fanfic: One Last Wish
Title: One Last Wish
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Sparrington (well, more implied than anything)
Rating: PG
Summary: Every condemned prisoner has one last wish, but Jack Sparrow's is special.
Word Count: 1,341
Author's Note: Written for oneiriad, who took part in my friends survey ( My Big Damn Fic/Art Table) and prompted "Lord Rochester". I hope this is approximately close to what you had in mind!
Poems used: "A Ramble in St. James' Park", "The Trick Worth Forty Wenches"
Beta Courtesy: burningliz - *fluffs you* - and shrieking_ell - <3!
*****
"Sir, the prisoner wants to have a word with you."
With a sigh, Norrington looked up from the report he had been reading, his face showing annoyance about being disturbed.
"Thank you, Groves," he said curtly as he put the report aside and got up.
What the hell did that fool Sparrow want this time?
Grumbling under his breath, he left his office and descended to the prison tract, already bracing himself for ridiculous offers to bargain. He knew that the pirate could become very imaginative when his freedom was at stake, and Norrington was not inclined to let him escape again - or regain his freedom in other ways.
As he arrived in front of the cell, the pirate was sitting on the floor and absently playing with some pieces of dirty straw that were supposed to be his mattress. He had obviously heard the commodore approach, but he didn't look up until Norrington addressed him.
"Sparrow."
"Commodore. So you finally caught me, eh? Fulfilled your job and all."
Norrington decided not to admit the pirate a chance to start blathering. He had neither the time nor the energy to stand another tirade of crazed and senseless stories. "Yes. You wished to speak to me?"
Jack nodded. "That I did indeed. Tell me - rumour has it that you lot always grant a prisoner one last wish..." He trailed off on purpose, his brown eyes locked firmly with Norrington's green.
The commodore smiled sarcastically. "Is that so. Well... let me guess what a dissolute creature like you would want." He rode the pause, but it was merely rhetorical. Not that he really needed to contemplate this at length.
Before he could continue, however, the pirate interrupted him, a far too sweet smile on his face. "Don't exhaust your mind, Commodore. I want one of my effects back, if you please."
"Oh, indeed?" Norrington crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be? The bottle of stolen rum that we confiscated from you?"
Jack shook his head. "Nah - I've had me fair share of rum, and even though rum might chase away cold and loneliness, there's just one thing a man can do to pass his last hours sensibly."
"Sensibly." Norrington repeated the word out of pure mockery. Sensibly and Sparrow, these two words just didn't fit in one sentence. He had to be up to something.
"Oh aye, sensibly." Jack flashed him a grin. "You've still got that book, right? That red, slightly damaged one? Well, I'll have that back. That's me last wish."
If Norrington was honest, this rather unusual wish surprised him - no, shocked him. He didn't really believe that the pirate could read, and pretending to read could not satisfy his lowbrow needs, and it took the commodore quite some resolution to keep up the emotionless mask he was wearing. "A book."
"Aye, a book. I don't think you know what book it is, eh?" Jack's grin got even wider.
"I do not make a habit of studying prisoners' belongings."
"Well, that's your loss, mate. It's quite a renowned book back in good old England, I must say. Rochester, you know? Great writer. Very imaginative."
At the mention of the writer's name, Norrington's face darkened. Renowned? Infamous, more like.
The sudden change of the commodore's expression made Jack's face light up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "you've heard about him, then?"
Norrington gave the pirate his best glare. "I have. And whereas I am positively surprised to hear that you can read, I am not at all surprised about your taste in literature. Depraved and ruthless, without any respect for God and His creation, just like yourself."
Jack leant back, supporting his weight on his elbows. "So you haven't read any of his works," he stated, matter-of-fact. It wasn't even a question.
"I most certainly have not." Norrington sounded almost offended.
"Again - your loss." He paused and looked up to the little barred window of the cell through which the red rays of the setting sun announced dusk. A bit too theatrical for Norrington's taste, but somehow, Jack's whole mysterious behaviour seemed to catch his interest. He could have left to fetch the book and then gone back to his office to finish the report, but he decided not to. If anyone had asked him why, he probably wouldn't be able to explain it.
Jack turned around abruptly. "You two are much alike, you know - Rochester and you," he said, and as Norrington opened his mouth to protest, Jack added, "which you don't believe because all you ever depend on is hearsay, of course. And it wouldn't be proper to trust a pirate, either, even when he's right." He rolled his eyes. "But I tell you what. Fetch me that book and I'll read to you a bit. Take it as a last offer from a condemned man - just to make it all the more fun, eh?"
