Disclaimer: Still don't own and you can't sue me cause I'm broke and not
called sue.
Ramble: Sorry, the last chapter was really short when I went to look back at it. Also, nothing much happened, scratch that nothing happened. I'll try and do something other than set a scene this time.
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The merchant ship tied up next to the dock. Its crew busied themselves sorting the sails and rigging while others began unloading the cargo. Boxes filled with bales of cloth were tossed - carefully over the side onto dry land where other sailors stacked them.
The merchant captain, a tall, broad, fierce-looking man by the name of Stenson, stood apart from the activity. He seemed unaware of it, not even giving orders to his crew. He had sent his first mate ashore as soon as the ship landed with a message, then afterwards had done nothing but stare at the mast - or rather at a bedraggled figure tied to the mast.
Captain Stenson lifted his head as he became aware of his first mate's return. The man appeared to have ran all the way there and back.
"He's on his way now sir," the mate panted. "Him and a whole load of soldiers."
"Excellent." His captain smiled a disturbing smile. "Then get our..guest on his feet and in shackles."
"Aye sir." The mate departed. Captain Stenson continued to smile at something that no-one else could understand.
Commodore Norrington was irritated. He had been having a fascinating conversation with the lovely Elizabeth Swan (not his Elizabeth, alas, but still the only woman he could ever, truly care for.) when one of his men had burst into his office - well, he had knocked first actually to be fair - and informed him that a merchant vessel had captured a pirate and he had to come down to the dock and take custody of the man.
"I'm sorry Miss Swan." He said, rising and doing his very best to bestow a dazzling smile on her. "I'm afraid duty calls."
"That's quite alright Commodore." She answered. "I think I'll go and talk to my father for a while. And maybe we can continue our conversation on your return?"
"I would like that very much." He bowed and left the room.
Elizabeth wandered off, but she didn't go and see her father. Instead, she went outside and sat on the wall overlooking the dock and reflected on her day so far. It disturbed her how well she was getting on with James Norrington these days. This wasn't the first time she had enjoyed talking to him. Of late, she almost felt happier - and more comfortable - in his company than she did when she was with Will. She put her hand to her mouth when that thought came into her head.
"No!" she said aloud "I love Will." She looked around quickly to see if anyone had overheard her talking to herself - never a good sign - but she was entirely alone.
And that was the problem. Will was neglecting her in favour of his work. Oh, she knew why, and she tried her hardest to understand, to believe as he protested that it would be better for them in the long run - but it had been two years since they had confessed their love and had exchanged that first, glorious, kiss. And that was more than time enough to wait.
She caught sight of Norrington and twelve soldiers marching down towards the dock and the large merchant ship moored there, and became aware of some sort of commotion occurring aboard the vessel. Her curiosity piqued, she stood up and, unthinkingly, followed the Commodore and his men out of the fort and to the dock.
Aboard the merchant ship all attention was on the figure lying slumped at the bottom of the main mast. He was a slight man with long dark hair, worn braided with beads. Presently the dark lines beneath his eyes weren't drawn with kohl, but rather looked like bruises. His lip was cracked and there was dried blood on his face. He seemed unnaturally pale and was unnaturally still.
"Wakey wakey Jack" a voice jeered as the first mate kicked the man in the ribs. Hard.
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow." The man replied, seemingly without waking up.
He was answered by another vicious kick and a bucket of cold, stagnant water was thrown at him.
Jack, moaned and tried to move away but the ropes held him too tightly. Slowly he became aware of the mocking voices above him. And then he became aware, once again of the pain. There didn't appear to be an inch of his body that didn't ache. To take his mind off of it he opened his eyes. Still on board that accursed ship. But not moving now. There was probably a reason for that. Docked, his dazed mind supplied. That meant something. But for the life of him he couldn't remember what.
Rough hands grabbed him and forced him to his feet. He bit his tongue hard as he felt old wounds reopen with the sudden, and unprecedented movement. He couldn't stifle a cry as he was compelled to put weight on his left leg.
"Still broken." He thought, almost surprised that this should be the case, it felt like enough time had passed for it to heal.
He didn't resist as his hands were shackled; all his energy was being spent in the simple act of staying on his feet and staying conscious. He was only dimly aware of being half marched and half dragged down the gangplank and onto the dock.
The next thing that penetrated his foggy mind was a somehow familiar voice saying his name. His proper, full name, including his rank.
He peered forward. Why was it so difficult to see these days? There were a number of soldiers in front of him. That wasn't good, but nothing had been good for some time. Wait, the commander looked familiar. Oh yes..
"Commodore Norrington." He exclaimed, with as much delight as he could muster. "So lovely to see you again. Your looking particularly well." He leaned forward, somehow managing to loosen his bemused captors and kissed the Commodore on the cheek.
He was hauled back roughly and the grip on his arms tightened until he thought he might pass out again, but the pride that was in his battered body and admittedly crazy mind compelled him to remain on his feet, talking in his own unique style of defiance for as long as possible. Which apparently wasn't very long.
"You know Commodore, I really must lodge a formal complaint. These men." He attempted a wild gesture, but forgot about the shackles and his own injuries and fell to the ground. The men holding him let him drop. "These men stole me hat." He finished, lying flat on his back looking up at the Commodore.
There was a curious expression on the man's face that Jack couldn't fully interpret. Might have been satisfaction, might have been regret. Might even have been pity. No. No-one could offer him pity. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. Pirate extraordinaire. No pity for him. No love or comfort neither. Now where had that thought come from?
As he lay, trying to figure it out he heard Norrington say
"Take him up to the brig. He'll hang in the morning."
