[PotC] 'If You Can't Fight, Wear a Big Hat' (Jack+Barbossa gen)
I wrote this ages ago, but am only posting it now. Go figure. PROBABLY NOT AS RELEVANT AS IT WAS IN, SAY, JULY.
Three times Jack and Barbossa met, and it didn't go well (despite all appearances to the contrary).
If You Can't Fight, Wear a Big Hat
(but Real Pirates wear a big hat anyways...)
Cephied Variable
won.
No one was particularly surprised that the infamous Teague Sparrow had reproduced; rumour had it that old Teague had a babe in every port, as it were, and full grown boys back in England. Or wherever it be that he hail from. The aspect of the situation which was causing such general shock and awe (and in some cases, terror) was that Captain Sparrow appeared to be taking an active interest in the boy's development.
Barbossa doubted that the rumours were overblown and thus couldn't help but wonder what made this boy so special.
Sitting cross-legged atop the brethren meeting table with the code cradled in his lap and a bottle of gin in one hand, the boy looked rather ridiculous, as any child with hardly a decade under their belt would be surrounded by things that only served to underline their age. "Nice hat." he commented and Barbossa stopped to study him.
Clean face. White teeth. Hair eerily well kempt.
"That's the trick to it, innit it?" the boy continued casually, swirling the rum around in it's bottle, "Wear a hat so big, that way you'll look more impressive than you actually are?"
Barbossa frowned, "Don't ye be a little young ta be drinkin' grog, lad?"
The boy pursed his lower lip and examined the bottle. After a moment he replied, simply: "No."
"That boy o'yours is a curious one." Barbossa said to Teague later, "That sort'll grow into one ya' need to watch."
"Nah," Teague waved a bejeweled hand dismissively, "He hates pirates."
twoe.
Seven years later, Barbossa wouldn't have recognized him but for his walk. It was an uneven swagger so much like his father that he had to do a double take because what would Teague Sparrow- terror of the Caribbean isles- be doing all the way out in the depths of the Ottoman Empire, slumming about the alley-markets of Port Baku?
He almost let him pass without a word. As lost as he looked, Barbossa was firmly of the opinion that misdirection was a matter firmly between a man and his own feet. The curiosity, however, was a long festering thing turned at some point maddening by three or four vague comments Teague had muttered nearly a decade earlier. So when the Sparrow boy halted with his hands in the air, a very un-Teague-like frown on his face, Barbossa cleared his throat and said in an overloud voice:
"The port be in the direction of the water."
The Sparrow boy flinched and whirled around like a dancer. He studied Barbossa for a moment, twisting his lip and squinting like someone trying to decipher an optical illusion.
"I knew that." he replied finally, augmenting the statement with a determined hand flourish, "I knew that." he repeats firmly, though it was hardly the thing that beared repeating.
"Naturally." Barbossa gave him his best toothy, condescending grin, "Tho' if you don't mind me asking, what business do the prodigal son of Captain Sparrow be having in a port so far from home?"
"A pirate!" Jack proclaimed overloud, "Has no home, except the sea!"
Barbossa didn't question it, just sighed in exaggerated exasperation and offered the boy a place in his crew.
* * *
That, as it happened, turned out to be an accident. Three days later, Jack walked the plank.
thrye
Barbossa had learned years earlier that bad things always happen to good pirates in threes.
One, ship scuttled by a monster storm off the shore of a tropical paradise.
Two, entire scurvy-ridden crew deserts. Except! Except for those worthless Navy rejects, Pintell and Ragetti. Naturally. Of all the luck.
Three, Jack Sparrow inexplicably spots you in the back of a dark, Tortugan bar and saunters towards with a look on his face that'd be best served shot clean off.
"My, my Hector. What are we doing in the Caribbean?"
Barbossa growled and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes.
"If you're looking for the port," Jack said seriously, swooping into the chair beside Barbossa, "I belive that it may lie somewhere in the general direction of the water," a smirk flickered across his lips, but only for a moment, "Just a thought."
