*giggles hysterically* I looked up the background of the guy who plays Norrington on IMDB.com, and apparently, his big claim to fame is that he's basically Ross in what seems to be the British equivalent of "Friends." Any Brits out there who have ever watched the show "Coupling?" I was reading the quotes from it and it just amused me to no end. ("Lap dancing is the ultimate nightmare of men. It's porn that can see you!")
I wish I could watch the BBC, but since this is America, if I want a stupid sitcom over here I have to make do with "Friends." Bleh.
Anyway, as for Norrington's first name, I'm still not sure..."Robert" sounds good, so that's a definite possibility, but I still like "Percival Ignatius." Would I really do that to the guy? I have a habit of giving my characters freaky names out of Shakespeare or Greco-Roman mythology. He's just lucky I'm not calling him Jachimo or Catullus or something. (Eh, so Catullus wasn't a myth. It's a cool name anyway.) All right, then, his name's Robert. Commodore Robert Norrington. It has a nice ring to it.
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Norrington, having barricaded himself in his room, huddled in bed until two o'clock in the afternoon, as if the blankets would shield him from the awful truth he knew he'd have to come to terms with at some point. The locked door couldn't keep the rest of the world from finding out about it...it wasn't as if he could hide it, or deny it. The fact of the matter was that he'd been having inappropriate dreams--about men, no less--and he'd enjoyed them.
What had happened to all the self-control he had built up so meticulously over the years? Even as a teenager he'd carefully isolated himself from distractions--sex, alcohol, everything else boys his age were experimenting with. Naturally, he'd been praised for it. And it had paid off, hadn't it? Captain at twenty and admiral at thirty...how many of his colleagues could claim that?
Then again, how many of his colleagues were unmarried and miserable? There were always whispers behind his back, rumors, the occasional giggle as people speculated as to *why* exactly he wasn't married. Governor Swann, bless him, helped dissuade the rumor-mongers, defended him, but what good was that if the rumors were true?
What puzzled him now was the law-vs.-conscience debate with a vengeance. It was unnatural--downright *wrong*--to feel this way about other men. The law said it, everyone knew it was so. There was no argument there, except for his conscience, which once again was protesting--it didn't *feel* wrong to be thinking of other men that way; the dream had been enjoyable, and why, after all, did everyone think it such an abomination?
Norrington pulled the covers over his head. He hated arguing with his conscience. He never won.
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Jack couldn't suppress a grin when he recognized the two guards watching the door of Norrington's office. Murtogg and Mullroy, if he recalled correctly. His first meeting with them, down at the docks on the day of Norrington's promotion, had left him with a profound sense of superiority. Getting into the building would be a piece of cake. "'Ello, there!" he called, waving cheerfully.
"It's Mr. Sparrow!" Apparently, they remembered him, and not without a certain degree of admiration. Jack beamed.
"What would two fine gentlemen like yourselves be doing here on a day like this?" he said, adopting a disarming, conversational tone.
"It's our job," said Mullroy proudly, as if being assigned to watch the door of the Commodore's office was the highest honor one could receive. Murtogg nodded happily.
"Hmm. And part of that job would be to admit visitors who request audience with the Commodore?"
The two exchanged glances. "You want to see 'im, Captain Sparrow, sir?"
"Aye, that I do. Don't suppose you could let me in, could you?"
"No, sir!" Murtogg kept a firm grip on his bayonet. "No pirates in the Commodore's office. He said so himself." Mullroy elbowed him.
"No, he didn't, thickhead. Why would he say a thing like that?"
"I'm sure he didn't mean it," said Jack. "Besides, it's a very urgent matter. I'm sure he wouldn't object to having a pirate in his office if it was really an emergency, would he? I think he'd thank you for it, when all was said and done."
Five minutes later, Jack was knocking at the door of Norrington's private chambers, grinning from ear to ear.
I wish I could watch the BBC, but since this is America, if I want a stupid sitcom over here I have to make do with "Friends." Bleh.
Anyway, as for Norrington's first name, I'm still not sure..."Robert" sounds good, so that's a definite possibility, but I still like "Percival Ignatius." Would I really do that to the guy? I have a habit of giving my characters freaky names out of Shakespeare or Greco-Roman mythology. He's just lucky I'm not calling him Jachimo or Catullus or something. (Eh, so Catullus wasn't a myth. It's a cool name anyway.) All right, then, his name's Robert. Commodore Robert Norrington. It has a nice ring to it.
--------------------------
Norrington, having barricaded himself in his room, huddled in bed until two o'clock in the afternoon, as if the blankets would shield him from the awful truth he knew he'd have to come to terms with at some point. The locked door couldn't keep the rest of the world from finding out about it...it wasn't as if he could hide it, or deny it. The fact of the matter was that he'd been having inappropriate dreams--about men, no less--and he'd enjoyed them.
What had happened to all the self-control he had built up so meticulously over the years? Even as a teenager he'd carefully isolated himself from distractions--sex, alcohol, everything else boys his age were experimenting with. Naturally, he'd been praised for it. And it had paid off, hadn't it? Captain at twenty and admiral at thirty...how many of his colleagues could claim that?
Then again, how many of his colleagues were unmarried and miserable? There were always whispers behind his back, rumors, the occasional giggle as people speculated as to *why* exactly he wasn't married. Governor Swann, bless him, helped dissuade the rumor-mongers, defended him, but what good was that if the rumors were true?
What puzzled him now was the law-vs.-conscience debate with a vengeance. It was unnatural--downright *wrong*--to feel this way about other men. The law said it, everyone knew it was so. There was no argument there, except for his conscience, which once again was protesting--it didn't *feel* wrong to be thinking of other men that way; the dream had been enjoyable, and why, after all, did everyone think it such an abomination?
Norrington pulled the covers over his head. He hated arguing with his conscience. He never won.
--------------------------
Jack couldn't suppress a grin when he recognized the two guards watching the door of Norrington's office. Murtogg and Mullroy, if he recalled correctly. His first meeting with them, down at the docks on the day of Norrington's promotion, had left him with a profound sense of superiority. Getting into the building would be a piece of cake. "'Ello, there!" he called, waving cheerfully.
"It's Mr. Sparrow!" Apparently, they remembered him, and not without a certain degree of admiration. Jack beamed.
"What would two fine gentlemen like yourselves be doing here on a day like this?" he said, adopting a disarming, conversational tone.
"It's our job," said Mullroy proudly, as if being assigned to watch the door of the Commodore's office was the highest honor one could receive. Murtogg nodded happily.
"Hmm. And part of that job would be to admit visitors who request audience with the Commodore?"
The two exchanged glances. "You want to see 'im, Captain Sparrow, sir?"
"Aye, that I do. Don't suppose you could let me in, could you?"
"No, sir!" Murtogg kept a firm grip on his bayonet. "No pirates in the Commodore's office. He said so himself." Mullroy elbowed him.
"No, he didn't, thickhead. Why would he say a thing like that?"
"I'm sure he didn't mean it," said Jack. "Besides, it's a very urgent matter. I'm sure he wouldn't object to having a pirate in his office if it was really an emergency, would he? I think he'd thank you for it, when all was said and done."
Five minutes later, Jack was knocking at the door of Norrington's private chambers, grinning from ear to ear.