RL With Norrington: In Which They Meet 1/2
After getting directions from the rather uneasy dock hand, Shuraiya headed up into the port city, frowning at how incredibly drab it all was. Everything about Port Royal was colorless and boring; the complete opposite of the colorful world the bounty hunter had come from. Even the sky seemed a muddy grey compared to the pristine blue that hung over the Grand Line - it was, to be honest, kind of disappointing.
As Shuraiya headed up the steep cobbled road towards the fort, he frowned. On either side of him, there were whispers from the women ushering their children out of the ostentatious stranger's path. His jacket, a bright yellow, didn't help matters much. It was a ridiculous shade - at least by this dull world's standards - of mustard, which only called attention to his hair, which seemed more pink than brown. He ignored the attention his prominent appearance granted him and continued towards the fort, eager to meet the Commodore.
He had read much about the future and it all horrified him in the best way. Right now he'd give his left leg for a telephone-- it was torture waiting for his guest; after all, it was the first that had volunteered to visit him (on their own accord, no less!) and he did appreciate visitors.
Months of "just missing" Jack had put the Governor on edge and more specifically, practically on Norrington whenever the opportunity arose. Tea? "Have you formulated a plan to catch him yet?" Bumping into each other? "We are still waiting, Commodore-" Even Elizabeth had started to inquire as to when he intended to catch Sparrow. He did not appreciate her implying that it was his choice, because that was true. Instead, James dazzled her with stories of other pirates he encountered with Will watching with lofted brows. It sufficed, to say the least. They had been here earlier, perfecting just that but he had shoo’d them out.
According to Shuraiya, he should be arriving today. Who knows when-he couldn’t ask anyone but himself and that proved useless after the first few answerless times. As for now? Now James was sitting in his parlor, trailing his finger absently about the rim of a cold cup of tea. The afternoon was lasting a lifetime and he had lost his desire to drink. The commodore waited, not so patiently and it was the most he could do.
It didn't take Shuraiya long to make it to the fort, which was built perilously on a cliff overlooking a cove of rather dangerous looking rocks. From there, he was directed towards a nearby mansion named the Ambercroft - apparently, the Commodore had been there all afternoon, awaiting a guest. Shuraiya curtly dismissed the man's inquiry as to why he wanted to see Norrington and made his way to the home, admiring the crisp, simple architecture. It was no-nonsense, much like his new friend.
Shuraiya knocked on the large oak doors, wondering absently if there was any such rank in the Marines in the Grand Line that would merit such nice accommodations. There was something to be said about working for the government, after all.
He was rising from his chair when he heard the knock, faltering to glance up. He stood quickly, straight, tugged his cuffs and waited as a servant opened the door and ushered the guest inside, finding him smiling despite himself. He couldn't help but be excited. Some form of the future was visiting him- not many people in Port Royal or even Jamaica could say that. His smile grew slightly smug. Jack couldn't say that. He almost wondered what the pirate would think-- he had a visitor that he'd not told Jack about. He was volunteering time to spend time someone else. Would it make him jealous? Would he care? He really shouldn't spend so much time thinking on that; it wasn’t becoming to resemble a crushing school girl, especially when his guest would certainly not approve. He noted not to mention Jack to Shuraiya; unless, of course, he brought it up first. Then just be guarded. Good on you, James.
"Welcome to Jamaica," He offered, seeing him, strolling forward and extending a hand professionally, "I have your room ready if you're tired and care to retire-- I'm not sure how exhausting or not traveling is."
"Thanks," Shuraiya grinned, taking James' hand in a firm, quick shake. Norrington was truly a military man - he wore the uniform and the manner of an officer effortlessly, which impressed the bounty hunter. He looked around the room appreciatively, then back at the Commodore, shaking his head at the offer. "Nah, it didn't take long at all - actually, hiking up here from the docks took the most effort."
He nodded curtly, unable to keep himself from eyeing Shuraiya's outfit. How bizarre! He must have received some attention-- or at least strange looks. Then, James Norrington experienced something akin to what a mother would feel-- the need to dress, clean, primp and present. Of course, motherly feelings were not something he comprehended or had often so he chalked it up to a strange headache. "Aha, if I had known when you were arriving, I would have sent someone. My apologies." His eyes followed his guests gaze, wondering what he may be thinking-- was it more different than he realized? "I can give you a tour of the house? The island? Whatever you like."
"Don't worry about it." He shrugged off the apology with a grin, absently rolling the feathered cuffs of his jacket up. It occurred to Shuraiya that perhaps he should have taken into account his clothing before coming here - a fact aroused by James' harmless but all-too-obvious once-over of the bounty hunter's outfit.
"A tour would be great," Shuraiya nodded, distracted suddenly by a globe sitting on the desk near the large windows, which overlooked the port. "Is that your world?" He asked, gesturing to it, unable to hide the interest in his voice.
"Hm?" He glanced and brightened, "Oh, yes, this is our world. I received this just the other week, please, come look," he gestured and strolled to the globe, turning it to face them, the wooden frame bright and oiled-- clearly new. He tilted, eyes searching through the water as he turned the thing, finally pointing to the small island of Jamaica, labeled as such, "This is where you-- we, are right now." His finger lingered over Jamaica before drawing a line across the ocean to the Kingdom of Britannia, "England," He finally said, adding afterward, "This is where I and many people on this Island are from-- stationed here for various reasons. We are a colony-- Do you have those?"
"No, what are they?" Shuraiya shook his head, surprised at the empty distance between England and Jamaica. There were barely any islands in between! The continents, too, were huge - in his world, there was only one continent, and innumerable islands. He laughed a little, tracing the red line of the Equator. "Oh, the Grand Line," He said curiously, wondering if their worlds weren't so different, after all.
"A colony is when a larger continent, or nation,” he motioned to England, “sends some of their own to build up the economy and protects those who could not on their own. When we arrived, there was hardly anything and the natives," His finger traced back to Jamaica idly; "They were being terrorized by Pirates. We have been a blessing to them." He observed Shuraiya's movements, retracting himself, lofting a curious brow, "That is what cartographers have called the Equator. It is the median between the northern and southern hemisphere-- It is also rumored to be the hottest place on the planet. I wouldn't know, myself, though." He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling quite comfortable, relaxing away some of that harsh business nature of his.
“Mm," Shuraiya nodded, eyes still on the globe. "In my world, it's the Grand Line, which bisects this line," He traced the lesser white Prime Meridian and looked up at James with a grin, "the Red Line." He paused, then said, "Next time, I'll bring some of my maps to show you. It'll be easier to explain that way."
"Ah. Your terms make more sense, I think. I should show you to the Governor’s office; he has a map that covers the entire wall, updated bi-monthly." He took a half step back, leaning his hip casually against the desk's side, momentarily distracted, "Have you seen any clear differences yet?"
"It's colorless here," Shuraiya frowned, though his tone was apologetic. "I'm sure your entire world isn't this way - but, where I'm from, everything is so vibrant, and the colors are incredibly saturated. But, here in Jamaica, it is all so subdued. No wonder I got the stares I did on my way up here." He grinned up at James, a sign that he had caught the other man looking at his clothes with abashed interest. The globe on the desk distracted the bounty hunter for a moment before he continued, "Otherwise, it's very similar, the little I've seen. I've been to many port cities like Port Royal before."
