the Dalaverse

::shakes head:: I'm a dumbass.

I'm sitting here searching through Bob Dylan songs, trying to pick one for the AU, and it doesn't occur to me until I reach the letter S that I have one tailor-made for this fic, in title if not in actual content: "Simple Twist of Fate."

I mean, duh.

Anyway, here's the short little prologue. I'm either going to start working on the first chapter or start the next chapter of "Nail" in Polysci today (I was going to write in Lit, but we were watching "American Beauty" and I was actually paying attention).

Reading Kinship first will cause this to make a tad bit of sense.

A(lternate) U(niverse).



A Simple Twist of Fate: Prologue



“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“How many times’ve I got to tell you, lad? Just get on with it already.”

Will adjusted his grip on the handle of the knife and poked the blade in irritation. “I don’t see why I have to do it.”

Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Because I asked you to, that’s why. Just...have at it and stop cringing, would you.”

Steadying himself with a breath, Will brought the blade to bear, still in denial that Jack was actually going through with this.

“Ferchristsakes, boy, open your eyes!” Jack snapped, fidgeting in front of him. “I like my throat as is, not cut all to ribbons.”

“Hold still,” Will said, ignoring Jack’s temper as he often did. He managed to keep one eye open as he bit his lip, steeled his nerves, and made the first slice. It didn’t do much. Frowning, Will bent his head closer and began to saw. He could feel Jack fighting off tremors beneath his hands, and Will was mildly resentful that he could keep his eyes closed to avoid seeing the first piece drop to the cabin’s floor. As he learned the trick of it, his speed picked up and the job was finished in half an hour.

“That’s the last of it,” said Will, setting the dulled knife carefully aside. Jack’s eyes cracked open and together they gazed down at the collection of black locks now littering the wooden planks beneath their feet.

Staring wide-eyed at his shorn hair, Jack ran a distracted hand over his head. He’d have to neaten the remaining couple of inches with scissors, and it probably wouldn’t look very presentable for a few weeks while it evened out, but it was done.

“Eight years,” said Will, disbelief coloring his voice. “You’ve spent the entire eight years I’ve known you cultivating most of that mess, and now it’s gone like it never existed.”

Someone who didn’t know Jack as well as Will did would not have noticed the edge of discomfort in his shrug, in the way he wouldn’t quite meet Will’s gaze. “‘Twas a dead giveaway and I’m taking no chances on this venture. Besides, I can grow it back easy enough.”

“Yes, but don’t you –” Will fell silent as he caught that look creeping into Jack’s eyes, the one that had been getting worse in the past few months. It was a vague sort of unease, as if Jack was lost and didn’t trust the bearings from any compass. Not even having his beloved Pearl back had been able to drive that look away. Will had no idea what it stemmed from or what it meant; he only knew that it took Jack to a place he couldn’t follow, and so he hated it.

He reached out to close his hand around Jack’s wrist and squeezed gently. The quick smile stretching Jack’s mouth didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to send the haunted look back for a time.

Jack got to his feet and stood with one hand on his hip, looking down at the tangled locks and braids. “S’ppose we ought to get this mess cleaned up. Glad I thought to take out all the shine before you took to it with the blade, ‘else I’d have to sift through and find my trinkets.”

“We ought to clean it up?” Will snorted, throwing himself down on Jack’s bunk and reaching for the charts spread out across it. “It’s your hair.”

He got a smack on the rear with the small broom Jack had procured. “One of these days I’m going t’ have you caned for your insolence, whelp.”

Will grinned at the familiar threat and ran a finger down the map of the Caribbean sea, alighting at the dot Jack had marked in red. “So, Port Royal, is it?”

Jack made an affirmative hmm noise as he scooped some hair into a bucket. “Used to be quite a lovely hole as I recall, though the English’ve been trying to get it nice and clean and respectable-like. We’ll have to hunt around an’ see if any of the finer establishments are still in business,” he added, clearly meaning taverns and whorehouses by the eyebrows he waggled in Will’s direction.

“I thought we were supposed to be the respectable folk,” Will replied, making Port Royal a point on the star he traced across the island of Jamaica. He nodded to the expensive dark wig Jack was now twirling around one finger. “Isn’t that what all that rubbish is for?”

