust the little thief to know where every item on the Pearl was located. Anamaria nodded her thanks.
Jack shot the pint-sized traitor an et tu Brute glower that bounced ineffectually off Jip’s impervious hide.
At the sight of the captain’s bruises, Jip’s eyes widened. “Criminy!” he exclaimed admiringly. “That was a real smasher!”
Jack unbent from his indignation at the first sign of an appreciative audience. He inspected his multi-hued decorations with a satisfied air. “She’s some ship, ain’t she?”
“She sure is, sir!” Jip agreed enthusiastically.
Anamaria rolled her eyes. Men! They were stark raving mad, the lot of them, from cradle to grave.
“Here.” She dropped Jack’s hat onto Jip’s drowned-rat hair and added the coat, vest and shirt to the pile in his arms. Jip now resembled a stack of clothing with legs. “Make yourself useful.”
She scrutinized Jack, ignoring his suggestive leer back. At least the right side of his chest was still rising in time with his left side. Anamaria let out a breath of relief. They’d really have been scuppered if the captain had broken enough ribs to cave them in.
“So where does it hurt?” she asked him.
Jack raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m tryin’ t’ find out which ribs y’ broke, y’ bacon brain!”
Ignoring Jack’s objections to her cold hands, Anamaria ran dispassionate fingertips along the track the Black Pearl had left on his ribs. She also determinedly ignored the smooth slide of his skin wet with rain, the faint warmth like the memory of sunlight still escaping off his body, the intriguing difference in texture between scarred and unmarked flesh. The rolling ship was not making it easy to be gentle. She felt Jack tense under her touch just as her fingers brushed carefully over a shallow, unnatural indentation.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed. “That’ll be the culprit then.”
Two ribs. Bad enough, but it could have been worse.
“Apparently so,” Jack agreed through clenched teeth. “Will you hurry up? I’ve got a Navy to escape.”
“And you’ll need both your lungs to do it,” Anamaria said firmly, grabbing a wad of fabric from the perambulating clothes pile standing next to her. Expertly she folded it into a thick pad. “Now hold that against your side,” she instructed Jack. “You know the drill.”
“I do know it,” he grumped. “And I’m tellin’ you now; you’re not trussin’ up one o’ me arms like a goose, neither.”
Since she wasn’t ready to start an argument with him yet, Anamaria simply fished her next item from Jip’s arms.
“What’s that?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“Leather,” she said succinctly. “For a splint since you’re so bloody sure I can’t use your arm.” Anamaria wrapped the stiff leather around the pad already in place. “Now at least if y’ bump it again, y’ have a chance o’ not makin’ it worse.”
“Hmph.” Jack subsided, taking over holding the leather while Anamaria selected two long sashes to tie the contraption to his chest.
“Now breathe deep and hold it,” she instructed.
“No.” Jack was looking obstinate again.
“Jack,” Anamaria warned.
“Don’t want to.”
“Don’t have a choice,” said his first mate, threatening one of her neck-dislocating slaps. “This ain’t supposed t’ stop your breathin’, so I need t’ know how tight t’ tie it.”
Knowing she was right, Jack closed his eyes and did as he was told, his fingers gripping the rail nearly tight enough to leave prints in the wood. Anamaria secured the strips of fabric as firmly and swiftly as she could.
“All right,” she told Jack. “Let it out.”
Eyes still closed, Jack said in a strained voice, “Your great, great, great grandmammy slept with Torquemada, didn’t she?”
Anamaria leaned close to him, her teeth bared in a feral grin. “Maybe she did. Now let’s get you back in your clothes.”
“But we haven’t had any fun at all yet,” Jack protested.
In response, Anamaria held out his shirt. “Get – in.”
After much struggling with wet cloth and much profane grumbling from Jack, she and Jip succeeded in inserting the captain back into his shirt and vest and tugging Jack’s soggy coat back over his shoulders. Jack looked ready to bite something.
“And now you’re goin’ t’ let me put your arm in a sling,” she informed him.
The captain stood up. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh yes you are.” Anamaria held out the offending article. “You can pull your arm out of it if y’ have to. I won’t insist y’ tie it down. But it goes on. You’ve got to keep that arm as still as possible.”
“Anamaria, I’ve got a ship to run and a battle to survive. Contrary to popular opinion, I can’t do that with one hand tied behind me back. That’s me sword arm, y’ know.”
“Just don’t let this ship be boarded, that’s all,” Anamaria suggested.
Jack informed her creatively and rudely just where she could put her advice and her sling.
“Your arm’ll be tied in front, Jack. And y’ can move it. Now sit back down and don’t be such a mooncalf.”
She managed to get the fabric wrapped around the recalcitrant pirate’s arm, tucked under his heavy wet hair, and tied in a neat knot. Jack Sparrow was as hard to handle as canvas in a storm, but sooner or later an expert sailor would get the situation under control. Anamaria had been getting plenty of practice.
She expected to be treated to a further display of the captain’s temper, but another wave hailing across the ship’s decks left them clinging to the fife-rail, spluttering. Jack didn’t look well, but he brightened when Jip, still standing by, held up a familiar flask.
“Jip, you’re an angel,” Jack said fervently, grabbing the flask and downing its contents in one long gulp, as if the rum weren’t straight and strong enough to dissolve lead.
“Gibbs says I’m the devil,” Jip corrected.
“That too.” Jack wiped his mouth with his free arm. “I don’t suppose you asked Mr. Gibbs for the loan of his flask?”
Jip shook his head. “Nicked it,” he said proudly.
“Good lad,” Jack approved. “Now see if you can get it back t’ him before he misses it.”
“Aye, sir.” Giving the captain a ragged salute and tossing Anamaria the captain’s hat, the boy bounced off to return the pilfered property.
Deprived of what little shield Jip’s presence had supplied, Anamaria braced for Jack’s explosion, but once again he surprised her.
Giving a shallow sigh and closing his eyes again, he tilted back his head. “That’s much better,” he said. “Thanks, love.”
Wordlessly she stared down on him, startled. Jack’s eyes flew open. He gave a small, half smile and ducked his head.
“Hat?”
