James Norrington

James' restraint shattered.

A guttural, inhuman snarl ripped from his throat as he tore his leg free, inhumanly vivid green eyes blazing. In a blur, he dropped into a low, predatory crouch, shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the earth like claws. Every instinct screamed hunter.

He lunged, closing the distance in an instant, jaws snapped shut inches from Simba's face with a click of fangs.

"Run," he growled, the single word vibrating with centuries of bloodlust. "Before I forget you're only a cub."

“I believe it’s also called cake.” Came the reply from the figure sat at his desk, tone somewhat playful yet carrying that authoritative edge in a way only Mirrorlander could.

Red-blue eyes gazed over the vampire and then to the gift. “And you won’t even be able to have any. Pity.”

James lowers his gaze with a slight sadness glinting in subdued green eyes choosing not to snark back about the cake comment. "Yes...I suppose that's true. But if it pleases your palate..it will have been worth it." he knows what he's doing but would homedaddy catch on?

The vampire's mouth twitched, though whether it was amusement or disgust was impossible to tell. “Spare me the lecture, Commodore.” His voice came out low and dry “I have survived. Which is more than can be said for you or the lot you once left behind.”

A faint, ugly scoff followed. The vampire turned from the basin, as though he refused the soul the dignity of watching him too closely.

“You wear that old rank as though it still means something,” he went on, one brow lifting in cool disdain. “Fine buttons, polished brass, all that sanctimonious little pageantry. Tell me, does it keep you so warm in whatever miserable corner of the netherworld you haunt that you had thought it prudent to judge me from your gilded perch?”

He looked back at the mirror at last, pale and tired from the suns growing pull and unimpressed.

“I did not claw my way through centuries just to be scolded for messes like some fledgling.”

The Commodore does not flinch at the vampire's disdain. Instead, he simply watches James turn away, his eyes tracking his every movement.

"Survival," the Commodore echoes, the word heavy with scorn. "You call this survival? You're a corpse dragging yourself through the centuries, feeding on the dregs of humanity, and you call it a triumph?"

The figure in the mirror steps closer to the barrier that separates him from reality, the illusion of depth shockingly convincing, as if he were a man on the other side of a window pane. The disappointment in his gaze hardens, then shifts into pity.

A sharp hiss escaped James as he lifted his eyes to the mirror, his patience finally splintering. "I wash my hands because dried blood stains. I change my clothes because I refuse to wallow in filth.." His gaze swept over the immaculate Commodore with open disdain. " Survival has never been noble, or have you forgotten our brief stint aboard the pearl? "

James stopped with only the mirror between them "You believe I stand here trying to convince myself I am still a man." A quiet scoff escaped him. "No. I abandoned that illusion at least a century ago." His fingers rested against the cold glass. "The tragedy is yours, not mine. You still expect the man who died to answer for the creature that survived. I've been James Norrington far longer than you ever were... and whether you approve of what I've become has ceased to matter."

No visitors please..

"Somehow... I highly doubt that, young lady. "

"Even if true, the fact you've not the decency to clean up your work establishment shows a starkly obvious lack of discipline or pride in ones work or suroundings"