Crack!fic POTC-style
Mar. 15th, 2008 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richThis is what happens when I get sick and my brain needs something to do to bleed off the ick. It's kind of lame, which is why I'm only posting it here. It's just a brain-dump, really - I'm not sure it's fit for public consumption anywhere else.
"The Lost Castaway at the End of the World"
Rating: PG for language and concepts
Disclaimer: Yadda yadda yadda, I don't own. Like "South Park," this is a parody and should probably not be viewed by anyone.
Summary: Elizabeth – or a facsimile thereof – becomes acquainted with her new home over the course of ten years, since it's widely assumed by even her fans that it's impossible that she ever left the place and accomplished anything. Complete and utter crackfic. (Or is it?)
Day Three
Dear Journal: I am so pleased I found you and this quill tucked away in Sao Feng’s robes! It seems like you tiny Asian-cover journals are all over the place – why, an entire section in the mill store at Port Royale was lined with simply reams of them.
I feel so frightfully alone. Will left two days ago, and I could not do much more than sit at the water’s edge and stare into the horizon, hoping he could somehow move time and return to me. Only hunger finally moved me more than a few feet, which is when I discovered you in the supply pouch of the previous owner of these robes … and some trail mix. Which is a fortuitous occurrence, since I may be residing on this island for some time to come. Perhaps I shall find another cache of liquor to burn buried somewhere, as well as another axe to chop down small trees for another woodpile. Until then, it appears you shall be my closest acquaintance, and I will also use your pages to mark the days until I am to hold my husband in my arms once again.
Yours,
ElizabethSwann Turner (I am not used to this yet!)
Day Six
Dear Journal: So far, no hidden cache of rum. Which also brings to mind Jack, and his ship, and the rest of his crew, who all sailed off as soon as I departed in the Pearl’s longboat. The Empress, it seems, departed with the rest of my crew shortly following the battle, and I have not seen prow nor hair of them since. But my point is that Jack did know my crew had left me, so naturally I thought he would wait for me to row back following my post-nuptials with Will. What if he thought I was actually saying goodbye when I teased him by repeating his own words back at him? But, then, how did he expect me to leave this island?
No matter. The trail mix should hold out a little longer, and I think I may have found coconuts, too. I am not eating much, anyway, as I am too heartsick to have much of an appetite right now anyway.
Day Eleven
Dear Journal: I confess, now I worry about any escape from this rocky shore. In fact, I have begun worrying to such extent that yesterday, I vomited from the anxiousness. I have a tree branch with which I have been digging in various spots searching for that rum and axe, but I am beginning to feel neither is here.
Day Twenty
Dear Journal: Well, it seems now I have a whole other kettle of fish to worry about, as our cook used to say. My courses should have begun three days ago and have not. How this is possible, I do not understand – Estrella told me I could not become with child the first time! (Although I admit I do not know if she meant the first time, as in our first night together, or the first time we quickened together. We did do it three times that afternoon, after all.)
I am beginning to give up hope of ever being found. The trail mix ran out a few days ago, and I am not sure how I feel about the coconut milk. Lack of meat is definitely affecting my humors – yesterday, I thought I spied ships on the horizon, but it turned out to be a trick of the light.
Day 31
Dear Journal: If I keep spelling out the numbers, it shall become tiresome … not to mention taking time away from what I can spend with my new friend, Chesty! I don’t believe I’ve written about Chesty yet – he is the chest that holds the heart of the captain of the Flying Dutchman. I thought he was an inanimate object, but it turns out he was just shy! After more than twenty days of silence, he finally started speaking to me. Of course, I had to help him out, and paint him eyes and a mouth and such, but that was easy enough by using a little blood from my foot, where I cut it on a rock. (I sure wish I could find my boots, or that Will had left his for me to hop around in – I do not mind being pregnant so much as being barefoot. I do not know why, but I feel it must somehow offend my sensibilities to remove shoes at any point during my "confinement.")
