Fic: "Two Yards of Leather"
Jan. 12th, 2009 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richTitle: “Two Yards of Leather”
Rating: PG
Characters: Will, OFC
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I profit from their depiction
Summary: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
turningpirate prompt of how Will came by his pirate boots in DMC. There’s a special fannish homage in here to the real creator of Will’s boots, as well. *G*
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
metalkatt for the read-through.
When the pouch showed up one morning on his anvil – the leather pouch pretty as you please, just sitting there, the neck slumped over drunkenly, with no note or anything – Will spent the better part of fifteen minutes scouring Brown’s smithy and quarters for the intruder.
Only after he satisfied himself that nobody was about and started essential chores, did he pick it up, weigh it in his palm, then carefully loosen the rawhide thong and shake the contents out on a nearby table. Shillings, crowns, doubloons, guineas rolled out into a small but respectable pile, reflecting a smudged version of the flames Will had bellowed up in the coals to burn down to the day’s smolder.
He sat heavily, wondering whose ill gotten gains he was sorting into denominations with blunt fingertips, when a small bead rolled out from beneath a tilted coin. He picked it up to feel, then aimed it at the fire to verify a hole had been bored through the bead – well, more of a cube, really. Will squinted, finally making it out to be dice … well, rather, a single die, bereft of its mate.
A red die.
A quite familiar red die. “Oh brother,” Will muttered over the suddenly obvious thank-you gift.
He hoped Jack had had the good sense to clear out of Fort Charles before Gillette or Norrington caught his scent on the wind, and wasn’t hanging around in the hopes of getting to kiss (or be slapped by) the bride-to-be or some nonsense. Will wisely ignored the part that hoped the pirate was still landside and scooped the coins back into the small pouch, after a perfunctory double-check that none were convex medallions bearing grinning golden skulls; he anticipated Jack wasn’t that opportunistic, but one never knew.
He pocketed the die and hid the pouch and its coins in a corner of the coalbox, vowing to leave it. He didn’t know where the gold came from, precisely, but it wasn’t by honest means, he wagered. Will had worked too hard in the two months since his cape-and-hat incident to convince the townspeople – and the Governor – that he was benign, to invite aspersions on his character by spending suspicious loot at the tailor’s or dry goods store.
A few weeks later, Jane Downing sat on the lid of the very same coalbox in men’s breeches and rough workshirt, a too-large drab coat pulled around her slender shoulders and her hair stuffed under a cap. It wasn’t a bad disguise except for the tears that persisted despite the tea and honeyed bread Will offered, only to have them pushed away. “You can’t starve yourself,” he reasoned with her. “Or the baby.”
“What if I want to?” she challenged, hissing to keep her voice down in the smithy.
“Do you?” He arched one eyebrow; she swiped a piece of bread off the plate and chomped a bite out of it. “Now, listen. Pull yourself together a bit, and talk to-”
“Don’t tell me to talk to Da!” she cut him off. “You know it won’t work.” She wiped her face with her free hand. “I have to leave before he finds out.”
Will was at a loss. He’d known Jane since he’d landed at the port – the cobbler’s was just a couple of storefronts down from Brown’s, and he’d frequently run errands with the girl. With their three-year age difference, they might have become sweethearts, had Will not fancied Elizabeth so much … and had Jane not been entranced by men in Royal Navy uniforms. A little too entranced, it now seemed.
“You know, you could marry him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t even love him.” She was the only girl Will had ever known who didn’t want to settle down with any husband; she had always put more effort into learning her father’s craft instead of becoming the homemaker her mother attempted to cut a more traditional cloth around. She was their only child, and had once told Will none of the boys she knew could stretch leather or shape a sole quite as well as she herself – so why bless one of those louts with control of the family business?
Will had known her “problem” since a few days ago, when she’d sworn him to secrecy and begged for any sort of advice she’d actually take. He hadn’t liked his conclusion, but it was the only way he could see to make sure she wouldn’t do anything more foolish in the commission of ridding herself of the child. “Then leave,” he told her.
“What?”
“Tortuga.” He hesitated as her eyes widened. “There are women there … who know how to do certain things … and undo others… you know?” He’d heard it from Gibbs as part of the man’s endless bawdy stories. “If you pay them.”
“I can’t take my family’s money.” She shook her head. “I will not steal from them.”
