(no subject)
TITLE: 11 Years Later
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth (implied)
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Part seven. I've tried something, ah, shall I say, different with this chapter. Whether or not it works, I suppose is up to you lot. And, that's all I'll say about that. Hopefully sufficient interest is peaked. :] &! I stilllll need a suitable title.
Previous parts are below ---
I-III & IV-V & VI
March 3
Dearest Elizabeth,
I hope this letter finds you well, in both good health, and spirits, though I suspect, unfortunately, that the later is the less likely of the two. It's a funny thing, really, as I'm most certainly not usually the sort to sit down and write something. I suppose you could consider this proof that I'm able, and if you dig a bit more, a man's way of checking in, without appearing too eager. However, if you disclose that bit of information to anyone, I will deny it, and kill you, most horribly. All's fair in war, and that other... right,
Bugger.
Please excuse the ink running, ship's a bloody unstable place, and I've spilled rum all down my front. Stop laughing! Yes, you, now, stop. Are we done yet?
As I was saying, you can imagine the way discipline crumbles aboard a pirate ship, without the improving influence of a woman. There are no end to patches, trouser-patches, that is, as we've been most fortunate to keep all eyes where they belong, having had only one minor set back in the past two months, but, as the French say, c'est la vie, savvy? Our dear Hector has finally turned into a mad old nutter, but nonetheless keeps insisting that the Pearl be returned to him. Usually, he's easily silenced, but with the aforementioned lack in discipline, the rum supply has run short, and he, sans said sweet brown nectar of life, is, shall we say, less easily sated.
Needless to say, you would be utterly horrified.
Please excuse the continued running of the ink, as the image of your horrified face amused me greatly, and resulted in more rum spillage. In closing, if you would like to respond (this, darling, is not actually a choice) you can reach me by way of the Faithful Bride, who's irony is not near so lost on me as you might hope.
Once again, hoping against reasonable hope that you are well, and such
most sincerely your's (and occasionally the better half of Tortuga's),
J
*
May 16
Elizabeth,
I apparently forgot to emphasize that your response was mandatory. Honestly, what was your Father's money paying for, if not a set of manners for his princess? Promise a bloke the world, and where does it land him? I'm hurt, moved nearly to pouting, a most charming pout, with disheveled hair falling all around my eyes, &ct, &ct. If that image doesn't prompt you to set quill to parchment, then I shall eat my hat, with a nice glaze, or
Damnit all, Lilibet.
Am enclosing some extra parchment, and this very quill, on the off chance that perhaps your dearly beloved has not supplied you with these things. Benefit of the doubt, and all that, and you should be grateful for it. Elsewise, I would have be gravely worried annoyed.
J
*
July 5
If you were, by chance, wondering, hat does not taste good. At all. In fact, it tastes rather leathery, and my insides rose up in queasy protest. For this, the blame rests squarely on your delicate, apparently illiterate shoulders. I expect you'll pay to have it replaced. Hoping you're still in the land of the living (though, at this point I've a mind to remedy that, in swift, terrible vindication for my stomach's upset, and... other... unrelated.. upsets) and that perhaps you've only misplaced your sense of time, or Will has moved you away to spite me prat eunuch wanker git, or,
do you suppose the ship your letters were traveling by could have run aground somewhere?
or, heavens forbid, there are pirates about.
Most decidedly not still writing for my health,
J
*
"We do not use that word, Jackie, remember what happened last time that godforsaken word crept into our collective, devilishly clever mind?"
"It was a momentary lapse in judgment, yes, but---"
"Kraken."
"Yes, but,"
"Locker."
"But, if you'd just listen,"
"-- then we'd be stranded on bloody islands, with burned rum, or mucking about in a desert hell--eh, hell... desert, why do you let her torment you?"
"Well, she is rather convincing."
"Oh, well, in that case,"
"---and she smells nice."
*
August 17
Jack,
So sorry it's taken me such a long time, you know, or, well, actually I suppose you wouldn't--- but, child-rearing, and all that.
and Will happened upon your letters
and we've been arguing for months
*
August 17
Dearest Jack,
So sorry I've been slack in responding, but, I rarely have the time to sit and read, let alone write, and both of those circumstances are... less than what I'd hoped for. What was that phrase, perhaps the one you live your life by, c'est la vie?
Anyhow, enough of my griping, yes? How are Mr. Gibbs, and Cotton and the others? I hope you're not being too hard on Barbossa, I know he can be difficult, but, where would we be without honor amongst thieves? If he makes another attempt on the Pearl, just threaten to drop him ashore here, and he can clean house, and mind Jack, while we sail away and have grand adventures. That, as a last resort only, of course, should be a sufficient silencer.
