For a moment, James stared completely aghast at the fallen figure. And then it registered, then he knew without a doubt this was the end - but not the way he intended it. There was nothing more could be done here - but he must know, he had to know who had done it. His suspicions must be confirmed ere any of this passed away.

He took the steps three at a time, in uncharacteristic haste, pushed open the door with a hand tense and unsteady. The other hand was placed carefully on his hilt. The door swung open, and there he stood, staring and panting, soaked with rain.

"Jack Sparrow." he said simply, his face revealing a mingled expression of surprise and disgust.

-------

Barbossa looked over towards the Dutchman, and then back at the crew. A weird stillness fell about the ocean, uncanny in it's tranquility. Both ships ceased their fire, and all stood watching, and waiting for what was to come next.

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"Captain," Bootstrap corrected quietly, finally breaking out of his silent rumination and tearing his gaze away from where the heart still lay. Looking up at the admiral, the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest of smiles. "Captain Jack Sparrow."
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Tia continued to stand on the deck motionlessly, her gaze steadily fixed on some unseen point onboard the Dutchman. She had her suspicions as to what had happened, but this, she needed to find out for herself. And there was only one person who could give her the answers she sought: Jack Sparrow. Slowly, her lips began to move, forming words but not uttering a sound. Whereas before her incantations had been panicked and rushed, this one seemed to flow much more gently. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she was gone and standing on the deck of the Flying Dutchman.

Barbossa did not answer the boy, but looked about him abruptly as Tia vanished. His wits were dim for just a particle of a second, but he quickly recovered from the initial shock.

"Th' ship," he muttered under his breath, striding towards Will, "...th' ship boy, d'ye want to see 'er sink?" He jerked his head to below deck, indicating the hole that had been blown there.

Something had happened, something had changed - but the holes in the Pearl had not. Some immediate attention was needed below deck... an' it would also be a good way to get the whelp out of site for a minute or so. Just enough time.

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((I'm so sorry... but I've completely lost track of what we're doing right now and what exactly has happened... even if I did I'm sure I wouldn't know what to post. And you all post so much when I'm as school that I get at least a page behind every day. So I'm officially quiting now! I'm ssssssoooooo sorry if I've caused any trouble...))

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(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

((Actually, mate, we average one or two posts per day maximum. We're all in school too. We just post when we get home, and even then we're sometimes too busy. But I understand if you feel the need to drop out. It probably would have been more convenient if you had done so several months ago when you first started getting so busy (as I had suggested), but no big deal. We can godmode your character for the few posts that remain))

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For a moment there was an awkward silence, as James took in everything that had just taken place- was still taking place actually. He stared for a moment, almost wearily, before addressing the pirate again.

"You've finished it, have you? Put an end to your own troubles in a veritable selfish manner. I congratulate you Mr. Sparrow," he said, his voice yet steady and scorn leaking through. "I hope your ship will suit you for at least half of eternity."

He shut the door carefully behind him, but his strong attitude failed him once the door was shut. Almost weakly, he made his way to the longboats. Wafts of what he had just seen came over his memory. It was over. But not yet.


---


Barbossa nodded, a bit uncertainly, and made his way over to Elizabeth quickly.

"Think of somethin' nice lass, an' don't look." He pulled out a knife, and quickly slit her arm, at the same time drawing the shard out. He was holding her arm tightly, so as not to let the blood spurt. Then with one quick move, he ripped a part of her bodice off, wrapping it tightly around the wound.

"Not s' bad," he murmured, grinning, more about the bodice than the injury.

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((Apologies in advance for the short story that follows. I'm merely wrapping things up for Beckett.))

Tia Dalma moved slowly across the deck until she finally stood in front of the body of Davy Jones. She stared down at the former captain, her expression an unreadable blend of disdain and something else, then abruptly reached up to her neck to unclasp something. In one fluid motion, she knelt on the deck, pressed a silver, crab-shaped locket into the lifeless palm, and swiftly stood back up. Casting one final, inscrutable look down at the lifeless form before her, she quickly turned and hurried down the steps into the hold.

She glanced curiously at the young man who brushed past her, but at the moment she was far more interested in finding Jack. Which she did in no time at all. Opening the door from which the man had come, she immediately found what she was looking for. One sweeping glance around the room told her everything she'd already at least suspected: Jack had stabbed the heart. She stared emotionlessly at Jack just long enough to make the pirate feel uncomfortable, then slowly began to break into a smile.

"Ai...Jack Spar-row," she said, grinning broadly and pointing a finger good-naturedly at him. "I told ye, hmm? I always said it, from de day I firs' met ye. 'Dere be sometin' great 'bout dis man,' I said. An' Tia was right, no? Ye done a good t'ing, Jack. Ye done de right t'ing."
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Meanwhile, hidden well enough by the swelling waves and rain to go unnoticed by the otherwise-occupied crewmen of either ship, floated the Endeavor. Amidst the sailors scurrying to and fro in an attempt to keep their ship afloat and a safe distance away, a single man stood unmoving on the deck, constantly watching some distant spectacle through a spyglass. Gradually, the man's expression shifted from one of smug triumph to one of great displeasure and -though he would never admit to it- the tiniest hint of fear. They were too far away to make out precise details, but it was rapidly becoming clear enough exactly what had transpired. Had he been a lesser man, he very likely would have ripped the hat from his head and stomped it into the deck. He would have shouted to high heavens in rage and let every member of the miserable crew -from the captain to the cabin boy- know exactly how furious he was, using a vocabulary that would make even the most uncouth tar aboard the ship duck his head in shame.

