No one had believed him. He'd awoken on the familiar berth in his captain's cabin, head filled with a dizzying blend of unbelievable and nightmarish memories, but otherwise physically no worse for wear. Describing the Capitol -- the gladiatorial games, the glitzy Capitolites, the Tribute tower, cars, anything -- had received disbelieving chuckles and a hearty slap on the back. Gibbs and the rest of his crew were convinced that it'd been a nasty fever dream, brought on by a bad batch of grog or from imbibing too much the night before.
And eventually, wanting to forget the entire torturous ordeal, Jack had started to believe that too. He had his beloved Pearl back. Nothing else really mattered.
But sometime during the dead of night, when the late watch had been distracted or passed out drunk, they'd sailed deep into strange waters. And not long after that, after a scrap with an unusually foreign ship, the pirate had found himself captured and hauled off to jail. With not much else to occupy his time, he's spent most of his imprisonment patiently waiting, marking time, thinking up absurd ways to escape from his cell.
This time, Jack is half-reclined on the simple bed that'd been provided for him, tricorne hiked down over his eyes and arms folded across his chest. He doesn't move when the door to his cell opens and closes, but merely drawls out a flat, "Ah. You've brought out the rum this time, I hope." When no one answers him after a moment, Jack thumbs his hat up to take a look at who'd entered -- and starts. He pulls himself up and swings his legs around and off the bed, bewilderment knitting his brow.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2016-01-17 08:06 am (UTC)And eventually, wanting to forget the entire torturous ordeal, Jack had started to believe that too. He had his beloved Pearl back. Nothing else really mattered.
But sometime during the dead of night, when the late watch had been distracted or passed out drunk, they'd sailed deep into strange waters. And not long after that, after a scrap with an unusually foreign ship, the pirate had found himself captured and hauled off to jail. With not much else to occupy his time, he's spent most of his imprisonment patiently waiting, marking time, thinking up absurd ways to escape from his cell.
This time, Jack is half-reclined on the simple bed that'd been provided for him, tricorne hiked down over his eyes and arms folded across his chest. He doesn't move when the door to his cell opens and closes, but merely drawls out a flat, "Ah. You've brought out the rum this time, I hope." When no one answers him after a moment, Jack thumbs his hat up to take a look at who'd entered -- and starts. He pulls himself up and swings his legs around and off the bed, bewilderment knitting his brow.
"Eowyn."