“You don’t have to.” He bid her rise, then rooted around in the coalbox for the bag of booty. “There’s a ship docked that makes regular runs – the Edinburgh. Pass yourself as a cabin boy, or barter payment for passage – I am certain Captain Bellamy will get you within range of another boat or ship to get there, if he doesn’t make port himself. It’s a short voyage, trust me.” He put the bag in her hand. “I don’t want any of that back. It’s not mine,” he hastily added, as she opened it and dug through the currency.
“Then whose?” She looked up. “Surely not Miss Swann’s?”
“Let’s say if I don’t tell you, you don’t have to know.”
She furrowed her brow, sniffling to clear her nose, and looked up. “That pirate!”
“Shhh!” Will shook his head.
Jane chuckled. “Will, it’s not like everybody doesn’t know you’re practically one-”
“I certainly hope they don’t think that,” he interrupted, serious. “That’s the last thing I need. You know how difficult it’s been regaining the town’s trust.”
“And yet, you’re sending me off to a pirate port?” He felt a twinge of worry that he’d miscalculated, but she shook her head. “I can’t take your money, Will.”
“It’s not mine, and you can. You need it – for protection,” he explained. “I’m not going to use it. And I think its-” He hesitated to say “owner” for Jack had certainly liberated it from that very person. Or persons. “It’s the way its messenger would want it spent, securing one’s own freedom.”
When she finally took her leave from the smithy by the back barn door half an hour later, she sighed, but this time it didn’t seem quite so resigned. “You are a pirate,” she informed him, dropping a kiss on his cheek and squeezing his hand before she pulled her hat lower to leave and held up the pouch to rattle it before tucking it into her shirt. “But a bad one, if it’s any consolation.”
*****
Will thought briefly of Jane all those months ago, as he hurriedly gathered knives and coins he’d hidden away from his own commissions, in preparation for travel to find Jack and return for Elizabeth. He’d had to borrow one of Weatherby’s old greatcoats, having none of his own suitable for such travel, but he hated facing life-and-death once again in buckled shoes.
He knelt and reached beneath his cot for the crate, which hadn’t budged since he’d shoved it under there two months ago, opened only once. Unrolling the burlap inside, he reached in and lifted out the pair of new, perfectly fitted and softened black leather knee-boots. The cuffs were heavy and brushed, the soles substantial and thick – work far above a typical cobbler’s apprentice. Will ignored the small piece of parchment rolled into the package as he sat on his cot and pulled up his stockings, shoving his first foot down inside one boot; he already knew what it said.
Turner:
I wanted to inform you that I am doing well and have found a lively trade – in the middle of misery, I do believe I may have happened upon my real life, after all. Do not worry, nobody knows who helped me, and I have informed my family I am alive and well, and that they will see me once again after the little one has arrived and passed to a proper family who will care for her. Or him.
I used the money to invest in the local tannery and offered my services as cobbler. Outlaws and seamen aren’t too particular about who makes their footwear, so long as it is durable and stands up to the brine.
I hope this finds you well and not too settled into old married life just yet. I will thank you more properly someday, I hope, for being a kind enough friend to give aid without judgment of my actions. Miss Swann is indeed fortunate.
Best,
Downing
Postscript: Every pirate worth his salt needs good boots. Please do not give these away to your next charitable cause – much like a sword, the fit is exact.
Will stood, stomped each foot once to get a feel and fit for the boots. He hated to admit how comfortable they were; they beat his work shoes and those shiny, pinching wedding clodhoppers by a country mile.
Halfway out the door to the gaol, he paused, wondering if he ought to pocket Jane’s message. “I’ll get it when I come back,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “Once Elizabeth’s safe, and I can put them away …”
Rating: PG
Characters: Will, OFC
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I profit from their depiction
Summary: Written for the
turningpirate prompt of how Will came by his pirate boots in DMC. There’s a special fannish homage in here to the real creator of Will’s boots, as well. *G*A/N: Thanks to
metalkatt for the read-through.When the pouch showed up one morning on his anvil – the leather pouch pretty as you please, just sitting there, the neck slumped over drunkenly, with no note or anything – Will spent the better part of fifteen minutes scouring Brown’s smithy and quarters for the intruder.
Only after he satisfied himself that nobody was about and started essential chores, did he pick it up, weigh it in his palm, then carefully loosen the rawhide thong and shake the contents out on a nearby table. Shillings, crowns, doubloons, guineas rolled out into a small but respectable pile, reflecting a smudged version of the flames Will had bellowed up in the coals to burn down to the day’s smolder.