* * * * *
Anamaria had just set Jack’s hat back on his head when he stiffened, eyes going blank and introspective, the two lines between his brows furrowing.
“What is it?” Anamaria asked, wondering if he were hurting worse.
“Something’s wrong.” Jack leapt to his feet with an energy she would have said was impossible a minute ago. Spinning about, he scanned up the masts and rigging receding into the murk of the storm for some problem only he could sense. “Damnation! I can’t see a thing in this bloody soup!”
He stood quivering tense for a moment, listening, watching. For what? Anamaria still could not tell what had triggered his alert.
Suddenly he lit out for the quarterdeck. “Oh shit!”
Completely confused, Anamaria ran after him.
At that moment the Pearl twisted violently, nearly broadsided by another wave. Above the thunder of wind and sails resounded the crack of wood and the snap of lines. In futile horror, Anamaria saw the great mizzen topgallant yard break free of its starboard moorings and swing wildly in brutal counterpoint to the motion of the ship. She could hear the groan of the mizzenmast as the huge spar, fifty feet long and a foot in diameter, scythed back and forth across the width of the Pearl, slicing the salt thick air.
“Lay aloft to secure that yard!” the captain was shouting. “Get it tied down before it tears the sticks right out of her!”
Instantly and unquestioningly, men leapt for the windward ratlines and surged towards the careering yard. With bloody hands they climbed the rigging that thrummed and sang in the wild wind, one hundred feet in the air. Each time the Black Pearl drove her yard ends into the furious seas, they froze, hanging on for their lives.
Captain Sparrow stood immobile on the quarterdeck, his neck craned back until it ached, never taking his eyes off his men as they climbed towards that breakaway yard that threatened to rip the heart out of his ship. His unnatural silence accentuated the terrible danger they courted. As the vicious spar whipped from side to side above them, it seemed to miss by mere inches. Any moment it could crush a man or smash him into the sea.
Only luck and desperate agility could save those men now. They would live only if the ship survived, and so they must fight to save the ship, reckless of the cost.
* * * * *
TBC
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Anamaria, Gibbs, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: Anamaria decides something needs to be done about Jack. Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does?
Thanks to
geek_mama_2 for the beta help.1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
* * * * *
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
In the frenzy to restore some of the Black Pearl’s legendary swift flight to her, some time had slipped by before Anamaria noticed that Jack was not recuperating from whatever injuries he’d taken when his ship went down. Oh, he was playing Captain Jack Sparrow to the hilt, stirring up the crew like a stick in an ant hill, leaving whirlpools of activity in his wake as he rampaged the heaving, sea-swept decks, spinning miracles out of sailcloth and thin air in their race to bring the Pearl back to life before her clash with the Royal Navy warships that hovered like beasts of battle beyond the mouth of the harbour. But whenever he thought he had deflected all attention from himself, the fire guttered out of him like a rain-quenched candle. Nor did he lend his weight to hauling lines as he usually did when the torrent of tasks exceeded the number of hands that could turn to them.
What finally clinched her decision, however, was when Jack joined Cotton at the helm to guide the Pearl through a particularly nasty set of cross seas, nothing like the vicious waves that had nearly scuppered them, but capable of doing harm nonetheless. The captain had only managed to grip the wheel with one hand, and at that Anamaria was certain Cotton had borne the brunt of that tussle. She had to see to the ship, but she began to watch her captain just as carefully. He was holding his right arm unnaturally still, cradled protectively across his body, and his usual grace seemed to have abandoned him.
If what she feared was true, Jack was very much in danger of damaging himself beyond their limited means of repair. They had so little time before they would emerge far enough into open seas for the Navy ships to dare confront them. Every minute they could steal in the meantime was more precious than gold, increasing their chance of survival ever so slightly. But if she did not force Jack to submit to some cobbled together patchwork, he might not last out the coming battle.
Discretion warred briefly with what she frankly admitted was pure lily-livered cowardice. Jack Sparrow made the bloody awfullest patient. And he wasn’t going to forgive her any time soon for interrupting him. But a first mate had her duty to her captain and her ship.
Anamaria began mentally to cast about for allies.
Her eyes lit on Jip as he scurried past. Reaching out, she snagged him by the collar. Ignoring his startled yelp, she informed him, “I’ve got a little chore for you.”
* * * * *
“Mr. Gibbs,” Anamaria said briskly. “I’m goin’ t’ take out the captain and I need you to back me up.”
Gibbs scowled at Anamaria. He’d been considering enlisting her assistance for that very project for some minutes now. There was something blasted uncanny about how that woman read his mind. Jack was looking grayer by the moment, refusing to slow his pace at the expense of whatever it was that was causing him to stiffen up like a Navy martinet. He’d even stumbled during a particularly violent lurch of his ship, and Jack Sparrow never lost his balance when his ship moved. Yes, it was time his officers did something about their refractory captain.
While Gibbs didn’t see eye to eye with Anamaria on any number of matters, on this they were in perfect accord. Gibbs nodded shortly to the first mate and fell in beside her. Shoulder to shoulder they marched up behind Jack.
“Mr. Gibbs, I been thinkin’.” Anamaria grabbed Jack’s left arm. “This ship is goin’ t’ fight a hell of a lot better if her captain ain’t wiped out on her quarterdeck. What say you t’ that?”
Jack’s head whipped around with a thirty-two pound glare that should have knocked Anamaria’s head off her shoulders.
Gibbs took a firm grip on his right arm. “Anamaria,” he agreed heartily, drawing some of Jack’s fire, “for a lass, ye’ve got a powerful grasp o’ logic.” Fortunately, she also had a powerful grasp on Jack Sparrow’s good arm, or Gibbs expected he’d have been spitting a few teeth.
Between the two of them they began hustling their captain towards the mainmast fife rail in a highly undignified manner. They’d never get him to go out of sight of the work on deck, so this would have to do. Jack made an abortive attempt to escape, but his body wasted no time in informing him that pulverizing his mate and quartermaster would be a pleasure he would have to postpone for a more auspicious moment—assuming they survived to find one.
“Is this a mutiny?” Jack growled half-heartedly.
