(no subject)

[scourgeofpiracy]

He's up early, as he always is, getting ready for another day's work on the Pearl. And he's trying not to think about how close the repairs are to complete, and what happens when it's all done.

He's about ten seconds from leaving when the knock comes at the door.

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[blue_eyed_lord]

The Black Rider kneels beside Wellard's motionless form, and, instead of checking for a pulse, pulls Wellard's dirk from its sheath at his belt. He stands again and re-enters the room, holding the dirk by the hilt so that the blade lies flat behind his arm, out of Norrington's line of sight.

[scourgeofpiracy.livejournal.com]

He doesn't notice the knife, as he peers in the boy's general direction.

"He's breathing, I take it?"

[blue_eyed_lord]

The Rider doesn't answer, but shifts the dirk within his grip and slices down, dragging the blade across Norrington's abdomen.

With almost one continuous movement, the man in black passes the dirk to his left hand and brings its hilt up to connect solidly with Norrington's left temple.

[scourgeofpiracy.livejournal.com]

He drops like a stone... except stones don't tend to bleed that much.

[blue_eyed_lord]

The empty bottle shatters when it falls from Norrington's hand, scattering jagged shards of glass across the floor. The tiny sounds of the glass pieces hitting one another are the last to quieten before the room falls silent.

The Rider stands tall in the middle of the room, a pillar of darkness in the lit room. He spreads the fingers of his right hand commandingly at the two still figures on the floor, one after the other. From his mouth comes the Spell-Speech of the Dark, momentarily dimming the light of morning that streams in through the window, and sharpening the chill of autumn into that of winter. "Forget", the Rider commands, a cold sneer twisting his mouth. "Forget."

Almost as an afterthought, he tosses the bloody dirk to clatter to rest beside Wellard's prone form. Before it comes to rest, however, the Rider is gone.