abidinglaw | [Action]

[After having shown his face little over the past few days – probably a joint consequence of not wanting to catch whatever Jack had and wanting even less to be press ganged into holding his bloody soup spoons – Norrington begins this morning absent from his bright and bedless bedroom. He wakes with the rising sun for a rousing stroll on the beach. On the way back, with Cullen house lit by the crisp light of morning, he recalls the recent ice storms and all at once he has a goal for the day. Assess the house for damages. If any housemates are home they might just hear some curious scrapings on the exterior of Cullen house, the occasional bangings, but most ominous of all will likely be the prolonged intermittent silences. Never you mind. It's probably just a woodpecker.

Later in the day he'll be in the village proper for the first time in days and days and days. The item shop is a high priority, and he spends a long time there scrutinizing things with narrowed eyes and a chin cradled in the crook made by his thumb and index finger. Later still, he'll be stopping in at Good Spirits for the sake of overhearing village-gossip. He'll even politely clear his throat behind one or two people in aid of this noble goal. It's amazing what a brief absence will do for a man's social skills.]

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"Where's Whitechapel?"

Was she being serious? Was she teasing? Who knew.

"London."

He was almost incredulous, but he supposed it was entirely possible that the girl was being sincere. After a moment he even added,

"England, Miss Summers."

"You gotta remember, Admiral, that I've never been."

"Indeed? It does not show."

A sip.

Edited 2012-03-14 21:34 (UTC)

"Shut up."

Case and point.

"Tell me, what do you think of this charge that Jack has laid upon us both? The escort of this mythical king?"

"I like Arthur and all. But."

A soft noise. "I just don't want Jack to get disappointed."

"Disappointed? What, is he expecting a knighthood?"

"Or a way out. With us in tow."

"Ah."

Perhaps he thought that bringing a fictional man to an impossible barrier would cause some kind of -- what? But it begs a more curious question still.

"If that is his game, then he must have selected his crew very carefully indeed."

Edited 2012-03-19 12:15 (UTC)

A tight smile.

"Yeah. I'd rather not...plumb the depths of those motives."

"Quite right. What would be the use."

But of course he said it in such a way as to suggest that at this particular moment he could think of little that would be more useful.

"More juice, maybe? I hear there's a cold going around. Even if Jack's doing better."

Had he already drained his glass? Evidently. If Buffy's eye caught on to that fact before Norrington did, the glance he gave toward the door would surely broadcast his reluctance to hang around. In fact, the only thing that anchored the admiral's feet in place was the memory of the nasal broadside that he had been subjected to not days earlier - a memory which Miss Summers herself had unwittingly conjured.

"Very well. I suppose I could tolerate one more glass."

Edited 2012-03-19 12:35 (UTC)

"You're a sailor. You've gotta know how important vitamin C is in fighting off...what is it? Scurvy? Yeah. I'd hate to see your teeth fall out."

It was bad enough looking ad Jack's gold ones.

"I once knew a man with wooden teeth. He confided in me once that he did not mind the change to his appearance half so much as the splinters. Or at least, I believe that that was what he said, but they did clack terribly loudly you see."

"...You're joshing me."

"Oh no, far from it. He was a wealthy fellow. He insisted upon French maple for the teeth themselves and a chap in London cut them for him. He said he would not trust the job to any man but the most humble British laborer. Or, I should say, that was what I took him to mean."

Edited 2012-03-27 15:58 (UTC)

"If he was so wealthy, why didn't he just...get...a non-wooden pair?"

"I did ask him that myself, but -- the clacking, you understand. It would have been impolite to press the issue."

Edited 2012-04-01 12:15 (UTC)

"Your an admiral. Doesn't that give you at least one press-the-issue free card?"

"I was not always Admiral."

If his tone was chiding, it was only so that he could mask the underlying regret.

"You mean...you weren't born this way?"

This time, the snark is slightly buried.

"You flatter me."

He knew she did nothing of the sort.

"What can I say? I live to flatter. So. What's before admiral?"

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