Black
Pearl Tales
is the official archive of
Black Pearl Sails
and Black Pearl Library.
Pirates of the Caribbean
is the property of the
Disney Corporation.
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a Challenge:
Drift
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By Honorat Selonnet ~ Will You Dance? ~ They want to despise her, she knows. That or pity. She’s heard the whispers behind fans, counted the decrease in calling cards and rich ivory invitations. What is it that she is supposed to be now? A shameless hussy, wild to a fault, such damaged goods that no man of consequence will have her? But still they come to the governor’s ball, gawking and gossiping. She tosses her golden-brown head in triumph as she sees the reluctant jealousy in her former friends’ eyes. The music drifts over their heads as Will leads her into the next dance. There is not another young man in the room as beautiful as her blacksmith. He needs no sawdust stuffing to simulate shoulders. The glittering ballroom, the censorious stares fade as Will guides their steps. No musicians of her father’s hiring can match the powerful symphony Will plays on the orchestra of her flesh with his lightest touch. She should have known that a man so elegant and graceful in the intimate dance of swords would find his feet on native heath in the measured steps of the waltz.
By Geek Mama ~ Spindrift ~ He sat in a shadowed corner of the Black Dog Tavern, Port Royal, Jamaica, nursing his third grog. The sidelong glances and furtive discussion had both diminished over the last two weeks. After the last hanging, he reckoned they’d cease entirely. The last hanging. Jack Sparrow’s. Two mornings hence. They tolerated him, but he was no longer one of them. He knew it. They knew it. Oh, he still was, in fact, Brown’s apprentice. And his… regard for Miss Swann: that would never change, as long as he drew breath. But these facts that informed his life paled in the face of The Fact. Pirate’s whelp. He could hear him now… Pirate is in your blood, boy, so you’ll have to square with that someday. Jack. Will drained his mug. When he set it down again he was no longer alone. “Gibbs!” The man put a finger to his lips. “Hush, young Bootstrap.” Will stiffened. “That… that’s not my name.” “Is it not?” Talk about a ‘sharp eye’… “What do you want?” Will muttered. Gibbs nodded. “I’ve a bit of a proposition for ye now,
haven’t I?”
By Felaine ~ Conversational
Drift ~ My first command; the Dauntless is at sea and I am responsible for Fort Charles. I sit at the Commodore's desk, master of all I survey. Life would be perfect if not for this catarrh, which has strangely plagued me since Commodore Norrington left. I look up from a report and see...Sparrow; pistol pointed at me and finger to his lips. He looks, of all things, indignant. "What are ye doin' at that desk, ye Navy whelp? Where's Himself? An' what's wrong wi' yer nose? Looks ta be painted like a Tortuga whore's cheeks." "The Commodore is patrolling, and my nose is--none of your business, you lunatic! Why am I explaining myself to you? What are you doing here?" "We've a bit o an accord, Norrie an' me. I've news for him about the French fleet." "The Commodore is not here; you may deal with me." Sparrow has the look of a child promised a pony, then sent to muck out the stable. "You're in charge?" He considers this, a finger against his chin. "Just as well; if ye were on th' Dauntless you'd prob'ly abandon her again. Harder to misplace th' entire fort, eh mate?" He has stabbed me with my greatest failure, the nadir of my professional life. Paralyzed with fury, my vision darkens at the edges, then blacks out completely. z.z.z.z.z.z.z.z.z.z.z.z I drift toward consciousness and my commanding officer's voice. "Will you join us for the ceremony honoring the coronation of THIS monarch, Mr. Gillette; or do you plan to wait twenty years, for the next one?" Throwing myself out of bed, I vow to never again mix rum with coconut milk, no matter what ailment it is reputed to cure.
By Honorat Selonnet ~ New Horizons ~ She has noticed that the charts on the captain’s table have been of the South China Sea. And his eyes, always drawn to the horizon, have an even farther away look than usual. It won’t be long, she expects, before he orders the Pearl’s sails set for the dawn and the fabled treasure of the Orient. Jack Sparrow is no empire builder. For him, it is the adventure that calls--to drift ahead of the scudding clouds wherever the wind wishes to take him. Soon she will have to choose whether she will remain in these familiar ports or follow her legendary captain into undiscovered seas.
By Jenthegypsy ~ At
Peace In The Drift ~ No one knew the origins of his preference for sleeping accommodations, though there were plenty who were willing to make a guess, especially on nights when the rum ran free and fancy took flight. But they were careful to keep the foolish stories to themselves, for he was well liked and known to be a fair man besides. Not so fair, however, after a night or two in port. So it was that Jack knew exactly how to locate him when he arrived in Tortuga with the whelp in tow. Just inquire as to the location of the nearest drift of swine and find the man, slumbering peacefully, among them.
