Swab the Decks;;

[James Norrington]

(( Ugh. I'm quite angry at myself. I had an amazing beautiful post, perhaps half-way done, and I accedentally pushed the 'back' button and erased it all.

So I had to write this all over again. And it didn't turn out nearly as nice as my original. -sobsobsob- Oh well.))

Down on his hand and knees on the deck of the Black Pearl, James Norrington felt that the days of his autocracy were nothing more than a faded dream. A memory, never to return. He had been the Admiral, in charge of an entire fleet of ships. Absolute power was his. Every word that poured from his mouth was obeyed without a qualm, out of respect, and fear. Only subordinate to Cutler Beckett, James had achieved his dream, only to find it a nightmare. Though all this, Norrington was miserable, and not just because of the curse he had willingly placed himself under. He only existed; he never really lived.

Each day had dragged on, and what should have filled him with pride, and excitement, became like the most menial of tasks. The problem wasn't with the coin he hung around his neck, but what was underneath. His very heart was burdened, as if he had committed a crime but knew not what it was. Except... he knew exactly what the problem was, he just refused to address it. Barbossa's caustic words echoed around in his mind, searing his very consciousness with guilt. Worthless. Brigand. Traitor.

Treachery had strangled Norrington from the inside, a constant pall on his conscience. For a while, he tried to ignore it; for a while, it worked. For a while, he was pleased to be in command, but as the slow cadence of time played on, he realized that there could be nothing he should like more than to escape. And escape he did, though not entirely. Never entirely, perhaps, would he be free from the last vestiges of shame. He'd never let the Captain know he was affected so.

Norrington had always been the kind of person who thrived under pressure, and showed his mettle beneath overbearing circumstances. It was in his very nature to take charge. When such a great burden had been lifted, Norrington was lost.

Now though, back on a ship, things were different. James felt entirely alive. Surprisingly, he felt more happy scrubbing the rough and filthy deck of a boat not even his own, than he ever had surveying the armada of the British naval forces. He was part of the crew, part of the ship, and part of the sea. With nothing but clothes and a stained reputation to his name, Norrington felt something he hadn't felt in a long while. Contentedness.

He would certainly enjoy, eventually, making his way back up in the world, standing behind the helm, barking out orders, going over tactics again and again in his mind... that was what he was made to do. But if that oppourtunity never again rose, if he was destined to swab decks for the rest of his life, he was fine with that.

The rhythmic motion of his body relaxed him, despite the strain on his muscles, which were beginning to cramp. A stiff bristled brush, and a bucket of water were all he needed to complete this back-breaking task, nearly finished. James had started to work just before dawn, determined to finish his job before the searing heat of noon set upon the Pearl. A bit of that searing heat was already starting to burn his back, which had been exposed to the sun for the entirety of the morning.

After finding the least important of the crew, Norrington had bought him off, back at Tortuga. Needless to say, the man had been more than content to spend what amounted to half a year's wages on rum and women in the ramshackle port.

James had taken on his menial duties willingly, knowing it best to keep his place in such things. The less attention he drew to himself, the better things would be between himself and Barbossa. Things had already been tense upon their first meeting, and if Norrington didn't hold his tongue, and keep from opposing the man, their already fragile buisiness relationship might snap. Sure, Barbossa would be one hand short, but the captain could easily find another, with a reputation such as his.

Finally, he was done.

Dunking the brush back into the bucket with a 'plop' Norrington straightened from his crouched position, stretching his back out with a low grunt. He ran his bare arm across his forehead, mopping away the sweat which had beaded there. He felt a swell of pride well up in his chest. The only problem was, what to do now? James picked up his off-white blouse from the rail where he had placed it once the temperature began to rise, and slipped it over his head. He hadn't quite gotten that far ahead in the rough plan of his day he had thought over late last evening. Needless to say, he certainly wasn't about to ask the captain.

[rav]

The soft lull of the waves was enough to hypnotize even the rowdiest of crews. The nearly noon sun sat high in the blue sky, and seemed to be taunting the working crew, stinging their backs and burning their arms. A few gulls wheeled overhead the ship, and called their irritating song. Not much could be heard, unless you paid attention to the smallest of all details. Like the sound of continues scrubbing.

