Flask

by Shrieking_Ell

Rating: PG
Characters: An able bodied seaman and his love, the son of a Commodore, a Canadian and a ship not too seaworthy, a colorful navy captain, another seaman and a famous ship, another famous ship and a lieutenant that eventually blew her sky high, not too far from where I live, a former president and a cavalry volunteer, an Admiral, a flapper and a lucky joe, a son, another son and another famous ship, a beautiful island, a fisherman and an industry in decline.
Disclaimer: Written for fun. No profit intended. No offence intended to the Mouse or the creators of POTC. Jenny is the property of linaelyn and I hope she isn't offended by my borrowing her for a bit.
Originally Posted: 1/22/07
Beta: My dear porridgebird gave me much encouragement for the second half, written first, but hasn't seen the first half written second
Dedication: Written for linaelyn who understands my taste in sea chanteys.
Note: Most of these snippets are based in various bits of history except the one based on a sea chantey and the other based on a Disney movie and one based on history and a sea chantey... Feel free to fill in all the years I left blank if you so desire...
Further Note: These are a series of 100 word drabbles mostly only related to POTC in the vaguest possible way. This is what happens when I say, "give me a prompt," and Linaelyn says, "Write whatever you want..."

It was an odd thing to find in a tourist shop in Kona, that flask. Old and battered and tarnished, it had no place among the Lava rock T-shirts, the coffee mugs and the fake leis, but there it was just the same, next to a display of plastic pirate cutlasses. I bought it for a souvenir but kept it for myself. I keep Trinidadian rum in it and bring it with me sometimes when the north Atlantic wind blows like knives through the rigging and the empty nets and I need to remember that warm places still exist somewhere.

***

It was a strange thing to give a son on his graduation day, a drinking flask, but it was the only thing I could give him. It was the only thing that made it back to Hawaii with my father from the Indianapolis. I watched him spend the rest of his life turning it over in his hands and staring at it like it would answer some terrible riddle for him. I hadn'TMt looked at it once in the twenty years since his liver killed him, but maybe my son could break the curse he'd put on all of us.

***

Not a thing a nice girl would carry, that flask, but then again, Annie wasn't exactly a nice girl. Admiral's daughter she was and she wore long ropes of pearls and painted her lips redder than cherries. She laughed like seagulls and walked like a queen through all us immigrant boys working the Brooklyn Navy Yard. I still don't know why she picked me to share drinks and puffs from her long thin cigarettes out behind the warehouses. We drank from that flask on our wedding day, drank and danced and life tasted sweet as honey for those few hours.

***

I took my flask with me when we went south, thought it gave me a rakish air. Bunch of fucking lunatics we were, the First Volunteer Cavalry, charging about on foot because there were no boats for the damned horses. We did what we went down there to do, the press made us their darlings and I kept the flask filled with that fine dark rum the Cubans were so good at making. That is until I had to replace the rum with quinine. Never saw the flask again after the long feverish trip by boat up to Long Island.

***

I passed the flask around the officers when we sank the Cumberland. We cheered our victory for a moment before going after the Congress. Things got hot after that and we didn't have to think until much later that night, after we tallied our losses; not many but every man counts and more importantly, damage to the ship counts even more. I considered getting roaring drunk that night, after firing on men I would have died for just last year. We'd come up the ranks together, fought together, lived together, loved together and now I'd been forced to sink them.

***

I know how lucky I am. I was with Mad Jack when he took the Constitution all around the world. He stomped and swore and told stories and treated us like we was just as good as them officers, never keeping the fresh meat just for them. He was a right 'un, though. I remember once he was so wrought up about the state of the mizzen reef that he pitched his drinking flask right at my head. When I tried to give it back to him, he laughed and clapped me on the back, said I should keep it.

***

Halifax. Even the name sounded cold, which is why I gave my flask to Stan the day before he left Montego Bay. That ship he was on was a floating wreck and I imagined all those weary sailors pumping night and day just to keep her afloat. And now they were leaving only five days later. They must really hate the Yankees to be so dedicated, maybe more than dad hated pirates. I hugged Stan tight when no one was looking and slipped it in his pocket before I had to be back on the Intrepid for the noon sight.

***

I've had this flask for my entire life as a sailor, be it navy, pirate, privateer, what have you. It's kinda beat up and the leather is all wore out, especially where the letter was stamped into it. I never fired a shot without touching that letter first. Most everyone thought it stood for Joshamee, but they'd a been wrong. It was for my Jenny-bird. I never stopped loving her though she's been gone these many years and I never stopped touching that worn out spot for luck and I guess it worked, 'cause I'm still around to tell you.

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