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tampered2006-07-21 11:14 pm
13-year-captain.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-07-21 11:14 pm
Log: Complete
When: Late evening during age-reversal day
Rating: G
Characters: Jack Sparrow
Summary: After his playmates leave, Jack is left lonely and confused with nothing to distract him from the heavy feelings of sorrow and sickness that seem to hang over him.
Log:
With the ship mostly empty and every one of his playmates gone or asleep, Jack was left with nothing as a distraction but the slow, rhythmic rocking from the caress of the waves and the creaking of the boards as the ship gave in to the sea's will. Jonathan Sparrow lay curled on his bed, trying desperately to sleep. The linens smelled like a pub floor and the bed was far too big. Those weren't the real problems, though. What was really keeping Jack awake and tossing, was the painful, sick feeling of stomach and mind, an overwhelming and inexplicable sense of emptiness and an unbearable chill that no number of blankets seemed to sooth away. He thought of calling upon Larxene or Miss Simca to come share his bed and keep him warm, but it seemed a crude and unreasonable thing to request. Besides that, he wouldn't want either to know the reasons for his asking.
When the trying began to seem all too pointless, the boy slipped from his bed and paced his quarters. His arms were kept wrapped tight around his slight frame as he thought and thought over how to get back to his home, his job and his mother; back to all things normal and good. A ship is a fine thing and a promise of freedom, adventure and personal reward, but it isn't a home. Jack had decided by mid-day that he was not quite ready to trade one for the other. And so he sought escape.
Jack's hands soon fell upon the old and dirty compass hanging from a belt that was far too large for him. He was pulled to the thing and it seemed for all the world like an answer. The boy's small hands held the thing steady as the needle spun and swayed. It was far from bearing true, but he knew that didn't matter. Once he had a direction, he padded silently along the ship's upper deck on bare feet and snuck off in a long boat.
Though the rowing was hard, he was fiercely dedicated to it. He ignored the acid burn in his muscles from too long at the oars and followed the heading he was given at all costs. This place was wondrous, but when a young boy is ill, he needs his mother's care not a fancy boat to play upon.
Young Sparrow was weak with exhaustion and his arms trembled from shoulder blades to the tips of each finger by the time he finally ran his boat aground. The island was incredibly small, but strangely familiar as he moved up upon the shore. Jack followed the compass in circles under the dim light of the moon, walking over his own footprints time and again, until he finally heard a hollow thump under his feet. He pushed away the sand, eyes shining and smile bright, sure of what he'd found. He could feel the exit. He knew it was real.
Once the door was uncovered, Jack grabbed the ring to the wooden hatch with both hands and pulled with all of his strength. He could feel a difference in this place; a sense that the barriers and strange reality of this city was far thinner there. As the door finally lifted free and sand sifted in around it, Jack felt light headed and the sickness seemed to ease away. It felt almost like being free of the city...but only for a moment.
Freedom was ripped away as quickly as it came; the real world rejecting him outright and the exit disappearing forever. The boy tumbled down and landed heavily on the crates, bottles and barrels in the storage cache the hatch was sealing. The pain, emptiness and cold came rushing back all too fast and he curled up tightly in that pit. He began to cry and sob unashamedly, for who was there to hear him?
Too weak to row back to the ship, Jack Sparrow uncorked a bottle of the rum and drank deeply. The warmth it provided was superficial and, in a large part false, but it was all the comfort he had to turn to. It burned it's way down his throat and eased away some of the hurt. The city won't give you what you need - what you want most in the world- and maybe it can't give a dead man his life back, but it will pacify you. And so it does with Jack Sparrow. The boy that would be pirate drank full and deep of the small gifts of the cruel city and fell asleep, tears still streaking his face, when drunkenness finally allowed it.
On a caribbean island, baked all day in hot sun and left to cool slow in the night, why couldn't the sand just feel warm?
Rating: G
Characters: Jack Sparrow
Summary: After his playmates leave, Jack is left lonely and confused with nothing to distract him from the heavy feelings of sorrow and sickness that seem to hang over him.
Log:
With the ship mostly empty and every one of his playmates gone or asleep, Jack was left with nothing as a distraction but the slow, rhythmic rocking from the caress of the waves and the creaking of the boards as the ship gave in to the sea's will. Jonathan Sparrow lay curled on his bed, trying desperately to sleep. The linens smelled like a pub floor and the bed was far too big. Those weren't the real problems, though. What was really keeping Jack awake and tossing, was the painful, sick feeling of stomach and mind, an overwhelming and inexplicable sense of emptiness and an unbearable chill that no number of blankets seemed to sooth away. He thought of calling upon Larxene or Miss Simca to come share his bed and keep him warm, but it seemed a crude and unreasonable thing to request. Besides that, he wouldn't want either to know the reasons for his asking.
When the trying began to seem all too pointless, the boy slipped from his bed and paced his quarters. His arms were kept wrapped tight around his slight frame as he thought and thought over how to get back to his home, his job and his mother; back to all things normal and good. A ship is a fine thing and a promise of freedom, adventure and personal reward, but it isn't a home. Jack had decided by mid-day that he was not quite ready to trade one for the other. And so he sought escape.
Jack's hands soon fell upon the old and dirty compass hanging from a belt that was far too large for him. He was pulled to the thing and it seemed for all the world like an answer. The boy's small hands held the thing steady as the needle spun and swayed. It was far from bearing true, but he knew that didn't matter. Once he had a direction, he padded silently along the ship's upper deck on bare feet and snuck off in a long boat.
Though the rowing was hard, he was fiercely dedicated to it. He ignored the acid burn in his muscles from too long at the oars and followed the heading he was given at all costs. This place was wondrous, but when a young boy is ill, he needs his mother's care not a fancy boat to play upon.
Young Sparrow was weak with exhaustion and his arms trembled from shoulder blades to the tips of each finger by the time he finally ran his boat aground. The island was incredibly small, but strangely familiar as he moved up upon the shore. Jack followed the compass in circles under the dim light of the moon, walking over his own footprints time and again, until he finally heard a hollow thump under his feet. He pushed away the sand, eyes shining and smile bright, sure of what he'd found. He could feel the exit. He knew it was real.
Once the door was uncovered, Jack grabbed the ring to the wooden hatch with both hands and pulled with all of his strength. He could feel a difference in this place; a sense that the barriers and strange reality of this city was far thinner there. As the door finally lifted free and sand sifted in around it, Jack felt light headed and the sickness seemed to ease away. It felt almost like being free of the city...but only for a moment.
Freedom was ripped away as quickly as it came; the real world rejecting him outright and the exit disappearing forever. The boy tumbled down and landed heavily on the crates, bottles and barrels in the storage cache the hatch was sealing. The pain, emptiness and cold came rushing back all too fast and he curled up tightly in that pit. He began to cry and sob unashamedly, for who was there to hear him?
Too weak to row back to the ship, Jack Sparrow uncorked a bottle of the rum and drank deeply. The warmth it provided was superficial and, in a large part false, but it was all the comfort he had to turn to. It burned it's way down his throat and eased away some of the hurt. The city won't give you what you need - what you want most in the world- and maybe it can't give a dead man his life back, but it will pacify you. And so it does with Jack Sparrow. The boy that would be pirate drank full and deep of the small gifts of the cruel city and fell asleep, tears still streaking his face, when drunkenness finally allowed it.
On a caribbean island, baked all day in hot sun and left to cool slow in the night, why couldn't the sand just feel warm?