call me chaos, call me divine

JACK

"And don't I fuckin' know it," Jack quips back, the smile on his face a little easier, a little more genuine. There had never been anything to prove in that way, though, not with his ship. Every hardship had been something tackled together, even when he'd been young and green and had tried to force the sea under his command by willpower and cunning alone. If there was war it was against a common foe; if there were disagreements it was a failing on Jack's part, a lesson to be learned for next time, a promise not to be so careless in future.

He'd learned, and there are still things to learn yet. So when she considers, when she speaks, the Captain listens both to the words and to the mind unfurling like sails in good weather. Seeing Vesper through her eyes is both new and not, like gazing at something familiar but at a slightly different angle, and he hums his acknowledgement of the boy's motivations.

"He did say that," he agrees of the Greatwood flooding. "Also mentioned the Spillwave nearby." He can't help the crooked smile that kicks up one side of his mouth. A bathtub or a kiddie pool of an ocean, compared to the wild tides that often drive their motivations.

"Ain't the sort of course I'm convinced I want to pin my map against," he admits. "Rulin' a region ain't ever been an ambition of mine. Still, you're right 'bout King's End too." Aimless.

Jack hisses out a frustrated sigh and finally lets her hand drop. "One more tired night it is," he decides. Because if there's one thing the years have taught and tempered into him, it's not to rush. "Ain't like it's gonna kill me." Not in such fine company.

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

The Ark gives a small nod at first, shoulders settling like canvas pulled too tight, and then her brow lifts. "Nearby?" The word rolls once in her mouth as her head tips, just enough to bare her throat. "You’re really going to leave me nearby, Jack?" There’s something warm in it, inviting, but the water underneath shifts, a reminder of what happens when distance is misjudged, a small with teeth.

When he speaks of ruling, she hums low in her chest and dips her chin again. "Too many lines tied to it," she says before shrugging, careless as a loosened knot. "Plenty of power to be had without taking on the crown. Maybe that's a better lesson for Vesper to learn, rather than whatever it is he's playing at."

Jack's laugh draws one from her in return, softer, and when he lets her hand go she doesn’t reach to reclaim it. Instead she turns, fingers closing around the rum bottle at his side, lifting it to her lips. The burn makes her breathe in through her nose, pleased, and she swallows before lowering it again. "If you’re not sleeping anyway," she says, glancing back at him over the rim of the bottle, "we might as well put the hours to use."

Her smile turns feline, slow and bright. "Want to introduce me properly to the crew?" She tilts her head, listening past the cabin walls, to boots shifting, to voices that rise and fall without settling. "They feel like they’re readying for weather," she adds lightly. "Fussying around on the decks, like a storm's about to break."

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky

JACK

"At no point did I say I was gonna leave you anywhere, love," Jack replies smoothly, watching her lift the bottle of rum to take another smooth pull from it. It's like watching something ethereal come to life when she moves, and he finds himself with his eyes on her more often than not, and quite without realising it. "Just mentioned that the Spillwave was the nearest sea, if we wanted to touch down in the waves."

What Vesper is playing at is something Jack feels like he half understands, but at the same time not something he can do for the boy. He seems content enough in the Greatwood, it's true, but neither have his ambitions made themselves apparent in the forest. Aimless. There's that word again, and maybe it applies to Vesper and Jack both.

"She's been able to string sentences together for five minutes an' already I'm bein' put to work," he quips, his expression begging for a smile, but he only grants a wry raise of his eyebrows instead. "I do though, in fact. They've been buzzin' about tryin' to hear you or catch a glimpse long before I even flipped the coin."

Straightening up from the desk, Jack brushes by her to approach his cabin door, unlocking it swiftly and holding it open for her. "They ain't gonna know where to look," he warns. "And I don't blame 'em, either."

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

The Ark makes a low, dissatisfied sound, more vibration than word, and her gaze drifts down Jack's arm until it catches on the compass rose inked there. "You’ve been leaving me more than I like," she says, almost idly, before breathing out through her nose and lifting one shoulder. She wasn't unaware of the reasons Jack had been away from her or the additional power it had granted him, but nor did she see the need for him to plan to be that far from her.

