Dark of the Moon (13-15/?)
Mar. 28th, 2006 08:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dwgmSpeeding up here. Three bits of Dark of the Moon...
[13]
Letty had a great deal of time to consider her situation that afternoon because Jack Sparrow did not return to the cabin. This pleased her, at first. She was furious and frightened and wanted nothing more than to be left alone to soggily lament her situation and the perversity of Providence.
What past sin had she committed that merited such terrible punishment? She had tried to lead a blameless life, assured by her well-meaning but obviously misinformed parents that the straight and narrow path was the only road to happiness. And look, just look where that advice had landed her.
To be sure, she knew what they would have said, were they alive to see her now. Apparently, in her heart of hearts, she was not blameless at all. Though modest in appearance and circumspect in behavior, at her core she was a wicked creature, rotten, like an unblemished apple that is cut open to reveal corruption within.
And, God forgive her, it was true! All too true.
She turned onto her side and lay curled there, on Jack Sparrow’s cot, remembering her deceased husband. Killed in her defense. Though he might have known he hadn’t a chance against such men.
Oh, see? That was the sort of thing that revealed her for what she was: thinking ill of Brian, who had only ever been a good husband to her.
The truth was that, in spite of all the care she had lavished upon him, she had never really loved Brian, not in the blindly worshipful way her mother had assured her was a wife’s duty. She had tried and, when that failed, had pretended, but it could not be done, not completely. She had found him annoying, in small ways: his abrupt manner with the servants, for instance; or his contempt of her small but beloved collection of books. “What does a woman need with such things?” he’d once scoffed, though he’d let her keep the volumes anyway, as long as she’d restricted her reading to times when he was from home.
That was one thing she’d liked about his uncle. Mordecai Huff had a library, and was actually pleased that she’d appreciated what a treasure it was. They had that much in common, at least, though she didn’t believe it would move him to pay a ransom for her.
She considered Brian again. It was only fair to enumerate his finer qualities. He’d been a hard worker, and generous with her allowance and the household expenses. He’d preferred good plain food, clothes, furniture. Plain in bed, too, though he had not been overly demanding, thank Heaven.
She gave a halting sigh. She must be a cold creature, as well as corrupt.
She shuddered, reminded of that horrid, open-mouthed kiss that had been so recently inflicted upon her. “Well, if it ain’t Sparrow’s bit o’ skirt!” was all the preamble she’d been offered. She’d shrieked as the wretch had forced her back against the bulkhead, and had been surprised to find that it was Jack’s name that had emerged from her lips. Thank goodness Jack had heard her, and come hotfoot to the rescue. How glad she had been when he’d hit that man. But then he had turned accusing, dark eyes on her, as though it were her fault he’d been forced to assault another crewmate. And it was not!
Not really.
Not… entirely.
She squirmed, and sniffed dolefully.
They were not to be trusted, none of them. But she could not but acknowledge that Jack had surprised her. He looked every inch the pirate, more so than any of his fellows, save his captain, perhaps … and yet his hands upon her, as he’d helped her dress that morning, brushed her tangled hair, were as gentle as Brian’s had ever been on the rare occasions her husband had done such things for her. And Jack’s words to her… he teased, yet there was a level of understanding behind his words that startled her.
No. She did not hate him. Perhaps she would apologize for saying that. She was, after all, dependant upon his protection and good nature while she remained on this ship; moreover, it had been a lie, told in the heat of the moment. And so she would tell him, as soon as he returned.
She did not expect him right away, so she rose and looked about her. The cabin had been made tidy and smelled only faintly now, of wood and tar and the sea. There was the rolled up hammock under the cot, and the chamber pot, clean again, and Jack’s chest lay at the foot. She stared at it, considering if she should open it and investigate the contents – she had glimpsed some interesting things within when he’d fetched the sash for her. But he might not like her doing so, and he was already angry. The sound of the door slamming still echoed in her ears.
She lay down on the cot, once more. The ship swayed sweetly as it sailed on calmer seas; the light was pleasantly dim. Presently, exhausted in body and more settled in spirit, she was lulled to sleep.
*
[14]
Twice, then twice again. No response. So he repeated the knock, louder.
There was a noise of movement, and the lady’s voice called, “Wait! Just a moment.” More shuffling, bumping and scraping. And then, finally, the sound of the bolt drawn back and the door opened.
