byhisbootstraps: (Default)
[personal profile] byhisbootstraps
It's quiet down here. It's been quiet for a while now, since the cannons stopped.

Since the screaming stopped.

Bootstrap Bill Turner sits in the tangled seaweed that strews the sodden floor of the Dutchman's brig, knees drawn up (there isn't room to stretch out his legs), and watches a tiny crab make its way down the opposite wall.

Date: 2006-08-28 03:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Or, perhaps, not.

Jones slams his right hand against the bars, and the long tentacle on it whips through, wraps around the coral growing from Bootstrap's shoulder, and yanks him close.

"The chest," he tells him, "is empty. No one touched the key besides the young Master Turner and your former captain, and none knew about it besides m'self. What did you tell him?"

Date: 2006-08-28 04:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

The same accusation once bound this man to the Dutchman; now, it can be nothing but an infuriated demand. Jones wrenches the coral again, hard enough to strike part of it against the sediment-encrusted bars, and sends the tentacle unwinding to make a grab for Bootstrap's throat.

Date: 2006-08-28 07:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
He wants to. He very nearly does, as he watches Bootstrap struggle, gasping, against his hold.

The tentacle heaves tighter for one last instant...and then slackens, withdrawing to coil against his palm.

And Davy Jones smiles.

"Your son lives yet," he drawls. It's almost a whisper. "He was seen not an hour ago on the deck of the Pearl. And when I find him..."

He pushes himself away from the bars, long filaments of slime stretching from discolored skin to metal.

"You will both wish he'd perished along with Jack Sparrow."

Date: 2006-08-28 08:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

And if his eyes still burn with anger, at least he speaks with cruel pleasure: if nothing else, he will have Sparrow's death, and that will give what satisfaction it can offer.

"Reclaimed by the sea along with his precious ship."

Date: 2006-08-28 09:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Jones jerks his head, siphons flaring, gaze never leaving Bootstrap's.

"A streak of good fortune, to be certain, but one that will not hold," he snaps.

Date: 2006-08-29 03:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
His beard curls, endlessly searching the air for nothing.

"When it comes time for it to end," he continues, savoring each word as the thin, venomous smile returns, "I will see to it that you are the one who brings it about."

Date: 2006-08-29 03:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Jones stiffens, unmoving save the constant squirming of his tentacles. He looks down at Bootstrap's huddled form.

"Do you now?" he asks, and it's very soft.

Date: 2006-08-29 04:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Jones eyes him a moment more, hard and baleful, and leans down to say:

"You have been damned by no one but yourself, Bill Turner."

It is the same as any other man on the Dutchman.

It is the same as Davy Jones himself.

He straightens, turns, and the steady, shuddering thump of his walk begins to rattle the planks once more.


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