Wow! Two reviews, and the story isn't even up yet, as far as I can see! Don't know how that happened, but if it gets me reviews, I don't care. Just as long as they're either good or constructive. Pointless flames will be utterly disdained unless there is something constructive buried within them. I won't begrudge a reader the joy of flaming a fic, because I do it myself quite often, and I know it's fun. But I do make my flames constructive, tell them exactly *why* their story sucks and not just "This story is really bad! You suck! Don't ever write again!"
Ahem. At any rate, Norrington needs a first name, perhaps even a middle name, and unfortunately "Percival Ignatius" is already taken. Usually, in situations such as these, I use the actor's name, but as Norrington was played by Jack Davenport, that would have the potential to be really confusing. So, any suggestions?
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Commodore Norrington was having a decidedly pleasant dream, the like of which he hadn't had in a very long time. It was a confusing dream, to be sure; there were hands roving over his body, relaxing him to a degree he could never have achieved in waking life, and he could not see whom the hands belonged to.
He woke drenched in sweat, and he wasn't sure whether it was sweat from what he had been doing in the dream or sweat from the knowledge that he shouldn't be having dreams like that. The hands in his dream had been a man's hands, skillful ones at that, and he had enjoyed that dream far more than any dream he'd had in years. He felt unclean, uncomfortable, chilled with guilt. I need a bath, he thought vaguely. His nightshirt was sticking to him.
He dragged himself from the bed, staggered to the window and leaned heavily on the frame to get his bearings, allowing the wind from the bay to air out his damp nightshirt. The ships moored in the harbor, with their sturdy white sails, made his head spin. He closed his eyes, and the sails were tattered and black. "Good Lord," he murmured. "I need more sleep."
He collapsed back into bed, and did not sleep for the rest of the night.
**********
The black-sailed ship was floating tantalizingly close to Port Royal, close enough for any British ship to catch it, if it wanted to be caught. Jack promised them he'd only be a day or three, and set off in a rowboat.
No friendly visits to Will or Elizabeth were in order. He'd only been gone a day, after all. No, this was a business trip, a matter of public relations, as it were. He had a reputation to uphold.
He had only to wait until nightfall. There were plenty of places to hide in Port Royal, and he had all day to plan a way to get into the building he needed to infiltrate. It should, he imagined, be simple enough. British guards were all buffoons, at any rate. He could probably walk right up to them and demand a formal audience with the Commodore and they'd let him in. Smiling wryly to himself, he wondered if they knew what "parlez" meant.
Inspiration usually came to him when he was in his sarcastic moods. He knew of a perfect place to hide and plan, somewhere he'd be welcome.
Perhaps a visit to Will *was* in order, after all.
**********
Will wasn't quite as pleased to see him as Jack had thought he would be. He found himself backed up against the anvil, an irate blacksmith waving a hammer in his face. "Are you mad, Jack? The whole guard's on the lookout for you! You had the good fortune to escape and now you're coming back? If the Commodore finds you--"
"As a matter of fact," Jack said, gesturing delicately for Will to put the hammer down, "he's the very man I came to see. And you, of course, I came to see you too," he added, noticing Will's hand straying back towards the hammer. "I decided to visit with you first, and then to go find our mutual pal Norrington. I've got business...urgent business...to take care of with 'im." Urgent business, indeed. If someone doesn't pull that stick out of his arse soon, it could sprout roots and refuse to come out at all, he thought.
"Urgent business? He'll have your neck in a noose, and mine too! Have some consideration, Jack, I can't go around saving your life all the time!"
"You won't have to, mate," Jack assured him. "I just came by to thank 'im for the favors he's done us, and believe me, a 'thank you' from Captain Jack Sparrow isn't something one forgets easily, savvy? By the time I'm done with 'im, 'e won't want me dead, and that's for sure."
"Can I ask what you're planning to do with him?"
Jack grinned. "Now, that's not for your innocent young ears to hear. You get back to work, now. I'll just sit in the corner here and make my plans for tonight."
Will gave up, and put the hammer back to its proper use. "If you go and get yourself arrested again," he said, raising his voice over the blows of the hammer, "don't expect me to come and bail you out!"
"No worries, mate!" Jack leaned back against the wall. "I'll bet you two shillings Norrington'll pardon me when I'm through with him. And if he doesn't, I'll die two shillings richer."
