carriesparasol | [Log with James Norrington]

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[Log with James Norrington]

Alexia was spending the evening relaxing in her study and reading one of the many books held within. Deep below the Wolsey manner she knew that her husband and every other wolf in the pack was shackled, suffering the ill affects of the full moon. Night hours had become like the day to her, living with the pack, but even if they hadn't, she wasn't sure if she would be able to sleep knowing what was happening just below her feet. Being that it was rather late, Alexia was dressed rather plainly as she sat in the study, her legs propped up by a second chair. Now in her fifth month of pregnancy her stomach certainly had a bump-like quality and her ankles had taken to swelling quite often. Propping them up was her best source of comfort. Obviously, she was not expecting and visitors at this late hour...

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[And, just as obviously, James would never call on her at this hour. Not if things were as they usually were -- but usual had gone out the window sometime the night before, when he'd lain awake tormented by Yurippe's words. And Alexia's words. And Arthur's words. Why did everyone think he was in love with Jack Sparrow?

Was he?

Since he wasn't technically on duty as long as he remained aboard Beckett's ship, he'd had access to some of the rum stores -- but he hadn't really started drinking until after his worldhop.

He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't stand up straight, but he also wasn't entirely in control. And that was the state Alexia would find him in, when she got word that there was a visitor here for her.]

[Needless to say Alexia was rather surprised when her trusted butler, Floote announced the arrival of a guest. The expression on his face implied to Alexia that the guest was not particularly wanted, but Alexia mustered up the curiosity and ankle strength to get up and make her way to front parlor where Floote would have escorted any guests.

Clearly another surprise came as she saw James in her parlor. Quickly she dismissed Floote, assuring him that she would handle things on her own. Upon his exit she turned back to her guest.]

James? What on Earth are you doing here at this hour?

[James swayed a little, giving a shrug that was much more fluid than any movement he'd ever managed sober.]

I apologize for the intrusion, Alexia.

[Because sloshed or not, manners are manners and James is a very mannerly individual. Abruptly,]

Am I in love with Jack Sparrow?

[Because Alexia clearly has the answer to that.]

[She sighs, but there is a slight smile on her lips.]

Given how much time you have put into thinking about him I am inclined to think that, yes, you are in love with him.

[He's going to sit down and put his head between his knees. You don't mind, do you?]

Oh, god.

[Of course not. In fact she'll take a seat next to him and place a comforting hand on his shoulder.]

I am sorry. I can see how this fact could be most inconvenient for...various reasons.

I cannot -- this isn't possible.

[Except, clearly, it is. James isn't usually one to feel sorry for himself, but what else can he do with this knowledge? He's in love with someone -- and the only bright spot in the situation is that that someone is dead.]

And yet somehow, it is.

[She pauses for a moment.]

Would you like some tea? Perhaps it will settle your mind.

[He pauses to consider that, then gives a very soft laugh.]

Perhaps coffee, if you do not mind.

[He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to get some sort of focus or sobriety as he closes his eyes.]

This is not possible.

[She goes to the hall to inform Floote of their need for coffee, then returns to her seat beside them.]

So you have said. I am sure it will take some time to process your thoughts on the matter, but calling it impossible seems rather pointless by now.

He has no sense of propriety. He smells wretched. He made me sleep with a goat. Of all the people -- men -- I could possibly --

[Yeah, the alcohol may be, uhm, inhibiting his sense of boundaries.]

[Trying not to be terribly offended by the smell of alcohol on him...]

Well...let us think about this. Are there things about him you in fact, like? Anything worth admiring.

[Okay, maybe he had a little to much rum, but at least he's bathed in the last decade. And his clothes are perfectly neat.

He pauses to consider Alexia's question. His initial reaction is to deny, loudly, that there is anything at all admirable about Sparrow, but -- they're past that.]

He's smart. Completely mad, but... [His voice softens.] He likes the stars.

See? The idea of you having affection for him is not impossible after all. There are aspects about him that are admirable. Those are they things you most likely found attractive.

I killed him.

[It sort of needs to be said.] I took the heart. He had it stashed away.

Did you know that would be the outcome for him?

I knew that Jones was hunting him.

But did you think he would actually find him?

Sparrow went running after him.

[Where is that coffee? He needs something to clutch at.] Idiot. I told him not to. He still thought he had the heart.

[Ah, and here comes Floote with coffee for James, tea for Alexia. She thanks him and he's on his way again.]

It seems to me that he made his own choices. He choices might have varied had he known he did not have the heart, but I do not think it is fair for you to say you were the one who killed him.

That's kind of you.

[And he clearly doesn't believe it, thanking Floote before taking his coffee.]

Stupid, bloody -- pirate.

It is natural to grieve, of course. Give yourself some time, but try not to blame yourself.

Grieve.

[He laughs bitterly.]

That's just it, isn't it? The one bright spot in this entire ridiculous situation, that he can't destroy my life anymore than he has already.

I do not know if I would call it a bright spot. While he will not be here to make things worse, he will also not be here to make things better. It all seems very boring to be at a standstill like that.

He does not have a habit of making things better, Alexia. I think you would have seen that.

[James sighs, massaging his temples before taking another sip of the coffee.]

The man will not give me a moment's peace, even after he is gone. I wouldn't be surprised if he came back from the dead, just to harass me.

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