Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean > Legarou
Part Three
0 reviewsAfter finding a secluded weapons cache, Captain Jack Sparrow and the crew of The Black Pearl release something terrible into the Caribbean.
2Original
DISCLAIMER: Disney is the true owner of PotC and all related things. I merely borrow the characters for stupid stories. Except Andre. He's mine.
PART 3:
Alter Idem. -Second Self
Andre Delacroix was not a happy French man. He was naked, covered in burns, and mysteriously had hair in his mouth-among other things. The coppery taste was definitely blood, and his mouth was definitely not bleeding. The sun was also attributing to his unhappy mood-piercing his brain with its overly happy rays.
"Merde..." he muttered.
Andre gingerly prodded at the sides of his head and came away with blood, as he somewhat expected since his brain felt as though it may leak out of his ears. What had happened to him, he did not know.
"That's very interesting," came a husky voice-seemingly disembodied and colored with a British accent. The sound of metal scraping dirt was heard even closer, and Andre followed the point of the metal along the flat of what appeared to be a blade that ended where a man's hand began. At least, Andre thought it was a man's hand. He knew of no man who held a sword so, but neither did he know of any woman who would let her fingernails become that filthy. Continuing up the arm, Andre was startled to see the face of a pirate (for, what else could this man be?) blinking owlishly down upon him.
Mentally, he connected the dots. Aching, bleeding head, sword with a smudge of red on it, pirate... That all added up to the following: "You attacked me!" Andre shouted, pointing a finger at his assailant and silently wondering at the hoarseness of his own voice.
The blinking was more forced, and the scallywag raised both of his eyebrows. "English..." he muttered, apparently ignoring Andre's accusation. "You can speak English?"
"Of course I can speak English! I am speaking it now, am I not? Now answer me this, knave, why did you attack me?"
"You know, you are completely starkers right now. Want me to drag one of your froggy French friends back here and make him give you summat to wear?"
Andre dissected the man's vernacular in his head and came up with one conclusion. "Great, Merciful Christ! I'm naked!"
The pirate had the gall to snigger.
"I will take that as an affirmation. And I attacked you because, in a fit of animalistic rage, you attacked me. So, we're squared with the whole 'wound on the noggin' business," he tipped his old leather hat and revealed a nasty looking slice on his temple. The red bandana that was hiding most of his forehead was torn jaggedly and soaked through.
With a wry nod, the pirate left to do as he'd previously suggested.
*
Andre was more than grateful to receive clothing (however blood soaked and torn), and was currently looking down upon the pirate who had assaulted him. For some reason, the French man felt superior to the Brit-in dress and decorum. However...
"I'm supposin' that you're wondering just how you ended up in the middle of a tropical forest with naught a stitch on your hide and a rather nasty set of burns about your joints?"
He sure did know how to get to the point.
"You supposed correctly, Mister..."
"It's Captain, savvy? Captain Jack Sparrow."
Andre could care less for the man's rank. And it didn't really matter to him. The bloke was a pirate, after all. "Right. Mister Sparrow, would you be so kind as to explain to me my predicament?"
Sparrow's jaw developed a pronounced tic at the incorrect title, but he answered Andre regardless. "You were ejected from the pit of Hell, Mister..." he mocked him, ridiculous head tilt and all.
"Andre Delacroix... And surely you are making stories, Sparrow."
Beside them, he caught snatches of what the French soldiers were discussing. Surely this man is a minion of Satan! Who else could be thrown from Hell to terrorize God-fearing men? He tried to /eat /you, Henri and now you let him wear your clothes?! /I pity that pirate...how his wound might fester. What if the tale of Legarou is true? I fear too much to even ponder an answer to such a question. Did you see? Even though he looks like a man now, his fangs and claws remain! /
/Andre glanced down at his hand and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. Indeed, his nails were longer than normal and quite sharp in appearance, and his teeth had an edge to them that they were lacking before. /Before what? he wondered. And I tried to /eat someone? That's impossible!/
"'Fraid not, Cross. You were hairy, drooling all over the ruddy place, spoutin' Latin and generally acting the part of a wild Hell beast."
"Hell...beast...what?!" Andre scrubbed at his chin and aimed a disbelieving look at Jack.
"Yeah, the three ninnies sittin' over there called you a Legarou. You even chewed up one of them. Ring any pertinent and clamorous bells, Cross?"
