Disclaimer: I do not own Treasure Island or Muppet Treasure Island.
Note – This is a strange mishmash of the two films. There are no muppets in this, as I am a terrible writer with no variety or daring - (I find it hard to write solid drama in the company of Gonzo the whatthehell and Rizzo the Rat) so all Muppet characters are now human. Bear with me on this one. The background story is basically Muppet Treasure Island but just imagine they were all human. Thank you.
This chapter is short because it is an epilogue and offers a background for the story.
Warnings – SlASH. Loads of the stuff. The pairing is Silver/Jim, and I do believe that it is going to get a little bit graphic. (Tastefully mind, I'm not one for detail.) Also violence and maybe complex themes.
Please review if you can. ^^ This fabulous pairing gets absolutely no LOVE.
Tense changes are intentional.
Gentlemen Of Fortune
In his mind's eye, he can see him.
Seeking out the solace of the shadows, his broad, strong frame leaning against the rotting wood of his humble ship's galley. His hands, marred by toils and rough rope and cutlass, whittle away at the tough, yellow skin of a single potato. They are calloused, inured, hard hands, which still manage any task with a enviable dexterity; he handles the lame vegetable as if carving the Lord's face into gold. Dulled rays of sun cut though the creaking boards above him, basking his form in a hazy, half-lighted nonchalance. Straggles of black curls sit on his shoulders; his eyes are hooded, lazy, and burning. They are tawny eyes, deep and bemused and guarded; within their hazel rims, there are lingering specks of sea green, that flash spectacularly whenever a certain mood takes him. It is as if the ocean has imprinted her claim on him, stretching out her watery embrace within his very core, that sometimes spills into those expressive chasms. His eyebrows are arched, defined; his full, sensual mouth hidden behind a short, albeit greying, beard.
He hums an old ditty under his breath; his voice is hushed, but thick and throaty; his worn clothes dense with salt and cooking oil.
Beneath his sturdy waist, one trouser leg flaps uselessly. A crutch is propped up against the wall. The other wiry foot taps in cheery rhythm to his small tune. John Silver lifts his face, and smiles; his teeth blinding, his grin bordering on mania.
A clotted, choking mist invades the galley; consuming the form of Silver and that dratted, haunting, unnerving toothy smirk, and heaving the atmosphere until it is impregnable to the human eye. The quivering dial of a compass spasms and jerks, unsure of its bearings. Severing the heavy silence, comes a rich, soaring, crazed laugh; it swoops and crackles until it sounds like heavy, bitter sobs.
The mist dives towards him, and suffocates the air in his lungs.
James Hawkins struck his head on the empty bunk above him.
Blood mingled with his sweat.
Jim groaned from the sudden impact; despite the fleeting, yet painful distraction, the dregs of the wretched dream still tauntingly prickled the ends of his consciousness.
It took him a minute to secure his bearings.
The dismal hovel in which he was residing was his old bunk at the Admiral Benbow. Cramped and little, it was less then basic, and was hardly reasonable living quarters. Especially concerning his latest dreams, that carved out a certain deceiving scoundrel from the bitter recesses of memory...
Jim threw off his threadbare blanket; feeling the cool, banal press of the floorboards beneath his toes. The only look out the room offered was a small window; the stagnant, complete blackness lurked beneath the glass, allowing Jim to see nothing of the world outside. Since his "adventure," it seemed his very presence tainted the moon; gone were the light, airy, clear nights of his earlier years. Now, the evenings were long and dark and shrouding, and seemed to ring with his loneliness, as Jim sat and waited for his life to begin.
Four years had passed, and Jim was no longer a child by any stretch of the imagination. Eighteen years old, he had grown strong and taller; his flaxen hair thick, still cut to his neckline; his features had become less babied, more defined and masculine. His blue eyes, however, was still the colour of an early morning sky; a sweet blue that still spoke of innocence.
Captain Smollett had been impressed by that quick witted, compassionate, talented boy, and had promised to train him to become a great sailor. And a great sailor Jim was becoming; naturally gifted with navigating and strategy, he liked to believe it was the spirit of his father that inspired this mysterious skill. The sea was in his blood, and Smollett and Livesey sought to teach him as a brilliant, useful recruit who would pledge his allegiance the service of the King.
Beneath all this glory however, slivered a deadlier form of ambition. Hawkins had once been in the company of pirates; bloodthirsty, conniving, sadistic gentlemen of fortune that ransacked his trust and attempted to initiate him into their unholy ranks. The forerunner of all of this, was the forever smiling, the forever laughing, the forever gracious and charming Long John Silver, who had beamed at Hawkins as if he was some blessed protege. Hawkins, young and foolish and desperately in need of a guardian, had warmed to the charismatic rogue, who had returned almost instantly this affection with a certain (and some would say; Jim was no fool, the mutterings of Arrow and Smollett had not gone unnoticed) unnatural gusto.
He had tinkered on the abyss of a completely different world; a world of adventure, riches, blood, betrayal, and twisted brotherhood. It had been shining and soiled and bizarre, an array of forbidden fruit, but it was the sombre, hard, Christian values so present in Jim that had won out.
"Darn it, Jim...! I could never harm you. You're honest and brave and true...you didn't learn that from me."
The fatal mist of that cold night, the winking moon masking the hesitant waves in a ghostly shimmer; the figure of Long John, with despair and relief and regret clashing in his eyes...the slow slap of his oars plunging into the still ocean; the dilatory movement of the lifeboat wading further and further out until it was swallowed by the clasping, merciless embrace of the elements. The sting of tears in his eyes.
Jim sighed as he crossed the room. Dreams, or so they had become, nightmares, about what he had experienced racked his unruly mind. Especially now, as time ticked closer to his newest voyage, cruising with none other then Smollett, it was if the past was branching closer, as if in protest.
Jim Hawkins didn't belong in the prim, righteous, pious world of the god fearing sailor; and he wasn't sure he even belonged with the grim, dirty scallywags to who Silver had entertained those years ago. He found he feared purgatory more then the fiery, loose, hedonistic gates of hell or the tight throttle of heaven.
Jim closed his eyes and leant his heavy head against the glass. Its soothing chill calmed the storm inside of him.
Of course he would obey Smollett. Become a honourable sailor, maybe even a first mate like his father; marry a pretty, mild girl and have children, sons even, that he could too inspire to roam the turbulent waves and...
It had been the changing, harsh ocean that claimed his father; the unpredictable, sociopathic sea that broke his mother's heart and the freezing air of its waters that dried the tears on her cheeks and froze the blood in her veins. To think that such a thing of nature would submit to any plan was ridiculous.
Abandoning thought, Hawkins once more took to his bed. In the brightness of morning, his thoughts and emotions would once more be balanced; no more images of smirking John Silver dictating his future actions hidden behind his eyelids.
Even now, he was haunted by the pirate. Haunted by his eyes and smile and promises, and the weight of a steady hand on his shoulder.
Outside, hidden within the murk of September mist, was the outline of a broad figure. Observant eyes noted the creaking sign of the Benbow; a smirk teased a corner of a full mouth; a crutch hit the ground in a rhythmic step as the mysterious man melted into the soaking blackness of night.
In five hours, it was to be dawn.
Hopefully, I shall update soon. If you have enjoyed/hated/been mildly put out, all reviews and crit are welcomed. x