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pirates of the caribbean: at world's end

  reply. new topic. post poll.

 r e s p e c t for the d e a d, Will Turner!
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Jan 4 2012, 11:40 PM


It's just good business...
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Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



His death had not been as pleasant as he hoped it would have been, being one of honor.

There had been bright flashes of fire before Lord Beckett's eyes from the fires that had plagued the Endeavour in the middle of the "pirate war" (as he'd mockingly called it). The lights were so bright and burning that Beckett had feared - if he was to survive - he would have promptly lost his eyesight. The flames tickling his skin made it blacken and char, the fires taunting him by never directly burning a part of his skin more than another, though what had been charred the most had been the frailest and most fragile parts of his skin. There had been embers in his wig and hat, but they were immediately extinguished as soon as Beckett's body hit the water and sank, however slower than when he fell, until he rested on the Company's flag, also submerged.

The Company had always supported me... echoed throughout the man's mind.

And though very few people would genuinely care about the Lord who had taken the reins of the East India Trading Company with pride; the Lord who called forth an entire British armada simply to deal with a group of pirates; the devil who had manipulated and bent the will of everyone he met in his favor... Though the Englishmen without alliance would go about their daily lives soon afterward, the pirates would celebrate with a great victory, and the Company would undoubtedly collapse... It should truly be noted that this was the last anyone would ever see of Lord Cutler Beckett: never fully alive, so all the more dead.

~

And yet here the man was, washed up on top of brilliant white sand, lukewarm to the touch. Death, even when crossing World's End, had not healed him, therefore Beckett remained as he looked when he had passed: half his clothing to ashes and tatters, most of his skin blackened with burns, ash, and char, and what had once been a wig had become barely anything at all; dry, thin and stringy white hairs mingled with dry, thin, and stringy brown hairs, though the former hairs were much longer in some places.

Beckett had eventually opened his eyes and managed to stand (with several struggles, as his legs hadn't been in the greatest shape, due to the aforementioned fire and explosion); with his eyes open and fairly attentive, his irises seemed to have more of a light blue glow with their previous color, merely from being against his charred skin. As he'd feared, Beckett was partially losing sight, although the worst of the effects were in his left eye. It had gotten to the point where he was nearly blind in that particular eye.

So this was death? Spending eternity on an island in the state in which death had left him? It was a terrible way to spend an afterlife. It didn't look like Hell to Beckett (though he had poor eyesight to begin with), although it could have very easily been. He noticed movement in the sand nearby, but that could have just been his remaining good eye playing tricks on him. Then again, he saw another flicker in about the same place...

Turning out toward the horizon, Beckett also noticed movement out in the distant waters, although this one didn't seem to flicker... It had most certainly been there.

It was in the form of a ship.


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{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
Will Turner
Posted: Jan 6 2012, 05:33 PM


A TOUCH OF DESTINY;
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Group: Hero (Staff)
Posts: 24
Member No.: 11
Joined: 12/17/11





the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean
& THE FIRE THAT WAS STARTING TO SPARK
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There had been many deaths that day, when the Black Pearl, the Flying Dutchman, and the Endeavor clashed. Grotesque, twisted creatures who fought for Jones, a rabble of disorganized pirates and some old friends from the Pearl, and finely-dressed soldiers under Beckett’s command. They all went into the sea that day, sucked down by the maelstrom’s fury or bleeding out on the deck of a ship by bullet or blade. The monsters, the pirates, the soliders. Davy Jones. Cutler Beckett.

And William Turner.

It was a cruel fate that waited for Will in the maelstrom that day. He went into the sea and rose again to lay waste to Cutler Beckett’s flagship. His heart beat in a wooden chest and he breathed and walked and lived to spend a few precious hours ashore with his wife. Too few, too few…. Sometimes Will was eternally grateful for the fact that he had the chance to be with Elizabeth, if only for a few days over the course of her entire life. Sometimes he felt that that evening on the beach was worth infinite servitude.

And sometimes he wanted to scream himself hoarse at the gut-wrenching fact that she would live alone and grow old and die and he would still be here, here on this damned ship, this accursed ship. He was going to spend eternity without Elizabeth, the one thing he ever wanted in his life.

It was still sinking in. Will was still adjusting to this new, supernatural life, adjusting to his captaincy. He was most certainly still getting the hang of his new occupation. Over a decade in a blacksmith shop couldn’t have prepared him for the charge of shepherding the souls of the dead. His ship—for he must call it his ship now, no matter how much he felt like a stranger on its decks—always knew where he needed to be to accomplish his task. He found that the Dutchman sometimes had a mind of its own. Will was also learning that his own instincts told him where to go. He would get a nagging in the back of his mind, an anxious feelings that there was something he was supposed to be doing…and he would find them, the lost souls…

He’d barely been undead for a full day when he had been hit with the considerable task of ushering the souls of those killed in the maelstrom battle. Some of them he knew by name, some only by sight, and some not at all. It was not a pleasant task.

But now his instincts brought him to the Locker. There was a soul here that should have moved on. The Dutchman, still looking quite menacing and ferocious after such a long time under Jones’ captaincy, emerged as if through a dream. It glided naturally to the pale shores of that wretched purgatory. This was Will’s place too, now, he reminded himself. This was also the only place he could step on land—for it was no true land at all. Will waded through shallow, monotonous waters and found his boots on wet sand.

