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Post by Captain Hector Barbossa on Jun 11, 2007 23:06:50 GMT -5
- Date and Time: June the Eighth. Early evening.
- Setting: A good distance away from the shores of the island city Tortuga.
- Weather Conditions: Mildly cloudy with a warm South Western breeze.
A glinting yellowed eye squinted through a long, black, collapsible telescope, surveying a tiny dinghy as it coasted along the glittering waters of the North Atlantic. The dinghy in itself was barely a threat to the immense, darkly lacquered ship that had cautiously chosen to slow its course. In all actuality, one expertly aimed canon shot at the tiny craft would have transformed it appropriately into a sinking pile of splinters. However, as the darkly clad man continued to glare through the eye of the scope, he tried to come to terms with the notion that shooting the dinghy out of the water was not entirely a feasible option. Over the course of a night and nearly a full day, the smaller craft had closed an astounding distance between the large ship and itself. Aboard the dinghy, as could be viewed with the aid of the telescope, the tiny speck of a passenger could be seen, seemingly being tossed about on deck as though he were completely drunk off his rocker. Not the most beneficial state to be in when manning a boat by one’s lonesome, but such were the methods of the infamous and irritating Jack Sparrow. Now Hector Barbossa, current and only Captain of the Black Pearl, understood all too well the capable seaman that was present within Sparrow’s maniacal demeanor, but he fancied himself as able –if not more so- than any man and didn’t take lightly to the idea that such a tiny boat could catch up so quickly to one of such reputable speed, like the Pearl. Collapsing the telescope and dropping it into the pocket of his dusty, leather overcoat, Captain Barbossa remained poised as he was, leaning against the banister at the very stern of the great ship. Of course he was no fool, he had heard as well as seen the suspicious glances of his crew, the mutterings of Jack Sparrow’s name in the galley, and realized even three days earlier, after their hasty departure from Tortuga, that the crew’s request to see the map was not one of simple curiosity, but one of intent purpose. Morale was low, the desire for Jack’s return was steadily growing, and although the once-red-bearded Captain would never admit such aloud to anyone including himself, an anxious worry had begun to take control of his thoughts. He was a decided and strong leader, albeit not the most pleasant, but that was not the purpose of piracy. Pleasantries were savoured by the weak and the foolish. A plundering man had his wits, the unreliability of the ocean and his ship, and any good sea-faring man knew well-enough that a ship was only as good as his Captain. This was testimony enough to Barbossa’s skills for he had mastered the Pearl for a good decade without the trifling methods of one Jack Sparrow. The graying pirate would neglect to ponder the idea that if it weren’t for Jack in the first place, he never would have found a position on the Black Pearl all those years ago. A gruff grunt escaped the cracked, sun-dried lips of the Captain as he pushed himself away from the banister, lumbering over to the stairs which led down to the main deck. He leaned out over them, surveying the fluctuating motion of his crew as they skittered about with a well-trained urgency. Captain Barbossa’s hand absently strayed to the rolled map thrust into his belt and his brow furrowed even further than it normally was. It was a frank reminder of the ultimate reason he had not yet sent a canon of a greeting toward the Sparrow in the dinghy. It was also the reason he suddenly grabbed hold of part of the standing rigging and leaped up onto the banister he had once been leaning upon. The swift and sudden action had only caught the attention of a third of the crew, but it was Barbossa’s intention to quickly remedy that. “Stop yer fussin’ about ye water-logged sea rats and empty yer ears good and fast-like!” He bellowed above the din of movement. Almost instantly the crew ceased their actions and turned, ready although not entirely willing to heed his demands. He could feel their retrained disdain and it only deepened his loathing for the man on the dinghy, but he could also feel the warmth of the sea as it blew steadily through his thinning hair. He smelled the salted air and felt empowered by the element which he had loved for what seemed, to him, to be an eternity. The sun had begun its careful descent from the heavens, sending bleeding crimson ribbons across the horizon and the Captain’s scowl morphed itself into a twisted smirk. There was no denying that Jack Sparrow was required for the older pirate to retrieve what he most desired, but for the greater good of himself, it was something Barbossa was willing to face… if only for the moment. “Avast and drop the anchor! We’ve some mighty important business to attend.” ((I promise they will get better.))
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Captain Jack Sparrow
Moderator
Brethren Court Captain of the Black Pearl[M:0]
Drink up me hearties, yo ho!
Posts: 3
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Post by Captain Jack Sparrow on Jun 12, 2007 1:47:40 GMT -5
Slim fingers touched the edge of the rotting sail, tracing the contours of the stirring form until a gust of wind gathered in the canvas nearly ripping itself from the mast. Holding onto the lead rope and with a bottle of rum in the other, Jack set a heavy boot on the bow's ring and tipped his head back to look up at the azure sky dotted with vaguely shaped clouds. The wind was blowing through, letting the clouds stretch out carrying his vessel with efficiency towards the beautiful black shape in the water no less then a knot ahead of him. He smiled and raised his bottle in a toast and nearly toppled over board but a strong grip on the rope sent him wheeling on his heels to not quite slamming into the sail. He stepped back to examine it, closing one eye in the process in the pretense it helped him concentrate causing the two sails he saw to become one.
“Good lad,” he grunted, giving the mast a quick pat before stepping over several empty bottles of nondescript alcohol cross the three steps to the stern and settled down. He rested a hand on the sculling oar, twisting his fingers around the smooth surface he pushed down and twisted towards him, the boat pulling under his command. Furrowing his brow, Jack tapped two fingers against his closed mouth in thought all but banging the rim of the bottle against his chin. Glancing down at it still in hand, he stared at the slim object reflecting slivers light that bounced off the water in a million sparkling fairies all tempting him to drink from the Fountain of Rum. Smiling through gold and silver, he ignored the audible clink the glass bottle’s mouth made against his teeth and savored the sweet nectar of the gods.