Her expression of nervous hope vanished with remarkable speed. “M-mister… Turner?”
“Just Bootstrap’s fine, ma’am. Jack asked me to come down to light the lantern, and bring you a bite of supper.”
“Oh.” She held the door open. “Could he not come himself? Were his duties too pressing?”
“Aye, that’s it,” Bill said, though he was glad to have something to do besides look at her while telling her such a barefaced lie. He set the little tray of food down on the sole, out of the way, and then busied himself with lighting the lantern. But when he finished, and turned to her, he frowned at the worry on her face. “Are you all right, Mrs. Granger?”
“He didn’t want to come, did he?” The sad, slightly quavering words were more statement than question.
Bill sighed. “He’ll come about, lass. He’s just young. Not used to ladies who’re…”
“Watering pots?” She tried to smile, but failed.
“Understandably upset,” Bill corrected. “But you’ve landed in good hands, ma’am. Jack’s a scallywag, through and through, but he’s a good man as well – he’ll do right by you, you may lay on’t.”
“They spoke of trying to ransom me. He and the captain.”
“Aye. Jack told me. And that you don’t believe your husband’s uncle will pay?”
She shook her head. “What will they do if he does not? Do you know?”
A vision of the Bride’s Auction on Tortuga flashed through Bill’s mind. Which was certainly preferable to the slave markets of Port-au-Prince. But, no. “Jack’ll take care of you, Mrs. Granger. After all, he won you, fair an’ square. Don’t worry, lass. He’ll think of something.”
*
[15]
The night was lit by a sliver of moon, a blanket of stars, and many lanterns: the three great lights on the heavily carved transom, with its trident-bearing mermaids; more at the bow, and along the gunwales, and tipping the lower yards. Music filled the air, the scraping of fiddles, the screeling of pipes, the rhythmic boom of the great African drums. Rum, and laughter, and dancing were the order of the evening, and Jack had been indulging in all three. Bootstrap’s report had greatly lightened his mood, making him most susceptible to the celebratory spirit prevailing on the Pearl.
“Wonder what Mrs. Granger would think of all this?” Jack nudged the smiling, but more subdued Bill.
“Think we’re a bunch of right savages, no doubt,” Bill grinned.
Jack chuckled. “Already thinks that. At least we’re entertaining savages, eh?” He shouted and clapped approval of Angus Fife, who’d just favored them with an energetic jig and was now taking a bow. The drums started in again. “I’m off!” Jack tossed Bill a wink and sauntered rhythmically across the deck to join a number of crewmates in an impromptu display of terpsichorean prowess, letting the music capture him and take him where it would. He’d shed all but his breeches, for the night was a close, calm one, and the sheen of cooling sweat on his bare skin, the swing of his hair, the lovely loose feel of his strong, supple body moving in time with those drums was utter delight, and fascinating to those who watched. He had few illusions and little modesty about the God-given gift of his appearance, or about it’s potentially transient nature, given his profession. It was a tool, to be used along with his other gifts, quick wits, quick sword, bending men and women alike to his will.
And speaking of women…
“Damnation!” he said aloud. There was that bloody nuisance of a chit, fair head and wide eyes just visible above the level of the deck where she stood on the companionway steps. The eyes widened further as he started toward her, pushing his way between the other stomping, swaying bodies. By the time he caught sight of the companionway once more she’d disappeared. Without hesitation he gave chase.
He could hear her scampering down the steps, and he was quite sure she could hear him descending, too. Even fast as he was, she got to the cabin before he did, shoving the bolt on the door to as he arrived. He gave a low, rum-soaked laugh and called softly, “Oh, Mrs. Granger!” and gave the correct knock, most deliberately. There was a lengthy pause, and then the bolt was drawn slowly back. She retreated as he opened the door and stepped in.
“You,” he said, advancing menacingly, “were wandering about the ship again, ‘gainst orders!” He caught her arms in his hands, enjoying her startled gasp, then stumbled a bit, and she ended up pinned to the bulkhead. Almost as he’d found her with Twigg earlier, though he noticed she wasn’t squeaking now. He tried not to smile. “I daresay you remember what the penalty is for that.”
“W-what?” she said, breathless.
