Fic: Valentine's Day Massacre, Part 4
Title: Valentine's Day Massacre
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Words: 500
Prompt: The sacred geometry of chance at cutler_beckett
Rating: R
Length: Drabble
Pairings: Norria and Beckington
Warnings: Sex and Death
Authoress: cassiopaya
Characters: Anamaria, James Norrington, Cutler Beckett, Mercer, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Dedication: sunsetdawn20
Notes: This fic is packed with poker and early 1990s references, see if you can find them all!
Part: 4
***
They stood toe to toe, her fist to his nose as he tried to stare her down. Anamaria’s dark eyes sparkled with intensity and his resolve melted as a shining pearl of blood slid down her wrist. Sighing in defeat, James whipped out a linen handkerchief from inside his shirt sleeve and went to cradle her fist his in his hand. Frowning, she pulled back from him.
“You are bleeding,” he explained as Anamaria blinked in confusion; she had not expected a bit of blood to be just the thing to break him. Her fingers uncurled in his large hand and he plucked the blade tip from her palm. Instantly the blood welled up from the valley of the cut and he pressed his handkerchief against her wound. His linen was ruined.
Closing her fingers back into a loose fist to hold the makeshift bandage in place, he lead her to the sofa with both on his hands encompassing her injured one. James did not let go, but kept gentle pressure on her hand as he resumed a line of questioning he had not wished to pursue mere moments before. It was his responsibility now.
“With things as they are now, I cannot fathom as to what you were doing here,” Norrington shook his head in disbelief, “Did you expect to hide in plain sight and carry on your illicit activities?” Anamaria cast her glance about the room and took in its details. She decided to tell all the truth, but to tell it slant.
“We are-were seeking to escape,” she looked James full in the eyes, “we had not expected things to turn so quickly or so badly.” Anamaria looked about the room and changed the subject, “This place seems new and you seem new to it. How came you to be an Admiral, James? I had not thought the Royal Navy to be so…forgiving.”
“I am employed by the EITC and am no longer an officer of His Majesty’s Navy,” James smiled ruefully, “and you are very good at steering the conversation to your whim, but I shall not let you lead me so easily. You and your crew should not have been here in the first place - not to smuggle rum, at least - you are smarter than that.”
“I have heard a rumor that Jack Sparrow is dead. Did you make good on the quest you began those many nights ago in Tortuga?” “Did Jack Sparrow ever make good on his promise to you or are you still without a ship?” James retorted, and smiling toothily said, “You seek to thrill me with such sharp subjects, but I am not dissuaded.”
Anamaria removed her hand from his enveloping grasp and replied, “I will believe Jack Sparrow is well and truly dead when rumor has it he is still alive. And, yes, the sonofabitch still owes me a boat.” “What have you been smuggling besides rum?” Norrington asked directly. There was a pregnant pause before she answered, “People.”
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Words: 500
Prompt: The sacred geometry of chance at cutler_beckett
Rating: R
Length: Drabble
Pairings: Norria and Beckington
Warnings: Sex and Death
Authoress: cassiopaya
Characters: Anamaria, James Norrington, Cutler Beckett, Mercer, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Dedication: sunsetdawn20
Notes: This fic is packed with poker and early 1990s references, see if you can find them all!
Part: 4
***
They stood toe to toe, her fist to his nose as he tried to stare her down. Anamaria’s dark eyes sparkled with intensity and his resolve melted as a shining pearl of blood slid down her wrist. Sighing in defeat, James whipped out a linen handkerchief from inside his shirt sleeve and went to cradle her fist his in his hand. Frowning, she pulled back from him.
“You are bleeding,” he explained as Anamaria blinked in confusion; she had not expected a bit of blood to be just the thing to break him. Her fingers uncurled in his large hand and he plucked the blade tip from her palm. Instantly the blood welled up from the valley of the cut and he pressed his handkerchief against her wound. His linen was ruined.
Closing her fingers back into a loose fist to hold the makeshift bandage in place, he lead her to the sofa with both on his hands encompassing her injured one. James did not let go, but kept gentle pressure on her hand as he resumed a line of questioning he had not wished to pursue mere moments before. It was his responsibility now.
“With things as they are now, I cannot fathom as to what you were doing here,” Norrington shook his head in disbelief, “Did you expect to hide in plain sight and carry on your illicit activities?” Anamaria cast her glance about the room and took in its details. She decided to tell all the truth, but to tell it slant.
“We are-were seeking to escape,” she looked James full in the eyes, “we had not expected things to turn so quickly or so badly.” Anamaria looked about the room and changed the subject, “This place seems new and you seem new to it. How came you to be an Admiral, James? I had not thought the Royal Navy to be so…forgiving.”
“I am employed by the EITC and am no longer an officer of His Majesty’s Navy,” James smiled ruefully, “and you are very good at steering the conversation to your whim, but I shall not let you lead me so easily. You and your crew should not have been here in the first place - not to smuggle rum, at least - you are smarter than that.”
“I have heard a rumor that Jack Sparrow is dead. Did you make good on the quest you began those many nights ago in Tortuga?” “Did Jack Sparrow ever make good on his promise to you or are you still without a ship?” James retorted, and smiling toothily said, “You seek to thrill me with such sharp subjects, but I am not dissuaded.”
Anamaria removed her hand from his enveloping grasp and replied, “I will believe Jack Sparrow is well and truly dead when rumor has it he is still alive. And, yes, the sonofabitch still owes me a boat.” “What have you been smuggling besides rum?” Norrington asked directly. There was a pregnant pause before she answered, “People.”