I wish you were here
I truly am sorry
*
August 17
Jack,
he has your eyes
*
PAIRING: Jack/Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth (implied)
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Part seven. I've tried something, ah, shall I say, different with this chapter. Whether or not it works, I suppose is up to you lot. And, that's all I'll say about that. Hopefully sufficient interest is peaked. :] &! I stilllll need a suitable title.
Previous parts are below ---
I-III & IV-V & VI
March 3
Dearest Elizabeth,
I hope this letter finds you well, in both good health, and spirits, though I suspect, unfortunately, that the later is the less likely of the two. It's a funny thing, really, as I'm most certainly not usually the sort to sit down and write something. I suppose you could consider this proof that I'm able, and if you dig a bit more, a man's way of checking in, without appearing too eager. However, if you disclose that bit of information to anyone, I will deny it, and kill you, most horribly. All's fair in war, and that other... right,
Bugger.
Please excuse the ink running, ship's a bloody unstable place, and I've spilled rum all down my front. Stop laughing! Yes, you, now, stop. Are we done yet?
As I was saying, you can imagine the way discipline crumbles aboard a pirate ship, without the improving influence of a woman. There are no end to patches, trouser-patches, that is, as we've been most fortunate to keep all eyes where they belong, having had only one minor set back in the past two months, but, as the French say, c'est la vie, savvy? Our dear Hector has finally turned into a mad old nutter, but nonetheless keeps insisting that the Pearl be returned to him. Usually, he's easily silenced, but with the aforementioned lack in discipline, the rum supply has run short, and he, sans said sweet brown nectar of life, is, shall we say, less easily sated.
Needless to say, you would be utterly horrified.
Please excuse the continued running of the ink, as the image of your horrified face amused me greatly, and resulted in more rum spillage. In closing, if you would like to respond (this, darling, is not actually a choice) you can reach me by way of the Faithful Bride, who's irony is not near so lost on me as you might hope.
Once again, hoping against reasonable hope that you are well, and such
most sincerely your's (and occasionally the better half of Tortuga's),
J
*
May 16
Elizabeth,
I apparently forgot to emphasize that your response was mandatory. Honestly, what was your Father's money paying for, if not a set of manners for his princess? Promise a bloke the world, and where does it land him? I'm hurt, moved nearly to pouting, a most charming pout, with disheveled hair falling all around my eyes, &ct, &ct. If that image doesn't prompt you to set quill to parchment, then I shall eat my hat, with a nice glaze, or
Damnit all, Lilibet.
Am enclosing some extra parchment, and this very quill, on the off chance that perhaps your dearly beloved has not supplied you with these things. Benefit of the doubt, and all that, and you should be grateful for it. Elsewise, I would have be gravely worried annoyed.
J
*
July 5
If you were, by chance, wondering, hat does not taste good. At all. In fact, it tastes rather leathery, and my insides rose up in queasy protest. For this, the blame rests squarely on your delicate, apparently illiterate shoulders. I expect you'll pay to have it replaced. Hoping you're still in the land of the living (though, at this point I've a mind to remedy that, in swift, terrible vindication for my stomach's upset, and... other... unrelated.. upsets) and that perhaps you've only misplaced your sense of time, or Will has moved you away to spite me prat eunuch wanker git, or,
do you suppose the ship your letters were traveling by could have run aground somewhere?
or, heavens forbid, there are pirates about.
Most decidedly not still writing for my health,
J
*
"We do not use that word, Jackie, remember what happened last time that godforsaken word crept into our collective, devilishly clever mind?"
"It was a momentary lapse in judgment, yes, but---"
"Kraken."
"Yes, but,"
"Locker."
"But, if you'd just listen,"
"-- then we'd be stranded on bloody islands, with burned rum, or mucking about in a desert hell--eh, hell... desert, why do you let her torment you?"
"Well, she is rather convincing."
"Oh, well, in that case,"
"---and she smells nice."
*
August 17
Jack,
So sorry it's taken me such a long time, you know, or, well, actually I suppose you wouldn't--- but, child-rearing, and all that.
and Will happened upon your letters
and we've been arguing for months
*
August 17
Dearest Jack,
So sorry I've been slack in responding, but, I rarely have the time to sit and read, let alone write, and both of those circumstances are... less than what I'd hoped for. What was that phrase, perhaps the one you live your life by, c'est la vie?
Anyhow, enough of my griping, yes? How are Mr. Gibbs, and Cotton and the others? I hope you're not being too hard on Barbossa, I know he can be difficult, but, where would we be without honor amongst thieves? If he makes another attempt on the Pearl, just threaten to drop him ashore here, and he can clean house, and mind Jack, while we sail away and have grand adventures. That, as a last resort only, of course, should be a sufficient silencer.
I wish you were here
I truly am sorry
*
August 17
Jack,
he has your eyes
*