(Untitled)

[royal_commodore]

While many seafaring men hated the planning and logistics of a long journey by ship, it was the planning and charting of maps that Norrington liked best. As a boy, he'd spent hours in his father's study filling in the blank places on the map and imagining what sort of adventures he'd have in places like India, Madagascar, Australia and the like.

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[niceofyoutoask]

Perhaps surprisingly, the outfit didn't tip him off that there was a newcomer to the island. Between the occasional play, the general tendencies of the clothing box, the amount of costumed parties on the island, and the innumerable eccentricities of the island's residence. No, it was the look, the stunned confusion that he'd seen time and time again around here. He didn't hear what the mam said, but approached with a friendly and unconciously sympathetic smile.

"Hey there," He said in greeting, not wanting to startle the man. "Need some things explained?"

[royal_commodore]

Norrington turned slowly, taking in the man and trying to decide if he'd seen him before. He had not, which was odd in and of itself; Port Royal wasn't so big a place that he wouldn't recognize someone at all and his accent was broad and flat and not at all sounding like anything Norrington had ever heard before.

"I presume I do, considering I don't know either this place or you. Where am I, exactly?"

If he could get a bearing, he could make a heading and orient himself once more.

[niceofyoutoask]

Between the measured language and accent, he realized that the navy outfit might actually be genuine. Jane was from the turn of the 18th century, and that form of speaking was familiar enough, even if it wasn't identical.

"An island, but I'm sure you might've figured that already. We're all from different places and times, some seemingly fictional, and there are unexplainable occurances daily." He held out his hand for a shake, giving the man an almost apologetic half-smile for his explanation. "I'm Carwood Lipton, and this place is called Tabula Rasa." Might as well answer the two questions at once.

[royal_commodore]

The idea that fictional people might be milling about was boggling to Norrington and he shook his head a little, hoping to clear it. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his ears were ringing; what madness was this? He'd half think he'd crawled into a bottle of rum after taking a blow to the head.

"James Norrington," he offered absently. "Commodore in the Royal Navy."

[niceofyoutoask]

Lipton wasn't offended that his hand was ignored, and shook his own head slightly, faintly amused and embarassed that he'd gotten so used to the relative equality of the island that he didn't consider how difference in class and rank still applied to newcomers.

The stunned look of disbelief on Norrington's face was a familiar one. "Sir," he nodded. "I was First Sergeant of my company in the United States infantry, but a little later than you I think. There are some other British navy guys around that you might find helpful."

[royal_commodore]

Norrington arched a brow. The United States had no army; last he'd checked it was simply a colony of Britain and served the King just like anyone else did. Still, he kept his tongue in lieu of making conversation. No need to correct the man and start off ill-footed.

"I can imagine anyone in the King's navy would be a welcome sight about now. How did you come to be here, Lipton?"

[niceofyoutoask]

"I'm from 1945, Sir." Might as well be upfront about being from Norrington's future. He'd always been a straightforward man, after all. "There was a war, and we were sent over to Europe to fight. Fell asleep with my company in a church in Beligum, and woke up on the beach." He looked out at the snow, his mouth tilted in a half-smile. "It was a bit more sandy at the time." He added, dryly. "Thought I'd finally cracked."

[royal_commodore]

Norrington blinked for a few moments, trying to process that. Somehow he'd gotten from the year 1763 to 1945? How did that make sense at all? It didn't and Norrington decided to err on the side of caution.

"So it is 1945 now, is it?"

[niceofyoutoask]

He shook his head, regretting that he hadn't been more clear in the first place. "It's hard to say, as everyone's from a different time and place. But from what I've gathered, Sir, today's date is January 2nd of the year 2011."

[royal_commodore]

Now Norrington was even more dumbfounded, since he'd just started to catch on to the idea of being trapped in 1945 with this man who seemingly knew things about it and, alas, it looked like that wasn't the case at all.

"Are you certain about that? Or is the date going to change by another ten or fifteen years in a minute or two?"

[niceofyoutoask]

Lipton smiled, absolutely sympathetic to how ridiculously illogical this all was. "No, I've been here almost two years, and while there's magic and unexplained occurences on a daily basis, at least time progresses normally in a day to day fashion." Of course, now that he's said that, he almost expects tomorrow to be three weeks from now.

[royal_commodore]

"I suppose that's a comfort," Norrington said, still a little overwhelmed. "I apologize. I like a good deal more order in my life than this situation has afforded me. I hope I can settle into a routine soon enough."

[niceofyoutoask]

"I'm sure you will." Lipton assured him, with a reasonable amount of confidence. He'd sure managed to settle in here, even with a life, a failed marriage, and a war to fight back home. "How about we get off this beach, Sir? I'm sure my wife would be pleased to meet someone from her neck of the woods, and there's scones and tea."