JACK
For a moment Jack is certain that he's been tricked, that Rae hasn't created what was promised but has split The Ark's hull clean in two instead. Despite the fact that they're airborne currently and that it would be impossible for the sea to come flooding in, the sound of wavebreak and the smell of salt in the air is enough to have him stepping back, bracing, reaching for something to keep steady.
It doesn't register at first that the very deck he stands upon is now made material before him, clad in linen and pearl and brine-weathered rope, with hair the colour of his ship's sails and eyes like a Longheat ocean. The nerves ice over into something guarded quite without his permission, as if every part of him that had opened in doing this quest is trying to clam up at the first sign of being seen as truly vulnerable.
She speaks, though, her voice familiar despite him never having heard it in a woman's cadence, and his lips twitch towards something too suspicious to be a smile but too relieved not to be. "Was still half-mad a lot of those days. Reckless, stupid," he recalls, his voice low. "The sails held, though. Hull was sound. Steerin' a little rough, but I liked it that way." He'd been sore for days after; pretending at being a captain was a lot easier in theory than in practice, but the commitment had never waivered from the moment he'd set his course.
He doesn't stop her as she reaches for the bottle of rum, watching with the sort of wariness that wants to let itself melt away, but sticks around despite all else. "I'll have the crew set you out a glass from now on," he suggests dryly. "...Hello, love."
It doesn't register at first that the very deck he stands upon is now made material before him, clad in linen and pearl and brine-weathered rope, with hair the colour of his ship's sails and eyes like a Longheat ocean. The nerves ice over into something guarded quite without his permission, as if every part of him that had opened in doing this quest is trying to clam up at the first sign of being seen as truly vulnerable.
She speaks, though, her voice familiar despite him never having heard it in a woman's cadence, and his lips twitch towards something too suspicious to be a smile but too relieved not to be. "Was still half-mad a lot of those days. Reckless, stupid," he recalls, his voice low. "The sails held, though. Hull was sound. Steerin' a little rough, but I liked it that way." He'd been sore for days after; pretending at being a captain was a lot easier in theory than in practice, but the commitment had never waivered from the moment he'd set his course.
He doesn't stop her as she reaches for the bottle of rum, watching with the sort of wariness that wants to let itself melt away, but sticks around despite all else. "I'll have the crew set you out a glass from now on," he suggests dryly. "...Hello, love."
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!