Before him stood his charge. He was a ruin of a man (maybe they both were). He looked as wretched as Will felt, ragged and charred from the wrecking of the Endeavor. Will felt his stomach do a strange turn. He had done this to this man, and though they were purely enemies, it was still something to look at the damage you had done to another human being. Will had shot and stabbed both men and other less-than-human things, but Beckett had died in fire and gunpowder. His fine clothes were tattered and burned, parts of his skin were black and raw…he was not the same man that had delivered such a convincing and deadly ultimatum to William Turner, what seemed like a hundred years ago….

“Lord Beckett,” he said, unable to think of anything to say but the simple greeting. Some little part of him felt a twinge of guilt….but there was little room left in Will’s frayed emotions for things like guilt over the death of one’s enemy.

After all, he didn’t have a heart.



--------------------
user posted image
played by ammers | jafar x sarabi x castor
PLOTLINES
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Jan 7 2012, 03:55 PM


It's just good business...
Group Icon

Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



Indeed, it was a ship coming in toward the shore. As Beckett attempted to stop his legs from collapsing under him (it had been like learning to walk for the first time, embarrassingly), he noticed that the closer the ship became to shore, the more familiar it became. Beckett's memory came rushing to him at that moment. Yes, it was the Dutchman, the ship on which he had tread several times without the least bit of fear. Of course, it was the ship that eternally shepherded the souls of those who had perished at sea, and Beckett himself had most certainly perished at sea.

Beckett had his immediate suspicions. It was most likely that Jones had specifically come for his soul merely to taunt him; to show who truly was the most powerful of the two. This thought gave Beckett displeasure, mainly because the last thing he wanted to deal with was an angry Jones (though sometimes he was slightly entertaining). Of course, for taking complete and brutal control of Jones and causing chaos in the pirate world, Beckett would most certainly be sent to the Locker, where there would be a certain spot of eternal torture reserved with his own name. However, he did not let this worry him. Watching the Company slip through his fingers and slowly into disrepair, and eventually its own demise , was more torture than anything else Lord Beckett could imagine. Even the thought of it was enough to send him to tears (that is, if he lingered upon the thought long enough, which he tried not to do for obvious reasons).

Beckett perished the thoughts of the Company (as much as he hated to do, because it plagued his mind any other day) as he watched the Dutchman approach the shore. When the Dutchman became close enough, a figure got off the ship and soon stood before the disgraced Lord. Beckett had been expecting Davy Jones, but the identity of the man who had approached him certainly startled him, for he never would have guessed...

When he thought about it, however, there was a connection between Will Turner and the Flying Dutchman. Mr. Turner seemed to have some sort of a grudge against Jones (therefore, having sort of an obsession with attempting to overthrow the dreaded sea captain? Beckett couldn't keep up with the petty desires of the Pearl's crew....), perhaps for personal reasons Beckett couldn't bother to remember. And had Mr. Turner succeeded in his goals? It would have been a perfect explanation of why the Dutchman had suddenly changed alliances, thus leading to his own painful demise...

“Lord Beckett.”

"Mister Turner," Lord Beckett returned the greeting, before adding, "Strange to see you here. I would have thought you were celebrating your victory with Miss Swann." His eyes (the right solely focused on Mr. Turner, while the left wandered slightly, on its last leg) shone a deep blue as slight bitterness laced his words. Of course, he already had an idea of what Mr. Turner's response was going to be, but he wanted to hear it from the man himself, to confirm his suspicions. He wasn't going to mention Jones just yet.

Even in his current state compared to Mr. Turner's, Beckett still kept his head high and confident, as if not even death could stand in his way.

He still smirked.


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{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
Will Turner
Posted: Jan 24 2012, 03:38 PM


A TOUCH OF DESTINY;
Group Icon

Group: Hero (Staff)
Posts: 24
Member No.: 11
Joined: 12/17/11



OOC! Ugh sorry, this is lame. Didn't want to let this thread linger too long though!




the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean
& THE FIRE THAT WAS STARTING TO SPARK
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beckett seemed mildly surprised to see Will. Of course, he had known from their conversations that Will had had some sort of personal matter to settle with Jones, some desire to meet with the Flying Dutchman. But Will had never had any intentions of becoming the ship’s captain. He’d sought the Chest in order to wrest control of Davy Jones. He’d had very few goals in life, very simple: free his father from servitude and marry Elizabeth. Technically, he had achieved these things, but the price had been greater than he imagined. It was so often the fate of men, that they fail to anticipate the cost of their actions. Will understood that now. And so too, he reckoned, did Cutler Beckett.

Some credit had to be given to Beckett. Despite his ruined state, he managed to pull himself together, that familiar, thoughtful tone in his voice. His words stung, as he probably meant them to. That’s what Beckett did. His words were always chosen carefully, to find the best way to get a rise from others and get them to reveal information. Outwardly, there was little sign of how much his words bothered Will. The young captain’s face remained stony, but his chest tightened as though the thought of Elizabeth was a great weight.