He arched his brows curiously. Colorless? He had always thought the Caribbean was the most colorful place he'd seen-- was it possible there was something more? "I see," He finally concluded, "How interesting. Colors aside, I'm glad there is some familiarity for you." The commodore folded his arms, pausing, "Oh, I forgot to mention," indicating, "Down that hall is the kitchen. You can ask any of the servants to get you something or you may help yourself." Smiling, he continued, "And if you venture to town yourself, mention you are my guest and charge whatever you like to me."
"Thanks a lot, James," Shuraiya said gratefully, returning the smile. It had been a long time since he'd felt so comfortable around another person. It was mildly disconcerting for the bounty hunter - it was in his nature to be more guarded, but there was something about the commodore he trusted. "I'll take you up on that. But now - I'd like to see more of Port Royal. Well," He looked down at himself sheepishly. "Maybe after a change of clothes."
"Ah, yes," He would've felt too rude to bring it up himself and he was thankful Shuraiya had. There was nothing wrong with the clothes he was wearing (or so he tried to convince himself), he just ... didn't quite fit in. James would be horrified if his guest was harassed for such a thing. "I have some spare clothes in my wardrobe-- if they do not fit properly then I shall call a tailor immediately-- shall we?" He indicated to the hall leading to his quarters.
"Sure," Shuraiya nodded, eager to see more of James’ home, and to see himself in the fashion of this world. Following the other man down the hall, the brunette was once again impressed by the care given by the military to keep its men in luxury - he had never experienced such finery in his life, not even as a child when he had a place to go home to.
He pushed open the door and shoo'd out the maid who was cleaning, drawing to a table to carefully remove the wig he was wearing, revealing a head of chocolate brown hair (who would've known!) carefully kept back with a navy blue ribbon. "There we go-- now, let’s see." He opened his wardrobe, an array of coats and shirts carefully hung with all sorts of other things, various military undergarments, pantaloons, stockings, shoes. Even a little box of ribbons. He paused and glanced over his shoulder, "Here, help yourself. Whatever you like."
Shuraiya blinked, surprised by the change in appearance and demeanor that came with the removal of James' wig - but he had little time to dwell on the transformation. He dropped the satchel he’d been carrying onto the desk near the warddrobe and inspected the array of clothes with a furrowed brow, inwardly overwhelmed by the choices.
It didn’t take long for Norrington to realize Shuraiya's predicament and lofted a brow, giving him a thorough one over before turning back to the closet, quickly searching through until he found a white shirt with a simple cravat and a vest that was blue lined with gold-- it was what he wore when he was younger, and unarguably smaller; he could only hope it'd fix his vest. For now, pantaloons could wait. He turned and offered them, "Try these on."
Shuraiya took the proffered clothes gratefully, and set them aside to unzip his jacket. The skin beneath was bare, and light - but the most shocking feature of the young man's torso was revealed when he turned to drop his jacket over a chair. Three deep gashes ran diagonally across Shuraiya's back, scarred and dark from age.
Ever the gentleman, James turned his gaze away at the first flash of skin, though snuck a glance as the other was turned away. Of course, it startled him. Most men did not carry such scars and live to tell about it and before he could stop himself he had approached, hand outreached, "Good God, man..." Startled, he quickly pulled away before he could properly touch them, wringing his hands absently, "What on earth gave you that?"
Shuraiya turned, his eyes darkened with bitter nostalgia. "When I was twelve," He began slowly, not looking at Norrington, "A man named General Gasparde came to the shipbuilding island where I lived - Bascùd Island. He once belonged to the Marines of my world, but he betrayed them and became a pirate, instead. The man... is a disgusting bastard. He considers the sea his playground, and the people his toys. He and his crew came to Bascùd Island in the steam-powered ship he had commandeered from the Marines."
Shuraiya sighed, pulling the crisp white shirt he'd been given over his head. "There was no warning. Every building was in ruins, eaten by cannon fire and flames before we could even summon the Marines. My parents were killed immediately, but my three year old sister - Adelle -“ Shuraiya’s voice cracked audibly at the name, "and I had gotten away, and were on our way to the docks when we were cornered by Gasparde's second in command, Needles. He fought with these... enormous curved blades that were strapped to his hands like claws." Shuraiya imitated the shape with shaking hands. "The sick bastard was trying to attack my baby sister, but I blocked the blows - he knocked me to the ground with one strike. But A-Adelle, she... she tripped and fell into the river. She was screaming my name as she went under, and there was... nothing I could do. I've never felt so powerless in my life."
Despite his ability to detach himself quite successfully from emotional stories (and by god had he heard plenty in his time), Shuraiya's ... it was genuine. He could only watch him explain with bated breath, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from reaching to offer some sort of comforting touch. He had lost people close to him before but not under such extreme circumstances-- it was too surreal. "Oh, Shuraiya..." his brow creased and he stepped forward, watching with mixed frustration and sympathy-- as his guest had felt helpless, he did now as well. Impulsively, he took another step forward and pulled the boy into a gentle, warm embrace-- it felt awkward but it also felt imperative to do and he was surprised with himself, but he did not pull away, eventually murmuring sadly, "I’m so sorry." And he meant it, entirely.
Shuraiya stiffened, awkwardly being enveloped in the first gentle contact he'd had in years - his first reaction was to back away, to shrug it off like it was nothing, but. It wasn't nothing, and the bounty hunter knew it. He sank into the embrace slowly, skin prickling at the sense of hands pressing against his back, against the burden he had to carry these seven years. His cheek was pressed against a shoulder, and he could smell the sea on Norrington, mingled with the perfumed powder of his wig, though absent now - the scent lingered.
That 'strange headache' rose again, but mixed with a vicious protectiveness that he knew all too well. Strange how his guest, this stranger could bring such strong emotions out of him-- wary of his own vulnerability, he held him but a moment more before pulling away, gently, a hand giving Shuraiya's shoulder a soft squeeze coupled with a lopsided smile, "The vest?"
Mixed emotions swam in Shuraiya's mind as he pulled away - relief and regret being the foremost of them. He returned the grin, albeit rather awkwardly, and nodded. "Right," The younger man pulled the vest over his shoulders and buttoned it, pleased at the fit. It was a rather nice blue - all things considering - and the gold trim placated him. Yes, better to focus on simpler, less conflicted things for now - like dressing to fit into this foreign world, and the promise of exploration of it with his new acquaintance.
James smiled fully now, pleased that it fit and that it fit well. it wouldn’t take much more effort to get him to fit in-- although the tattoo on his face... He could find something, it was not a problem. He strolled back over to the wardrobe with a thoughtful noise, eyes narrowing as he looked through his pants, finally pulling out one of the smaller pairs (He had observed, unobtrusively, that Shuraiya's waist was smaller than his own, after all!), and then bent to acquire some stockings and... shoes could wait for now. A jacket later, perhaps. He approached his guest once more, offering the items, turning once more to let him change in peace (And he berated himself once more for wanting to peek). "I'm not sure if any of my boots will fit you; we can try a few pairs and see, though if you are more comfortable in your own, that should be fine."
Shuraiya took them and settled down in the chair where he had hung his jacket and tugged his boots off, dropping them on the floor with a thud. He dropped worn socks beside them (not without some note of unwarranted embarrassment) and rose again to unbuckle his pants. He first pulled several items from the pockets - a small bag full of coins, a Log Pose, a cleverly hidden pistol, and a battered notebook. He set all of these things beside his bag on the desk, glancing at Norrington - what was he expecting him to be doing, anyway, watching? - before returning to the task at hand. He pulled off the loosely fitting black cut offs, and set them on top of his jacket before pulling off the ones James had given him. They fit tighter than he was used to - but where by no means uncomfortable. He settled down again to pull on the stockings, and said awkwardly, "You can turn around now."
