I have too many things to write.
So what do I do? START SOMETHING NEW bwahahahahahahaha *cries*
This little idea formed in my head after watching The Blue Lagoon, then I made the mistake of telling Rae about it and she encouraged me. Brat. :P This is just like a taste... a teaser. We'll call it the prologue? Yeah, that works.
Title: Shipwrecked (for now)
Who: R/J
Rating: R?
A/N: HEAVEN HELP ME!
Port of London, 1730
Miss Rochelle Calliope Hawthorne wandered down the bustling thoroughfare, heading toward the docks. Her parasol was held by one slim, lace covered hand, while the other lifted the hem of her billowing, green skirts to keep the mud from soiling them completely. Footmen trailed behind her, carrying bags and a large trunk piled high with hat boxes.
Seeing -- and hearing-- so many uncouth people had her wrinkling her nose in distaste as she skirted by, trying to keep her focus on the large Naval ship waiting for her. It was a newly constructed, first rate ship making its return voyage to the West Indies. Word had come just a few weeks ago from her father. Since she had turned eighteen, was no longer in need of a Governess, he wished for her to finally join him in Charlestown, on the Leeward Islands.
Rochelle had been surprised at her father’s request, but in a strange way, very happy. She had not seen him for several years, and the idea of such a grand adventure was quite thrilling.
The Captain of the ship, Mr. Smithson, was waiting for her on the docks. His blue frock coat was perfectly pressed, the large gold buttons polished to a high sheen. He removed his hat, offering her a formal bow.
“Miss Hawthorne, might I say it is a pleasure to be escorting on your trip. I ensure you will we do our best to make it a swift and comfortable voyage.”
“Thank you, captain.” She dipped in a low curtsey.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll be happy to show to your quarters.”
She inclined her head slightly, closing her parasol as she started following him up the gangway, her footmen in tow.
Leveling out on the deck of the ship, Rochelle saw men rushing back and forth; some were carrying supplies, others hauling lines and prepping sails. It seemed like utter chaos to an outside observer, but she knew enough about ships and their crews to realize how truly organized and thorough the men were.
As she walked across the deck toward the door leading below deck, she saw a few men who were not dressed in uniform. She frowned at this, confused. Rochelle laid a hand on the Captain’s arm.
“Oh, they’re not part of the Royal Navy, marm.” Smithson looked very stern as he glanced at one of men; younger with sun bronzed skin, and blond hair bleached nearly white. He wore a cheeky grin as one of the Officers yelled out an order to him. The young man gave a mocking salute when the Office turned his back; it was then that Rochelle was able to make out a brand on his muscular forearm.
“A pirate,” she gasped.
“I’m afraid so.” Smithson sighed. “Former men of the Black Flag. Someone, somewhere, thought it a good way to rehabilitate the younger ones, the men whom had little choice in the manner. We have a few onboard, but I guarantee there is nothing to worry about.”
Rochelle had kept her eyes on the former pirate, watching as he fell in line with several others to trim the sails. He bent and fastened the rope, using neat, quick movements. When he straightened it was as though he knew he was being watched. He looked around slowly before finally finding her.
As his ocean blue eyes met hers, he lifted one fair brow. He gave a long, appreciative look, clear eyes slithering over her from heel to head, and back again. Rochelle felt herself fighting a blush.
The Captain was well aware of his lurid glance, his face turning a mottled red in anger. “JACK!” he barked, calling the man over.
With a slow saunter he walked toward the Captain and Rochelle, he stopped and gave a sloppy salute. As he relaxed again his gaze darted toward Rochelle before focusing on Captain Smithson.
“Jack, this is the Commodore’s daughter. She will be joining us for this voyage. I will have you pay Miss Hawthorn the proper respect or you will be seeing the inside of the brig, is that clear?” Smithson hissed.
“Absolutely Cap’n!” He grinned serenely, offering another lazy salute.
“Yes, Captain.” The other man stressed.
“Yes, Captain. So sorry.” He offered up a pitying frown, then turned to Rochelle and gave her a surprisingly formal bow. “Miss Hawthorne, I apologize for my abominable behavior.“ He straightened again and met her eyes, Rochelle wrinkled her nose at him and turned on her heel, moving below decks.
