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Rating: 3-3-3

Word Count: None

Fandoms: All

Canons: Open/Oc's Welcome!

Bans: Howard the Duck,
RPF* Real Person Fiction; IE Apping an actual celebrity

Main Rule:Don't Be a Dick

OOC min age:18


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Thread Contributor: Captain Jas HookJames Matthew
Peter Pan-Hook 1991

4 Posts
3 Threads
Age:Ageless
Job: Pirate
Ship Status: Single - Possible. Though Unlikely.
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
2Scribble

Points: 472.6€
#1
HOOK
basics
full name: Lord James Matthew - Unknown to many. If you find out about it do NOT call him by this.
nicknames/aliases/code name: The Cunning Kingfish. The Bad Barracuda. The Steel-Handed Stingray. Now, let's give him a VERY big hand - 'cause he's only got on - Captain. Jas. HOOK!!!!!
canon or oc: canon
anchor character: no
species: An idea. An embodiment. A... ... Cursed Human - of sorts.
gender: Male
age: Unknown - Long Since Forgotten.
date of birth: Unremarked and Unremembered.
place of birth: England, London
starting location: Around - Is currently jumping portals looking for tech, magic and whatever other booty he can grab.
originating fandom: Peter Pan
fandom universe: Heavily Edited Hook 1991
pronouns: He/Him
occupation: Pirate and perverter of fey magic.
languages: English and many others due to his education at Eton and status as a hyper Hyperpolyglot.
appearance
playby: Dustin Hoffman
height: 6'0
weight: 186 pounds
hair color: black
eye color: Dark Brown - almost black
distinguishing features: Refined and cultured - Jas Hook carries himself as an honorable and considerate gentlemen. Something his father never was. That being said - he has a bit of an eccentric streak; as made noticeable by his well-tended mustache and eyebrows... ... ... oh, and, well, the giant razor-sharp hook where he should have a hand.
relationships
sexual orientation: pansexual - having lived for such a long time, to the point that he is more fey than man, Hook is too distinguished and refined to descend to common 'flirting' - though, when he does, it is usually fairly courtly. Whether you be male or female.
family: A mother he never met - and a blackguard father he long since disowned along with his true name.
relationship status: Devoted and utterly enthralled with Himself - primarily. If there is anything or anyone he values more than his ship and his own beauteous continence it - at times - might concern his long relationship with the conciliatory Mr. Smee.

Make of THAT what you will...

Powers/Strengths/Weakness
powers: Due to his endless interaction with faries - which led to him and his crew being trapped in Neverland - as well as his fey-dust soaked ship; Hook has the ability to manipulate and alter the magic of the fey by will alone. Though he is unable to CAST spells - he IS capable of altering the intentions of their spells to reflect his own will. Hence his ability to make his ship fly and even direct it in flight.

Being imbued with the power of the fey as well - Hook altered it long ago to enhance his strength, senses, reflexes and durability in an attempt to outwit or overpower that wretched Pan. Along with being imbued and even existing BECAUSE of fey magic - Hook is able to extend his own 'field' of magic to engulf others. Able to heal or even control others minds though this weakens and can even lead to him being killed if he isn't careful.

Though, however, death never seems to last...

Coupled with his own identity being bound to the magic of the fey held in place by the magical anchor that is his ship - even were he killed, which would destroy his ship as it's bound to him as he is bound to it - Hook's body would re-manifest along with his ship. Even if he wished it otherwise which - up until recently - he has. Though this takes a long time - and can not only be painful but distressing for Hook as his body and ship reconstitute.

As for his non-magical skills; Hook is a hyperpolyglot - able to learn any language very quickly. A mathmatical and strategical genius and a lover of fine cuisine and artwork. Further, he is a skilled pilot of all manner of boats and ships. A master fencer. An exquisite dancer. A considerate horse master. A lover and former breeder of dogs and a well educated gentlemen from a long-forgotten period of piracy.


strengths: Hook is gifted and intelligent. A genius who graduated at the age of fifteen and enrolled in Eton - to the shock and horror of many of the student body as he quickly became the schools star pupil. Charismatic, wise and courtly; Hook is far more worthy of the title Lord than his father ever was. Adventurous and curious - Hook has little interest in power or treasure (as such) and more interest in knowledge and the thrill. For many days - weeks - months - centuries - Hook wanted nothing more than Pan to return so there could be war between them again. Simply because he wanted something new.
weaknesses: Arrogant. Self-assured. Unbending and unchanging - Hook has been Hook for such a long time he has LONG since forgotten James. While - in his world - Peter vanished long ago; forgetting the Pan. James vanished for Hook even before the coming of the Pan. Motivated purely by self-interest - though not gold for gold's sake or power over nation's and armies - Hook will take any path; march down any road and sail across any ocean if it offers a new experience or knowledge that no one else knows. While he has outlived his death wish - for the time being - and has found new Worlds to travel through; Hook wants knowledge and magic and will do anything to get it.
equipment: Various swords - daggers - muskets - as well as several OTHER objects he's stolen; Hook's most prized (though strangely also most loathed) possession is the Jolly Roger. Part of his cursed bargain with the fey was the protection of his ship. So, of course, it WAS protected. Soaked from stem to stern with fey dust - the Jolly Roger is bound to Hook just as Hook is bound to it. When Hook and his crew escaped Neverland the Jolly Roger went with them. Though incapable of moving between worlds itself - Hook can alter the ships enchantments and bring it with him. Trapping the ship inside of a bottle - shrinking the Jolly Roger and its entire crew and allowing Hook to pass into the hub and into other worlds with it. As much bound to Hook as Hook is bound to it - the Jolly Roger has a mind of its own and will follow Hook whenever he tries to leave. Moreover, should Hook go somewhere the Jolly Roger can't follow, it will use their bond to pull Hook back to it. Whether he wants it to or not.

