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By Hook or By Crook	By : OktoberBlack Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 14973 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: Not my characters (except for the ones that are). Not making any money off of them. Wish I were, never going to be. Don’t sue me, please.

Thanks to the two of you who reviewed my ‘lil story here. *waves at Enthusiasto and msvanessa* I really appreciate your comments. I hope you like this next bit. There’s more, but my time is limited atm, so I’ll post when I can find the time!

By Hook or By Crook (for want of a better name)

Chapter Seven: Discussions, and Dressmaking, After Dinner

Dinner comprised a wide variety of seafood and meats, broiled or roasted or fried, with a scant few roasted root vegetables that swam in a rich sauce next to the roast chicken. There was a platter of fruit and cheese for dessert. Hook didn’t speak to me at all through the meal, but once the valet had reappeared to clear the table and pour brandy in a large snifter for the captain, he lit his double cigar and then leaned back, contemplating me.

“A cigarette for the lady,” he told the valet, who appeared with a box of cigarettes and a match. I drew in the smoke gratefully and yet was angry with myself because it was one more weakness of mine he could exploit.
“Thank you,” I said to the valet, who nodded and then withdrew from the room, a cart of dirty dishes in front of him.
“You should be thanking me,” Hook told me, as he waved his cigars at me. “It’s only through my magnanimity that you are smoking at all.”
“I suppose,” I replied, but didn’t say anything more. He considered me some more as he took a sip of his brandy.

“What exactly did you do before you stumbled upon Neverland?” he asked. He swirled the brandy in his glass. He looked down at his glass and then looked back up at me, his blue eyes piercing.
“I didn’t stumble upon Neverland,” I said bitterly.
“Mmm, perhaps I should rephrase that,” he agreed. “Before you were captured by me, what did you do?”
“In the real world?”
“If that’s how you’d care to view it,” he said.
“I was a writer,” I said.
“A writer?” He looked at me, one eyebrow quirked.
“And a part-time teacher,” I admitted. “But I’ve sold two novels already.”
“You like to tell stories, do you?”
“You could say that.”

“We had a storyteller here once,” Hook mused. He got a faraway look in his eyes. “Pan brought her here and she called herself Red-Handed Jill.”
“I remember that part of the story,” I interjected. He looked startled for a moment, before he remembered that I’d read the book.
“Indeed. Her name was really…”
“Wendy. She was Wendy Darling and you used her desire to become a pirate to try and capture Peter Pan,” I said. “You wanted a Wendy too, if I recall.”
“Well, who wouldn’t want a Wendy?”
“A Wendy is a mother, right?”
“And a lover and a friend,” he agreed. “A Wendy is all of those things in one lovely parcel.”
“Right. But she was only… twelve or something?” I made a face.
“It’s not like I actually raped her,” he said. He casually blew a smoke ring into the air above my head. “I’m not overly fond of small girls.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said.
“Anyway, it didn’t matter in the end. She went home and grew up, so the story goes, and Pan came back to Neverland and we continued our age old battle,” he said dismissively.

There was a knock on the door. He went to answer it, his hook held high just in case. It was the dressmaker he’d ordered early that day. Great.
“Do I at least get some say in what I have to wear?” I asked as the dressmaker made me strip off the robe and stand naked in front of her. Hook stood and watched as she made little noises of distaste at my tattoos.
“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Hook said.
“Colour? Fabric?” I pleaded.
“Uh, no,” he said firmly.
“You’ll be wanting to cover all of this up, I should think,” the dressmaker said, indicating my artwork.
“Oh, not all of it, surely,” Hook said.
“I don’t know, sir,” the dressmaker said. She pulled out a tape measure and proceeded to measure every little inch of my skin. She was truly brutal with that tape. “It’s not attractive for a lady to show such… masculine skin.”
“I think some of it’s quite attractive,” Hook mused and ran his hook along my thigh. “Tis a shame not to show at least some of it.”
“We could perhaps lower the back of the gown a bit to allow a hint of colour through, if you’d like sir,” the dressmaker said. She made a small expression of distaste with her mouth. “Now, I have some samples of fabric here for you to choose from, sir.”
“Very good,” Hook said, and they proceeded to decide what I would wear. I was left to stand naked in the middle of the room; the valet tried very hard not to stare at me but his eyes wandered back to me each time he looked away.

