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Oct. 9th, 2008 04:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: Tango In The Night
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: 27 February 2007
Summary: A character sketch, inspired by a song. One man's thoughts about a love had and lost.
Author's Note: Bloody plot bunnies, they spawn at the most unwelcome of times, and at the strangest promptings. In this case, the brilliance that is Fleetwood Mac.
Listen to the wind on the water
Listen to the waves upon the shore
Try to sleep, sleep won't come
Just as I begin to fade...
His gaze was fixed on a point far out to sea, something visible only to him. To the casual observer, he appeared to be waiting to catch sight of a sail on the distant horizon. The freshening evening breeze whispered longingly over the gentle roll of the tide, dancing along the docks to lightly kiss his cheeks and ruffle his queue. His legs dangled over the edge of the pier and his hands were folded between his knees. He had no interest in the white-capped swells lapping against the sturdy pilings that supported the docks, nor in the rhythmic creaks and groans of the ship moored to the pier a few yards away. His thoughts were far away, centred on what had been within his grasp but had somehow slipped away from him.
The journey that had brought him to this point had been long and difficult. Pirates, cursed gold, and the bloody Navy had all figured into the outcome, but he had thought he had managed to preserve his good standing by returning to face the consequences of his actions. Apparently he had thought wrong. His gaze drifted down to his hands, as they curled into fists. He'd put those hands to many a task, from crossing blades with undead pirates to hauling on braces during a storm. He had not, however, ever imagined that he could have lost something so dear to him, so quickly. Apparently he had grossly underestimated a woman's formidable convictions and easily-damaged feelings.
Sighing, he forced his fists open. Sitting around and moping was something for a woman to do, but he found that he couldn't help it. His pride had been slighted by her rejection and it rankled to think he could be so summarily dismissed from someone's life. He'd always thought of himself as tolerable, in most respects, aside from the occasional edge that his tongue took. Recent events, however, were forcing him to rethink that, but admitting to himself that he could have been wrong was nearly impossible.
Then I remember
When the moon was full and bright
I would take you in the darkness
And do the tango in the night
Tango...
A fleeting smile came to his face as he recalled their past meetings, hidden away from the rest of the island in that room above the tavern. He'd met her when he had first arrived on the island, young and full of fire. How quickly that he'd settled down, mellowing out to prevent undue clashes with those who were his betters. He had done everything expected of a lad his age, and he had spotted her in the marketplace one day, fussing with a fruits vendor over the price of apples. How such silly things could set the foundation for a long relationship was remarkable, and yet he'd found himself enthralled by her.
The meeting in the marketplace had begun their acquaintance, bringing to life something that persisted over the years, as they grew and matured into adults. He had nearly been an adult himself, at the time of their meeting, but she was still a girl, and very much behaving as one. It was difficult to explain his attraction to the girl, given the difference between them, in age and station. The girl proved immensely headstrong, and insisted on taking walks with him as often as he was able, to which he had readily agreed. He could still recall the first evening she had lured him into that tavern, scarcely a day older than seventeen she was, smiling so coyly at him. Almost like a fool he had followed her. The situation had quickly gone wrong, once the rum began taking effect and his memory was mostly hazy, but he recalled the fumbling with buttons and ribbons quite distinctly. What a night that had been, for both of them.
Irritated at the memory, he scowled at the gathering darkness. That one night had led to so many others, each one leading them slowly toward inevitable discovery. The exposure of their secret had been intensely humiliating, and had it not been for a timely intervention from an unexpected source, they would have been forced to marry. Such a fate was not something he cared to endure, but somehow, the crisis had drawn them even closer. Knowing that made it all the more maddening to realise that she had forsaken him for another. It was so callous and unexpected. Hadn't she even bothered to consider that he might have real feelings for her?
I keep the dream in my pocket
Never let it fade away
Inside, outside
No loneliness in this dream
A pair of sailors burst into song from farther down the dock, their lusty voices ringing on the air in a rough sort of harmony, and he closed his eyes, thinking of all those times he had listened to men in the taverns roaring out bawdy sea-ballads. It had been his chosen profession that had brought about her change of heart, he decided. After all, who could possibly want to be romantically involved with one of his position and temperament? It was true that his personality was off-putting to many people, and yet there were many who found him likable enough to consider him good company. He scowled darkly, thinking that perhaps it was just an inherent flaw in women that made them so careless with men's hearts. His scowl vanished quickly in favour of a wince. He hadn't just thought that, not a chance.
A sigh escaped him and his shoulders sagged slightly, as he watched a longboat with black-painted oar blades glide past, bound for the formidable hulk of Dauntless anchored out in the bay. His thoughts refused to budge far from the memory of her, and the lingering stab of bitterness at her refusal of him. What did that other sod do that he hadn't? He'd seen the man before, and failed entirely to understand the attraction. Women were, he thought, destined to be for ever outside a man's ability to understand and predict.
