JACK
It’s not often that the Ark limps back into port, but it’s done it today. She arrives in the dead of night, as is her custom, and the majority of the crew disembark to drink and fuck and do whatever the fuck else they want to with their shore leave. Jack won’t care until at least a week from now, until he’s had the chance to look over the ship for himself. And it’s what he spends the night doing.
So when dawn starts to reach its fingers across the horizon and seabirds start singing for their breakfast, he knows two things: every inch of the Ark has received a cursory glance and he’s assured himself that she won’t sink, and he’s rarely, if ever, been so tired. As light strokes across the hull, the deck, the gangplank, Jack finds himself leaning against the rail with his good arm, smoking his last cigarette and watching Haulani rise.
So when dawn starts to reach its fingers across the horizon and seabirds start singing for their breakfast, he knows two things: every inch of the Ark has received a cursory glance and he’s assured himself that she won’t sink, and he’s rarely, if ever, been so tired. As light strokes across the hull, the deck, the gangplank, Jack finds himself leaning against the rail with his good arm, smoking his last cigarette and watching Haulani rise.