To be a man who craves freedom above all else - it can be most disconcerting when your ship has a way and a will of its own and will find you even if you want to leave it...


history
Well, you mewling spawn - how I despise you... you dare ask me who I am? I am Jas Hook. I am ageless. Endless. What would the world be like if not for Captain Hook? Jas Hook - the man who will kill you and your childrens childrens children. The man who was a boy. The boy who was... ... ... James... Matthew. Yes, James Matthew - he was a boy. A fool - I should say. One of the first people I ever murdered. Yes... it will be a shame to kill you after I conclude this tale, my dear, but, goodness, I'm naught but a humble pirate - and such is our role to play, yes? Mm...

I was such a wirey little pole - a truly graceless excuse for a child. Born to a man who pretended to be a lord - and a wealthy and titled lady who was more of a whore than any harbor girl one of my men has ever rogered - simply put, I had no parents. The closest thing to a 'parent' I ever experienced was an eldery, curmudgeonly and demanding old bat... my aunt Lavinia... ... how I loved her. In truth, as a boy, I knew little to nothing of how beholden to my father she was. A spinster - left with the charge of their parents house - my aunt was little more than a servant to my father.

Imagine that - a lady in good standing. Daughter of a noble house. Who served the whims and orders of a younger brother who treated her as naught but chattel.

In any case - my aunt saw to my upbringing, under strict guidance and orders of my father. Despite her advanced age and caustic tongue, my aunt knew how to treat children - how much freedom to give them - especially a boy who hungered after freedom as heartily as I did. The rolling hills of our estates - when I was not embroiled in study and the pursuit of the day's lessons - was my ocean. The trees my islands. At night I would run through those fields of cool green grass - calling up at the sky. It was an amusing position for my aunt - far past the age of being able to bear children; my father made no claim to me though there were certainly rumors. Though I didn't know it at the time I was being vetted to become his heir apparent - provided I lived up to expectations. I would become Lord James Matthew - heir to the Lord B (the only name I knew him under at the time) if I ever proved worthy of it.

Should I fail - should I ever not prove myself - well. For my father. No great loss, eh? Just a rumor.

My gifts - my talents - however, impressed my father enough to risk exposing SOME of my existence. Though I was not to speak of my relation to my aunt - or my father - at the age of fifteen, under very high marks, rather than taking an apprenticeship, I was bundled off to college. Eton. Quickly proving my worth as a mathematician and polyglot - among other talents - I also became something of a favored target for beatings. Slender and delicate at that age - I was frequently beaten by the other class members who were a good four or five (or older) years than I after they discovered I both could not and would not pass my knowledge and talents onto them.

Not only was my mind FAR beyond theirs - would you ask a painter how he paints? The dancer how he danced? An artist knows the answer before he arrives at it - he simply has to find the path thereto. But I would no more hand an opponent lessons in swordsmanship than I would a class member answers to a question had he not earned them himself.

To do so would be the very DEFINITION of bad form.

And it was during one particularly vicious beating that I met one Roger Davies. A jolly young man with a roaring laugh. That laugh - if anything remains of James Matthew it is the memory of the laugh of Roger 'Jolly' Davies. The laugh James Matthew heard between the punches and the blows that day when, without asking why or who, Jolly came charging in laughing his bloody ass off as he swung punches and kicked faces hard enough to send students scrambling for cover. Picking me up out of the dirt he asked me a question I'd naught considered before that point - why I never carried my sword. A master of the blade - I could more than defend myself. Yet I chose to fight with fists - a style of combat I was ill suited for despite my fairly defined stature. Well, of course, Jolly had never considered it from MY perspective - so I set out to educate him. To use my talents in such an embarrassing situation was a waste of my gifts.

To swing steel - MY steel - in a fight with my lesser was BEYOND me. Though, admittedly, I was forced to concede his point as he bandaged and salved my wounds...

And so our reign of terror began - no leader, by any stretch of the imagination - Jolly was content to be a follower. And my skinny wirey stature meant that I was underestimated and lured in any who dared question, insult or even ANNOY me. A master in swordplay I was able to wound - maim - injure most, if not all, of my classmates who even tried so to do. And Jolly would always vouch for me - say either that it had not been I who dealt the blow, when there were no other witnesses, or intimidating OTHER witnesses into saying that I had been the defender.

