[Prompt Fics] Sep 2010 + Apr 2011
A reposting of my Prompt Fics for September 2010 & April 2011.
Theme: Fantasy
Date: 03/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Will, Toy Guns
For: Fairielore
Little toy soldiers, with little toy guys, were all lined up in a row. Little toy horses came galloping along the line, preparing to charge at their little toy enemies.
"Roar!" little Cutler exclaimed, taking a little toy dragon and flying it over the little battlefield.
"We will destroy you, vile beast!" little William declared, grabbing a pair of little toy ballistas.
"You will never defeat our dragon," little Cutler said as he pushed the little toy wizards forwards.
"Prepare for battle!" little William sent the ballista's little arrow sailing through the air for little Cutler to catch and guide to its target. Before Cutler could cry out for the dragon in his other hand, a figure walked up behind the pair and cast a shadow across the little battlefield.
"What are you doing, playing with this commoner?"
"But Papa..." little Cutler looked quite frightened, and little William didn't know what to say so he kept his mouth shut.
"These models were expensive, you don't let ruffians like him touch them!"
"We were being careful Papa..."
"Enough! Pick these up, put them back in their box and go to the carriage."
"We're going?" little Cutler was confused as it was only midday.
Little William looked down at his feet. His father had bought him nice new shoes, which he had been happy about, but sometimes he wished he had nice new toys instead. Little William didn't have any neat little toys like little Cutler, and he had been a bit sad about that, and quite jealous at first. But he wasn't jealous anymore. Little William looked back at the dark green carriage where little Cutler was locked inside, big blue eyes peering out forlornly.
Little William could run around and play. He was allowed to play with his friends, and run around in the grass, and play with the little dog that ran about. Little William was allowed to get his shoes a bit dirty, even his new ones, and make loud noises and pretend that he was a super hero, or a pirate, or a wizard or a dragon. Little Cutler wasn't allowed to do any of these things. He had his little toys, but nobody was allowed to play with him. He wasn't allowed to play on the grass because his clothes and shoes might get dirty, even though he probably had many other pairs. He wasn't allowed to make loud noises, or run around pretending he was something else, that was called being silly, and little Cutler Beckett was not allowed to be silly.
Little William lived in a world of fantasy, where little toy soldiers were heroes that got to fight evil dragons. One day he would be a hero that got to fight evil things. Little Cutler lived in a world of solitude, where little toy soldiers were cared more about than he. Maybe he would be a little toy soldier one day. A little toy soldier with a little toy gun. A little toy gun with which he would blow away the world.
Theme: Beach
Date: 05/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Parasol
For: Fairielore
Elizabeth sighed, twirling her new parasol as she collapsed onto the sand. Or rather, onto the carefully laid out towel on the sand. Staring out at the waves as they gently lapped the shore, Elizabeth reminisced about when she was a child, when she was free to run about and feel the sand beneath her toes, and water swirl around her ankles and the fresh sea air kiss her arms. She felt so caged as she sat in her pretty little dress, complete with long sleeves to hide her supposedly delicate skin, on the towel too far from the welcoming water for it to threaten her dryness. How she longed to be free once more.
The sun was cautiously peeking out from behind a mountain on the horizon, but the gentle breeze was already warm due to the season. It was still too dark for most people to be wandering about, and Elizabeth pondered stripping off her pretty little dress and racing down to the waves in her undergarments. A splashing sound that seemed out of tune with the melodic waves caught her attention, and she curiously headed in the direction of the sound, which seemed to originate from the other side of a rocky outcrop.
Carefully picking her way past the rocks, Elizabeth stumbled upon a secluded area of the beach, where a handsome white stallion was standing guard over a neatly folded pile of clothing carefully placed on a dark towel. Elizabeth turned her attention to the figure that had just splashed out of the ocean, his pale skin glistening with water droplets. Raising her eyebrows, Elizabeth waited for the mostly naked man to notice her, twirling her new parasol as she watched him.
Cutler Beckett was halfway up the beach before he noticed he had company, but barely even paused as he continued to his stallion and the clothing it was so loyally guarding.
"You're out early," Cutler commented as he reached for a second towel and used it to rub over his short, dark hair, which became brown and curly as it started to dry.
"I could say the same to you," Elizabeth pointed out, continuing to twirl her parasol.
"It's the only time I get to myself, really," Cutler mused, reaching for his clothing. Apart from a pair of soaking boxers, he had nothing on at all.
"You swim often?" Elizabeth asked, settling herself on a nearby rock and politely averting her gaze so that he could replace his underwear with a new, dryer pair that he had thoughtfully brought with him.
"One's got to keep fit," Cutler shrugged, putting on his shirt.
"I used to swim, you know," Elizabeth said, glancing past her parasol to watch as he put on his coat.
"I was unaware girls were taught to swim, I know most lads aren't," Cutler did not pause, not entirely unsurprised as he had always thought of Elizabeth as fiery and uncouth.
"So how did you learn to swim?" Elizabeth asked.
"I learnt from my dear friend Spots," Cutler replied.
"Spots?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"He was a dog," Cutler explained.
"I see." Elizabeth was not surprised that Cutler was a dog person. He didn't exactly strike her as a people person, so it sort of made sense that he got on well with animals.
"How about you?" Cutler packed his belongings up, filling the little sack tied to his horse.
"Will taught me," Elizabeth admitted. "When we were children," she hastily added.
"Ah," Cutler said, mounting up and turning his horse around. "Also taught by a dog." Before Elizabeth could reply, the Lord had dug his heels into his steed and urged in on, the stallion kicking up sand in its wake as it sped off into the distance.
Theme: Despair
Date: 06/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Will, A place in this world
For: Fairielore
Confidence was a trait so often paraded around in life, but scarcely found in death. Sans confidence, Cutler Beckett was forced into a life of meek servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman. Quiet and almost skittish, Cutler did his best to blend into the background, slip into the shadows and dart away before any knew he was there. Being of a man of small stature helped, although his wraith-like skin gave him an unhealthy glow that stood out amongst the more dirty, darker crew members.
Cutler's personality seemed to have flipped in death, and in response, so did the reactions of the crew members to a degree. Refusing to utter a word, Cutler did as he was told with hasty efficiency. He was not afraid to take on a challenge when given one, although on occasion his lack of technique caused him to futilely attempt something with brute force until someone better equipped came along, shoved him aside and did it themselves.
Cutler kept to himself, avoiding all contact where possible, and crept around with a sightless gaze that the rest of the crew found unnerving. As such, he was mostly avoided or ignored, his pale form more of a ghost than a man, a haunting ghost that wailed in the night in a surreal, chilling manner.
Captain Turner had not expected this. Relatively new at his job, he was quickly getting the hang of his duties and commanding the men aboard his ship, with the exception of one particular crew member. Although he had expected having problems with Cutler Beckett, they were the problems he had at first anticipated. Arrogant and self-assured in life, Cutler had apparently been walking along the fine line of sanity, and his death seemed to have pushed him off.