Anyway, Chesty and I have been discussing how I might make a home on this island. It is very rocky and sandy, and aside from a fortunately-placed spring, there is nothing to it but a rather large hill and steep elevation, but I’ve been here a month and I do not believe anyone is coming for me. I am still puzzled by Jack’s absence, but perhaps he had to resupply.
Day 38
Dear Journal: Upon Chesty’s suggestion, I wandered the island looking for wild boars or something else to stab, and I came across a mysterious-looking door in the sand, under some brush. It would not open immediately, so I hit the wheel on top with a branch several times, which much have dislodged it, so that I was finally able to turn it open.
Inside was a trove of riches! I found dresses and food in little packages that, when I add water, turn into entire meals – including poultry and pork! I also found a large barrel of something called Grow-A-Lawn, so I think starting in the morning, Chesty and I will begin at the bottom of the hill and work up it, scattering some seed. (Although, I regret I will have to set Chesty down if I am to roll a barrel up a hill. I’m not sure I’m supposed to let go of him, but it can’t be helped.)
Day 100
Dear Journal: It has been a very long time since we spoke, but you may be pleased to know that our grass seed project seemed to be a success, and Chesty and I are now reaping the rewards of concerted troweling and planting – we should have a nice, grassy hill in a few months. It is a good thing I finished when I did, too – between the swollen ankles and the sickness I’ve been feeling, I am not certain how much more heavy rolling and bending I could have done.
The underground vault I found seems as though it were put there just for me. Inside were many pieces of wood and tools, with instructions on how to construct a crib and changing table for the baby. I only wish that I had a house to put them in, but perhaps I can live in the vault – it is quite roomy, and my clothes and food are already down in there. (Chesty likes it because he can stay nice and dry when we’re down there. I still haven’t figured out a way not to have to carry him around all the time and still keep his contents quite safe.)
Alas, Journal, I found no parchment in the underground vault, so my entries will become more spare out of necessity to preserve your pages for my calendar. After all, I do have another 3,552 days to mark off before Will returns, at which time I plan to strongly petition him for a ride to civilization for the four of us.
Day 300
Dear Journal: Finally, a moment to write! It has been a month since I had the baby, and while I know I should not be so uncharitable as to want to throw little Billy into the sea, you must forgive my lack of proper rest. Between his demands for constant feeding and changing (thank Our Father there were diapers in the vault), and Chesty’s jealous mutterings when I put him down to tend to Billy, I am feeling quite exhausted … and dissatisfied. I’m a pirate, not a damn babysitter!
I will not go into details of Billy’s birth. Suffice to say it was unpleasant and messy, and for once I am actually rather grateful his father is off and away, for I might have been tempted to test the limits of his immortality by trying to strangle him for putting me into this predicament. I do wish, however, that Jack would return, for the same reason and that as far as I know, he can be killed again. If I ever see that louse and scoundrel show up on my shore, you can be certain Chesty and I will have some strong words for him leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere without a ride.
Day 1,826
Dear Journal: Just a quick note to let you know the grass is lush … and so am I. Today is the halfway point of when I shall see Will again, and after Billy finally fell asleep with Chesty, I crept out up here by the fire to polish off the single bottle of liquor I had found in our vault in celebration of this momentous occasion. It’s port – port in my permanent port! Is it not ironic?
Day 1,828
Dear Journal: Oh, I do apologize for spilling on your pages, especially since you’re not very large at all, and I have another five years to put you to use. (Actually, it is officially less than five years now!) I began chuckling at my own joke and was barely able to get it down in writing before I laughed, knocking part of the bottle on you and necessitating a couple of days to dry off.
I must be very careful about what I write next, lest Billy find you on his wanderings, or you fall open in front of Chesty. Pray, do not do so! He is becoming so very demanding, and I feel I have to find a way to honor my commitment to Will that doesn’t involve lugging Chesty around all the time. But I have waited much too long, and I fear any sort of abandonment would raise a hue and cry from Billy, who keeps trying to find a way to open him up.