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I'm a lass of my word. The chapter was longer, and it featured Jack. Pirateslash is fun, but commodoreslash is better!
Ave atque vale,
--Jehan's Muse
Ahem. At any rate, Norrington needs a first name, perhaps even a middle name, and unfortunately "Percival Ignatius" is already taken. Usually, in situations such as these, I use the actor's name, but as Norrington was played by Jack Davenport, that would have the potential to be really confusing. So, any suggestions?
--------------------------------------------------
Commodore Norrington was having a decidedly pleasant dream, the like of which he hadn't had in a very long time. It was a confusing dream, to be sure; there were hands roving over his body, relaxing him to a degree he could never have achieved in waking life, and he could not see whom the hands belonged to.
He woke drenched in sweat, and he wasn't sure whether it was sweat from what he had been doing in the dream or sweat from the knowledge that he shouldn't be having dreams like that. The hands in his dream had been a man's hands, skillful ones at that, and he had enjoyed that dream far more than any dream he'd had in years. He felt unclean, uncomfortable, chilled with guilt. I need a bath, he thought vaguely. His nightshirt was sticking to him.
He dragged himself from the bed, staggered to the window and leaned heavily on the frame to get his bearings, allowing the wind from the bay to air out his damp nightshirt. The ships moored in the harbor, with their sturdy white sails, made his head spin. He closed his eyes, and the sails were tattered and black. "Good Lord," he murmured. "I need more sleep."
He collapsed back into bed, and did not sleep for the rest of the night.
**********
The black-sailed ship was floating tantalizingly close to Port Royal, close enough for any British ship to catch it, if it wanted to be caught. Jack promised them he'd only be a day or three, and set off in a rowboat.
No friendly visits to Will or Elizabeth were in order. He'd only been gone a day, after all. No, this was a business trip, a matter of public relations, as it were. He had a reputation to uphold.
He had only to wait until nightfall. There were plenty of places to hide in Port Royal, and he had all day to plan a way to get into the building he needed to infiltrate. It should, he imagined, be simple enough. British guards were all buffoons, at any rate. He could probably walk right up to them and demand a formal audience with the Commodore and they'd let him in. Smiling wryly to himself, he wondered if they knew what "parlez" meant.
Inspiration usually came to him when he was in his sarcastic moods. He knew of a perfect place to hide and plan, somewhere he'd be welcome.
Perhaps a visit to Will *was* in order, after all.
**********
Will wasn't quite as pleased to see him as Jack had thought he would be. He found himself backed up against the anvil, an irate blacksmith waving a hammer in his face. "Are you mad, Jack? The whole guard's on the lookout for you! You had the good fortune to escape and now you're coming back? If the Commodore finds you--"
"As a matter of fact," Jack said, gesturing delicately for Will to put the hammer down, "he's the very man I came to see. And you, of course, I came to see you too," he added, noticing Will's hand straying back towards the hammer. "I decided to visit with you first, and then to go find our mutual pal Norrington. I've got business...urgent business...to take care of with 'im." Urgent business, indeed. If someone doesn't pull that stick out of his arse soon, it could sprout roots and refuse to come out at all, he thought.
"Urgent business? He'll have your neck in a noose, and mine too! Have some consideration, Jack, I can't go around saving your life all the time!"
"You won't have to, mate," Jack assured him. "I just came by to thank 'im for the favors he's done us, and believe me, a 'thank you' from Captain Jack Sparrow isn't something one forgets easily, savvy? By the time I'm done with 'im, 'e won't want me dead, and that's for sure."
"Can I ask what you're planning to do with him?"
Jack grinned. "Now, that's not for your innocent young ears to hear. You get back to work, now. I'll just sit in the corner here and make my plans for tonight."
Will gave up, and put the hammer back to its proper use. "If you go and get yourself arrested again," he said, raising his voice over the blows of the hammer, "don't expect me to come and bail you out!"
"No worries, mate!" Jack leaned back against the wall. "I'll bet you two shillings Norrington'll pardon me when I'm through with him. And if he doesn't, I'll die two shillings richer."
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I'm a lass of my word. The chapter was longer, and it featured Jack. Pirateslash is fun, but commodoreslash is better!
Ave atque vale,
--Jehan's Muse