(no subject)
TITLE: Seven Deadly Sins (Pride_2)
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: The second part of "Pride", Jack is here, as promised. There's also a bit of an interlude of random Elizabeth character analysis/introspection. Ummm, that's about it.
VI.
(superbia)
PRIDE
(2)
And the serpent said unto the woman, "Ye shall not surely die; for God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." And when the woman saw that the tree was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat. Genesis 3:4-6
He greets her at the door, bottle in hand, and before she has a chance to utter a 'hello', his focus has shifted to the necklace sitting on her collarbone; a string of black pearls, with a gold clasp at the nape of her neck.
"Nice touch, darling, honestly." He smirks, and steps aside, with a flourish, for her to enter.
She can feel the blood rush to her cheeks, as she removes her coat and mutters, "They were my Mother's."
They both know this is only half truth.
She had come here with a purpose that she would not admit, even to herself; one hour after receiving a message on torn parchment, and why he had risked coming back to Port Royal, she couldn't imagine. Then again, Jack Sparrow was not known for his aversion to risk. The woman tending the desk gave her a knowing look as she asked which room he was in, surely it wasn't something she saw every day. The daughter of the former Governor, dressed in tattered clothes, nervously wringing her now-rough hands, inquiring as to the whereabouts of a pirate.
Then again, townspeople are bound to talk, and they'd all heard the stories. She'd become accustomed to the disapproving glares of the devout, and heard the tiny old women murmuring. Some days she was tempted to correct them, to shock them with all the details they'd missed, to say, "yes, actually, it was like that, and then some," in a tone that sounded, in her mind, like a clever sort of matter-of-fact sarcasm (it was a tone he would use), but her upbringing had a deeper hold than she'd like to admit.
She almost jumps out her skin when he closes the door, and is brought back to earth by the low chuckle that her reaction earns.
"Well, that's lovely, all my wishes have come true in this moment," she's only half listening, and he's shifting somewhere behind her, "see, I was thinking to m'self earlier, 'wouldn't it be marvelous to have a statue, shaped exactly like dear Elizabeth? Could stand her right there.'"
When she turns, he's pointing to the spot where she'd been standing; she realizes she's been frozen there, for at least a minute. He starts to say something, but he arches a brow, and then points to a seat in the corner.
"Sit, girl, sit." She does, he does the same, "I find that talking, also, sometimes helps in social situations."
"It's good to see you, Jack." Elizabeth breathes, finally; the calm before the inevitable storm of all their interactions.
"Of course it is! I'm, well, me, after all, and really, I think that should be enough for any bird. From bang-tails to high society ladies, like yourself."
Years chip away at mystery, and she knows now that he babbles when he's nervous. It's part comforting, part endearing, and all Jack; the last bit is what she's missed the most. She smiles, and he sees a little flicker of light behind eyes that'd looked alarmingly dead five minutes prior, "Are you going to keep prattling on about your finer points, or are you going to give this lady a drink?"
"Ah, but I could prattle on about m'finer points all night. The real question, luv, is how long've you got?"
~
She is the heroine of every tale she's ever read: Ophelia, Desdemona, Rapunzel, Anne Bonny, and Grace O'Malley; the greatest one of all, is her life. It's not a hard conclusion to come to, one need only peel away a layer or two, to see hubris laid bare like entrails. Blame it on station, on a doting Father; she was spoiled, quite used to getting whatever she wanted. Perhaps, the only reason she craved an illusive horizon, was that she could not reach it. Perhaps it was all the screaming of a spoiled rich child, who'd never known hunger, or cold; maybe she'd been so sheltered, so protected, that the root of it all was simple boredom, coupled with her penchant for romanticizing everything.
Delusions of grandeur, the remnants of class training that told her she was superior, and thus, too good to live a simple life, as a simple wife, like everyone else. Too much for this simple world, with it's trades, hard hours, mediocrity, and lack of imagination. It would be bitter irony, if the meaning of it all was indoctrination she hated.
The line between fantasy and reality had been so blurred, so eroded by stories, by kohl, and sand between her toes, that it was all nothing but a script, like the Shakespeare she used to read; if all the world's a stage, it's easy to put off consequence. It's all a part of the story, and both of her men are stepping stones to her own, personal, entirely selfish growth; there will come a time when neither of them have anything left to teach.
"Pirate."
~
His eyes are half closed when she takes the bottle from his hand, and settles again next to him. He writes his name on her back with the pad of his forefinger, and the band of silver is cold against her skin.
"Men've got two brains, Lizzie, m'dear," he slurs now, more than she's heard before, his voice low, and heavy, "M'not sure which I'm using, just now."
"Little of both, I should think." She moves against his hand, subtle enough for him to think he'd imagined it, "I suppose the real question is which one is winning?"
He grins, and presses a weary hand to his forehead, "Come closer, and I'll whisper it to you."
