Thomas’ lips twitched somewhat at young Blakeney’s indignation, and the stomping of his feet – admittedly thinking it the dawning of a bloody tantrum rather than the sheer insanity it truly was. The iguana ( which Thomas was fair sure was a friend of the doctor’s ) was a large enough creature that even he would be hesitant to wrestle with it, so to see the young, one armed middie launch himself to pin the beast against the wall admittedly left him speechless.
The lizard was twisting in an unhappy fashion with considerable force when Blakeney’s pleas jolted Thomas into action, hardly wishing to see the boy hurt ( or to have to be the one to explain to the captain how he had been wounded to begin with ) Darting over, he considered matters before him before deciding to do what he might have if the lizard were a dog. Animals were animals after all.
Leaning down, he set his arm underneath a cool belly and pressed his stomach against the rough spinal ridges, quietly hoping he was not about to cause damage to his uniform as he hauled back and lifted the fellow up. There was a great and mighty wriggling in protest, and Thomas stumbled back before reacting on instinct, treating the beast more like a cat and turning it to face himself. This proved potentially foolish when claws flashed so near his face he froze, but once the lizard had its front half over his shoulder, it seemed to calm considerably.
“Is there a reason we are harassing the doctor’s pet demon?” Thomas asked lightly, keeping a weather eye on the scales alongside his face and wincing slightly as he felt pinpricks of claws in his back and front – less for the pain, and more out of lament for his coat.
Sometimes people could say the most insensitive things, thinking that it was meaningless, or that it was acceptable because they were friends with whomever they said it to. As though by being friends with someone, you no longer needed to respect their feelings – because surely, they would understand your intent was not to be harmful and therefore you could be as dismissive and unkind as you pleased and it wouldn’t change anything.
It wasn’t meant to hurt and so, to claim that it did was to be oversensitive. Or worse, to be seen as angry with a friend who had said cruel things because they were troubled by their own demons. There was no scenario that Abigail knew of where it was permissible to tell someone dear that they were being unkind – it was only to be done when one did not care if they were seen as too sensitive, or when one did not care if that confrontation would cause the instigator pain in return.
Although Abigail knew Georgina had been jesting, that she had only said those words because she’d been fending off advances from drunken sailors for hours with little assistance from the men who were meant to be buffering such situations due to the fact two of them had been drawn off to assist some men to the town’s surgeon after that awful brawl that had broken out – they still resonated so deeply in Abigail’s chest she thought they might well shred her throat to pieces and leave her worthless on the floor, barely able to breathe but too stupid to die from the pain.
She had not meant to start crying as soon as she walked through the door – in fact she had only meant to be there for a few minutes, to deliver a book she had seen that she thought the two men living here would enjoy. No sooner had she stepped in, did the familiar scent of her father’s favorite tea hit her, and the next thing she knew she’d pressed her back to the door and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle any sound.
She was so blinded by the heat of her tears she hadn’t even seen him until she was gathered up in his arms, and some part of her wanted to scream at him. Some wild, dark, horrible part of her wanted someone else to hurt just as badly as she did – and who better than the man who had torn everything familiar from her? But it was no good. She hated that part of herself – hated the idea she was capable of being so cruel – and just as she couldn’t tell Georgina she had been awful tonight, she could not bring herself to tell James how horrible it was to walk into his house and have it smell like the home he had razed to the ground.
So she stood there, weeping impotently against the frustrations raging on inside of her, until her body was too tired to carry on, and the hurts were numbed by the energy they had stolen from her. She had a headache from the pressure of it all, and she wanted nothing more than to run away somewhere and hide, to sleep until it all fell away, and she could wake up feeling like she could face the day again.
Instead, she took in a shaky breath, and stepped back – holding up the book by way of explanation for her presence, and gently pushing it toward him, at once unable, and unwilling, to make herself speak as to what had happened to make her break down in such a disgusting manner as she had. She hated it with every fibre of her being, but as there was nothing to do about it unless she wanted to make herself vomit from the sheer disastrous disarray that her humors had aligned themselves into by pushing them further into chaos, she saw no point in thinking too much on the crime she had just committed.
A downfall in social standing was perhaps the most familiar and ridiculous cause for a woman’s suffering that Julia had found herself encountering in her many years upon this earth. Countless were the times when she found a woman seething against the limitless frustrations brought upon her by men and status, only to witness them recoil from the idea of escaping those very same fetters when the opportunity was offered to them. It was ever so fashionable to be frustrated – but to take action, well that was just unthinkable, wasn’t it?