Norrington huffed. "Whatever could make you think that I have any wish to listen to that?"
"I don't think, commodore. I know. Listen to this and tell me you don't know what the man's feeling, aye?" And then, he started quoting. "Along these hallowed walks it was That I beheld Corinna pass." He didn't keep his gaze fixed on Norrington but let it wander around the cell instead. "Whoever had been by to see The proud disdain she cast on me Through charming eyes, he would have swore She dropped from heaven that very hour, Forsaking the divine abode In scorn of some despairing god."
Norrington raised an eyebrow but otherwise remained as he was. He didn't think it wise to show his surprise when the pirate was clearly trying to make a point - or to achieve some other goal that had probably to do with his desire for freedom - but he had to admit that whereas it wasn't quite the best poetry he had ever read, it certainly was not the worst. He decided to listen further.
"But mark what creatures women are: How infinitely vile, when fair!" Finally, the pirate moved his head to look Norrington straight in the eye - and if the commodore had not been certain of this whole matter being personal, he would have been at this very moment.
Jack continued. "Love a woman? You're an ass! 'Tis a most insipid passion To choose out for your happiness The silliest part of God's creation. Let the porter and the groom, Things designed for dirty slaves, Dredge in fair Aurelia's womb To get supplies for age and graves."
At this moment, Norrington was certain he had never hated the pirate more. Not just because he was stealing his valuable time, but because he had a point and Norrington refused to believe that the pirate was right, even though everything seemed to support the theory. For God's sake, Norrington had never been a too great friend of poetry, and this exactly was the reason - the fact that all the other poets didn't seem to understand that love did not last and that most of the time, even the best men had to live without whereas slaves and whores seemed to enjoy it aplenty. He had never told anyone about this - it would have made him appear ungrateful and spiteful and an image like that could follow you like a curse - so why did that pirate know? Had the issue with Miss Swann made him so transparent that he could not even hide his feelings from a debauched villain?
Jack's slurred voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "So tell me, dear Commodore - was I right?"
The smug grin on Jack's face made Norrington's fist twitch, but instead of reacting to it, the commodore turned around without a word and left the cell tract.
He would come back, though. With a little book in the pocket of his coat. And Jack would read to him, about love and lust, about abandon and betrayal, about women and about men.
It wouldn't be enough to secure his freedom, but enough to add another round to their race.
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Sparrington (well, more implied than anything)
Rating: PG
Summary: Every condemned prisoner has one last wish, but Jack Sparrow's is special.
Word Count: 1,341
Author's Note: Written for oneiriad, who took part in my friends survey ( My Big Damn Fic/Art Table) and prompted "Lord Rochester". I hope this is approximately close to what you had in mind!
Poems used: "A Ramble in St. James' Park", "The Trick Worth Forty Wenches"
Beta Courtesy: burningliz - *fluffs you* - and shrieking_ell - <3!
*****
"Sir, the prisoner wants to have a word with you."
With a sigh, Norrington looked up from the report he had been reading, his face showing annoyance about being disturbed.
"Thank you, Groves," he said curtly as he put the report aside and got up.
What the hell did that fool Sparrow want this time?
Grumbling under his breath, he left his office and descended to the prison tract, already bracing himself for ridiculous offers to bargain. He knew that the pirate could become very imaginative when his freedom was at stake, and Norrington was not inclined to let him escape again - or regain his freedom in other ways.
As he arrived in front of the cell, the pirate was sitting on the floor and absently playing with some pieces of dirty straw that were supposed to be his mattress. He had obviously heard the commodore approach, but he didn't look up until Norrington addressed him.
"Sparrow."
"Commodore. So you finally caught me, eh? Fulfilled your job and all."
Norrington decided not to admit the pirate a chance to start blathering. He had neither the time nor the energy to stand another tirade of crazed and senseless stories. "Yes. You wished to speak to me?"
Jack nodded. "That I did indeed. Tell me - rumour has it that you lot always grant a prisoner one last wish..." He trailed off on purpose, his brown eyes locked firmly with Norrington's green.
The commodore smiled sarcastically. "Is that so. Well... let me guess what a dissolute creature like you would want." He rode the pause, but it was merely rhetorical. Not that he really needed to contemplate this at length.
Before he could continue, however, the pirate interrupted him, a far too sweet smile on his face. "Don't exhaust your mind, Commodore. I want one of my effects back, if you please."
"Oh, indeed?" Norrington crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be? The bottle of stolen rum that we confiscated from you?"
Jack shook his head. "Nah - I've had me fair share of rum, and even though rum might chase away cold and loneliness, there's just one thing a man can do to pass his last hours sensibly."
