[SE] I wore the crown, I sold the lie

VESPER

The belly of The Ark is quiet as a church and twice as cold, though not from frost. The air sits heavy instead; damp and salt-thick, the kind that seeps through sweaters and into bone. Lanterns hang low from a few nails Vesper’s commandeered, their glow puddled gold on the planks, the rest of the cargo hold drowning in shadow. The scent of brine, rope, and old liquor clings to everything.

He’s stripped the space back a little, crates and barrels pushed aside to carve out a shape in the gloom that might, with some imagination and liquor, pass for a bar. His shadows have done him the courtesy of marking shelves and corners, sketching the outline of something that doesn’t exist yet but will.

Bundled in a thick cable-knit sweater that’s too big across the shoulders (one of Bassian's), he stands where the counter might one day be, one hand braced on a crate. The bottle he’s set there gleams faintly in the light; a dark Halovian rum with silver trim, expensive enough to count as gratitude for the little room at the bow of the ship Vesper had been staying in.

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

"Find anythin' interestin'?"

Jack's voice isn't an accusation, exactly, but there's enough steel threading through his curious tone to suggest the question isn't entirely casual. He doesn't often come down into the cargo hold directly, preferring to inspect items as they come on board or leave, and honestly, since his departure from Torchline the Ark's belly has been very empty anyway.

Which is why, when Bassian's loose lips (and open mind) suggest that the sneakiest of the Marin triplets is rummaging around down here, Jack would quite like to find out why. And so here he is, coat buttoned against the quiet chill, hands shoved in his pockets, head cocked at the sight of the lanterns and the rum.

"Last thing this ship transported properly was you an' your sisters," he continues with a smirk that doesn't reach his ever-tired eyes. "An' I didn't reckon you'd have wanted to stow away down here." Still, if nothing else, it's silent in most directions. Jack can appreciate that.

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper startles sharper than he means to, the sound of Jack’s voice slicing through the hush like a line thrown too close. He hadn’t heard the captain approach—never does, really—and without the hum of thought that usually precedes another presence, Jack might as well have stepped out of the shadows themselves.

His fingers still where they’d been drumming against a crate, the rhythm dying quick. He glances over his shoulder, caught mid-guilt and too aware of it, then exhales through his nose and turns fully to face him. The lanternlight throws long across the deck, making the angles of his face sharper, his sweater soft and oversized in contrast.

Rather than try to fumble for words, he lets the mental wall between them lower just a little—enough for Jack to catch the echo of what he’d been doing down here (and perhaps few other snippets of thoughts, besides): the girls’ voices braided together, Nova’s bright enthusiasm, Caly’s sly amusement, the half-formed thought of what could we do for him? The bottle from Halo, traded and tucked away. The seed of an idea for a bar planted and tended in their collective mischief.

When the flicker of those thoughts fades, he clears his throat, shrugging one shoulder. "Thanks for comin’ to get us," he says simply. "Think it made the whole thing easier for the girls, knowin' it was family comin' to pick us up." His tone softens, not quite tender, but with something close to it buried under the usual dry calm. "Anyway," he adds after a moment, gaze sliding back to the bottle on the crate, "figure the least we could do was start payin’ the favour forward."

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

Raising a hand as if to stave off any potential spikes of darkness from Vesper as a result of his surprise, Jack waits until the boy has recovered himself enough before he relaxes, leaning casually against the wall near one of the lanterns he's hung up. Where the light stretches Vesper's shadows long, the captain barely seems to cast one beneath the lamp he's situated himself beneath, and he glances for a second time at the space the demigod has made and the crates and barrels he's pushed aside, about to speak when the mental wall promptly lowers between them.

Raising his eyebrows, while Jack is unsurprised by the immediate (and unnecessary) gratitude from the girls, he's a little more perplexed by Vesper agreeing to - and acting upon - it. "What's the point of a flyin' ship if you can't be the getaway sailor for a trio of arsonists?" he drawls with an easy shrug and the hint of a smirk, though there's a hint of something genuine in the expression as he draws closer to examine the bottle Vesper has gestured towards.

"This is pretty hard to get hold of," he says by way of thanks, lifting the rum to the light of one lantern and humming his approval. "A bar down here though, huh?" Turning now to gaze at the vast expanse of the cargo hold, Jack tilts his head; a man who famously hates change forcing space for an idea he hasn't come up wth on his own. "It's true that we ain't gonna be smuggling nearly as much as we were back on the islands." Bridges burned, alliances broken, businesses finished and all that.