But Cutler Beckett was not a lesser man.

Instead, he merely snapped the spyglass shut and turned to the ship's captain, the involuntary clenching of his fist the only outward evidence of his seething anger. "Captain Marque, get us away from here as swiftly as humanly possible," he ordered quietly.

"But sir!" Marque began to protest. "The men are exhausted. That storm was more than we've ever faced. There's no way we can-" The captain immediately stopped talking as he fell under Lord Beckett's smouldering gaze.

"Then, Captain," he replied with deadly calm, "I would advise that you find a way."

"...Yes, Milord," the captain muttered hastily, walking away as quickly as his dignity would allow.

As Captain Marque began to shout orders to the crew, Beckett turned and strode purposefully to his cabin, with Mercer following one step behind.

The clerk stood wordlessly and waited while Beckett sat down at his desk, reached up to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and then proceeded to spread out all of his maps and notes across the desk's broad surface. Mercer continued to wait patiently, observing as the man began to read something intently. Only when it became obvious that the lord did not plan on speaking did he dare open his mouth. "I was wondering, Milord..." he slowly ventured.

Beckett said nothing, but a slight inclination of his head gave permission to continue.

"Milord, what is our plan of action now that the Flying Dutchman has ceased to be under your control?"

Beckett's eyes shifted slightly upward to look at Mercer over the edge of the paper. "We are not defeated, Mercer. We have merely encountered a setback. Indeed, control of the Flying Dutchman would have sped up my plans significantly, but it is not an entirely crippling loss. Go tell Captain Marque to set course for Port Royal. We will restock, and then relocate. We are not defeated, Mr. Mercer."

"Yes, Milord."

As the clerk retreated from the room and closed the door behind him, Beckett reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out an ornate silver dagger. He sat silently for a moment, running his thumb contemplatively along the sharp edge. Without warning, he stood up and hurled the dagger across the room, straight into the expansive canvas map that hung from the bulkhead. The blade's point burried itself directly in the center of the Caribbean.

You have not heard the last of me, Sparrow...This much I swear.

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((Aye! We've almost gotten all of the details worked out. And I'll have you know that I've been exhibiting a great deal of self-restraint concerning spoilers

And I can either take over Eruraina's characters for this last bit, or Pip and I can split them up. I don't feel strongly about it.))

Bootstrap looked over at the younger pirate. "S'not a positon t'be taken lightly, y'know," he warned quietly. "This is your responsibility...your burden...for all of eternity."

Tia pursed her lips in agreement. "Dere was a time when Davy Jones' job was ta pick up lost souls at sea an' help dem to de ot'er side," she said. "T'would be ideal if de Dutchman's new capt'ain honored her orig'nal purpose."
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Will was suddenly pushed aside as a second worker joined in the effort. "Ye can't jus' nail lumber o'er th' holes an' hope it 'olds, Turner," Pintel said impatiently, setting down the large bucket he'd been carrying. "Th' water'll jus' come right through those cracks, an' we'll be in no better shape'n we were afore. Ye gotta stuff pitch an' oakum into each o' those gaps. Seal 'em up nice'n tight like so." He proceded to demonstrate, reaching into the bucket and producing several thin, rope-like cords dripping with a thick, black substance, then began quickly filling each narrow gap between planks with the oakum. "Spread plenty o' extra pitch o'er it all, too, so's t' make it good an' waterproof. 'Ere, you keep nailin' like you was, an' me an' Rags'll..." He looked over his shoulder, only to reveal that said other pirate was nowhere to be found. Growling and muttering several oaths under his breath, he marched back over to the foot of the stairs. "Oy, Rags!" he shouted up through the hole. "Git yer bleedin' lazy a.rse down 'ere an' 'elp!"

Idyllic would have been a desperate exaggeration of the pirate Captain's position, but things were indeed looking up considerably. From what the spyglass revealed, the past Cap'n of the Dutchman had just met his own locker.

Wasn't that a weird thought?

And now Jack was safely bound to a cursed ship, an' the Pearl was in his own care. A satisfied expression was on his face, too serious for a smirk- but slightly humored nonetheless.

Barbossa took some pains to make sure he had wrapped Elizabeth's bandage tight enough, and then said, "Ye'll excuse my absence for a fleetin' moment Miss Swann? Pressin' matter t' attend."

He took a very assured step towards his cabin, pausing for just a moment as if he were listening to something he could not hear. The spyglass was pulled out once more, as he closely examined the deck of the other ship.

"'s not customary for a Captain of a ship to lie in a pool of black blood on his ship, 's it? From the looks of things, I'd be saying the Dutchman got 'erself a new Cap'n. Meanin' this ship's old one is currently inaccessible. Naturally, he'd want his ship taken well care of."

He gave Elizabeth a meaningful look, and proceeded to re-hoist the sails, the ones that weren't torn down anyway.

---

Norrington was having trouble finding any sort of longboat that could be manned over to the Pearl. His only thoughts now were of Elizabeth, and seeing her safe. Through his spyglass, she had been hurt... bleeding. He finally got one up, and began to find a way to hoist it over the edge by himself.

She would suffer in the hands of these pirates no more.

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