"Legarou," Andre repeated. "It's a myth. Told to frighten children into not wandering alone at night. And why do you keep calling me 'Cross?'"
"Fits you better than 'Andre Delacroix,'" Jack shrugged. "And if Legarou was just some myth, would I have this?"
Jack proceeded to take off his bandana. He wet the edge of it with rum from a flask at his hip and dabbed at the festering wound on his forehead. He cleaned the blood away and tied his bandana back on with careful force. Andre assumed it was to apply a constant pressure.
"Disgusting..." Andre muttered. "So you are saying that I was...this Legarou beast? And I tried to eat a person?" he asked after waiting several moments to allow his stomach to calm down. Andre hated the sight of blood-and the idea of cannibalism was even worse.
"Right. I had knocked you flat on your rump, and as soon as good ole' Mister Sunshine peeked over yon blue horizon, you lost most of your fur and here you sit."
"But how... I don't remember ever being in Hell. Or dying, for that matter."
Jack shrugged and jammed his hat back on his head with more than necessary force. "Can't help you there, mate. Terribly sorry."
Andre touched his own head wound and found that its severity was nowhere near that of the one decorating the sun-spared skin of Jack Sparrow's forehead. It was a mere sliver in comparison. Guilt touched his heart, though he didn't know why he should feel guilty. He was ignorant to what this fellow was telling him. Not only that, but he didn't see any way that it could be possible for him to be a beastly creature one moment and a pale, burnt man the moment the sun came up. Nor was it fathomable that he would attempt to eat a human being and then not remember anything.
Andre glanced up at Sparrow again. His newfound 'friend' was staring at the tree line. "/Furunculus//..." /he breathed. Andre's eyes widened.
"Was that something that...I...said?"
Jack spared him a glance. "Aye. Know what it means, do ye?"
Andre nodded. "It means 'pilferer.' Who did I accuse of thievery? And thievery of what, exactly?"
Jack returned to staring at the tree line. "A saber, I think. Well," he stood, swayed ever so slightly, then shot a glare down at Andre, "I'm off. Me ship's waiting just off-shore."
He started to leave, cutlass in hand, when Andre spoke up.
"May I come with you?"
*
On the third day of keeping Mr. Gibbs in their care, Will noticed something disturbing about the wound on the older man's shoulder. It wasn't healing. In fact, had Will not had an eye trained to see such things, he still would have said that it was getting worse. Estrella was changing the bandage every four hours.
"Will?"
The young man looked up from his worktable and ceased polishing the new blade he just finished. "Hello, Elizabeth. Is there news?"
He referred to Norrington's reports concerning sightings of the Black Pearl.
"Yes, actually, there is. The Pearl was last seen by a trio of French soldiers stationed on a group of islands near Guadeloupe," Elizabeth said, fanning herself delicately in the sweltering heat that was the smith. "Honestly, Will, I am in awe of your ability to work in such conditions. It's positively ghastly to even stand in this baking structure!"
Will held back a snigger. She was being perfectly...womanish...and Elizabeth was never like that in the home. This was her public personality. The one she purposefully over-did and satirized until Will was near the point of laughing out loud.
He settled for a sedate snort and was rewarded with Elizabeth's sheepish smile.
"But, to be serious," she continued, flinging herself onto an upturned barrel, "I'm frightfully worried for Jack."
Will nodded in agreement and started inspected the blade for any flaws he may have missed. "As am I."
"And what of Mr. Gibbs? How are we to fend off a monster?" she asked.
Will turned away from his work again. "We've done it before."
"Aye," Elizabeth slipped up. She grimaced at the word and shook her head. I suppose it's what happens when you spend so much time with pirates. "But Jack was the one who rid us of the monster last time."
Will frowned. "It was a group effort, Elizabeth. Without you, I would be dead, and without me, Barbossa would have never been made mortal again."
Elizabeth nodded. "Then I suppose all we can do is wait."
Will nodded as well.
"I hate waiting," Elizabeth said.
*
On course along the Greater Antilles, a pirate captain leaned against the mizzenmast and fanned his feverish skin with his weather-beaten hat. His new friend was no better-asleep ten feet away from him, obviously plagued by nightmares. The moon was concealed by latent storm clouds, and the blocked light left everything in a pitch darkness that did not bode well. Jack knew that wherever Gibbs was, he would say that something about this meant bad luck.
