Ficlet: Song to a Second Love
Jul. 15th, 2005 02:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratby Honorat
Just Jack at a peaceful moment on the way to Tortuga.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't own Jack or the Interceptor.
Finally. He had disposed of the Turner whelp for the time being. Sent him down to the hold to inventory provisions. At last he was alone with the Interceptor. She was running before a fine brisk wind, carrying almost all her canvas, already out of range of the crippled Dauntless’s cannon. The battle-ready tension drained out of her new captain, and he closed his eyes, reaching out with his other senses for his new ship. He caressed the sleek wood of her helm, feeling her alive and quivering under his hand, feeling the sea pressing against her keel, the wind heeling her slightly to starboard. Allowing his muscles to relax, he felt himself move into synchronization with the ship. As she reared and plunged through the playful seas, he ceased to have any motion out of her context as though he had become one of her spars. The rhythm of her dance with the waves settled in his bones and coursed through his blood.
The Interceptor was singing to him now—the splash of waves on her hull, the groan of her timbers, the creak of her tackle, the snap of her ensign, the straining of her shrouds, the belling of her sails, the small intimate sounds of her wheel as he adjusted her course. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her scent of sun-warmed wood and tar and crisp new canvas all pervaded with the clean salt smell of the open ocean. The last of the foul air of the Fort Charles gaol fled in her wake. Jack laughed aloud with delight. She was not the Black Pearl, but she was a bonnie lass all the same, and she was his.
Jack opened his eyes and let them linger on his new ship. “My lady,” he whispered fondly to her, “you are altogether lovely.” He felt her approval of her new captain.
“But,” he informed her, “those Port Royal miscreants have not let you stretch your legs, darling. The able-bodied crew will have to do something about that. I’ll have you know, I was a crack topman in my day, before I became a captain.” Swiftly, he tied down her helm. Then, grinning like a mad thing, Jack shucked off his coat and boots, shed his baldric, pistol and sword, and carefully placed his hat on top of them. “Do not lose these,” he warned the Interceptor. With a light and eager step, he set foot on the mainmast shrouds.
“All hands aloft to loose the topgallants,” Captain Sparrow ordered himself. “Loose the topgallants. Aye!” he responded to himself. Then he swarmed up her rigging as if he had been her cabin boy instead of her middle-aged captain. It had been too long since he had walked the wind.
* * * * * *
Will clambered back on deck, having ascertained what Sparrow had certainly already known—that a Naval ship newly reprovisioned and about to go on patrol had significantly more than two weeks’ supplies for twenty men. He glanced towards the helm, expecting to see the disreputable figure of the pirate captain at the wheel. No one was there. Surprised, Will scanned the visible decks. No sign of Sparrow. Had the captain gone below decks as well? Could a ship steer itself? Nervously he scanned the horizon. They did not appear to be about to run into an island.
His ears began to register an abominably tuneless singing. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but evidently Jack Sparrow was somewhere about and invisible. The sound seemed to be coming out of the sky, so Will, feeling foolish, looked up, and up. Then he saw the captain, minus his coat and hat and boots, looking the veriest urchin, high on the topgallant yard of the mainmast, clinging like a burr to the lines and unfurling the great canvas topgallant sails. And singing—if you could call it that—to the Interceptor.
End
Just Jack at a peaceful moment on the way to Tortuga.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't own Jack or the Interceptor.
Finally. He had disposed of the Turner whelp for the time being. Sent him down to the hold to inventory provisions. At last he was alone with the Interceptor. She was running before a fine brisk wind, carrying almost all her canvas, already out of range of the crippled Dauntless’s cannon. The battle-ready tension drained out of her new captain, and he closed his eyes, reaching out with his other senses for his new ship. He caressed the sleek wood of her helm, feeling her alive and quivering under his hand, feeling the sea pressing against her keel, the wind heeling her slightly to starboard. Allowing his muscles to relax, he felt himself move into synchronization with the ship. As she reared and plunged through the playful seas, he ceased to have any motion out of her context as though he had become one of her spars. The rhythm of her dance with the waves settled in his bones and coursed through his blood.
The Interceptor was singing to him now—the splash of waves on her hull, the groan of her timbers, the creak of her tackle, the snap of her ensign, the straining of her shrouds, the belling of her sails, the small intimate sounds of her wheel as he adjusted her course. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her scent of sun-warmed wood and tar and crisp new canvas all pervaded with the clean salt smell of the open ocean. The last of the foul air of the Fort Charles gaol fled in her wake. Jack laughed aloud with delight. She was not the Black Pearl, but she was a bonnie lass all the same, and she was his.
Jack opened his eyes and let them linger on his new ship. “My lady,” he whispered fondly to her, “you are altogether lovely.” He felt her approval of her new captain.
“But,” he informed her, “those Port Royal miscreants have not let you stretch your legs, darling. The able-bodied crew will have to do something about that. I’ll have you know, I was a crack topman in my day, before I became a captain.” Swiftly, he tied down her helm. Then, grinning like a mad thing, Jack shucked off his coat and boots, shed his baldric, pistol and sword, and carefully placed his hat on top of them. “Do not lose these,” he warned the Interceptor. With a light and eager step, he set foot on the mainmast shrouds.
“All hands aloft to loose the topgallants,” Captain Sparrow ordered himself. “Loose the topgallants. Aye!” he responded to himself. Then he swarmed up her rigging as if he had been her cabin boy instead of her middle-aged captain. It had been too long since he had walked the wind.
* * * * * *
Will clambered back on deck, having ascertained what Sparrow had certainly already known—that a Naval ship newly reprovisioned and about to go on patrol had significantly more than two weeks’ supplies for twenty men. He glanced towards the helm, expecting to see the disreputable figure of the pirate captain at the wheel. No one was there. Surprised, Will scanned the visible decks. No sign of Sparrow. Had the captain gone below decks as well? Could a ship steer itself? Nervously he scanned the horizon. They did not appear to be about to run into an island.
His ears began to register an abominably tuneless singing. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but evidently Jack Sparrow was somewhere about and invisible. The sound seemed to be coming out of the sky, so Will, feeling foolish, looked up, and up. Then he saw the captain, minus his coat and hat and boots, looking the veriest urchin, high on the topgallant yard of the mainmast, clinging like a burr to the lines and unfurling the great canvas topgallant sails. And singing—if you could call it that—to the Interceptor.
End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-15 10:25 am (UTC)“Do not lose these,” he warned the Interceptor. *snerk*
“All hands aloft to loose the topgallants,” Captain Sparrow ordered himself. “Loose the topgallants. Aye!” he responded to himself. Then he swarmed up her rigging as if he had been her cabin boy instead of her middle-aged captain. Playful and free, the best of Jack.
It had been too long since he had walked the wind. Perhaps my favorite line -
You are at the top of your own rigging when you let yourself run free with these original vignettes (as you have done here and with CAT O' NINE TAILS). Well done!
no subject
Date: 2005-07-15 10:41 pm (UTC)Jack is at his most endearing when he's in his element, comanding a tall ship out chasing horizons.
Thanks for your lovely comments.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-15 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-15 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-19 10:27 am (UTC)*saves to memories*
no subject
Date: 2005-09-19 01:09 pm (UTC)