JACK
"Always did," Jack says; the memory is easier to focus on than the present, strangely enough. Awkwardness is not a feeling the Captain is well-acquainted with, and he wishes he'd had more of the rum before flipping the coin he's now palmed back into a pocket. Reaching for the bottle, whether it's in her hands or on the desk, he refills his glass to take a long sip, wincing in satisfaction at the burn.
At the mention of flying, he can only tilt the glass towards her in a half-salute, an acceptance both of the compliment and his experience at that point. "Mm, I still prefer the sea," he says; it's not an admission as such, because it's something he's already told her, muttered on moonlit nights sailing high above the Arclight or in storms heading down from the Hollowed Grounds. "Can't deny the world opened up for us when the sky did, though."
She tsks him, though, Jack glancing sharply towards her with an expression that begs to be playful or petulant, and he scoffs around another sip of rum. "You ain't ever talked back before," he points out, reasonable as you like. "...Strange in more'n one way, I guess." For her to be standing before him but still cradling the cabin all around and overhead, to be here and yet sailing the skies over the Greatwood like a mahogany knife cutting through the silk of the night.
That's not really it, though, and he feels as though they both know it. If there was ever an opinion Jack cared about - above lovers and acquaintances, business partners and goddesses - it's that of the woman standing before him. He'd been not enough once before, and recently, and he'd brushed himself off from it, or has started to. He doesn't think it will be so easy with the Ark.
At the mention of flying, he can only tilt the glass towards her in a half-salute, an acceptance both of the compliment and his experience at that point. "Mm, I still prefer the sea," he says; it's not an admission as such, because it's something he's already told her, muttered on moonlit nights sailing high above the Arclight or in storms heading down from the Hollowed Grounds. "Can't deny the world opened up for us when the sky did, though."
She tsks him, though, Jack glancing sharply towards her with an expression that begs to be playful or petulant, and he scoffs around another sip of rum. "You ain't ever talked back before," he points out, reasonable as you like. "...Strange in more'n one way, I guess." For her to be standing before him but still cradling the cabin all around and overhead, to be here and yet sailing the skies over the Greatwood like a mahogany knife cutting through the silk of the night.
That's not really it, though, and he feels as though they both know it. If there was ever an opinion Jack cared about - above lovers and acquaintances, business partners and goddesses - it's that of the woman standing before him. He'd been not enough once before, and recently, and he'd brushed himself off from it, or has started to. He doesn't think it will be so easy with the Ark.
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!