Sighing in irritation, Jack pulled his knees up closer to his chest and he leaned heavily on them. Drowsiness claimed him, and kohl-lined eyes drooped shut to join Andre in Slumber Land.
Then the horrific nightmare began.
Review, please!
DISCLAIMER: Disney is the true owner of PotC and all related things DISCLAIMER: Disney is the true owner of PotC and all related things. I merely borrow the characters for stupid stories. Except Andre. He's mine.
PART 3:
Alter Idem. -Second Self
Andre Delacroix was not a happy French man. He was naked, covered in burns, and mysteriously had hair in his mouth-among other things. The coppery taste was definitely blood, and his mouth was definitely not bleeding. The sun was also attributing to his unhappy mood-piercing his brain with its overly happy rays.
"Merde..." he muttered.
Andre gingerly prodded at the sides of his head and came away with blood, as he somewhat expected since his brain felt as though it may leak out of his ears. What had happened to him, he did not know.
"That's very interesting," came a husky voice-seemingly disembodied and colored with a British accent. The sound of metal scraping dirt was heard even closer, and Andre followed the point of the metal along the flat of what appeared to be a blade that ended where a man's hand began. At least, Andre thought it was a man's hand. He knew of no man who held a sword so, but neither did he know of any woman who would let her fingernails become that filthy. Continuing up the arm, Andre was startled to see the face of a pirate (for, what else could this man be?) blinking owlishly down upon him.
Mentally, he connected the dots. Aching, bleeding head, sword with a smudge of red on it, pirate... That all added up to the following: "You attacked me!" Andre shouted, pointing a finger at his assailant and silently wondering at the hoarseness of his own voice.
The blinking was more forced, and the scallywag raised both of his eyebrows. "English..." he muttered, apparently ignoring Andre's accusation. "You can speak English?"
"Of course I can speak English! I am speaking it now, am I not? Now answer me this, knave, why did you attack me?"
"You know, you are completely starkers right now. Want me to drag one of your froggy French friends back here and make him give you summat to wear?"
Andre dissected the man's vernacular in his head and came up with one conclusion. "Great, Merciful Christ! I'm naked!"
The pirate had the gall to snigger.
"I will take that as an affirmation. And I attacked you because, in a fit of animalistic rage, you attacked me. So, we're squared with the whole 'wound on the noggin' business," he tipped his old leather hat and revealed a nasty looking slice on his temple. The red bandana that was hiding most of his forehead was torn jaggedly and soaked through.
With a wry nod, the pirate left to do as he'd previously suggested.
*
Andre was more than grateful to receive clothing (however blood soaked and torn), and was currently looking down upon the pirate who had assaulted him. For some reason, the French man felt superior to the Brit-in dress and decorum. However...
"I'm supposin' that you're wondering just how you ended up in the middle of a tropical forest with naught a stitch on your hide and a rather nasty set of burns about your joints?"
He sure did know how to get to the point.
"You supposed correctly, Mister..."
"It's Captain, savvy? Captain Jack Sparrow."
Andre could care less for the man's rank. And it didn't really matter to him. The bloke was a pirate, after all. "Right. Mister Sparrow, would you be so kind as to explain to me my predicament?"
Sparrow's jaw developed a pronounced tic at the incorrect title, but he answered Andre regardless. "You were ejected from the pit of Hell, Mister..." he mocked him, ridiculous head tilt and all.
"Andre Delacroix... And surely you are making stories, Sparrow."
Beside them, he caught snatches of what the French soldiers were discussing. Surely this man is a minion of Satan! Who else could be thrown from Hell to terrorize God-fearing men? He tried to /eat /you, Henri and now you let him wear your clothes?! /I pity that pirate...how his wound might fester. What if the tale of Legarou is true? I fear too much to even ponder an answer to such a question. Did you see? Even though he looks like a man now, his fangs and claws remain! /
/Andre glanced down at his hand and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. Indeed, his nails were longer than normal and quite sharp in appearance, and his teeth had an edge to them that they were lacking before. /Before what? he wondered. And I tried to /eat someone? That's impossible!/
"'Fraid not, Cross. You were hairy, drooling all over the ruddy place, spoutin' Latin and generally acting the part of a wild Hell beast."
"Hell...beast...what?!" Andre scrubbed at his chin and aimed a disbelieving look at Jack.
"Yeah, the three ninnies sittin' over there called you a Legarou. You even chewed up one of them. Ring any pertinent and clamorous bells, Cross?"
