abidinglaw | Alone on a wide wide sea.

[For some time now one node on the Journal network has been broadcasting an anonymous patch of sky broken only occasionally by the pacing back and forth of a quaking, sea-soaked man. His hair is matted and bedraggled, his arms are wrapped around his shoulders to conserve what little warmth he has. Occasionally there are sounds of a voice straining in physical exertion or cursing, or joyous laughter. Otherwise the sea dominates the audible side of the broadcast. Lapping, crashing, rushing water, rhythmic as a heart beat.

More rarely still, the man sits in the sand with the book at his feet, flicking through and reading. Throughout the day he makes his way through the guide, a selection of entries, a smattering of all that the curious book has to offer. It is a work of fiction, he knows this, but it is evidence of human life. It is a distraction from the cold.

By chance, however much he deviates, his journal always eventually ends up on the page required to broadcast video. It is by chance, too, that the journal picks up a selection of his musings - decisions on which tree along the beach would make the most suitable shelter, theories on the subject of nautical headings and snatches of naval protocol.

It is around mid-day that he addresses the journal directly. Sitting again with the book at his feet, he speaks out of a desire to hear the steady, authoritative tone of a voice in control.]

It was under the section on communication.. yes.. 'If you are reading this, then you have already discovered the journals.' Now, some superstitious nonsense, but ... Ah yes, 'if you want to set up meetings, pass a greeting or call for help.' Here we are. Now... No. As I expected. Nothing more than a string of ridiculous fantasies. Damn.

ooc: SO! Hi! Grab his attention at any time in his rambling failed-fire-building beach-stranding antics, or later at the bar post-retrieval. It's all fair game as far as I'm concerned.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

.....I never saved you from anything, son.

[The words are surprisingly quiet and not filled with the usual bluster. Does he not realize...?]

Where are you?

[James had been assuming that the Dutchman must have gone into a dive shortly after he was stabbed. He would have been carried into the ocean, unconscious, and barring the help of pirates he can only surmise that he must have been born on the waves to this shore.]

I am on a beach, Sparrow. I do not recognize it and there are no landmarks within my sight.

Right. You're in a land, mate, called "Luceti," what I believe is Italian for "land that offers you the heights of pleasure and the depths of pain all on the same platter."

Erm......welcome?

Luceti.

[The setting of the book.]

If this is an earthly land then I shall trust that if I follow the shore I will reach a port in due time.

Should I head north, or south?

And I can't tell you what direction if I don't know where you're standin', lad. You'll need fetching, is what.

[And Jack's insides sink. The idea that he might have to be the fetcher is not heartening.]

[Fortunate, then, that recent events have quite turned him against the prospect of owing Captain Jack so much as a single word of thanks. He'd frankly rather spend the night in a cave.]

That won't be necessary.

Right. [So much relief in that response.] I can tell you this much, Norrington: there's a small building near the mouth of a tunnel what comes out from under the mountains on the beach. If you find that, and step inside? There's a magical transport back to civilization.

[The pirate has grave doubts about the Admiral having ANY idea of how to use this device, however.]

[Given what he understands of the pirate's extravagant manner of speech Norrington expects that the "magical" transport is in fact nothing more or less mundane than a rough-hewn tunnel or a narrow path in the dirt.]

I will make my way there at once.

[Because the best thing in the world will be Jack trying to talk him through it.

Meanwhile, Jack is very busy wondering how the village will possibly be big enough for the both of them.]

How're the wings feeling, hm? I expect yours are rather frilly and white and virginal?

I have been doing as best I can to ignore them, thank you.

[He had moved forward and grasped onto one half of the book with every intention of closing it. Now he pauses, bound by courtesy even to a pirate.]

I suppose yours are the colour of a gathering storm or some other romantic nonsense.

They're the color of the Pearl, actually. Though I suppose that's the same as your romantic nonsense, mate.

You'll be glad to know there're LOTS of pirates in this place.

[The retort had been half in jest. The guide told Norrington that every resident of Luceti had wings - and as much as he'd like to do so he can't deny how real the feathers on his own back feel. How much it hurts when he tries to remove them. Was Jack merely matching the admiral's tone? Or could he truly have wings himself? If so then where did they come from?]

What port in the West Indies is free of them?

[As for the threat of pirates - he's almost glad for the familiar surge of disgust.]

None. We're like rats, we are, filling in the cracks of places.

There's marines here as well.

[Ugh. Some are alright, like Coby is---was---Jack hasn't seen him in so long that he has assumed he was sent home. Then there's Smoker...]

And Blackbeard, 'cept he's not our Blackbeard. He's a different Blackbeard.

[Rather than let one cover of the book hang open awkwardly like this he commits to the action and picks the journal up.]

Why are you being so helpful, Sparrow? First the route back to civilization, now this. What do you stand to gain?

Once a deckhand on the Pearl, always a deckhand. But I suppose the answer to that would be "nothing"------for now.

--so you do expect to be compensated.

In that case you may consider this conversation at an end. I shall find my own way, thank you.

[Good enough for Jack.]

Right. Seek it, then.

[And with a strange mixture of emotions. Norrington HAD been a crewmember on the Pearl for one voyage, but then, of course, he'd betrayed his captain.

And then he'd freed Elizabeth from the Dutchman. It was enough to redeem a man.

Jack shuts his journal.]

Alone on a wide wide sea.

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