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As every beginning has an ending, every traveler has a home. This was never more true than for the people of Pirate Cove. While most of the townsfolk were travelers at heart, they knew someone had to maintain the supply docks and weave the ropes and repair sails. Pirate Cove had been a part of Neverland since there had been pirates—which was a date too far back to trace. With a town as old as Pirate Cove in a land that never ages, the pirates had a long time to create their safe harbour.
Pirate Cove, in some ways, bested the tree-town of the Lost Boys. The cove was long with cream sand layered with driftwood and glimmering shells. The town itself was first built under the shadow of the tall cliff that overlooked the water. The town hall fit crooked in the large cave at the base of the cliff. A long staircase was carved from the rocks from the cave to the shore where the docks jutted out to the sea. Every house doubled as a shop, passed from father to son or perhaps mother to daughter. The butcher, the baker, and the rope-maker had apartments above their shops. The seamstresses and the brewers built apartments beside their shops. The shipbuilders usually slept on their ships and on special occasions bargained or won their way into the warmer homes of bakers or seamstresses. The Cat’s Crook Inn was large with high roof, open hall, and was the only place a proper meal was served in Pirate Cove. The inn’s rooms were tiny, not much more than a hard bed and walls. The only good thing about the rooms is that the floors creaked and it reminded the sleeping sailors of better days at sea. Most of the town was nailed together driftwood—as Pan rarely let the builders leave the forests with fresh wood. Some walls were reinforced with iron rails at the smith’s insistence (it was a way to pass the time). Buildings stood crookedly side by side with hardly enough room for a single person to pass between. Less than 300 souls were docked in Pirate Cove at any one time, and the numbers were dwindling.
When Lola stood from the top of the cliff overlooking Pirate Cove, she didn’t see that the town was less than it once was. She saw the peg-legged, the colourful patches on clothes, and the swords hanging from hips, the eye-patches, parrots, cats, and singing. Out on benches enjoying the sun were men spinning their hands around ropes and women patching sails. They were singing in chorus about the perils of the sea. Perilous though the lyrics were, then men and women were laughing. Lola watched a young boy—not much older than Jenson—swabbing the deck of a ship. The name scrawled in dark letters was the Jolly Roger. In many ways it was the most ordinary thing she had seen in Neverland, but she was desperate to descend the cliff and walk the dirt main street. She pictured herself in the ragged skirts the seamstresses wore with a leather belt and a sword. She saw the large hats with feathers on the heads far below and wondered if they’d make one in her size.
Pan floated over the cliff and planted his feet in the face of it, staring up at the crowd looking over. “Save your energy until we’re down there,” he ordered, his voice deep and barking. He was pretending to be something like a general. He crossed his arms behind him and paced the air, stopping himself from smiling as the crowd turned their heads side to side following him. “Be quiet until we reach the bottom of the hill. Then, raise your swords and shout! Scream! We’ll make those lily-livered seadogs shake in their silly clomping boots!”
“Yeah!” The boys shouted in unison. Mason joined. He looked at his siblings and shrugged. It was all a game anyway—why not have fun?
Jenson and Lola shared concerned expressions. The Lost Boys and Peter Pan certainly acted like it was wonderful chase, but what would happen when the children raised swords against the pirates? Lola hadn’t thought there would be any grown-ups in Neverland—but there they were. Grown-ups—pirates. Lola had to trust that Pan had played this game enough to be sure the pirates would play along.
The Lost Boys hurried down the hill. Some had a hand on their swords. Some stopped to tuck in shoelaces (as no one seemed to know how to tie-shoes). Pan put his hands behind his head and floated alongside Lola and Jenson and they walked in the centre of the parade of boys.
“Do you war with the pirates often?” Lola asked.
“Sure do,” Pan said was an impish grin. “We always win.”
“Isn’t that boring?”
Pan frowned. “Winning is fun.”
