(no subject)
TITLE: Seven Deadly Sins
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: The 4th part in my "Seven Deadly Sins" series. 3 more to go. The first three parts are here.
IV.
(invidia)
ENVY
There is not a single proper wedding dress, ordered from London, or Paris, or any other place, that lacks a corset. Whether or not this is any sort of statement on the institution itself, she'll not think about, because these are not the things a bride should think of. Most especially not on her wedding day. She could simplify her life, perhaps even find some semblance of peace, if she could only see things superficially, and not seek anymore. If a corset could only be an undergarment, or a pirate, nothing but a common criminal.
Instead she pushes a stray hair into place, examining her reflection in the mirror, as though gazing at a portrait; a cold, expensive image of the last person she thought she'd become.
It wasn't, by any means, an indictment on her love for Will, and this was the thing she could not reconcile. She still could not imagine sleep without his weight next to her, without his constant blanket-thievery, without nudging him awake, five times a night, to keep from falling off the bed, and at least another four, just to cause him, in a state of half-dream, to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her chest, and drift back into rest.
There were times when she wanted him to cover her, and wash the sin away, wash away the smell of betrayal, and sweat. She wanted to be content, to be happy, and in love, in a small house somewhere in the country. She did not want to be plagued with thoughts of faraway beaches, or the incessant longing that caused her throat to constrict. It is human nature to crave the unattainable, but her sin was quite different, in that the unattainable was all she craved. Her sin was wanting more than the whole of the world could provide.
"Look at it."
His voice is almost as smooth as the sandalwood smoke that pours from the censor hanging in the corner, erasing, and overwhelming what's left of her senses, until the only two things in the world are that voice, and the silver coin moving, on a chain, back and forth in front of her eyes. It's a bauble he picked up somewhere, he'd said, nothing but a bit of shine, something to play with.
She cannot recall how this little game had started, nor could she fathom his reasoning, but when Jack puts his mind to something, no matter how absurd the task may seem, he's dedicated. A tiny nervous laugh escapes her, and she breaks the coin's hold, "I'm sorry, I can't," she looks away, still laughing, "it's all, too ..." she stops, unsure of what she was about to say. He's still repeating the same motion, tiny flickers of silver moving past his white, and gold smile.
"Just look at it." He says, in a soothing tone, "Just exist, luv," it is never a good thing for a betrothed woman to be so acutely aware of another man's breathing, "just be."
She cannot recall how she'd gotten here, in his cabin, anchored in a cove near her home. Whatever reason she had for coming here, to him, on the night before her wedding, had passed away with the last drops of his rum supply.
The coin passes again, and she knows she'll be hypnotized completely if she allows it. Still, she gives in. To the smoke, to the rum, to the tension that passes between them like water; to that little trinket. She hates him in that moment, that he can "be", that he can "exist", that he can leave, and head out toward wherever he pleases. She hates that he does not take her with him; hates his incomparable luck.
"Look at me." He says, and she meets his eyes, something hot, and dangerous, and she admits it's not hatred, but jealously.
"Look at yourself."
The motion has stopped, and she is droopy-eyed in the dim light, hair coming unpinned, falling in messy ringlets around her face. But there's an engraving in the reflection, in the silver. An elaborately carved jolly roger, almost like the image she recalled on the Aztec gold that'd started the entire affair. He grins, pleased that's she noticed, and starts to stand, to move behind her, and fasten the gift around her neck.
"Such a shame you had to go and lose the last one," He whispers against the nape of her neck, "always thought silver suited you better, any way."
To anyone who's likely to ask, she'll reply that it's "something old", the glistening pendant tucked beneath layers of status; a secret for only the two of them, the Pearl, and the sea to know.
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: The 4th part in my "Seven Deadly Sins" series. 3 more to go. The first three parts are here.
IV.
(invidia)
ENVY
There is not a single proper wedding dress, ordered from London, or Paris, or any other place, that lacks a corset. Whether or not this is any sort of statement on the institution itself, she'll not think about, because these are not the things a bride should think of. Most especially not on her wedding day. She could simplify her life, perhaps even find some semblance of peace, if she could only see things superficially, and not seek anymore. If a corset could only be an undergarment, or a pirate, nothing but a common criminal.
Instead she pushes a stray hair into place, examining her reflection in the mirror, as though gazing at a portrait; a cold, expensive image of the last person she thought she'd become.
It wasn't, by any means, an indictment on her love for Will, and this was the thing she could not reconcile. She still could not imagine sleep without his weight next to her, without his constant blanket-thievery, without nudging him awake, five times a night, to keep from falling off the bed, and at least another four, just to cause him, in a state of half-dream, to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her chest, and drift back into rest.
There were times when she wanted him to cover her, and wash the sin away, wash away the smell of betrayal, and sweat. She wanted to be content, to be happy, and in love, in a small house somewhere in the country. She did not want to be plagued with thoughts of faraway beaches, or the incessant longing that caused her throat to constrict. It is human nature to crave the unattainable, but her sin was quite different, in that the unattainable was all she craved. Her sin was wanting more than the whole of the world could provide.
"Look at it."
His voice is almost as smooth as the sandalwood smoke that pours from the censor hanging in the corner, erasing, and overwhelming what's left of her senses, until the only two things in the world are that voice, and the silver coin moving, on a chain, back and forth in front of her eyes. It's a bauble he picked up somewhere, he'd said, nothing but a bit of shine, something to play with.
She cannot recall how this little game had started, nor could she fathom his reasoning, but when Jack puts his mind to something, no matter how absurd the task may seem, he's dedicated. A tiny nervous laugh escapes her, and she breaks the coin's hold, "I'm sorry, I can't," she looks away, still laughing, "it's all, too ..." she stops, unsure of what she was about to say. He's still repeating the same motion, tiny flickers of silver moving past his white, and gold smile.
"Just look at it." He says, in a soothing tone, "Just exist, luv," it is never a good thing for a betrothed woman to be so acutely aware of another man's breathing, "just be."
She cannot recall how she'd gotten here, in his cabin, anchored in a cove near her home. Whatever reason she had for coming here, to him, on the night before her wedding, had passed away with the last drops of his rum supply.
The coin passes again, and she knows she'll be hypnotized completely if she allows it. Still, she gives in. To the smoke, to the rum, to the tension that passes between them like water; to that little trinket. She hates him in that moment, that he can "be", that he can "exist", that he can leave, and head out toward wherever he pleases. She hates that he does not take her with him; hates his incomparable luck.
"Look at me." He says, and she meets his eyes, something hot, and dangerous, and she admits it's not hatred, but jealously.
"Look at yourself."
The motion has stopped, and she is droopy-eyed in the dim light, hair coming unpinned, falling in messy ringlets around her face. But there's an engraving in the reflection, in the silver. An elaborately carved jolly roger, almost like the image she recalled on the Aztec gold that'd started the entire affair. He grins, pleased that's she noticed, and starts to stand, to move behind her, and fasten the gift around her neck.
"Such a shame you had to go and lose the last one," He whispers against the nape of her neck, "always thought silver suited you better, any way."
To anyone who's likely to ask, she'll reply that it's "something old", the glistening pendant tucked beneath layers of status; a secret for only the two of them, the Pearl, and the sea to know.