| What the Forest Taught Me |
[06 Jan 2008|08:06pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Secret of Mana OSV - What the Forest Taught Me |
] |
Norrington nodded almost imperceptibly at Rahkus' admonishment, but he wasn't about to stop to address what he felt was an overreaction on Rahkus' part to begin with. He managed to lead this rag-tag group through the town and up around the hill, approaching the Governer's mansion almost from behind.
He did not stop nor slow his pace but nonetheless spared a moment's glance at the light in the windows of the building, knowing that behind them Elizabeth and her husband were with their newborn son and the child's happy grandfather. Big happy harmonious family. Something that Norrington himself had never really experienced, even in his childhood.
He pulled his eyes and his mind away from the warm home and headed down a narrow, somewhat overgrown path behind the garden wall that led a few yards into a densely wooded area. He stopped when they reached a small clearing and plopped down unceremoniously on a fallen tree trunk, stretching his long legs out in front of him, speaking not a word to his compatriots.
He had given the women instructions to follow after a few minutes and prayed silently that they would arrive safely and hopefully soon.
|
|
| Going home |
[03 May 2007|09:10pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 depressed |
] |
It was nearly dusk when the two naval vessels and their prize docked in Port Royal. Norrington had been summoned by the same lieutenant who'd come to him for the Pearl's documents before. He gave one glance back at Rahkus's wardrobe before shutting the door of Sparrow's quarters behind him and submitting to being escorted off among a crowd of carpenters, surgeons and other nondescript individuals.
He stood on the docks, staring up at the town laid out before him, wondering just how long it had been since he'd left, having lost track of the date. It was only a few months, he knew, but it felt like years. Like a lifetime. It was like something out of a half-remembered dream.
The port town was once a familiar, comfortable place to James Norrington, he knew its roads, its taverns, the families living in the larger homes up on the hill, the faces of the fishermen, tradesmen and laborers, the docks stretched out along the beach. He stared up at the fort that was the centerpiece and heart of Port Royal, lamplight flickering in many of its narrow windows. Now, it was all utterly alien to him. The solid ground beneath his feet felt as treacherous as quicksand, lurching underneath his steps as he walked through the town. He was not worried about being seen; it was getting dark and his appearance bore little resemblance to the man he used to be.
Norrington swallowed thickly and pulled his gaze from the fort where he knew his crew mates and captain were no doubt being locked up at the same moment. There was no use bothering with them tonight; the Black Pearl was probably still overrun with marines, searching every hold and crevice of the famous vessel.
Norrington pushed back his thoughts and picked his way through the rabbit warren-like streets of the town to a small but comfortable house nestled between a hill and a stand of trees. His hand instinctively reached for a pocket that was not there, for a key he no longer possessed. The house he had once called home stood before him empty and silent, the front door and windows boarded up at some point in his absence, most likely to deter looters and thieves. He wondered if it were Governor Swann's doing; he knew of no other who would much care. He had only one servant who had no doubt long since left to seek work elsewhere.
He stared at the shipwreck of a building in front of him before collapsing to the ground, sitting with his back against the wall on a lawn now overgrown with weeds, resting his head back and closing his eyes against the sea breeze that made them water.
It was amazing to Norrington to think that just scant hours ago he was forming plans in his head of revenge, of escape, of a million different things. Now all he felt like doing was sinking into the Earth beneath him and never moving again.
It was not long before he drifted off to sleep propped up against the wreckage of his previous life.
|
|
| Norrington's Return |
[05 Jan 2007|11:17am] |
Following his unpleasant interview with Commodore Rothwell, Norrington was allowed to walk freely, if for the time being. He passed a rather wet and oddly dressed man of unkwnown origin as well as a rather unsavory looking member of the Dark Adia on his way out, but he was in no mood to pay mind to either of them.
Up on the deck of the navy vessel, he paused only for a moment to look around him. It was more or less as he remembered navy ships - well kept with busy sailors attending their tasks dutifully but with that slight vein of defiance that was kept well-hidden when officers where looking. Most of them were fairly young save for a couple of early-middle-aged lieutenants walking about between the working men. Norrington approached one and asked for escort back to the Pearl and luckily he received it without fuss.
