Preview of A Flight of Fancy
Apr. 24th, 2004 07:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fan_eluneI need people's opinion on the start of this here story. Please let me know what you think of Norri? And am I making Gillette into too much of an arse? It's entirely possible. I just violently dislike the man. And what about Jack? Is he Jack-like enough? Any comment would be welcome, about the nautical atmosphere as well.
Commodore James Norrington was standing on the poop deck of the Dauntless, surveying the work of the sailors all over the ship. Blue vests were busying themselves with the sails or with cleaning, while red coats were polishing their weapons. A measure of apprehension swelled in the commodore's chest. A few leagues ahead of them was the Contester, captained by Ted. Captain Theodore Sinclair Groves. Norrington had long hesitated over whether he should hand over the captainship of the new ship to his first or second lieutenant – Gillette or Groves. But while Gillette was a steady officer, Norrington had his doubts as to his judgement capacities. Ted had proved more reasonable and his loyalty to his superior was unquestionable.
The Contester was not unlike the late Interceptor. She was much swifter than the Dauntless, but with less fire power, too, a lively sloop. Groves had been captaining her for a few weeks now. A few more weeks than the Interceptor had been lost; a few more weeks than Sparrow had escaped from under their very noses. A few more weeks than Norrington had let him escape.
His decision still troubled the commodore.
It troubled him all the more now that they were giving chase to the Black Pearl. The ship of legends, holed sails or not, not captained by the damned anymore but by, much worse, a trickster figure that Norrington could not bring himself to look forward to seeing hanged. No, he would get no pleasure from seeing Sparrow's feet dangling for their last dance, merely the satisfying sense of accomplished duty at last.
The winds were with them. Maybe twenty more minutes and they would catch up with the Pearl, less so for the Contester, which Norrington would never have sent alone against Sparrow's ship. Groves had her well in hand; he was a fine choice of a captain indeed. The Contester sailed out of sight behind the curve of an island. The Dauntless was sailing quite nicely herself, with her usual stubborn imperturbability. She might not be as swift as others, but she was reliable and powerful. She eerily reminded Norrington of his father sometimes. She was not quick to anger, but her wrath was mighty once awakened. All men were tending to her eighty cannons now. If Sparrow had any sense left, which Norrington doubted, he would surrender immediately.
"Commodore. Look at this."
Norrington took the spyglass Gillette was offering. They had just rounded the isle, hardly more than a patch of land. What Norrington was expecting to see was the Contester coming up on the Pearl. What he saw was a sloop coming up on the Contester, and the Pearl sailing back towards them, without striking any colours. Them not being the Contester and the unidentified sloop, but the Dauntless. The Pearl was heading straight for them!
Forcing himself to direct the spyglass away from the black-sailed ship to set it to the study of the sloop, Norrington tensed when he recognised the flag. The red skeleton was well-known in these parts. The Fortune had not set sails in these waters for a few months, but it appeared that she was back... and Norrington doubted that Edward Low would have forgotten him. In any case, his colours were clear: no quarter given.
Captain Edward Low – giving him such a title always grated on Norrington's nerves – had a reputation almost worse than Barbossa's had been, probably due to its anchor in reality. Barbossa had been the stuff of legends, the Black Pearl a myth. Low and his Fortune were all too real for any officer, no matter their nationality. Tales of prisoners forced to eat the ear or heart of other captives had assured their reputation.
And despite all the faith Norrington put in Ted and in the Contester, he was not sure they would make it out of a stand-off between the two ships.
And then, there was the small matter of the Pearl heading straight for the Dauntless.
Everyone was already at their post, ready for battle. All six hundred and some hands on board knew what their places were. It was a well-oiled routine. The Pearl did not stand a chance in a confrontation against the Dauntless; Norrington knew Sparrow better than to think him stupid. He had done that mistake one time too many, and it had cost him the Interceptor.
"Hold fire."
"Sir?"
"I said hold fire, Mr Gillette," Norrington curtly repeated. "And heave to alongside the Pearl."
This was why Groves had got captainship of the Contester. He would not have questioned such an order; he would have seen the reasons behind it. And this was why Ted was now facing off with Edward Low, risking his body parts to be eaten by his crew members.
The Pearl and the Dauntless heaved to side by side. Norrington was still amazed by the black-sailed ship herself, a hybrid the likes of which he had never seen elsewhere. She could have been a barque, she could have been a galleon, she was neither. Sparrow's figure was unmistakable on her poop deck as the pirate performed an exaggerated curtsey with complicated flourishes of his hat. As if on cue, the first cannon blasts were heard over the sea, and clouds of powder rose from the two confronting ships.
