(no subject)
Oct. 9th, 2008 04:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: Caught
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: None of the characters that appeared in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies are mine, but are the property of Disney, et al. No profit is being made off this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Original pen-date: 9 February 2007
Summary: One-shot and a very AU one at that. The result of a plot bunny attack.
Author's Note: It's a bit lame toward the end. Endings seem to be my weak point.
His heart threatened to shatter against his ribs, beating wildly with a mixture of fear and anger as it was. He had sprinted the distance from the battlement from which she had fallen all the way to the dock where Interceptor was moored, keeping a pace or two ahead of the marines. Frantic worry lent him energy, enabling him to keep his limbs steady as he came upon a ghastly scene. A soaked, disreputable-smelling man kneeling over her, even as she coughed and sputtered sea water. His sword had never cleared its scabbard so quickly.
"On your feet," he'd snapped, nearly pricking the leathery skin of the man's chin with the point of the blade. How he would have liked nothing better than to slide the sword into the man's throat, simply for laying hands on the young lady lying sprawled on the dock. The blackguard's only saving grace was that Miss Swann was alive. A thin string upon which his life hung, to be sure. One unwise move, however, and his sword would get its first taste of blood, if leaden balls from the primed muskets of the marines around him did not strike first.
"Shoot him!" The Governor burst out, tucking his coat around his daughter's sodden shoulders. If only. This man, apparently Miss Swann's rescuer, as she claimed, deserved only the barest thanks in Norrington's mind. There was something about the fellow that warned him against offering any sort of true gratitude, an sense of unease that had crept into his consciousness upon first laying eyes on the man. A glance at the Sergeant of Marines standing nearby, emphasised by a quick rolling skyward of his eyes, was sufficient and the bayonet-tipped muskets lifted, as the marines relaxed, albeit reluctantly. His sword clattered as he shoved it back into its scabbard, hating that he was creating the appearance of being easily controlled by a civilian, even if it was Miss Swann.
Thrusting out his hand, he said, "I believe thanks are in order," and did his best not to curl his lip in disgust when the other man hesitantly accepted the offered handshake. Not only did the blackguard smell, his skin was dirty and rough. Once the man's fingers closed around his own, however, Norrington tightened his grip and jerked the man's arm toward him, using his left hand to push the once-white shirt sleeve up. As he'd suspected. The unmistakable mark lay bared to view, seared skin forming a capital 'P' on the man's forearm. "Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we? Pirate?"
He sensed rather than saw a tremor ripple through the marines behind him. Pirate-hunting was one of their favourite past-times, and who could fault their excitement at having one turn up right at their feet? A hanging would follow this, another raider of the sea meeting his deserved end. Not a bad result for what had almost been a complete disaster. There was a slight rattle as the marines levelled their muskets on the pirate again, nearly pre-empting his order. Sending the ever-reliable Gillette aboard Interceptor for a set of irons, allowed him to handle the captured pirate as he wished, for the moment. It would be too easy to allow the marines to fire, but the satisfaction of watching this man dangle from a noose would be far greater than seeing him fall to the dock with a dozen holes in him. Another movement upward of the man's sleeve revealed a tattoo.
Ah. That was even better. "Well, well, Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" Norrington couldn't resist a sneer as he flung the pirate's hand away. This was too much, really it was. Not just any pirate, but one who was hunted for all across the Caribbean. What luck! To his amusement, the pirate dared to correct him, claiming to be Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain of the gibbet, he was soon to be.
A heavyset marine thrust out the pirate's belongings, which Norrington examined with a concerted effort not to laugh. A broken compass, a pistol that was probably useless, and a battered cutlass. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the marine sergeant grinning widely. Without a doubt the rest of the marines wore similar expressions. It was highly amusing. What sort of pirate was this fool? "You are, without doubt, the worst pirate I've ever heard of.
"But you have heard of me."
More's the misfortune, the newly-promoted Commodore thought. The bold words were more than enough to spark the embers of his temper, and he seized the pirate's arm, dragging him toward the other side of the dock, as the marines lifted the muskets and stepped back to allow him to pass. Prudence and protocol dictated that he allow a junior officer or one of the marines to haul this stinking pirate off to the dungeon, but his ire had been raised enough that he wanted to perform the honour himself. Gillette had just returned with the requested irons, however, and Norrington shoved the pirate toward him, leaving him to the task of shackling Sparrow's wrists.
