flannel cure

JACK

"I ain't gonna disagree with you for once," Jack says with a humourless laugh, rolling his glass between his hands and utilising a touch of magic to chill the whiskey within it. "It's been so long since then it's second nature now. There was a time when I had a lot of sleepless nights, learnin' how not to sink a ship." It absolutely helped, being able to handpick a crew that knew what they were doing, as well as reading thoughts on the fly to make it sound like he knew what he was talking about. A few quick wins didn't hurt either; easy targets, easier gains.

Following her gaze to the smudge of orange that heralds The Climb, Jack nods at her observation. "I did," he agrees. "By that point, she was mine." Torchline, her sprawl of islands, the people who frequented her streets. "Suddenly she didn't seem so bad any more." That, and starting over again from scratch seemed a lot like failing to Jack.

Snorting at her remark and following suit by knocking back the rest of his rum, the captain turns his head ever so slightly to bring her lips even closer to his own. "Yeah? Go adjust course for the crew of this ship - make sure you give 'em all their orders, too," he says, nudging her.

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