Gwen paused, holding her pencil mid air. She let it touch the parchment, straining to hear the soft sound. She was puzzled, not many crew actually did their tasks. She tilted her head, peering out from behind her book. Who was this? She closed her book, setting her quill on the deck, and pulling her knees to her chest. She flicked her emerald eyes, flipping though her memory banks. No, she definitely did not know this man.

She looked up at the searing sun, cursing it quietly. Though she had been on s ship a majority of her life, she still hated the kiss of the sun. She placed her hand above her eyes, guarding her eyes from the glinting of light. She glanced back at James, clearing her parched throat and standing up. “Hello,” she said, her voice tearing through the silence. She crossed her arms across her chest, inspecting his job meticulously. “Rather good, but I’ve never seen you before,” she said, her red locks bouncing. Her white blouse was surprising white, but could stand to be cleaned. A blue bandanna neatly concealed the part top of her head, embellished with a strand of brown and silver beads. Thrown messily over her blouse was a naval coat, a particularly dirty coat. But her appearance was no matter for the time being, it was finding out who this man was. A little flag told her she had seen him numerous times, but where, she had no clue.

She felt the shade of the stairs disappear, and the suns unbearable heat beat down on her neck. She shifted, moving closer to the shade, and looking over at him. The waves hit the boat, making it shift as well, moaning under the immense pressure. She steadied her balance, glancing over at the dirty water bucket, covered in muddy water.

[Elizabeth Turner]

A concerned scowl had twisted itself upon Elizabeth Turner's face as she lurked along the Black Pearl's helm, one hand resting upon the dark wood of the railing. She looked awkward and uncomfortable, not to mention a bit pale for one who had grown tan in her moments beneath the sun. It wasn't the sun that bothered her now, however. It seemed to be something more internal, as though she was coming down with an illness. Her other hand had placed itself upon her stomach, as though to comfort whatever was troubling her there. She felt oddly nauseous for one who had developed strong sea legs and sweat beaded unpleasently upon her forehead. Was she actually sick? She refused to believe that. And, perhaps she wasn't sick. To her, it seemed a simple churning of the stomach had been due to nerves, for she had been rather troubled lately. Aye, it was that which caused her such discomfort now... or so she was leading herself to believe. The Pirate King, though feeling a bit under the weather, was not going to allow the Pearl's scurvy crew to see her in such a tender state. She was still the same, stubborn girl she had always been, even with a different surname and a royal title. So, turning to the stairs, she regained composure with an elegent hight to her head and a gleam in her dark eyes. But still, her cheekbones were unnaturally pale with whatever it was that vexed her should it be virus or thought.

The young woman paused in the midst of descending the stairs, having noticed the man who was diligently scrubbing the deck. Such determination in a chore was rarely seen in most pirates, so it made Elizabeth curious as she gazed upon the sweaty back of the deckhand. She almost laughed out loud when she found herself almost not recognizing the man. It was, of course, James Norrington, for she saw his face as he completed his task and made his face more visible. She should've known who it was from the moment she saw him. She wished she was happy to see him, but their latest chat had her somewhat reluctant to approach him. No, not in fury or stubborness, but in uncertainty. She was in no mood to partake in further troubles for that day and wanted not to engage in further, dark conversation with this man. But she couldn't ignore her disapproval of his choices. She thought for a moment as she resumed her steps down the small staircase, trying to settle her mind with each soft 'thump of her boots against each stair. Oh James. Look how you've churned conflict in her heart. You've a knack for such a thing, don't you?

With no frown nor smile dressing her features, Mrs. Turner finally decided to approach him, with arms crossed defiantly along her chest. Her dark eyes were lured to a new figure that accompanied Norrington now - a woman whom Elizabeth had not the pleasure of meeting before. One slender brow was arched just so as she arrived upon the conversation, her body still held in a confident poise that tried not to give hint to her anxious (and possibly ill) state. Her gaze upon James was neither soft nor cold. It was almost indifferent as it wandered his face, but with a touch of concern that wanted deeply to seek his face with warmth in her stare. "Nice work, Mister Norrington," she said in a voice that was casual but hinted with a touch of distance. She was, after all, his superior, and now spoke to him as such. But there was something of a hidden concern in her tones, one that was more personal as it addressed the sailor. "We can always count on you, can't we?" She had spoken this as though there was a double meaning within her voice - as though she had said it in the hopes of him finding her doubt and recognizing her uncertainty. James Norrington. What had the world done to you?