Back on the Black Pearl he couldn't help but notice the difference and how utterly out of place the marines scattered over her deck seemed. It almost made him sad for a reason he couldn't quite identify. He couldn't imagine how Sparrow must be feeling at the moment. He was probably hissing and spitting venom somewhere down below. He hoped they hadn't tossed the captain into the brig of his own ship, but knew they probably would have. Most members of the navy had no respect at all for the pirates they pursued, regardless of reputation, rank or history. He himself had been rather dismissive of them while in the service, though while he'd regarded them as unrepentantly evil and universally worthy of punishment, he'd never been quite able to reduce them to the state of animals as many of his collegues did.
He passed the sailors on the deck, many of whom gave him suspicious or outright hostile glances regardless of Rothwell's orders to leave him in peace. He wasn't sure whether or not they had been told who he was. He hoped they hadn't; if they had, their hatred of him could only be even deeper. A common pirate was wretched enough. A pirate who was once a respected officer of the King's Navy was something altogether more worthy of scorn. He could only pray that Rothwell's control over his men was air-tight or he might find himself a corpse in the belly of the Pearl before they ever reached the shores of Port Royal. And if they did know, and one of them spilled the news to the crew of the Black Pearl... Well, some of them might not care, but there were likely enough stage a mutiny against Sparrow for allowing Norrington onto his crew should they ever get out of this mess alive, not to mention enact his own murder.
Norrington glanced into the captain's cabin, which was unguarded and empty as he had predicted. He wanted badly to go to the brig and speak to Sparrow, but his walking about freely and unguarded would raise too many questions among the crew. He did not want to return to the Navy vessel though and certainly had no desire to run into the Turners, who were no doubt wandering about somewhere on one of them.
Norrington walked into the empty room, shut the door behind him and flopped down heavily in the chair behind Sparrow's large table. The old hardwood furnture was scattered over with charts and various souveniers of his travels. He shoved aside a few items to make a small empty space where he could drop his head down and rest. He barely noticed his exhaustion creeping up on him and was asleep before he knew it.
|
|
|
[31 Oct 2006|02:19pm] |
Norrington was staring at the small fishing boat, now getting closer to the Pearl. For whatever reason, the small vessel, which he could now just barely make out a single man at oars, was making a bee-line for the ship.
His curiosity was interrupted however, when more sails appeared on the horizon, this time several of them and clearly belonging to Navy warships. They were far too familiar to him to be mistaken for anything else
His heart dropped several feet, pooling somewhere in the vicinity of his boots. He had no problem fighting pirates, but the Navy?
He simply didn't know.
Spying the captain on the deck below, speaking to the girl he'd been speaking to a while ago, he yelled down at him.
"Captain! Sails on the Southwestern horizon! Navy by the looks of it! And that smaller fishing boat is still heading directly toward us!"
He shook his head at the captain's lack of immediate response and turned back to the white sails which also seemed to be approaching directly toward the Black Pearl.
This was not going to be a good day.
|
|
|
[25 Sep 2006|02:00pm] |
For the second day in a row, Norrington was hiding up in the Crow's nest, having relieved the pirate who'd been scheduled of his watch-duty so he could take over. As much as he hated to admit it, he was indeed hiding. Yesterday, because his hangover had been bad and his head couldn't take the noise on the deck, and today because he'd seen Elizabeth up on deck, and Sparrow as well, and simply didn't have the energy to deal with either of them.
Norrington sat back against the thin railing around the crow's nest and let the sun warm his face. He hadn't looked in a mirror in ages, but he knew he must be taking on the nut-brown tan so common in sailors, pirates and the working men of the tropics. He'd kept a fair skin in recent years by virute of being an officer, thus spending more time on land, having a rather large hat and far too much clothing to be comfortable.
He'd take it back in a second though. At least he actually did something constructive then, had a purpose in life. He'd felt young, alive. These days, he was simply bone-tired, from the time he woke up to the time he went to sleep. It was more than simple physical tiredness though, that he was used to, from years of hard work on ships in his youth, but rather an all-encompassing lethargy that gripped his mind as well as his body.
It didn't help that he slept very little anymore. Norrington had been having dreams of dying lately that wake him up several times most nights. Nightmares that began with him still as Commodore, madly chasing God-knew what across the waters, or as a captain, or a pirate, or as young boy, or any number of things, but they all ended with him drowning in the sea.
