Jack knew he was far too old to be dressing up in silly clothes to impress a woman, but here he was, wearing those blue trouser things - jeans - and a flannel shirt which (although he didn't realize it) made him look rather like a lumberjack. Fortunately, Pete had better fashion sense than Stephen's house-elf. Jack had no idea of how hideous he would have looked in a Hawaiian shirt.
The jeans were surprisingly comfortable - they reminded him of the nankeen trousers he often wore on board ship - and he was completely fascinated by the zipper fly, an invention that post-dated him. He also discovered that if he wore the shirt untucked, as many people here seemed to do, it disguised his paunch quite handily.
He entered the common room rather diffidently, still feeling as if he was wearing a costume, and caught sight of Molly sitting by the fire. Oddly, she was wearing the same sort of shirt that he was, although his was brown. "Good evening, Miss Michon," he said politely. "I hope you're quite well?"
Molly smiled, standing up. "I am," she said, wracking her brain for normal social niceties. "And you?"
Damn, the Narrator said appreciatively. We were right about the jeans, weren't we? Though she referred to the Narrator as male, the voice was more or less androgynous, and when he agreed with her on things like this, he sounded much more like a she.
"I like the, uh, pants," she said, nodding, hoping to God she wasn't obviously staring--she was past master of the furtive ogle, but it had been a while, and she wasn't sure if the old skills were still there. "Shall we?"
"I'm doing well, thank you." He wasn't quite sure what "pants" were, but it sounded like a shortened version of "pantaloons," so he reckoned it must be another word for trousers. He looked down at his jeans-clad legs self-consciously. "You like them, eh? I think they look a bit odd, myself, but then, I ain't used to 'em."
Molly's figure was much more visible in her current clothes than the school uniform she had worn to class, and he gave her an appreciative look before offering her his arm. "Let's be off, then."
Okay, she wasn't the only one ogling--that was all right, then. "They look great," she assured him, taking his arm--he'd offered her his frigging arm; how was that for old Hollywood?--and smiled.
"If you don't mind me asking, what year did you come from?" she asked--she and the Narrator had both been wondering, and had gotten into quite an argument over it. "We--I figured you'd come from the past, but I'm not up enough on my history to figure out when." She ducked as they exited through the portrait hole.
I still say late eighteenth century, the Narrator said petulantly. You owe me alcohol, if I'm right. She ignored him, with difficulty, and shook her head slightly, as if to dislodge him.
Jack didn't know many of the terms that Molly had used, but he didn't want to turn their stroll into a language lesson. "At least he had you for a friend, though. That's something, anyway." He continued to gaze at the giant squid thoughtfully. "There's always plenty of people around to keep this fellow company. I reckon he ain't too lonely, though I daresay he must miss the ocean. Something I've got in common with him." The thought of having common feelings with a squid struck him as rather amusing.
"You must have loved being in the Navy," she said, sounding for a moment almost sad. "It's hard, when you find something you love doing, and have it taken away from you."
She dipped the toe of one boot in the water, watching the ripples it created spread and merge with those made by the squid. "Like the squid, we just kind of have to find a way to live around it. Steve went back to the ocean, in the end, back to where he belonged--not until he'd eaten the town pharmacist first," she grimaced, remembering that particularly gruesome scene. "We've all got somewhere we belong--or think we belong--but we don't always get to stay there."
"Oh, it ain't anything like that. I shall go back, when I'm done with my business here." Which apparently consisted of keeping an eye on Stephen, though he wasn't doing a very good job of that so far. "Of course, even when I do go back, those damned poltroons at the Admiralty may not see fit to give me a command. There's too many post-captains and not enough ships, you see. You think it'd be otherwise, considering there's a war on, but..." He shook his head in exasperation, not wanting to think about that now.
He looked down at Molly, who looked prettier than ever in the dying light. "Well, you've seen my trousers, and we've seen the squid - what would you like to do now? Shall we keep walking, then?"
She smiled at him. "I'd like that," she said, as the squid drifted languidly toward the other end of the lake. So would I, the Narrator added, breaking his unaccustomed silence. "There's so much here I haven't seen."
She turned to look at the sunset, which had gilded the few clouds red-gold. "What's the saying?" she asked. "'Red sun at night, sailors' delight'? I've always wondered what that meant." As odd a pair as they might seem, she felt oddly at home with him, as if he were one of the friends she had known for years back home. It was amazing how knowing she had a friend here went so far in easing the strain she had felt at being transplanted.