It was not so much the haunting gaze or the solitude that was the problem, although were it any other man, loneliness was a trait that he would have been concerned about. No, it was the occasional wailing at the peak of the night that worried William. Mostly because it worried the other men, keeping them up at night when they wished to rest.
"L... Cutler Beckett," Will addressed the man in question one chilly Winter evening. Cutler tilted his head towards the Captain, but his pale eyes continued to stare at the floorboards.
"Look at me," Will commanded. After a brief moment that seemed to drag on, Cutler shifted his gaze towards the Captain.
"My eyes, look at my eyes. You should always look at the eyes of someone you're talking to, it's polite," Will said as he crossed his arms, realising after he had spoken that his words weren't exactly appropriate given the condition of the man before him. Cutler never spoke to anyone.
"The men and I don't appreciate your... disruptiveness... at night," Will began when Cutler finally shifted his gaze up to the Captain's face, eyes not really focused but that was the best he knew he was going to get.
"I want it to stop." Will realised he was being harsher than usual, and wondered why it bothered him all of a sudden. It was becoming difficult to remember the cruel man Cutler Beckett had once been when such a cold, lifeless form stood before him. Lifeless even for the dead.
Cutler said nothing, and his haunting gaze became too much for Will to bear any longer, so he dismissed him. That night, the wailing was less frequent and much quieter, but even more unearthly, and Will decided he was going to have to do something more about it.
"You will rest in my room tonight," Will informed the small man. Had he been that small in life? Perhaps it was because he looked so gaunt now. His cheeks were still nicely rounded, but the rest of him seemed so frail.
"And I don't want to hear a peep out of you," Will warned.
Cutler said nothing.
The Captain's bed was much larger than any Will had slept in in life. He could rest quite comfortably on it, and there was even room for his guest to curl up at the end, back to his Captain, shivering every now and then. Whenever he did more than murmur, Will would send a light kick his way, which was quite effective in silencing him for a while.
It became a habit, a single point of consistency in an ever changing world, despite the never changing aspect of the ship and its crew. Cutler grew quieter, doing little more than murmur every now and then, even during the day when he was usually silent. Will still had him rest in his quarters though, curled up beside him, a little ghost with no place in this world. It was not for another decade that Will truly realised what set Cutler apart from the rest. Every single man aboard his ship, including those that had departed and those that still manned the stations, had someone to remember them, and someone to remember. Everyone except for Cutler.
Returning from his single day with Elizabeth, Will chose to spend the following day with his little ghost, showing him things he had brought back from his trip ashore, telling him stories about his son, and showing him the various trinkets that the last captain and previous crew members had left behind. Cutler trailed around behind him, watching from attentive blue eyes that darted from item to item.
It was the item that Cutler wasn't shown that drew the most attention. A black chest, seemingly locked, with a steady thumping sound within. Cutler would hold that heart one day, he decided. Hold that heart and stab it. He needed no pity. He would remember himself.
Theme: Bad Fic and Cracktastic Crossovers
Date: 08/09/10
Prompt: PotC/CatCF, Jack/Beckett, Cutler and the Chocolate Factory
For: Cassiopaya
Chocolate.
Milky white, rich brown, dark velvet...
Swirling about, it merged with other delicious delights.
Coffee, Mocha. Orange, Jaffa. Nuts, nougat, caramel.
Delicious.
There were two things Cutler Beckett loved most in the world. Chocolate and money. Fortunately for Cutler, he had a lot of both. He had a whole factory even, a chocolate fantasy world where he created delectable treats to sell for money, with plenty of excess to sate his own hunger and greed.
Cutler was greedy in that he did not like to share. Nobody outside of the East India Treatmaking Company were allowed inside his factory. As such, when he was told that he could make an insanely enormous amount of profit were he to open his factory to five randomly selected guests and give them a tour, he found it very difficult to make a decision. In the end, Cutler's love of money outweighed his hate of sharing, and for the first time ever, the doors to the fabled chocolate factory were opened for five lucky, lucky people. Meanwhile, Cutler was hoping very much that none of those people where pirates (fairly unlikely) or children (almost guaranteed).
Because Cutler Beckett was a sinner (gluttony was one of the big seven!), he found that his entire tour group were either pirates or children. Cutler sneered as he watched the small cluster of people waiting anxiously at the entrance to his dungeo... chocolate factory. There were six people at the door (child winners were allowed to bring a parent), and Cutler hated them all. He wasn't sure which he hated most, though. It was a tough call.
The eldest of the group was a man in an oversized, floofy wig, who later introduced himself as Governor Weatherby Swann. What a silly name. He was accompanying his daughter Elizabeth, who Cutler hated because she was a child, and he hated children for some reason. Something about children picking on him at school and calling him fat. He was not that fat considering he owned and ran a chocolate factory.
The other four guests were chocolate-loving adults. Either that, or they stole their special ship-shaped tickets from children (a step up from taking candy from babies). They were mostly pirates, judging by their dishevelled attire. One even had dreadlocks. Nasty, nasty dreadlocks, and dark, soulful eyes with kohl under them... and luscious looking... he was a dirty, dirty pirate. Dirty. Terrible. Terrible pirate.
Cutler hated all of the winners, but he hid his evil sneer behind a sickeningly fake smile and heaps of make up (to hide the bruises from his late boyfriend who used to beat him. Late because Beckett's trusty sidekick Mercer found out). It was important the tour went ahead, however. The contest would not be without a grand prize winner. Secretly, Cutler had decided to use the scheme to his advantage by inviting his favourite of the (horrible, horrible) tour winners to stay with him and help him run the chocolate factory (keep his bed warm to put him in a good mood thus ensuring he ran the factory more efficiently).
So it was very unfortunate that his choice were four dishevelled pirates, a fluffy, fluffy man and a haughty little girl. Fortunately the fluffy, fluffy man left early because his haughty, haughty little girl fell into a pool of chocolate. No, she was not casually kicked in here by Cutler, how dare you make such an accusation! Definitely not. Don't believe what children say, she was simply trying to get out of trouble because she ruined her pretty dress. After apologising for the trouble his daughter had caused and agreeing it was her fault entirely, Weatherby left with his daughter and his floofy wig.
This left four pirates for Cutler to deal wi... choose from. One was too short, one was too mute, one was too one-eyed (fake eyes do not count!) and one was too dreadlocky, but sometimes one has to make do with what one is served. And so it was that Cutler chose the dreadlocky pirate to stay in his chocolate factory and sail aboard his grand toffee ship. And that pirate's name was Jack Sparrow. Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow.
