bushel_o_apples | (no subject)

Barbossa sits at what has quickly become his usual spot by the lake, on a large flat rock from which he gets a good view of the Pearl. This time, though, he's busy with something entirely different, as he has occasionally been for the last few days. He holds a small, palm-sized leather-bound book in one hand and seems to be reading backwards through it. His brow is knitted, a worried frown across his face.

There's got to be something. We can't get to the Locker without some kind of supernatural guidance, and I know I heard of something, a long time ago...

His eyes narrow, suddenly, and he tilts his head. The thought is there, fleeting, and any attempt to look directly at it will only scare it away. He has to think carefully around it, build a fence of other thoughts to keep it in.

Singapore. There must be a reason why I thought of Sao Feng first, of all the Pirate Lords. Hell, it's been easy enough to convince the likes of WIll Turner that it's the best option but of course they don't -know- the other Brethren. But why was Sao Feng the first to come to mind? Why haven't I even considered any other alternatives...?

It is a fact that most of the time the mind works without actually telling its owner. Do you know those sudden inspirations that seem to come out of the blue and hit you like a hammer after you've been pondering a problem from a completely different direction for days?

Bullshit. It's all the work of those carefully hidden parts of your mind that toil endlessly like sweatshop workers, without thanks nor ever seeing the light. Feel bad enough already? Good, back to track, then.

The memory sparks up suddenly. He doesn't dare dwell on it, but instead backtracks through the pages of the small book in his hands until he finds it, tucked into a small note on the margin of one of the pages. And he starts to laugh. Laughter that starts as a low sound and a shake of his shoulders and finally erupts in a loud, if brief, outburst.

"Of course! Singapore!"

It's the simple, elegant nature of the double-dealing that pleases him most. No convoluted scheme holds more beauty than a simple, traditional double-cross. And at the same time it holds the solidity of planned courses. Not haphazard improvisation and insane wit, like Jack's endeavours tend to be.His mood has improved much when he again starts to ponder the finer points of the plan.

And now, who? Who do we send in there? Got to be careful there, don't want to send someone exceedingly bright, lest they puzzle out the whole delightful bit of duplicity involved. But it has to be someone who can actually sneak into the temple and get the charts, maybe even possibly fight his way out...

The smile that curls his lips would could wither a whole orchard of apple trees out of sheer wickedness.

"Well, well, well, mr Turner. Seems like we've found you an use at last."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We'll still need to book passage to the Spanish Main, and for that we would need to send someone to Tortuga. Someone with just a bit of coin to make it worthwhile. And that someone could see what news he can find, and surely any captain who'd let the likes of us hire him would have news as well." Gibbs thinks for a moment longer. "I know a few hearty souls who might be persuaded that they owe me a few favors."

"Sounds reasonable. Do you think two men could do that trip, mr Gibbs? I need to know as much information as posible first-hand if we are to be able to play with all the possible advantage against -and I use this word figuratively- Sao Feng."

Which sounds so much better than 'I know you aren't going to tell me everything you learn at Tortuga unless I go there and hear it myself'.

"Two men could with not much more risk. But d' you think that you wouldn't be recognized as easily as I would, if not more so? Even if Beckett's people haven't arrived in Tortuga, you made a lot of enemies in your maraudings. And if word gets ut that you are mortal again..." And from Gibbs' tone, it's clear that he doesn't mind Barbossa's company so much as his infamy.

"That said...the only other person I think I could trust to help me and serve as a second set of ears is Marty."

"Oh, I may be infamous, but the last people who saw me and lived" remember the tales about how the Black Pearl left no survivors in its wake? "did so ten years ago or are with us in our little enterprise. Or hanged for piracy by that outstanding pillar of His Majesty's government in these areas, the Commodore Norrington. I'm quite sure we could manage to pass unrecognized if we wanted to."

And of course, what most people would remember about Barbossa would be the hat and the monkey, right? Both highly visible and easily detachable.

"Yes," Gibbs says grimly. "I had forgetten that for a moment." Though how anyone could forget those tales of horror is beyond even Gibbs' imagination.

"But yes, you are right. And Tortuga is a place where one can get lost if he truly wishes to."

"Good, then. I'm glad we seem to be settling our plans into a more precise form now. That may mean the day is drawing near when that door will open for us."

He leans back again, regarding Gibbs not with suspicion, but with a keen curiosity.

"Are you ready to leave Jack behind, mister Gibbs? To go and try to save him, of course, but still."

He pointedly made no further mention of his time as captain of the Black Pearl. They need to focus on working together. There'll be time enough to bicker and possibly even attempt on each other's lives later, once things are settles with Cutler BEckett. If they all survive, that is, of which Barbossa has his share of doubts.

"I'll do what's needed. The captain knows that, and would do the same, I'm sure. And I am more than ready to leave this place and its curses." He doesn't put much empahasis in "the captain" this time, but the subtext is cleat.

"Fine. It's good to know where one's men stand, mr Gibbs. And I understand your displeasure about the place, too. Magic seems to be afoot all of the time around here."

His displeasure, once more, is plain to see.

Gibbs pauses for a moment and gets his thoughts into words. "You hate magic, don't you? After all you've been through, you truly hate it."

"Hate isn't the word I would use, Gibbs. If need arises that would be unsurmountable by other means, I will still use magic. But I don't trust it. Not after being on the bad end of it, and after knowing as much as I know about the things beyond the senses of mortal men. It is a foul thing that always seeks to twist itself against men, you hear me, Gibbs. Give me what I can take by my own hand and my own wit, and I will be far more happy than I will with some treacherous spell being the cause of my fortunes."

Gibbs nods. "On that we are in full agreement. Though it would seem that we have some more magic ahead of us if we are to bring back the captain and the ship.

"Best we consider bringing along a supply of rum then." And while it's far too true that Gibbs loves his drink, sometimes the drink is the only thing that can dull the anxiety of facing the impossible.

"I never said it would be a pleasant enterprise to undertake, and I'm quite sure we were both aware of that, mr Gibbs. But yes, a good provision of rum would be a good idea. The men might need it 'fore the end of our trip."

Barbossa prefers to face the impossible on a high of his own rage and pride. It has worked for him so far.

"Well, at least I know where to find rum in Tortuga. And probably Panama." He smiles just a tiny bit.

"Now, as I think our business for now is done, I should be seein' to my duties."

He nods. It's a respectful gesture, one few people get from Barbossa once he gets to know them.

"See to them, mr Gibbs. And I won't ask you to give JAck my greetings, but since you seem to think she still has her soul, please give the Pearl my fond regards."

"I'll consider it." Which is to say that later he might mention to the planks (and Jack) that he and that perfidious Barbossa talked today. But even that is more than he thought he might do for Barbossa two weeks ago. "Good day."

"Fair enough."

Barbossa turns towards the Bar as Gibbs leaves, and ponders. Maybe a celebratory drink would be in order.