"Legarou," Andre repeated. "It's a myth. Told to frighten children into not wandering alone at night. And why do you keep calling me 'Cross?'"
"Fits you better than 'Andre Delacroix,'" Jack shrugged. "And if Legarou was just some myth, would I have this?"
Jack proceeded to take off his bandana. He wet the edge of it with rum from a flask at his hip and dabbed at the festering wound on his forehead. He cleaned the blood away and tied his bandana back on with careful force. Andre assumed it was to apply a constant pressure.
"Disgusting..." Andre muttered. "So you are saying that I was...this Legarou beast? And I tried to eat a person?" he asked after waiting several moments to allow his stomach to calm down. Andre hated the sight of blood-and the idea of cannibalism was even worse.
"Right. I had knocked you flat on your rump, and as soon as good ole' Mister Sunshine peeked over yon blue horizon, you lost most of your fur and here you sit."
"But how... I don't remember ever being in Hell. Or dying, for that matter."
Jack shrugged and jammed his hat back on his head with more than necessary force. "Can't help you there, mate. Terribly sorry."
Andre touched his own head wound and found that its severity was nowhere near that of the one decorating the sun-spared skin of Jack Sparrow's forehead. It was a mere sliver in comparison. Guilt touched his heart, though he didn't know why he should feel guilty. He was ignorant to what this fellow was telling him. Not only that, but he didn't see any way that it could be possible for him to be a beastly creature one moment and a pale, burnt man the moment the sun came up. Nor was it fathomable that he would attempt to eat a human being and then not remember anything.
Andre glanced up at Sparrow again. His newfound 'friend' was staring at the tree line. "/Furunculus//..." /he breathed. Andre's eyes widened.
"Was that something that...I...said?"
Jack spared him a glance. "Aye. Know what it means, do ye?"
Andre nodded. "It means 'pilferer.' Who did I accuse of thievery? And thievery of what, exactly?"
Jack returned to staring at the tree line. "A saber, I think. Well," he stood, swayed ever so slightly, then shot a glare down at Andre, "I'm off. Me ship's waiting just off-shore."
He started to leave, cutlass in hand, when Andre spoke up.
"May I come with you?"
*
On the third day of keeping Mr. Gibbs in their care, Will noticed something disturbing about the wound on the older man's shoulder. It wasn't healing. In fact, had Will not had an eye trained to see such things, he still would have said that it was getting worse. Estrella was changing the bandage every four hours.
"Will?"
The young man looked up from his worktable and ceased polishing the new blade he just finished. "Hello, Elizabeth. Is there news?"
He referred to Norrington's reports concerning sightings of the Black Pearl.
"Yes, actually, there is. The Pearl was last seen by a trio of French soldiers stationed on a group of islands near Guadeloupe," Elizabeth said, fanning herself delicately in the sweltering heat that was the smith. "Honestly, Will, I am in awe of your ability to work in such conditions. It's positively ghastly to even stand in this baking structure!"
Will held back a snigger. She was being perfectly...womanish...and Elizabeth was never like that in the home. This was her public personality. The one she purposefully over-did and satirized until Will was near the point of laughing out loud.
He settled for a sedate snort and was rewarded with Elizabeth's sheepish smile.
"But, to be serious," she continued, flinging herself onto an upturned barrel, "I'm frightfully worried for Jack."
Will nodded in agreement and started inspected the blade for any flaws he may have missed. "As am I."
"And what of Mr. Gibbs? How are we to fend off a monster?" she asked.
Will turned away from his work again. "We've done it before."
"Aye," Elizabeth slipped up. She grimaced at the word and shook her head. I suppose it's what happens when you spend so much time with pirates. "But Jack was the one who rid us of the monster last time."
Will frowned. "It was a group effort, Elizabeth. Without you, I would be dead, and without me, Barbossa would have never been made mortal again."
Elizabeth nodded. "Then I suppose all we can do is wait."
Will nodded as well.
"I hate waiting," Elizabeth said.
*
On course along the Greater Antilles, a pirate captain leaned against the mizzenmast and fanned his feverish skin with his weather-beaten hat. His new friend was no better-asleep ten feet away from him, obviously plagued by nightmares. The moon was concealed by latent storm clouds, and the blocked light left everything in a pitch darkness that did not bode well. Jack knew that wherever Gibbs was, he would say that something about this meant bad luck.
