Christmas

Thu, 30 Dec 2004 05:54:49 GMT

I have fond memories of the holidays. Good will surrounded all, and a man could be himself: not a pirate; just a man. One Christmas in particular catches and holds my memory. Every year for Christmas Eve, the crew and I brought the ship into port to participate in the festivities.

The windows and shops that lined the streets of Port Royal shone with lamplight, and little bits of greens were hung up across doorways and such (doubtful anyone could find mistletoe in the Caribbean). We rented rooms in the inn a ways from the docks, and rum flowed freely from the kegs as we celebrated the coming of Christmas. Later, when things had died down and most of the crew had passed out under or on tables, or halfway slumped in chairs, Jack and I sat before the fire with a few of the bar girls. A bowl of cherries sat between us, a rare delacacy that had been imported and stolen just a day before. Jack performed for the wenches as usual, sticking a cherry stem into his mouth and bringing it out tied in a perfect knot.

"An' that's not the only thing I can do with my tongue, lass." Jack said slyly, raising one eyebrow. The girls giggled and tittered, while I scoffed.

"Aye, that's very true. He's been known to get himself into a world of trouble with it too." I quipped. He threw me a mock glare, but continued talking with the girls, taking a swig of his rum every now and then. Jack would be Jack, after all.

I stood, yawning widely, and climbed the stairs to the rooms above. I sat heavily on my bed, looking at the palm tree in the corner, which had been decorated with baubles of all sorts. Candles burned brightly on the dresser, casting strange shadows on the walls. I lay back on the bed, turning my face into the pillow. The cheap cloth scratched at my skin. It had been a good day. Quiet, for the most part, peaceful, merry. So at ease was I, I barely heard the door creak open on its rusted hinges, someone's light footfalls coming towards me.

"Saw you leavin' mate. Thought I'd catch you 'fore tomorrow."

I sat up, looking at Jack who was no more than a few metres from me, near the dresser. "What did you want, Jack? I figured you'd be bedding one of those lasses by now."

"Aye, I thought of it, but I figured I might as well give you your gifts now."

I chuckled. "Those are supposed to wait until Christmas day, mate."

"Touche, mate. But the crew wanted you to have this soon as possible. And my own present goes with it, savvy?"

"Aye. Alright, Jack. Let's see, then." Jack walked over, and held out a long, thin box to me. I took it, cutting the string with the dagger from my boot. Inside lay a sword, a perfect piece of craftsmanship.

"I..." I was speechless. Jack leaned against the dresser.

"See, we all thought it was a bit daft for your sword to have broken like that...especially since we then threw the pieces overboard...so we got you a new one. A better one, in fact." He smirked.

"Remind me to thank them. Properly. I'll buy a keg from the inn for the crew."

"As long as I get some, mate. Here," He thrust out another gift, "this one's from me." It wasn't wrapped, I could tell as soon as I felt it. It was a scabbard for the sword, black leather of finest quality.

"What's this making up for?" I asked, half-joking.

"A hundred terrible days, and a thousand lonely nights." He answered, flashing me a smile. A comfortable silence settled over the room as we shared a meaningful glance, my fingers still playing over the rich leather. "Plus," He continued after a long while, though he should have stopped there, "I feel just awful about slipping that cascara* into your rum earlier..."

I dropped the sword suddenly, the ugly metallic clang ringing in my ears as I ran from the room, cursing Jack to all the seven hells.

Jack sauntered to the bed, picking up the sword and sheathing it in the scabbard, before swiping the golden coins from the mattress where they had fallen from my pocket.

"Aye. A very good Christmas indeed." Said he, flipping one gold disc and catching it as he went back to the bar downstairs.

*Cascara is a very potent laxative.

"But where did you put it?"

Sun, 19 Dec 2004 06:39:00 GMT

"But where did you put it?" Asked a weasely-looking pirate with a scar in the shape of a ship's anchor covering the left side of his face.

"I looked ev'rywhere! It ain't to be found!" Answered his fatter companion, obviously a pirate himself for the peg leg he sported.

The skinny pirate cast his eyes frantically about the planks of the dock, searching for that tiny circular sheen of gold, when he caught sight of a familar pair of bootstraps. His eyes widened impossibly as they trailed up the completely tangible form of Bootstrap Bill; flipping a golden coin nonchalantly.

"Er...uh...it's...er..." He studdered, elbowing the other man in the ribs.

"Ow! What the bloody 'ell was tha' all 'bout?"

"B-b-bootstrap Bill!" And he pointed to the figure leaning against the dock's railing. His partner looked up, saw Bootstrap Bill, blinked stupidly for a few moments, and then turned back to the other pirate.

"He's dead."

"Obviously not! An' 'es got our coin!"

Bill Turner finally took a look up, saw the two familiar faces, and gave them a smirk. "Well, looking for this, I s'pose?"

"You're dead." The fat one replied.

"Certainly. But your superstition has made me visible to you. Aren't you lucky?" And with that, he flipped the coin behind him into the dark Carribean waters and sauntered off as the other two made a mad scramble for the coin.

"...He was dead, right?" Came the bigger man's shaky voice after a while.

But the weasely man left the question unanswered as he dove after the cursed coin.

Invisible Visibility

Christmas

"But where did you put it?"