Bribes for Lust, Sirius, and Doctor Cox
Commodore James Norrington has finally, after some debating, settled down to send out three bribes (although most grudgingly, and with the supremest of distaste, and not calling them that).
There was, of course, the matter with the little girl who wanted rum, but she hadn't proved she was of proper age to drink the stuff, which he still rather doubted, so he refused to send it to her.
To Lust, he sent a bottle of rum; to Sirius, a bottle of grog; to Cox, a bottle of Scotch. All had the same little note tied to them:
"My Thanks" - for he could not bring himself to write "bribe" - "for your Vote.
-Commodore J. Norrington,
British Royal Navy
[Ravenclaw]"
His handwriting was neat, even, and fairly spidery, and the paper immaculate - not a spot of excess ink is to be seen on any of the notes.
(He doubted anything more in the note was necessary. In fact, he thought, any more would likely be insulted. It'd truly be a waste of ink.)
After owling these, the Commodore decisively went to personally (for he did not know, nor was he sure he trusted, the doctors here) bandage his hands, silently cursing the tradition that had made owls the creature of choice for transporting messages.
There was, of course, the matter with the little girl who wanted rum, but she hadn't proved she was of proper age to drink the stuff, which he still rather doubted, so he refused to send it to her.
To Lust, he sent a bottle of rum; to Sirius, a bottle of grog; to Cox, a bottle of Scotch. All had the same little note tied to them:
"My Thanks" - for he could not bring himself to write "bribe" - "for your Vote.
-Commodore J. Norrington,
British Royal Navy
[Ravenclaw]"
His handwriting was neat, even, and fairly spidery, and the paper immaculate - not a spot of excess ink is to be seen on any of the notes.
(He doubted anything more in the note was necessary. In fact, he thought, any more would likely be insulted. It'd truly be a waste of ink.)
After owling these, the Commodore decisively went to personally (for he did not know, nor was he sure he trusted, the doctors here) bandage his hands, silently cursing the tradition that had made owls the creature of choice for transporting messages.