Fountain of Youth.
Jesus Christ on a small bicycle there's more!
Title: Noli me Tangere
Pairing: Eh. None really. Mercer and Beckett just act like an old married couple. As they do.
Rating: PG-ish
Characters: Everyone and their grandmother. Plus new people from Pirates 4. :D
Summary: Somehow, through the magic of plot holes, Mercer and Beckett survive 3 and are chillin' in London when Sparrow shows up. Let the quest (race) for the fountain of youth begin!
Part I
Part II
When were you born? Where were you born? How? Why? What godless entity decided to put your filthy self on this earth? What heathen screamed the night you were born? Which statue of the Holy Mother cried blood?
When were you born?
Was it during the civil war? (No. You are too young for that.) Was it during the Jacobite revolt? Was it during peace? Was it during a battle? Was your mother alone on a country road? Was she surrounded by grasping female relatives? Were you wrapped in swaddling clothes? Laid to sleep in a manger? (You never let me forget that you are my savior from the hell of drowning in cold black depths.)
When were you born?
On a ship sailing for hell? On a carriage with a demon driving through the Scottish highlands? On the moors? With the ghosts of dead wolves baying at the moon?
When were you born?
(I want to know where you get those dead dog eyes. I want to know where you get those dead dog teeth. I want to know where you get that dead dog skin. I want to know where you get that warm dead dog flesh.)
When were you born?
(I don't think you know. I don't think you ever want to.)
'I was born in a lighting storm, sir.' Mercer finds he answers the question with greater ease than he would have thought. Beckett smiles, cat like, serpentine, wolfish. He is an animal and more so than Mercer.
'Is that why you believe you're living on borrowed time? Like Luther.'
'Ah, but I feel no need to pledge myself to St. Anne.'
'No, you pledge yourself to the holy trinity of law, the Company, and myself.'
'If you say so, sir.'
'I do.'
Pelham finds Beckett in Parliament. There has just been a vote and he's collecting his papers, organising them in a way that will serve to annoy his clerk. Pelham knows Cutler well enough to see his games. He waits by one of the doors and the smaller man merely inclines his head as they greet each other.
'My minister is pleased with how things have come together,' Pelham offers. He can feel another set of eyes on him. He knows the lord's clerk is lurking in the shadows somewhere, sizing him up as if he was meat.
'I'm glad to hear it.'
'He wasn't too happy with the last outcome of your rather...unique plans; he hopes this one will provide better results.'
'I'm not party to this. The pirate made a deal with the government and the king. Mr. Mercer merely arranged the details of the transaction.'
'Just good business, then?'
He notices Cutler frown, shift his weight. Something is amiss, he said something wrong and he's not sure what it was.
'Walpole wants someone to oversee it. Secretly, openly, it matters not. He wants your clerk -'
'I can't spare him, the company has hit some rough times. Problems with our partners.'
'The VOC, again?'
Cutler nods. He is forever prim, forever proper in his proceedings. 'There should be laws against insider trading. I'm sending Mercer to Amsterdam to try and sort things out on that end.'
Pelham stops, takes Cutler's arm and pulls him into one of the many corners. Mercer's eyes are still on them and the minister knows that the walls have ears and somehow the clerk will know everything that passes without his master telling him.
'I don't think you understand, Cutler. Walpole and the king both want you or your clerk to oversee the pirate. Make sure he's on track and doesn't do any back handed dealing.'
There is an unreadable expression on Cutler's face. Pelham almost thinks it's fragile but then the lord smiles and he can see steel beneath it.
'Oh, but George, I don't think you understand. This is Sparrow, we're getting the raw end of the deal.'
Mr. Mercer asks his master what is the matter. What is wrong? Sir has been in a mood this evening. And his master merely looks at him as if to say 'you heard everything, why need you ask? Why need anyone ask?'
'You don't want to deal with that world, do you?' Somehow the older man manages to ask it softly, without any emotion other than something like understanding. But Cutler doesn't think Mercer is one to understand anyone. He is merely talented in mimicking emotions and responding to situations as society would dictate.