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper’s laugh comes short and rough, echoing soft off the beams. "Wasn’t sure the Ark did pick-up runs," he says, one brow lifting as he adjusts his stance, easing out of that stiff, caught-in-the-act posture. The grin that follows is crooked, quicksilver in the low light. In another world, it felt a little like Jack picking the trio up from school in a pimped out Ferrari after they'd all been expelled. 

Vesper watches without watching as Jack lifts the bottle to the lantern’s glow, pretending nonchalance even though that particular rum had cost him a string of favours. Arms folding loose across his chest, he nods once. "Figured if she’s gonna have a less permanent port than before, she might as well have her own comforts. Don’t see why The Ark can’t be her own little world."

His gaze drifts around the cargo hold, shadows shifting where he’s nudged the space into shape. "Somewhere for crew to drink, talk, thaw out a bit if we ain't always gonna be in warm waters."

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

"She's done 'em in the past," Jack says with a smirk, moving with the bottle to sit on one of the barrels Vesper has pushed to the side, examining the label a little longer before holding it up briefly to the boy as if to ask if he wants to share a drink. Y'know, since they're down here and making bar talk anyway. And as Vesper continues, fuck it but Jack can't help but agree, seeming to warm quickly to the idea once it's had a chance to take root in his mind.

"A couple windows wouldn't hurt," he murmurs, nodding towards the top of the crossed beams where they could let at least a little natural light in from the upper decks. "An' I reckon you could take it to... 'bout there." He nods across the hold, conjuring an imaginary line where cargo could become liquor and entertainment. "Ain't keen to give up all the space, just in case I gotta grab three criminals from any other regions in the future."

Smirking, Jack is already working on the wax seal of the bottle to uncork it. "You gonna be mannin' it?" he asks. The follow-up question is already there without any need for telepathy: are you and your sisters about to become permanent fixtures on The Ark?

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper laughs, the sound low and unhurried, the corners of his mouth quirking into something wry. "Not in my lifetime she hasn't," he says, grinning. The small nod he gives is enough to accept the offered drink, eyes flicking to the bottle in Jack’s hands. If nothing else, he wants to see whether all the fuss and favours he’d spent getting it were worth it. His posture eases as he shifts his weight onto one foot, the dim lantern glow catching faint on the curve of his smirk.

When Jack gestures to the beams above, Vesper follows his gaze, head tilting as if he can already see the space alive. "Could get real fancy," he muses, "have magic windows lookin’ out at the sea. That way no one’s caught unaware while they’re down here drownin’ themselves in liquor. Nova can make that sort of shit now, by the way." His words are easy, but behind the casual slouch, his mind’s already marking out every boundary Jack points to; mental lines drawn with the same precision the captain uses to chart coasts.

A soft snort follows, eyes cutting back to Jack with dry amusement. "Ain’t even criminals apparently. Word goin’ ’round Torchline says the queen’s turnin’ it into some kind of publicity stunt, pretendin’ she burned it down herself so she can build somethin’ shiny on the ashes." He sneers quietly at that.

Running a hand through his pale hair and where he does the strands darken as he shifts to lean against a crate nearby, posture loose, long lines folded comfortably into the ship’s sway. "Been thinkin’ of it," he admits at last, voice quieter, steadier. "Apparently King’s End ain’t big enough for me to move in to without rufflin’ feathers."

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

"Mm, maybe I'll arrange one to show you the ropes," Jack says, scoffing under his breath and working the cork from the bottle with a soft pop! He lifts the rum to his nose and inhales softly, immediately hit with the scent of molasses, a touch of vanilla and a hint of smokiness. Impressed, he takes a sip and hands it across to Vesper, the liquor already burning down his throat and spreading warm fingers through his chest.

Raising his eyebrows to hear about Nova's new magic - though he really ought not to have been surprised - the captain walks in a slow stroll about the space, his footsteps echoing quietly on the boards. "Could use the place to hold business meetin's too, dependin' on the port and the occasion," he says quietly. There's always something subtly powerful about a decision made on one's home turf, and Jack can more than appreciate as much.

The mention of Flora, even by title, is no longer enough to have things catching spontaneously on fire, but if the temperature literally drops a degree or two, Jack isn't going to apologise for it. "Oh really? Guess that just means you can stroll back in an' outta Torchline as you please," he says. "Wonder if it looks like you were chased away, though, if this was a publicity stunt at the bar your sister owned."

Reaching silently for the bottle again, assuming Vesper has had a sip of the liquor, Jack tilts his head towards the young demigod. "Whose feathers?" he wonders. "An' does that go for just you? The Exchange has plenty of places the girls could set themselves up." A boutique for Nova, for instance.