"Sensibly." Norrington repeated the word out of pure mockery. Sensibly and Sparrow, these two words just didn't fit in one sentence. He had to be up to something.
"Oh aye, sensibly." Jack flashed him a grin. "You've still got that book, right? That red, slightly damaged one? Well, I'll have that back. That's me last wish."
If Norrington was honest, this rather unusual wish surprised him - no, shocked him. He didn't really believe that the pirate could read, and pretending to read could not satisfy his lowbrow needs, and it took the commodore quite some resolution to keep up the emotionless mask he was wearing. "A book."
"Aye, a book. I don't think you know what book it is, eh?" Jack's grin got even wider.
"I do not make a habit of studying prisoners' belongings."
"Well, that's your loss, mate. It's quite a renowned book back in good old England, I must say. Rochester, you know? Great writer. Very imaginative."
At the mention of the writer's name, Norrington's face darkened. Renowned? Infamous, more like.
The sudden change of the commodore's expression made Jack's face light up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "you've heard about him, then?"
Norrington gave the pirate his best glare. "I have. And whereas I am positively surprised to hear that you can read, I am not at all surprised about your taste in literature. Depraved and ruthless, without any respect for God and His creation, just like yourself."
Jack leant back, supporting his weight on his elbows. "So you haven't read any of his works," he stated, matter-of-fact. It wasn't even a question.
"I most certainly have not." Norrington sounded almost offended.
"Again - your loss." He paused and looked up to the little barred window of the cell through which the red rays of the setting sun announced dusk. A bit too theatrical for Norrington's taste, but somehow, Jack's whole mysterious behaviour seemed to catch his interest. He could have left to fetch the book and then gone back to his office to finish the report, but he decided not to. If anyone had asked him why, he probably wouldn't be able to explain it.
Jack turned around abruptly. "You two are much alike, you know - Rochester and you," he said, and as Norrington opened his mouth to protest, Jack added, "which you don't believe because all you ever depend on is hearsay, of course. And it wouldn't be proper to trust a pirate, either, even when he's right." He rolled his eyes. "But I tell you what. Fetch me that book and I'll read to you a bit. Take it as a last offer from a condemned man - just to make it all the more fun, eh?"
Norrington huffed. "Whatever could make you think that I have any wish to listen to that?"
"I don't think, commodore. I know. Listen to this and tell me you don't know what the man's feeling, aye?" And then, he started quoting. "Along these hallowed walks it was That I beheld Corinna pass." He didn't keep his gaze fixed on Norrington but let it wander around the cell instead. "Whoever had been by to see The proud disdain she cast on me Through charming eyes, he would have swore She dropped from heaven that very hour, Forsaking the divine abode In scorn of some despairing god."
Norrington raised an eyebrow but otherwise remained as he was. He didn't think it wise to show his surprise when the pirate was clearly trying to make a point - or to achieve some other goal that had probably to do with his desire for freedom - but he had to admit that whereas it wasn't quite the best poetry he had ever read, it certainly was not the worst. He decided to listen further.
"But mark what creatures women are: How infinitely vile, when fair!" Finally, the pirate moved his head to look Norrington straight in the eye - and if the commodore had not been certain of this whole matter being personal, he would have been at this very moment.
Jack continued. "Love a woman? You're an ass! 'Tis a most insipid passion To choose out for your happiness The silliest part of God's creation. Let the porter and the groom, Things designed for dirty slaves, Dredge in fair Aurelia's womb To get supplies for age and graves."
At this moment, Norrington was certain he had never hated the pirate more. Not just because he was stealing his valuable time, but because he had a point and Norrington refused to believe that the pirate was right, even though everything seemed to support the theory. For God's sake, Norrington had never been a too great friend of poetry, and this exactly was the reason - the fact that all the other poets didn't seem to understand that love did not last and that most of the time, even the best men had to live without whereas slaves and whores seemed to enjoy it aplenty. He had never told anyone about this - it would have made him appear ungrateful and spiteful and an image like that could follow you like a curse - so why did that pirate know? Had the issue with Miss Swann made him so transparent that he could not even hide his feelings from a debauched villain?
Jack's slurred voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "So tell me, dear Commodore - was I right?"
The smug grin on Jack's face made Norrington's fist twitch, but instead of reacting to it, the commodore turned around without a word and left the cell tract.
He would come back, though. With a little book in the pocket of his coat. And Jack would read to him, about love and lust, about abandon and betrayal, about women and about men.
It wouldn't be enough to secure his freedom, but enough to add another round to their race.