Victory. Had it been victory? There had been some sense of it as the Dutchman and the Pearl silenced Beckett, and as he lay with Elizabeth on that beach. His whole life had led to a few hours’ victory on a beach… But the stories never tell you what happens after the triumph. What do you do when your quarry ahs been caught, at last?

“Don’t play the fool, Lord Beckett,” he said. Beckett wasn’t a fool, they both knew that. He was smart enough to surmise what had happened. He’d seen Jones’ ship sink into the cold depths of the maelstrom, and seen it rise unnaturally once more, reborn. “ Jones is dead. You are in my charge now."



--------------------
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played by ammers | jafar x sarabi x castor
PLOTLINES
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Jan 24 2012, 08:20 PM


It's just good business...
Group Icon

Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



((No problem! It's enough to reply to - what more do you need? <3))

Beckett noticed that Will had been silent for quite a bit. His face had remained stoic and unchanging, perhaps in an attempt to hide a sudden emotion. What was it, Beckett wondered, that troubled him? Though he honestly didn't care, it was nice to be able to coax information out of a man again, though not in circumstances Beckett would have favored. How nice, the feeling was, to pretend to be interested in conversation only to extract the smallest details that could be used for progress - or worse, betrayal. It was not often that Beckett pondered this - a more trivial topic than anything - but for some particular reason, he felt thankful that he was still aware of his surroundings - of what Mr. Turner was and wasn't saying.

Perhaps it was death. Death had funny ways of stirring the mind, convincing it that it could no longer function when, in all reality, it became more aware. Though his left eye was deteriorating ever so slowly, Beckett's mind was still aware... a sharp contrast to the numbness he had felt on the Endeavour. In death, he had become wiser - not more intelligent, but wiser - and became aware of the mistakes he had made in life. Though this was the case, Beckett did not feel obligated to acknowledge his mistakes. Why should he? As far as he was concerned, he had done nothing wrong. It wasn't about right and wrong, anyway, and nor was it about good and evil.

It was just good business.

Intense blue eyes of a cat intently observed Mr. Turner, looking for any sign of weakness in his stony cold expression (that, for a moment, almost reflected Beckett himself, had Beckett been in a slightly better condition for being reflected). Finally, Will Turner spoke, and his words were well-timed.

“Don’t play the fool, Lord Beckett.”

If Beckett had not been alert before, he certainly had been now. What had caused Will to respond this way? At first, he would have normally dismissed it as a typical pirate response, but he had the feeling that it meant more - quite a lot more than even he had predicted.

“Jones is dead. You are in my charge now."

The keen observer would have seen Beckett's smirk twitch downward. It was not at what Will had said, but how he had said it; it was a surprise to Beckett that Mr. Turner could speak with such a challenging authority, one so unlike any that Beckett had heard spoken to his face in his life. Even his own father was out of the question as Beckett felt the cold stare being reflected right back at him. Beckett's gaze held off slightly, now aware that Will was quickly becoming a worthy adversary. But for how long?

Then, Beckett remembered he was in no position to assume authority. This, however, did not stop him from being stung at William's words just as his own words had stung Mister... no... Captain Turner. This mocking of Will in his head was all it took to bring the smirk back, however slightly. Beckett would have been completely silenced, had it not been for the reply that he had formulated in his mind:

"I suspected the first. From what I had experienced personally of Jones, he was fit to be put out of his own misery any minute," Beckett replied, his weak legs threatening to cause him to lose balance, or even fall at Will Turner's feet. Beckett attempted to stand as straight as he could in a feeble attempt to hide the imminent signs of his weakened body. "As for the second... an interesting twist. I had suspected something similar to have happened, but never this... abrupt. I almost feel sorry for you, having fate deal this sort of hand to you. Still, you are significantly more reasonable to negotiate with than Jones. I figure Calypso is impressed." Here, the smirk returned, Beckett being amused at his own small jest.

"So I am under your charge. What a dramatic turn of events this is, Mr. Turner. Very well. I shall have to keep this in mind every time I respond to you... Sir." Though Beckett's dry, sarcastic humor may not have struck Mr. Turner in the way it was intended, there was still some truth to it. Beckett was not - and never would be - used to having to answer to someone else. Ever since he had received the superior leadership position in the Company - and even before - Beckett had been his own worker, using his talents to amaze the higher powers of the Company and always having a natural eye for how to make the most profit and the most prosperous decisions. The transition between this sort of man and an inferior under Will Turner was difficult, as the only man to whom Beckett had TRULY humbled himself was the King himself.

Of course, Mr. Turner was likely to abandon him here, not having the time or patience to shepherd the soul of his former enemy. That was reasonable as well, for it was also expected. It was not clear in his mind of where his soul SHOULD have been, so Beckett merely thought it was here that he was destined to stay.

There was no light at the end of his tunnel. He only saw fire.