Day 1,912
Dear Journal: At long last, Chesty is out of my sight! I found Billy digging a very deep hole one afternoon, and when he asked me to help, in the midst of doing so, it struck me that if Billy couldn’t open Chesty and I couldn’t open Chesty without Will’s key, then it was unlikely anyone else could – and so, it stood to reason that even if he were found, it’s unlikely he could be opened and Will’s fragile organ pierced as Davy Jones’s was. (Although, I buried him to shut him up once and for all – as I told you last, he was becoming very demanding of my attention, and I fear suffocation was the only alternative I had left to me. Chesty, not Billy, that is.)
Day 2,325
Dear Journal: Had I written in you a few days ago, I fear I would have ripped out your pages in frustration over the most curious incident to occur since my one day with Will … perhaps in my entire life. Alas, I hope I remember how many sunsets have passed, since I was too angry to even make my daily marks in your pages.
Jack Sparrow sailed in. I heard his voice calling down into our vault, waking us one morning. Pulling my covers around myself, I climbed up and saw that it was, in fact, not a hallucination. Billy, naturally, dressed quickly and raced up to see the commotion, since he has heard of men but had never seen one. I took a bit more time with my toilet, since I wanted to look proper and with decently-brushed hair and a clean frock, to petition Jack to take us with him when he left on whatever vessel he was sailing, for perhaps we would come across Will's ship that way.
At most, I might have taken perhaps thirty minutes, but when I emerged topside, nobody was to be seen. Curious, and not a little worried, I walked around, calling for Billy and Jack, beginning to think I had truly experienced a hallucination. When I began climbing Grassy Knoll, I spied a lone, short figure and ran to make certain it was Billy and he was safe.
I hardly know how to make you believe what came next, except that it did happen. As I reached the top of the hill, I saw what looked like the Pearl pointed outward in the bay, as if sailing away. When I turned to Billy, he looked like a waif, weighed down by a new tricorn and an old, oversized greatcoat. I had to stop him singing the “Yo-Ho” song more than once to get the story out of him, but he said Jack had put the items on him, sang a few bars of that blasted tune, and told him to ask me about eunuchs.
And then he left. Departed. Before I could even speak to him! Damn that smelly, stunted old reprobate!
Day 3,651
Dear Journal: Tomorrow is the day I see Will again! Oh, how I have dreamed of this day. To finally be able to leave! And see my husband! And leave!
And perhaps Will and I can work out a system where Billy and I don’t have to stay on the same shore for the entire ten years except for quick walks up and down a big hill. If the man can find dead and dying people he’s never even met, perhaps he could use those same senses to track down the love of his life and his own child, as well?
I just wish I had thought to ask that ten years ago. I have always been reasonably certain, though my sense of distance is not the best, that Shipwreck Cove with its people and real food and bolts of fabric – and SHIPS – is just beyond our bay …
"The Lost Castaway at the End of the World"
Rating: PG for language and concepts
Disclaimer: Yadda yadda yadda, I don't own. Like "South Park," this is a parody and should probably not be viewed by anyone.
Summary: Elizabeth – or a facsimile thereof – becomes acquainted with her new home over the course of ten years, since it's widely assumed by even her fans that it's impossible that she ever left the place and accomplished anything. Complete and utter crackfic. (Or is it?)
Day Three
Dear Journal: I am so pleased I found you and this quill tucked away in Sao Feng’s robes! It seems like you tiny Asian-cover journals are all over the place – why, an entire section in the mill store at Port Royale was lined with simply reams of them.
I feel so frightfully alone. Will left two days ago, and I could not do much more than sit at the water’s edge and stare into the horizon, hoping he could somehow move time and return to me. Only hunger finally moved me more than a few feet, which is when I discovered you in the supply pouch of the previous owner of these robes … and some trail mix. Which is a fortuitous occurrence, since I may be residing on this island for some time to come. Perhaps I shall find another cache of liquor to burn buried somewhere, as well as another axe to chop down small trees for another woodpile. Until then, it appears you shall be my closest acquaintance, and I will also use your pages to mark the days until I am to hold my husband in my arms once again.