"Arr," Barbossa growled, edging away from the younger man (a bit petulantly, he might admit), "What'ye want, Jack?"
"Want?" and Jack chuckled a bit, leaning back in his chair with an inelegant sway, "I don't want anything, mate. I've got everything I want."
- and Barbossa rolled his eyes because he recognized that tone. Oh, I'm hiding something. Oh, ask me more., "And jus' what-" he bit on every word as it left his mouth, "D'ye be meaning by that?"
Of course, there it was: the mischievous twinkle in Jack's eyes. He fairly jumped in his seat and leaned forwards conspiratorially, "What if I told you-" he began in a low voice, "That I have a certain map."
Barbossa sighed and tipped his hat up, "Get on wit' it."
"A map leading to one of the most secret and treasure-laden isle's y'ever heard of. Magic and pearls and cursed Aztec Gold- the whole ship and kaboodle." he tapped the table twice with a dark, bejeweled finger.
"I'll be sayin' the same thing I always be sayin' about you, Jack:" Barbossa grumbled, "That yer filled wit' nothing but lies an' bilge water.", however Jack continued unfettered:
"And what if I told you that I have a ship docked outside, fully provisioned for such a journey?"
Barbossa had reached once again for his half-downed mug of ale, only to spit it back out, "What!?" he sputtered, turning his full attention to the younger man, "D-die ye just say... that y'have a-"
"A ship." Jack finished triumphantly, "The most beautiful ship that ever sailed Calypso's sea. All it needs is a crew."
A terse silence stretch between them and Barbossa slowly set his ale down, "So this is what it's come to?" he wonders, "Are ye' tryin' ta' recruit me?"
Jack's smile just got wide and dangerous. He sank forwards, resting his elbow on Barbossa's shoulder in a facsimile of a brotherly embrace, "I'll tell you what, mate." he said breezily, "How about I let you be... my first mate?"
Barbossa was glad that for all his unchecked brilliance, Jack was still an idiot.
Word Count: 1023
Three times Jack and Barbossa met, and it didn't go well (despite all appearances to the contrary).
If You Can't Fight, Wear a Big Hat
(but Real Pirates wear a big hat anyways...)
Cephied Variable
won.
No one was particularly surprised that the infamous Teague Sparrow had reproduced; rumour had it that old Teague had a babe in every port, as it were, and full grown boys back in England. Or wherever it be that he hail from. The aspect of the situation which was causing such general shock and awe (and in some cases, terror) was that Captain Sparrow appeared to be taking an active interest in the boy's development.
Barbossa doubted that the rumours were overblown and thus couldn't help but wonder what made this boy so special.
Sitting cross-legged atop the brethren meeting table with the code cradled in his lap and a bottle of gin in one hand, the boy looked rather ridiculous, as any child with hardly a decade under their belt would be surrounded by things that only served to underline their age. "Nice hat." he commented and Barbossa stopped to study him.
Clean face. White teeth. Hair eerily well kempt.
"That's the trick to it, innit it?" the boy continued casually, swirling the rum around in it's bottle, "Wear a hat so big, that way you'll look more impressive than you actually are?"
Barbossa frowned, "Don't ye be a little young ta be drinkin' grog, lad?"
The boy pursed his lower lip and examined the bottle. After a moment he replied, simply: "No."
"That boy o'yours is a curious one." Barbossa said to Teague later, "That sort'll grow into one ya' need to watch."
"Nah," Teague waved a bejeweled hand dismissively, "He hates pirates."
twoe.
Seven years later, Barbossa wouldn't have recognized him but for his walk. It was an uneven swagger so much like his father that he had to do a double take because what would Teague Sparrow- terror of the Caribbean isles- be doing all the way out in the depths of the Ottoman Empire, slumming about the alley-markets of Port Baku?