{ Mmkay. Sorry it's crap. I know Liz is being bitter but it's only because from what I gathered in your post, their conversation on the docks is connected to this thread. If not, I'll edit this and apologize for my misunderstanding. <3 }

[James Norrington]

Wrapping his powerful fingers around the coarse rope handle of the bucket, James Norrington hoisted the bucket over the rail, and emptied the dirty water into the sea below. He was more than glad to be rid of the last remanents of his long, tiresome task. Now, bereft of further duties (until he decided to inquire more deeply into what he should be doing) Norrington just stood, enjoying the cool breeze which cut through the otherwise unbearable heat of the afternoon sun.

An obviously feminine voice brought James out of his quiet reflections. For a moment, he thought it might have been Elizabeth, but the idea was soon dissipated when he turned around. The lady in front of him was definitely not Elizabeth. Knuckling his forehead in a salute ( it was safer to do so than not, as he wasn' t exactly welcomed by all hands on the Pearl), James returned the greeting with a 'Hello' of his own, and a slight inclination of his head.

Staring at her with a touch of nonchalance about him, James responded with a smug, slightly impertanent look at her critique of his morning's work. " Rather good? Only rather?" He inquired, before glancing down.

Well, it wasn't the Endeavour, that was for sure, but with only a bucket of water, and a brush, what could you do? Rather good would suffice, he supposed.

She hadn't seen him around? That wasn't exactly surprising. For one, he looked a lot different than the Admiral or Commadore of one's memory. Running his fingers over his jawline, which had become nearly hidden until a short, but thick stubble, Norrington figured that the next thing on his agenda should most assuredly be a shave.

" I have to admit, I'm in the same situation with respect for you. I suppose introductions are in order then." He extended his calloused hand, " James Norrington." His name felt somehow inadiquate, without a slough of fancy titles before it. Since his late teens, he had always been, 'Lieutenant James Norrington, or Commodore James Norrington, or Admiral James Norrington', and now? Well, now he was just... James, he supposed.

At the sound of his name ' Mr. Norrington', James whirled around, immediately aware of who was adressing him. His posture immediately straightened, from one of relaxed, almost uncaring amusement, to attention. He saluted respectfully, answering Elizabeth's brusque, superior words with an equally respectful. "Captain." She was the officer now, above him in station, both of them knew it, and neither was planning on breaching that gap.

'We can always count on you, can't we?'

Norrington pursed his lips slightly, breath caught in his throat. For a moment he just looked at her, his look a cross between tender, and the more appropriate lack of emotion. " Aye, captain." He responded softly, his voice nearly inaudible over the din of the ship.

Norrington longed for- what he longed for, he couldn't tell. He needed her back as a friend, at least. He couldn't blame her for her reaction though, she could handle it no other way. In fact, Norrington probably would have been dissapointed in her had she handled it any other way. His actions were not to be taken lightly, a fact he had known from the beginning, yet disregardged. It wouldn't do to let any of it show, with pirates all around. Elizabeth's position would not be compromised by his doing. That, he swore.

" Aye captain," he said again, a little more suited to their current rank, rather than the personal bond between them. " And thank you."

(( Ugh, what do you mean your post was crap? Yours was lufferly. -pokes my post- I mean, ew. Mine... is decomposing. o0' )) [/size]

[rav]

Gwen smiled partly, offering her slender hand for a firm shake, “Gwen Das,” she replied, giving James a nod. She finally realized who the man was. Former Commodore, Formal Admiral. “Wait a minute,” she said, squinting through her emerald orbs, “James Norrington. I remember you, right before you shipped off sea aye? I doubt you recall the little girl that snuck on that ship. Not only that, but I’ve seen you around….before,” she said with a crisp smile.

Gwen glanced at Elizabeth with a “Captain,” and stiff salute. She shifted her footing, grasping the relationship between the two. Right. Once engaged, then allies, now enemies. Quite the resume. She turned her back to the sun, laying her hand on her sword hilt, quietly watching. Her body swaying with the movement of the ship.

One might say it was utterly foolish to wear a coat aboard a ship in the boiling sun, but it seemed to not even bother the crewman in the least. Not even breaking a single drop of sweat. Glancing around her feet, she seemed to be looking for something. Her lips curled in a pleased smile, and she leaned forward, swiping her tricorn hat from the deck. She dusted her hat, and tossed it on her head, still listening intently on their, word by word conversation.