Yours,
Elizabeth
Day Six
Dear Journal: So far, no hidden cache of rum. Which also brings to mind Jack, and his ship, and the rest of his crew, who all sailed off as soon as I departed in the Pearl’s longboat. The Empress, it seems, departed with the rest of my crew shortly following the battle, and I have not seen prow nor hair of them since. But my point is that Jack did know my crew had left me, so naturally I thought he would wait for me to row back following my post-nuptials with Will. What if he thought I was actually saying goodbye when I teased him by repeating his own words back at him? But, then, how did he expect me to leave this island?
No matter. The trail mix should hold out a little longer, and I think I may have found coconuts, too. I am not eating much, anyway, as I am too heartsick to have much of an appetite right now anyway.
Day Eleven
Dear Journal: I confess, now I worry about any escape from this rocky shore. In fact, I have begun worrying to such extent that yesterday, I vomited from the anxiousness. I have a tree branch with which I have been digging in various spots searching for that rum and axe, but I am beginning to feel neither is here.
Day Twenty
Dear Journal: Well, it seems now I have a whole other kettle of fish to worry about, as our cook used to say. My courses should have begun three days ago and have not. How this is possible, I do not understand – Estrella told me I could not become with child the first time! (Although I admit I do not know if she meant the first time, as in our first night together, or the first time we quickened together. We did do it three times that afternoon, after all.)
I am beginning to give up hope of ever being found. The trail mix ran out a few days ago, and I am not sure how I feel about the coconut milk. Lack of meat is definitely affecting my humors – yesterday, I thought I spied ships on the horizon, but it turned out to be a trick of the light.
Day 31
Dear Journal: If I keep spelling out the numbers, it shall become tiresome … not to mention taking time away from what I can spend with my new friend, Chesty! I don’t believe I’ve written about Chesty yet – he is the chest that holds the heart of the captain of the Flying Dutchman. I thought he was an inanimate object, but it turns out he was just shy! After more than twenty days of silence, he finally started speaking to me. Of course, I had to help him out, and paint him eyes and a mouth and such, but that was easy enough by using a little blood from my foot, where I cut it on a rock. (I sure wish I could find my boots, or that Will had left his for me to hop around in – I do not mind being pregnant so much as being barefoot. I do not know why, but I feel it must somehow offend my sensibilities to remove shoes at any point during my "confinement.")
Anyway, Chesty and I have been discussing how I might make a home on this island. It is very rocky and sandy, and aside from a fortunately-placed spring, there is nothing to it but a rather large hill and steep elevation, but I’ve been here a month and I do not believe anyone is coming for me. I am still puzzled by Jack’s absence, but perhaps he had to resupply.
Day 38
Dear Journal: Upon Chesty’s suggestion, I wandered the island looking for wild boars or something else to stab, and I came across a mysterious-looking door in the sand, under some brush. It would not open immediately, so I hit the wheel on top with a branch several times, which much have dislodged it, so that I was finally able to turn it open.
Inside was a trove of riches! I found dresses and food in little packages that, when I add water, turn into entire meals – including poultry and pork! I also found a large barrel of something called Grow-A-Lawn, so I think starting in the morning, Chesty and I will begin at the bottom of the hill and work up it, scattering some seed. (Although, I regret I will have to set Chesty down if I am to roll a barrel up a hill. I’m not sure I’m supposed to let go of him, but it can’t be helped.)
Day 100
Dear Journal: It has been a very long time since we spoke, but you may be pleased to know that our grass seed project seemed to be a success, and Chesty and I are now reaping the rewards of concerted troweling and planting – we should have a nice, grassy hill in a few months. It is a good thing I finished when I did, too – between the swollen ankles and the sickness I’ve been feeling, I am not certain how much more heavy rolling and bending I could have done.
The underground vault I found seems as though it were put there just for me. Inside were many pieces of wood and tools, with instructions on how to construct a crib and changing table for the baby. I only wish that I had a house to put them in, but perhaps I can live in the vault – it is quite roomy, and my clothes and food are already down in there. (Chesty likes it because he can stay nice and dry when we’re down there. I still haven’t figured out a way not to have to carry him around all the time and still keep his contents quite safe.)
