(no subject)
Gibbs sits outside, not far from the moorings of the Pearl, chewing on some salt beef. It's bloody cold, even with the battered old topcoat he found below, but he's been on the North Sea enough times to take it. And he has his rum.
Besides, he likes it better out here. The bar is nice. Too nice. Too well lit, with those strange candles, too clean. (Never mind the strange ghostly music!) It's the kind of place that usually refuses to welcome men like him. And the kind of place men like him rarely find any pleasure (though he's been proven wrong about that once already). The lake may not be the open sea, but it suits him fine anyway.
Soon he'll go back on the ship and make sure she's (if you pardon the obvious phrase) ship-shape. The Cap'n has been away more often than not, and someone needs to make sure she's still ready to sail. (He really doesn't trust the magic that recreated the ship, magic being a tricky thing and all.) Even if there's no one worth going just yet. But knowing the Cap'n, they'll find someplace worth going sooner or later.
Besides, he likes it better out here. The bar is nice. Too nice. Too well lit, with those strange candles, too clean. (Never mind the strange ghostly music!) It's the kind of place that usually refuses to welcome men like him. And the kind of place men like him rarely find any pleasure (though he's been proven wrong about that once already). The lake may not be the open sea, but it suits him fine anyway.
Soon he'll go back on the ship and make sure she's (if you pardon the obvious phrase) ship-shape. The Cap'n has been away more often than not, and someone needs to make sure she's still ready to sail. (He really doesn't trust the magic that recreated the ship, magic being a tricky thing and all.) Even if there's no one worth going just yet. But knowing the Cap'n, they'll find someplace worth going sooner or later.