Well, it partially is. It's one of the elements I'm using to tell the story.
I'll try to have the next chapter in the next week or two. no promises though.
Fanfiction ► Beginning of Destiny
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Well, it partially is. It's one of the elements I'm using to tell the story.
I'll try to have the next chapter in the next week or two. no promises though.
sweet new one comin soon!
Okay, don't be mad, but the update is gonna be next week but instead of this one. I've got some momentum going on it, but its still got a little way to go.
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No problem my friend. We shall wait a little longer.
NO WORRIES!!!
I gotta catch up anyways. ^^;
I'm still on chapter 21.
@-@
I gotta catch up anyways. ^^;
I'm still on chapter 21.
@-@
no prob dude we can wait right everyone?
Yeah I can wait for the story.
Chapter 23: Side Stepped Side Story #VI: Never Trust a Pirate.
The Île de la Tortue, or Tortuga as it is more commonly known by the residents of the seas of the Caribbean, is a island where chaos and anarchy reigns. Any semblance of structure, law, or order had long been abandoned by the His Majesty’s royal navy, leaving the secluded port town to drown in a endless sea of profanity, violence, and degradation as the pirates moved in, claiming Tortuga for their own, drowning themselves in their liquor to forget the never ending hardships cast upon them by the sea. In fact, those not in the “profession” who would dare to venture to Tortuga and lucky enough to leave with their lives would often describe it as being one never ending drinking binge.
As to be expected from such a port, it is littered with bars and brotherals for pirates and permanent residents alike to drown their sorrows in. One bar in particular, which was nestled away in one of the many dirt back roads that weaved through and between the decrepit, decaying wood and granite structures of this particular port town, was fairly prominent. The Faithful Bride was almost always filled to capacity, as there were never any rules. No drinking limits, no last calls, and as long nobody starts a bar fight, no consequences for drunken behavior. If you had five guineas in your pocket, there’s a pint with your name on it. As one could imagine, this leads to some pretty wild nights.
But as nights usually go, this night in particular was quiet. Only one knuckle duster broke out around sun set between two drunken patrons fighting over who gets to make out with a portrait of a young woman hanging in the corner. From then on until late into the night, everyone drinking happily and making merry, singing in the flattest, most out of sync and off chord song of What should We Do With a Drunken Sailor one could ever have the displeasure of listening too. It would have gone on all through the night, if the doors of the bar weren’t thrown open, clattering against the wall, directing the attention of everyone in the structure towards the front of the tavern. The sight that they all saw was enough to sober them all instantly and drain the blood from their faces putting an end to their intoxicated merriment and filling them with fear.
What they saw standing in the door way, propping himself up against the frame, was what could only be described as ghost made flesh. A man believed to be long dead huffed air heavily, gasping in as much air as he could. He took a step into the bar, his leather boots falling like stones against the worn, weathered wooden floor. He trots across the room, towards the bar nestled against the opposite wall. His red bandana, usually worn wrapped around his fore head, was pulled down around his neck, letting his long, wild mane fall down around his face, ragged from years of lack of care, saved for two braded strands, adorned with fine beads. His once finely trimmed beard and mustache, something he took great pride in and went to great lengths maintaining in the past, had grown long and shaggy, upon his face, accompanied by a good layer of coarse facial hair. His long sleeved white silk shirt, which was always without blemish, was now stained with sweat, pitch, and sea water, the top three buttons long gone, and the hem reduced to tatters. The leather vest he wore over the shirt, while sturdier than some of the clothes he was wearing, was not left unscathed, as bits and pieces had gone missing from the hem. The sleeves of his trousers had been permanently soiled with sea water. The only thing that seemed to have been left unsoiled was the belt looped around his waist, and the Flintlock pistol sheathed through it. He staggered up to the counter and slumps into an open stool, head hung low, his hair hiding his face. He tiredly lifted his left hand up, clenched it into a fist and slammed the counter, sending the drunks seated at the bar scattering to other tables.
“Rum...” He growled in a raspy tone of exhaustion, his voice coarse and cracked with breath holding a stench most rancid and foul. “Give… Me… RUM!”
The barkeeper, a tough veteran seadog, didn’t scare as easily as his customers. He eyed the scraggly, worn out shell of a man with his aged, pale eyes and rubbed his rugged chin through his course gray beard.
“Who are ye?” He inquired with a great deal of suspicion.
“I am—“The stranger croaked before coughing violently for a brief moment. Once he had settled down, he cleared his throat, composing himself, and spoke again, his voice was much smoother, but still had a bit of a rasp to it. “I am who you think I am.”
“Ya are, are ye?” the barkeeper replied with a snide, leaning over the bar to examine the man closer, propping up the bulk of his upper body with his massive arms. “That be impossible lad. There’s no way you could possibly be him.”
“And why not?”
“Well for starters…” The Barkeeper grunted, standing up straight and folding his arms. “They say that the last that anyone one saw ‘ye,’ you trapped on a desert isle with not but a single shot for when insanity started to creep in. They say that ye were as good as dead, with no hopes of escape. They say that ye were nothing but a memory.”
The scraggily man listened silently to the old barkeeper, right hand still resting on the wooden counter. Some of the other people in the bar creped forward to listen in, curiosity having overpowered their fear. After a moment of silence, he began to chuckle to himself, sending waves of shivers down the spines of almost everyone in the establishment.
“Well, ‘they’ say a lot, don’t they? But they be forgetting one very small detail, mate.” He scoffed in his slightly rasped voice, untying the bandana from around his neck and gave it a yank, the red silk rustling through the air, followed by a loud snap. He then held both ends of the silken strip, flipped his hair back and brought the bandana to his forehead, wrapping it around and tying if off behind his head, revealing a pair of brown eyes. After words, He leaned onto the bar counter towards the bar keeper, his left arm hanging off of the counter. As he looked the barkeeper square in the eyes, he speaks in a tone of certainty and assuredness, as if all of life’s questions could be answered with what he says next:
“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?”
After that, the tavern had once again fallen silent, all eyes on “Jack” and the barkeeper, staring into each other’s eyes with such intensity, it was almost as if they were peering into the other’s very soul. Bottles and mugs of rum and ale sat on the tables untouched, as everyone had become captivated by the spectacle before them. Time had felt like it screeched to a halt, as every moment seemed to last for an eternity. Hearts were beating like thundering drums in the ears of everyone in the bar. The tension was building and building in everyone’s minds until it felt like a brick weight was strapped to their chests. All eyes were on them, without flinching, without wavering, the anxiety rising higher and higher until:
“BWA HA HA! Right ya are Jack! Right ya are!” The barkeeper roared, laughing from his stomach in earnest. He slapped Jack’s shoulder in welcome, every time feeling a block of wood had struck him to jack. Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!
