drunkenpandaren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drunkenpandaren) wrote2006-10-09 02:32 am
drunkenpandaren) wrote2006-10-09 02:32 am
Thrice Cursed - POTC/WITCH
This'll be fun.
Thrice Cursed
Written by Shaun Garin
Pirates of the Caribbean and W.I.T.C.H. are owned and copyright Disney. POTC is produced by Jerry Bruckheimer and W.I.T.C.H. animated by SIP.
=====
Louisiana Bayou, 1694
"Jack, I had thought I never would see you again for a long time," purred Tia Dalma, her skirts swishing about and glinting off the yellow flicker of the candles that dotted the small bayou shack. Nearby, Jack the Monkey, still immortal, chattered at the new arrival who looked quite weary from his travels. "What brings you here today Jack?"
"A curse," muttered Jack and Tia reached out, ensnaring his hand. "Not that curse woman, a new one!"
The hand was free of the Black Spot, a sign of the condemned amidst those who run from Davey Jones. Jack had been dead once before, and it hadn't been pleasant. Instead however of where the Black Spot would have sat on his palm, the back of his hand sported a set of Roman Numerals, twin I's that sketched out the number 2. "What this be?" inquired Tia, dark features scowling in thought.
"That, is the curse," enunciated Jack. "Some bloody man whom I robbed during a typical raid put some kind of voodun curse on meself and that is the mark."
"Did he say anything of the sort? A curse cannae be created without terms," said Tia, getting up and sweeping towards the stores of preserved animal bits and often rotted ones for her spells and incants.
"Some gibberish about a thousand deaths or such nonsense," dismissed Jack. A jar slipped from her fingers and crashed to the ground, spilling live frogs everywhere. Feeling he had just stepped into the proverbial trap, Jack helpfully gathered up a couple of frogs and deposited them into a tureen next to him, hastily wiping his hands on his jacket. "You know of it?"
"A Dead Man's Curse," said Tia finally, looking straight at Jack in the manner of "I Am Talking Directly To You". "He has condemned you to the most horrible fate of all Jack Sparrow; you will die a thousand deaths before you may rest in peace. Till you do, you are ageless, immortal, able to die by unnatural causes but never able to die NATURALLY. Your fate is in your hands Jack Sparrow; you now possess eternity."
The silence was deafening in the room, save for Jack the Monkey's wild howling. And then Jack Sparrow swallowed and turned to the monkey. "Looks like it's just you and me, eh Jack?"
The monkey had nothing to do with him, screeched ferociously and cantered out the window to escape sharing in Sparrow's fate. "Oh bugger," intoned Jack Sparrow.
=====
312 Years Later...
"Jack Sparrow..."
"It's Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow," muttered Jack as he tested the bonds that secured him to the chair. Granted it had been the first time to be gassed, possibly not the last but for a crime that he hadn't committed, it was really one of those things that made him rather peeved indeed.
Not much had changed about Jack Sparrow in the long years of being alive, doing his damndest not to die and run up his ever-present tally of deaths. He was still tall, dark-skinned with his unruly hair still wove about in trinkets. He wore contemporary jeans and a raggity t-shirt, something he was wearing when picked up mistakenly for a high profile serial killer. There was a downside to being named Jack Sparrow, he mused, everyone wanted to kill him.
The judge had sentenced him in a rare bout of severeness, but possibly trying to persuade them not to gas him and inadvertantly getting them to do such a thing was beyond him. As it stood, the grim-looking executioner was a shod off the original block; stern, immovable and possibly had notified the undertaker.
The man was reading off the list of charges and Jack was generally ignoring them. In a rare bout of cheekiness, he looked directly at the man and proclaimed, "Mate, I'll say it once, and I'll most likely say it many times later; remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow."
It was then the gas was thrown.
Three hours later by Jack's reckoning, he made his way out of a freshly dug grave, dusting his clothing away free of dust. Time to pack up and head out. His hand was etched in a warm looking wound that appeared to be in the form of a VII as he rubbed it moodily.
Fortunately the police hadn't searched his place, and Jack made it in without any trouble once he knocked out the frightened landlord who had been notified of his demise. Stuffing his things into a duffel bag, Jack cleaned up his appearance and dressed differently, he sauntered to the bus station where he provided a false ID and hopped the latest bus bound for a random destination he had plucked out of his mind and the list.