This little idea formed in my head after watching The Blue Lagoon, then I made the mistake of telling Rae about it and she encouraged me. Brat. :P This is just like a taste... a teaser. We'll call it the prologue? Yeah, that works.
Title: Shipwrecked (for now)
Who: R/J
Rating: R?
A/N: HEAVEN HELP ME!
Port of London, 1730
Miss Rochelle Calliope Hawthorne wandered down the bustling thoroughfare, heading toward the docks. Her parasol was held by one slim, lace covered hand, while the other lifted the hem of her billowing, green skirts to keep the mud from soiling them completely. Footmen trailed behind her, carrying bags and a large trunk piled high with hat boxes.
Seeing -- and hearing-- so many uncouth people had her wrinkling her nose in distaste as she skirted by, trying to keep her focus on the large Naval ship waiting for her. It was a newly constructed, first rate ship making its return voyage to the West Indies. Word had come just a few weeks ago from her father. Since she had turned eighteen, was no longer in need of a Governess, he wished for her to finally join him in Charlestown, on the Leeward Islands.
Rochelle had been surprised at her father’s request, but in a strange way, very happy. She had not seen him for several years, and the idea of such a grand adventure was quite thrilling.
The Captain of the ship, Mr. Smithson, was waiting for her on the docks. His blue frock coat was perfectly pressed, the large gold buttons polished to a high sheen. He removed his hat, offering her a formal bow.
“Miss Hawthorne, might I say it is a pleasure to be escorting on your trip. I ensure you will we do our best to make it a swift and comfortable voyage.”
“Thank you, captain.” She dipped in a low curtsey.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll be happy to show to your quarters.”
She inclined her head slightly, closing her parasol as she started following him up the gangway, her footmen in tow.
Leveling out on the deck of the ship, Rochelle saw men rushing back and forth; some were carrying supplies, others hauling lines and prepping sails. It seemed like utter chaos to an outside observer, but she knew enough about ships and their crews to realize how truly organized and thorough the men were.
As she walked across the deck toward the door leading below deck, she saw a few men who were not dressed in uniform. She frowned at this, confused. Rochelle laid a hand on the Captain’s arm.
“Oh, they’re not part of the Royal Navy, marm.” Smithson looked very stern as he glanced at one of men; younger with sun bronzed skin, and blond hair bleached nearly white. He wore a cheeky grin as one of the Officers yelled out an order to him. The young man gave a mocking salute when the Office turned his back; it was then that Rochelle was able to make out a brand on his muscular forearm.
“A pirate,” she gasped.
“I’m afraid so.” Smithson sighed. “Former men of the Black Flag. Someone, somewhere, thought it a good way to rehabilitate the younger ones, the men whom had little choice in the manner. We have a few onboard, but I guarantee there is nothing to worry about.”
Rochelle had kept her eyes on the former pirate, watching as he fell in line with several others to trim the sails. He bent and fastened the rope, using neat, quick movements. When he straightened it was as though he knew he was being watched. He looked around slowly before finally finding her.
As his ocean blue eyes met hers, he lifted one fair brow. He gave a long, appreciative look, clear eyes slithering over her from heel to head, and back again. Rochelle felt herself fighting a blush.
The Captain was well aware of his lurid glance, his face turning a mottled red in anger. “JACK!” he barked, calling the man over.
With a slow saunter he walked toward the Captain and Rochelle, he stopped and gave a sloppy salute. As he relaxed again his gaze darted toward Rochelle before focusing on Captain Smithson.
“Jack, this is the Commodore’s daughter. She will be joining us for this voyage. I will have you pay Miss Hawthorn the proper respect or you will be seeing the inside of the brig, is that clear?” Smithson hissed.
“Absolutely Cap’n!” He grinned serenely, offering another lazy salute.
“Yes, Captain.” The other man stressed.
“Yes, Captain. So sorry.” He offered up a pitying frown, then turned to Rochelle and gave her a surprisingly formal bow. “Miss Hawthorne, I apologize for my abominable behavior.“ He straightened again and met her eyes, Rochelle wrinkled her nose at him and turned on her heel, moving below decks.