Fic and FanArt: Crossing the Bar (9/?)
May. 18th, 2006 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratAuthor: Honorat
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters: Commodore Norrington, 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: The fight heats up and so does the rating. Excuse me while I change my name and leave the planet. 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? The battle continues. An original illustration, done without photo references accompanies this one.
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
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
8 Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
* * * * *
9 A Special Providence in the Fall
Amidst the pounding of cannon fire, the Black Pearl bore down on the Navy brig like an enraged tigress. Cotton held her helm steady amidships, as Jack had instructed, refusing to turn aside from their fatal course. On his shoulder, his parrot flapped and cursed in three different languages as grapeshot ploughed into the deck and splinters exploded around them. Beside him the captain was keeping up with the parrot in three other languages on general principle. If he could keep his crew and his ship intact for a few more minutes they would either be past that brig or a permanent part of her stern ornamentation.
Gibbs appeared at Jack’s shoulder looking sour—an expression into which his features relaxed like comfortable furniture.
“What’s her condition?” Jack called to Gibbs above the crashing chaos. He knew his ship was holed below the waterline, but Gibbs had been sent to check on specifics.
“She’s already taken eight shots between wind and water on her bow, Captain,” Gibbs reported, his hand cupped around his mouth to channel the sound into Jack’s ear. “Four of ‘em have breached her hull some three feet under water, and there’s like to be more before she’s done. Water’s comin’ in what looks to be ‘bout nine feet an hour.”
“She’s goin’ to be as full of holes as a sea urchin shell by the time we make it past the Dauntless,” Jack shouted. “We’ll never be able to repair her or to pump fast enough, so we’ve got to fother her.”
Gibbs decided that Jack Sparrow was even crazier than advertised if he thought they’d be making it past that man-of-war with that much of the Pearl left, but he knew better than to say so. “Aye, we got plenty o’ scuppered canvas,” he yelled back, noncommittally.
“I want every man down, at least who’s conscious and has use of his hands, set to work stitching the largest scraps together and sewing oakum and wool on those sails. Then get some crews together to use the smaller pieces for collision mats. Block up the worst of those holes.”
“Collision mats, aye.” Gibbs shook his head. It wouldn’t be the first time this day one of Jack’s outrageous ideas had saved them all.
As Gibbs turned to carry out Jack’s orders, the captain noticed that he was limping badly, his right leg darkened with the red stains of blood. Catching his attention again, Jack nodded towards the injury. “That serious?”
Gibbs grimaced. “Got caught by a bloody grommet torn from a clew by a shot,” he grumbled. “Stupid way to get hurt. I’ll live.”
“You get a minute, see that it’s taken care of,” Jack said.
“I promise you, Jack Sparrow,” Gibbs sighed loudly, “I’ve learnt my lesson. When—if—I ever get ashore again, I am never goin’ t’ set foot in a bloody ship or a barque or a brig or even a jollyboat ever again!” He raised his hands to the weeping skies. “God strike me dead if I do!”
“Goin’ back t’ sleep with the pigs, eh?” Jack grinned. His eyes were strained, but you couldn’t strike down the irrepressible Sparrow with a first rate broadside of 32-pounders. Not for long, anyway.
“You have no idea!” Gibbs said fervently. “At least they never tried t’ shoot me or drown me.”
“Dead ahead!” shrieked the parrot, shifting about excitedly on Cotton’s shoulder.
Gibbs whirled to look and saw the little brig leap forward like a startled colt just enough for the Pearl’s bowsprit to clear. In a hail of shot, the Black Pearl drove past the stern of the Navy brig so close that her main yardarm broke the vangs of the warship’s gaff.
“Yes!” Gibbs whooped, pumping a jubilant fist in the air. “That’ll learn ye, ye bloody bastards!” He tried to cut a jig, but his leg refused to cooperate. They might have no powder, but they’d done the enemy some damage. And his itch to do some serious hurting on some Navy hide had gone unscratched for far too long.
Jack understood Gibbs' elation, but they weren’t safe yet.
He saw the letters carved across the stern of the little brig, just as she blasted off a salvo of her stern chasers. The Defender. It was good to know her name. They were so close he could hear the orders of her captain and mates, see their resolute pitiless faces. Swivel guns and sharpshooters continued to target his crew as they drove by her, seeking again the relief of open sea, if only for a moment. The Pearl was heeled hard over, openly exposing her vulnerable decks to enemy fire.
Silently Jack pleaded with his ship to run free of this hailstorm of death, but before the Pearl could slip from the grasp of the Defender, a round of shot slammed into her deck just before the binnacle. Cotton and Jack crouched amidst a rain of hot lead and flying timbers. Beside him he could feel the helmsman hunched protectively around a bundle of blue feathers, while Jack tried to shield his face with his free arm. For a moment the ship sailed herself.
Curiously enough, it did not feel like pain when he was struck—just intense, violent pressure and a sensation of weightless flight.
Bright light in colours he had never before seen seared behind his eyes. Flavours he’d never tasted stung his tongue and burned in his nostrils. And a single note of unearthly music rang in his ears, drowning out the roar of battle, rising in volume and pitch until it blackened his sight. She was singing to him, he thought muzzily. His Black Pearl. Then he fell into the darkness of her embrace, slamming up against cold metal.
From the far side of the world he could hear Gibbs calling his name, but it didn’t seem important. His hand scrabbled at the writhing deck of his ship and closed comfortingly around a wet shard of her decking. Pain began to prowl around his consciousness, seeking a weak point. Jack tried to be very still. That seemed important. Perhaps it would not notice him if he did not move.
He had one last thought before he had no more thoughts: I didn’t know a parrot could scream.
* * * * *
Commodore Norrington watched with breath taut as storm-filled sails as his second ship barely escaped a collision with the Black Pearl. The Defender would suffer in maneuverability until they could make repairs, but such damage scarcely counted when compared with the normal results of a sea battle. Over all, their strategy had worked admirably. Walton had timed his attack to the second, doing the maximum possible injury to the pirate ship that wind and sea would allow. He hadn’t managed to take down her masts, but as the Dauntless drew within range of the Pearl, Norrington could see the gaping wounds in her hull and the shot-torn sails left by the brig’s cannon.
Now it was up to him to finish what Walton had begun. If Sparrow would not surrender, his ship must be halted and boarded, or sunk.
The Defender would keep the Pearl pinned, while staying out of range of the Dauntless’s overshots, and Norrington would bring his massive broadsides to bear on the limping pirate ship’s undefended hull and spars.
This was it. The commodore nodded to his first lieutenant.
“Straight at her, Mr. Mickle, Mr. Arrington,” Gillette spoke to the helmsmen.
“Straight at ‘er, sir.”
“Close with her amidships.”
The Dauntless began her swing to match pace with the Black Pearl. The whole ship sang with anticipation. His men, seeing that the pirates posed no real threat, were in high spirits. He’d already overheard conversations in which the imaginary spoils of that ship were being spent several times over.
“Note to the log, Mr. Sheffield. Engaged the enemy ship at six bells,” the commodore instructed.