--------------------
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{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
Will Turner
Posted: Feb 10 2012, 09:29 PM


A TOUCH OF DESTINY;
Group Icon

Group: Hero (Staff)
Posts: 24
Member No.: 11
Joined: 12/17/11





the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean
& THE FIRE THAT WAS STARTING TO SPARK
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had come a long way from Port Royal, when Lord Beckett had arrested Will Turner and threatened him with the noose. Then they had progressed to some sort of level playing field, when they each had something to offer the other—and they each wanted to get the best of Davy Jones. Now the power had shifted completely. Beckett was dead, his soul was Will’s to tend to. Will thought he would feel some sort of satisfaction at Beckett’s defeat. They had defeated the man who would have hanged Will—hanged Elizabeth, the man who would have put them at the bottom of the sea for his own personal gain. But the victory was hollow. The price had been too great. What was Cutler Beckett compared to the love of a wife? What was Will’s quarrel with Beckett, in the face of eternity? Soon, the defeat of Cutler Beckett would mean little and less to William Turner.

And Beckett knew it. He knew that Will had lost almost as much as he, and naturally he couldn’t resist adding salt to the wound.

“I almost feel sorry for you, having fate deal this sort of hand to you. Still, you are significantly more reasonable to negotiate with than Jones. I imagine Calypso is impressed.”

A swell of anger spread through Will’s chest, and his brown eyes moved away from Beckett, not bothering to disguise how his words had struck a chord. What was the point of veiling their emotions at this point? Beckett was dead. Will might as well be. The battle was over. Will had never felt so bitter in his life. Often in his youth, in all the time he had pined for Elizabeth but never expected to be with her, he had dwelt on the unfairness of his life. But never like this. Back then, he’d simply felt he was being denied something. Now, he felt he had lost something.

But there was a point of interest in Beckett’s comment. He intended to negotiate with Will? The young captain allowed himself some slight touch of satisfaction at that. There would be no negotiating. What was there to negotiate? Will knew what was to become of Beckett’s soul—he knew it because he was now inexplicably tied to his strange ship, and his ship had a mind of her own. He brushed his thumb over the polished steel hilt of his sword, which hung comfortably at his hip, and looked back at Beckett. He raised his eyebrows.

“There is nothing to negotiate, Lord Beckett,” he said, feigning a casual air. “The Dutchman deems you her enemy, and enemies of the Flying Dutchman go to the Locker.” They were both damned. Somehow, it seemed morbidly appropriate. This is where their personal desires had lead them. “And it’s ‘Captain’ now, actually.” Will added, echoing some of the first words he had ever heard Lord Beckett utter.



--------------------
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played by ammers | jafar x sarabi x castor
PLOTLINES
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Feb 12 2012, 01:23 PM


It's just good business...
Group Icon

Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



Beckett smirked when he saw the subtle signs of Will's anger. Even though one was obviously in a weaker position than the other, Beckett still thought he proved to his enemy - now his reaper - that he still had some dignity in his soul. Beckett's smirk grew wider still, almost thinking that he had triumphed over Will, his reaper, and that he would either be sent back to the world of the living like nothing ever happened, or he would simply be thrown in Davy Jones' Locker, never to again see the light of day. However, as far as Beckett was concerned, it was going to be the former. He always triumphed in a way to always get what he wanted. If it was the satisfaction of having cheated death... to having seen "Davy Jones" and returned without a scratch.... then that was what he was going to get.

However, as Will appeared to be more and more amused, Beckett's smirk faded, and yet he still looked Will in the eye. Will's sudden amusement let Beckett know that something was up. Something he hadn't incorporated in his plan of returning to life. Something Will knew that he didn't. But what was it? Was death truly that complicated, or was it simpler than Beckett could have comprehended? Beckett tried to find another reason to maintain his smirk, to try and prove to Will that he was superior. He was superior once again, instead of reduced to a smoldering corpse.

Of course, Beckett had been so focused on Will that he hadn't noticed that his entire range of sight on his left side had faded completely. He had to turn his head slightly to the left to maintain eye contact with Will, while his left eye looked on sightlessly. Still, he tried to glare at Will, to intimidate him into releasing his prey, or at the very least, succumbing. However, by a blurry observation of Will and his sudden change of mood, it was not to be.

“There is nothing to negotiate, Lord Beckett.”

"Oh?" Beckett asked, his remaining good eye attempting to search Will for any evidence of weakness in the Captain's face or posture, any sort of hesitation or intimidation. He found none. "Why is that, Mr. Turner?" People rarely rejected him. Beckett, if anything, never took "no" for an answer. He always found a way to get around everything, especially when there was someone else to do the dirty deed for him. However, there was only him, Will, and the flicker of movement Beckett swore he saw every once in a while out of the corner of his eye.

“The Dutchman deems you her enemy, and enemies of the Flying Dutchman go to the Locker.”

Beckett wanted to be amused at that comment more than anything. He wanted to chuckle, as if Will's threat meant nothing to him. He wanted to simply dismiss it as a bluff, and continue attempting to coax Will into setting him free. However, for some reason, he couldn't. Beckett couldn't hardly even smirk. Of course, there had always been threats about him being sent to the Locker, especially from pirates he'd been about to hang, cursing him to his eternal and miserable grave... but never had they come from someone who actually had the power to condemn him. Beckett couldn't help but to underestimate Will's extent of power, still believing him to be the foolish, gullible mortal that he had first met in Port Royal, the one who had almost been married to that wretch Elizabeth Swann until His Lordship had found it inviting to interrupt and to let the two "pirates" know of their impending fate. Will had certainly changed since then, and Beckett had yet to realize it. He had yet to realize that he had lost.

