Wandering Kind: A Modest Proposal
Title: Our Wandering Kind (year four, part one): A Modest Proposal
Author: artemismuse
Pairing: Norribeth
Rating: PG
Status: Part 4/5
Warnings: pre-CotBP AU, and I had to split this one in two parts because it was too long otherwise, so this is a bit shorter than usual. Fear not. There is more.
Summary: Elizabeth's debutante ball is fast approaching, and she has ideas of her own on how to catch James. But James is not so easily persuaded.
The year Elizabeth turns fifteen is the year she decides to take matters concerning James Norrington into her own hands. He is still oblivious to her love for him, and probably always will be if she does not do something, and quickly. She must get him to see her as the young woman she has become, not the pirate-obsessed wicked child he met several years ago. Though she can still be wicked, she thinks- if properly provoked. Her father grants her request that her debutante ball be a masquerade one without much questioning; he supposes it is the fashion these days. He is slightly more concerned with her dire need for two ball gowns and two masks, but she promises to find means to pay him back, so he agrees to that, too. Elizabeth only shows him the traditional debutante gown, white and demure; she knows the other type of gown she is considering would give him a heart attack, and she does not have parents to spare.
Elizabeth gives James his invitation in person on her weekly visit, along with a request.
"No. Absolutely not. Out of the question, Elizabeth."
"But James…" She uses her most wheedling voice and puppy dog eyes. "For me? Please?" She adds an eyelash flutter for effect. "You'll get to wear your wig and everything." There. That should get him. She knows how much he's attached to that new wig, and it annoys him to no end when she says it makes him look like an ice cream. He considers this for a moment, then splutters,
"You know I don't dance! What were you thinking?" Elizabeth draws herself up to her full height- all five feet, seven inches of it- and says stiffly,
"I suppose I was thinking that, as my closest and dearest friend, you would be honored to stand at my side as my escort into proper society. Obviously, I was mistaken." He sighs.
"You know very well that isn't true." Her lower lip quivers.
"Oh, James, you have to agree," she wails. "Who else will I talk to? Who will nudge me when I'm not behaving properly? You know how trying these events can be, and who better to ensure I survive them than a handsome naval Captain with beautiful green eyes?" James raises an eyebrow, as if to say, that's laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?
"So now you've tried flattery, invocation of friendship, bribery and pleading. Anything else?" She grabs him by the lapels of his coat, sudden urgency in her voice.
"I can't go without an escort, it's just not done. Father would kill me!" The corners of James' mouth twitch. He is fighting a grin.
"Are you quite finished?"
"Yes," she says, crossing her arms, and sulks.
"Good. Well, I would hate to see you die at such a young age, and by your own father's hand." He appears to consider her request, brows furrowed, simulating deep thought for her benefit. He looks crossly at her. "Oh, very well, I'll do it. On one condition."
"Anything," she says earnestly, looking up into his eyes.
"You have to promise me that we'll enjoy ourselves. Alright? None of that stuffy boring 'speech about the debutante's virtues' rot. We all know you're a bit short on those anyway," he says, and winks at her. Elizabeth could not be more pleased at James' request. Enjoying ourselves is exactly what I'd had planned.
"And no Almaines. I loathe the Black Almaine." Elizabeth smiles radiantly at him and hugs him, perhaps lingering a bit longer than is strictly necessary. She is wearing perfume, James notices. Odd. She has never worn it before. Something about her face looks different, too. He wonders if she is wearing make-up. That, too, would be a first.
"You're a darling. You won't regret this," she says. She kisses him on the cheek and is gone, though her fragrance remains behind.
"Oh, I already do," he mutters darkly, remembering how much he loathes formal social functions.
James paces the length of the Interceptor in search of one man.
"Andrew?"
"Yes, Captain?" Gillette snaps to attention.
"Do me a favor."
"Of course, sir. Just name it."
"Shoot me."
There is a pause.
"Certainly, sir," Andrew says, recovering nicely, "but may I inquire as to why?"
"Because if you don't," James says ominously, "I'm going to have to dance." Andrew looks puzzled, not quite connecting the dots.
"Sorry, sir?"
"Elizabeth Swann's debutante ball. She's badgered me into going as her escort. And you know how much I despise the things." He looks incredibly sour, and Andrew bursts into helpless laughter. "For God's sake, Andrew, what's so funny?"
"Oh, now you've gone and done it, sir," he says, bubbling over with mirth. "Falling in love with the Governor's daughter!" He shakes his head and wipes the tears from his eyes.
"What? I have not," James stammers, distressed. "I've done no such thing!"
And yet, he cannot satisfactorily explain to himself just why he said yes to an event he hates, all for the sake of a girl he claims to view as a sister.
"Well, you know what they say, sir. I s'pose it applies to dancing as well as not."
"And what's that, Lieutenant?" Gillette claps him on the shoulder, grinning.
