First
Let it never be said that Andrew Gillette was one to shrink away from his duty. He had followed orders like a proper lieutenant should, down to the very letter. Even those that he disagreed with. Even sailing straight into the eye of that hurricane on the insistence of Commodore Norrington as they set out to chase after Jack Sparrow (he refused to call the man ‘Captain’). Ironically, it was in that hurricane that he lost his life, as well as several others in the crew as their ship was torn to shreds. Perhaps it was for the best, however, as he never saw James Norrington, who he so respected, reduced to little better than a pirate himself and Gillette’s beloved Port Royal and Fort Charles taken over by the East India Trading Company, and forced to obey the unjust laws that Beckett set down. This outcome would have destroyed the poor man, and would have probably caused him to lash out, out of temper, and wind up with himself hanging from the noose anyway like a common pirate.
But that, in the end, was the problem, wasn’t it? Those damn pirates. Gillette had always loathed them; unwilling to change themselves for the better. Lazy, irresponsible layabouts that did nothing but attack innocent cities and people, stealing from them to further their own causes, thinking nothing of the absolute carnage they left in their wake. They ignored every single law and attempted to escape justice for their crimes. It had always been Gillette’s duty as an officer of His Majesty’s Navy to persue and capture said outlaws, and he had died in the line of duty, doing just that. It was an honorable death, and one that Gillette would have to admit he was not ashamed of.
The only truely frightening part of it had really been Davy Jones. The man--er--well, notsomuch a man, was truely terrifying in all his glory, with tentacles hanging off of him every which way and a large crab-claw for one hand--it was a frightening sight. Especially when he leaned down right in Gillette's face and asked if he feared death. The only thing Gillette could think for that moment in time was: 'Well, now I do.' But then the monster's next words, laced with a mocking tone got through to him and grated on his temper. Was the thing implying that Gillette was afraid to die? Afraid of death? Afraid of it to the extent that he would willingly join the crew of an undead pirate ship? No! He was a man of the Royal British Navy--he had never thought to turn pirate before, and he wouldn't. Even now, in death. So with a glare, he pulled back slightly and spit on the monster's boots. Well, boot. He only had one. He thought he heard the thing say something amusing to the rest of the ship that made the others laugh, but he was too busy letting his temper get the better of him. Of course, that temper will quickly desipate when your throat is slit. Gillette didn't even know it was coming before the knife was at his throat, and there was blood and he was tossed into the ocean.
His conscienceness drifted for a long while--he felt as though he were floating just beneath the surface of the water. Though floating what toward or where, he hadn't a thought or a clue. Finally, though, he made up his mind to surface just as the sky he could see through the water turned from stary black to a bright sunny blue, and he kicked his feet, head breaking the surface, feet hitting sandy bottom. He coughed once, reflexively, before he realized he didn't have to--he was about waist deep in saltwater on the shore of a beach. He lifted a hand to make sure his wig and hat were both still there--they were, though they were as sopping wet as the rest of him.
Gillette slogged through the water towards the shore, pulling off his wig and hat and beginning to wring them out, before taking off his heavy Naval coat and doing the same, laying them all out on the sand to dry as he toed off his shoes and dumped the water out of them. It was only then that a shiny metal...something caught his eye, and he glanced over with a frown, setting his shoes down before moving towards it...
One red word flashed in the upper righthand corner:'Recording'?
[voicepost]
*sounds of someone moving through water, before shuffling ashore and taking off garments and wringing them out, before a walking sound*
"Recording"? What on Earth does that mean? Well, I suppose I'm not on Earth any more so it doesn't matter...I do think I'm rather dead. No heartbeat or anything...I wonder if there are others here, or I am here alone?
*louder, calling out*
Hello? Hello?! Is anyone here?!
[/voice post]