Author: FalconWing PM
‘Certain brief writings are peerless in their ability to give one the feeling that nothing remains to be said.’ – Jean Rostand. A collection of drabbles and extended drabbles amidst other, slightly longer pieces stemming from respective challenges.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Chapters: 16 - Words: 4,202 - Reviews: 29 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 06-30-06 - Published: 09-29-04 - id: 2075612
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Blood Money Paid
Jack had been following that be-damned gold coin for over three hundred years and by god it felt like longer!
Patience was never a virtue that Jack had made any illusions to claiming. He may have waited ten years to reclaim the Pearl but rest assured he hadn't gone about it patiently. He had been careful and unerring in his determination but he had surely complained about it – and loudly, he might add.
And he had spent the last three centuries doing just that all over again, this time with a different prey in mind.
Keeping to the shadows, he had traveled the world over, tracking that single errant coin. Staying low, he had traversed the entire globe, on the trail of that one wayward bit o' shine.
Waiting…just waiting for the opportune moment.
Looking back now he didn't know how he had stood it. Three hundred years of waiting for the opportune moment blurred together until there was no line separating one year from another. No line separating one month from another. Hell, no line separating one day from another, save for the moonlight that made seeking cover each moonlit night a necessary factor in this half-life he had been leading for so long.
No, his past was just one long path of indistinct numbness and desolation stretching out behind him. He had long since lost the paltry amusement he had once felt at the sight of an elderly nun running screaming at the sight of him in all his bony glory.
Instead he was left clinging to what hope he had left and a distant memory of salty sea spray, rich, joyous laughter and deep black sails billowing in the wind.
But now the opportune moment had finally arrived.
As he crouched in the darkness in front of the massive establishment he felt his hope grow. His undead, unfeeling past of would-be's and if-only's was just that – his past. He would not let it be his future. He would feel that sea spray once more.
He glanced up at the sky again to check that the moon was still behind the clouds. This bush may be shelter enough for now, but when he moved the last thing he needed was to be caught in the glow. The wet glistening of moonlight on bone really was a dead giveaway and bound to catch someone's eye.
He waited for the guards to be well past before sneaking out and making his way towards the looming structure. It really was massive. He may not keep up with the news these days but he was well aware that sentries and forts were not common. This place must hold some truly incredible artifacts besides the Aztec piece that was the focus of his intrusion to merit such security measures.
He was well used to this however and getting in was no problem. He knew exactly were the gold was supposed to be and made his way directly to the smaller building off to the side. Inside were various chests and jewelry, though none extraordinary pieces. None…except for the glittering pirate medallion sitting innocently in one such chest.
He wasted no time in grabbing it and, ignoring the huge swelling of hope and anticipation that bloomed in his chest, made a quick exit. This was no occasion for absurd fantasies of success. There was still a return to be completed and blood to be repaid.
He sneaked back over the vast wall that surrounded the complex, decided it to be an infinitely more efficient means of escaping than even attempting to get through the colossal wrought iron gates that were situated at intervals and heavily guarded. As he slinked away his curiosity got the better of him and he paused and turned back, struggling to make out the spidery letters engraved atop the gates.
When he finally did make it out, he shrugged to himself and continued down the paved road.
The words 'Buckingham Palace' meant nothing of import to him.