Lola shook her head. “Winning all the time at a game is boring,” she argued. “You haven’t really won if you’re opponent can never win, right? It just means the other team lost.” She shrugged. “You didn’t have to try.”
Pan fiery brows curled inward. His body remained horizontal like an invisible cloud was carrying him, but the cloud was slower. He dipped lower to the ground, floating just above Lola’s hip.
“Maybe if the pirates come close to winning…” Jensen scratched his scalp. “It’s not boring if you always win if the other team is really tough to beat.”
Pan lifted his arms from his head. “But I like winning.”
“Who doesn’t?” Lola smirked.
“Lola,” Jenson said, elbowing her side. “He’s too young. He doesn’t get it.”
“I am the cleverest boy in Neverland,” Pan said sharply. His hands fisted above his hips. “There is nothing I don’t get. I always get what I want.”
“Is there anyone in Pirate Cove who challenges you?” Lola asked.
“Like, someone really good at swashbuckling?” Jensen teased.
Lola rolled her eyes and laughed. Jenson chuckled. Though neither would admit it, and though they pretended to find the word too young and silly, they were both excited to see swashbuckling.
“Hook.”
The parade halted. The Lost Boys gasped all together. Pan didn’t smile. But in his eyes was a spark, the threat of a building fire. Pan was uncharacteristically immobile. His fisted hands waited at his sides. Though his eyes focused on nothing, it was clear what his mind’s eyes was seeing. Hook.
“What’s Hook?” Mason shouted from the front. Somehow during the parade he’d painted his cheeks with black war paint and was wearing a necklace of acorns.
“Hook is a who,” Pan answered. His feet touched the earth. He crouched. The Lost Boys moved hurriedly to circle him. They huddled like team planning their next big play.
“You’ll know him,” Pan warned. “He’s the captain of the Jolly Roger. His coat is red, probably dyed from blood.”
The Lost Boys gasped. It was rehearsed. They’d heard the story before.
“If you see Smee, the short one with the red cap, you’ll know Hook is near,” Pan explained in a hushed tone. “Smee is Hook’s first mate and is always close by. Smee isn’t scary. He’s old and slow and fat. But Hook…” Pan grinned. “He’s quick. When he and I fight, his sword slashes like lightning. There’s no sound. Only the flash of it. He’d cut down his own men to get to me. He gave me a scar once.” Pan raised his shirt. A thin white line was drawn under his ribcage. “He’s pinned me a few times. But he’s never gotten closer than this scar. But me”—Pan tapped the golden hilt of his small sword—“I’ve gotten closer.”
Lola and Jensen leaned in. The Lost Boys snickered at them, but let them crouch close to their leader.
“To pay him back for his gift,” Pan said, patting the cloth over his scar, “I proved once and for all who was the better swordsman. I cut off his sword hand.”
The Lost Boys gasped again. Lola clasped her hands together. She was fighting between nausea and dizzying excitement. More than once Lola had raised a wooden ruler and pretended it was a sword and she’d been slashed through and through with a plastic sword by Jensen. She wanted to see Hook and his lightning sword—but she didn’t want anyone chopping off body parts. There was no way this Hook had really lost a hand. That would be more than a game.
“Then I fed Hook’s hand to the great crocodile of Skull Island.” Pan stood. “Hook has called me his nemesis ever since.” The way Pan’s eyes swelled black made one thing clear: Pan wasn’t pretending about Hook.
The Lost Boys applauded. Lola held her hands tightly. Mason asked more questions about the previous pirate battles, but Lola didn’t listen. She thought only of Pan’s white scar and Hook’s severed hand. She heard the clap of thunder and envisioned the lightning strikes of Hook’s sword. She saw Pan pinned with a sword at his throat lying on the deck of a ship. She heard the seamstresses and the rope-weavers singing the songs of ghosts and wondered what the rules were of Pan’s games.
