A/N Huh. I'm still writing this thing. Go figure! This time the pause was due to lack of inspiration. But after reading a lot of domestic novels I've come to realise how much more freedom I have in writing about a shipload of 17th century pirates! So, let the games begin. I'm putting most of my energies into finishing my fics this summer so I can start on some new projects. I doubt that I'll finish this one on time, but if there are more delays that would be why.
Jack Sparrow shook his head, his dark hair pricking up in wiry tuffs about his head. his hands clung to the bunk beneath him. He let out a long sigh. His friends made similar sounds from the other side of the small cabin. Tom McCory was gazing out into the corridor, while Alex Corcoran stared back at Jack.
"You ever had a beating afore, Jackie?" said Alex. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"Because you asked me about beatings," Jack shrugged painfully. Evidently he was sore.
"Do ye not hear what we say? You're to report to Mr.Playfair."
"Aye, I understand," Jack noisly prepared himself to rise, then relapsed with a huff. McCory moved to Alex's side and looked over his crossed arms at the figure on the bed.
"You still drunk?"
"Eh?"
"Are you still drunk?" demanded the man.
"No," said Jack. "Just... tired." McCory thought for a moment, then purposefully extended his arm to Jack.
"Take it," he said quietly. "Up ye get." Within a moment Jack was on his feet although he carried the weight of tiredness in his face and in his body. McCory looked him over and with his heavy hand tested the condition of his friend with a strong pat. Jack stood still, then wavered slightly. McCory sighed again.
"It won't do," he murmured. "But there's nothing to be done now. Mr.Powell's in it, he's called up Mr.Playfair last night and now with the Captain and likely the whole crew with a nose to this business it were best to have done. Still, you should be strengthened for the blows."
"I don't see how that can be managed," said Jack bleakly. "I'm just tired, that's all. And there's no way to be less tired." His friends hemed in response. "Tom, lead me to Mr.Playfair's cabin, if you please."
McCory and Alex both left the cabin, and walked in silence through the corridor with Jack following behind, until they reached a cabin quite in the midst of the crew's quarters. As they stood lined up abreast outside the door, a figure issued from inside. Grey eyes darted out at the three men, not without a certain measure of approbation. A markedly proud bearing glazed the features of the captain tonight. He had been waiting for them. Stepping aside, another figure advanced. A strong-looking man, in the tradition of natural brawn. There was muscle in his frame but not sinew. This was no bull of a man. There was a roundess about his appearance which softened the initial impression of his stocky strength. The captain nodded to the three, but looked in particular on Jack's head which was bowed somewhat.
"This is Mr.Playfair, the ship's quartermaster," said Captain Hawthorne. The man stood impassive at his side, as the three before him were unmoving. The captain lifted his hand and the man retreated into the cabin, which was well lit with lanterns. Jack followed instantly. he cringed involuntarily as he passed under the sight of the taller man. His friends waited outside. To these the captain nodded his head, and closed the door.
Within Mr.Playfair stood waiting, the wooden cane in his hand. He had already placed a table well away from the corners of the cabin to allow enough room. The captain walked to the far side, opposite from Jack. After a swift glance to the door he addressed the young sailor.
"Mr.Sparrow," he said. "You will please yourself to submit to the discipline of this man?" Jack looked doubtfuly at the floor and then up at Mr.Playfair.
"I submit to the rules of this ship, which I pledged to follow, and have now broken."
"Did you break them unwittingly?" said the Captain hastily. Jack suddenly lifted his head, daring for once to look at the man full in his face. The captain and he bore the same expression of confusion as the one tried to read the other.
"Unwittingly, sir?" said Jack. "No, that were not possible." The captain nodded.
"Quite right," he said. "So," he continued. "you would not have me believe that, for example, Mr.Powell has something to do with the business?"
Jack shook his head. The Captain frowned and touched the end of the table with his hand.
"Hands here, if you please," he said. "Feet where they are." Jack bent over in order to place his hands on the dark varnished wood. The captain stood to the side and motioned to Mr.Playfair. "Do your duty, Mr.Playfair," he said.
Outside of the cabin Mr.McCory and Alex were now standing against the bulkheads on the opposide side of the corridor.
