Title: Amusement
Genre: General/Romance
Couple: Jack+Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth
Summary: In the aftermath, Jack reflects on the power of women and things forgotten.
Notes: More of a friendship fic than a romance, truthfully, but what the hell - I might like blacksmiths and governor's daughters together, but I also like pirates and governor's daughters. (Because, really, if people can like the pirate and blacksmith in romantic clinches, why can't I have my Jack/Elizabeth?) OOC is possible.
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He was tired; perhaps, even, exhausted in the weary manner of one who could find the strength to continue moving and breathing only, but he refused to acknowledge such. To admit weakness even to oneself was dangerous, as he had long known. And still he was chewing thoughtfully at his tongue, as he always did when tired and thinking.
Crimson Christ of Mary's blood; he stopped his jaw and rubbing at his chin, palm scraping along the whiskers, watched the dark waters without truly seeing. Head's all in a cloud, Sparrow, he thought with a sly grin at himself. Next you know, you'll be walkin' about thinking of love stories. Christ knew they were getting enough of that with Will and his reclaimed lady-lost.
Elizabeth, was it? His fingers touched the whiskers along his upper lip, sliding along it as he considered darkly this particular puzzle. He supposed it was the fault of whores that he was uncomfortable - or, rather, cynically amused - by her strangely ferocious behavior; whores were submissive, flattering, and pleasing to touch and spend time however briefly, and lustily, with. She - Christ, he thought with a sour purse of his lips, tell him how Will managed to love even her fire - was far from any of that, fierce and tiger-like and so far from meek as to squash most traits of femininity society demanded.
Perhaps she was an outcast as well. "Join the crew, then, lass," he muttered to the waves, stilling his hand over his mouth, fingertips to lip, palm cupping chin in a smooth, practiced fashion. Will was exiled by manner of rank, lowly and peasantry alike; Jack, by way of piracy, was running a fine line between damnation and hatred from the Church, the people, and most likely God Himself. He found a sinister humor in that thought, his lips quirking up dangerously in the pale, waning moonlight.
He had not spent much time with the daughters of governors before, as he suspected - rather, intuitively knew and grinned at the tracing thought - it would lead to certain death. And if not that, certainly castration; with the peculiar independence Elizabeth had displayed, he thought it likely she would perform the marking deed herself should it be called for at any time. Which meant, of course, he was not to attempt any sort of "fooling about" with the dark-haired spitfire.
The amusement in that resulted in him sneering a grin into his palm and stifling a most un-commanding snort with said palm.
Yes, he was attracted to her - she was opaquely beautiful, with the rough sense of one who simply does not give a damn if they are fair or hideous to the sight - and, yes, it was most likely due to a mixture of reasons. Close quarters, for one; even in the most spacious of ships, rooms were cramped and holds were filled, so one either became quite intimate with his or her fellows, or turned to murder and mutiny. Continuous brushing of arms with a woman was enough to lead even the most chaste of men to notice the swell of breasts and courteous nods. And, of course, as he assumed God was shaking a finger admonishingly at him, it had been undeservingly long since the last brothel had been visited. He was merely pining for the affections of a whore, and that, then, was that.
"That," however, did not keep her from being confusing as hell. God send his blessing to Will when the lad had his moon-witch wed and trundled in bed with a child weaning and another one due; Jack was content with his timid whores and was nigh fixed trying to find how best to speak to her. He was a confident man, though, and one dedicated to his sleek, smirking showmanship. If he grew a trifle short in his temper near her - Jesus Christ in heaven, with his damned saints and Blessed Father, and whatthehell-have-you; if she tried to challenge his authority as a seaman one more time, he was going to beat her with the flat of a blade - or if he once considered both the benefits and wrongs in advancing on her, she, much less Will, would not know.
You ought to have been an actor, my good cap'n, he thought with a half-smirk.
Lowering his hand, he - perhaps blasphemously, he conceded privately - prayed for whores, and prepared to fight the lion; Will was practically letting that damn moon-witch of his have run of the entire craft, and it would take one hell of a miracle for Captain Sparrow to abide that.
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Feedback: It's how I learn how bad I write.
Disclaimer: Jack, Will, and Elizabeth are not mine. If they were - eh, I dunno. Insert standard threat.