Sighing in irritation, Jack pulled his knees up closer to his chest and he leaned heavily on them. Drowsiness claimed him, and kohl-lined eyes drooped shut to join Andre in Slumber Land.
Then the horrific nightmare began.
Review, please!
PART 3:
Alter Idem. -Second Self
Andre Delacroix was not a happy French man. He was naked, covered in burns, and mysteriously had hair in his mouth-among other things. The coppery taste was definitely blood, and his mouth was definitely not bleeding. The sun was also attributing to his unhappy mood-piercing his brain with its overly happy rays.
"Merde..." he muttered.
Andre gingerly prodded at the sides of his head and came away with blood, as he somewhat expected since his brain felt as though it may leak out of his ears. What had happened to him, he did not know.
"That's very interesting," came a husky voice-seemingly disembodied and colored with a British accent. The sound of metal scraping dirt was heard even closer, and Andre followed the point of the metal along the flat of what appeared to be a blade that ended where a man's hand began. At least, Andre thought it was a man's hand. He knew of no man who held a sword so, but neither did he know of any woman who would let her fingernails become that filthy. Continuing up the arm, Andre was startled to see the face of a pirate (for, what else could this man be?) blinking owlishly down upon him.
Mentally, he connected the dots. Aching, bleeding head, sword with a smudge of red on it, pirate... That all added up to the following: "You attacked me!" Andre shouted, pointing a finger at his assailant and silently wondering at the hoarseness of his own voice.
The blinking was more forced, and the scallywag raised both of his eyebrows. "English..." he muttered, apparently ignoring Andre's accusation. "You can speak English?"
"Of course I can speak English! I am speaking it now, am I not? Now answer me this, knave, why did you attack me?"
"You know, you are completely starkers right now. Want me to drag one of your froggy French friends back here and make him give you summat to wear?"
Andre dissected the man's vernacular in his head and came up with one conclusion. "Great, Merciful Christ! I'm naked!"
The pirate had the gall to snigger.
"I will take that as an affirmation. And I attacked you because, in a fit of animalistic rage, you attacked me. So, we're squared with the whole 'wound on the noggin' business," he tipped his old leather hat and revealed a nasty looking slice on his temple. The red bandana that was hiding most of his forehead was torn jaggedly and soaked through.
With a wry nod, the pirate left to do as he'd previously suggested.
*
Andre was more than grateful to receive clothing (however blood soaked and torn), and was currently looking down upon the pirate who had assaulted him. For some reason, the French man felt superior to the Brit-in dress and decorum. However...
"I'm supposin' that you're wondering just how you ended up in the middle of a tropical forest with naught a stitch on your hide and a rather nasty set of burns about your joints?"
He sure did know how to get to the point.
"You supposed correctly, Mister..."
"It's Captain, savvy? Captain Jack Sparrow."
Andre could care less for the man's rank. And it didn't really matter to him. The bloke was a pirate, after all. "Right. Mister Sparrow, would you be so kind as to explain to me my predicament?"
Sparrow's jaw developed a pronounced tic at the incorrect title, but he answered Andre regardless. "You were ejected from the pit of Hell, Mister..." he mocked him, ridiculous head tilt and all.
"Andre Delacroix... And surely you are making stories, Sparrow."
Beside them, he caught snatches of what the French soldiers were discussing. Surely this man is a minion of Satan! Who else could be thrown from Hell to terrorize God-fearing men? He tried to /eat /you, Henri and now you let him wear your clothes?! /I pity that pirate...how his wound might fester. What if the tale of Legarou is true? I fear too much to even ponder an answer to such a question. Did you see? Even though he looks like a man now, his fangs and claws remain! /
/Andre glanced down at his hand and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. Indeed, his nails were longer than normal and quite sharp in appearance, and his teeth had an edge to them that they were lacking before. /Before what? he wondered. And I tried to /eat someone? That's impossible!/
"'Fraid not, Cross. You were hairy, drooling all over the ruddy place, spoutin' Latin and generally acting the part of a wild Hell beast."
"Hell...beast...what?!" Andre scrubbed at his chin and aimed a disbelieving look at Jack.
"Yeah, the three ninnies sittin' over there called you a Legarou. You even chewed up one of them. Ring any pertinent and clamorous bells, Cross?"
"Legarou," Andre repeated. "It's a myth. Told to frighten children into not wandering alone at night. And why do you keep calling me 'Cross?'"
"Fits you better than 'Andre Delacroix,'" Jack shrugged. "And if Legarou was just some myth, would I have this?"