The clientele began to disperse, having been calmed down considerably by the barkeeper’s reaction, returned to their seats and their drinks, but instead of returning to their song, they sat at their tables and engaged in quiet conversation, shooting the occasional glance in Sparrow’s direction from time to time, as if to confirm that it actually was Jack Sparrow, a man whom they all thought was dead.
“Look at em.’” Sparrow huffed in slight annoyance, quickly looking over the room. “You’d think they never seen a man walk into a bar before.”
“Can’t say I honestly blame the lot, considerin’ the man what walked into the bar’s supposed to be dead.” The barkeeper retorted in amusement, a slight chuckle still in his voice.
“Then what’s say we commemorate the event by getting the dead man a drink, eh?” Jack suggested as he turned back around towards the barkeeper.
“Aye, say no more, Sparrow.” The barkeeper commanded, taking up on the not so subtle hint. He turned around and kneeled down, opening the cupboard to retrieve a bottle of the Faithful Bride’s finest rum. After popping the cork, he placed the bottle in front of sparrow. “If whatever hell ya been through these past years don’t earn ye a free meal and drink, Jack, than I doubt nothin’ will. One meal and first round, on the house.”
“You are too kind.” Sparrow quipped as the barkeeper went to fix him a meal. He took hold of the bottle by its neck, brought it to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the glass opening, arched his neck back and took a few chugs of the liquid, drinking it in earnest. After draining a fifth of the bottle, he removed the bottle and let out a sigh of relief. For the next couple minutes, he sat on the stool in a daze, thinking of his ordeal while periodically taking a swig from his drink. Then, a most unusual sound, like a thousand ship decks creaking and moaning all at once, caught his attention. He took a look to his right and saw a man slumped over the bar, snoring from what was most likely an alcohol induced coma. He rested face down on the counter, his head laid in his folded arms. He had black hair, wore a white shirt, and a plain black vest. Jack looked at the man with confusion and a hint of disgust. “Gibbs? Is that Gibbs?”
“Aye, that beached whale of a drunkard be the man known as Joshamee Gibbs.” The barkeeper scowled in anger as he returned, placing a plate of roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy before the bearded Captain. “Don’t bother trying to wake the pile of whale lard. The drunk’s got enough liquor in him to kill half of the royal navy.”
Sparrow stared at the drunken Gibbs for a moment. He then shrugged, and took another swig of rum after quipping “The man’s lost weight.”
“Ha!” The barkeeper roared in amusement. He handed Jack a knife and a fork, who then began to eat in earnest, devouring the food like he hadn’t had a morsel to eat in years. After consuming half the meal, Jack began to slow down enough that the barkeeper thought it would be a most opportune moment to speak to the wayward pirate. “So Jack, I got to know. Just how did ye escape that island? Where have ye been all this time?”
“Sorry mate. I’m not really in the mood to go about recounting that tale just yet. Maybe some other time.” He murmured as he dropped a bare leg bone onto the metal plate. “But if you want to talk, then how about you answer me questions then. Just where in the bloody hell is me Pearl?”
“Sorry to say Jack, but nobody has seen hide no hair of the Pearl or Barbossa since they made port here years back. It was them who told that you were dead. They had with them a veritable treasure hoard, they did. Throwing pieces of gold bearing the mark of Cortés around, indulging in every little sin their black hearts so desire before sailing off to parts unknown.”
“Humph. Should have known it wouldn’t be easy to get me ship back.” Jack growled as he scooped up a clump of mashed potatoes into his mouth, washing it down with another swig of rum. “Any chance you might know where I can take a look see at one of these coins?”
“Can’t say I do, Jack. Just as quickly as they came, the gold most likely left this island. Such treasure don’t stay in the same hands for too long when dealing with pirates.”
“True, true…” Jack conceded, speaking in between bites taken from the last drumstick on his plate.
“Ye should just forget about getting the Pearl back, Jack.” The barkeeper advised as he began to clean the glasses which had began to build up in a pile. “A lost cause it is. It shouldn’t be difficult for a man like you to find another ship.”
After hearing this, Jack froze, the chicken leg just inches away from his mouth. He lowered the drumstick, a look of profound sadness and contemplation had settled onto his face.
“Wish it were that easy mate.” The pirate captain lamented. He stared off to the side with a soft look on his face as he began to twirl the drumstick around his fingers. “I’ve took charge a many a ship in my time, but none quite like the Pearl. The bond me and my Pearl have is special. When I’m with her, I feel strong. I feel like I can take on the world. When she and I are together, it’s the only time I have ever felt... Free.”
The barkeeper paused, and looked at Jack with confused eyes. In his long life, both as a pirate and as a barkeeper, he had never met a man who could treasure anything the way Jack could his ship. His hardened heart seemed to, for the briefest of moments, show compassion and understanding towards the man seated before him.
“Actually...” The barkeeper drawled with a heavy sigh. “There have been rumors of a cursed ship always surrounded by fog that looks much like your Black Pearl flying about. But I wouldn’t hold too much water in it Jack. Tis only pirate lore, and with how drunk this lot can get, there is more lore cropping up with each passing day.”
Jack sat and played with a leg bone which still had a scrap of meat while he listened, twiddling it with his fingers. After thinking for a while, he grasped firmly and finished off the last of the meat. A ‘curse’ eh? Well, I never was one to put much stock in curses, but a start is a start.
“It’s my ship mate. I’ll be the one to judge what tale holds how much salt. And if pirate lore is all I have to go on…” Jack stated as he finished up the last of his meal. He then stood up, propping himself onto his feet by pushing against the table. He turned around and surveyed the room, a mischievous grin growing across his face. He then looked towards the barkeeper with a sparkle in his eye. “Then what better a place than where pirates go to tell their tall tales, eh?”
“Just don’t be startin’ any trouble, you hear me Sparrow?”
“Yeah, Yeah…” Jack mumbled, waving back at the barkeeper as he walked into the crowd to mingle.