At first, of course, I WAS the defender. But, over time, and as the status quo became to restrictive, I would become the aggressor. I would goad fools into my trap and they would fall - never killing them. Killing was not what I wished. To be the ONLY student at Eton was not my desire. Being the most feared - the best dancer - the greatest fencer - to have those in that institution fearing my name - my power - my prowess... what good is it to rule without subjects? Without the awe and fear of your lessers?

What is a Lord without peasants?

And so I became a lord - I became everything my father required to acknowledge me as his son. To finally, after nearly two decades, give me the name I'd always had. To bring me into his Empire... ... ...

And oh... what an Empire.

It began with my great love - an arrogant, feisty and dictatorial Sultana by the name of Annanova of the house of Ariadne, long may she reign. And reign she did. His name was Arthur Darling - some predecessor of those BLASTED Darling children. We had been rivals - since the beginning. He alone I could not cow. He alone I could not dominate. Our duels had been legendary - and due to my unmitigated good form I could not order Jolly to hold him down while I unmade him. His father and mother wanted the power - the land - that my Anna held in her grasp. Anna had long been aware of the designs many English held over her. She would mock the young men - especially those of Eton. Who would attempt to court her - only to have tricks and mockeries pulled down on them as she berated their 'boring' personalities and lack of intelligence. In her I had found a kindred spirit - much like me she had been forced into a role by a parent.

Like many Sultana's her family held their power but were kept in line by a 'royal hostage' - in their case - her. Her existence was made up of existing. Being trotted out to show unity between England and the Ottomans. To BE beautiful until a powerful enough Lord was given her name and title and land and she would finally be released... ... ... from one cage to another. "Jas," - she would say, she never called me James, to her, it was too plain - and I was certainly not plain - "Jas, you cannot know the burden of being a woman. I am my name - I am my body - nothing else. I can fence. I can speak multiple languages - surpassed only by you I am an achievement in and of myself. Yet I will never achieve anything. Because I cannot. Because I am not a man," - and we would discuss it. Long into the night.

Such discussions usually boiled down into one of two results - either passion... ... or we would stalemate each other in our attempts to outdo the other on who was the most damned.

Darling coveted my Anna - and being of 'greater stock' than I - he DEMANDED her hand. And so I bled him. In the dueling ring - on my graduation year - there was to be a fencing match. I bled him - again - and again - I drew out so much of his anger none would stop us. None could stop us until he lay there clutching his blade. From the crowd they yelled as he knelt there - dying - ordering me to lay down my sword. That I had taken my victory that day.

To let him live - to allow a rival that I had left standing FAR too long - to continue to subsist - to endanger my Anna... that could not be borne. Not only that - but such an action, well. It would be the action of a fool. It would be a mistake. It would be illogical.

It would be... ... ... bad form.

And so Arthur Darling died. Because of course he did. Because I WILLED Arthur Darling to die. And Anna was mine - she stood there - as Arthur cursed and swore at me - telling me I had naught the manhood to strike him down - she nodded. She was noble - as I was. She was a bonny and adventurous soul - cursed with the soft flesh of a woman. Before I had only my own desire to see him suffer - now I had that and her blessing. I murdered him. But I also murdered James. James Matthew, though he didn't know it, died in that ring driving a sword through the man who had tormented him more than anyone else.

James Matthew was a fool - and I killed him. Because he should have killed Arthur Darling long ago. Jas - the lover of Sultana Annanova Ariadne - would NEVER hesitate again.

Funnily enough, though, no one REALLY cared Arthur was gone. My father, unsurprisingly, approved. Apparently the murder of a rival who had made your very existence a torment - to Lord B. - meant that I was a man without honor. A man who would not step - not run - not PASS through bad form... but WALLOW in it! You see, before, I had not known - I had not realized - just WHAT my father did... a man such as I (who valued freedom so much that he was willing to put up with a mercurial and sardonic Sultana simply because she was a kindred spirit) held no respect - NO respect at all - for slavers.

And my father? Ah... well, he was the largest slaver in existence.

With connections running from the EITC all the way to the colonies and back - my father held more souls on more ships - selling and murdering more people - than even I, in my endless life, have ever killed.

But no - as I said - it was not Arthur's death that cost me my world. It was my great love - my Anna. We consummated our relationship that very night. I will always wonder if what she said was true - if she really carried a child... ... my child. I DESPISE children... ... ... it is... funny. Not that I doubt her - my Anna was no liar. No. The idea, strangely, the Hook - a father. Hm.

Of course, a girl, even a woman, will tell her maids - and even an incompetent maid can discover a... change in her mistress' bearing. And when your maid's are spies... she was... ... ... recalled. Another of her various family installed as the 'royal hostage' - along with my status as a parent, what happened to her in the few hours between when she WAS there - and when she was not - will always cause me... ... ... to ponder. Not that, at the time, I knew much about it. Despite my own status as a child born out of wedlock, despite the fact that I'd followed in my father's footsteps, was the first and only burden my father would bear. Sending his men out after me, he tied and restrained me, and told me I was to be taken onboard his largest ship - the Sea Witch - and sold into slavery. That I was a mistake to be blotted out of existence. That he was the one doing the blotting... and that it was only my aunts sobs that kept me from being killed.