"Should be any minute now," said Alex dismally. "I don't think Jackie's ever had a beating before." he cut his speech short at the sight of figures emerging from the darkness of the corridor. He recognised several crewmen, he knew their names but had never spoken to them for any significant length of time. They were the backbone of the crew. Among them stood the unwelcomed sight of Mr.Powell. Alex and McCory bristled visibly.
"Well, it's not before time," said Mr.Powell sternly. "I could see-"
"Yes, yes," said McCory dismissively. "We've heard it all before. Why don't you harp on something else?"
"Harp? Not I, not I certainly. I'm doing my duty to the captain, unlike some abord."
"What?" said McCory.
"Well, that Jack-ass for one," said Powell removing his pipe and laughing languidly.
"Don't laugh at your own jokes," said Alex abruptly. Mr.Powell smiled at him.
"You've a short memory, don't ye lad?" he sneered.
"And you've not got long here," said McCory hestitantly. "Keep it down, the captain's by and we don't want no trouble." The crewmen assembled began to look to eachother while Mr.Powell remained smiling at Alex.
"Aye, and how many times did I send ye to Mr.Playfair, Great Alexander? What a runt you always were, and now a lackey to this dog," he motioned to the closed door. The men in the corridor became silent for an instant, and as the voices died the snap of a cane was heard. Alex's hand shot out and scrabbled at Mr.Powell's face. The pipe was knocked from his mouth, the tobacco falling through the dark in burning dust like a meteor shower on the skin of Mr.Powell. With a clobbering fist he felled the young man. McCory was between the two men in an instant. Everything would have ended there, but Mr.Powell reached back and connected his fist with McCory's face. The taller man reeled back heavily, but managed to keep his feet. He swung himself upright, a look of shocked outrage on his face turning into fury. From the boards, Alex attempted to rise but the fight had gone out of him. The crewmen had scattered at the first blow, leaving Powell and McCory to go at it. Neither man noticed the door of the cabin snapping open explosively, and the two men issuing forth.
"What the Hell is going on?" shouted Mr.Playfair, still holding his cane aloft. Mr.Powell's eyes gleamed as he smashed his paw into McCory's face again, leaving it redded.
"Stop this at once!" the voice of the captain boomed through the confined space, but it had no effect. He stepped forward. "Mr.Powell!" The man began to laugh as he hastened his pummelling. McCory held up his battered hands trying in vain to protect his head; he would no longer strike.
"Come on!" shouted Mr.Powell.
"The man is mad," murmurred the captain to Mr.Playfair.
"Captain!" he looked down. Alex Cocoran was still crouched on the boards, a black bruise blased on his cheek. His eyes were glistening, even in the dimness of the corridor.
"Mr.Powell!" shouted the captain again. And again there was no change. In one motion he grabbed the cane from Mr.Playfair and stepped between the two men. McCory slouched to the boards behind him. Powell lunged for him, knocking the captain against the bulkhead. There was a crack as the cane flew through the air and landed on Mr.Powell's hand.
"Murderous dog!" he shouted.
"You will keep your peace, Mr.Powell!" shouted the captain, brandishing the cane. "And you will stand or, by Heaven, you'll pay for it here and now!" Once more the cane fell on the shoulder of Mr.Powell. He yealped and stood aside, panting at the bulkhead.
The captain whirled on Jack, a warning in his face changing immediately as he saw no sign of open mutiny or new violence in the young man's face. He had turned his dark eyes to McCory and Corcoran, both crouched on the boards. He looked up at the captain. Captain Hawthorne sneered and handed the cane roughly to Mr.Playfair. Then he grabbed Mr.Powell up to the elbow and hauled him into the cabin.
"Mr.Playfair!" he summoned. The man followed. "Take care of him." He closed the door, leaving the quarter master to his work. In the stillness of the corridor, the captain sighed looking at the lantern swinging with the motion of the sea. He muttered something inaudible under his breath. Then he staggered towards Mr.McCory; Leaning down towards him.
"A moment," he said to him. He then turned from him and knelt next to Corcoran. "Alex, lad," he said. "Can you rise?"
"I can rise sir," said Alex showing no sign of doing so. The captain turned his gaze on Jack.