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“All right Boys! Read em’ and pay up!” Jack Sparrow announced triumphantly, laying down his cards, revealing the eight through nine of diamonds. This brought forth a round of groans and curses spoken by others seated at his table. Four hours had passed since he walked into the Faithful Bride, the shock of his presence had long since died. While he attempted to get information about his ship from the patrons of the bar, he spent much time playing games of poker while conversing, cleaning out the pockets of nearly everyone in the entire establishment. His latest victory put him over the top, giving him enough money for new clothes and a good three weeks worth of food and shelter. As his the others at the table emptied the last guineas from their pockets, Jack looked on with a satisfied smile across his face.
“Ye got the devil’s luck Sparrow!” One pirate growled irritably, slamming his bag of guineas in front of Jack, obviously displeased with the night’s outcome.
“Aye. You must have swiped it from him when he wasn’t looking before ye got booted out of hell!” Another jested as he dropped his pouch. He seemed to be taking it more in stride than his compatriot.
“Nah, the bloke’s letting me borrow his luck until next Thursday.” Jack quipped back as he emptied the pouches into a much larger satchel. “Swell guy. Actually very pleasant. Makes wonderful scones!”
A round of laughter resounded as Jack stood up and walked back up to the bar, a bag heavy with coins strapped to his side. He was greeted by the barkeeper as he took a seat. He reached into the satchel and dropped ten coins onto the table.
“Well, did ye have any luck finding out about the Pearl, Sparrow?” Inquired the barkeeper as he handed Jack another bottle of rum.
“Nah, nothing. Idiots, the whole lot of them.” Jack snarled before taking a drink. He surveyed the room again, seeing if there was anyone he hadn’t talked to, desperately looking for a lead. His eyes were caught by an individual seated in the right handed corner of the bar next to the door. He was cloaked in a long black coat, the hood pulled over his head, preventing his face from being seen. He sat alone in the corner, a bottle to his side, shuffling a deck of cards. In the center of the table he was seated at, rested a plain blue vase, and in it was a white rose. Jack caught the barkeeper’s attention and motioned towards the hooded man. “Hey, what’s his story?”
“Nobody knows.” The barkeeper replied plainly. “Nobody can seem to work up the nerve to talk to him. Once a week for the past year, he comes in, buys a bottle, and then goes to that corner and sits from dusk to dawn, fiddling with his cards. As soon as the sun rises, he slinks off. Not once seen him drink from the bottles he buys, have I.”
“And the rose?”
“Tis the first time he brought such a thing in with him.”
“Well then, he seems like an interesting gent then!” Jack said. He grabbed his bottle and got up from his seat, swaggering across the bar towards the cloaked stranger. He grabbed a chair, spun it around, and sat down in a reversed position, resting his arms on the back of the chair. “Hey, spooky!
The cloaked man froze, stopping in mid shuffle. Jack couldn’t tell if the man was looking at him or not. The leather coated individual then took the deck and inserted it into his right pocket.
“How may I help you, Mr. Sparrow?” The man asked. He spoke with a British accent, his voice deep and smooth. He sounded as if he were of noble lineage.
“Hey, how’d ya know my name?” Jack demanded, with an over-stressed note of suspicion in his voice. It appeared that the rum he had been chugging like air had begun to take its affect. He eyed the man with an intense scrutiny.
“I’ve been here all night. It wouldn’t be difficult to overhear the occasional conversation, what with the noise you’ve been stirring up.”
“Ah, you have a point then, my good sir!” The rosy cheeked pirated admitted. He spun his chair around once more, and adapted a proper sitting position. He leaned forward onto the table. “And it seems you have me at a disadvantage, as I have no idea as to what to call yourself!”
“I make it a point to never divulge any personal information to anyone, especially not to a pirate.”
“Aye, yes! That is a good policy! Pirates aren’t to be trusted!” The tipsy Sparrow chirped gleefully, stamping his feet in play. His eyes then locked onto the white rose that sat alone at the center of the table. “What’s with the flower? Men have been stabbed in Tortuga for carrying such things around.”
“It’s…” The hooded man drawled in pause. He grabbed the flower, unzipped his jacket, stuck it inside his coat, and zipped it back up. “An invitation. And nothing that concerns you. Now why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you want from me?”
“Ah, to the point then, is it?” Sparrow asked sarcastically, a grin showing upon his face. He leaned back on his chair, propping his right leg onto the edge of the table. “See, it’s like this then, I’ve been out of the loop for the past couple of years, and I’m not exactly in the know of what’s what and what’s going on in the world.”
“So it’s information you seek then.”
“Aye, that it is.” Jack affirmed. “Now, I really don’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of the world, but there’s this one ship and man that I need a little information on, savvy?”
“And they would be….”
“A treacherous sea dog by the name of Barbossa, and the Black Pearl, the finest ship on the sea!”
The hooded man was silent for a moment, his right arm propped up on the arm rest, his head resting against his fist. Then he sat up straight, and reached into his left pocket.
“You lucked out, Mr. Sparrow.” Stated the mysterious hooded one. “I pride myself on knowing what the masses do not, or refuse to, know. And as it happens, I know quite a bit about what you seek. Of course, a man like you should know as well as any that nothing in this world is free.”
“Of course it’s not.” Jack agreed. He took the satchel from his side and slammed it onto the table. “Charge what you will. I can always get me self more.”
“You’re money is useless to me.” The cloaked man said, dismissing the pile.
“Oh, and how will we go about this transaction then?” Sparrow inquired, his brow raised in suspicion. It was then that the coated one pulled out another deck of cards, this time from his left pocket, and began shuffling them. “You carry two decks with you?”
“The other one really isn’t used for… Play.” The man drawled, a note of amusement in his voice. He then started dealing out ten cards, five on each side of the table. He placed the rest of the pile to the side. “One hand, nothing more. You win, I give you a piece of information to aid you in your quest. I win, and I get to claim a prize of my choosing. Agreed?”
“No chance that I get to know what you take if you win ahead of time, right?” Jack asked, gulping nervously.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, what choice have I then?” Jack asked himself. He picked up his cards and raised them high. “Let’s get on with it then!”
“Yes, lets.” The other said in a hushed tone of agreement as he picked up his hand and raised them in front of him. The two stared at their hands, Jack often taking peaking over his hand to look at the hooded man, who was holding his cards with his right hand, tapping the table with his left middle finger in a steady rhythm. When the rhythm stopped, beads of sweat started to pour down Jack’s face. The hooded man reached over and grabbed the deck. He took two cards from his hand and placed them off to the side and replaced them with two new cards from the deck. “You’ve had long enough, Sparrow. How many cards?”
