bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The thought of The Fingers curls easily through the Ark’s mind as Jack speaks, not as a map so much as a series of possibilities; tight corridors and shifting ownership, the promise of dim corners where footsteps echo just a second too long. Faces follow her there in her imagination, drawn in by the pull of her presence without quite understanding why, and she lets the image linger of them trailing after her through narrowing passages only to find Jack waiting where the light breaks, their curiosity turning sharp a moment too late. The grin that follows is slow and satisfied as she tips another oyster back, the heat of the sauce blooming after the brine.
Around them, the harbour continues to watch. Jack’s hand threading idly through her hair doesn’t go unnoticed; attention sharpens, questions catching like hooks in the wake of that simple, familiar gesture, like whether the Captain is still untethered after his very public unraveling with Torchline’s queen, whether old habits might draw him back into the darker corners of the port, whether brothels or backrooms might once again welcome him in, whether proximity might be worth the risk.
The Ark listens as Jack agrees, as he lays out the shape of it in that easy, confident way of his, and she tucks it away, letting the logic settle into place the same way she once might have adjusted to a change in current, ever the studious pupil when it came to his methods. After a moment she turns her head toward him, studying him sidelong as another oyster shell rolls lightly between her fingers before she sets it aside. Her lips purse briefly, thoughtful, before easing into something more curious than coy. "D’you think you’re too notorious to shadow me," she asks, voice low enough to belong just to them, "if I wanted to wander out alone while we’re here?" Alone, only insofar as the world was concerned, but within his telepathic net in case she found herself in the sort of trouble that being a galleon couldn't prepare her for. "Or will the gray road help to keep you out of sight?"
Around them, the harbour continues to watch. Jack’s hand threading idly through her hair doesn’t go unnoticed; attention sharpens, questions catching like hooks in the wake of that simple, familiar gesture, like whether the Captain is still untethered after his very public unraveling with Torchline’s queen, whether old habits might draw him back into the darker corners of the port, whether brothels or backrooms might once again welcome him in, whether proximity might be worth the risk.
The Ark listens as Jack agrees, as he lays out the shape of it in that easy, confident way of his, and she tucks it away, letting the logic settle into place the same way she once might have adjusted to a change in current, ever the studious pupil when it came to his methods. After a moment she turns her head toward him, studying him sidelong as another oyster shell rolls lightly between her fingers before she sets it aside. Her lips purse briefly, thoughtful, before easing into something more curious than coy. "D’you think you’re too notorious to shadow me," she asks, voice low enough to belong just to them, "if I wanted to wander out alone while we’re here?" Alone, only insofar as the world was concerned, but within his telepathic net in case she found herself in the sort of trouble that being a galleon couldn't prepare her for. "Or will the gray road help to keep you out of sight?"
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
