[Fic] Paint
Title: Paint
Author: Shytan
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Cutler Beckett, Davy Jones
Summary: A ghost of a man is brought before Davy Jones.
Warnings: -
Notes: For the Prompt Card Sunsetdawn made for me!
Unrequited Love
The Living Dead
(Naked Painting)
Dominance/Submission
It was no surprise that Davy Jones appreciated the arts. He was masterful with the organ, and had a good ear for music, but he also held an appreciation for the visual arts. Unfortunately, paint did not work so well underwater, and so the Dutchman had to make do without paintings. Davy had a good memory, though, and with it painted pictures in his mind.
Calypso was, to Davy, an exotic combination of beauty and power, a combination he never thought he would see in another creature. At first glance, the remarkably small, shivering man that was tossed to the floor before him was nothing special. The crumpled heap was clothed in ruined finery that mattered not in the afterlife. Curled up in pain, he seemed so much smaller than when he had been alive.
Davy nodded for the doors to his office be closed and locked as was usual when a person of any significance were brought before him, and this person was of great significance. This person had, in life, leashed up and commanded the Flying Dutchman's captain. He had been a powerful man in life, one with riches and influence, and still he had sought more, attempting, up until recently rather successfully, to conquer the entire ocean. No, not the ocean. The world.
Beckett had power, alright. A lot of it. In fact, aside from himself, Davy had not seen a man with nearly as much power as Beckett had held. But that was in life. None of that mattered now, and the writhing form before him was, as far as the Dutchman's captain knew, bereft of any such power. With a smug grin, Davy used his boot to shove the pale form, attempting to make him sit up and face him, but instead the small body collapsed to the floor on its side, eyes squeezed shut as though that would protect its inhabitant.
"Cutler Beckett," Davy Jones purred, "You are a Lord no more." He continued to grin despite the lack of response he received. Beckett grunted slightly, pain continuing to course through him. He was clearly fresh from the depths, Davy noticed.
"Don't worry, the pain will fade eventually..." Davy said as he crouched before the small form. "... leaving an emptiness inside of you... nothingness," his grin widened. He had no doubt that he was in control.
Until Beckett opened his eyes. "For thirty... nearly forty years..." Cutler choked out, quivering hand grasping Davy's shirt as he tried to lean forward. "I... have... felt... NOTHING." Davy's eyes widened as he stared into the glowing aqua orbs before him, the piercing lights in place of Beckett's eyes. Davy had seen some men dragged up from the depths with things not quite right about them. He himself was a great example, although he was cursed, which was different. No, before the curse, he had seen men with differences, with auras, with slight powers gifted to them by who? Ones like Calypso?
Beckett's face was so pale, so ghostly pale. Davy looked down at the soaked, tattered clothing that dripped off the lithe form before him.
"You should get out of those, they won't last you. I'll fetch you something else," Davy said, removing the icy cold hand from his shirt. All the men dragged up from the oceans were cold. He himself was cold. But none felt quite as icy as Beckett did.
Davy dug through a chest of old clothes, tossing aside various articles in his quest for suitable clothing. While some of the clothes came from crewman past and present, a good number came from chests found in shipwrecks. They were mostly sailor clothing, and it was not common to find a sailor so lightly built as Beckett. Davy's tentacled hand finally found something suitable. Previously owned by a cabin boy, the shirt and breeches were rather clean compared to the other clothing in the chest. Glancing back at the slight form, Davy grabbed a cloth belt to go with the outfit, lest the breeches be too large.
Davy returned to the limp form lying in the middle of his office. Beckett had stopped shivering, and was simply lying still as though asleep. One would think he were dead, which technically was true, Davy supposed. Dropping the clothing in front of the former Lord, Davy sighed, realising his newest crew member was still too fresh from the ocean to expect anything substantial from him.
"Well you can't lie around in my office all day," Davy griped, crouching down once more and tugging at Beckett's shirt and waistcoat. The heavily abused items fall apart in his claw, and were discarded haphazardly behind him. Beneath the clothing lay a form so pale it was almost white. Beckett had been pale in life, but in death he was almost entirely devoid of colour. His skin looked smooth and seemed to glow slightly, most likely because he was damp. He appeared so very wraith-like, and it sent a shiver down Davy's spine.
Bereft of clothes and of energy, and with those glowing aqua eyes that gazed so sullenly, Beckett was transformed into a little ghost. So fragile, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped and its owner was too fearful of it breaking to pick it up, lest the slightest touch cause it to shatter. So small, so fragile, and yet, as Davy stared into those glowing eyes, he just could not call the man powerless.
Beckett had an exotic beauty, a form far too pale and delicate for a man to have. Gazing down at the little ghost, Davy stored the picture in his mind, in his memories, so that later he could paint himself a picture. Beckett would never know.