“W-what?” he mocked, and grinned crookedly. “Why a kiss, of course.” And he slowly set his lips to hers. She gave a whimper, but though she fluttered a bit, she did not try to escape, and presently he sensed her acquiescence. His gentleness made the transition to thoroughness, and he released her arms and gathered her close… very close… too close, for she began to stiffen and pulled away.
“Jack!” she said, pleading. But not crying.
He said, softly, “Too much, then?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Hmmm.” Damned shame. He kissed her on the nose. “Just remember for next time, eh?”
He let her go, and she straightened, facing him rather shyly. “I’ll remember. I… I’m sorry I hit you.”
He shrugged. ”We’ll do better tomorrow, won’t we, lass? I’ve talked to the crew. They’ll leave you alone, I think. P’rhaps you can come up on deck in the morning, if you like. Say… what’s this?” He’d turned and now saw the books that lay on the cot, one of them open. “You’ve been in my things!” he frowned.
“You didn’t come. And I had nothing to do. I didn’t disturb much -- these were near the top of the chest.”
“Aye. Swag from the last ship we stopped, before the Eliza Mae. You like to read, then?”
“Oh, yes! That is… if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind the reading, but stay out of my chest, savvy?” He shook his finger at her, but then added, “I can get you more books, if you finish those. Don’t keep many in the chest. Usually pass ‘em on to the captain. He’s got more room for books.”
“Is he still determined to hold me for ransom?”
Jack sighed. “Seems so. And it’s the piratical thing to do, ain’t it? But we’ll see. Plenty of time to worry that problem down the road a bit.”
“Yes.” There was silence between them for a moment. Finally she said, “The drums have stopped.”
Jack cocked his head. “So they have. Time for some shuteye. I’ll go fetch me things –‘twas a warm night for dancing.” He winked at her, and went out, and did not hear her quiet reply.
“I… noticed.”
*
TBC
As always, many thanks to the tireless![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hereswith for editing and excellent suggestions, and deep appreciation and apologies to tessabeth for this slight rip-off of her memorable pirate party in Picaresque. *fans self*
[13]
Letty had a great deal of time to consider her situation that afternoon because Jack Sparrow did not return to the cabin. This pleased her, at first. She was furious and frightened and wanted nothing more than to be left alone to soggily lament her situation and the perversity of Providence.
What past sin had she committed that merited such terrible punishment? She had tried to lead a blameless life, assured by her well-meaning but obviously misinformed parents that the straight and narrow path was the only road to happiness. And look, just look where that advice had landed her.
To be sure, she knew what they would have said, were they alive to see her now. Apparently, in her heart of hearts, she was not blameless at all. Though modest in appearance and circumspect in behavior, at her core she was a wicked creature, rotten, like an unblemished apple that is cut open to reveal corruption within.
And, God forgive her, it was true! All too true.
She turned onto her side and lay curled there, on Jack Sparrow’s cot, remembering her deceased husband. Killed in her defense. Though he might have known he hadn’t a chance against such men.
Oh, see? That was the sort of thing that revealed her for what she was: thinking ill of Brian, who had only ever been a good husband to her.
The truth was that, in spite of all the care she had lavished upon him, she had never really loved Brian, not in the blindly worshipful way her mother had assured her was a wife’s duty. She had tried and, when that failed, had pretended, but it could not be done, not completely. She had found him annoying, in small ways: his abrupt manner with the servants, for instance; or his contempt of her small but beloved collection of books. “What does a woman need with such things?” he’d once scoffed, though he’d let her keep the volumes anyway, as long as she’d restricted her reading to times when he was from home.
That was one thing she’d liked about his uncle. Mordecai Huff had a library, and was actually pleased that she’d appreciated what a treasure it was. They had that much in common, at least, though she didn’t believe it would move him to pay a ransom for her.
She considered Brian again. It was only fair to enumerate his finer qualities. He’d been a hard worker, and generous with her allowance and the household expenses. He’d preferred good plain food, clothes, furniture. Plain in bed, too, though he had not been overly demanding, thank Heaven.
She gave a halting sigh. She must be a cold creature, as well as corrupt.
