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By Jenthegypsy
July 14, 2005
~ And
the Second of these is Envy ~
He does not drink the finest of brandies this
night, neither port, nor the smoky distilled spirits of his
ancestors. Tonight he drinks the Devil's own swill in the darkest
corner of the lowliest tavern that he can find. The deep chestnut
color of it belies the taste of rotgut,and reminds him of her
eyes, turned hard to his as she took her place at the side of
a blacksmith instead of as the wife of a Commodore.
He drinks tonight to purge from his soul the second of the Deadly
Sins.
He will worry about his heart on the morrow.
By Honorat
July 15, 2005
~ Green
Apples I, II, & III ~
Green Apple
I
She sits before him, living, breathing, feeling. The sight of
her first bite wrings an involuntary gasp from him. She does
not know what a wondrous thing it is that she does. To feel
hunger and be able to sate it. To desire food and be able to
taste it.
He has planned this meal so carefully, meaning to draw out this
vicarious pleasure like the slow summer days of childhood. It
is so very little, but even the hint of satisfaction drives
him mad. He cannot wait. He must see those soft, full lips,
those perfect teeth envelope the smooth green flesh. He must
hear the music of the fruit crushing.
“And the apples,” he entreats. “One of those next.”
Green Apple
II
For too long he has kept this bowl on this table. For too long
he has shaped his hands around the elegant curves, contemplating
the beauty, the mystery of such simplicity, devouring only with
his sight. He remembers the silky feel of glowing green skin,
the tang and sweet and crisp and juice on his tongue, or he
thinks he does. But sensation has been gone so long he is no
longer sure.
To see and never to taste is hell indeed.
But to see and hear the slice of teeth through the firm green
flesh, to see pleasure in the face of his enemy is utter damnation.
“It’s a funny ol’ world, innit?”
Green Apple
III
As his enemy falls, Jack’s sword arm reaches out ever so slightly—as
if the death of Barbossa is the death of something in himself.
The edge of his blade drips with his own blood and with Barbossa’s,
intermingled in one shade of crimson. The droplets stain the
gold under his feet. The smoke of his pistol drifts up in the
moonlight like incense. Dark, somber eyes hold faded blue-grey
ones, emptying of all the torment and the glory that was Hector
Barbossa.
From Barbossa’s limp hand, the green apple, never to be tasted
now, rolls down a slight incline of gold. Ten years Jack has
cherished implacable hatred. Ten years he has plotted this vengeance.
Ten years Barbossa has waited to feel, only to feel the chill
of his own death.
By Felaine
July 16, 2005
~ Lovely
Green Apples ~
From
the personal log of Lieutenant Andrew Gillette, Port Royal
Governor Swann is an exemplary executive; his
deportment and manner appropriate on all occasions. But that
child---six months since we all arrived in Port Royal on the
Dauntless and her lack of decorum is the talk of the town.
Not the only talk, of course. There was that untoward incident
involving the mule and the midshipman's hat. I find if difficult
to lay responsibility for that imbroglio at Miss Swann's door,
but I have my suspicions.
However, I have myself seen her secreting under her shawl the
most lovely green apples, no doubt brought at great expense
from England by her doting father. She then proceeded to distribute
them to their servants! and some urchin who has taken to haunting
the blacksmith's shop.
No good can come of this, mark my words. If Governor
Swann does not take her firmly in hand, who knows what will
be next?
By Hereswith
July 15, 2005
~ High
Summer Memories ~
Her mother had worn a green dress. Elizabeth
could still, with perfect clarity, recall the feel of the brocade,
the fall of the lace, and the awe which had struck her, child
that she had been, at the sight of such radiant beauty. But
that was not the first memory. The first, the very first, was
of gentle hands and the sound of a woman’s laughter, echoing
forever between the walls of a house long since left behind.
Hands, laughter and a pale green dress. These were high summer
memories, warm and butterfly-winged and bright enough that they
always made her eyes tear. She kept them close, kept them locked
in her heart, as safeguards against the winter cold that sometimes,
even here in the Caribbean heat, crept into her bones.