He'd lost everything. His power, his money, his infamy, his glory, his business, his very life, and now half of his eyesight. And he had lost it all to the man in front of him. Had he not recovered the Dutchman - as he claimed - Beckett would have still been alive, would have still been able to eliminate the pirates all at once, to destroy them so that they would never sail the waters of the Caribbean - or the world - ever again. But, alas, it was never to be. It had been Beckett himself who had become eliminated, destroyed with fire and gunpowder. Beckett tried to draw in a breath, but all that flowed into his lungs was smoke, and all that came out of his mouth were ashes as he spoke.

"I see," he sighed, a cloud of ashes flowing from his mouth (that he was secretly hoping made Will cough). This was all he had to say? What else could he have said? Beckett usually relied on his quick and sly tongue, but now for some reason his tongue was silent. It had refused to move for him. Beckett seemed to stand in silence, as if in thought, attempting to find the nerve to speak. He'd hadn't been this speechless in years...

No, this was a lie.

He had been this speechless, quite recently. It was when he'd been on the Endeavour, while it was sinking and cast into the flames (quite literally and metaphorically). His tongue had left him then, as well, and it had served to be just as useful then as it had now. He still cursed his tongue for uttering the one phrase that mattered to him, the one phrase he used to explain everything, to give motive for every single act that seemed to be against humanity but was for the economy. Why had he chosen this particular phrase? His mind had been too numb to ponder it, but it had been there.

He'd been cursed to Davy Jones' Locker. There was no way around it. He was going to spend eternity rotting alongside the enemies that Jones - and now, Turner - had made throughout the years. A small part of him felt that, now that Jones was dead, his former prisoners would be released, and would be replaced with the growing list of Will's condemned, starting with Beckett himself...

No. He didn't want to give up hope this easily.

At this burst of courage, Beckett finally found the will to speak.

"Surely, there must be another way?" Beckett casually remarked, mocking Will's earlier tone. "As you stated earlier, I am in your charge. Therefore, you imply that you are my superior." Beckett's tone gradually grew more serious than mocking (although it was still somewhat casual) as he went to desperate lengths to save himself from the horrors that lay in the Locker (or, at least, what he had heard of the Locker; Beckett was unaware that where they were standing at that very moment was, indeed, the Locker). He normally wouldn't have done this - especially to the likes of Will - but this was desperate. As soon as he had heard the comment about being cursed to the Locker, Beckett immediately realized (fully, it must be added) that the tables had indeed turned against him. "And a little known fact about me...Though I am cruel to the men under me... I am always good to my superiors."

“And it’s ‘Captain’ now, actually.”

Beckett's smirk, prolonged for quite a while, finally returned.

"Very well... Captain."


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user posted image

{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
Will Turner
Posted: Feb 23 2012, 10:03 PM


A TOUCH OF DESTINY;
Group Icon

Group: Hero (Staff)
Posts: 24
Member No.: 11
Joined: 12/17/11



OOC! Great post! I couldn't match that beast haha



the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean
& THE FIRE THAT WAS STARTING TO SPARK
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will could tell at once that his words had struck Beckett profoundly. There were no clever quips, that trademark languid expression of his had gone stony. At last, Culter Beckett was realizing what Will Turner had already deduced, what he knew by instinct. The tables had indeed turned, and Will was not the same person Beckett had met in Port Royal. Despite their limited interactions, Will knew this simple fact was terribly distressing to Lord Beckett. It disrupted his very foundations. He was not a man used to failure, not used to being at someone else’s mercy. (Or perhaps he was, and Will was now a reminder of some aggravating past? Some time in his life when he took orders instead of giving them?) Will could see that Beckett was now processing this, and he was once again torn between a savage pleasure and guilt.

Beckett was the enemy, one of the many parties responsible for the ruin of Will’s happiness. If he was honest, he would have to admit that he felt some degree of satisfaction knowing that someone else was just as wretched as he. But on the other hand, Will was just not the sort of person to delight in the misery of others. And Beckett had fallen so low, he was so utterly ruined that Will found himself pitying the creature that had once been a man with everything.

But Beckett wasn’t done yet. He was nothing if not tenacious. It was desperate, but he suddenly burst with speech. “Surely there must be another way?” he wondered, clinging to any hope of redemption. “As you stated earlier, I am in your charge. Therefore, you imply that you are my superior.”

Will huffed a little through his nose. Beckett still couldn’t bring himself to say it straight. Whether Will thought himself superior or not was of little consequence. The fact remained that Cutler Beckett was dead, and Will was charged with seeing to it that his soul made it to the right place—right here, in the Locker. He hinted at some potential benefit, claiming to be generous to those who held power over him. Will grew cautious suddenly, a clammy hand turning on the hilt of his sword. Did Beckett mean to appeal to Will’s better nature, or possibly his own potential greed? What leverage could he possibly have now? Will hoped none. He was sick to death of people having leverage against him.

No. That couldn’t be possible. Those days were done. Beckett was dead.

That typical smirk returned when Will demanded he be called by his proper title. Will didn’t let it bother him; Beckett was simply matching his tone. And it didn’t matter what Beckett thought. The facts remained, and Will’s position in this debate was as solid as the rockbed of the ocean.

