butter pecan and flavour of the day with chopped nuts and fresh peaches
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Nobody
Rating: PG/R (mild violence and language)
Challenge: FOTD: uxorious, Butter Pecan #18: sticky
Toppings/Extras: chopped nuts, fresh peaches
Wordcount: 707
Summary: The streets of Port Royale are dangerous at night. For pirates.
Notes: Ha! I wonder who this prompt could belong to! This is an AU in which Adele goes to live in the past with Isaac, etc. Uxorious: Excessively fond of or submissive to a wife. Peaches: Tonight’s lunar transit to Uranus and Neptune increases confusion, restlessness and tendencies to overdo.
Port Royale held a reputation as the richest and wickedest city in the Caribbean-even the world. The centre of shipping commerce to and from Jamaica grew in power with every passing day, and though the fort would fend off French attackers and Spaniards trying to reclaim the city as their own, it was considered a safe haven for English pirates, notorious for its loose morals and wealth.
Stalking its crooked streets, salty sea scent drifting from the naturally-formed harbour, a woman strode with a black velveteen flat hat pulled low over her eyes, feather darting back horizontally from behind one ear. Hard boots clicked against the cobbles, each step kicking up the black skirt of her dress and revealing white lace beneath it. Head low, her eyes were hidden, but dark lips were pursed above a sharp jawline.
The air was still warm and humid as the day, but an obscuring fog reminiscent of London still crawled through the town’s streets and alleys. As she clipped smartly down the street, avoiding populous areas filled with the usual cut-throats, prostitutes and villains of the city, a figure stepped from a doorway and began follow behind her.
Adele only slowed her pace for a short moment before continuing to walk. She was not scared. Her cloak whispered like a zephyr behind her.
“Hoy!”
Hmm. It seemed that the man did have some sort of interest. Such was the problem with being a woman in these ancient times. Fortunately, Adele was more than willing to stand up for herself should troubles arise. Arching an eyebrow, she paused and turned slightly.
“Evenin’, wench,” the scruffy man said brightly, hopping to arrive alongside her. Greying hair at the mid-point between stubble and beard twisted from his jaw and his eyes were bloodshot from years of drink. Adele didn’t doubt that he was a pirate. Raising her eyebrows, she took in the rest of his tatty appearance and then frowned at him.
“What do you want?” she asked daintily.
“I think yer know,” he said, and then made a stumbling grab for her. An instant later, he was recoiling, blood beading along a small cut in his palm, which he snatched to his chest. “Ow!”
“You should leave,” Adele said calmly. There was a very small knife, perhaps the size of her finger, seized in her hand. The drunkard glared at her and at the sharp object.
“Yer think yer can put me off with that butter-knife?” he leered. He took a few steps closer to her, injured hand already forgotten.
“You really don’t want to do that,” Adele said, raising her head so that her steely dark blue eyes met his. The man didn’t seem put off in the least-in fact, it was apparent that her words only goaded him on.
“I think I do, yer chubby bitch,” he growled.
Adele didn’t have time to respond before the man was torn away backwards, apparently by the hair judging by the way he bent. There was the thudding impact of metal and flesh as her rescuer buried a knife into the pirate’s back before throwing him face-down to the floor. She watched Isaac Prowse stamp on his weakly rising skull so that it bounced face-first into the cobbles like a football, features smashing and blood pouring. This was followed by another stamp to the neck, snapping the bone neatly and killing the man.
Hands on hips, Adele regarded him.
“I could have dealt with that myself, you know,” she said. She had never quite become used to the sight of her mild-mannered husband beating eight kinds of shit out of anyone that crossed them-or, more likely, crossed her. Isaac tweaked a pristine handkerchief from one of his front pockets and began wiping down the congealing blood on his knife calmly.
“Nobody calls my wife chubby,” he said, before looking up and smiling at her dazzlingly.
She found herself smiling back.
“Shall we?” she asked, stepping around the corpse and offering an elbow to him, taking the man’s position as always. Isaac didn’t mind-he pushed the knife back into place on his bandolier belt and then dropped the handkerchief over the corpse before taking her arm.
