i want to taste you again
"Careful," Jack hisses at the arm that moves around him, gesturing to another laceration that has soaked his shirt with blood and grime, a vertical strike that curves beneath the ladder of his ribs. He doesn't shy from the extra support at least, not from her, but the attempt to steer him further into the cabin is one he fights momentarily in lieu of trying to leave for the deck. "...Shit. Get us the fuck outta here, then," he grates in the end, knowing better than to dig his heels in on this particular fight.
Besides, she'd be able to manoeuvre the ship away from the swamp without needing his orders, and he knows Murphy well enough to know his first mate won't fight The Ark for control on this. If she's having them leave it's because he's back, and that subconscious knowledge will need to be enough for the time being.
Sagging against the edge of the desk as a compromise - not because he doesn't want to be horizontal, but because the idea of covering his bunk in grime when he'll want to pass out in it soon seems counter-intuitive - Jack is already fumbling at the buttons of his filthy shirt. "Rats," he says, and it isn't a tame curse from the Captain - it's literal. "Massive swamp rats. Stumbled into a nest of 'em after I ran. The skull thing fucked my arm up, an' a lot more of me besides, and then there was a fuckin' free-for-all between 'em."
Having been an unwilling participant in said free-for-all, Jack can confirm now with first-hand experience that getting in the middle of anything hungry in the swamp is a terrible idea. "Better late than never though, mm?"
Besides, she'd be able to manoeuvre the ship away from the swamp without needing his orders, and he knows Murphy well enough to know his first mate won't fight The Ark for control on this. If she's having them leave it's because he's back, and that subconscious knowledge will need to be enough for the time being.
Sagging against the edge of the desk as a compromise - not because he doesn't want to be horizontal, but because the idea of covering his bunk in grime when he'll want to pass out in it soon seems counter-intuitive - Jack is already fumbling at the buttons of his filthy shirt. "Rats," he says, and it isn't a tame curse from the Captain - it's literal. "Massive swamp rats. Stumbled into a nest of 'em after I ran. The skull thing fucked my arm up, an' a lot more of me besides, and then there was a fuckin' free-for-all between 'em."
Having been an unwilling participant in said free-for-all, Jack can confirm now with first-hand experience that getting in the middle of anything hungry in the swamp is a terrible idea. "Better late than never though, mm?"
like a secret or a sin
JACK
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