It's funny how chance - how the amusement of the fey - has played such a large part in my life. His name was Bartholomew Quigley Smithington. He was... strange. Meeting a fully qualified navigator and boatswain in the slave cells in the bottom of a ship is the last thing you would expect, surely, but there he was in the cell across from mine. Apparently, the captain was a butcher - a murderer - who would regularly 'appropriate' my father's stock for his own amusement. Many of - what should have been - the crew's quarters onboard the ship were used by the Captain to store slaves in for his own amusement. Little more than a brothel on the sea - the boatswain had made the mistake of trying to free some of the women he considered 'underage' when the captain had come onboard and found him.

And by chance - by chance alone - he'd ended up in the cell across mine...

Of course, Jolly coming aboard - breaking the locks - and breaking several heads as well - THAT was not by chance. I didn't know where Anna was - what ship her family had stuck her on - where she was going - but I intended to find her. And I would need a ship - and my father had given me his finest.

I was all set to begin my life as a privateer - with Jolly by my side - all I needed was a crew... ... ... and then the boatswain solved that problem as well.

While the crew had been cowed by their captain - they were cowed simply through fear. They held no loyalty to him. In fact. What loyalty WAS held - was held by the boatswain. Known as Mr. Smee to the crew. Apparently mutiny and establishing themselves as a free ship had been in the cards for some time. A spark - just a spark - and a little luck - had been needed to set it off.

The luck had been served - as Jolly freed Mr. Smee. The spark? Well. THAT was my part.

It was strange - walking through the quarters of a ship - rounding up the crew that had thrown you into a cell earlier. Gathering the slaves. Marching to the Captian's personal brothel and calling for combat. But that was how it happened. Jolly and I took our time - arming ourselves - marching to war - while Mr. Smee found an army that had waited only for a general. Standing there - surrounded by beaten and raped slaves - I challenged the captain. Telling him his men would swear by whichever of us won. Though he didn't like it - he was forced to comply. Rather than face being torn apart by his own men.

Failing to realize I'd just ensured the loyalty of every pathetic sack of entrails onboard that ship just by challenging him...

The sword fight was a sonnet - a symphony - never had I performed better. I cut him - stabbed him - toyed with him and bled him. But I made a mistake. As he stood there - blood trickling from some of the most embarrassing places - he told me I was a cruel and wicked beast. Just like my father. Thinking it little more than a challenge - an insult - I asked him what of the slaves he'd abused. Raped and tortured for his own amusement. Cruelty was in the eye of the beholder - and by my honor no cruelty of mine would ever match his.

And then he killed Jolly...

In all my calculations I had not considered that - I had not taken into account his OWN cruelty. Or that, realizing I WOULD defeat him, he would hurt me more than I had ever been hurt before.

Until then I had won - always. Even when I lost - Ha! They doubted it - but I won.

Always.

Except I didn't. The boat hook had been right there - tucked into his boot - and then he had feinted me and charged... ... burying the hook in Jolly's heart. It killed him - instantly. And as he stood there - Jolly, hanging from the hook - crowing. He knew all about me - Anna was gone. He said. In her homeland she'd be murdered. Executed. Like the whore she was. The baby would be ripped from her body - it's worthless body put on display for all to see. I would never see her again. Nor would anyone remember me. OR my friend. I will never forget that wretched - WRETCHED - crowing... ... James Matthew died again. I threw down my sword and I charged him. Not expecting my onslaught he was unable to bring his sword up in time - dropping Jolly; he also made the mistake of dropping the hook. Grabbing it as Jolly's lifeless body tumbled to the floor - I yanked it free - and then I killed the Captain.

I had never been angry before.

Not PROPERLY angry.

I had never killed without a purpose before.

Not PROPERLY.

He was as good as dead before I hit him. But hit him I did. He was gutted and beaten. So I hit him some more. Blood. Flesh. I tore - ripped - pulped and sifted that man like he was a fish to be filleted. Snerts of his pale - wretched - flesh hanging from the hook as I stood over the corpse. Men cheering and crowding around me. Hook they called me - telling me to give it to them - to hold it above my head - Hook. Give us they Hook they said... and so I began. Captain. Jas. Hook.

Clad in the blood-soaked coat of the captain - I stood on that deck - my new boatswain beside me, watching as they gave Jolly his funeral. And he asked me - what was our ship to be called? Who was our ship?

I would be remembered - I pledged that day. James Matthew had died - twice. He could BE forgotten. But Jas Hook was a legend - a murderer - a cutthroat. Jas Hook was a force of nature to be feared. And the man who had contributed the most to him would be remembered as well.

"The Jolly Roger," I said - as I rocked against the sway of the sea, "May her laugh strike fear into the enemies of Captain Hook. Bring down that sail, Mr. Smee... and give me our heading!!"

I never did find my Anna. My Sultana. A love that set a nation - TWO nations ablaze... I looked, of course. I rode into the halls of Eton - like a demon - and burned my name from their archive. I ripped James Matthew from the memory of that world and I rode out again. I rode into her Empire - I burned their coast - asking - DEMANDING - she be brought to me. Like a brigand. She hated her land more than I hated my own. I thought to surprise her - to take her aboard my ship and we would escape...

She never came.

