bringmethatnpc | AWE: On the Beach of Davy Jones' Locker

AWE: On the Beach of Davy Jones' Locker

It's a long, unpleasant fall from the edge of the world into Davy Jones' Locker, there's no question at all of that.

And it's a truly ragtag group that eventually finds its way one by one up onto the beach. Still, despite the fact that they're all half-drowned and bedraggled, they're doing better by far than their ship.

That unfortunate vessel's washing up on the beach as well-- in pieces.

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Gibbs surveys the endless beach. Feels the dry air searing his throat and the hot sun searing his skin. "This truly is a God-forsaken place."

They made it.

Men are still staggering out of the water, but Elizabeth is already on the beach, searching for the man she'd come here to rescue.

"I don't see Jack," she says, worried. "I don't see anyone."

He walks up the beach, until he's close to the gathering crew. His eyes are narrowed against the merciless sun of the Locker.

"He's here." His voice is filled with the mild annoyment of someone getting fed up with having to explain every little thing "Davy Jones never once gave up what he took."

But this time he will. Oh, yes, he will.

Will does like his leather waistcoat, but he's beginning to suspect its not the wisest choice of clothes for a lifestyle that involves a lot of falling into water.

The water soaking his trousers evaporates quickly in the heat, leaving them sodden with salt as he staggers up in time to here Barbossa's snide confidence.

"but does it matter?" He demands, still angry at the sudden tumble. "We're trapped here by your doing, no different than Jack."

Past one more curve of the coastline.

One more stretch of beach.

Usually no different than the countless others he has passed. So it can be forgivable if it takes Wellard a moment to notice the pieces of wreckage that have been washed up by the waves, and to look up further to see the...
("You're dead. You cannot be here.")
People.

One of the chinese pirates shouts and points, but the figure walking towards the group is certainly not Jack Sparrow. And by the look in Wellard's eyes, he would be far from surprised if they all simply just vanished.

("That is where you have been, Mr Wellard?")

"... Gibbs? Miss Swann?"

The shout gets Elizabeth's attention and, a retort dying on her lips, she whirls away from the others to squint in the direction the pirate is pointing. Not Jack, but...

Surely not.

Marching toward him as quickly as she is able while burdened with dripping clothes, Elizabeth pushes wet hair off her forehead and exclaims, "Mr. Wellard!"

Her voice is thick with shock. Mouth open, she reaches out to grab his arm and ascertain that he's real.

"What is this? How did YOU come to be here?"

If there was a quicker way -- one that didn't involve delay after delay and tumbling over the edge of the world -- Elizabeth is going to be quite irked.

Gibbs stares for a moment. Wellard was the last thing he expected to see. Which, he realizes fast was a complete miscalculation of the situation.

"He was on the ship, Miss Swann. He was there when Jones took her back." And if Gibbs feels any guilt that Wellard was claimed and he himself wasn't, you'll never be able to prove it. Or find it. "And isn't he a sight for sore eyes?

"How are you, lad?" He extends his hand, and beams. If one could survive the locker, so could two, after all.

Looking bemusedly around, Tonks trails after Elizabeth. With one hand she squeezes some of the water out of her skirt; the other rests at her belt, just over her wand. This place is a bit weird, and she's not taking any chances.

Barbossa's gaze follows the wave-like motion of his crew and spots Wellard. Yet another unannounced straggler. How many more will he be burdened with? At least Captain Reynolds had the decency to shuffle out of the whole expedition somewhere around Singapore. A shame, because he seemed far more competent than this dazzled young man.

He stands back, gazing upon Wellard like he was something just scraped from the deepest levels of the PEarl's holds after a particularly long period of not cleaning the hull.

Will moves little from where he stands, watching Elizabeth approaching Wellard, and sparing an eye for Barbossa's reaction.

"If he's here," he says, for the sake of the general crowd on the beach, "where's Jack?"

He takes a deep breath, pullling his arm free from Elizabeth's grasp, then nods quickly at Gibbs.

"I was on the ship." Said carefully, Wellard avoids Gibbs question even as he shakes the man's hand, before glancing at the rest of the group on the shore.

"I don't know." To Will, before looking back at the shoreline. "I haven't seen anyone, since-"

Wellard frowns, cutting off the rest.

Davy Jones is growing sloppy, dragging this young sailor along with Jack to the ends of the world, but that is not her concern. There is one reunion she is here to see, and it is not this small, quiet one by the sea's edge.