Once again sober, Jack took three cards with trembling hands and slid them face down across the table. The cloaked man took them and threw them off to the side to join the cards he had discarded. He took three cards and slid them face down to Jack, who then quickly scooped them up and added them to his hand.
“Well, it’s the moment of truth. Are you ready Sparrow?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be…” Jack croaked as he grabbed his collar with his left index finger and ran it around the edge. He then reached over and grabbed his bottle of rum by the neck. “But before we show our hands, can I propose a toast? May the best man win!”
“…. Very well then. May the best man win.” The cloaked man reached over, grabbed his bottle, and in one big move, took a big swig of it, lasting for at least five seconds before parting his lips with the bottle top. Returning the bottle to the side, he looked straight at Sparrow. “Are you ready?”
“Ready and willing, mate!” Jack said confidently, a gleam in his eye. “By all means, after you!”
“Four of a kind. Ace high.” He announced, revealing his hand, laying them face up onto the table. He had four aces, each of a different suit, and one four of spades.
“Straight flush, king high!” Jack remarked triumphantly, revealing his hand of cards nine through king, all hearts. His advisory gasped in shock and amazement, standing slightly, leaning forward to get a better look at the hand. He kept looking from Jack, to Jack’s hand, then back to Jack again in disbelief. He slumped into his chair in defeat.
“Fine! You win. But pay attention. I’m only saying this once!” He snarled through gritted teeth, clutching the ends of the armrests tightly. “Your ‘friend,’ Barbossa has been doing a lot of sailing lately. More so than a pirate usually does.”
“And what, pray tell, is he looking for?” Jack inquired.
“Coins. Eight hundred and eighty-two of them, to be precise.” The hooded man replied. “For whatever reason, he seems to be searching for the coins of Cortés. So far, he has found eight hundred and eighty-one! A single coin still alludes him. Find it, and you’ll likely run into him and your Pearl.”
The dawning sun started to stream through the windows, beginning the new day. The cloaked man stood up and gathered his cards.
“Hey, where ya going mate? We’re not done here yet!”
“Oh yes we are!” Snapped the figure in anger. “You won once, so I gave you one piece of information. I never mentioned how much I would tell you. Now I must take my leave. Good day to you, Mr. Sparrow!”
“Damn!” Jack snapped as the black coated man walked past him. But it’s better than nothing I guess. Best not to push me luck.
“Oh, and can I just say one thing?” the man asked, turning around towards Sparrow. Jack stood and faced him.
“Yeah, what do you want to say then?”
“I just want to mention that you live a very dangerous life, Jack Sparrow.” The hooded man stated matter of factly. The deck that they had used was still in his left hand. He edged the top card out with his thumb.
“Well, of course I do! I’m a bloody pirate!” Jack hollered, chuckling all the while gesturing with his arms.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, and what did you mean then?” Jack asked snidely.
“You live wearing your heart on your sleeve Mr. Sparrow.” The cloaked man stated plainly. Then his left hand flashed, and jack heard several small objects fly by him, piercing the air. The man’s left hand was now pointed towards Sparrow, hand empty, palm open. “It makes it very easy for someone to steal it!”
With that, the man turned around and walked out the bar, leaving Jack with a puzzled and bewildered look on his face. What the bloody hell was that about?
“HEY!! JACK’S BEEN CHEATIN’ US!” A patron called out, pointing at Jack's right arm. Jack looked to his right and realized that his sleeve had been shredded all the way up to his shoulder, revealing the holdout device that had been strapped been to his forearm, holding five cards. Jack’s eyes then darted around the room, and his heart leaped to his throat when he noticed that several cards had been impaled on various tables, support posts, the floor and the wall behind him. His attention then turned to the several drunk, angry pirates who he had played cards with.
“N-n-now hold on a sec, gentlemen! I’m sure we can all find a way to be reasonable about this, can’t we?” Jack pleaded nervously, stuttering. He had his arms up desperately trying to get them to stop their advancement. They continued to close in as Jack started backing into the corner where he had played his latest game.
“LET’S CUT HIM UP INTO LITTLE PIECES THIS TIME TO MAKE SURE HE STAYS DEAD!” One hollered, followed by yells of agreement from the crowd.
“Oh Bugger!”
Chapter 23: Side Stepped Side Story #VI: Never Trust a Pirate.: End.
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Author's notes: see next post.
The Île de la Tortue, or Tortuga as it is more commonly known by the residents of the seas of the Caribbean, is a island where chaos and anarchy reigns. Any semblance of structure, law, or order had long been abandoned by the His Majesty’s royal navy, leaving the secluded port town to drown in a endless sea of profanity, violence, and degradation as the pirates moved in, claiming Tortuga for their own, drowning themselves in their liquor to forget the never ending hardships cast upon them by the sea. In fact, those not in the “profession” who would dare to venture to Tortuga and lucky enough to leave with their lives would often describe it as being one never ending drinking binge.
As to be expected from such a port, it is littered with bars and brotherals for pirates and permanent residents alike to drown their sorrows in. One bar in particular, which was nestled away in one of the many dirt back roads that weaved through and between the decrepit, decaying wood and granite structures of this particular port town, was fairly prominent. The Faithful Bride was almost always filled to capacity, as there were never any rules. No drinking limits, no last calls, and as long nobody starts a bar fight, no consequences for drunken behavior. If you had five guineas in your pocket, there’s a pint with your name on it. As one could imagine, this leads to some pretty wild nights.
But as nights usually go, this night in particular was quiet. Only one knuckle duster broke out around sun set between two drunken patrons fighting over who gets to make out with a portrait of a young woman hanging in the corner. From then on until late into the night, everyone drinking happily and making merry, singing in the flattest, most out of sync and off chord song of What should We Do With a Drunken Sailor one could ever have the displeasure of listening too. It would have gone on all through the night, if the doors of the bar weren’t thrown open, clattering against the wall, directing the attention of everyone in the structure towards the front of the tavern. The sight that they all saw was enough to sober them all instantly and drain the blood from their faces putting an end to their intoxicated merriment and filling them with fear.
