Norrington was relieved to be back aboard the HMS Dauntless, the fair
maiden's rudder turned to the vanishing port in the distance. He knew
Elizabeth was still back there, sitting somewhere and still pondering about
his absurd actions. Never would he be able to forgive himself for doing
that, and he felt that Elizabeth would feel the same. A hand was laid upon
the ship's railing for support, top row of teeth biting down on his tender,
lower lip. He remained aside from the others, keeping his distance only
because of his distraction. The crew, of course, found this odd, but their
perspective of him had changed as well. The crew simply continues toiling
and working at their duties, leaving the Commodore to think whatever he
pleased.
Norrington wasn't bothered by this in the least, of course, that was because he hardly noticed. When a brief period of consciousness came to him from the deep thought, he caught a few glances from the crew. A stenciled brow was lifted, standing erect from his leaning position. His arms crossed curtly behind his back in a military fashion, head tilted up somewhat towards the Heaven's.
"On with your duties, lads. No time for dallying, must get those imports within the fortnight."
The men glanced at each other and nodded. Once their backs were turned, Norrington could still distinguish their mumbles, curses and stifled laughs by the very movements of their abdomen and heads. He shook his own head at the sailors' intolerable arrogance and turned on his heel to look out to the sea. A heavy sigh was given off as he placed both hands upon the railing, leaning forward and shutting his eyes tightly. The faint clattering of the dinner bell was sounded, as well as the men's excited footsteps towards the galley, but Norrington paid no heed to it. His head dipped down slightly, with another heaved sigh from his chest. The ocean. The ocean did strange things to a man. Mr. Sparrow was one instance he remembered distinctly, for he was quite odd. The whole situation of those days was odd, true enough, but for some reason, Jack was the only memory that actually stuck.
Slowly, his lids opened, cerulean optics wandering off and around the seemingly endless blue oblivion. There was a lot to think about right now, and the fresh air was releasing all these thoughts, rather than keeping them bottled up. Perhaps this trip was good for him. The ocean was so captivating, it made one think about-
Norrington's thoughts were interrupted by a darkened figure spotted in the water. He squinted his eyes slightly, leaning closer to make the figure out, but he had no such luck. Briskly, he made his way across the deck and returned to the railing with a bronze telescope. The instrument was held firmly by his eye, aimed towards the figure. He could scarcely make out a soaked man, tangle of black locks over his head. The telescope was cast aside as he opened his mouth to cry out for an assist, but something stopped him. Quickly, he slipped his jacket and powdered wig off as well as various, pocketed instruments and pistons. His boots clacked softly against the wooden floor, though his movements were stealthy and graceful.
A rope was seized from its hooked position on the side of the cabin, and bound tightly around his waist. He tugged at it once more to make sure it was secured and nodded, satisfied. He had to be quicker, the currents of the ocean carrying the man past the ship every moment. Once he secured the other end of the rope on deck, he braced himself, teetering on the edge of the railing. Suddenly, the drop seemed farther. A brief shake of his head silenced his thoughts and he dove off, hitting the warm water.
Once he broke to the surface, Norrington sputtered slightly, shaking out his dark, brown locks that had fallen out of their leather-bound strap. He squinted, gaze drifting around for any sign of the man. The salt water stung his eyes, as did the blasts of wind. He coughed out again and nearly died of fright right there as he felt something griping for his side. A choked sputter was all that came out, rather than a scream, before he made out the figure clinging to him. It was the drowning man.or rather.Jack Sparrow. He "yelled" out again and shoved Jack away slightly, moving back a bit himself. He could only stare as the weary Jack started to drift off again.
A few deep breaths were taken, followed by intervals of spitting out seawater from his mouth. The waves kept jumping up and lapping his face, the same ones starting to brush Jack to-and-fro from the open sea to the Dauntless. Suddenly, a realization donned upon him. Jack was a friend of the Turners, new and old. Elizabeth would have to be grateful in some way if he brought Jack back to the Port, especially in this condition. Perhaps he owed it to her, but nonetheless he would see this gratefulness as a sort of, forgiveness. He didn't have to be with her, he just didn't want any bad terms erupting between them. Quickly, he began to dogpaddle over to the weary pirate, taking him around the waist. It was a surprisingly secure hold, very comforting and warm in the Commodore's views. Slowly, he shook off his temporary shock and fought back to the ship, clambering up the side of it. It was hard with another man, true enough, but Jack wasn't a very big man.
Once he hoisted Jack onto deck, the Commodore sank over the railing and collapsed beside the pirate. Both of their breaths served as a sort of rhythm together, Jack's being faint and occasional, the Commodore's being labored and rapid. Norrington urged himself to get up, if the other crewmembers saw Jack they would surely report it and ruin all of his plans. He took Jack's limp arm and guided him to his feet, ushering him quickly towards the cabin and giving him a quick push in. He saw the pirate stumble awkwardly, catching his balance on a dresser and flashing him a strange, confused look just before he shut the door. Norrington took a few more breaths before his breathing continued at a normal rate, though shakily. He was assisting a pirate. Had he really sank to this level? He stayed silent for a long while, barely even breathing in that time. Finally, he gave a dismissive shake of his head, moving towards the side of the ship to collect his effects. He had to clean up, and quickly. Suspicious minds were not a good thing on a ship. His hand returned to the cabin door's latch and he slid inside.
