bringmethatnpc

The boats are silent as they move through the swamp, every member of the crew - and their two companions - lost in their own thoughts.

Will, for one, has no wish to break the silence.

He's lost everything.

He failed to keep his word to his father, and Davy Jones lives, the older William Turner enslaved to him for all eternity.

Elizabeth. Elizabeth. He lost her to Jack. And she doesn't know, because he hasn't the nerve to confess what he saw. But he lost her, while risking his life and his soul to save her. She went to the romance and the daring of Captain Jack Sparrow, the pirate with whom Will couldn't hope to compare.

Those two names fill his thoughts. How he failed them, how he lost them. And then the pain becomes too much for coherent thought, and he loses himself.

And not once does he feel regret that Jack is dead.

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Jack is gone...

That the Pearl is gone, okay, Gibbs isn't happy about that. It really was the fastest ship he'd ever seen, or ever handled. It was never any wonder that Jack and Barbossa both coveted it so. But it was a ship, and by its very nature it was destined to go to Davy Jones' Locker (if not quite so literally).

But that wasn't how it was supposed to be for Jack Sparrow. Men like that, they find a way to outwit death and always with a smile and a flourish. Men like that come home from certain doom with treasure, with tales of love and glory and danger, sometimes even with a beautiful and strangely grateful damsel at his side.

And even if Jack died a glorious death, that wasn't his way. Glorious deaths are for men like Turner, or Norrington. Pirates much prefer glorious lives.

Gibbs hoped that Tia Dalma had a fair supply of rum. On this day, all would need it.

From:

try_corsets

Hundreds of candles light the swamp in remembrance of Captain Jack Sparrow. Candles lit to honor him, but Elizabeth sees only condemnation.

There are some choices Elizabeth never thought she would have to make. Choice and decision, for you can't have one without the other here, though one feels heavier on the tongue. The choice made because she wanted to live, wanted to wake each morning and feel the sea breeze, wanted to breathe without the scent of the kraken’s foul breath -- curse Gibbs for telling the tale -- but wouldn't Jack have wanted the same?

He had done the right thing by returning, and then she did something else entirely.

(Pirate)

With the manacle on his wrist and the beast below, Jack had looked at her and smiled, something like approval in his eyes, the curve of his lips.

Every decision she had made since removing the medallion from its hiding place had led her to this point. Jack had been right. She longs to do what she wants, craves that freedom.

(Take what you want, give nothing back)

The Pearl had been Jack's freedom, and she chained him to it, making him a prisoner at the last, even if he was bound to the one thing he loved above all else.

Elizabeth turns away from the others, meeting the eyes of a young woman standing waist deep in the dark waters. She catches her breath as a silent tear falls down the other woman's face, and the flame of her candle flickers. At that moment, as awful as she feels, Elizabeth knows-

She would do it again.

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Pintel's not given to introspection. That's Ragetti's job, nowadays.

Right now, he's mainly thinking that the low humming is unsettling, and the way the mourners close behind the longboats makes him nervous.

If he's dwelling much on the fact that they left Jack, and that the captain went down with his ship . . . Well, he's not showing it much.

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Music, because music gives the soul a voice.

Raise your voice in his memory. Don't mark his passing in silence.

Tears, because grief should not be held inside.

Let them pass. Tia Dalma will give counsel and comfort.

Prayers, because prayers are always spoken over the dead.

Light a candle for our captain, a great lover of the sea.

Candles, to guide Jack home.

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Thunk

It's the only sound in the cabin. The knife of William Turner - senior, then junior - as it hits the wood of Tia Dalma's table. Drops in hard, is pulled out, and dropped again.

Thunk

It's strangely reminiscent the noise made by Davy Jones' crab leg as it hit the sodden deck. Especially in the regular, almost subconscious rhythm that Will keeps up. Hit, pull out, hit again, completely lost in his emotions.

Thunk

The table, no doubt, is going to be irreparable now. The marks left vary in depth and length, but they all add to the damage. They're fascinating, in their own way; the complex patterns the form as the seeming random lines join up, the contrast between the dark stained surface and the naked pale flesh of the wood underneath. There's a lot to look at.

