Bonfire night
Jun. 14th, 2010 10:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fairieloreTitle: Bonfire night
Characters: Cutler Beckett, Jack Sparrow
Pairing: Beckett/Jack
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Shared Love of Arson
Word Count: 256
A traitor to the Crown by his action,
Their intents are different but their methods the same. Some call him a hero, some a villainous cur but the words do not phase him, they never did. He presses on with his beliefs but no one seems to understand why he does what he does, why he must do it. If not him, then who? Absolute changes are made with the point of the sword, not that of a pen.
No Parliament mercy from any faction,
Port Royal, Tortuga, Shanghai, they have set all those cities ablaze in their time and soon there will be nothing left to fight for. Borderlines etched in ink and painted in blood. The streets littered with bodies and the brothels filled with men who care more for the alcohol then the women. Living in an everlasting l'heure verte, sharing drink upon drink with the Grim Reaper who slaps his knee at every cannon fire.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Let the skin peel, let it be stripped layer upon layer, lie upon lie until there is nothing left but the milky white.
Burn him like a blazing star.
His spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven, becoming a bright and solitary star.
Burn his body from his head.
Lifeless and charred, flesh is bark, body a trunk. No sign of roots. He watches the bonfire and patches of skin fall onto places he didn't know needed mending. Around him the lads danced 'round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.
Characters: Cutler Beckett, Jack Sparrow
Pairing: Beckett/Jack
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Shared Love of Arson
Word Count: 256
A traitor to the Crown by his action,
Their intents are different but their methods the same. Some call him a hero, some a villainous cur but the words do not phase him, they never did. He presses on with his beliefs but no one seems to understand why he does what he does, why he must do it. If not him, then who? Absolute changes are made with the point of the sword, not that of a pen.
No Parliament mercy from any faction,
Port Royal, Tortuga, Shanghai, they have set all those cities ablaze in their time and soon there will be nothing left to fight for. Borderlines etched in ink and painted in blood. The streets littered with bodies and the brothels filled with men who care more for the alcohol then the women. Living in an everlasting l'heure verte, sharing drink upon drink with the Grim Reaper who slaps his knee at every cannon fire.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Let the skin peel, let it be stripped layer upon layer, lie upon lie until there is nothing left but the milky white.
Burn him like a blazing star.
His spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven, becoming a bright and solitary star.
Burn his body from his head.
Lifeless and charred, flesh is bark, body a trunk. No sign of roots. He watches the bonfire and patches of skin fall onto places he didn't know needed mending. Around him the lads danced 'round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.