"Many thanks, Commodore, for holdin' fire on us," the pirate hailed from the quarter deck, making himself heard across without seeming to unbecomingly yell, a feat which Norrington would have applauded if he had not been quite capable of the exact same thing. "I always figured ye for a man of some intelligence."
"How do you deem my patience?" Norrington replied sternly, hands linked behind his back, trying to ignore the sounds of the battle so close at hand, and yet so far away. The Pearl stood in their way.
Sparrow flashed his surprisingly white teeth at him in a humorous smile. "You mighta noticed your little friend here be in a right predicament. I believe you'll be needin' me help if you want them men o' yours to make it through."
Norrington gritted his teeth together. He absolutely, positively hated Jack Sparrow, in this very instant more than usual. The pirate had the detestable habit of having ulterior motives that one could never exactly guess at, but always expect to turn to his advantage without fear of being wrong. Norrington's attention was momentarily caught by the grim faces looking at him from the Pearl, visages twisted in different degrees of hate and contempt. Some of the lined faces looked as if they could have been sailors of his own fleet. He thought he actually recognised the squarish man standing beside Sparrow, but dismissed it as a flight of fancy. His gaze settled back on the captain of the Pearl, the only face he could see that remained nonchalant, almost... carefree.
"And what would make you think that?" Norrington's eyes flickered towards the Contester. She was a fiery one. She would give Low a run for his money, at least enough of a run for the Dauntless to come to the rescue. It would, of course, mean letting Sparrow escape, but there was no doubt in the Commodore's mind that Low needed hanging much more than the captain of the Pearl. "I am well capable of bringing aid to my men."
Another disconcerting smile. No pirate should have teeth that white, despite those few gold teeth; it added to the enigma that was Jack Sparrow, and Norrington disliked enigmas intensely. "Not if I decide to stand in your way."
The statement was offered with such nonchalance that it took a few seconds for its meaning to sink in. But of course. He was a pirate; what else could be expected of him? Norrington reigned in his fury, eyes flickering towards the Contester again. The Pearl would not come out victorious of a battle against the Dauntless, but she would surely delay them long enough to give Low the time to go about his business with the Contester. "You are a despicable man, Sparrow."
"Captain, if you would."
Norrington forced a tight smile on his lips. "Captain Sparrow." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the foretaste of the compromise he was considering. Life had been simple before Sparrow waltzed in. "I have little time to lose, be quick about it."
"I'd say you have time enough to lose, Commodore," came the drawled answer. Even from the distance, Norrington could not but notice the challenge in Sparrow's posture, dancing in his eyes. Or then again, it very well could be another flight of fancy. "Seein' as how the alternative is to fight me Pearl and let your men fend for themselves."
Anger flared to a previously-unreached level within Norrington's chest, suffusing his every thought. He seemed to be breathing the very emotion. He would, after all, feel much pleasure at seeing Sparrow hanged. The mere thought of it sent tingles of anticipation running up his spine. He waited for the din of the battle, which had roared louder, to subside slightly. It gave him time enough to compose himself. "What is it you want, Spa – Captain?"
"For starters, ye'll be comin' aboard for a bit o' parley, Commodore."
"Unacceptable."
"Very well then. I see your long nines are quite ready to blow holes in my ship. I'm every bit in love with her, and I'll be holdin' you personally responsible for that, James. It *is* James?"
Oh yes. Norrington would turn Jack Sparrow into his own crusade. He would see the pirate hanged if it were to be the last thing he did. "What guarantee would I have of my own safety?"
"Sir –" Gillette started, but Norrington shut him up with a look. Dissent in the ranks was the last thing he needed right now. Sparrow was one to turn such a small fissure into a gaping breech.
"You only have the word to say, Commodore."
Norrington gritted his teeth. His world seemed to narrow down to naught but this choice, now. Gillette had not heeded his warning look and was listing in a hushed, rushed tone all the reasons why Norrington should not do this. The Commodore was not taking in a word of it. He knew perfectly well each and every reason why he should not accept this, but all he could focus on was the noise of the battle; the wind had turned against them and carried every sound, every cannon being shot, every plank of wood splintered and every cry uttered, a din made of incomprehensible sounds. Any cry could be the death cry of one of his men. And there was Sparrow's irritating figure, mocking him with his lack of morality and the incomprehensible loyalty he had managed to spark in the Turners.
With that thought came a sharp pang of pain Norrington suppressed straight away. He forced himself to relax a little, shoulders sagging. This decision had been taken with the first cannon blast, but he had not acknowledged it until now. He only had the word to say. His voice rang true and clear, without the smallest hesitation or tremble to it.
