[Fic] The anatomy of barnacles
Title: The anatomy of barnacles
Author: fairielore
Rating: PG
Characters: Beckett, Davy Jones, Norrington,
Word Count: 756
Summary: The search for Davy Jones now that Beckett had in his possession said captain's heart.
Notes: For redeyedfeline, and the first installment of what will hopefully be a prosperous fic. <3
Ragged, torn, and dirty. That was the state of the man who brought him the single most valuable object on this earth. It was not made of gold, or silver or diamonds - it was organic, through and through. And with every pulsation he knew that he was one step closer to his final goal
It seemed that it was easier to find a ship that does not want to be found then on a mad, feverish search. Surely two of the greatest ships on the seas would be naturally drawn to each other? Ships that contain the two finest captains that ever treaded the waters, no less. The most powerful man on the continent holds the heart and soul of the most dastardly man of the underworld. They are two jagged, fragmented pieces that fit into no puzzle. They are one by themselves.
The voyage is as smooth as can be, but Cutler Beckett is on no pleasure cruise. But as the Endeavour closed in on stormier weather he knew he was moving closer and closer to the infamous Captain. Until then, it was a waiting game. And there was work to be done, namely in the form of integrating the Admiral into his organization, the fine matters of reassurance and comfort something one must take the utmost care with. But there was something about the Admiral and his eagerness to please that made the process almost a joy to partake in. Apparently, a few civil words went a long way with the former outlaw. The daytime was spent fabricating a careful charade for a man who could no longer take the truth, who would rather live in an illusion then the filth and heartbreak he’d endured. And he was a merciful Lord.
But at night he held the heart and squeezed ever so gently, wondering if its owner could feel the hold. If he didn’t yet, in time he would.
- - -
It was only fitting that he would find the Flying Dutchman a day devoid of any sunshine at all, a dark blanket of clouds overheard that seemed to be warning of a storm, but Cutler Beckett knew none would come. A day like this would garner no tears.
The Flying Dutchman was a formidable sight to behold, but a terrifying one nonetheless. As the Endeavour, in all its prim and proper glory headed towards the monstrous ship there was an air of panic and nervousness on the ship. To anyone but Cutler Beckett it seemed like a death wish, to enter the belly of the beast with what - what did they have to combat such a foe? Whatever that was contained in the small burlap sack that their Lord held?
- - -
The Captain of the Flying Dutchman stared out at the approaching ship with a mix of frustration and curiosity. What fool would head at full speed ahead to the ferryman of the underworld? Frustration, of course, because he simply had no time for this, not when he had to find out exactly who Jack Sparrow had bequeathed the heart to. To whom had the scallywag given his heart to? Once he held that answer there was nothing that could stop him from retrieving what was rightfully his. There was no man or ship that could best him.
He stared out at the elegant ship, what would soon be someone’s wooden tomb. But a man - he spied a man leaning against the railing, short and seemingly fragile in frame. He could crush such a man with little effort at all. But many Navy men surrounded him, shaking - while this man did not. This man was staring out at the sea, rather then at the Flying Dutchman, as if there was nothing noteworthy about it. What ridicule! He, Davy Jones, was the sea, the embodiment of the raging, unmerciful waves. And yet this man stared at the water with such attention.
But it was one small action that truly caught his interest. The elegantly dressed man squeezed at the burlap sack in his hand and somehow, he felt a tightness inside of him, as if he couldn’t breathe for a moment. A restraining feeling that he had felt several times over the course of the last week. Sometimes he would barely notice it all, and other times it felt like someone was trying to squeeze the life out of him.
Now it became crystal clear as to what was inside that ragged little bag.
That man had his heart in his hand.
Author: fairielore
Rating: PG
Characters: Beckett, Davy Jones, Norrington,
Word Count: 756
Summary: The search for Davy Jones now that Beckett had in his possession said captain's heart.
Notes: For redeyedfeline, and the first installment of what will hopefully be a prosperous fic. <3
Ragged, torn, and dirty. That was the state of the man who brought him the single most valuable object on this earth. It was not made of gold, or silver or diamonds - it was organic, through and through. And with every pulsation he knew that he was one step closer to his final goal
It seemed that it was easier to find a ship that does not want to be found then on a mad, feverish search. Surely two of the greatest ships on the seas would be naturally drawn to each other? Ships that contain the two finest captains that ever treaded the waters, no less. The most powerful man on the continent holds the heart and soul of the most dastardly man of the underworld. They are two jagged, fragmented pieces that fit into no puzzle. They are one by themselves.
The voyage is as smooth as can be, but Cutler Beckett is on no pleasure cruise. But as the Endeavour closed in on stormier weather he knew he was moving closer and closer to the infamous Captain. Until then, it was a waiting game. And there was work to be done, namely in the form of integrating the Admiral into his organization, the fine matters of reassurance and comfort something one must take the utmost care with. But there was something about the Admiral and his eagerness to please that made the process almost a joy to partake in. Apparently, a few civil words went a long way with the former outlaw. The daytime was spent fabricating a careful charade for a man who could no longer take the truth, who would rather live in an illusion then the filth and heartbreak he’d endured. And he was a merciful Lord.
But at night he held the heart and squeezed ever so gently, wondering if its owner could feel the hold. If he didn’t yet, in time he would.
- - -
It was only fitting that he would find the Flying Dutchman a day devoid of any sunshine at all, a dark blanket of clouds overheard that seemed to be warning of a storm, but Cutler Beckett knew none would come. A day like this would garner no tears.
The Flying Dutchman was a formidable sight to behold, but a terrifying one nonetheless. As the Endeavour, in all its prim and proper glory headed towards the monstrous ship there was an air of panic and nervousness on the ship. To anyone but Cutler Beckett it seemed like a death wish, to enter the belly of the beast with what - what did they have to combat such a foe? Whatever that was contained in the small burlap sack that their Lord held?
- - -
The Captain of the Flying Dutchman stared out at the approaching ship with a mix of frustration and curiosity. What fool would head at full speed ahead to the ferryman of the underworld? Frustration, of course, because he simply had no time for this, not when he had to find out exactly who Jack Sparrow had bequeathed the heart to. To whom had the scallywag given his heart to? Once he held that answer there was nothing that could stop him from retrieving what was rightfully his. There was no man or ship that could best him.
He stared out at the elegant ship, what would soon be someone’s wooden tomb. But a man - he spied a man leaning against the railing, short and seemingly fragile in frame. He could crush such a man with little effort at all. But many Navy men surrounded him, shaking - while this man did not. This man was staring out at the sea, rather then at the Flying Dutchman, as if there was nothing noteworthy about it. What ridicule! He, Davy Jones, was the sea, the embodiment of the raging, unmerciful waves. And yet this man stared at the water with such attention.
But it was one small action that truly caught his interest. The elegantly dressed man squeezed at the burlap sack in his hand and somehow, he felt a tightness inside of him, as if he couldn’t breathe for a moment. A restraining feeling that he had felt several times over the course of the last week. Sometimes he would barely notice it all, and other times it felt like someone was trying to squeeze the life out of him.
Now it became crystal clear as to what was inside that ragged little bag.
That man had his heart in his hand.