(Untitled)

[royal_commodore]

While many seafaring men hated the planning and logistics of a long journey by ship, it was the planning and charting of maps that Norrington liked best. As a boy, he'd spent hours in his father's study filling in the blank places on the map and imagining what sort of adventures he'd have in places like India, Madagascar, Australia and the like.

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[blondieburke]

It seems that Juliet really can't get away from the beach, even when said beach is covered in snow. Granted, her walks are a little shorter now, but she still goes to watch the waves. Usually she's the only one, but today she spies someone else and wonders who it is who would be out in the snow, too.

Walking forward, she hears him mutter, and realizes it's not someone she's ever seen before. Then, she hears him mutter and knows he's new. "Hello?" she asks gently. "Are you alright?" There's always a chance that she's wrong, so she opts for starting with something simple.

[royal_commodore]

The sound of a woman's voice spurred him to action and Norrington turned, shaken from utter disbelief into the usually-simple task of replying to a question. Usually was the salient word, since nothing was "usual" about being in one's study and suddenly seeing it fall away into a place he'd never known before.

"I want to say I am, but I'm afraid I've probably hit my head or something. Nothing is making any sense at the moment."

Like this woman, for example, who was entirely unfamiliar to him and dressed in a fashion that was both indecent and not at the same time. Elizabeth wanted to wear trousers, from time to time, but even those had been the sort he was familiar with. These, he was not.

"I apologize if I sound daft, but where am I?"

[blondieburke]

This is the first time she's ever had to explain what the island is to anyone, and she tries to remember what was told to her back when she arrived.

"You don't sound daft, not at all. In fact, I think you're handling this very well. You're on an island called Tabula Rasa. There's no real easy way to say it, but you're stuck here."

[royal_commodore]

Norrington had never been marooned before. The Royal Navy liked to prepare a man for any eventuality and there was always the chance, however slim, of your crew launching a mutiny and leaving you stranded. Norrington had always toed a line of currying favor and earning respect with the men beneath him and as such, had never really worried about mutiny.

Pirates were like to kill you or ransom you before they'd leave you stranded because a stranded man might eventually make his way back to civilization with nothing to show for it.

Needless to say, even in his breadth of experience, Norrington had no way of really dealing with the situation at hand.

"Tabula Rasa," he repeated, Latin and Greek he'd learned as a younger man coming to the forefront. "A blank slate. How far are we from the Isla de los Muertos, then? Do you know?"

[niceofyoutoask]

Perhaps surprisingly, the outfit didn't tip him off that there was a newcomer to the island. Between the occasional play, the general tendencies of the clothing box, the amount of costumed parties on the island, and the innumerable eccentricities of the island's residence. No, it was the look, the stunned confusion that he'd seen time and time again around here. He didn't hear what the mam said, but approached with a friendly and unconciously sympathetic smile.

"Hey there," He said in greeting, not wanting to startle the man. "Need some things explained?"

[royal_commodore]

Norrington turned slowly, taking in the man and trying to decide if he'd seen him before. He had not, which was odd in and of itself; Port Royal wasn't so big a place that he wouldn't recognize someone at all and his accent was broad and flat and not at all sounding like anything Norrington had ever heard before.

"I presume I do, considering I don't know either this place or you. Where am I, exactly?"

If he could get a bearing, he could make a heading and orient himself once more.

[niceofyoutoask]

Between the measured language and accent, he realized that the navy outfit might actually be genuine. Jane was from the turn of the 18th century, and that form of speaking was familiar enough, even if it wasn't identical.

"An island, but I'm sure you might've figured that already. We're all from different places and times, some seemingly fictional, and there are unexplainable occurances daily." He held out his hand for a shake, giving the man an almost apologetic half-smile for his explanation. "I'm Carwood Lipton, and this place is called Tabula Rasa." Might as well answer the two questions at once.

[royal_commodore]

The idea that fictional people might be milling about was boggling to Norrington and he shook his head a little, hoping to clear it. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his ears were ringing; what madness was this? He'd half think he'd crawled into a bottle of rum after taking a blow to the head.

"James Norrington," he offered absently. "Commodore in the Royal Navy."

[stoicsidekick]

Before Bush recognized the man, he recognized the uniform. The deep blue of His Majesty's Navy stood out against the white of the snow, bright in the afternoon sun. It was only as he came closer that he realized he knew the man as well - or had once known him, twice over, first in those early days before the island had become home, and then as a fellow member of the Dawn Treader's crew, the sailor with the pretty wife. Now here the poor bastard was once again, fresh from the sea, most likely, and damned confused.

A rarely-felt pang of homesickness for all that uniform meant hit William's heart briefly as he raised a hand in greeting. "Can I be of assistance, sir?"

