JACK
Some might have expected Jack Barclay to covet what he'd received from Rae; to keep it warm against his chest like a secret or a sin, to tell the crew nothing and strangers even less. But he doesn't. Never mind that the crew (and the ship herself) had sailed up into the Cordillera at the start of all this, but they all know The Ark and, presumably, she'll know them. So he shows the coin, he gives his explanations, he shares what can only be assumptions for now.
And the rest he'll leave between the ship and the crew, however it might go.
That was some hours ago. They've been hovering in the sky since long after sunset, starlight in the sails and a soft breeze keeping them circling the Greatwood like a shark sensing blood. Some of the men are drinking, some are singing shanties, and the mood is light and celebratory; a night off, for all intents and purposes.
Jack, though, is in his cabin, door locked, empty glass of rum in hand. He knows they all think he's already summoned the spirit of The Ark out of the coin - his magic can tell him that much - and that he's already getting up to what men do best when in the presence of a beautiful woman.
"You'd think it'd be that easy, wouldn't you?" He scoffs to himself, absently walking the coin across ring-heavy knuckles, his feet propped on his desk. The rum bottle beside them is half empty, not enough to be drunk but certainly enough to take the edge off. It's nerves, though he'd never name the emotion, and it's only when the frustration of doing nothing gets the better of him that he finally snatches the coin into his palm and rises to his feet.
"Fuck it," he mutters, shrugging his shirt back onto his shoulder where it has slipped down, unbuttoned due to the heat. Gazing at the coin, Jack flicks a thumb beneath it and gives it a practiced flick into the air; it spins a few time, gold glinting off the lantern light, then lands flat in his hand.
The Soul of the Ark faces up.
And the rest he'll leave between the ship and the crew, however it might go.
That was some hours ago. They've been hovering in the sky since long after sunset, starlight in the sails and a soft breeze keeping them circling the Greatwood like a shark sensing blood. Some of the men are drinking, some are singing shanties, and the mood is light and celebratory; a night off, for all intents and purposes.
Jack, though, is in his cabin, door locked, empty glass of rum in hand. He knows they all think he's already summoned the spirit of The Ark out of the coin - his magic can tell him that much - and that he's already getting up to what men do best when in the presence of a beautiful woman.
"You'd think it'd be that easy, wouldn't you?" He scoffs to himself, absently walking the coin across ring-heavy knuckles, his feet propped on his desk. The rum bottle beside them is half empty, not enough to be drunk but certainly enough to take the edge off. It's nerves, though he'd never name the emotion, and it's only when the frustration of doing nothing gets the better of him that he finally snatches the coin into his palm and rises to his feet.
"Fuck it," he mutters, shrugging his shirt back onto his shoulder where it has slipped down, unbuttoned due to the heat. Gazing at the coin, Jack flicks a thumb beneath it and gives it a practiced flick into the air; it spins a few time, gold glinting off the lantern light, then lands flat in his hand.
The Soul of the Ark faces up.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