She shuddered, reminded of that horrid, open-mouthed kiss that had been so recently inflicted upon her. “Well, if it ain’t Sparrow’s bit o’ skirt!” was all the preamble she’d been offered. She’d shrieked as the wretch had forced her back against the bulkhead, and had been surprised to find that it was Jack’s name that had emerged from her lips. Thank goodness Jack had heard her, and come hotfoot to the rescue. How glad she had been when he’d hit that man. But then he had turned accusing, dark eyes on her, as though it were her fault he’d been forced to assault another crewmate. And it was not!
Not really.
Not… entirely.
She squirmed, and sniffed dolefully.
They were not to be trusted, none of them. But she could not but acknowledge that Jack had surprised her. He looked every inch the pirate, more so than any of his fellows, save his captain, perhaps … and yet his hands upon her, as he’d helped her dress that morning, brushed her tangled hair, were as gentle as Brian’s had ever been on the rare occasions her husband had done such things for her. And Jack’s words to her… he teased, yet there was a level of understanding behind his words that startled her.
No. She did not hate him. Perhaps she would apologize for saying that. She was, after all, dependant upon his protection and good nature while she remained on this ship; moreover, it had been a lie, told in the heat of the moment. And so she would tell him, as soon as he returned.
She did not expect him right away, so she rose and looked about her. The cabin had been made tidy and smelled only faintly now, of wood and tar and the sea. There was the rolled up hammock under the cot, and the chamber pot, clean again, and Jack’s chest lay at the foot. She stared at it, considering if she should open it and investigate the contents – she had glimpsed some interesting things within when he’d fetched the sash for her. But he might not like her doing so, and he was already angry. The sound of the door slamming still echoed in her ears.
She lay down on the cot, once more. The ship swayed sweetly as it sailed on calmer seas; the light was pleasantly dim. Presently, exhausted in body and more settled in spirit, she was lulled to sleep.
*
[14]
Twice, then twice again. No response. So he repeated the knock, louder.
There was a noise of movement, and the lady’s voice called, “Wait! Just a moment.” More shuffling, bumping and scraping. And then, finally, the sound of the bolt drawn back and the door opened.
Her expression of nervous hope vanished with remarkable speed. “M-mister… Turner?”
“Just Bootstrap’s fine, ma’am. Jack asked me to come down to light the lantern, and bring you a bite of supper.”
“Oh.” She held the door open. “Could he not come himself? Were his duties too pressing?”
“Aye, that’s it,” Bill said, though he was glad to have something to do besides look at her while telling her such a barefaced lie. He set the little tray of food down on the sole, out of the way, and then busied himself with lighting the lantern. But when he finished, and turned to her, he frowned at the worry on her face. “Are you all right, Mrs. Granger?”
“He didn’t want to come, did he?” The sad, slightly quavering words were more statement than question.
Bill sighed. “He’ll come about, lass. He’s just young. Not used to ladies who’re…”
“Watering pots?” She tried to smile, but failed.
“Understandably upset,” Bill corrected. “But you’ve landed in good hands, ma’am. Jack’s a scallywag, through and through, but he’s a good man as well – he’ll do right by you, you may lay on’t.”
“They spoke of trying to ransom me. He and the captain.”
“Aye. Jack told me. And that you don’t believe your husband’s uncle will pay?”
She shook her head. “What will they do if he does not? Do you know?”
A vision of the Bride’s Auction on Tortuga flashed through Bill’s mind. Which was certainly preferable to the slave markets of Port-au-Prince. But, no. “Jack’ll take care of you, Mrs. Granger. After all, he won you, fair an’ square. Don’t worry, lass. He’ll think of something.”
*
[15]
The night was lit by a sliver of moon, a blanket of stars, and many lanterns: the three great lights on the heavily carved transom, with its trident-bearing mermaids; more at the bow, and along the gunwales, and tipping the lower yards. Music filled the air, the scraping of fiddles, the screeling of pipes, the rhythmic boom of the great African drums. Rum, and laughter, and dancing were the order of the evening, and Jack had been indulging in all three. Bootstrap’s report had greatly lightened his mood, making him most susceptible to the celebratory spirit prevailing on the Pearl.
“Wonder what Mrs. Granger would think of all this?” Jack nudged the smiling, but more subdued Bill.
“Think we’re a bunch of right savages, no doubt,” Bill grinned.