Theme: Poetry
Date: 09/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Norrington, Haiku
For: Cassiopaya
Judgement
Steadied hand of fate
His eyes are blind to mercy
James is his justice
The Ship has already Sailed
The march of the red
The clatter of dark hoofbeats
Only one was there
Theme: Poetry
Date: 09/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Inspired by Sylvia Plath
For: Cassiopaya
The clatter of hooves are the drums of war,
Steady in their proclamation of embittered conquest
Death is nigh for those that rebel,
Sealing their fate in coils of nightmare
So a song can be sung for dead ears
A battle is swift and the tides unfair,
And a beating heart that ought not to beat is thrust
To a chest with a key that unlocks the curse of immortality,
Languishing for eternity as the end never nears
A song is sung for ears that yearn but cannot hear
A decade is too long, a day is too short
The conqueror's path is skewed as doors close around him
And so the angel in black and the demon in white
Together find pleasure in the anguish of the other
Their lie lives on as a dark reminder, and the dead will never know
Theme: Jealousy
Date: 14/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Norrington/Beckett/Mercer, Green-eyed monster
For: Cassiopaya
For months now, Norrington had been the skittish fox, darting away at the first sight of hunting dog on his tail. Mercer hunted across the ocean, finally picking up the fox's scent in a bar in Tortuga of all places. It was not long after that he had returned to his master to receive the praise the hunter always gives to his loyal hound.
Ensnared in the hunter's roots, Norrington's plight was greatly enjoyed by the smug hound that had lead him to his capture, until things started to change. Norrington became less of a fox and more of a dog, a faithful retriever that lay with his head in the master's lap and had attention lavished upon him. He was even allowed to sleep in the master's bed, curled up under the fine silky sheets, guarding over his master more closely than the old hound was ever allowed to.
The faithful, long-serving hound did not like second place. Dagger in hand, he struck out at the master's favourite pet, ambushing him one cold winter's eve. But the master was always one step ahead, and that was why Beckett was the master and Mercer was the hound. The blood of a dog spilt over the frosty snow, and the hound realised his fatal mistake.
Only one dog returned home with the master that night, a greatful retriever that warmed the master's bed and licked at the wounds of the evening, gentle green eyes reassuring the master that he had made the right decision. Brown as they were, the hound's eyes had been far greener.
Theme: Heraldry
Date: 15/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Swann Motto: Fidelitas
For: Cassiopaya
"Fidelitas," Elizabeth whispered, trailing her fingers over the soft material of her new dress. Fidelitas. Faithfulness. Loyalty. The Swann family motto, and the word which her father lived by. He was always loyal to her, doing everything he could to give her as many advantages as he could, educating her far beyond that of the average young lady.
But Elizabeth wasn't that young anymore, and it had been time for her to find a husband. Loyalty works both ways, and it was her loyalty to her father, her fidelity, that led her down the path covered in rose petals towards a wealthy man she did not love. Regret was the strongest emotion that she felt when she had stood beside him at the altar. Regret at turning down James. At least he had been tall, dark and handsome.
After Will Turner had been branded a pirate after corroborating with a certain Captain Sparrow, Elizabeth had been left alone once more, with a fairly tarnished reputation. Despite her dislike of socialising in high society settings, which she found to be so shallow and boring, Elizabeth had attended a number of balls and other occasions with her father. She hated the whispers about her, but fortunately they mostly died down after a few weeks, and became less about her reputation and more about her age.
"You have to get her married, Weatherby," the women would say to her father. "And soon. She's not getting any younger."
So when a wealthy merchant Lord moved to Port Royal, Weatherby Swann was anxious to meet him. Discovering the bachelor to be an old acquaintance, Weatherby immediately pounced on the opportunity, working hard to build up a relationship between the Lord and his daughter before they even met.
"He's a charming man, I'm sure you'll like him," Weatherby said as he tried to help Elizabeth with her hair before opting to stand back and let the maid, Estrella, take over.
"You don't sound so sure of yourself," Elizabeth commented. She was determined to be on her best behaviour as she knew how hard her father had worked to secure the Lord's favour for the family. And from what her father had told her, he was very, very wealthy.
"Well... he's a little... different, I suppose, to the men around here," Weatherby admitted.
"What do you mean, different?" Elizabeth turned to face her father.
"Well... he's very English," Weatherby shrugged.
"So are most of the Company and Navy men," Elizabeth pointed out.
"Yes but... he's... well, you'll see."
"Father..."
"It's not that there's something wrong with him, it's just that I worry you won't be compatible." Weatherby sighed. Making sure his daughter was well provided for after his passing was important, and he had done all he could to secure the interest of a wealthy potential suitor. The rest was up to Elizabeth.
Lord Beckett was nothing like Elizabeth thought he might be. She had expected the worst, and although he was not exactly ideal, he wasn't as bad as she thought he might have been. The first thing she noticed was his well-tailored outfit, which looked suitably expensive. She had not expected the military-style wig that adorned his head, however. The second thing she noticed was that he was short. Shorter than her, in fact. His eyes were a cold blue and his eyebrows were dark, indicating he had a mop of black, brown or even red hair beneath his wig. At least, she hoped he did. He only looked to be in his mid-thirties, so she doubted that he was balding. She was relieved that he was not too old.
Cutler had a rounded face and pudgy features, but he did not have a pot belly, and for that Elizabeth was very greatful. When her father had described him as a little rotund, she had feared he would be like the fat piggish men that ate too much and thought too little. Despite his childish face, his expression was sharp, and Elizabeth was immediately put on her guard. At least it looked like he had intelligence swimming in his eyes, cold as they were. Cutler spoke softly, and seemed well-educated. Elizabeth did her best to be well-mannered. After a delicious afternoon tea, they walked around the Governor's garden together, talking lightly about different interests. They had little in common.
Fidelitas. Weatherby had always been faithful to Elizabeth, and now it was her turn to be faithful to him. Elizabeth continued to allow herself to be courted by the merchant Lord, who seemed rather quiet and casual at first. After getting to know her a bit better he began to fire up, and she did as well. Both employed wit and sharp tongues, and Elizabeth was pleased that he did not seem to mind it. Many men preferred their wives to be rather dull, dimwitted even.
Once the knot had been tied, Elizabeth had to be faithful to her new husband, for her father's sake as well as her own. She found it a bit difficult at first, as Cutler turned out to be very unpredictable. He let her push the boundaries on some occasions, but reigned her in on others. His sharp words and tone cowed her in a way that no other person could, but he never raised his hand to her. Sometimes he listened to her opinion, even seeking her out to ask her something, while other times he completely ignored her. It took a little while to recognise his nuances, but Elizabeth was a quick learner.