By Erinya ~ Memory's Tide ~ She's drifting again; she knows she is. But with the warmth of the morning sun soaking into her bones, it's so easy to slip sideways on the current of time, to believe herself a girl again. Chafing at corsets, sassing her father, teasing James Norrington until his reserve breaks and he snorts with laughter. Falling for a blacksmith who dreamed of being her hero. Fighting supernatural pirates beside her one true love, her heart in her mouth, a fierce joy in her heart. One day soon, she decides, she'll go just like this, let herself keep drifting. Her children are long grown, and her baby girl Lottie--a fine woman now, with babies of her own--won't accept her help around the house anymore, not realizing how much her mother hates being useless. James passed away a decade ago, a much-decorated admiral, a very dear friend for many years. Her Will already awaits her in their humble churchyard plot. And Jack, Captain Jack Sparrow--well, if the legends hold any truth at all, he died as he had lived: the sea took him and his beloved Pearl, together to the end. They say he laughed as he went down; Elizabeth believes them. Of course, other legends say otherwise: they tell of the Immortal Captain Jack, who filched one coin from a forbidden hoard, cursed by choice to sail the ocean for all eternity. But she knows better; Jack would never renounce the sweet taste of life, so long as it tastes of rum. She is the last of them, the last secret-keeper of the island that can only be found by those who have been there before. To her grandchildren, her truths are only stories. But to her, the present has become dim and slow and distant, blurring together like a dream, while the past glows with vivid detail in her mind's eye. Will's shy smile; small Jack's first words; a foolish ditty sung around a bonfire under a wide sky thick with stars. She smiles a little, shifts stiffly in her rocking chair, and gives in to memory's tide.
By DebH ~ Untitled Drift Drabble ~ "Commodore Norrington is bound by the law. As are we all." He hung his head as the Governor's words cast his thoughts adrift. Bound. Yes, he was bound, as surely as were Jack Sparrow's eerily still hands. Elizabeth was quite correct that this hanging was wrong. And her father's choice of words was uncannily accurate. He'd spent these weeks since capturing the no-longer-cursed pirates trying to convince himself it was right, unconsciously buying time by hanging only one of the brigands each day, but it had been no use. It worked only in the most simplistic terms: piracy is a slap in the face of law and decency and pirates deserve to hang for their misdeeds; Sparrow is a pirate and therefore deserves to hang. No matter that he had twice (at minimum!) saved the life of the fine woman Norrington would soon wed. No matter that, in the end, he alone had been capable of breaking the curse and ending the Black Pearl's decade-long reign of terror. No matter that he was indeed, as Turner rightly insisted, a good man. In no way could this particular hanging be right, yet there was nothing he could do to prevent it. But he could do Sparrow the service of standing here at attention and looking in his eyes when the man dropped, hoping Sparrow would see and understand his silent salute.
By Lorraine ~ Driftwood ~ He walked along the hard-packed sand, eyes down. Finally, he found what he was searching for. He picked it up and let it speak to his caressing fingers. Reverently, he brushed the clinging sand off and placed it in his pocket. He carefully anointed and whetted his knives before touching them to wood. Each tiny, precise cut was dictated entirely by the wood in his hands. Hours later, at the gloaming of the day, he placed a perfect model of the Interceptor on the shelf with some dozen other intricate carvings. He looked at the tiny ship and sighed heavily. * He wandered along the sand, sometimes looking down but most often staring out to sea, watching the breakers roll in, taking the occasional drink of ever-present rum. Eventually, he stumbled on the perfect thing. He picked it up, letting his fingers roam and dance over its surface, smooth and hard, rough in places, broken sharply at one end. He placed the gracefully twisting wood in the center of the shelf, among several other similar pieces. He would always know this was the Interceptor, so clearly did he see her lines in the water-hewn patterns. He touched it and sighed heavily.
By Virgo79 ~ Ebb ~ Something had gone out of him when the grey man fell down, smelling
of blood and that strange, noisy fire. It had flowed from his
mind, his The grey man had forgotten it, too. When the tide began to rise, he darted in and snatched up the apple where it had been dropped, before the water could carry it away. Tiny, sharp teeth pierced the green peel, and he nibbled ravenously at the fruit, bright eyes snapping up to watch with base curiosity as the grey man's body drifted away.
~.~
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