Dudes. PIRATES!
Oct. 27th, 2005 03:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skoosiepantsI haven't been this excited since starting Hogwarts in Space!!! Don't worry, this will end up as a one-shot I'm sure, not an ongoing AU, but DUDES! PIRATES! REGENCY ROMANCE! SLASH! SWASHBUCKLING!! BUCKLING OF SWASH!
“Are you sure about this, Hermione?” Lady Hannah asked, arm hooked through hers and eyes wide as she stared up at the pub’s plaque swinging slightly from a breeze off the water. It was worn, sea salt slowly eating away at the open-mouthed fish painted just below the moniker The Laughing Marlin, the words far too fancily written for such a seedy looking place.
And it irritated Hermione beyond measure that they had a bloody sea bass on the sign, but she just huffed and jerked Hannah forward. “Perfectly sure,” she said briskly, then stepped inside the dim tavern before she could change her mind.
Conversation didn’t exactly stop, but their presence was noted with a hitch of silence, a stutter that merely preceded a hefty amount of leers, slurs and a few rough barks of laughter before melting back into the encompassing din of several discussions being played out at once. Beady eyes were still focused on the novelty of two well turned-out women gracing their midst, though, and Hermione assumed it was only her dour expression that kept the animals from lurching forward with grubby paws.
Hannah was practically plastered to her back, and Hermione clutched her skirts in an effort to avoid them touching any of the beasts as they made their way towards the bar. It was rank and humid inside, smoke mixing with hops and sticky liqueurs and Hermione wrinkled her nose, disdain evident in every movement of her body. The flash of her ankle as she dodged propriety and stepped over a pair of outstretched, booted feet, proved too much for one drunken sot, but he only managed to snake an arm around Hannah in his grab for Hermione, swinging the girl back against him with a hearty laugh and a barely comprehensible, “Lookee here, mates.”
The petite blonde let out an alarmed squeal, and Hermione spun about, amber eyes lit with ire. “Unhand her, you lummox,” she snapped, catching one of Hannah’s hands to keep her close, smacking the flat of her clutch sharply across the sailor’s meaty bicep.
A deep chuckle vibrated the air behind her, and she twisted and tilted her head up to glare at a tall, dark-haired man sporting what could only be described as a wickedly amused grin.
“Such language, Madam,” he said half-mockingly.
She narrowed her eyes even more, mere slits expressing her intense displeasure. Her temper was hanging on ragged threads, and she wasn’t known to be prudent in that respect in any case. The Honorable Hermione Granger did just as she bloody well pleased, no matter the repercussions, despite any efforts by her dear parents to keep her in line.
“Kindly mind your own business,” she hissed, and Hannah squeaked a distressed, “Hermione,” fingers clutching hers in a near death grip as the large, barrel-chested ape tried to drag her further away.
With a growl, Hermione hitched her skirts even higher - much to the delight of all present, if their cheers were any indication – and stepped forward with every intention of hurling herself in the bloke’s path, but a firm hand came down on her shoulder, effectively pinning her in place.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” the same dark-haired man asked, then without waiting for Hermione’s scathing retort about inappropriate touching – really, the nerve of these men – he gave Hannah’s captor a loose, deceptively benevolent smile.
“Now, Mitchell, you do remember what happened the last time you manhandled something that wasn’t yours, don’t you?” The man’s voice was a low rumble, and the tavern fell eerily silent as Mitchell gave him a half-confused, half-wrathful scowl.
“Piss off, Zabini,” he slurred.
Hermione started and stared at the man with new eyes, a small flutter of apprehension in her belly. That was Zabini? Infamous first mate of The Tidy Squall? He was taller than she’d expected. And neater, honestly. Weren’t pirates supposed to be, well… rough edged and sordid? The man in front of her was nearly a gentleman, coat tailored perfectly along his broad shoulders, the white of his open-necked shirt crisp in the dirt-yellow light of the pub.
There was a flash of white-gold, and suddenly a man was striding up to stand beside Zabini, cruel gray eyes cutting from her to Hannah to Zabini again. “What the devil is going on, Blaise,” he growled, color high on his sharply curved cheeks.
“Mitchell here was just about to let Miss…?” He gazed expectantly at Hannah.
“Abbott,” she managed breathily, and Hermione thanked god she hadn’t thought to toss out her title. Lord knew what would happen then, but ransom wasn’t necessarily unheard of.
Zabini’s grin was surprisingly gentle. “Yes, Mitchell was just about to let Miss Abbott go about her business, weren’t you Mitchell?”
The blond newcomer tilted his head haughtily and cracked his knuckles, and Mitchell released Hannah with an awkward stumble backwards, visible fear shading his eyes.
Hannah immediately tangled her arms about Hermione’s waist, and the brunette could feel the tremors threatening to shake apart her body. She patted her friend’s hands and gave her a reassuring smile, then turned her attention to the two men still watching them with blatant interest, Zabini’s curiosity tinged with amusement, the blond’s with palpable annoyance.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, not ungraciously. Not particularly gracious, either, but her nerves were rattled, her temper simmering, and any fight she’d been spoiling for had been neatly eclipsed by the two slim sailors. Not that she held any illusions that she could’ve gotten Hannah back without their interference. Impulsive, she might be, but she wasn’t stupid.
Zabini arched a brow. “At your service,” he said sardonically, sketching a bow, and the blond curled his lip up in a sneer.
“You’re too chivalric by half, Blaise. What in holy hell are we going to do with these two bints now?”
“Not your taste, eh Malfoy?” a voice taunted from back by the bar, and the blond man sent a rude gesture in the general direction of the heckler that left Hermione blushing.