No one else notices, but her feet are bare and the skin is sensitive: she feels the shifting of the sand one grain at a time. It makes her step carefully, slowly, her eyes on a pale rock that tumbles from the dunes to resolve itself into a white stone crab that scuttles into the shade of her skirt. She bends down to cup it in her palm and straightens, running a fingertip lightly, lovingly, along its shell. The crab calms, settles. Its claws tickle her skin.

She's some distance from the others now, but doesn't bother to raise her voice. Instead, she speaks to the crab. "Wicked Jack is closer than you think."

Her voice is full of laughter, and her eyes, when she gazes up at the dunes with fierce satisfaction, are very bright.

...ssssshhhhh...

At first, the soft hissing isn't that different from the crash of waves on the shore.

Except, of course, that it's coming from the wrong direction.

--ssssSSSShhhhHHHH--

The sound grows louder and louder, sand slipping over itself as the edge of the dune begins to pour downward toward the beach as if pushed from behind.

Which, as it turns out, is exactly what's happening.

The dark shapes of the Black Pearl's masts and sails appear first, silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky, and then the ship herself sails into view-- borne over the desert on a wave of skittering crabs.

As she crests the dune and begins the descent, the figure of her captain comes into view as well. Jack's standing on the rail of the foc'sle, one hand wrapped tightly in the rigging, and his gaze is fixed on the ocean beyond.

(bring me that horizon)

The Black Pearl slides across the beach and into the water, and as the sea spray explodes around her in a series of giant, fountaining splashes, Captain Jack Sparrow smiles.

The ship moved of it's own accord, her captain above holding on to the rigging by one hand, as though it were bewitched. The sands and waves parted for The Pearl as graceful as though she were only the wind that rippled through each.

And it was in this moment--while the witch smiled and pet something in her hand, and all of them watched the ship sail by--that Tai Huang began to realize just how much he might not have realistically prepared for what exactly this quest would entail.

Unable to hold his tongue, the word spilled out.

"Impossible."

Ragetti hears the faint tumbling crash, but spends a few seconds looking in entirely the wrong direction, refusing to believe the evidence of his ears. Noting the utter lack of Black Pearl on the ocean, though, he turns back to the beach just in time to see her come cresting over the great yellow wave of the sand.

It's a scene that, quite frankly, defies words.

Ragetti points, as if anyone could fail to spot the great dark ship amongst the pale dunes, and says helpfully: "...boat!"

Wellard watches as the Pearl slides down from the dunes and into the sea, a faint, distant smile spreading across his features. With everyone else showing up in this places-

This would almost be normal.

("What a man can do-")

He glances at Ragetti, then back to the Pearl settling in the water. Quietly, Wellard shakes his head. "Ship."

Gibbs breaks out in a bemused smile. He really shouldn't be at all surprised. This Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.

"Slap me thrice and hand me to my mama, it's Jack!"

'Tis truly an iconic moment in a life of such moments for captain and first mate.

It's really and truly Jack. After all they have been through, they've actually succeeded. Jack will be free of the Locker, and everything will be as it was.

Everything will be all right.

Smiling with wonder, Elizabeth starts forward to greet the pirate they'd come to find, but then she hesitates,

(I'm not sorry)

not at all sure of her reception.

Half the Pearl's crew step forward eagerly as Captain Jack sails... uh... over sand... but towards 'em!

"It's the Captain!" Pintel says, stating the obvious in his relief.

'Cause everything's going be all right now, right? Jack's unpredictable, but he sure makes you feel better being around.

"A sight for sore eyes." And looking none the worse for wear. Not a zombie or a skeleton or at all dead looking.

Not everyone on the beach is so pleased to see the Captain return.

"Rrrak!" The parrot warns. "Hide the Rum!"

There's a grating sound as the much smaller rowboat -- a dinghy, really -- beaches itself against the beach sand, followed by a loud splash as Jack steps overboard into the waves and comes striding toward them.

He's not smiling. In fact, Jack looks rather dangerous just at the moment.

"Jack!" Sometimes, keeping to proper protocol is nigh on impossible. Sometimes, it's good to see a friend.

Or maybe not, judging from his reaction as he snaps,

"Mr. Gibbs!"

"Aye, Captain!" He snaps to attention as best as a pirate ever can, but it's clear that Jack isn't quite so happy to see him. How odd.

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AWE: On the Beach of Davy Jones' Locker

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