“Rubbish?” Jack repeated indignantly, settling the wig atop his head. “You’d be a lot more concerned about looking like a gentlemen if you had to live on land with all the girls who’d want more than a piece of gold for your company.”

Will folded the map with a dramatic flourish modeled on some of Jack’s own. “But I already am a gentleman. I don’t need the disguise.”

“True, despite all my best attempts to make it otherwise,” said Jack, straightening the wig to his satisfaction and reaching for the new brown waistcoat. It was much finer than his normal patched leather jacket, though it was bound to be hotter and itchier.

Sure enough, Jack made a face as he adjusted the wool garment. He spun around for Will’s benefit. “What d’you think? Can your captain pass for a well-bred dandy, or can he not?”

Will stood up, one hand going to his chin as he studied Jack with a critical eye. The nice clothes were a good fit, covering the pirate brand, the multitude of scars, and the various unseemly tattoos. He was standing straight with none of his usual graceful weaving, making him look taller. The black curls tumbling over his shoulders were actually a decent match for the natural color visible in his trimmed mustache and beard (the twin beaded braids had gone the way of the hair). His face was still deeply tanned, but not inappropriate for his guise as a reasonably wealthy merchant. So long as he didn’t go around hiding under a hat, everyone would just assume that he liked the sun.

Nodding critically, Will halted as he peered into Jack’s face. “The kohl, Jack.”

“Oh bugger,” Jack muttered, reaching for a corner of the bed cover to wipe the black stuff off. “I’d forgotten.” He made a face as he brushed smears of it from his cheeks. “How is it that this makes me feel more naked anything else?”

“Now you’ll have to squint like all the rest of us do,” said Will, grinning. “And you’ll have to think of some way to pick up women other than offering to share face paint.”

Jack shook a finger in his face. “Flat of my hand would do. Think you’re too big to be taken over the knees of these fine breeches?”

~~~~~~~~

Jack stood on the deck of his ship, hands clasped behind his back, rolling his eyes at the catcalls that were still echoing back and forth in reaction to his new clothes.

“I hear that nonsense one more time and you’re all bein’ turned in to the lobsterbacks the minute we get to port,” he hollered. One lone guffaw sounded before relative silence fell. But it was not his words causing it; they’d all caught sight of the bodies hanging off to their starboard side.

Will came up beside him, jaw set as he gazed at the twisted corpses, their bones picked clean of the flesh they once held.

“Gallows Point,” said Jack quietly, bowing his head. He could sense the sudden stillness of his crew. A bad turn in the coming days and they could easily be the next to hang there, all of them. It had taken him weeks to convince them that this idea was worth every bit of the risk, that he wasn’t leading them on a fool’s errand straight into the enemy’s mouth.

Jack was not entirely certain that he wasn’t. The best rumors he’d managed to track down about the Peruvian treasure hidden somewhere in the town were unconfirmed, mere whispers among seamen, and he had no idea how rich its society had become since he’d last visited it. But the thrill of not knowing how his hand would be dealt set his blood to racing, and the inviting waters of the bay seemed to be calling him forth. Green like the water he’d been drowning in for countless nights now, dreams of shallow ocean and some nameless desire plaguing him even during his waking hours. There was nothing he should want, not when he had the Pearl back and Bill's son as his first mate, and yet there was an ache settled firmly into a corner of his mind that he could not burn out with all the rum and pleasurable company in the seven seas -- and heaven knows he had tried.

The boy was studying him, worry creasing his face. Jack shook himself mentally. He’d let it slip again.

“Jack. Tell me.” Will’s voice was low, his brown eyes intent on Jack’s own. “Before we go into this, tell me.”

He took a sharp breath before replying, closing his eyes and seeing that green against his lids. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if it was sea-green or earth-green, and that frightened him.

“I feel the wind changing,” he murmured, not looking at Will. “Don’t know what it means, but I can feel – feel something.”

Will rocked back and forth on his heels, staring at the approaching docks and considering. “Then I guess we’d better go meet it.”