07-18-2015, 11:50 AM
Jack Sparrow dug his sword in between the planks of the wooden crate, and yanked.
With a resounding riiiiiiip, the side of the box separated from the rest of it, and with another couple of jerks of his makeshift-crowbar, the pirate captain tore the box open. A couple of loose bottles of rum rolled out, smashing on the ground at his feet and covering the man’s boots in the heavenly liquid. Jack stepped back, throwing out his hands.
“What a waste,” he mused to himself, “whoever packed these is a bloody dolt.” He reached in and grabbed one of the bottles of rum packed more neatly. He popped the top off of it and pressed the bottle to his lips, finally tasting the drink he’d been craving since his good-for-nothing crew had marooned him on that tiny desert island. “Ahhhhhh, yes,” he sighed after a few hearty gulps. The liquid warmed up his throat as it spilled down into his stomach; he licked his lips as he removed the bottle from his mouth.
The pirate captain plopped down on top of a nearby crate and took another swig of the rum. Luckily, Bilgewater had a reputation for being an exporter of the heavenly elixir, and that meant Jack had known exactly where to find it—getting ready to be loaded up onto one of the very few straight-and-narrow vessels that docked in the largely pirate-centric port. He might’ve felt a little bad taking the stuff from the good people of the trade ships, but, well…
He was a pirate. And pirates stole shit. And besides, he needed rum to live.
Captain Jack Sparrow had often tried to trace his rum addiction to his source, but since he had been “born” into the Omniverse he’d had trouble remembering details of his life. Of course, some might argue that even before, his memory was… damaged, but that wasn’t true at all. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all, best goddamn pirate on the high seas.
“Uhm.”
Jack’s dreadlocks bounced as he turned his head to see none other than Fire-Breath Farley standing at the end of the dock. The former—current? Jack hadn’t decided—first mate stared at his bootstraps, not daring to look the Captain in the face.
“Farley, mate,” Jack slurred, already a little bit buzzed, “what can I do for you?”
“I—uh, I…”
“Spit it out, ol’ Fire-Breath,” Jack leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bottle again and sending another swallow of his elixir of life down into his belly. “After all, you’ve got a dentist’s appointment to catch, don’t ya, mate?”
Farley’s face flashed red, but since as he angled it so far down Jack couldn’t tell if he had been angered or embarrassed. Either way, the Captain didn’t care—nobody was going to take his ship from him again, not after the display he had made inside the Lusty Wench. Nobody in their right mind would challenge him again lest they wanted a bullet through their chest, too, just like good ol’ Brucie had right now.
“Well, it’s just, uhm,” the first mate stammered, raising his eyes to meet Jack’s, “…it’s just a few of us were wondering if maybe you’d—uh, y’see, Bruce threatened us, y’see—”
“Oh, I get it,” Sparrow nodded, “Big Bad Brucie’s dead so now you’re hoping that Good Ol’ Captain Jack Sparrow’s gonna let you back on his ship, eh? You’re bankin’ on me kindness, hm?” He stood up, taking a second to gain his balance, and then stalked toward Fire-Breath Farley, his voice low. “Now, Fire-Breath, why would I do a thing like that? Out of the kindness of me heart? Hm, hm, hm…” Jack placed a finger to his lips, turning away from Farley and pretending to consider the situation rather heavily. Of course he would let them back on the ship—he needed a crew, and after escaping from that God-forsaken desert island and murdering One-Legged Brucie, he had no worries about any of them getting the bright idea to try and mutiny again.
“I s’pose,” he hummed, “I could let ya back on.”
“Really, sir?” the first mate brightened up immediately, raising his eyes up to meet Jack’s as the pirate turned back around. “Oh, thank you, sir, you won’t regret this, sir!” Farley spun around and started to run off to share the good news with the others.
“Oh, Farley,” Jack called after him, “Just—that’s Captain, savvy?”
Farley blinked a few times. “Yes, Captain, right. Thank you, Captain!” he placed a little emphasis on the last word. Jack couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic.
He didn’t really have time to scold the boy, though, as within seconds he had disappeared into the streets of Bilgewater, off to rally Jack’s new-old crew to set sail and start plundering and pillaging. Perhaps, this time, the crew’s minds would find themselves more conducive to going on the voyages that he wanted to: finding Omni.
The quest for the mysterious god of the Omniverse had consumed Jack ever since he’d heard of the little bugger. Sure, of course, the pirate captain was only a secondary—though who the bloody hell had summoned him here he had no inkling—but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some stake in the puppet-master who ran all of these shenanigans. The red bandana-wearing pirate had some goals for his life in the Omniverse, and part of that meant subverting the inevitable death cursed upon secondaries. Primes, of course, respawned forever until Omni got tired of them, but Captain Jack Sparrow had been forced to avoid death instead of throw himself right into danger as he liked. He missed the immortality the Aztec gold had granted him in his home world—perhaps, if he could just find his way to Omni, he could manage to convince the little man to let him have a taste of it here.
Besides, he was Captain Jack Sparrow—the Omniverse needed him around forever, if he did say so himself. Who else was going to rise to fame as the scariest pirate in the Deep?
The wacky captain turned his attention back to the box of rum. His bottle was almost empty, and that just would not do. As he sauntered back over to the stack of crates, however, he heard a shuffling up on one of the trade ships nearby.
“HEY!” the voice of one of the Deep’s less piratey sailors shouted from atop the vessel, “Get away from that cargo, you mongrel!”
“Sorry!” Jack yelled. He dropped his almost-empty bottle on the ground.
It shattered, spilling the last contents on the dock. But Jack Sparrow had already grabbed two more and started sprinting off the docks and back towards the Black Pearl.
