i want to taste you again
"Maybe," Jack admits with a scoff of quiet laughter, finishing his bread and following it up with a small spoonful of stew, before reaching at last for the glass of rum. A lot of things had happened in that relatively short scuffle on the swamp floor; it's not impossible that he could have hit his head while being eaten and stabbed and trampled and so on. And now that he's warm and dry and away from the Feverlands he can let it be amusing for a beat or two - at least until The Ark goes and ruins it.
The question comes with all the sharp, clean weight of death's scythe itself, and it may as well have parted Jack's hand at the wrist for the way the glass goes slipping out of his fingers. It shatters beside his seat without his ever hearing the sound of it, the Captain's blue eyes still hazed with weariness and the start of a fever as he holds the siren's gaze, as he parses the words and reaches for the thoughts behind them.
Those thoughts have depth, the sort he ought to have expected by now but that still catch him off guard. He'd been anticipating a guilt-trip, having learned from experience that concern goes hand in hand with shame, and when there isn't any, it takes a moment for the Captain to find his footing in The Ark's mind. Because she's right in a way he's been too close to the source to realise.
The answer is I don't plan to die at all - and it always will be - but that doesn't account for reality. Should something go wrong, should he find himself alone and unfound, not even a fistful of revivify feathers would make a difference.
"Once we dock at Torchline, I'll help you change that," he mutters at last, glancing belatedly down at the shards of glass around his chair.
The question comes with all the sharp, clean weight of death's scythe itself, and it may as well have parted Jack's hand at the wrist for the way the glass goes slipping out of his fingers. It shatters beside his seat without his ever hearing the sound of it, the Captain's blue eyes still hazed with weariness and the start of a fever as he holds the siren's gaze, as he parses the words and reaches for the thoughts behind them.
Those thoughts have depth, the sort he ought to have expected by now but that still catch him off guard. He'd been anticipating a guilt-trip, having learned from experience that concern goes hand in hand with shame, and when there isn't any, it takes a moment for the Captain to find his footing in The Ark's mind. Because she's right in a way he's been too close to the source to realise.
The answer is I don't plan to die at all - and it always will be - but that doesn't account for reality. Should something go wrong, should he find himself alone and unfound, not even a fistful of revivify feathers would make a difference.
"Once we dock at Torchline, I'll help you change that," he mutters at last, glancing belatedly down at the shards of glass around his chair.
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!
