The Red Dragon of the Sea

Hmm, who migh' yeh be? Capn' Clarice Newhar' here and it seems yeh have found ye'self upon my ship. Don' get too comfortable...I don' allow jus' anyone on. If yeh prove ye'self worthy then I may consider yeh. Choose your weapon o' choice: sword or tankard.

[christine-sullivan]

This is the most British thing I’ve ever seen. In the middle of a ship, about to go to war with a bunch of Pirates, and he’s drinking tea. 

[asta-may]

So I’ve watched PotC for the 1st time (yes I know) And let me tell you - Barbossa rolling his eyes is now my idol So I made a quick sketch, here you go

[captain-clarice-newheart]

[captain-clarice-newheart]

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 here 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?”

The gruff pirate made a move for some whisky, trying diligently to ignore the ache in his leg. It simply hadn’t been the same since he had to remove it, although he had been able to save the knee. The ability to balance on it entirely and reduced weight had made it an unexpected boon when fighting but after a decent days worth of walking, it felt like giant splinters were being pounded up into his thigh. The fear and sense of mortality had been palpable when he lost that leg, which was why he had agreed to letters of mark from the British navy; spending more time with Clarice and less as a swashbuckler had seemed a more agreeable arrangement. Thankfully she had pulled him from that headspace and not allowed him to wallow in it. It was however going to be a long walk to wherever Clarice had sent their belongings, if they were forced to go on foot.

It always was amusing to watch Hector…explain things. His quick wit and sharp tongue had reeled her in but his intelligence certainly kept her. Her eyes darted to her brothers, watching them listen intently, looking like they were ready to bounce if Hector picked the wrong words. She shifted in her chair, subconsciously getting ready to intervene but was interrupted when her husband reached for her and placed his lips against hers. Oh, he was certainly being brave. Her lips upturned into a small smirk against his but she pulled away to whisper how daring he was being followed by a light tap on his chest.

A quick hand grabbed her drink and took a swig with the group, suddenly feeling rather uncharacteristically bashful. It was an extremely foreign feeling to her and she was not pleased. With a sniff and shift of her weight in the chair, she looked to her brothers who didn’t seem to care too much about the pirate’s bold public display of affection. They were too busy focusing on the accusation of them not being men of God. Both brothers stared at Hector, taking mighty gulps of their elixir of choice before Sean leaned on a muscular forearm.

“We be men o’ God. Just depends on ta day.” A crooked smile graced his face and Seamus let out a hearty laugh to match his twins. Clarice merely rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, waiting for the rowdy two to calm down. The smarter of the two explained the unsavory situation between the crown and their clans; disdain for the British clung heavily to each word that left his dry lips. With each passing second, Clarice knew her brothers would fill up with rage and that rage would have to go somewhere. Of course the pirate was always ready and wanting a good fight but she knew it would be too much. After all, they did travel across the oceans to get here and a bed looked far more appealing than the wooden floor of the tavern.

During their tirade about Prince Bonnie, Clarice looked to Hector and took note on how his hand was massaging his thigh, right above the knee. Ever since the incident, the Scotswoman could always tell when he was growing tired or he was having a bad pain day. She also knew she would never forgive herself for not being there that day. How could she justify sailing to Haiti for trade when he almost lost his life? She could have lost her lover that day… Her brows furrowed as she waved away the guilty thought.

“Mo bhràithrean…,” she finally interjected followed by downing the rest of her drink. “As much as I enjoy hearin’ aboot what yeh will do ta that dandy boy, I believe Hector n’ mehself will be headin’ up ta the castle and get settled in.” She flashed a smile and stood up, waiting for Hector to rise as well as her brothers. “Yeh going ta come with, Sean n’ Seamus?” There was a pause as the two men stared down at Hector’s wooden leg until Clarice flicked a silver coin at Sean, hitting him directly in the head.

“Oye!...,” he rubbed the spot as Seamus happily picked up the coin. “Dinnae have ta do that…”

“We will see you at the castle, ya dobbers.” Clarice shook her head but an amused smile painted her features. She leaned into her husband, whispering into his ear: “We can get a carriage ta the castle if yeh need a break, mo ghràdh.” An idle hand reached for his, interlocking his fingers with hers in an attempt to feel as close as she could to her husband. 

[dailypotc]

DailyPOTC special week: Hector Barbossa’s day > AWE (2007)

[someone-like-robsten]

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End → Favorite Moments (1/?)

[finita--la--commedia]

When I think of you, I only think of how much I ache for you and how much I love you.

Captain Hunnicutt, in a letter to Virginia Dickerson December 5, 1943 in: “Dearest Virginia. Love Letters from a Cavalry Officer in the South Pacific”, edited by Gayle Hunnicutt (via finita--la--commedia)

[tina-louise-deactivated20211103]

Tina Louise, 1960.

[tina-louise-deactivated20211103]

[tina-louise-deactivated20211103]

[nrrngtn-deactivated20210210]

—— LAUGHING  AT  NOTHING  and  hardly  able  to  keep  upright,  chin  rests  upon  palm  as  he  stares  at  companion.  “you’re  paying  for  the  next  round.”  finishing  off  remnants  of  tankard,  smile  apparent  obviously  quite  far  gone. 