Vengeance is its own reward, of course. Bitter as age advanced upon me - I took to raiding my father's ships. Freeing slaves and taking the molasses and rum they would transport. The Lordly Pirate - they called me. I would murder soldiers and sailors in their sleep - turn slaves loose on islands to make homes for themselves so they could raid ships that came to close to them and then vanish back into the jungles. Blackbeard's bo'sun - the only man of whom Barbecue was afraid. I was a demon. I made my father pay - I made the English Empire pay - and I made the Ottoman Empire pay. I made anyone and everyone pay for the smallest slight - for any slights - for ALL slights.

And then he came for me... old. Leathery. Tough - withered by the years I had wrought upon him. I didn't expect the armada - let alone an armada with my father at its helm.

Had he come on his own I would have met him - my sultana was gone. My beloved Jolly was gone. I was advancing in years - revenge and hate alone kept me sated. But I would not go down without meeting steel on steel - many of his ships were fire ships - designed to coral and fence me in. There were artillery ships designed to kill at long range. Few - almost none - were armed for close combat OR as fast as the Jolly Roger. So I turned tail when it suited me - luring them into the doldrums - and bleeding his armada bit by bit.

Yet more always came...

Realizing that I would never get my war - my combat - that my father was ABOVE such basic concepts as GOOD FORM; I broke for parts of the sea unknown. Through storms. Through ice and rain. Days and nights I sailed until I found it. I found no land - but I found land. I found no shelter. But I was safe. I followed all the stars but - most importantly - the second star. The one to the right.

Putting into that bay - desperate for food and supplies - I sent the crew ashore while Smee and I explored the ruins at the heart of the island. I never put stock in the fey - in their power - I did not believe in faeries or whatever you choose to call them. But, then again, not believing in them was a weapon I wielded with great ease. The mere suggestion that they were imaginary terrified them - kneeling - begging - praying that I wouldn't say such things as whole scores of them dropped down dead. Hearing shots from the shore - shouts from my crew as they gave early warnings about the encroaching armada - I forced the fey to bow to me. And I ordered them - told them - that I would speak the words again if they didn't save us. Take us away - anywhere - from the armada.

I was a fool. And, even in retrospect, I doubt there WAS a wording that would have saved me...

The fey have no concept of time - no concept of 'safe' - because they are not of this world. And only the suggestion that they might not exist scares them. The island - the never land, as it was called - was their domain. There were natives - who lived in union with them - offspring of the children who decided they wanted to grow up. Because you didn't grow up in the never land. You didn't die. And - at that very moment - with that very demand - I BECAME part of that island. Becalmed I was - my ship - my crew - all of us. We became PART of the never land. The armada was gone - what happened to them. Their crews. Their ships. Their families - I know little. My father I not only know little - I care even less. I became that island - I BECAME that temple - that tree - that beach.

With one cruel twitch of their fingers Jas Hook WAS Neverland.

No wind would catch in the sails of the jolly roger - so we took out a longboat - and we rowed away... for days and days on end... and then we rowed right back to where we started. Pick any direction - and there was no point going there - because you were already there. We didn't hunger - because you didn't get hungry in Neverland. We weren't ever tired - because time was meaningless in Neverland. The natives spoke of us as if we were fey ourselves. As if we were part of what made Neverland.

And, well, they were right.

I found I could will things - little changes. I could see things. Feel things. Taste and sense things beyond my mortal kin. Moreover I could alter the enchantment - but never break it. I could walk - to other worlds. Other times. But never leave. Back I would be pulled - against my will - and I would be forgotten. I could not stay - because I could not go in the first place.

And then he came.

Boy and fey - child and man - cruel and kind. Peter Pan. My great and worthy opponent. Angry at the fey were tried anything - because we were part of the magic now my claims that I didn't believe in faeries only made them laugh. We burned their trees but they grew back. We cut down their huts but then the huts would vanish. It was during an attempt to round some of them up that I met him - talking to a crocodile, of all things. Boys I had seen before - the fey would find them. Lost or near death in other worlds - bringing them back to Neverland. Many of the natives interbred with them when they decided to grow up. But he was different. His ears carried a point. He flew. He could taste it - feel it - as I could. The magic of the fey. But he could do more than bend it or twist it - he could control it. He could fly... and fly he did.

Cutting off my hand was a childish prank - no more - no less. Scarcely felt it. That - more than anything else - proved he could change the magic. Because my hand should have grown back - any part of me always had before. I made the mistake of trying to grab some tinkling fairy perched on his shoulder. With a quick twist and a spin my hand was gone - and it was in the crocodiles mouth.

THAT hurt...

Cursed beast...

And so it went - day in - day out. Children would come - more than before. The Pan, as we called him, that cursed but thrice-blessed boy, would bring children to the island. Wars would break out - fights in the jungle. I would capture them - ask them questions - he would save them - I would learn... and always I would try to best him. The Wendy girl. Her brothers. They changed something - though I didn't know it. He killed me - again and again and again. Always the same. Sometimes that crocodile would eat me - always took a while to come back from that, hm, yes. But change something the Darling children did. Something in Peter. His visits became more frequent - his time in Neverland smaller and smaller. Until one day - he didn't come back.

