Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or anything related to
it.
Summary: This is the story of how Jack became Jack. . .and why.
Chapter 1: Jack of the Sparrow
James Dawley stared at the small ship on the horizon, his heart going out to the little Princess Sarah. How he wished he could be on her, sailing over the deep blue waves, now rough, holding the life of a hundred men in her every move, now gentle, lapping against the ship softly, lulling the watch to sleep. But always powerful. Without even a thought, the ocean could crush a man and hide his body forever, or she could just as easily waft that same man to shore so he could be saved. Yes, mused James, the ocean was the most powerful thing in the world. Now there was a power he wouldn't mind bowing to. No, he wouldn't mind bowing to her at all. She did, after all, already hold his utmost respect.
James's thoughts turned sour as he rounded the corner and arrived at his destination, the office where he worked at. Now this was a power he would have loathed to acknowledge, much less grovel before. But grovel he would, if he wanted to stay anywhere near the ocean.
James walked into the building where he worked as a clerk during the summer. His heart sunk heavily further with every reluctant step hetook, his shoes clicking discordantly on the marble floor. He exchanged a few pleasantries with the receptionist on the way to his office, marvelling at the older man's unreasonable joy and positive outlook on life. Then again, mused James, the old man probably didn't have to deal constantly with his father's harsh, undisguised disapproval. James shuddered at the thought of his father, then squared his shoulders and walked on as he noticed some people watching him oddly. It would not do for the eldest son of Lord Paul Dawley to be seen in such a black mood, he thought with chagrin. Whatever would the people say?
James finally reached his personal office and stepped inside. He looked around it meticulously, honestly surprised that his father was not in attendance. Young James quite expected his father to walk in any second and express his heartfelt disappointment and disapproval at his son's successive tardiness and blatant disreguard for the sacred rules...& etc. This encounter happened almost every day, and it often left James feeling sick and exhausted. How many more days would he have to endure of this? The same routine, day after day, with nothing to alleviate the boredom, nothing to shock him awake from this dulled state of complacency. James sighed and looked at the stack of papers in front of him. He had much work to do, and he might as well get started. There was no sense in musing over something he couldn't change. ~*~*~
James yawned and stood up, slowly stretching his arms out. He noticed the hour was late and grimaced. He was beginning to become as attached to his work as his father was. He walked back home slowly that night, reluctant to reenter the oppressive atmosphere that perpetually haunted the Dawley mansion.
The large clock in the hallway was ringing out the ninth hour when James finally arreved at his home. He was cornered in the hallway by a family servant who removed James's had and coat and informed James of his mother's wish to dine with him that night. James laughed at the servant's surprised face when James waved him away, strolling leisurely up the stairs to his room. He slowly changed and refreshed himself, sitting in front of the fire for a while to contemplate the day's happenins-or lack of.
When he decided his mother had waited long enough, James strolled back downstairs at a snail's pace, grimacing when he heard the distant strains of a cello coming from his mother's sitting room. While Augusta Dawley "picked" at the cello every so often, she often said that to be obsessively devoted to something was...
"...a bit unhealthy, Sarah dear. As I often tell dear James, an obsession with anything is the last thing I could be convicted of." James's mother looked up as he entered, a fake smile plastered on her face. "James, darling, how nice of you to join us. I was just about to send Sarah to see if you'd fallen asleep from exhaustion. I do declare, James, you work far too hard. A young man like you shouldn't spend so much time slaving in his father's office, he should be out courting eligible young ladies. Now tell me, James, how is that nice young girl you saw the other day? Anabelle, I believe her name was."
James spent the rest of the evening evading his mother's pointed queries. Dinner with his mother was just another ritual for James, another obstacle that guarded his path from freedom and independence. Three days a week he would dine with his fragile, selfish mother, and three days a week his mother would regale him with stories of fragile, selfish English girls that James should be interested in. All of the girls were sappy, superficial blonde girls, the daughters of the English rich and noble. The only worst thing than talking to them for long amounts of time was having to talk to his mother about them for long amounts of time. James leaned his head back and mentally sighed. He was sick of all these rituals. ~*~*~
James walked on the wooden dock and let the wind whip his hair across his face. He had untied his queue so his hair could be free, at least for a little while. He wondered if, maybe, one day he would be able to untie his hair and let the wind play with it while he stood at the wheel of his ship, a successful merchant. It would be heaven on earth if he could. . .for it would mean that he would finally be free, and he would finally live on the sea. He would be able to hear the waves lapping against the side of a ship, his ship, as soon as he got up in the morning. The sounds of the ocean would lull him to sleep, a soothing lullaby to his ears. Perhaps he would even by then have found a woman, an intelligent woman, willing to spend her life with him on the sea. And every day, after retiring to his quarters, he whisper in her ear and tell her what the ocean felt.