Thunk

His mouth is dry and parched. The exotic smell of incense and spices, as well as the less exotic aroma of swamp and sweaty pirate, fade into the background, only slightly registered behind a cloud of preoccupation and thought. For all it concerns, Will Turner, unloved, near-orphaned failure, he might as well be completely alone.

Thunk

It's the only sound in the cabin.

Thunk

Thunk

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The only sound, even as Tia Dalma herself comes into the room, laden with a tray on which sit candles and mugs of all shapes and sizes, and from which a fragrant scent steams gently. The candle flames waver as she drifts through the room towards Elizabeth, who sits, morose and silent, on her own.

She offers the tray, the mugs, the candles, and the wicked gleam that had so livened her is now dulled in sorrow and sympathy.

Or perhaps it is pity.

But the other woman shakes her head slightly, casts her eyes away from the candles that glow for Jack's life, spots of warmth in the dark.

"Against the cold," Tia Dalma says, gently, proffering the tray once again. "And the sorrow."

From:

try_corsets

Thunk.

Each drop of the knife, each splinter of wood, sets Elizabeth's teeth on edge. In the seconds between, she hears the sound of the manacle closing around Jack's wrist, and the two play around and around each other in her mind, forming a disturbing rhythm.

Drink is neither wanted nor deserved, but the woman -- this strange, unnerving woman -- insists. Dragging her gaze away from a silent contemplation of the floor, Elizabeth takes a mug, eyes bright and wet though no tears fall.

Their eyes meet. Elizabeth looks at Tia Dalma and thinks, she knows.

Dirty fingers curling around the mug, Elizabeth starts to take a sip and changes her mind. It is unlikely she could swallow around the lump in her throat.

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Impossible to say what might be known, or unknown, but Tia Dalma fixes her gaze intently on Elizabeth and says nothing, even when the girl lowers the mug again without a single taste. Candles flicker, and reflect a gleam on her skin and in her eyes as she turns away.

Towards Will.

The material of her dress--silk, or something like it--rustles softly as she sinks down beside him. Her face, when she looks up into his, is young in its grief. There is no more coyness, and her smiles are faded away. This sorrow is for Will, for what he has lost, what he has left, and what has left him.

"It's a shame," she says, softly, and only to him, offering him the tray. "I know you're thinking that with the Pearl, you could have captured the devil and set free your father's soul."

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That... wasn't what he was thinking at all. Will's first reaction is to tell her she's wrong. She has not idea what he's thinking, what he's going through. But he hasnt' got it in him to say it.

And it is an idea, actually. If any ship could help him free his father, it would have been the Pearl.

"Doesn't matter now," he says, nursing the cup, and dismissing the thought. "The Pearl’s gone. Along with its captain."

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"Aye." Gibbs' voice is a bit of an echo as he stands outside for a moment. He turns, steps under the doorframe, and faces his fellow pirates.

"And already the world seems a bit less bright." Seeing that Ragetti is taking a mug, Gibbs steps into the room and does likewise.

"He fooled us all, right ‘til the end. But I guess that honest streak finally won out."

Gibbs always wondered about that, about the pieces of Jack that the captain always hid under his hat and his swagger and his scars. And while he's heard stories apelnty from others, he never did hear them from Jack. And now, he never will.

From:

try_corsets

It's not entirely true, nor is it entirely wrong. Jack had come back to his ship before it was too late. He'd checked the impulse to run, made a choice and done the right thing.

Elizabeth had known he had it in him.

She hadn't, however, anticipated that she would have to make a very different choice.

Pirate.

Still blinking back tears, she deliberately looks away in order to avoid meeting eyes with anyone. She's worried about what they might be able to read in hers.

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Gibbs raises his mug.

"To Jack Sparrow."

From:

gotmy-eye.livejournal.com

There's a tear in his... eye as Ragetti also raises his mug.

"Never another like Captain Jack," he says sorrowfully.

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"'E was a gentleman of fortune, 'e was," agrees Pintel, by the door, and raises his mug.

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try_corsets

Elizabeth raises her mug in turn; it's expected, for all it feels a little like a lie just to be sitting here.

"He was a good man," she rasps, quickly and firmly. She still doesn't drink.

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Will raises his mug as well. Not a toast. He'd never toast that man right now. But he's also loathe to avoid questions about why. But he does drink.

And then, then he looks over at her, and discovers that his heart did, in fact, have a little more to break.

