Ahoy! Ancient PotC fic, less-anciently jossed
Ok, so after Dead Man's Chest came out, I wanted so badly for Norrington to have a happy ending. The Navy wasn't an honest option any more, but he was a sailing man through and through, so piracy, privateering, or merchant trading it must be.
At World's End buggered all that, of course.
But no matter. That's what AUs are for! I can't remember the details of how I was going to make this happen, but I did find a draft of a prologue buried in my WiP folder. I expanded it, cleaned it up pretty, and am now presenting it for your entertainment.
PotC fic, AU for after Dead Man's Chest, rated PG, 992 words, no pairing.
James Norrington and the Coat with a Thousand Pockets: Prologue
Mr James Norrington, former Commodore of Jamaica and current dishonoured wastrel, walked into a seam-shoppe on a sunny day in mid-April and asked for a coat with a thousand pockets. Ten minutes later, he walked out wearing it.
This peculiar tale must be preceded by the unfortunate revelation that Mr Norrington had never enjoyed good luck when it came to saying snotty things and getting away with it. The problem worsened as his rank improved; once, the consequence of a snide comment was a few minutes' banishment to a corner, or rubbing the sting from his palm where his mother had reasonably but firmly plied the handle of her fan. (His younger brother, oddly, was not subject to such disciplines, a curiousity which the elder Norrington son attributed solely to the younger Norrington son being in possession of a dimple.)
As a midshipman in His Majesty's Navy, Mr James Norrington had the poor judgment to loose his tongue within earshot of the captain and ended up, for the first and only time in his naval career, kissing the gunner's daughter. By the time he made lieutenant, Norrington realized that his men responded better to crisp orders than sarcasm, for James had inherited his father's talent for standing very still and staring very sternly until others obeyed him, if for no other motivation than to alleviate their boredom. This skill lasted him through his captaincy to great effect.
However, upon the day he was promoted to Commodore, the lavishness of his promotion ceremony and the stunning sword he had received therein caused Commodore Norrington to be less restrained with his wit. He chanced to cross paths with a wet reprobate who frankly deserved a few cuts from James' tongue, and the unfortunate consequences of that meeting are well known. Some portion of the responsibility is able to be placed on the shoulders of Miss Swann and Mister Turner, but Commodore Norrington, ever a man of honour, wasn't one to point fingers.
After those highly unlikely yet incomparably devastating events came to pass, the recently (and most unfairly, some would assert) de-commissioned Mr Norrington decided to reintroduce some respectability into his life. However, seeing as how his normal methods had not served him well in past months, Norrington decided to take a leaf from the book of someone who was, if not more lucky than Norrington, than certainly in better spirits. To accomplish this betterment of his station, Mr Norrington decided that he required a ship without orders, a passel of ne'er-do-well sailors, and an ostentatious costume.
In the interest of acquiring the latter item, he walked into a seam-shoppe and asked for a coat with a thousand pockets. Ten minutes later, he walked out wearing it. It is too fantastic, one may protest, to believe that such an elaborate garment was produced in such a fleeting amount of time. There exists a perfectly sensible explanation, which requires no such marvelous leaps of faith. The coat, in fact, had been waiting for James for near to twelve years, perfectly tailored to his frame and mien.
For you see, in keeping with the poor luck which had plagued poor James Norrington since his milk years, an offhand comment to a braggart seamstress was taken as a challenge. The enterprising tradeswoman toiled for eleven days and twelve nights to produce the most glorious coat e'er seen in civilized London. It was dyed a most pleasing ruddy colour, lined inside with buttery silk, trimmed with sturdy brocade and encrusted from collar to hem with the requisite pockets. They numbered one thousand exactly and, as young Mr Norrington discovered upon being summoned to the shop, one thousand pockets each at the standard rate came up to quite a sum. (The seamstress, generous soul that she was, offered him the rest of the coat at no charge.)
Mr Norrington, being a ship's middy not yet old enough for commission, had no such fortune to his name. He also had no use for such a frivolous garment, but the seamstress (who had quite the gleam in her black eyes) brooked no such excuses. After much discussion, the seamstress agreed to hold the coat until such time as Mr Norrington procured the requisite funds, and he quit the shop in chagrin.
Now Mr Norrington, formerly Commodore of Jamaica, had managed his finances quite responsibly for the period during which he was commissioned to His Majesty's naval service, and therefore found himself in possession of the aforementioned sum. The despoilment of his reputation and good name had at that time reached the British Isles, for bad news travels more easily than good despite such obstacles as the Atlantic Ocean entire. Mr Norrington, then, had no hope of regaining his station in society. His best course of action was to procure the marvelous coat which had been made for him.
The seamstress was quite pleased to see Mr Norrington, his unkempt appearance notwithstanding. In the intervening years she had cleverly set the coat in the window of her shoppe, where it caught the appreciative attention of passersby and brought in many wealthy clients seeking similarly sumptuous sartorial concoctions. Besides this, she charged the local boys a pittance for the chance to locate each of the one thousand pockets, and so made out quite well.
She had dispensed all ill humour about the affair for in truth, Mr Norrington's sharp tongue had done her a better turn than it had ever done him. Thus, full of gratitude to the erstwhile gentlemen, she offered to sell him the coat at the original sum. She would even mend it up properly, and restore its richness of colour. For you see, the coat had faded most terribly from such unrelenting exposure to the sun, and was all over grubby from the incautious attentions of curious fingers.