"You will help him to his cabin, wait for me there," a twich pulled on the corner of his mouth. A grim smile was about to form itself there. He rose and swung an arm under the shoulder of McCory. He gently hauled the man to his feet and slowly guided his faltering steps down the corridor.
Jack Sparrow shook his head, his dark hair pricking up in wiry tuffs about his head. his hands clung to the bunk beneath him. He let out a long sigh. His friends made similar sounds from the other side of the small cabin. Tom McCory was gazing out into the corridor, while Alex Corcoran stared back at Jack.
"You ever had a beating afore, Jackie?" said Alex. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"Because you asked me about beatings," Jack shrugged painfully. Evidently he was sore.
"Do ye not hear what we say? You're to report to Mr.Playfair."
"Aye, I understand," Jack noisly prepared himself to rise, then relapsed with a huff. McCory moved to Alex's side and looked over his crossed arms at the figure on the bed.
"You still drunk?"
"Eh?"
"Are you still drunk?" demanded the man.
"No," said Jack. "Just... tired." McCory thought for a moment, then purposefully extended his arm to Jack.
"Take it," he said quietly. "Up ye get." Within a moment Jack was on his feet although he carried the weight of tiredness in his face and in his body. McCory looked him over and with his heavy hand tested the condition of his friend with a strong pat. Jack stood still, then wavered slightly. McCory sighed again.
"It won't do," he murmured. "But there's nothing to be done now. Mr.Powell's in it, he's called up Mr.Playfair last night and now with the Captain and likely the whole crew with a nose to this business it were best to have done. Still, you should be strengthened for the blows."
"I don't see how that can be managed," said Jack bleakly. "I'm just tired, that's all. And there's no way to be less tired." His friends hemed in response. "Tom, lead me to Mr.Playfair's cabin, if you please."
McCory and Alex both left the cabin, and walked in silence through the corridor with Jack following behind, until they reached a cabin quite in the midst of the crew's quarters. As they stood lined up abreast outside the door, a figure issued from inside. Grey eyes darted out at the three men, not without a certain measure of approbation. A markedly proud bearing glazed the features of the captain tonight. He had been waiting for them. Stepping aside, another figure advanced. A strong-looking man, in the tradition of natural brawn. There was muscle in his frame but not sinew. This was no bull of a man. There was a roundess about his appearance which softened the initial impression of his stocky strength. The captain nodded to the three, but looked in particular on Jack's head which was bowed somewhat.
"This is Mr.Playfair, the ship's quartermaster," said Captain Hawthorne. The man stood impassive at his side, as the three before him were unmoving. The captain lifted his hand and the man retreated into the cabin, which was well lit with lanterns. Jack followed instantly. he cringed involuntarily as he passed under the sight of the taller man. His friends waited outside. To these the captain nodded his head, and closed the door.
Within Mr.Playfair stood waiting, the wooden cane in his hand. He had already placed a table well away from the corners of the cabin to allow enough room. The captain walked to the far side, opposite from Jack. After a swift glance to the door he addressed the young sailor.
"Mr.Sparrow," he said. "You will please yourself to submit to the discipline of this man?" Jack looked doubtfuly at the floor and then up at Mr.Playfair.
"I submit to the rules of this ship, which I pledged to follow, and have now broken."
"Did you break them unwittingly?" said the Captain hastily. Jack suddenly lifted his head, daring for once to look at the man full in his face. The captain and he bore the same expression of confusion as the one tried to read the other.
"Unwittingly, sir?" said Jack. "No, that were not possible." The captain nodded.
"Quite right," he said. "So," he continued. "you would not have me believe that, for example, Mr.Powell has something to do with the business?"
Jack shook his head. The Captain frowned and touched the end of the table with his hand.
"Hands here, if you please," he said. "Feet where they are." Jack bent over in order to place his hands on the dark varnished wood. The captain stood to the side and motioned to Mr.Playfair. "Do your duty, Mr.Playfair," he said.
Outside of the cabin Mr.McCory and Alex were now standing against the bulkheads on the opposide side of the corridor.
"Should be any minute now," said Alex dismally. "I don't think Jackie's ever had a beating before." he cut his speech short at the sight of figures emerging from the darkness of the corridor. He recognised several crewmen, he knew their names but had never spoken to them for any significant length of time. They were the backbone of the crew. Among them stood the unwelcomed sight of Mr.Powell. Alex and McCory bristled visibly.
