JACK
Stepping light and stepping quick, Jack’s venture through Haulani’s colourful marketplace is one he’s made dozens of times, but there’s no denying the way that the scents of salt and spice and the familiar contours of the stalls and buildings relaxes some of the wire-tight tension from his shoulders. He’ll never say it, but it’s good to be home. Alone today, the captain’s errand is a personal one - The Ark had docked this morning and put down her anchor at last, and he’s left her in Murphy’s very capable hands while he gets reacquainted with his city.
Having strolled the boardwalk at first, in silence or in seemingly innocuous conversation, Jack has given Vesper’s forewarning all of the respect it is due, his magic spread like a net of spider silk across all those wandering in his range. Changes, rumours and gossip all twang and settle into the already extensive breadth of knowledge in the captain’s mind, and anything new is considered and filed away for later. (Particularly when it pertains to himself or Torchline’s Queen).
By the time he moves into Haulani, he knows all there is to know about the upcoming barrier against the family, the sometimes exaggerated and occasionally true stories about himself and his relationship with the Doubletake, not to mention all sorts of tidbits about her state of mind, her comings and goings, her company. One might also think Jack was invested in her, if one didn’t know better.
Still, back to the marketplace. Having paused at the doorstep of a shipmaker’s business, he’s been deep in conversation with him for a few minutes now to commission a compass rose to be carved into the deck of The Ark just within the doorway of his cabin. He’s in the process of explaining in tight terms that do not expect to be challenged that of fucking course he knows that an etching won’t act like a true compass, but that it’s for a quest and that sort of thing will be sidestepped by magic, when a familiar tone plucks at a string of his telepathy.
Turning to gaze across this branch of the market, his kingmaker coat flaring away from his body as it’s snatched by the sea breeze, tugging tendrils of his long hair from the hasty topknot he’s tied it into, Jack Barclay raises an eyebrow as he spots Flora arguing with a sail-smith. With a cart, a man, a horse, and what looks ever so suspiciously like a bunch of ship supplies.
”Can you do it or not?” He snaps at the merchant, who grumbles and concedes and advises he will personally see to it in the next couple of days, Jack gives him a gruff nod and steps off the stoop of the business to approach the stall.
The owner is still dithering a bit, bobbing his head at Flora’s sketches and trying to stammer his way through an explanation when Jack’s shadow falls over them both. ”Use the same sort of dye you use for my sails but on a more sheer canvas,” he says as if it’s obvious, addressing the merchant even if he’s almost shoulder to shoulder with the Doubletake. ”You’ve done it for me plenty of times. Now do it for her.”
Having strolled the boardwalk at first, in silence or in seemingly innocuous conversation, Jack has given Vesper’s forewarning all of the respect it is due, his magic spread like a net of spider silk across all those wandering in his range. Changes, rumours and gossip all twang and settle into the already extensive breadth of knowledge in the captain’s mind, and anything new is considered and filed away for later. (Particularly when it pertains to himself or Torchline’s Queen).
By the time he moves into Haulani, he knows all there is to know about the upcoming barrier against the family, the sometimes exaggerated and occasionally true stories about himself and his relationship with the Doubletake, not to mention all sorts of tidbits about her state of mind, her comings and goings, her company. One might also think Jack was invested in her, if one didn’t know better.
Still, back to the marketplace. Having paused at the doorstep of a shipmaker’s business, he’s been deep in conversation with him for a few minutes now to commission a compass rose to be carved into the deck of The Ark just within the doorway of his cabin. He’s in the process of explaining in tight terms that do not expect to be challenged that of fucking course he knows that an etching won’t act like a true compass, but that it’s for a quest and that sort of thing will be sidestepped by magic, when a familiar tone plucks at a string of his telepathy.
Turning to gaze across this branch of the market, his kingmaker coat flaring away from his body as it’s snatched by the sea breeze, tugging tendrils of his long hair from the hasty topknot he’s tied it into, Jack Barclay raises an eyebrow as he spots Flora arguing with a sail-smith. With a cart, a man, a horse, and what looks ever so suspiciously like a bunch of ship supplies.
”Can you do it or not?” He snaps at the merchant, who grumbles and concedes and advises he will personally see to it in the next couple of days, Jack gives him a gruff nod and steps off the stoop of the business to approach the stall.
The owner is still dithering a bit, bobbing his head at Flora’s sketches and trying to stammer his way through an explanation when Jack’s shadow falls over them both. ”Use the same sort of dye you use for my sails but on a more sheer canvas,” he says as if it’s obvious, addressing the merchant even if he’s almost shoulder to shoulder with the Doubletake. ”You’ve done it for me plenty of times. Now do it for her.”
you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous
and your hunger is cavernous
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
