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Worth A Thousand Words	By : feysama Category: Individual Celebrities > Johnny Depp Views: 1852 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Johnny Depp. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Worth A Thousand Words
- 1
Apology: If, for some strange, narcissistic reason, and he is not narcissistic, Mr. Johnny Depp is reading this, we give this yomibitorazo’s most sincere apology for poor portrayal of his personality and reasoning. Also, we apologize for writing this story, presuming to place him in such a scenario, and presuming to know his thoughts, words, and actions in such a scenario. For our third apology, we apologize to the readers who seek smut, for there is none. Not even in fiction will we help someone cheat. And finally, we apologize for the partial Mary Sue, for we fail to keep our sarcasm and offbeat humor far, far away from our OCs. Which brings us to the-
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure, unadulterated fiction. None of the following events, to the best of our knowledge, has ever occurred, much less been reported. Furthermore, we do not, much to our dismay, own Mr. Depp. This is for two very good reasons. First, we do not have enough money. For money, you see, would enable us to hire a professional or two to kidnap him and ensure said professionals’ silence. Money would also permit us to keep him, as such a high profile person would require much search and rescue. Though, if someone would like to donate to our cause, one may be rest assured Mr. Depp would spend his days (and nights) chained to a bed, where he would spend many an hour being gazed upon. (Warning: Drooling may occur.)
Our second reason is just as good as the first: Free Will. Keeping someone against his or her will is wrong. Plus, there would be the whole homesickness, miss-the-wife-and-children-whom-he-loves thing, and the wife-and-children-who-love-him thing. This is a very important factor for ‘the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.’ (Moulin Rouge)
And now, on with the show! Err, story!
.:_o.o_:.
She ran down the street, attention centered on stuffing her change into her purse. Normally this would be a simple task were it not for two things: first, she was late, and when she is late she gets nervous and/or frustrated, which leads to clumsiness. Secondly, she would like to issue the challenge to anyone to try running in four-inch stiletto heels if, and only if, said anyone was as unused to wearing heels as she was.
She was just finally securing her purse shut when she literally ran into someone. The resulting impact sent her and her purchase flying in two different directions.
Before she could get her bearings, she was hauled up by two sets of hands. Still somewhat dazed she only caught a few words here and there. As her head began to clear she realized she was being led, roughly, away from her purchase, which she spotted in her peripheral vision on the ground.
The two men were caught off guard when she began to struggle.
"My string!" she cried out, in English first and then again in Spanish. She managed to twist about, but was grabbed again. "Let me go, you bucking fastards! I need my string!"
Confused the suits looked around on the sidewalk and nearby street for a string but saw nothing. "You’re crazy, lady. Let’s go."
"NO! My string! There! Allí! On the ground, by your foot! Yes, you! Tall, dark, and handsome! See the little purple envelope? The nice, square purple envelope?" The stranger picked up the indicated object.
"This is yours?" he asked softly.
"Yes! Mine! Please and thank you. Sí, por favor, y gracias! Oui, s'il vous plaît, et merci! Hai, douzo, arigatou! How many languages do you require?" she asked exasperated.
His mouth twitched. "One is more than enough, thank you." He walked over to the small group. He offered out the envelope with a small bow, smiling outright when she snatched it sniffing indignantly.
"Thank you. Sorry for running into you. Literally. I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings. Sorry for any inconvenience and thanks again." She spun about, ready to leave, but promptly collapsed again instead. "Itai!" she exclaimed when one of the men’s hands pulled at her hair. It was quickly discovered that his watch clasp had become ensnared by her long hair.
There was a brief discussion of merely cutting the offending strands. When the young woman nixed this idea the other party sarcastically suggested ripping out her hair instead. At this suggestion she displayed heretofore-unseen violence. Her left hand shot into her hair, finding his hand, and was just as swiftly joined by the right. What was done was unknown, merely the result was seen. The mountain of a man dropped to one knee.
She turned to look into his eyes, still gripping his hand. "If you cut off or rip out a single, solitary strand of my hair," she started quietly, "I will cut off or rip out something very near and dear to you from your person."
