JACK
With his little tribute to Safrin made, his thanks given and his seedy little empire's secrets in the hands of a younger man now, Jack believes, for all intents and purposes, that their business is concluded here. And indeed, at any other time it might have been, but he needs no magic to sense the prickle of hesitance in Vesper's posture, in the words he tries to find, until at last the question tumbles out.
Jack sighs, though this time the gesture has him bristling rather than relaxing. Without preamble but without looking at Vesper either, he reaches out a mental hand and drags down his mental shields. Not a fraction - all the way - so the boy might not think to ask his question twice to make sure.
The captain's mind is on fire.
The delicate network of his magic keens with it, scorched along each and every careful ribbon of connection, frazzling any chance at clear thought and smouldering with something raw and sharp and bone deep. It's pain wrapped in the embarrassment of feeling it, of having shown one's hand only to realise the cards are all jokers. It's the shame of having been proven right - that love is a weapon and that it makes men weak, and Jack Barclay is still only that right now: a man.
The situation will be as plain to Vesper as an open book, should he care to read it; memories, conversations, Flora's words and her letter and the belated realisation that she was never coming to meet him at Stormbreak. Because she's here, with Kaisel, right here and right now.
Jack stands beside Vesper, burning, and no amount of ice magic will put that fire out. "Stayin' is gonna kill me," he tells him as he snaps the shields back up. "I can't concentrate for shit."
Jack sighs, though this time the gesture has him bristling rather than relaxing. Without preamble but without looking at Vesper either, he reaches out a mental hand and drags down his mental shields. Not a fraction - all the way - so the boy might not think to ask his question twice to make sure.
The captain's mind is on fire.
The delicate network of his magic keens with it, scorched along each and every careful ribbon of connection, frazzling any chance at clear thought and smouldering with something raw and sharp and bone deep. It's pain wrapped in the embarrassment of feeling it, of having shown one's hand only to realise the cards are all jokers. It's the shame of having been proven right - that love is a weapon and that it makes men weak, and Jack Barclay is still only that right now: a man.
The situation will be as plain to Vesper as an open book, should he care to read it; memories, conversations, Flora's words and her letter and the belated realisation that she was never coming to meet him at Stormbreak. Because she's here, with Kaisel, right here and right now.
Jack stands beside Vesper, burning, and no amount of ice magic will put that fire out. "Stayin' is gonna kill me," he tells him as he snaps the shields back up. "I can't concentrate for shit."
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic
and recommended
and recommended
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
