Flash of Green
Oct. 1st, 2005 05:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinitydayOver at Black Pearl Sails, we had a challenge in which we were supposed to re-write a previous drabble or ficlet. The rewrite had to be something fairly drastic.
I picked A Flash of Green and expanded it significantly. Here are the two
Title: A Flash of Green
Characters: Jack
Word Count: 285
That the Jack Sparrow who arrived on Tortuga was different than the one who left, no one seemed to notice other than the former pirate captain himself. They were too gripped by the stories that were coming out about Barbossa and the Black Pearl, about the mutiny and the Isla de Muerta. They devoted too much time to gaping over the fact he was alive than to actually pay attention to the man.
“How’d you do it?” one drunken sailor asked, having first finished the story of the mutiny. Jack had lived it and heard it and hated it, but the tale was too popular to die down at the moment, especially with Jack having turned up after being thought dead.
Jack shrugged, self-effacingly, but he was beginning to realize that even his own tight lips weren’t enough to keep the tale from growing at every telling.
“C’mon, mate,” the man said, wheedling. “A drink for your tale.”
“Very well,” Jack decided. If Barbossa was going to spread stories about his fortune, then it was the least Jack could do to reciprocate. If he got a free drink out of it, so much the better.
He waited for his rum to come before he started his story, obstinately because he didn’t trust his fellow pirates anymore, but mostly because he was trying to come up with a story to regale his audience with.
A flash of green gave way to inspiration. Jack took a drink of the swill they called rum and started his story.
“Sea turtles.”
The man gaped. “Sea turtles.”
Jack nodded knowingly, finding it deadly easy to keep his normal grin off his face for once in his life. “Yes. Sea turtles."
Title: A Flash of Green
Characters: Jack
Word Count: 705
That the Jack Sparrow that arrived in Tortuga was different than the one who left it, no one noticed other than the former pirate captain himself. Even those who had known him before were too enthralled by the tales pouring in to pay any attention to the man himself, unless it was to gape over the fact that he was alive. Tales about the Black Pearl. About the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. About Captain Barbossa’s great fortune. About the mutiny and Jack Sparrow’s decidedly misfortune.
“ ‘ow’d you do it?” gawped one toothless drunkard.
Considering the man had been telling the story of the mutiny minutes ago and had just reached the part where the crew had left Jack on that damned island with only a pistol and one shot before turning to Jack and asking how he had gotten away, Jack didn’t feel inclined to answer.
He hated that story. He couldn’t get away from that story. He had lived it and heard it and hated it, but the tale was far too popular to have any hope of dying down in the near future, especially with Jack having turned up after being thought dead. Men didn’t show up again, alive and well, after being marooned. Only in this case, Jack did.
“ ‘ow’d you get away?” the man persisted.
Too many eyes turned his way, as the story had a large following in the tavern. Jack was the only one there who hadn’t wanted to hear the story again, but he was beginning to realize that there was no getting away from it. It would follow him to the ends of the Earth, no matter how tight-lipped he remained on the subject. It was Barbossa’s curse, another one, as if the black-hearted bastard hadn’t done enough to him already. The tale would follow Jack wherever he went, growing more wild in the telling each time it passed a new pair of lips or ears.
“’ow’d you get off the island?” the listeners wanted to know.
“How did I escape?” Jack repeated back.
“Tell us,” one of the more persistent ones said, his tone wheedling. He called to one of the serving wenches: “Get the man a drink, loosen his tongue.” He flashed a smile at Jack, clearly insincere, which Jack matched with one equally as false.
But the questions weren’t going to die anymore than the stories were.
“Very well,” Jack said at last. Let the tales chasing him and growing in every telling be of his own making, not of Barbossa’s. If he got a free drink out of it, so much the better.
He drew the pistol from his sash and banged it hard onto the tavern table. Most of the men surrounding him jumped and a few of the more sober ones reached for their own weapons before realizing that he wasn’t drawing on any of them.
“The pistol,” Jack said with no little dramatics, “still with the one shot. I’m saving that for my former first mate, the next time I see him.”
If Jack was going to tell a story, he was going to tell a story.
The murmurs that followed that bold pronouncement were suitably impressed. One or two of the men even tried touch the pistol as if it had suddenly been imbued with magical powers. They withdrew their nervous hands after catching Jack’s eye.
“My rum now, if you please,” Jack said smartly, tucking the pistol back into his sash.
He waited for his rum to come before he properly started his story, partially because he didn’t trust his fellow pirates anymore, but mostly because he was trying to come up with something suitable to regale his audience with.
A flash of green gave way to inspiration. Jack took a drink of the swill they called rum and started his story.
“Sea turtles.”
One of the tarts had wandered over, and looked up from where she was being mauled by a man who obviously had been deprived of the fairer sex’s company for far too long. “Sea turtles?” she asked.
