flannel cure

JACK

"Hardly," Jack objects, scoffing around a sip of his drink. "She had no crew, her sails were torn to shit and she sat in the port rottin'. What else would you call it?" Still, semantics aside, The Ark's bones had been good - Jack had found that out for himself. And as for Flora's other thoughts, the captain offers her a sly smile for her trouble, tilting his glass to clink it against her own in a toast. Correct.

"Ain't that how it went for you as well?" he asks with a raise of his brows. Bullshit until it wasn't? "Don't get me wrong, I know your parents are your parents but I don't know if anyone raises a kid to be queen."

Offering her a glare for her trouble, as well as her nudge - a pony indeed - Jack peers out at the hazy horizon. There's no water out there and there won't be for a long time, given the journey they need to take down from The Climb to Torchline, but he can imagine it well enough. "It was freedom," he says softly, wrinkling his nose at the admission. "For an island kid with no prospects, seein' ships come in from all over... ain't the kind of itch you can scratch with a wagon." Besides, a Torcher from birth, there's salt in his veins that the world just can't wash out.

"Why? You want to learn?" He smirks.

believer, believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes