(Untitled)

[scourgeofpiracy]

There's an office in Port Royal that James Norrington used to know as well as his own house.

He hasn't been there in months, in the real world. So it's really no surprise that he dreams himself back there, once in a while. That he dreams he never fell from grace.

He's sitting behind the desk, papers in hand.

Comments

[bringmethatnpc]

The large window of the office looks out to the bay, a normal, familiar scene.

Also familiar is the sight of the three ships at anchor there- the Dauntless, the Interceptor II, and the Worthington. Their sails are furled, but their flags and banners can be seen waving gaily in the ever constant ocean breeze.

Three ships, for the Commodore to command. Three ships for one specific purpose.

There is a chill in the afternoon tropical sunshine, cutting through the dream.

[scourgeofpiracy]

The sails catch his eye, outside, and he gets up and walks to the window for a better look... which turns into a long look.

It's not as if he'll ever see them again, outside the dream.

[bringmethatnpc]

One moment, the bay is calm, the ships safely at port, sunshine and gentle breezes.
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
The next, shadows and storm have overtaken the scene. The familiar buildings of the town are overtaken by waves, wrack and ruin. The three ships are tempest tossed, winds howling and rattling the windows of the office-
Nothing beside remains.
But inside is untouched except for the chill of the grave, seeping past his uniform coat into Norrington's bones.

"Sir, I exist."

"With respect, sir, did you think you could hold on to your happy and false memories, even here?"

[scourgeofpiracy]

Norrington doesn't turn, not wanting to see what he knows is behind him.

"Here, at least", he says wearily. "But perhaps not."