With a resounding riiiiiiip, the side of the box separated from the rest of it, and with another couple of jerks of his makeshift-crowbar, the pirate captain tore the box open. A couple of loose bottles of rum rolled out, smashing on the ground at his feet and covering the man’s boots in the heavenly liquid. Jack stepped back, throwing out his hands.
“What a waste,” he mused to himself, “whoever packed these is a bloody dolt.” He reached in and grabbed one of the bottles of rum packed more neatly. He popped the top off of it and pressed the bottle to his lips, finally tasting the drink he’d been craving since his good-for-nothing crew had marooned him on that tiny desert island. “Ahhhhhh, yes,” he sighed after a few hearty gulps. The liquid warmed up his throat as it spilled down into his stomach; he licked his lips as he removed the bottle from his mouth.
The pirate captain plopped down on top of a nearby crate and took another swig of the rum. Luckily, Bilgewater had a reputation for being an exporter of the heavenly elixir, and that meant Jack had known exactly where to find it—getting ready to be loaded up onto one of the very few straight-and-narrow vessels that docked in the largely pirate-centric port. He might’ve felt a little bad taking the stuff from the good people of the trade ships, but, well…
He was a pirate. And pirates stole shit. And besides, he needed rum to live.
Captain Jack Sparrow had often tried to trace his rum addiction to his source, but since he had been “born” into the Omniverse he’d had trouble remembering details of his life. Of course, some might argue that even before, his memory was… damaged, but that wasn’t true at all. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all, best goddamn pirate on the high seas.
“Uhm.”
Jack’s dreadlocks bounced as he turned his head to see none other than Fire-Breath Farley standing at the end of the dock. The former—current? Jack hadn’t decided—first mate stared at his bootstraps, not daring to look the Captain in the face.
“Farley, mate,” Jack slurred, already a little bit buzzed, “what can I do for you?”
“I—uh, I…”
“Spit it out, ol’ Fire-Breath,” Jack leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bottle again and sending another swallow of his elixir of life down into his belly. “After all, you’ve got a dentist’s appointment to catch, don’t ya, mate?”
Farley’s face flashed red, but since as he angled it so far down Jack couldn’t tell if he had been angered or embarrassed. Either way, the Captain didn’t care—nobody was going to take his ship from him again, not after the display he had made inside the Lusty Wench. Nobody in their right mind would challenge him again lest they wanted a bullet through their chest, too, just like good ol’ Brucie had right now.
“Well, it’s just, uhm,” the first mate stammered, raising his eyes to meet Jack’s, “…it’s just a few of us were wondering if maybe you’d—uh, y’see, Bruce threatened us, y’see—”
“Oh, I get it,” Sparrow nodded, “Big Bad Brucie’s dead so now you’re hoping that Good Ol’ Captain Jack Sparrow’s gonna let you back on his ship, eh? You’re bankin’ on me kindness, hm?” He stood up, taking a second to gain his balance, and then stalked toward Fire-Breath Farley, his voice low. “Now, Fire-Breath, why would I do a thing like that? Out of the kindness of me heart? Hm, hm, hm…” Jack placed a finger to his lips, turning away from Farley and pretending to consider the situation rather heavily. Of course he would let them back on the ship—he needed a crew, and after escaping from that God-forsaken desert island and murdering One-Legged Brucie, he had no worries about any of them getting the bright idea to try and mutiny again.
“I s’pose,” he hummed, “I could let ya back on.”
“Really, sir?” the first mate brightened up immediately, raising his eyes up to meet Jack’s as the pirate turned back around. “Oh, thank you, sir, you won’t regret this, sir!” Farley spun around and started to run off to share the good news with the others.
“Oh, Farley,” Jack called after him, “Just—that’s Captain, savvy?”
Farley blinked a few times. “Yes, Captain, right. Thank you, Captain!” he placed a little emphasis on the last word. Jack couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic.
He didn’t really have time to scold the boy, though, as within seconds he had disappeared into the streets of Bilgewater, off to rally Jack’s new-old crew to set sail and start plundering and pillaging. Perhaps, this time, the crew’s minds would find themselves more conducive to going on the voyages that he wanted to: finding Omni.
The quest for the mysterious god of the Omniverse had consumed Jack ever since he’d heard of the little bugger. Sure, of course, the pirate captain was only a secondary—though who the bloody hell had summoned him here he had no inkling—but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some stake in the puppet-master who ran all of these shenanigans. The red bandana-wearing pirate had some goals for his life in the Omniverse, and part of that meant subverting the inevitable death cursed upon secondaries. Primes, of course, respawned forever until Omni got tired of them, but Captain Jack Sparrow had been forced to avoid death instead of throw himself right into danger as he liked. He missed the immortality the Aztec gold had granted him in his home world—perhaps, if he could just find his way to Omni, he could manage to convince the little man to let him have a taste of it here.
Besides, he was Captain Jack Sparrow—the Omniverse needed him around forever, if he did say so himself. Who else was going to rise to fame as the scariest pirate in the Deep?
The wacky captain turned his attention back to the box of rum. His bottle was almost empty, and that just would not do. As he sauntered back over to the stack of crates, however, he heard a shuffling up on one of the trade ships nearby.
“HEY!” the voice of one of the Deep’s less piratey sailors shouted from atop the vessel, “Get away from that cargo, you mongrel!”
“Sorry!” Jack yelled. He dropped his almost-empty bottle on the ground.
It shattered, spilling the last contents on the dock. But Jack Sparrow had already grabbed two more and started sprinting off the docks and back towards the Black Pearl.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)