Norrington stood slowly and looked over the railing into the churning waters curling around the ship's hull.
|
|
|
[01 Nov 2005|03:23pm] |
|
Norrington had painfully limped off the ship and a few yards down the docks to collapse up on the beach just above the high tide mark. He was hungry, but the distance it would take to reach the nearest pub in the small town just wasn't worth it. The deep wound in his leg burned and ached and in turn made his head burn and ache. He wanted to deny it, but recognized the sensation of infection just beginning to set in when he felt it. If the sword wound in his thigh turned septic, he might lose the whole limb. The thought terrified him on several levels and he knew he needed to clean it out and rebandage it, but he did not have the necessary materials, now that he'd been kicked off the ship by the Frenchmen doing the repairs. He looked up and down the docks, trying to catch sight of Jack. He still didn't care for the idea of asking the man for any further aid, but at this point he was beginning to panic. He did not want to spend the rest of his life a cripple.
|
|
|
[28 Jan 2005|05:00pm] |
|
Norrington fought against returning consciousness as he lay halfway on his stomach, not wanting to face the splitting pain in his head. he scrunched his eyes, determined to keep them shut as he turned slightly, burying his face further into the soft warmth under his head. He vaguely noted the scent of sweat and seawater, but couldn't quite manage to think anything of it. It didn't even occur to him to think of where he was, or really who he was at the moment. He was content to float in that space between dreams and the waking world, not in any hurry to face reality again. He was startled out of himself, though, as a weight laying over his shoulder moved slightly.
Wait just a minute, where was he?
|
|
|
[28 Sep 2004|06:44pm] |
Norrington had eaten in near-silence that night and paid little attention to the crew's conversation beyond Dabria's announcement of her rank. The truth of the matter was, Dabria's rank wasn't what was bothering him. It certainly rankled his pride, but ultimately, it was just another semi-annoying detail and nothing he'd fuss about for long. It wasn't as if he really wanted to be on this ship, after all.
He knew they were very close to Port Royal. That was the problem. They'd be there before dawn. He was filled with a sense of forboding and anxiety that he'd not felt in a very very long time. He didn't like the sensation and suddenly wondered where all his confidence had gone. He suspected it was at the bottom of the ocean with that leaky merchant ship by now.
It was also Elizabeth, and somehow it was not Elizabeth. Somehow, he knew that seeing Port Royal again would make this whole surreal nightmare he'd experienced over the past few weeks reality. He would not actually be setting foot on dry land, but that changed nothing.
Beyond that he did hope beyond all hope that Elizabeth and Will Turner would not return with Jack and William. He didn't think his heart could take it, and not just because of Elizabeth's potential condition. He felt that he still loved her, despite all that had happened, and he didn't know why. It was irrational. She didn't want him; that much was clear. And she never had.
After supper, he'd handed his empty bowl to the cook and headed up to try to sleep on deck, as it was rather hot, humid and uncomfortable below that night. He'd slept fitfully on the poop deck and woke before dawn. Under the light of the waning stars and moon and the slight sliver of green at the horizon, Norrington could make out the figures of the sparse night crew tending the ship. Two figures stepped out of the Captain's cabin. Even the sight of Sparrow and Turner sr. in the dresses he'd espied in Sparrow's wardrobe the previous day as the pair headed toward a longboat could not produce the slightest amount of amusement in him . Indeed, it simply caused his throat to constrict and the blood to rush in his ears.
Norrington wondered if this is what a condemned man felt before the gallows.
|
|
|
[06 Sep 2004|09:37am] |
Norrington drowsily pulled himself off the cot, dragging the thin sheet off with him to cover his nakedness. He'd slept lightly for a couple more hours after Jack had left, but now that the alcohol had more or less worn off (save a headache, though not one anything like his previous migraine), he was getting bored and restless. Not to mention that he wanted to find some damn clothes. His own were beyond ruined, and he had no others with him. He supposed he could ask Jack for some, but the pirate was about three inches shorter and somewhat thinner than he, and the chances of him having something that would fit him were in question, though he wouldn't overly surprised. His back was still sore, though no longer bleeding, and it stung when he walked, but he slowly made his way back up on deck. He wasn't keen on the idea of walking around on deck dressed in nothing but a dirty sheet, but unfortunatly, it was the only way to get to Jack's cabin. He looked at the horizon and noticed that the sun was swiftly sinking. It had to have been around 5:30 or 6 in the evening already. How long had he been out?