Yet for every twenty or thirty women who shared their laments and fled from the idea of changing their circumstances, there was always one who would take a stand for herself and come out beautiful for it. Julia had welcomed many a woman who had chosen to flee their husbands, their fathers, their brothers – and many more who had chosen to kill them outright. Each one moving on to build a life of their own making and design, with no voice louder than their own on what they could and could not do. And as ever, Julia found herself curious to know if she had found another such woman – or simply one of many who would blur away into the statistically forgettable.
“That is only true if bottomless vaults of money mean anything to you,” Julia pointed out blandly. “If money and social standing mean more to you than your right to choose, your ability to live life in a manner that does not hold you back, then you have no reason to lament your position. You have made your choice in that case – to be miserable about it is hypocritical at best, wouldn’t you say?”
Julia smiled, leaning so she could take a better look at the ‘creeps’ in question. “People who live in luxury often need to imagine their own hardships to even have a taste of a life that is interesting. Or – in cases like theirs – create their own little dramas. The question that raises then, is whether or not you want to remain the tool of their entertainment, or change the rules of the game entirely.”
The stones crunched
underfoot as James approached the Governor’s house, part of him
wanted to stay away… the wound.. the humiliation was still fresh in
his mind and heart.
But he only had one day
before he left to pursue Jack Sparrow and there were questions that
needed to be asked—whether or not James would want to hear the
answers was another matter entirely.
He prayed he did not
see Elizabeth there, nor Turner and that thought alone caused him to
stop in his path.
What was he doing? He
had an expedition to plan and a notorious pirate to capture he should
be back in his office pouring over maps instead of standing stone
still in the cooling evening air on the path to the Swann
residence torn between personal matters of the heart and his duty.
Weatherby had always
been good to him and James did not think he’d purposely set him up
for humiliation by the hands of his daughter.
Just the thought of her
was like a blade to the heart—an almost physical pain that caused
him to tense and clench his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
No.. he needed
answers..and he needed them before he left.
He forced himself to
move, a controlled pace as he strode up to the door and knocked,
waiting to be received by a member of staff.
“I’m here to speak to
Governor Swann.” James said, and then added as a polite
afterthought. “If he is available to speak to me.”
@oceanfoamed // james norrington for weatherby swann
Against all the odds in the wake of such scandalous affairs, matters in the Swann household had managed to return themselves to something resembling normalcy. In spite of Elizabeth’s adventures with pirates and her decision to marry a blacksmith over a celebrated commodore, the staff seemed content to keep rumors from spreading beyond the home itself with little prompting from Weatherby.
Thankfully with the sheer fantastical nature of matters and the way of sailors and their sea tales, there tended to be a great deal more to focus on than the governor’s daughter and her peculiar taste in men. While Weatherby held nothing against young Turner, he would be lying to claim that he particularly trusted the boy or truly believed him the right choice.
However, it was as beyond him now to deny Elizabeth what she truly desired as it had been when he had pointed out to her that a good decision made for the wrong reasons – could still be wrong. Though it had ultimately been the end of his hopes for Elizabeth and James – if nothing else it also assured that the two would not end up miserable in their marriages, which was not a fate he desired toward those he disliked, let alone two of the most important elements of his life.
Indeed, Weatherby’s high opinion of James had not been altered by these events in the slightest – if anything his esteem had only grown. So when the man himself came calling, the maid who answered was quick to invite him in and have him wait in the hall while the head of the house was informed he had a visitor and the study was made up to receive them – for there was no doubt that this visitor would be welcomed, despite the governor turning away most visitors of late in favor of focusing on arranging his daughter’s wedding.
Sure enough, Weatherby had been delighted enough to abandon his project with the event coordinators ( leaving them to do work in peace for a time ) in order to make his way to the study and greet James warmly. As soon as he saw the young man, it was difficult not to feel regret once again that things simply hadn’t worked out in his favor, but it was no matter. Weatherby smiled and welcomed James as he would a son, regardless.