'What are you feeling at the moment?' He asks it with the same tone as Mercer's inquiry. The clerk stills. Frowns.
'Sir?'
'What are you feeling at this precise moment?'
He is careful with his response, Cutler can see. He is considering his words, carefully choosing a response. 'I am feeling tired at the moment, sir. And perhaps a feint tinge of annoyance.'
'Annoyance with what?'
'Pelham. And you.'
He smiles. He enjoys it when Mercer is honest for it's as rare as as the London sun in January. 'What have I done?'
'Made unwise decisions. As you did back then.' He tilts his head to the side. To indicate the Past. The Before. The Last Time. The Back There.
'Which 'back then'? There are several with Sparrow.'
'All of them.'
A storm breaks over the bleak city. Beckett says it's poetic and quotes a poet he's never heard of but he knows his role so he nods along.
'Quite, sir.'
'Oh, go on then. You have the night off.'
He leaves with a small bow that is a head nod that is a curt jerk of his body forward.
London is wet. Hot and slick with summer water that does its best to rinse the filth out of the city streets and fails all the more for it. A man searches him out, grabs his arm. He allows himself to be dragged into an alley. Somewhere farther down in the darkness is a whore. He can smell her cheap perfume. The sick stench of old sweat sinking into new.
'You said you wanted me te' look fer a pirate, aye?'
'You've found more than one.'
'Aye. There's the fopp, the one ye've 'ad dealings wiff'. Then there's the off'er one.'
'Did no one teach you how to pronounce 'th'?'
'Gov?'
'Never mind. Continue.'
The man is shivering. From the cold or fear or excitement or some other drug pumping through his veins; Mercer's not sure.
'He was just as rough as the fopp. Older. Grey hair. English. First name is 'ector. Wearing colours o' the navy.'
There are two. A pirate and a privateer. He nods, pays the man and leaves. There is cold rain on London streets. The underbelly of the dragon moves as the night surges forward.
Title: Noli me Tangere
Pairing: Eh. None really. Mercer and Beckett just act like an old married couple. As they do.
Rating: PG-ish
Characters: Everyone and their grandmother. Plus new people from Pirates 4. :D
Summary: Somehow, through the magic of plot holes, Mercer and Beckett survive 3 and are chillin' in London when Sparrow shows up. Let the quest (race) for the fountain of youth begin!
Part I
Part II
When were you born? Where were you born? How? Why? What godless entity decided to put your filthy self on this earth? What heathen screamed the night you were born? Which statue of the Holy Mother cried blood?
When were you born?
Was it during the civil war? (No. You are too young for that.) Was it during the Jacobite revolt? Was it during peace? Was it during a battle? Was your mother alone on a country road? Was she surrounded by grasping female relatives? Were you wrapped in swaddling clothes? Laid to sleep in a manger? (You never let me forget that you are my savior from the hell of drowning in cold black depths.)
When were you born?
On a ship sailing for hell? On a carriage with a demon driving through the Scottish highlands? On the moors? With the ghosts of dead wolves baying at the moon?
When were you born?
(I want to know where you get those dead dog eyes. I want to know where you get those dead dog teeth. I want to know where you get that dead dog skin. I want to know where you get that warm dead dog flesh.)
When were you born?
(I don't think you know. I don't think you ever want to.)
'I was born in a lighting storm, sir.' Mercer finds he answers the question with greater ease than he would have thought. Beckett smiles, cat like, serpentine, wolfish. He is an animal and more so than Mercer.
'Is that why you believe you're living on borrowed time? Like Luther.'
'Ah, but I feel no need to pledge myself to St. Anne.'
'No, you pledge yourself to the holy trinity of law, the Company, and myself.'
'If you say so, sir.'
'I do.'
Pelham finds Beckett in Parliament. There has just been a vote and he's collecting his papers, organising them in a way that will serve to annoy his clerk. Pelham knows Cutler well enough to see his games. He waits by one of the doors and the smaller man merely inclines his head as they greet each other.