He pushed himself to his feet wearily, knowing it was time to return home. At least, the simple room that he called home. Its sparse furnishings and bare walls held no cheer, but it matched his moods of late. He nodded stiffly at the two singing sailors as he passed them, wondering it was like to be so carefree. To be without worry or burden of affection scorned, it must be marvellous. A bitter smile came onto his face. Most men in his position would have been far less gracious than he, he was sure, but the situation had demanded that reaction. Inwardly, he had wanted to protest her choice and bring to her memory the promise she had made in that husky, breathless voice she used when she wanted to convince him to do this or that for her. Like a fool, however, he had simply walked away.
Then I remember
When the moon was full and bright
I would take you in the darkness
And do the tango in the night
Tango...
The lantern-lighters were out, the soft glow of their linstocks moving through the growing darkness like lazy fireflies. His feet took him to that tavern, where they used to meet, moving entirely of their own volition. Perhaps a tankard or two of rum would help soothe the fire raging within him. Perhaps, if he consumed enough, he might even forget her entirely, if only for the space of a few hours until the murky haze of drunkenness faded and he was left feeling even more sour and defeated than he had at the first sip of rum. Drinking to such an extent was not something he did often at all anyway.
"Two rounds," he told the barman, slumping into a chair in the corner. It was just as well he was there alone, it wouldn't do for anyone who might know him to see him indulging like this. The two tankards were placed before him and he regarded them sadly. How sorry a state he was in, to be reduced to this. The thought drifted away as he curled his fingers around the metal vessel and lifted it to his lips.
It was as he finished the first tankard and reached for the second that he spied a familiar hat and face through the smoky haze of the tavern and he groaned. Not now, of all times. Go away and bother me another night, he thought sourly, taking a long swallow from the tankard. His unspoken grumbling didn't work, but he supposed it was just his luck to have that man turn up precisely when he had no desire to see anyone.
"Good evening."
His only response was a grunt, but his expression was far more revealing. A hand touched his shoulder, then tightened around his arm, pulling him up from the chair. Glowering at the other man accomplished nothing and he gave in with a sigh. Departing now was the wisest thing, really, before he embarrassed himself in some horrible way.
"Come along, Lieutenant," the Commodore said softly, and Gillette nodded slowly.
"I shall survive, sir," he replied, and was surprised to realise that he meant it. That was something, a step toward recovering himself. Slipping his hat onto his head, the lieutenant followed his superior out of the tavern, deciding as he went that perhaps it was for the best that she had turned him away. There was one thing, however, that he knew he could never completely erase from his memory.
He would never forget that tango in the night.
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: 27 February 2007
Summary: A character sketch, inspired by a song. One man's thoughts about a love had and lost.
Author's Note: Bloody plot bunnies, they spawn at the most unwelcome of times, and at the strangest promptings. In this case, the brilliance that is Fleetwood Mac.
Listen to the wind on the water
Listen to the waves upon the shore
Try to sleep, sleep won't come
Just as I begin to fade...
His gaze was fixed on a point far out to sea, something visible only to him. To the casual observer, he appeared to be waiting to catch sight of a sail on the distant horizon. The freshening evening breeze whispered longingly over the gentle roll of the tide, dancing along the docks to lightly kiss his cheeks and ruffle his queue. His legs dangled over the edge of the pier and his hands were folded between his knees. He had no interest in the white-capped swells lapping against the sturdy pilings that supported the docks, nor in the rhythmic creaks and groans of the ship moored to the pier a few yards away. His thoughts were far away, centred on what had been within his grasp but had somehow slipped away from him.
The journey that had brought him to this point had been long and difficult. Pirates, cursed gold, and the bloody Navy had all figured into the outcome, but he had thought he had managed to preserve his good standing by returning to face the consequences of his actions. Apparently he had thought wrong. His gaze drifted down to his hands, as they curled into fists. He'd put those hands to many a task, from crossing blades with undead pirates to hauling on braces during a storm. He had not, however, ever imagined that he could have lost something so dear to him, so quickly. Apparently he had grossly underestimated a woman's formidable convictions and easily-damaged feelings.
Sighing, he forced his fists open. Sitting around and moping was something for a woman to do, but he found that he couldn't help it. His pride had been slighted by her rejection and it rankled to think he could be so summarily dismissed from someone's life. He'd always thought of himself as tolerable, in most respects, aside from the occasional edge that his tongue took. Recent events, however, were forcing him to rethink that, but admitting to himself that he could have been wrong was nearly impossible.
Then I remember
When the moon was full and bright
I would take you in the darkness
And do the tango in the night
Tango...
A fleeting smile came to his face as he recalled their past meetings, hidden away from the rest of the island in that room above the tavern. He'd met her when he had first arrived on the island, young and full of fire. How quickly that he'd settled down, mellowing out to prevent undue clashes with those who were his betters. He had done everything expected of a lad his age, and he had spotted her in the marketplace one day, fussing with a fruits vendor over the price of apples. How such silly things could set the foundation for a long relationship was remarkable, and yet he'd found himself enthralled by her.
