Drabblish Thing - Truth be Told
“Great.”
Jack looked up to find Will frowning at a letter he’d just opened. “What?” he asked, placing a finger in his book to mark his place.
“Remember that woman we met at the museum’s open house last week? The one with the polka dot dress?”
“The one with that dreadful voice?” Jack placed a hand on his breast and imitated in a falsetto, “Oh Mister Sparrow, I am afraid you are most mistaken! The East India Trading Company was a legitimate company, run by honest, stalwart, respectable gentlemen, all thoroughly loyal to the Crown. Your facts are wrong, I tell you, wrong, wrong, wrong!”
“Yes, that one.” Will folded up the letter and tossed it to Jack. “Apparently she has taken offense at your remarks.”
Jack scanned the paper, a twitch of the mustache belaying his stern voice as he replied, “Not sure what her problem is, I only told her the honest truth.”
“The EITC was a bunch of thieving, murdering scallywags, worse than any respectable pirate who sailed those waters.” Will quoted. “I imagine your reference to her great-great-great grandnephew, Cutler Beckett, as ‘a twisted, impotent eunuch, who made up for his lack of balls and inability to fire his own cannon with his fleet of ships’ did not endear you to her, either.”
“They always say that honesty is the best policy,” Jack groused.
Will shook his head, smiling at the recollection of the irate woman. “Unfortunately, not when the recipient is a museum patron whose endowment enabled you to be employed in the first place.” Will chuckled. “I imagine she was expecting an edifice of grandeur for her illustrious ancestor, not a recounting of his atrocities.”
“See, Will, that is why studying history is so important,” Jack said. “To remember the truth, not cover it up in a cloud of lies, just to make some self delusional fool feel good about themselves.”
“True.” Will slipped an arm around Jack and pulled him close. “I will tell the director tomorrow you stand by your research. After all,” he kissed Jack’s cheek lightly, “I would not want you to change the truth for any amount of endowment. Museums are to preserve the truth, not alter it.”
“I suppose he wants to fire me,” Jack mumbled, burying his nose in Will’s hair and breathing deeply. “No matter, would rather stay home with you. I can help you in the shop.”
Will shook his head, and murmured back, “No, the museum needs you. Who else can give them first hand knowledge of the Age of Sail?”
“You just don’t want me handling your tools,” Jack teased.
“Jack, you can gladly handle my tools any time you wish.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
*****
Jack looked up to find Will frowning at a letter he’d just opened. “What?” he asked, placing a finger in his book to mark his place.
“Remember that woman we met at the museum’s open house last week? The one with the polka dot dress?”
“The one with that dreadful voice?” Jack placed a hand on his breast and imitated in a falsetto, “Oh Mister Sparrow, I am afraid you are most mistaken! The East India Trading Company was a legitimate company, run by honest, stalwart, respectable gentlemen, all thoroughly loyal to the Crown. Your facts are wrong, I tell you, wrong, wrong, wrong!”
“Yes, that one.” Will folded up the letter and tossed it to Jack. “Apparently she has taken offense at your remarks.”
Jack scanned the paper, a twitch of the mustache belaying his stern voice as he replied, “Not sure what her problem is, I only told her the honest truth.”
“The EITC was a bunch of thieving, murdering scallywags, worse than any respectable pirate who sailed those waters.” Will quoted. “I imagine your reference to her great-great-great grandnephew, Cutler Beckett, as ‘a twisted, impotent eunuch, who made up for his lack of balls and inability to fire his own cannon with his fleet of ships’ did not endear you to her, either.”
“They always say that honesty is the best policy,” Jack groused.
Will shook his head, smiling at the recollection of the irate woman. “Unfortunately, not when the recipient is a museum patron whose endowment enabled you to be employed in the first place.” Will chuckled. “I imagine she was expecting an edifice of grandeur for her illustrious ancestor, not a recounting of his atrocities.”
“See, Will, that is why studying history is so important,” Jack said. “To remember the truth, not cover it up in a cloud of lies, just to make some self delusional fool feel good about themselves.”
“True.” Will slipped an arm around Jack and pulled him close. “I will tell the director tomorrow you stand by your research. After all,” he kissed Jack’s cheek lightly, “I would not want you to change the truth for any amount of endowment. Museums are to preserve the truth, not alter it.”
“I suppose he wants to fire me,” Jack mumbled, burying his nose in Will’s hair and breathing deeply. “No matter, would rather stay home with you. I can help you in the shop.”
Will shook his head, and murmured back, “No, the museum needs you. Who else can give them first hand knowledge of the Age of Sail?”
“You just don’t want me handling your tools,” Jack teased.
“Jack, you can gladly handle my tools any time you wish.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
*****