Cutler had a cruel streak, but he also had a soft side. He could be understanding, and was content to let their relationship settle down before requesting she bear his heirs. They didn't had any children despite a year of Cutler's incessant interest in such pleasures. Cutler didn't seem to distraught about it, and wasn't blaming Elizabeth for their misfortune, so she did not think on the subject much. Weatherby probably worried about it more than her. During their third year of marriage, Elizabeth finally became pregnant, and brought into the world a little girl. Every night Elizabeth lay their daughter in her crib, she whispered the Swann family motto, and promised to watch over her faithfully.
Theme: Roaring '20s
Date: 19/09/10
Prompt: PotC/Monopoly, Beckett/Mr. Monopoly, Pass GO and collect $200
For: Cassiopaya
A bouncing dice, twirling in the air, shuddered to a halt only once it had decided fate based purely on whim, its indented pips guiding without rhyme or reason.
Six.
The player was to go far, this turn.
"Good news, Mr. Beckett," the Company Lord smiled down at his most promising younger colleague. "Your analyses of the tea, silk and cinnamon markets have paid off. Your results have given us good profitability. This is your bonus," the Lord handed over a fat envelope.
Cutler Beckett grinned. His future advancement in the company was sealed.
Theme: Marry Me
Date: 30/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Pale Bride
For: Fairielore
Frills and lace swirled about as happy dancers danced. The ballroom was filled with delighted guests, chattering and laughing and sipping champagne while they mingled amongst the wealthy and the noble. Despite the grand sight before them, not everyone was enjoying themselves.
"Elizabeth, remember our little talk about manners?" Weatherby Swann frowned at his daughter, displeased that she refused to behave. All of the other unmarried girls were attempting to gain the attentions of potential suitors, coyly batting their eyelashes and shyly glancing away and then back again, hoping to catch the eyes of a wealthy bachelor. Elizabeth, however, was being sulky and downright rude.
"I am not here to find a husband," Elizabeth snapped quietly, glaring briefly at her friend Henrietta, who had abandoned her in favour of a tall, high ranking officer of the Royal Navy.
"Elizabeth..." Weatherby rarely used his warning tone, but this ball was a rare occasion, never before had he been invited to one so prestigious, filled with so many men more wealthy than he. Elizabeth wasn't getting any younger either, she was definitely into womanhood now, no longer on the cusp.
Before Elizabeth could respond, a man that had been walking past the pair stopped and retracted his last step. "Weatherby Swann?"
"Cutler Beckett! Why, I haven't seen you since you were a young lad!" Weatherby smiled widely, holding out his hand to shake that of the man before him.
"It's been too long, I barely recognised you," Cutler admitted, grasping the proffered hand and smiling lightly in return.
"Cutler, I would love for you to meet my daughter, Elizabeth."
"This is Elizabeth?" Cutler blinked.
"Yes, she's grown quite a lot since you last saw her!" Weatherby grinned, clapping his hand on the smaller man's shoulder.
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth Swann," Cutler gave her a nod.
"What do you mean, last saw me?" Elizabeth asked, forgetting her manners and not offering her hand to be kissed. Cutler didn't seem to notice at all.
"Young Cutler here is an old friend of mine, he stayed with us for a bit when your mother was alive," Weatherby began.
"She was a lovely woman," Cutler said gently, glancing away as he reminisced. Elizabeth felt a sudden pang of jealously, having been too young to remember her mother herself.
"You were just a baby then, him a young lad. He used to poke you in your crib until you cried," Weatherby continued.
"I was hoping you'd have forgotten that," Cutler grimaced.
"You were only a little one yourself then," Weatherby reassured him with a grin.
"Well apologies for me not remembering," Elizabeth said.
Weatherby invited his friend to stay with them for a few days, and Cutler accepted. Elizabeth was not happy her father was playing matchmaker, especially since her heart still felt raw from her last relationship. She had fallen in love with a blacksmith, and had come close to tarnishing her reputation rather badly. Before the upper classes caught wind of what was happening, he had left for the warm seas of the Caribbean, and she had no doubts that they would never meet again.
Cutler was not at Elizabeth expected. In fact, he was rather unexpected, and his words and actions were on occasion rather chaotic, his moods swinging with them. He was frequently standoffish, but every so often would appear to show a genuine interest in whatever Elizabeth was doing or saying. Cutler did not seem to fit in with the aristocracy, from Elizabeth's point of view. He was very charming and got along well socially, but he seemed quite different from them, and she couldn't put her finger on why. Then again Elizabeth did not feel she belonged in the upper classes either, but she did not fair anywhere near as well as he did socially.
It was inevitable that, pressured by Weatherby, Cutler asked Elizabeth to marry him. She wasn't sure why, but her mind screamed no, even as she verbally agreed after a single look at her father's hopeful expression. Weatherby could have died of happiness. A few weeks later, Cutler and Elizabeth walked down the isle, dressed in black and white respectively. Standing at the altar, Elizabeth looked into the ocean blue eyes of her fiance, and paled as he gave her the first of many hauntingly dark, cruel stares.
Date: 18/04/11
Prompt: Beckett/Davy, Tentacles
For: pktaxwench
Beckett was drowning. Salty water engulfed him completely, filling his mouth, his nose, his ears. Stinging his eyes; he couldn't keep them open. His heavy clothes were pulling him down towards the darkest of places, and he struggled to get out of his waistcoat but without sight or breath, it seemed so difficult, so futile. Lungs ready to burst, Cutler tried valiantly not to inhale water, instead swallowing it as he grasped at the liquid above him, trying to get to the surface before it claimed him forever.
Suddenly, something slippery wrapped around Cutler's waist, tugging at him, and Cutler struggled against this new danger he couldn't see. Eyes clasped shut, insides burning, Cutler felt all hope slipping away. His boots were being pulled off, and the last thing he remembered was the soft touch of the suction caps on what he presumed was a strong tentacle.
Cutler awoke, dazed and in pain, on the slippery deck of a ship. His eyes fluttered open only briefly, the stinging sensation causing him to close them once more. He felt like he was full of water, and he couldn't decide which part of him needed to get rid of it first. It was sloshing around in his ears, up his nose, in his stomach, his lungs...
Cutler briefly pondered his survival, uncertain of how, why, who or what. The only thing he knew was that he was alive. Someone had rescued him, that was for certain, there was no way he had made it back onto the ship by himself. But after he had finished his coughing and spluttering, he looked up to find himself alone.
From the distance, a heart broken Captain watched. He longed to touch, to hold, to comfort, but was so afraid he would be rejected, abandoned once more. It didn't seem to matter that the fragile yet vicious little creature, the object of his desires, was the very one that had chained him up through dark words and dangerous threats. It didn't seem to matter at all, for wasn't he already chained, bound tight to his ship, his crew, his lifeless life?
This creature, this mortal, fragile creature, this vicious, cruel and spiteful creature, was so intriguing, so exciting, so beautiful. He brought change to a unchanging world, and sparked a fire in the candle that burnt out long ago. His candle. His world. If only he could be his. One day perhaps. One day, the memory of his soft, lifesaving touch would be remembered and understood. One day.