Pirate Cove, in some ways, bested the tree-town of the Lost Boys. The cove was long with cream sand layered with driftwood and glimmering shells. The town itself was first built under the shadow of the tall cliff that overlooked the water. The town hall fit crooked in the large cave at the base of the cliff. A long staircase was carved from the rocks from the cave to the shore where the docks jutted out to the sea. Every house doubled as a shop, passed from father to son or perhaps mother to daughter. The butcher, the baker, and the rope-maker had apartments above their shops. The seamstresses and the brewers built apartments beside their shops. The shipbuilders usually slept on their ships and on special occasions bargained or won their way into the warmer homes of bakers or seamstresses. The Cat’s Crook Inn was large with high roof, open hall, and was the only place a proper meal was served in Pirate Cove. The inn’s rooms were tiny, not much more than a hard bed and walls. The only good thing about the rooms is that the floors creaked and it reminded the sleeping sailors of better days at sea. Most of the town was nailed together driftwood—as Pan rarely let the builders leave the forests with fresh wood. Some walls were reinforced with iron rails at the smith’s insistence (it was a way to pass the time). Buildings stood crookedly side by side with hardly enough room for a single person to pass between. Less than 300 souls were docked in Pirate Cove at any one time, and the numbers were dwindling.
When Lola stood from the top of the cliff overlooking Pirate Cove, she didn’t see that the town was less than it once was. She saw the peg-legged, the colourful patches on clothes, and the swords hanging from hips, the eye-patches, parrots, cats, and singing. Out on benches enjoying the sun were men spinning their hands around ropes and women patching sails. They were singing in chorus about the perils of the sea. Perilous though the lyrics were, then men and women were laughing. Lola watched a young boy—not much older than Jenson—swabbing the deck of a ship. The name scrawled in dark letters was the Jolly Roger. In many ways it was the most ordinary thing she had seen in Neverland, but she was desperate to descend the cliff and walk the dirt main street. She pictured herself in the ragged skirts the seamstresses wore with a leather belt and a sword. She saw the large hats with feathers on the heads far below and wondered if they’d make one in her size.
Pan floated over the cliff and planted his feet in the face of it, staring up at the crowd looking over. “Save your energy until we’re down there,” he ordered, his voice deep and barking. He was pretending to be something like a general. He crossed his arms behind him and paced the air, stopping himself from smiling as the crowd turned their heads side to side following him. “Be quiet until we reach the bottom of the hill. Then, raise your swords and shout! Scream! We’ll make those lily-livered seadogs shake in their silly clomping boots!”
“Yeah!” The boys shouted in unison. Mason joined. He looked at his siblings and shrugged. It was all a game anyway—why not have fun?
Jenson and Lola shared concerned expressions. The Lost Boys and Peter Pan certainly acted like it was wonderful chase, but what would happen when the children raised swords against the pirates? Lola hadn’t thought there would be any grown-ups in Neverland—but there they were. Grown-ups—pirates. Lola had to trust that Pan had played this game enough to be sure the pirates would play along.
The Lost Boys hurried down the hill. Some had a hand on their swords. Some stopped to tuck in shoelaces (as no one seemed to know how to tie-shoes). Pan put his hands behind his head and floated alongside Lola and Jenson and they walked in the centre of the parade of boys.
“Do you war with the pirates often?” Lola asked.
“Sure do,” Pan said was an impish grin. “We always win.”
“Isn’t that boring?”
Pan frowned. “Winning is fun.”
Lola shook her head. “Winning all the time at a game is boring,” she argued. “You haven’t really won if you’re opponent can never win, right? It just means the other team lost.” She shrugged. “You didn’t have to try.”
Pan fiery brows curled inward. His body remained horizontal like an invisible cloud was carrying him, but the cloud was slower. He dipped lower to the ground, floating just above Lola’s hip.
“Maybe if the pirates come close to winning…” Jensen scratched his scalp. “It’s not boring if you always win if the other team is really tough to beat.”
Pan lifted his arms from his head. “But I like winning.”
“Who doesn’t?” Lola smirked.