The boat hit a reef slightly, and Gwen braced herself against the foremast, holding tight as it skidded across, dropping back into the deeper waters with a slight bob. She sighed, steadying her footwork, and backing up to lean against the railing. As the silence came between James and Elizabeth, Gwen glanced back and fourth, waiting for an exchange of words. Nothing. She quirked a brow, “Any idea where were headed Captain,” Gwen asked politely, knowing full well of Elizabeth’s temper. She crossed her arms across her chest, her face forming into a squint, the sun glaring rudely into her eyes.

She scratched her head, other hand still bracing her weight, “To your first question Mr. Norrington, its rather good. Better then any of the drunks of the ship could do,” she smirked, pearly whites showing. She had quite the smile, that she used quite a lot. She glanced to her diary, balancing on the railing. It slipped, and she jumped forward, grasping it and shoving it in her coat. Lord knows how miserable she would be without it. She managed to scrape up an awkward smile, and straightened jacket.

(No, mine sucks.)

[Elizabeth Turner]

Captain. What was Elizabeth Turner the Captain of? For she most certainly did not Captain the Pearl. The ship's Captian had changed with multiple twists and turns of events, but at that moment it was Barbossa who claimed the title. A certain Jack Sparrow had been 'convinced' otherwise. To have these two deckhands address her as a Captian caused the woman to raise her eyebrows slightly, but still her head was high in a need to remain unphased. She did not correct them and, instead, turned her attention upon the man whose expression was almost enough to reassure her stiff posture into a more relaxed pose. His voice was soft and barely heard above the purr of the waves against the hull, but she heard it as though he had murmured it into her ear. "Please," she began, in a softer but still uncertain tone, "just call me Elizabeth."

The ship shuddered as she grazed a reef, causing the Pirate King to grasp the railing with one hand to keep herself steady. She furrowed her brows as the Pearl settled and sailed on, her gaze fluttering briefly towards the helmsman in uncertainty. Was he just being careless or was he one of the less-experienced men that Barbossa had picked off of Tortuga? She didn't let her mind worry of such things, however. This was not her ship to command. Elizabeth straightened up and titled her head just so towards the other girl's quary - Gwen... something or rather. "Singapore," she replied, though her voice hinted to her irritated mindset, "though I'm not the Captain you should be asking." In truth, Mrs. Turner was their King, but she sought not to command the crew that was not hers to command. She was here as something of Barbossa's guest, seeing as the Empress was roaming the seas in Tai Huang's care. She didn't want the Black Pearl's crew to confuse her for their leader though she was, in a way, their superior. She decided to let the matter drop, however, and only hoped that Gwen had understood. And Norrington? She knew he understood.

Her eyes of brown fixed themselves upon the somewhat tousled-looking James, a small frown upon her lips. "She's right. You're a dedicated hand, James." She let her gaze shift to the sea for a moment and then to the floor, keeping to her distant air as the breeze slipped through her hair and sprinkled sea spray against her cheekbones. There was a stubborn part of her that wanted to hold out her disappointment until she saw fit. But what satisfaction would that bring? They'd both be worn with guilt and doubt. Another part of her wanted to forgive him then and there; to simply accept what he had done and savor the fact that he had escaped death. Elizabeth found herself mized inbetween both parts of her, and knew little of where to go with it as she finally settled her gaze back into his own. "And a fine man, to be sure." A fine man. She remembered when she and Estella had used the same description when discussing Norrington as girls often gossiped. Though her voice was still a bit stiff, it was a tad more tender in her shifting thoughts. No, she hadn't completely given up on being stubborn. But perhaps this was a step towards accepting his choices. Perhaps.

[James Norrington]

(( I'm just kinda making up all this little Norry history, so if you don't think it works, just tell me so, Gwen. xDDD ))

Norrington glanced back to Gwen. She certainly didn't look like the little girl who gave him so much trouble, the first time he set foot onto a ship as a working man, at the tender age of twelve. He hadn't even seen her until he was sent to fetch something for the captain, and that was barely five minutes before they were to set sail. She had begged and begged him not to send her back, but, in fear of his station, and the fact that the other sailors constantly reminded him that it was bad luck to have a woman on board ( being twelve, he had believed them at the time), he had revealed her whereabouts to the crew, who promptly hurried her off with a frenzied look in their eyes. It was a wonder, at the time, that they didn't get angry at her, but instead, looked fearful. It was only later he discovered that she was the daughter of an Admiral. He had hardly believed it, but now, seeing her in that coat of navy and yellow had shredded away the last of his doubt. It seemed that both Admirals and their daughters could go astray.

