tampered | Ongoing

Ongoing

When; night of Sep 18
Rating;PG13
Characters; Sands and Jack
Summary; Sands misses annoying his twin in person and asks to come by the Black Swann
Log; He can feel her soft footsteps from the bedroom, not even bothering to get up when she walks in on this strange scene. Why bother looking sane? She knows him well enough by now.
But sometime that morning he had realized something was wrong. Missing. It took him until late afternoon to figure it out. Sands misses Jack.
He's been so preoccupied with having Rangiku around he lost interest in playing with his other friends. So now, feeling like he's said the wrong thing to his best girl, Sands gives her some much needed alone time and goes next door to the beach.
He builds a small fire, taking his time and appreciating the fact that he's doing it himself of getting a lackey to. Sands is dressed in case he gets a sailing lesson (and if not he enjoys blending in as much as he can). The black pants are of a slightly different cut and very much not the modern jean material. They are rolled up past his ankles as he buries his bare feet into the still warm sand under him. His shirt is white and much less form fitting then he's used to. The bandanna to keep his hair out of the way is a darker red and he's sure it's less 'sea queer' then the one he saw in Jack's mind.

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The fire lighting the sand catches Jack's attention and the pirate makes his way down the dock to the shore. Even if it does look more like his own attire, seeing Sands dressed that way makes him laugh to himself. It's just...well, it's odd.

"Having a party without me, Shel? Lucky for you, I'm forgiving... And I've brought rum. What are we celebrating?"

The corner of his lip goes up just a little. Sands looks proud and smug for a moment. He does have something to celebrate.
"How about life and the pursuit of happiness?"

He holds his hand out impatiently for the promised booze. Sands doesn't really have a taste for rum but enough time around jack and he'll start drinking paint thinner socially. It's a little weird, even for him, when your best friend is a copy of you from another world. One needs to take the edge off.

"Seems fair enough." Jack laughs and takes a long pull for himself before passing the bottle over to Sands.

"Glad to see you in such a good mood. I trust this has to do with Ran's decision to stay? Lucky bastard." He manages a sort of half smile. JAck doesn't have much to celebrate, himself. His only remaining crew have jumped ship to be secretly wed and are off enjoying their honeymoon on some island. This is the first reprieve he's had from the ticking in days.

Sheldon makes impatient motions with his fingers until the bottle is in it's rightful place. He pulls a face before drinking- not looking forward to the taste of it.
"Tequila. Tequila tequila. How is that so hard? This doesn't even go well with lime..."

He steals Jack's turn, going again before passing. "Rangiku makes me happy when I'm with her. Right now I'm with you." Though the words are flirtatious his tone isn't. He's telling Jack, in his own passing way, that he was missed.
"I've got a notion to seize some of this property. Ran loves the beach." Now he grins up at the pirate just asking for a swift kick in the face.

"If you wish to choose the drink, you may supply it."
The second 'you' is punctuated with a poke at Sands' chest and a short laugh. Jack finds tequila acceptable, but it's like cheating on a long time lover to switch to it on any kind of regular basis.

"Glad that I please you so, Sheldon." And the pirate smiles in spite of himself. He missed his twin as well. It's why his anger refuses to hold and why complex and drawn out plans are the only revenge he'll seek on the man; Sands makes him laugh and he doesn't get that often enough.

"So, how is it you intend to barter or steal this land from me, eh?" He chuckles and drinks deeply. Drinking with Sands as company is far better than drinking alone in his quarters.

"Cheap prick. I'm your guest here." He makes a slap at Jack's hand, frowning. Must keep up his 'don't touch me' routine. Or people will start hugging him, God forbid.

Sands blindly pokes at the fire with a stick as he considers this.
"I suppose I could wait for your enemies to take back the Peal (about half a week after you get it) and trade you land for the Black Swann. See- it will be commandeered by the United States Government by that time. Hell of a lot of paper work to get it back in your name, let me tell you.
Hey, Jack?"

No, there will be no hugging. Not until Jack is quite a bit more drunk at least.

Sands' predictions make Jack's brows furrow and his lower lip pout in a pitiful and childish scowl. What if he does lose the Pearl again? He'd barely be able to take it.
"Shut your mouth, you wicked git." The rum is sloshed at Sands and Jack takes another pull. "I'll not lose my ship again. And I doubt your government holds much sway here with only one man to serve them." His tone isn't very serious at all. He knows Sheldon is teasing him, but it's hurtful. Still, he tries to be a good sport about it...as it were.

"What now?"

Sands can hear the pout even though he's joking back. He lets it go- not wanting to push the pirate too far while they're still having fun. He'll save that for when he's out to hurt.
"I'm an army of one. Was your father a pirate?"