He'd laced his fingers behind his back in the meantime, and when permission was offered, glanced over to see Shuraiya. He looked strange in these clothes; ordinary. Perhaps the clothes of his world suited him more-- it made him wonder how utterly ordinary he must look. Thoughtfully, he returned to the dresser, dug about a small box and produced a yellow ribbon. it was one he never wore (no clothes to match it!), he felt it appropriate to have his guest retain some of that color, to make him unique once more. He approached him, indicating that he should remain seated, "Please look forward," he mumbled, hesitating once as he reached for the boy's hair, but it wasn't anything affectionate, it was just putting back hair. Norrington had to remind himself that; he was not used to pampering someone, after all. He combed his fingers through, drawing it back, concentrating as his fingers worked to keep hair from slipping away and to tie the ribbon-- it felt much easier when he did this to himself. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he finished and gave a pleased noise. The color suited him. "There you are, sir. Fit to blend in," he commented wryly.
Shuraiya sat obediently; grateful the other man was behind him and couldn't see the soft smile that had slipped across his face. Norrington was just putting his hair back, making him fit in better, it meant nothing else. When he was finished, Shuraiya reached back and gingerly touched the ribbon, careful not to tug and untie it by accident. "That's more like it." He grinned, feeling his good mood return, pushing aside the shy awkwardness. "Thanks, James."
He took a half step back and smiled himself, beaming inwardly at the use of his first name-- Shuraiya had said it before, but this time... it made him feel appreciated. Maybe he was just looking into it too much. "Of course." The tattoo had slipped his mind but as he walked around-- pulling back the hair only made it more obvious, "Oh, one moment." James slid to the door and spoke quietly with a maid who dashed off only to return with a blue tin with French writing. He thanked her and closed the door behind him (not without the maid sneaking a curious peak first), approaching once more, unscrewing the lid as he did so, "In a country called France, they have women who wear the strangest things, but some of them have come in quite useful--" He paused, momentarily distracted as he smoothed a finger over the oily, thick substance inside. He wrinkled his nose, rubbing it between his fingers, finding it actually powdered down. Not what he'd expected. "Huh," he started, smiling up, "I figured we could do it to," oh, how to word this delicately; "Hide your tattoo. It is the mark of a pirate to have one, here," he tried at least.
Shuraiya nodded, not offended. "I understand," He shrugged, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, fingers brushing against the red-brown ink. He watched Norrington handle the jar of cosmetic, wondering how well it would hide the tattoo, even if it was from "France".
With permission, Norrington leaned forward, tentatively reaching forward to brush some makeup with his thumb along the length of the sickle, tilting as it faded under the powdery substance. He concentrated, smoothing it so it didn't stand out too much against the natural color of his skin, although that would mean allowing it to show, some. Hm, it would be fine, one would have to concentrate very hard to make it out; no one would question it outwardly, anyway. God Bless British tact.
James murmured a thoughtful noise, pulling back, fingers gently grasping the boy's chin to look this way and that, finally releasing him and smiling, "You can still see it, but it worked to some degree. It doesn't feel uncomfortable, hm?"
"No, thanks." Shuraiya shook his head, grinning crookedly. He felt a little warm from all the attention, unused to such firm, but gentle care. It was an awkward, but not entirely unwelcome feeling - but it was embarrassing enough for Shuraiya to duck down to grab his boots and fumble with them for a minute or two.
He set the tin upon the desk and gave a nod in response, moving off to inspect the wardrobe. Although he generally wore his military only attire when leaving the house, it felt too ... stuffy to wear, in the company of a guest. He was not on call, either, which was why he now shirked the vest and began to unbutton his own shirt, taking moments to toss on one that was less formal, with a dark blue vest to follow, pushing up his cuffs absently. There, more comfortable. Ah! He almost forgot! He tugged the silk ribbon from his hair, carefully putting it aside; expensive bugger that thing was, and sent straight from China-- not something one wore on a casual outing, either. He absently began to pull back his hair with a lighter blue tie, not as extravagant as the ribbons he had, but it'd do. "We could visit the market before it gets dark, see if anything native interests you. Jamaica has many strange things~"
Though the outfit he had been lent was comfortable, Shuraiya was extremely relieved that James had let him wear his own shoes - he had a feeling if he had been given the heeled, clunky things, he would have made a fool of himself and - make up or not - he would have been rather conspicuous. He looked up at the other man at the mention of the market and grinned. "Let's go, I'd love to see it."
The market was still bustling when they arrived-- some greeting the commodore warmly, some quipping that it was either bizarre or comforting to see him in some 'civilian wear.' They browsed for a few hours, looking mostly at the food (James was surprised at what Shuraiya didn't recognize!) and they would've visited the blacksmith and other smaller businesses if it weren’t for the sheer amount of local fruits they had acquired and so they returned. He put his servants to work for dinner, having them specially dice and slice some of what they'd bought for his guest to sample, watching eagerly himself. It only made him wonder what there might be on Shuraiya's world-- would he react the same if he visited? Hah, an interesting thought. He was about to question if any of it suited his tastes when the main meal arrived, lavishly set on silver (a luxury Norrington found a little too indulgent)-- a pot roast and other fairly British sides. Potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, steamed vegetables, and other items.
Years on the Grand Line had worn Shuraiya thin, and he had learned to appreciate a good meal when one was to be had. The bounty hunter sampled some of everything - not out of good manners, no, but because the boy was damn hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal - Wednesday, maybe? - and he soon discovered that what this world lacked in color, it made up for in flavor.
Norrington observed at first, just taking slow bites of his potato, or a piece of broccoli, occasionally lifting a brow. With the way Shuraiya was eating, you would think he never had before. He tilted his head, slowly chewing a bit of steamed carrot and it occurred to him that perhaps Shuraiya had not eaten properly like this, before. Not all worlds were so kind to those who kept them safe, he'd learned. His brows drew and he took another bite of carrot to keep from asking. It wasn’t the time or place; it' just be rude. Honestly, at least someone liked it; he'd grown tired of the same things every day. Upon convincing himself that asking wasn't going to hurt, he poked at a Yorkshire pudding's top, deflating it, "I assume you're enjoying it...?"
"Mmmgfh," Shuraiya replied, swallowing his mouthful of food before grabbing his glass and draining the liquid in one gulp. He set it aside and grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, it's-- it's really great, best thing I've eaten in a while." He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, suddenly recalling some forgotten etiquette. The boy shrugged a little, sighing. "Bounty hunting isn't exactly profitable."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he followed, unsure what else to say. They had bounty collectors here. Mercenaries, call them what you will. He'd seen them most often in Tortuga, lurking, waiting for something to hunt. Was he like the ones here, in the Caribbean? He took a bite of the Yorkshire pudding, chewing the soft bread thoughtfully, before continuing, "Well, you are a welcome guest anytime you need a meal," he pushed his plate aside, finding he wasn't that hungry, "We have a bedroom set up for you, but honestly, there are far too many rooms in this house to count so pick whichever you please. Tomorrow, we can take a ride on the Interceptor," a small, proud smile rose, "She's rumored to be the fastest boat on the seas, aside from the... Egh, nevermind it, but yes. Sailing tomorrow-- is that okay with you?"