“Let’s,” he replied pleasantly.
Title: Nobody
Rating: PG/R (mild violence and language)
Challenge: FOTD: uxorious, Butter Pecan #18: sticky
Toppings/Extras: chopped nuts, fresh peaches
Wordcount: 707
Summary: The streets of Port Royale are dangerous at night. For pirates.
Notes: Ha! I wonder who this prompt could belong to! This is an AU in which Adele goes to live in the past with Isaac, etc. Uxorious: Excessively fond of or submissive to a wife. Peaches: Tonight’s lunar transit to Uranus and Neptune increases confusion, restlessness and tendencies to overdo.
Port Royale held a reputation as the richest and wickedest city in the Caribbean-even the world. The centre of shipping commerce to and from Jamaica grew in power with every passing day, and though the fort would fend off French attackers and Spaniards trying to reclaim the city as their own, it was considered a safe haven for English pirates, notorious for its loose morals and wealth.
Stalking its crooked streets, salty sea scent drifting from the naturally-formed harbour, a woman strode with a black velveteen flat hat pulled low over her eyes, feather darting back horizontally from behind one ear. Hard boots clicked against the cobbles, each step kicking up the black skirt of her dress and revealing white lace beneath it. Head low, her eyes were hidden, but dark lips were pursed above a sharp jawline.
The air was still warm and humid as the day, but an obscuring fog reminiscent of London still crawled through the town’s streets and alleys. As she clipped smartly down the street, avoiding populous areas filled with the usual cut-throats, prostitutes and villains of the city, a figure stepped from a doorway and began follow behind her.
Adele only slowed her pace for a short moment before continuing to walk. She was not scared. Her cloak whispered like a zephyr behind her.
“Hoy!”
Hmm. It seemed that the man did have some sort of interest. Such was the problem with being a woman in these ancient times. Fortunately, Adele was more than willing to stand up for herself should troubles arise. Arching an eyebrow, she paused and turned slightly.
“Evenin’, wench,” the scruffy man said brightly, hopping to arrive alongside her. Greying hair at the mid-point between stubble and beard twisted from his jaw and his eyes were bloodshot from years of drink. Adele didn’t doubt that he was a pirate. Raising her eyebrows, she took in the rest of his tatty appearance and then frowned at him.
“What do you want?” she asked daintily.
“I think yer know,” he said, and then made a stumbling grab for her. An instant later, he was recoiling, blood beading along a small cut in his palm, which he snatched to his chest. “Ow!”
“You should leave,” Adele said calmly. There was a very small knife, perhaps the size of her finger, seized in her hand. The drunkard glared at her and at the sharp object.
“Yer think yer can put me off with that butter-knife?” he leered. He took a few steps closer to her, injured hand already forgotten.
“You really don’t want to do that,” Adele said, raising her head so that her steely dark blue eyes met his. The man didn’t seem put off in the least-in fact, it was apparent that her words only goaded him on.
“I think I do, yer chubby bitch,” he growled.
Adele didn’t have time to respond before the man was torn away backwards, apparently by the hair judging by the way he bent. There was the thudding impact of metal and flesh as her rescuer buried a knife into the pirate’s back before throwing him face-down to the floor. She watched Isaac Prowse stamp on his weakly rising skull so that it bounced face-first into the cobbles like a football, features smashing and blood pouring. This was followed by another stamp to the neck, snapping the bone neatly and killing the man.
Hands on hips, Adele regarded him.
“I could have dealt with that myself, you know,” she said. She had never quite become used to the sight of her mild-mannered husband beating eight kinds of shit out of anyone that crossed them-or, more likely, crossed her. Isaac tweaked a pristine handkerchief from one of his front pockets and began wiping down the congealing blood on his knife calmly.
“Nobody calls my wife chubby,” he said, before looking up and smiling at her dazzlingly.
She found herself smiling back.
“Shall we?” she asked, stepping around the corpse and offering an elbow to him, taking the man’s position as always. Isaac didn’t mind-he pushed the knife back into place on his bandolier belt and then dropped the handkerchief over the corpse before taking her arm.
“Let’s,” he replied pleasantly.