07-19-2015, 02:07 PM
“Leviathan, eh?”
Jack Sparrow surveyed the woman up and down. She didn’t look like any of the other scallywags in the port city of Blue Flame Island. Rather, she more closely resembled one of those bastards from Costa del Sol that always tried to rain on his parade. Still, she looked distinctly rougher around the edges than those stormtroopers, with their pearly white suits of armor. And to say that she came packing some large firepower would be a definite understatement. Jack didn’t know if he had ever seen a gun that large.
The captain gulped down some more rum, finishing off the final bottle he’d taken from the boxes over on the other dock. Removing the bottle from his lips, he belched a little bit. The rum-soaked breath wafted into Leviathan’s face, and she stepped back, her face wrinkling at the smell. She coughed a few times, which Jack thought was rather dramatic.
“So I’m s’posed to tell you why Jack Sparrow,” he clarified, tossing the empty rum bottle into the ocean. Leviathan’s eyes followed the trash as it splashed amongst the waters, and the pirate captain thought he might have caught a glimpse of judgment. Yeah, he littered, but of course he littered—he was a goddamn pirate, after all. “Well, the question is, lassie,” he waved a finger in the air before deflating into a shrug, “why not Jack Sparrow?”
“Because you’re filthy,” the girl spat back almost instantaneously. Jack frowned.
“Right in me heart, that one,” he pouted, putting on a pitiful expression and laying a hand on his heart. “Well, if you’re so high and mighty, perhaps you wouldn’t enjoy a trip on my ship. I certainly don’t think I’d enjoy you, savvy?”
And with that, Sparrow slunk past her, heading toward the ramp up onto the Black Pearl. Behind him, Leviathan steamed, upset at having been tossed aside so quickly. After a few large, clumsy steps, the pirate turned around to add one last dig. “Oh, and missus,” he called. Leviathan glanced just barely over her shoulder. “Next time, if you’re not planning on being polite, kindly keep your nasty fingers off my ship.”
That was the last straw for the armored woman. She spun around, slinging her big huge gun up and letting off a round of scary red energy blasts in Jack’s direction. The captain threw himself against his ship, the blasts speeding just barely in front of his nose. For a second, his eyes remained petrified in their new, widened expression.
“I should’ve expected that,” he nodded, detaching himself from the Pearl’s exterior.
“You’re fucking right, you should have expected that,” Leviathan growled, still holding up her rather oversized weapon. “Negotiator doesn’t do well with rude people.”
“Negotiator?” Jack quirked an unkempt eyebrow, “That’s the name of—rather ironic, don’t you think?” He leaned forward, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood to discuss semantics. He waved it off. “Listen, dear,” he said, stepping back toward Leviathan and placing a few of his grimy fingers on the tip of her huge weapon. Slowly, he pushed the tip of it down so that it wasn’t aiming at him anymore. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot?”
Leviathan scowled. “Perhaps.”
“Well, allow me to make amends,” the captain smiled a toothy smile, showcasing his gross teeth to the lady, “If the lady with the big gun wants to join my crew, I see no reason why she shouldn’t be welcomed with open arms, eh?”
The woman’s grip on Negotiator loosened ever so slightly. She cracked her neck menacingly. “That’s much better.” Jack nodded.
“Well then, it’s settled!” he clapped once, trying his best to put on an air of excitement, “Why doesn’t the lady go grab her things and I’ll have my foul-breathed first mate set you up a nice little cabin on the ship’s starboard side?” Leviathan seemed to be pleased by this. Her scowl slid into a small, if still slightly dissatisfied, smile, and she lifted Negotiator up, leaning it on her shoulder. With a curt nod, she turned to head back into town and pick up any last minute supplies she might need.
Happy to be free of that situation, Jack watched her walk away. As she reached the end of the dock, she turned to peruse the Pearl once again and reached out to touch the side.
“Okay, um,” Jack called out, “actually please don’t touch the ship, savvy?”