"Yeah, that sounds great," Shuraiya nodded, though his enthusiasm was slightly curbed by Norrington's sudden mood change. Had he done something wrong? He frowned slightly, stabbing a slice of carrot with his fork. "Oi," the boy said gruffly, looking across the table at the other man. "Why'd you think I got a name like 'pirate executioner', anyway? I hunt pirates - so do you." He pointed at Norrington with his fork with an affronted look. "I don't see what's so different."
Norrington was surprised by this-- had he changed so visibly? He hadn't meant to offend Shuraiya, he had no reason to distrust him, and bounty hunters just tended to be unpredictable-- if only he could manage to put that into words and not make it more offensive. Embarrassed now, he merely gaped for a moment, "No, no, you're right, nothing is different," he sat back in his chair, arms crossing semi defensively, "I apologize, bounty hunters here are not so ... highly respected. They tend to... choose their sides for the wrong reasons. It was wrong of me to project that onto you." Although he said it, a measure of distrust still lingered. He merely shrugged it off, offering a pattoned, military smile, "Relax, enjoy your food, we can talk about such folly things at another time."
"Hnn," Shuraiya made a noncommittal noise and returned to his meal, only slightly mollified by the apology. He didn't return the smile, however - he was more annoyed with himself for snapping than at Norrington for being wary of his profession. The bounty hunter knew this particular walk of life was hardly glamorous, but it was his only option, until he found Gasparde. That was understandable, wasn't it?
The only sound that broke the uncomfortable silence between them was the clinking of silver against silver as the boy ate, his anger finally ebbing once he'd had his fill. "Sorry," he mumbled, apologizing more to the spoon he was fiddling with than Norrington.
Norrington merely watched with his thoughts, like a cat observing birds from behind a glass door-- reserved in that there was nothing he could do but curious all the same. There were many things he felt like asking and an equal amount of things he felt like doing but none of them were entirely...appropriate. Not in that sense, but there was no way he could change the conversation now unless he wanted it to look like he was avoiding it. He lofted a brow as the apology rose, unsure how to respond, "No need to be sorry," he started, adding afterward, "Unless you are apologizing to the plate." A petty attempt at lightening the mood, thankfully disturbed by one of his maids peeking her head in, "Ah, sire, we've got some pie if it suits you or your guest?" He glanced to Shuraiya, "I'm not hungry but feel free."
Shuraiya snorted, smiling despite himself at James' pathetic attempt at a joke. It was obvious now that the Commodore was trying to cheer him up, despite Shuraiya's hot-headedness that had caused the argument. He shook his head at the offer of pie and set the spoon he'd been toying with aside. "I'm fine, thanks," he nodded at the maid, who blushed before ducking back into the kitchen with a faint squeal.
James remained silent for a long moment, unsure what to say, or do. Would it be rude to excuse himself for the night? Should he offer to show him more of the house, despite the suns setting rays just barely being seen now (gas lamps proved terribly for showing things off)-- Actually, the least he could do was show Shuraiya his own room before retreating himself. "Ahm," Good start, Commodore, eloquent as always, "I'd be happy to show you to your room; I intend to retire soon, myself." A white lie-- he planned to go to his room but he would not sleep for a long while yet. Reading, planning, thinking, his mind was far too busy to relax.
"Sure," Shuraiya nodded, sensing that it was more than a subtle hint that Norrington was dropping. What exactly he was intending to do, the boy didn't know - but he found himself not really minding, the food made him sleepy (as it often did when he actually got enough to eat) and he was eager to sink into one of those soft-looking beds, if they were anything like the one in James' bedroom. "Thanks, I'd get lost otherwise." He added, coming out of his feather-stuffed reverie as he rose, offering an awkward smile.
He lifted and waited for Shuraiya to do the same, and to follow, leading him down the same expanse of hallway that he had before-- some rooms had their doors shut, lights glowing from beneath the doorway, others open with a servant or two inside, quieting themselves as their Lord and his guest passed. The rooms occupied dwindled and it seemed he'd picked a room that was far enough away from the servants and enough rooms down from his own that he'd have some peace to himself. The room itself was dark and quiet, quickly lit by gas lamps but clearly not lived in, despite the effort to make it look so. There was just nothing to it-- even the view, though overlooking part of the town, seemed empty and dark. Norrington wished it could've been more welcoming but there was little he could do in that respect-- especially with such short notice. Thankfully, however, a maid had remembered to put a bed warmer beneath the mattress to keep the bed warm. If only it had a fireplace like his own. "I'm sorry it's not more becoming but if there's anything you need feel free to ask either myself or any of the servants." He smiled, hands clasping behind his back in that familiar military manner, "I'll leave you to get comfortable. Good night, Shuraiya," nodding, the commodore excused himself and made a beeline to his room, pausing as he closed the door behind him. What a terribly eventful day. James sighed, heavily, sinking into the end of his bed.
"Night," Shuraiya called after the other man, unsure if he had heard him. Norrington had left so abruptly that he had barely had a chance to thank him for everything. Casting the matter aside, the boy kicked his boots off and dropped onto the bed, frowning at its deceptive appearance - despite seeming so soft and inviting, it was stiff beneath the thick quilt. Normally, he wouldn't be so picky about his accommodations, but James' uncomfortable exit had left a bitter taste in Shuraiya's mouth. Maybe the man was always this awkward, and he'd just aggravated the nervous habit? Who the hell knew? He sure didn’t.
After a few fitful hours of constant shifting and shuffling of sheets passed, Shuraiya was fed up with trying to get to sleep. Finally, he swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, recalling James giving him permission to peruse the kitchens. Not only that, but the walk through the labyrinthine house would tire him out - that is, if he ever found the kitchen again.
Forty-five minutes and several wrong turns later, Shuraiya once again found himself extremely agitated and exhausted. Normally, he had no trouble moving around in the dark, but he'd only had a brief, quick tour of only a section of the house earlier. He came to a door that seemed vaguely familiar, and went inside, closing the door behind him with a click. The boy padded across the room in bare feet, feeling his way over furniture until he found something he positively identified as a bed. He stepped around it and gratefully sank into the feather-down quilt, completely unaware the bedroom he had chosen was already occupied.
In the time that Shuraiya had started to explore, James faded into a half sleep, dominated by thoughts and mildly vivid dreams that didn’t seem to last for more than minutes at a time, though their complexities haunted the commodore, merely to be forgotten as the next one came-- like rushing waves, battling his boats. Similarly, his mind was tossing this way and that, wave upon wave, crashing, battling, ebbing, subsiding just to roar to life again. Night after night, he'd lie like this, slipping into restless sleeps. Thankfully, years on the sea itself had taught him to appreciate sleep, no matter the quality, and he wasn’t the kind to complain. Though half alert, he didn't notice as the side of his bed sank with new weight (perhaps too much time with a certain Pirate had familiarized him with it), merely exhaled deeply as the sound of someone breathing next to him-- it was soothing. Just another vivid dream and it quelled the storm in his mind and he fell into probably the most relaxing sleep he had in months. It was strange; the kind of therapy people had on you and James wasn't one to question it-- assuming he'd realize he wasn't alone.
Shuraiya burrowed under the blankets, dropping his head heavily on the pillows with a sigh of relief. His attempts at sleep earlier had only exacerbated his annoyance with himself and the Commodore - but he had a feeling, as he dropped off to sleep, it would resolve itself, somehow.
Even in the depths of sleep, Shuraiya's body sought warmth - the only redeeming quality of the bed he'd been given was the bed warmer, which this one mysteriously lacked. The boy rolled over, sensing heat and, half-awake, repositioned himself against the warmth. His forehead pressed against the nape of a neck only briefly introduced to him - and the faint, somehow familiar smell of sea and perfumed powder filled his nostrils. He was comfortable, finally.