“I’m putting the robe back on,” I announced, but Hook grabbed my wrist.
“You will do no such thing,” he said. The dressmaker gestured to the valet, who gestured to someone I couldn’t see. Another man brought in several dresses and I was suddenly a Barbie doll for them to play with. I tried on dress after dress, each one uglier than the one before. They laced me tightly into each dress, the dressmaker markedly unhappy with the results because I steadfastly refused to wear a corset.
“I have cracked ribs!” I protested as she once again brought out a corset for Hook to look at.
“Yes, well, I suppose we’ll have to survive without the corset,” he told the dressmaker with some finality.

It took at least two hours for the dressmaker to finish, but she went away with an order for three dresses—no underclothing, no nightgown, no shoes.
“I can’t believe this,” I fumed as I belted the sash on the robe.
“Don’t get too comfortable in that robe,” Hook said. He waved his hand in my general direction as he poured himself some more brandy. “It’s mine.”
“And I don’t get one?”
“You don’t need one. You’re not going anywhere and it’s certainly warm enough in here to go without,” he said. He sat down on the couch. The valet, who seemed to appear from nowhere, swooped down to help him remove his boots. “In the same vein, you don’t need shoes because you aren’t going to be walking anywhere. Nor do you need underclothing or a nightgown.”
“I suppose it would just get in your way,” I said caustically.
“Exactly,” he said, with a gestured of his snifter. “I see you’ve finally gained some understanding of your position here.” I shook my head and took a deep breath.
“I understand exactly what my position is here,” I said. “I don’t like it very much.”
“I don’t expect you do,” he agreed. He put his feet up on the ottoman. “You are not the first cruise ship captive I’ve taken, you know.”
“Really?” I sat down on a chair as far away from his as possible.

“Indeed. Well, the last one was a man—an accountant, apparently—and he didn’t last very long as a slave on the ship, but it took him almost as long to understand his place amongst the crew. And he never quite became accustomed to his lot in life.”
“He didn’t last very long?”
“Oh, no. He died of fever some weeks after I took him captive. Not a very strong man, I’m afraid to say,” he said. He shook his head as if with pity for the man. “I expect my hook in his guts didn’t help matters.”
“I see,” I said. I pulled my knees up to my chin and hugged my legs to me.
“But you… you’ve done so much better already, my dear.” He sipped his brandy. “I can see that you’ll adjust to this life that much more quickly.”
“And how can you tell?”
He gave me a long, lascivious look. “You are my first female captive, my dear, to assume the dominant position during intercourse with me. This tells me more about you than anything you might choose to say.”
“Right,” I said with an inward groan.
“Not only that,” he continued, “but you enjoyed yourself. Immensely, I might add.” He grinned at me. “You are proving to be one of the most entertaining captives I’ve ever had.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I shot back, and then ran to my bedroom. I slammed the door closed behind me as hard as I could, then I turned the lock and threw myself on my bed. Through the door, I could hear him roar with laughter.

What the fuck was I going to do? I had to get out of there but I didn’t have my passport or any money… and did you need a passport to get out of Neverland? I mean, was there anyway to actually get out of there without some kind of magical help? The ship seemed able to go from one reality to the other without difficulty, but it probably was magical in its own right. I had read enough fantasy literature to understand how these things worked. I needed someone else who was magical, like Peter Pan or one of the pirates or some hero, to rescue me. I couldn’t do it myself—unless I could find some kind of portal or something to allow me to pass from one part of reality to the next. I had no idea how to do that, though. The best I could hope for was to escape from this room, and Hook’s clutches, and some how find a central authority figure upon whose mercy I could throw myself. Maybe there was someone else in this town who knew how to get back to the rest of the world. I lay on the bed, and wished I’d never taken that fucking cruise in the first place.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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By Hook or By Crook