RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Jack does not believe in Abraham’s God, at least not to the extent of those who hold faith in bibles and prayer. He believes all gods exist to some degree or fashion and that to hold stock in any one in particular is bound to offend another at some point, so he endeavours to offer all gods the same level of respect, critique and cynicism. While he may challenge the beliefs of others from time to time, for the most part he leaves them to their faith and trusts that it works for them as it should.
Where the trust between Flint and Silver stemmed from, Vane could not begin to fathom. What he did know, was that whatever game Silver was playing he wanted no goddamn part of it. Just listening to him felt like a bad idea, but the only thing more dangerous than a man like Silver who thought he had some measure of control – was a man like that desperately seeking to regain it.
“And if what you propose is correct,” Indulgence, then, for now at least. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“You sure? Could have sworn I heard you say ain’t nothin’ just yesterday.” Charles couldn’t even imagine those words in Jack’s voice, but it was worth it just to take the piss out of him a little.
“Immortal.” There were times when Jack said the absolute dumbest shit for a man so fucking intelligent. “He was covered in blood – most of it his own. Never knew an immortal could bleed so much.” Leaning forward, Charles pointed his cheroot at Jack’s nose, his intent clear, “Show me a man who can get in a fight like that – and come out without a scratch – and I’ll believe he’s immortal. Until then,” He slammed the fiery end into the table, crushing the threat as surely as he did the intent to deify any man on this fucking island, “He’s just fucking lucky.” Charles held his gaze steady, daring the other man to argue. “You got that right, Jack?”
She heard the crunch of his boots over the rocks that lead into the shore well before he was near enough to speak. The wind was tugging at her skirts, playing its way through her carefully pulled back hair in an effort to unravel her work and leave evidence of her visit to where the waves crashed at their loudest against the island, where the boats could not make berth and thus, where she was safest from invasion.
Her arms held her legs, less for warmth than to keep the wind from whipping her about too much, and despite the coming storm she found herself quite at ease. When his voice filtered down to her, she leaned back, craning her neck to look up at him as she replied easily, “Neither do you.”
Today held meaning for her – but she knew where she had lost a father and a foundation of trust, he had discovered betrayal, and in that betrayal, had lost a friend. The anniversary of Charlestown was bittersweet – she was glad that Mister Hamilton was alive, and that he and Miss Barlow and Mister McGraw were working through what that all meant – but for her there were no reunions for which to hope for.
And in truth – she didn’t want any. She was quite happy with the life she had made for herself in Nassau. There were times though, like these, when it felt right to acknowledge the shadows inherent in how she had come to be part of the story here.
Reaching up, she offered him her hand. She didn’t know if any part of him mourned for Peter Ashe, after all he had done – but she did know he was her friend, and for whatever reason, he had come to see if she was alright today. “I’m going to watch the storm come in,” She informed him simply, “You’re welcome to join me, if you want.”
“I know,” There is no doubt in her tone as she holds her arm out to him expectantly, “It’s why I came to you about this, Mister McGraw. While I’m sure Mister Hamilton would tell me – I admit that I’ve got some questions only you can answer, where my father’s concerned. And I think it might be best if we didn’t trouble Mister Hamilton with such things in any case – we all have our good and our bad days, but I think he struggles a bit more than most with the other ones.”
“Mister Jack!” Abigail laughed before she could quite catch herself, finding his mild mannered certainty on the subject utterly entertaining, “That’s hardly a kind thing to say,” She turned, so that nobody would see her lips in the main hall as she assured, “I’m certain Satan can hire better than that!”
“Pure luck, I’m sure of it,” Thomas agreed breezily, even as he collapsed rather gracefully alongside the quartermaster, hand still glued to the hilt of his cutlass – whether from sheer adrenaline or a questionable tincture of dirt, sweat and blood, he could not say.
Despite the state of his blade, and the unfortunate mess of the majority of his shirt and upper breeches ( not to mention whatever his boots had squelched through earlier ) Thomas felt revived, and even laughed a little as he let the sun catch against his skin where he rested. “That’ll be one for your stories, eh Jack?”
It came as little surprise to him that the latest acquisition aboard the Pearl would be of a chatty disposition, at such a time when the rest of the world would much rather be sleeping. Contrary had always been the nature of Miss Swann, as far as he could measure, and for that he found himself indulgent of the question rather than insulted by any implications it may happen to carry, or he may choose to apply at a later time.
“Charting our course, such as it were,” It was all well and good to follow a compass that knew where you wanted to go – but having no notion where you happen to be was never wise for any man, least of all a captain. “And what of yourself? Not seasick are you?” He asked, giving her a critical look – he highly doubted that to be the case, but that didn’t mean he was going to risk getting anything on his boots if he could help it.
Ocean Archive 