Fandom: PotC in the way in which I tend to mix it with everything else

Main character/s: James Norrington, Floyd Braecken (OC), Other Canon Characters

Rating: 17ish

Warning/s: While Jamie is my main character and he'll be present in most of the story, I'm also writing some OCs. Please bear with me. I'm one of those readers who will usually click "Next" when I read fic summaries with those two letters in them, but I promise there's nothing sueish about it. And some of you may even already know Charles? -- .net/s/3174719/1/Birthday_Wishes

I'm also trying out a very abstract, disjointed writing style. Perhaps it'll resemble the writing of "Lost" a little. I don't know, I've only seen one episode.

Alternative titles: The Infamous Floyd Braecken; In which I introduce James Lysander Norrington's post-Naval life as a former Admiral turned Rogue, borrow several years and take Liberties with Death, also in which I introduce my Elusive Original Character, Floyd Braecken and hope the make his Acquaintance properly. or "Wacked Out Norrington Fic in Which he's not OOC but has gone through a lot of development since 1723, as to be described in part 1a!"

Now, before I give too much away...

Part 1


"Everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds."

~Voltaire


Port Mahón, 1736 II

The hand on his neck was like the midday breeze that drifted in through the open stern window; gentle, warm, a fleeting touch, accompanied by the tingle of various gold and glass trinkets around its owner's wrist. James smiled and sighed contentedly as the feathery touches rippled over his adam's apple and down his chest. Without opening his eyes, he reached down to engage his fingers with the thick hair below. His other hand stroked, then gripped the purple velvet overthrow that hung messily down the bed's side.

"Ah, Kitty..."

A knock on the door startled him into proper wakefulness and groaning in irritation he pulled the bedsheet around himself as he shouted his acknowledgement at the marplot behind the door. "Kitty" was languidly propped against his side, listening and watching with her large, uncoprehending brown eyes, a soft brown hand still resting on his chest.

Jennings, the ex-marine acting as his first lieutenant - or Imate/I, James had to remind himself - entered, his slightly portly shape blocking the direct sunlight streaming in from the ship's waist, face red and sweating profusely from the dry Spanish heat.

"Very sorry to bother you, sir," Jennings said in his usual overly intonated fashion, redenning more as he saw the scantily clad lass in bed behind his captain, "but just telling you so's you know; we've Port Mahón on our starboard bow."

James nodded once. "Thank you, Jennings," he replied with a tilt of his head and raise of his eyebrows that suggested a quick dismissal of the man. Getting the hint, Jennings saluted out of habit, then shut the door behind him, having never let go of the handle once.

Grumbling with a flight of indulgent tardiness that could only be associated with sleeping very late and was impossibly in contrast with his former Navy lifestyle, James let himself sink back into his pillow before he shifted himself out of bed, pulled his breeches and shirt off a nearby chair, put them on and walked over to the window to allow his now nearly waist-long hair to blow about his face in the wind as he leaned out and breathed in the clear salty air. He could smell Europe and smiled, having been unaware until now that he had missed it.

"My best coat and my sword, Kitty," he told the heathen girl who, months after having been taken aboard the ship, knew just enough English by now to understand this sort of request. She never spoke, only watched, smiled and fluttered sultry dark eyelashes. The men called her the mermaid.

Once her quick hands had dressed him in fine blue silk and silver brocade, James Norrington, captain of His Majesty's Hired Vessel Libertine, went above deck to watch the island draw closer.