(no subject)
He hadn't slept. All through the long, long night, Jack Sparrow had alternated between relentlessly pacing the confines of his cabin and the deck of the Black Pearl.
At first, his steps had been illumined by the cold flame of Lyon's lantern. He hadn't needed it to find his way, not on his own ship-- no, Jack had carried it along with him for light. But although the lantern-fire itself never flickered, each swaying motion of the pirate's gait had caused it to glitter silver-white at the corner of his vision, and cast strange gleaming shadows over the decks.
(pyreflies)
That hadn't helped. Eventually he'd hung it back up on a hook, and continued on his way.
He'd thought he'd known what to expect-- despite the girl's concerned warning,
(the dead are trapped - tortured spirits - you might feel it happening)
Jack hadn't been overly concerned. Wary, aye, even cautious -- it's why he'd distracted Wellard with a story quickly spun and sent Gibbs away until the thing was done -- but not worried. He'd already had it on good authority as to what lies beyond, after all.
(wasn't much of anything - the endless dark)
And it'd never been the sort of thing to appeal to a man like Jack Sparrow, now more than ever.
But then had come the ghostly wind, pulling at his hair and clothes and singing through the Pearl's rigging, followed quickly by the glorious rainbow of light from every plank of her, and then the voices.
(yo ho a pirate's life for me)
Soft and coaxing, with a familiar sultry accent and teasing lilt, carrying the feel of an ocean breeze and the smell of the salt spray, they'd beckoned to him, promising the open sea, promising adventure, promising warm winds and far shores and above all freedom.
(bring me that horizon)
He'd nearly been driven to his knees with both desperate relief and crushing loss as the wild fountain of light had faded with the passing of the shark. He'd stayed at the wheel as the lass had gone back ashore, and as twilight faded into darkness, trying to come to grips with one simple, unutterable, impossible thing.
For the first time in his life and beyond it, Jack had felt his ship, his Pearl, his dream, his treasure
(she's only a ship)
anchoring him with the weight of an iron chain.
At first, his steps had been illumined by the cold flame of Lyon's lantern. He hadn't needed it to find his way, not on his own ship-- no, Jack had carried it along with him for light. But although the lantern-fire itself never flickered, each swaying motion of the pirate's gait had caused it to glitter silver-white at the corner of his vision, and cast strange gleaming shadows over the decks.
(pyreflies)
That hadn't helped. Eventually he'd hung it back up on a hook, and continued on his way.
He'd thought he'd known what to expect-- despite the girl's concerned warning,
(the dead are trapped - tortured spirits - you might feel it happening)
Jack hadn't been overly concerned. Wary, aye, even cautious -- it's why he'd distracted Wellard with a story quickly spun and sent Gibbs away until the thing was done -- but not worried. He'd already had it on good authority as to what lies beyond, after all.
(wasn't much of anything - the endless dark)
And it'd never been the sort of thing to appeal to a man like Jack Sparrow, now more than ever.
But then had come the ghostly wind, pulling at his hair and clothes and singing through the Pearl's rigging, followed quickly by the glorious rainbow of light from every plank of her, and then the voices.
(yo ho a pirate's life for me)
Soft and coaxing, with a familiar sultry accent and teasing lilt, carrying the feel of an ocean breeze and the smell of the salt spray, they'd beckoned to him, promising the open sea, promising adventure, promising warm winds and far shores and above all freedom.
(bring me that horizon)
He'd nearly been driven to his knees with both desperate relief and crushing loss as the wild fountain of light had faded with the passing of the shark. He'd stayed at the wheel as the lass had gone back ashore, and as twilight faded into darkness, trying to come to grips with one simple, unutterable, impossible thing.
For the first time in his life and beyond it, Jack had felt his ship, his Pearl, his dream, his treasure
(she's only a ship)
anchoring him with the weight of an iron chain.