“Let me see,” Anamaria considered. “A mutiny is when we want t’ be gettin’ rid of our captain, but we seem t’ be tryin’ t’ keep this bloody daft one around a bit longer.” She looked critically at Jack. “God only knows why.”
At that moment, the Pearl buried her bowsprit into the face of an oncoming sea. The mass of water cannonading over the forecastle bowled men over, washing them forty feet down her decks, slamming those unlucky enough not to grab a line into rails and bulwarks. For one heartstopping moment, Anamaria was certain they’d lost somebody, but as the deck reappeared, she breathed again to find the considerably more battered and bruised crew still intact.
Gibbs had been the closest one to the lifeline. He’d held to it and Jack, while Anamaria had clung to Jack. Apparently that ordeal had taken all the fight out of the captain. Head hanging, white under his tan, his breath ragged as he wrestled the pain back into submission, Jack allowed them to haul him unresisting to the rail surrounding the mainmast and the pumps.
The captain roused himself enough to give the men labouring and sweating at the pumps a teeth-gritted grin. “Good work, lads,” he managed.
They grunted back at him, too exhausted to do or say anything more.
Since Jack seemed in no condition to make a break for his freedom at the moment, his captors let him go. Sure enough, he merely folded his arms around his chest and stood shaking.
“Sit down before you fall down, Jack Sparrow,” Anamaria ordered, “and let me take a look at that.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jack saluted sloppily with his left hand. “Harpy,” he muttered under his breath. He sank down onto the fife-rail.
“I’ll just be makin’ sure the boys ain’t breakin’ the ship, or somethin’. He’s all yours,” Gibbs said smugly, departing with alacrity before his captain could tie into him with that cutlass of a tongue he could wield on occasion. For once he was glad there was too much to do for his presence at an attempt to doctor the captain to be anything more than redundant. It was payback time for Anamaria. This would make up for any number of bad weather watches. “Good luck!” he called back.
“Sod off, ye blasted coward,” Anamaria grumbled. She turned to her intractable patient and glared at him.
Jack stared back at her mulishly. “What?”
“Take your shirt off, Jack,” Anamaria snapped.
“I thought you’d never ask, love,” Jack smirked, then winced, his breath hissing in sharply, as he tried.
“Just what I thought, y’daft fool. Y’ broke some ribs, didn’t you?” Anamaria groused. “Let me get that.”
She tried to be careful as she drew off the captain’s coat and vest, but the heavy, wet cloth refused to let go without a fight.
“Watch what you’re doin’ there,” Jack complained. “A body’d think you’d never undressed a man before.”
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Anamaria stopped trying to be careful. Jack went another shade paler. Nevertheless, as she drew his soggy shirt over his head and then slipped it forward off his arms, the captain kept up his aggravating commentary.
“I do like a lass who’ll take the lead once in awhile. Oww!” Jack’s pained outcry had little to do with his injuries and everything to do with the slap that was ringing his ears. “Blast it, woman! Are you tryin’ t’ kill me?”
Anamaria caught a good look at him and successfully swallowed any squeak she might have made. “Looks like someone beat me to it,” she said.
Jack craned his neck and peered at his chest, eyes nearly crossing. “Well now. You’re a rank apprentice when it comes to wallopin’ your captain, eh darlin’?” he suggested. “This here is master work.”
Across his torso, from right hip to opposite shoulder, the imprint of the Black Pearl’s wheel marked him with contusions that were the angry red and purple of a Caribbean sunset after a storm. No wonder he’d been moving so carefully.
Reaching for the nearest bit of exposed wood, Jack patted his ship comfortingly. “Never mind, love. I know I deserved that.”
Anamaria snorted. “I’ll say.”
Jack scowled at her. “Nobody asked you.” He glanced pointedly at his chest. “Do you want to get busy with whatever witchdoctorin’ you’re plannin’ before I freeze to death in this rain?”
He was shivering and showing signs of gooseflesh. Immediately contrite, although she’d never let Jack know it, Anamaria scanned the deck for her other accomplice. He came galloping along the pitching planks, barely visible behind the armful of supplies she’d sent him to find. Sliding to a halt beside her, Jip announced brightly, “Here’s the things you ordered, ma’am.”
Trust the little thief to know where every item on the Pearl was located. Anamaria nodded her thanks.
Jack shot the pint-sized traitor an et tu Brute glower that bounced ineffectually off Jip’s impervious hide.
At the sight of the captain’s bruises, Jip’s eyes widened. “Criminy!” he exclaimed admiringly. “That was a real smasher!”
Jack unbent from his indignation at the first sign of an appreciative audience. He inspected his multi-hued decorations with a satisfied air. “She’s some ship, ain’t she?”
“She sure is, sir!” Jip agreed enthusiastically.
Anamaria rolled her eyes. Men! They were stark raving mad, the lot of them, from cradle to grave.
“Here.” She dropped Jack’s hat onto Jip’s drowned-rat hair and added the coat, vest and shirt to the pile in his arms. Jip now resembled a stack of clothing with legs. “Make yourself useful.”
She scrutinized Jack, ignoring his suggestive leer back. At least the right side of his chest was still rising in time with his left side. Anamaria let out a breath of relief. They’d really have been scuppered if the captain had broken enough ribs to cave them in.
“So where does it hurt?” she asked him.
Jack raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m tryin’ t’ find out which ribs y’ broke, y’ bacon brain!”
Ignoring Jack’s objections to her cold hands, Anamaria ran dispassionate fingertips along the track the Black Pearl had left on his ribs. She also determinedly ignored the smooth slide of his skin wet with rain, the faint warmth like the memory of sunlight still escaping off his body, the intriguing difference in texture between scarred and unmarked flesh. The rolling ship was not making it easy to be gentle. She felt Jack tense under her touch just as her fingers brushed carefully over a shallow, unnatural indentation.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed. “That’ll be the culprit then.”
Two ribs. Bad enough, but it could have been worse.
“Apparently so,” Jack agreed through clenched teeth. “Will you hurry up? I’ve got a Navy to escape.”
“And you’ll need both your lungs to do it,” Anamaria said firmly, grabbing a wad of fabric from the perambulating clothes pile standing next to her. Expertly she folded it into a thick pad. “Now hold that against your side,” she instructed Jack. “You know the drill.”