Jack rushed into the captain’s office at a break neck speed. “Captain?” First Mate Farley inquired, looking up from the maps.
“We’re leaving,” the pirate captain ushered the first mate up from his desk, “Now.”
“Now?” Farley said, flabbergasted.
“Yes, now, did I stutter, mate?” Jack placed his hands on Farley’s shoulders and spun him around, shoving him towards the door of the captain’s office. “Get the crew ready and ship out, before she gets back, savvy?”
“She?”
“It doesn’t bloody matter, just go!”
Jack pushed the little man out of the office and slammed the door behind him. He straightened his leathery coat. Surely Farley could get them out of port before the bitch got back—then he would’ve dodged that bullet, surely. He turned, walking over to the desk that had belonged to him once before; unfortunately, as it were, it had most recently belonged to One-Legged Brucie, and the mess on it made it all to evident. Not really one to especially plan out his routes, Jack made quick work of the maps strewn across the desk, rolling them up and sticking them in whatever random holes he could find.
Once they’d all been put away, the pirate turned his attention to the captain’s hat sitting idly on the desk. He let out a sigh of relief. “Ah,” he exhaled, “I’ve missed you.”
Slowly—almost ritualistically—Jack lifted the three-pointed hat up off the table and slid it onto his own noggin. Captain Jack Sparrow’s stylish ensemble was finally complete once more. “Ah, yes,” he nodded, “Much bett—”
“CAPTAIN!”
Jack burst through the door, looking out onto the bridge of his ship to see First Mate Farley being held up by his collar. At the end of the arm holding him captive was, of course, the bane of his bloody existence, Leviathan. Her head looked over at the captain, and within seconds, ol’ Fire-Breath had been dropped to the wooden floor of the ship’s top level.
“Ah, Jack Sparrow,” she started, “your first mate here just tried to tell me I wasn’t welcome aboard. I assured him that wasn’t the case. Oh, sorry, I meant Captain Jack Sparrow.”
Jack’s expression melted. “Bloody hell.”
Jack Sparrow surveyed the woman up and down. She didn’t look like any of the other scallywags in the port city of Blue Flame Island. Rather, she more closely resembled one of those bastards from Costa del Sol that always tried to rain on his parade. Still, she looked distinctly rougher around the edges than those stormtroopers, with their pearly white suits of armor. And to say that she came packing some large firepower would be a definite understatement. Jack didn’t know if he had ever seen a gun that large.
The captain gulped down some more rum, finishing off the final bottle he’d taken from the boxes over on the other dock. Removing the bottle from his lips, he belched a little bit. The rum-soaked breath wafted into Leviathan’s face, and she stepped back, her face wrinkling at the smell. She coughed a few times, which Jack thought was rather dramatic.
“So I’m s’posed to tell you why Jack Sparrow,” he clarified, tossing the empty rum bottle into the ocean. Leviathan’s eyes followed the trash as it splashed amongst the waters, and the pirate captain thought he might have caught a glimpse of judgment. Yeah, he littered, but of course he littered—he was a goddamn pirate, after all. “Well, the question is, lassie,” he waved a finger in the air before deflating into a shrug, “why not Jack Sparrow?”
“Because you’re filthy,” the girl spat back almost instantaneously. Jack frowned.
“Right in me heart, that one,” he pouted, putting on a pitiful expression and laying a hand on his heart. “Well, if you’re so high and mighty, perhaps you wouldn’t enjoy a trip on my ship. I certainly don’t think I’d enjoy you, savvy?”
And with that, Sparrow slunk past her, heading toward the ramp up onto the Black Pearl. Behind him, Leviathan steamed, upset at having been tossed aside so quickly. After a few large, clumsy steps, the pirate turned around to add one last dig. “Oh, and missus,” he called. Leviathan glanced just barely over her shoulder. “Next time, if you’re not planning on being polite, kindly keep your nasty fingers off my ship.”