Jack chuckled. “Already thinks that. At least we’re entertaining savages, eh?” He shouted and clapped approval of Angus Fife, who’d just favored them with an energetic jig and was now taking a bow. The drums started in again. “I’m off!” Jack tossed Bill a wink and sauntered rhythmically across the deck to join a number of crewmates in an impromptu display of terpsichorean prowess, letting the music capture him and take him where it would. He’d shed all but his breeches, for the night was a close, calm one, and the sheen of cooling sweat on his bare skin, the swing of his hair, the lovely loose feel of his strong, supple body moving in time with those drums was utter delight, and fascinating to those who watched. He had few illusions and little modesty about the God-given gift of his appearance, or about it’s potentially transient nature, given his profession. It was a tool, to be used along with his other gifts, quick wits, quick sword, bending men and women alike to his will.
And speaking of women…
“Damnation!” he said aloud. There was that bloody nuisance of a chit, fair head and wide eyes just visible above the level of the deck where she stood on the companionway steps. The eyes widened further as he started toward her, pushing his way between the other stomping, swaying bodies. By the time he caught sight of the companionway once more she’d disappeared. Without hesitation he gave chase.
He could hear her scampering down the steps, and he was quite sure she could hear him descending, too. Even fast as he was, she got to the cabin before he did, shoving the bolt on the door to as he arrived. He gave a low, rum-soaked laugh and called softly, “Oh, Mrs. Granger!” and gave the correct knock, most deliberately. There was a lengthy pause, and then the bolt was drawn slowly back. She retreated as he opened the door and stepped in.
“You,” he said, advancing menacingly, “were wandering about the ship again, ‘gainst orders!” He caught her arms in his hands, enjoying her startled gasp, then stumbled a bit, and she ended up pinned to the bulkhead. Almost as he’d found her with Twigg earlier, though he noticed she wasn’t squeaking now. He tried not to smile. “I daresay you remember what the penalty is for that.”
“W-what?” she said, breathless.
“W-what?” he mocked, and grinned crookedly. “Why a kiss, of course.” And he slowly set his lips to hers. She gave a whimper, but though she fluttered a bit, she did not try to escape, and presently he sensed her acquiescence. His gentleness made the transition to thoroughness, and he released her arms and gathered her close… very close… too close, for she began to stiffen and pulled away.
“Jack!” she said, pleading. But not crying.
He said, softly, “Too much, then?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Hmmm.” Damned shame. He kissed her on the nose. “Just remember for next time, eh?”
He let her go, and she straightened, facing him rather shyly. “I’ll remember. I… I’m sorry I hit you.”
He shrugged. ”We’ll do better tomorrow, won’t we, lass? I’ve talked to the crew. They’ll leave you alone, I think. P’rhaps you can come up on deck in the morning, if you like. Say… what’s this?” He’d turned and now saw the books that lay on the cot, one of them open. “You’ve been in my things!” he frowned.
“You didn’t come. And I had nothing to do. I didn’t disturb much -- these were near the top of the chest.”
“Aye. Swag from the last ship we stopped, before the Eliza Mae. You like to read, then?”
“Oh, yes! That is… if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind the reading, but stay out of my chest, savvy?” He shook his finger at her, but then added, “I can get you more books, if you finish those. Don’t keep many in the chest. Usually pass ‘em on to the captain. He’s got more room for books.”
“Is he still determined to hold me for ransom?”
Jack sighed. “Seems so. And it’s the piratical thing to do, ain’t it? But we’ll see. Plenty of time to worry that problem down the road a bit.”
“Yes.” There was silence between them for a moment. Finally she said, “The drums have stopped.”
Jack cocked his head. “So they have. Time for some shuteye. I’ll go fetch me things –‘twas a warm night for dancing.” He winked at her, and went out, and did not hear her quiet reply.
“I… noticed.”
*
TBC
As always, many thanks to the tireless
hereswith for editing and excellent suggestions, and deep appreciation and apologies to tessabeth for this slight rip-off of her memorable pirate party in Picaresque. *fans self*
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Date: 2006-04-07 02:04 am (UTC)Thank you for the extensive feedback. I'm glad you like the story. Letty's sort of becoming more "real" now. And it's always fun writing Bootstrap.
More coming soon! In fact, there's one more day until Spring Break! Yay! Hopefully I'll get several sections done this week. I finished outlining it and there will be 35 parts total, so I'm about halfway through.