What they saw standing in the door way, propping himself up against the frame, was what could only be described as ghost made flesh. A man believed to be long dead huffed air heavily, gasping in as much air as he could. He took a step into the bar, his leather boots falling like stones against the worn, weathered wooden floor. He trots across the room, towards the bar nestled against the opposite wall. His red bandana, usually worn wrapped around his fore head, was pulled down around his neck, letting his long, wild mane fall down around his face, ragged from years of lack of care, saved for two braded strands, adorned with fine beads. His once finely trimmed beard and mustache, something he took great pride in and went to great lengths maintaining in the past, had grown long and shaggy, upon his face, accompanied by a good layer of coarse facial hair. His long sleeved white silk shirt, which was always without blemish, was now stained with sweat, pitch, and sea water, the top three buttons long gone, and the hem reduced to tatters. The leather vest he wore over the shirt, while sturdier than some of the clothes he was wearing, was not left unscathed, as bits and pieces had gone missing from the hem. The sleeves of his trousers had been permanently soiled with sea water. The only thing that seemed to have been left unsoiled was the belt looped around his waist, and the Flintlock pistol sheathed through it. He staggered up to the counter and slumps into an open stool, head hung low, his hair hiding his face. He tiredly lifted his left hand up, clenched it into a fist and slammed the counter, sending the drunks seated at the bar scattering to other tables.
“Rum...” He growled in a raspy tone of exhaustion, his voice coarse and cracked with breath holding a stench most rancid and foul. “Give… Me… RUM!”
The barkeeper, a tough veteran seadog, didn’t scare as easily as his customers. He eyed the scraggly, worn out shell of a man with his aged, pale eyes and rubbed his rugged chin through his course gray beard.
“Who are ye?” He inquired with a great deal of suspicion.
“I am—“The stranger croaked before coughing violently for a brief moment. Once he had settled down, he cleared his throat, composing himself, and spoke again, his voice was much smoother, but still had a bit of a rasp to it. “I am who you think I am.”
“Ya are, are ye?” the barkeeper replied with a snide, leaning over the bar to examine the man closer, propping up the bulk of his upper body with his massive arms. “That be impossible lad. There’s no way you could possibly be him.”
“And why not?”
“Well for starters…” The Barkeeper grunted, standing up straight and folding his arms. “They say that the last that anyone one saw ‘ye,’ you trapped on a desert isle with not but a single shot for when insanity started to creep in. They say that ye were as good as dead, with no hopes of escape. They say that ye were nothing but a memory.”
The scraggily man listened silently to the old barkeeper, right hand still resting on the wooden counter. Some of the other people in the bar creped forward to listen in, curiosity having overpowered their fear. After a moment of silence, he began to chuckle to himself, sending waves of shivers down the spines of almost everyone in the establishment.
“Well, ‘they’ say a lot, don’t they? But they be forgetting one very small detail, mate.” He scoffed in his slightly rasped voice, untying the bandana from around his neck and gave it a yank, the red silk rustling through the air, followed by a loud snap. He then held both ends of the silken strip, flipped his hair back and brought the bandana to his forehead, wrapping it around and tying if off behind his head, revealing a pair of brown eyes. After words, He leaned onto the bar counter towards the bar keeper, his left arm hanging off of the counter. As he looked the barkeeper square in the eyes, he speaks in a tone of certainty and assuredness, as if all of life’s questions could be answered with what he says next:
“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?”
After that, the tavern had once again fallen silent, all eyes on “Jack” and the barkeeper, staring into each other’s eyes with such intensity, it was almost as if they were peering into the other’s very soul. Bottles and mugs of rum and ale sat on the tables untouched, as everyone had become captivated by the spectacle before them. Time had felt like it screeched to a halt, as every moment seemed to last for an eternity. Hearts were beating like thundering drums in the ears of everyone in the bar. The tension was building and building in everyone’s minds until it felt like a brick weight was strapped to their chests. All eyes were on them, without flinching, without wavering, the anxiety rising higher and higher until:
“BWA HA HA! Right ya are Jack! Right ya are!” The barkeeper roared, laughing from his stomach in earnest. He slapped Jack’s shoulder in welcome, every time feeling a block of wood had struck him to jack. Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!
The clientele began to disperse, having been calmed down considerably by the barkeeper’s reaction, returned to their seats and their drinks, but instead of returning to their song, they sat at their tables and engaged in quiet conversation, shooting the occasional glance in Sparrow’s direction from time to time, as if to confirm that it actually was Jack Sparrow, a man whom they all thought was dead.
“Look at em.’” Sparrow huffed in slight annoyance, quickly looking over the room. “You’d think they never seen a man walk into a bar before.”
“Can’t say I honestly blame the lot, considerin’ the man what walked into the bar’s supposed to be dead.” The barkeeper retorted in amusement, a slight chuckle still in his voice.
“Then what’s say we commemorate the event by getting the dead man a drink, eh?” Jack suggested as he turned back around towards the barkeeper.
“Aye, say no more, Sparrow.” The barkeeper commanded, taking up on the not so subtle hint. He turned around and kneeled down, opening the cupboard to retrieve a bottle of the Faithful Bride’s finest rum. After popping the cork, he placed the bottle in front of sparrow. “If whatever hell ya been through these past years don’t earn ye a free meal and drink, Jack, than I doubt nothin’ will. One meal and first round, on the house.”
“You are too kind.” Sparrow quipped as the barkeeper went to fix him a meal. He took hold of the bottle by its neck, brought it to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the glass opening, arched his neck back and took a few chugs of the liquid, drinking it in earnest. After draining a fifth of the bottle, he removed the bottle and let out a sigh of relief. For the next couple minutes, he sat on the stool in a daze, thinking of his ordeal while periodically taking a swig from his drink. Then, a most unusual sound, like a thousand ship decks creaking and moaning all at once, caught his attention. He took a look to his right and saw a man slumped over the bar, snoring from what was most likely an alcohol induced coma. He rested face down on the counter, his head laid in his folded arms. He had black hair, wore a white shirt, and a plain black vest. Jack looked at the man with confusion and a hint of disgust. “Gibbs? Is that Gibbs?”
“Aye, that beached whale of a drunkard be the man known as Joshamee Gibbs.” The barkeeper scowled in anger as he returned, placing a plate of roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy before the bearded Captain. “Don’t bother trying to wake the pile of whale lard. The drunk’s got enough liquor in him to kill half of the royal navy.”
Sparrow stared at the drunken Gibbs for a moment. He then shrugged, and took another swig of rum after quipping “The man’s lost weight.”
