Dark of the Moon (21/36)
Apr. 16th, 2006 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dwgmHappy Easter to all! We're off to brunch in a few minutes, but first a little more Dark of the Moon. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hereswith for editing.
[21]
Somewhat to Letty’s surprise, Jack Sparrow returned to the cabin within half an hour. He entered with caution and another bucket, eyeing her askance where she sat, huddled on his cot, clutching a well-used handkerchief.
“Brought you more water,” he said. “Bill thought you might need it, and he’s fetching the…er…other things.”
“Bill? You told him?” Fresh tears of consternation sprang forth, and she said, angrily, “Do you have to tell him everything?”
“Had to tell him this!” he protested. “He’s married.”
Letty rolled her eyes, much as her captor was wont to do when exasperated, and blew her nose once more. “I need another handkerchief,” she snapped, and glared at Jack.
“Uh… right.” He quickly set the bucket in the corner and went to his sea chest. Finding the required objects, he tossed her two, then damped a third in the clean water and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, in a tight little voice, replete with chagrin. She had never in her life been so embarrassed. Even her wedding night paled in comparison.
It was apparent that Jack felt a similar degree of discomfiture. Having been stripped to his breeches for sleep, he now proceeded to don the rest of his odd garb as quickly as possible, clearly intending to escape his infested cabin with all due haste.
Letty watched him, anger and misery warring in her breast. “I can’t help it, you know,” she said at last, as he took up his hat.
He looked at her, such a muddle of conflicting emotions on his own face that she didn’t know if she felt more like weeping or laughing.
“A week?” he asked. She frowned, nonplussed, so he clarified. “Bill said it’d last a week. Is it true?”
“Oh. No. I… four days, usually. But… only the first is… difficult.” She colored, her cheeks burning.
“Ah!” He nodded, but did not appear to be much comforted. Then there was a rap on the cabin door and his relief was comically obvious. “That’s Bill. He’ll take care of you. Good man, Bill. I’ll just take meself off.”
He was abandoning her. Letty’s lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears again.
“Now don’t look like that!” he pleaded. “I’ll be back…” The rap was repeated. “…later.”
He put on his hat, opened the door, and said, “Thanks, mate!” to Bootstrap Bill, then shoved past and strode away, the sound of his boots fading down the passage with remarkable speed.
Mr. Turner seemed amused, then sympathetic as he caught sight of her. “There now, lass, don’t fret. I’ve brought the necessities, and if there’s anything lacking I’ll hunt it up for you.”
The “necessities” were presently revealed to include an early breakfast: the ubiquitous ship’s biscuit (“Weeviled by yours truly; you’ll be glad of a change when we get to Cartagena.”), dried fruit, and rum in a battered flask. “For medicinal purposes. My own wife takes a nip now and again, at that time of month.”
“Jack told me you are married,” Letty said, curious about the tippling Mrs. Turner and hoping he would elaborate.
“Aye. I’ve a little son, as well. Back in England.”
“A son!”
“He’ll be five years old next month. I’m hoping to get back to see him, and Mary, by the end of summer.”
Mary. “Does she… do she and your little boy… know?” It was a prying question, and Letty steeled herself, in case he should take offense.
But he didn’t. He looked rather rueful, but replied, evenly, “That I’m a pirate, d’you mean? Well… not precisely. I think Mary suspected it, last time I was home. I’d been able to send her more money, and then I brought her a few nice trinkets. But she didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell. She still sends me letters, and my shirts.”
Letty smiled. Bill’s shirts were unusual, in color, cut, and trim. They were a target of hilarity for Jack, who was inordinately proud of his own sartorial cunning. But, now that she knew their source, Letty thought that Jack was missing the point of Bill’s preferences. “They are very beautiful shirts,” she said.
Bill laughed. “I think so, too. She likes to experiment with her dyes, and different trims. They’re a little bit of home for me, y’see.”
Letty nodded. “Thank you for bringing all those things for me, Mr. Turner. I… I’m afraid Jack…”
“Jack’s up to the mark in most things, but this little development was more than he’d bargained for. But don’t worry, lass. He’ll come around.”
Jack didn’t come around, though, until the long, uncomfortable day had passed.
