an ineffable plan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ineffabilities) wrote2012-02-05 02:52 pm
ineffabilities) wrote2012-02-05 02:52 pm
FIC: A-Piratin' We Go (for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
au_bingo
Hello, first bingo challenge. I SHALL CONQUER YOU.
...also this is a mega crossover, because hell yes crossovers. Featuring some of my favorite fandoms, because hell yes pirates. Less hell yes-y is the fact that this is something of a work in progress.
Title: A-Piratin' We Go
Summary: "...oh, please tell me I didn't get kidnapped by pirates." OR, How the secretary wakes up on a pirate ship.
Rating: It's T, and we'll leave it at that.
Barnaby Brooks Junior is not, contrary to popular belief, a pirate. Or at least, he wasn't before he woke up on the Princess Susannah.
What he was, prior to said awakening, had something to do with keeping well out of the way of pirates. He'd heard stories about them, after all--terrible stories, about how they loot and pillage and kill and murder and never feel sorry about it. And they got drunk on a regular basis as well.
Prior to waking up on a notorious pirate ship, he was a secretary to one of the most powerful men in all the land, and happened to get drunk with a few acquaintances one day.
The next, he wakes up at sea.
--
"Look," someone patiently says, "we've gotta do something about him."
"How about ransom?" someone else hopefully suggests.
"No ransom!" somebody else shouts. "We don't work that way, remember?"
"Well, what are we supposed to do, then?" some other person asks. "I mean, this is his secretary we're talking about. If he finds out he's on our ship..."
"I know," another one snaps. "What makes you think I need to be reminded?"
"Ugh, just...hey, Kotetsu, get in there and see if he's awake! I need to deal with everybody else first."
--
Barnaby wakes up in a cell.
It's rather cozy, for a small, wooden cell. He's on a comfortable bed, head resting on one stained pillow. There's a table in the corner of the cell, big enough for a plate of steaming fried rice and a glass of water. There are also iron bars, barriers between him and the corridors outside.
And right there, on the wall behind him...
...a porthole. With a view of the ocean. Miles and miles of vast ocean, and no land in sight.
Oh, freaking hell.
"...oh, please tell me I didn't get kidnapped by pirates," he mutters, thankful, at least, that these pirates haven't cuffed him to the bed. Heaven knows what they would've done to him.
...heaven knows what they're going to do to him now.
He's not sure why he's here, but slowly, he realizes three things: one, he has a throbbing headache, a scratchy throat and the need to crawl back into bed and never come out (three signs of a hangover, oh, great); two, he can barely remember much of last night besides fulfilling a drunken dare that involved rowing himself out to sea; and three, he is going to kill Richard and Peter for this. If he ever gets out of here alive.
"Hey!" someone calls out. "You're awake. Finally."
He turns around to find a man--probably in his thirties, tanned skin, dark brown hair, deep brown eyes (almost amber, if you want to get technical about that), a rather stupid-looking beard, a freaking domino mask, an un-pirate-like hat and a waistcoat.
And very tight pants on very long legs.
He smashes that fantasy to bits just as soon as it pops up, reminds himself that he's facing a pirate here, and that no matter how pretty they look, they're all the same. Every single one of them are murderers, killers, robbers, liars, and to top it off, not only are they not ashamed of it, they're actually proud of it.
"What do you want?" he snaps.
The man blinks, evidently taken aback by his outburst. "Er...well, I just wanted to see if you were awake," he answers. "Aren't you going to eat your fried rice? I cooked it."
"I don't want it," is the automatic response, and he can't help but wonder if he did something wrong when the man's face falls. "Who knows what you've put in it. I'd rather not take my chances, thank you."
"But I made it special," the man whines--whines. "Do you realize how hard it is to keep the shrimp from being eaten before I can put it in, on this ship?"
"You can keep it." And he turns up his head, the motion curt and dismissive.
"Come ooooon! At least taste it!" he protests.
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"...no." Pretty please. He sounds less like a pirate--no, an adult is more appropriate a description here--and more like a little kid. A five-year-old boy, to be exact. What kind of pirates have kidnapped him?
"Pretty, pretty please?"
"No." Must stay strong...
"Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?"
"How old are you?" he asks, turning to glare at the man.
"Thirty-six," is the answer, said with a cheeky smile.
He huffs. "There's no poison in the water or the fried rice, right?" he asks, then adds, "Or the spoon, or the fork, or the plate--"
"I don't poison people!" the man exclaims, sounding horrified by the very prospect of it.
"Oh, really? Do you prefer just stabbing them, then?" He's marching up the bars, gripping them tightly and glaring at him at so close a range that he's surprised his face doesn't get stuck between the bars. "Or maybe shooting them? Or do you break their spirits first before dealing the final blow?"
"What are you talking about?" the man asks, still sounding horrified. "I don't kill people."
Suddenly realization dawns on the man's face, and his mouth falls open in a little "o".
"You only know about those kinds of pirates," he says. "But...well, me and my friends, we're different. Good guys, you could say. Treasure, looking for people lost at sea and returning them to where they're from, beating up bad guys, helping the helpless."
"You're lying," Barnaby spits out every word. "You're lying. I know there's only one kind of pirate, and they're the worst of the worst. Why should you be any different?"
"Because we don't kill people," he replies, and there is firm conviction behind every word, the tone of someone who truly believes what he's saying. "We help them. Granted, some of us aren't really all that nice, but that's what we do."
He stares at the man, letting his words sink in.
"We don't kill people. We help them."
"Come on," he pleads. "Eat your fried rice. It's healthy."
He glances at it, then sighs, utterly defeated.
He's surprised when it's actually delicious--more than the food on land.
...maybe this won't be so bad, after all.