“Lola,” Jenson said, elbowing her side. “He’s too young. He doesn’t get it.”
“I am the cleverest boy in Neverland,” Pan said sharply. His hands fisted above his hips. “There is nothing I don’t get. I always get what I want.”
“Is there anyone in Pirate Cove who challenges you?” Lola asked.
“Like, someone really good at swashbuckling?” Jensen teased.
Lola rolled her eyes and laughed. Jenson chuckled. Though neither would admit it, and though they pretended to find the word too young and silly, they were both excited to see swashbuckling.
“Hook.”
The parade halted. The Lost Boys gasped all together. Pan didn’t smile. But in his eyes was a spark, the threat of a building fire. Pan was uncharacteristically immobile. His fisted hands waited at his sides. Though his eyes focused on nothing, it was clear what his mind’s eyes was seeing. Hook.
“What’s Hook?” Mason shouted from the front. Somehow during the parade he’d painted his cheeks with black war paint and was wearing a necklace of acorns.
“Hook is a who,” Pan answered. His feet touched the earth. He crouched. The Lost Boys moved hurriedly to circle him. They huddled like team planning their next big play.
“You’ll know him,” Pan warned. “He’s the captain of the Jolly Roger. His coat is red, probably dyed from blood.”
The Lost Boys gasped. It was rehearsed. They’d heard the story before.
“If you see Smee, the short one with the red cap, you’ll know Hook is near,” Pan explained in a hushed tone. “Smee is Hook’s first mate and is always close by. Smee isn’t scary. He’s old and slow and fat. But Hook…” Pan grinned. “He’s quick. When he and I fight, his sword slashes like lightning. There’s no sound. Only the flash of it. He’d cut down his own men to get to me. He gave me a scar once.” Pan raised his shirt. A thin white line was drawn under his ribcage. “He’s pinned me a few times. But he’s never gotten closer than this scar. But me”—Pan tapped the golden hilt of his small sword—“I’ve gotten closer.”
Lola and Jensen leaned in. The Lost Boys snickered at them, but let them crouch close to their leader.
“To pay him back for his gift,” Pan said, patting the cloth over his scar, “I proved once and for all who was the better swordsman. I cut off his sword hand.”
The Lost Boys gasped again. Lola clasped her hands together. She was fighting between nausea and dizzying excitement. More than once Lola had raised a wooden ruler and pretended it was a sword and she’d been slashed through and through with a plastic sword by Jensen. She wanted to see Hook and his lightning sword—but she didn’t want anyone chopping off body parts. There was no way this Hook had really lost a hand. That would be more than a game.
“Then I fed Hook’s hand to the great crocodile of Skull Island.” Pan stood. “Hook has called me his nemesis ever since.” The way Pan’s eyes swelled black made one thing clear: Pan wasn’t pretending about Hook.
The Lost Boys applauded. Lola held her hands tightly. Mason asked more questions about the previous pirate battles, but Lola didn’t listen. She thought only of Pan’s white scar and Hook’s severed hand. She heard the clap of thunder and envisioned the lightning strikes of Hook’s sword. She saw Pan pinned with a sword at his throat lying on the deck of a ship. She heard the seamstresses and the rope-weavers singing the songs of ghosts and wondered what the rules were of Pan’s games.
Story Summary: A re-imagining of Pan and Neverland with a 17-year-old female protagonist not named Wendy.
Fan Fact: In my imagining of Neverland, every one and every thing has a reason for being there. Including Pan. Including pirates. And (grrrrr) pixies (even though we don't all get along).
Previously Never: vampricfaerygirl.deviantart.co…
Next: vampricfaerygirl.deviantart.co…
Fan Fact: In my imagining of Neverland, every one and every thing has a reason for being there. Including Pan. Including pirates. And (grrrrr) pixies (even though we don't all get along).
Previously Never: vampricfaerygirl.deviantart.co…
Next: vampricfaerygirl.deviantart.co…
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