What a ship is, is freedom.
Collectively, there have only been a rare few occasions where Jack Sparrow had ever considered the possibility that perhaps there was such a thing as too much rum. This particular one had not only made it onto the list of said occasions, but it had claimed the top spot all in a matter of seconds.
Oddest thing about this particular occasion, which had set it aside from all the rest, was that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a drink.
***
Jack had just arrived at the docks, which was nothing terribly out of the ordinary; he still hadn't put a boot over the threshold of that giant building others had told him of when he first arrived, but the docks were a place he visited almost daily.
Not three steps from where the sand turned to wood beneath his feet, there had been a sudden crash behind him, causing Jack to whirl around, sword swiftly drawn and at the ready in a blink. Search left, right and skyward, there was no one to be found; he peered over the edge of the docks, checking the water for any telltale disturbances on the surface, but found nothing there either. Traipsing back the way he had just come from, there was another sound, a crunch and scratching from beneath his boot.
Shards of glass sparkled against the planks of the dock as they caught the sun's light. Bending down to retrieve one of the pieces - a neck of a bottle, or so it seemed - he studied it, sniffed it, pressed his tongue to a jagged peak and concluded that there hadn't been any manner of alcohol inside before it shattered. That would have been a waste.
When a shadow snuffed out the glistening of the broken bits of glass shattered around him, Jack furrowed his brow. It wasn't till he heard the familiar tone of a very particular bell tolling in its belfry that he slowly turned back around and took in the sight of her.
***
The Pearl. Even more beautiful than he ever remembered her being, if it were at all possible. He didn't know how or why, or if it was just a figment of his imagination, but he quickly perished the latter thought. And she was as real as he was, waves lapping at her hull, wearing a full canvas of black sails.
Jack wasn't sure how long he'd just been standing there, staring, but when he snapped back to himself he quickly wiped the broad smile off his face, teetering back and forth from heel to toe. His eyes darted left, and then right.
He took of at a sprint down the docks, hands flailing wildly as he ran towards her. She'd found him, somehow, and right then it was enough to make him reconsider every bad thing he'd ever said or thought about that bloody Island.
Oddest thing about this particular occasion, which had set it aside from all the rest, was that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a drink.
***
Jack had just arrived at the docks, which was nothing terribly out of the ordinary; he still hadn't put a boot over the threshold of that giant building others had told him of when he first arrived, but the docks were a place he visited almost daily.
Not three steps from where the sand turned to wood beneath his feet, there had been a sudden crash behind him, causing Jack to whirl around, sword swiftly drawn and at the ready in a blink. Search left, right and skyward, there was no one to be found; he peered over the edge of the docks, checking the water for any telltale disturbances on the surface, but found nothing there either. Traipsing back the way he had just come from, there was another sound, a crunch and scratching from beneath his boot.
Shards of glass sparkled against the planks of the dock as they caught the sun's light. Bending down to retrieve one of the pieces - a neck of a bottle, or so it seemed - he studied it, sniffed it, pressed his tongue to a jagged peak and concluded that there hadn't been any manner of alcohol inside before it shattered. That would have been a waste.
When a shadow snuffed out the glistening of the broken bits of glass shattered around him, Jack furrowed his brow. It wasn't till he heard the familiar tone of a very particular bell tolling in its belfry that he slowly turned back around and took in the sight of her.
***
The Pearl. Even more beautiful than he ever remembered her being, if it were at all possible. He didn't know how or why, or if it was just a figment of his imagination, but he quickly perished the latter thought. And she was as real as he was, waves lapping at her hull, wearing a full canvas of black sails.
Jack wasn't sure how long he'd just been standing there, staring, but when he snapped back to himself he quickly wiped the broad smile off his face, teetering back and forth from heel to toe. His eyes darted left, and then right.
He took of at a sprint down the docks, hands flailing wildly as he ran towards her. She'd found him, somehow, and right then it was enough to make him reconsider every bad thing he'd ever said or thought about that bloody Island.