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konstantyaBecause yeah, I'm actually doing this, so why not share part of it.
Fandom: Catherine and the Pirate (I guess this is technically fanfic?)
Characters: Catherine Markham, Derrick St. John.
Rating: PG?
Word count: 1,647
Summary: Catherine and Derrick have dinner in his swagtastic cabin.
(For those who don't know and are curious, the basic premise of the book is: Heroine is seventeen-year-old heiress/socialite type in Revolution-era Boston, whose older brother gets kidnapped and held for ransom. In an effort to rescue him, heroine teams up with hero, who is brother's BFF, the captain of a commercial ship, and a former pirate. Hero is also on a separate quest to clear his late dad's name of treason.)
Catherine set her napkin in her lap and picked up her silverware. "Thank you for the invitation," she stiffly said. "It was most kind. I think."
He raised his brows. "And just what exactly do you mean by that?"
Catherine merely looked at him. "Only that you haven't said a nice word to me in two days. And then here you are, suddenly inviting me to dine with you."
Derrick ducked his head, smiling ruefully. He rested his forearms against the table, took a breath, and said, "Look, I'm sorry. This situation is far from ideal for either of us, I know. Let us just say that I realized we are, in fact, on the same side, and figured that perhaps it's time we started to act like it."
Contritely, Catherine looked down at her plate, her resolution to be difficult fading as quickly as the daylight had. "It would be easier if we attempted to get along…" she admitted, a little reluctantly. Before she could even think to retract the words, Derrick continued.
"Infinitely," he agreed, and picked his own silverware up. "Now. If you don't mind my asking, what were you and Mr. Poole discussing earlier?"
Catherine blinked. "You mean before he mentioned Meggie? The ship's rigging."
"Well, you're in luck. I can tell you all about the rigging. It's the least I can do, seeing as how I so unceremoniously deprived you of your instructor this afternoon."
Catherine's heart took an excited leap in her chest, but then she shook her head, embarrassed. "Oh, no. I really don't—"
"Nonsense," he said. "What would you like to know?"
She paused, eyes fixed on her hands. What did she want to know? She supposed the simple answer was "everything": She wanted to know what it was like to live on the ocean. What it was like to experience the wild force of a storm. To win a battle. To capture a prize. To look out at the horizon from the top of a mast. To feel the wind on her face and exhilaration in her heart. She wanted to know what it was like to live in the moment, free and unfettered. And what it would be like to be kissed by the man across from her.
That last thought jumped into her mind unsolicited, and she turned to look out the window, in case that was a blush she was feeling on her cheeks. "I want to know why you love sailing."
Derrick lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to know about the ship, not me."
"I want to know about both." She turned back to him, genuinely curious. "Why do you love sailing?"
He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to one side as he fastened his gaze on her. "How do you know I love it? Perhaps I find being at sea only passable, a way to make a living."
She shook her head, sure of herself. "I can tell you love it because you're different when you're on your ship."
"Oh?"
"You're more certain of yourself." She pursed her lips together, and then dared to add, "And more overbearing."
Derrick's eyebrows shot up and an incredulous puff of air escaped him. " 'Overbearing'? That's ironic, coming from you." Catherine's mouth plopped open in offense, but before she could say anything, he went on. "I have to command this ship, Catherine; I'm supposed to be overbearing. Meanwhile, you…" He trailed off, making a lost gesture at her before turning back to his meal.
Catherine bristled, far from done with the subject. "I'll have you know I have to command, too. In case you weren't aware, Captain, my parents died four years ago, and houses don't simply take care of themselves."
Derrick took a breath, and she could practically hear him gathering his patience. "Royce—" he started, but she cut him off.
"Royce had a business to tend to. I barely saw him outside of breakfast those first few weeks, he was so busy. He certainly didn't have time to worry about running an entire household on top of everything else. So the responsibility fell to me." Because if not her, then who?