"Oi, Kaburagi!" someone shouts from above. "Get the kid! We gotta do something about him!"
...okay, never mind. He's screwed.
...also this is a mega crossover, because hell yes crossovers. Featuring some of my favorite fandoms, because hell yes pirates. Less hell yes-y is the fact that this is something of a work in progress.
Title: A-Piratin' We Go
Summary: "...oh, please tell me I didn't get kidnapped by pirates." OR, How the secretary wakes up on a pirate ship.
Rating: It's T, and we'll leave it at that.
Barnaby Brooks Junior is not, contrary to popular belief, a pirate. Or at least, he wasn't before he woke up on the Princess Susannah.
What he was, prior to said awakening, had something to do with keeping well out of the way of pirates. He'd heard stories about them, after all--terrible stories, about how they loot and pillage and kill and murder and never feel sorry about it. And they got drunk on a regular basis as well.
Prior to waking up on a notorious pirate ship, he was a secretary to one of the most powerful men in all the land, and happened to get drunk with a few acquaintances one day.
The next, he wakes up at sea.
--
"Look," someone patiently says, "we've gotta do something about him."
"How about ransom?" someone else hopefully suggests.
"No ransom!" somebody else shouts. "We don't work that way, remember?"
"Well, what are we supposed to do, then?" some other person asks. "I mean, this is his secretary we're talking about. If he finds out he's on our ship..."
"I know," another one snaps. "What makes you think I need to be reminded?"
"Ugh, just...hey, Kotetsu, get in there and see if he's awake! I need to deal with everybody else first."
--
Barnaby wakes up in a cell.
It's rather cozy, for a small, wooden cell. He's on a comfortable bed, head resting on one stained pillow. There's a table in the corner of the cell, big enough for a plate of steaming fried rice and a glass of water. There are also iron bars, barriers between him and the corridors outside.
And right there, on the wall behind him...
...a porthole. With a view of the ocean. Miles and miles of vast ocean, and no land in sight.
Oh, freaking hell.
"...oh, please tell me I didn't get kidnapped by pirates," he mutters, thankful, at least, that these pirates haven't cuffed him to the bed. Heaven knows what they would've done to him.
...heaven knows what they're going to do to him now.
He's not sure why he's here, but slowly, he realizes three things: one, he has a throbbing headache, a scratchy throat and the need to crawl back into bed and never come out (three signs of a hangover, oh, great); two, he can barely remember much of last night besides fulfilling a drunken dare that involved rowing himself out to sea; and three, he is going to kill Richard and Peter for this. If he ever gets out of here alive.
"Hey!" someone calls out. "You're awake. Finally."
He turns around to find a man--probably in his thirties, tanned skin, dark brown hair, deep brown eyes (almost amber, if you want to get technical about that), a rather stupid-looking beard, a freaking domino mask, an un-pirate-like hat and a waistcoat.
And very tight pants on very long legs.
He smashes that fantasy to bits just as soon as it pops up, reminds himself that he's facing a pirate here, and that no matter how pretty they look, they're all the same. Every single one of them are murderers, killers, robbers, liars, and to top it off, not only are they not ashamed of it, they're actually proud of it.
"What do you want?" he snaps.
The man blinks, evidently taken aback by his outburst. "Er...well, I just wanted to see if you were awake," he answers. "Aren't you going to eat your fried rice? I cooked it."
"I don't want it," is the automatic response, and he can't help but wonder if he did something wrong when the man's face falls. "Who knows what you've put in it. I'd rather not take my chances, thank you."
"But I made it special," the man whines--whines. "Do you realize how hard it is to keep the shrimp from being eaten before I can put it in, on this ship?"
"You can keep it." And he turns up his head, the motion curt and dismissive.
"Come ooooon! At least taste it!" he protests.
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"...no." Pretty please. He sounds less like a pirate--no, an adult is more appropriate a description here--and more like a little kid. A five-year-old boy, to be exact. What kind of pirates have kidnapped him?
"Pretty, pretty please?"
"No." Must stay strong...
"Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?"
"How old are you?" he asks, turning to glare at the man.
"Thirty-six," is the answer, said with a cheeky smile.
He huffs. "There's no poison in the water or the fried rice, right?" he asks, then adds, "Or the spoon, or the fork, or the plate--"
"I don't poison people!" the man exclaims, sounding horrified by the very prospect of it.
"Oh, really? Do you prefer just stabbing them, then?" He's marching up the bars, gripping them tightly and glaring at him at so close a range that he's surprised his face doesn't get stuck between the bars. "Or maybe shooting them? Or do you break their spirits first before dealing the final blow?"
"What are you talking about?" the man asks, still sounding horrified. "I don't kill people."
Suddenly realization dawns on the man's face, and his mouth falls open in a little "o".
"You only know about those kinds of pirates," he says. "But...well, me and my friends, we're different. Good guys, you could say. Treasure, looking for people lost at sea and returning them to where they're from, beating up bad guys, helping the helpless."
"You're lying," Barnaby spits out every word. "You're lying. I know there's only one kind of pirate, and they're the worst of the worst. Why should you be any different?"
"Because we don't kill people," he replies, and there is firm conviction behind every word, the tone of someone who truly believes what he's saying. "We help them. Granted, some of us aren't really all that nice, but that's what we do."
He stares at the man, letting his words sink in.
"We don't kill people. We help them."
"Come on," he pleads. "Eat your fried rice. It's healthy."
He glances at it, then sighs, utterly defeated.
He's surprised when it's actually delicious--more than the food on land.
...maybe this won't be so bad, after all.
"Oi, Kaburagi!" someone shouts from above. "Get the kid! We gotta do something about him!"
...okay, never mind. He's screwed.