Call me Out

[dammitmasa]

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code by cawaii
- Refer to the list above for an active muse. -
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- Prose or commentspam are fine! -
- Start with a scenario or give a prompt for one you'd like to see.

Preferences:
- I don't play for shipping, fluff, or smut. If it arrives naturally, I'll play it. But not as a starting point.
- In universe, AUs, crossovers, post-game, or other situations are cool.
- I will play prose or brackets, but definitely prefer prose.

Comments

[pirateblood]

"If you're going to die, Miss Whitby, then I'll leave it to your imagination decide."

[whitby]

She held up a finger. Her humour was sporting, but she was clearly growing weaker.

"Captain, sir. Captain Whitby. My girl's a wreck, but I'll keep my title if I am so certainly doomed in your eyes. Now -- let me close mine. Have myself a little rest, and dream up your duel." A chuckled pause. "Your sword, I suppose, was quite impressive?"

[pirateblood]

He would not play into her innuendo. However: "Crafted by the finest blacksmith I know." Himself. "Much more impressive than what was held by the others."

[whitby]

Whitby allowed his puritanical diversion with nothing more than a pout. Oh, how you spoil what fun she had left. Maybe had left. Blast, but if she was going to die she wished the world would just get on with it.

"Tell me won. Even if you did not. Lie to me, if you must."

[pirateblood]

"Defeated them both. They were both put out by it, since they'd been doing that sort of thing longer than I had."

And one of them was dead. And Jack Sparrow... well, he'd never ferried the man to another life. A man like that, he could only assume he was still out there, somewhere.

[whitby]

"Here's a tip to you from me, mate. Experience ain't worth tits on a bull if you don't have that...je ne sais quoi. That spark. That -- calling."

[pirateblood]

Will chuckled, genuinely at that. "I think Jack would have called it a difference of priorities. I spent a lot of time practicing." In reflection, he realized it was perhaps an excessive amount of practicing.

[whitby]

And, like Jack, she parlayed such admitted inexperience into another kind of ignorance: "Ah. I see how it is. You hone one sword before the other. How tragic."

[pirateblood]

He frowned at her. "I should have left you on your ship."

[whitby]

"But -- bless your soul -- you seem to be one of those few good men I hear so much about. Can't let a lady die alone, eh?"

[pirateblood]

"Try not to be too flattered, Captain Whitby. I'm just a perfectionist when it comes to my job."

[whitby]

"Is it a job if you don't get paid?"

...It was more of a serious question than she would let on. After all, she had her misgivings about the matter herself.

[pirateblood]

"It's a job if you do it. A curse if you don't."

Davy Jones.

[whitby]

"Job or curse and not a ducat to be found between'em -- eh?" Whitby repositioned herself, laying flat out on the bench. It was a small measure more comfortable, though her guts still ached.

"Another word of advice, then, young Captain," though she couldn't be more than twenty-five herself, and likely a few years younger. "Never take a job what doesn't pay in any currency but curses." A pause, then, as she tried to sort out all those double and triple negatives. "Aye. Yes. That's right."

[pirateblood]

Will wondered just how long she intended to play at this, prolonging her death like this. The pain, he expected, had to be awful. But he could admire her spirit in trying to beat it.

"You seem a bit young to be giving advice."

[whitby]

"I'm a bit young for a lot of things," she sassed -- her eyes shutting once again. "But don't you know that youth is deceptive and the young-looking can have been rattling 'round for centuries? How long have you held your post, hmm?"

[pirateblood]

"I lost count." After he no longer had anything to return to, the numbers didn't matter so much.

[whitby]

She was shocked to find her breath faltering. A soft curse came under her breath -- how silly to die this way, and she felt the need to explain so to the Dutchman's captain.

"I never lose count. I was mistress of the Neptune's Lady for a good two years before we were scuppered. Do you know--" a pause for a soft sigh "--what took me, in the end? A hunk of wood. Splintered from the mainmast. A stake," she laughed, "and although I don't trust you to understand the irony involved, I will at least assure that it is very ironic indeed."

[pirateblood]

"I was stabbed by a sword I forged myself, as a present for a man who was in love with the same woman I was, and then stolen by Davy Jones. Leading me here." Perhaps more dramatic than a piece of wood. But ironic all the same. But he kneels next to her. Eyes intent.

"I ask one last time. Do you fear death? Do you fear the dark abyss? All your deeds laid bared, all your sins punished? I can offer you a respite to delay that final judgement."

[whitby]

"Aye." The syllable was but a whisper and -- all at once -- her youth made her look more vulnerable than hale. She could not be like her sisters from long ago. Slayers who had met their doom with chins high and virtues flourishing. She had run from that life -- that job. And now, certainly, such a sin would find her out. "Only fools meet death like an old friend."

[pirateblood]

"One hundred years before the mast. That is the bargain you buy." And now, with her acceptance, his power could do its work. He set a hand, colder than normal hands, on her forehead. With it came healing and an end to her pain. All pain.

You should have chosen death.

[whitby]

...A hundred years before the mast. It was a better offer than the Council had given her. And his touch was sweet. Soothing, really. It took her breath away to be so gently treated -- or was that simply the last lungful leaving her body?

"Aye, Captain," she murmured -- a hand catching up one of his lapels and grasping the cloth.

[pirateblood]

A woman on board the ship. For a hundred years, no less. He wondered just exactly what he was doing. He may have command over his crew, but these were craven men who accepted the offer of Davy Jones. They might be loyal in a pinch, but when his back was turned, he could only guess what might come.

She was going to be a complication. And a temptation. For every man aboard this ship.

"How does it feel?"

[whitby]

She didn't answer immediately. It was important, it seemed, to stay still a moment with her shoulders on the bench. Back straight, knees bent, and in some small communion with her God. Brigand she may be and a Slayer on the run, to boot, but she was no Godless woman. Or so the silver cross 'round her neck might suggest -- though it had its professional applications all the same. Her lips moved with silent somethings, and then she used the anchor of her fist in his jacket's fabric in order to herself back into a sitting position.

"Not so different, I suppose. My belly-ache's well gone. And you've shanghaied yourself what will doubtless be your finest catch yet." She meant, of course, that she had every faith in her abilities as a sailor. Sometimes, as a woman, she had to boast a little louder than everyone else.

"When next do we make port?" She asked -- either not knowing about the caveat of ten years or else choosing to feign her ignorance. Perhaps she merely wished she might soon have the chance to break this newest vow like she broke the old one, and run once again.

[pirateblood]

"There is no port that will have us. Dead men tell no tales."

He stood again, seeing as she was now whole again. What he took note of was her short prayer. Good. Perhaps, at the end of her vigil, there would be something better waiting for her. For now, he afforded himself a better look at her now that she wasn't bleeding. Sure, her clothes were still soaked in her own blood, but she no longer had the face of someone dying. And the fact of the matter, she was a lovely woman to see. Though at the back of the mind, he wondered if it was only because he had not seen one for so long. The wenches of Tortuga look like angels after months at sea is what Gibbs once told him, before going off to find one of those wenches.

Well, damn, he was supposed to be a supernatural ferryman of the dead. He wasn't supposed to stare.

"I'll try to find you separate quarters. They won't be much, but they'll be private."