Bootstrap Bill Drabble
Or ficlet, actually. Vignette? Whatever. Anyway, it's over 600 words, so it's not really a drabble. The Muse was too vociferous this week. Many thanks to hereswith for editing, and to viva_gloria for Bill's shirts.
A Lucky Man
Bill couldn’t help smiling as Jack swayed precariously up the gangplank, flanked by two painted females, the three of them singing decidedly off key. The trio briefly lost its balance, staggered back, located it again and continued on, presently gaining the deck.
“Firs’ Mate Sparrow reportin’ in, Mister Turner,” Jack announced, focusing on Bill with some difficulty. Succeeding at last, his gaze drifted downward and he frowned.
Bill said in low, admonishing tones, “Jack! You know Tobias won’t stand for the ladies bein’ on the ship.”
Jack ignored this. “Lord, Bill! That shirt! A bit sudden, ain’t it?”
Though the shirt was new, the jibe was an old one, and Bill gave an exasperated snort. But the shorter of the girls gratified him by exclaiming, “It’s a lovely shirt! Don’t know when I’ve seen quite that shade o’ green!”
“An’ all that embroidery, too,” the taller, red-haired female noted. “’S right pretty, it is!”
“Much obliged, ladies,” said Bill, nodding politely.
“’T’s his wife, back in England,” Jack informed the two, his expression serious, though his eyes laughed. “Makes ‘em with ‘er own fair hands, an’ sends ‘em out. A touch o’ home, like.”
“Oh! ’E’s a lucky man!” the short one opined, nodding vigorously enough to set her yellow curls bobbing.
Red-head ran a hand up under Jack’s coat. “I’d make you a shirt! Pretty as that! See if I won’t.”
Jack looked alarmed. “Oh, no, love! I’m a plain gent, me. Don’t aspire to such sartorial splendor, I assure you.”
Bill and the girls laughed at this, for there were few men as careful of their appearance as Jack Sparrow, as was obvious to anyone with eyes.
Bill said, “I’ll spare you any more ‘splendor’, Jack, and take these ladies off your hands. Don’t fall asleep on watch!”
“Ha! Not likely: just the thought o’ that shirt’ll keep me awake. Adieu, mademoiselles. It’s been a pleasure.”
* * O * *
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow! Ah, Mr. Twigg: I see you’re off to town. Would you be so obliging as to escort these ladies back to their… er… lodgings. If you please.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Bill leaned on the Pearl’s railing, watching this little exchange, and Jack’s flamboyant bow to the departing females, then straightened as his Captain swayed up the gangplank.
“Have an int’resting evening, Captain?” Bill smiled.
Jack chuckled as he achieved the deck, and patted his pocket, which clinked in a familiar way. “Y’might say so. Couple o’ birds ripe for pluckin’ over at the Cat ‘n’ Whistle. The ladies were cheerin’ me on, as it were. But what’s this? Another shirt from Mary?” Jack’s eyes and grin sparkled with suppressed laughter as he looked over the newest addition to the Turner wardrobe.
Bill had to chuckle, too. “She writes she’s been ‘experimenting’ with her dyes.”
“The results ain’t entirely efficacious, Bill: that’s a devilish color!”
“It’s red.”
“It’s orange! Y’look like a pumpkin.”
“She made it, Jack. It’s the thought that counts. She’s fond of bright colors.”
“I’d noticed that, over the years,” Jack smirked.
Bill shook his head. “Leave off and look at this, though.” He slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, drew out the note, and handed it to Jack.
Jack unfolded it and read the careful, childish writing silently.
Dear Papa,
I hope this finds you well. Mama and I miss you very much.
Fair winds and following seas.
Your loving son,
Will
A little crease appeared between Jack’s dark brows, and he looked up at Bill. “He can write! How old is he, now?”
“Five years last month.” Bill knew an ache of pride and longing as he said it. “Mary says he’s smart as a whip. Looks just like me, too.”
“That right?” Jack cocked his head. “Well, p’rhaps you’ll need to see for yourself, one day soon, eh?”
There was no teasing in the smile, or in the eyes, now, and Bill nodded, his heart suddenly lighter. “P’rhaps you’re right.”
