Pairing/Characters: Jack (wee mention of Elizabeth)
Word Count: 512
Rating: PG for rum and British swearing.
Summary: After the events of DMC, Jack finds himself in what he decides is a pretty cushy situation.
Disclaimer: Disney, thank you for the pirates.
Spoilers: Post-DMC, savvy?!
Warnings: Do not read when in want of a drink.
Notes: Wow! A short one again! I must be saving all of my words up for Challenge # 12 ;)
Special Thanks: the betalicious estelendur
Jack looked around, as if expecting a bottle to magically appear. This was paradise, after all, wasn’t it? he mused, even if he had no idea how in the hell he’d manage to land there. Maybe that brave bit back on the Pearl had washed away a life’s worth of pillaging and plundering. He bit at his lip anxiously. Even if Elizabeth was the one that had brought it all about…
Still, he decided, Lizzie couldn’t be credited for everything. He had come back, and as the cold metal kissed his skin…
As that devilish lass walked away…
As the Kraken rose before him…
Jack had grown more and more certain that this was what he’d been meant to do, and in the end he embraced his lot like an honest man. Yes, determined Jack with a lick of his lips, he had made the right decision. And here he was, the taste of Elizabeth’s kiss still lingering with him, his hat back in hand, and a nice stretch of beach all to himself. The Kraken’s beastie drool even seemed to be drying off of him a bit. Now where was that rum?
A sparkle off in the distance suddenly caught Jack’s eye, and he set off by guide of the moonlight to investigate. His instincts proved correct; the pirate grinned to himself proudly. A stash of rum just like last time Only now he was marooned on an island he had no desire to leave, and Jack was pretty sure the lack of food or fresh water wouldn’t bother him any. Not that he’d really considered that the first time around either, but that was splitting hairs, Jack reflected with a dismissive wave of his hand to no one in particular. Now, back to business. He bent down and brushed aside the wood and sand with a flourish, then gasped. Loudly. Unbelievingly. And then he cursed and stomped about and bit at his fingers and then proceeded to stomp and curse some more. Hunching down to the ground a foot or so from the cache, Jack craned his neck and peered at it with fearful, widened eyes and an anxious grimace straining his face. At the last moment he closed his eyes tightly; he was afraid to find that he’d really seen that first time what he thought he had. Okay, Jack told himself, one, two, three - Blast! He had.
Every last bottle was empty. The pirate grabbed one experimentally and held it up above his head, flipping it over as he stuck out his tongue. Nothing. Jack threw the bottle down with all of the petulance of a child and let out a howl. When he tired of this, Jack sunk to the sand and threw his head in his hands and muttered and rocked back and forth, setting the beads and baubles in his hair jingling chaotically. Time passed, and Jack eventually grew still. He sighed in resignation. So he’d gotten what he deserved after all, then.