PotC drabble!
May. 26th, 2007 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
midnightdiddlePirates of the Caribbean drabble. Whutwhut?
Calypso/Davy Jones. Their love is so canon. (Like, literally. I think this is the first pairing I ever wrote that was actually canon. O:)
Timeless Sea
She finds him upon the sea, a human child in a flimsy boat of wood. The waves are strong, for she is tired, and the child is crying. She is not the cruel mistress the men call her. She is a goddess, and she is a woman. She listens to the songs and prayers, and weeps for the children, and so when the child weeps, his tears of salt are her same tears of salt.
She wraps her arms about the boat, blows her breath upon the waves, calms the seas. The sea-foam laps against the boat and the shore, and he is not the first child she has saved, nor the last. She is certain that, in time, she will forget his face, as she has forgotten all the others.
Time passes, and her name is called in a fishing village. There, her songs are rare, but one of the men speaks of her with fondness. She listens from below the docks, curling her long arms about the warped planks of wood. His words are pretty, like pearls and reefs of coral, and are near so priceless.
"My kind mistress," the man calls her, and, "a gentle goddess." The fishers jeer at him, scoff him with sharp tongues, and he laughs on the docks and on the boats and in the water, tangled in fishing nets.
"Calypso," he calls her when she catches her fingers in his net, lets him pull her from the waves. His words are pretty, but he is prettier yet, and so she kisses him, sea-foam upon his mouth.
"Will you have me?" she asks him, and the ocean around them is flat, a mirror of glass.
"Calypso," he says again, touching the seaweed in her hair.
"I'll give you the sea," she says, and his laugh tastes like the sweet wind.
She is a goddess, and all the world's waters are hers. She takes to the waves, rides the storms and the winds, drinks in the sun and the air and the water, deep and cold and rich, places where no man has been. She drags her fingers through the water, dances her way through the air, and she lives, laughing.
Davy Jones, human and infallible and laughing, lives, and grows, and ages. She finds him with lines about his eyes, sun-burnt and stained by sea-salt and wind. He puts his hands about her waist, wet hands that carry her higher than the wind, and says into her ear, "Calypso."
"Davy Jones," she calls him, and pours sand into his hands, closes his fists around pearls and coral the color of the sun.
He grows a beard, grows older by years. His hair is streaked with gray, and his hands can't lift her so high. She showers him with water, rain that falls from the sky.
"I'll give you," she says, pressing treasures into his hands, coins from the south and jewels from the west, "the sea," but he doesn't kiss the seaweed in her hair.
"Calypso," he says, "I'm old." And he is, he's human, a man with shaking hands in a flimsy wooden boat. She smiles at him, but he doesn't laugh, and the waves grow higher.
"Calypso," he cries, and she says, "Davy Jones."
There are dead men beneath her waters, sunken to the sand far below the surface where the sun no longer shines. Calypso lies there, between the dead, and wonders when her Davy will float down, slow and quiet and without any laughter. She wonders how long he will lie there, taken apart by the sea, and she wonders how long she will lie there with him, wishing to be a goddess made mortal.
She wonders how to make him a god.
She builds the ship out of coral the color of the sun, bleaches it white with her tears. She catches the wind, weaves it into sails, winds her hair for ropes. She clothes him in fabrics soft and cool, to stand the ravage of time, and kisses him with sea-foam.
"I'll give you my heart," she tells him, and sets him upon the ship, puts his hands upon the wheel. He is old, but he stands above the sea, mortal and timeless, and she weeps for him. "Forever."
Davy Jones laughs, and Calypso laughs with him.
Calypso/Davy Jones. Their love is so canon. (Like, literally. I think this is the first pairing I ever wrote that was actually canon. O:)
Timeless Sea
She finds him upon the sea, a human child in a flimsy boat of wood. The waves are strong, for she is tired, and the child is crying. She is not the cruel mistress the men call her. She is a goddess, and she is a woman. She listens to the songs and prayers, and weeps for the children, and so when the child weeps, his tears of salt are her same tears of salt.
She wraps her arms about the boat, blows her breath upon the waves, calms the seas. The sea-foam laps against the boat and the shore, and he is not the first child she has saved, nor the last. She is certain that, in time, she will forget his face, as she has forgotten all the others.
Time passes, and her name is called in a fishing village. There, her songs are rare, but one of the men speaks of her with fondness. She listens from below the docks, curling her long arms about the warped planks of wood. His words are pretty, like pearls and reefs of coral, and are near so priceless.
"My kind mistress," the man calls her, and, "a gentle goddess." The fishers jeer at him, scoff him with sharp tongues, and he laughs on the docks and on the boats and in the water, tangled in fishing nets.
"Calypso," he calls her when she catches her fingers in his net, lets him pull her from the waves. His words are pretty, but he is prettier yet, and so she kisses him, sea-foam upon his mouth.
"Will you have me?" she asks him, and the ocean around them is flat, a mirror of glass.
"Calypso," he says again, touching the seaweed in her hair.
"I'll give you the sea," she says, and his laugh tastes like the sweet wind.
She is a goddess, and all the world's waters are hers. She takes to the waves, rides the storms and the winds, drinks in the sun and the air and the water, deep and cold and rich, places where no man has been. She drags her fingers through the water, dances her way through the air, and she lives, laughing.
Davy Jones, human and infallible and laughing, lives, and grows, and ages. She finds him with lines about his eyes, sun-burnt and stained by sea-salt and wind. He puts his hands about her waist, wet hands that carry her higher than the wind, and says into her ear, "Calypso."
"Davy Jones," she calls him, and pours sand into his hands, closes his fists around pearls and coral the color of the sun.
He grows a beard, grows older by years. His hair is streaked with gray, and his hands can't lift her so high. She showers him with water, rain that falls from the sky.
"I'll give you," she says, pressing treasures into his hands, coins from the south and jewels from the west, "the sea," but he doesn't kiss the seaweed in her hair.
"Calypso," he says, "I'm old." And he is, he's human, a man with shaking hands in a flimsy wooden boat. She smiles at him, but he doesn't laugh, and the waves grow higher.
"Calypso," he cries, and she says, "Davy Jones."
There are dead men beneath her waters, sunken to the sand far below the surface where the sun no longer shines. Calypso lies there, between the dead, and wonders when her Davy will float down, slow and quiet and without any laughter. She wonders how long he will lie there, taken apart by the sea, and she wonders how long she will lie there with him, wishing to be a goddess made mortal.
She wonders how to make him a god.
She builds the ship out of coral the color of the sun, bleaches it white with her tears. She catches the wind, weaves it into sails, winds her hair for ropes. She clothes him in fabrics soft and cool, to stand the ravage of time, and kisses him with sea-foam.
"I'll give you my heart," she tells him, and sets him upon the ship, puts his hands upon the wheel. He is old, but he stands above the sea, mortal and timeless, and she weeps for him. "Forever."
Davy Jones laughs, and Calypso laughs with him.
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Date: 2007-05-27 01:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-27 08:45 pm (UTC)