The expanse of water between his ship and Jack Sparrow’s dark Pearl was nearly closed. As the Dauntless came about and the wind struck her starboard side, she heeled over into the huge seas. It was going to be difficult for his gunners to aim their weapons high enough. Difficult, but not impossible.
“On my mark, fire as she rises. Concentrate on her main mast,” Norrington ordered. “I want that ship dead in the water.”
As Gillette passed the command along, he heard one gun captain holler, “Aye, sir! We’ll make a brig of her for you.”
* * * * *
“Captain’s down!”
The words crashed over the ship like a sea of despair. For an instant the entire crew froze. Anamaria spun towards the Pearl’s helm, her mind ablaze with frantic denial. Jack!
He wasn’t there.
Cotton, his right arm bloodied, still held the damaged helm, his parrot quivering and silent, pressed against his head, but Jack was neither beside him, nor anywhere she could see on the poop deck or quarterdeck. Instead a few men clustered about a limp form jammed against the edge of a weather cannon carriage where the force of the blast had hurled it.
Jack.
She started to fly to his side, then stopped, torn by her duty.
“Anamaria!” she heard Gibbs bellow from where he was bent over the captain. “You’ve got to take her! Get this bloody ship out of here!”
The massive Tearlach was bending down now and scooping up Jack’s body as though he were merely a child. Through the gray sheets of rain, she saw red spreading on Tearlach’s torn sleeve where Jack’s head rested. One of his expressive hands hung limply, moving only with the pitch of his ship. Jip, Anamaria noticed with the odd clarity of panic, was huddled under the companionway, knuckles to his teeth, his eyes wide and terrified as the captain was carried past him into the cabin.
“Peytoe!” Gibbs hollered. “Peytoe, ye bloody great lubber! Where is that thrice-damned cook?”
The man emerged, looking like a vision of nightmare, the gore of his secondary trade slicking his arms and soaking his clothing. He looked frightened and sick as he hurried after the captain. Anamaria tried to convince herself that it was a good sign they were calling for the closest thing to a doctor they had on the ship, but she wasn’t sure how much use Peytoe could possibly be. For a moment she wanted to join Jip in hiding, close her eyes, plug her ears, and make it all go away.
But the captain had made her promise to take care of his ship. That was the only thing she could do for him now. Somehow she managed to turn away from Jack, although the effort nearly severed her heart. The battered and bloody crew around her stared at her with eyes very much like Jip’s, an expression she was afraid mirrored her own.
She had to take command of the Black Pearl. Somehow she had to restore to these men the fire that only Captain Jack Sparrow had lit in their bones. Somehow she had to make them believe in the impossible again. It was up to her to save Jack’s ship and his crew.
“Alright my lads!” She put as much hope and enthusiasm into that call as she could dredge out of her soul, flinging her voice above the thunder of the sea. “Back t’ work y’ feckless pack of sea scum! We got a ship t’ sail here! Y’ remember how t’ do that, don’t you? Are we goin’ t’ let those whoreson Navy dogs take Jack Sparrow’s Pearl?”
The angry roar following that suggestion fed her own courage.
Anamaria began a rampage up and down the decks of the ship, slamming iron walls around her memories of the still figure of the captain, barricading all her feelings beyond her reach. With the lash of her words she drove the exhausted crew harder and faster in their race to repair the damage both from that crossing and from the Navy cannonade.
They’d made it past the brig thanks to Jack’s suicidal nerve, but the opening of sea was rapidly narrowing between the Pearl and the Dauntless. They’d soon be under the broadside of that first rate man-of-war bearing down under press of canvas. Their only hope was to crowd enough sails to outrun her.
Gibbs joined her, answering her questioning look with a negative shake of his head and a shrug. Anamaria clamped down on any reaction of her own. With surprising ease, Gibbs took over the tasks of first mate, taking her orders and directing the crew in carrying them out as though they had always worked together. He delegated men to assist the ship’s carpenter in fighting the leaks, then set any capable wounded in the wardroom to stitching sails. Anamaria felt an unaccustomed gratitude to the man. They’d never gotten along all that well, but for the good of the ship they could cooperate.
She was overseeing the setting of the main topsail, when the one man they’d spared as lookout shouted the warning they’d all been dreading.
“She’s fired!”
Great tongues of dragon flame licked from the sides of the Navy warship, and the first of the Dauntless’s range-finding shots blossomed in the water off the Pearl’s starboard bow.
* * * * *
Drawing up alongside the Black Pearl, the Dauntless reached out for her with her first broadside, hammering her with her upper deck guns, pouring destructive fire into her hull, spraying her decks with shot.
In the smoke-filled hell of the Dauntless’s gun decks, men crouched tensely, stripped to their waists, neckerchiefs wound around their heads to deaden the noise as they served their muzzle-loaders. In rhythmic sequence each gun captain signaled for elevation, one hand on the taut trigger line that tripped the flintlock and sent the iron ball crashing into the enemy. Each crew of half a dozen men then swabbed out the barrel, rammed home the powder and shot, and ran the guns back out, getting off a round nearly every two minutes in spite of the heaving deck. Powder monkeys scampered to and fro, cheered on by the third lieutenant’s “Well done, my lads!”
On the quarterdeck, Commodore Norrington watched grimly. This was going to be a long fight in spite of the inability of the enemy to fire back. Just when the Dauntless would crest a wave and be in position to fire, she would find her shot piercing the backs of other seas, rather than the hull of the Black Pearl. Half the time those shots would ricochet into ineffectiveness. Of those shots that did get through, an amazing number still managed to land short or overshoot. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that pirate ship was dodging his fire. Unquestionably, not all the blows he landed had any effect on her. He observed with wonder that solid shot bounced off her thick oaken sides as if she were armoured. Chain shot fouled her rigging, but so far not a single missile seemed to have touched her masts. The storm was certainly making aim difficult, but there was something uncanny about that ship’s ability to survive.
Again he marveled at the fantastic ship Jack Sparrow commanded. He hoped that mad bastard would surrender before he was forced to destroy her. What would it be like to possess such a vessel? However, as matters looked at the moment, he would very likely have to take her down. And take her down he would. All he had to do was to pound her long enough with sufficient fire. Even now, an adequate iron hail of large shot shook the pirate ship to her very keel, passing through her timbers, spraying her decks, and scattering the terrifying splinters that were even more deadly than the shot itself. His grape and canister shot poured over the Pearl like leaden rain carrying death in their train. He could hear the higher-pitched muskets fire from the tops as his marines targeted the men on her decks and spars.
She would either be a ghost ship or a sinking hulk by the time he was done with her, no matter how long it took.
* * * * *
Like an executioner, the Dauntless escorted the Black Pearl towards her death. Grim and stately, her masts spearing the sullen sky, she restrained herself to the crippled pace of the smaller ship. Flickers of vermilion brightened her hull momentarily before she was wrapped in clouds of smoke. Geysers of water shot heavenward where shots fell short or high seas rose and swallowed them. But far too often her massive broadsides, flaming and crashing, smashed her shot home, pulverizing the timbers of her prey, badly holing her. Aboard the Pearl, flying splinters snarled through the air, torn sails flapped, and cut rigging twanged and lashed. In the melee of terrible fire, blinding smoke, and dying men, the Dauntless’s guns roared ceaselessly.
