Disinclined to Acquiesce

Barbossa: “Treasure.”

Clarice took her drink as she sat down, keeping an amused gaze upon her pirate lover and her brothers. She didn’t remember them being this difficult yet when she thought about her past affairs and her brother’s reactions, they were being quite cordial. They did nearly drown that poor lad, Logan…Clarice shooed away the thought and watched her brothers down their drinks before taking a huge swig of hers. She showed no signs of the fiery scotch that seared down her throat; in fact it was much welcomed. She could already feel her nerves easing with the sweet lulling song the liquor whispered into her veins.

The redhead leaned back in her chair, listening to Hector ask questions prior to his mistake of trying to drink aged Scotch that could kill Englishmen.  A smile was quick to paint her face and brighten her eyes in amusement as she saw the reactions on Sean and Seamus’ faces. The woman quickly leaned forward and scorned them as hearty laughs started to rumble behind their barreled chests. Her Gaelic was quick and sharp, but amusement clung to each word. “"I’ll batter ye! ‘mon then, ya dobbers!” She added and stifled her own laugh as she sat back in her chair, placing her free hand on Hector’s forearm, giving it a light massage.

“Yeh ne’er were a Scotch man, mo leannan.” That seemed to have eased the tension some because Seamus went off in his usual unintelligible Gaelic while Sean acted as a translator.

“We did. Sailed wit our Da. Took o’er his ships when our Lord n’ Savoir took him,” Sean and Seamus stopped to do the signing of the cross followed by kissing their Celtic crosses. Clarice rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, chiming in with a quick “They be pretendin’ ta be righteous men o’ God. “ A swig of her Scotch followed by a wink; Sean glared but then gave a small shrug and nod in agreement.  “Continue, bràthair …”

“Bleatin’ British,” chimed in Seamus, taking more chugs of ale.

“Aye! Things be gettin’ uneasy o’er here between ta clans and Brits. Ta Ferguson’s an’ Douglas be needn’ help. They be our kin.  We returned ta help our brethren. All talk but it be best ta be home when somethin’ arises.”  He took a large swig of his drink, feeling the warming affects. “A bheil thu nad Bhreatannach,” asked Seamus, pointing to Hector with his glass. Didn’t take a translator to know he was asking Hector if he was a Brit. This could get a bit ugly if Hector didn’t play his cards right. But Clarice knew not to intervene here. He was a capable man and to be honest she was curious to see how he would respond to the two large Scotsmen.

Clarice looked down to her nails with an amused smirk upon her marred face. She started picking at them with a dagger of hers, waiting to her half British husband’s reply.

Still feeling the burning sensation throughout his chest the pirate remained stoic, his eyes darting between the two behemoths that were her brothers. His brow slightly raised to the Gaelic Seamus rambled on in, wondering if he had learned any English at all. His eyes moved to their crosses as they made the traditional symbol of Catholics which Hector found a bit odd. He made a similar crossing, looking to Clarice’s confused stare as he had never made the symbol within her presence. His hand moved to her shoulders, tugging her form more against his own, his nose brushing against her soft cheek before whispering into her ear, “My mother had me baptized when I was little, and I went through conformation. Spanish.” He hoped that this explanation would do, for the time being.

Reaching for some ale, his hand rested in the small of her back, nodding a bit to her brothers to show he was still listening. His form perked however, to the mention of the Bonnie prince. Just as Sean was mentioning their own interactions with the British, Hector heard the words he knew he would be liable at some point to answer.

Clearing his throat, he looked steadfastly at the Newharts, his nostrils flaring slightly, “Here be the things Gents, I am but a man of the sea and she be me mistress, along with Red.” A pause, turning his cup on the wooden table, leaving a circle of condensation in its wake, thinking for a second before continuing, “I was born of British and Spanish rule -- my father was a darin’ man of sorts however and he wasn’t taken so kindly for the men he sailed for. A Captain, much like yer own. He crossed the ill-intents of the British an’ he payed dearly for it, leavin’ me mother and sisters to fend for ourselves. Ergo I haven’t much in my heart for them. Gibraltar is currently under His Majesty’s,” a slightly disgruntled look washed over his visage, “... rule. I know naught of any triflin’ mortal who can make demands of me -- I do as wish when I wish, although if there be a bit of inducement I’ll not turn my head from it, in it’s entirety. My faithfulness be not to myself,” his hand motioned softly to his chest, “An’ me own.” He turned to Clarice, placing a kiss tentatively close to her lips, glancing at them hungrily before withdrawing. A chuckle as he raised his glass, to make cheers for the slackened tension, pleasantly pleased when her brothers seemed a bit more willing to ease up now that they knew how his allegiances were to their sister and by proxy themselves. The clink filled the room before they all silently took a drink.

“Now tell me, there be rumors among the seas that the Young Pretender may be tryin’ to lay claim to the throne. Red her makes notions that you yerselves are not religious yet yer makin’ the sign of the cross which be... unsavory... to most Scots as I’m knowin’ of it. I be nought particularly a man of God myself but I’m well aware that Jacobite sentiments not be so openly accepted much of anymore. Where do yer own loyalties lie here?”