She looks so broken. He daren't wander if his death would ever do that for her. But Will, poor lovestruck fool that he is, just can't bear to see her like that.

"If there was anything that could be done, to bring him back..." he starts.

He'd do anything, anything, to see her smile again. Even if it wasn't for his sake. He realises now that he doesn't care. After what he saw, he still loves her.

Will stands, still looking at her. "Elizabeth..."

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"Would you do it? Hm?"

Quick as a flash--and how does she move so silently, with those heavy skirts and beads?--Tia Dalma steps in front of him, between Will and Elizabeth, and takes his gaze with her own dark one,

Elizabeth has no chance to answer, but before Will can step around her to move to his fiancé, Tia Dalma spins, and her piercing gaze lands on Elizabeth, her eyes intent and sparkling with some inner fire.

"What would you do?" she asks, directly. "Hm?"

As the other woman works for a response, she turns, impatient, laying her glance on each of the crew members scattered morosely about her dwelling, and her voice rises steadily, growing stronger as she addresses them all, crew and mate alike.

"What would any of you be willing to do? Hm?" She takes a few steps towards the huddled crew, a tiny smile growing on her dark lips.

"Would you sail to the ends of the Earth, and beyond, to fetch back wicked Jack, and him precious Pearl?"

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There is silence. They all know she means it. Such things are possible in a world such as theirs. But to defy death itself?

But then, that is what Jack would do, isn't it?

Gibbs steps forward. He looks around at the rest, then at the witch.

"Aye!"

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Well . . .

He's their captain, and what's a pirate without a captain?

Pintel stands. "Aye!"

From:

gotmy-eye.livejournal.com

Ragetti stands, as well.

"Aye!" he echoes.

Might as well see what this is about.

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In the corner, Cotton raises his mug and nods. The parrot on his shoulder gives voice to their agreement.

"Aye-aye!" he squawks.

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try_corsets

Feeling Tia Dalma's gaze, Elizabeth looks up and nods slowly.

"Yes."

She glances at Will.

What would she do? Whatever it takes.

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Will is also nodding. He needs the Pearl to save his father.

He also wants Elizabeth to be happy again.

"Yes."

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The smile that begins to grow slowly across Tia Dalma's lips is one they haven't yet seen. There is not coyness to it, no wickedness, no secret she is laughing about behind those dark markings and eyes.

"All right," she agrees, and as she turns her gaze upon them all once more, her eyes gleam, red-rimmed and bright.

"But if ye gwine brave the weird and haunted shores at World's End, then you will need a captain who knows these waters."

So saying, she turns to cast her eyes at the staircase, her posture expectant and that odd smile odder than ever.

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The atmosphere, swamp-muggy and oppressive, makes it hard to breathe sometimes; that hasn't changed. It is simply and suddenly more. Suddenly thick, suddenly... breathless.

Thunk.

There's that wooden sound again, loud as Will's knife was in the silence - louder. But creaking, heavier.

And overhead.

Thunk.

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Pintel follows her gaze.

Oh bloody hell.

From:

gotmy-eye.livejournal.com

Ragetti's eye slides over

- it can't be, but-

... start believing in ghost stories.

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No ghost - not quite. But he would know. No? Know that tread, know that measured pace on wooden boards above his head. Know the gleam of - not moonlight, this time, but candlelight - on the pair of black leather boots that appear on the stairs.

Thunk.

Thunk.

No ghost.

But the stories have to come from somewhere.

Thunk.

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Gibbs utters a silent and fearful prayer.

What kind of deal with the devil have they made?

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Oh, now. Such harsh words.

After all.

Isn't this a sight for sore eyes?

From:

try_corsets

A captain?

Staring at her mug, Elizabeth hears a thunk, thunk -- not a knife this time, but boots on stairs.

(A captain. After all, what's a crew without a captain?)

Uncertainty wrestles with curiosity as Elizabeth stands and moves closer to Will for a better look.

One last thunk, and black leather boots come to rest on the dusty wooden floor.

Her mouth drops open.

A captain indeed, but certainly not a captain she ever expected to see again, sore eyes or not.

But...

Impossible.

And yet, it seems nothing is impossible anymore.

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Will doesn't even think as he moves part way in front of Elizabeth, almost protectively.

This really is impossible. And the last thing he'd ever want.

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