He almost let him pass without a word. As lost as he looked, Barbossa was firmly of the opinion that misdirection was a matter firmly between a man and his own feet. The curiosity, however, was a long festering thing turned at some point maddening by three or four vague comments Teague had muttered nearly a decade earlier. So when the Sparrow boy halted with his hands in the air, a very un-Teague-like frown on his face, Barbossa cleared his throat and said in an overloud voice:
"The port be in the direction of the water."
The Sparrow boy flinched and whirled around like a dancer. He studied Barbossa for a moment, twisting his lip and squinting like someone trying to decipher an optical illusion.
"I knew that." he replied finally, augmenting the statement with a determined hand flourish, "I knew that." he repeats firmly, though it was hardly the thing that beared repeating.
"Naturally." Barbossa gave him his best toothy, condescending grin, "Tho' if you don't mind me asking, what business do the prodigal son of Captain Sparrow be having in a port so far from home?"
"A pirate!" Jack proclaimed overloud, "Has no home, except the sea!"
Barbossa didn't question it, just sighed in exaggerated exasperation and offered the boy a place in his crew.
* * *
That, as it happened, turned out to be an accident. Three days later, Jack walked the plank.
thrye
Barbossa had learned years earlier that bad things always happen to good pirates in threes.
One, ship scuttled by a monster storm off the shore of a tropical paradise.
Two, entire scurvy-ridden crew deserts. Except! Except for those worthless Navy rejects, Pintell and Ragetti. Naturally. Of all the luck.
Three, Jack Sparrow inexplicably spots you in the back of a dark, Tortugan bar and saunters towards with a look on his face that'd be best served shot clean off.
"My, my Hector. What are we doing in the Caribbean?"
Barbossa growled and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes.
"If you're looking for the port," Jack said seriously, swooping into the chair beside Barbossa, "I belive that it may lie somewhere in the general direction of the water," a smirk flickered across his lips, but only for a moment, "Just a thought."
"Arr," Barbossa growled, edging away from the younger man (a bit petulantly, he might admit), "What'ye want, Jack?"
"Want?" and Jack chuckled a bit, leaning back in his chair with an inelegant sway, "I don't want anything, mate. I've got everything I want."
- and Barbossa rolled his eyes because he recognized that tone. Oh, I'm hiding something. Oh, ask me more., "And jus' what-" he bit on every word as it left his mouth, "D'ye be meaning by that?"
Of course, there it was: the mischievous twinkle in Jack's eyes. He fairly jumped in his seat and leaned forwards conspiratorially, "What if I told you-" he began in a low voice, "That I have a certain map."
Barbossa sighed and tipped his hat up, "Get on wit' it."
"A map leading to one of the most secret and treasure-laden isle's y'ever heard of. Magic and pearls and cursed Aztec Gold- the whole ship and kaboodle." he tapped the table twice with a dark, bejeweled finger.
"I'll be sayin' the same thing I always be sayin' about you, Jack:" Barbossa grumbled, "That yer filled wit' nothing but lies an' bilge water.", however Jack continued unfettered:
"And what if I told you that I have a ship docked outside, fully provisioned for such a journey?"
Barbossa had reached once again for his half-downed mug of ale, only to spit it back out, "What!?" he sputtered, turning his full attention to the younger man, "D-die ye just say... that y'have a-"
"A ship." Jack finished triumphantly, "The most beautiful ship that ever sailed Calypso's sea. All it needs is a crew."
A terse silence stretch between them and Barbossa slowly set his ale down, "So this is what it's come to?" he wonders, "Are ye' tryin' ta' recruit me?"
Jack's smile just got wide and dangerous. He sank forwards, resting his elbow on Barbossa's shoulder in a facsimile of a brotherly embrace, "I'll tell you what, mate." he said breezily, "How about I let you be... my first mate?"
Barbossa was glad that for all his unchecked brilliance, Jack was still an idiot.
Word Count: 1023