Gulls called from above, both hungrily and devilishly. Jack could
only hear them; he couldn't make them out as he opened his eyes to the
blinding white Caribbean sun. Their silhouettes finally came into view and
he pursed his lips together thoughtfully. Where was he? Licking his lips a
few times, smoothing the rough, dry cracks in the tissue; he finally rolled
over onto his stomach and brought himself to his knees. Hands sprawled out
in front of him; he felt the warm sand beneath them. It wasn't possible...it
couldn't be! Panicked, Jack shuffled back a few steps until he backed into
the scaly trunk of a tree. All he could do was yell out and raise his arms
as coconuts from above pummeled him. No one would hear him die on this
island. They would only find the bleached bones of Captain Jack Sparrow.
No sooner had the coconut made contact with his head had Jack awoken with a scream. As he sprang up from the cot his head caught a shelf upon the wall and he rolled straight off the mattress. Jack lay there sprawled out on the floor for a long series of moments with the headrush of his life. Was it all a dream then...or had he been out for quite some time and rescued from is fate? Where was he at the moment? Griping at the floor beneath him he felt neither sand nor the familiar floorboards of the Pearl. The boards were smoothed and polished elegantly, yet Jack could tell ill craftsmanship no matter what coating was given to the boards to make them appear elegant. As he hauled himself to his feet he stole a glance around the room, which only a few beams of sunlight seeped through the glass of the doors. Everything outside, through the glass, was distorted by its design.
A familiar smell came to his nose once his senses returned to normal after his head was finished spinning. His nostrils quivered for a moment as if recognizing it and his eyes lit up at the remembrance. Rum! A pint! Frantically he griped around for any form of a mug or glass but found nothing. Wrinkling his nose in disapproval, he slowed down his actions and searched everywhere until his hand rested upon something under the bed. A mug. A fallen mug. Strewn over the floor Jack could feel the warm liquid seeping into the cracks of the floorboards. Greedily, he raised his hands to his mouth at the very touch of the liquor and started to suck the rum off his fingers. The process continued until he looked down and over himself. Food. Everywhere. All over his clothes, no longer solid but mashed up and smeared across. A pewter plate below the bed caught his eye and as the realization of what he did hit him he shut his eyes tightly. He rolled out of the cot and right onto a meal.
Come to think of it...who had put that meal there? How did he know what it was? Could the rum have been poisoned? A bitter taste suddenly came to his mouth and washed over his tongue leaving a burning sensation inside of it. He looked to his fingers suddenly and wasn't so sure of what he had licked off of them. Jack's stomach churned and moaned while his skull started to split. Falling forward, his arms caught him and supported him shakily. From his kneeling position, he proceeded to vomit over the floor. Once it was all out he didn't move, he only took in a series of labored breaths and coughed. It was poison. He was dying. He'd die in this strange room without a clue! Suddenly the island seemed very welcoming. His hearing was the only sense that appeared to be sharpened rather than spasmodically functioning. He could hear the creaking of the floorboards as if they were cannon fire to a powder monkey. The sound of the door creaking open was nothing pleasant, nor was its loudness as it slammed behind whoever entered. Jack proceeded to vomit again.
Suddenly someone took hold of his shoulders and hurled him backwards onto the floor. It was like he had just been flipped over, but it wasn't possible. Or was it? Grimacing, he tried to sit up and escape the shadow with icy blue eyes that loomed over him only to be shoved back down to the ground. His head jerked from the force of more vomit fighting its way up his esophagus but before it had a chance the shadow tilted his head back and Jack was able to swallow the fowl brew back down into the reaches from which it came. With a groan and a series of mumbles Jack blindly griped for any part of the figure he could touch. His hand had landed on some sort of flesh, squinting into the faint light he could make out a face. A stern, disciplined, yet handsome face. Norrington! What was he doing here??
No sooner had he started to scuttle away had Norrington pulled him back towards the ground. Jack cringed at the nausea that stirred within him and he tried to push the officer away from him. Norrington had the upper hand at the moment, however. Jack could do nothing as he was restrained, pinned to the floor by Norrington. His next action took him entirely by surprise. Norrington glared Jack down for a good series of minutes before he proceeded to hoist him up and deposit him upon the cot. Alarmed, Jack squirmed against the Commodore's hold and sat up.
"What's this?! I'm not some wench to be bedded!"
Norrington's brows furrowed before one arched high upon his forehead. The bewildered look remained set upon his features, but his reply was cool and crisp.
"Mr. Sparrow, I have no such intentions. You of all people should have a good idea of what I am both capable of and not capable of." He paused and looked thoughtful before shaking his head, "Then again, perhaps not. You were shipwrecked, I can only assume since you were discovered floating alone in rough shape quite a distance from any ship or land."
Jack seemed surprised by this. The Pearl wrecked? Where were the others? He stared blankly at Norrington, rum-colored irises staring at the man for answers before they wandered elsewhere in the room as if the walls or some other thing held the answers for him. All he knew was he was in a situation (not necessarily a bad one) and his head was spinning. He couldn't remember anything clearly, just fuzzy fragments of some epic happening that left him here in Norrington's company. His gaze returned to the man and he stared him down pitifully as if begging for him to continue. Surely he knew something a little more...
