JACK
Rae's words echo in Jack's mind like something almost spiteful as the wind roars through The Ark's sails, the air biting even on a Longheat morning, the sunlight reaching like streamers through the crags of the mountain peaks.
The effort you put in will determine what she becomes.
Well he doesn't want to hear a fucking word about the effort he's putting in to get a lick of fire from Caido's Lighthouse, because if he and the ship make it out in one piece it'll be a gods damned miracle.
He can see the dragons as smudges of darkness in the air and against the cliffsides, sometimes shadows on the wing, other times screeching masses of teeth and claw overhead, and they've had enough close calls already without him daring to do anything other than keep the fuck going. And speaking of keeping the fuck going, he's sure he can see something else too, close enough for its butterfly sail to be recognisable, but Jack has promptly decided that he's hallucinating it, despite the pings of recognition from some of the other men, notably Bassian.
Sweat beads on his brow from the effort of the magic he's wielding to keep The Ark's sails full and her bow steady, and any other crewmember with magic helpful enough to provide assistance has been pulled from their usual duties to give it. He can hear Murphy's call from the wheel and through his magic, his usually unflappable first mate rigid with tension as he informs them that they've found the lighthouse.
"Sail over her an' I'll drop down," Jack yells back. "Then get her the fuck outta here - I'll do the rest!" The rest being to collect the fire and compass away from this draconic hellscape.
The effort you put in will determine what she becomes.
Well he doesn't want to hear a fucking word about the effort he's putting in to get a lick of fire from Caido's Lighthouse, because if he and the ship make it out in one piece it'll be a gods damned miracle.
He can see the dragons as smudges of darkness in the air and against the cliffsides, sometimes shadows on the wing, other times screeching masses of teeth and claw overhead, and they've had enough close calls already without him daring to do anything other than keep the fuck going. And speaking of keeping the fuck going, he's sure he can see something else too, close enough for its butterfly sail to be recognisable, but Jack has promptly decided that he's hallucinating it, despite the pings of recognition from some of the other men, notably Bassian.
Sweat beads on his brow from the effort of the magic he's wielding to keep The Ark's sails full and her bow steady, and any other crewmember with magic helpful enough to provide assistance has been pulled from their usual duties to give it. He can hear Murphy's call from the wheel and through his magic, his usually unflappable first mate rigid with tension as he informs them that they've found the lighthouse.
"Sail over her an' I'll drop down," Jack yells back. "Then get her the fuck outta here - I'll do the rest!" The rest being to collect the fire and compass away from this draconic hellscape.
you wanted perfect, you got your perfect
but now I'm too perfect for someone like you
but now I'm too perfect for someone like you
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