Several hours later and a bathroom break in between, Jack found himself shouldering his bag as he marched himself into downtown Heatherfield. "Well Jack, let's see how long your luck runs out, hmm?" he mused to himself.
Thrice Cursed
Written by Shaun Garin
Pirates of the Caribbean and W.I.T.C.H. are owned and copyright Disney. POTC is produced by Jerry Bruckheimer and W.I.T.C.H. animated by SIP.
=====
Louisiana Bayou, 1694
"Jack, I had thought I never would see you again for a long time," purred Tia Dalma, her skirts swishing about and glinting off the yellow flicker of the candles that dotted the small bayou shack. Nearby, Jack the Monkey, still immortal, chattered at the new arrival who looked quite weary from his travels. "What brings you here today Jack?"
"A curse," muttered Jack and Tia reached out, ensnaring his hand. "Not that curse woman, a new one!"
The hand was free of the Black Spot, a sign of the condemned amidst those who run from Davey Jones. Jack had been dead once before, and it hadn't been pleasant. Instead however of where the Black Spot would have sat on his palm, the back of his hand sported a set of Roman Numerals, twin I's that sketched out the number 2. "What this be?" inquired Tia, dark features scowling in thought.
"That, is the curse," enunciated Jack. "Some bloody man whom I robbed during a typical raid put some kind of voodun curse on meself and that is the mark."
"Did he say anything of the sort? A curse cannae be created without terms," said Tia, getting up and sweeping towards the stores of preserved animal bits and often rotted ones for her spells and incants.
"Some gibberish about a thousand deaths or such nonsense," dismissed Jack. A jar slipped from her fingers and crashed to the ground, spilling live frogs everywhere. Feeling he had just stepped into the proverbial trap, Jack helpfully gathered up a couple of frogs and deposited them into a tureen next to him, hastily wiping his hands on his jacket. "You know of it?"
"A Dead Man's Curse," said Tia finally, looking straight at Jack in the manner of "I Am Talking Directly To You". "He has condemned you to the most horrible fate of all Jack Sparrow; you will die a thousand deaths before you may rest in peace. Till you do, you are ageless, immortal, able to die by unnatural causes but never able to die NATURALLY. Your fate is in your hands Jack Sparrow; you now possess eternity."
The silence was deafening in the room, save for Jack the Monkey's wild howling. And then Jack Sparrow swallowed and turned to the monkey. "Looks like it's just you and me, eh Jack?"
The monkey had nothing to do with him, screeched ferociously and cantered out the window to escape sharing in Sparrow's fate. "Oh bugger," intoned Jack Sparrow.
=====
312 Years Later...
"Jack Sparrow..."
"It's Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow," muttered Jack as he tested the bonds that secured him to the chair. Granted it had been the first time to be gassed, possibly not the last but for a crime that he hadn't committed, it was really one of those things that made him rather peeved indeed.
Not much had changed about Jack Sparrow in the long years of being alive, doing his damndest not to die and run up his ever-present tally of deaths. He was still tall, dark-skinned with his unruly hair still wove about in trinkets. He wore contemporary jeans and a raggity t-shirt, something he was wearing when picked up mistakenly for a high profile serial killer. There was a downside to being named Jack Sparrow, he mused, everyone wanted to kill him.
The judge had sentenced him in a rare bout of severeness, but possibly trying to persuade them not to gas him and inadvertantly getting them to do such a thing was beyond him. As it stood, the grim-looking executioner was a shod off the original block; stern, immovable and possibly had notified the undertaker.
The man was reading off the list of charges and Jack was generally ignoring them. In a rare bout of cheekiness, he looked directly at the man and proclaimed, "Mate, I'll say it once, and I'll most likely say it many times later; remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow."
It was then the gas was thrown.
Three hours later by Jack's reckoning, he made his way out of a freshly dug grave, dusting his clothing away free of dust. Time to pack up and head out. His hand was etched in a warm looking wound that appeared to be in the form of a VII as he rubbed it moodily.
Fortunately the police hadn't searched his place, and Jack made it in without any trouble once he knocked out the frightened landlord who had been notified of his demise. Stuffing his things into a duffel bag, Jack cleaned up his appearance and dressed differently, he sauntered to the bus station where he provided a false ID and hopped the latest bus bound for a random destination he had plucked out of his mind and the list.
Several hours later and a bathroom break in between, Jack found himself shouldering his bag as he marched himself into downtown Heatherfield. "Well Jack, let's see how long your luck runs out, hmm?" he mused to himself.