Sometimes she still resented that, just a little. Not her brother, exactly, for having to concentrate on the Markham Tea Company, or even her parents, really, for dying in the first place, but more that the situation in general had been thrust upon her. High Hall employed more than thirty servants, and overseeing them was an immense responsibility, especially for a grieving girl of thirteen; she had struggled with it for months and months after her parents' deaths. Her mother had always made it look effortless, and while Catherine eventually settled admirably into the role, sometimes it still ached, to know that she could have had someone to help and guide her—as so many of her friends still had their own mothers to help and guide them—had circumstances only been different.
Derrick blinked at the ferocity in her voice, and seemed to look at her in a new light. "…My apologies," he eventually said, very sincerely. "I'm afraid I never thought of it quite like that."
"Yes, well, you should have," she said, pride still stinging. "It isn't altogether unlike captaining a ship, I would have to imagine."
He didn't respond to that immediately, only continued to watch her for a long, thoughtful moment. "You know, you're different, too, on board ship."
She blinked, surprised not only by the sudden shift in conversation, but also by the statement itself. Perhaps just a little anxiously, she asked, "How so?"
"You talk more, for one thing. I don't think you ever spoke more than five words to me any given time I visited Royce at High Hall."
Catherine looked down and fiddled with her napkin. "That's because I didn't think you'd want to talk to me," she confessed. "I thought you'd think I was just bothering you."
Derrick's face fell, and he actually scoffed a little, as if he found the very idea absurd. "You cannot have thought that."
"I did." She looked out the window once more, noting that clouds had since rolled in, blotting out the stars. "Besides, I'm hardly the only one guilty of being quiet. You rarely spoke to me, either."
"That's different. I am not a fit person for you to know."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Not a…" Her mouth snapped shut and a small, impatient breath escaped her nose. "What a ridiculous thing to say."
Derrick flashed a brief, tight smile. "There's a reason I'm never invited to any of the parties or balls held by your friends and the other wealthy families in Boston."
Catherine sighed a little exasperatedly. "It isn't because of that business with your father, is it? Because if so, I think that's horridly unfair. Here we are, fighting for—"
"No," he said. "It isn't because of my father."
There was something about the words, something about the sheer shortness of them, that brooked no room for argument, and in turn signaled an abrupt end to the line of conversation. A silence settled on the cabin, but before it could become too awkward, Catherine took a brisk breath and broke it. "Well," she said, smoothing the napkin in her lap. "As soon as we return, I'm going to see to it that you're invited to all of the parties and balls. You'll be up to your ears in invitations, and your feet will positively ache from all the dancing. Then you'll regret being so nice to me," she finished matter-of-factly.
A smile flitted across his mouth. "When you lift your chin like that, you look exactly like Royce."
Catherine sobered at the revelation and let her expression drop. After a minute, she very seriously said, "He believes in you, you know. I don't know how many times I've heard him say that he thinks you are the most honorable man he knows." She fingered the stem of her wine glass and quietly added, "That's one of the reasons I came to you for help in the first place."
Derrick was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, Catherine thought his voice might have sounded a little strained. "I owe your brother everything."
"And you've paid him back at least a hundredfold," she persisted. "He told me that you were his most profitable captain. That's worth a lot."
"I could never repay him for hiring me when no one else would. For trusting me when no one else would." Suddenly, he straightened in his seat, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Would you care for some more wine?"
Catherine blinked over the rim of her glass. "Oh, no. No, thank you."
Derrick took a sip from his own glass. "I've gathered a decent stock over the years, if I do say so, myself." He smiled slightly at her. "I have to confess, it's rather nice to see at least some of it finally going to good use."
Catherine smiled back. Truth be told, she wasn't quite done with their previous topic of discussion, but Derrick clearly was, and she wasn't about to push the issue. That they were actually talking, and rather amiably at that, was enough for the time being; no sense in taking small blessings for granted when she should have been counting them, after all.
When all was said and done and dinner was concluded, Derrick bid her goodnight, and she retired to her cabin. Upon removing her dress and brushing it as straight as she could, Catherine lay down on her bunk and stared out the window for a very long time, going back over their conversation in her head, thinking about the melancholy way his mouth had tightened and how quickly he had turned the subject away from himself.