"From you, I can believe that you truly are and I shall live in fear." The pirate grins and passes the rum to Sands before lowering himself to sit on the beach near the fire.

"Now.." There's a slight hesitance and Jack tilts his head. "Why the sudden interest in my parentage, eh? Looking to breed pirates of your own?"

"A sudden interest in other things we have in common. After the riveting conversation we had about the like paths we've both chosen."
The rum warms him as he waves off his road to bullshit.

As he speaks he motions with the bottle.
"How can you not be interested, fuckmook? I devote the better part of my day to trans-dimensional parallels. I lay awake at night thinking myself into an aneurysm. You have to wonder."

Jack laughs and leans back in the sand.
"Yes. I am interested. I wonder over the similarities a great deal. Fine. If it will help you to sleep at night; yes, my father was a pirate."

He leans his head back, grinning up at Sands and narrowing his eyes slightly.
"And I take it your father was military, then? ... Pass us the bottle, mate."

It makes him feel a little better that Jack grew up with it. Otherwise he would feel extra useless on the ship. He tells himself that Sparrow is only that good because he'd been around it all his life. It's not that he's just better or anything.
He seems satisfied until Jack puts two and two together. Damn stupid pirate and his being observant. Sands is the only one to seemingly pull out details like that.

"Career military. Army. I don't have to tell you what kind of a prick goes into that field. At least he wasn't Navy." Sands shrugs and passes the bottle back.
"Was he a good pirate?"

"Sorry t'hear that. Some men give far too much of themselves to their country."

It's a terrible pity that Sheldon is taking his comfort in Jack growing up with experience. His father being a pirate meant much the opposite. It's not as if Sands' father took the boy into battle with him, is it?

"A good pirate? Ha. Not sure. Some say so. i couldn't tell you. He was always away, you understand. I only saw the man a handful of times as a boy."

"Actually he could have given more. Stationed in a place without communication or even an escape plan."

He was thinking more along the lines of good on a ship. Jack kicking his ass was chocked up to 'kind of a bad day' for Sands.

"Rare for a pirate to come back at all isn't it? What did your mom do to make ends meet?" Sands would put money on the fact Jack was a trick baby.

Answering questions about his past is a real show of trust and the sort of attachment he feels to for his look-alike. When it comes to his mother, though, Jack is more hesitant. His smile fades and he thinks for a moment before answering.

"My mother? ... She worked as a barmaid and helped to maintain a tavern. In trade, we were allowed to live in the space above the pub."
As far as Jack Sparrow is concerned, this is the only profession his mother ever held. The tavern and the dirty streets that surrounded it served as hunting grounds to a number of whores, and Sands' assumptions are likely quite correct, but it's not something Jack is willing to accept.

Sands had taken a long time to think about how much he was willing to tell Jack. His job made him secretive. But it's become more important to him to know about Jack's life. And he doubts the pirate would submit to an interrogation, no matter how subtle. He's prepared to trade.

As for his mother- her role as a barmaid sure didn't make her less suspicious of selling ass on the side. But Jack seems to be- oh could it be true?- Jack is a mama's boy. Sands grins pretending it's about something else.
"Guess we know what she used when she ran out of milk. Rum! Does a body good."
The agent pats Jack's back patronizingly.

He frowns childishly at Sands and swats the hand away. "Oh, do shut up." Rum and brandy work well to quiet a crying baby. And it's remarkable what men will pay to see a young boy drink himself sick.

"With your father holding such an honorable position, your mother was no doubt free to tend to you and the home. Or did she work when your father was away?"
Jack is rather impatient to have the subject moved off of his own mother. He is every bit the mama's boy and doesn't want to leave things open for Sands to say the wrong thing and for things to get unpleasant.

Sands doesn't really wanna talk about his mom either. For different reasons. Mostly he couldn't stand her.
"She had too much time on her hands and didn't do a whole lot of tending."

This isn't very fair. Sands' mother tried hard but Sheldon was a difficult and unloving child. She would cry violently when a toddler 'Shell' refused submit to her hugs. His father was secretly glad his son wasn't the cuddling type. It was bad enough he was so tiny for his age.

"My mother was a natural drunken whore and better suited working a tavern. Seems like the universe fucked that one up and switched their situation."
Maybe he's a little jealous. Perfectly good mom wasted on Jack and all.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

Jack gives a hollow chuckle at to Sands' observation. The agent surely has no idea how much Jack wished his whole childhood that his mum didn't have to work so hard. It wasn't until he was much older that he had the sense to blame his father for the situation.

