PotC drabble -- Forty Years
jillapet wanted Will and Flipper aka James, some years along. Here we go with something that could easily grow, as the pirates sail into the Age of Revolution!
Off Grand Cayman, 1803
The guns had fallen silent when the Dutchman surfaced. Bodies floated amid the flotsam on the waters. Of the five ships, three were still afloat. The magnificent El Dorado was afire, but it was a sullen blaze, under control. One of the British frigates drifted dismasted, her colors reversed on a spar at her stern. Only Orpheus seemed relatively unscathed, and it was her boats that paddled among the flotsam, looking like Will to separate the living from the dead.
"Hello James," he said. "Did you win?" He was surprised at the harshness in his own voice.
The man on Orpheus' quarterdeck seemed unsurprised to see him appear out of nothing. His face was streaked with smoke, but it did not disguise his handsome features, his light brown hair cropped in the new fashion, long sideburns. His high collared jacket was open, and his white shirt spattered with blood. "I did," he said evenly, straightening with a movement that reminded Will forcibly of James' mother. "I think this should effectively end any attempt to retake Shipwreck Island."
"The Republic of the Dry Tortugas?" Will said, glancing aloft to the standard there, a wild bird on a blue field, something written in gold beneath it. "Is that worth all this?"
"You know," James said, cleaning off his saber on his jacket, "We're hardly the only small island to declare independence. Haiti, for example. And it's not as though we've ever actually been under British control. Not since well before I was born."
Not since Beckett tried to hold it, Will thought. Not since the day he had become captain of the Dutchman. Not since Elizabeth became King. "And how does your mother feel about being a Republic?" Will asked dryly.
"She's always been a constitutional monarch," James said. "You won't see her bucking the Code. We've always been a republic. We just didn't call it that. And she's listened to me more, these last few years."
Will nodded, knowing what was unspoken. Since Jack died. And it was more than time she listened to James, as he was nearly forty. He looked at his son. Captain James Turner, commander of the pirate fleet of the Republic of the Dry Tortugas. Above, the blue banner fluttered in the breeze, the wild bird flying over the single emblazoned word. Liberty.
Off Grand Cayman, 1803
The guns had fallen silent when the Dutchman surfaced. Bodies floated amid the flotsam on the waters. Of the five ships, three were still afloat. The magnificent El Dorado was afire, but it was a sullen blaze, under control. One of the British frigates drifted dismasted, her colors reversed on a spar at her stern. Only Orpheus seemed relatively unscathed, and it was her boats that paddled among the flotsam, looking like Will to separate the living from the dead.
"Hello James," he said. "Did you win?" He was surprised at the harshness in his own voice.
The man on Orpheus' quarterdeck seemed unsurprised to see him appear out of nothing. His face was streaked with smoke, but it did not disguise his handsome features, his light brown hair cropped in the new fashion, long sideburns. His high collared jacket was open, and his white shirt spattered with blood. "I did," he said evenly, straightening with a movement that reminded Will forcibly of James' mother. "I think this should effectively end any attempt to retake Shipwreck Island."
"The Republic of the Dry Tortugas?" Will said, glancing aloft to the standard there, a wild bird on a blue field, something written in gold beneath it. "Is that worth all this?"
"You know," James said, cleaning off his saber on his jacket, "We're hardly the only small island to declare independence. Haiti, for example. And it's not as though we've ever actually been under British control. Not since well before I was born."
Not since Beckett tried to hold it, Will thought. Not since the day he had become captain of the Dutchman. Not since Elizabeth became King. "And how does your mother feel about being a Republic?" Will asked dryly.
"She's always been a constitutional monarch," James said. "You won't see her bucking the Code. We've always been a republic. We just didn't call it that. And she's listened to me more, these last few years."
Will nodded, knowing what was unspoken. Since Jack died. And it was more than time she listened to James, as he was nearly forty. He looked at his son. Captain James Turner, commander of the pirate fleet of the Republic of the Dry Tortugas. Above, the blue banner fluttered in the breeze, the wild bird flying over the single emblazoned word. Liberty.