Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean > The Promise of Redemption

Chapter 4: Hypocrisy by Moonlight

by Pink_Rapid 0 reviews

Washing away dirt is simple, but washing away the past takes time and patience. The process begins.

Category: Pirates of the Caribbean - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor, Romance - Characters: Norrington, Other - Published: 2006-10-11 - Updated: 2006-10-12 - 1680 words

A few floors above the tavern of the Wind's Sail, a scruffy man stirred awake. Eyes squinting, he attempted to adjust them to the darkness of his surroundings. He failed miserably.

Where am I?

Hearing a few monotonous clicks, a door not far from the bed flew open, flooding the room with flickering light. The man could make out the slender, elongated silhouette of a woman, which gradually shrank as she entered, poking her head around the door.

"Are you awake?" he barely heard her whispered tone. He sat up in confusion, mutely answering her inquiry. "Excellent. Don't move, I'll be right back."

She returned a few moments later, lantern in her right hand, illuminating the small, quaint living quarters. Draped over her left arm were different colored fabrics.

Clothes, he assumed.

His mind considerably clearing up, he looked her over as she placed the lantern on the night stand. She was wearing a rather plain brown dress, and had strawberry blonde hair that fell somewhere just past her shoulders. He wasn't sure if it was just the light, but her skin seemed slightly tan. He could not determine her eye color, but knew she was of average height and quite slim.

Placing the clothes at the foot of the bed, she stood straight. "Can you stand?"

He wasn't quite sure himself, but slowly swung his legs over the end of the mattress nonetheless. Placing his weight on his feet, he rose, rocking back and forth on his heels. The woman extended her arms, steadying him, and found that he could station himself without collapsing to the floor so long as he stayed quite still.

"Take off your shirt," she commanded, rummaging through the piles of cloth on the bed.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, eyebrows raised. She gave him a quizzical look, obviously not expecting such cordial speech.

In any case, he supposed she found what she was looking for as she separated a white piece of cloth from the rest and stood. "Your clothes are filthy and completely unsalvageable. Kindly remove them or I will do it for you."

As the man did nothing, she shrugged, reaching for the hem of his shirt and yanking upwards. He fought her, grabbing the hem as well and pulling it down.

"This is entirely unnecessary!" he protested.

"I did give you warning!" she argued, finally pulling it free of his grasp and jerking it rather violently over his head. Instinctively, the man protectively clenched the hem of his britches.

"Oh, calm yourself. You can keep those on for now." She handed him a white cotton shirt. "Now, put this on, and do hurry. I'm afraid you've already penetrated the walls with that stench."

The man was about to retort when she left the room abruptly. Sighing in frustration, he pulled the shirt over his head. For a moment, he caught the soft aroma of clean, crisp linen. It was so foreign to him now, and it smelled like Heaven. Without his notice, the woman bustled back in, holding a pair of boots.

"Now, these," she commanded, handing them to him as well.

"These aren't mine," he muttered stupidly, confused, as he sat on the edge of the bed and began putting them on. They were considerably cleaner and less tattered than his own boots.

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Languorously, he slipped his feet into the boots, standing up. Unlike his own shoes, the soles felt unworn and new, and for the first time in a long while, his calloused feet felt something reminiscent of comfort.

"Fantastic," the woman nodded approvingly, before lightly gripping his wrist and leading him out of the room, scooping up the rest of the clothes.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his mind a blur of unanswered questions.

"We're going to the shore so you can bathe," she told him, locking the door of the chamber before leading him down some steps. Opening a door, they stepped into an alley, which she quickly led him down. He didn't bother trying to ask any further questions as they traipsed and weaved through the bustling crowds of Tortuga, finally reaching the beach. Luckily, it was pleasantly deserted tonight.

"Who are you?" he asked as they wandered down towards the water, his boots sinking into the soft white sand.

She turned to him. "I do so hate to be hypocritical, but can we please reserve the questions for later?"

The mystery woman did not wait for a reply before reaching the sea's edge. She placed the dry clothes a few feet away from the water, before indicating to him. "Take off those boots and that shirt. It'd be a terrible shame for them to get wet."