Though he couldn’t say for certain if she was serious or not, he decided it was not something he would like to risk.
Laughing now, Tall, Dark, and Handsome stepped forward. He shooed her hands away and very quickly, and gently, untangled the watch.
Sighing in relief she stood, thanking him again. However, as she turned to leave, she stumbled once more. It was now noticed that one of the cursed four-inch stiletto heels had snapped off.
"Cheese and rice!" she bemoaned. "Does everything have to go wrong!"
"Are you alright?"
He was still standing there, she noticed, watching her, with his bodyguards flanking him.
She laughed bitterly as she commenced the awkward dance of removing ruined footwear whilst remaining upright. "‘I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date! No time to say "Hello! Goodbye!" I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!’" She sang the White Rabbit’s line. Before she could, yet again, attempt to take off, she was stopped again.
"Surely, you don’t intend to walk barefoot?"
"First, my name is not ‘Shirley’. Secondly, I am unaware of a law in Spain, or in any country that I have visited in my short, humble lifetime, which prohibits a pedestrian from walking barefoot."
He suppressed another grin. She certainly wielded a sharp tongue and wit.
"I, too, am unaware of such a law. However, I was thinking more along the lines of you stepping on something sharp, wet, or unidentifiable, hurting yourself, and ruining your stockings."
She glanced down at her feet, the only part of her lower body exposed to view as she was wearing a long skirt reaching to her ankles. How scandalous, she mused. "Not a problem, I have spare thigh highs at home. Also, contrary to evidence, I usually pay very close attention to my surroundings, particularly the ground. Thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary. Goodbye!"
She spun on her feet, probably tearing holes already, and took off at a brisk pace. Only to be pulled up short, manhandled again by the suits she now mentally referred to as Tweedledee and Tweedledum, though she was unsure as to whom was which.
They "guided" her back to their boss man.
"Was ‘sorry’ not enough?" she questioned. "I hate to break it to you, but I am not one for apologies. Rather, I try not to apologize when I don’t mean it. My sincerest apologies, sir."
He ignored her odd little speech. Instead, he turned to lead the way into the hotel before which everything had occurred.
"Hey!" she protested as they crossed the lobby. "I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t do this kind of thing!" Her voice was rising, drawing undue attention. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m late! I don’t have time to play games and if you don’t let me go now, I’ll scream ‘rape’, don’t think I won’t."
Unfortunately, as she voiced this threat the elevator doors closed. "Darn it. You’re a kumquat, you know that?"
"A what?"
"Kumquat."
"I’m a small, citrus fruit?"
"It’s the thought that counts," she assured him as the doors opened again.
The party of four crossed the hall and quickly entered the Presidential Suite. The moment Tweedledee and Tweedledum released her, she made for the door. The taller one hooked his arm around her waist and redirected her further into the sitting area. Completely unruffled she moved to a lone chair, perching herself daintily on the very edge.
"May I leave now?"
Her host was speaking quietly into the phone, her broken shoe in hand. When had he had taken that? she wondered. He joined her after hanging up.
"I’m afraid I’ll have to inconvenience you for a few more minutes."
"Why? I mean, why am I here? I apologized all nice like and was more than willing to disappear into the sunset and never trouble you again. But, no, you had me shanghaied. And now I can’t leave? I believe there are laws pertaining to holding people against their will. What’s the word I’m looking for? Ah, yes, kidnapping."
She really was quite mouthy, not to mention amusing.
"I doubt replacing your shoes qualifies as ‘kidnapping’."
"I don’t need you to replace my shoes. It was my fault. If I hadn’t slammed into you, my heel would still be intact. The key here is I ran into you. If it bothers you so much, I promise to stop at the nearest store and buy sandals. Now may I leave?" She huffed when he shook his head. "Why not?"
He considered himself a reasonable man, a responsible man. Though she protested endlessly as to her fault, he still felt responsible. Not to mention she was proving to be entertaining.
He studied her, not answering her question. From head to toe she wore black. She was even wearing black evening gloves that had had the fingertips cut off and reached her elbows. Her nails were short and unpainted, her fingers similarly unadorned. The black shirt, sleeveless, was cut in a low V displaying cleavage, an impressive cleavage. When his gaze seemed to linger, she shifted uncomfortably.
