Log:Ongoing

[13-year-captain.livejournal.com]

When; Evening of the 27th
Rating; PG13
Characters; Jack Sparrow and Agent Sands
Summary; Jack doesn't want to speak to Sands again. He certainly isn't ready for it. But Sands has called him out and so Jack agrees to talk with the man.
Log;
There's no way around it, though. Ignoring Sands would only make things a thousand times worse. Who knows how the man would choose to lash out over it? Jack would much rather be there to gage everything. And so, he pulls on his coat and trudges through the melting snow up the dock to the door of apartment thirteen. Quite a lot of weather to endure to go next door.

He's wet, cold, and wearing his anger and impatience clearly when he finally knocks at Sands' door. As he knocks, his free hand stays on his gun, ready to draw on his twin if need be.

Comments

[blind-shot.livejournal.com]

If it was anyone else he might call that bluff. But Jack would win that one. Doesn't mean he'll take a fall this early on. More bullshitting has to be had even though he knows he'll lose.
"Fuck you, Sea Queer." He flips the pirate off with a smile.
"Suck my prick and we'll negotiate some more. Suck it like your country slurps up American cum like milk, limey bastard."

God, it's great to have friends.

[13-year-captain.livejournal.com]

"Now Shel, don't tease... it's cruel. Tosser."

He smirks and stretches out to occupy the whole of the couch. Jack instinctually claims things. The couch has been commandeered.

"Will these oral negotiations be necessary to earn me a dink? Rum, wine, brandy..whatever you have that isn't internally produced shoud suit. You really are a poor host, you know."
He turns his head towards Sands.
"Are all of those living in the colonies as charming as you, or is this a unique talent?"

It is good to have friends. Even when you're halfway frightened of them.

[blind-shot.livejournal.com]

"My mom was the only one to ever call me that until you came along. Did yours have a special nick name for her little boy or did she go the honesty rout and refer to you as 'that one little bastard' in your tender years?"
He gets up and walks to the kitchen pulling out a bottle of tequila. Jack will drink what he drinks and enjoy it, god damnit.

Grabbing only one glass he sits down- pouring the drink like it was orange juice and handing over the bottle to his twin.
"We're pretty much all like this. That whole English thing wasn't working out and besides that great 'white prick' thing we have in common our two countries tried to separate as much as possible. With no royalty we started our own blue bloods from-" He sweeps a hand out to Jack in a grand gesture. "- you. Pirates, Bootleggers, cheats and scoundrels all. In my time the legitimate sprogs your peers produce are the closest things to aristocrats America has. Useless pieces of shit- all of them. Helpless. Stupid. And sickeningly pale. Your future. Be glad your bones rotted to nothing by time it happened."
Holding his glass up in a toast he drinks the clear booze down as if it was water.

[13-year-captain.livejournal.com]

At the question, Jack's brows raise and he turns his eyes away a moment. No, o course not. Never in his life did his mother call him 'Jacky-darling', 'pup' or her 'baby bird'. That would be silly.
"That is one I heard quite often. From my mum or those returning me to 'er... the poor woman... No one else calls you Shel? Seems a good name to me."

Thankfully, discussion of mothers and names seems as though it may be safely deterred with drinking. Jack doesn't recognize what he's handed and would call you a liar if you told him it's a specialized brandy, but he'll drink it just the same. Once Sands has taken a sip, at least, and proven it safe.

"I don' know... I think I should like to see that. Royalty, to my knowledge, has rarely been more than the sickly and the slow witted. Rulers to revere and bow before as other man mold the world from the wings. It's no surprise, to be honest, that one could take the wit and free spirit of a pirate or rogue and fit him to the mold of the ruling class...all it takes is enough power given over. Or even, really, the illusion of power. Still...the people of a nation run like a pirate port must be interesting. Then of course, there's the fact I'd rather not die."

Watching Sands drink, the pirate finally accepts his own and takes a long pull from the bottle. Bit of a stronger burn than he'd expected for a clear alcohol and he's glad Sands can't see his face. He'll be ready for it now.