Oh how badly Anamaria wanted firepower. The urge to order the Pearl’s long guns rolled out, to aim them at their enemy, and to blast them to the ninth circle of hell wrenched at her gut like physical pain. She would have traded her soul for dry powder, if she could have found anyone to trade it to. Every shot the Dauntless fired should be met with twice the destruction from the Pearl. The Royal Navy should pay for what it had cost her. At this moment her deepest desire was to have her cutlass buried to the hilt in the corpse of that bloody commodore.
Instead, she threw that fury against the crippling damage the Pearl had suffered, ignoring the increasingly accurate curtain of fire from the vessel drawing up alongside them, throwing herself to the deck amidst the rain of hot lead and splintering shrapnel, leaping to her feet and forging on the minute she dared, her rage powering her determination that this ship would see open water before the Dauntless could take her down.
A hand rested on her shoulder, detaining her. Even as she was turning, her face set in a snarl of warning, a voice stopped her as though she’d been shot.
“I’ll take her from here, love.”
Jack! Her lips moved inaudibly over his name. Whirling on him, she barely controlled the urge to throw herself into his arms.
“You bloody bastard!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare do that to me again!”
Captain Jack Sparrow grinned madly at her. “I’ll grant you the ‘bloody,’ but my mother swore she was married to my father.”
He looked terrible. The kohl around his eyes had smudged and run like the shadows of tears. All the rich colour had drained from his face, leaving him a paler shade of grey. The red of his scarf looked dull and dark next to the bright crimson of the blood that covered one temple, matting in his dark hair, still spreading with the rain down his neck, staining his shirt and pooling in the hollow of his throat.
He had never looked more beautiful.
She noticed Jack was moving even more carefully than after his ribs had been broken, holding his head as still as he could. The dark wetness on his clothing, upon closer examination, was blood.
“That yours?” she asked. Surely it couldn’t be and him still standing.
“Not much,” he replied softly.
“You goin’ t’ live, then?” she asked him, congratulating herself on keeping her voice almost even-keeled. She wanted to touch him, to add the witness of her hands to the evidence of his warm life, but she didn’t.
“There’s always that chance,” he said.
“Then the ship is yours, and welcome to it,” she said in relief. “You can see, we’re just a mite busy at the moment.”
“Aye,” he said tightly. “Ol’ Norrington is makin’ things a trifle too warm, in’t he? You’d think I’d kidnapped his ma and raped his sister.”
“Maybe you should,” Anamaria snapped bitterly.
“Now lass, let’s not get too carried away here,” Jack soothed. “He’s a Navy man, ‘member?”
“I’m not like t’ forget!” She jerked her head towards the blue and gold battleship trying to rip them to shreds. Two men carried a third by them, his groans not drowning out the thud of drops of his blood hitting hard on the deck. Anamaria saw Jack’s fists clench.
“Well,” the captain explained, although his eyes were darker than ever with the knowledge of what his men and his ship were enduring. “When a man’s got the Navy stick that far up his arse, it interferes with his thought processes somethin’ fierce. He can’t help it. He’s more of a prisoner of ol’ Georgie than ever I was.”
Anamaria snorted. Jack could say what he wanted; she would cut Norrington’s throat in a church if she had the chance. For a pirate, Jack tended to grant people far too much slack. Anamaria preferred to take a second wrap around their throats with the standing end of her line.
“We’re pirates, love,” Jack said reasonably. “This was always a possibility.”
A pint-sized whirlwind flurry startled them before it resolved itself into Jip, clinging around the captain’s waist like a tide-pool starfish.
“Captain! I thought you were dead!” There was accusation in that tone, as well as a small sniff tagged on to the end, traitorously revealing that Jip was not perhaps as much of a man about all this as he’d like everyone to think.
Jack staggered back under the onslaught. Anamaria saw him wince and heard his sharp intake of breath above the pandemonium surrounding them, but finding his footing again, the corners of his mouth turned up and he ruffled the damp head of his small worshipper with his free hand.
“It’ll take more than a whack on the head to do away with Captain Jack Sparrow, eh lad?” he said.
“That’s because you got nothin’ but rocks for brains,” Anamaria shot back, turning away from him to return to her duties—as mate. She hadn’t been happier to turn this ship over to Jack since the first time.
“So I’ve been told,” he called after her, and she could hear the smirk on his face.
Turning one last time to gloat privately over a temporarily safe if not too sound Jack Sparrow, she saw him peel the kid off and say, “C’mon, whelp. Let’s get our lady away from this mess.”
God, she was glad that madman was back in charge of the Black Pearl. If they had any chance at all for this crazy escape, he was it.
* * * * *
Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.
8 1/2 x 11 inches, mechanical graphite pencil on printer paper. No photo references used so the proportions are a bit odd.
TBC
10 For Where We Are Is Hell
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters: Commodore Norrington, 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: The fight heats up and so does the rating. Excuse me while I change my name and leave the planet. 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? The battle continues. An original illustration, done without photo references accompanies this one.
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
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
8 Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
* * * * *
9 A Special Providence in the Fall
Amidst the pounding of cannon fire, the Black Pearl bore down on the Navy brig like an enraged tigress. Cotton held her helm steady amidships, as Jack had instructed, refusing to turn aside from their fatal course. On his shoulder, his parrot flapped and cursed in three different languages as grapeshot ploughed into the deck and splinters exploded around them. Beside him the captain was keeping up with the parrot in three other languages on general principle. If he could keep his crew and his ship intact for a few more minutes they would either be past that brig or a permanent part of her stern ornamentation.
Gibbs appeared at Jack’s shoulder looking sour—an expression into which his features relaxed like comfortable furniture.
“What’s her condition?” Jack called to Gibbs above the crashing chaos. He knew his ship was holed below the waterline, but Gibbs had been sent to check on specifics.
“She’s already taken eight shots between wind and water on her bow, Captain,” Gibbs reported, his hand cupped around his mouth to channel the sound into Jack’s ear. “Four of ‘em have breached her hull some three feet under water, and there’s like to be more before she’s done. Water’s comin’ in what looks to be ‘bout nine feet an hour.”
“She’s goin’ to be as full of holes as a sea urchin shell by the time we make it past the Dauntless,” Jack shouted. “We’ll never be able to repair her or to pump fast enough, so we’ve got to fother her.”
Gibbs decided that Jack Sparrow was even crazier than advertised if he thought they’d be making it past that man-of-war with that much of the Pearl left, but he knew better than to say so. “Aye, we got plenty o’ scuppered canvas,” he yelled back, noncommittally.
“I want every man down, at least who’s conscious and has use of his hands, set to work stitching the largest scraps together and sewing oakum and wool on those sails. Then get some crews together to use the smaller pieces for collision mats. Block up the worst of those holes.”
“Collision mats, aye.” Gibbs shook his head. It wouldn’t be the first time this day one of Jack’s outrageous ideas had saved them all.