"Stephen's a doctor, isn't he?" Molly asked. She didn't have any better idea of how to get back to the Common Room than Jack did--she followed on the assumption that a sailor must have a pretty good sense of direction. "Doctors always worry too much. Dr. Val used to order blood-level tests, to make sure I was taking my meds, but she stopped after a while."
Though it was pleasantly warm in the castle, she didn't draw away from him as much as she might have. It was a new and pleasant experience to be near a man who didn't have one (very obvious) aim in mind--there was definitely something to be said for old-fashioned manners.
"Oh yes, Stephen is a doctor, a very fine one. He has been my ship's surgeon for nigh on ten years now." He was going to tell Molly about Stephen's great skill in curing the pox and constipation, and of how he had taken out a crewman's brains, set them to rights, and stuffed them back in again, and of how he had removed a bullet from his own chest, but none of those remarkable achievements seemed like appropriate subjects to discuss with a lady. "He does worry a great deal, but 'tis his job to do so, of course."
Ah, he had remembered the way after all, with no side trips to any magic bathrooms or other unsavory places. The common room was fortunately empty - the resident Gryffindors must all be at the Ravenclaw bar, he thought wryly - and reluctantly he stepped away from Molly, saying, "Now, you stay there for a moment, my dear, and I shall fetch the rum and the model of my ship. I'll be back in a jiffy."
Molly sat in one of the squashy armchairs, kicking off her boots and tucking her feet beneath her. "All right," she said with a smile. When he'd gone up to the dormitory she held herh ands out to the fire, basking in its welcome warmth.
Okay, like I said, don't drive this one off. Is he for real?
"I think he is," she murmured. "Makes me actually glad I came here."
No kidding. Now remember: you're not really crazy. The fact that the Narrator was the one saying that struck Molly as extremely funny, and she dissolved into a fit of quiet snickering.
Being somewhat chubby festively plump, Jack had gotten out of breath from going up and down the stairs to the dormitories, and re-entered the common room rather red in the face and breathing heavily. He caught sight of Molly apparently laughing at some private joke, and asked cheerfully, "Now, what on earth is so funny, then? Did the Narrator tell you a joke?"
He threw himself down in an armchair opposite Molly, and plunked the bottle of rum down on the table between them. Alongside it, he carefully set his little model of the Surprise, the topmast still slightly bent but otherwise perfect in every detail. "Now, there is my dear Surprise, and here is the rum - oh." His face fell. "I haven't got any glasses. I am sorry - I shall go down to the kitchen to fetch some." Naturally, a lady could not be expected to drink out of the bottle.
((rethread, before the columns make my eyes explode))
All right, he was undeniably adorable when flustered. The alcohol meant that she hadn't really been able to follow the train of thought much better than he had, but it was worth it to see him so endearingly discomfited.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," she said, leaning forward in her chair to whisper conspiratorily. "I'd very much like you to kiss me, too." She grinned at him, the unabashed, uninhibited grin of the righteously tipsy.
"Is that so?" Ah, there was that grin again. He really did like that grin. It was not remotely ladylike, but that was part of its appeal - and he couldn't help grinning back, even in the midst of his discomfiture. "Well, then, I should hate to disappoint you." He put down his "glass," got up a bit unsteadily, and stepped around the table to lean down and kiss Molly on the lips. He was a clumsy kisser even when not drunk, but what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in enthusiasm.
Well, this is a bit of all right, the Narrator said, but Molly ruthlessly shut him up. Warrior Babe persona or not, she wasn't a terribly talented kisser either, but alcohol and a similar amount of enthusiasm somewhat made up for it. Unlike a great many of the guys who had gone after her, Jack was certifiably a 'man', rather than a wishy-washy boy masquerading as an adult.
Jack would have prolonged the kiss longer, but suddenly lost his balance and sat down heavily on the arm of Molly's chair. That rum was strong. That was why there weren't any pirates anymore, he thought - they'd all drunk themselves into oblivion and run their ships onto reefs. "There, now," he said cheerfully, looking down at Molly with a broad smile. "What does the Narrator have to say to that?"
Comments 89
The jeans were surprisingly comfortable - they reminded him of the nankeen trousers he often wore on board ship - and he was completely fascinated by the zipper fly, an invention that post-dated him. He also discovered that if he wore the shirt untucked, as many people here seemed to do, it disguised his paunch quite handily.
