Christmas Prezzie #1
To:Doolabug
From: Wrenny
The Gift: Some old-fashioned Sparrington, grudge-filled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The entire tavern fell silent as the tall green-eyed man walked into the bar. Even dressed in the clothes of bilge rats, his posture was straight as an arrow and as noticeable. The denizens of the tavern, pirates one and all, stared at the man as if any moment he might explode like a cannon badly primed; he in turned looked at them with all the disgust that someone would rate his worst enemies.
Which in Commodore James Norrington’s case was absolutely true.
The tension didn’t break, and nor did the looks, until a slightly shorter but more familiar man staggered through the door, into Norrington’s back, and bounced off with a slow blink and then a broad smile that flashed teeth filled with gold. Scars from varying illnesses just lightly touched the dirty face, but even with the grime there was just something about Jack Sparrow that made you like him. A fact that was amply proved when the bar burst into a few odd cheers of, “Ahoy, Sparrow!”
Jack beamed at them brightly, before putting his hand firmly on Norrington’s back and propelling him forward - down the wooden steps, past the tables and the tavern keeper, whom he flashed another one of those smiles and pointed to the darkened tables towards the rear of the establishment. “Rum and keep ‘em coming, Jolly.”
“Y’got it, Jack!” the man said gruffly, not even looking up from where he was cleaning the countertop.
Norrington twisted his head around, blinking at the man. “He just spit on that counter, and rubbed it into the wood.” The Commodore stared straight ahead. “I am never losing another bet to you, as long as I live, Sparrow. This one has already scarred me for life.” He grimaced, as he looked himself over - the ratty clothes, the disgusting surroundings.
“Well, y’never should have bet me that you could follow me through that storm.” Jack said cheerily, steering him there and here, until they reached the back of the tavern itself. “Besides, considering how disgusting it is, shouldn’t I be the one who is complaining? Considering the half of the bet I lost.”
A smirk curled over the Commodore’s face. “So true. I still don’t know how I caught up to you, but I did, and now …well, I’m not the one who has to be down on his knees … wait.” He paused, right before the curtains that separated from the main room, to the semi-private rooms for discussions and other kinds of ‘discussions’. “Why are you so cheered about that?”
Jack smiled, and Norrington couldn’t help it, he smiled quizzically back. That golden smile did seem to do something to just about everyone, including British Commodores. Jack gave Norrington a push back behind the curtains, purring. “You’ll see, you’ll see.”
Some bets you lost. Some bets you lost on purpose.
From: Wrenny
The Gift: Some old-fashioned Sparrington, grudge-filled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The entire tavern fell silent as the tall green-eyed man walked into the bar. Even dressed in the clothes of bilge rats, his posture was straight as an arrow and as noticeable. The denizens of the tavern, pirates one and all, stared at the man as if any moment he might explode like a cannon badly primed; he in turned looked at them with all the disgust that someone would rate his worst enemies.
Which in Commodore James Norrington’s case was absolutely true.
The tension didn’t break, and nor did the looks, until a slightly shorter but more familiar man staggered through the door, into Norrington’s back, and bounced off with a slow blink and then a broad smile that flashed teeth filled with gold. Scars from varying illnesses just lightly touched the dirty face, but even with the grime there was just something about Jack Sparrow that made you like him. A fact that was amply proved when the bar burst into a few odd cheers of, “Ahoy, Sparrow!”
Jack beamed at them brightly, before putting his hand firmly on Norrington’s back and propelling him forward - down the wooden steps, past the tables and the tavern keeper, whom he flashed another one of those smiles and pointed to the darkened tables towards the rear of the establishment. “Rum and keep ‘em coming, Jolly.”
“Y’got it, Jack!” the man said gruffly, not even looking up from where he was cleaning the countertop.
Norrington twisted his head around, blinking at the man. “He just spit on that counter, and rubbed it into the wood.” The Commodore stared straight ahead. “I am never losing another bet to you, as long as I live, Sparrow. This one has already scarred me for life.” He grimaced, as he looked himself over - the ratty clothes, the disgusting surroundings.
“Well, y’never should have bet me that you could follow me through that storm.” Jack said cheerily, steering him there and here, until they reached the back of the tavern itself. “Besides, considering how disgusting it is, shouldn’t I be the one who is complaining? Considering the half of the bet I lost.”
A smirk curled over the Commodore’s face. “So true. I still don’t know how I caught up to you, but I did, and now …well, I’m not the one who has to be down on his knees … wait.” He paused, right before the curtains that separated from the main room, to the semi-private rooms for discussions and other kinds of ‘discussions’. “Why are you so cheered about that?”
Jack smiled, and Norrington couldn’t help it, he smiled quizzically back. That golden smile did seem to do something to just about everyone, including British Commodores. Jack gave Norrington a push back behind the curtains, purring. “You’ll see, you’ll see.”
Some bets you lost. Some bets you lost on purpose.