Fandom: Catherine and the Pirate (I guess this is technically fanfic?)
Characters: Catherine Markham, Derrick St. John.
Rating: PG?
Word count: 1,647
Summary: Catherine and Derrick have dinner in his swagtastic cabin.
(For those who don't know and are curious, the basic premise of the book is: Heroine is seventeen-year-old heiress/socialite type in Revolution-era Boston, whose older brother gets kidnapped and held for ransom. In an effort to rescue him, heroine teams up with hero, who is brother's BFF, the captain of a commercial ship, and a former pirate. Hero is also on a separate quest to clear his late dad's name of treason.)
Catherine set her napkin in her lap and picked up her silverware. "Thank you for the invitation," she stiffly said. "It was most kind. I think."
He raised his brows. "And just what exactly do you mean by that?"
Catherine merely looked at him. "Only that you haven't said a nice word to me in two days. And then here you are, suddenly inviting me to dine with you."
Derrick ducked his head, smiling ruefully. He rested his forearms against the table, took a breath, and said, "Look, I'm sorry. This situation is far from ideal for either of us, I know. Let us just say that I realized we are, in fact, on the same side, and figured that perhaps it's time we started to act like it."
Contritely, Catherine looked down at her plate, her resolution to be difficult fading as quickly as the daylight had. "It would be easier if we attempted to get along…" she admitted, a little reluctantly. Before she could even think to retract the words, Derrick continued.
"Infinitely," he agreed, and picked his own silverware up. "Now. If you don't mind my asking, what were you and Mr. Poole discussing earlier?"
Catherine blinked. "You mean before he mentioned Meggie? The ship's rigging."
"Well, you're in luck. I can tell you all about the rigging. It's the least I can do, seeing as how I so unceremoniously deprived you of your instructor this afternoon."
Catherine's heart took an excited leap in her chest, but then she shook her head, embarrassed. "Oh, no. I really don't—"
"Nonsense," he said. "What would you like to know?"
She paused, eyes fixed on her hands. What did she want to know? She supposed the simple answer was "everything": She wanted to know what it was like to live on the ocean. What it was like to experience the wild force of a storm. To win a battle. To capture a prize. To look out at the horizon from the top of a mast. To feel the wind on her face and exhilaration in her heart. She wanted to know what it was like to live in the moment, free and unfettered. And what it would be like to be kissed by the man across from her.
That last thought jumped into her mind unsolicited, and she turned to look out the window, in case that was a blush she was feeling on her cheeks. "I want to know why you love sailing."
Derrick lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to know about the ship, not me."
"I want to know about both." She turned back to him, genuinely curious. "Why do you love sailing?"
He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to one side as he fastened his gaze on her. "How do you know I love it? Perhaps I find being at sea only passable, a way to make a living."
She shook her head, sure of herself. "I can tell you love it because you're different when you're on your ship."
"Oh?"
"You're more certain of yourself." She pursed her lips together, and then dared to add, "And more overbearing."
Derrick's eyebrows shot up and an incredulous puff of air escaped him. " 'Overbearing'? That's ironic, coming from you." Catherine's mouth plopped open in offense, but before she could say anything, he went on. "I have to command this ship, Catherine; I'm supposed to be overbearing. Meanwhile, you…" He trailed off, making a lost gesture at her before turning back to his meal.
Catherine bristled, far from done with the subject. "I'll have you know I have to command, too. In case you weren't aware, Captain, my parents died four years ago, and houses don't simply take care of themselves."
Derrick took a breath, and she could practically hear him gathering his patience. "Royce—" he started, but she cut him off.
"Royce had a business to tend to. I barely saw him outside of breakfast those first few weeks, he was so busy. He certainly didn't have time to worry about running an entire household on top of everything else. So the responsibility fell to me." Because if not her, then who?