Shaking his head, he ignored the looks of the crew and rapped sharply on the door of Jack's cabin, not realizing that he was interuppting anything...
|
|
|
[08 Aug 2004|10:54pm] |
Norrington crossed his arms against the dark wood and rested his head on them, closed-eyed, and tried not to think about anything as he felt the intermittent stings of Sparrow pulling each piece of glass free, some of them very small or very deep, one by one from his skin. He could feel the warm trickle of fresh blood tracing thin lines down his back and shuddered slightly at what he must look like. Could he get any lower than this? He'd had that exact same thought a thousand times since his court martialling, and each time he had, indeed, fallen lower not soon after. If God was currently testing his mettle, He was doing a good job of it.
He idly wondered if this was what it would feel like to be slowly stung to death by bees as the plucking fell into a steady rhythm. He was beginning to doze lightly under the lingering effects of the alcohol as Sparrow slowly made his way down his back and was fighting hard not to fall completely unconscious. Sparrow already had enough ammunition to make his life a living hell of endless embarassment for the rest of his natural life as it stood. Would it never end?
Much of his childhood had been like today, mostly thanks to his elder brother Edward, who had always made him the butt of his cruel practical jokes that often ended up with James face-first in mud, upside down, with his trousers around his ankles, or any combination thereof. Edward was ever showing off for his friends, and, later, for girls. As he floated between waking and asleep, he briefly imagined his brother and Sparrow plotting together. They were much the same, really, finding mirth in the misfortune of others. He had to admit that his brother had never patched him up after he fell, though. He'd had to make his way home alone with a broken ankle once, after being chased up a tree by a mob of boys led by Edward and then harried out of it with stones. He'd never had made it if a passing farmer hadn't put him on his horse and taken him back himself. He did get some justice though, as his father had strapped Edward for it after he found out what happened. Their father was stern and strict, but not the type who used corporal punishment freely, and it was months before James was the victim of another prank.
As they grew older, the jokes finally stopped and Edward claimed that he really did loved his little brother dearly, but their relationship was still tenuous to this day. Edward had never actually apologized, but merely assumed that James would forgive him, and always seemed highly insulted when it was clear that James hadn't.
|
|
|
[06 Aug 2004|11:21am] |
Norrington leaned forward, resting his forehead against the railing and breathing slowly until his stomach stopped threatening to leap out of his throat. He leaned back after a time and stared at the sky. The sun was swiftly climbing towards noon and the day was getting warm. The sunlight, however, brought him no relief, but rather caused his head to pound tenfold. Norrington had hoped the days of getting these kinds of headaches were over. He hadn't had one in over a year.
Dragging himself to his feet, he stood for a second until the world stopped spinning and slowly made his way below deck and to the galley. Pawing through the crates, he finally came upon one filled with bottles of rum and a few other spirits. Skipping the weaker stuff, he went straight for a bottle of whiskey at the back. He rarely made a habit of drinking, but he'd welcome the arms of alcohol-induced sleep over the pounding between his ears any day of the week. Uncorking the bottle, he tipped it back and took a swift gulp, savoring the burning sensation all the way down...
|
|
|
[03 Aug 2004|10:07am] |
It was bad enough that Norrington had had to sleep on a floor and wake up with a stiff back and neck, but to hear at least three references to going to Port Royal was more than enough to ensure a pounding headache. On one hand, he was sorely tempted to just be happy about the opportunity to rejoin society and leave this pirate crew behind, but on the other hand... Well, he had given his word to stay on this vessel for at least a time. If nothing else, James Norrington kept his word. It was one of the few sources of dignity he had left.
Of course, if anybody in Port Royal saw him and recognized him, it would be a disaster. He didn't even want to fathom having to explain this to Governor Swann, and he knew he'd just die if Elizabeth saw him, already-married-to-Turner or not. What the hell was Sparrow thinking? The pirate probably wanted to go there just to torment him, or get him hanged. Oh, wouldn't that be funny? James Norrington being hanged as a common pirate. That'll give the boys a laugh...