By nightfall his feet would be back on the Pearl and Barbossa would be swimming with the fishes or in chains. In chains with the fishes... and with his monkey. Would a undead monkey drown? Would it keep drowning over and over or would it just fight it every second. Drawing his shoulders up at the shiver that ran down his back, Jack pulled the tricorner hat further down his brow shadowing his eyes from the sun to watch the sea ahead of him. The dinghy rocked gently with the current rising upon the swell of ocean much like the pillowy softness of Giselle’s bosom. The residing sting of her and Scarlett’s slap had long since faded but they would forgive him in time and he would warmly share a bed and a tale with either.
Sighing, he turned his gaze back towards the Pearl, the strong form of her build becoming prominent as he gained distance. Even in the smallest of boats, his heart soared with excitement at being off land and onto stable plank boards. Taking another swig of rum that finished the bottle, he tossed it off the portside and struggled to his feet. “Yo ho, yo ho… ,” he sang off key before clearing his throat and belted out his favorite lines of the shanty making his way back to the bow and paused at the mast to pat it again and took to lookout on his vast dinghy.
Pulling a telescope from a large pocket of his vest, he snapped it open and peered through it. Bloody hell, why was the Pearl suddenly farther away? Jack drew his head back to look at his instrument, turned it around and looked through the correct side. The vague shape now had sails and rigging, a stern that he could just put his hands on and squeeze. Reaching out as if to do so, Sparrow tilted the telescope down and every crevice and crease on the back of his hand stood out like living terrain where dirt lived and thrived, building a colony to rear young. When the holy man stepped out to greet him, Jack snapped the telescope back up to the Pearl. It appeared closer that the first time. Rubbing the glass end on the front of his shirt effectively smearing more then helping, he gazed carefully so not to disturb the thickly marked kohl around his eyes.
It was closer. He peek over the edge with his own two eyes, then back through the lens. His eyes, lens, eyes, lens, pants, lens, inside pants, lens again this time with a wide grin in place. She had dropped anchor and while it hadn’t turned back towards him, he knew he had been spotted. Scanning the horizon there was several fishing vessels off the far port, but they hadn't moved and proved as nothing important. His free hand grazed the edge of his pistol tucked securely in it’s holster with fresh dry powder awaiting any tomfoolery. He was more than likely walking into a trap and without a shadow of a doubt, his existence resided on the fact that he had Sao’s map and Barbossa didn’t. He had squirreled it away long before any eyes could see him, leaving its location safely in his mind. Alone the deck he could just make out shapes of crew running about and settled on one he deemed to be Barbossa.
The drunken part of his brain demanded he give the old man a real good view of his bare backside but honor told him to stay put lest he fall on his arse and break it. Swaying on wobbly legs, Jack scooped up his last bottle of rum and returned to his dutiful post as lookout and remained in a semi standing state until the dinghy coasted along side the dark ship. As if on cue, the wind softened settling his craft to drift on the starboard side of the Black Pearl just as he finished the last drop. Chucking it over his shoulder, Jack raised a hand to cover his eyes and glanced up at the faces that hung over the edge.
((Brain cramp at the end, can you tell? Figured Barbs would speak first ^_^))
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Chris Thomas
Pirate
Navigator
Look at me that way again and I'll kick ye in the jewels.
Posts: 20
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Post by Chris Thomas on Jun 12, 2007 21:42:43 GMT -5
Calipers in one hand and her other holding the chart flat, Christiana Thomas, only known as Chris, measured the distance from Tortuga to their current position. It turned out that it was almost an hundred nautical miles, meaning that the Pearl had covered much more sea than any other ship she had been on. "Well then again, you've heard the tales, Chris. The Black Pearl's the fastest ship that ever tasted water." Chris stood up straight after bending over the table for such an amount of time and rolled the chart up, binding it with some twine. She wasn't an imposing figure at all, standing at five foot seven with a snarly mess of brown curls secured by a bandanna. It looked like a strong gust of wind could topple Chris' lean, although wiry, frame over, but looks are certainly deceiving. On her shoulder clung a small ape, his tail curling around her neck. Unlike his other ape brother on the ship, Loki did not wear any clothes, but was still as much as a hellion as Little Jack.
Chris looked up to where one of the captains, the only one at present aboard, stood. Her first thought when she joined the ship was, "Two captains for one ship. Now that's something I ne'er heard of." Now there was only one captain, after the other was left at port. Chris herself didn't agree with or feel right about it. Ever since entering pirating she had heard tales, almost legends, about the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. Truth be told, he was probably why she was so eager to join on with the Black Pearl. Not that Barbossa wasn't as good, 'course... It just seemed Captain Jack had the image of grandeur that was a pirate down pat. And the others who had sailed under the captain before had doubts about leaving the captain, there was no mistake. Chris tried as best as she could to maintain a neutral set of mind. Barbossa, she could see from his expression, was having thoughts of his own.
>> “Avast and drop the anchor! We’ve some mighty important business to attend.”<<
Chris appeared to have thought right. As other crew members slackened the sails so that the wind had no place to be caught, Chris followed others to the capstan, where it released the anchor into the ocean, bringing the Black Pearl to a smooth and steady stop. "This should be interesting." Chris thought as she followed the other crewmen to the railing.
Below was Captain Jack Sparrow, sitting nicely in his dinghy as it bobbed on the waves. No one dared breath a word, or even think about breathing a word before either of the captains spoke.
((Not as good as both the captain's posts, but sufficient, I'd say.))
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