James pulled himself out of the warm reverie with a snap, silently berating himself for wasting so much time on a useless daydream. He would be late again this morning, and his father would no doubt have something to say about it. He turned around quickly with every intention of going to work, only to stop when he saw a girl walking towards him, trying to catch her loose pet sparrow. James stooped, grabbed the sparrow, and whirled around to give it to the girl...only to bump into her with his arm.
"Oh sir! You quite startled me!" exclaimed the girl sharply.
James stopped in the middle of a muttered apology when he looked up at the young woman in front of him. Brown-haired, brown-eyed, and modestly attired in a trim red dress, she was at once the picture of propriety and yet the most beautiful creature Jack had ever seen. He caught himself staring at her and quickly bent to pick up her parasol, which she had dropped when he had walked into her. He delivered it to her with a flourish, causing her to laugh and introduce herself as Mary Elizabeth Browning, a name James had often heard on his mother's lips at dinnertime.
"And what might your name be, sir? No wait, let me guess. You must be James! Mr. Dawley's son! Your mother was kind enough to invite us over for supper next Friday. I've heard so much about you!" Mary looked up at him with adoring eyes, and smiled when James offered to escort her back to her house.
"I would be much obliged. Oh, and thank you so much for catching my sparrow. It was most kind of you, Jack. You don't mind if I call you Jack, do you?"
James told her that he did not mind it at all. After all, who could deny anything to a woman so charming as she?
Mary giggled and grabbed his arm with one hand, holding her pet sparrow in the other. "Good! Then you shall be Jack Dawley, or, rather. . . you shall be my Jack of the Sparrow."
Summary: This is the story of how Jack became Jack. . .and why.
Chapter 1: Jack of the Sparrow
James Dawley stared at the small ship on the horizon, his heart going out to the little Princess Sarah. How he wished he could be on her, sailing over the deep blue waves, now rough, holding the life of a hundred men in her every move, now gentle, lapping against the ship softly, lulling the watch to sleep. But always powerful. Without even a thought, the ocean could crush a man and hide his body forever, or she could just as easily waft that same man to shore so he could be saved. Yes, mused James, the ocean was the most powerful thing in the world. Now there was a power he wouldn't mind bowing to. No, he wouldn't mind bowing to her at all. She did, after all, already hold his utmost respect.
James's thoughts turned sour as he rounded the corner and arrived at his destination, the office where he worked at. Now this was a power he would have loathed to acknowledge, much less grovel before. But grovel he would, if he wanted to stay anywhere near the ocean.
James walked into the building where he worked as a clerk during the summer. His heart sunk heavily further with every reluctant step hetook, his shoes clicking discordantly on the marble floor. He exchanged a few pleasantries with the receptionist on the way to his office, marvelling at the older man's unreasonable joy and positive outlook on life. Then again, mused James, the old man probably didn't have to deal constantly with his father's harsh, undisguised disapproval. James shuddered at the thought of his father, then squared his shoulders and walked on as he noticed some people watching him oddly. It would not do for the eldest son of Lord Paul Dawley to be seen in such a black mood, he thought with chagrin. Whatever would the people say?
James finally reached his personal office and stepped inside. He looked around it meticulously, honestly surprised that his father was not in attendance. Young James quite expected his father to walk in any second and express his heartfelt disappointment and disapproval at his son's successive tardiness and blatant disreguard for the sacred rules...& etc. This encounter happened almost every day, and it often left James feeling sick and exhausted. How many more days would he have to endure of this? The same routine, day after day, with nothing to alleviate the boredom, nothing to shock him awake from this dulled state of complacency. James sighed and looked at the stack of papers in front of him. He had much work to do, and he might as well get started. There was no sense in musing over something he couldn't change. ~*~*~
James yawned and stood up, slowly stretching his arms out. He noticed the hour was late and grimaced. He was beginning to become as attached to his work as his father was. He walked back home slowly that night, reluctant to reenter the oppressive atmosphere that perpetually haunted the Dawley mansion.