Jack proceeded to take off his bandana. He wet the edge of it with rum from a flask at his hip and dabbed at the festering wound on his forehead. He cleaned the blood away and tied his bandana back on with careful force. Andre assumed it was to apply a constant pressure.
"Disgusting..." Andre muttered. "So you are saying that I was...this Legarou beast? And I tried to eat a person?" he asked after waiting several moments to allow his stomach to calm down. Andre hated the sight of blood-and the idea of cannibalism was even worse.
"Right. I had knocked you flat on your rump, and as soon as good ole' Mister Sunshine peeked over yon blue horizon, you lost most of your fur and here you sit."
"But how... I don't remember ever being in Hell. Or dying, for that matter."
Jack shrugged and jammed his hat back on his head with more than necessary force. "Can't help you there, mate. Terribly sorry."
Andre touched his own head wound and found that its severity was nowhere near that of the one decorating the sun-spared skin of Jack Sparrow's forehead. It was a mere sliver in comparison. Guilt touched his heart, though he didn't know why he should feel guilty. He was ignorant to what this fellow was telling him. Not only that, but he didn't see any way that it could be possible for him to be a beastly creature one moment and a pale, burnt man the moment the sun came up. Nor was it fathomable that he would attempt to eat a human being and then not remember anything.
Andre glanced up at Sparrow again. His newfound 'friend' was staring at the tree line. "/Furunculus//..." /he breathed. Andre's eyes widened.
"Was that something that...I...said?"
Jack spared him a glance. "Aye. Know what it means, do ye?"
Andre nodded. "It means 'pilferer.' Who did I accuse of thievery? And thievery of what, exactly?"
Jack returned to staring at the tree line. "A saber, I think. Well," he stood, swayed ever so slightly, then shot a glare down at Andre, "I'm off. Me ship's waiting just off-shore."
He started to leave, cutlass in hand, when Andre spoke up.
"May I come with you?"
*
On the third day of keeping Mr. Gibbs in their care, Will noticed something disturbing about the wound on the older man's shoulder. It wasn't healing. In fact, had Will not had an eye trained to see such things, he still would have said that it was getting worse. Estrella was changing the bandage every four hours.
"Will?"
The young man looked up from his worktable and ceased polishing the new blade he just finished. "Hello, Elizabeth. Is there news?"
He referred to Norrington's reports concerning sightings of the Black Pearl.
"Yes, actually, there is. The Pearl was last seen by a trio of French soldiers stationed on a group of islands near Guadeloupe," Elizabeth said, fanning herself delicately in the sweltering heat that was the smith. "Honestly, Will, I am in awe of your ability to work in such conditions. It's positively ghastly to even stand in this baking structure!"
Will held back a snigger. She was being perfectly...womanish...and Elizabeth was never like that in the home. This was her public personality. The one she purposefully over-did and satirized until Will was near the point of laughing out loud.
He settled for a sedate snort and was rewarded with Elizabeth's sheepish smile.
"But, to be serious," she continued, flinging herself onto an upturned barrel, "I'm frightfully worried for Jack."
Will nodded in agreement and started inspected the blade for any flaws he may have missed. "As am I."
"And what of Mr. Gibbs? How are we to fend off a monster?" she asked.
Will turned away from his work again. "We've done it before."
"Aye," Elizabeth slipped up. She grimaced at the word and shook her head. I suppose it's what happens when you spend so much time with pirates. "But Jack was the one who rid us of the monster last time."
Will frowned. "It was a group effort, Elizabeth. Without you, I would be dead, and without me, Barbossa would have never been made mortal again."
Elizabeth nodded. "Then I suppose all we can do is wait."
Will nodded as well.
"I hate waiting," Elizabeth said.
*
On course along the Greater Antilles, a pirate captain leaned against the mizzenmast and fanned his feverish skin with his weather-beaten hat. His new friend was no better-asleep ten feet away from him, obviously plagued by nightmares. The moon was concealed by latent storm clouds, and the blocked light left everything in a pitch darkness that did not bode well. Jack knew that wherever Gibbs was, he would say that something about this meant bad luck.
Sighing in irritation, Jack pulled his knees up closer to his chest and he leaned heavily on them. Drowsiness claimed him, and kohl-lined eyes drooped shut to join Andre in Slumber Land.
Then the horrific nightmare began.
Review, please!
