the Mary Ell-en Carter (shrieking_ell) wrote in pirates500,
the Mary Ell-en Carter
shrieking_ell
pirates500

Title: Clothes Make the Man
Author: shrieking_ell
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All for my own amusement. Own nothing related to POTC. Except the DVD.
Feedback: Please.
Warning: none
Summary: When being who you are becomes too much.
AN: A day late and a dollar short – sorry I didn’t get this out yesterday – I hope I’m not breaking any major rule here :-) Written for the pirates500 challenge of last week. Crossposted to my lj, pirates500 and pirategasm


"Captain Jack Bloody Sparrow." I stare blearily at the man looking back at me from the mirror, curse again, put the bottle to my lips and swallow. I created this person, this image, and now I have to live with it, up to it. Sometimes I hate it. These stupid trinkets in my hair, the clothes, being ever the pirate buffoon. That commodore was right. I am the worst pirate he ever heard of. Enough of this. I need some time off. A little time to be me without being me, as it were. The dark lines under my eyes are carefully scrubbed off. The outlandish jewelry removed and as many of the hair ornaments as can be easily dislodged. I tie the remainder back neatly at the nape of my neck and put on a pair of plain breeches, shoes and a plain, slightly worn, white shirt. I quietly slip over the side of the Pearl into a waiting dory and row myself towards the light on shore.

"Commodore Bloody Norrington." I stare blearily at the man looking back at me from the mirror, curse again, put the glass to my lips and swallow. I created this person, this image, and now I have to live with it, up to it. Sometimes I hate it. The uniform, the wig, being ever the uncompromising naval stoic. It’s no wonder she didn’t choose me, even if that pirate was rooting for me. Enough of this. I need some time off. A little time to be me without being the navy as well. The outlandish brocaded jacket is removed and the rest of the uniform as well. The wig is removed and the powder in my hair carefully brushed out. I tie the remainder back neatly at the nape of my neck and put on a pair of plain breeches, shoes and a plain, slightly worn, white shirt. I quietly slip over the side of the Dauntless into a waiting dory and row myself towards the light on shore.

Two men meet at a quiet tavern near the pier. They sit in the shadows near the back and share a meal and a drink or two. They speak in low tones and attract no attention whatsoever. Their easy camaraderie lasts until they walk to the pier, shake hands, and each step into a dory and row off in opposite directions.
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