James Norrington was an early riser. In the calm pre-dawn mornings he would have a nice leisurely cup of tea and read a bit of whatever novel had caught his interest. He would still have a couple of hours before he had to report to the fort. The sunrise was especially spectacular in Port Royal, and had James been any sort of artist, he would have painted canvas upon canvas on just the morning sky alone. Even with his mediocre artistic capabilities there existed a portfolio full of his amateur attempts at capturing the dawn, hidden underneath the loose floorboard in his office.
Armand Gillette liked to sleep in for as long as he could. To him, the end of the day was infinitely more interesting than the start. The buzz that rose from the streets as tavern patrons crowded less than spectacular establishments; along with the lanterns illuminating the dusk spoke of life and vitality. The fiery sunsets, the gold tinted clouds, even the dark blue waves, everything seemed to glow. He had tried to put emotion to paper, hoping that poetry would magically come together if he wrote in French. Such trifles were stored between the less interesting pages of his Bible, something that none of his fellow officers would ever disturb.
Cutler Beckett found sleep elusive. He felt most comfortable in the dead of night, when everyone had finally succumbed to Morpheus. The silence pressed down upon him from all sides, and the stillness dared him to cause a disturbance. It was when he would walk outside and star up into the night sky for hours. He could name every constellation and recite the myth behind it, no matter where he was in the world. Cutler had no artistic designs, but was a secret student of Astronomy. The cool, precise numbers and calculations kept his mind busy, unable to wander to more unpleasant thoughts.
Perhaps it was because of these differences, rather than in spite of them, that the three men were drawn to each other. Together they were whole.