~*~Yeah, I know, not much Jack action.sorry about that, my dear Sparrow fans =\ Next chapter will be from Jack's point of view.kind of, all right? =P I like to please my fans. Norrington went a little out of character too...urghh. I've been having a writer's block, forgive me =( Next chapter will be better, out sometime late this week! E-mail me for any suggestions, Anubis2006@cox.net ~*~
Norrington wasn't bothered by this in the least, of course, that was because he hardly noticed. When a brief period of consciousness came to him from the deep thought, he caught a few glances from the crew. A stenciled brow was lifted, standing erect from his leaning position. His arms crossed curtly behind his back in a military fashion, head tilted up somewhat towards the Heaven's.
"On with your duties, lads. No time for dallying, must get those imports within the fortnight."
The men glanced at each other and nodded. Once their backs were turned, Norrington could still distinguish their mumbles, curses and stifled laughs by the very movements of their abdomen and heads. He shook his own head at the sailors' intolerable arrogance and turned on his heel to look out to the sea. A heavy sigh was given off as he placed both hands upon the railing, leaning forward and shutting his eyes tightly. The faint clattering of the dinner bell was sounded, as well as the men's excited footsteps towards the galley, but Norrington paid no heed to it. His head dipped down slightly, with another heaved sigh from his chest. The ocean. The ocean did strange things to a man. Mr. Sparrow was one instance he remembered distinctly, for he was quite odd. The whole situation of those days was odd, true enough, but for some reason, Jack was the only memory that actually stuck.
Slowly, his lids opened, cerulean optics wandering off and around the seemingly endless blue oblivion. There was a lot to think about right now, and the fresh air was releasing all these thoughts, rather than keeping them bottled up. Perhaps this trip was good for him. The ocean was so captivating, it made one think about-
Norrington's thoughts were interrupted by a darkened figure spotted in the water. He squinted his eyes slightly, leaning closer to make the figure out, but he had no such luck. Briskly, he made his way across the deck and returned to the railing with a bronze telescope. The instrument was held firmly by his eye, aimed towards the figure. He could scarcely make out a soaked man, tangle of black locks over his head. The telescope was cast aside as he opened his mouth to cry out for an assist, but something stopped him. Quickly, he slipped his jacket and powdered wig off as well as various, pocketed instruments and pistons. His boots clacked softly against the wooden floor, though his movements were stealthy and graceful.
A rope was seized from its hooked position on the side of the cabin, and bound tightly around his waist. He tugged at it once more to make sure it was secured and nodded, satisfied. He had to be quicker, the currents of the ocean carrying the man past the ship every moment. Once he secured the other end of the rope on deck, he braced himself, teetering on the edge of the railing. Suddenly, the drop seemed farther. A brief shake of his head silenced his thoughts and he dove off, hitting the warm water.
Once he broke to the surface, Norrington sputtered slightly, shaking out his dark, brown locks that had fallen out of their leather-bound strap. He squinted, gaze drifting around for any sign of the man. The salt water stung his eyes, as did the blasts of wind. He coughed out again and nearly died of fright right there as he felt something griping for his side. A choked sputter was all that came out, rather than a scream, before he made out the figure clinging to him. It was the drowning man.or rather.Jack Sparrow. He "yelled" out again and shoved Jack away slightly, moving back a bit himself. He could only stare as the weary Jack started to drift off again.
A few deep breaths were taken, followed by intervals of spitting out seawater from his mouth. The waves kept jumping up and lapping his face, the same ones starting to brush Jack to-and-fro from the open sea to the Dauntless. Suddenly, a realization donned upon him. Jack was a friend of the Turners, new and old. Elizabeth would have to be grateful in some way if he brought Jack back to the Port, especially in this condition. Perhaps he owed it to her, but nonetheless he would see this gratefulness as a sort of, forgiveness. He didn't have to be with her, he just didn't want any bad terms erupting between them. Quickly, he began to dogpaddle over to the weary pirate, taking him around the waist. It was a surprisingly secure hold, very comforting and warm in the Commodore's views. Slowly, he shook off his temporary shock and fought back to the ship, clambering up the side of it. It was hard with another man, true enough, but Jack wasn't a very big man.
Once he hoisted Jack onto deck, the Commodore sank over the railing and collapsed beside the pirate. Both of their breaths served as a sort of rhythm together, Jack's being faint and occasional, the Commodore's being labored and rapid. Norrington urged himself to get up, if the other crewmembers saw Jack they would surely report it and ruin all of his plans. He took Jack's limp arm and guided him to his feet, ushering him quickly towards the cabin and giving him a quick push in. He saw the pirate stumble awkwardly, catching his balance on a dresser and flashing him a strange, confused look just before he shut the door. Norrington took a few more breaths before his breathing continued at a normal rate, though shakily. He was assisting a pirate. Had he really sank to this level? He stayed silent for a long while, barely even breathing in that time. Finally, he gave a dismissive shake of his head, moving towards the side of the ship to collect his effects. He had to clean up, and quickly. Suspicious minds were not a good thing on a ship. His hand returned to the cabin door's latch and he slid inside.
~*~Yeah, I know, not much Jack action.sorry about that, my dear Sparrow fans =\ Next chapter will be from Jack's point of view.kind of, all right? =P I like to please my fans. Norrington went a little out of character too...urghh. I've been having a writer's block, forgive me =( Next chapter will be better, out sometime late this week! E-mail me for any suggestions, Anubis2006@cox.net ~*~