(This log takes place November 27, and into the early morning of November 28.)
As Shuraiya headed up the steep cobbled road towards the fort, he frowned. On either side of him, there were whispers from the women ushering their children out of the ostentatious stranger's path. His jacket, a bright yellow, didn't help matters much. It was a ridiculous shade - at least by this dull world's standards - of mustard, which only called attention to his hair, which seemed more pink than brown. He ignored the attention his prominent appearance granted him and continued towards the fort, eager to meet the Commodore.
He had read much about the future and it all horrified him in the best way. Right now he'd give his left leg for a telephone-- it was torture waiting for his guest; after all, it was the first that had volunteered to visit him (on their own accord, no less!) and he did appreciate visitors.
Months of "just missing" Jack had put the Governor on edge and more specifically, practically on Norrington whenever the opportunity arose. Tea? "Have you formulated a plan to catch him yet?" Bumping into each other? "We are still waiting, Commodore-" Even Elizabeth had started to inquire as to when he intended to catch Sparrow. He did not appreciate her implying that it was his choice, because that was true. Instead, James dazzled her with stories of other pirates he encountered with Will watching with lofted brows. It sufficed, to say the least. They had been here earlier, perfecting just that but he had shoo’d them out.
According to Shuraiya, he should be arriving today. Who knows when-he couldn’t ask anyone but himself and that proved useless after the first few answerless times. As for now? Now James was sitting in his parlor, trailing his finger absently about the rim of a cold cup of tea. The afternoon was lasting a lifetime and he had lost his desire to drink. The commodore waited, not so patiently and it was the most he could do.
It didn't take Shuraiya long to make it to the fort, which was built perilously on a cliff overlooking a cove of rather dangerous looking rocks. From there, he was directed towards a nearby mansion named the Ambercroft - apparently, the Commodore had been there all afternoon, awaiting a guest. Shuraiya curtly dismissed the man's inquiry as to why he wanted to see Norrington and made his way to the home, admiring the crisp, simple architecture. It was no-nonsense, much like his new friend.
Shuraiya knocked on the large oak doors, wondering absently if there was any such rank in the Marines in the Grand Line that would merit such nice accommodations. There was something to be said about working for the government, after all.
He was rising from his chair when he heard the knock, faltering to glance up. He stood quickly, straight, tugged his cuffs and waited as a servant opened the door and ushered the guest inside, finding him smiling despite himself. He couldn't help but be excited. Some form of the future was visiting him- not many people in Port Royal or even Jamaica could say that. His smile grew slightly smug. Jack couldn't say that. He almost wondered what the pirate would think-- he had a visitor that he'd not told Jack about. He was volunteering time to spend time someone else. Would it make him jealous? Would he care? He really shouldn't spend so much time thinking on that; it wasn’t becoming to resemble a crushing school girl, especially when his guest would certainly not approve. He noted not to mention Jack to Shuraiya; unless, of course, he brought it up first. Then just be guarded. Good on you, James.
"Welcome to Jamaica," He offered, seeing him, strolling forward and extending a hand professionally, "I have your room ready if you're tired and care to retire-- I'm not sure how exhausting or not traveling is."
"Thanks," Shuraiya grinned, taking James' hand in a firm, quick shake. Norrington was truly a military man - he wore the uniform and the manner of an officer effortlessly, which impressed the bounty hunter. He looked around the room appreciatively, then back at the Commodore, shaking his head at the offer. "Nah, it didn't take long at all - actually, hiking up here from the docks took the most effort."
He nodded curtly, unable to keep himself from eyeing Shuraiya's outfit. How bizarre! He must have received some attention-- or at least strange looks. Then, James Norrington experienced something akin to what a mother would feel-- the need to dress, clean, primp and present. Of course, motherly feelings were not something he comprehended or had often so he chalked it up to a strange headache. "Aha, if I had known when you were arriving, I would have sent someone. My apologies." His eyes followed his guests gaze, wondering what he may be thinking-- was it more different than he realized? "I can give you a tour of the house? The island? Whatever you like."
"Don't worry about it." He shrugged off the apology with a grin, absently rolling the feathered cuffs of his jacket up. It occurred to Shuraiya that perhaps he should have taken into account his clothing before coming here - a fact aroused by James' harmless but all-too-obvious once-over of the bounty hunter's outfit.
"A tour would be great," Shuraiya nodded, distracted suddenly by a globe sitting on the desk near the large windows, which overlooked the port. "Is that your world?" He asked, gesturing to it, unable to hide the interest in his voice.
"Hm?" He glanced and brightened, "Oh, yes, this is our world. I received this just the other week, please, come look," he gestured and strolled to the globe, turning it to face them, the wooden frame bright and oiled-- clearly new. He tilted, eyes searching through the water as he turned the thing, finally pointing to the small island of Jamaica, labeled as such, "This is where you-- we, are right now." His finger lingered over Jamaica before drawing a line across the ocean to the Kingdom of Britannia, "England," He finally said, adding afterward, "This is where I and many people on this Island are from-- stationed here for various reasons. We are a colony-- Do you have those?"
"No, what are they?" Shuraiya shook his head, surprised at the empty distance between England and Jamaica. There were barely any islands in between! The continents, too, were huge - in his world, there was only one continent, and innumerable islands. He laughed a little, tracing the red line of the Equator. "Oh, the Grand Line," He said curiously, wondering if their worlds weren't so different, after all.
"A colony is when a larger continent, or nation,” he motioned to England, “sends some of their own to build up the economy and protects those who could not on their own. When we arrived, there was hardly anything and the natives," His finger traced back to Jamaica idly; "They were being terrorized by Pirates. We have been a blessing to them." He observed Shuraiya's movements, retracting himself, lofting a curious brow, "That is what cartographers have called the Equator. It is the median between the northern and southern hemisphere-- It is also rumored to be the hottest place on the planet. I wouldn't know, myself, though." He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling quite comfortable, relaxing away some of that harsh business nature of his.
“Mm," Shuraiya nodded, eyes still on the globe. "In my world, it's the Grand Line, which bisects this line," He traced the lesser white Prime Meridian and looked up at James with a grin, "the Red Line." He paused, then said, "Next time, I'll bring some of my maps to show you. It'll be easier to explain that way."
"Ah. Your terms make more sense, I think. I should show you to the Governor’s office; he has a map that covers the entire wall, updated bi-monthly." He took a half step back, leaning his hip casually against the desk's side, momentarily distracted, "Have you seen any clear differences yet?"
"It's colorless here," Shuraiya frowned, though his tone was apologetic. "I'm sure your entire world isn't this way - but, where I'm from, everything is so vibrant, and the colors are incredibly saturated. But, here in Jamaica, it is all so subdued. No wonder I got the stares I did on my way up here." He grinned up at James, a sign that he had caught the other man looking at his clothes with abashed interest. The globe on the desk distracted the bounty hunter for a moment before he continued, "Otherwise, it's very similar, the little I've seen. I've been to many port cities like Port Royal before."
He arched his brows curiously. Colorless? He had always thought the Caribbean was the most colorful place he'd seen-- was it possible there was something more? "I see," He finally concluded, "How interesting. Colors aside, I'm glad there is some familiarity for you." The commodore folded his arms, pausing, "Oh, I forgot to mention," indicating, "Down that hall is the kitchen. You can ask any of the servants to get you something or you may help yourself." Smiling, he continued, "And if you venture to town yourself, mention you are my guest and charge whatever you like to me."