Then she straightened up, ears pricking, and blinked at the man. Malfoy. Captain Draco Malfoy. How easy was that? Hermione almost smiled.
“Are you sure about this, Hermione?” Lady Hannah asked, arm hooked through hers and eyes wide as she stared up at the pub’s plaque swinging slightly from a breeze off the water. It was worn, sea salt slowly eating away at the open-mouthed fish painted just below the moniker The Laughing Marlin, the words far too fancily written for such a seedy looking place.
And it irritated Hermione beyond measure that they had a bloody sea bass on the sign, but she just huffed and jerked Hannah forward. “Perfectly sure,” she said briskly, then stepped inside the dim tavern before she could change her mind.
Conversation didn’t exactly stop, but their presence was noted with a hitch of silence, a stutter that merely preceded a hefty amount of leers, slurs and a few rough barks of laughter before melting back into the encompassing din of several discussions being played out at once. Beady eyes were still focused on the novelty of two well turned-out women gracing their midst, though, and Hermione assumed it was only her dour expression that kept the animals from lurching forward with grubby paws.
Hannah was practically plastered to her back, and Hermione clutched her skirts in an effort to avoid them touching any of the beasts as they made their way towards the bar. It was rank and humid inside, smoke mixing with hops and sticky liqueurs and Hermione wrinkled her nose, disdain evident in every movement of her body. The flash of her ankle as she dodged propriety and stepped over a pair of outstretched, booted feet, proved too much for one drunken sot, but he only managed to snake an arm around Hannah in his grab for Hermione, swinging the girl back against him with a hearty laugh and a barely comprehensible, “Lookee here, mates.”
The petite blonde let out an alarmed squeal, and Hermione spun about, amber eyes lit with ire. “Unhand her, you lummox,” she snapped, catching one of Hannah’s hands to keep her close, smacking the flat of her clutch sharply across the sailor’s meaty bicep.
A deep chuckle vibrated the air behind her, and she twisted and tilted her head up to glare at a tall, dark-haired man sporting what could only be described as a wickedly amused grin.
“Such language, Madam,” he said half-mockingly.
She narrowed her eyes even more, mere slits expressing her intense displeasure. Her temper was hanging on ragged threads, and she wasn’t known to be prudent in that respect in any case. The Honorable Hermione Granger did just as she bloody well pleased, no matter the repercussions, despite any efforts by her dear parents to keep her in line.
“Kindly mind your own business,” she hissed, and Hannah squeaked a distressed, “Hermione,” fingers clutching hers in a near death grip as the large, barrel-chested ape tried to drag her further away.
With a growl, Hermione hitched her skirts even higher - much to the delight of all present, if their cheers were any indication – and stepped forward with every intention of hurling herself in the bloke’s path, but a firm hand came down on her shoulder, effectively pinning her in place.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” the same dark-haired man asked, then without waiting for Hermione’s scathing retort about inappropriate touching – really, the nerve of these men – he gave Hannah’s captor a loose, deceptively benevolent smile.
“Now, Mitchell, you do remember what happened the last time you manhandled something that wasn’t yours, don’t you?” The man’s voice was a low rumble, and the tavern fell eerily silent as Mitchell gave him a half-confused, half-wrathful scowl.
“Piss off, Zabini,” he slurred.
Hermione started and stared at the man with new eyes, a small flutter of apprehension in her belly. That was Zabini? Infamous first mate of The Tidy Squall? He was taller than she’d expected. And neater, honestly. Weren’t pirates supposed to be, well… rough edged and sordid? The man in front of her was nearly a gentleman, coat tailored perfectly along his broad shoulders, the white of his open-necked shirt crisp in the dirt-yellow light of the pub.
There was a flash of white-gold, and suddenly a man was striding up to stand beside Zabini, cruel gray eyes cutting from her to Hannah to Zabini again. “What the devil is going on, Blaise,” he growled, color high on his sharply curved cheeks.
“Mitchell here was just about to let Miss…?” He gazed expectantly at Hannah.
“Abbott,” she managed breathily, and Hermione thanked god she hadn’t thought to toss out her title. Lord knew what would happen then, but ransom wasn’t necessarily unheard of.
Zabini’s grin was surprisingly gentle. “Yes, Mitchell was just about to let Miss Abbott go about her business, weren’t you Mitchell?”
The blond newcomer tilted his head haughtily and cracked his knuckles, and Mitchell released Hannah with an awkward stumble backwards, visible fear shading his eyes.
Hannah immediately tangled her arms about Hermione’s waist, and the brunette could feel the tremors threatening to shake apart her body. She patted her friend’s hands and gave her a reassuring smile, then turned her attention to the two men still watching them with blatant interest, Zabini’s curiosity tinged with amusement, the blond’s with palpable annoyance.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, not ungraciously. Not particularly gracious, either, but her nerves were rattled, her temper simmering, and any fight she’d been spoiling for had been neatly eclipsed by the two slim sailors. Not that she held any illusions that she could’ve gotten Hannah back without their interference. Impulsive, she might be, but she wasn’t stupid.
Zabini arched a brow. “At your service,” he said sardonically, sketching a bow, and the blond curled his lip up in a sneer.
“You’re too chivalric by half, Blaise. What in holy hell are we going to do with these two bints now?”
“Not your taste, eh Malfoy?” a voice taunted from back by the bar, and the blond man sent a rude gesture in the general direction of the heckler that left Hermione blushing.
Then she straightened up, ears pricking, and blinked at the man. Malfoy. Captain Draco Malfoy. How easy was that? Hermione almost smiled.