Genre: General/Romance
Couple: Jack+Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth
Summary: In the aftermath, Jack reflects on the power of women and things forgotten.
Notes: More of a friendship fic than a romance, truthfully, but what the hell - I might like blacksmiths and governor's daughters together, but I also like pirates and governor's daughters. (Because, really, if people can like the pirate and blacksmith in romantic clinches, why can't I have my Jack/Elizabeth?) OOC is possible.
--
--
He was tired; perhaps, even, exhausted in the weary manner of one who could find the strength to continue moving and breathing only, but he refused to acknowledge such. To admit weakness even to oneself was dangerous, as he had long known. And still he was chewing thoughtfully at his tongue, as he always did when tired and thinking.
Crimson Christ of Mary's blood; he stopped his jaw and rubbing at his chin, palm scraping along the whiskers, watched the dark waters without truly seeing. Head's all in a cloud, Sparrow, he thought with a sly grin at himself. Next you know, you'll be walkin' about thinking of love stories. Christ knew they were getting enough of that with Will and his reclaimed lady-lost.
Elizabeth, was it? His fingers touched the whiskers along his upper lip, sliding along it as he considered darkly this particular puzzle. He supposed it was the fault of whores that he was uncomfortable - or, rather, cynically amused - by her strangely ferocious behavior; whores were submissive, flattering, and pleasing to touch and spend time however briefly, and lustily, with. She - Christ, he thought with a sour purse of his lips, tell him how Will managed to love even her fire - was far from any of that, fierce and tiger-like and so far from meek as to squash most traits of femininity society demanded.
Perhaps she was an outcast as well. "Join the crew, then, lass," he muttered to the waves, stilling his hand over his mouth, fingertips to lip, palm cupping chin in a smooth, practiced fashion. Will was exiled by manner of rank, lowly and peasantry alike; Jack, by way of piracy, was running a fine line between damnation and hatred from the Church, the people, and most likely God Himself. He found a sinister humor in that thought, his lips quirking up dangerously in the pale, waning moonlight.
He had not spent much time with the daughters of governors before, as he suspected - rather, intuitively knew and grinned at the tracing thought - it would lead to certain death. And if not that, certainly castration; with the peculiar independence Elizabeth had displayed, he thought it likely she would perform the marking deed herself should it be called for at any time. Which meant, of course, he was not to attempt any sort of "fooling about" with the dark-haired spitfire.
The amusement in that resulted in him sneering a grin into his palm and stifling a most un-commanding snort with said palm.
Yes, he was attracted to her - she was opaquely beautiful, with the rough sense of one who simply does not give a damn if they are fair or hideous to the sight - and, yes, it was most likely due to a mixture of reasons. Close quarters, for one; even in the most spacious of ships, rooms were cramped and holds were filled, so one either became quite intimate with his or her fellows, or turned to murder and mutiny. Continuous brushing of arms with a woman was enough to lead even the most chaste of men to notice the swell of breasts and courteous nods. And, of course, as he assumed God was shaking a finger admonishingly at him, it had been undeservingly long since the last brothel had been visited. He was merely pining for the affections of a whore, and that, then, was that.
"That," however, did not keep her from being confusing as hell. God send his blessing to Will when the lad had his moon-witch wed and trundled in bed with a child weaning and another one due; Jack was content with his timid whores and was nigh fixed trying to find how best to speak to her. He was a confident man, though, and one dedicated to his sleek, smirking showmanship. If he grew a trifle short in his temper near her - Jesus Christ in heaven, with his damned saints and Blessed Father, and whatthehell-have-you; if she tried to challenge his authority as a seaman one more time, he was going to beat her with the flat of a blade - or if he once considered both the benefits and wrongs in advancing on her, she, much less Will, would not know.
You ought to have been an actor, my good cap'n, he thought with a half-smirk.
Lowering his hand, he - perhaps blasphemously, he conceded privately - prayed for whores, and prepared to fight the lion; Will was practically letting that damn moon-witch of his have run of the entire craft, and it would take one hell of a miracle for Captain Sparrow to abide that.
--
--
Feedback: It's how I learn how bad I write.
Disclaimer: Jack, Will, and Elizabeth are not mine. If they were - eh, I dunno. Insert standard threat.