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[Continued from here.. Moonverse - Penumbra I] The Moonverse Series
5: Penumbra II * * * The world returned to him slowly, through a thick filter of haze and distorted time. He cracked one eye. Followed suit with the other. Took a moment to think about what they showed him before the view made sense. Brightly burning, the lamp turned the room a cheery yellow, chasing shadows from corners and returning tawny luster to its other occupant. Jay had dressed again. Wild hair had been pulled back, carelessly confined with Norrington's own ribbon. He sat against the wall beside the lamp, legs folded, attention seemingly absorbed with the small book open in his hands. Norrington blinked. Again. Considered. He knew that book. Something hot, just barely felt, sparked to life in his empty chest. That's mine. Which brought to mind other things that were his. Like hands. His own. Which were also in a condition that did not meet with his approval. They were, in fact, behind him. Tied there. And he lay on his belly on the bed, head turned sideways on the thin mattress, and damned if it didn't feel like his feet had been lashed together as well. Unclothed. Bound hand and foot. And now that he paid attention -- gagged as well. In a bed in a low-profile inn in a town he barely knew with a man, a stranger, he really didn't know at all beyond the carnal sense. A stranger who'd drugged him. The reality of it penetrated the fog gradually. Drugged the rum. Of course. Tincture of opium? He'd heard of unethical nobles using it in wrong-minded schemes to take advantage of lasses too virtuous to spread their thighs willingly. He wondered distantly -- did that make him a lass? Did Jay (trespasser, liar, betrayer) have such...designs on him? From a greater distance the question came: why? Rain whispered monotonously against the rooftop. Jay turned a page, his too-soft skin sliding over coarse paper. It felt like a violation. It felt like... ...had anything...happened to him? Been done to him? He tried to feel through his body, seeking pain. Found none of note beyond the irritation of wrists snugly tied (thin-soft-strips -- the sheet, shredded?) and the discomfort of lips and cheeks stretched taut by the thick swath of fabric run through his mouth and around the back of his skull. Slowly, methodically, he began to maneuver torpid fingers into exploring what he could of the knots binding him. Sailors knew knots. Even officer-sailors. Even officer-sailors who'd not often had occasion of late to work hands-on with the lines aboard a ship. A short while passed during which he watched Jay's focused face, trying to judge when the man might look up so that he could stop his escape efforts in time. Finally blue eyes glanced over, met his. He couldn't read any expression in them, but allowed that that might be due to his slow, slow mind, the lassitude gripping him still. Jay held his gaze for what felt like a long moment before returning attention to the book. His fingers squirmed sluggishly, mapping out the form of the amateur knot. Uncovering its weakness. Beginning to destroy it. "You didn't drink enough," Jay told him, not looking up. "If you'd drunk enough you wouldn't have woken 'til I was long gone." That worked into his analysis a word at a time. There, beside the blond, he spied his duffel, its laces gaping open. Jay would've had to have dug deep to find the oilskin-wrapped sketchbook nestled securely in the bottom of the sack, which likely meant he'd gone through everything. Looking for valuables? Robbing him? That spark in his chest caught some tinder. Started to smolder. "Shouldn't travel with so much coin so poorly hidden, you know." Said casually, with Jay not bothering to glance his way again. "I had it tallied before we left the Rose." Lying...manipulative...scheming... A quick flash of teeth. It wasn't a smile. "Just think of me as an extremely costly whore." Just think of me as an extremely costly 'customer,' Norrington returned in silence, heat building inside his ribs, hands working patiently, patiently... Jay's unsmile faded, lingering only in the faintest of twists to his lips. He looked over, no more readable than before, forcing Norrington to still again. "I'm not, though. Not really. Most times I dose the drink before we get to the room. They're out by the time the clothes are off." Hesitation. "But I liked your story. It's better than the usual ones your sort have when they come looking for a pretty thing with a dick." A flicker of uncertainty on his face. "I think I even believe it." Look away, Norrington concentrated on willing him. Look away, you sodding bastard. Maybe he heard the unvoiced command. Eyes returned to the book. A hand traced something on the page, hissing along the lines, as if the little wretch had some right. Anger steadily burned the mist from his