“Ha!” The barkeeper roared in amusement. He handed Jack a knife and a fork, who then began to eat in earnest, devouring the food like he hadn’t had a morsel to eat in years. After consuming half the meal, Jack began to slow down enough that the barkeeper thought it would be a most opportune moment to speak to the wayward pirate. “So Jack, I got to know. Just how did ye escape that island? Where have ye been all this time?”
“Sorry mate. I’m not really in the mood to go about recounting that tale just yet. Maybe some other time.” He murmured as he dropped a bare leg bone onto the metal plate. “But if you want to talk, then how about you answer me questions then. Just where in the bloody hell is me Pearl?”
“Sorry to say Jack, but nobody has seen hide no hair of the Pearl or Barbossa since they made port here years back. It was them who told that you were dead. They had with them a veritable treasure hoard, they did. Throwing pieces of gold bearing the mark of Cortés around, indulging in every little sin their black hearts so desire before sailing off to parts unknown.”
“Humph. Should have known it wouldn’t be easy to get me ship back.” Jack growled as he scooped up a clump of mashed potatoes into his mouth, washing it down with another swig of rum. “Any chance you might know where I can take a look see at one of these coins?”
“Can’t say I do, Jack. Just as quickly as they came, the gold most likely left this island. Such treasure don’t stay in the same hands for too long when dealing with pirates.”
“True, true…” Jack conceded, speaking in between bites taken from the last drumstick on his plate.
“Ye should just forget about getting the Pearl back, Jack.” The barkeeper advised as he began to clean the glasses which had began to build up in a pile. “A lost cause it is. It shouldn’t be difficult for a man like you to find another ship.”
After hearing this, Jack froze, the chicken leg just inches away from his mouth. He lowered the drumstick, a look of profound sadness and contemplation had settled onto his face.
“Wish it were that easy mate.” The pirate captain lamented. He stared off to the side with a soft look on his face as he began to twirl the drumstick around his fingers. “I’ve took charge a many a ship in my time, but none quite like the Pearl. The bond me and my Pearl have is special. When I’m with her, I feel strong. I feel like I can take on the world. When she and I are together, it’s the only time I have ever felt... Free.”
The barkeeper paused, and looked at Jack with confused eyes. In his long life, both as a pirate and as a barkeeper, he had never met a man who could treasure anything the way Jack could his ship. His hardened heart seemed to, for the briefest of moments, show compassion and understanding towards the man seated before him.
“Actually...” The barkeeper drawled with a heavy sigh. “There have been rumors of a cursed ship always surrounded by fog that looks much like your Black Pearl flying about. But I wouldn’t hold too much water in it Jack. Tis only pirate lore, and with how drunk this lot can get, there is more lore cropping up with each passing day.”
Jack sat and played with a leg bone which still had a scrap of meat while he listened, twiddling it with his fingers. After thinking for a while, he grasped firmly and finished off the last of the meat. A ‘curse’ eh? Well, I never was one to put much stock in curses, but a start is a start.
“It’s my ship mate. I’ll be the one to judge what tale holds how much salt. And if pirate lore is all I have to go on…” Jack stated as he finished up the last of his meal. He then stood up, propping himself onto his feet by pushing against the table. He turned around and surveyed the room, a mischievous grin growing across his face. He then looked towards the barkeeper with a sparkle in his eye. “Then what better a place than where pirates go to tell their tall tales, eh?”
“Just don’t be startin’ any trouble, you hear me Sparrow?”
“Yeah, Yeah…” Jack mumbled, waving back at the barkeeper as he walked into the crowd to mingle.
---------
“All right Boys! Read em’ and pay up!” Jack Sparrow announced triumphantly, laying down his cards, revealing the eight through nine of diamonds. This brought forth a round of groans and curses spoken by others seated at his table. Four hours had passed since he walked into the Faithful Bride, the shock of his presence had long since died. While he attempted to get information about his ship from the patrons of the bar, he spent much time playing games of poker while conversing, cleaning out the pockets of nearly everyone in the entire establishment. His latest victory put him over the top, giving him enough money for new clothes and a good three weeks worth of food and shelter. As his the others at the table emptied the last guineas from their pockets, Jack looked on with a satisfied smile across his face.
“Ye got the devil’s luck Sparrow!” One pirate growled irritably, slamming his bag of guineas in front of Jack, obviously displeased with the night’s outcome.
“Aye. You must have swiped it from him when he wasn’t looking before ye got booted out of hell!” Another jested as he dropped his pouch. He seemed to be taking it more in stride than his compatriot.
“Nah, the bloke’s letting me borrow his luck until next Thursday.” Jack quipped back as he emptied the pouches into a much larger satchel. “Swell guy. Actually very pleasant. Makes wonderful scones!”
A round of laughter resounded as Jack stood up and walked back up to the bar, a bag heavy with coins strapped to his side. He was greeted by the barkeeper as he took a seat. He reached into the satchel and dropped ten coins onto the table.
“Well, did ye have any luck finding out about the Pearl, Sparrow?” Inquired the barkeeper as he handed Jack another bottle of rum.
“Nah, nothing. Idiots, the whole lot of them.” Jack snarled before taking a drink. He surveyed the room again, seeing if there was anyone he hadn’t talked to, desperately looking for a lead. His eyes were caught by an individual seated in the right handed corner of the bar next to the door. He was cloaked in a long black coat, the hood pulled over his head, preventing his face from being seen. He sat alone in the corner, a bottle to his side, shuffling a deck of cards. In the center of the table he was seated at, rested a plain blue vase, and in it was a white rose. Jack caught the barkeeper’s attention and motioned towards the hooded man. “Hey, what’s his story?”
“Nobody knows.” The barkeeper replied plainly. “Nobody can seem to work up the nerve to talk to him. Once a week for the past year, he comes in, buys a bottle, and then goes to that corner and sits from dusk to dawn, fiddling with his cards. As soon as the sun rises, he slinks off. Not once seen him drink from the bottles he buys, have I.”
“And the rose?”
“Tis the first time he brought such a thing in with him.”
“Well then, he seems like an interesting gent then!” Jack said. He grabbed his bottle and got up from his seat, swaggering across the bar towards the cloaked stranger. He grabbed a chair, spun it around, and sat down in a reversed position, resting his arms on the back of the chair. “Hey, spooky!
The cloaked man froze, stopping in mid shuffle. Jack couldn’t tell if the man was looking at him or not. The leather coated individual then took the deck and inserted it into his right pocket.