Bill checked on her a couple of times, dragging the reluctant Reed with him once. Together, the two men cleaned and straightened the cabin, and Reed hauled off a sack of soiled linens, muttering darkly.
Letty had further recourse to the rum after that. The sips she took from the little flask burned all the way down and then settled, radiating a pleasant glow that did much to assuage both pain and anxiety. Mrs. Turner was in the right of it, it seemed.
The wind had picked up during the morning, making their passage rougher. Bill had said that this was why Jack was unable to visit her himself: the ship and crew needed the constant attention of the First Mate. Letty only half believed that this would keep Jack away all day.
But as night came on, the seas calmed, and the wind shifted and steadied. Letty, having dozed off after a plateful of stew and another few sips from the medicinal flask, roused sleepily as someone entered and closed the door. Jack, she thought, the sound of his movements familiar to her now, but she did not open her eyes and was almost asleep again when she felt the tickle and brush of his lips on her cheek.
She did open her eyes at that, to find him crouched close beside her. His face was shadowed in the dim lamplight, but his lips curved, and his dark eyes were warm.
And he had been drinking.
Well, so had she. She turned her head on the pillow, and said, muzzily, “I thought you said you weren’t going to kiss me any more.”
“Did I?” he said, his beautiful voice smooth and soft as velvet. “Must’ve shot the cat. What would I say that for, eh?”
Letty gave a little chuff of amusement, even as her eyelids drifted south.
“You feeling better?” he said, his breath on her cheek.
“Mmmm… yes.”
“Good,” he replied, and Letty smiled at the touch of his fingers, smoothing back her hair.
*
TBC
hereswith for editing.[21]
Somewhat to Letty’s surprise, Jack Sparrow returned to the cabin within half an hour. He entered with caution and another bucket, eyeing her askance where she sat, huddled on his cot, clutching a well-used handkerchief.
“Brought you more water,” he said. “Bill thought you might need it, and he’s fetching the…er…other things.”
“Bill? You told him?” Fresh tears of consternation sprang forth, and she said, angrily, “Do you have to tell him everything?”
“Had to tell him this!” he protested. “He’s married.”
Letty rolled her eyes, much as her captor was wont to do when exasperated, and blew her nose once more. “I need another handkerchief,” she snapped, and glared at Jack.
“Uh… right.” He quickly set the bucket in the corner and went to his sea chest. Finding the required objects, he tossed her two, then damped a third in the clean water and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, in a tight little voice, replete with chagrin. She had never in her life been so embarrassed. Even her wedding night paled in comparison.
It was apparent that Jack felt a similar degree of discomfiture. Having been stripped to his breeches for sleep, he now proceeded to don the rest of his odd garb as quickly as possible, clearly intending to escape his infested cabin with all due haste.
Letty watched him, anger and misery warring in her breast. “I can’t help it, you know,” she said at last, as he took up his hat.
He looked at her, such a muddle of conflicting emotions on his own face that she didn’t know if she felt more like weeping or laughing.
“A week?” he asked. She frowned, nonplussed, so he clarified. “Bill said it’d last a week. Is it true?”
“Oh. No. I… four days, usually. But… only the first is… difficult.” She colored, her cheeks burning.
“Ah!” He nodded, but did not appear to be much comforted. Then there was a rap on the cabin door and his relief was comically obvious. “That’s Bill. He’ll take care of you. Good man, Bill. I’ll just take meself off.”
He was abandoning her. Letty’s lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears again.
“Now don’t look like that!” he pleaded. “I’ll be back…” The rap was repeated. “…later.”
He put on his hat, opened the door, and said, “Thanks, mate!” to Bootstrap Bill, then shoved past and strode away, the sound of his boots fading down the passage with remarkable speed.
Mr. Turner seemed amused, then sympathetic as he caught sight of her. “There now, lass, don’t fret. I’ve brought the necessities, and if there’s anything lacking I’ll hunt it up for you.”
The “necessities” were presently revealed to include an early breakfast: the ubiquitous ship’s biscuit (“Weeviled by yours truly; you’ll be glad of a change when we get to Cartagena.”), dried fruit, and rum in a battered flask. “For medicinal purposes. My own wife takes a nip now and again, at that time of month.”
“Jack told me you are married,” Letty said, curious about the tippling Mrs. Turner and hoping he would elaborate.
