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crack_van2004-06-16 08:52 am
siryn99.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-06-16 08:52 am
Entry tags:
Debauchery by Ladybee (R)
FANDOM: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: None really, but shades of Jack/Will
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
d_r_o_n_e
Author's Website: Ladybee's Fiction
Why this must be read:
I'm a sucker for a well-written AU story and this definitely fits the bill. Set in modern-day Boston, this is a clever re-telling of the movie, with Will as an assistant to a Professor at Harvard Law and Jack as a brilliant part gypsy, part grifter. The characterizations of both Jack and Will are well formed and most of all, real and true.
Will turned his paper over and began a second sketch. This one was a simpler character study of the chessplayer riding a giant replica of the white knight, mapped out at first in a scattering of ovals and angles, details then rapidly appearing amid a flurry of bloody crosshatches. A sharp angle of cheek, locks blown aloft at the rearing of the horse. Just a final bit of shading, and...
"Checkmate," said a husky voice. Will jumped. The chessplayer fell clumsily into the chair opposite him but then arranged his limbs carefully, as cats do. Their eyes met long enough for Will to feel uncomfortable, but the man shifted his gaze intently upon the gradebook-paper portraits.
"I like 'em. Yer lines are very vital. Alive." His eyes blinked once, slowly.
"I'm...I didn't mean to..." Will was mortified. "I should have asked first if I could draw you. I'm sorry."
Will pushed the inkpen with his forefinger so that it rolled away toward the table edge spanning the distance between himself and the chessplayer. The man stopped it with the barrier of his caged fingers, then rolled it slowly back towards Will with the flat of his palm. The gesture was strangely electric.
"'I'm sorry...'" the man sang, then cocked his head to the side and asked, "What do they call you?"
"Will," he whispered. He knew he was blushing because his face felt fevered. He stared at the black semicircle of espresso in his saucer, still feeling cloddish, rude.
The man reached out and tipped Will's chin up. "Don't be embarrassed. Yer a talented artist. I'm flattered." His dirty hand smelled of tobacco, polished wood, stringy adhesive, and salty musk. Only later would Will consider how strange the gesture had been, for this street creature to have reached out and touched his face at this point in their acquaintance. "Are you going to keep these pictures?"
Will looked at his sketch, then to the pile of quizzes he had yet to grade. "No, probably not."
"Lemme trade you something for 'em." He slung a courier bag into his lap, flipped open its flap (to which a jolly roger patch had been crudely stitched), and produced a dark blue cloth pouch.
"You can just have them if you want them. You don't have to give me anything."
"Yes I do. Otherwise it's charity, and I didn't ask you for a handout." He pulled a deck of oversized, brightly colored cards from the bag. A tarot deck. "I can read your cards for you. Is that a fair trade?"
Will's eyes lit up. The idea of having his cards read by this strange street gypsy appealed to the townie boy that still lurked beneath his professional grownup exterior...how fascinating! Silly, of course, but fascinating nonetheless.
Debauchery
Pairing: None really, but shades of Jack/Will
Author on LJ:
d_r_o_n_eAuthor's Website: Ladybee's Fiction
Why this must be read:
I'm a sucker for a well-written AU story and this definitely fits the bill. Set in modern-day Boston, this is a clever re-telling of the movie, with Will as an assistant to a Professor at Harvard Law and Jack as a brilliant part gypsy, part grifter. The characterizations of both Jack and Will are well formed and most of all, real and true.
Will turned his paper over and began a second sketch. This one was a simpler character study of the chessplayer riding a giant replica of the white knight, mapped out at first in a scattering of ovals and angles, details then rapidly appearing amid a flurry of bloody crosshatches. A sharp angle of cheek, locks blown aloft at the rearing of the horse. Just a final bit of shading, and...
"Checkmate," said a husky voice. Will jumped. The chessplayer fell clumsily into the chair opposite him but then arranged his limbs carefully, as cats do. Their eyes met long enough for Will to feel uncomfortable, but the man shifted his gaze intently upon the gradebook-paper portraits.
"I like 'em. Yer lines are very vital. Alive." His eyes blinked once, slowly.
"I'm...I didn't mean to..." Will was mortified. "I should have asked first if I could draw you. I'm sorry."
Will pushed the inkpen with his forefinger so that it rolled away toward the table edge spanning the distance between himself and the chessplayer. The man stopped it with the barrier of his caged fingers, then rolled it slowly back towards Will with the flat of his palm. The gesture was strangely electric.
"'I'm sorry...'" the man sang, then cocked his head to the side and asked, "What do they call you?"
"Will," he whispered. He knew he was blushing because his face felt fevered. He stared at the black semicircle of espresso in his saucer, still feeling cloddish, rude.
The man reached out and tipped Will's chin up. "Don't be embarrassed. Yer a talented artist. I'm flattered." His dirty hand smelled of tobacco, polished wood, stringy adhesive, and salty musk. Only later would Will consider how strange the gesture had been, for this street creature to have reached out and touched his face at this point in their acquaintance. "Are you going to keep these pictures?"
Will looked at his sketch, then to the pile of quizzes he had yet to grade. "No, probably not."
"Lemme trade you something for 'em." He slung a courier bag into his lap, flipped open its flap (to which a jolly roger patch had been crudely stitched), and produced a dark blue cloth pouch.
"You can just have them if you want them. You don't have to give me anything."
"Yes I do. Otherwise it's charity, and I didn't ask you for a handout." He pulled a deck of oversized, brightly colored cards from the bag. A tarot deck. "I can read your cards for you. Is that a fair trade?"
Will's eyes lit up. The idea of having his cards read by this strange street gypsy appealed to the townie boy that still lurked beneath his professional grownup exterior...how fascinating! Silly, of course, but fascinating nonetheless.
Debauchery