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OK, that's it for now, go on review, you know you want to. Don't you?
Ramble: Sorry, the last chapter was really short when I went to look back at it. Also, nothing much happened, scratch that nothing happened. I'll try and do something other than set a scene this time.
****************************************************************
The merchant ship tied up next to the dock. Its crew busied themselves sorting the sails and rigging while others began unloading the cargo. Boxes filled with bales of cloth were tossed - carefully over the side onto dry land where other sailors stacked them.
The merchant captain, a tall, broad, fierce-looking man by the name of Stenson, stood apart from the activity. He seemed unaware of it, not even giving orders to his crew. He had sent his first mate ashore as soon as the ship landed with a message, then afterwards had done nothing but stare at the mast - or rather at a bedraggled figure tied to the mast.
Captain Stenson lifted his head as he became aware of his first mate's return. The man appeared to have ran all the way there and back.
"He's on his way now sir," the mate panted. "Him and a whole load of soldiers."
"Excellent." His captain smiled a disturbing smile. "Then get our..guest on his feet and in shackles."
"Aye sir." The mate departed. Captain Stenson continued to smile at something that no-one else could understand.
Commodore Norrington was irritated. He had been having a fascinating conversation with the lovely Elizabeth Swan (not his Elizabeth, alas, but still the only woman he could ever, truly care for.) when one of his men had burst into his office - well, he had knocked first actually to be fair - and informed him that a merchant vessel had captured a pirate and he had to come down to the dock and take custody of the man.
"I'm sorry Miss Swan." He said, rising and doing his very best to bestow a dazzling smile on her. "I'm afraid duty calls."
"That's quite alright Commodore." She answered. "I think I'll go and talk to my father for a while. And maybe we can continue our conversation on your return?"
"I would like that very much." He bowed and left the room.
Elizabeth wandered off, but she didn't go and see her father. Instead, she went outside and sat on the wall overlooking the dock and reflected on her day so far. It disturbed her how well she was getting on with James Norrington these days. This wasn't the first time she had enjoyed talking to him. Of late, she almost felt happier - and more comfortable - in his company than she did when she was with Will. She put her hand to her mouth when that thought came into her head.
"No!" she said aloud "I love Will." She looked around quickly to see if anyone had overheard her talking to herself - never a good sign - but she was entirely alone.
And that was the problem. Will was neglecting her in favour of his work. Oh, she knew why, and she tried her hardest to understand, to believe as he protested that it would be better for them in the long run - but it had been two years since they had confessed their love and had exchanged that first, glorious, kiss. And that was more than time enough to wait.
She caught sight of Norrington and twelve soldiers marching down towards the dock and the large merchant ship moored there, and became aware of some sort of commotion occurring aboard the vessel. Her curiosity piqued, she stood up and, unthinkingly, followed the Commodore and his men out of the fort and to the dock.
Aboard the merchant ship all attention was on the figure lying slumped at the bottom of the main mast. He was a slight man with long dark hair, worn braided with beads. Presently the dark lines beneath his eyes weren't drawn with kohl, but rather looked like bruises. His lip was cracked and there was dried blood on his face. He seemed unnaturally pale and was unnaturally still.
"Wakey wakey Jack" a voice jeered as the first mate kicked the man in the ribs. Hard.
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow." The man replied, seemingly without waking up.
He was answered by another vicious kick and a bucket of cold, stagnant water was thrown at him.
Jack, moaned and tried to move away but the ropes held him too tightly. Slowly he became aware of the mocking voices above him. And then he became aware, once again of the pain. There didn't appear to be an inch of his body that didn't ache. To take his mind off of it he opened his eyes. Still on board that accursed ship. But not moving now. There was probably a reason for that. Docked, his dazed mind supplied. That meant something. But for the life of him he couldn't remember what.
Rough hands grabbed him and forced him to his feet. He bit his tongue hard as he felt old wounds reopen with the sudden, and unprecedented movement. He couldn't stifle a cry as he was compelled to put weight on his left leg.
"Still broken." He thought, almost surprised that this should be the case, it felt like enough time had passed for it to heal.
He didn't resist as his hands were shackled; all his energy was being spent in the simple act of staying on his feet and staying conscious. He was only dimly aware of being half marched and half dragged down the gangplank and onto the dock.
The next thing that penetrated his foggy mind was a somehow familiar voice saying his name. His proper, full name, including his rank.
He peered forward. Why was it so difficult to see these days? There were a number of soldiers in front of him. That wasn't good, but nothing had been good for some time. Wait, the commander looked familiar. Oh yes..
"Commodore Norrington." He exclaimed, with as much delight as he could muster. "So lovely to see you again. Your looking particularly well." He leaned forward, somehow managing to loosen his bemused captors and kissed the Commodore on the cheek.
He was hauled back roughly and the grip on his arms tightened until he thought he might pass out again, but the pride that was in his battered body and admittedly crazy mind compelled him to remain on his feet, talking in his own unique style of defiance for as long as possible. Which apparently wasn't very long.
"You know Commodore, I really must lodge a formal complaint. These men." He attempted a wild gesture, but forgot about the shackles and his own injuries and fell to the ground. The men holding him let him drop. "These men stole me hat." He finished, lying flat on his back looking up at the Commodore.
There was a curious expression on the man's face that Jack couldn't fully interpret. Might have been satisfaction, might have been regret. Might even have been pity. No. No-one could offer him pity. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. Pirate extraordinaire. No pity for him. No love or comfort neither. Now where had that thought come from?
As he lay, trying to figure it out he heard Norrington say
"Take him up to the brig. He'll hang in the morning."
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OK, that's it for now, go on review, you know you want to. Don't you?