He sat heavily, wondering whose ill gotten gains he was sorting into denominations with blunt fingertips, when a small bead rolled out from beneath a tilted coin. He picked it up to feel, then aimed it at the fire to verify a hole had been bored through the bead – well, more of a cube, really. Will squinted, finally making it out to be dice … well, rather, a single die, bereft of its mate.
A red die.
A quite familiar red die. “Oh brother,” Will muttered over the suddenly obvious thank-you gift.
He hoped Jack had had the good sense to clear out of Fort Charles before Gillette or Norrington caught his scent on the wind, and wasn’t hanging around in the hopes of getting to kiss (or be slapped by) the bride-to-be or some nonsense. Will wisely ignored the part that hoped the pirate was still landside and scooped the coins back into the small pouch, after a perfunctory double-check that none were convex medallions bearing grinning golden skulls; he anticipated Jack wasn’t that opportunistic, but one never knew.
He pocketed the die and hid the pouch and its coins in a corner of the coalbox, vowing to leave it. He didn’t know where the gold came from, precisely, but it wasn’t by honest means, he wagered. Will had worked too hard in the two months since his cape-and-hat incident to convince the townspeople – and the Governor – that he was benign, to invite aspersions on his character by spending suspicious loot at the tailor’s or dry goods store.
A few weeks later, Jane Downing sat on the lid of the very same coalbox in men’s breeches and rough workshirt, a too-large drab coat pulled around her slender shoulders and her hair stuffed under a cap. It wasn’t a bad disguise except for the tears that persisted despite the tea and honeyed bread Will offered, only to have them pushed away. “You can’t starve yourself,” he reasoned with her. “Or the baby.”
“What if I want to?” she challenged, hissing to keep her voice down in the smithy.
“Do you?” He arched one eyebrow; she swiped a piece of bread off the plate and chomped a bite out of it. “Now, listen. Pull yourself together a bit, and talk to-”
“Don’t tell me to talk to Da!” she cut him off. “You know it won’t work.” She wiped her face with her free hand. “I have to leave before he finds out.”
Will was at a loss. He’d known Jane since he’d landed at the port – the cobbler’s was just a couple of storefronts down from Brown’s, and he’d frequently run errands with the girl. With their three-year age difference, they might have become sweethearts, had Will not fancied Elizabeth so much … and had Jane not been entranced by men in Royal Navy uniforms. A little too entranced, it now seemed.
“You know, you could marry him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t even love him.” She was the only girl Will had ever known who didn’t want to settle down with any husband; she had always put more effort into learning her father’s craft instead of becoming the homemaker her mother attempted to cut a more traditional cloth around. She was their only child, and had once told Will none of the boys she knew could stretch leather or shape a sole quite as well as she herself – so why bless one of those louts with control of the family business?
Will had known her “problem” since a few days ago, when she’d sworn him to secrecy and begged for any sort of advice she’d actually take. He hadn’t liked his conclusion, but it was the only way he could see to make sure she wouldn’t do anything more foolish in the commission of ridding herself of the child. “Then leave,” he told her.
“What?”
“Tortuga.” He hesitated as her eyes widened. “There are women there … who know how to do certain things … and undo others… you know?” He’d heard it from Gibbs as part of the man’s endless bawdy stories. “If you pay them.”
“I can’t take my family’s money.” She shook her head. “I will not steal from them.”
“You don’t have to.” He bid her rise, then rooted around in the coalbox for the bag of booty. “There’s a ship docked that makes regular runs – the Edinburgh. Pass yourself as a cabin boy, or barter payment for passage – I am certain Captain Bellamy will get you within range of another boat or ship to get there, if he doesn’t make port himself. It’s a short voyage, trust me.” He put the bag in her hand. “I don’t want any of that back. It’s not mine,” he hastily added, as she opened it and dug through the currency.
“Then whose?” She looked up. “Surely not Miss Swann’s?”
“Let’s say if I don’t tell you, you don’t have to know.”
She furrowed her brow, sniffling to clear her nose, and looked up. “That pirate!”
“Shhh!” Will shook his head.
Jane chuckled. “Will, it’s not like everybody doesn’t know you’re practically one-”
“I certainly hope they don’t think that,” he interrupted, serious. “That’s the last thing I need. You know how difficult it’s been regaining the town’s trust.”
“And yet, you’re sending me off to a pirate port?” He felt a twinge of worry that he’d miscalculated, but she shook her head. “I can’t take your money, Will.”