Alas, Journal, I found no parchment in the underground vault, so my entries will become more spare out of necessity to preserve your pages for my calendar. After all, I do have another 3,552 days to mark off before Will returns, at which time I plan to strongly petition him for a ride to civilization for the four of us.
Day 300
Dear Journal: Finally, a moment to write! It has been a month since I had the baby, and while I know I should not be so uncharitable as to want to throw little Billy into the sea, you must forgive my lack of proper rest. Between his demands for constant feeding and changing (thank Our Father there were diapers in the vault), and Chesty’s jealous mutterings when I put him down to tend to Billy, I am feeling quite exhausted … and dissatisfied. I’m a pirate, not a damn babysitter!
I will not go into details of Billy’s birth. Suffice to say it was unpleasant and messy, and for once I am actually rather grateful his father is off and away, for I might have been tempted to test the limits of his immortality by trying to strangle him for putting me into this predicament. I do wish, however, that Jack would return, for the same reason and that as far as I know, he can be killed again. If I ever see that louse and scoundrel show up on my shore, you can be certain Chesty and I will have some strong words for him leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere without a ride.
Day 1,826
Dear Journal: Just a quick note to let you know the grass is lush … and so am I. Today is the halfway point of when I shall see Will again, and after Billy finally fell asleep with Chesty, I crept out up here by the fire to polish off the single bottle of liquor I had found in our vault in celebration of this momentous occasion. It’s port – port in my permanent port! Is it not ironic?
Day 1,828
Dear Journal: Oh, I do apologize for spilling on your pages, especially since you’re not very large at all, and I have another five years to put you to use. (Actually, it is officially less than five years now!) I began chuckling at my own joke and was barely able to get it down in writing before I laughed, knocking part of the bottle on you and necessitating a couple of days to dry off.
I must be very careful about what I write next, lest Billy find you on his wanderings, or you fall open in front of Chesty. Pray, do not do so! He is becoming so very demanding, and I feel I have to find a way to honor my commitment to Will that doesn’t involve lugging Chesty around all the time. But I have waited much too long, and I fear any sort of abandonment would raise a hue and cry from Billy, who keeps trying to find a way to open him up.
Day 1,912
Dear Journal: At long last, Chesty is out of my sight! I found Billy digging a very deep hole one afternoon, and when he asked me to help, in the midst of doing so, it struck me that if Billy couldn’t open Chesty and I couldn’t open Chesty without Will’s key, then it was unlikely anyone else could – and so, it stood to reason that even if he were found, it’s unlikely he could be opened and Will’s fragile organ pierced as Davy Jones’s was. (Although, I buried him to shut him up once and for all – as I told you last, he was becoming very demanding of my attention, and I fear suffocation was the only alternative I had left to me. Chesty, not Billy, that is.)
Day 2,325
Dear Journal: Had I written in you a few days ago, I fear I would have ripped out your pages in frustration over the most curious incident to occur since my one day with Will … perhaps in my entire life. Alas, I hope I remember how many sunsets have passed, since I was too angry to even make my daily marks in your pages.
Jack Sparrow sailed in. I heard his voice calling down into our vault, waking us one morning. Pulling my covers around myself, I climbed up and saw that it was, in fact, not a hallucination. Billy, naturally, dressed quickly and raced up to see the commotion, since he has heard of men but had never seen one. I took a bit more time with my toilet, since I wanted to look proper and with decently-brushed hair and a clean frock, to petition Jack to take us with him when he left on whatever vessel he was sailing, for perhaps we would come across Will's ship that way.
At most, I might have taken perhaps thirty minutes, but when I emerged topside, nobody was to be seen. Curious, and not a little worried, I walked around, calling for Billy and Jack, beginning to think I had truly experienced a hallucination. When I began climbing Grassy Knoll, I spied a lone, short figure and ran to make certain it was Billy and he was safe.