The meeting in the marketplace had begun their acquaintance, bringing to life something that persisted over the years, as they grew and matured into adults. He had nearly been an adult himself, at the time of their meeting, but she was still a girl, and very much behaving as one. It was difficult to explain his attraction to the girl, given the difference between them, in age and station. The girl proved immensely headstrong, and insisted on taking walks with him as often as he was able, to which he had readily agreed. He could still recall the first evening she had lured him into that tavern, scarcely a day older than seventeen she was, smiling so coyly at him. Almost like a fool he had followed her. The situation had quickly gone wrong, once the rum began taking effect and his memory was mostly hazy, but he recalled the fumbling with buttons and ribbons quite distinctly. What a night that had been, for both of them.
Irritated at the memory, he scowled at the gathering darkness. That one night had led to so many others, each one leading them slowly toward inevitable discovery. The exposure of their secret had been intensely humiliating, and had it not been for a timely intervention from an unexpected source, they would have been forced to marry. Such a fate was not something he cared to endure, but somehow, the crisis had drawn them even closer. Knowing that made it all the more maddening to realise that she had forsaken him for another. It was so callous and unexpected. Hadn't she even bothered to consider that he might have real feelings for her?
I keep the dream in my pocket
Never let it fade away
Inside, outside
No loneliness in this dream
A pair of sailors burst into song from farther down the dock, their lusty voices ringing on the air in a rough sort of harmony, and he closed his eyes, thinking of all those times he had listened to men in the taverns roaring out bawdy sea-ballads. It had been his chosen profession that had brought about her change of heart, he decided. After all, who could possibly want to be romantically involved with one of his position and temperament? It was true that his personality was off-putting to many people, and yet there were many who found him likable enough to consider him good company. He scowled darkly, thinking that perhaps it was just an inherent flaw in women that made them so careless with men's hearts. His scowl vanished quickly in favour of a wince. He hadn't just thought that, not a chance.
A sigh escaped him and his shoulders sagged slightly, as he watched a longboat with black-painted oar blades glide past, bound for the formidable hulk of Dauntless anchored out in the bay. His thoughts refused to budge far from the memory of her, and the lingering stab of bitterness at her refusal of him. What did that other sod do that he hadn't? He'd seen the man before, and failed entirely to understand the attraction. Women were, he thought, destined to be for ever outside a man's ability to understand and predict.
He pushed himself to his feet wearily, knowing it was time to return home. At least, the simple room that he called home. Its sparse furnishings and bare walls held no cheer, but it matched his moods of late. He nodded stiffly at the two singing sailors as he passed them, wondering it was like to be so carefree. To be without worry or burden of affection scorned, it must be marvellous. A bitter smile came onto his face. Most men in his position would have been far less gracious than he, he was sure, but the situation had demanded that reaction. Inwardly, he had wanted to protest her choice and bring to her memory the promise she had made in that husky, breathless voice she used when she wanted to convince him to do this or that for her. Like a fool, however, he had simply walked away.
Then I remember
When the moon was full and bright
I would take you in the darkness
And do the tango in the night
Tango...
The lantern-lighters were out, the soft glow of their linstocks moving through the growing darkness like lazy fireflies. His feet took him to that tavern, where they used to meet, moving entirely of their own volition. Perhaps a tankard or two of rum would help soothe the fire raging within him. Perhaps, if he consumed enough, he might even forget her entirely, if only for the space of a few hours until the murky haze of drunkenness faded and he was left feeling even more sour and defeated than he had at the first sip of rum. Drinking to such an extent was not something he did often at all anyway.
"Two rounds," he told the barman, slumping into a chair in the corner. It was just as well he was there alone, it wouldn't do for anyone who might know him to see him indulging like this. The two tankards were placed before him and he regarded them sadly. How sorry a state he was in, to be reduced to this. The thought drifted away as he curled his fingers around the metal vessel and lifted it to his lips.
It was as he finished the first tankard and reached for the second that he spied a familiar hat and face through the smoky haze of the tavern and he groaned. Not now, of all times. Go away and bother me another night, he thought sourly, taking a long swallow from the tankard. His unspoken grumbling didn't work, but he supposed it was just his luck to have that man turn up precisely when he had no desire to see anyone.
"Good evening."
His only response was a grunt, but his expression was far more revealing. A hand touched his shoulder, then tightened around his arm, pulling him up from the chair. Glowering at the other man accomplished nothing and he gave in with a sigh. Departing now was the wisest thing, really, before he embarrassed himself in some horrible way.
"Come along, Lieutenant," the Commodore said softly, and Gillette nodded slowly.
"I shall survive, sir," he replied, and was surprised to realise that he meant it. That was something, a step toward recovering himself. Slipping his hat onto his head, the lieutenant followed his superior out of the tavern, deciding as he went that perhaps it was for the best that she had turned him away. There was one thing, however, that he knew he could never completely erase from his memory.
He would never forget that tango in the night.