hh_mirror

((ooc; Permission given by all Pirates- muns. As a note, I'll be playing Norrington from the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End so ye be warned. Here be spoilers. Also, PotC has a not-entirely-historically-accurate interpretation of the British Navy and its functions, as found on its wiki, and I shall be following that. Open rp in the hallway! Please do pop in.))

James Norrington awoke with a start (though he wasn't convinced "awoke" was the right word and disliked the imprecision of it) and schooled himself into stillness until he could decide where, exactly, he was. He took the time to remind himself of who he was (James Norrington; Admiral in his Majesty's Royal Navy (though he did not deserve the title); former Commodore, Captain, Lieutenant, and midshipman; and former scourge of piracy in the Caribbean- though sailing through a hurricane and a deeper acquaintance with the rum bottle soon robbed him of that, as well as any sense of self- respect or any last shred of his honor) and the state he was supposed to be in (i.e. post- mortem).

Logically speaking, he had to be dead. One of Davy Jones's sailors had stabbed him through the torso and Davy Jones had asked him if he feared death. As the answer had been (and still was) a resounding "no" and due to the fact that the popcorn room in no way, shape, or form resembled a ship, Norrington found it safe to assume that no, he was not on The Flying Dutchman. He tamped down on a momentary twinge of irritation. He hated not knowing his environment and not knowing what to expect. For example, why was he in a castle? Why was it suddenly cold, after the heat of the Caribbean? Why did the room appear to be populated with kernels of corn? Was he in some sort of purgatory? He very much doubted that he would make it into any imaginable heaven and, though bizarre, his surroundings were not particularly hellish.

When no answers immediately presented themselves, Norrington focused on the fact that he disliked hat he was covered in butter. It made no sense and happened to be an incredibly uncomfortable experience. Who knew that brocade absorbed oils so well? With a cursory attempt at cleaning himself off, much hampered by the fact that his handkerchief was similarly dripping with butter, Norrington squared his shoulders, straightened his posture, adjusted his hat and wig, and walked out of the room. He could not shake the feeling that he had yet more penance to perform.