Her mouth curves again as the moment passes, eyes flicking toward the dark beyond the porthole. "The Spillwave’s a pleasant sea," she allows. "All glass and manners." The words soften even as her eyes sharpen, blue darkening like water deepening away from shore. "Too calm, though. It doesn’t talk back."

At his quip, she glances back at him, slow and knowing, lips parting in a grin that promises sin without instruction. "I’ve never needed words to put you to work," she says lightly.

When Jack straightens, she moves with him—confident, unhesitating—and the first step goes wide. Rather than flailing for balance as one might expect, instead, the Ark catches herself in the only way she knows how. The ship lists suddenly beneath her feet, leaning as if surging on a wave despite the lack of water around them; the floor rises up to steady her as the correction ripples outward: papers slide off Jack's deck like startled fish, a chair scrapes and skitters, boots roll and knock against the wall.

She laughs, the sound bright and unbothered, hair spilling forward before she tosses it back again. The deck eases level under her feet, satisfied, as if the adjustment had been intentional all along. "One word about sea legs and I'll send you overboard," she warns, flexing her toes against the boards, testing the give of them with clear delight.

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky

JACK

"And look what you got out of it," Jack challenges in return with a sly raise of an eyebrow; all that leaving gave her a tongue to taste rum and lips to sass him, after all. "But for what it's worth, I ain't plannin' on goin' anywhere any time soon now." And even if he is, odds are very good that the siren in his cabin will be invited to follow; what use are legs if they aren't used to explore on land, after all?

Following her gaze almost automatically to the porthole as if able to spy the still water of the Spillwave in the distance, his agreement comes in a scoff of laughter. "A playground for novice sailors," he rumbles. "She's no Arclight." Nothing is, in Jack's experience.

But then he's gesturing for them to head up to the top deck, and whatever the Captain is about to say gets swallowed up in the sudden, swaying jolt of the ship. He braces automatically, legs correcting the overbalance with only a small stumble, and there's a litany of curses ready on his tongue for whatever idiot Murphy has let in charge of the wheel, when realisation dawns and he gazes slowly back at The Ark.

"...My lips are sealed," he says with barely contained amusement, straightening out his shirt and stepping back across to her. The arm he curls around her waist is as confident as it would be at the helm, if not a degree more careful, her delight dappling across his magic like sunlight through clouds. "Now we can both go overboard if it happens again," he considers, smirking and trying again for the door.

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

She wrinkles her nose, glancing toward the porthole like she might see that placid stretch of water sulking just out of sight. "Too tame," she agrees. "Even for a holiday sea." The word holiday tastes foreign, like a port she’s never bothered to chart.

When his arm comes around her waist she doesn’t hesitate, leaning into him with the same instinct she’s always had; the way she’s leaned into his weight at the helm, the way her sails have always known how to swell when his magic breathes into them, the way her wheel presses back into his palms when he asks her to turn. It feels right immediately, despite the novelty of skin and bone and balance, her body answering him the way hull and rigging always have. Confident. Forward. Unapologetic.

Her own arm loops around him in return, a touch slower, testing. She’s never held anyone like this before, never wrapped herself around another body rather than carrying it, but the instinct is there all the same as her pressure is adjusted, her centre found.

The Ark exhales, a sharp little huff of breath that makes canvas snap on the decks though the night air is still, and she flashes him a smile that could wreck lesser men. "Careful," she murmurs. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Captain. I've never once not called your bluff."

She clings to him without embarrassment as she starts forward, steps light and uncertain at first, legs moving like a young foal’s—too much lift, not enough confidence—until the rhythm clicks. One foot, then the other. The memory is already there, lodged deep: the cadence of boots crossing her decks, the pace of a captain walking with purpose. She finds it quickly, settling into him as much as into herself. "I want to see Bassian." Her grin curves, sharp and delighted. "I’ve got a few thoughts about his piss-poor aim when he's in his cups." Literally, in fact, given the way the big man's aim tended to get as sloppy as his card playing when he started drinking.

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky

JACK

Unlike The Ark, this is a position Jack does know well, and as she settles into his weight they cross the cabin and out into the corridor as if they have both always walked this way together. He's quiet as she gets her bearings, his magic skimming the curious unfurling of her mind, the soft delight when stumbling turns to rhythm, when her warmth leans into him with more confidence. A laugh rumbles up in his chest at the reminder - none too gentle - that she's just as much a force to be reckoned with like this as she is with her deck underfoot, and he inclines his head towards her.