Incredibly, Miss Swann dared to follow and even to step between him and Sparrow, protesting what really was normal procedure. Irritation at the girl's boldness flashed through him. She was interfering where she had no right or cause, and making a complete fool of herself in the process. Well and good he'd saved her life, but he was still a pirate and he was still going to hang. In Norrington's mind that was perfectly clear and he attempted to explain that to Miss Swann.
It was then, as Gillette finished his task and moved to return to his Commodore's side, that events turned sharply against him. Sparrow slung the chain of his shackles round Miss Swann's neck and pulled her toward him, a wicked expression of relief dancing across his sun-browned face. My God. Musket hammers clicked back as the marines again levelled their weapons on the audacious pirate. At least they knew how to proceed. Norrington's mind began to whirl despite his efforts to remain firmly in control of his calm. This wasn't supposed to happen.
He barely paid attention to what was happening, as the pirate demanded the return of his effects. What should he do? Every bit of him wanted to see the pirate shot, but he couldn't give such an order with Miss Swann held in front of that blackguard like a human shield. For a moment, he froze, wondering if he could draw his sword and strike Sparrow down before the pirate had time to react. The moment passed and he realised he had little choice but to do as the pirate demanded. Watching, seething as the scene unfolded before him, and being powerless to intervene, Norrington's fingers curled into fists. This was madness. Forget the noose, this blackguard would find himself so full of musket balls that he would sink directly to the ocean floor, the instant the opportunity presented itself. Hanging was too good for scum like Sparrow.
"Gentlemen, m’lady...you will always remember this as the day that you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"
Then it was over, with Sparrow shoving Miss Swann toward Norrington and the other officers before darting around the stone pillar. Marines charged after him, with a quick-thinking corporal even leaping up in attempt to grab Sparrow's legs after the pirate kicked loose the crane and was jerked upwards by the swinging rope. A cannon smashed through the dock and two running marines weren't able to stop in time to avoid tumbling through the hole in the timbres. Damn!
"Open fire!" The Commodore bellowed and musket hammers clicked in the instant before an ear-splitting crackle rent the air. At least Miss Swann was safe. Her father had the girl held tightly to him, rightly afraid to release her, lest some other misfortune befall her. Scarlet-coated blurs of motion were all around as marines swiftly reloaded their muskets and surged along the dock in pursuit of clearer shots on the airborne pirate. "On his heels!"
It was another unnecessary order, as he saw the marine sergeant racing toward the street with a half dozen marines close behind. If the scarlet-coated men got to the pirate first there would be no mercy given. The marines were not known for being gentle in their treatment of captured pirates. It would be just as well, he decided, if the marines managed to catch up to Sparrow. Not like the pirate deserved to be handled kindly. He was too far behind to see where Sparrow had gone, but he thought he heard one of the marines ahead of him shout "Get 'im Quintin!" amid another brief crackle of musket fire.
Then, strangely, it was quiet. Running footsteps no longer rang over the dock ahead, no more shots or shouting echoed in the air. Stillness came over the dock, broken only by his shoes dashing over the timbres of the pier, closely followed by the Governor, his daughter, Gillette, and a handful of marines. The sight that greeted him as he came within sight of the street was both welcome and heartening. The pirate Sparrow had fallen at the very end of the dock, barely a step away from the street. Marines were only just pounding up to surround him, bayonet-tipped muskets pointed down at him, but even from where he stood, he could tell that it was an unnecessary precaution. Slowing his stride, knowing the danger was past, the Commodore glanced a marine standing nearby. The man was calmly reloading his musket, a neutral expression on his ruddy face. Norrington remembered thinking that he'd heard someone yell out at a marine called Quintin.
"Quintin?"
The marine glanced up at him, seemingly surprised to be addressed. "Aye sar?"
Understanding flooded through him. He had not imagined hearing that shout, then. Nodding to the marine, Norrington said, "Well done, Quintin," and continued toward the street where Sparrow lay. Judging by the triumphant smirks on the faces of the marines, he knew the chase was over. A smug expression settled onto his face as he gazed down at the growing crimson stain on the pirate's shirt. "We will always remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow almost escaped."
Lifting his gaze to seek out the marine sergeant, he said, "Fetch a cart. Take this... body to the church and see to it that it's given a burial."
As he walked away, he couldn't help but think how fitting it all was. The pirate who had nearly ruined one of the happiest days of Norrington's life ended up adding to the splendidness of the day. There were all sorts of ways a blackguard like Sparrow could be caught, and, he mused as he turned back to watch the marines heave the pirate's body into the horse-cart, that was certainly one of them.
"Thank you, Captain." Norrington murmured with a slight smile and turned away.