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper accepts the bottle with a half-smirk, the motion lazy but appreciative. He tips it back for a small swallow, and the taste is what rum ought to be; rich, sharp, and warm enough to chase the cold from his chest. He raises a brow, faintly impressed, before passing it back without ceremony. "Worth the trade," he murmurs, voice even, watching as Jack strolls the length of the hold, clearly turning over the shape of his own thoughts. He can picture it easily, business meetings at a bar on Jack’s ship, where every inch of wood and sea answered to him. Home turf, and then some.

The air cools a touch, subtle but unmistakable, and Vesper’s jaw tightens briefly as he exhales through his nose. He hadn’t brought up Flora for sentiment, just for context. Caly’s temper had been a whole storm since the Queen’s little act, all bluster and nowhere to put it. "Burnin’ the bar was supposed t’hurt her," he says mildly, gaze flicking to the far wall. "But she’s too good at playin’ unbothered about it all, and I have a feelin' it's gonna really piss Caly off."

Jack’s next suggestion pulls his focus back, and Vesper considers it before shrugging. "I’d rather say we followed you into new waters," he answers. "Sounds better than lettin’ anyone think Flora had the power to run us off if we didn’t want to go." His tone’s calm but it's a hill that Vesper is more than willing to die on when it comes to the optics of this little game they were all apparently playing.

Then comes the question, and Vesper’s composure slips, just barely. He pulls a face, the kind that looks younger than he likes, sighing through his nose before admitting, "Colt." His mouth twists faintly. "Said I might work at the House of Midnight’s bar, and..." The words trail off, the rest picked up silently as he drops his mental guard just enough to reach Jack.

Her mind damn near exploded, the thought hums dry and faintly exasperated, coloured with annoyance. ’Cause of how close her ranch is to the House. Which—ain’t even that fuckin’ close.

There’s a flicker of uncertainty beneath the surface, sharp and restless.  And were they any other father and son, Vesper might have said hey, Dad, can I get some advice about girls? But that’s not the nature of their relationship, so instead, he just inhales a stiff breath and takes another slow pull of the rum, letting the burn do the talking.

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

"I can only agree with that," Jack rumbles, taking another pull from the bottle as he accepts it back before setting it on a barrel somewhere between them, where either one can take a nip as and when the conversation calls for it. He listens with quiet, undisguised interest as Vesper continues about the aftermath of The Hanged Man. For obvious reasons his fingers haven't been on the pulse of Torchline since leaving, but he does let out a soft scoff at the boy's summary.

"She's hurtin'," he assures him, casual in his conviction. "The more she tries to come across as unbothered, more she's hurtin'. If she's put a story about it to suit her own narrative already, you're under her skin. Hopefully that stops Caly settin' this place on fire."

Rolling his wrist as if to tell Vesper he can say whatever suits him and the girls best when it comes to their own departure, Jack finds a comfortable crate to sit on and considers making a glass out of ice for some more rum when, of all things, Colt's name hits the air.

"Oh?" He smirks, reaching for the bottle again now. "That porch you decided to sit on not treatin' you so well?" Or treating him too well, perhaps? Falling quiet to drink and hearing all the things Vesper doesn't say, on purpose or otherwise, he tilts his head towards the boy. "In a good way or a bad way?" he asks, of her mind damn near exploding.

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper’s sneer sharpens, a scoff pushing past his teeth before he shakes his head, the edge of it softening into something closer to exasperation than anger. "Pretty sure Caly wanted it to hurt publicly," he mutters, voice low and dry, not least of all because they all knew who it would be at home dryin' Flora's tears about it, which was half the fuckin' problem. "But you don’t need to worry about her. Besides, you and Nova’ve both got enough control over fire these days to keep anything from catchin’ that shouldn’t." His smirk flickers faint, the faintest ghost of amusement behind it, before his attention drops again to the bottle resting between them.

He fidgets with the rings on his fingers when Jack’s question lands, silver glinting under the lamplight, the motion small and restless. The rum’s halfway to his mouth, when he pauses, jaw feathering. "A bad way," he says simply, voice quieter now. He doesn’t elaborate with words. Instead, he takes a long pull from the bottle and lets his mind open, unguarded and sharp-edged, for Jack to see for himself.

It’s a labyrinth of colour and heat: flashes of Colt’s laugh, her mouth against his throat, the heady rush of her body pressed to his; the ferocity of her spirit, untamed and electric. But beneath it all lies the weight of something colder; all her doubts, her mistrust, the way she drags her baggage along with her and adds his name to the tags like they belong to him. Every spark between them is bright and real, but always shadowed by the fear she can’t shake. He lets the memory of her sudden distance—her vanishing off the docks—play in brief, vivid fragments, frustration tightening like a rope around his ribs.