“O’ course I’m right! Captain’s always right!” Jack folded up the note, again, stepped close, and tucked it back in Bill’s pocket. “You’re a lucky man, Bill Turner. A very lucky man.”
~.~
A Lucky Man
Bill couldn’t help smiling as Jack swayed precariously up the gangplank, flanked by two painted females, the three of them singing decidedly off key. The trio briefly lost its balance, staggered back, located it again and continued on, presently gaining the deck.
“Firs’ Mate Sparrow reportin’ in, Mister Turner,” Jack announced, focusing on Bill with some difficulty. Succeeding at last, his gaze drifted downward and he frowned.
Bill said in low, admonishing tones, “Jack! You know Tobias won’t stand for the ladies bein’ on the ship.”
Jack ignored this. “Lord, Bill! That shirt! A bit sudden, ain’t it?”
Though the shirt was new, the jibe was an old one, and Bill gave an exasperated snort. But the shorter of the girls gratified him by exclaiming, “It’s a lovely shirt! Don’t know when I’ve seen quite that shade o’ green!”
“An’ all that embroidery, too,” the taller, red-haired female noted. “’S right pretty, it is!”
“Much obliged, ladies,” said Bill, nodding politely.
“’T’s his wife, back in England,” Jack informed the two, his expression serious, though his eyes laughed. “Makes ‘em with ‘er own fair hands, an’ sends ‘em out. A touch o’ home, like.”
“Oh! ’E’s a lucky man!” the short one opined, nodding vigorously enough to set her yellow curls bobbing.
Red-head ran a hand up under Jack’s coat. “I’d make you a shirt! Pretty as that! See if I won’t.”
Jack looked alarmed. “Oh, no, love! I’m a plain gent, me. Don’t aspire to such sartorial splendor, I assure you.”
Bill and the girls laughed at this, for there were few men as careful of their appearance as Jack Sparrow, as was obvious to anyone with eyes.
Bill said, “I’ll spare you any more ‘splendor’, Jack, and take these ladies off your hands. Don’t fall asleep on watch!”
“Ha! Not likely: just the thought o’ that shirt’ll keep me awake. Adieu, mademoiselles. It’s been a pleasure.”
* * O * *
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow! Ah, Mr. Twigg: I see you’re off to town. Would you be so obliging as to escort these ladies back to their… er… lodgings. If you please.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Bill leaned on the Pearl’s railing, watching this little exchange, and Jack’s flamboyant bow to the departing females, then straightened as his Captain swayed up the gangplank.
“Have an int’resting evening, Captain?” Bill smiled.
Jack chuckled as he achieved the deck, and patted his pocket, which clinked in a familiar way. “Y’might say so. Couple o’ birds ripe for pluckin’ over at the Cat ‘n’ Whistle. The ladies were cheerin’ me on, as it were. But what’s this? Another shirt from Mary?” Jack’s eyes and grin sparkled with suppressed laughter as he looked over the newest addition to the Turner wardrobe.
Bill had to chuckle, too. “She writes she’s been ‘experimenting’ with her dyes.”
“The results ain’t entirely efficacious, Bill: that’s a devilish color!”
“It’s red.”
“It’s orange! Y’look like a pumpkin.”
“She made it, Jack. It’s the thought that counts. She’s fond of bright colors.”
“I’d noticed that, over the years,” Jack smirked.
Bill shook his head. “Leave off and look at this, though.” He slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, drew out the note, and handed it to Jack.
Jack unfolded it and read the careful, childish writing silently.
Dear Papa,
I hope this finds you well. Mama and I miss you very much.
Fair winds and following seas.
Your loving son,
Will
A little crease appeared between Jack’s dark brows, and he looked up at Bill. “He can write! How old is he, now?”
“Five years last month.” Bill knew an ache of pride and longing as he said it. “Mary says he’s smart as a whip. Looks just like me, too.”
“That right?” Jack cocked his head. “Well, p’rhaps you’ll need to see for yourself, one day soon, eh?”
There was no teasing in the smile, or in the eyes, now, and Bill nodded, his heart suddenly lighter. “P’rhaps you’re right.”
“O’ course I’m right! Captain’s always right!” Jack folded up the note, again, stepped close, and tucked it back in Bill’s pocket. “You’re a lucky man, Bill Turner. A very lucky man.”
~.~