"Parley."
That, at last, shut Gillette up.
End of scene 1.
Commodore James Norrington was standing on the poop deck of the Dauntless, surveying the work of the sailors all over the ship. Blue vests were busying themselves with the sails or with cleaning, while red coats were polishing their weapons. A measure of apprehension swelled in the commodore's chest. A few leagues ahead of them was the Contester, captained by Ted. Captain Theodore Sinclair Groves. Norrington had long hesitated over whether he should hand over the captainship of the new ship to his first or second lieutenant – Gillette or Groves. But while Gillette was a steady officer, Norrington had his doubts as to his judgement capacities. Ted had proved more reasonable and his loyalty to his superior was unquestionable.
The Contester was not unlike the late Interceptor. She was much swifter than the Dauntless, but with less fire power, too, a lively sloop. Groves had been captaining her for a few weeks now. A few more weeks than the Interceptor had been lost; a few more weeks than Sparrow had escaped from under their very noses. A few more weeks than Norrington had let him escape.
His decision still troubled the commodore.
It troubled him all the more now that they were giving chase to the Black Pearl. The ship of legends, holed sails or not, not captained by the damned anymore but by, much worse, a trickster figure that Norrington could not bring himself to look forward to seeing hanged. No, he would get no pleasure from seeing Sparrow's feet dangling for their last dance, merely the satisfying sense of accomplished duty at last.
The winds were with them. Maybe twenty more minutes and they would catch up with the Pearl, less so for the Contester, which Norrington would never have sent alone against Sparrow's ship. Groves had her well in hand; he was a fine choice of a captain indeed. The Contester sailed out of sight behind the curve of an island. The Dauntless was sailing quite nicely herself, with her usual stubborn imperturbability. She might not be as swift as others, but she was reliable and powerful. She eerily reminded Norrington of his father sometimes. She was not quick to anger, but her wrath was mighty once awakened. All men were tending to her eighty cannons now. If Sparrow had any sense left, which Norrington doubted, he would surrender immediately.
"Commodore. Look at this."
Norrington took the spyglass Gillette was offering. They had just rounded the isle, hardly more than a patch of land. What Norrington was expecting to see was the Contester coming up on the Pearl. What he saw was a sloop coming up on the Contester, and the Pearl sailing back towards them, without striking any colours. Them not being the Contester and the unidentified sloop, but the Dauntless. The Pearl was heading straight for them!
Forcing himself to direct the spyglass away from the black-sailed ship to set it to the study of the sloop, Norrington tensed when he recognised the flag. The red skeleton was well-known in these parts. The Fortune had not set sails in these waters for a few months, but it appeared that she was back... and Norrington doubted that Edward Low would have forgotten him. In any case, his colours were clear: no quarter given.
Captain Edward Low – giving him such a title always grated on Norrington's nerves – had a reputation almost worse than Barbossa's had been, probably due to its anchor in reality. Barbossa had been the stuff of legends, the Black Pearl a myth. Low and his Fortune were all too real for any officer, no matter their nationality. Tales of prisoners forced to eat the ear or heart of other captives had assured their reputation.
And despite all the faith Norrington put in Ted and in the Contester, he was not sure they would make it out of a stand-off between the two ships.
And then, there was the small matter of the Pearl heading straight for the Dauntless.
Everyone was already at their post, ready for battle. All six hundred and some hands on board knew what their places were. It was a well-oiled routine. The Pearl did not stand a chance in a confrontation against the Dauntless; Norrington knew Sparrow better than to think him stupid. He had done that mistake one time too many, and it had cost him the Interceptor.
"Hold fire."
"Sir?"
"I said hold fire, Mr Gillette," Norrington curtly repeated. "And heave to alongside the Pearl."
This was why Groves had got captainship of the Contester. He would not have questioned such an order; he would have seen the reasons behind it. And this was why Ted was now facing off with Edward Low, risking his body parts to be eaten by his crew members.
The Pearl and the Dauntless heaved to side by side. Norrington was still amazed by the black-sailed ship herself, a hybrid the likes of which he had never seen elsewhere. She could have been a barque, she could have been a galleon, she was neither. Sparrow's figure was unmistakable on her poop deck as the pirate performed an exaggerated curtsey with complicated flourishes of his hat. As if on cue, the first cannon blasts were heard over the sea, and clouds of powder rose from the two confronting ships.
