[Fic] The anatomy of barnacles, part two
Oct. 8th, 2010 08:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fairieloreTitle: The anatomy of barnacles, part two
Author: fairielore
Rating: PG
Characters: Beckett, Davy Jones,
Word Count: 738
Summary: The conversation between Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett, now that Beckett has the heart.
Notes: Because I had a sudden burst of inspiration from your wonderful music video (which I have watched at least a dozen times today).
The two sailed close to each other and both captains were sure that the unraveling chain of events would go their way. Of course, in the end only one of them could be right.
Davy Jones took it upon himself to make the first move, to get the element of surprise in this side. No doubt that this matter could be settled easily and that this man would bow down to him at his mere sight, if the legends were not enough.
“Yer treading on dangerous waters, mate.” The tentacled man said, appearing half a dozen feet from the man – several men in uniform were still huddled around, and he wondered who exactly was protecting whom.
The captain continued to look at the water for a long moment before finally looking at him, his tentacles tensing at his disregard for the most powerful man on the seas. “Oh, I should be saying the same to you, Mr. Jones.” It was a whimsical tone, but it could most definitely be construed as an insult. But his intentions were to keep himself calm, or at the very least diplomatic.
“I can grant ye safe passage back to whatever prim and proper lands ye come from.” He continued, taking a step forward and some men immediately dispersed.
“And what would your price be for such a service?” The man asked with a smile, his grip tightening on the heart and it became very clear that this man knew, he knew of the heart and its significance and who it belonged to. It seemed in fortnight that everyone had learned about his single most secret and precious possession. Jack Sparrow, this was all Sparrow’s fault – and the man had been dragged to the depths of hell for his insolence.
And perhaps the same tactic could be used in this situation as well. “Give me that little brown bag and I won’t slaughter every one of yer crew.” He growled, moving past the men who seemed smart enough to get out of his way. He stood in front of the man, towering over the man and shaking his crab claw at him.
In the slightest of motions he reached into his pocket and took a pen knife out of his pocket and raised the two objects in his hands for the captain to see. “Perhaps you are unaware of who I am and what I can do, but I assure you that won’t be for long.”
Jones felt a chill, as if the clouds had eradicated every last attempt of the sun’s ray to shine down. The Dutchman’s crew watched eagerly and with blood lust on their own ship, believing all to be well with the world. Their captain was formidable and superior to this pampered man. He would be crushed in that spot where he stood and that would be that.
“My name is Cutler Beckett and every sailor on the sea will fear me, especially you, Mr. Jones.” He continued, the pen knife approaching the bag and soon tearing at its threads, scraping across the outside of the heart. But it was not a mere impalement, but rather the knife traced a long line down the heart. And Davy Jones had no choice but to recoil and gasp in pain, finding himself thrown off balance and falling to the floor, catching himself in a moment and only managing to go to a kneeling position. His crew watching were mortified, but not more then he was. He felt hatred for this man more then he had felt for any other, even Sparrow. Jack may have been a slippery man but he was not cruel, he was not heartless.
Jones looked up, and finally he saw but a glimmer of sun shining down, shining down upon his man as if he was god himself. But he knew very clearly that he was just the opposite, a devil incarnate in the form of a fragile man. How he longed to snap the man’s neck in one swift movement.
“That’s better.” Cutler smiled, sea green eyes staring down at but a man. He was no master of the sea no more then he was a monster. He was just a man, no matter how many tales were spun of his wickedness.
The only truly wicked in the world were those who did calculated acts of ruthlessness rather then those who did it to confirm their mortality.
And so, the court jester kneeled before the king, a warrior made for a fool in the eyes of the court.
Author: fairielore
Rating: PG
Characters: Beckett, Davy Jones,
Word Count: 738
Summary: The conversation between Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett, now that Beckett has the heart.
Notes: Because I had a sudden burst of inspiration from your wonderful music video (which I have watched at least a dozen times today).
The two sailed close to each other and both captains were sure that the unraveling chain of events would go their way. Of course, in the end only one of them could be right.
Davy Jones took it upon himself to make the first move, to get the element of surprise in this side. No doubt that this matter could be settled easily and that this man would bow down to him at his mere sight, if the legends were not enough.
“Yer treading on dangerous waters, mate.” The tentacled man said, appearing half a dozen feet from the man – several men in uniform were still huddled around, and he wondered who exactly was protecting whom.
The captain continued to look at the water for a long moment before finally looking at him, his tentacles tensing at his disregard for the most powerful man on the seas. “Oh, I should be saying the same to you, Mr. Jones.” It was a whimsical tone, but it could most definitely be construed as an insult. But his intentions were to keep himself calm, or at the very least diplomatic.
“I can grant ye safe passage back to whatever prim and proper lands ye come from.” He continued, taking a step forward and some men immediately dispersed.
“And what would your price be for such a service?” The man asked with a smile, his grip tightening on the heart and it became very clear that this man knew, he knew of the heart and its significance and who it belonged to. It seemed in fortnight that everyone had learned about his single most secret and precious possession. Jack Sparrow, this was all Sparrow’s fault – and the man had been dragged to the depths of hell for his insolence.
And perhaps the same tactic could be used in this situation as well. “Give me that little brown bag and I won’t slaughter every one of yer crew.” He growled, moving past the men who seemed smart enough to get out of his way. He stood in front of the man, towering over the man and shaking his crab claw at him.
In the slightest of motions he reached into his pocket and took a pen knife out of his pocket and raised the two objects in his hands for the captain to see. “Perhaps you are unaware of who I am and what I can do, but I assure you that won’t be for long.”
Jones felt a chill, as if the clouds had eradicated every last attempt of the sun’s ray to shine down. The Dutchman’s crew watched eagerly and with blood lust on their own ship, believing all to be well with the world. Their captain was formidable and superior to this pampered man. He would be crushed in that spot where he stood and that would be that.
“My name is Cutler Beckett and every sailor on the sea will fear me, especially you, Mr. Jones.” He continued, the pen knife approaching the bag and soon tearing at its threads, scraping across the outside of the heart. But it was not a mere impalement, but rather the knife traced a long line down the heart. And Davy Jones had no choice but to recoil and gasp in pain, finding himself thrown off balance and falling to the floor, catching himself in a moment and only managing to go to a kneeling position. His crew watching were mortified, but not more then he was. He felt hatred for this man more then he had felt for any other, even Sparrow. Jack may have been a slippery man but he was not cruel, he was not heartless.
Jones looked up, and finally he saw but a glimmer of sun shining down, shining down upon his man as if he was god himself. But he knew very clearly that he was just the opposite, a devil incarnate in the form of a fragile man. How he longed to snap the man’s neck in one swift movement.
“That’s better.” Cutler smiled, sea green eyes staring down at but a man. He was no master of the sea no more then he was a monster. He was just a man, no matter how many tales were spun of his wickedness.
The only truly wicked in the world were those who did calculated acts of ruthlessness rather then those who did it to confirm their mortality.
And so, the court jester kneeled before the king, a warrior made for a fool in the eyes of the court.