Her skirt was longer than was considered fashionable and contained ample cloth. Her hair, he knew from his up close view earlier, was a deep brown and ran to her mid back.
All in all, she was average in appearance. Despite her dark apparel, she didn’t appear washed out or too pale. She was completely forgettable. Her voice, however, was another story. It was proving impossible to tune out.
She talked endlessly to fill the silence. She argued continually for her ‘release’, attempted to persuade him that new shoes were, though appreciated in thought, completely unnecessary. If anything, her arguments only made him more determined to replace her heels. It can be fun being contrary and he did so enjoy being contrary.
Mere minutes had passed, though the woman would swear it had been at least fifteen, when a knock came from the door. Tweedledum, the one who had bodily turned her about, answered it.
A steward entered, carrying a tall stack of shoeboxes. He studiously ignored the woman, who was demanding he ‘rescue’ her or call the police. He continued to ignore her when she repeated her pleas in fluent Spanish, then French. She appeared in perfect health and there was no sign she had been mistreated. He imagined he knew many women, his wife included, who would kill to be in her place right now.
He left discreetly, a sizable tip secured in his pocket.
When her captor opened the boxes for her to view the contents, she was singularly unimpressed. When he moved to put a pair of shoes on her feet, she mutinously tucked them up and under her. She declared, again, her refusal of his generosity and refused to speak to him anymore.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome, she decided, was becoming Tall, Dark, and Unbearably Annoying.
She really was a troublesome thing. He decided to wait her out. If she were in the hurry she claimed, she would come around soon enough.
And so they settled in for their waiting game.
.:_o.o_:.
He had been hanging around all night, hiding in the stairwell when the hotel staff came around. His source said that a young woman had been forcibly taken into the Presidential Suite, by Johnny Depp himself no less. He was seeing dollar signs all over this story.
It was the darkest hour, the time just before dawn begins to lighten the eastern sky when the door finally opened. Depp stepped out followed closely by the woman. Though they didn’t appear close, she looked pissed off in fact, he could still sell the story and pictures as a lovers’ quarrel.
The first flash caught them by surprise. Depp immediately realized it was the paparazzi. He made to grab her and duck back into the room, but she was already moving.
The second picture caught their startled faces; the third, the woman’s ample cleavage. The fourth was of the ceiling, the fifth would show the lovely carpet.
She had moved in close, knocking his arm holding the camera up so she could step behind him. His arm was then forcibly moved down, aiming the camera harmlessly at the floor. Mere seconds had passed, and the photographer was preparing to shout over her attacking him. She beat him to the punch.
"Hush, I did not hurt you," she spoke in British accented English. "Now, then. It is said a picture tells a hundred words. I would be most put out were you to use the wrong words. What say you, then, I give you the true words to accompany the pictures you have already taken, and you take no more pictures."
He looked to Johnny, who appeared distrustful at her words, perhaps even disappointed. Oh, he imagined she had a very good story to tell.
"I say you have a deal."
She released him and walked to the elevators, speaking over her shoulder to him. "Shall we do this over a cup of tea?"
.:_o.o_:.
The Tale of the Obsessive Fangirl
and
the Famous Male Celebrity
In the early morning hours of August 6, an unknown woman was seen leaving the hotel room of Johnny Depp, still in his company.
When this humble journalist proceeded to take pictures, as is my right, the woman forcibly prevented me from taking more than two or three good shots. She offered to tell the story behind the pictures, wanting in exchange for me to take no more pictures. I agreed.
We, Johnny Depp included, relocated to a nearby coffeehouse, where she told her tale. In hindsight, she was a very good storyteller. She was well spoken and spoke softly with a British accent. Her English was steady, careful even, and absurdly polite in the manner of one who learned English as a second language later in life. She gave no personal information, not even her name.
I had introduced myself on our way to the coffeehouse, to which she responded, ‘Call me "Nai".’ I merely assumed it a strange name. It was only later that I learned otherwise.