Theme: Fantasy
Date: 03/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Will, Toy Guns
For: Fairielore
Little toy soldiers, with little toy guys, were all lined up in a row. Little toy horses came galloping along the line, preparing to charge at their little toy enemies.
"Roar!" little Cutler exclaimed, taking a little toy dragon and flying it over the little battlefield.
"We will destroy you, vile beast!" little William declared, grabbing a pair of little toy ballistas.
"You will never defeat our dragon," little Cutler said as he pushed the little toy wizards forwards.
"Prepare for battle!" little William sent the ballista's little arrow sailing through the air for little Cutler to catch and guide to its target. Before Cutler could cry out for the dragon in his other hand, a figure walked up behind the pair and cast a shadow across the little battlefield.
"What are you doing, playing with this commoner?"
"But Papa..." little Cutler looked quite frightened, and little William didn't know what to say so he kept his mouth shut.
"These models were expensive, you don't let ruffians like him touch them!"
"We were being careful Papa..."
"Enough! Pick these up, put them back in their box and go to the carriage."
"We're going?" little Cutler was confused as it was only midday.
Little William looked down at his feet. His father had bought him nice new shoes, which he had been happy about, but sometimes he wished he had nice new toys instead. Little William didn't have any neat little toys like little Cutler, and he had been a bit sad about that, and quite jealous at first. But he wasn't jealous anymore. Little William looked back at the dark green carriage where little Cutler was locked inside, big blue eyes peering out forlornly.
Little William could run around and play. He was allowed to play with his friends, and run around in the grass, and play with the little dog that ran about. Little William was allowed to get his shoes a bit dirty, even his new ones, and make loud noises and pretend that he was a super hero, or a pirate, or a wizard or a dragon. Little Cutler wasn't allowed to do any of these things. He had his little toys, but nobody was allowed to play with him. He wasn't allowed to play on the grass because his clothes and shoes might get dirty, even though he probably had many other pairs. He wasn't allowed to make loud noises, or run around pretending he was something else, that was called being silly, and little Cutler Beckett was not allowed to be silly.
Little William lived in a world of fantasy, where little toy soldiers were heroes that got to fight evil dragons. One day he would be a hero that got to fight evil things. Little Cutler lived in a world of solitude, where little toy soldiers were cared more about than he. Maybe he would be a little toy soldier one day. A little toy soldier with a little toy gun. A little toy gun with which he would blow away the world.
Theme: Beach
Date: 05/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Parasol
For: Fairielore
Elizabeth sighed, twirling her new parasol as she collapsed onto the sand. Or rather, onto the carefully laid out towel on the sand. Staring out at the waves as they gently lapped the shore, Elizabeth reminisced about when she was a child, when she was free to run about and feel the sand beneath her toes, and water swirl around her ankles and the fresh sea air kiss her arms. She felt so caged as she sat in her pretty little dress, complete with long sleeves to hide her supposedly delicate skin, on the towel too far from the welcoming water for it to threaten her dryness. How she longed to be free once more.
The sun was cautiously peeking out from behind a mountain on the horizon, but the gentle breeze was already warm due to the season. It was still too dark for most people to be wandering about, and Elizabeth pondered stripping off her pretty little dress and racing down to the waves in her undergarments. A splashing sound that seemed out of tune with the melodic waves caught her attention, and she curiously headed in the direction of the sound, which seemed to originate from the other side of a rocky outcrop.
Carefully picking her way past the rocks, Elizabeth stumbled upon a secluded area of the beach, where a handsome white stallion was standing guard over a neatly folded pile of clothing carefully placed on a dark towel. Elizabeth turned her attention to the figure that had just splashed out of the ocean, his pale skin glistening with water droplets. Raising her eyebrows, Elizabeth waited for the mostly naked man to notice her, twirling her new parasol as she watched him.
Cutler Beckett was halfway up the beach before he noticed he had company, but barely even paused as he continued to his stallion and the clothing it was so loyally guarding.
"You're out early," Cutler commented as he reached for a second towel and used it to rub over his short, dark hair, which became brown and curly as it started to dry.
"I could say the same to you," Elizabeth pointed out, continuing to twirl her parasol.
"It's the only time I get to myself, really," Cutler mused, reaching for his clothing. Apart from a pair of soaking boxers, he had nothing on at all.
"You swim often?" Elizabeth asked, settling herself on a nearby rock and politely averting her gaze so that he could replace his underwear with a new, dryer pair that he had thoughtfully brought with him.
"One's got to keep fit," Cutler shrugged, putting on his shirt.
"I used to swim, you know," Elizabeth said, glancing past her parasol to watch as he put on his coat.
"I was unaware girls were taught to swim, I know most lads aren't," Cutler did not pause, not entirely unsurprised as he had always thought of Elizabeth as fiery and uncouth.
"So how did you learn to swim?" Elizabeth asked.
"I learnt from my dear friend Spots," Cutler replied.
"Spots?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"He was a dog," Cutler explained.
"I see." Elizabeth was not surprised that Cutler was a dog person. He didn't exactly strike her as a people person, so it sort of made sense that he got on well with animals.
"How about you?" Cutler packed his belongings up, filling the little sack tied to his horse.
"Will taught me," Elizabeth admitted. "When we were children," she hastily added.
"Ah," Cutler said, mounting up and turning his horse around. "Also taught by a dog." Before Elizabeth could reply, the Lord had dug his heels into his steed and urged in on, the stallion kicking up sand in its wake as it sped off into the distance.
Theme: Despair
Date: 06/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Will, A place in this world
For: Fairielore
Confidence was a trait so often paraded around in life, but scarcely found in death. Sans confidence, Cutler Beckett was forced into a life of meek servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman. Quiet and almost skittish, Cutler did his best to blend into the background, slip into the shadows and dart away before any knew he was there. Being of a man of small stature helped, although his wraith-like skin gave him an unhealthy glow that stood out amongst the more dirty, darker crew members.
Cutler's personality seemed to have flipped in death, and in response, so did the reactions of the crew members to a degree. Refusing to utter a word, Cutler did as he was told with hasty efficiency. He was not afraid to take on a challenge when given one, although on occasion his lack of technique caused him to futilely attempt something with brute force until someone better equipped came along, shoved him aside and did it themselves.
Cutler kept to himself, avoiding all contact where possible, and crept around with a sightless gaze that the rest of the crew found unnerving. As such, he was mostly avoided or ignored, his pale form more of a ghost than a man, a haunting ghost that wailed in the night in a surreal, chilling manner.
Captain Turner had not expected this. Relatively new at his job, he was quickly getting the hang of his duties and commanding the men aboard his ship, with the exception of one particular crew member. Although he had expected having problems with Cutler Beckett, they were the problems he had at first anticipated. Arrogant and self-assured in life, Cutler had apparently been walking along the fine line of sanity, and his death seemed to have pushed him off.
