The Miniscule Victory of Davy Jones | By : Bloodylocks Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Slash - Male/Male Views: 5655 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
1
Lord Cutler Beckett soon realized while under the
watch of Captain Davy Jones that the crew of the Flying Dutchman were each
different in their own way. Worse still, this notion was not based merely in
outward appearance. Remaining shackled to the briny, molded walls of his prison
cell, the surface of this ship nearly as abrasive as its inhabitants, the
fallen lord thought he would have died following the destruction of his
impressive ship. Alas he was viciously misinformed.
Four days. Already four desolate days had passed,
though they felt more like weeks in Beckett’s mind. As he was fished out of the
ocean following his near death episode, the man realized he had not only
escaped an honorable captain’s death, but he was far from being rescued. Rough
hands caked in barnacles and harsh bristling flesh heaved him onto an all too
familiar deck, where he proceeded to cough out seawater until a set of
gruesomely mismatched legs came into his view.
“It would appear that the goddess finally smiles down
on this ship once more,” the devil man known as Davy Jones announced quietly,
though it seemed his entire crew had heard the soft words, as they all chuckled
knowingly.
“Gloating at your miniscule victory, are you?”
Beckett finally managed to snarl out from his drenched lungs. Hands clenched as
he held back a grunt of pain, trying to stand. He would not let these base,
inhuman creatures take him down willingly, as helpless and without a weapon as
he was. Davy Jones and his men may have been fierce, but ferocity was their
limit, and if Beckett had enough time, he could outsmart this rabble—
“No rejoicing here, dear Lord,” Jones replied,
approaching and allowing his simple presence to unnerve the once unbreakable
man. Cutler Beckett may have been powerful once, but now he was just a
vulnerable human amongst ruthless monsters of the sea. “Only
disappointment.”
His mask of bold pride suddenly slipped away,
replaced by uncertainty. The crew continued to snicker and gesture to one
another, and Beckett could feel the very heat of their dripping wet bodies
coming closer behind him. He had a feeling he knew what this dissatisfaction
Jones spoke of really was.
“Disappointment,” the wicked captain continued, “that
we could not see you across the dusk of life ourselves.”
Beckett remembered in his cell how he had tensed his
body at the words, expecting an attack from behind him as his face remained
inches from that of the bestial captain.
“Tell me, Lord Beckett… do you fear death.”
“Never. And
especially not by your hand.”
Jones actually smiled, and not even that of one
pretended to be unfazed. It was a sickeningly amused grin. He then snorted like
a wild stallion, a sign he really was amused.
“Oh, good. I feared you
wouldn’t long for it once we were finished with you.”
A blow had been struck, but not from one of the crew
lurking behind Beckett. He doubled over and stared in numb disbelief at the
thick, stone hard claw which had long ago replaced Jones’ left arm, for a split
second refusing to accept its hold between his legs. He looked up, his face
long and wide-eyed at the almost sweet smile which had formed on the captain’s tentacle
covered face.
The pincer closed. The crew cheered. Beckett fainted.
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