As Gibbs turned to carry out Jack’s orders, the captain noticed that he was limping badly, his right leg darkened with the red stains of blood. Catching his attention again, Jack nodded towards the injury. “That serious?”
Gibbs grimaced. “Got caught by a bloody grommet torn from a clew by a shot,” he grumbled. “Stupid way to get hurt. I’ll live.”
“You get a minute, see that it’s taken care of,” Jack said.
“I promise you, Jack Sparrow,” Gibbs sighed loudly, “I’ve learnt my lesson. When—if—I ever get ashore again, I am never goin’ t’ set foot in a bloody ship or a barque or a brig or even a jollyboat ever again!” He raised his hands to the weeping skies. “God strike me dead if I do!”
“Goin’ back t’ sleep with the pigs, eh?” Jack grinned. His eyes were strained, but you couldn’t strike down the irrepressible Sparrow with a first rate broadside of 32-pounders. Not for long, anyway.
“You have no idea!” Gibbs said fervently. “At least they never tried t’ shoot me or drown me.”
“Dead ahead!” shrieked the parrot, shifting about excitedly on Cotton’s shoulder.
Gibbs whirled to look and saw the little brig leap forward like a startled colt just enough for the Pearl’s bowsprit to clear. In a hail of shot, the Black Pearl drove past the stern of the Navy brig so close that her main yardarm broke the vangs of the warship’s gaff.
“Yes!” Gibbs whooped, pumping a jubilant fist in the air. “That’ll learn ye, ye bloody bastards!” He tried to cut a jig, but his leg refused to cooperate. They might have no powder, but they’d done the enemy some damage. And his itch to do some serious hurting on some Navy hide had gone unscratched for far too long.
Jack understood Gibbs' elation, but they weren’t safe yet.
He saw the letters carved across the stern of the little brig, just as she blasted off a salvo of her stern chasers. The Defender. It was good to know her name. They were so close he could hear the orders of her captain and mates, see their resolute pitiless faces. Swivel guns and sharpshooters continued to target his crew as they drove by her, seeking again the relief of open sea, if only for a moment. The Pearl was heeled hard over, openly exposing her vulnerable decks to enemy fire.
Silently Jack pleaded with his ship to run free of this hailstorm of death, but before the Pearl could slip from the grasp of the Defender, a round of shot slammed into her deck just before the binnacle. Cotton and Jack crouched amidst a rain of hot lead and flying timbers. Beside him he could feel the helmsman hunched protectively around a bundle of blue feathers, while Jack tried to shield his face with his free arm. For a moment the ship sailed herself.
Curiously enough, it did not feel like pain when he was struck—just intense, violent pressure and a sensation of weightless flight.
Bright light in colours he had never before seen seared behind his eyes. Flavours he’d never tasted stung his tongue and burned in his nostrils. And a single note of unearthly music rang in his ears, drowning out the roar of battle, rising in volume and pitch until it blackened his sight. She was singing to him, he thought muzzily. His Black Pearl. Then he fell into the darkness of her embrace, slamming up against cold metal.
From the far side of the world he could hear Gibbs calling his name, but it didn’t seem important. His hand scrabbled at the writhing deck of his ship and closed comfortingly around a wet shard of her decking. Pain began to prowl around his consciousness, seeking a weak point. Jack tried to be very still. That seemed important. Perhaps it would not notice him if he did not move.
He had one last thought before he had no more thoughts: I didn’t know a parrot could scream.
* * * * *
Commodore Norrington watched with breath taut as storm-filled sails as his second ship barely escaped a collision with the Black Pearl. The Defender would suffer in maneuverability until they could make repairs, but such damage scarcely counted when compared with the normal results of a sea battle. Over all, their strategy had worked admirably. Walton had timed his attack to the second, doing the maximum possible injury to the pirate ship that wind and sea would allow. He hadn’t managed to take down her masts, but as the Dauntless drew within range of the Pearl, Norrington could see the gaping wounds in her hull and the shot-torn sails left by the brig’s cannon.
Now it was up to him to finish what Walton had begun. If Sparrow would not surrender, his ship must be halted and boarded, or sunk.
The Defender would keep the Pearl pinned, while staying out of range of the Dauntless’s overshots, and Norrington would bring his massive broadsides to bear on the limping pirate ship’s undefended hull and spars.
This was it. The commodore nodded to his first lieutenant.
“Straight at her, Mr. Mickle, Mr. Arrington,” Gillette spoke to the helmsmen.
“Straight at ‘er, sir.”
“Close with her amidships.”
The Dauntless began her swing to match pace with the Black Pearl. The whole ship sang with anticipation. His men, seeing that the pirates posed no real threat, were in high spirits. He’d already overheard conversations in which the imaginary spoils of that ship were being spent several times over.
“Note to the log, Mr. Sheffield. Engaged the enemy ship at six bells,” the commodore instructed.
The expanse of water between his ship and Jack Sparrow’s dark Pearl was nearly closed. As the Dauntless came about and the wind struck her starboard side, she heeled over into the huge seas. It was going to be difficult for his gunners to aim their weapons high enough. Difficult, but not impossible.
“On my mark, fire as she rises. Concentrate on her main mast,” Norrington ordered. “I want that ship dead in the water.”
As Gillette passed the command along, he heard one gun captain holler, “Aye, sir! We’ll make a brig of her for you.”
* * * * *
“Captain’s down!”
The words crashed over the ship like a sea of despair. For an instant the entire crew froze. Anamaria spun towards the Pearl’s helm, her mind ablaze with frantic denial. Jack!
He wasn’t there.
Cotton, his right arm bloodied, still held the damaged helm, his parrot quivering and silent, pressed against his head, but Jack was neither beside him, nor anywhere she could see on the poop deck or quarterdeck. Instead a few men clustered about a limp form jammed against the edge of a weather cannon carriage where the force of the blast had hurled it.
Jack.
She started to fly to his side, then stopped, torn by her duty.
“Anamaria!” she heard Gibbs bellow from where he was bent over the captain. “You’ve got to take her! Get this bloody ship out of here!”
The massive Tearlach was bending down now and scooping up Jack’s body as though he were merely a child. Through the gray sheets of rain, she saw red spreading on Tearlach’s torn sleeve where Jack’s head rested. One of his expressive hands hung limply, moving only with the pitch of his ship. Jip, Anamaria noticed with the odd clarity of panic, was huddled under the companionway, knuckles to his teeth, his eyes wide and terrified as the captain was carried past him into the cabin.
“Peytoe!” Gibbs hollered. “Peytoe, ye bloody great lubber! Where is that thrice-damned cook?”
The man emerged, looking like a vision of nightmare, the gore of his secondary trade slicking his arms and soaking his clothing. He looked frightened and sick as he hurried after the captain. Anamaria tried to convince herself that it was a good sign they were calling for the closest thing to a doctor they had on the ship, but she wasn’t sure how much use Peytoe could possibly be. For a moment she wanted to join Jip in hiding, close her eyes, plug her ears, and make it all go away.