It was not so much the haunting gaze or the solitude that was the problem, although were it any other man, loneliness was a trait that he would have been concerned about. No, it was the occasional wailing at the peak of the night that worried William. Mostly because it worried the other men, keeping them up at night when they wished to rest.
"L... Cutler Beckett," Will addressed the man in question one chilly Winter evening. Cutler tilted his head towards the Captain, but his pale eyes continued to stare at the floorboards.
"Look at me," Will commanded. After a brief moment that seemed to drag on, Cutler shifted his gaze towards the Captain.
"My eyes, look at my eyes. You should always look at the eyes of someone you're talking to, it's polite," Will said as he crossed his arms, realising after he had spoken that his words weren't exactly appropriate given the condition of the man before him. Cutler never spoke to anyone.
"The men and I don't appreciate your... disruptiveness... at night," Will began when Cutler finally shifted his gaze up to the Captain's face, eyes not really focused but that was the best he knew he was going to get.
"I want it to stop." Will realised he was being harsher than usual, and wondered why it bothered him all of a sudden. It was becoming difficult to remember the cruel man Cutler Beckett had once been when such a cold, lifeless form stood before him. Lifeless even for the dead.
Cutler said nothing, and his haunting gaze became too much for Will to bear any longer, so he dismissed him. That night, the wailing was less frequent and much quieter, but even more unearthly, and Will decided he was going to have to do something more about it.
"You will rest in my room tonight," Will informed the small man. Had he been that small in life? Perhaps it was because he looked so gaunt now. His cheeks were still nicely rounded, but the rest of him seemed so frail.
"And I don't want to hear a peep out of you," Will warned.
Cutler said nothing.
The Captain's bed was much larger than any Will had slept in in life. He could rest quite comfortably on it, and there was even room for his guest to curl up at the end, back to his Captain, shivering every now and then. Whenever he did more than murmur, Will would send a light kick his way, which was quite effective in silencing him for a while.
It became a habit, a single point of consistency in an ever changing world, despite the never changing aspect of the ship and its crew. Cutler grew quieter, doing little more than murmur every now and then, even during the day when he was usually silent. Will still had him rest in his quarters though, curled up beside him, a little ghost with no place in this world. It was not for another decade that Will truly realised what set Cutler apart from the rest. Every single man aboard his ship, including those that had departed and those that still manned the stations, had someone to remember them, and someone to remember. Everyone except for Cutler.
Returning from his single day with Elizabeth, Will chose to spend the following day with his little ghost, showing him things he had brought back from his trip ashore, telling him stories about his son, and showing him the various trinkets that the last captain and previous crew members had left behind. Cutler trailed around behind him, watching from attentive blue eyes that darted from item to item.
It was the item that Cutler wasn't shown that drew the most attention. A black chest, seemingly locked, with a steady thumping sound within. Cutler would hold that heart one day, he decided. Hold that heart and stab it. He needed no pity. He would remember himself.
Theme: Bad Fic and Cracktastic Crossovers
Date: 08/09/10
Prompt: PotC/CatCF, Jack/Beckett, Cutler and the Chocolate Factory
For: Cassiopaya
Chocolate.
Milky white, rich brown, dark velvet...
Swirling about, it merged with other delicious delights.
Coffee, Mocha. Orange, Jaffa. Nuts, nougat, caramel.
Delicious.
There were two things Cutler Beckett loved most in the world. Chocolate and money. Fortunately for Cutler, he had a lot of both. He had a whole factory even, a chocolate fantasy world where he created delectable treats to sell for money, with plenty of excess to sate his own hunger and greed.
Cutler was greedy in that he did not like to share. Nobody outside of the East India Treatmaking Company were allowed inside his factory. As such, when he was told that he could make an insanely enormous amount of profit were he to open his factory to five randomly selected guests and give them a tour, he found it very difficult to make a decision. In the end, Cutler's love of money outweighed his hate of sharing, and for the first time ever, the doors to the fabled chocolate factory were opened for five lucky, lucky people. Meanwhile, Cutler was hoping very much that none of those people where pirates (fairly unlikely) or children (almost guaranteed).
Because Cutler Beckett was a sinner (gluttony was one of the big seven!), he found that his entire tour group were either pirates or children. Cutler sneered as he watched the small cluster of people waiting anxiously at the entrance to his dungeo... chocolate factory. There were six people at the door (child winners were allowed to bring a parent), and Cutler hated them all. He wasn't sure which he hated most, though. It was a tough call.
The eldest of the group was a man in an oversized, floofy wig, who later introduced himself as Governor Weatherby Swann. What a silly name. He was accompanying his daughter Elizabeth, who Cutler hated because she was a child, and he hated children for some reason. Something about children picking on him at school and calling him fat. He was not that fat considering he owned and ran a chocolate factory.
The other four guests were chocolate-loving adults. Either that, or they stole their special ship-shaped tickets from children (a step up from taking candy from babies). They were mostly pirates, judging by their dishevelled attire. One even had dreadlocks. Nasty, nasty dreadlocks, and dark, soulful eyes with kohl under them... and luscious looking... he was a dirty, dirty pirate. Dirty. Terrible. Terrible pirate.
Cutler hated all of the winners, but he hid his evil sneer behind a sickeningly fake smile and heaps of make up (to hide the bruises from his late boyfriend who used to beat him. Late because Beckett's trusty sidekick Mercer found out). It was important the tour went ahead, however. The contest would not be without a grand prize winner. Secretly, Cutler had decided to use the scheme to his advantage by inviting his favourite of the (horrible, horrible) tour winners to stay with him and help him run the chocolate factory (keep his bed warm to put him in a good mood thus ensuring he ran the factory more efficiently).
So it was very unfortunate that his choice were four dishevelled pirates, a fluffy, fluffy man and a haughty little girl. Fortunately the fluffy, fluffy man left early because his haughty, haughty little girl fell into a pool of chocolate. No, she was not casually kicked in here by Cutler, how dare you make such an accusation! Definitely not. Don't believe what children say, she was simply trying to get out of trouble because she ruined her pretty dress. After apologising for the trouble his daughter had caused and agreeing it was her fault entirely, Weatherby left with his daughter and his floofy wig.
This left four pirates for Cutler to deal wi... choose from. One was too short, one was too mute, one was too one-eyed (fake eyes do not count!) and one was too dreadlocky, but sometimes one has to make do with what one is served. And so it was that Cutler chose the dreadlocky pirate to stay in his chocolate factory and sail aboard his grand toffee ship. And that pirate's name was Jack Sparrow. Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow.