It was a joke - I thought. A way to torment Captain Hook. Good Form. But he didn't come back. So I burnt his cursed tree house. And he didn't come back. I hunted down swaths of his lost boys. And he didn't come back. I burnt several of the natives villages. And they didn't come back. I bent the magic - twisted it - killed several of his lieutenants. I killed that cursed crocodile - gutted it - tortured it - mounted it in the middle of our settlement. And he STILL didn't come back!

Was I nothing to him? Was I no one? Was this hell? Trapped in paradise - banished from the waking world - never to taste the sea - never to be free again - was this some torture from beyond the grave from my father? That was when my death wish began. I tried to twist the magic - as I had when I'd killed the crocodile. As the boy had when he'd taken my hand. But I could never get it quite right. Injured. Pained. I could never kill myself. I could never wake up.

It was over.

My life was over.

And even my DEATH was no solace because I was STILL trapped!

And then it happened.

It began with a storm - violent - brutal. The sky was red - as red as the veil worn by my Anna. The rain was purple. It was like some great hand was reaching down and tearing the sky apart. And then it stopped. All of it. Everything stopped.

Even that island...

It was strange - to feel it. The wind on my face. Had it been centuries? Millennia? To feel the Jolly Roger groan - and creek - her doldrum-soaked hull crying out in laughter as it tasted the sea again. The spray of the sea. The warmth of the sun on my flesh. We were there - floating - in some empty ocean on some empty world. And it was there. The first of many. The portal. How had it happened? How had we emerged? WHEN had we emerged? What fey enchantment had brought us out of our world and into this one? What world WAS this?

And that strange light. That gate. None of my crew could see it - or taste it - but I could. Was it magic? Was it some ethereal being speaking to me? As little as I cared about my father's death - at that moment - I cared even less about what was before me. I was free. We were free. And that boy - wherever he was - I wouldn't need him now. I could find him - somewhere - on some island or in some town. Wherever he'd gone. And, in time, I would find this magic too. I would know it. Bend it. Twist it.

I have no interest in domination - I don't need an empire or a kingdom. I can barely tolerate my own crew of sycophantic dogs. But with that magic I could ensure my own freedom. Forever. No longer bound by the amused and bemused fey. I could free myself - and my ship - and we could be anywhere. Anywhere. Forever.

And so, in the spirit of freedom, I think I may let you live... or not. I may let you die. I think I will. Let me unchain you... there. Good night. Go to bed. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.



Hub Information
landmarks in hub: None
knowledge level of multiverse: Despite his 'taste' for the power that binds hub together; Hook has no idea it exists. In fact, as far as he knows, the portals allowing him to move between worlds are known ONLY to him and that - somehow - he can harness them.

So he's in for a bit of a rude awakening.

Further, if he ever figures out that his own world may be connected to hub, he's likely to have a nervous breakdown at the thought of going BACK to the doldrums.


fandom specific information: A Hook that lost his Pan - but never got to the point where he found his Pan and tried to make him come back for their ultimate war. Inspired HEAVILY by the novel Capt. Hook: The Adventures of a Notorious Youth - written by James V. Hart who also (no surprise) wrote the teleplay to the 1991 film Hook.

Anchor Character Section
N/A
RP Sample
Grumbling to himself as the fire started to get low under the boiler - the man bent down and grabbed up a fresh shovel of coal and tossed it into the engine's hungry maw. Wiping at his brow as he kicked it shut from the heat of the flames. Hearing the side of the engine cab slide open - the man shouted, "You get the fo-" but was cut off as a strange little man with a crooked hat and a feather sticking out of it came stumbling into the cab, "Oh 'ello me ol' son, here, where's a good place to stick these?" holding three hooks hanging from, what seemed to be, steel cables, "Oh no, naw - this won't work at all - oi! Gracey!!!" a scar-covered and muscle-bound girl with a bald head suddenly poked her head over the side of the cab, "Aye, Mr. Smee?" tossing the girl the hooks and cables, the little man, Smee, it seemed said, "Oh it 'taint no good in 'ere - nowhere to mount it, d'ya see? Buzz the captain and tell 'im we got the tech level wrong again and theys got enclosed cabs so's e'll need to string 'em up the 'ard way!"

Watching the girl catch the hooks dexterously and vanish back up on top of the cab - the coalman tried to start firing questions, "I- what- I say! Where-" wincing as his pack started to... ... squeak? 'Smee' waved at him to be quiet and pulled out some sort of device with an antenna, "Oi, yes Cap'n? Yes... well, Gracey's been a right luv, she 'as, and started tying the beast off for me... nah... no there ain't - it ain't no good, Cap'n, this lot ain't as behind the times as we thought... yes... well, yes, we all makes mistakes, sir... brace meself? Uh - now, sir? I don't think Gracey- well, yes, I knows we're on a timetable, 's right fine one, sir. But when you say brace meself - you mean... right n-" shrieking in surprise as the engine began to tilt backwards - the coalman struggled to hold onto the controls as the engine started lifting OFF the rails.