But the captain had made her promise to take care of his ship. That was the only thing she could do for him now. Somehow she managed to turn away from Jack, although the effort nearly severed her heart. The battered and bloody crew around her stared at her with eyes very much like Jip’s, an expression she was afraid mirrored her own.
She had to take command of the Black Pearl. Somehow she had to restore to these men the fire that only Captain Jack Sparrow had lit in their bones. Somehow she had to make them believe in the impossible again. It was up to her to save Jack’s ship and his crew.
“Alright my lads!” She put as much hope and enthusiasm into that call as she could dredge out of her soul, flinging her voice above the thunder of the sea. “Back t’ work y’ feckless pack of sea scum! We got a ship t’ sail here! Y’ remember how t’ do that, don’t you? Are we goin’ t’ let those whoreson Navy dogs take Jack Sparrow’s Pearl?”
The angry roar following that suggestion fed her own courage.
Anamaria began a rampage up and down the decks of the ship, slamming iron walls around her memories of the still figure of the captain, barricading all her feelings beyond her reach. With the lash of her words she drove the exhausted crew harder and faster in their race to repair the damage both from that crossing and from the Navy cannonade.
They’d made it past the brig thanks to Jack’s suicidal nerve, but the opening of sea was rapidly narrowing between the Pearl and the Dauntless. They’d soon be under the broadside of that first rate man-of-war bearing down under press of canvas. Their only hope was to crowd enough sails to outrun her.
Gibbs joined her, answering her questioning look with a negative shake of his head and a shrug. Anamaria clamped down on any reaction of her own. With surprising ease, Gibbs took over the tasks of first mate, taking her orders and directing the crew in carrying them out as though they had always worked together. He delegated men to assist the ship’s carpenter in fighting the leaks, then set any capable wounded in the wardroom to stitching sails. Anamaria felt an unaccustomed gratitude to the man. They’d never gotten along all that well, but for the good of the ship they could cooperate.
She was overseeing the setting of the main topsail, when the one man they’d spared as lookout shouted the warning they’d all been dreading.
“She’s fired!”
Great tongues of dragon flame licked from the sides of the Navy warship, and the first of the Dauntless’s range-finding shots blossomed in the water off the Pearl’s starboard bow.
* * * * *
Drawing up alongside the Black Pearl, the Dauntless reached out for her with her first broadside, hammering her with her upper deck guns, pouring destructive fire into her hull, spraying her decks with shot.
In the smoke-filled hell of the Dauntless’s gun decks, men crouched tensely, stripped to their waists, neckerchiefs wound around their heads to deaden the noise as they served their muzzle-loaders. In rhythmic sequence each gun captain signaled for elevation, one hand on the taut trigger line that tripped the flintlock and sent the iron ball crashing into the enemy. Each crew of half a dozen men then swabbed out the barrel, rammed home the powder and shot, and ran the guns back out, getting off a round nearly every two minutes in spite of the heaving deck. Powder monkeys scampered to and fro, cheered on by the third lieutenant’s “Well done, my lads!”
On the quarterdeck, Commodore Norrington watched grimly. This was going to be a long fight in spite of the inability of the enemy to fire back. Just when the Dauntless would crest a wave and be in position to fire, she would find her shot piercing the backs of other seas, rather than the hull of the Black Pearl. Half the time those shots would ricochet into ineffectiveness. Of those shots that did get through, an amazing number still managed to land short or overshoot. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that pirate ship was dodging his fire. Unquestionably, not all the blows he landed had any effect on her. He observed with wonder that solid shot bounced off her thick oaken sides as if she were armoured. Chain shot fouled her rigging, but so far not a single missile seemed to have touched her masts. The storm was certainly making aim difficult, but there was something uncanny about that ship’s ability to survive.
Again he marveled at the fantastic ship Jack Sparrow commanded. He hoped that mad bastard would surrender before he was forced to destroy her. What would it be like to possess such a vessel? However, as matters looked at the moment, he would very likely have to take her down. And take her down he would. All he had to do was to pound her long enough with sufficient fire. Even now, an adequate iron hail of large shot shook the pirate ship to her very keel, passing through her timbers, spraying her decks, and scattering the terrifying splinters that were even more deadly than the shot itself. His grape and canister shot poured over the Pearl like leaden rain carrying death in their train. He could hear the higher-pitched muskets fire from the tops as his marines targeted the men on her decks and spars.
She would either be a ghost ship or a sinking hulk by the time he was done with her, no matter how long it took.
* * * * *
Like an executioner, the Dauntless escorted the Black Pearl towards her death. Grim and stately, her masts spearing the sullen sky, she restrained herself to the crippled pace of the smaller ship. Flickers of vermilion brightened her hull momentarily before she was wrapped in clouds of smoke. Geysers of water shot heavenward where shots fell short or high seas rose and swallowed them. But far too often her massive broadsides, flaming and crashing, smashed her shot home, pulverizing the timbers of her prey, badly holing her. Aboard the Pearl, flying splinters snarled through the air, torn sails flapped, and cut rigging twanged and lashed. In the melee of terrible fire, blinding smoke, and dying men, the Dauntless’s guns roared ceaselessly.
Oh how badly Anamaria wanted firepower. The urge to order the Pearl’s long guns rolled out, to aim them at their enemy, and to blast them to the ninth circle of hell wrenched at her gut like physical pain. She would have traded her soul for dry powder, if she could have found anyone to trade it to. Every shot the Dauntless fired should be met with twice the destruction from the Pearl. The Royal Navy should pay for what it had cost her. At this moment her deepest desire was to have her cutlass buried to the hilt in the corpse of that bloody commodore.
Instead, she threw that fury against the crippling damage the Pearl had suffered, ignoring the increasingly accurate curtain of fire from the vessel drawing up alongside them, throwing herself to the deck amidst the rain of hot lead and splintering shrapnel, leaping to her feet and forging on the minute she dared, her rage powering her determination that this ship would see open water before the Dauntless could take her down.
A hand rested on her shoulder, detaining her. Even as she was turning, her face set in a snarl of warning, a voice stopped her as though she’d been shot.
“I’ll take her from here, love.”
Jack! Her lips moved inaudibly over his name. Whirling on him, she barely controlled the urge to throw herself into his arms.
“You bloody bastard!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare do that to me again!”
Captain Jack Sparrow grinned madly at her. “I’ll grant you the ‘bloody,’ but my mother swore she was married to my father.”
He looked terrible. The kohl around his eyes had smudged and run like the shadows of tears. All the rich colour had drained from his face, leaving him a paler shade of grey. The red of his scarf looked dull and dark next to the bright crimson of the blood that covered one temple, matting in his dark hair, still spreading with the rain down his neck, staining his shirt and pooling in the hollow of his throat.
He had never looked more beautiful.
She noticed Jack was moving even more carefully than after his ribs had been broken, holding his head as still as he could. The dark wetness on his clothing, upon closer examination, was blood.
“That yours?” she asked. Surely it couldn’t be and him still standing.
“Not much,” he replied softly.
“You goin’ t’ live, then?” she asked him, congratulating herself on keeping her voice almost even-keeled. She wanted to touch him, to add the witness of her hands to the evidence of his warm life, but she didn’t.
