|shyaway (shyaway) wrote in wallflowering,|
@ 2008-03-23 16:01:00
|Entry tags:||fic: potc - gen|
PotC fic: Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness (Barbossa, Jack, Tia, PG)
Title: Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
Characters: Barbossa, Jack, Tia Dalma
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and its characters are owned by Disney.
Cold. Cold. The freeze he felt was that of starving winters, ice on the pond at home, snow that covered the farmer's orchard. Cold like Christmas, like stone in shadow, like the sweet chill of tropical waters at dawn. Warm? Warmer.
A voice spoke to him and the words came as if through water; his ears were filled with the rush of his blood and the sound of his breath. Beneath him there was a soft bed and the air around was cinnamon-rich.
His sight cleared; above him he saw a face, a woman's face, a beautiful face. You hear me now? Dat's good, dat's good, the voice said in the tones of sultry Jamaican nights, and he was flooded with the long-awaited heat.
The longboat pulled away from the swamp, out of the river's mouth, towards the open, perilous sea. In the rustle of the trees Jack heard again Tia Dalma's words - land is where you are safe - and entertained the notion of having them come about and go back upriver.
Only for a moment, only until he looked out across the ocean again. The sea; home of fish and the Pearl and the Kraken all alike. Water; his own element.
Behind them, the thick forest smothered the island, a constraint upon the horizon. Jack turned his back on the trees and the mountains. Constraints were bonds from which to break free.
Many a man and many a woman had ascended the stair to her abode in the hope that she could work miracles for them. Most wanted love potions, or draughts to bring them wealth. Some wanted poisons. The rare few wanted something extraordinary, and they themselves always bore a special lustre. This black-eyed wanderer was one of them.
"It is as you have heard, I can help you find your heart's desire." She was prepared for his request; from the folds of her dress she took the compass, which she opened, and cast onto the table like dice.
He advanced a step or two to peer at the unfocused needle. "It doesn't point north," he said, his eyes quizzical.
"Is north what you desire most? Pick it up."
He took the compass in his rope-roughened hand and she watched him stare fascinated at the swinging needle. As it found its heading, the glimmerings of a smile, a real smile, not the brittle calculated-to-charm grin he had bestowed upon her when he first arrived, graced his lips. For the first time in years, she knew, he had a link to that which he had lost.