[royal_commodore]

Norrington turned at the sound of the other man's voice. He was unfamiliar with him, but something about the cadence of his voice and the bearing he had comforted Norrington somewhat and reminded him of men he'd worked with in the Navy. Perhaps this man wasn't part of the King's Navy, but he certainly carried himself well regardless.

"I need a bearing. I'm not sure where I am or how I got here, exactly, but I suspect I've taken a blow to the head and been shipwrecked somehow."

[stoicsidekick]

" 'fraid I can't help you there, sir. I've tried. Can't be done." Something in his stance had changed, straightened to the more military posture of his former life. "I fear there's no way to explain this without sounding a bit mad. You're on island, sir. A magic island. And-" he grimaced slightly for Norrington's sake- "there's no way to leave."

[royal_commodore]

While Norrington knew the sea held a touch of mystery, rumors of the Flying Dutchman and the like, he'd never been one of those to believe in the mystical and legendary powers of a ghost ship or a ship bought by a blood curse like the Pearl.

At least this man had a bearing he could trust and carried himself the way one of his crew might. That was a familiar comfort.

"No boats? We can row if the winds aren't favorable, can't we?"

[dinnerfor1_girl]

She had her arms crossed over her chest and was far less than pleased with the sight before her. Honestly, she knew the boys had flaws, but she had never counted kinky dress-up as one of them. "Steve," she said icily, arching her brow. "What are you wearing?"

[royal_commodore]

None of the men who'd served beneath him were called Stephen and certainly none of them cut it off into 'Steve,' which reeked of some low, common moniker used by pirates and criminals alike. Clearly this woman must have mistaken him for someone and Norrington cleared his throat, aiming to correct it.

"Ah, I'm afraid not. I don't know anyone by that name."

[dinnerfor1_girl]

Sally had to take a moment to regroup. Steve was fairly useless, which meant that he wasn't a good liar. There was too much bumbling and flopsweat to be had and in one sentence, this man was already more suave than Steve had ever been. "You're not Steve," she said, suddenly, her mind changed instantly.

"I'm very sorry that you seem to have the same face as him. No one deserves that."

[royal_commodore]

"I happen to like my face well enough," Norrington said dryly, wondering what, exactly, he'd landed himself into. Women were mysteries at the best of times and this, being stranded on an island he was unfamiliar with, was far from the best of times.

"It's serviceable, at least."

[dishabille_mal]

For the first time in ages, Maladicta was wearing the spanking red uniform jacket she had arrived in, over her plain cotton tunic and a pair of low slung black cotton pants of the sort she hadn't come across before the island. It was all a bit unbuttoned and tousled and, well, deshabile, but it was a look that suited her and made her comfortable, besides.

With the passing of the new year, another year, any comfort was welcome. She wasn't technically on patrol, but she had her sword at her hip and her uniform on and by the Duchess, it felt better than not having those things would have.

The only sound for a while had been that of her boots crunching over the snow, really the only thing she wore suited to the weather- up to the knee, black. Military.- and that stopped when she heard, and caught sight of, James Norrington. She was suddenly struck by how long it had been since she'd seen him. Then she thought he looked a bit young.

Which one was this? How many James Norringtons had she known, now? It was a disconcerting question to be

[royal_commodore]

She wasn't a woman he recognized and her manner of dress was both odd and comforting at once; it wouldn't have looked so terribly out of place on a man but on a woman such as she, quite outside the scope of normality. Elizabeth had favored trousers over the frills dictated by her sex and station and Norrington presumed this woman was a rebel in that same vein, eschewing sewing and tea parties for swords and pistols.

Of course, that was an awful lot to presume before names had even been exchanged and Norrington dipped his head a bit in deference.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar, miss. Are you part of the king's navy, perhaps?"

Women were held to be bad luck on a ship, even a young girl, and he couldn't imagine a woman rising to any high rank within the Navy proper. The only alternative was that she was a pirate and, if so, Norrington hoped she held a grudge against Sparrow.

[dishabille_mal]

Her eyebrows rose a little, and it took everything in her not to purse her lips, or, alternately, grin in that particular way that showcased her fangs over the edge of her lower lip.

It was tempting, though. She tried to keep her expression neutral.

"Not, in fact. Borogravian Tenth Foot Infantry as it happens but not for some time now. Corporal Maladicta von Borogravia de Worde, at your service."

[royal_commodore]

Norrington wasn't familiar with Borogravia but there were a great many countries that changed names almost daily with the changing of hands. It could be one of the Serbian countries, or a Slavic one, or any number of holdings over near Austria that he was utterly unfamiliar with. Those places were, for the most part, land-locked.

"A pleasure, Corporal," Norrington said, dipping his head slightly in reverence. He used her rank and not a softer epithet as he would normally with a woman; she'd introduced herself as a corporal and he felt duty-bound to honor that rank even if it wasn't granted by his own government.

"I am Commodore James Norrington, but I suppose you knew that given how you addressed me?"