I'd fancy you return the way you said (but I grew old and forgot your name)

[captjacksparrow]

Everything has died. No -- scratch that word. Not died. Nothing to do with dead. Nothing and no one is dying if Jack has anything to say about it, and he will if they just could pick up a bloody breeze.

Sometime around late afternoon, the wind gave out. The sea rolled to a slow crawl of gentle waves and the Pearl, for all her might, guttered and

Comments

[commodore_jln]

The doldrums. Oh, brilliant. Really bloody brilliant. The universe, it seemed, truly is conspiring against him; as if it wasn't enough being ruined and shamed, working as a poxy deckhand aboard the Black Pearl with the one man he would have been perfectly content to never again see in his life. Oh no. In addition to that, the winds had decided to drop off without even a breeze, and leave the Pearl sitting open and still, fair play for this marauding beast of Jones's, should it decide it's in the mood for a snack.

It's horrible.

James has always liked a task; movement, a goal, something to do, to aim for. And indeed, he's always had one, all his life. Now though, he's got nothing; he's quite as still as the Pearl, stuck in dead waters without a wind. The stillness and the scorching hot sun only make it worse, like the world is trying to- very unsubtley- press home what he already knows

[captjacksparrow]

Over the past several weeks, Jack's grown accostumed to James playing to him in nothing but sharp and sour tones. It should be expected now, when James comes barreling in, that the only greeting he can muster is something along those lines. Jack still isn't quite ready for it, though, and belatedly bites out a polite smile to cover his pout

[commodore_jln]

He didn't really have any particular reason to go bursting into Jack's cabin, other than the fact that Jack seems to be the locus of all his thought these days. Now he's here, that's vaguely irritating. He ought to have a reason to be here, slumped in a chair and sneering.

But he doesn't. He feels no particular desire to talk to Jack- not that they ever really say anything, when they do talk- but even after so long, after everything Jack's done to him, somehow being in his presence is preferable than otherwise. James suspects he may have developed into something of a masochist.

He watches Jack over the top of his own bottle, finding the burn of the rum much preferable now. 'It's not as if I've anything else to do,' he grumbles sharply. 'Seeing as we're not going anywhere at the moment.' As if it's Jack's fault. It might as well be Jack's fault. Everything else is Jack's fault, no reason this shouldn't be.

[captjacksparrow]

Reading between the lines -- a trick Jack is very, very good at, despite the fact people seem to insist on the contrary -- it seems that James is here for no purpose other than a lack of purpose. It's a dangerous thing to tell a Captain you have nothing to do aboard his ship. Any sailor worth anything knows to find an occupying activity lest someone give him a less pleasing task