Another 'First Day' Ficlet
This is another prequel to A Word In Private, occuring just previous to that one on the timeline. Many thanks to hereswith for editing. Actually, now that I think about it, this one could be another reply to the Black Pearl Sails drabble challenge for this week ('First Day').
~ A Fine Day ~
Jack and His Pearl.
The Pearl and Her Rightful Captain.
Captain Jack Sparrow and His Ship, the Black Pearl.
These, and similar phrases, weave a constant harmony through his thoughts, like a hymn (or p’rhaps the humming of a lunatic), though outwardly he’s possessed of a sangfroid that can only be considered remarkable in one who’d stood upon the scaffold mere hours before.
Staring down Death, with laughter on his lips (of which the crowd had been appreciative, even if the hangman had not).
Praying that his last moments would do little to sully The Legend.
Those last moments, as they’d ultimately played out, run over and over in his mind (between the humming) and, though he takes himself to task for dwelling on such useless and, indeed, damaging thoughts, he has to acknowledge that the particular nature of the Opportune Moment provided by Providence that morning was sufficient to give any mortal a lasting turn. He’s not just any mortal, of course; still, mortal he is, with a mortal’s natural reluctance to shuffling off the proverbial coil, so it’s perhaps understandable that the events of those moments - The Sudden Realization That Something Was Happening, rapidly succeeded by The Trap Springing, The Sickening Fall, The Noose Tightening, The Painful Inability to Breathe, and The Desperate Scrabbling For Purchase - had quite electrified him with terror at the time.
Actually, he’s thankful he hadn’t pissed himself.
He had not, however, and his subsequent Escape (in which William had once again proven himself the progeny of Bootstrap: Good Man, Good Pirate, Bloody Pig-headed), including his daring leap into the arms of the sea (yes, he’d meant to do that, in spite of appearances), had been fabulous enough to provide fodder for many a popular ballad and song in years to come.
Entirely in keeping with The Legend.
The euphoria’s been his constant companion for hours, lending him an energy and a clarity of thought beyond the ken of ordinary men (and women: Anamaria’s been eyeing him askance for some time now). His hands on the wheel of his ship - his ship! - provide the last link in the chain, the means by which she communicates her joy to him, and makes him whole, and he does not want to give that up, wants it to last and last and last: his ship, Jack and His Ship, sailing into the setting sun, and on and ever on as night closes over the two of them; on and further on, under the wheeling stars.
Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl.
However, he has to admit that, though the spirit is willing as it’s ever been since he first drew breath in that thatched cottage back in Kent, the flesh has a somewhat different opinion of the matter.
When was the last time he’d slept? Not the night before, certainly. He’d set it aside as a waste of precious time, and instead had centered himself in watching the Sea: Norrington had given him that, at least, as well as that promise he’d end there, rather than Deadman’s Cay.
He smiles at the manner in which that promise is now fulfilled, and grips the spokes of the Pearl’s wheel tighter, absorbing her strength and beauty, fending off weariness and the need to eat and sleep (perchance to dream).
Besides - and he barely allows his mind to light on the subject - there’s the matter of his cabin. Ten years of Barbossa’s left an impression, and he’ll lay it’ll take some time before that’s remedied.
His smile fades, and he pushes that thought away, too.
His Pearl.
So when Ana tries again, an hour into the dog watch, mouth and eyes narrowed, he flashes as lucid a smile as he can muster and tells her, “No! No. Just a bit longer, eh? It’s been a long time for us, the Pearl an’ me. Just a bit longer, there’s a love. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”
~.~
~ A Fine Day ~
Jack and His Pearl.
The Pearl and Her Rightful Captain.
Captain Jack Sparrow and His Ship, the Black Pearl.
These, and similar phrases, weave a constant harmony through his thoughts, like a hymn (or p’rhaps the humming of a lunatic), though outwardly he’s possessed of a sangfroid that can only be considered remarkable in one who’d stood upon the scaffold mere hours before.
Staring down Death, with laughter on his lips (of which the crowd had been appreciative, even if the hangman had not).
Praying that his last moments would do little to sully The Legend.
Those last moments, as they’d ultimately played out, run over and over in his mind (between the humming) and, though he takes himself to task for dwelling on such useless and, indeed, damaging thoughts, he has to acknowledge that the particular nature of the Opportune Moment provided by Providence that morning was sufficient to give any mortal a lasting turn. He’s not just any mortal, of course; still, mortal he is, with a mortal’s natural reluctance to shuffling off the proverbial coil, so it’s perhaps understandable that the events of those moments - The Sudden Realization That Something Was Happening, rapidly succeeded by The Trap Springing, The Sickening Fall, The Noose Tightening, The Painful Inability to Breathe, and The Desperate Scrabbling For Purchase - had quite electrified him with terror at the time.
Actually, he’s thankful he hadn’t pissed himself.
He had not, however, and his subsequent Escape (in which William had once again proven himself the progeny of Bootstrap: Good Man, Good Pirate, Bloody Pig-headed), including his daring leap into the arms of the sea (yes, he’d meant to do that, in spite of appearances), had been fabulous enough to provide fodder for many a popular ballad and song in years to come.
Entirely in keeping with The Legend.
The euphoria’s been his constant companion for hours, lending him an energy and a clarity of thought beyond the ken of ordinary men (and women: Anamaria’s been eyeing him askance for some time now). His hands on the wheel of his ship - his ship! - provide the last link in the chain, the means by which she communicates her joy to him, and makes him whole, and he does not want to give that up, wants it to last and last and last: his ship, Jack and His Ship, sailing into the setting sun, and on and ever on as night closes over the two of them; on and further on, under the wheeling stars.
Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl.
However, he has to admit that, though the spirit is willing as it’s ever been since he first drew breath in that thatched cottage back in Kent, the flesh has a somewhat different opinion of the matter.
When was the last time he’d slept? Not the night before, certainly. He’d set it aside as a waste of precious time, and instead had centered himself in watching the Sea: Norrington had given him that, at least, as well as that promise he’d end there, rather than Deadman’s Cay.
He smiles at the manner in which that promise is now fulfilled, and grips the spokes of the Pearl’s wheel tighter, absorbing her strength and beauty, fending off weariness and the need to eat and sleep (perchance to dream).
Besides - and he barely allows his mind to light on the subject - there’s the matter of his cabin. Ten years of Barbossa’s left an impression, and he’ll lay it’ll take some time before that’s remedied.
His smile fades, and he pushes that thought away, too.
His Pearl.
So when Ana tries again, an hour into the dog watch, mouth and eyes narrowed, he flashes as lucid a smile as he can muster and tells her, “No! No. Just a bit longer, eh? It’s been a long time for us, the Pearl an’ me. Just a bit longer, there’s a love. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”
~.~