“There’s always that chance,” he said.
“Then the ship is yours, and welcome to it,” she said in relief. “You can see, we’re just a mite busy at the moment.”
“Aye,” he said tightly. “Ol’ Norrington is makin’ things a trifle too warm, in’t he? You’d think I’d kidnapped his ma and raped his sister.”
“Maybe you should,” Anamaria snapped bitterly.
“Now lass, let’s not get too carried away here,” Jack soothed. “He’s a Navy man, ‘member?”
“I’m not like t’ forget!” She jerked her head towards the blue and gold battleship trying to rip them to shreds. Two men carried a third by them, his groans not drowning out the thud of drops of his blood hitting hard on the deck. Anamaria saw Jack’s fists clench.
“Well,” the captain explained, although his eyes were darker than ever with the knowledge of what his men and his ship were enduring. “When a man’s got the Navy stick that far up his arse, it interferes with his thought processes somethin’ fierce. He can’t help it. He’s more of a prisoner of ol’ Georgie than ever I was.”
Anamaria snorted. Jack could say what he wanted; she would cut Norrington’s throat in a church if she had the chance. For a pirate, Jack tended to grant people far too much slack. Anamaria preferred to take a second wrap around their throats with the standing end of her line.
“We’re pirates, love,” Jack said reasonably. “This was always a possibility.”
A pint-sized whirlwind flurry startled them before it resolved itself into Jip, clinging around the captain’s waist like a tide-pool starfish.
“Captain! I thought you were dead!” There was accusation in that tone, as well as a small sniff tagged on to the end, traitorously revealing that Jip was not perhaps as much of a man about all this as he’d like everyone to think.
Jack staggered back under the onslaught. Anamaria saw him wince and heard his sharp intake of breath above the pandemonium surrounding them, but finding his footing again, the corners of his mouth turned up and he ruffled the damp head of his small worshipper with his free hand.
“It’ll take more than a whack on the head to do away with Captain Jack Sparrow, eh lad?” he said.
“That’s because you got nothin’ but rocks for brains,” Anamaria shot back, turning away from him to return to her duties—as mate. She hadn’t been happier to turn this ship over to Jack since the first time.
“So I’ve been told,” he called after her, and she could hear the smirk on his face.
Turning one last time to gloat privately over a temporarily safe if not too sound Jack Sparrow, she saw him peel the kid off and say, “C’mon, whelp. Let’s get our lady away from this mess.”
God, she was glad that madman was back in charge of the Black Pearl. If they had any chance at all for this crazy escape, he was it.
* * * * *
Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.
8 1/2 x 11 inches, mechanical graphite pencil on printer paper. No photo references used so the proportions are a bit odd.
TBC
10 For Where We Are Is Hell
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 04:32 pm (UTC)Great picture, love it, love it, love it, and it's so wonderful to see that at the end of this wonderful (if horrific) chapter. Spectacular work, my dear. It's a privilege to beta for you.
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Date: 2006-05-18 04:43 pm (UTC)I'm glad you like the picture and the story. Thank you so very much for the help ironing out the wrinkles in my writing.
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Date: 2006-05-18 06:39 pm (UTC)The illustration is lovely. It's amazing what you can do without a photo reference!
Hee, and I love Ana telling Jack he has rocks for brains. It's her own special way of telling him she's glad he's all right, isn't it? Their interaction is so true to the characters.
On his shoulder, his parrot flapped and cursed in three different languages as grapeshot ploughed into the deck and splinters exploded around them. Beside him the captain was keeping up with the parrot in three other languages on general principle.
That part made me giggle. :-)
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Date: 2006-05-18 07:00 pm (UTC)As for the illustration, I've drawn Johnny so often now that I'm starting to know what he looks like. Thank you for your kind words about that.
Anamaria and Jack are such fun to write together. Insults as warm fuzzies. It's a scary thing to have Ana care about you. There's usually a bit of a discrepancy between what Ana says and what she's thinking. And Jack is good at translating.
I'm glad you got a giggle out of the parrot/pirate/profanity duet. The poor Pearl is running out of things to laugh about.
P.S. The spoilers for PotC3 are looking hopeful Pearl-wise! *Bounce* I hope they're true.
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Date: 2006-05-18 07:30 pm (UTC)Really? Oh, I hope so! Where are these spoilers coming from??
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Date: 2006-05-18 07:54 pm (UTC)I can't remember where I read it, but someone said the basic motivations for PotC3 are similar to PotC1--Will wants his father, Elizabeth wants Will, and Jack wants his ship. While that sounds like some separation occurs, at least it says that their reuniting is a possibility.
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Date: 2006-05-18 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-20 03:04 pm (UTC)Amidst the pounding of cannon fire, the Black Pearl bore down on the Navy brig like an enraged tigress.
Wow. Absolutely stunning opener for this chapter. Hell hath no fury and all that. And OMG, Jack and the Pearl are playing chicken with the Defender! (eep!)
And it's educational, too – after the third time opening dictionary.com, I finally wised up and just left it open. *gazes fondly at new cache of nautical words*
"I promise you, Jack Sparrow, ... I've learnt my lesson. ... God strike me dead if I do!"
Uh oh, Gibbs has had enough. Can't blame him really.
Curiously enough, it did not feel like pain when he was struck
911! I've just coded!
Flavors he'd never tasted, colors he'd never seen, unearthly music ... omg omg, where's he hit, in the head? *wails*
and Norrington would bring his massive broadsides to bear on the limping pirate ship's undefended hull and spars.
Uuuuhh ... good thing I'm not standing as my knees have gone all weak. Oh, that one hurts!
"Note to the log, Mr. Sheffield. Engaged the enemy ship at six bells," the commodore instructed.
Am finding it really hard to say I like anything that's going on aboard the Dauntless at the moment, but this – Norrington calm and steady while his crew is bouncing with excitement is very good.
It was going to be difficult for his gunners to aim their weapons high enough.
Tiny, very tiny gleam of hope.
But –
"On my mark, fire as she rises. Concentrate on her main mast," Norrington ordered. "I want that ship dead in the water."
*whimper* ... *hides under desk*
a few men clustered about a limp form jammed against the edge of a weather cannon carriage
There is this wailing, all high-pitched and shrill, in my head: oh god, oh god ohgodohgodohgod....
One of his expressive hands hung limply, moving only with the pitch of his ship.
Am really having trouble getting past this sentence. I start to go on and it just draws me back. Not only is he bloody, nor merely still, but his hand is just hanging there, slack, spiritless...
Aaiiiieeeeee..... *runs away*
*peeks out*
Jip, Anamaria noticed with the odd clarity of panic, was huddled under the companionway, knuckles to his teeth, his eyes wide and terrified as the captain was carried past him into the cabin.
Scoot over, Jip, think I'm gonna join you there. We're certainly wearing the same expression.
Are we goin' t' let those whoreson Navy dogs take Jack Sparrow's Pearl?"
The angry roar following that suggestion fed her own courage
And mine! Actually, it gave me goosebumps.
