JACK
Jack is already huffing out a laugh at her easy agreement; if nothing else, he thinks, his ship has either inherited his self-assured arrogance or came with it already in her bones. But then she's reaching for him and the Captain stiffens automatically; a reaction born from decades of keeping people at a distance. Her mind, though, is steady in a way he's never known.
No. That isn't true. He has known it, on early mornings at the helm or in the crows' nest with no one around, or during lazy, hot afternoons when the air is still and the sails fill anyway, coaxed to billowing by his magic.
Her thumb brushes against his throat, the beat of Jack's pulse steady despite the way he feels vaguely untethered by her proximity. Exhaling a breath that tries and fails to form an argument - an argument for what, exactly, given how right she is? - and feeling his fingers itch for a cigarette or more liquor, instead the Captain lifts his hand to cover her own, drawing it away from his collar so he can look properly at the pale, jagged scar along her palm.
"What's a sailor without his ship?" he reasons with a shrug and an easy smile that belies the truth of it, that he'd do it all again given a second chance. To hear that he looks the way he's always felt to her, though, has him scoffing out a laugh. "Oh? How's that?" he asks. Tired, certainly. Strung out maybe, scarred and inked and just a little world-weary in spades.
No. That isn't true. He has known it, on early mornings at the helm or in the crows' nest with no one around, or during lazy, hot afternoons when the air is still and the sails fill anyway, coaxed to billowing by his magic.
Her thumb brushes against his throat, the beat of Jack's pulse steady despite the way he feels vaguely untethered by her proximity. Exhaling a breath that tries and fails to form an argument - an argument for what, exactly, given how right she is? - and feeling his fingers itch for a cigarette or more liquor, instead the Captain lifts his hand to cover her own, drawing it away from his collar so he can look properly at the pale, jagged scar along her palm.
"What's a sailor without his ship?" he reasons with a shrug and an easy smile that belies the truth of it, that he'd do it all again given a second chance. To hear that he looks the way he's always felt to her, though, has him scoffing out a laugh. "Oh? How's that?" he asks. Tired, certainly. Strung out maybe, scarred and inked and just a little world-weary in spades.
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!