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: None of the characters that appeared in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies are mine, but are the property of Disney, et al. No profit is being made off this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Original pen-date: 9 February 2007
Summary: One-shot and a very AU one at that. The result of a plot bunny attack.
Author's Note: It's a bit lame toward the end. Endings seem to be my weak point.
His heart threatened to shatter against his ribs, beating wildly with a mixture of fear and anger as it was. He had sprinted the distance from the battlement from which she had fallen all the way to the dock where Interceptor was moored, keeping a pace or two ahead of the marines. Frantic worry lent him energy, enabling him to keep his limbs steady as he came upon a ghastly scene. A soaked, disreputable-smelling man kneeling over her, even as she coughed and sputtered sea water. His sword had never cleared its scabbard so quickly.
"On your feet," he'd snapped, nearly pricking the leathery skin of the man's chin with the point of the blade. How he would have liked nothing better than to slide the sword into the man's throat, simply for laying hands on the young lady lying sprawled on the dock. The blackguard's only saving grace was that Miss Swann was alive. A thin string upon which his life hung, to be sure. One unwise move, however, and his sword would get its first taste of blood, if leaden balls from the primed muskets of the marines around him did not strike first.
"Shoot him!" The Governor burst out, tucking his coat around his daughter's sodden shoulders. If only. This man, apparently Miss Swann's rescuer, as she claimed, deserved only the barest thanks in Norrington's mind. There was something about the fellow that warned him against offering any sort of true gratitude, an sense of unease that had crept into his consciousness upon first laying eyes on the man. A glance at the Sergeant of Marines standing nearby, emphasised by a quick rolling skyward of his eyes, was sufficient and the bayonet-tipped muskets lifted, as the marines relaxed, albeit reluctantly. His sword clattered as he shoved it back into its scabbard, hating that he was creating the appearance of being easily controlled by a civilian, even if it was Miss Swann.
Thrusting out his hand, he said, "I believe thanks are in order," and did his best not to curl his lip in disgust when the other man hesitantly accepted the offered handshake. Not only did the blackguard smell, his skin was dirty and rough. Once the man's fingers closed around his own, however, Norrington tightened his grip and jerked the man's arm toward him, using his left hand to push the once-white shirt sleeve up. As he'd suspected. The unmistakable mark lay bared to view, seared skin forming a capital 'P' on the man's forearm. "Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we? Pirate?"
He sensed rather than saw a tremor ripple through the marines behind him. Pirate-hunting was one of their favourite past-times, and who could fault their excitement at having one turn up right at their feet? A hanging would follow this, another raider of the sea meeting his deserved end. Not a bad result for what had almost been a complete disaster. There was a slight rattle as the marines levelled their muskets on the pirate again, nearly pre-empting his order. Sending the ever-reliable Gillette aboard Interceptor for a set of irons, allowed him to handle the captured pirate as he wished, for the moment. It would be too easy to allow the marines to fire, but the satisfaction of watching this man dangle from a noose would be far greater than seeing him fall to the dock with a dozen holes in him. Another movement upward of the man's sleeve revealed a tattoo.
Ah. That was even better. "Well, well, Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" Norrington couldn't resist a sneer as he flung the pirate's hand away. This was too much, really it was. Not just any pirate, but one who was hunted for all across the Caribbean. What luck! To his amusement, the pirate dared to correct him, claiming to be Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain of the gibbet, he was soon to be.
A heavyset marine thrust out the pirate's belongings, which Norrington examined with a concerted effort not to laugh. A broken compass, a pistol that was probably useless, and a battered cutlass. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the marine sergeant grinning widely. Without a doubt the rest of the marines wore similar expressions. It was highly amusing. What sort of pirate was this fool? "You are, without doubt, the worst pirate I've ever heard of.
"But you have heard of me."
More's the misfortune, the newly-promoted Commodore thought. The bold words were more than enough to spark the embers of his temper, and he seized the pirate's arm, dragging him toward the other side of the dock, as the marines lifted the muskets and stepped back to allow him to pass. Prudence and protocol dictated that he allow a junior officer or one of the marines to haul this stinking pirate off to the dungeon, but his ire had been raised enough that he wanted to perform the honour himself. Gillette had just returned with the requested irons, however, and Norrington shoved the pirate toward him, leaving him to the task of shackling Sparrow's wrists.