“I do know it,” he grumped. “And I’m tellin’ you now; you’re not trussin’ up one o’ me arms like a goose, neither.”
Since she wasn’t ready to start an argument with him yet, Anamaria simply fished her next item from Jip’s arms.
“What’s that?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“Leather,” she said succinctly. “For a splint since you’re so bloody sure I can’t use your arm.” Anamaria wrapped the stiff leather around the pad already in place. “Now at least if y’ bump it again, y’ have a chance o’ not makin’ it worse.”
“Hmph.” Jack subsided, taking over holding the leather while Anamaria selected two long sashes to tie the contraption to his chest.
“Now breathe deep and hold it,” she instructed.
“No.” Jack was looking obstinate again.
“Jack,” Anamaria warned.
“Don’t want to.”
“Don’t have a choice,” said his first mate, threatening one of her neck-dislocating slaps. “This ain’t supposed t’ stop your breathin’, so I need t’ know how tight t’ tie it.”
Knowing she was right, Jack closed his eyes and did as he was told, his fingers gripping the rail nearly tight enough to leave prints in the wood. Anamaria secured the strips of fabric as firmly and swiftly as she could.
“All right,” she told Jack. “Let it out.”
Eyes still closed, Jack said in a strained voice, “Your great, great, great grandmammy slept with Torquemada, didn’t she?”
Anamaria leaned close to him, her teeth bared in a feral grin. “Maybe she did. Now let’s get you back in your clothes.”
“But we haven’t had any fun at all yet,” Jack protested.
In response, Anamaria held out his shirt. “Get – in.”
After much struggling with wet cloth and much profane grumbling from Jack, she and Jip succeeded in inserting the captain back into his shirt and vest and tugging Jack’s soggy coat back over his shoulders. Jack looked ready to bite something.
“And now you’re goin’ t’ let me put your arm in a sling,” she informed him.
The captain stood up. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh yes you are.” Anamaria held out the offending article. “You can pull your arm out of it if y’ have to. I won’t insist y’ tie it down. But it goes on. You’ve got to keep that arm as still as possible.”
“Anamaria, I’ve got a ship to run and a battle to survive. Contrary to popular opinion, I can’t do that with one hand tied behind me back. That’s me sword arm, y’ know.”
“Just don’t let this ship be boarded, that’s all,” Anamaria suggested.
Jack informed her creatively and rudely just where she could put her advice and her sling.
“Your arm’ll be tied in front, Jack. And y’ can move it. Now sit back down and don’t be such a mooncalf.”
She managed to get the fabric wrapped around the recalcitrant pirate’s arm, tucked under his heavy wet hair, and tied in a neat knot. Jack Sparrow was as hard to handle as canvas in a storm, but sooner or later an expert sailor would get the situation under control. Anamaria had been getting plenty of practice.
She expected to be treated to a further display of the captain’s temper, but another wave hailing across the ship’s decks left them clinging to the fife-rail, spluttering. Jack didn’t look well, but he brightened when Jip, still standing by, held up a familiar flask.
“Jip, you’re an angel,” Jack said fervently, grabbing the flask and downing its contents in one long gulp, as if the rum weren’t straight and strong enough to dissolve lead.
“Gibbs says I’m the devil,” Jip corrected.
“That too.” Jack wiped his mouth with his free arm. “I don’t suppose you asked Mr. Gibbs for the loan of his flask?”
Jip shook his head. “Nicked it,” he said proudly.
“Good lad,” Jack approved. “Now see if you can get it back t’ him before he misses it.”
“Aye, sir.” Giving the captain a ragged salute and tossing Anamaria the captain’s hat, the boy bounced off to return the pilfered property.
Deprived of what little shield Jip’s presence had supplied, Anamaria braced for Jack’s explosion, but once again he surprised her.
Giving a shallow sigh and closing his eyes again, he tilted back his head. “That’s much better,” he said. “Thanks, love.”
Wordlessly she stared down on him, startled. Jack’s eyes flew open. He gave a small, half smile and ducked his head.
“Hat?”
* * * * *
Anamaria had just set Jack’s hat back on his head when he stiffened, eyes going blank and introspective, the two lines between his brows furrowing.
“What is it?” Anamaria asked, wondering if he were hurting worse.
“Something’s wrong.” Jack leapt to his feet with an energy she would have said was impossible a minute ago. Spinning about, he scanned up the masts and rigging receding into the murk of the storm for some problem only he could sense. “Damnation! I can’t see a thing in this bloody soup!”
He stood quivering tense for a moment, listening, watching. For what? Anamaria still could not tell what had triggered his alert.
Suddenly he lit out for the quarterdeck. “Oh shit!”
Completely confused, Anamaria ran after him.
At that moment the Pearl twisted violently, nearly broadsided by another wave. Above the thunder of wind and sails resounded the crack of wood and the snap of lines. In futile horror, Anamaria saw the great mizzen topgallant yard break free of its starboard moorings and swing wildly in brutal counterpoint to the motion of the ship. She could hear the groan of the mizzenmast as the huge spar, fifty feet long and a foot in diameter, scythed back and forth across the width of the Pearl, slicing the salt thick air.
“Lay aloft to secure that yard!” the captain was shouting. “Get it tied down before it tears the sticks right out of her!”
Instantly and unquestioningly, men leapt for the windward ratlines and surged towards the careering yard. With bloody hands they climbed the rigging that thrummed and sang in the wild wind, one hundred feet in the air. Each time the Black Pearl drove her yard ends into the furious seas, they froze, hanging on for their lives.
Captain Sparrow stood immobile on the quarterdeck, his neck craned back until it ached, never taking his eyes off his men as they climbed towards that breakaway yard that threatened to rip the heart out of his ship. His unnatural silence accentuated the terrible danger they courted. As the vicious spar whipped from side to side above them, it seemed to miss by mere inches. Any moment it could crush a man or smash him into the sea.
Only luck and desperate agility could save those men now. They would live only if the ship survived, and so they must fight to save the ship, reckless of the cost.
* * * * *
TBC
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-30 07:41 pm (UTC)Also, Jip. Very cute OC.