Jack nodded knowingly, finding it deadly easy to keep his normal grin off his face for once in his life. “Yes. Sea turtles.”
I picked A Flash of Green and expanded it significantly. Here are the two
Title: A Flash of Green
Characters: Jack
Word Count: 285
That the Jack Sparrow who arrived on Tortuga was different than the one who left, no one seemed to notice other than the former pirate captain himself. They were too gripped by the stories that were coming out about Barbossa and the Black Pearl, about the mutiny and the Isla de Muerta. They devoted too much time to gaping over the fact he was alive than to actually pay attention to the man.
“How’d you do it?” one drunken sailor asked, having first finished the story of the mutiny. Jack had lived it and heard it and hated it, but the tale was too popular to die down at the moment, especially with Jack having turned up after being thought dead.
Jack shrugged, self-effacingly, but he was beginning to realize that even his own tight lips weren’t enough to keep the tale from growing at every telling.
“C’mon, mate,” the man said, wheedling. “A drink for your tale.”
“Very well,” Jack decided. If Barbossa was going to spread stories about his fortune, then it was the least Jack could do to reciprocate. If he got a free drink out of it, so much the better.
He waited for his rum to come before he started his story, obstinately because he didn’t trust his fellow pirates anymore, but mostly because he was trying to come up with a story to regale his audience with.
A flash of green gave way to inspiration. Jack took a drink of the swill they called rum and started his story.
“Sea turtles.”
The man gaped. “Sea turtles.”
Jack nodded knowingly, finding it deadly easy to keep his normal grin off his face for once in his life. “Yes. Sea turtles."
Title: A Flash of Green
Characters: Jack
Word Count: 705
That the Jack Sparrow that arrived in Tortuga was different than the one who left it, no one noticed other than the former pirate captain himself. Even those who had known him before were too enthralled by the tales pouring in to pay any attention to the man himself, unless it was to gape over the fact that he was alive. Tales about the Black Pearl. About the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. About Captain Barbossa’s great fortune. About the mutiny and Jack Sparrow’s decidedly misfortune.
“ ‘ow’d you do it?” gawped one toothless drunkard.
Considering the man had been telling the story of the mutiny minutes ago and had just reached the part where the crew had left Jack on that damned island with only a pistol and one shot before turning to Jack and asking how he had gotten away, Jack didn’t feel inclined to answer.
He hated that story. He couldn’t get away from that story. He had lived it and heard it and hated it, but the tale was far too popular to have any hope of dying down in the near future, especially with Jack having turned up after being thought dead. Men didn’t show up again, alive and well, after being marooned. Only in this case, Jack did.
“ ‘ow’d you get away?” the man persisted.
Too many eyes turned his way, as the story had a large following in the tavern. Jack was the only one there who hadn’t wanted to hear the story again, but he was beginning to realize that there was no getting away from it. It would follow him to the ends of the Earth, no matter how tight-lipped he remained on the subject. It was Barbossa’s curse, another one, as if the black-hearted bastard hadn’t done enough to him already. The tale would follow Jack wherever he went, growing more wild in the telling each time it passed a new pair of lips or ears.
“’ow’d you get off the island?” the listeners wanted to know.
“How did I escape?” Jack repeated back.
“Tell us,” one of the more persistent ones said, his tone wheedling. He called to one of the serving wenches: “Get the man a drink, loosen his tongue.” He flashed a smile at Jack, clearly insincere, which Jack matched with one equally as false.
But the questions weren’t going to die anymore than the stories were.
“Very well,” Jack said at last. Let the tales chasing him and growing in every telling be of his own making, not of Barbossa’s. If he got a free drink out of it, so much the better.
He drew the pistol from his sash and banged it hard onto the tavern table. Most of the men surrounding him jumped and a few of the more sober ones reached for their own weapons before realizing that he wasn’t drawing on any of them.
“The pistol,” Jack said with no little dramatics, “still with the one shot. I’m saving that for my former first mate, the next time I see him.”
If Jack was going to tell a story, he was going to tell a story.
The murmurs that followed that bold pronouncement were suitably impressed. One or two of the men even tried touch the pistol as if it had suddenly been imbued with magical powers. They withdrew their nervous hands after catching Jack’s eye.
“My rum now, if you please,” Jack said smartly, tucking the pistol back into his sash.
He waited for his rum to come before he properly started his story, partially because he didn’t trust his fellow pirates anymore, but mostly because he was trying to come up with something suitable to regale his audience with.
A flash of green gave way to inspiration. Jack took a drink of the swill they called rum and started his story.
“Sea turtles.”
One of the tarts had wandered over, and looked up from where she was being mauled by a man who obviously had been deprived of the fairer sex’s company for far too long. “Sea turtles?” she asked.
Jack nodded knowingly, finding it deadly easy to keep his normal grin off his face for once in his life. “Yes. Sea turtles.”