Knowing what would happen if he didn't, the man removed the indicated articles of clothing and prayed she would not command him to remove his pants.

It was then a devilish thought fought its way into his mind of what would happen if he refused. Pushing it away, he noticed she was removing her boots as well.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She gave him a frank look, and he recalled their accord of reserving the inquiries for later. Stepping forward and taking his hand, she led him into the water. The strong grip of her fingers around his palm was hardly romantic, and felt more like a mother guiding her child.

The stuffy night air seemed to disappear, now replaced with the calm breeze of the ocean. The man breathed it in, feeling the purity filling his lungs and felt something akin to relief. He looked around at the soft moonlight reflected against the ocean, like the flame of a candle in a mirror. The white foam of the ocean looked like delicate lace, and the sea was calm as it peacefully lapped against the shore. The woman's charge could hardly believe he was in the infamous pirate port anymore, and let his confusion slip away to be replaced with gentle, soft-spoken reverie.

"You are still a wee bit hung over, and I'll not have you collapsing only to drown in four feet of sea water," she muttered nonchalantly, breaking him from his dreamlike trance. She did not bother to lift her skirts as the water rose higher with their trek.

Once the water was up to his waist, the woman stopped. Turning him around, she removed the pointless ribbon that kept his hair in a most unkempt tail. The shaggy, dirty brown hair floated lazily around his shoulders, tussled by the sea breeze.

"Now, if you would be so kind, bathe," she told him.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked again.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to watch, for God's sake. I will turn my back, and in ten minutes time, when I turn back around, I expect to see you looking much less bedraggled and smelling much less putrid."

She turned her back, and the man was entirely incredulous. The feeling of being soberly dumbstruck was not one with which he was well acquainted, and he did not enjoy it in the least.

"Women," he muttered bitterly, before dunking himself in the surf and beginning to wash the dirt from his hair.


"I'm going to turn around now," the woman warned.

"Fine," he muttered, having just finished bathing. The woman turned, her eyes widening in shock. He did not look anything like she had assumed.

Standing there, waist deep in sea water, stood a tall man. His damp, dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, his green-grey eyes regarding her with contempt. She made no notice, as her eyes continued to trail down to what appeared to be a rather toned abdomen.

Bloody Hell, she thought, still thoroughly incredulous. As the moonlight shone down on the both of them, she tried very hard to quell the thoughts her scandalous mind was brewing. It's times like these I'm glad I'm a woman.

Shaking her head and trying to rid her mind of the plague of naughty thoughts, she replaced her shock with neutral satisfaction. "Very well, let's go to shore then."

They began heading towards the sandy beach, her directly behind him, when a sudden wave hit her knees. She let out a surprised yelp before crashing into the foot deep water. Grasping anything to hold herself steady, she managed to clutch onto the man and pull him down with her, only to wind up falling on top of him in a rather compromising position.

Opening her eyes, she came to the morbid realization that she was staring straight into his. God hates me.

Blushing profusely, she quickly pushed herself off of him. "I'm terribly sorry, the surf, I mean, a wave, and I-"

"It's fine," the man said, irate. He stood up and headed for the shore as the woman mentally slapped herself. Regaining her composure, she rushed to the pile of clothes she had left, thanking her lucky stars that no one had stolen them. Sopping wet, she sorted out a pair of brown britches and tossed them to her charge.

"Change into these," she told him. Wordlessly, he caught the pants and turned his back to her. She did the same, turning and grabbing the last article of clothing: a simple dress she had brought for herself. After a few moments of wrestling out of her damp robe and changing into her dry one, she turned back towards the man. He turned slowly too, now fully clothed.

It's a shame he put that shirt back on, a small voice in her mind told her.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, she reprimanded herself. Quickly pulling on her boots, she began walking back up the beach.

"I don't suppose you'll answer my questions when we get back?" the man asked behind her, clearly perturbed.

"Now, you know I can't give you a straight answer to that until then," she replied over her shoulder.

As they began once again writhing their way through the busy streets, the man tried to figure out exactly what she meant.
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