𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 ─── jack sparrow

𝟏. Nature Doth Call

OUTSIDE, SEABIRDS FLEW over the dockyard below Marion Swift's home. The Jamaican village had stirred as dawn broke; the fishmongers had set up their waterfront stalls and the stevedores had begun loading departing vessels with supplies. Hours later, the sun had now risen above the horizon, and the piers were bustling with activity. The window of the manor was cracked open, sparing no one inside from the briny warmth of Port Royal.

Golden light played across the table cloth, catching on her fork's tines and glinting into Marion's eyes. A morning bliss settled within her. She finished buttering her breakfast toast and then proceeded to coat it with marmalade. One of the kitchen maids poured steaming tea into her teacup.

The manor, built upon a grassy hill that overlooked the town's port, was usually silent this time of morning. It would just be Marion and the clinking of silver cutlery upon porcelain plates. Lady Taylor—a rich and elderly widow—never woke earlier than midday, unless there was an occasion that called for her presence. An occasion such as Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony.

So it would be that Lady Taylor joined Marion at the table that morn, and sipped away at a herbal brew while Finn, the cook, fried her up one of his esteemed omelettes. Nearing her sixty-third name day, with hair as black as onyx and rippled with streaks of grey, Lady Taylor was the closest thing to a mother Marion had ever had. Although she was oft-times strict, Lady Taylor owned a heart of gold, which was proven when she'd volunteered to adopt Marion when she was seven years of age.

Marion had been raised to practise the rules of etiquette in the high class society she lived in. She'd been taught to write with elegant a hand, to speak with poise, and to read with enough diction to entertain the manor's guests. It was the latter that she took the most pleasure in. During the dreary hours when storms would rattle the waters, Marion would request that an earl grey be sent to her bedchambers where she'd devour the pages of a new book. When summer brought waves of heat and cloudless skies, she would take a stroll down to the dockyards and read upon the pier, her feet dipping into the sea.

Finn returned with Lady Taylor's dish, smiling timidly at Marion before disappearing back into the kitchen. She had always approved of the young master cook. They were roughly the same age and spent many memories together in their youth, playing in the garden, raising sandcastles on the beach, and pulling pranks on the other staff. Howbeit, when Finn reached his fifteenth name day and had to step up and take over his late father's duties, it put a strain on their relationship. While Marion preferred not to stray from their casual ways, Finn took his position seriously and didn't want to be found associating informally with his mistress' daughter. Thereafter, they had behaved appropriately to their social standings. It was a pity that their friendship had been so easily cast aside, but Marion had come to learn that status was everything in this day and age and needed to be upheld with discretion.

Lady Taylor looked over at Marion from under sparse lashes. Her lips had been painted red for the forthcoming ceremony and a black mole had been drawn to the right of her cupid's bow. Her hair had been styled into a bun, a few coils left out to frame her face.

"What are you thinking of, my dear?"

Marion sighed, and her glazed features melted away. "Nothing, ma'am." Lady Taylor never agreed with Finn and Marion's dalliance, due to their difference in class. It was hard for her not to remind the older woman that Marion herself only came from a small merchant family. "I'm merely wondering whether the sea is as warm as it appears to be today. Would you care if I disappeared for a read down by the dockyards after the ceremony?"

"Not at all, the day is perfect to immerse oneself in the lives of Ophelia or Desdemona," said Lady Taylor after swallowing down a mouthful of beans. She had become awfully proud of the bluestocking girl Marion had grown to be, if not somewhat concerned for her preference for books over human company. "However, do not forget that we are dining with the lord from Nigeria tonight. He's a well-respected guest and to have him stay with us is an honour. I bid you not to take it lightly."