Drabbles and Ficlets

by Melusina

Pintel scrabbled at the rocks and rubble, trying to uncover his best mate. "Don't fret Ragetti, We'll get you out in no time."

Plaintively, Ragetti said, "Oi, Pinters, I've lost me eye!"

"I gots it in me pocket. It's a little splinter-y, but it'll do."

Ragetti's shaggy head emerged. "Ta., mate." He popped his eye in. "Where's the coin gotten off to then?"

"It used to be in that building over there, what's slid into the ocean."

Sighing, they trudged into the water and began sifting through the ruins of Port Royal, listening for the call of the coin.
 

When Albert returns with the poulterer, Scrooge chuckles and throws him, not the half-crown he'd promised, but a big gold coin with a skull on it. It's the best Christmas ever and he must be the luckiest boy in the world! A coin like that could buy sweets and penny dreadfuls for a month, no, a year. He's so engrossed in planning how to spend his windfall, he never hears the footsteps behind him in the alley. Barbossa skewers the boy and grabs the coin as it's falling through the air, then walks away, whistling "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."
 

"I believe that belongs to me."  The man smiled wolfishly and plucked the purse from Jack's hand.  His expression softened as he took in Jack's ragtag appearance, and he fished out a coin.  "Here, son, buy yourself a meal."

"Many thanks!  You're a true gentleman, sir."

"I just did you a kindness -- there's no call to insult me. I'm no gentleman; I'm a bloody pirate!"

"Me too!"

A dubious look.  "You are?  Who do you sail with?"

No need to go into that misadventure.  "I'm, uh, in the market.  As it were."

"You're a clever one, I'll give you that.  What's your name, mate?"

"Jack. . ."  A bird lit on the windowsill.  "Sparrow."

"William Turner.  Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sparrow."  He shook Jack's hand gravely.  "Might be as there's a place for you on my ship.  But Captain Roberts'll want to meet you first.  Only the very best sail on the Black Pearl."

"Look at this with the grinning skull - it gives me the willies."

"It's easily gotten rid of. Use it to pay the barkeep for Rackham's drink."

"Aye, Jack could drink a doubloon's worth. And after, be ready for naught but sleep and a sore head. Not like you, my dear.

Mary chuckled and ran her hands down Anne's body familiarly. "Aye, I'm always ready and I never flag, which is more than any man can say."

Later, they were sorry to hear that the Sailor's Rest had burned to the ground, for they had fond memories of their week there.
 

At the Inn at the End of the World, you see all kinds of odd sights.  A one-eyed refugee from the Hellmouth drinking with a notorious pirate captain is hardly enough to excite comment.

"Witches, the slayer. . ."

"Lieutenants, a blacksmith, the governor's daughter. . ."

"The slayer's mother!"

Jack chuckled sympathetically.  "And the Governor - starchy old bird in an outmoded wig."

"Oh, and a vampire.  A crazy vampire."

"My entire crew.  Including the harridan, the dwarf, and the one with no tongue.  And his parrot."

Xander choked on his ale.  "That's. . .freaky."

"You have no idea."

". . .the end." Elizabeth sighed. "I love that story!"

Will sat up and blinked sleepily. "Oh, yes, Miss Swann. . .all the pirates and. . .buried treasure? Very exciting."

"Would you like me to read it again?"

"No, no, to hear it again so soon might take the shine off it. What's that one, with the red binding?"

"Arthur and His Knights." She wrinkled her nose. "Father gave it to me for Christmas."

Anything was better than more pirates. He shrugged and she began to read.

Hours later, Elizabeth had grown bored and wandered down to the docks, and Mr. Brown had roused from his drunken stupor and stumbled to the tavern, but Will was still bent over the book, discovering a whole new world of chivalry and honor. He turned the pages reverently, Sir Lancelot's words echoing in his head. "I would die for her. . .

Nancy leaned up against her blue convertible and tossed back her titian colored hair. "Mr. Brown says that the boat is haunted by cursed pirates, looking for a lost treasure of Aztec gold."

Plump Bess squealed. "Are there really ghosts?"

George, sensible as always, answered. "Of course not. Nancy will get to the bottom of it, just like she always does."

"I hope so!" Nancy replied. "Mr. Brown says his family did have one of the gold pieces, but the pirates killed his ancestor and retrieved it almost three hundred years ago. Why would the pirates be haunting the family now?"
 

