Two ficlets, Jack/Bill and Jack/Will

Long-time reader, first time poster. These are a couple of very short pieces I wrote for 15minuteficlets.

Title: Marvel
Pairing: Jack/Bootstrap Bill
Rating: PG
Summary: The marvels of the modern world.

'Step right up, gentlemen, and see one of the marvels of the modern world, the mer-gorgon of Santa Lucia! Just three shillings a gander! Please, no ladies or children of tender years!'

The freak-show barker keeps up his patter as Jack slides down against the dock post to sit. It's a chill-bright morning, and there's a patch of sun here-- good to warm up a little. The light gleams off the greenish harbour water, half-blinding. He pulls his hat down to shade his eyes, but never closes them, watching his breath turn to fog as it comes out. The smell of rotting beach debris-- enough to put a man to sleep.

He hears the bump-bump of bootsteps approaching on wet wood, and the tempting jingle of a coin purse not fastened well enough to a belt. His bare bit of warmth goes cold across his legs. He tips up his hat and frowns up at the caster of the offending shadow.

The man's a fool, Jack can tell that much straight off-- he's facing away, staring off towards the barker like one of Mesmer's slaves, chewing on his lip. Pretty lip it is, though, a fetching man if he ever laid eyes on one.

'Don't waste your silver, mate,' Jack says.

The man startles and twists round. 'What?'

'Mer-gorgon.' Jack jerks his chin towards it. 'Thing's part fish, part monkey, all dead.' He wrinkles his nose, shakes his head. 'Black as a cinder. There's your marvel of the modern world-- some types'll swallow anything.'

The man frowns, squinting against the light. 'But you've spent your money on it.'

'Said I seen it, never said I paid for the privilege.' He extends his hand, like offering a dance. 'Sparrow.'

'Turner,' says the man with a nervous twitch of a smile.

end.


Title: Fantastical Romances
Pairing: Jack/Will
Rating: PG
Summary: Will is bound to tell his story

'Well, Mr...' The publisher adjusted his monocle at the sheaf of inkstained papers on his desk. '...Mr Turner. I have read your manuscript twice over, and I must say, we are very interested indeed. There is a great call for fantastical romances of this type.'

Will fidgeted, smoothing out his trousers with both palms. Even in his middle age, he had never quite regained the ease of proper behavior he'd cultivated so carefully in his early years. 'Thank you sir, that's most flattering. But I must remind you that my manuscript is not a romance, but a factual account.'

The publisher shifted uncomfortably. He tapped his quill against the desk blotter. 'Ah... yes. I'm certain you'll forgive a certain-- ah-- scepticism on my part, regarding that. Is it not generally understood that this... Captain Sparrow is a personage of romantic fictions, and not historical reality? At best, an amalgamation of various legends and archetypes--'

'He seemed not so when I knew him,' Will said shortly.

The publisher frowned. 'I see. But these stories...' He licked his fingertip and paged through the manuscript. '...for example, incurring the curse of the Aztec savages. And later on, the business of the escape from the Spanish Armada, one can't quite imagine-- Ah, and the boiling of the cannibal chief alive in his own pot, now, I hardly see how--'

'That was self-defence,' Will broke in. 'We didn't know in advance that completing the sacrifice would have such an... explosive effect.'

'Ah... ha.' Looking nonplussed, the publisher cleared his throat. 'Yes, well. Regardless of the veracity of your manuscript, we would like to make you an offer for it. There is only one small editorial matter... that of the ending.' He nudged again at his monocle. 'You have here that Sparrow disappears after the theft of the alchemical stone, which is quite all right, but I do wonder at this business where he's secured-- the narrator-- to a tree, and then... ah, here it is. "I asked him why he had betrayed me, in the full expectation that he should repeat his habitual explanation that piracy levels all usual moral senses. However, in this instance, he had no answer for me but a pass of his lips over mine which lasted a minute or more." Now, Mr Turner, I am not entirely certain this is congruent-- That is to say, it seems a bit strange--'

'None the less, that is the way it happened,' Will said. The sun glared off the sea through the publisher's dusty windows, making him squint. He smiled a little. 'Captain Sparrow was nothing if not... a bit strange.'

end.


Any feedback would be very much appreciated!