Sometimes she still resented that, just a little. Not her brother, exactly, for having to concentrate on the Markham Tea Company, or even her parents, really, for dying in the first place, but more that the situation in general had been thrust upon her. High Hall employed more than thirty servants, and overseeing them was an immense responsibility, especially for a grieving girl of thirteen; she had struggled with it for months and months after her parents' deaths. Her mother had always made it look effortless, and while Catherine eventually settled admirably into the role, sometimes it still ached, to know that she could have had someone to help and guide her—as so many of her friends still had their own mothers to help and guide them—had circumstances only been different.
Derrick blinked at the ferocity in her voice, and seemed to look at her in a new light. "…My apologies," he eventually said, very sincerely. "I'm afraid I never thought of it quite like that."
"Yes, well, you should have," she said, pride still stinging. "It isn't altogether unlike captaining a ship, I would have to imagine."
He didn't respond to that immediately, only continued to watch her for a long, thoughtful moment. "You know, you're different, too, on board ship."
She blinked, surprised not only by the sudden shift in conversation, but also by the statement itself. Perhaps just a little anxiously, she asked, "How so?"
"You talk more, for one thing. I don't think you ever spoke more than five words to me any given time I visited Royce at High Hall."
Catherine looked down and fiddled with her napkin. "That's because I didn't think you'd want to talk to me," she confessed. "I thought you'd think I was just bothering you."
Derrick's face fell, and he actually scoffed a little, as if he found the very idea absurd. "You cannot have thought that."
"I did." She looked out the window once more, noting that clouds had since rolled in, blotting out the stars. "Besides, I'm hardly the only one guilty of being quiet. You rarely spoke to me, either."
"That's different. I am not a fit person for you to know."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Not a…" Her mouth snapped shut and a small, impatient breath escaped her nose. "What a ridiculous thing to say."
Derrick flashed a brief, tight smile. "There's a reason I'm never invited to any of the parties or balls held by your friends and the other wealthy families in Boston."
Catherine sighed a little exasperatedly. "It isn't because of that business with your father, is it? Because if so, I think that's horridly unfair. Here we are, fighting for—"
"No," he said. "It isn't because of my father."
There was something about the words, something about the sheer shortness of them, that brooked no room for argument, and in turn signaled an abrupt end to the line of conversation. A silence settled on the cabin, but before it could become too awkward, Catherine took a brisk breath and broke it. "Well," she said, smoothing the napkin in her lap. "As soon as we return, I'm going to see to it that you're invited to all of the parties and balls. You'll be up to your ears in invitations, and your feet will positively ache from all the dancing. Then you'll regret being so nice to me," she finished matter-of-factly.
A smile flitted across his mouth. "When you lift your chin like that, you look exactly like Royce."
Catherine sobered at the revelation and let her expression drop. After a minute, she very seriously said, "He believes in you, you know. I don't know how many times I've heard him say that he thinks you are the most honorable man he knows." She fingered the stem of her wine glass and quietly added, "That's one of the reasons I came to you for help in the first place."
Derrick was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, Catherine thought his voice might have sounded a little strained. "I owe your brother everything."
"And you've paid him back at least a hundredfold," she persisted. "He told me that you were his most profitable captain. That's worth a lot."
"I could never repay him for hiring me when no one else would. For trusting me when no one else would." Suddenly, he straightened in his seat, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Would you care for some more wine?"
Catherine blinked over the rim of her glass. "Oh, no. No, thank you."
Derrick took a sip from his own glass. "I've gathered a decent stock over the years, if I do say so, myself." He smiled slightly at her. "I have to confess, it's rather nice to see at least some of it finally going to good use."
Catherine smiled back. Truth be told, she wasn't quite done with their previous topic of discussion, but Derrick clearly was, and she wasn't about to push the issue. That they were actually talking, and rather amiably at that, was enough for the time being; no sense in taking small blessings for granted when she should have been counting them, after all.
When all was said and done and dinner was concluded, Derrick bid her goodnight, and she retired to her cabin. Upon removing her dress and brushing it as straight as she could, Catherine lay down on her bunk and stared out the window for a very long time, going back over their conversation in her head, thinking about the melancholy way his mouth had tightened and how quickly he had turned the subject away from himself.