Norrington turned his full attention back to Elizabeth the moment she spoke, and found himself immediately drawn in to her captivating dark eyes. Her presence, at once cold, and aloof, suddenly became a bit more personal, as she proclaimed him a fine man. Emerald eyes warming, and betraying the relief he felt beneath his stolid face, Norrington inclined his head slightly, and smiled. " Thank you, Elizabeth." From the bottom of this man's heart, thank you. He closed his eyes a moment, reflecting on the unexpected complement he had gotten, a complement not altogether deserved. He had been a fine man, once. Whether he was one still, or not, was in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps, perhaps not.

His thoughts moved through like lightning, as only a second passed by before he opened his eyes again, shading them from the bright sunlight his hand, before speaking. " We have a favourable wind on our side today, ladies." James was never one to read too much into things; he wasn't keen on signs and luck, but he couldn't help noticing that there was not a cloud in the sky, and everything seemed to be running smoothly. It was a good day for living, today. He stole a quick glance to Elizabeth, shooting her a small, almost playful smile ( as if the serious Mr. Norrington could ever be described as playful), and glanced out into the wide ocean. His smile disappeared slightly, as he caught of what lay ahead. The water was a discernibly different shade of blue, lighter water in splotchy patterns across the prow. The reef was apparently larger than previously thought.

" Elizabeth." Norrington moved with some urgency from the rail to his former fiancee, his voice deadly calm. " Elizabeth, look ahead, slightly to the starboard side." He then motioned for Gwen to come forward. " Miss Das, please alert the crew to be ready for either Captain Barbossa, or Mrs. Turner's orders, there's rocks up ahead." Norrington sent a distasteful look in the direction of the helmsman, who was whistling like a schoolboy, and playing some sort of game involving dodging small pebbles thrown by the man in the crow's nest. Someone obviously wasn't doing their job... and at a bad time. " Elizabeth," he repeated, evidently waiting for /something/. He didn't have the authority to do anything but wait.

(( I was running out of random smalltalk, as it's hard to split Norry's attention between two people, as he can't very well be all tender to Elizabeth when she's the captain, and crew-members are watching on... etc...

And I needed a way to include Gwen, so I figured a near-disaster would be in order. ^^"

After all, Nat and Wicked got to set in a near disaster. xDDD

I can change it if you think it's... an inoppourtune moment.))

[rav]

(No, its quite fine XDXD)

Gwen watched his smile to Elizabeth, and turned away, knowing full well, she should probably leave them alone. Lost in a little world, she imagined being a sword fight, for some odd reason. She was jerked back in, at James voice. She shook her head, mouth agape. “What,” she said. She raced forward, nodding and taking off, “Oi,” she shouted, waving both arms, the helmsman glanced at her, “Aye, you,” she said, rolling her eyes. She passed bye Elizabeth, running up the stairs and grabbing the helm, “I think Jack could do a better job then you,” she spat, referring to Monkey Jack.

She held it tight, trying desperately to turn it the opposite direction. “Mr. Norrington, “she shouted over the roar of the ocean, squeezing her eyes shut and holding it tight, “A bit of help is appreciated,” she shouted. The helmsman stood by, laughing and pointing. Gwen growled under her breath with annoyance, “Alright lads, thanks to our helmsman, we’re headed straight fer Davy Jones’s locker,” she shouted, the crewman panicking and running around. “Mr. Norrington,” she shouted again but still no James, she began loosing the grip on the helm.

She groaned, pushing the wheel with all her might, “Turn damn you,” she said, pushing off the deck with both feet. Apparently, something was either stuck of broken. Her red locks falling all over the place as she violently fought the pressure of the boat. Her green eyes opened, as the wheel spun back at her, sending her in another direction. She slid along the deck, the boat tilting as it began to scrape the rocks, she kept sliding, until she hit the rail. Holding tight she winced, the rail digging into her back. Running again to the helm, she helped the helmsman hold it, still not working.