"Thanks a lot, James," Shuraiya said gratefully, returning the smile. It had been a long time since he'd felt so comfortable around another person. It was mildly disconcerting for the bounty hunter - it was in his nature to be more guarded, but there was something about the commodore he trusted. "I'll take you up on that. But now - I'd like to see more of Port Royal. Well," He looked down at himself sheepishly. "Maybe after a change of clothes."
"Ah, yes," He would've felt too rude to bring it up himself and he was thankful Shuraiya had. There was nothing wrong with the clothes he was wearing (or so he tried to convince himself), he just ... didn't quite fit in. James would be horrified if his guest was harassed for such a thing. "I have some spare clothes in my wardrobe-- if they do not fit properly then I shall call a tailor immediately-- shall we?" He indicated to the hall leading to his quarters.
"Sure," Shuraiya nodded, eager to see more of James’ home, and to see himself in the fashion of this world. Following the other man down the hall, the brunette was once again impressed by the care given by the military to keep its men in luxury - he had never experienced such finery in his life, not even as a child when he had a place to go home to.
He pushed open the door and shoo'd out the maid who was cleaning, drawing to a table to carefully remove the wig he was wearing, revealing a head of chocolate brown hair (who would've known!) carefully kept back with a navy blue ribbon. "There we go-- now, let’s see." He opened his wardrobe, an array of coats and shirts carefully hung with all sorts of other things, various military undergarments, pantaloons, stockings, shoes. Even a little box of ribbons. He paused and glanced over his shoulder, "Here, help yourself. Whatever you like."
Shuraiya blinked, surprised by the change in appearance and demeanor that came with the removal of James' wig - but he had little time to dwell on the transformation. He dropped the satchel he’d been carrying onto the desk near the warddrobe and inspected the array of clothes with a furrowed brow, inwardly overwhelmed by the choices.
It didn’t take long for Norrington to realize Shuraiya's predicament and lofted a brow, giving him a thorough one over before turning back to the closet, quickly searching through until he found a white shirt with a simple cravat and a vest that was blue lined with gold-- it was what he wore when he was younger, and unarguably smaller; he could only hope it'd fix his vest. For now, pantaloons could wait. He turned and offered them, "Try these on."
Shuraiya took the proffered clothes gratefully, and set them aside to unzip his jacket. The skin beneath was bare, and light - but the most shocking feature of the young man's torso was revealed when he turned to drop his jacket over a chair. Three deep gashes ran diagonally across Shuraiya's back, scarred and dark from age.
Ever the gentleman, James turned his gaze away at the first flash of skin, though snuck a glance as the other was turned away. Of course, it startled him. Most men did not carry such scars and live to tell about it and before he could stop himself he had approached, hand outreached, "Good God, man..." Startled, he quickly pulled away before he could properly touch them, wringing his hands absently, "What on earth gave you that?"
Shuraiya turned, his eyes darkened with bitter nostalgia. "When I was twelve," He began slowly, not looking at Norrington, "A man named General Gasparde came to the shipbuilding island where I lived - Bascùd Island. He once belonged to the Marines of my world, but he betrayed them and became a pirate, instead. The man... is a disgusting bastard. He considers the sea his playground, and the people his toys. He and his crew came to Bascùd Island in the steam-powered ship he had commandeered from the Marines."
Shuraiya sighed, pulling the crisp white shirt he'd been given over his head. "There was no warning. Every building was in ruins, eaten by cannon fire and flames before we could even summon the Marines. My parents were killed immediately, but my three year old sister - Adelle -“ Shuraiya’s voice cracked audibly at the name, "and I had gotten away, and were on our way to the docks when we were cornered by Gasparde's second in command, Needles. He fought with these... enormous curved blades that were strapped to his hands like claws." Shuraiya imitated the shape with shaking hands. "The sick bastard was trying to attack my baby sister, but I blocked the blows - he knocked me to the ground with one strike. But A-Adelle, she... she tripped and fell into the river. She was screaming my name as she went under, and there was... nothing I could do. I've never felt so powerless in my life."
Despite his ability to detach himself quite successfully from emotional stories (and by god had he heard plenty in his time), Shuraiya's ... it was genuine. He could only watch him explain with bated breath, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from reaching to offer some sort of comforting touch. He had lost people close to him before but not under such extreme circumstances-- it was too surreal. "Oh, Shuraiya..." his brow creased and he stepped forward, watching with mixed frustration and sympathy-- as his guest had felt helpless, he did now as well. Impulsively, he took another step forward and pulled the boy into a gentle, warm embrace-- it felt awkward but it also felt imperative to do and he was surprised with himself, but he did not pull away, eventually murmuring sadly, "I’m so sorry." And he meant it, entirely.
Shuraiya stiffened, awkwardly being enveloped in the first gentle contact he'd had in years - his first reaction was to back away, to shrug it off like it was nothing, but. It wasn't nothing, and the bounty hunter knew it. He sank into the embrace slowly, skin prickling at the sense of hands pressing against his back, against the burden he had to carry these seven years. His cheek was pressed against a shoulder, and he could smell the sea on Norrington, mingled with the perfumed powder of his wig, though absent now - the scent lingered.
That 'strange headache' rose again, but mixed with a vicious protectiveness that he knew all too well. Strange how his guest, this stranger could bring such strong emotions out of him-- wary of his own vulnerability, he held him but a moment more before pulling away, gently, a hand giving Shuraiya's shoulder a soft squeeze coupled with a lopsided smile, "The vest?"
Mixed emotions swam in Shuraiya's mind as he pulled away - relief and regret being the foremost of them. He returned the grin, albeit rather awkwardly, and nodded. "Right," The younger man pulled the vest over his shoulders and buttoned it, pleased at the fit. It was a rather nice blue - all things considering - and the gold trim placated him. Yes, better to focus on simpler, less conflicted things for now - like dressing to fit into this foreign world, and the promise of exploration of it with his new acquaintance.
James smiled fully now, pleased that it fit and that it fit well. it wouldn’t take much more effort to get him to fit in-- although the tattoo on his face... He could find something, it was not a problem. He strolled back over to the wardrobe with a thoughtful noise, eyes narrowing as he looked through his pants, finally pulling out one of the smaller pairs (He had observed, unobtrusively, that Shuraiya's waist was smaller than his own, after all!), and then bent to acquire some stockings and... shoes could wait for now. A jacket later, perhaps. He approached his guest once more, offering the items, turning once more to let him change in peace (And he berated himself once more for wanting to peek). "I'm not sure if any of my boots will fit you; we can try a few pairs and see, though if you are more comfortable in your own, that should be fine."
Shuraiya took them and settled down in the chair where he had hung his jacket and tugged his boots off, dropping them on the floor with a thud. He dropped worn socks beside them (not without some note of unwarranted embarrassment) and rose again to unbuckle his pants. He first pulled several items from the pockets - a small bag full of coins, a Log Pose, a cleverly hidden pistol, and a battered notebook. He set all of these things beside his bag on the desk, glancing at Norrington - what was he expecting him to be doing, anyway, watching? - before returning to the task at hand. He pulled off the loosely fitting black cut offs, and set them on top of his jacket before pulling off the ones James had given him. They fit tighter than he was used to - but where by no means uncomfortable. He settled down again to pull on the stockings, and said awkwardly, "You can turn around now."