“Death is death,” said Will, despite being a walking contradiction of those words. “Your place is determined by higher powers than I. There’s nothing to be done. I take my leave.”

Will Turner turned his back on the ruined man and began to walk towards the stale waters to return to his ship. He could never dream that Beckett would have any advantage to offer him. What more could he lose? What that Will loved could possibly be in danger now?



--------------------
user posted image
played by ammers | jafar x sarabi x castor
PLOTLINES
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Mar 5 2012, 11:23 AM


It's just good business...
Group Icon

Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



Beckett had to think fast. He couldn’t let Will abandon him in the Locker. Beckett, for all of the background information he knew about everything, had no idea what the Locker had in store for him, especially since the only person Beckett knew who had escaped from the Locker was Jack. And he couldn’t ask Jack, because Jack was... Jack. Therefore, he needed Will’s mercy. Needed was the key word, because Beckett didn't necessarily WANT to have to be spared by the very man he was set to hang. It was supposed to be Will who was at his feet, and apparently, the new captain of the Flying Dutchman knew that. Beckett came to the conclusion that Will was enjoying every minute of this, even if it wasn't true. Therefore, it made Beckett all the more reluctant to think of a way to get Will to see his side. But what would get Will's attention, especially now that he had turned around to leave...?

Beckett said the first thing that came to his mind, going out on somewhat of a limb and silently hoping it would work.

"Miss Swann," he blurted out, suddenly going into somewhat of a tangent. "Do you know where she is? I've actually narrowed it down to 'not with you'." A Beckett speech was not a Beckett speech without a well-placed bit of snark. "Do you know if she's safe? I'm sure she's a fugitive now, as far as the Company is concerned, and I haven't exactly been able to give any of the officers bearings to where she is." Though Beckett's voice was mostly calm, his eyes - usually the revealing windows of his emotions - were pleading, desperate. "However, they don't need me to make maps. They can narrow it down and eventually find her, and what then? Remember that the Company has eyes all over the Caribbean - not particularly my eyes, but..." Beckett trailed off, only to reluctantly correct himself. "Not mine anymore." Beckett tried not to make any sudden movements, as he felt that his legs could barely hold his own weight. However, there was that lingering feeling that something was going to come up out of the ground and trip him, making him fall to Will's feet and be forced to plead further. It was because of this that Beckett tried not to move.

"You don't believe that I work to benefit others as well as myself?" It was an attempt to convince Will that was inevitably in vain, but it was an attempt nonetheless. "Very well, then. I understand."

After a few moments, Beckett withdrew, sighing hopelessly.

"But just for my own personal reference... where is the Locker? That way, I can grow accustomed to it while I rot forever..." he added, attempting to stop his thin knees from quivering and collapsing from under him.


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{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
Will Turner
Posted: Mar 10 2012, 07:38 PM


A TOUCH OF DESTINY;
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Group: Hero (Staff)
Posts: 24
Member No.: 11
Joined: 12/17/11





the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean
& THE FIRE THAT WAS STARTING TO SPARK
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Miss Swann.”

The name made Will stop in his tracks, boots anchored in the wet sand. Of course he would bring her up…anyone who knew Will even for a short time knew it was his truest weakness. She was his heart’s bearing. The very first time they had met, Beckett had utilized her against Will. Do as he asked, or there would be a rope around Elizabeth’s pretty, slender neck…. The most sincere satisfaction Will derived from Beckett’s death was the fact that he would no longer be a danger to Elizabeth. That had been worth everything—worth the maelstrom, worth the lives of Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett, worth his own death.

Will looked over his shoulder as Beckett spoke, a hard look on his face. He knew how to make his words cut. “Do you know where she is? I’ve actually narrowed it down to not with you.” Not with Will….the only thing he had ever truly wanted in his life, from the day they had met, was to be with Elizabeth. But that would never happen. She was his wife now, but they could never truly function as husband and wife, never live together. His duties took him to places where mortals did not belong…like right here, right now, in the Locker, speaking to a dead man.

His brown eyes narrowed, and he did not speak for a moment after Beckett had finished. Was this some trickery? Cutler Beckett was a spinster of words, and the very definition of an opportunist…not unlike Jack, Will reflected. Did his words hold truth, or was he simply trying to bribe his way out of the Locker on unfounded assumptions? But it was a dreadful thought…and it made sense. Beckett had been sent to Port Royal on the orders of the King, to hang Will, Norrington, and Elizabeth. Norrington and Will were dead….technically speaking. But Elizabeth was not. The order on her life might still stand.

And if it did….if it did, Will could not let her be pursued. He would not see her hang—ever.

He turned and strode quickly back to Beckett. Ignoring his flippant questions about the Locker, he seized Beckett by the shirt, holding the injured man steady. “Does the order stand? Will the Company search for her?” he demanded, face close to Beckett’s. Will, of course, knew where Elizabeth had settled. He would never forget leaving her on that beach where they had laid together, finally consummating their love and marriage and, though Will did not yet know it, conceived a son. But he was not about to reveal that location to Beckett, regardless of the fact that he was not even on a mortal plain at the moment.

