Potc | Shaun
Title: Blades of Fate
Rating: PG
Warning: Character Death
Character: Shaun (OC)
Summary: Shaun is one of those OCs in my little PotC Universe who live and work in the Lustful Lips, a brothel run by Mme Rosamund. This shows how he deals with the news that he's dying from some venereal disease.
originally posted here
Blades of Fate
It’s been almost a week.
7 days.
7 days of hidden pain in caring eyes.
7 days of hushed voices and abruptly abandoned conversations.
7 days of a forced smile on his lips, hiding shivering coldness.
7 days of knowing he would die.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when he recognized the first symptoms, not when he saw the truth in the doctor’s indifferent eyes. He had known this could happen any time. He should be grateful he’d had 10 years before it did. So why was he weighed down by this feeling of injustice. And loss. And anger. And fear. After 7 days of constantly repeated “I’m fine”-s he just couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out.
nbsp; It was night. Just before dawn. Most have already returned and were sleeping, only Gabriel would still be out, finishing off his last customer for the night. Shaun carefully closed the door of his room, holding his violin gently under his arm as he silently left the Lustful Lips. Port Royal was almost silent in the early hours of the day: those whose business was better concealed by blackness have already left the streets, driven away by the early messengers of a new day, and those who didn’t shy away from daylight weren’t up yet. Shaun could walk out of the town, away from the usually busy port without being noticed by anyone.
He climbed the slippery rocks surrounding the bay with the skills of 10 years deep in his bones. He knew every hidden rock of the coastline but his favourite place was this, completely hidden from view on the outer edges of the bay was a long, thin, rocky piece of land reaching out into the sea. He had spent long hours here, playing, listening to the voices of the sea. She was still now. Completely calm. Somehow he would have expected her to rage at least.
He picked up his violin, his most precious friend. His fingers sliding into place as if they were finding back home, the familiar barely there weight on his shoulders strangely soothing. He waited, slowly becoming one with his instrument. And then he started playing. First silently, gently, like a caress, a mother’s soothing embrace or soft, uncertain kisses. Only slowly did the music turn harsher, filled with pain and anger. But only briefly, because soon the violin sang of joy and hope, a happier future. And he tried in vain to find back to his anger-filled melody. She wouldn’t let him wallow in grief but pushed him towards joy and happiness
How dare she? How dare she make such a choice for him? He felt a new kind of anger burn his soul. How could she even think of happiness at this hour? In the light of such injustice. How dare she not weep for him? How dare she laugh? How dare she live? How dare she…? And only when he saw the broken pieces of his truest friend did he realize he had smashed her on the dark, slippery rocks. She was lying there, lifeless, her soul disappearing into the fading night.
What had he done? He had killed his most faithful companion, his first and only violin… the one he had gotten from… no… he had… he… and seeing the shattered, dead pieces on the dark ground, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in his soul broke and he couldn’t fight his tears anymore. He let himself fall on the ground, suddenly feeling very tired, ragged sobs breaking out of him, crushing his last resistance on the hard rocks. And he cried. The aching in his chest was deep and wordless, forming new and new tears. He cried for the death of his beloved violin and he cried for his stolen future. The future he would never have back now.
The sun was already up as he finally stood up, eyes red, soul lighter from pain but heavier with guilt than before. With slightly trembling fingers he gently picked up his violin, his shattered past, and walked back to his altered present with an all too certain future in his blood.
Rating: PG
Warning: Character Death
Character: Shaun (OC)
Summary: Shaun is one of those OCs in my little PotC Universe who live and work in the Lustful Lips, a brothel run by Mme Rosamund. This shows how he deals with the news that he's dying from some venereal disease.
originally posted here
Blades of Fate
It’s been almost a week.
7 days.
7 days of hidden pain in caring eyes.
7 days of hushed voices and abruptly abandoned conversations.
7 days of a forced smile on his lips, hiding shivering coldness.
7 days of knowing he would die.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when he recognized the first symptoms, not when he saw the truth in the doctor’s indifferent eyes. He had known this could happen any time. He should be grateful he’d had 10 years before it did. So why was he weighed down by this feeling of injustice. And loss. And anger. And fear. After 7 days of constantly repeated “I’m fine”-s he just couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out.
nbsp; It was night. Just before dawn. Most have already returned and were sleeping, only Gabriel would still be out, finishing off his last customer for the night. Shaun carefully closed the door of his room, holding his violin gently under his arm as he silently left the Lustful Lips. Port Royal was almost silent in the early hours of the day: those whose business was better concealed by blackness have already left the streets, driven away by the early messengers of a new day, and those who didn’t shy away from daylight weren’t up yet. Shaun could walk out of the town, away from the usually busy port without being noticed by anyone.
He climbed the slippery rocks surrounding the bay with the skills of 10 years deep in his bones. He knew every hidden rock of the coastline but his favourite place was this, completely hidden from view on the outer edges of the bay was a long, thin, rocky piece of land reaching out into the sea. He had spent long hours here, playing, listening to the voices of the sea. She was still now. Completely calm. Somehow he would have expected her to rage at least.
He picked up his violin, his most precious friend. His fingers sliding into place as if they were finding back home, the familiar barely there weight on his shoulders strangely soothing. He waited, slowly becoming one with his instrument. And then he started playing. First silently, gently, like a caress, a mother’s soothing embrace or soft, uncertain kisses. Only slowly did the music turn harsher, filled with pain and anger. But only briefly, because soon the violin sang of joy and hope, a happier future. And he tried in vain to find back to his anger-filled melody. She wouldn’t let him wallow in grief but pushed him towards joy and happiness
How dare she? How dare she make such a choice for him? He felt a new kind of anger burn his soul. How could she even think of happiness at this hour? In the light of such injustice. How dare she not weep for him? How dare she laugh? How dare she live? How dare she…? And only when he saw the broken pieces of his truest friend did he realize he had smashed her on the dark, slippery rocks. She was lying there, lifeless, her soul disappearing into the fading night.
What had he done? He had killed his most faithful companion, his first and only violin… the one he had gotten from… no… he had… he… and seeing the shattered, dead pieces on the dark ground, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in his soul broke and he couldn’t fight his tears anymore. He let himself fall on the ground, suddenly feeling very tired, ragged sobs breaking out of him, crushing his last resistance on the hard rocks. And he cried. The aching in his chest was deep and wordless, forming new and new tears. He cried for the death of his beloved violin and he cried for his stolen future. The future he would never have back now.
The sun was already up as he finally stood up, eyes red, soul lighter from pain but heavier with guilt than before. With slightly trembling fingers he gently picked up his violin, his shattered past, and walked back to his altered present with an all too certain future in his blood.