Dreams of Flight

In his dream, Jack is a sparrow indeed, with wings to flit from any cage and lift him high into the clouds.  Dream-flying is like swimming with the tide, and also like sailing, with a better vantage point than the tallest crow's nest.  Beneath him there are white capped mountains and winding rivers, and then the sea sparkling in the sun; he loops and whirls, letting the wind carry him where it will.

But when he wakes, he's still caged and dawn is coming fast.  He'll be in the air soon enough, but he takes little comfort in that fact.

Equinox

Somewhere on this, the first day of autumn, there are crisp leaves, crackling fires, and the lush, rotting smell of summer dying. Somewhere busy ants are virtuously putting aside stores for the winter. But here in the warm waters off Tortuga, the day is coming on hot and muggy, with a faint rainbow on the horizon where the last of the previous night's storm lingers. The air is redolent of salt, tar, and dead fish.

Jack, who always preferred the grasshopper to the ants, is lounging on the quarterdeck, a bottle in his hand and his bare head tipped up to the sun. The dark boards beneath his feet radiate heat, and the black sails fairly shimmer with it, like a mirage in the desert.

Jack doesn't like winter, so it only stands to reason he doesn't care for autumn either. Even spring is too mild for his temperament. What Jack likes are the long sunny days of midsummer, which are available nearly year round in the Caribbean. Gibbs says it's daft to sail a ship with black sails under the tropical sun, but Jack and the Pearl revel in the heat -- they've known quite enough of death's chill.

Faux Pas

Will stared in amazement at the blood dripping down his leg. "They've both been so cantankerous the past few days. I don't know why she got so angry. I just asked if it was that time of the month. . ."

Jack dabbed at the thin cut with his scarf. "Never ask that, lad. That's the very worst thing you can say to a woman in that condition." He wrapped a bit of cloth around Will's thigh and tied it off in a ragged knot. "Still, you were lucky it was Elizabeth y'asked and not Anamaria. She wouldn't have missed."
 

First Date

Growing up in Sunnydale prepares you for any eventuality. When the smart mouthed girl with the café au lait skin and the big ass sword told Xander she was a pirate, he didn't even blink. But given his demon magnet history, he thought he'd better get some more information before things went any further.

He laughed nervously. "Just checking. . .You're not, like, a zombie pirate are you?"

Anamaria gave him a predatory grin. "Don't be daft." Her features shifted. "I'm a vampire pirate."

Damn, he thought, as he drove the stake into her heart, it's always something. . .
 

Jubal whips the horses, eager to get his master home from his night of gambling and drinking. Around the bend, there's a black man in the road. The scars on his face suggest he's a recent arrival. He jumps onto the carriage and kicks in the door. There's a congested scream and he emerges with a bloody coin in his hand. In the moonlight, his flesh disappears, like something from the old ones' tales.

His skull contorts into a ruthless smile. "Run."

Jubal doesn't look back. He joins the maroons, and for the first time in his life, he's free.
 

Rain beat against the windows, but inside the villa firelight played across the walls and wine and friendship made the party cosy and warm.

Percy finished his story, grabbing Claire's shoulders playfully. She shrieked and clung to Byron's arm, a coy look on her face.

Byron subtly shifted away from her, shooting Percy a smoldering look. "My turn then? This is a tale of cursed corsairs and a mysterious Aztec coin. It's the true story of how my father lost his fortune. . ."

Mary shivered and snuggled closer to Percy; Polidori leaned in avidly, so as not to miss a word.
 

Jack was hardly through the window before Elizabeth was dragging him to the nursery, nattering away.  "You've been gone so long, you won't know him.  He's changed so much -- why he wasn't even walking last time you were here!"

At the door of the nursery, Jack stopped in his tracks.  "What's that ridiculous thing he's wearin'?"

"A pudding cap.  It protects his head."

Jack scrutinized the boy and declared, "He looks like a right fool in it."

At the sound of Jack's voice, John turned, and ran headlong into Jack's knees, knocking him down and thumping his head soundly on the floor.  "Unca Jack!" John cried, bouncing up and down on Jack's chest excitedly. 

Jack clutched his sore head and attempted a pained smile.

Elizabeth's lips twitched and she gravely asked, "Should I have nurse make you one as well?"
 

Edward Teach loomed over Barbossa, teeth bared and his pistol cocked. "You want it? Come and get it."