"Noted," he says, his steps slowing just a little as they ascend the walkway up to the deck. "Oh, I've no doubt Bassian'll wanna see you too. Most of 'em will." It won't be for a scolding, though, and the Captain is already very much looking forward to that firecracker of a surprise. "If those thoughts turn to action an' you need a box to step on to get properly in his face, you just let me know."

Before they know it the open night air is upon them, the soft, warm breeze accompanied by the sound of a fiddle or a guitar where the crew are idling on the deck for a good time. Most of them don't notice at first, Jack knows that much, but he glances sidelong at Murphy up by the wheel, sensing the sharp cadence of his mind near instantly. Bassian is hard to miss - and he's already been drinking and playing cards if the laughter is anything to go by, and Jack raises an eyebrow towards The Ark.

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

She considers Jack's look for only a moment, thoughts smoothing out like a tide finding its channel, and then she brandishes a grin that’s all promise and mischief. "I might be new to legs," she purrs, voice warm with confidence, "but I’m fairly sure I can still bring him to his knees if I need to."

As the enter onto the main deck, the Ark doesn’t raise her voice. A slow breath slips from her instead—a sound rich and indulgent, like canvas filling cleanly or water breaking just right against a cutting hull—and it carries. It rolls across the deck and into the men without asking permission. Those who have only ever known her as timber and tar receive nothing at all. Her attention slides around them like water around pilings, leaving them oddly chilled, suddenly unsure why they were looking in the first place. But the others—the ones who have slept against her bulkheads, who have scrubbed her decks until their hands split, who have spoken to her in low voices when the night was too quiet—they feel it the moment her gaze finds them.

It is not a look so much as a current that will have their breath catching; cups still halfway to mouths linger there, forgotten. The fiddle stutters, a note pulled long and wrong as fingers lose their place. Heat pools low and sudden, a pulse answering another pulse they don’t quite understand, and the deck beneath their boots feels unsteady in a way it never has before. She does not smile at them—not fully—but the curve of her mouth promises something vast and dangerous and close, and that is worse.

For a heartbeat, for a handful of heartbeats, she is all they can see. Not woman, not ship, but something older and more intimate than either; the place where hunger and safety have always tangled. They will replay it later in the dark, tracing the memory until sleep refuses to come, until desire coils tight and restless in their chests, until they wake the next night with it still lodged there, unresolved and aching, for how can they satisfy themselves when she is all around them? And she knows it. She has always known what it means to be looked at like home. Like power.

The Ark moves then, long stride confident despite the novelty of it, drawn unerringly toward Bassian. She hasn’t seen him before, not like this, but she knows him all the same. The scrape of his chair against her boards as he slides away from the card table hits her nerves like a bad note, a groan of wood on wood that makes her teeth ache, yet her smile remains in place as she lifts a hand to indicate he ought to stay put.

Like poured water she flows into his lap, tall body folding into the space with ease, settling there as naturally as cargo stowed where it belongs. Even dwarfed by his size, she makes him look clumsy by comparison. Her hands slide into his hair, fingers firm, drawing his head down until her mouth brushes the shell of his ear. No one else will hear the words, save for Jack, just as the Captain will likewise feel the sudden spike of Bassian's arousal cut short by cold water flooding his thoughts as the Ark details what will happen if his aim in the head continues to be poor. 

She leans back, lifting her head, one brow arched. Bassian’s face has gone red clear down his neck, guilt written plainly across his features, wide-eyed and boyish in its sincerity. She pats his cheek, affectionate as anything, and then turns her attention outward, fully aware of every gaze on her, of skin bared and heat rising and attention caught fast in her wake. "What?" she asks, smile returning, slow and unapologetic. "It’s not like you don’t know who I am."