"What in God's name is going on?! Who are you- what-" "It's no good, son, you're being pirated - das wha's up," blinking in surprise as the engine rocked and twisted against its strange position - the coalman could only wince as the boiler backed up and hit the coals. Drenching them in water. Coughing as the cabin began to fill with steam - the man shouted, "Pirated?! Like- you mean- what do you MEAN pirated?! There's only one other line besides this one and it's for trains going the opposite-" squeaking in surprise when Smee produced an antique-looking pistol and pointed it at him; the coalman raised his hands as Smee said, "Out - c'mon - over and out. 'Op it! Line - really?! We ain't no pirate train, son! We ain't no urchins puttin' bloody junk on the rails and 'elpin ourselfs to your goods. We're PIRATES! SEE?!"

Stumbling out of the cab - and landing (rather unceremoniously) on his ass-end; the coalman could only stare up in shock as the wind blew several clouds of steam away to reveal, floating in the sky with a silverish glow, an enormous galleon flying a pirate flag - the hull seeming to be attached to two huge long cables - with a third one dangling and swaying in the wind. The hook that had been attached to it having been torn out, "And I - was startin - oh, bloody 'ell..." having to lower himself slowly out of the cab - Smee landed next to the coalman with a plop before pointing the gun at him again... and promptly snorting and chucking it over his shoulder, "Tain't even loaded - even if were; wouldn't do me no good, eh? I couldn't hit a bullet with the board side of a barn! Cap'n just trusts me more 'n he does these new swabs - were easier back in the day. Cap'n can release us now, 'e says, people who want out he alters 'em somehow - can't alter 'iself 'e says. Like Gracey - she's a new one. Wanna serve on our ship - you gotta share our curse. Part of the crew - part of the ship 'n like 'at 'ey? Gracy I need- Gracey?"

Hearing a yell from the other end of the derailed engine (whole sections of the train sitting on their side in the dirt) the little man got to his feet and trundled down the car line. Having nowhere else to go - at present - the coalman limped after him, "Wot is it boys? Now gimme some room, wot... oh 'eck!' lying on her front - with her head twisted a full three-sixty degrees to allow it to still be facing people - and her limbs in tatters; the remains of Gracey were enough to cause the coalman to fall to his knees and start vomiting as the little man hefted the corpse up, "Come on, Gracey! Smee 'ere - Let's be 'avin ya!" slapping the backwards face a few times - Smee grumbled to himself as he tried to twist the corpse's head back around... right before one of the lifeless limbs suddenly jerked up and smacked him, "Bloody buggering 'ell, Smee! You touch me like 'at again I'll give ya a wallop right up the-" trying to shush her - Smee said, "Gracey! GRACEY! You was dead - again!" blinking in surprise as she flopped back onto the rails - 'the corpse' looked down at itself as best it could with its head at an odd angle and muttered, "Fuckin A - jus' FUCKIN A! Cap'n 'll 'ave my ass for not 'angin on! Did it work?!" Smee nodded, "Aye, train went right off the rails - but at the wrong angle. Your line snapped. Threw a bunch of cars out of the line and-"

A hush fell on the assembled pirates as booted heels sounded on the gravel surrounding the train tracks, "Ensign MacWurthers!" wincing, the corpse slowly twisted her head around - producing a guttural pop as its neck snapped BACK into place but left her unable to face her captain, "Um... Mr. Smee?" smiling nervously as he rolled the corpse over - the coalman stared in surprise as he realized the corpse was slowly becoming whole again - the torn limbs and severed bodyparts repairing themselves, "Sorry, Cap'n sir, lost me footin. I was-" "Careless. We are on a time table, you festering pustule of a girl. I don't call you a woman - because I have known women. And they are far more capable than you will EVER be! That train should have lifted up and the water put the coal out. Because of your negligence and FAILURE to meet the time table outlined we derailed half the train and now someone will have to carry your worthless tiny PERSON back onboard ship for recuperation!" swallowing, Gracey started to open her mouth when the man raised a finger, "I discarded your predecessor because he was a traitorous little piece of slime who brought a dock girl onboard my ship. My crew are as carefully chosen as the disciples of Christ. And I will NOT tolerate failures. You will have no share in this haul. And, as soon as you have completed your recuperation, you will take duty with Cook for every meal - breakfast, lunch and dinner. Until you prove you belong back on deck,"[/b][/color] nodding at the nearest sailor, the captain said, "Get her out of my sight,"

Ignoring Gracey's protestations as some of his men grabbed her and began hauling her away; the man raised his hand... only to display a long sharp hook; glinting in the moonlight as he scratched the side of his nose with said hook, "Right you were, Cap'n, good call that one - mind you, Gracey MEANT well - she's just young. You know. Youth, sir," "Do not TALK to me about youth, Mr. Smee. You know how I feel about YOUTH... the cargo?" looking nervous, Smee said, "Ah, yes, the middle car - the one that twas most upset," "Indeed. The guards?" "Oh quite dead, sir. Bit like a slaughter'ouse in there - an' they don' go back together like us, sir - lord no!" nodding annoyedly - the captain said, "Yes. Indeed. Well, there will be no fighting, at least Ensign MacWurthers is good for something. Though it does place us in something of a spot, Mr. Smee. The nearest town is but a two or three miles away - and what SHOULD have been a quick derailment and escape is now going to involve digging through the inside of an abattoir... in the dark... with several wounded passengers in and around under our feet - much as I enjoy wholesale slaughter, Mr. Smee, we don't really have TIME to murder the survivors of this train!"