Great tongues of dragon flame licked from the sides of the Navy warship
That would be beautiful if they weren't firing on the Pearl! *resumes whimpering*
the Dauntless reached out for her with her first broadside, hammering her with her upper deck guns, pouring destructive fire into her hull, spraying her decks with shot.
This, and then the description of the cannon crew working ... gritty, dangerous, very scary. And then Powder monkeys scampered to and fro, coming after the earlier bit about their carrying the charges under their coats, sent me off to read up on powder monkeys. *gapes, horrified* History is a frightening place.
(oversized comment will continue)
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Date: 2006-05-21 08:11 am (UTC)I’m so happy to see you here, brave reader, even if I do have to add your lawsuit to the pile.
Hell hath no fury and all that.
Yes, the Black Pearl is not going to be in a good mood for quite some time. Tall ship “Chicken” is good for the adrenaline high!
As a teacher, I’m happy to hear your education is proceeding apace. I have The Sailor’s Word-Book by Admiral W. H. Smyth, 1867, open on my desk! It pays to increase your word-hoard.
Gibbs is always having enough. If he quit as often as he threatened to!
911! I've just coded!
I know CPR!
where's he hit, in the head?
Yes, Jack has a predilection for getting hit on the head. It was always happening in PotC1. His head is a blunt trauma magnet. I’m pleased that you could recognize the symptoms since I didn’t say until later.
Norrington calm and steady while his crew is bouncing with excitement is very good.
Good ol’ Commodore. He knows his business. That’s why they give him the big ships with the big guns.
my knees have gone all weak. Oh, that one hurts!
Take two aspirin and call me in the morning.
Tiny, very tiny gleam of hope.
Jack’s only hope is the weather and his ship. Fortunately the weather is very bad and his ship is very good.
*whimper* ... *hides under desk*
*hands you a blanky*
That picture of the captain reduced to that slight empty shell was a particularly horrible one that refused to leave me alone. *tries to lure you back*
Scoot over, Jip, think I'm gonna join you there. We're certainly wearing the same expression.
Jip says come on in. It’s a mite over-crowded, what with everyone else who’s hiding out here, but you’re welcome if you don’t poke out anyone else’s eye.
it gave me goosebumps.
*Snoopy Dance* Your goosebumps will have to meet
That would be beautiful if they weren't firing on the Pearl! *resumes whimpering*
Just like Norrington would be 100% admirable if he were firing on Barbossa!
History is a frightening place.
That’s for sure. Sea battles were absolute carnage. And I have obviously read too much of it. I didn’t want to do this to the Pearl, but I couldn’t weasel out of it in any way consistent with the realism of this story.
Thank you so very, very much for such a lovely long comment. *bounce* The muse is purring.
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Date: 2006-05-20 03:08 pm (UTC)Just when the Dauntless would crest a wave and be in position to fire, she would find her shot piercing the backs of other seas, rather than the hull of the Black Pearl.
he would have sworn that pirate ship was dodging his fire
*cheers on the storm clouds, and applauds the Pearl's agility and self-(and captain-)preservation*
Norrington's having a moment of pure ship-envy! Won't the Dauntless be put out by that? Did she catch it? *shoos plot bunny toward
Flickers of vermilion brightened her hull momentarily before she was wrapped in clouds of smoke.
Another beautiful image (that light you discovered!), but painful!
She would have traded her soul for dry powder, if she could have found anyone to trade it to. Every shot the Dauntless fired should be met with twice the destruction from the Pearl. The Royal Navy should pay for what it had cost her. At this moment her deepest desire was to have her cutlass buried to the hilt in the corpse of that bloody commodore.
Your Ana is magnificent in her fury!
"I'll take her from here, love."
*covers author with wet, sloppy kisses* Thank you, THANKYOU for not leaving him unconscious and tucked behind a closed door while we waited for the next chapter. For that, I may just forgive the terrible pounding you're giving the Pearl. (warning: remainder of review may be incoherent)
Captain Jack Sparrow grinned madly at her. "I'll grant you the 'bloody,' but my mother swore she was married to my father."
And thank you for that much-needed release as well.
Anamaria saw Jack's fists clench.
Wonderful detail - I love what this says about Jack (as if we didn't know already).
she would cut Norrington's throat in a church if she had the chance.
I love this line. Adore it. Ana's fabulous.
A pint-sized whirlwind flurry startled them before it resolved itself into Jip
*grins and huggles Jip* Oh, your drawing!! Beautiful and sweet and wonderful and ... *sigh* And he's even cuter than I'd thought!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 03:51 pm (UTC)*cheers on the storm clouds, and applauds the Pearl's agility and self-(and captain-)preservation*
She’s some ship! No wonder Norrington would like to have her in his fleet. *jumps up on table shrieking at sight of plot bunny* Do you know how many of those things are already living in my spare bedroom? And they’re always escaping. And they chew everything! And they leave disgusting little bunny excrement everywhere!
Another beautiful image (that light you discovered!), but painful!
Told you I’d find light for you somewhere.
Your Ana is magnificent in her fury!
She’s definitely reaching critical mass here! I love Anamaria and her fierce protectiveness of her captain and crew and ship. She’s such a fire-eater.
*covers author with wet, sloppy kisses*
Do cats give sloppy kisses? Isn’t this rather canine of you? *wipes surreptitiously at slop* Thank you, I think.
Thank you, THANKYOU for not leaving him unconscious and tucked behind a closed door while we waited for the next chapter. For that, I may just forgive the terrible pounding you're giving the Pearl.
I did consider the cliffhanger between when Jack went down and when he appears again, but I couldn’t be that mean, and it would have focused my story somewhere I didn’t want it to go. Jack h/c is not my point. I’m grateful to know this may have bought me some forgiveness. I’m going to need it.
I’m glad you enjoyed the small sprinkle of laughs as comic relief in all this tragedy.
I love what this says about Jack
Yes, I thought it was important to emphasize that just because Jack can comprehend Norrington’s motivation does not mean that he isn’t appalled by what Norrington is doing. And this is not just the wasting of resources. These are his men, his responsibility, his care.
Ana's fabulous.
She does great Shakespeare allusions. And she’s got that mother animal protecting her young thing going on with this crew and with Jack. The “Don’t you dare lay a hand on them or I will hurt you until you beg for death!” thing. I’m thrilled you like her.
*grins and huggles Jip*
You caught him!
he's even cuter than I'd thought
A cherub, as advertised. *grin*
Thank you so much for such a deliciously long set of comments. The muse has cream on its whiskers. I’m so glad you liked the story and illustration.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 11:04 pm (UTC)All right, you're off the hook, I'll just muddle along with my new pacemaker wired to my earrings. But you've got to promise to start CPR quickly when I suffer heart failure reading the next chapter or two, okay?
I have The Sailor's Word-Book by Admiral W. H. Smyth, 1867, open on my desk!
*looks up said book on amazon* You must have known what to look for when you went book shopping.
His head is a blunt trauma magnet.
Hee! (and ouch!)
I'm pleased that you could recognize the symptoms since I didn't say until later.
