Disclaimer: The mouse owns Beckett and Mercer (but they pwn everything else.) I own Rose, but I should mention she started out as a character on the Norrington RPG on this site. This story will have no ties whatever to this plot. The opening lyrics are originally property of Emma Donoghue from her novel Slammerkin
A/N: I intend this to be a series of very smutty vignettes spanning all three movies but there isn't any particular plot unless one emerges without my knowing it. I just want to experiment with this style of prose and with Beckett's ability to break the people in his life. This is more what T&T call "impressionistic storytelling." PLEASE READ & REVIEW
Ribbon red, ribbon gray
Men will do what they may
Ribbon gray, ribbon gold
Ye must dance til ye be old
Ribbon gold, ribbon brown
What goes up must fall down
Ribbon brown, ribbon rose
Count your friends and your foes
Ribbon rose, ribbon white
Each day ends with a night
Ribbon white, ribbon green
Some grow fat, some grow lean
Ribbon green, ribbon red
The tale's not told until you're dead.
2-043: First Time
She'd been atop a cully when the door fell in. Standing in its wake a man in black. Stonefaced, he entered, reached out and threw her customer down the stairs by his neck.
"Put some clothes on," he'd said. "And follow me."
Rose didn't like being told what to do. From under her mattress a pistol aimed and ready. The man shook his head and threw a knife across the room that seemed to come from nowhere. Rose hissed like a cat as the gun was struck from her hand.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
He left. She dressed, less afraid than angry. The carriage outside too was black, the emblem: E. She asked if she was being arrested, was met with silence. They stopped. An enormous house loomed against the charcoal sea. He was deathly silent up the walk, a crushing grip on her forearm.
Strong fucker, Rose thought, unable to wrench away as he unlocked the door.
She barely had time to look around her. The halls were dark. Servants pattered like mice. Up stairs, down halls, suddenly ground to a halt. He knocked briskly.
She was yanked inside. The room was vast, pitch black except for one candle on a desk. A figure hunched in a massive carved wood chair. Rose squinted as the light wavered.
"Ah, Mr. Mercer."
He hadn't looked up. Her escort bowed stiffly.
"The girl as ordered, milord."
"Leave," he commanded.
She only heard the door close. There was a moment of complete silence. He stood.
That was how the whore looked into Lord Cutler Beckett's eyes for the first time, the color of ice, the color of storms.
If she had known then what those eyes would do to her, she would never have been able to hold them as she did. Brazenly. With pride.