Looking even more nervous - Smee grabbed the coalman and said, "Ah but, sees 'ere cap'n, I gots one 'o the crew right 'ere - yeah - part 'o the crew - part o' the ship, right? She probly knows what we're after!" looking mildly impressed - the captain tugged a pair of glasses out of the sleeve that ended in a hook and put them on, "Ah, did you?" nodding enthusiastically, Smee said, "Rightio, sir! 'ere - speak up, lad, what can you say 'bout some blue rocks what we's been 'untin?" "More specifically, the royal blue lavulite being carried by this train," staring nervously at the two men, the coalman sputtered, "I- I don't- we weren't trying- there is no-" gagging him, Smee hissed, "You dirty little- you tryin' make me lose my job?! We sawed the royal emblem right on-" the coalman's eyes widened in surprise as the captain lowered his huge hook to eye level; then, slowly, he motioned Smee out of the way and knelt down in front of her.

"Now, come my boy, we don't need any unpleasantness, do we? You were transporting the royal blue lavulite - a special gem with magical properties of... ... some sort. Not exactly bothered by exactly HOW magical it is - just that it IS. Magic, that is," snorting disdainfully as he brushed that away, the captain reached down with his hook and caught her gag. Gently easing it down for her, "Now, see here, we intend to take all the cargo in the royal coach - there's enough gold in there to keep these pewling spawn satisfied and I shall have the lavulite. It would be SO helpful - it really would - if you'd just tell us what crates have the lavulite so we don't have to search the whole train,"staring blankly at the captain - as if he couldn't take his eyes away - or think of ANY reason that he SHOULDN'T answer the Captain - the coalman just nodded slowly as the captain said, "Come now, humor the Hook?"

"An... unmarked crate... in the caboose... guarded. Rest of the cargo - gold - intended... keep hijackers busy..." rubbing his hands together joyously as the captain bowed his head and thanked the coalman, Smee said, "Brilliant bit oh convincin 'at was, Cap'n! Never woulda thought o' that! An 'idin it in an unmarked crate! We'd o' gone after the gold and the other crates and never found it!" tapping the coalman's forehead with his finger - Hook smirked as he collapsed to the ground. His grip on the coalman's mind released, "It is a gift, Mr. Smee. Now, the royals in this world will have some manner of magic wards surrounding the lavulite - if they haven't been broken already. Gather what we came for - and let us depart," scratching notes down on his hand with a pencil as Hook led him away from the train, Smee said, "Get right on it Cap'n - 'ere, what'a bout any survivors, eh?" Hook shrugged, "Out of sight out of mind - kill who you must. Ignore the rest. As long as we have what I want who cares about them?" Watching Smee bow and jog back towards the cab - Hook yanked out his sword and as he did he felt the wind change. All of the world. Reality itself. Just twist. A little. And suddenly he was back on the deck of the Jolly Roger - looking down as his crew moved around the train. In truth he could have found the lavulite along - eventually. It called to him. All magic did. He could spread the curse - free others from it - but not himself. Maybe - eventually - if became powerful enough - he COULD be free... ... and if he couldn't? Well, at least no one else would be able to send him BACK to that cursed island.

about
Hook is a Pirate Captain - of a breed that died out hundreds of years ago. Courtly, honorable and charismatic; he is also savage, brutal and cruel. Interested primarily in only what will benefit him - he doesn't go out of his way to find people to kill. But he'll kill without a second thought if you get in his way. Primarily concerned with traveling from world to world - Hook wants more than anything else to either free himself from the fey's curse that still afflicts him - making it impossible for him to die - or to find power enough to protect himself from anyone who would dare to send him back to that island.
shipper
Hook's great love - the Sultana Annanova of the house of Ariadne - was lost to him long ago as did the child she possibly carried. Along with any thoughts of family or love. His arrogance, courtly manners and stand-off-ish-ness makes it difficult to get close to Hook. He has spent so long wanting things that he doesn't know how to NOT want - moreover, the wanting - the greed - is the only driving force he has now. He doesn't even remember what it's like to have friends (Smee's the closest he has) nevermind be in a relationship.

nicknames: Scrib/Scribby/Jay AGE: Old. Fat. Mean. Grumpy and oblivious to reality. PRONOUNS: meh TIMEZONE: CST CONTACT: Discord. We can use Skype if you want - but, seriously, FUCK Skype. TRIGGERS: I'll plot just about anything. If/When I get established I'll probably pick up other characters - I'll do anything you want with them. MATURE THREADING: Sure. Knocking boots - charging up a loading ramp - whatever. OTHER CHARACTERS: N/A. For now. ABOUT: I've been writing for a long time. For about fourteen years - unless I'm lying. I'm too old to remember whether or not I'm lying - THAT'S how long I've been writing.
Old. Pirate. Neverland. Dustin Hoffman.
thanks♥︎
Oh I hate being disappointed

And I hate living in this flawed body.

And I hate Neverland.

And I hate.

I Hate.

I HATE Peter Pan!
All-All

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