I hardly know how to make you believe what came next, except that it did happen. As I reached the top of the hill, I saw what looked like the Pearl pointed outward in the bay, as if sailing away. When I turned to Billy, he looked like a waif, weighed down by a new tricorn and an old, oversized greatcoat. I had to stop him singing the “Yo-Ho” song more than once to get the story out of him, but he said Jack had put the items on him, sang a few bars of that blasted tune, and told him to ask me about eunuchs.
And then he left. Departed. Before I could even speak to him! Damn that smelly, stunted old reprobate!
Day 3,651
Dear Journal: Tomorrow is the day I see Will again! Oh, how I have dreamed of this day. To finally be able to leave! And see my husband! And leave!
And perhaps Will and I can work out a system where Billy and I don’t have to stay on the same shore for the entire ten years except for quick walks up and down a big hill. If the man can find dead and dying people he’s never even met, perhaps he could use those same senses to track down the love of his life and his own child, as well?
I just wish I had thought to ask that ten years ago. I have always been reasonably certain, though my sense of distance is not the best, that Shipwreck Cove with its people and real food and bolts of fabric – and SHIPS – is just beyond our bay …
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 05:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 06:03 am (UTC)You should definitely post this all over the place to lighten up people's day :)
Loved the magic vault containing anything a newborn and a new mother might need...err, containing anything anyone might need.
And the different stages of Grassy Knoll!
And Jack!
Yay!
*g*
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 09:34 am (UTC)Chesty... ROFL. And how convenient there were diapers (Pampers, maybe??) and travel meals (or whatever you call them in English) in the vault too :D
(blimey... wonder if I should do the same as you and use my f-list as a test audience for my 2/3 finished PotC-Trek crossover crack...)
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 02:54 pm (UTC)I think what pissed me off about the bitching was who was doing it - the very same people who had loudly crowed all over the place about how AWE was going to end THEIR way. They were so very bitterly disappointed about the ending, and for so long ... whereas, if I had been a J/E fan, I would've sulked for a couple of days, then I would have been turning cartwheels at the outcome. I mean, come on! Will's stuck at sea, nowhere around her, and it's never explicitedly stated ANYWHERE that she has to be sexually faithful to him, she just has to make sure the chest is kept safe and be there for him in ten years. I mean, it was a dream setup, and these fans had never had a problem before with her being unfaithful to Will.
I remember the first time I read a variation on "But she's PREGNANT! And BAREFOOT! OMG EB0L MALE PATRIARCHY CONSPIRACY!!" Give me a break and save your energy for REAL eb0l male patriarchy conspiracies. Shipwreck Cove's just around the corner - she has a longboat. And I sincerely doubt all the ships sailed off and that nobody would have offered her a lift somewhere, seeing as she's the freakin' PIRATE KING WHO JUST LED THEM TO VICTORY. I mean, why is it that Elizabeth didn't need Will to save her EVER AT ALL in the movies (yes, I actually read that somewhere - what made it funny is that person wrote J/E stories where Jack was helping her out all the time and it was A-OK, since apparently he doesn't have a penis or balls, as you just pointed out elsewhere), yet when Will is pretty much forced to leave her there, he's a neglectful asshole and she's a helpless waif?
Man, I think I just managed to fit my entire rage against the J/E machine into one comment. Sorry!
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 04:02 pm (UTC)I think AWE ended great way -- W/E romance was meant to happen since the first scenes of CotBP and indeed some sort of J/E (be it romantic or just friendship) makes perfect sense after AWE, no matter if Will's destiny is forever or just those 10 years. I can't believe Jack's such a cold-hearted bastard he'd leave Elizabeth totally on her own, if she really needed him and let him know that.
Neither do I understand why Elizabeth is suddenly such a feminist icon. Haven't there been kick ass lead female characters before? Black Mamba in Kill Bill, Lara Croft in Tomb Raider, Jordan O'Neill in G. I. Jane (that film might not be exactly Oscar material but "suck my dick!!" still makes me ROFL :p)... _And_, characters who earned their position with their own work, not because they miraculously learned to handle a sword and captain a pirate ship in a blink of an eye (because their boyfriend taught them or they spent their childhood reading pirate stories. Hello, if I'd learn to operate a jet fighter by watching "Top Gun" or be a submarine commander after seeing "Hunt for the Red October" I'd change careers right now!)