“It’s not mine, and you can. You need it – for protection,” he explained. “I’m not going to use it. And I think its-” He hesitated to say “owner” for Jack had certainly liberated it from that very person. Or persons. “It’s the way its messenger would want it spent, securing one’s own freedom.”
When she finally took her leave from the smithy by the back barn door half an hour later, she sighed, but this time it didn’t seem quite so resigned. “You are a pirate,” she informed him, dropping a kiss on his cheek and squeezing his hand before she pulled her hat lower to leave and held up the pouch to rattle it before tucking it into her shirt. “But a bad one, if it’s any consolation.”
*****
Will thought briefly of Jane all those months ago, as he hurriedly gathered knives and coins he’d hidden away from his own commissions, in preparation for travel to find Jack and return for Elizabeth. He’d had to borrow one of Weatherby’s old greatcoats, having none of his own suitable for such travel, but he hated facing life-and-death once again in buckled shoes.
He knelt and reached beneath his cot for the crate, which hadn’t budged since he’d shoved it under there two months ago, opened only once. Unrolling the burlap inside, he reached in and lifted out the pair of new, perfectly fitted and softened black leather knee-boots. The cuffs were heavy and brushed, the soles substantial and thick – work far above a typical cobbler’s apprentice. Will ignored the small piece of parchment rolled into the package as he sat on his cot and pulled up his stockings, shoving his first foot down inside one boot; he already knew what it said.
Turner:
I wanted to inform you that I am doing well and have found a lively trade – in the middle of misery, I do believe I may have happened upon my real life, after all. Do not worry, nobody knows who helped me, and I have informed my family I am alive and well, and that they will see me once again after the little one has arrived and passed to a proper family who will care for her. Or him.
I used the money to invest in the local tannery and offered my services as cobbler. Outlaws and seamen aren’t too particular about who makes their footwear, so long as it is durable and stands up to the brine.
I hope this finds you well and not too settled into old married life just yet. I will thank you more properly someday, I hope, for being a kind enough friend to give aid without judgment of my actions. Miss Swann is indeed fortunate.
Best,
Downing
Postscript: Every pirate worth his salt needs good boots. Please do not give these away to your next charitable cause – much like a sword, the fit is exact.
Will stood, stomped each foot once to get a feel and fit for the boots. He hated to admit how comfortable they were; they beat his work shoes and those shiny, pinching wedding clodhoppers by a country mile.
Halfway out the door to the gaol, he paused, wondering if he ought to pocket Jane’s message. “I’ll get it when I come back,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “Once Elizabeth’s safe, and I can put them away …”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 03:14 am (UTC)Very realistic, Will working his way back into the town's regard, after their very public intervention at Jack's hanging.
I liked how Jack left something for Will. I sort of see that as not being in Will's debt, along with being a kind of thank you gift. The discreet leaving of a bead, just to let Will know who left the funds, is a great touch.
Good weaving of the Edinburgh and Captain Bellamy into the fic.
Trust Will not to really want to hang on to ill-gotten gains, but still put them to good use in helping someone else.
I loved the backstory of the maker of Will's boots. That she's a friend, and a woman who is better at the trade than any of the male hired help. It's sad that her family doesn't seem to really recognize this, but will leave the family business to some male apprentice, probably, while her mother tries to force her into the traditional female role. While she is pregnant, and basically in trouble, Jack's gift is being used for good ... to give her a chance to get away, have her baby, and start up a business for herself.
She is so far ahead of her time. I liked, too, that she refers to herself only by her last name.
Will's pirate boots are a wonderful thank you gift. I love how he got them.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:23 am (UTC)You picked out a LOT of details, which is far better than I ever manage for feedback. I'm horrible about it, but as a writer, I have to say I enjoy being patted and stroked and told what specifically a person likes. (Not that I expect it. It's sort of like when your cat actually decides to knead your shoulders once a year and it feels good - but you love the cat anyway. *G*)
Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 03:18 am (UTC)But then, I always like stories that assume/show that Will had a social life outside of working in the smithy and mooning over Elizabeth.
And I like Jane Downing. I hope we see more of her in future!
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Date: 2009-01-14 01:22 am (UTC)Glad you liked it. I just wish it would stop feeling around here like it looks in your icon ...
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Date: 2009-01-13 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:21 am (UTC)While you wanted to be a werewolf, I wanted to be Wonder Woman. Later on, it was Marty McFly. *G*
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Date: 2009-01-13 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 04:51 am (UTC)What do you mean by "real creator of Will's boots"?