Theme: Poetry
Date: 09/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Norrington, Haiku
For: Cassiopaya
Judgement
Steadied hand of fate
His eyes are blind to mercy
James is his justice
The Ship has already Sailed
The march of the red
The clatter of dark hoofbeats
Only one was there
Theme: Poetry
Date: 09/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Inspired by Sylvia Plath
For: Cassiopaya
The clatter of hooves are the drums of war,
Steady in their proclamation of embittered conquest
Death is nigh for those that rebel,
Sealing their fate in coils of nightmare
So a song can be sung for dead ears
A battle is swift and the tides unfair,
And a beating heart that ought not to beat is thrust
To a chest with a key that unlocks the curse of immortality,
Languishing for eternity as the end never nears
A song is sung for ears that yearn but cannot hear
A decade is too long, a day is too short
The conqueror's path is skewed as doors close around him
And so the angel in black and the demon in white
Together find pleasure in the anguish of the other
Their lie lives on as a dark reminder, and the dead will never know
Theme: Jealousy
Date: 14/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Norrington/Beckett/Mercer, Green-eyed monster
For: Cassiopaya
For months now, Norrington had been the skittish fox, darting away at the first sight of hunting dog on his tail. Mercer hunted across the ocean, finally picking up the fox's scent in a bar in Tortuga of all places. It was not long after that he had returned to his master to receive the praise the hunter always gives to his loyal hound.
Ensnared in the hunter's roots, Norrington's plight was greatly enjoyed by the smug hound that had lead him to his capture, until things started to change. Norrington became less of a fox and more of a dog, a faithful retriever that lay with his head in the master's lap and had attention lavished upon him. He was even allowed to sleep in the master's bed, curled up under the fine silky sheets, guarding over his master more closely than the old hound was ever allowed to.
The faithful, long-serving hound did not like second place. Dagger in hand, he struck out at the master's favourite pet, ambushing him one cold winter's eve. But the master was always one step ahead, and that was why Beckett was the master and Mercer was the hound. The blood of a dog spilt over the frosty snow, and the hound realised his fatal mistake.
Only one dog returned home with the master that night, a greatful retriever that warmed the master's bed and licked at the wounds of the evening, gentle green eyes reassuring the master that he had made the right decision. Brown as they were, the hound's eyes had been far greener.
Theme: Heraldry
Date: 15/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Swann Motto: Fidelitas
For: Cassiopaya
"Fidelitas," Elizabeth whispered, trailing her fingers over the soft material of her new dress. Fidelitas. Faithfulness. Loyalty. The Swann family motto, and the word which her father lived by. He was always loyal to her, doing everything he could to give her as many advantages as he could, educating her far beyond that of the average young lady.
But Elizabeth wasn't that young anymore, and it had been time for her to find a husband. Loyalty works both ways, and it was her loyalty to her father, her fidelity, that led her down the path covered in rose petals towards a wealthy man she did not love. Regret was the strongest emotion that she felt when she had stood beside him at the altar. Regret at turning down James. At least he had been tall, dark and handsome.
After Will Turner had been branded a pirate after corroborating with a certain Captain Sparrow, Elizabeth had been left alone once more, with a fairly tarnished reputation. Despite her dislike of socialising in high society settings, which she found to be so shallow and boring, Elizabeth had attended a number of balls and other occasions with her father. She hated the whispers about her, but fortunately they mostly died down after a few weeks, and became less about her reputation and more about her age.
"You have to get her married, Weatherby," the women would say to her father. "And soon. She's not getting any younger."
So when a wealthy merchant Lord moved to Port Royal, Weatherby Swann was anxious to meet him. Discovering the bachelor to be an old acquaintance, Weatherby immediately pounced on the opportunity, working hard to build up a relationship between the Lord and his daughter before they even met.
"He's a charming man, I'm sure you'll like him," Weatherby said as he tried to help Elizabeth with her hair before opting to stand back and let the maid, Estrella, take over.
"You don't sound so sure of yourself," Elizabeth commented. She was determined to be on her best behaviour as she knew how hard her father had worked to secure the Lord's favour for the family. And from what her father had told her, he was very, very wealthy.
"Well... he's a little... different, I suppose, to the men around here," Weatherby admitted.
"What do you mean, different?" Elizabeth turned to face her father.
"Well... he's very English," Weatherby shrugged.
"So are most of the Company and Navy men," Elizabeth pointed out.
"Yes but... he's... well, you'll see."
"Father..."
"It's not that there's something wrong with him, it's just that I worry you won't be compatible." Weatherby sighed. Making sure his daughter was well provided for after his passing was important, and he had done all he could to secure the interest of a wealthy potential suitor. The rest was up to Elizabeth.
Lord Beckett was nothing like Elizabeth thought he might be. She had expected the worst, and although he was not exactly ideal, he wasn't as bad as she thought he might have been. The first thing she noticed was his well-tailored outfit, which looked suitably expensive. She had not expected the military-style wig that adorned his head, however. The second thing she noticed was that he was short. Shorter than her, in fact. His eyes were a cold blue and his eyebrows were dark, indicating he had a mop of black, brown or even red hair beneath his wig. At least, she hoped he did. He only looked to be in his mid-thirties, so she doubted that he was balding. She was relieved that he was not too old.
Cutler had a rounded face and pudgy features, but he did not have a pot belly, and for that Elizabeth was very greatful. When her father had described him as a little rotund, she had feared he would be like the fat piggish men that ate too much and thought too little. Despite his childish face, his expression was sharp, and Elizabeth was immediately put on her guard. At least it looked like he had intelligence swimming in his eyes, cold as they were. Cutler spoke softly, and seemed well-educated. Elizabeth did her best to be well-mannered. After a delicious afternoon tea, they walked around the Governor's garden together, talking lightly about different interests. They had little in common.
Fidelitas. Weatherby had always been faithful to Elizabeth, and now it was her turn to be faithful to him. Elizabeth continued to allow herself to be courted by the merchant Lord, who seemed rather quiet and casual at first. After getting to know her a bit better he began to fire up, and she did as well. Both employed wit and sharp tongues, and Elizabeth was pleased that he did not seem to mind it. Many men preferred their wives to be rather dull, dimwitted even.
Once the knot had been tied, Elizabeth had to be faithful to her new husband, for her father's sake as well as her own. She found it a bit difficult at first, as Cutler turned out to be very unpredictable. He let her push the boundaries on some occasions, but reigned her in on others. His sharp words and tone cowed her in a way that no other person could, but he never raised his hand to her. Sometimes he listened to her opinion, even seeking her out to ask her something, while other times he completely ignored her. It took a little while to recognise his nuances, but Elizabeth was a quick learner.
Cutler had a cruel streak, but he also had a soft side. He could be understanding, and was content to let their relationship settle down before requesting she bear his heirs. They didn't had any children despite a year of Cutler's incessant interest in such pleasures. Cutler didn't seem to distraught about it, and wasn't blaming Elizabeth for their misfortune, so she did not think on the subject much. Weatherby probably worried about it more than her. During their third year of marriage, Elizabeth finally became pregnant, and brought into the world a little girl. Every night Elizabeth lay their daughter in her crib, she whispered the Swann family motto, and promised to watch over her faithfully.
