Augh! I watched a bit of the movie Crybaby on television this morning (with
Johnny Depp, you know?) and I spent most of it wincing with embarrassment.
If you ever see it, you'll know why.
Anyhow, thanks ya'll for all those wonderful reviews! I -gasp- have not been flamed once, or at least not totally! Yes! A couple of you inquired about the age-thing. it is actually the point of the whole story. Or one of them at least: in the 1500's there were TONS of child brides. It's almost sickening. And I know that 300 years from then to eighteen hundred something is quite a bit, but there were still millions of illicit things going on then, think Tortuga etc, so the age thing was probably much less of a deal then than it would be now. If that still made no sense, please tell me.
****
Captain Jack Sparrow entered his cabin on muted feet in the early hours of dawn. His kohl-lined eyes were practically crossed from exhaustion; his hair in such a crazy state that if he had been feeling like his regular sarcastic self he probably would have screamed, and his limbs were so leaden that it was almost impossible to forge into his quarters without disturbing his lady company.
It had been one hell of a storm out there, he reflected dully as he yanked at his boots, which were so sodden that they had formed a strong suction to his skin and blatantly refused to come off. It had played out all night until the crashing wind and sea had finally abated; by then the entire crew had started to very strongly resemble drenched rats. Now, however, the sea had turned innocently back to its normal shade of turquoise and the sky was clear, beautifully so. He'd lashed the wheel into place -with the help of Mr. Gibbs and Ana Maria, as his strength was all but spent - and regardless of how foolish it may have been, dismissed the entire crew. Typically, Ana Maria had snapped at him and stayed on board as a watch. However, as he'd looked back going down below, the Spanish woman had fallen into a half- stupor, her mouth forming a lightly positive crescent of a smile that it never would when she was fully alert.
With a sucking noise as dull as his mind seemed to be, Jack's left boot finally released itself from his leg. Listlessly he started in on the other.
With sudden alacrity his darkened eyes snapped to the floor, and he let out a breath. She was there all right; she was fine, she was there. Narrowing his eyes reflectively, Jack wondered what it was - why on earth he was so worried about the girl - after all, that was all she was, just a girl! But he'd gone over the moon with - what had it been? Anxiety? Nervousness? - when she'd disappeared. only to find that she'd been hiding out. Honestly - he'd never met anyone as touchy as she was: if he'd known how much she'd mind about the mistress thing, then he never would have said it! That was the thing about people: when he said things that they found insensitive, they forgot that they hadn't exactly pointed out that they were sensitive in that particular area!
Jack's self-directed thoughts were interrupted by Meg stirring; she sighed briefly and brushed a hand across her face as if trying to clear it. He paused; wary, but Meg remained asleep, and Captain Jack Sparrow ceased yanking away and studied her supine form.
She was sleeping on her back in a mess of blankets, having slithered out of the tight confines of the desk's belly. Her lips were pressed together loosely, fragile eyelids closed over normally curious eyes, dark lashes shadowing a pattern across her sleep-stilled face as, loose, her tawny- golden tresses spreading out in thin layers over her shoulders and blankets.
Jack was reminded of when Meg had first come aboard - sprawled in a heap on the deck. She had had the same sheltered, almost ethereal naïveté then as she had now. one that she lost when awake, capering about with sarcastic comments always ready to shoot out like darts.
He shook himself a bit, leeched his foot out of his boot at last, and settled onto his pallet. The last thing on his mind as he closed his eyes was the picture of Meg, preserved in sleep. something that he would forget the next morning, until he chose to recall it.
**** Okay, this was a really short chapter, but it's a progressive pivoting point, I hope!? Anyway, it's there and it's staying, and I'll update more tomorrow!
Anyhow, thanks ya'll for all those wonderful reviews! I -gasp- have not been flamed once, or at least not totally! Yes! A couple of you inquired about the age-thing. it is actually the point of the whole story. Or one of them at least: in the 1500's there were TONS of child brides. It's almost sickening. And I know that 300 years from then to eighteen hundred something is quite a bit, but there were still millions of illicit things going on then, think Tortuga etc, so the age thing was probably much less of a deal then than it would be now. If that still made no sense, please tell me.
****
Captain Jack Sparrow entered his cabin on muted feet in the early hours of dawn. His kohl-lined eyes were practically crossed from exhaustion; his hair in such a crazy state that if he had been feeling like his regular sarcastic self he probably would have screamed, and his limbs were so leaden that it was almost impossible to forge into his quarters without disturbing his lady company.
It had been one hell of a storm out there, he reflected dully as he yanked at his boots, which were so sodden that they had formed a strong suction to his skin and blatantly refused to come off. It had played out all night until the crashing wind and sea had finally abated; by then the entire crew had started to very strongly resemble drenched rats. Now, however, the sea had turned innocently back to its normal shade of turquoise and the sky was clear, beautifully so. He'd lashed the wheel into place -with the help of Mr. Gibbs and Ana Maria, as his strength was all but spent - and regardless of how foolish it may have been, dismissed the entire crew. Typically, Ana Maria had snapped at him and stayed on board as a watch. However, as he'd looked back going down below, the Spanish woman had fallen into a half- stupor, her mouth forming a lightly positive crescent of a smile that it never would when she was fully alert.
With a sucking noise as dull as his mind seemed to be, Jack's left boot finally released itself from his leg. Listlessly he started in on the other.
With sudden alacrity his darkened eyes snapped to the floor, and he let out a breath. She was there all right; she was fine, she was there. Narrowing his eyes reflectively, Jack wondered what it was - why on earth he was so worried about the girl - after all, that was all she was, just a girl! But he'd gone over the moon with - what had it been? Anxiety? Nervousness? - when she'd disappeared. only to find that she'd been hiding out. Honestly - he'd never met anyone as touchy as she was: if he'd known how much she'd mind about the mistress thing, then he never would have said it! That was the thing about people: when he said things that they found insensitive, they forgot that they hadn't exactly pointed out that they were sensitive in that particular area!
Jack's self-directed thoughts were interrupted by Meg stirring; she sighed briefly and brushed a hand across her face as if trying to clear it. He paused; wary, but Meg remained asleep, and Captain Jack Sparrow ceased yanking away and studied her supine form.
She was sleeping on her back in a mess of blankets, having slithered out of the tight confines of the desk's belly. Her lips were pressed together loosely, fragile eyelids closed over normally curious eyes, dark lashes shadowing a pattern across her sleep-stilled face as, loose, her tawny- golden tresses spreading out in thin layers over her shoulders and blankets.
Jack was reminded of when Meg had first come aboard - sprawled in a heap on the deck. She had had the same sheltered, almost ethereal naïveté then as she had now. one that she lost when awake, capering about with sarcastic comments always ready to shoot out like darts.
He shook himself a bit, leeched his foot out of his boot at last, and settled onto his pallet. The last thing on his mind as he closed his eyes was the picture of Meg, preserved in sleep. something that he would forget the next morning, until he chose to recall it.
**** Okay, this was a really short chapter, but it's a progressive pivoting point, I hope!? Anyway, it's there and it's staying, and I'll update more tomorrow!