Barbossa shrugged and reached for the coin. As he stepped into the moonlight, his flesh melted into white bone. Teach's shot blasted through Barbossa, barely slowing him.

Teach stumbled back, horrorstruck. "What manner of monster are ye?"

"A monster who wants the damn coin, if ye please, Captain Teach."

Teach threw it at Barbossa's feet.

As they rowed back to the Black Pearl, Twigg asked, "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but why didn't you kill'im?"

Barbossa tossed his apple into the air. "Professional courtesy."
 

"Captain Barbossa, I know that some pirates are well-intentioned, even if they never bathe and live sad, lonely lives with their monkeys and their inept crews. But don't you know that piracy is illegal? It's against the law, which means it's also immoral. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong, and it's ethically negligent too."

Barbossa yawned theatrically. "Are ye done yet? Just give me the coin, and nobody'll get hurt."

"If I gave you this coin, I'd be encouraging unlawful acts. So I'll just make sure you can't get it."

Barbossa sighed wearily. "Ah lad, you shouldn't 'ave swallowed it."
 

Madmen and Englishmen

They should have moved, afterwards, but Johnny's thighs were shaky, and the sun beating down on his body made him boneless and lethargic. The light glittered off a patch of sand stuck to Orlando's shoulder and the weight of him on Johnny's arm was solid and satisfying. Johnny allowed himself to be lulled into a deep sleep.

The absence of red heat on his eyelids awakened him. He took one look at the sunburnt strip on Orlando's nose and laughed ruefully. Savoring the warmth that lingered in Orlando's skin, he shook him awake, saying, "Man, Gore's gonna kill you."
 

She wasn't entirely sure what compelled her to do this now, but there she was. Commodore Norrington fixed her with a faintly incredulous stare, and she lifted her chin and started again. "I wanted to thank you for. . .for releasing me from our engagement, and for your help in obtaining a pardon for Will. You have been kinder to us than we deserve."

The thin smile he gave her didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes," he said, "I have." She held his gaze steadily, and his stern visage softened. "I wish you much joy of one another, Miss Swann."

Gillette whistled softly. "It's a beautiful blade, Commodore. Where the devil did Turner learn to make a sword like that?

"Brown used to be a fine craftsman, before his wife died. People came from all over for his swords. Sad thing, his wife's death. They found her down by the docks, throttled."

"Thievery? Or. . ."

"Not a thing was missing from the body, except a strange old coin someone had given Brown for a sword. The murderer was never caught. After that Brown took to drink and let Turner take on all the work. Poor man was quite adrift without her."
 

In a flash it's over, and the pain is bearable again.  Elizabeth's touch is soothing and cool, like a dream of snow on a sultry night.  Then she meets his gaze, and there it is again: fire.
 

Jack waved his hand, indicated the pile of clothes atop the sea chest. “Look what I brought you!”

Will knew Jack well enough to know there was always a catch to a gift like this. However, the question on Will’s lips died when he caught a glimpse of the lush embroidery on the waistcoat. The shirt was snowy and pristine and the leather coat was cut in the latest fashion. No reason to look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

He lost no time in donning the finery.

Jack nodded as Will knotted his cravat. “Very nice.” He circled Will and adjusted the plumed hat. “Very nice, indeed. You’ll be all the rage at the Crown and Anchor!”

Surely Will had misheard him. “Where?”

“You know, the place where all the king’s little tin soldiers like to congregate.”

“Jack. . .”

Jack held up his hands. “Don’t be like that, love. All you have to do is play some cards, have a drink, flirt with the girls -- or let the girls flirt with you, as the case may be – nothing untoward.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I don’t understand. Where’s ‘the profit in it’?”

Jack hummed thoughtfully. “Do you know what canaries are used for?”

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“We need to. . .test the waters. See if they suspect anything, before we start the raid.”

“And what happens if they do suspect something? It’ll be my neck!”

Jack had the gall to look indignant at this. “They won’t hang you!” In response to Will’s sigh, he amended, “That is, they might try, but we’ll break you out before it comes to that.” He paused, then beamed reassuringly. “And if worst comes to worst, just think what a dashing figure you’ll make on the gallows!”