Author: Shytan
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Cutler Beckett, Davy Jones
Summary: A ghost of a man is brought before Davy Jones.
Warnings: -
Notes: For the Prompt Card Sunsetdawn made for me!
Unrequited Love
The Living Dead
(Naked Painting)
Dominance/Submission
It was no surprise that Davy Jones appreciated the arts. He was masterful with the organ, and had a good ear for music, but he also held an appreciation for the visual arts. Unfortunately, paint did not work so well underwater, and so the Dutchman had to make do without paintings. Davy had a good memory, though, and with it painted pictures in his mind.
Calypso was, to Davy, an exotic combination of beauty and power, a combination he never thought he would see in another creature. At first glance, the remarkably small, shivering man that was tossed to the floor before him was nothing special. The crumpled heap was clothed in ruined finery that mattered not in the afterlife. Curled up in pain, he seemed so much smaller than when he had been alive.
Davy nodded for the doors to his office be closed and locked as was usual when a person of any significance were brought before him, and this person was of great significance. This person had, in life, leashed up and commanded the Flying Dutchman's captain. He had been a powerful man in life, one with riches and influence, and still he had sought more, attempting, up until recently rather successfully, to conquer the entire ocean. No, not the ocean. The world.
Beckett had power, alright. A lot of it. In fact, aside from himself, Davy had not seen a man with nearly as much power as Beckett had held. But that was in life. None of that mattered now, and the writhing form before him was, as far as the Dutchman's captain knew, bereft of any such power. With a smug grin, Davy used his boot to shove the pale form, attempting to make him sit up and face him, but instead the small body collapsed to the floor on its side, eyes squeezed shut as though that would protect its inhabitant.
"Cutler Beckett," Davy Jones purred, "You are a Lord no more." He continued to grin despite the lack of response he received. Beckett grunted slightly, pain continuing to course through him. He was clearly fresh from the depths, Davy noticed.
"Don't worry, the pain will fade eventually..." Davy said as he crouched before the small form. "... leaving an emptiness inside of you... nothingness," his grin widened. He had no doubt that he was in control.
Until Beckett opened his eyes. "For thirty... nearly forty years..." Cutler choked out, quivering hand grasping Davy's shirt as he tried to lean forward. "I... have... felt... NOTHING." Davy's eyes widened as he stared into the glowing aqua orbs before him, the piercing lights in place of Beckett's eyes. Davy had seen some men dragged up from the depths with things not quite right about them. He himself was a great example, although he was cursed, which was different. No, before the curse, he had seen men with differences, with auras, with slight powers gifted to them by who? Ones like Calypso?
Beckett's face was so pale, so ghostly pale. Davy looked down at the soaked, tattered clothing that dripped off the lithe form before him.
"You should get out of those, they won't last you. I'll fetch you something else," Davy said, removing the icy cold hand from his shirt. All the men dragged up from the oceans were cold. He himself was cold. But none felt quite as icy as Beckett did.
Davy dug through a chest of old clothes, tossing aside various articles in his quest for suitable clothing. While some of the clothes came from crewman past and present, a good number came from chests found in shipwrecks. They were mostly sailor clothing, and it was not common to find a sailor so lightly built as Beckett. Davy's tentacled hand finally found something suitable. Previously owned by a cabin boy, the shirt and breeches were rather clean compared to the other clothing in the chest. Glancing back at the slight form, Davy grabbed a cloth belt to go with the outfit, lest the breeches be too large.
Davy returned to the limp form lying in the middle of his office. Beckett had stopped shivering, and was simply lying still as though asleep. One would think he were dead, which technically was true, Davy supposed. Dropping the clothing in front of the former Lord, Davy sighed, realising his newest crew member was still too fresh from the ocean to expect anything substantial from him.
"Well you can't lie around in my office all day," Davy griped, crouching down once more and tugging at Beckett's shirt and waistcoat. The heavily abused items fall apart in his claw, and were discarded haphazardly behind him. Beneath the clothing lay a form so pale it was almost white. Beckett had been pale in life, but in death he was almost entirely devoid of colour. His skin looked smooth and seemed to glow slightly, most likely because he was damp. He appeared so very wraith-like, and it sent a shiver down Davy's spine.
Bereft of clothes and of energy, and with those glowing aqua eyes that gazed so sullenly, Beckett was transformed into a little ghost. So fragile, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped and its owner was too fearful of it breaking to pick it up, lest the slightest touch cause it to shatter. So small, so fragile, and yet, as Davy stared into those glowing eyes, he just could not call the man powerless.
Beckett had an exotic beauty, a form far too pale and delicate for a man to have. Gazing down at the little ghost, Davy stored the picture in his mind, in his memories, so that later he could paint himself a picture. Beckett would never know.