The large clock in the hallway was ringing out the ninth hour when James finally arreved at his home. He was cornered in the hallway by a family servant who removed James's had and coat and informed James of his mother's wish to dine with him that night. James laughed at the servant's surprised face when James waved him away, strolling leisurely up the stairs to his room. He slowly changed and refreshed himself, sitting in front of the fire for a while to contemplate the day's happenins-or lack of.
When he decided his mother had waited long enough, James strolled back downstairs at a snail's pace, grimacing when he heard the distant strains of a cello coming from his mother's sitting room. While Augusta Dawley "picked" at the cello every so often, she often said that to be obsessively devoted to something was...
"...a bit unhealthy, Sarah dear. As I often tell dear James, an obsession with anything is the last thing I could be convicted of." James's mother looked up as he entered, a fake smile plastered on her face. "James, darling, how nice of you to join us. I was just about to send Sarah to see if you'd fallen asleep from exhaustion. I do declare, James, you work far too hard. A young man like you shouldn't spend so much time slaving in his father's office, he should be out courting eligible young ladies. Now tell me, James, how is that nice young girl you saw the other day? Anabelle, I believe her name was."
James spent the rest of the evening evading his mother's pointed queries. Dinner with his mother was just another ritual for James, another obstacle that guarded his path from freedom and independence. Three days a week he would dine with his fragile, selfish mother, and three days a week his mother would regale him with stories of fragile, selfish English girls that James should be interested in. All of the girls were sappy, superficial blonde girls, the daughters of the English rich and noble. The only worst thing than talking to them for long amounts of time was having to talk to his mother about them for long amounts of time. James leaned his head back and mentally sighed. He was sick of all these rituals. ~*~*~
James walked on the wooden dock and let the wind whip his hair across his face. He had untied his queue so his hair could be free, at least for a little while. He wondered if, maybe, one day he would be able to untie his hair and let the wind play with it while he stood at the wheel of his ship, a successful merchant. It would be heaven on earth if he could. . .for it would mean that he would finally be free, and he would finally live on the sea. He would be able to hear the waves lapping against the side of a ship, his ship, as soon as he got up in the morning. The sounds of the ocean would lull him to sleep, a soothing lullaby to his ears. Perhaps he would even by then have found a woman, an intelligent woman, willing to spend her life with him on the sea. And every day, after retiring to his quarters, he whisper in her ear and tell her what the ocean felt.
James pulled himself out of the warm reverie with a snap, silently berating himself for wasting so much time on a useless daydream. He would be late again this morning, and his father would no doubt have something to say about it. He turned around quickly with every intention of going to work, only to stop when he saw a girl walking towards him, trying to catch her loose pet sparrow. James stooped, grabbed the sparrow, and whirled around to give it to the girl...only to bump into her with his arm.
"Oh sir! You quite startled me!" exclaimed the girl sharply.
James stopped in the middle of a muttered apology when he looked up at the young woman in front of him. Brown-haired, brown-eyed, and modestly attired in a trim red dress, she was at once the picture of propriety and yet the most beautiful creature Jack had ever seen. He caught himself staring at her and quickly bent to pick up her parasol, which she had dropped when he had walked into her. He delivered it to her with a flourish, causing her to laugh and introduce herself as Mary Elizabeth Browning, a name James had often heard on his mother's lips at dinnertime.
"And what might your name be, sir? No wait, let me guess. You must be James! Mr. Dawley's son! Your mother was kind enough to invite us over for supper next Friday. I've heard so much about you!" Mary looked up at him with adoring eyes, and smiled when James offered to escort her back to her house.
"I would be much obliged. Oh, and thank you so much for catching my sparrow. It was most kind of you, Jack. You don't mind if I call you Jack, do you?"
James told her that he did not mind it at all. After all, who could deny anything to a woman so charming as she?
Mary giggled and grabbed his arm with one hand, holding her pet sparrow in the other. "Good! Then you shall be Jack Dawley, or, rather. . . you shall be my Jack of the Sparrow."