However, Mr Norrington declined these repairs.
A coat so ill-used, he explained, fit perfectly the sort of man he now was.
At World's End buggered all that, of course.
But no matter. That's what AUs are for! I can't remember the details of how I was going to make this happen, but I did find a draft of a prologue buried in my WiP folder. I expanded it, cleaned it up pretty, and am now presenting it for your entertainment.
PotC fic, AU for after Dead Man's Chest, rated PG, 992 words, no pairing.
James Norrington and the Coat with a Thousand Pockets: Prologue
Mr James Norrington, former Commodore of Jamaica and current dishonoured wastrel, walked into a seam-shoppe on a sunny day in mid-April and asked for a coat with a thousand pockets. Ten minutes later, he walked out wearing it.
This peculiar tale must be preceded by the unfortunate revelation that Mr Norrington had never enjoyed good luck when it came to saying snotty things and getting away with it. The problem worsened as his rank improved; once, the consequence of a snide comment was a few minutes' banishment to a corner, or rubbing the sting from his palm where his mother had reasonably but firmly plied the handle of her fan. (His younger brother, oddly, was not subject to such disciplines, a curiousity which the elder Norrington son attributed solely to the younger Norrington son being in possession of a dimple.)
As a midshipman in His Majesty's Navy, Mr James Norrington had the poor judgment to loose his tongue within earshot of the captain and ended up, for the first and only time in his naval career, kissing the gunner's daughter. By the time he made lieutenant, Norrington realized that his men responded better to crisp orders than sarcasm, for James had inherited his father's talent for standing very still and staring very sternly until others obeyed him, if for no other motivation than to alleviate their boredom. This skill lasted him through his captaincy to great effect.
However, upon the day he was promoted to Commodore, the lavishness of his promotion ceremony and the stunning sword he had received therein caused Commodore Norrington to be less restrained with his wit. He chanced to cross paths with a wet reprobate who frankly deserved a few cuts from James' tongue, and the unfortunate consequences of that meeting are well known. Some portion of the responsibility is able to be placed on the shoulders of Miss Swann and Mister Turner, but Commodore Norrington, ever a man of honour, wasn't one to point fingers.
After those highly unlikely yet incomparably devastating events came to pass, the recently (and most unfairly, some would assert) de-commissioned Mr Norrington decided to reintroduce some respectability into his life. However, seeing as how his normal methods had not served him well in past months, Norrington decided to take a leaf from the book of someone who was, if not more lucky than Norrington, than certainly in better spirits. To accomplish this betterment of his station, Mr Norrington decided that he required a ship without orders, a passel of ne'er-do-well sailors, and an ostentatious costume.
In the interest of acquiring the latter item, he walked into a seam-shoppe and asked for a coat with a thousand pockets. Ten minutes later, he walked out wearing it. It is too fantastic, one may protest, to believe that such an elaborate garment was produced in such a fleeting amount of time. There exists a perfectly sensible explanation, which requires no such marvelous leaps of faith. The coat, in fact, had been waiting for James for near to twelve years, perfectly tailored to his frame and mien.
For you see, in keeping with the poor luck which had plagued poor James Norrington since his milk years, an offhand comment to a braggart seamstress was taken as a challenge. The enterprising tradeswoman toiled for eleven days and twelve nights to produce the most glorious coat e'er seen in civilized London. It was dyed a most pleasing ruddy colour, lined inside with buttery silk, trimmed with sturdy brocade and encrusted from collar to hem with the requisite pockets. They numbered one thousand exactly and, as young Mr Norrington discovered upon being summoned to the shop, one thousand pockets each at the standard rate came up to quite a sum. (The seamstress, generous soul that she was, offered him the rest of the coat at no charge.)
Mr Norrington, being a ship's middy not yet old enough for commission, had no such fortune to his name. He also had no use for such a frivolous garment, but the seamstress (who had quite the gleam in her black eyes) brooked no such excuses. After much discussion, the seamstress agreed to hold the coat until such time as Mr Norrington procured the requisite funds, and he quit the shop in chagrin.
Now Mr Norrington, formerly Commodore of Jamaica, had managed his finances quite responsibly for the period during which he was commissioned to His Majesty's naval service, and therefore found himself in possession of the aforementioned sum. The despoilment of his reputation and good name had at that time reached the British Isles, for bad news travels more easily than good despite such obstacles as the Atlantic Ocean entire. Mr Norrington, then, had no hope of regaining his station in society. His best course of action was to procure the marvelous coat which had been made for him.
The seamstress was quite pleased to see Mr Norrington, his unkempt appearance notwithstanding. In the intervening years she had cleverly set the coat in the window of her shoppe, where it caught the appreciative attention of passersby and brought in many wealthy clients seeking similarly sumptuous sartorial concoctions. Besides this, she charged the local boys a pittance for the chance to locate each of the one thousand pockets, and so made out quite well.
She had dispensed all ill humour about the affair for in truth, Mr Norrington's sharp tongue had done her a better turn than it had ever done him. Thus, full of gratitude to the erstwhile gentlemen, she offered to sell him the coat at the original sum. She would even mend it up properly, and restore its richness of colour. For you see, the coat had faded most terribly from such unrelenting exposure to the sun, and was all over grubby from the incautious attentions of curious fingers.
However, Mr Norrington declined these repairs.
A coat so ill-used, he explained, fit perfectly the sort of man he now was.