Norrington pulled himself up on deck and made his way to the captain's quarters just as the pirate in question burst out of the doors...
|
|
|
[14 May 2004|07:03pm] |
Sparrow knew. Norrington knew that Sparrow knew. There was no denying it, with that look upon the pirate's face and that stupid wink as he had walked around him. More than that, the pirate was probably plotting something even if he'd let Norrington pass unmolested at the moment.
Norrington retreated up the back stairs to his room above the tavern a little quicker than necissary, leaving Dabria to distract Sparrow for the time being. As soon as he sat down on the bed, he put his face in his hands and tried his best not to claw his skin off in frustration.
He knew on some level that though thief, liar, and drunkard the man may be, it was not really in his nature to be needlessly cruel. Still, he could not quite trust Sparrow not to betray his presence and identity to the other less forgiving denizens of Tortuga. Even if Sparrow wasn't likely to set the dogs onto him intentionally, there was no guarantee he wouldn't do so accidently in some drunken slip of the tongue.
Also, it was in Sparrow's nature to be needlessly irritating. Wherever Norrington's latest misadventures turned next, they would no doubt involve that bloody maniac.
Norrington's own personal demon. Just what he always wanted...
|
|
|
[02 May 2004|09:22am] |
Norrington scrubbed at his eyes and dragged himself out of bed. He stared out the window. The sun was approaching the horizon, but it was not yet dark. He estimated it to be around 5 or 6. He'd only been asleep a few hours.
He was still dead tired, but the strange dreams he'd had wouldn't let him rest. They were mostly of his older brother taunting him or of his father chastising him, which weren't particulary unusual dreams for him to have, though he hadn't had them in a few years, but they quickly turned into nightmares of him groping around in the dark for he knew not what, and being chased by shadows. It didn't matter. He was hungry again anyhow. He stood up and dressed and headed back downstairs.
The tavern was still fairly empty, though there were a few more people than before. He suspected it would get a lot more crowded in a few hours. He crossed over and sat down at the bar. Dabria was busy carrying drinks to a group at a table near the back, but she soon turned around and caught sight of him...
|
|
| A fish out of water |
[24 Apr 2004|10:47am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
jump, little children - "my heart is on the ocean" |
] |
Norrington sat bolt upright as the ship lurched sharply to the side. He stood as the various crates slid across the floor towards the port side of the hold. La Belle groaned like a dying beast and there was cracking, stretching sound. It took Norrington half a heartbeat to recognize it for what it was. This leaky old ship was not going to last out the storm. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and scrambled back up on deck. The rest of the crew was already present, trying desperately to keep the leaky bucket afloat, but obviously losing.
Suddenly the captain yelled out “Abandon ship!!” and everyone began scrambling for the lifeboats, Norrington included. He thought it a shame, because the second they scrambled into the small dinghies and rowed clear of the lurching ship, the wind began to die down. It was too late though. La Belle and her cargo of sugar quickly disappeared under the still-choppy Caribbean waters.
Although the wind had abated, it was still raining steadily and Norrington and the other sailors were soaked through to the skin. Tempers flared and a couple of men in the back of Norrington’s boat began a fistfight. Having had quite enough irritation for the evening, Norrington finally decided composure and manners be damned and turned around to give both of them a sold whack with his oar.
A few yards ahead in another dinghy, the captain stood up and yelled to the men, pointing at a spot on the horizon. Norrington couldn’t here what he said precisely but it was clear that they were to head in that direction. It would be at least a day and a half of hard rowing to get there.
-----
They were nearing the island and not a second too soon. The rain clouds had dissipated that morning and by the afternoon, it was scorching hot. His muscles screamed their protest as did his dry throat. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as they finally tied their boats to the docks. As the other men piled out of the boats, he turned to the former captain.
“I don’t suppose you know the name of this island?”
“Tortuga.”
Norrington’s relief faded quickly. Of all the godforsaken places he could’ve ended up, he had to be here. Tor-bloody-tuga. He started to snicker quietly before bursting out laughing in earnest, falling on arse on the dock and near tears. The other men looked at him suspiciously before dispersing into the town. His captain was the last to go, finally shrugging and leaving Norrington to his madness.