@captain-clarice-newheart​  —  plotted  starter.

[captain-clarice-newheart]

----- E m e r a l d hues did not stray for long from the unknown man in front of her; only merely to close when she would take a large swig of her ale. ( --the lack of scotch had nearly ended in the barkeep with a black eye and a sore hand for the lass--)

                  “Aye...I can be doin’ tha’,” a short response but the Scottish accent licked at each word that rolled over her numbing lips. Snap. Snap. And as if it were magic, a maiden placed tankards between the two. Before the rough looking “gent” reach for it, the redhead placed a hand over the liquid amber. She leaned in, examining him a bit as if she were trying to recognize an old friend behind his eyes but her memory came up short. 

                 “No’ from around here, are yeh?” Slowly she sat back down, sliding the full tankard to him, thoughts licking at her forefront as to who this mysterious man may be. 

[captain-clarice-newheart]

[captain-clarice-newheart]

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.

[captain-clarice-newheart]

[geniuss-loci-deactivated2021052]

[ghostcaptainsalazar]

[annebonny-s]

Yo ho, haul together Hoist the colours high Heave ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die

[dothrakidaenerys]

[captain-clarice-newheart]

All in the Family || Barbossa & Newheart

@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.”

The twins didn’t move but rather stared at the pirate, waiting for him to make a move.

[captbarbossa]

Why is it so bloody cold here? The wizened and scared figure of an old man hobbled after the much quicker flight of flame ahead of him before she paused at the top of a hill, a hill which he wouldn’t dare tell her was making the air in his lungs burn slightly, and called out to him. His joints ached and while he wouldn’t show it until the morning when stiffness set in, he was quickly beginning to regret going on this journey inland. Land sickness wasn’t something he was terribly fond of and after the journey up river from what could barely be described as a few sticks tied together, his stomach had started to churn as he felt himself going a bit green around the gills. You would think that a foray into the water of the fountain of youth would’ve helped him somewhat with any of the aforementioned afflictions but alas, it hadn’t stopped what time had already taken. 

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.” 

He offered them a blackened smile, his stance broad to seem more imposing but also ready to move swiftly if need be. Their hands were significantly larger than his own after all.

[captain-clarice-newheart]

When her brothers remained silent and did nothing to ease tensions, Clarice could feel her heart skipping a few beats as she held her breath. She knew her brothers but not as well as she would like. Plenty of time had passed and she couldn’t exactly predict their temper nor their behaviors. A soft sigh rolled over her lips when Hector finally spoke up and stepped out. Her husband was a fierce man but he was out of his element.

Emerald eyes locked onto her brothers, watching their stoic presence as Hector spoke, grimacing ever so slightly to his word choice. For a pirate he was extremely well-learned; more than she and FAR more than her brothers who didn’t know how to read or write, let alone understand large words. By the looks on their faces, Clarice knew she had to give a dumb down translation.

“Mo bhràithrean… he wants ta buy yeh the finest liquor o’ choice. Anythin’ yeh want.”

When they remained silent and still, Clarice straightened her own posture and her tone grew sterner as she told them to stop being rude in Gaelic otherwise they would be in for an evening of hurting. Sean side-eyed his sister before slowly extending his large hand to shake Hector’s and then gave a curt nod with a step back to allow Seamus to officially greet the pirate.

Seamus, however, just crossed his arms and mimicked his brother’s nod, causing Clarice to bow her head and bring fingers to pinch the bridge of her scarred nose. She uttered some annoyance in Mandarin under her breath so no one could figure out what she said before raising her line of sight onto the one-eyed brother.

“Seamus. Go n’ sit down, ya dobber. Tell yeh chums ta’get goin’.”

Once their crew had begrudgingly left, the redhead told the boys to take a seat while her and Hector would bring them enough liquor to take down a Hessen army. Slowly they made their way back to the main room in the tavern where they waited at the counter to order a few bottles of scotch, ale, and whisky. While the bartender went to fetch the items, Clarice took Hector’s hand in hers, slowly bringing it up to cup her face.

“Mo leannan… they will open up once yeh start drinkin’ wit them. A bit rough o’round the edges but so were yeh when we first met, eh?” Her smile was genuine and her eyes held a softness that she only ever had for him. At that she pulled him into a tender kiss, her smile growing beneath his lips as it deepened. They only pulled away when the bartender brought them a tray with four glasses and four bottles of the varied alcohol. Clarice smirked when Hector gave the man a few golden coins that were well over what was owed. Buying popularity would prove to be one of the better options in her town.

When they entered the room she noted how her brothers set up the chairs; a chair in between them on each side, indicating Hector would have to sit between them instead next to her. Clarice bit down on her teeth and an annoyed huff of hot air left her nose. She quickly marched to the table, placed the bottles down and gave a light smack with the back of her hand to Sean and Seamus’ cheeks that were covered in red muttonchops.

“Aye. Move over ya Big Yins,” she added the Scottish term of endearment to ease the tension and took her brothers seat; motioning to the one next to her for her lover to take.

Clarice leaned into Hector, whispering to pour them their drinks as a sign of good faith and then placed a quick kiss to his cheek.