He entered the common room rather diffidently, still feeling as if he was wearing a costume, and caught sight of Molly sitting by the fire. Oddly, she was wearing the same sort of shirt that he was, although his was brown. "Good evening, Miss Michon," he said politely. "I hope you're quite well?"
Reply
Damn, the Narrator said appreciatively. We were right about the jeans, weren't we? Though she referred to the Narrator as male, the voice was more or less androgynous, and when he agreed with her on things like this, he sounded much more like a she.
"I like the, uh, pants," she said, nodding, hoping to God she wasn't obviously staring--she was past master of the furtive ogle, but it had been a while, and she wasn't sure if the old skills were still there. "Shall we?"
Reply
Molly's figure was much more visible in her current clothes than the school uniform she had worn to class, and he gave her an appreciative look before offering her his arm. "Let's be off, then."
Reply
"If you don't mind me asking, what year did you come from?" she asked--she and the Narrator had both been wondering, and had gotten into quite an argument over it. "We--I figured you'd come from the past, but I'm not up enough on my history to figure out when." She ducked as they exited through the portrait hole.
I still say late eighteenth century, the Narrator said petulantly. You owe me alcohol, if I'm right. She ignored him, with difficulty, and shook her head slightly, as if to dislodge him.
Reply
Jack didn't know many of the terms that Molly had used, but he didn't want to turn their stroll into a language lesson. "At least he had you for a friend, though. That's something, anyway." He continued to gaze at the giant squid thoughtfully. "There's always plenty of people around to keep this fellow company. I reckon he ain't too lonely, though I daresay he must miss the ocean. Something I've got in common with him." The thought of having common feelings with a squid struck him as rather amusing.
Reply
She dipped the toe of one boot in the water, watching the ripples it created spread and merge with those made by the squid. "Like the squid, we just kind of have to find a way to live around it. Steve went back to the ocean, in the end, back to where he belonged--not until he'd eaten the town pharmacist first," she grimaced, remembering that particularly gruesome scene. "We've all got somewhere we belong--or think we belong--but we don't always get to stay there."
Reply
He looked down at Molly, who looked prettier than ever in the dying light. "Well, you've seen my trousers, and we've seen the squid - what would you like to do now? Shall we keep walking, then?"
Reply
She turned to look at the sunset, which had gilded the few clouds red-gold. "What's the saying?" she asked. "'Red sun at night, sailors' delight'? I've always wondered what that meant." As odd a pair as they might seem, she felt oddly at home with him, as if he were one of the friends she had known for years back home. It was amazing how knowing she had a friend here went so far in easing the strain she had felt at being transplanted.
Reply
"Stephen's a doctor, isn't he?" Molly asked. She didn't have any better idea of how to get back to the Common Room than Jack did--she followed on the assumption that a sailor must have a pretty good sense of direction. "Doctors always worry too much. Dr. Val used to order blood-level tests, to make sure I was taking my meds, but she stopped after a while."
Though it was pleasantly warm in the castle, she didn't draw away from him as much as she might have. It was a new and pleasant experience to be near a man who didn't have one (very obvious) aim in mind--there was definitely something to be said for old-fashioned manners.
Reply
Ah, he had remembered the way after all, with no side trips to any magic bathrooms or other unsavory places. The common room was fortunately empty - the resident Gryffindors must all be at the Ravenclaw bar, he thought wryly - and reluctantly he stepped away from Molly, saying, "Now, you stay there for a moment, my dear, and I shall fetch the rum and the model of my ship. I'll be back in a jiffy."
Reply
Okay, like I said, don't drive this one off. Is he for real?
"I think he is," she murmured. "Makes me actually glad I came here."
No kidding. Now remember: you're not really crazy. The fact that the Narrator was the one saying that struck Molly as extremely funny, and she dissolved into a fit of quiet snickering.
Reply
He threw himself down in an armchair opposite Molly, and plunked the bottle of rum down on the table between them. Alongside it, he carefully set his little model of the Surprise, the topmast still slightly bent but otherwise perfect in every detail. "Now, there is my dear Surprise, and here is the rum - oh." His face fell. "I haven't got any glasses. I am sorry - I shall go down to the kitchen to fetch some." Naturally, a lady could not be expected to drink out of the bottle.
Reply
All right, he was undeniably adorable when flustered. The alcohol meant that she hadn't really been able to follow the train of thought much better than he had, but it was worth it to see him so endearingly discomfited.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," she said, leaning forward in her chair to whisper conspiratorily. "I'd very much like you to kiss me, too." She grinned at him, the unabashed, uninhibited grin of the righteously tipsy.
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