---

Magic: Siren Call | Her voice carries unnaturally well over water and open spaces, reaching ears it shouldn’t be able to reach. At sea, it can slip through fog, wind, and distance as though carried along the surface of the waves themselves.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action

Magic: Siren's Song | When she hums, sings, or even speaks softly for long enough, she can make those around her feel an urge to draw closer, linger, or stay put.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky

JACK

"Of that I have no doubt," Jack rumbles, a sly smile on his lips as they emerge out into the open air. In fact, he'd quite enjoy seeing it, so consider his offer of a box retracted. No sooner have they hit the deck, though, when all eyes are upon The Ark; not just all eyes, in fact, all minds navigate towards her like compass needles seeking north. She remains as a gentle warmth beneath his arm, but even Jack is not immune to this sort of magic at such short range, and especially when he hasn't seen it coming.

For a second it's like standing next to a tropical storm or the beacon from a lighthouse; fiery and tempting, promising safe harbour but threatening ruin to get to it, and the Captain's fingers tighten ever so slightly against her hip as that flush of desire drips down the back of his throat and lodges firmly at the base of his spine. Letting her go is an exercise in discipline, and she's prowling away before he can catch her again, and so, biting down the flood of possessive interest that has suddenly seized him, Jack purposely takes himself in the other direction.

With a fresh drink in hand, he settles himself amid a stack of crates that have been arranged to create seating, the Captain nestled there like the king of this particular bit of underworld, and he watches with a front row view as Bassian finds himself tied in knots by the siren in his lap. Laughing breathlessly over the rim of his glass, the big man's mind is a mess of guilt, shame, desire and just a little bit of fear - and that's a sign of a job very well done, in Jack's book.

"If you got time to stare at her tits you got time to swab her decks," he calls out as if to snap the attention back away from her voluptuous figure - and perhaps the tone is a little sharper than usual. "And no, that ain't an innuendo."

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

Bassian’s reply comes out in a rush, words tripping over one another as if he might talk himself free of the moment, but she only laughs softly and leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek; salt and heat and promise brushed there and gone. When she rises from his lap, he scrambles to hide the obvious evidence of her presence behind his drink, cheeks burning bright enough to be seen clear across the deck.

The Ark moves on as though nothing at all has happened, leaving the wake of her behind her.

Jack’s barked order cuts through the night, sharp as a snapped line, and for a breath it wavers with his men blinking, hands hovering, feet slow to obey, caught halfway between command and pull. Her song still hums in them, low and persuasive, a tide tugging at their ankles, and if she leaned into it, if she let it crest instead of ebb, she knows they’d forget the sound of their Captian's voice entirely. But she doesn't. 

Instead, she drifts, unhurried, through the knots of crew, eyes skimming, attention light and selective, until she reaches Murphy at the helm. The first mate stands firm where others falter, anchored by years and loyalty and a self that knows exactly where it stands. Her presence touches him, yes—the magic does its quiet work—but it doesn’t tangle him. It only warms.

She stops in front of him and reaches for his hand, weathered and gnarled as an old cleat, taking it between both of hers and pressing it gently to her chest. Beneath his palm, her heart beats steady and real, a rhythm not so different from the one he’s known through deck and keel. She leans in to murmur her thanks—for careful hands, for respect, for knowing when to push and when to ease off—words meant only for him, carried on breath and salt. As she lets him go, she rises onto her toes, to press a kiss to his cheek, the gesture soft and unguarded, something almost familial in the way she looks at him when she pulls back. Not siren then, not temptation—but home, or family.

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky

JACK

Jack's eyes narrow as his magic tests the waters of the siren song; he can feel the tug of it through the minds of his crew, can tell that they'd turn towards her if she pushed hard enough, and were she anyone else but who she is, the Captain might have viewed it as a threat. Some base, instinctive part of him tries to, as a matter of fact, and he crushes it underfoot and forces himself to relax against the crate at his back instead.

The Ark passes by on her way to the helm and though the crew are still stunned in her wake, a sharp whistle from Jack - a reminder of his earlier warning - finally has them snapping back to their earlier tasks. Not swabbing decks, mind you, but music and cards and drinking and other frivolity. Bassian is looking very much worse for wear most of all, his mind scattered to the breeze as he tries to comprehend the terrible hand he's just been dealt, and it's with a smirk that Jack senses the half reunion, half introduction taking place between The Ark and his first mate.