"Many thanks, Commodore, for holdin' fire on us," the pirate hailed from the quarter deck, making himself heard across without seeming to unbecomingly yell, a feat which Norrington would have applauded if he had not been quite capable of the exact same thing. "I always figured ye for a man of some intelligence."
"How do you deem my patience?" Norrington replied sternly, hands linked behind his back, trying to ignore the sounds of the battle so close at hand, and yet so far away. The Pearl stood in their way.
Sparrow flashed his surprisingly white teeth at him in a humorous smile. "You mighta noticed your little friend here be in a right predicament. I believe you'll be needin' me help if you want them men o' yours to make it through."
Norrington gritted his teeth together. He absolutely, positively hated Jack Sparrow, in this very instant more than usual. The pirate had the detestable habit of having ulterior motives that one could never exactly guess at, but always expect to turn to his advantage without fear of being wrong. Norrington's attention was momentarily caught by the grim faces looking at him from the Pearl, visages twisted in different degrees of hate and contempt. Some of the lined faces looked as if they could have been sailors of his own fleet. He thought he actually recognised the squarish man standing beside Sparrow, but dismissed it as a flight of fancy. His gaze settled back on the captain of the Pearl, the only face he could see that remained nonchalant, almost... carefree.
"And what would make you think that?" Norrington's eyes flickered towards the Contester. She was a fiery one. She would give Low a run for his money, at least enough of a run for the Dauntless to come to the rescue. It would, of course, mean letting Sparrow escape, but there was no doubt in the Commodore's mind that Low needed hanging much more than the captain of the Pearl. "I am well capable of bringing aid to my men."
Another disconcerting smile. No pirate should have teeth that white, despite those few gold teeth; it added to the enigma that was Jack Sparrow, and Norrington disliked enigmas intensely. "Not if I decide to stand in your way."
The statement was offered with such nonchalance that it took a few seconds for its meaning to sink in. But of course. He was a pirate; what else could be expected of him? Norrington reigned in his fury, eyes flickering towards the Contester again. The Pearl would not come out victorious of a battle against the Dauntless, but she would surely delay them long enough to give Low the time to go about his business with the Contester. "You are a despicable man, Sparrow."
"Captain, if you would."
Norrington forced a tight smile on his lips. "Captain Sparrow." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the foretaste of the compromise he was considering. Life had been simple before Sparrow waltzed in. "I have little time to lose, be quick about it."
"I'd say you have time enough to lose, Commodore," came the drawled answer. Even from the distance, Norrington could not but notice the challenge in Sparrow's posture, dancing in his eyes. Or then again, it very well could be another flight of fancy. "Seein' as how the alternative is to fight me Pearl and let your men fend for themselves."
Anger flared to a previously-unreached level within Norrington's chest, suffusing his every thought. He seemed to be breathing the very emotion. He would, after all, feel much pleasure at seeing Sparrow hanged. The mere thought of it sent tingles of anticipation running up his spine. He waited for the din of the battle, which had roared louder, to subside slightly. It gave him time enough to compose himself. "What is it you want, Spa – Captain?"
"For starters, ye'll be comin' aboard for a bit o' parley, Commodore."
"Unacceptable."
"Very well then. I see your long nines are quite ready to blow holes in my ship. I'm every bit in love with her, and I'll be holdin' you personally responsible for that, James. It *is* James?"
Oh yes. Norrington would turn Jack Sparrow into his own crusade. He would see the pirate hanged if it were to be the last thing he did. "What guarantee would I have of my own safety?"
"Sir –" Gillette started, but Norrington shut him up with a look. Dissent in the ranks was the last thing he needed right now. Sparrow was one to turn such a small fissure into a gaping breech.
"You only have the word to say, Commodore."
Norrington gritted his teeth. His world seemed to narrow down to naught but this choice, now. Gillette had not heeded his warning look and was listing in a hushed, rushed tone all the reasons why Norrington should not do this. The Commodore was not taking in a word of it. He knew perfectly well each and every reason why he should not accept this, but all he could focus on was the noise of the battle; the wind had turned against them and carried every sound, every cannon being shot, every plank of wood splintered and every cry uttered, a din made of incomprehensible sounds. Any cry could be the death cry of one of his men. And there was Sparrow's irritating figure, mocking him with his lack of morality and the incomprehensible loyalty he had managed to spark in the Turners.
With that thought came a sharp pang of pain Norrington suppressed straight away. He forced himself to relax a little, shoulders sagging. This decision had been taken with the first cannon blast, but he had not acknowledged it until now. He only had the word to say. His voice rang true and clear, without the smallest hesitation or tremble to it.
"Parley."
That, at last, shut Gillette up.
End of scene 1.