His hysterical laughter finally subsided and he flopped down flat on his back on the wet dock, arms spread out and staring at the cloudless blue of the sky. Life was very strange indeed. If anyone had asked him a year ago where he’d be today, he would have said Port Royal or England or even China before he would’ve said Tortuga. How absurd his life had become! He wondered if God was playing a fine joke on him. Norrington hoped that He was getting some kind of amusement out of it anyhow, because he certainly was not.
He wondered what his father would say if he were still alive. He’d probably disown his second son that instant. Perhaps he ought to write a letter to Edward. His brother would no doubt get a hearty laugh out of the tale. He no doubt would hear about his baby brother’s dismissal from the Navy very soon anyhow if he hadn’t already. He was probably expecting little James to show up on his doorstep any second now asking for help so he could gloat over his little brother. They had never gotten along particularly well as children. Edward still took every chance he could to get under his skin and berate him on his supposed total lack of competence.
Norrington rolled forward, hauling himself back to his feet. He scanned the harbor to the left of him for anything that might be a non-piratical ship, then proceeded to look over the town in front of him. What a disgrace. Positively filthy. Most port towns where dirty anyhow, but Tortuga took the cake. Shaking his head, he continued on to the right, looking at the other half of the harbor. His eyes settled on a ship about 50 yards down the beachfront. Poorly-mended black sails.
Oh, of all the rotten luck! Could things possibly get any worse? He figured probably not, save actually meeting up with the hare-brained, limp-wristed captain of that ship. Norrington pulled his hat down low, obscuring his eyes and praying to God that nobody would recognize him as he marched towards the "town" (if you even wanted to call the collection of dilapidated constructions and piles of filth such a thing). If they did, he ran a high risk of getting himself killed. After all, he’d given these pirates all kinds of grief for several years, not to mention hanging over a hundred of them. He doubted they’d take kindly to his presence in their beloved rat nest.
|
|
|
[16 Apr 2004|08:41pm] |
Norrington pulled hard at the ropes with the other men, trying to draw in the sails as quickly as possible before the wind really kicked up. It had just started raining and the sky was quickly darkening to a menacing near-black slate color. They were in for a good storm, that much was certain.
Over the moaning of the wind and the ominous creaking of the leaky vessel, he could hear the captain yelling at his crew to move faster. Once the sails were up, Norrington, along with all but a few of the crew and the captain, headed down into the belly of the Grey Lady to wait out the storm. The rest of the men headed over to the keg for beer and within a half an hour were having a jolly good time despite the dampness from the many leaks and the violent rocking of the ship. Norrington stood in the corner by himself watching the other men fraternizing like old friends and feeling more isolated than he ever had in his entire life. He didn't belong here.
He turned around and left the room unnoticed by the others with one of the lamps to seek solitude in one of the cargo holds. Why the hell had he joined this merchant vessel's crew? He had hoped that being back at sea would make him feel less out of sorts, but the past week had, if anything, only increased his discomfort. He didn't know how to live a civilian life, much less get on with the lower classes. He stuck out like a sore thumb among these common men with no background to speak of and little education. Few of them could read or write more than their own name. he certainly couldn't carry on a decent conversation with them, no matter how he tried. He wasn't even sure the language they spoke was the same as his. Half the words they used had meanings he wasn't familiar with, and more double-entendres than could be imagined.
Norrington came to the furthest corner of the vessel, hung the lamp on a nail, and practically flopped down on one of the crates of sugar. He should have gone back to England. That would have been the reasonable, sane thing to do. Governer Swann even offered to write a letter to his cousin in parliament about getting him a respectable job with the government. Why the hell had he not taken it when he'd had the opportunity? Even now, though, he had to admit that a lifetime spent behind a desk doing endless paperwork was not something he desired, but he couldn't help but feel that at least there he wouldn't feel like he was trying to wear someone else's skin. Not that he'd ever been entirely comfortable in the Navy but at least there he'd been among his peers and accustomed to rhythms of that life.