He'd laced his fingers behind his back in the meantime, and when permission was offered, glanced over to see Shuraiya. He looked strange in these clothes; ordinary. Perhaps the clothes of his world suited him more-- it made him wonder how utterly ordinary he must look. Thoughtfully, he returned to the dresser, dug about a small box and produced a yellow ribbon. it was one he never wore (no clothes to match it!), he felt it appropriate to have his guest retain some of that color, to make him unique once more. He approached him, indicating that he should remain seated, "Please look forward," he mumbled, hesitating once as he reached for the boy's hair, but it wasn't anything affectionate, it was just putting back hair. Norrington had to remind himself that; he was not used to pampering someone, after all. He combed his fingers through, drawing it back, concentrating as his fingers worked to keep hair from slipping away and to tie the ribbon-- it felt much easier when he did this to himself. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he finished and gave a pleased noise. The color suited him. "There you are, sir. Fit to blend in," he commented wryly.
Shuraiya sat obediently; grateful the other man was behind him and couldn't see the soft smile that had slipped across his face. Norrington was just putting his hair back, making him fit in better, it meant nothing else. When he was finished, Shuraiya reached back and gingerly touched the ribbon, careful not to tug and untie it by accident. "That's more like it." He grinned, feeling his good mood return, pushing aside the shy awkwardness. "Thanks, James."
He took a half step back and smiled himself, beaming inwardly at the use of his first name-- Shuraiya had said it before, but this time... it made him feel appreciated. Maybe he was just looking into it too much. "Of course." The tattoo had slipped his mind but as he walked around-- pulling back the hair only made it more obvious, "Oh, one moment." James slid to the door and spoke quietly with a maid who dashed off only to return with a blue tin with French writing. He thanked her and closed the door behind him (not without the maid sneaking a curious peak first), approaching once more, unscrewing the lid as he did so, "In a country called France, they have women who wear the strangest things, but some of them have come in quite useful--" He paused, momentarily distracted as he smoothed a finger over the oily, thick substance inside. He wrinkled his nose, rubbing it between his fingers, finding it actually powdered down. Not what he'd expected. "Huh," he started, smiling up, "I figured we could do it to," oh, how to word this delicately; "Hide your tattoo. It is the mark of a pirate to have one, here," he tried at least.
Shuraiya nodded, not offended. "I understand," He shrugged, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, fingers brushing against the red-brown ink. He watched Norrington handle the jar of cosmetic, wondering how well it would hide the tattoo, even if it was from "France".
With permission, Norrington leaned forward, tentatively reaching forward to brush some makeup with his thumb along the length of the sickle, tilting as it faded under the powdery substance. He concentrated, smoothing it so it didn't stand out too much against the natural color of his skin, although that would mean allowing it to show, some. Hm, it would be fine, one would have to concentrate very hard to make it out; no one would question it outwardly, anyway. God Bless British tact.
James murmured a thoughtful noise, pulling back, fingers gently grasping the boy's chin to look this way and that, finally releasing him and smiling, "You can still see it, but it worked to some degree. It doesn't feel uncomfortable, hm?"
"No, thanks." Shuraiya shook his head, grinning crookedly. He felt a little warm from all the attention, unused to such firm, but gentle care. It was an awkward, but not entirely unwelcome feeling - but it was embarrassing enough for Shuraiya to duck down to grab his boots and fumble with them for a minute or two.
He set the tin upon the desk and gave a nod in response, moving off to inspect the wardrobe. Although he generally wore his military only attire when leaving the house, it felt too ... stuffy to wear, in the company of a guest. He was not on call, either, which was why he now shirked the vest and began to unbutton his own shirt, taking moments to toss on one that was less formal, with a dark blue vest to follow, pushing up his cuffs absently. There, more comfortable. Ah! He almost forgot! He tugged the silk ribbon from his hair, carefully putting it aside; expensive bugger that thing was, and sent straight from China-- not something one wore on a casual outing, either. He absently began to pull back his hair with a lighter blue tie, not as extravagant as the ribbons he had, but it'd do. "We could visit the market before it gets dark, see if anything native interests you. Jamaica has many strange things~"
Though the outfit he had been lent was comfortable, Shuraiya was extremely relieved that James had let him wear his own shoes - he had a feeling if he had been given the heeled, clunky things, he would have made a fool of himself and - make up or not - he would have been rather conspicuous. He looked up at the other man at the mention of the market and grinned. "Let's go, I'd love to see it."
The market was still bustling when they arrived-- some greeting the commodore warmly, some quipping that it was either bizarre or comforting to see him in some 'civilian wear.' They browsed for a few hours, looking mostly at the food (James was surprised at what Shuraiya didn't recognize!) and they would've visited the blacksmith and other smaller businesses if it weren’t for the sheer amount of local fruits they had acquired and so they returned. He put his servants to work for dinner, having them specially dice and slice some of what they'd bought for his guest to sample, watching eagerly himself. It only made him wonder what there might be on Shuraiya's world-- would he react the same if he visited? Hah, an interesting thought. He was about to question if any of it suited his tastes when the main meal arrived, lavishly set on silver (a luxury Norrington found a little too indulgent)-- a pot roast and other fairly British sides. Potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, steamed vegetables, and other items.
Years on the Grand Line had worn Shuraiya thin, and he had learned to appreciate a good meal when one was to be had. The bounty hunter sampled some of everything - not out of good manners, no, but because the boy was damn hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal - Wednesday, maybe? - and he soon discovered that what this world lacked in color, it made up for in flavor.
Norrington observed at first, just taking slow bites of his potato, or a piece of broccoli, occasionally lifting a brow. With the way Shuraiya was eating, you would think he never had before. He tilted his head, slowly chewing a bit of steamed carrot and it occurred to him that perhaps Shuraiya had not eaten properly like this, before. Not all worlds were so kind to those who kept them safe, he'd learned. His brows drew and he took another bite of carrot to keep from asking. It wasn’t the time or place; it' just be rude. Honestly, at least someone liked it; he'd grown tired of the same things every day. Upon convincing himself that asking wasn't going to hurt, he poked at a Yorkshire pudding's top, deflating it, "I assume you're enjoying it...?"
"Mmmgfh," Shuraiya replied, swallowing his mouthful of food before grabbing his glass and draining the liquid in one gulp. He set it aside and grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, it's-- it's really great, best thing I've eaten in a while." He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, suddenly recalling some forgotten etiquette. The boy shrugged a little, sighing. "Bounty hunting isn't exactly profitable."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he followed, unsure what else to say. They had bounty collectors here. Mercenaries, call them what you will. He'd seen them most often in Tortuga, lurking, waiting for something to hunt. Was he like the ones here, in the Caribbean? He took a bite of the Yorkshire pudding, chewing the soft bread thoughtfully, before continuing, "Well, you are a welcome guest anytime you need a meal," he pushed his plate aside, finding he wasn't that hungry, "We have a bedroom set up for you, but honestly, there are far too many rooms in this house to count so pick whichever you please. Tomorrow, we can take a ride on the Interceptor," a small, proud smile rose, "She's rumored to be the fastest boat on the seas, aside from the... Egh, nevermind it, but yes. Sailing tomorrow-- is that okay with you?"
"Yeah, that sounds great," Shuraiya nodded, though his enthusiasm was slightly curbed by Norrington's sudden mood change. Had he done something wrong? He frowned slightly, stabbing a slice of carrot with his fork. "Oi," the boy said gruffly, looking across the table at the other man. "Why'd you think I got a name like 'pirate executioner', anyway? I hunt pirates - so do you." He pointed at Norrington with his fork with an affronted look. "I don't see what's so different."