The bottle lands softly on the crate as he exhales, jaw feathering tight. He doesn’t quite look at Jack, though his eyes flick up once, searching the captain’s face. He’s not sure what he’s asking for. Not advice, exactly, but maybe the kind of understanding that only comes from someone who’s spent too many years haunted by the noise of other people’s thoughts and has found himself beaten and battered inside of 'em without any recourse.

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

"Caly's sharp as a whipcrack - I'm sure she'll find other ways to make her point," Jack says with a smirk around the bottle before he passes it back. Whether it's some other public display of arson or the quiet victory of a life lived well is still a spinning coin right now, though, and even as telepaths they can't say for sure which way up it will land.

But Vesper says he doesn't need to concern himself about her and so Jack doesn't - not more than he's already allowed himself to anyway - the captain shifting to get more comfortable and turning up his collar against the chill, though it's reducing by degrees anyway thanks to the rum. "Ah," he says, because let's be honest, it's never really a good way.

He both does and doesn't expect the tide of Vesper's thoughts, but when they crash against the shores of his magic, raw and unguarded, Jack still has to take a moment to adjust. It's in the subtle tightening of his jaw and the small movement of his shoulders, making room for the deliberate stream of thought and memory that he hasn't experienced since yeah, you guessed it.

Colt looms large and bright in Vesper's mind, but her shadow stretches longer still, like it's early evening and the sun is hitting her in just the wrong way. Jack wrinkles his nose, doubt and insecurity a chill that hisses against any heat between them, leaving everything damp, lukewarm and uncomfortable. "It's like she's drinkin' poison but you're the one who dies," he mutters. He's no stranger to those thoughts, not in all his time walking under the yoke of reading minds, but honestly, he's never had it thought so directly about himself.

"Sounds like she's got you by the balls, I ain't gonna lie." He smirks across to Vesper, nudging the bottle towards him. "If you had your choice, what'd you wanna happen?"

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

VESPER

Vesper’s mental walls shimmer, thin as breath. It’s not weakness exactly, just the strain of letting someone see more than the polished surface he usually keeps in place. Vulnerability isn’t a trick he’s practised much—neither of them are built for it—but he rolls his shoulders anyway, as if bracing against the cold or the weight of honesty itself. If you’re already tearing the bandage off, might as well rip the whole thing clean.

He hums low at Jack’s metaphor, the sound rough in his throat, nodding once. "Yeah," he mutters, voice low. "That’s about it." The sigh that follows isn’t heavy, just worn, and he shakes his head like he might dislodge the ache behind it. "Can’t figure a way to bring any of it up without outtin’ myself," he admits. "But the longer it goes, the worse it gets. Every time things are good—real good—it’s like I pay double for it after."  It isn’t just hearing her, it’s feeling her, the way every thought hits like static. Like the air between them fills with the echo of what she’s not saying: that he’s too young, too calm, too composed to be real; that he’s hiding something, or already halfway out the door. Each flicker of doubt in her mind catches like a spark on dry tinder, and by the time he’s walking away from her, his own thoughts are a mess of burned edges. It’s not malicious—she doesn’t even know she’s doing it—but it’s like being punished for every moment that almost feels right.

He’s quiet for a moment, the hold filled with the slow groan of the ship and the soft slap of waves against her hull. When he finally looks back at Jack, it’s with that same sharp focus he uses when reading a storm. "Does it make it easier," he asks quietly, "when they know what you can do?"

And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want
So what are you after? Some kind of disaster?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

JACK

"Sounds rough," Jack says, and to undoubtedly everyone's surprise, it's far from just a platitude. It doesn't just sound rough, it is rough - the captain knows as much firsthand. Which is where things maybe cut a little too close to a wound that is only in the very first stages of healing, because as Vesper's next question comes, Jack's laughter is a sharp and bitter sound, a lonely ha! that echoes off the wooden walls.

"No," he says immediately, glancing sidelong at the boy and reaching to snag the bottle of rum again, taking a quick swig to drown whatever feeling has tried to creep up into his throat.

"No," he repeats, more softly this time. "Just makes things more complicated. You don't get to make the same mistakes other people do once you've outed yourself. You're always held to a higher standard, expected to know better, or even to just know." He scoffs under his breath. "An' if sometimes you wanna just... block it out to make it better for you both, that'll also be the wrong call."

Setting the bottle down again, Jack rakes his hand back through his hair. "An' that's if you even get that far, an' she ain't pissed that you kept it a secret this whole time."

we've gone way too fast for way too long
and we were never supposed to make it half this far

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!