"It was I who hauled you up on the deck and took the liberty of sleeping with the crew while granting you residence in my cabin. You seemed to have slept soundly enough; none of the crew detected any sort of disturbance. I'd like to keep it that way, mind you. I doubt they'd appreciate a stowaway pirate aboard."
Frowning, Norrington looked the room over once more. The vomit seeping across the floorboards, the spilt stain of rum and the food that was splattered all over, including on Jack. His eyebrows furrowed in a look of aggravation once more before they subsided with a sigh.
"I see you found your meal...but not in the manner I had hoped." Briefly he shook his head and stood up stepping back from Jack. "Mr. Sparrow, from henceforth you will appreciate the rations I give you, no matter how plentiful or meager they might be." He leaned a little closer to Jack with a steely, military gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"
Jack stared back into the Commodore's deep cerulean irises and nodded slowly. Somehow he felt compelled to, Norrington's eyes were so stern and official they could bend you at a whim. He didn't look away, even after the man leaned back and proceeded towards the door. As soon as Norrington's hands rested upon the handles of the large, glass-paneled doors.
"Pardon moi, Mon Capitan," Jack raised one of his hands awkwardly with a curve of his wrist, yet his thumb, pointer and pinky finger remained raised but arched over gently. "Where exactly are we headed and what's in store for me?"
The Commodore didn't move for a moment. He stood rigid with his hand still clasped around the handle of the door. Outside the sailors started to rouse from their slumber and report to their duties up on deck. Still Norrington didn't turn back to Jack; he spoke to him without looking at the man.
"Port Royal, once we're done on this patrol. There will be no trial; I guarantee you of that, Mr. Sparrow...but I'm not sure what will be done with you. I think it best that we focus on where we are now rather than the happenings of a later date, don't you?"
He didn't give Jack time to respond. Almost immediately he began to speak again.
"I'll be taking my meal to my quarters this evening. We'll dine together and talk more. You'll need your rest until then." He nodded indicating a jug of some sort near the bed. "You're dehydrated...fortunately for you, you didn't knock that over and condemn yourself. Drink and sleep...there's a chamber pot under the cot if it's absolutely necessary."
A cringe of almost utter disgust was the last thing Jack could make out on the Commodore's face before he left the cabin just as quickly as he appeared. The door was shut in a hurry, to keep prying eyes out he guessed, and the silhouette of the Commodore on the other side of the glass grew smaller and smaller until he vanished across the deck. Jack moaned and leaned back into the cot staring up at the ceiling before taking the jug in hand. With a few deep swigs tiredness settled in comfortably. Hopefully along with some consciousness his memory would return to him when he awoke. Still, the matter of returning to Port Royal concerned him. Norrington assured him there would be no trial...so would he be condemned without one and murdered unjustly?
Such nightmares plagued his sleep...yet he couldn't wake.
No sooner had the coconut made contact with his head had Jack awoken with a scream. As he sprang up from the cot his head caught a shelf upon the wall and he rolled straight off the mattress. Jack lay there sprawled out on the floor for a long series of moments with the headrush of his life. Was it all a dream then...or had he been out for quite some time and rescued from is fate? Where was he at the moment? Griping at the floor beneath him he felt neither sand nor the familiar floorboards of the Pearl. The boards were smoothed and polished elegantly, yet Jack could tell ill craftsmanship no matter what coating was given to the boards to make them appear elegant. As he hauled himself to his feet he stole a glance around the room, which only a few beams of sunlight seeped through the glass of the doors. Everything outside, through the glass, was distorted by its design.
A familiar smell came to his nose once his senses returned to normal after his head was finished spinning. His nostrils quivered for a moment as if recognizing it and his eyes lit up at the remembrance. Rum! A pint! Frantically he griped around for any form of a mug or glass but found nothing. Wrinkling his nose in disapproval, he slowed down his actions and searched everywhere until his hand rested upon something under the bed. A mug. A fallen mug. Strewn over the floor Jack could feel the warm liquid seeping into the cracks of the floorboards. Greedily, he raised his hands to his mouth at the very touch of the liquor and started to suck the rum off his fingers. The process continued until he looked down and over himself. Food. Everywhere. All over his clothes, no longer solid but mashed up and smeared across. A pewter plate below the bed caught his eye and as the realization of what he did hit him he shut his eyes tightly. He rolled out of the cot and right onto a meal.
Come to think of it...who had put that meal there? How did he know what it was? Could the rum have been poisoned? A bitter taste suddenly came to his mouth and washed over his tongue leaving a burning sensation inside of it. He looked to his fingers suddenly and wasn't so sure of what he had licked off of them. Jack's stomach churned and moaned while his skull started to split. Falling forward, his arms caught him and supported him shakily. From his kneeling position, he proceeded to vomit over the floor. Once it was all out he didn't move, he only took in a series of labored breaths and coughed. It was poison. He was dying. He'd die in this strange room without a clue! Suddenly the island seemed very welcoming. His hearing was the only sense that appeared to be sharpened rather than spasmodically functioning. He could hear the creaking of the floorboards as if they were cannon fire to a powder monkey. The sound of the door creaking open was nothing pleasant, nor was its loudness as it slammed behind whoever entered. Jack proceeded to vomit again.