Incredibly, Miss Swann dared to follow and even to step between him and Sparrow, protesting what really was normal procedure. Irritation at the girl's boldness flashed through him. She was interfering where she had no right or cause, and making a complete fool of herself in the process. Well and good he'd saved her life, but he was still a pirate and he was still going to hang. In Norrington's mind that was perfectly clear and he attempted to explain that to Miss Swann.
It was then, as Gillette finished his task and moved to return to his Commodore's side, that events turned sharply against him. Sparrow slung the chain of his shackles round Miss Swann's neck and pulled her toward him, a wicked expression of relief dancing across his sun-browned face. My God. Musket hammers clicked back as the marines again levelled their weapons on the audacious pirate. At least they knew how to proceed. Norrington's mind began to whirl despite his efforts to remain firmly in control of his calm. This wasn't supposed to happen.
He barely paid attention to what was happening, as the pirate demanded the return of his effects. What should he do? Every bit of him wanted to see the pirate shot, but he couldn't give such an order with Miss Swann held in front of that blackguard like a human shield. For a moment, he froze, wondering if he could draw his sword and strike Sparrow down before the pirate had time to react. The moment passed and he realised he had little choice but to do as the pirate demanded. Watching, seething as the scene unfolded before him, and being powerless to intervene, Norrington's fingers curled into fists. This was madness. Forget the noose, this blackguard would find himself so full of musket balls that he would sink directly to the ocean floor, the instant the opportunity presented itself. Hanging was too good for scum like Sparrow.
"Gentlemen, m’lady...you will always remember this as the day that you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"
Then it was over, with Sparrow shoving Miss Swann toward Norrington and the other officers before darting around the stone pillar. Marines charged after him, with a quick-thinking corporal even leaping up in attempt to grab Sparrow's legs after the pirate kicked loose the crane and was jerked upwards by the swinging rope. A cannon smashed through the dock and two running marines weren't able to stop in time to avoid tumbling through the hole in the timbres. Damn!
"Open fire!" The Commodore bellowed and musket hammers clicked in the instant before an ear-splitting crackle rent the air. At least Miss Swann was safe. Her father had the girl held tightly to him, rightly afraid to release her, lest some other misfortune befall her. Scarlet-coated blurs of motion were all around as marines swiftly reloaded their muskets and surged along the dock in pursuit of clearer shots on the airborne pirate. "On his heels!"
It was another unnecessary order, as he saw the marine sergeant racing toward the street with a half dozen marines close behind. If the scarlet-coated men got to the pirate first there would be no mercy given. The marines were not known for being gentle in their treatment of captured pirates. It would be just as well, he decided, if the marines managed to catch up to Sparrow. Not like the pirate deserved to be handled kindly. He was too far behind to see where Sparrow had gone, but he thought he heard one of the marines ahead of him shout "Get 'im Quintin!" amid another brief crackle of musket fire.
Then, strangely, it was quiet. Running footsteps no longer rang over the dock ahead, no more shots or shouting echoed in the air. Stillness came over the dock, broken only by his shoes dashing over the timbres of the pier, closely followed by the Governor, his daughter, Gillette, and a handful of marines. The sight that greeted him as he came within sight of the street was both welcome and heartening. The pirate Sparrow had fallen at the very end of the dock, barely a step away from the street. Marines were only just pounding up to surround him, bayonet-tipped muskets pointed down at him, but even from where he stood, he could tell that it was an unnecessary precaution. Slowing his stride, knowing the danger was past, the Commodore glanced a marine standing nearby. The man was calmly reloading his musket, a neutral expression on his ruddy face. Norrington remembered thinking that he'd heard someone yell out at a marine called Quintin.
"Quintin?"
The marine glanced up at him, seemingly surprised to be addressed. "Aye sar?"
Understanding flooded through him. He had not imagined hearing that shout, then. Nodding to the marine, Norrington said, "Well done, Quintin," and continued toward the street where Sparrow lay. Judging by the triumphant smirks on the faces of the marines, he knew the chase was over. A smug expression settled onto his face as he gazed down at the growing crimson stain on the pirate's shirt. "We will always remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow almost escaped."
Lifting his gaze to seek out the marine sergeant, he said, "Fetch a cart. Take this... body to the church and see to it that it's given a burial."
As he walked away, he couldn't help but think how fitting it all was. The pirate who had nearly ruined one of the happiest days of Norrington's life ended up adding to the splendidness of the day. There were all sorts of ways a blackguard like Sparrow could be caught, and, he mused as he turned back to watch the marines heave the pirate's body into the horse-cart, that was certainly one of them.
"Thank you, Captain." Norrington murmured with a slight smile and turned away.