"Lie back and think of England."
James groans.
Author: artemismuse
Pairing: Norribeth
Rating: PG
Status: Part 4/5
Warnings: pre-CotBP AU, and I had to split this one in two parts because it was too long otherwise, so this is a bit shorter than usual. Fear not. There is more.
Summary: Elizabeth's debutante ball is fast approaching, and she has ideas of her own on how to catch James. But James is not so easily persuaded.
The year Elizabeth turns fifteen is the year she decides to take matters concerning James Norrington into her own hands. He is still oblivious to her love for him, and probably always will be if she does not do something, and quickly. She must get him to see her as the young woman she has become, not the pirate-obsessed wicked child he met several years ago. Though she can still be wicked, she thinks- if properly provoked. Her father grants her request that her debutante ball be a masquerade one without much questioning; he supposes it is the fashion these days. He is slightly more concerned with her dire need for two ball gowns and two masks, but she promises to find means to pay him back, so he agrees to that, too. Elizabeth only shows him the traditional debutante gown, white and demure; she knows the other type of gown she is considering would give him a heart attack, and she does not have parents to spare.
Elizabeth gives James his invitation in person on her weekly visit, along with a request.
"No. Absolutely not. Out of the question, Elizabeth."
"But James…" She uses her most wheedling voice and puppy dog eyes. "For me? Please?" She adds an eyelash flutter for effect. "You'll get to wear your wig and everything." There. That should get him. She knows how much he's attached to that new wig, and it annoys him to no end when she says it makes him look like an ice cream. He considers this for a moment, then splutters,
"You know I don't dance! What were you thinking?" Elizabeth draws herself up to her full height- all five feet, seven inches of it- and says stiffly,
"I suppose I was thinking that, as my closest and dearest friend, you would be honored to stand at my side as my escort into proper society. Obviously, I was mistaken." He sighs.
"You know very well that isn't true." Her lower lip quivers.
"Oh, James, you have to agree," she wails. "Who else will I talk to? Who will nudge me when I'm not behaving properly? You know how trying these events can be, and who better to ensure I survive them than a handsome naval Captain with beautiful green eyes?" James raises an eyebrow, as if to say, that's laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?
"So now you've tried flattery, invocation of friendship, bribery and pleading. Anything else?" She grabs him by the lapels of his coat, sudden urgency in her voice.
"I can't go without an escort, it's just not done. Father would kill me!" The corners of James' mouth twitch. He is fighting a grin.
"Are you quite finished?"
"Yes," she says, crossing her arms, and sulks.
"Good. Well, I would hate to see you die at such a young age, and by your own father's hand." He appears to consider her request, brows furrowed, simulating deep thought for her benefit. He looks crossly at her. "Oh, very well, I'll do it. On one condition."
"Anything," she says earnestly, looking up into his eyes.
"You have to promise me that we'll enjoy ourselves. Alright? None of that stuffy boring 'speech about the debutante's virtues' rot. We all know you're a bit short on those anyway," he says, and winks at her. Elizabeth could not be more pleased at James' request. Enjoying ourselves is exactly what I'd had planned.
"And no Almaines. I loathe the Black Almaine." Elizabeth smiles radiantly at him and hugs him, perhaps lingering a bit longer than is strictly necessary. She is wearing perfume, James notices. Odd. She has never worn it before. Something about her face looks different, too. He wonders if she is wearing make-up. That, too, would be a first.
"You're a darling. You won't regret this," she says. She kisses him on the cheek and is gone, though her fragrance remains behind.
"Oh, I already do," he mutters darkly, remembering how much he loathes formal social functions.
James paces the length of the Interceptor in search of one man.
"Andrew?"
"Yes, Captain?" Gillette snaps to attention.
"Do me a favor."
"Of course, sir. Just name it."
"Shoot me."
There is a pause.
"Certainly, sir," Andrew says, recovering nicely, "but may I inquire as to why?"
"Because if you don't," James says ominously, "I'm going to have to dance." Andrew looks puzzled, not quite connecting the dots.
"Sorry, sir?"
"Elizabeth Swann's debutante ball. She's badgered me into going as her escort. And you know how much I despise the things." He looks incredibly sour, and Andrew bursts into helpless laughter. "For God's sake, Andrew, what's so funny?"
"Oh, now you've gone and done it, sir," he says, bubbling over with mirth. "Falling in love with the Governor's daughter!" He shakes his head and wipes the tears from his eyes.
"What? I have not," James stammers, distressed. "I've done no such thing!"
And yet, he cannot satisfactorily explain to himself just why he said yes to an event he hates, all for the sake of a girl he claims to view as a sister.
"Well, you know what they say, sir. I s'pose it applies to dancing as well as not."
"And what's that, Lieutenant?" Gillette claps him on the shoulder, grinning.
"Lie back and think of England."
James groans.