“She’s some ship, ain’t she?”
“She sure is, sir!” Jip agreed enthusiastically.
Anamaria rolled her eyes. Men! They were stark raving mad, the lot of them, from cradle to grave.
That made me chuckle. Such a guy thing to wear nasty injuries like badges of honor and then gloat over them. :-) I'm with Ana on that one.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-30 11:59 pm (UTC)Yay! You like Jip. This is a very good thing. I rather like him too.
I was soooo thinking of the men I've known comparing horrible accident/injury stories--and little boys at summer camp admiring scars. The only difference is age.
Thank you so much for commenting.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-30 10:15 pm (UTC)I found Jip showing up with the booze an especially nice touch. Even though all the mad action, you manage to find time to expand on the minor characters. Your Pearl is a fully populated Pearl.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-31 12:03 am (UTC)Whoohoo! Another vote for Jip. He's such a fun character, I'm glad he showed up. The human interest is what I like even in action stories. And the Pearl has to have over a hundred crewmen--lots of scope for characters.
Thank you so much for the comments.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-31 05:24 am (UTC)And thanks to the research necessary to understand you, I now know who Torquemada is. And people say you don't learn anytihng from fanfiction.
Exactly, there is no way that the small line of people on the dock in Tortuga could be all that there is on the Pearl. I love that you think to figure out who else might be around. I have no idea how you keep them all straight, but I love that you do it.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-31 05:40 am (UTC)I learned about Torquemada from Star Trek the Original Series. Dr. McCoy claimed that their dress uniforms were designed by him. So you can learn from sci fi too! :D
Yes, I have a hard time imagining how the tiny Interceptor's crew managed to run off with that hulking 44 gun ship. They had to have set out to add new crew as soon as possible. For me, they're easy to keep straight because they show up in my head so very clearly, it's like they're real people. More so. I forget the names of real people all the time! I'm glad you like my expansion on Jack's crew. They're fun to write.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-04 11:27 am (UTC)“Is this a mutiny?” Jack growled half-heartedly.
“Let me see,” Anamaria considered. “A mutiny is when we want t’ be gettin’ rid of our captain, but we seem t’ be tryin’ t’ keep this bloody daft one around a bit longer.” She looked critically at Jack. “God only knows why.” :-)
“Your great, great, great grandmammy slept with Torquemada, didn’t she?” ... "“Maybe she did." Lol!
no subject
Date: 2006-04-04 12:15 pm (UTC)It's so nice to have such a lovely comment from you of a morning. Thank you very much.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-10 05:05 pm (UTC)spinning miracles out of sailcloth and thin air
!!!
Mystery solved: son of Clotho. The constantly, gracefully moving hands ... thank you for "spinning" - will have to think on this one. *notes direction plot bunny ran* To be honest, the first time I tried to read it, I spent the next hour or so researching.
Reading this over, I notice that it's a terribly choppy review and I apologize for that - 'tis my brain and not your writing that is the cause.
But whenever he thought he had deflected all attention from himself, the fire guttered out of him like a rain-quenched candle.
*sniff*
Discretion warred briefly with what she frankly admitted was pure lily-livered cowardice.
As if we didn't already know it was serious, Anamaria accusing herself of cowardice would convince every one of us.
He'd even stumbled during a particularly violent lurch of his ship
Cruel! This made me tear up.
The mass of water cannonading over the forecastle bowled men over, washing them forty feet down her decks
Love how you put in a reminder of the prevailing conditions at exactly the right point.
Oh! The bruises reflecting the pattern of the wheel!! *cringes* You can be as merciless as this storm you've whipped up!
"Don't want to."
Adore the touch of petulance.
"… Now let's get you back in your clothes."
"But we haven't had any fun at all yet," Jack protested.
That's our captain - broken ribs and all, he just can't resist. :)
"I don't suppose you asked Mr. Gibbs for the loan of his flask?"
"Nicked it," he said proudly.
"Good lad,"
I tried to give Jip a hug since he's so adorable, but the little scamp got away.
And just as we begin to breathe just a bit easier:
"Oh, shit!"
PS
bacon brain
Hee! There's one I'll have to remember (and aim at a family member or two)!
no subject
Date: 2006-04-11 07:58 am (UTC)The constantly, gracefully moving hands ... thank you for "spinning" - will have to think on this one. *notes direction plot bunny ran*
It always amazes me where this stuff goes sometimes. *stares with interest at
Anamaria accusing herself of cowardice
Yes, Anamaria dares go where angels fear to tread, but even she might pause before trying to come between Jack and saving his ship.
I have been rather mean to poor Jack in this fic. Once he'd been slammed into that wheel and broke his ribs, I couldn't really help it. He's got to keep going, and I know broken ribs are highly painful. I had a time researching the proper treatment for broken ribs before the invention of adhesive plaster. At least I didn't let him break three ribs! He'd have had to ride out the story lying down!
a reminder of the prevailing conditions at exactly the right point
I try to put in little notices that this story is taking place on a ship pitching about in a storm with rain and wind and noise. I'm glad it's working.
Adore the touch of petulance
He's so cute when he pouts. It's impossible to resist writing.
the little scamp got away
Yay! You like Jip. I love the little rat myself. He is hard to keep up with.
And off to more cliffhangers--tie a knot and hang on!
The happy muse now demands to be taken to bed. It's way too late here. I do appreciate your feedback.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-11 11:50 am (UTC)Was mainly striving to separate "fact" from fantasy - had read Piers Anthony's Incarnations of Immortality ages ago and needed to know the difference between his Fate and who/what the weaver was believed to be. Then got caught up in her origin and other details. The three-fold nature (Clotho does the spinning, Lachesis measures and Atropos cuts the threads of lives) is quite interesting and I want to find out more about that as well. *wonders if idea is better with them being three separate beings (sisters?), or three aspects of the same creature* Oops! there I go wandering off again. Please pardon rambling.