Theme: Roaring '20s
Date: 19/09/10
Prompt: PotC/Monopoly, Beckett/Mr. Monopoly, Pass GO and collect $200
For: Cassiopaya
A bouncing dice, twirling in the air, shuddered to a halt only once it had decided fate based purely on whim, its indented pips guiding without rhyme or reason.
Six.
The player was to go far, this turn.
"Good news, Mr. Beckett," the Company Lord smiled down at his most promising younger colleague. "Your analyses of the tea, silk and cinnamon markets have paid off. Your results have given us good profitability. This is your bonus," the Lord handed over a fat envelope.
Cutler Beckett grinned. His future advancement in the company was sealed.
Theme: Marry Me
Date: 30/09/10
Prompt: PotC, Beckett/Elizabeth, Pale Bride
For: Fairielore
Frills and lace swirled about as happy dancers danced. The ballroom was filled with delighted guests, chattering and laughing and sipping champagne while they mingled amongst the wealthy and the noble. Despite the grand sight before them, not everyone was enjoying themselves.
"Elizabeth, remember our little talk about manners?" Weatherby Swann frowned at his daughter, displeased that she refused to behave. All of the other unmarried girls were attempting to gain the attentions of potential suitors, coyly batting their eyelashes and shyly glancing away and then back again, hoping to catch the eyes of a wealthy bachelor. Elizabeth, however, was being sulky and downright rude.
"I am not here to find a husband," Elizabeth snapped quietly, glaring briefly at her friend Henrietta, who had abandoned her in favour of a tall, high ranking officer of the Royal Navy.
"Elizabeth..." Weatherby rarely used his warning tone, but this ball was a rare occasion, never before had he been invited to one so prestigious, filled with so many men more wealthy than he. Elizabeth wasn't getting any younger either, she was definitely into womanhood now, no longer on the cusp.
Before Elizabeth could respond, a man that had been walking past the pair stopped and retracted his last step. "Weatherby Swann?"
"Cutler Beckett! Why, I haven't seen you since you were a young lad!" Weatherby smiled widely, holding out his hand to shake that of the man before him.
"It's been too long, I barely recognised you," Cutler admitted, grasping the proffered hand and smiling lightly in return.
"Cutler, I would love for you to meet my daughter, Elizabeth."
"This is Elizabeth?" Cutler blinked.
"Yes, she's grown quite a lot since you last saw her!" Weatherby grinned, clapping his hand on the smaller man's shoulder.
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth Swann," Cutler gave her a nod.
"What do you mean, last saw me?" Elizabeth asked, forgetting her manners and not offering her hand to be kissed. Cutler didn't seem to notice at all.
"Young Cutler here is an old friend of mine, he stayed with us for a bit when your mother was alive," Weatherby began.
"She was a lovely woman," Cutler said gently, glancing away as he reminisced. Elizabeth felt a sudden pang of jealously, having been too young to remember her mother herself.
"You were just a baby then, him a young lad. He used to poke you in your crib until you cried," Weatherby continued.
"I was hoping you'd have forgotten that," Cutler grimaced.
"You were only a little one yourself then," Weatherby reassured him with a grin.
"Well apologies for me not remembering," Elizabeth said.
Weatherby invited his friend to stay with them for a few days, and Cutler accepted. Elizabeth was not happy her father was playing matchmaker, especially since her heart still felt raw from her last relationship. She had fallen in love with a blacksmith, and had come close to tarnishing her reputation rather badly. Before the upper classes caught wind of what was happening, he had left for the warm seas of the Caribbean, and she had no doubts that they would never meet again.
Cutler was not at Elizabeth expected. In fact, he was rather unexpected, and his words and actions were on occasion rather chaotic, his moods swinging with them. He was frequently standoffish, but every so often would appear to show a genuine interest in whatever Elizabeth was doing or saying. Cutler did not seem to fit in with the aristocracy, from Elizabeth's point of view. He was very charming and got along well socially, but he seemed quite different from them, and she couldn't put her finger on why. Then again Elizabeth did not feel she belonged in the upper classes either, but she did not fair anywhere near as well as he did socially.
It was inevitable that, pressured by Weatherby, Cutler asked Elizabeth to marry him. She wasn't sure why, but her mind screamed no, even as she verbally agreed after a single look at her father's hopeful expression. Weatherby could have died of happiness. A few weeks later, Cutler and Elizabeth walked down the isle, dressed in black and white respectively. Standing at the altar, Elizabeth looked into the ocean blue eyes of her fiance, and paled as he gave her the first of many hauntingly dark, cruel stares.
Date: 18/04/11
Prompt: Beckett/Davy, Tentacles
For: pktaxwench
Beckett was drowning. Salty water engulfed him completely, filling his mouth, his nose, his ears. Stinging his eyes; he couldn't keep them open. His heavy clothes were pulling him down towards the darkest of places, and he struggled to get out of his waistcoat but without sight or breath, it seemed so difficult, so futile. Lungs ready to burst, Cutler tried valiantly not to inhale water, instead swallowing it as he grasped at the liquid above him, trying to get to the surface before it claimed him forever.
Suddenly, something slippery wrapped around Cutler's waist, tugging at him, and Cutler struggled against this new danger he couldn't see. Eyes clasped shut, insides burning, Cutler felt all hope slipping away. His boots were being pulled off, and the last thing he remembered was the soft touch of the suction caps on what he presumed was a strong tentacle.
Cutler awoke, dazed and in pain, on the slippery deck of a ship. His eyes fluttered open only briefly, the stinging sensation causing him to close them once more. He felt like he was full of water, and he couldn't decide which part of him needed to get rid of it first. It was sloshing around in his ears, up his nose, in his stomach, his lungs...
Cutler briefly pondered his survival, uncertain of how, why, who or what. The only thing he knew was that he was alive. Someone had rescued him, that was for certain, there was no way he had made it back onto the ship by himself. But after he had finished his coughing and spluttering, he looked up to find himself alone.
From the distance, a heart broken Captain watched. He longed to touch, to hold, to comfort, but was so afraid he would be rejected, abandoned once more. It didn't seem to matter that the fragile yet vicious little creature, the object of his desires, was the very one that had chained him up through dark words and dangerous threats. It didn't seem to matter at all, for wasn't he already chained, bound tight to his ship, his crew, his lifeless life?
This creature, this mortal, fragile creature, this vicious, cruel and spiteful creature, was so intriguing, so exciting, so beautiful. He brought change to a unchanging world, and sparked a fire in the candle that burnt out long ago. His candle. His world. If only he could be his. One day perhaps. One day, the memory of his soft, lifesaving touch would be remembered and understood. One day.