‘Let me tell you the tale,’ she began, ‘of the Obsessive Fangirl and the Famous Male Celebrity.’ A fangirl, she informed me, is similar to a music groupie. The difference being, a fangirl fixates on a character from a manga, anime, or game. ‘Though I have seen it used in reference to non-animated movies as well.’ When asked why she referred to herself this way she responded, ‘It sounds nicer than "stalker".’
Nai claimed that she had lain in wait outside of Depp’s hotel, knowing perfectly well that he was staying there. When he finally appeared, she walked straight into him, pretending to be preoccupied with her purse.
She said she had not ‘expected him to have two gorillas with him.’ This was not a problem, for fortune, she boasted, had been smiling down on her. ‘Perhaps it was the Fangirl Goddess, instead,’ she shrugged. Her heel had broken when she had fallen. This paved the way for a guilt trip.
She apologized for running into him, but when she turned to leave, she fell again.
At this point Depp, lighting a cigarette, interrupted saying she left out a bit. To which she replied, ‘All was part of my ploy.’ She then asked to see the pictures I had taken promising to be careful with the digital camera.
Depp picked up the story. She had dropped an instrument string, Nai would not say for what instrument, and started ‘screaming bloody murder for the "bucking fastards" to let go of her’ Depp said when his bodyguards had grabbed her. She then caterwauled for her string, asking for its return in three short words, in four different languages.
The woman protested that she had not been caterwauling, but could not offer any defense. She continued her story saying she had apologized, repeatedly, she glared at Depp. She had underestimated her fall, or rather she had underestimated his bodyguard’s hold on her. Tweedledee, she called him, had managed to get his watch tangled in her hair. Not a part of her plan, she admitted, but she turned it to her advantage. Mr. Famous Male Celebrity, she called Depp, had had to untangle the two himself.
Here he cut in again, saying he had stepped in after Nai had done something to the bodyguard causing him to go to his knees and then threatened, in not so many words, to emasculate him. This was said with a slight inflection of Captain Jack Sparrow, or perhaps it was my imagination.
She spoke as though Depp had not, never giving any indication of the violent, outspoken woman Depp painted her to be.
She apologized and made to leave again, when the cause for her stumbling was discovered: the broken heel. Frustrated, she removed her ruined shoes which she was ‘rather fond of’, answering Depp’s question of her well being with a quote from Alice in Wonderland. ‘I do not know if the White Rabbit says that in the book [Through the Looking Glass],’ she said, ‘but I remember it from the movie.’
When Nai tried to leave this time, Depp stopped her. She apologized ‘yet again, several times,’ placing the blame on herself. But when she turned to walk away for the final time, the ‘caveman twins all but grabbed me by the hair, though one already had, and dragged me to their lair.’ She claimed she had gambled on the idea that Depp would feel responsible to some degree for her broken shoe. Add to the mix her constant apologies and willingness to take all the blame and walk home barefoot, ‘it was ninety-nine to one odds he would do something.’
‘She called me a "kumquat",’ Depp mused, overlooking, or just not listening to, her confession of her great conspiracy.
Here she stopped, asking to take a picture of the two of us. She wanted to try the camera. After showing her the correct settings, she took one picture then proceeded to talk.
Nai was taken up to the Presidential Suite, ‘they all but tied me to a chair’ to keep her from leaving she said. ‘Tweedledum was especially zealous about this.’
‘Oh, please. He picked you up and put you down in the sitting area,’ responded Depp.
‘Touching me was completely unnecessary.’
‘You probably would have attacked one or both of them otherwise.’ He was referring to her earlier attack on myself.
She then complained he made her sound like a ‘nutcase prone to physical violence.’
‘If the shoe fits…’
This statement got her started once more on her tale. They had to sit forever in silence waiting for the hotel to bring shoes for her to try, all the while he was ‘leering at my chest.’
Depp protested that he had merely ‘taken the opportunity to take a good look at her when her mouth wasn’t running. Furthermore, she was silent for less than two minutes.’
She completely ignored him now. She returned my camera at this point, having turned it off. ‘The battery sign was low.’ I later discovered, much to my chagrin, that the battery was not low. She had deleted the first several photographs; the only ones in which her face was shown.
