Hoist the Colours

there’s a slight breath of relief as hook’s sword finds its way back into its sheath. she gives only a slight wince as his hand hits the wood behind her and she backs up a bit to put some breathing space between them. she still needs to think after all. she swallows and shakes her head. 

     ❝ i don’t know, just- looking. i didn’t really get a chance         to EXPLORE the last time i was here, after all. ❞

hook keeps his eyes fixed on hers for a long moment even after she’s finished speaking. she’s a brave girl, wendy darling is. he’s known fully grown men to piss their trousers in the enraged presence of captain hook. really, he finds it admirable. perhaps that’s why she still breathes. 

❝ ...so you didn’t, ❞ jas concurs. behind those blazoned blue eyes he’s still dangerous, but he pushes himself away from the girl, expression lightening some. ❝ how very rude of me not to give you the grand tour of my beloved ship. ❞ he straightens and offers her his arm. 

    ❝ come. ❞

“And I’m believing you because….” Chesh glared him down with a distinctive frown. “Tell me, what’s her name?” Her arms crossed while she waited for a response.

her head pulls back at the steel in front of her face and her body goes still. damn. come now, wendy. quick thinking.

     ❝ i’m not sure what you think THIS is, but i was simply         curious. you know, looking around. ❞

hook lowers his eyes, tilting his head to the side as he watches the girl. he knows darling too well by now. and insufferable as she may be, he’s not going to kill her. not tonight, anyway. his sword drops and swoops back into its sheath.

    ❝ ever the story-teller, aren’t we? ❞ he steps into her space    suddenly, too close. ❝ so then tell me, jill, ❞ her name is   emphasised with his fist pounding against the wall behind   her, making her jump and trapping her there. 

peter pan: sap-stained leaves at the foot of an open window; a child's laugh on a distant breeze; the shine of a boy's pen knife under moonlight; the pelt of falling apples upon the ground; the mouthfeel of berries crushed inside a small fist; the scent of flowers and sugar on the evening air; a shadowed silhouette cast against the moon; the white shine of pearls in a young boy's mouth; dirt clinging to the soles of running feet; a streak of green seen over the treeline.

jas hook: the metallic hiss of a metal claw through the night air; the shining glitter of gold brocade under sunlight; the soft, shimmering whisper of silk on silk; a black candle that has burned down to its wick; the scent of burnt juniper lingering on the night air; the saltiness of sea spray cold upon your cheeks and mouth; the scream of a sea wind in the eye of the storm; the whip of dark hair about a sea-soaked head; the ozone tingle felt on the beach after the tempest; blood spattering on a coat that is already red; novels stacked neatly beside a bottle of skull-capped poison.

wendy darling: the brush of new flowers and scented herbs against the hem of a white night-dress; a scatter of blood drops on a lily worn in the hair; the tight grip of a dagger in the left hand and a dribbling peach in the right; the quiet, warm crackle of a burning fire; clean, bare feet upon a fur carpet; the laugh of a girl nearly a woman heard under moonlight; the sibilation of pages turning in the dead of night; the lingering taste of a chocolate on the tongue; a kiss to be spied at the very corner of a young girl's mouth.

john darling: sand and splinters sticking to one's bloodied knuckles; the boom and whine of a maturing voice; the crisp, clean, white shirt of an english gentleman drying on a tree branch over a mermaid's cove; the tightness of a cravat about a young neck; dirt spattered across a nose like dark freckles and lingering on the spectacle glass; the quiet grumble of a sleeping boy's snore; a war cry singing over the waters; the scent of soap mingling with sea salt and rust on the air; copper burning on a tongue and dripping from a bitten lip.

...Uh-oh.

@jollyrogercaptain.

“FOR THE LAST bloody time, we’re not going bowling.” She scrubs her hand down her face. “It’s not as fun as it looks. It’s infuriating, it’s idiotic, and you have to pay to wear shoes that other people have worn! If I wanted to do that, I’d save my arm a world of aching and just go try on shoes at Payless!”