"A ship with black sails that's crewed by the damned? You must be speaking of the Pearl! ☠️"

@captbarbossa

The Scottish Lowlands: a place both foreign and home to the woman. Clarice closed her eyes and inhaled the chilled air that smelt of long grass and musk that lingered off the moors that littered the vast landscape. When she opened her eyes she could see the village in the distance that she once called her own. The woman never thought she would return but when she got word her brothers had wished to return home and help their fellow clans, Clarice new she had to stop by. So many years had passed she wondered if they would recognize their younger half sibling.

“Hector,” the Scotswoman called out, looking over her shoulder and watching him follow the path behind her. “The village is just’ o’er the hill.” Her eyes followed him until he caught up, a smirk upon her marred features. She turned to face him, bringing her form close to his before straightening out his jacket and belts. “Are yeh certain ta be meetin’ my family?” A pause followed by a small sigh. “Well…what is left o’ it. Meh bràthairs.”

Another pause before her smile returned. “Yeh are goin’ ta love em’ or despise em’, mo ghràdh. No’thin in between.” At that she let out a rather hearty laugh before hooking her arm with his, starting their journey to the village that had grown quite a bit since she was there last. As they walked up and into the town, Clarice was giving short stories of her childhood; where she fell out of a tree trying to scare her brothers, where she learned to use a bow and arrow with her uncle, the spot where a boy named Cal tried to kiss her and she broke his jaw and three ribs. Her stories stopped short when a horse and carriage came down the path, causing the redhead to quickly get off the trail and put Hector between the horse and her as it passed.

“Dinnae trust those creatures…”

Once it was gone she continued on the path with her lover en tow, both of them taking in the village before them. Well, there were certainly more pubs this time around. “Aw, there,” she pointed to an old tavern with plenty of noise emitting from it. “Always found em’ in there. It is a start.” Clarice did well to ignore the looks the two pirates were receiving from the locals; pirates weren’t often seen in Drumfries, considering they had to sail up the River Nith. However, she did catch sight of a few elders who were eying her, trying to figure out if that was the young Newhart girl they had seen so many years ago.

The younger woman could already feel Hector’s apprehension and it only amused her. She chuckled when they reached the entrance, hearing a lively crowd inside. Clarice stopped Hector, bringing her lips to his in a kiss, whispering a small thank you for not wearing the wig and the British hat. “Yeh know how Scots feel aboot ta British.”

When the two entered it felt misplaced. A thought of a domestic life came to her mind, making her wonder what her life would have been like if her father had not become a sailor and her brother had not died. Would she follow in her mother’s footsteps? Stay at home, take care of the kids, and care for her husband? She did not care for such a thought. Emerald eyes scanned the patrons but not see the familiar faces of her brothers. She proceeded to find the bartender, asking him if he knew the two men. His ears perked and he was suddenly intrigued with the redhead speaking Gaelic to him. Clarice chuckled and gave a nod when he asked if they were kin. The bartender rounded the counter rather quickly and brought her into a solid hug. Clarice cleared her throat and gave the man light tap on his back; she wasn’t much of a hugger with strangers.

“We’ve heard stories of yeh, lass! Go en su’prise em in ta back!”

With Hector behind her she made her way to the back room, slowly entering it without knocking. Her eyes brightened when she caught sight of the two heads facing her; backs turned to the two pirates.

“Look at those two ugly blokes, takin’ up all the finest Scotch.”

The two men slowly turned around to see who would dare come in on their private card game only to insult them. It took a moment but the first one stood up quickly and shouted a childhood nickname she had not heard in decades.

“Lang may yer lum reek! Our wee sister!”

It was then the other rose with some difficulty, standing a good 6’7” and 255 of pure stocky muscle. Pure unintelligible Gaelic came from his mouth as he rushed on over to the slender pirate. Her 5’11” stature appeared small compared to her twin brothers. More Gaelic gibberish was being spewed as he easily picked up his sister, giving her a tight squeeze.

“Seamus! Dinnae break me, lad!” She laughed as he put her down; apologizing while running a large hand through messy red locks that matched hers in color. The other twin laughed and gave her a big hug too before taking a step back to size her up. “I suppose yeh grew a few inches, wee sis.” Clarice merely shook her head with a smirk. “The scars,” he motioned to her face, “Yeh tryin’ ta look like Da?”

“Thank ye, Sean.” She ignored the other statement. “I see yeh grew out n’ not up.” The three laughed together for some time before Seamus solely noticed a man standing behind his sister, looking entirely out of place and nothing like a Scotsman.

“Cò an duine grànda seo?” The bulkier of the twins remarked with a sneer upon his face.

“Now, now Seamus…dinnae use ugly words ta describe a man.” Both brothers glowered past her, staring at Hector with intent to maim. Clarice put a hand on each of their rather sturdy chests, preventing them from taking a step further. “Mo bhràithrean… this be Captain Hector Barbossa.”