(So sorry if it seems so short)

[Hector Barbossa]

A hand, heavy and forceful, landed on Gwen’s shoulder. A similar hand fell on the arm of the original helmsman. With a mighty shove, both pirates were sent flying away from the wheel, which span uncontrolled for a moment before those two powerful, paw like hands wrapped their long fingers around two of the guidance spokes. With an incredible growl, the Captain of the Black Pearl fought back against the waves, the ship moving with his will, the hard, weathered wood of the hull screaming less violently against the reef as Barbossa pulled his ship away from disaster.

The damage, however, was severe, and his crew scrambled to do their best as far as keeping the ship from sinking where she floated went. He barked orders colored with angry words and insults, and the crew new better than to dawdle in any form. They all but scattered, calling to each other and completing their tasks with efficiency and speed.

Barbossa then turned his attention to the company at hand. A helmsmen who had no right to be at the wheel, and a girl who had even less. His rage was unbridled, his eyes blazing with an almost palpable heat. He grabbed the pathetic excuse for a sailor in one hand, holding the blubbering man by the neck. If he were to be honest with himself, the Captain knew he should have made a better choice for someone at the wheel, but retrospect was not something Barbossa often dwelt in. He lived in the present, the ever forming future. If he dwindled too long in the past he would not be the remorseless, passionate man of the sea that he prided himself in being. Regret was useless. There was no changing a decision once the consequence came. The only thing Barbossa could do was make a new decision.

One that involved throwing the man over the railing and down to the deck below, bellowing in an almost unholy voice for the man, who had broken his arm in the fall, to be taken to the brig.

Accomplishing that small release of rage, Barbossa turned on the girl who he had found at the wheel. He stared down at her, cruel blue eyes fathomless and contemplative.

“A whelp like you should ne’er touch the helm, ‘less I order you directly.” His expression, tone, and body language clearly displayed how unlikely that event was. He realized she was trying to help, but had also noticed, in the short time it took him to come from his quarters and reach the helm, that she had done nothing to that affect. He would not have any random deck hand at the wheel, having already made that mistake. Still searing, Barbossa left her on the floor, striding down the stairs to where Elizabeth and Norrington were standing.

Ah, a punching bag. The perfect way to release the rest of his tense anger.

Putting his foot atop the bucket of muddy water, he looked at the deck that had been so painstakingly washed by the former Admiral of the Royal Navy. A fan of taking down unsuspecting, innocent bystanders when he was venting, he kicked the bucket over and locked his steely gaze on his deck hand.

“Clean it again.”

(Sorry. I couldn’t stay away. I had to jump in here and… stop… this… Haha. Don’t worry, we’ll have a near disaster! I promise. I just couldn’t deal with images of the crew of the Black Pearl running around like a bunch of pussies. Also, the Pearl is a mighty vessel and deserves more respect than ‘oh… the thingy that steers it is broke.’

I might be taking out some of my aggression from today, but there you go. It was nice to be able to vent, anyway.

I don’t… have to hang around. I might just be… making a point.

And no... I haven't read it all. Whoops.)

[Elizabeth Turner]

It was almost comforting, to sense the warmth that was alive in Norrington's stare. Although her expression was still a bit stony, a small smile managed to pull just so at the corners of her mouth. It was a weak smile, but it was something, wasn't it? She was still a bit tense towards the man and still visiting her thoughts concerning what he had done, but there was no point in making him feel even more guilty. She seemed to have gotten her point across and that would be enough for now. Her small smile remained even when James chanced a somewhat playful grin, something she had never really seen before. Perhaps aboard the Pearl on course for the Isla Cruces, but still... it was refreashing and reassuring to see such a smile. She was not going to properly forgive him just yet and allow her bitter thoughts to simply vanish, but in the company of the crew and the situation, she didn't want to keep a stubborn hold on whatever grudge she still managed. Elizabeth, too, glanced out to the sea, allowing the Caribbean breeze to caress her face with gentle fingers. She still felt a bit ill, but ignored it as it twisted unpleasantly about her gut and made her head throb. It was a lovely day and who was she to put a damper to it?

Luckily, there was a reef ahead that would do the job for her.