By Trinity Day
July 19, 2005
~ A
Flash of Green ~
That the Jack Sparrow who arrived on Tortuga
was different than the one who left, no one seemed to notice
other than the former pirate captain himself. They were too
gripped by the stories that were coming out about Barbossa and
the Black Pearl, about the mutiny and the Isla de Muerta. They
devoted too much time to gaping over the fact he was alive than
to actually pay attention to the man.
“How’d you do it?” one drunken sailor asked, having first finished
the story of the mutiny. Jack had lived it and heard it and
hated it, but the tale was too popular to die down at the moment,
especially with Jack having turned up after being thought dead.
Jack shrugged, self-effacingly, but he was beginning to realize
that even his own tight lips weren’t enough to keep the tale
from growing at every telling.
“C’mon, mate,” the man said, wheedling. “A drink for your tale.”
“Very well,” Jack decided. If Barbossa was going to spread stories
about his fortune, then it was the least Jack could do to reciprocate.
If he got a free drink out of it, so much the better.
He waited for his rum to come before he started his story, obstinately
because he didn’t trust his fellow pirates anymore, but mostly
because he was trying to come up with a story to regale his
audience with.
A flash of green gave way to inspiration. Jack took a drink
of the swill they called rum and started his story.
“Sea turtles.”
The man gaped. “Sea turtles.”
Jack nodded knowingly, finding it deadly easy to keep his normal
grin off his face for once in his life. “Yes. Sea turtles.”
End
By Hendercats
July 20, 2005
~ First
Glimpse ~
"Land, ho!"
He reached the starboard rail ahead of the others, willing his
eyes to see, squeezing them tight then opening wide. 'Twas too
long since he'd viewed anything but ocean and sky and clouds,
much as he loved them.
Then the boy grinned, liking what he saw. Not the drab browns
and bleak grays that filled London; not here. It was a perfect
complement to clear blue sky, rich blue water, golden Caribbean
sunlight. He already liked Jamaica (the name felt odd in his
mouth, even after days of practicing), for it was the color
he most loved: green.
>^..^<
By Geek Mama
July 21, 2005
~ Green-ey'd
Monster ~
“What’s this?” Elizabeth picked up the lazily caressing appendage.
He frowned. “What? M’hand.”
“No!” She took the ring between her thumb and forefinger. “This.
Is it an emerald? A real one?”
“Mmm. ‘Course it’s real.”
“Where did you get it? It’s huge. And the setting. Silver skulls?
I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it random swag?”
“No.”
“But where did you get it, then?”
An eyelid slid half open. “You’re mighty awake and curious,
considering.”
She turned to face him. “Youth. And I haven’t been on watch
for hours, like certain captains of my acquaintance.” She kissed
him, lingering over it, and he hummed approval. But the eyelid
closed again, so she stopped. “You can’t go to sleep yet.”
He snuffed, tiredly. “What? The ring?”
“Yes. Should I be jealous?”
He was silent for a long moment. “No. Maybe.” He opened both
his eyes, and, observing her – all inquisitive femininity –
sighed. “Long story. Fate worse than death, an’ all. Saved ‘er.”
Her brows arched. “You do make a habit of heroism, don’t you?”
His lips quivered in a losing battle against a smile. “Not really,”
he drawled. “She was…er…past the first blush. And… a bit plain,
y’might say. Betrothed to some ancient, a grandee of sorts.
Rich fella. But… well, she would’ve died a virgin. My word on’t.”
She stared. “‘Saved her’! Why, you unmitigated scoundrel!”
“Been tellin’ you that, for years.”
“And then you stole her ring, as well!”
“Not at all. She sent it to me. A gift. In remembrance.” He
smirked.
Her eyes narrowed. “Really? Is that true?”
“’Course it’s true.” Awake again, he drew her close, and murmured
against her lips, “Word of a pirate, love.”
~.~
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