(no subject)
The storm is finally fading out into the horizon -- the dark clouds and fat, round drops of rain soon to pass behind them as Jack makes his Pearl fly over the waves. The wind is good for that. She can get up to her full speed quickly and stay there without keeping too many men on the sails. Hispanola is still possibly a two day's journey away, if Jack is even going in the right direction, but they can't risk stopping. The storm will gain on them and take them over if they weigh anchor for the night. She'll have to sail through the night and into morning.
Jack doesn't necessarily mind this. The howl of wind and slap of rain of the decks, the rolling plunge over waves, causes him to smile. Makes his heart beat faster. It's his Pearl's time to shine.
Half the men are below decks eating a late supper, and the other half are keeping a strong hold on the ropes so that nothing blows away. Jack is content to stay at the helm and captain them through it until he is too tired to stand when Gibbs finally approaches him with Cotton in tow.
"Best be getting something to eat, Cap'n, before all the vittles run out." Jack is about to reject the offer when Gibbs presses, "Had 'em fix a plate for our guest as well."
The way he says "guest" implies to Jack that a fed Norrington is better than a hungry Norrington. That he is only one that would be the safest to bring the Commodore food. And best to be doing it before Norrington gets it in his mind to try to come out looking for food. Jack's stomach rumbles reminding him neither one of them ate since early this morning.
Bugger. No real way out.
"Aye," he sighs (in a very stern, Captain-y way no less) and order Cotton to take the helm. With a tip of his chin in thanks to Gibbs, Jack heads down to the galley to collect two plates, ignoring again the looks the crew there sends his way. They haven't welcomed the idea of having a Commodore of the Fleet on board any more in the passing day. Jack isn't really sure how he feels about it anymore either.
Balancing the two plates delicately on one hand, Jack unlocks the door to his cabin and steps inside. He's not too sure what kind of greeting he'll be recieing just now.
Jack doesn't necessarily mind this. The howl of wind and slap of rain of the decks, the rolling plunge over waves, causes him to smile. Makes his heart beat faster. It's his Pearl's time to shine.
Half the men are below decks eating a late supper, and the other half are keeping a strong hold on the ropes so that nothing blows away. Jack is content to stay at the helm and captain them through it until he is too tired to stand when Gibbs finally approaches him with Cotton in tow.
"Best be getting something to eat, Cap'n, before all the vittles run out." Jack is about to reject the offer when Gibbs presses, "Had 'em fix a plate for our guest as well."
The way he says "guest" implies to Jack that a fed Norrington is better than a hungry Norrington. That he is only one that would be the safest to bring the Commodore food. And best to be doing it before Norrington gets it in his mind to try to come out looking for food. Jack's stomach rumbles reminding him neither one of them ate since early this morning.
Bugger. No real way out.
"Aye," he sighs (in a very stern, Captain-y way no less) and order Cotton to take the helm. With a tip of his chin in thanks to Gibbs, Jack heads down to the galley to collect two plates, ignoring again the looks the crew there sends his way. They haven't welcomed the idea of having a Commodore of the Fleet on board any more in the passing day. Jack isn't really sure how he feels about it anymore either.
Balancing the two plates delicately on one hand, Jack unlocks the door to his cabin and steps inside. He's not too sure what kind of greeting he'll be recieing just now.