the Dalaverse

Requested drabbles ficlets set, i.e. the ones I got to this morning. These are fun! Request more!

They all have delusions of grandeur, though. Lin's is the shortest and it's 137 words.


Lookout [Gibbs/Cotton, Marty; requested by linaelyn]

One of the few good things Marty attributed to his height was the fact that the damnable bird, safely perched on Cotton's shoulder, wasn't in a position to squawk or peck at him. This advantage proved useless the day he came upon Cotton and Gibbs tucked away into a corner of the hold.

The parrot dove at him, calling out raucously. Marty threw his arm over his eyes, which did the double service of protecting him from carelessly sweeping wings and claws and blocking the sight of his shipmates caught up in a clench.

"Eh? Who's ther?" Gibbs wanted to know. Marty backed away and scrambled up the hatch without saying a word. Anamaria would pay dearly for this slice of gossip, and he was soon occupied by thoughts of what price he was going to ask.


Closer to the Vest [Gibbs, Gibbs/Jack if you squint; requested by berne]

The day Gibbs was discharged from the Navy, he sold the sweetheart's locket he'd held for seven years and bought passage to Tortuga. He'd heard of the rock though he'd never visited it, and it sounded like the best sort of place for a man to go drowning his sorrows.

A bit maudlin over losing his last memento from Sally, he didn't pay quite so much attention to how quickly he spent the last of the money, and so he was barely conscious to register the three wicked-looking men who started to sidle up to him in the alley. Just as panic started to bleed through the fog of drink, a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"There y'are, Smithy! I been lookin' for your sorry hide all blasted night!"

Gibbs stared straight ahead at his would-be attackers, who exchanged a glance, apparently decided the odds were not in their favor, and faded into the shadows.

Now he turned to regard his rescuer, who certainly didn't look like a fellow to be reckoned with, despite the blade and pistol at his hip. His face was young and sharp, his eyes were ringed with smoky kohl, and his black hair jingled when he cocked his head.

"You were about t' get yourself into a spot o' trouble there, mate. You new around here?"

"Aye," said Gibbs, sobering up mostly from shock. The man looked like a pirate and smelled like a whorehouse, but he was grinning most disarmingly. "Name's Gibbs -- Joshamee Gibbs."

"Well met, Mr. Gibbs." He extended a beringed hand. When Gibbs took it, expecting a weak grip to go with the foppish appearance, he was surprised to find himself held tight and strong. "Captain Jack Sparrow."

That gave Gibbs hope, as he'd not yet had any luck in his search for a crew to join up with. "What be the name o' yer ship, Cap'n?"

Something passed over Sparrow's dark eyes, though his jolly expression never altered. "Well, that's something of a tale, mate. What say I buy you a drink and we maybe work our way up to th' subject?"


Challenge [Dauntless/Pearl, Sparrington if you squint REALLY hard; requested by monkeypuzzle]

She wasn't going to stand for this. The impertinent little wench! Flashing sail, plunging through the waves, her men shouting and waving across the distance as if they thought themselves better than a properly painted and turned-out king's vessel. And that captain of hers -- oh, the nerve of that cad, saluting the Commodore from the mizzentop before he scrambled off to the wheel.

The Commodore was better than that, she thought proudly. Her captain was a man of little distinction, but today the Commodore sailed aboard. The Commodore was noble and true. The Commodore would not be baited. The Commodore...

...looked up into the Dauntless's billowing sails, shading his eyes against the sun. Shoulders squaring, he strode to the helm, calling out orders, and politely relieved Captain Martin from his post.

She felt the shift, the new freedom as lines were tugged and yards shifted, so surprised that she barely noticed.

The Commodore frowned, stroking his hand along a spoke of her wheel and glancing at the Pearl up ahead. "Slow to respond," he murmured.

His words stung along every inch of her dignified bulk. Slow, was she? She'd show them all, the proud Commodore and his insolent rival, and most of all that flirty creation frolicking upon the blue sea.


Caught By the Shore [Anamaria/Sea; monkeypuzzle again because I couldn't resist]

Her mama tells her not to play down by the water, but Anamaria doesn't listen. Long as Mama can't see here and the master doesn't know, she figures it doesn't matter. She loves the color of the sea, the way it changes with sun and wind and depth. The surf washes over her toes and she feels clean inside.

Her brother Paul drowns when he's out getting an eel for the mistress's supper and that's when Mama screams, holds Anamaria's hair in both hands and cries that now she'll understand how the sea takes the ones you love. Anamaria lets her mother's tears soak her skin, but knows she's wrong. The sea didn't take Paul, it set him free -- that's about the only thing she and the stiff-necked white pastor agree on.

And some day soon, she vows, she'll seek her freedom there too. One way or another.


Slake [Barbossa/Whore, requested by sinister_beauty]

May knew most of the other girls didn't care much for Hector Barbossa and Scarlett downright hated him, but she was his favorite and he was good to her. Gave her nice things, bought her sweets, sat her on his lap and stroked her hair and called her his pretty little miss. He paid well, but didn't treat her like a whore in any other way, so she figured they were all just jealous.

One night he comes to her with his eyes lit up. He tells her tales of such riches as she's never heard tell, riches he'll be off to seek in the morn. She giggles at his ambition and tumbles him down to stop his wagging tongue.

She doesn't see him again for months. When he does return, he's worn and haggard-looking, and his breath smells of rot. Still, she remembers her charming Hector and drapes herself over his shoulder. He pulls her close and buries his nose between her breasts, breathing deeply.

"May, darlin'," he says in a crackly voice.

"'Course, love," she says, wiggling her hips. "How'd yer --"

He heaves himself to his feet, dragging her behind him as he heads for the back door. May makes a face at the pain in her shoulder, but she scurries along in his wake. Once they're outside, he turns and pins her to the wall, his hand sliding up her skirt.

"I been waiting fer you, Hector," she whispers, gasping as his fingers fumble between her legs with none of his usual finesse. She pushes her hand down his trousers, surprised to find his cock only half-hard. He's panting with want and striving against her, but to no avail.

"No," he moans into her hair, and she shivers at the despair in his voice. "No, not this, not this too..."

Thinking to placate him, she kisses the fringes of his beard and says, "'S all right, pet, how 'bout we go back to my room an' --"

He interrupts her with a snarl, tearing himself away so suddenly that she stumbles. "Hold yer tongue, ye filthy trollop!"

"But Hector --"

"I said t' shut it!" he roars, and he lashes out, striking her face. May's glad for the wall at her back, the support as she sinks to the ground, holding her hand to her cheek and staring at him. Fists clenched at his sides, he steps forward menacingly. She whimpers in fright, knowing the noise of the tavern inside would mask any sound she might make.

But he doesn't attack her again. Instead he hurls a handful of gold at her and stalks off into the darkness.

Numbly she picks up one of the bright coins. A tear falls upon the gleaming skull, but still it grins up at her, mocking her foolish heart.