Old Scars and New

It was a stupid thing to do. Or a desperate one. And in Jack's experience, those two things nearly always coincided. Anamaria'd picked it up from him, he supposed, but he always wore a glove or a bit of cloth around his hand when he did it. She'd grasped the blade with her bare hand and, although she had thrown the marine off-guard and disarmed him, she'd cut her palm down to the bone.

They'd gotten away though. That was the important thing.

"This might hurt," Jack warned, as he threaded the needle. Will tensed with every stitch. Anamaria never flinched, just dug her nails harder into Will's hand.

When she let go, there were four crescent shaped cuts in his palm, blood welling up in each one. Will flashed a wry grin. "You gonna sew me up now, Jack?

Anamaria's eyes never left Will's as she brought his hand to her mouth and lapped away the blood. When she ran her tongue along the scar that bisected his palm, he shivered and moaned. It was a pretty sight, enough to make Jack echo that eager sound, and reach for Anamaria's arm.

She grinned and traced the scar on Jack's hand, then held up her own hand. "Matched set," she said, just before Jack put his mouth to hers.
 

Role Reversal

The alley is dark, but a trickle of light seeps through a window, glinting off gold buttons and braid. Anyone might walk by and see.

Norrington shoves Jack against the wall urgently, pinning him with his body. Jack groans and scrabbles at the stones, trying to find purchase.

Wig askew, eyes fierce, his hand buried in Jack's breeches, Norrington looks more pirate than officer or gentleman. And Jack feels more like prey than pirate -- breathless, eyes wide, knees weak. His moans take on a more desperate pitch, finally coalescing into one word, repeated again and again. "Please. . ."
 

Sartorial Matters

"Elizabeth!  You love me?  Truly?"

"Yes, but-"

"Will you marry me?"

"Of course!"

"I never thought to win you.  Are you sure you want to throw yourself away on a mere blacksmith?" 

"Yes, a million times yes!  But I-"

"The Commodore can offer you more than I ever can.  Why would you choose me over him?"

"Because I love you.  But I just-"

"What will people say?  Can you bear to have them gossiping about you like that?"

"Yes!  I love you, and nothing else matters.  But I do have one question.  Where on earth did you get that hat?"
 

Stormbound

Elizabeth could feel the storm brewing in her head. Pressure was building behind her eyes, and there was a steady ache in her face as if something were trying to pound its way out. Bright lights spangled across her vision, making it hard to read the logbook she was trying to update. Sighing, she blotted her work and then closed the book and put away her ink and quill.

In the distance, thunder boomed, and Elizabeth imagined she could feel the electricity of the storm prickling at her skin. She rubbed her eyes, but her sight stayed blurred and spotty.

The hatch opened and Will came in, looking harried. "The storm's blowing in faster than we expected. We'll be drenched by dinner time."

Elizabeth nodded distractedly. Something in her face must have shown her pain, because Will stopped and took her face in his hands.

"Again?"

She avoided his eyes. "Not too bad. It's just too much close work with the logbook -- it's hard on my eyes, especially in rough water."

"You should get some rest. You'll feel better when the storm breaks." With peremptory nudges, he urged her towards the hammock slung in the corner of the cabin.

Once she'd climbed into the swaying hammock, Will leaned over her and loosened the tie that bound her braid. He gently combed his fingers through her hair until it was unwoven from the tight queue and lay loose upon her shoulders. Deft fingers rubbed her scalp, releasing tension she hadn't even been aware of. His hands were cool and soothing, and she found herself relaxing into his touch. Pushing aside the mass of crimped hair, he whispered, "I love you," then brushed a soft kiss across her temple. Inhaling his reassuring scent, Elizabeth fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
 

Stratagems for Desperate Situations

"Thanks for providing a diversion, Jack," young William panted breathlessly. "It was awful -- they came out of nowhere. . .bearing down on me. . ."

"Glad to be of service, mate. Fine godfather I'd be, to leave you to that lot of strumpets!"

William stroked the hairs that had recently sprouted on his chin and examined the angry welt on Jack's cheek. "Are women always like that?" His befuddled expression made him look even more like his father.

Jack sighed. "Best get used to it son; it's gonna get a whole lot worse before it gets better. . ."
 

Sufficient Unto the Day

The rain pounding on the Interceptor's deck slacked off as suddenly as it had come on, and a final flash of lightning briefly illuminated the great cabin. Will paused, his damp shirt half-on and half-off, and said, "Perhaps I should go up-top and check on things."

