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fairieloreTitle: Castaway
Characters: Cutler Beckett, Calypso
Pairing: Beckett/Calypso
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Torn and bleeding
Word Count: 295
Stripped of honor, splintered and torn. And that was but the ship.
He didn't understand how he managed to survive the ambush or how he'd gotten so far from the scene. He was in the middle of the ocean, gripping onto a plank of wood. He could not even see the tatters of his ship in the distance. There was but water for miles, the only pollution the blood seeping out of his wounds, leaving a trail. What a sorry sight he was, not in the least bit presentable. His uniform was missing half a dozen of its buttons and looked akin to what that Commodore had look like when he'd entered his office. He'd also somehow managed to lose his wig in the time he'd been unconscious.
He could hear the waves crashing about, wearing away the miserable thing that was keeping him afloat. A wave engulfed him and forced him underwater, making him struggle against the current. He used what little energy he had left to try and resurface but his efforts were all for naught. The remaining oxygen was expelled from his lungs for one last breath before everything went black. The cannon fire of two mightiest ships on the seven seas could not kill him but the whims of the sea would.
He gasped, coughing up water as his eyes flickered open blurrily to what he could only believe to be an angel of death. A woman who seemed to be in just as tattered clothes as he was, her skin the colour of coffins. His hand clenched underneath him and he felt sand, glorious, rough sand.
She smiled a toothy smile as he matched her gaze and he could feel the sting of the saltwater that had seeped into wounds.
Characters: Cutler Beckett, Calypso
Pairing: Beckett/Calypso
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Torn and bleeding
Word Count: 295
Stripped of honor, splintered and torn. And that was but the ship.
He didn't understand how he managed to survive the ambush or how he'd gotten so far from the scene. He was in the middle of the ocean, gripping onto a plank of wood. He could not even see the tatters of his ship in the distance. There was but water for miles, the only pollution the blood seeping out of his wounds, leaving a trail. What a sorry sight he was, not in the least bit presentable. His uniform was missing half a dozen of its buttons and looked akin to what that Commodore had look like when he'd entered his office. He'd also somehow managed to lose his wig in the time he'd been unconscious.
He could hear the waves crashing about, wearing away the miserable thing that was keeping him afloat. A wave engulfed him and forced him underwater, making him struggle against the current. He used what little energy he had left to try and resurface but his efforts were all for naught. The remaining oxygen was expelled from his lungs for one last breath before everything went black. The cannon fire of two mightiest ships on the seven seas could not kill him but the whims of the sea would.
He gasped, coughing up water as his eyes flickered open blurrily to what he could only believe to be an angel of death. A woman who seemed to be in just as tattered clothes as he was, her skin the colour of coffins. His hand clenched underneath him and he felt sand, glorious, rough sand.
She smiled a toothy smile as he matched her gaze and he could feel the sting of the saltwater that had seeped into wounds.