Now, though, for the first time since the murder of his father, he simply felt lost. While in the Navy, he'd occasionally hear tales from captains and other officers of coming upon ghost ships. Ships that were found adrift without a single soul or body on them, the cargo intact, the ship totally sound, but empty of life. Most people figured that the crews of such ships had fallen victim to disease or starvation or some sort of madness, but nobody ever really knew the truth. Norrington wondered if his life was to become like one of those ships, just aimlessly drifting without purpose or meaning. And more importantly: If it did... would he even care? At this point, he wasn't really so sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. He'd served England faithfully for most of his life, made God and Country his utmost responsibility, and one screw-up, one bad decision was all it took for England to dump him out on his ass. And where was God in all of this? He wasn't an exceedingly pious man, but he'd always believed that there was a God who watched over him and guided him, but now he had to wonder if He had abandoned him as well.
Norrington rubbed at his temples, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes, and for the first time since he was a lad, he felt mildly sea-sick.
|
|
|
[03 Apr 2004|11:17am] |
Norrington woke suddenly, bolting upright. He scrubbed at the pain behind his eyes and blinked several times, wondering why his head was pounding so and why his shoulders were so stiff. He blinked and squinted at the light streaming in through the window which seemed unusually high for over a minute before he realized that he wasn't in his bed, but rather on the floor near his desk. Why was he sleeping on the floor?
As he stretched out his legs, his foot struck something hard and sent it skittering across the floor to bounce against the wall. A large glass liquor bottle. An empty bottle that he remembered being nearly half-full of fairly expensive brandy at one point. Where had it gone to? He thought back to the night before. The last thing he recalled was watching the stars coming out through the window. He didn't remember getting drunk, but if the headache had anything to say about the matter, he apparently had.
He bent over and closed his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten drunk enough to develop a hangover the next day. Not since his late teens at least. He wasn't a lush by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, he rarely drank at all and was often ribbed by the other officers for it.
But then, he wasn't in the Navy anymore. There was no point in denying that fact. He was now very much an unemployed man, and that left a lot of unanswered questions. What could he possibly do for the rest of his life? The navy had been his reality for much of his childhood and all of his adult life. Did he know how to be anything else?
He stood up and stretched before stripping down to his skin. He usually folded up his clothes and put them away immediately, but he just couldn't be bothered this morning. He flung them over the back of a chair and dragged his sluggish feet over to the chest to pull out something to wear for the day. He had no use for a uniform anymore. He reached to the very back of the bottom drawer and pulled out a plain, slightly yellowed shirt and a pair of britches and pulled them on, not bothering to button the shirt. He walked over to the water basin and plunged his face into the tepid water, considering for half a moment whether or not to come back up for air.
(note: Norrington's little story will eventually meet up with the rest of the community, it's just going to be it's own little thread for a while, but don't worry)
|
|
|
[02 Apr 2004|07:28pm] |
James Norrington sat in the chair at his desk staring out of the window, completely motionless save the calm beating of his own heart. He had returned from the court martial trial some three hours ago, but he barely registered the passing of time except solely as the movement of the sun as it sunk over Port Royal toward the horizon.
He felt oddly light, as though his body and soul were slightly out of synch and he was hovering slightly rather than truly sitting. He couldn't ever remember just sitting and watching the sun move across the heavens, not even as a child. He'd never really paid any more attention to nature than was necessary to note the weather, predict storms, and navigate at sea. James was not an idle man, nor was he predisposed to reflection. He was a man of action, always working away at something. There was always paperwork to be filled, officers to manage, something to be done.
As the sky darkened, he wondered why he'd never really noticed how the colors bleed into one another and change as the sun sinks below the edge of the world, painting the sky with reds, oranges, and purples before disappearing, and then one by one the stars would appear. It was startlingly beautiful and frightening at the same time. He briefly felt as though the sun would never return and ached for the loss of it though he knew in the logical part of his mind that it would return in the morning as it had since the birth of time.
He also knew that being relieved of duty and dismissed from the Navy was not the end of life on Earth but he still felt like he was on the other side of Armageddon. He also knew that the full reality of it had not hit him yet, and the next few days were probably not going to be pleasant ones. There were things that would have to be dealt with, but he couldn't think about them right now. He certainly wasn't going to ponder how he'd spend the rest of his life now. He wasn't a poor man by any means, but he was still young and certainly couldn't live the rest of his life on the savings and few meager investments he currently had, nevermind that the Navy had been his life since he was thirteen years old. But that could wait. At least until tomorrow.