Her eyes narrowed upon the evidence of the reef before them as James pointed it out, hands on the railing to pull herself forward for a better view. In her realization, her squint widened and she glanced to Norrington as she suddenly addressed him again. "The reef. It's huge." Her voice was something of a whisper - that voice one uses when they're suddenly in an air of urgency. She turned around, in the hopes of motioning to the helmsman, but it seemed that he was a tad preoccupied. Gwen had joined him at the wheel though didn't seem to be doing much of any good at all. The rest of the crew was working to their best efficiancy, knowing their way well about the ship and doing as the situation demmanded of them. And, it would seem that a new voice was leading them as well. Such a voice was loud, growling, and quite furious. Captain Barbossa had emerged from his quarters.

Mrs. Turner rushed to the bow, to get a better view of their obstacle. The hull groaned as the ship was directed by the Captain's more experienced hand, though it was evident from such sounds that damage had been made. It wasn't just the helmsman's fault. She felt it some of her own for not taking such sudden control. Not only that, but the woman pirate... Gwen... hadn't managed to help the situtation. Trying to help could either end in celebration or disaster. Elizabeth was thinking more the latter. She returned to Norrington's side once the Pearl was out of danger's reach, though she stood still in an urgent poise that was prepared for action. Her return to James' company, however, was to find that Barbossa had arrived there as well. The Captain did not seem in a mood of good humor at all. She couldn't blame him one bit for that, seeing as she wasn't in the finest of moods, either, especially with what she had noticed had occured at the helm. The wind may have been on their side, but it was threatening to turn at any moment. It's the way life was.

The bucket was disturbed and the muddy water sent across the deck, coaxing a rather vexed expression from the Pirate King as she glanced from the bucket to Barbossa and then to Norrington. As much as Elizabeth was still tense in her company with James, she felt that he was undeserving of the Captain's frustration... even after all that had been done and said. Her eyes were stronger now as they fixed into Barbossa's, agitated not only by the day's events but by her own nausea. "What's he done to deserve that, Captain?"

{ Heh. I love how you make points, Wicked. xP <3 }

[James Norrington]

(( Oh crap, I know nothing about sailing. For all I know, what I'm describing Norry doing could send them /into/ the rocks, but let's pretend that /he/ knows what he's doing... so he's actually helping, okay? xPPP ))

Norrington set to work immediately, leading by example, rather than barking out orders to the crew, who were already quite efficient at their jobs. With the wind driving them toward the reef, the sails were allowed to luff for a moment until orders otherwise were given by the helmsman. In the heat of the action, James never once heard Gwen shout his name. Norrington worked silently, determining the next course of action should the Captain not appear within the next...well, speak of the devil.

Harsh, barking orders echoed Norrington's inner commands, and the Admiral turned bilge rat set to work, moving, pulling, and tying off lines with calculated precision. Then, surveying discreetly that everything was followed through to his liking, and quietly fixing anything that seemed amiss, Norrington returned to the rail by his bucket, Elizabeth joining him moments later to observe the spectacle which unfolded before them. He hadn't told Gwen to touch the wheel... so why was he feeling so responsible for the verbal berating she was experiencing. He had no pity for the former helmsman, and her lack of experience had accomplished little to aid in the near-disaster, so why the sudden pang of guilt? Maybe it was because he too, knew the sting of Barbossa's tongue, and the lack of means to do anything about it.

Retaining his naval posture, which gave an almost arrogant look as he stared unwaveringly at the captain, James refused to shy away from Barbossa's furious tirades. He nearly snapped though, when the captain's boot made short work of his back-breaking efforts to clean the deck. Do it /again/? Was he joking? Teeth clenching and unclenching behind his tightly pressed lips, Norrington stared down at the mud and grime strewn across the wood at his feet. The muscles in his jaw began to tighten ever so slightly, betraying an angry twitch in his cheek as his emerald green eyes hardened to ice.

" Everything," James grumbled under his breath in responce to Elizabeth's question, though he hardly directed his mutterings to anyone in particular. " I wouldn't be surprised if I was blamed for the reef being in our way." He eyed the captain venomously, and bent down to grasp the brush, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he picked it and the bucket off the deck. He straightened, empty hand opening and closing into an agressive looking fist dangerously close to his sword. Finally, he looked away, though not as the loser, but to keep from open rebellion. " Aye, Captain, I'll do it again." James, however, made no move to do so. Hector never said /when/ he had to do it again, after all.

(( EEEWWWW. Ugliest post ever. Maybe I should make Norrington draw his sword just so I can post more. xDDD

Forgive meh! ))