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: The second part of "Pride", Jack is here, as promised. There's also a bit of an interlude of random Elizabeth character analysis/introspection. Ummm, that's about it.
VI.
(superbia)
PRIDE
(2)
And the serpent said unto the woman, "Ye shall not surely die; for God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." And when the woman saw that the tree was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat. Genesis 3:4-6
He greets her at the door, bottle in hand, and before she has a chance to utter a 'hello', his focus has shifted to the necklace sitting on her collarbone; a string of black pearls, with a gold clasp at the nape of her neck.
"Nice touch, darling, honestly." He smirks, and steps aside, with a flourish, for her to enter.
She can feel the blood rush to her cheeks, as she removes her coat and mutters, "They were my Mother's."
They both know this is only half truth.
She had come here with a purpose that she would not admit, even to herself; one hour after receiving a message on torn parchment, and why he had risked coming back to Port Royal, she couldn't imagine. Then again, Jack Sparrow was not known for his aversion to risk. The woman tending the desk gave her a knowing look as she asked which room he was in, surely it wasn't something she saw every day. The daughter of the former Governor, dressed in tattered clothes, nervously wringing her now-rough hands, inquiring as to the whereabouts of a pirate.
Then again, townspeople are bound to talk, and they'd all heard the stories. She'd become accustomed to the disapproving glares of the devout, and heard the tiny old women murmuring. Some days she was tempted to correct them, to shock them with all the details they'd missed, to say, "yes, actually, it was like that, and then some," in a tone that sounded, in her mind, like a clever sort of matter-of-fact sarcasm (it was a tone he would use), but her upbringing had a deeper hold than she'd like to admit.
She almost jumps out her skin when he closes the door, and is brought back to earth by the low chuckle that her reaction earns.
"Well, that's lovely, all my wishes have come true in this moment," she's only half listening, and he's shifting somewhere behind her, "see, I was thinking to m'self earlier, 'wouldn't it be marvelous to have a statue, shaped exactly like dear Elizabeth? Could stand her right there.'"
When she turns, he's pointing to the spot where she'd been standing; she realizes she's been frozen there, for at least a minute. He starts to say something, but he arches a brow, and then points to a seat in the corner.
"Sit, girl, sit." She does, he does the same, "I find that talking, also, sometimes helps in social situations."
"It's good to see you, Jack." Elizabeth breathes, finally; the calm before the inevitable storm of all their interactions.
"Of course it is! I'm, well, me, after all, and really, I think that should be enough for any bird. From bang-tails to high society ladies, like yourself."
Years chip away at mystery, and she knows now that he babbles when he's nervous. It's part comforting, part endearing, and all Jack; the last bit is what she's missed the most. She smiles, and he sees a little flicker of light behind eyes that'd looked alarmingly dead five minutes prior, "Are you going to keep prattling on about your finer points, or are you going to give this lady a drink?"
"Ah, but I could prattle on about m'finer points all night. The real question, luv, is how long've you got?"
~
She is the heroine of every tale she's ever read: Ophelia, Desdemona, Rapunzel, Anne Bonny, and Grace O'Malley; the greatest one of all, is her life. It's not a hard conclusion to come to, one need only peel away a layer or two, to see hubris laid bare like entrails. Blame it on station, on a doting Father; she was spoiled, quite used to getting whatever she wanted. Perhaps, the only reason she craved an illusive horizon, was that she could not reach it. Perhaps it was all the screaming of a spoiled rich child, who'd never known hunger, or cold; maybe she'd been so sheltered, so protected, that the root of it all was simple boredom, coupled with her penchant for romanticizing everything.
Delusions of grandeur, the remnants of class training that told her she was superior, and thus, too good to live a simple life, as a simple wife, like everyone else. Too much for this simple world, with it's trades, hard hours, mediocrity, and lack of imagination. It would be bitter irony, if the meaning of it all was indoctrination she hated.
The line between fantasy and reality had been so blurred, so eroded by stories, by kohl, and sand between her toes, that it was all nothing but a script, like the Shakespeare she used to read; if all the world's a stage, it's easy to put off consequence. It's all a part of the story, and both of her men are stepping stones to her own, personal, entirely selfish growth; there will come a time when neither of them have anything left to teach.
"Pirate."
~
His eyes are half closed when she takes the bottle from his hand, and settles again next to him. He writes his name on her back with the pad of his forefinger, and the band of silver is cold against her skin.
"Men've got two brains, Lizzie, m'dear," he slurs now, more than she's heard before, his voice low, and heavy, "M'not sure which I'm using, just now."
"Little of both, I should think." She moves against his hand, subtle enough for him to think he'd imagined it, "I suppose the real question is which one is winning?"
He grins, and presses a weary hand to his forehead, "Come closer, and I'll whisper it to you."