She had tried, at great length, to persuade Depp to permit her to leave, without shoes, even threatening to have him charged with kidnapping. He refused to budge.
When the shoes, ‘an obscene number’, ‘ten pairs’, arrived via steward, Nai begged the hotel employee to ‘save her’. He did not acknowledge her even once before leaving, sans shoeboxes.
Nai made no move to try on any shoes. Depp opened the boxes and still she showed no interest in the shoes. He then made to put a pair on her feet himself. Tucking her feet onto the seat thwarted this action.
‘If I did not know better, I would think he has an obsession, a, what is the word? Ah, yes, a fetish. I would think he has a fetish for women’s shoes. Wait. I do not know better. Maybe he does have such a fetish, yes?’
Her commentary temporarily shocked Depp into silence, several seconds of silence, before he started laughing. ‘I have been accused of many things,’ he said once the laughter subsided, ‘but never have I been suspected of having a "fetish for women’s shoes".’
Neither seemed inclined to continue the tale, until prompted.
‘Nothing happened,’ Nai said. They both claimed to have attempted to wait one another out. Eventually they both dozed off.
In the wee hours of the morning Nai, trying to tiptoe out, was caught by Tweedledee. When she grudgingly put on a pair of shoes to leave, Depp was awakened by her whispered litany of ‘stubborn men’, their ‘stupid need to replace shoes’, and a vulgar suggestion of what men could do with said desire. ‘She is quite creative,’ he noted wryly.
He then insisted on walking her to the street to ‘ensure the shoes stayed on.’ She had agreed on the condition that ‘the gorillas stayed in their cage’.
Enter me, the ‘evil paparazzi’, and the rest, they say, is history.
Now, dear reader, I’m sure that you are as skeptical of this story as I had been. I even voiced this skepticism, knowing such a droll, innocent story does not many a periodical sell.
But when I voiced this doubt, she had an interesting response.
‘First and foremost,’ she began in a clipped, schoolmarm voice, ‘Mr. Famous Male Celebrity is as good as married with children. Even if he were so inclined, which he was not, I do not help anyone cheat. It is dishonest, disrespectful, and despicable. Secondly, lying is a sin.’
‘Oh,’ Depp cut in. ‘Now you’re religious?’
She blatantly ignored him. "While I may indulge in white lies, I do not tell outright lies. Tall tales if you will.’ Here she paused as though considering her statement. ‘Well, I do tell one tall tale,’ she amended. ‘However, it involves Las Vegas, marriage, gambling, and prostitution, and when one weighs the story against the facts to be considered, it is clearly false. This story which I have told you, is entirely true.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ the actor added.
Again, to take their word for it that nothing salacious happened seems difficult, but, once more, allow me to continue.
It may seem trivial, but up to this point a voice in the back of my head had been nagging me. What kind of name is ‘Nai’? it wondered. Though Europe has many countries close together, with an equal number of languages, and though I, as a traveler, have picked up bits and pieces of many of these languages, I had never heard of such a name. And so, I posed this question to her.
A cat-who-ate-the-cream smile crossed her face, eyes lighting up with joy at the private joke. ‘It’s not,’ she answered. This was the first and only time, I later realized listening to the tape, she used a contraction. Also, much digging revealed ‘Nai’ to be a Japanese word used when describing something nonexistent.
After this little announcement she stood. ‘I thank you for the tea and your ear,’ she gave me a little bow.
She turned to Depp. ‘Thank you, Mr. Famous Male Celebrity, for the shoes. However, I find that I am absurdly uncomfortable with the thought of wearing shoes that cost more than my entire outfit and my ruined shoes. So, thank you for the thought and have a lovely life. Good-bye!’
She gave a jaunty wave and took off at a run.
Depp and I looked after her, then to one another. As one we looked beneath the table and by her seat, as perfect as any display, were the two pairs of shoes around which the story evolved.
.:_o.o_:.
Completed: Monday, August 29, 2005
Editing Completed: Wednesday, August 31, 2005
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Worth A Thousand Words