DISCLAIMER: Disney is the true owner of PotC and all related things DISCLAIMER: Disney is the true owner of PotC and all related things. I merely borrow the characters for stupid stories. Except Andre. He's mine.
PART 3:
Alter Idem. -Second Self
Andre Delacroix was not a happy French man. He was naked, covered in burns, and mysteriously had hair in his mouth-among other things. The coppery taste was definitely blood, and his mouth was definitely not bleeding. The sun was also attributing to his unhappy mood-piercing his brain with its overly happy rays.
"Merde..." he muttered.
Andre gingerly prodded at the sides of his head and came away with blood, as he somewhat expected since his brain felt as though it may leak out of his ears. What had happened to him, he did not know.
"That's very interesting," came a husky voice-seemingly disembodied and colored with a British accent. The sound of metal scraping dirt was heard even closer, and Andre followed the point of the metal along the flat of what appeared to be a blade that ended where a man's hand began. At least, Andre thought it was a man's hand. He knew of no man who held a sword so, but neither did he know of any woman who would let her fingernails become that filthy. Continuing up the arm, Andre was startled to see the face of a pirate (for, what else could this man be?) blinking owlishly down upon him.
Mentally, he connected the dots. Aching, bleeding head, sword with a smudge of red on it, pirate... That all added up to the following: "You attacked me!" Andre shouted, pointing a finger at his assailant and silently wondering at the hoarseness of his own voice.
The blinking was more forced, and the scallywag raised both of his eyebrows. "English..." he muttered, apparently ignoring Andre's accusation. "You can speak English?"
"Of course I can speak English! I am speaking it now, am I not? Now answer me this, knave, why did you attack me?"
"You know, you are completely starkers right now. Want me to drag one of your froggy French friends back here and make him give you summat to wear?"
Andre dissected the man's vernacular in his head and came up with one conclusion. "Great, Merciful Christ! I'm naked!"
The pirate had the gall to snigger.
"I will take that as an affirmation. And I attacked you because, in a fit of animalistic rage, you attacked me. So, we're squared with the whole 'wound on the noggin' business," he tipped his old leather hat and revealed a nasty looking slice on his temple. The red bandana that was hiding most of his forehead was torn jaggedly and soaked through.
With a wry nod, the pirate left to do as he'd previously suggested.
*
Andre was more than grateful to receive clothing (however blood soaked and torn), and was currently looking down upon the pirate who had assaulted him. For some reason, the French man felt superior to the Brit-in dress and decorum. However...
"I'm supposin' that you're wondering just how you ended up in the middle of a tropical forest with naught a stitch on your hide and a rather nasty set of burns about your joints?"
He sure did know how to get to the point.
"You supposed correctly, Mister..."
"It's Captain, savvy? Captain Jack Sparrow."
Andre could care less for the man's rank. And it didn't really matter to him. The bloke was a pirate, after all. "Right. Mister Sparrow, would you be so kind as to explain to me my predicament?"
Sparrow's jaw developed a pronounced tic at the incorrect title, but he answered Andre regardless. "You were ejected from the pit of Hell, Mister..." he mocked him, ridiculous head tilt and all.
"Andre Delacroix... And surely you are making stories, Sparrow."
Beside them, he caught snatches of what the French soldiers were discussing. Surely this man is a minion of Satan! Who else could be thrown from Hell to terrorize God-fearing men? He tried to /eat /you, Henri and now you let him wear your clothes?! /I pity that pirate...how his wound might fester. What if the tale of Legarou is true? I fear too much to even ponder an answer to such a question. Did you see? Even though he looks like a man now, his fangs and claws remain! /
/Andre glanced down at his hand and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. Indeed, his nails were longer than normal and quite sharp in appearance, and his teeth had an edge to them that they were lacking before. /Before what? he wondered. And I tried to /eat someone? That's impossible!/
"'Fraid not, Cross. You were hairy, drooling all over the ruddy place, spoutin' Latin and generally acting the part of a wild Hell beast."
"Hell...beast...what?!" Andre scrubbed at his chin and aimed a disbelieving look at Jack.
"Yeah, the three ninnies sittin' over there called you a Legarou. You even chewed up one of them. Ring any pertinent and clamorous bells, Cross?"
"Legarou," Andre repeated. "It's a myth. Told to frighten children into not wandering alone at night. And why do you keep calling me 'Cross?'"