“I’m not the man you met in Port Royal,” he warned Beckett. “I understand the game you play—that everything you do is bent towards your advantage. But understand this, Lord Beckett: you have as much to lose as you have to gain, so tell it true. Is there a threat to Elizabeth?”



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played by ammers | jafar x sarabi x castor
PLOTLINES
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Mar 26 2012, 06:26 PM


It's just good business...
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Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



Beckett could see that his sudden statement had affected Will. Of course, if anything would get Will's attention, it was the very name of his beloved Elizabeth. Oh, how he remembered the day he first encountered the two of them. They were getting married, if he recalled correctly. Beckett smirked at the thought. Miss Swann was very angry at him for disturbing their wedding, but he had reassured her that it was all meant to be, that it would all come together eventually...

Apparently, it had all come together for her. While Beckett barely hung onto his sentience by a thread in his half-dead and barely mobile state, he assumed she was off somewhere, still celebrating her victory over the Company with the rest of her pirate friends... Pirate King, had they named her? It was a laughable thought, although Elizabeth Swann was not a woman to be underestimated.

However, as she found out that day when her wedding was "ruined", no matter how tough of a woman she was, she was no match for the law. This thought always made Beckett at ease whenever he was concerned about the fate of his entire purpose. The law would always win out in the end.

Always.

Suddenly, Will ran up to Beckett and grabbed him by his shirt, holding him upright. As alarmed as Beckett was as this sudden gesture, he was also somewhat thankful as he was prevented from falling over, although never would he announce the latter to Will. Instead he kept his cool, calm demeanor, as though he had expected Will to react this way.

“Does the order stand? Will the Company search for her?”

Beckett was not fazed by Will's intimidating growl.

"My death does not negate any decision made by the Company, or even in the name of the King himself, for that matter," Beckett replied, although as soon as these words left his mouth, he knew that this was not going to mean good news for him. However, in a rare act of mercy, Beckett was going to give Will the truth, and nothing but the truth. What was the purpose in trying to lie to Will? As fun as it was at times to play around with the young man's mind...

“I’m not the man you met in Port Royal. I understand the game you play—that everything you do is bent towards your advantage. But understand this, Lord Beckett: you have as much to lose as you have to gain, so tell it true. Is there a threat to Elizabeth?”

Everything started to come together. For him this time.

"I have nothing more to lose," Beckett stated smoothly, even at the hands of the man who ultimately decided the nobleman's eternal fate. "You should have remembered that from the day I first spoke to you, there has been a threat to Elizabeth Swann, and to you as well. Considering your position, you in particular should be a little more lucky in your attempt to evade the soldiers out looking for you lot. However, Elizabeth Swann and Jack are slightly less lucky, although Jack seems to have his own ways of figuring things out. You know how it is." Beckett smirked. "I assume you will not uncover her location, as she seems to have been sheltered safe and sound after the little 'Davy Jones' incident. But then again, what would I care about her safety? After all, dead men tell no tales." Beckett chuckled at his small joke, before continuing, "However, considering the alternative of not helping you - and in turn, helping Miss Swann - this 'dead man' seems to sense a compromise." Beckett leaned forward, although this meant that he had to tilt his head up at Will all the more. "I will bribe the Company's officials into dropping the charges for Miss Swann, and therefore causing her location and identity to remain safely unknown... if you choose to save me from the Locker." The smirk grew wider. He knew Will had quite a decision to make. "Of course, if you leave me to rot, then there will be nothing stopping the Navy from eventually tracking down your little pet's hiding place and brutally separating her from her carefree pirate life. There will be no one to tell them that the charge is now obsolete." Beckett sighed, before growing a little more limp in Will's grasp. "However, I have the power to prevent all of that from happening. I can prevent this, you know. But only if you let me."

The smirk stayed. If Beckett played his cards right, he would have effectively cheated the Locker. That thought gave him a genuine smile.


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{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
Will Turner
Posted: Jun 1 2012, 02:49 PM


A TOUCH OF DESTINY;
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Group: Hero (Staff)
Posts: 24
Member No.: 11
Joined: 12/17/11



ooc! hooooly bejeezus I should have done this so long ago. Sorry, love!!




what good is it to live
WITH NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No…of course not. Of course the order would still stand—in fact, it was probably bolstered, as Elizabeth had taken part in the destruction of one of the Navy’s grandest flagships, and the death of a Lord. Will had no fear for himself on that count. He was essentially dead already, and he was beyond the reach of mortal men. But Elizabeth and Jack were not.

Jack was likely to continue pirating for many, many more years. He always had someone nipping at his heels, and he always managed to escape no worse for wear. Jack was not Will’s concern anymore. Besides, they were square. As square as Will was like to get with Jack. He had saved the pirate from the gallows (a lifetime ago, it seemed), and Jack had “saved” Will from death, in a sense…. Will was still not quite sure if he could consider this life as “saved,” but…Jack’s actions had given Will at least some time with Elizabeth, as opposed to none at all.

Will weighed Beckett’s words carefully. He was not entirely confident that his own wits could ever match those of Cutler Beckett or Jack Sparrow…but he had gotten damn good at pretending so. He had to see what his hand was and play it deliberately, cautiously, and he had to keep a straight face. That was the only way to match Beckett. So what were the odds of Elizabeth ever being found? She had no family besides Will now…but if Jack was against the ropes, would he reveal her location for leniency with the law? Will knew Jack would never wish harm on Elizabeth, but he would gamble with her chances nonetheless. Would the Navy find her on their own?