Well, seemed it was either a head wound or you'd killed him, and I felt pretty comfortable that if your muse insisted he had to die, you wouldn't let it be that impersonal.
History is a frightening place.
That's for sure. Sea battles were absolute carnage.
Had no clue how horrible a sea battle was before seeing Master and Commander (rather naively figured they'd concentrate on trying to sink each other) - all those flying splinters and other ship bits! Seems likely the ship shards would do more damage to crew than the enemy's sharpshooters.
Do cats give sloppy kisses?
Generally, no. Nevertheless, we are quite capable of doing so. I once knew a cat who drooled when he was especially happy (problem was, that usually happened when he was nuzzled against my head on a pillow).
no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 11:42 pm (UTC)Got the crash cart right here!
You must have known what to look for when you went book shopping
I actually found a hard copy at a tool and hardware store here in Canada that specializes in reproductions--of tools, hardware, and books, including books on the making of sailing ships. The two most famous naval dictionaries are this book (The Sailor's Word-Book) and Falconer's Marine Dictionary of 1769 (which I am also going to have to acquire). These two are the primary source of naval terms in the Oxford English Dictionary.
The Sailor's Word-Book, by Admiral W. H. Smyth, has about twice as many entries as Falconer and truly encompasses the words in use, both by the wardroom and the lower decks. It has the additional charm of including complete expressions such as "figure of the earth," "eating the wind out of a vessel", "head and gun-money", etc., terms that are not easy to find in a modern dictionary. It is considered one of the seminal references in naval history.
I've read quite a few personal accounts of sea-battles, and they were often worse than the movie! I've quite toned it down for this story just to keep it R or hard R as the next chapter proved to be.
Oh, I've met a few drooling cats. They do know just where to do it, don't they. Got to love the little egotistical monsters. Okay. Sloppy cat kisses. I can live with that.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-23 03:28 pm (UTC)Pain began to prowl around his consciousness, seeking a weak point. Jack tried to be very still. That seemed important. Perhaps it would not notice him if he did not move. :-)
And some favourite fighting descriptions: Great tongues of dragon flame... and Like an executioner, the Dauntless escorted the Black Pearl towards her death. Grim and stately, her masts spearing the sullen sky, she restrained herself to the crippled pace of the smaller ship.
...congratulating herself on keeping her voice almost even-keeled. She wanted to touch him, to add the witness of her hands to the evidence of his warm life, but she didn’t. I just like these kinds of tension-filled moments.
And there's fanart too, how very nice! It must be fun to be able to illustrate your own story :-)
no subject
Date: 2006-05-23 04:48 pm (UTC)you're certainly putting the poor Pearl through a lot
Alas, you ain't seen nothin' yet, I'm afraid. The muse is a tyrant.
Never kill the Parrot. It's the cardinal rule of fanfiction. People will put up with the deaths of any other character, but not the Parrot! I do love Parrot. Poor Jack was the victim of a plothole in a future chapter. I had to give the Navy a shot at him. Anamaria has been a fun character to explore. She's got so much strength and anger and caring. I love writing tension between her and Jack.
Thank you for letting me know in such detail what stood out for you. I'm glad the description of Jack dodging pain worked. I tend to distract myself when I happen to be in pain by deciding just exactly how I'd describe what I'm experiencing. It works wonders.
It's been a trip trying to find one thousand and one ways to describe cannon fire and a sea battle. The sense of power in the Dauntless and vulnerability in the Pearl always wrenches my heart when I picture it.
I just like these kinds of tension-filled moments
Me too! Jack and Ana are much fun to write when they aren't a "together" but have enough electricity going on to start a small Industrial Revolution.
I've always fanarted my own stories. In fact I usually had the problem that I'd stop writing and just churn out illustrations. The fact that I'm even managing to sustain a plot in the realm of fanfiction is a constant amazement to me.
Thank you so much for the lovely comments. You've made my morning a very pleasant one.
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Date: 2006-05-24 02:11 pm (UTC)...have enough electricity going on to start a small Industrial Revolution. Lol! That's a good description, and oh, yes, UST between two characters you like is great fun to both read and write :-)
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Date: 2006-05-23 11:37 pm (UTC)Now I have to wait. And that is a painful prospect.
This is (I think I’ve said this before but it bears repeating) SO COOL. Your lightning quick sketches of things like In the smoke-filled hell of the Dauntless’s gun decks, men crouched tensely, stripped to their waists, neckerchiefs wound around their heads to deaden the noise as they served their muzzle-loaders are so damned effective.
And Jack, hurt! I nearly wailed! Curiously enough, it did not feel like pain when he was struck—just intense, violent pressure and a sensation of weightless flight. Curiosity, that’s the perfect thing about that. Even at that moment, it’s his curiosity that drives him.
Fuss-budgeting: there’s a comma missing in ‘Gibbs elation’ and a hyphen missing in ‘higher pitched’.
Laughing in delight: “When a man’s got the Navy stick that far up his arse, it interferes with his thought processes somethin’ fierce. He can’t help it. He’s more of a prisoner of ol’ Georgie than ever I was.”
It’s eleven am. I started reading this at eight a.m. I haven’t had breakfast; I haven’t gotten out of bed; I haven’t done any of the work I should have done this morning. I am seriously behind schedule. Want to know how many times I've done that to read a fanfic? Well, that'd be NONE. And it was WORTH IT.
I can't wait for more! I do hope my unquellable Apostrophic Mania hasn't taken the edge off just how much I liked this. I loved it to death. Truly. Thank you so much. You're amazing.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-24 06:53 am (UTC)Don't you hate it when that happens! I have several stories I'm following with my fingernails gnawed down to the first knuckle, waiting for updates. You are guaranteed at least two more chapters before another hold-up while I finish the next one.
I'm glad you're enjoying, if that is the word, the vignettes of life belowdecks during a battle. At least those men aren't being pulverized in return the way they normally would have been in such a situation. Sea battles were absolute carnage.
And Jack, hurt! I nearly wailed!
Poor Jack was a victim of a single comment by another character two chapters in the future which necessitated my letting the Navy get a shot at him. "Insatiable curiosity" does describe Jack Sparrow. I can just hear him saying, "Now that's interesting," as he's falling.
Fixing the fuss-budgets; thank you muchly.
I'm glad Jack's pop-psychological diagnosis of Norrington's problem gave you a laugh.
You have no idea how thrilled I am that this managed to capture your attention for that long. I am terribly honoured that you made this exception to your rule for my story. And then not only to read it but to comment on every chapter! I feel well rewarded for writing it and only hope the rest of it can live up to what's been done.
unquellable Apostrophic Mania
I think I shall just say this over and over again because I like the way it sounds. Perhaps I'll have to develop one myself. "Unquellable Apostrophic Mania!" Ha! It sounds like something about which to see a physician or a psychiatrist!
*blushes and bows* Your enthusiastic encomium un-woman's me!
no subject
Date: 2006-05-24 09:13 am (UTC)I'm glad you feel well rewarded. You surely deserve it. Thank you, again.
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Date: 2006-05-24 12:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 08:51 pm (UTC)picture
Date: 2010-07-19 10:29 pm (UTC)