"Fits you better than 'Andre Delacroix,'" Jack shrugged. "And if Legarou was just some myth, would I have this?"
Jack proceeded to take off his bandana. He wet the edge of it with rum from a flask at his hip and dabbed at the festering wound on his forehead. He cleaned the blood away and tied his bandana back on with careful force. Andre assumed it was to apply a constant pressure.
"Disgusting..." Andre muttered. "So you are saying that I was...this Legarou beast? And I tried to eat a person?" he asked after waiting several moments to allow his stomach to calm down. Andre hated the sight of blood-and the idea of cannibalism was even worse.
"Right. I had knocked you flat on your rump, and as soon as good ole' Mister Sunshine peeked over yon blue horizon, you lost most of your fur and here you sit."
"But how... I don't remember ever being in Hell. Or dying, for that matter."
Jack shrugged and jammed his hat back on his head with more than necessary force. "Can't help you there, mate. Terribly sorry."
Andre touched his own head wound and found that its severity was nowhere near that of the one decorating the sun-spared skin of Jack Sparrow's forehead. It was a mere sliver in comparison. Guilt touched his heart, though he didn't know why he should feel guilty. He was ignorant to what this fellow was telling him. Not only that, but he didn't see any way that it could be possible for him to be a beastly creature one moment and a pale, burnt man the moment the sun came up. Nor was it fathomable that he would attempt to eat a human being and then not remember anything.
Andre glanced up at Sparrow again. His newfound 'friend' was staring at the tree line. "/Furunculus//..." /he breathed. Andre's eyes widened.
"Was that something that...I...said?"
Jack spared him a glance. "Aye. Know what it means, do ye?"
Andre nodded. "It means 'pilferer.' Who did I accuse of thievery? And thievery of what, exactly?"
Jack returned to staring at the tree line. "A saber, I think. Well," he stood, swayed ever so slightly, then shot a glare down at Andre, "I'm off. Me ship's waiting just off-shore."
He started to leave, cutlass in hand, when Andre spoke up.
"May I come with you?"
*
On the third day of keeping Mr. Gibbs in their care, Will noticed something disturbing about the wound on the older man's shoulder. It wasn't healing. In fact, had Will not had an eye trained to see such things, he still would have said that it was getting worse. Estrella was changing the bandage every four hours.
"Will?"
The young man looked up from his worktable and ceased polishing the new blade he just finished. "Hello, Elizabeth. Is there news?"
He referred to Norrington's reports concerning sightings of the Black Pearl.
"Yes, actually, there is. The Pearl was last seen by a trio of French soldiers stationed on a group of islands near Guadeloupe," Elizabeth said, fanning herself delicately in the sweltering heat that was the smith. "Honestly, Will, I am in awe of your ability to work in such conditions. It's positively ghastly to even stand in this baking structure!"
Will held back a snigger. She was being perfectly...womanish...and Elizabeth was never like that in the home. This was her public personality. The one she purposefully over-did and satirized until Will was near the point of laughing out loud.
He settled for a sedate snort and was rewarded with Elizabeth's sheepish smile.
"But, to be serious," she continued, flinging herself onto an upturned barrel, "I'm frightfully worried for Jack."
Will nodded in agreement and started inspected the blade for any flaws he may have missed. "As am I."
"And what of Mr. Gibbs? How are we to fend off a monster?" she asked.
Will turned away from his work again. "We've done it before."
"Aye," Elizabeth slipped up. She grimaced at the word and shook her head. I suppose it's what happens when you spend so much time with pirates. "But Jack was the one who rid us of the monster last time."
Will frowned. "It was a group effort, Elizabeth. Without you, I would be dead, and without me, Barbossa would have never been made mortal again."
Elizabeth nodded. "Then I suppose all we can do is wait."
Will nodded as well.
"I hate waiting," Elizabeth said.
*
On course along the Greater Antilles, a pirate captain leaned against the mizzenmast and fanned his feverish skin with his weather-beaten hat. His new friend was no better-asleep ten feet away from him, obviously plagued by nightmares. The moon was concealed by latent storm clouds, and the blocked light left everything in a pitch darkness that did not bode well. Jack knew that wherever Gibbs was, he would say that something about this meant bad luck.
Sighing in irritation, Jack pulled his knees up closer to his chest and he leaned heavily on them. Drowsiness claimed him, and kohl-lined eyes drooped shut to join Andre in Slumber Land.
Then the horrific nightmare began.
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