“How may I help you, Mr. Sparrow?” The man asked. He spoke with a British accent, his voice deep and smooth. He sounded as if he were of noble lineage.
“Hey, how’d ya know my name?” Jack demanded, with an over-stressed note of suspicion in his voice. It appeared that the rum he had been chugging like air had begun to take its affect. He eyed the man with an intense scrutiny.
“I’ve been here all night. It wouldn’t be difficult to overhear the occasional conversation, what with the noise you’ve been stirring up.”
“Ah, you have a point then, my good sir!” The rosy cheeked pirated admitted. He spun his chair around once more, and adapted a proper sitting position. He leaned forward onto the table. “And it seems you have me at a disadvantage, as I have no idea as to what to call yourself!”
“I make it a point to never divulge any personal information to anyone, especially not to a pirate.”
“Aye, yes! That is a good policy! Pirates aren’t to be trusted!” The tipsy Sparrow chirped gleefully, stamping his feet in play. His eyes then locked onto the white rose that sat alone at the center of the table. “What’s with the flower? Men have been stabbed in Tortuga for carrying such things around.”
“It’s…” The hooded man drawled in pause. He grabbed the flower, unzipped his jacket, stuck it inside his coat, and zipped it back up. “An invitation. And nothing that concerns you. Now why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you want from me?”
“Ah, to the point then, is it?” Sparrow asked sarcastically, a grin showing upon his face. He leaned back on his chair, propping his right leg onto the edge of the table. “See, it’s like this then, I’ve been out of the loop for the past couple of years, and I’m not exactly in the know of what’s what and what’s going on in the world.”
“So it’s information you seek then.”
“Aye, that it is.” Jack affirmed. “Now, I really don’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of the world, but there’s this one ship and man that I need a little information on, savvy?”
“And they would be….”
“A treacherous sea dog by the name of Barbossa, and the Black Pearl, the finest ship on the sea!”
The hooded man was silent for a moment, his right arm propped up on the arm rest, his head resting against his fist. Then he sat up straight, and reached into his left pocket.
“You lucked out, Mr. Sparrow.” Stated the mysterious hooded one. “I pride myself on knowing what the masses do not, or refuse to, know. And as it happens, I know quite a bit about what you seek. Of course, a man like you should know as well as any that nothing in this world is free.”
“Of course it’s not.” Jack agreed. He took the satchel from his side and slammed it onto the table. “Charge what you will. I can always get me self more.”
“You’re money is useless to me.” The cloaked man said, dismissing the pile.
“Oh, and how will we go about this transaction then?” Sparrow inquired, his brow raised in suspicion. It was then that the coated one pulled out another deck of cards, this time from his left pocket, and began shuffling them. “You carry two decks with you?”
“The other one really isn’t used for… Play.” The man drawled, a note of amusement in his voice. He then started dealing out ten cards, five on each side of the table. He placed the rest of the pile to the side. “One hand, nothing more. You win, I give you a piece of information to aid you in your quest. I win, and I get to claim a prize of my choosing. Agreed?”
“No chance that I get to know what you take if you win ahead of time, right?” Jack asked, gulping nervously.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, what choice have I then?” Jack asked himself. He picked up his cards and raised them high. “Let’s get on with it then!”
“Yes, lets.” The other said in a hushed tone of agreement as he picked up his hand and raised them in front of him. The two stared at their hands, Jack often taking peaking over his hand to look at the hooded man, who was holding his cards with his right hand, tapping the table with his left middle finger in a steady rhythm. When the rhythm stopped, beads of sweat started to pour down Jack’s face. The hooded man reached over and grabbed the deck. He took two cards from his hand and placed them off to the side and replaced them with two new cards from the deck. “You’ve had long enough, Sparrow. How many cards?”
Once again sober, Jack took three cards with trembling hands and slid them face down across the table. The cloaked man took them and threw them off to the side to join the cards he had discarded. He took three cards and slid them face down to Jack, who then quickly scooped them up and added them to his hand.
“Well, it’s the moment of truth. Are you ready Sparrow?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be…” Jack croaked as he grabbed his collar with his left index finger and ran it around the edge. He then reached over and grabbed his bottle of rum by the neck. “But before we show our hands, can I propose a toast? May the best man win!”
“…. Very well then. May the best man win.” The cloaked man reached over, grabbed his bottle, and in one big move, took a big swig of it, lasting for at least five seconds before parting his lips with the bottle top. Returning the bottle to the side, he looked straight at Sparrow. “Are you ready?”
“Ready and willing, mate!” Jack said confidently, a gleam in his eye. “By all means, after you!”
“Four of a kind. Ace high.” He announced, revealing his hand, laying them face up onto the table. He had four aces, each of a different suit, and one four of spades.
“Straight flush, king high!” Jack remarked triumphantly, revealing his hand of cards nine through king, all hearts. His advisory gasped in shock and amazement, standing slightly, leaning forward to get a better look at the hand. He kept looking from Jack, to Jack’s hand, then back to Jack again in disbelief. He slumped into his chair in defeat.
“Fine! You win. But pay attention. I’m only saying this once!” He snarled through gritted teeth, clutching the ends of the armrests tightly. “Your ‘friend,’ Barbossa has been doing a lot of sailing lately. More so than a pirate usually does.”
“And what, pray tell, is he looking for?” Jack inquired.
“Coins. Eight hundred and eighty-two of them, to be precise.” The hooded man replied. “For whatever reason, he seems to be searching for the coins of Cortés. So far, he has found eight hundred and eighty-one! A single coin still alludes him. Find it, and you’ll likely run into him and your Pearl.”
The dawning sun started to stream through the windows, beginning the new day. The cloaked man stood up and gathered his cards.
“Hey, where ya going mate? We’re not done here yet!”
“Oh yes we are!” Snapped the figure in anger. “You won once, so I gave you one piece of information. I never mentioned how much I would tell you. Now I must take my leave. Good day to you, Mr. Sparrow!”
“Damn!” Jack snapped as the black coated man walked past him. But it’s better than nothing I guess. Best not to push me luck.
“Oh, and can I just say one thing?” the man asked, turning around towards Sparrow. Jack stood and faced him.
“Yeah, what do you want to say then?”
“I just want to mention that you live a very dangerous life, Jack Sparrow.” The hooded man stated matter of factly. The deck that they had used was still in his left hand. He edged the top card out with his thumb.