He wondered what Elizabeth and her young husband were doing at this moment. Probably settling down to a simple but warm meal prepared by Elizabeth herself. They had a young girl who came to their home twice a week to do the cleaning, but James knew that Will Turner most certainly could not afford a cook as well, even if he did make a respectable living from his fine swords and other goods. He'd heard from one of his own servants that Elizabeth may be expecting a child. He was happy for them, really, but he still couldn't help but wonder how his life would be now had he married Elizabeth. Sweet, fair Elizabeth. She had such spirit. Perhaps she belonged with the Turner boy. They were alike in many ways. He knew in his heart that she never would have been happy as the wife of a military man, but, as he had before proposing to her, he now still occasionally indulged in the fantasy that they would somehow have been the perfect husband and wife and lived happily ever after. If only those blasted pirates hadn't interfered...
Pirates. Isn't that what started all of this? A small crew of petty pirates killed his father at sea and less than a year later, James was employed as cabin boy under a captain of the Royal Navy. It was odd how the unexpected turns in his life could be linked back to pirates. He wondered where Sparrow was right now, what was the old bastard doing? Was he still alive, roaming the seas on that precious Black Pearl of his with his scabbarous crew behind him? It had been scarcely six months since James made the foolish decision to let the man go free, but now it felt to him like it had been in another lifetime. Oh how he hated Sparrow.
And if he were honest with himself, oh how he envied him. To have such freedom was something James Norrington could not even begin to fathom. His life had been sewn into a set of strict rules for all of his life: first his father's and then the navy's. Every day had been planned out carefully with schedules to follow and clear rules and well-defined responsibilities. What would it be like to live with no schedules? No responsibility to anyone save oneself? No rules save the unwritten, mysterious, and bendable rules of the pirate's world? He could never understand how those ships full of anarachists managed to get anything done. After all, the heathens didn't even have a real captain. The "captain" could be voted in or out like the leader of a boys' gang. They really were like children, after all. It was not a life that any self-respecting adult man would ever desire. No, not at all...
|
|
|
[02 Apr 2004|07:27pm] |
Character's Name: Commodore James Norrington
Character's Gender: Male
Are you a good pirate? Or a bad pirate? He's not a pirate at all. In fact, he despises pirates. Especially ones named Jack Sparrow. Norrington is so very not a pirate it ain't even funny. When it comes to the law and morals, he's as anal-retentive as you can get.
Character's Appearance: Tall, a little over six feet in fact, brown hair and eyes, usually dressed in a British Naval uniform. Impeccably clean, he prides himself on his personaly hygiene, unlike those dirty unwashed pirates.
Character's Brief History: James Norrington was born to a middle class family on the coast of England and had a fairly normal childhood until his father, a merchant sailor, was killed at sea by pirtes when James was twelve. He vowed to bring all such worthless troublesome brigands to justice and joined the Navy, which he saw as the quickest route to completing such a task. His resolve in such task has only been shaken once, in the incident with the fair Elizabeth Swann, her young suitor Will Turner, and the character known only as Jack Sparrow. His experience with them led him to something of a crisis of faith (or at the very least a bad case of cognitive dissonance) as he was grudgingly forced to admit that the pirate captain Sparrow was indeed both an honorable man in his own odd fashion and a pirate. Norrington is not sure he'd ever truly be able to hang the man now and secretly prays he never meets him again so he won't be forced to come to a decision on the matter. Although he is happy for the young newly-wed couple, he also deeply regrets losing Elizabeth to Will Turner. He truly did love her, even if he never really knew how to express it.
Character's Personality Traits: James Norrington can easily be described as one of the most anal-retentive human beings on the planet. He is very straight-laced and has a very black-and-white moral standard to which he holds himself strictly as well as a strong sense of honor. Although he has problems expressing himself emotionally and showing affection to others, he is not as unkind or cold-hearted as he may initially come off. Indeed, he is generally much harder on himself than he is on others, with the only exception being pirates.
What crew you belong to, and what position you hold (if you're unsure, just put 'ere that ye're lookin', and what ye're good at.): Officially speaking, Norrington is an officer of the British Royal Navy for the time being, but his superiors are not happy with the fact that he more or less let a pirate go without contest. He has already been suspended from duty and is awaiting his day before the court martial.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
norrington_j's journal