"We battened everything down tight -- it'll be there when we're done." Jack leered at Will and pulled the shirt off himself. "First things first."

"But, Jack, what about. . ." Will pulled away and rubbed his hand across his eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this. . ."

"Second thoughts can wait 'til morning."
 

He wakes up to a strange pounding noise, and the thick taste of stale wine coating his tongue.  It takes him a moment to realize the significance of all this.  Everything is so much more intense than he remembers; it's distracting. 

Barbossa has found the coin.  More importantly, Barbossa has found the boy.

Bill would like to think Barbossa left Will alive - after all, he only needed a few drops of Turner blood.  Then he remembers exactly what sort of man Barbossa is, and hopes Will is safely dead.  Either way, Bill swears Barbossa's not long for this world.

Down, down to the depths of the earth. Ash and cinders blowing, thick smoke rising, obscuring vision. Consuming heat that will not consume. White hot lava clogging the mouth and nose but never suffocating. No death, no release, despite the fire that manages to warm even the dulled senses of the damned.

The coin, when found, is as solid as the cursed bodies of the pirates (for there is no moonlight here), the grotesque features as clear and sharp as the day it was stamped, the gold as bright and yellow, shining in the stream of red orange liquid rock.
 

The smell of the coffee brewing was heavenly. They'd been at sea for four months, chasing pirates, becalmed, and chasing pirates again, and their coffee had been gone for weeks. But the Devil's Bride had been carrying an unexpected treasure: several barrels of coffee beans. Strictly speaking, James shouldn’t have been interfering with any of the cargo before it had been inventoried for the crown, but the king would never miss the contents of the pirate captain's private larder, and James and his crew deserved some small treat for their efforts.

No, in this wealth of treasure, the king wouldn't begrudge a handful of coffee beans. In addition to the coffee, the ship had been filled to the brim with Spanish gold and silver, and a cask of sapphires the exact color of Cecilia's eyes. James couldn't even begin to calculate the worth of this prize, but surely his share would be more than sufficient to purchase the townhouse he'd had his eye on. Cecilia's father was more circumspect than Swann; he would want concrete proof that James could support Cecilia before he'd agree to the marriage. But even Strand couldn't argue with this fortune.

A week back to Port Royal, less with fair winds. Then James would make haste to ask Strand for Cecilia's hand. Perhaps Swann could even arrange for James to have one of the sapphires for a ring.

Groves came up to the quarterdeck, bearing coffee for them both, and beaming with satisfaction. He would sail the prize home and make captain at last. Treasure and joy enough for all of them, not to mention this excellent coffee. James closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to sit in his own dining room, sipping coffee across from his wife. Treasure and joy indeed!

Dying sunlight warmed Will's bare back and glinted off the rings on Jack's hand, flung loosely over Elizabeth's pale shoulder. The scent of crushed thyme filled the air, and somewhere a bee droned lazily. Will plucked a blue flower from Elizabeth's hair, then gave it up as a lost cause -- the tiny leaves and flowers were hopelessly tangled in her curls; it would take Estrella hours to get them all out, when next she dressed Elizabeth's hair.

Something tickled his memory: Estrella. . .hours. . .dressing. . .thyme. . ."Time!"

Jack raised his head, blinking slowly. "I'm afraid it's done for, mate. Makes a nice pillow though."

"No, not thyme, time. What time is it?"

Jack waved his hand languidly. "Hell if I know. Why?"

"Elizabeth's father is supposed to dine with us at seven o'clock." Will shook Elizabeth's shoulder until she sat up sleepily. "Your father. . .dinner. . .get dressed!"

Turning, Will frantically dug through the clothes heaped at the foot of the lime tree, throwing aside Jack's coat, and Elizabeth's petticoats, corset and shift, until, at last, he found a shirt. He pulled it on, determined that it was Jack's, tugged it off, and, in his haste, caught his arms in the sleeves. With a loud rip, a sleeve pulled free, and Will, overbalanced, fell on top of Jack.

Elizabeth was still sprawled on the ground, as naked as the day she was born. Through her laughter, she said, "My apologies, Will. Father's not coming tonight -- his gout is troubling him again. I'm sorry, I was so distracted, I completely forgot to tell you!"

Will shook his head in confusion. "Then we have time?"

She stretched her leg out lasciviously and ran her toe up Will's calf. "All the time in the world. . ."