The chances were a slim as a blade. But even Will didn’t even want to chance that much.

“Then help me,” said Will, releasing the man, “and I will release you from the Locker. I can’t restore your life, but…it’s better than being here.” Death was a poor dish to offer…but there were certainly worse things.

“Come.” He turned and strode towards the lapping waters of the beach. Just off of these cursed shores towered the Dutchman, its masts jutting up like pikes, the sails flat and useless in this dead space. As Will approached, a dingy began to float away from the hull, towards them. It was still strange, this connection to the ship…it did as he wished, as though it were a living thing. The small boat bobbed towards shore, and Will caught it with a boot to steady it.

“Get in. If we have a deal.”



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played by ammers | jafar x sarabi x castor
PLOTLINES
Cutler Beckett
Posted: Jun 9 2012, 07:20 PM


It's just good business...
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Group: Villain
Posts: 46
Member No.: 64
Joined: 01/2/12



Beckett smirked as he could plainly see (even with what was left of his good eye) that Will was attempting to decide whether or not to accept his offer. It was just his luck that the infamous Angel of Death had happened to be as human as anyone else he had manipulated, able to be as easily bent and shaped to Beckett's will as anyone else. Therefore, this was still a victory. Whether the pirates had won the fight or not, Beckett's comeuppance hadn't really come. No, it was never going to come.

But he was still dead. The effects of the explosion were irreversible. His skin was still charred and blackened; his body, fragile; his muscles, weak; his limbs, liable to collapse under him at any moment. He looked no better off than a member of the Flying Dutchman's crew. The very thought of it made his insides turn (or, perhaps, it was because of whatever fungus was growing inside his near-useless corpse). Perhaps, as part of the deal, he could ask Will if it was possible to make him look... less than dead. It would certainly help in Will's cause, Beckett realized, and he wouldn't have to worry about looking weak in front of Will. However, the latter was an unsaid motive, Beckett confirmed to himself. He did not want to ask Will for help. Only assistance. "Help" was a dodgy word in the world of business.

So instead of doing anything more, Beckett patiently waited for Will to come to his decision, although he already knew what it was going to be.

“Then help me, and I will release you from the Locker. I can’t restore your life, but…it’s better than being here.”

Beckett smirked. As he expected. Of course, his first instinct was to try the same thing he had tried with Jack; "promise" he was going to do one thing, and in turn do something completely different. In this case, he wanted to board the Dutchman (it was at this point that he realized he had never wanted to board the cursed ship more in his life than at this moment) and say he was going to help Will with dropping the order against Elizabeth, but instead make port at land and never be seen again, boasting the claim that he had cheated death. This was Beckett's instinct, and as much as he wanted to carry out such a stunt, there was one thing keeping him from doing so: what was there to get out of it? He would have to roam the earth for however long he stayed upon it, most likely not allowed to return to the Company, or to anywhere he knew for that matter. Beckett could not think of any place off the top of his head where he would have been able to stay. Though wandering the earth purposeless and shelterless was slightly better than spending an eternity in the Locker, it was still almost as undesirable.

Therefore, Beckett had decided to fulfill his side of the promise, if only to escape two forms of eternal punishment. Though Beckett was cruel, he had his limits, as did any man. He wasn't sure what Davy Jones' Locker looked like (he had only heard about it, as had any man), but if "redeeming himself" (getting out of it, he called it) only required a barter and a negotiation, Beckett wasn't cruel and block-headed enough to ignore the opportunity.

"As I previously mentioned," he stated, attempting to regain his balance from being suddenly released by Will's firm grip. It was in those few moments of being threatened that he had forgotten his legs were getting weaker from what body weight hadn't been burned off by the fire. "I have nothing left to lose. And I have nothing to gain from being dishonest with you. If you think I am going to double-cross you, as you may call it, for the sake of wealth and power, I'll only ask this in reply:" Legs threatening to collapse, he held out his arms, showing his charred and burned body, "Do you see any wealth or power here?" He smirked and added, "Anywhere is better than the Locker. I thank you for this opportunity." There was, after all, no harm in reminding Will that he was a polite and reasonable man.

“Come.”

He came. Beckett attempted to approach the dinghy that Will had summoned, barely managing to walk with as much dignity as his failing legs would have let him. Yet despite the small unintentional show made out of attempting to walk, Beckett still held his head high and proud, not letting his frail, fragile, and weakened body stop him from looking the part of a respectable man. When he approached the boat, Beckett wanted nothing more than to throw himself into it and give his body - which reacted to his choice to stand as long as he had been standing, and to walk as though his fiery demise had never happened, like it had not moved in thousands of years - a well-deserved rest. However, despite the state of his body, he did not reduce himself to the pitiful, injured man's low.

“Get in. If we have a deal.”

Beckett put a foot in the boat as well, across from Will's. He looked the Dutchman's new captain in the eye, fearlessly anticipating where the tide would take him next.

"And we do." A smirk and, with some struggle, he was seated.


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{Cutler Beckett} - Edward Gracey - Tron
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