Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all of its foxy wonders are in the very capable hands of Disney, although if I had the cash and rugged good looks, I could very well consider acting for Pirates 4….:D
Welcome Home:
Chapter One: Holy Mackerel!
A lone, bedraggled figure on the other side of the field motioned to me. Practice had been dismissed; there was no one there but me. It was late—not in the season but in the night, and the rain coursed down in torrents. Marching band took prisoners, and how it relished its steady early-season summer torture. I hung my trumpet to my side and ambled slowly toward the…person? Yes. Man. Unaware of much going on, I welcomed the feeling of his jacket over my shoulders, even though it did induce a bit of guilt—I could feel that the man was colder than I was. Normally, I don't often do these sorts of things, but call it a nudge, a nudge from the Mary Sue Goddess, this guy needed my help.
No man is an island, but I'm definitely a peninsula. I'm an orphan living with my sister who's always at work or at class. It seems, this fellow's isthmus was shakier even than mine…
"Come with me," I said groggily, looking up to a face I couldn't quite see. I took him to my sister's car, a silver and primer-black Pontiac. He mumbled something about horses or a lack thereof as I tucked him into the car and buckled his seatbelt. The homeless shelter would know what to do. My trumpet went into its gig bag in the back seat. I climbed into the driver's seat. By the domelight, I learned why his coat was so brocadey, why his voice was so familiar, and why he had been concerned by a lack of horses in front of the Pontiac. I turned on the ignition and tucked a lock of soggy, brown hair out of the owner's green, slightly drunken eyes. He didn't object.
"A very strange turn of events, Admiral?" I asked.
"I'd often heard of valkyries taking people who had died in combat to Valhalla, but you are, no offense, no valkyrie, and this is no part of the afterlife I've ever heard of."
Checking my recollection of The Kalevala, (good read, lot of Nordic mythology.) I replied. "You're still in Midgard, about 300-plus years in the future, and about a thousand miles north of your home. The colonies you knew so well, nigh on all of them, are their own countries, and you, my friend, are as far from any sort of Navy establishment as ever you could be."
Admiral James Norrington looked perplexed, then relieved. "No pirates, then?"
"We get the odd report, but largely no. No pirates."
"Where are we going?"
"My house. I'm not just going to leave a disoriented English gentleman at a homeless shelter in Blackwater Hills, Ohio."
"Well, then, I believe thanks are in order, Miss…."
"Riordan. Carmen Riordan. But to you, Carmen. We're here." I stopped the car in the carport and got out. The Admiral still struggled in his seat. I opened the door to find him wrestling with the seatbelt.
"Miss Riordan, untie me this instant!" he shouted. I pressed the release button and he tumbled into a pile of confused cuteness on the ground.
The house was dark when we entered, save for a table lamp. Pam (Short for Pamina. Opera fans. Oy vey.) was at literature classes, then working all night. Can't complain. It pays the rent—for a house she's never in, but I digress. I threw the switch to cast light on a cramped, yet clean living room-kitchen-dining room. The Admiral gazed around, astonished.
"Yes, sir, the rooms light without candles. No, I don't really know how it works. Make yourself at home whilst I get something warm for us to drink and some dry clothes." After finding some miscellaneous flannelry for myself, I braced for the difficult task of finding clothing suitable for a tall and manly admiral in a home with no men. It was a good deal that Pamina is a good deal taller and…broader…than me—her Dropkick Murphies shirt and pair of sweats looked like they would do just fine. I tossed the clothes at him as I emerged from the short hall.
"The bathroom's at the end of the hall. I know the clothes are strange, but right now, normalcy isn't so much of an option," I said brusquely.
"Thank you, Carmen. I suppose, then, you can call me James, since we're foregoing convention this evening." James slogged off to change, and I heated up some tea.
"I guess you've got a lot of questions for me," I stated, handing him a mug of Earl Grey.
James gave me a daunted deer-in-headlights stare. "I do indeed. Firstly, how did
I get here?"
"I assume you know I have no idea, but a wild stab in the dark would be a multidimensional randomizer surrounding the Dutchman, that reacted strangely to your falling in the water. Whatever. I don't know."
"Second, how do you know so much about me?"
"That, I can answer," I replied, rummaging in a cabinet for an oft-used DVD—Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. Smiling, I popped it into the player and skipped to the start of the story, where everyone looked so young. His jaw dropped. "I guess you can remember all that. Are you done, or do you want to see more?"
"I think I want to see more. How do they do that? Make the pictures light up and move?"
"Haven't the foggiest—but it did make you quite famous. Even after you lost your commission, people loved you. The loss of your powdered wig elicited gasps and shy girlish smiles from the ladies around here." I rolled my eyes. "Mind if I join you on the couch?"
"No problem at all, Carmen," he replied. I brought over a bag of chips and sat on the couch, where James had scooted over to make room.
He tensed a bit when Elizabeth came on screen. It was then that I remembered that she broke his heart.
"It's not your fault, James. She did you wrong. I wouldn't even do what she did."
Luckily, the scene changed to Jack's grand entrance and he was able to relax. I took his empty tea mug to the sink and returned to the living room, where he looked wistfully at the screen with his bag of chips. There I waited, just looking at him. No wonder he had his own fangirls and MarySues. (I am NOT!) Modern clothes suited him, if a little too short and tight. Below his angular face and well-tied ponytail, his broad shoulders and chiseled arms poked boldly through his tee-shirt. Damn, I thought. I am so lucky. After a long time, I returned to my spot on the couch. He didn't seem to mind when I snaked my hand into his contemplatively arranged fingers.
"Foregoing convention again, Carmen?" He murmured.
"Should I not?" I asked.
"No…I rather enjoy it. It just startled me a bit."
"Even in a different reality, you seem startled by very little, James. How are you managing it?"
"The technology's a little difficult to grasp, but it's not as if there's undead pirates out for my life. I enjoy challenges like this."
"Good," I mumbled. He had a certain quality that made me want to mumble. Maybe it was the eyes, or perhaps his sly little smiles, but they left me bereft of boldness.
He wasn't really watching the movie anymore. When he looked at the screen, his eyes were glazed over and he'd be watching me from the corner of his eye. I suppose for good reason; the movie was nearing its end, nearing disaster for James. I snapped the TV off with the remote that he didn't know about.
"That's all for tonight, James. It's getting late. We should both get some shuteye," I stated. My thumb sort of caressed his hand. It was sort of knobbly, like a pianist's hand. It was the one he used to hold his sword. "You can stay on this couch, and I'll get a pillow and blanket for you. I'm sure Pam won't mind." And with that I rushed off to find said comforts. My room was full of them. I settled on a black and silver afghan, and, passing over my velour Jack Sparrow pillow, I grabbed a green pillow with clover patterns on it. They would do. When I got to the sofa, he was already lying down. I reminded myself to take a trip out to the store and get some more clothes for him. He smiled when I tucked the pillow behind his head and deftly pulled his ponytail out of its ribbon.
"Sleeping with a ponytail in causes headaches," I explained, brushing his hair out of his eyes. I let the blanket fall on top of him in one flying toss, the way Pam did when I was sick last winter. Thinking my job was done, I tidied the living room and toddled sleepily to bed.