As for the (semi-canon, nowadays?) request for Elizabeth having to be faithful to Will for 10 years to get the curse broken, I can read some sexistic undertones to that. Why isn't it pointed out that Will has to be faithful also -- or, it is only the woman's infidelity that is bad and somehow automatically expected. Heh, like chastity belts in the middle ages -- men were free to do whatever they pleased when they were away from home but obviously every woman is a slut inside...
Whew. Never mind the rants -- as you can see, I'm in a talkative mood today myself. Lol! (and, if some fellow J/E fans read this rant -- my intention is not to be the snake in your paradise... :p)
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 04:27 pm (UTC)This bit is lifted directly from the original tale of the Flying Dutchman (who was a person, not a ship). He was sentenced to sail the seas forever for cursing God, or treating his men brutally, or making a bargain with the devil, or... (there are many versions of the story) unless, in the one day every 10 years he was allowed ashore, he could find a woman who would 1) marry him and 2) be faithful to him until he could return to her again.
So yeah, that places the burden for those ten years on the wife to remain true to her marriage vows, but it also requires the brutal/drunk/blasphemous/(fill in other unpleasant trait here) ship's captain to become the sort of man a woman would want to remain faithful to for 10 years.
IOW, in order for his wife to rescue him, he first has to overcome the flaws in his character that got him into that predicament in the first place.
Admittedly, the "overcome his own evil tendencies" thing doesn't really apply in Will's case, but that's the basis for the different expectations.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 05:14 pm (UTC)Yeah... the personality traits of this original Flying Dutchman don't exactly apply to Will...
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 05:55 pm (UTC)Or better yet, Barbossa.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 12:13 am (UTC)If you're going to make sequels, one of the basic rules of making them successfully is that you don't alter the basic elements that made your original movie a big blockbuster in the first place - and in CotBP, one of those elements was Will and Elizabeth finally getting together. So if you put one or both of them with someone else, you're changing a basic element that'll piss off more people than it won't. (I'm thinking of the wide moviegoing public, not LiveJournal.) I think that's part of why the Matrix sequels sucked - they killed off their core couple!
not because they miraculously learned to handle a sword and captain a pirate ship in a blink of an eye
The only reason I can wank around Will being able to do the second, somewhat, is because of the canon backstory from the writers that Will worked passage as a cabin boy when he was younger for a couple of years. Yeah, it's been a while, but at least he would probably remember how to do things and the commands and such. And with Elizabeth and those swords - even if I accept she's some kind of weapons prodigy and able to learn all THAT in less than a year, wouldn't the real swords be kind of heavy given how skinny she is? Especially the scene where she's using two at a time. (I mean the real swords would have been heavy, not the props the actors were working with.)
my intention is not to be the snake in your paradise
Don't worry. I already have that position covered, apparently. :-D
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 12:05 am (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 09:46 pm (UTC)LOL. Brilliantly funny, darling.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 12:04 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2008-03-17 12:51 pm (UTC)Love the transformation to Grassy Knoll, though feel very sorry for little Billy.
I confess I like the image of Jack sailing off smartly while Liz 'n' Will are on the beach, though personally, I think he'd be back fairly soon to rescue and gloat.
Estrella and the "first time"! Has anyone ever told you you're a very naughty girl? ;)
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Date: 2008-03-17 01:53 pm (UTC)Oh, come on. At least I call this crack, whereas some of her ostensible "fans" are perfectly serious in thinking she'd stand around for a decade in the same sandy spot. ;-)
I feel sorry for Billy too, with a mother that helpless. (Again, which is why this is crack - I do give her much more credit.)
I AM naughty. You're just figuring that out? *G*
Thanks!
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Date: 2008-03-18 04:51 am (UTC)