The Stowaway (the_stowaway) wrote in moody_pirates,
The Stowaway


Back in his office, Norrington stood at the window, staring out at the bay, the sea beyond… the black ship flying downwind, all sails set.

There was work awaiting him, preparations for pursuit to be made, but first he would permit himself the indulgence of a moment's reflection. His lip curled. Self-pity by another name.

The fact of her choice had not surprised him; he'd known where her heart lay when he'd accepted her hand. But the manner of it had stung. So public, so unequivocal, so… cruel; the cruelty of impetuous youth. He felt, suddenly, a hundred years old.
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