“Aye. I’ve a little son, as well. Back in England.”
“A son!”
“He’ll be five years old next month. I’m hoping to get back to see him, and Mary, by the end of summer.”
Mary. “Does she… do she and your little boy… know?” It was a prying question, and Letty steeled herself, in case he should take offense.
But he didn’t. He looked rather rueful, but replied, evenly, “That I’m a pirate, d’you mean? Well… not precisely. I think Mary suspected it, last time I was home. I’d been able to send her more money, and then I brought her a few nice trinkets. But she didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell. She still sends me letters, and my shirts.”
Letty smiled. Bill’s shirts were unusual, in color, cut, and trim. They were a target of hilarity for Jack, who was inordinately proud of his own sartorial cunning. But, now that she knew their source, Letty thought that Jack was missing the point of Bill’s preferences. “They are very beautiful shirts,” she said.
Bill laughed. “I think so, too. She likes to experiment with her dyes, and different trims. They’re a little bit of home for me, y’see.”
Letty nodded. “Thank you for bringing all those things for me, Mr. Turner. I… I’m afraid Jack…”
“Jack’s up to the mark in most things, but this little development was more than he’d bargained for. But don’t worry, lass. He’ll come around.”
Jack didn’t come around, though, until the long, uncomfortable day had passed.
Bill checked on her a couple of times, dragging the reluctant Reed with him once. Together, the two men cleaned and straightened the cabin, and Reed hauled off a sack of soiled linens, muttering darkly.
Letty had further recourse to the rum after that. The sips she took from the little flask burned all the way down and then settled, radiating a pleasant glow that did much to assuage both pain and anxiety. Mrs. Turner was in the right of it, it seemed.
The wind had picked up during the morning, making their passage rougher. Bill had said that this was why Jack was unable to visit her himself: the ship and crew needed the constant attention of the First Mate. Letty only half believed that this would keep Jack away all day.
But as night came on, the seas calmed, and the wind shifted and steadied. Letty, having dozed off after a plateful of stew and another few sips from the medicinal flask, roused sleepily as someone entered and closed the door. Jack, she thought, the sound of his movements familiar to her now, but she did not open her eyes and was almost asleep again when she felt the tickle and brush of his lips on her cheek.
She did open her eyes at that, to find him crouched close beside her. His face was shadowed in the dim lamplight, but his lips curved, and his dark eyes were warm.
And he had been drinking.
Well, so had she. She turned her head on the pillow, and said, muzzily, “I thought you said you weren’t going to kiss me any more.”
“Did I?” he said, his beautiful voice smooth and soft as velvet. “Must’ve shot the cat. What would I say that for, eh?”
Letty gave a little chuff of amusement, even as her eyelids drifted south.
“You feeling better?” he said, his breath on her cheek.
“Mmmm… yes.”
“Good,” he replied, and Letty smiled at the touch of his fingers, smoothing back her hair.
*
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-04-22 01:29 pm (UTC)She had never in her life been so embarrassed. Even her wedding night paled in comparison.
Poor, dear, horrified Letty! You've thoroughly captured that "if only I could sink through the floor..." feeling!
intending to escape his infested cabin
Adore "infested"! *snort*
"They are very beautiful shirts," she said.
Awwwwww. Somebody who really understands why Bill likes those shirts so much.
"Did I?" he said, his beautiful voice smooth and soft as velvet.
Mmmmm... I think Jack's purring. And that's every bit as good as Jack humming (which you may remember that I'm a total sucker for).
no subject
Date: 2006-04-22 01:54 pm (UTC)Me too. Somehow one thinks of him sort of like an enormous, gorgeous cat, smooth and playful and full of himself, and clawed when occasion demands. No wonder he speaks to us cat people.
You've pointed out many of my favorite bits -- we are, as usual, on the same wavelength! Thank you very much for reading and leaving such agreeable comments. What a lovely way to start the morning!
no subject
Date: 2006-04-22 02:06 pm (UTC)The fluid way he moves really adds to his catness. And he can come sit on my lap anytime he wants...
You've pointed out many of my favorite bits -- we are, as usual, on the same wavelength!
So often the case, yes! It's laughable how often I post fb (in my usual late fashion), then wander through what other people have said and notice that I've highlighted the same phrases you have.