thoughts. He nudged the knot carefully. Felt it loosen, bit by bit. "You're military, right?" Staring at a drawing, eyes unfocused. "You've got rank. I know rank, and you reek of it." A barely perceptible headshake. "And you've got all that blue blood clogging up your veins. Better than fair odds that if your Jack looked like me--" He stopped himself. Lips quirked. "Pardon. If I look like him, he wasn't one of you." A tiny amount of play in the bindings now. Not yet enough. "Maybe he really was a sailor. Maybe you even cared about him. But with your position to consider...all that respectability..." He voice coarsened. "I know what 'gone' means." What did it mean? A bayonet in the bedroom? Don't think about it. Untie the knot. "It's always regret after it's done, right?" Inflectionless but for that rough burr under the words. "You made a horrible mistake. You hate yourself. It'll never happen again, Jay-Jay, swear to God." He wasn't sure how well his body would obey when he needed to move swiftly. And his sword -- Jack's sword -- lay there with the rest of his belongings at the blond's side. Worry about that when you're free. Jay's face twisted. The heel of a palm rubbed hard against one golden temple. "It's just this fucking rain. I'll be out of here as soon as it stops." He gnashed teeth against the gag in frustration. Not with that book. Another page was flipped. Another. Jay turned the book sideways to better view one of the drawings, simple and sketchy and messy and lovingly detailed and just Jack, the whole collection. The most personal thing he had left to remember the man by. "Did you do these?" Not even a glance to see if Norrington made an effort at answering. "They make me wanna see the world." His fury was scorching him now, painful and invigorating. A strange laugh. Strained. "I've made you angry." He prodded the knot. Felt its tensity dissolve. "Would it mean anything if I said--" Jay looked at the bed then, just as Norrington's hands came loose. Norrington rolled immediately to reach his feet, hands fumbling with all the speed he could will into them as Jay scrambled to stand, dropping the book, grabbing the sword and yanking it from its sheath. "Don't." Fingers tore at the bindings. "Don't." He paused. Jay had advanced a step, sword leveled inexpertly but threateningly. His eyes were utterly, menacingly wild. "I don't care how good you are or how good you think you are. I can take a man whose head's full of laudanum. None of this is worth your life, James." Not the feet, but perhaps the gag... Jay issued no new threat as he reached for it, though the blond was tense throughout, backing to the pile of belongings and stooping to grab Norrington's coin-purse, the stately pocket-watch his father had gifted him, the sketchbook before sidestepping to the door. He ripped the cloth from his mouth. Spat the taste of it onto the floor. "I'll come after the book," he told him flatly. "And I'll come after the sword." At the door, holding it open with a booted toe, Jay stopped. Regarded him, brow lined with bafflement and eyes shifting across his. Full lips parted. Jay glanced at the sword in his hand, taking in its inelegant appearance, its serviceable but plain design. The well-worn sketchbook under his arm, lacking any identifying signature. "They're his." Norrington refused to answer. Jay met his glare with an irresolute frown. "Why did he leave?" Silence. "Tell me why you act as though you'll never see him again." Norrington set his jaw. "Because we're death to each other." "What does that mean?" "It means you will not take those." A lengthy, searching gaze. Jay shifted to bring the book forth. Opened it without looking and caught at a page, pulling at a deliberate angle. The sound of tearing paper shrieked along Norrington's nerves. It was all he could do to not lunge from the bed with his feet still lashed together. The page was folded untidily in half and shoved inside Jay's shirt. He crouched. Set the sketchbook down on the scratched wooden floor, never taking his wary eyes from Norrington. Rage burned hotter. Mine. Mine. He choked it back for the moment. Said harshly, "The sword." Jay didn't move. Stayed in his crouch. "You'll come after me." "I would have every right, every expectation to--" Viciously he bit down on the words. Forced a breath. Another. Wished, fervently wished, that he had a trace of Jack's silver-tongued persuasiveness himself. Jay pulled the ribbon from his hair. Stood, letting it flutter to the ground, the white-gold fall sweeping forward to partially conceal his face, beads softly clacking. He stepped into the doorway. Opened his mouth -- then closed it again, unspeaking. The sword hit the floor with an angry clang, the sound ringing uneasy accompaniment to the thud-scuffing of booted feet as Jay turned and ran. ~finis~
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