Murphy - dark eyes, olive skin, shorter even than the fiery haired woman before him - takes the gratitude and the kiss to his cheek with predictable solemnity. But there is a warmth there, in the slant of the smile he shoots her way, the way his hand returns to the wheel with familiarity and reverence both. And when he turns them to bank around the woods, perhaps it's playfully sharp in its execution, enough to catch the sails on a sudden gust of wind and have them picking up speed.

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

The sudden catch of wind runs through The Ark at the same moment it fills the sails, a clean, hungry pull that tugs at her hair and sends it streaming back in a red banner, canvas answering canvas. She laughs under her breath as the ship banks, the rush sliding down her spine like cold water finding a seam, and she glances back over her shoulder toward the helm. Murphy gets a crooked smile for it—not the siren’s promise, not the lure she’s been casting so freely tonight—but something steadier and shockingly sincere. The kind of look given to a man who knows where to put his hands and when to keep them there. The wind presses against her ribs, and she lets it, savouring the way it hums through wood and bone alike. Then she turns away and heads for Jack. 

By the time she reaches him, her smile has shifted again, feline now, playful, eyes bright with mischief and heat. She comes to a stop in front of him and folds her arms slowly across her chest, the movement loosening the pearls strung there; a few slip free and scatter across the deck, clicking and rolling like dropped dice. "I’ve always liked him," she says, nodding vaguely back toward the helm as she nibbles at her lower lip, watching Jack through her lashes.

The affection that brushes Jack’s mind alongside the words will be warm and settled, salt-deep and sure. But there's no hunger in it, no sharp edge. Just devotion and pleasure, the quiet satisfaction of a ship knowing her first mate has always kept her steady when it mattered, and even when it didn't. 

"But do you know what I'd really like?" And, because he's a telepath, of course he will. A cigarette.

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky

JACK

Jack can track the movement of The Ark across her deck as she leaves Murphy at the helm, the dark eyed man returning to his work almost as soon as she's out of sight - other, of course, than to offer her a knowing little smirk as she glances over her shoulder at him. The Captain is already waiting, sitting up a little on the crate with his glass mostly empty, watching the crew watch The Ark and resisting the urge to spark them with a few static shocks for their trouble.

"Steady as the Spillwave," he agrees about Murphy, "but twice as deep." It's what he likes about his first mate and, undoubtedly, what she appreciates about him as well. "Deadly right hook though." But again, something he likes about Murph.

She settles before him, though, and even before the question fully leaves her lips he's lighting up a cigarette from the pack slipped out of his pockets, a lick of flame hovering above his finger so he can inhale a lungful of smoke, then offers it out to her. "An' you didn't even have to use your siren song on me." He winks.

fight so dirty but you love so sweet
talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

The Ark

She bares her teeth in a grin that’s all salt and mischief. "Guess we're in agreement about the use of his hands," she says easily, eyes flicking once toward the helm and back again.  

The spark of flame makes The Ark's spine tighten before she can help it, a reflex older than thought. Wood remembers. Pitch remembers. Her gaze tracks the fire as if it might bite, even though she trusts Jack with it, even though she’s swallowed smoke for decades without complaint. She watches him draw in, watches the ember wake and dim, committing the motion to memory. When he offers it, she takes it with a vixen’s lift of brow and a knowing shrug. "Maybe one day," she murmurs, mouth curving. They both knew there was a time and place for using an ability like that to be well-received by a man like Jack.

She brings the cigarette to her lips, then, copying what she'd seen Jack do. The smoke hits like a breaker against a seam she didn’t know she had. Her throat locks; the breath she meant to keep turns traitor. She coughs hard, shoulders hitching as she tips her head back, gasping for air. Canvas snaps overhead in answer, sails flapping sharp and loud despite the steady wind already in them. Her eyes sting; water beads and spills. One hand shoots out to the nearest crate, fingers biting into the wood for balance while the other keeps the cigarette aloft, stubborn and shaking.

Then she laughs—breathless, bright—blinking the wet away. "Didn’t expect that," she says, voice roughened but pleased, like she’s learned something useful the hard way. She lowers the cigarette, regards it with a fresh, appraising look, and steals another grin at Jack as the deck settles under her feet again. "So much of this seems familiar, but.." She lifts the cigarette to her lips again, as proof of what was different as much as how quickly she was able to learn, before taking a much slower and more measured drag.

Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees

Code stolen from Queen Sky