'Tis (as you can see from above) all swimming 'round in the back of my head at the moment, percolating, as it were ... or perhaps just quietly steeping. Want to do more than merely drabble it, for the idea has caught my fancy, but haven't yet decided what direction to start from. And (yea!) am now only 100 posts behind at BPS - should be able to catch up this week and then will allow myself to play again.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-11 03:31 pm (UTC)first half
Date: 2006-04-25 02:51 am (UTC)This story is amazing. I literally love each chapter more than the last. This one and "Worthy" are kicking and clawing and beating the tar out of each other for the position of my all-time favorite honorat story.
>But whenever he thought he had deflected all attention from >himself, the fire guttered out of him like a rain-quenched candle.
Since the "perfect" is getting a little battered and dented, I present you with the Chocolate Bunny of Butt-Kicking Imagery. Eat the ears first.
Jack wouldn't be one to let slip this kind of damage to his crew, if he was conscious to try otherwise, either for the sake of his pride or their peace of mind.
>Discretion warred briefly with what she frankly admitted was pure >lily-livered cowardice. Jack Sparrow made the bloody awfullest >patient.
An unenviable task, to be sure. I don't think anybody besides Anamaria would be mean enough to stand a chance. (Well, possibly Elizabeth. Her inner bitch is not to be trifled with, either.)
>Gibbs scowled at Anamaria. He’d been considering enlisting her >assistance for that very project for some minutes now. There was >something blasted uncanny about how that woman read his mind. >Jack was looking grayer by the moment, refusing to slow his pace >at the expense of whatever it was that was causing him to stiffen >up like a Navy martinet. He’d even stumbled during a particularly >violent lurch of his ship, and Jack Sparrow never lost his >balance when his ship moved. Yes, it was time his officers did >something about their refractory captain.
Holy cow, someone call the Pope and find out if hell's frozen over. They agreed on something. Your descriptions of Jack's behavior and appearance throughout the entire first half of this story, by the way, are making me want to curl up in a ball. Ribs aren't a fun thing to hurt, and I've never even gone as far as breaking one. Milder injuries to that area are bad enough. Poor Jack.
>Gibbs took a firm grip on his right arm. “Anamaria,” he agreed >heartily, drawing some of Jack’s fire, “for a lass, ye’ve got a >powerful grasp o’ logic.” Fortunately, she also had a powerful >grasp on Jack Sparrow’s good arm, or Gibbs expected he’d have >been spitting a few teeth.
>Jack made an abortive attempt to escape, but his body wasted no >time in informing him that pulverizing his mate and quartermaster >would be a pleasure he would have to postpone for a more >auspicious moment—assuming they survived to find one.
LMAO! This may well be the grumpiest I've ever seen Jack. Mercy, someone's a *mean* little bugger when he's hurting!
>Gibbs had been the closest one to the lifeline. He’d held to it >and Jack, while Anamaria had clung to Jack. Apparently that >ordeal had taken all the fight out of the captain. Head hanging, >white under his tan, his breath ragged as he wrestled the pain >back into submission, Jack allowed them to haul him unresisting >to the rail surrounding the mainmast and the pumps.
I read this with one hand over my mouth, mumbling what came out sounding like "sht, oh sht, oh sht" for about a full minute. The poor guy is *so* due a nice little pass-out when this is all over.
And here's where we break to keep the lj gremlins happy. More to come, because I'm incapable of shutting up about your work!
Re: first half
Date: 2006-04-25 03:29 am (UTC)There is great rejoicing in the camp of honorat since virgo likes me humble stories. I am currently working on “Worthy” with the PotC DVD on freeze frame, drawing little diagrams of thrusts and parries and voltes and passes and transverses and muttering to myself obscure little comments like “thrust in quarte, parried quarte” and “thrust in quinte, parried septime” and “whoo boy, somebody just about lost a head!” This next chapter is taking me forever, because first I have to figure out what is actually going on, then I have to make it exciting and scary and in character.
the Chocolate Bunny of Butt-Kicking Imagery. Eat the ears first.
Ha! Chocolate is good, but this better not be related to a plot bunny! I’ve got an entire stable! *munches on ears*
Jack wouldn't be one to let slip this kind of damage to his crew, if he was conscious to try otherwise, either for the sake of his pride or their peace of mind.
And he can’t afford to be disabled at this point. There’s too much to do.
Her inner bitch is not to be trifled with, either.
Hahaha! Yes, Anamaria and Elizabeth would be the only big enough guns to take down Jack. *snerk* And even Anamaria needs backup.
Holy cow, someone call the Pope and find out if hell's frozen over. They agreed on something.
Yes, there will be a number of little devils with frostbite before this story is over—and serve them right considering what they’re doing to the Pearl and Company.
Your descriptions of Jack's behavior and appearance throughout the entire first half of this story, by the way, are making me want to curl up in a ball. Ribs aren't a fun thing to hurt, and I've never even gone as far as breaking one. Milder injuries to that area are bad enough. Poor Jack.
I had a friend who broke two ribs. He said it was a good prequel to the open heart surgery he had later. All my research suggested that broken ribs are particularly painful—you won’t want to be curling up even with imaginary ones.
This may well be the grumpiest I've ever seen Jack. Mercy, someone's a *mean* little bugger when he's hurting!
Yes, he’s a wee bit dangerous at the moment—or he will be when he gets the chance. Grumpy Jack is fun to write.
I read this with one hand over my mouth, mumbling what came out sounding like "sht, oh sht, oh sht" for about a full minute. The poor guy is *so* due a nice little pass-out when this is all over.
Don’t worry. Somebody is working on it.
Whoohoo! More to come. Snoopy dances are happening, mate. The muse has chocolate on its face and is developing an addiction.
second half
Date: 2006-04-25 03:42 am (UTC)>It was payback time for Anamaria. This would make up for any >number of bad weather watches. “Good luck!” he called back.
>“Sod off, ye blasted coward,” Anamaria grumbled. She turned to >her intractable patient and glared at him.
Heeheeheeeee! Ahh, feel the love.
>Across his torso, from right hip to opposite shoulder, the >imprint of the Black Pearl’s wheel marked him with contusions >that were the angry red and purple of a Caribbean sunset after a >storm. No wonder he’d been moving so carefully.
I won't repeat what popped out of my mouth right here, but it rhymed with "duck ski". Any situation where you find yourself able to say "at least my spleen didn't rupture" is not a good one.