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:20 am (UTC)There's a fan who created Will's boots, as far as I'm concerned. But I'm going to see if they spot it themselves ...
Thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2009-01-13 04:53 am (UTC)And it's just like Will to hide the money, and then give it to someone else, even if he could have used the money, if he felt someone else needed more.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:18 am (UTC)Glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 02:50 pm (UTC)I agree with i_j! At last, characters who know someone other than the canon ones. It's only through this kind of exploration that the fandom is able to find new breath and continue to thrive.
Will is just the right balance of forthright, and yet heeding the call of doing what must be done to get what he wants. At this point, one could argue that he doesn't really know what that is, but he's going after it anyway.
The coins, the bead aka. die,the coat from Weatherby, it's all too perfect.
Good stuff!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:14 am (UTC)At this point, one could argue that he doesn't really know what that is, but he's going after it anyway.
I'm almost twice Will's age and I'm not sure I really know what it is I want. I think a lot of us can relate to that part of his journey.
I like to read about outside characters in fandom. Most of them appeal to me - I think it's like canon, you have a couple you really love, and then varying degrees of interest in those of descending order in your own brain. If that makes sense.
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 08:49 pm (UTC)http://caboots.zoovy.com/c=57Ea6uk8Nar3WFkzVheZuZqS6/product/1XCSWILTRN/CUSTOM_WILL_TURNER_BOOTS.html
*note to self, I totally need to check on my order from them for my new Sparrow boots.*
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Date: 2009-01-14 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-13 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 12:20 am (UTC)Wonderful. You always make it look so easy and effortless when you write - and I know damn well it isn't. Whatever you write is always such a pleasure to read, not only because it is good, but because your sentences and speech patterns have a great rhythm. It just works.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:10 am (UTC)Will does seem to have a thing for women who like to try to boss him around, doesn't he? Wonder how he'd fare with our merry band of pirates from TP, LOL ...
Thanks for reading and your detailed comments, as always. :-)
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Date: 2009-01-15 01:37 am (UTC)Now THAT would have been fun...
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Date: 2009-01-14 01:11 am (UTC)I had always wondered where Will got that blue coat from... another mystery solved!
You should write more stories like this, you populate the world around the characters so well, I love that. These people didn't exist in a vacuum.
I do remember you mentioning a new Prissy story in the offing...?
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Date: 2009-01-14 01:17 am (UTC)With the note, it was more about Will himself and showing how he wouldn't be back for it - just something normal, you think "oh, I'll pick up that shirt when I get home" ... but what if you never got back home? Hell, I didn't even think about what it might mean for Jane ... hmm ...
Always glad to have you read over a story and tell me what you liked, since you do so well with your own. Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:57 am (UTC)intelligent feminism in a story. And I agree with the posters that like seeing Will interacting with other people -- in all the years he spent in Port Royal, he must have had some sort of life.
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Date: 2009-01-14 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 02:52 am (UTC)I like the idea that Will gave the money for something helpful. I like the idea that Jack was there to leave that money for him in the first place even more, though.
Good read!
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Date: 2009-01-14 04:32 am (UTC)Glad you likey!
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Date: 2009-01-14 02:55 am (UTC)Well done!
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Date: 2009-01-14 04:33 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2009-01-14 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 04:34 am (UTC)Thanks for letting me know you liked it.
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Date: 2009-01-14 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-17 03:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-15 09:47 am (UTC)Am getting fond of Downing too - may her boot business flourish!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-17 03:58 am (UTC)I don't know what to make of Jane yet. She just sort of showed up like this. All I did was come up with a name. ;-) Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-29 12:14 am (UTC)And those boots... every POTC slasher on earth could write a hundred stories each about the boots and we would never get tired of them.
I love Downing, love the unwed pregnant young woman striking out on her own idea(I'm sure some of them used to run rather than marry a lout!) and love Will giving away (possibly) ill-gotten gains.
But most of all, I love “You are a pirate... But a bad one, if it’s any consolation.”
Charming fic, and wonderful characterization.
And I must say, *points up at other comments* I like what goes in the coat and the boots very much as well.
*large smooch*
no subject
Date: 2009-01-29 03:22 am (UTC)So many like Jan(e). I may have to do something more with her, if I could just figure it out. (Of course, it may not be historically accurate, strictly speaking. I'm the one who had Elizabeth training to be a diplomat in France, after all, LOL. But really, is any of it less believable than pirate king? *G*)
I do what I can. Thanks! :-D