Suddenly someone took hold of his shoulders and hurled him backwards onto the floor. It was like he had just been flipped over, but it wasn't possible. Or was it? Grimacing, he tried to sit up and escape the shadow with icy blue eyes that loomed over him only to be shoved back down to the ground. His head jerked from the force of more vomit fighting its way up his esophagus but before it had a chance the shadow tilted his head back and Jack was able to swallow the fowl brew back down into the reaches from which it came. With a groan and a series of mumbles Jack blindly griped for any part of the figure he could touch. His hand had landed on some sort of flesh, squinting into the faint light he could make out a face. A stern, disciplined, yet handsome face. Norrington! What was he doing here??
No sooner had he started to scuttle away had Norrington pulled him back towards the ground. Jack cringed at the nausea that stirred within him and he tried to push the officer away from him. Norrington had the upper hand at the moment, however. Jack could do nothing as he was restrained, pinned to the floor by Norrington. His next action took him entirely by surprise. Norrington glared Jack down for a good series of minutes before he proceeded to hoist him up and deposit him upon the cot. Alarmed, Jack squirmed against the Commodore's hold and sat up.
"What's this?! I'm not some wench to be bedded!"
Norrington's brows furrowed before one arched high upon his forehead. The bewildered look remained set upon his features, but his reply was cool and crisp.
"Mr. Sparrow, I have no such intentions. You of all people should have a good idea of what I am both capable of and not capable of." He paused and looked thoughtful before shaking his head, "Then again, perhaps not. You were shipwrecked, I can only assume since you were discovered floating alone in rough shape quite a distance from any ship or land."
Jack seemed surprised by this. The Pearl wrecked? Where were the others? He stared blankly at Norrington, rum-colored irises staring at the man for answers before they wandered elsewhere in the room as if the walls or some other thing held the answers for him. All he knew was he was in a situation (not necessarily a bad one) and his head was spinning. He couldn't remember anything clearly, just fuzzy fragments of some epic happening that left him here in Norrington's company. His gaze returned to the man and he stared him down pitifully as if begging for him to continue. Surely he knew something a little more...
"It was I who hauled you up on the deck and took the liberty of sleeping with the crew while granting you residence in my cabin. You seemed to have slept soundly enough; none of the crew detected any sort of disturbance. I'd like to keep it that way, mind you. I doubt they'd appreciate a stowaway pirate aboard."
Frowning, Norrington looked the room over once more. The vomit seeping across the floorboards, the spilt stain of rum and the food that was splattered all over, including on Jack. His eyebrows furrowed in a look of aggravation once more before they subsided with a sigh.
"I see you found your meal...but not in the manner I had hoped." Briefly he shook his head and stood up stepping back from Jack. "Mr. Sparrow, from henceforth you will appreciate the rations I give you, no matter how plentiful or meager they might be." He leaned a little closer to Jack with a steely, military gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"
Jack stared back into the Commodore's deep cerulean irises and nodded slowly. Somehow he felt compelled to, Norrington's eyes were so stern and official they could bend you at a whim. He didn't look away, even after the man leaned back and proceeded towards the door. As soon as Norrington's hands rested upon the handles of the large, glass-paneled doors.
"Pardon moi, Mon Capitan," Jack raised one of his hands awkwardly with a curve of his wrist, yet his thumb, pointer and pinky finger remained raised but arched over gently. "Where exactly are we headed and what's in store for me?"
The Commodore didn't move for a moment. He stood rigid with his hand still clasped around the handle of the door. Outside the sailors started to rouse from their slumber and report to their duties up on deck. Still Norrington didn't turn back to Jack; he spoke to him without looking at the man.
"Port Royal, once we're done on this patrol. There will be no trial; I guarantee you of that, Mr. Sparrow...but I'm not sure what will be done with you. I think it best that we focus on where we are now rather than the happenings of a later date, don't you?"
He didn't give Jack time to respond. Almost immediately he began to speak again.
"I'll be taking my meal to my quarters this evening. We'll dine together and talk more. You'll need your rest until then." He nodded indicating a jug of some sort near the bed. "You're dehydrated...fortunately for you, you didn't knock that over and condemn yourself. Drink and sleep...there's a chamber pot under the cot if it's absolutely necessary."
A cringe of almost utter disgust was the last thing Jack could make out on the Commodore's face before he left the cabin just as quickly as he appeared. The door was shut in a hurry, to keep prying eyes out he guessed, and the silhouette of the Commodore on the other side of the glass grew smaller and smaller until he vanished across the deck. Jack moaned and leaned back into the cot staring up at the ceiling before taking the jug in hand. With a few deep swigs tiredness settled in comfortably. Hopefully along with some consciousness his memory would return to him when he awoke. Still, the matter of returning to Port Royal concerned him. Norrington assured him there would be no trial...so would he be condemned without one and murdered unjustly?
Such nightmares plagued his sleep...yet he couldn't wake.