>“Now breathe deep and hold it,” she instructed.
“No.” Jack was looking obstinate again.
“Jack,” Anamaria warned.
“Don’t want to.”
“Don’t have a choice,” said his first mate, threatening one of her neck-dislocating slaps. “This ain’t supposed t’ stop your breathin’, so I need t’ know how tight t’ tie it.”
Knowing she was right, Jack closed his eyes and did as he was told, his fingers gripping the rail nearly tight enough to leave >prints in the wood.
Oh, God. I just want to go ice myself. That's some strikingly well-written pain, honorat.
>Eyes still closed, Jack said in a strained voice, “Your great, >great, great grandmammy slept with Torquemada, didn’t she?”
Absolutely, hands-down, the best line of the whole. Damn. Chapter. I laughed so hard I think *I* need a rib put back into place.
>At the sight of the captain’s bruises, Jip’s eyes widened. “Criminy!” he exclaimed admiringly. “That was a real smasher!”
Jack unbent from his indignation at the first sign of an appreciative audience. He inspected his multi-hued decorations >with a satisfied air. “She’s some ship, ain’t she?”
Ah, hell, I've got these quotes out of order now, but that's all right. This exchange is priceless. "Look, I'm bleeding internally. Isn't that cool?" "Yeah, wicked cool!"
Jip hasn't hit puberty yet, so he has an excuse, but Jack...
>“Anamaria, I’ve got a ship to run and a battle to survive. >Contrary to popular opinion, I can’t do that with one hand tied >behind me back. That’s me sword arm, y’ know.”
Your dialogue is just phenomenal in this, honorat. I love it. I'm putting it my pocket and taking it with me for to pull out and admire later.
>Jack informed her creatively and rudely just where she could put >her advice and her sling.
Oh, so Jack knows the same sign language I do! The things you learn about people...
I have to tkae a moment to comment that Anamaria would probably make a hell of a modern day nurse. Jack's lucky it's not 2006 and that woman's standing there with a catheter in one hand and...well, anyway. He's lucky. :)
And now it's time to disect the review again. I will not be thwarted by technology, dammit.
Re: second half
Date: 2006-04-25 04:22 am (UTC)Well that part I agree with :D Yay for too long reviews! I always write my comments in Word, now, so that I have them safe from the gremlins.
Heeheeheeeee! Ahh, feel the love.
Love between Ana and Gibbs bears a close resemblance to war. *snerk*
Any situation where you find yourself able to say "at least my spleen didn't rupture" is not a good one.
Ha! Yes “it could be worse” is not a great comfort. I had a specific sunset in mind—the one off Maui after Hurricane Iniki—looked like someone had beat up the sky.
Oh, God. I just want to go ice myself. That's some strikingly well-written pain, honorat.
*hands you an icepack* Aren’t you glad we live in an age of refrigeration and ibuprofen? Jack’s gonna need that rum.
Absolutely, hands-down, the best line of the whole. Damn. Chapter. I laughed so hard I think *I* need a rib put back into place.
It’s nice to have readers who can appreciate the obscure humour I stick in my stories. Shall I send Anamaria over to take care of your rib? Or maybe Jip with some of Gibbs’ rum?
Jip hasn't hit puberty yet, so he has an excuse, but Jack...
Anamaria has the right idea. There’s something a touch prepubescent about Jack Sparrow in the right mood.
Your dialogue is just phenomenal in this, honorat. I love it. I'm putting it my pocket and taking it with me for to pull out and admire later.
*Snoopy dance!* Be careful. Dialogue between Jack and Ana can bite. I’d wear leather gloves when putting my hand in that pocket!
Oh, so Jack knows the same sign language I do! The things you learn about people...
Some things never change. And sometimes there’s only one thing to say.
I have to tkae a moment to comment that Anamaria would probably make a hell of a modern day nurse. Jack's lucky it's not 2006 and that woman's standing there with a catheter in one hand and...well, anyway. He's lucky. :)
You just set up the most insane AU dialogue in my head. Jack would really be complaining about not having any fun!!!!
And now it's time to disect the review again. I will not be thwarted by technology, dammit.
Go, Virgo! Tune in next time, ladies and gentlemen, to see the intrepid Virgo battle the dastardly lj demons to a stand still. Our fearless heroine will wrestle live cyber gremlins and strangle her computer glitches into submission. Don’t miss it!
And thank you, thank you for such lovely comments. I feel warm and fuzzy all over.
third...half. (shut up)
Date: 2006-04-25 03:44 am (UTC)Hi, mate. I'm back.
>“Jip, you’re an angel,” Jack said fervently, grabbing the flask and downing its contents in one long gulp, as if the rum weren’t straight and strong enough to dissolve lead.
>“Gibbs says I’m the devil,” Jip corrected.
**snerk**
Honorat. If you kill that little boy, I will throw stale hamburger buns at your head until you're forced to flip over your kitchen table to make a barricade.
>Anamaria had just set Jack’s hat back on his head when he stiffened, eyes going blank and introspective, the two lines between his brows furrowing.
“What is it?” Anamaria asked, wondering if he were hurting worse.
“Something’s wrong.” Jack leapt to his feet with an energy she would have said was impossible a minute ago. Spinning about, he scanned up the masts and rigging receding into the murk of the storm for some problem only he could sense. “Damnation! I can’t see a thing in this bloody soup!”
He stood quivering tense for a moment, listening, watching. For what? Anamaria still could not tell what had triggered his alert.
>Suddenly he lit out for the quarterdeck. “Oh shit!”
I love the prickling of JAck's ship-sense here. And those are two words you never want to hear the person in charge utter. Particularly if they take off running right after.
>At that moment the Pearl twisted violently, nearly broadsided by >another wave. Above the thunder of wind and sails resounded the >crack of wood and the snap of lines. In futile horror, Anamaria >saw the great mizzen topgallant yard break free of its starboard >moorings and swing wildly in brutal counterpoint to the motion of >the ship. She could hear the groan of the mizzenmast as the huge >spar, fifty feet long and a foot in diameter, scythed back and >forth across the width of the Pearl, slicing the salt thick air.
Oh, duck ski.