“A…friend?” Sean questioned with some confusion.

“Yes…but also my husband. Mo ghaol.” Clarice then took a step away from her brothers and moved to the side. Seamus went off in Gaelic, asking her when the hell did she get married and why would she marry a man like…this? Clarice had to listen hard before shutting him up with a hand in the air.

“Sean…Seamus… the weddin’ was simple. Yeh know I would hae invited both ye’ if I was able.” She then went into Gaelic so Hector could not understand what she was saying. Once she was done she looked to her lover and gave an apologetic smirk accompanied with a small head nod.

“Hector, my brothers Sean and Seamus. As yeh can see, Seamus is missin’ an eye. That is how yeh can tell the two apart.”

His mood instantly lifted as he felt her warm hands upon his frock that had been bundled up at the collar to save his neck from the cold. One bushy eyebrow cocked upwards to her question, sensing the excitement welling up inside of her. “Aye, an’ supposin’ that yer brothers aren’t so... fond, of someone like mehself?” She had reassured him several times over on their journey thus far that he would get along with them or he wouldn’t but he was beginning to think it would be more on the side of wouldn’t. As she linked her arm into his he was thankful that she paced herself more to his own gait, having recognized the dull thud of his wooden leg was slowing in between steps. His blue eyes wandered to her face with a side view, feeling his lower lids rise as he smirked to her excitement, seeing her in a childlike way that he had never seen her before. No matter how much he knew about his wife, there was always something that made him amazed at how she surprised him continually with new things about her person. As a carriage passed, at a perfectly normal pace, he let out a hearty chuckle to her light footed side step behind him, shocked that she was frightened of horses of all things. “Truly Red? They’re terribly ferocious creatures that’ll be eatin’ a man whole.” It was all in jest but he still made a small ‘oof!’ noise as she elbowed him in the ribs. He listened intently, nodding to her stories of her childhood - again, a part of her that he had never known.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled a bit as she pointed to a pub, not realizing that she wasn’t quite certain of where exactly her kin were. He lacked the lilt of her accent and with things uncertain between between the Bonnie Prince and Charles II, his own accent could put him in a bit of a bind. Growing up on Gibraltar there had been plenty of outside inference that shaped his accent but the Scottish Gaelic tongue was not one of them. “Perhaps it be best that I’ll let you be doin’ the talkin’.” He murmured at her as they entered the lively building. Her kiss was reassuring but he wished she had lingered just a bit more, always a bit more. 

It felt as if they were two deer surrounded by hunters as soon as they stepped into the place. They didn’t belong here and everyone was well aware of that fact. Luckily the eyes drifted away from them as she began to speak Gaelic to the bartender before he jovially lifted her up in a bear hug. He felt his lips purse a bit to the motion, an uneasy sensation in his chest. She may have been her own woman but he still felt that ever present notion of defining himself as hers as well. Jealousy was a mean devil that never quite went away. Following behind her mutely he gave a polite but squinted nod to the bartender, entering the room they had been directed to. He stilled as she loudly called to the men, noting the defiant hand she placed on her hip. His eyes darted to the redheads, feeling his mouth drop a bit, agape to their size. Hector had been around long enough to know how to size up a potential opponent and taking on one of her brothers would’ve been a rough go of things, but two of them at once? He had a better chance taking on an entire fleet of redcoats. The entire situation felt truly bizarre but his attention snapped to, removing him from his slight dissociative state. 

He didn’t understand a word of what was being said but he could infer exactly from the tone that it was directed at him and about him. He felt his own sneer creeping up on his face, automatically going for his cutlass but reaching thin air instead. Bloody. Hell. She had thought it wise for them to send their more... obvious belongings ahead of him and to her fathers former castle? Cottage? Swamp land? so as to be less obvious in the town proper and he deeply regretted following that bit of advice now. Of course he had other weapons on his person - he wasn’t that daft, but his flintlock only held but the one round and the dagger tucked behind his belt felt like a flimsy piece of metal if he were to go up against them. He felt a bit cornered and he never liked feeling cornered. 

Going over the options in his head, he knew he had to do something to break the silence. Puffing out his chest a bit, he took two calculated and broad steps towards the men and held out his hand as a sign of good will. 

“Evenin’ gents. I duly apologize for interuptin’ yer game of wits but it all be on Red’s terms for us to be doin’ so. Yer incredulity tells me that ye’ve not been so aware of my own presence in yer sisters life and I offer the next round of yer choice to be imbin’ upon so as to make mehself known as a man of good fortune.” 

Gregory Orr, “Her eye and my ‘I’”, How Beautiful the Beloved

in my research of pirates of the caribbean lore, the fucking wikis are hilarious. It’ll be like “giving away the compass frees the Silent Mary crew because…of some reason idk” 

but then when I search for info about the boat–SPECIFICALLY THE BOATS–it’ll be like “the main armament consisted of seventy-six 36-pound cannons, twenty-eight on the gun deck, twenty-four on the middle deck and twenty-four on the main deck” followed by sixteen more paragraphs of detailed information.