Norrington was surprised by this-- had he changed so visibly? He hadn't meant to offend Shuraiya, he had no reason to distrust him, and bounty hunters just tended to be unpredictable-- if only he could manage to put that into words and not make it more offensive. Embarrassed now, he merely gaped for a moment, "No, no, you're right, nothing is different," he sat back in his chair, arms crossing semi defensively, "I apologize, bounty hunters here are not so ... highly respected. They tend to... choose their sides for the wrong reasons. It was wrong of me to project that onto you." Although he said it, a measure of distrust still lingered. He merely shrugged it off, offering a pattoned, military smile, "Relax, enjoy your food, we can talk about such folly things at another time."
"Hnn," Shuraiya made a noncommittal noise and returned to his meal, only slightly mollified by the apology. He didn't return the smile, however - he was more annoyed with himself for snapping than at Norrington for being wary of his profession. The bounty hunter knew this particular walk of life was hardly glamorous, but it was his only option, until he found Gasparde. That was understandable, wasn't it?
The only sound that broke the uncomfortable silence between them was the clinking of silver against silver as the boy ate, his anger finally ebbing once he'd had his fill. "Sorry," he mumbled, apologizing more to the spoon he was fiddling with than Norrington.
Norrington merely watched with his thoughts, like a cat observing birds from behind a glass door-- reserved in that there was nothing he could do but curious all the same. There were many things he felt like asking and an equal amount of things he felt like doing but none of them were entirely...appropriate. Not in that sense, but there was no way he could change the conversation now unless he wanted it to look like he was avoiding it. He lofted a brow as the apology rose, unsure how to respond, "No need to be sorry," he started, adding afterward, "Unless you are apologizing to the plate." A petty attempt at lightening the mood, thankfully disturbed by one of his maids peeking her head in, "Ah, sire, we've got some pie if it suits you or your guest?" He glanced to Shuraiya, "I'm not hungry but feel free."
Shuraiya snorted, smiling despite himself at James' pathetic attempt at a joke. It was obvious now that the Commodore was trying to cheer him up, despite Shuraiya's hot-headedness that had caused the argument. He shook his head at the offer of pie and set the spoon he'd been toying with aside. "I'm fine, thanks," he nodded at the maid, who blushed before ducking back into the kitchen with a faint squeal.
James remained silent for a long moment, unsure what to say, or do. Would it be rude to excuse himself for the night? Should he offer to show him more of the house, despite the suns setting rays just barely being seen now (gas lamps proved terribly for showing things off)-- Actually, the least he could do was show Shuraiya his own room before retreating himself. "Ahm," Good start, Commodore, eloquent as always, "I'd be happy to show you to your room; I intend to retire soon, myself." A white lie-- he planned to go to his room but he would not sleep for a long while yet. Reading, planning, thinking, his mind was far too busy to relax.
"Sure," Shuraiya nodded, sensing that it was more than a subtle hint that Norrington was dropping. What exactly he was intending to do, the boy didn't know - but he found himself not really minding, the food made him sleepy (as it often did when he actually got enough to eat) and he was eager to sink into one of those soft-looking beds, if they were anything like the one in James' bedroom. "Thanks, I'd get lost otherwise." He added, coming out of his feather-stuffed reverie as he rose, offering an awkward smile.
He lifted and waited for Shuraiya to do the same, and to follow, leading him down the same expanse of hallway that he had before-- some rooms had their doors shut, lights glowing from beneath the doorway, others open with a servant or two inside, quieting themselves as their Lord and his guest passed. The rooms occupied dwindled and it seemed he'd picked a room that was far enough away from the servants and enough rooms down from his own that he'd have some peace to himself. The room itself was dark and quiet, quickly lit by gas lamps but clearly not lived in, despite the effort to make it look so. There was just nothing to it-- even the view, though overlooking part of the town, seemed empty and dark. Norrington wished it could've been more welcoming but there was little he could do in that respect-- especially with such short notice. Thankfully, however, a maid had remembered to put a bed warmer beneath the mattress to keep the bed warm. If only it had a fireplace like his own. "I'm sorry it's not more becoming but if there's anything you need feel free to ask either myself or any of the servants." He smiled, hands clasping behind his back in that familiar military manner, "I'll leave you to get comfortable. Good night, Shuraiya," nodding, the commodore excused himself and made a beeline to his room, pausing as he closed the door behind him. What a terribly eventful day. James sighed, heavily, sinking into the end of his bed.
"Night," Shuraiya called after the other man, unsure if he had heard him. Norrington had left so abruptly that he had barely had a chance to thank him for everything. Casting the matter aside, the boy kicked his boots off and dropped onto the bed, frowning at its deceptive appearance - despite seeming so soft and inviting, it was stiff beneath the thick quilt. Normally, he wouldn't be so picky about his accommodations, but James' uncomfortable exit had left a bitter taste in Shuraiya's mouth. Maybe the man was always this awkward, and he'd just aggravated the nervous habit? Who the hell knew? He sure didn’t.
After a few fitful hours of constant shifting and shuffling of sheets passed, Shuraiya was fed up with trying to get to sleep. Finally, he swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, recalling James giving him permission to peruse the kitchens. Not only that, but the walk through the labyrinthine house would tire him out - that is, if he ever found the kitchen again.
Forty-five minutes and several wrong turns later, Shuraiya once again found himself extremely agitated and exhausted. Normally, he had no trouble moving around in the dark, but he'd only had a brief, quick tour of only a section of the house earlier. He came to a door that seemed vaguely familiar, and went inside, closing the door behind him with a click. The boy padded across the room in bare feet, feeling his way over furniture until he found something he positively identified as a bed. He stepped around it and gratefully sank into the feather-down quilt, completely unaware the bedroom he had chosen was already occupied.
In the time that Shuraiya had started to explore, James faded into a half sleep, dominated by thoughts and mildly vivid dreams that didn’t seem to last for more than minutes at a time, though their complexities haunted the commodore, merely to be forgotten as the next one came-- like rushing waves, battling his boats. Similarly, his mind was tossing this way and that, wave upon wave, crashing, battling, ebbing, subsiding just to roar to life again. Night after night, he'd lie like this, slipping into restless sleeps. Thankfully, years on the sea itself had taught him to appreciate sleep, no matter the quality, and he wasn’t the kind to complain. Though half alert, he didn't notice as the side of his bed sank with new weight (perhaps too much time with a certain Pirate had familiarized him with it), merely exhaled deeply as the sound of someone breathing next to him-- it was soothing. Just another vivid dream and it quelled the storm in his mind and he fell into probably the most relaxing sleep he had in months. It was strange; the kind of therapy people had on you and James wasn't one to question it-- assuming he'd realize he wasn't alone.
Shuraiya burrowed under the blankets, dropping his head heavily on the pillows with a sigh of relief. His attempts at sleep earlier had only exacerbated his annoyance with himself and the Commodore - but he had a feeling, as he dropped off to sleep, it would resolve itself, somehow.
Even in the depths of sleep, Shuraiya's body sought warmth - the only redeeming quality of the bed he'd been given was the bed warmer, which this one mysteriously lacked. The boy rolled over, sensing heat and, half-awake, repositioned himself against the warmth. His forehead pressed against the nape of a neck only briefly introduced to him - and the faint, somehow familiar smell of sea and perfumed powder filled his nostrils. He was comfortable, finally.
(This log takes place November 27, and into the early morning of November 28.)