"Well, it's not before time," said Mr.Powell sternly. "I could see-"
"Yes, yes," said McCory dismissively. "We've heard it all before. Why don't you harp on something else?"
"Harp? Not I, not I certainly. I'm doing my duty to the captain, unlike some abord."
"What?" said McCory.
"Well, that Jack-ass for one," said Powell removing his pipe and laughing languidly.
"Don't laugh at your own jokes," said Alex abruptly. Mr.Powell smiled at him.
"You've a short memory, don't ye lad?" he sneered.
"And you've not got long here," said McCory hestitantly. "Keep it down, the captain's by and we don't want no trouble." The crewmen assembled began to look to eachother while Mr.Powell remained smiling at Alex.
"Aye, and how many times did I send ye to Mr.Playfair, Great Alexander? What a runt you always were, and now a lackey to this dog," he motioned to the closed door. The men in the corridor became silent for an instant, and as the voices died the snap of a cane was heard. Alex's hand shot out and scrabbled at Mr.Powell's face. The pipe was knocked from his mouth, the tobacco falling through the dark in burning dust like a meteor shower on the skin of Mr.Powell. With a clobbering fist he felled the young man. McCory was between the two men in an instant. Everything would have ended there, but Mr.Powell reached back and connected his fist with McCory's face. The taller man reeled back heavily, but managed to keep his feet. He swung himself upright, a look of shocked outrage on his face turning into fury. From the boards, Alex attempted to rise but the fight had gone out of him. The crewmen had scattered at the first blow, leaving Powell and McCory to go at it. Neither man noticed the door of the cabin snapping open explosively, and the two men issuing forth.
"What the Hell is going on?" shouted Mr.Playfair, still holding his cane aloft. Mr.Powell's eyes gleamed as he smashed his paw into McCory's face again, leaving it redded.
"Stop this at once!" the voice of the captain boomed through the confined space, but it had no effect. He stepped forward. "Mr.Powell!" The man began to laugh as he hastened his pummelling. McCory held up his battered hands trying in vain to protect his head; he would no longer strike.
"Come on!" shouted Mr.Powell.
"The man is mad," murmurred the captain to Mr.Playfair.
"Captain!" he looked down. Alex Cocoran was still crouched on the boards, a black bruise blased on his cheek. His eyes were glistening, even in the dimness of the corridor.
"Mr.Powell!" shouted the captain again. And again there was no change. In one motion he grabbed the cane from Mr.Playfair and stepped between the two men. McCory slouched to the boards behind him. Powell lunged for him, knocking the captain against the bulkhead. There was a crack as the cane flew through the air and landed on Mr.Powell's hand.
"Murderous dog!" he shouted.
"You will keep your peace, Mr.Powell!" shouted the captain, brandishing the cane. "And you will stand or, by Heaven, you'll pay for it here and now!" Once more the cane fell on the shoulder of Mr.Powell. He yealped and stood aside, panting at the bulkhead.
The captain whirled on Jack, a warning in his face changing immediately as he saw no sign of open mutiny or new violence in the young man's face. He had turned his dark eyes to McCory and Corcoran, both crouched on the boards. He looked up at the captain. Captain Hawthorne sneered and handed the cane roughly to Mr.Playfair. Then he grabbed Mr.Powell up to the elbow and hauled him into the cabin.
"Mr.Playfair!" he summoned. The man followed. "Take care of him." He closed the door, leaving the quarter master to his work. In the stillness of the corridor, the captain sighed looking at the lantern swinging with the motion of the sea. He muttered something inaudible under his breath. Then he staggered towards Mr.McCory; Leaning down towards him.
"A moment," he said to him. He then turned from him and knelt next to Corcoran. "Alex, lad," he said. "Can you rise?"
"I can rise sir," said Alex showing no sign of doing so. The captain turned his gaze on Jack.
"You will help him to his cabin, wait for me there," a twich pulled on the corner of his mouth. A grim smile was about to form itself there. He rose and swung an arm under the shoulder of McCory. He gently hauled the man to his feet and slowly guided his faltering steps down the corridor.