“Well, of course I do! I’m a bloody pirate!” Jack hollered, chuckling all the while gesturing with his arms.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, and what did you mean then?” Jack asked snidely.
“You live wearing your heart on your sleeve Mr. Sparrow.” The cloaked man stated plainly. Then his left hand flashed, and jack heard several small objects fly by him, piercing the air. The man’s left hand was now pointed towards Sparrow, hand empty, palm open. “It makes it very easy for someone to steal it!”
With that, the man turned around and walked out the bar, leaving Jack with a puzzled and bewildered look on his face. What the bloody hell was that about?
“HEY!! JACK’S BEEN CHEATIN’ US!” A patron called out, pointing at Jack's right arm. Jack looked to his right and realized that his sleeve had been shredded all the way up to his shoulder, revealing the holdout device that had been strapped been to his forearm, holding five cards. Jack’s eyes then darted around the room, and his heart leaped to his throat when he noticed that several cards had been impaled on various tables, support posts, the floor and the wall behind him. His attention then turned to the several drunk, angry pirates who he had played cards with.
“N-n-now hold on a sec, gentlemen! I’m sure we can all find a way to be reasonable about this, can’t we?” Jack pleaded nervously, stuttering. He had his arms up desperately trying to get them to stop their advancement. They continued to close in as Jack started backing into the corner where he had played his latest game.
“LET’S CUT HIM UP INTO LITTLE PIECES THIS TIME TO MAKE SURE HE STAYS DEAD!” One hollered, followed by yells of agreement from the crowd.
“Oh Bugger!”
Chapter 23: Side Stepped Side Story #VI: Never Trust a Pirate.: End.
------
Author's notes: see next post.
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"he speaks in a tone of certainty and assuredness, as if all of life’s questions could be answered with what he says next:
“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?”"
rofl, just like Sparrow to think his reputation can answer any question asked.
lol, Luxord is a sore loser, isnt he? nice way of leading things up to KH2 POTC world. any chance we'll here from Davey Jones too? good chapter, as per usual,
with all due respect,
Merlin326
“I’m Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?”"
rofl, just like Sparrow to think his reputation can answer any question asked.
lol, Luxord is a sore loser, isnt he? nice way of leading things up to KH2 POTC world. any chance we'll here from Davey Jones too? good chapter, as per usual,
with all due respect,
Merlin326
Sorry, No Davy Jones. Since he didn't show in KH2, it's likely he won't Show in BoD. That is, unless I get a random thought with him it.
And yeah, I think I captured Jack's Persona quite well.
Author's Corner:
Just to clear up some confusion, I thought I might define some terms that I used in this chapter.
guineas: A type of british currency used durring that specific time frame that PoTC had supposedly taken place. Unlike Twilight Town, I figured that residents of Tortuga wouldn't be throwing money around.
Holdout Device: A specific device or mechanism used to cheat at cards, specifically, hiding and with holding cards in specific places/points to be retrieved later, switching them with cards in your hand. The one that Jack has is an Arm Pressure sleeve holdout device. This is by far the oldest type of Holdout device out there, and is most likely to have existed around that time. You wear it around your arm, it hidden under the sleeve of a shirt. It has a litt lever at it's base that, when flipped, will extend a Jacob's ladder forward and out the sleeve, allowing one to quickly switch the cards in the clip of the device with the one in your hand. Flipping the switch retracts it, hidding it and the switched cards back up the sleeve.
Incedentally, it requires a little slight of hand to do. You have to make sure that the focus is switched off of you long enough to extend the ladder, switch the cards, and retract the ladder without rousing suspicion. Can you guess when Jack switched his cards?
And yeah, I think I captured Jack's Persona quite well.
Author's Corner:
Just to clear up some confusion, I thought I might define some terms that I used in this chapter.
guineas: A type of british currency used durring that specific time frame that PoTC had supposedly taken place. Unlike Twilight Town, I figured that residents of Tortuga wouldn't be throwing money around.
Holdout Device: A specific device or mechanism used to cheat at cards, specifically, hiding and with holding cards in specific places/points to be retrieved later, switching them with cards in your hand. The one that Jack has is an Arm Pressure sleeve holdout device. This is by far the oldest type of Holdout device out there, and is most likely to have existed around that time. You wear it around your arm, it hidden under the sleeve of a shirt. It has a litt lever at it's base that, when flipped, will extend a Jacob's ladder forward and out the sleeve, allowing one to quickly switch the cards in the clip of the device with the one in your hand. Flipping the switch retracts it, hidding it and the switched cards back up the sleeve.
Incedentally, it requires a little slight of hand to do. You have to make sure that the focus is switched off of you long enough to extend the ladder, switch the cards, and retract the ladder without rousing suspicion. Can you guess when Jack switched his cards?
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- Joined
- Dec 13, 2006
- Messages
- 3,212
- Awards
- 4
Matt that was probably one of your best chapters man, i loved it.Very clear cut vivid descriptions, as expectedby you man. Brilliant.
lol, thanks Virgil. you're the first one to actually rep me for this rag in a long time!
hey, does anybody want me to PM them whenever I update? Just curious.
hey, does anybody want me to PM them whenever I update? Just curious.
no thank you, i have the thread subscribed, so i get an email whenever an update comes. dont remember if i have LoL subscribed, so PM me when you update that one next.
with all due respect,
Merlin326
Woah! Down boy! Down! Down!
lol.
Anyways, I'll send you one the next time.
Merlin, subscribing to a thread means you get emailed when ever somebody posts in that thread. your inbox must be flooded.
If you check your user panel often enough, you can turn off the email feature. It lists which subscribed threads that have unread posts.
lol.
Anyways, I'll send you one the next time.
Merlin, subscribing to a thread means you get emailed when ever somebody posts in that thread. your inbox must be flooded.
If you check your user panel often enough, you can turn off the email feature. It lists which subscribed threads that have unread posts.
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2006
- Messages
- 3,212
- Awards
- 4
lol. You always let me know and im glad you do. Love this story. You keep getting better and better.
lol, i dont really mind. besides, i would probably forget to check back otherwise (that it allows me to answer questions in Destati almost instantly, when applicable).
with all due respect,
Merlin326
Yeah, I've noticed that I've been improving myself actually.
And I'm glad that people like it so much
Blight, I'll try to remember to send you PM's when I update then.
i knw im late but that was sweet man! i liked how u got luxord into the mix. i laughed when he lost cause he was all depressed abt it. anyway good job man.
anyway good job man.- Status