That was the last straw for the armored woman. She spun around, slinging her big huge gun up and letting off a round of scary red energy blasts in Jack’s direction. The captain threw himself against his ship, the blasts speeding just barely in front of his nose. For a second, his eyes remained petrified in their new, widened expression.
“I should’ve expected that,” he nodded, detaching himself from the Pearl’s exterior.
“You’re fucking right, you should have expected that,” Leviathan growled, still holding up her rather oversized weapon. “Negotiator doesn’t do well with rude people.”
“Negotiator?” Jack quirked an unkempt eyebrow, “That’s the name of—rather ironic, don’t you think?” He leaned forward, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood to discuss semantics. He waved it off. “Listen, dear,” he said, stepping back toward Leviathan and placing a few of his grimy fingers on the tip of her huge weapon. Slowly, he pushed the tip of it down so that it wasn’t aiming at him anymore. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot?”
Leviathan scowled. “Perhaps.”
“Well, allow me to make amends,” the captain smiled a toothy smile, showcasing his gross teeth to the lady, “If the lady with the big gun wants to join my crew, I see no reason why she shouldn’t be welcomed with open arms, eh?”
The woman’s grip on Negotiator loosened ever so slightly. She cracked her neck menacingly. “That’s much better.” Jack nodded.
“Well then, it’s settled!” he clapped once, trying his best to put on an air of excitement, “Why doesn’t the lady go grab her things and I’ll have my foul-breathed first mate set you up a nice little cabin on the ship’s starboard side?” Leviathan seemed to be pleased by this. Her scowl slid into a small, if still slightly dissatisfied, smile, and she lifted Negotiator up, leaning it on her shoulder. With a curt nod, she turned to head back into town and pick up any last minute supplies she might need.
Happy to be free of that situation, Jack watched her walk away. As she reached the end of the dock, she turned to peruse the Pearl once again and reached out to touch the side.
“Okay, um,” Jack called out, “actually please don’t touch the ship, savvy?”
* * *
Jack rushed into the captain’s office at a break neck speed. “Captain?” First Mate Farley inquired, looking up from the maps.
“We’re leaving,” the pirate captain ushered the first mate up from his desk, “Now.”
“Now?” Farley said, flabbergasted.
“Yes, now, did I stutter, mate?” Jack placed his hands on Farley’s shoulders and spun him around, shoving him towards the door of the captain’s office. “Get the crew ready and ship out, before she gets back, savvy?”
“She?”
“It doesn’t bloody matter, just go!”
Jack pushed the little man out of the office and slammed the door behind him. He straightened his leathery coat. Surely Farley could get them out of port before the bitch got back—then he would’ve dodged that bullet, surely. He turned, walking over to the desk that had belonged to him once before; unfortunately, as it were, it had most recently belonged to One-Legged Brucie, and the mess on it made it all to evident. Not really one to especially plan out his routes, Jack made quick work of the maps strewn across the desk, rolling them up and sticking them in whatever random holes he could find.
Once they’d all been put away, the pirate turned his attention to the captain’s hat sitting idly on the desk. He let out a sigh of relief. “Ah,” he exhaled, “I’ve missed you.”
Slowly—almost ritualistically—Jack lifted the three-pointed hat up off the table and slid it onto his own noggin. Captain Jack Sparrow’s stylish ensemble was finally complete once more. “Ah, yes,” he nodded, “Much bett—”
“CAPTAIN!”
Jack burst through the door, looking out onto the bridge of his ship to see First Mate Farley being held up by his collar. At the end of the arm holding him captive was, of course, the bane of his bloody existence, Leviathan. Her head looked over at the captain, and within seconds, ol’ Fire-Breath had been dropped to the wooden floor of the ship’s top level.
“Ah, Jack Sparrow,” she started, “your first mate here just tried to tell me I wasn’t welcome aboard. I assured him that wasn’t the case. Oh, sorry, I meant Captain Jack Sparrow.”
Jack’s expression melted. “Bloody hell.”
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