'My minister is pleased with how things have come together,' Pelham offers. He can feel another set of eyes on him. He knows the lord's clerk is lurking in the shadows somewhere, sizing him up as if he was meat.
'I'm glad to hear it.'
'He wasn't too happy with the last outcome of your rather...unique plans; he hopes this one will provide better results.'
'I'm not party to this. The pirate made a deal with the government and the king. Mr. Mercer merely arranged the details of the transaction.'
'Just good business, then?'
He notices Cutler frown, shift his weight. Something is amiss, he said something wrong and he's not sure what it was.
'Walpole wants someone to oversee it. Secretly, openly, it matters not. He wants your clerk -'
'I can't spare him, the company has hit some rough times. Problems with our partners.'
'The VOC, again?'
Cutler nods. He is forever prim, forever proper in his proceedings. 'There should be laws against insider trading. I'm sending Mercer to Amsterdam to try and sort things out on that end.'
Pelham stops, takes Cutler's arm and pulls him into one of the many corners. Mercer's eyes are still on them and the minister knows that the walls have ears and somehow the clerk will know everything that passes without his master telling him.
'I don't think you understand, Cutler. Walpole and the king both want you or your clerk to oversee the pirate. Make sure he's on track and doesn't do any back handed dealing.'
There is an unreadable expression on Cutler's face. Pelham almost thinks it's fragile but then the lord smiles and he can see steel beneath it.
'Oh, but George, I don't think you understand. This is Sparrow, we're getting the raw end of the deal.'
Mr. Mercer asks his master what is the matter. What is wrong? Sir has been in a mood this evening. And his master merely looks at him as if to say 'you heard everything, why need you ask? Why need anyone ask?'
'You don't want to deal with that world, do you?' Somehow the older man manages to ask it softly, without any emotion other than something like understanding. But Cutler doesn't think Mercer is one to understand anyone. He is merely talented in mimicking emotions and responding to situations as society would dictate.
'What are you feeling at the moment?' He asks it with the same tone as Mercer's inquiry. The clerk stills. Frowns.
'Sir?'
'What are you feeling at this precise moment?'
He is careful with his response, Cutler can see. He is considering his words, carefully choosing a response. 'I am feeling tired at the moment, sir. And perhaps a feint tinge of annoyance.'
'Annoyance with what?'
'Pelham. And you.'
He smiles. He enjoys it when Mercer is honest for it's as rare as as the London sun in January. 'What have I done?'
'Made unwise decisions. As you did back then.' He tilts his head to the side. To indicate the Past. The Before. The Last Time. The Back There.
'Which 'back then'? There are several with Sparrow.'
'All of them.'
A storm breaks over the bleak city. Beckett says it's poetic and quotes a poet he's never heard of but he knows his role so he nods along.
'Quite, sir.'
'Oh, go on then. You have the night off.'
He leaves with a small bow that is a head nod that is a curt jerk of his body forward.
London is wet. Hot and slick with summer water that does its best to rinse the filth out of the city streets and fails all the more for it. A man searches him out, grabs his arm. He allows himself to be dragged into an alley. Somewhere farther down in the darkness is a whore. He can smell her cheap perfume. The sick stench of old sweat sinking into new.
'You said you wanted me te' look fer a pirate, aye?'
'You've found more than one.'
'Aye. There's the fopp, the one ye've 'ad dealings wiff'. Then there's the off'er one.'
'Did no one teach you how to pronounce 'th'?'
'Gov?'
'Never mind. Continue.'
The man is shivering. From the cold or fear or excitement or some other drug pumping through his veins; Mercer's not sure.
'He was just as rough as the fopp. Older. Grey hair. English. First name is 'ector. Wearing colours o' the navy.'
There are two. A pirate and a privateer. He nods, pays the man and leaves. There is cold rain on London streets. The underbelly of the dragon moves as the night surges forward.