I go all loose and noodley when I'm done reading these chapters! You're wringing me out, girl.
>Instantly and unquestioningly, men leapt for the windward >ratlines and surged towards the careering yard. With bloody hands >they climbed the rigging that thrummed and sang in the wild wind, >one hundred feet in the air. Each time the Black Pearl drove her >yard ends into the furious seas, they froze, hanging on for their >lives.
Umm, here. Hold this while I finish typing. It's the hair I pulled out of my head reading this. You are diabolical.
>Captain Sparrow stood immobile on the quarterdeck, his neck >craned back until it ached, never taking his eyes off his men as >they climbed towards that breakaway yard that threatened to rip >the heart out of his ship. His unnatural silence accentuated the >terrible danger they courted. As the vicious spar whipped from >side to side above them, it seemed to miss by mere inches. Any >moment it could crush a man or smash him into the sea.
It's got to be killing him to have to *watch*. That's got to be more painful than the ribs.
>Only luck and desperate agility could save those men now. They >would live only if the ship survived, and so they must fight to >save the ship, reckless of the cost.
**goes noodley**
You've gone above and beyond with this, honorat. You should be really, really proud of this. It's excellent. Aside from all the other things I love about it, you've got the action paced perfectly, and action can be a right bitch on the page. I'm not just reading this, I'm *seeing* it.
You are the stuff. With sprinkles on top.
Re: third...half. (shut up)
Date: 2006-04-25 04:45 am (UTC)You did it! You defeated the little monsters! This is giving me a very funny picture in my head!
Welcome back. You can hang out at my LJ any time.
If you kill that little boy, I will throw stale hamburger buns at your head until you're forced to flip over your kitchen table to make a barricade.
Agghh! Not the dreaded SHB missiles! I don’t think my flimsy antique table would stand up to such a fusillade. *evil cackly maniacal laughter* I’ll never tell what will be Jip’s fate.
I love the prickling of JAck's ship-sense here.
I always think of Jack as particularly in tune with the Pearl. Something goes wrong with her, and he’s the first one to know about it.
And those are two words you never want to hear the person in charge utter. Particularly if they take off running right after.
Rather like a doctor saying “Oops!”
I go all loose and noodley when I'm done reading these chapters! You're wringing me out, girl.
I have it on the best authority that it’s cathartic. :)
Umm, here. Hold this while I finish typing. It's the hair I pulled out of my head reading this.
*looks dubiously at hair* What am I supposed to do with this? Braid a wreath? *adds it to used tissue collection*
You are diabolical.
Fiendish Acts of Trauma and Terror Backwards R Us. Though I have three words for you: Pot, Kettle, Black.
It's got to be killing him to have to *watch*. That's got to be more painful than the ribs.
I think any injury that happens to his ship always hurts Jack more than his own wounds. And at this point he has to leave it to others to help her. Ouch!
**goes noodley**
Would you like alfredo or marinara with those noodles? How about basil and sundried tomatoes in olive oil? Or pesto?
You've gone above and beyond with this, honorat. You should be really, really proud of this. It's excellent. Aside from all the other things I love about it, you've got the action paced perfectly, and action can be a right bitch on the page. I'm not just reading this, I'm *seeing* it.
Gee shucks *shuffles feet* Sure an ye’ve kissed the Blarney stone, mate. I’m so glad you like the balance of action in this. I’m a character author, so action is something I’m working on. Thank you so much for your kind words.
You are the stuff. With sprinkles on top.
*feels like a cupcake* Aww thanks! *blush*
no subject
Date: 2006-05-23 11:25 pm (UTC)Excellent character interaction here, just wonderful. From the initial description of Jack (he was playing Captain Jack Sparrow to the hilt, stirring up the crew like a stick in an ant hill, leaving whirlpools of activity in his wake as he rampaged the heaving, sea-swept decks, spinning miracles out of sailcloth and thin air) onwards, he’s wonderful in this chapter. Recalcitrant and yet he gives in when he knows it’s the right thing to do for the crew and the ship. And still so very much himself: Jack unbent from his indignation at the first sign of an appreciative audience, hah, quite!
It was good to get some light relief from Gibbs: Gibbs took a firm grip on his right arm. “Anamaria,” he agreed heartily, drawing some of Jack’s fire, “for a lass, ye’ve got a powerful grasp o’ logic.” --I particularly liked the way the humour there is quite sly and indirect, it’s only funny to a modern reader, you know? Which is just right in a dire situation, so much better than cracking jokes.
Though Jack was most irresistible with Anamaria leaned close to him, her teeth bared in a feral grin. “Maybe she did. Now let’s get you back in your clothes.”…“But we haven’t had any fun at all yet,” Jack protested. That’s my boy!
(NB bourn the brunt - another ‘borne’ that has somehow turned into a small stream :) )
I loved Jack’s head whipped around with a thirty-two pound glare that should have knocked Anamaria’s head off her shoulders, what an excellently piratical adjectival phrase!
And a great final paragraph. The morning is half gone and I can’t stop reading. This is dreadful.
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Date: 2006-05-24 04:29 am (UTC)Excellent character interaction here, just wonderful.
Thank you. *bows* I was simply kerflummoxed when I discovered, in the process of novelizing the movie (I don't know if you've heard that's my big project), that I could write original scenes with original dialogue. I'd never tried it before. So I'm delighted to hear when it's working.
Jack was an absolute hoot to write in this chapter. I love his combination of competence, petulance, and courage. He loves to write his own legend, too. And he's such an opportunist, he couldn't let the chance to strip in front of a pretty woman go by without trying to invent an opportune moment.
Gibbs would be the sort to buy in to his culture's idea that logic and women were not acquaintances. I'm glad you enjoyed the laugh at his expense.
another ‘borne’ that has somehow turned into a small stream
I've got rivulets running all over this fic! I think I'm subconsciously attracted to the letter "u"!
what an excellently piratical adjectival phrase
Coming up with nautical metaphors is a hobby of mine! LOL!
And a great final paragraph. The morning is half gone and I can’t stop reading. This is dreadful.
Dreadful for you, but quite wonderful for me. I have been enjoying your review very much. Thank you again.