“It’s been some time since you’ve been by,” He observed, after initial pleasantries had been exchanged. Of course, he understood why, so he did not press that and simply inquired, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
To his credit, young Blakeney was holding up better under the knife than many men twice his age had done without a nigh heart stopping amount of laudanum in their systems. Stephen was reluctant to use too much on the boy, knowing its ravaging effects could be hard enough on adults – and while he was sure some would argue Blakeney’s status on that front, he was in no mood to hear it. There were some matters when age held too much impact for pride to hold any bearing between who ought to qualify as a boy or a man, and medicine was most certainly one of them.
The work was taxing – both physically and on a lower, internal level that Stephen quietly suppressed. To enact this level of violence on so small a form – even for the sake of sparing the life – was trying at best. It was something Stephen never did particularly well with on a personal level, though he was wise never to show it – but there were times he could not help but remark on certain points of interest, such as ( in this instance ) the sheer amount of blood one small body could contain.
The quiet apology catches him off guard – he had not thought Blakeney was even coherent at the moment, but as it was his own reply was clipped from the stress of his efforts and his desire to get this matter resolved swiftly so as to see the lad on his way to recovery with as minimal pain as possible under the given circumstances.
“That was rhetorical – and hardly anything to apologize for.” He doubted the boy was functional enough to maintain conversation – though if he was some alcohol might be needed soon enough. This next procedure would be even worse, as the flesh was cauterized to seal the wound.
It is difficult to say what is the most jarring aspect of this unexpected visitation of the young earl’s daughter. While her presence alone was shocking considering he had only entertained her here twice before and with appropriate company, that she would arrive in such a state was absolutely inexplicable ( for who in their right mind would cause such damage to a woman in a time of peace? ) it was in fact her accent which left Andre flatfooted.
When she spoke again, he shook himself of the astonishment sharply and stepped back, motioning her in as he gazed past her in case anyone happened to have followed her here. Closing the door after she had passed, he bolted it and made his way quickly as he could manage to where he kept his alcohol. He was not fast on this damnable leg, but thankfully his cottage was a small thing indeed, and it did not take long to acquire what he needed and bring it over to her.
“This will help numb the pain,” He explained, unstoppering the bottle and setting it down for her. “There are no surgeons near here.” Not near enough for a wound like that, at least. She would have been wiser to have turned another way, he was certain. What was worse, he had never truly needed to function without one what with the fact his sister had been such an expert on the matter. Unfortunately she was in France, leading in all that he could not and would not in this chosen exile of his – but he could not simply do nothing.
“We may be able to bind it up – “ Damn propriety when a life was at stake, “Once we stop the bleeding, I can ride for a surgeon, if you will it.” He would not take liberty, regardless – no matter what he did here, the earl was sure to hold him accountable, so it seemed to Andre better instead to focus on the girl herself. In truth, of the two, it was her opinion which mattered more to him either way.
It was a reckless thing, to trust someone so intimately as to not only bare ones whole body before them without an ounce of shame – but to go so far as to allow that person to bind ones hands above ones head, making that vulnerability all the more intent in the danger that entrapment posed – was a heady and wild matter the likes of which Jack could only consider the height of madness.
There was no doubt in his heart that he loved James Norrington more than could ever be counted as wise or even particularly sane. They had crossed every line imaginable for each other – had challenged the impossible for one another – had been both Orpheus and
Eurydice in their dance toward the life they lead now aboard the Pearl, as captain and first mate, as friends and lovers, as husbands for better and worse.
And yet still there were moments like these when Jack found himself boggled by how deeply and irrevocably assured their mutual destruction had become, if only for the fact that two men who trusted one another this completely could in turn only truly be ruined by the other.
In that particular moment, James was quite determined to ruin him in most delightful fashions indeed. A gasp was torn from him – as were the last of his ruminations – as he found himself drawn deep into a familiar heat. His hands tightened their grip on his bonds, twisting in the leather in search of purchase as his back arched above the cot in a strange mixture of pleasurable frustration, seeking more – seeking anything to ease the tightness of his own arousal.
“Jem,” There was a low rasp in his voice, a hint of warning that he was growing frustrated with this inability to run his hands all over the damn man and be the one driving him insane, “You – “ Whatever he had been about to say was lost in the wake of a single idiotic error. Looking down, he found himself pinned by the stormy gaze of his beloved – which on any other occasion could be distracting enough – but to see those beautiful lips stretched over himself – in truth, Jack lost all capacity to think of anything beyond that particular visual.
Ocean Archive 