"Siblings? No. None. Well, none living and none I've ever met. ... Save for you, dear brother."
There were things his mother would say and then work to hide her sadness or change the topic. Things that made him think she was making up for some other lost child before him with how well he was treated. He also has no doubts his father left him with half-siblings in distant ports whom he would never meet.

Sands dumbs down when he talks to Jack. He uses smaller words and doesn't notice it. Though he likes and respects Jack- he really doesn't give him credit for much of anything. It's already gotten him in trouble. Any second now it will happen again.

"How did you meet Turner?"

"Will?"
Oh..yes. Sands has never met Will's father, so there's no call to clarify. Jack laughs at the memory a moment.

"I was fleeing capture by the navy in Port Royal. I was merely borrowing the tools of the blacksmith where young William was apprentice -liberating myself of some unpleasant manacles- when the boy drew a blade to threaten me. Never has been good with social situations or quick decisions, really..."

Sands laughs at that image.
"He is a hostile little tight ass isn't he? I get the feeling you meet a lot of people by trying to steal their shit and then getting a sword to your throat. Tsk and you let him live."
He's all happy and good cheer. It makes the next thing he says sound a little strange.

"So at what point was your friend good enough for Jones' ship but not my little mark?"

"There's a lot to be gained in not killing everyone that crosses your path, Shel. The boy's come in quite a bit more useful alive."
He laughs a little bit at his own observation. Truth is, Jack won't outright kill anyone he doesn't have to. It's a waste of bullets and effort and corpses are terribly limited in their uses.

The question is nerve wracking. He's been trying very hard to ignore that any of that happened at all.
"There are, I would say, a good number of differences between a grown man well trained with a sword and a defenseless child. It was never my intention for William to be condemned to Jones' crew for a hundred years..." He scowls, then narrows an eye at Sands. "Where did you hear about that?"

"Alright alright. Blah blah 'wrong' blah blah 'enslaving children'. People are cargo too. You should know that better then anyone, Captain Sparrow. Not all of us are so enlightened."
His joy in life is busting Jack's balls. He's not trying to start a real fight but he also has an overkill habit.

"You and Rangiku can meditate together and... eat organically. Hippie assholes."

What has started as quiet scowling is escalating to a teeth gritting, growling, seething anger.
He spits at Sands feet and gets up remarkably fast for a drunken man. The rum bottle is thrust roughly against Sands' chest as Jack stands all too close.

"I do not carry men as cargo, nor will I aid in such idiocy. This is not a thing open for discussion. Savvy?"
Jack takes another pull from the bottle and holds then keeps it held out at arms length as he stumbles away a few steps.

Sands had no idea there was a sore spot there. Much less the gaping wound he just stuck his finger into. His face goes blank as Jack's anger sets him on edge. He's been in a fight with the pirate that did not end well for him already.

"...I dig." As the pirate moves away, the clock strikes midnight in the city and Sands bends his face down to light a cigarette.

There's a moment of dizziness and pain as he struggles to keep himself upright. Sparrow catches the shimmer of flame reflecting in Sands' eyes and he games stupidly.

"What in bloody hell.. Sa.. Oh bugger."
The moment of shock costs Jack his balance and he gives in dropping to sit again. His coat and waistcoat get sand caught in the knit and in the gold braid of the trim and some of his long, slick hair falls free of its tie.

Sands leans back on one elbow laughing his his fallen friend.
"You're drunk, man. Just look at you."

Sands holds out the lit cigarette forcing Jack to get up or crawl over to get it. His smirk is condescending and his eyes shine with liquor and a mean glee.
"Pompous ass."

"But..your eyes..."
It's late. Has it really passed midnight? Surely it's another bloody curse. Shite. Best to say nothing any maybe the miserable bastard can actually enjoy it.
"..nothing. Now hand that over, you cunt."

Why is he drinking straight from the bottle? No matter. He stretches one leg out to pull himself over to Sands, trying to make it look as little like crawling as possible as he grabs for the cigarette.
"You are a bastard and a scoundrel. Were you not among the only sensible men in this city I would put you out of my misery."

"You are so romantic. But you'll gave to get me a lot drunker if you want me to swoon for your compliments."

Sands watches Jack make his way over, suspicious now. The pirate is acting less weird then is normal for him. Sands can't really put his finger on it since he's mostly unaware of the spaz that Jack is. But his friend does seem more still. And something is different. Trust a man not to notice a new hair style. Especially since he's only seen Jack once and it was through the pirate's own mind. His hair was much more dashing and less the rat infested mass others see it to be. Even if he noticed- Sands couldn't be sure he changes styles at times.
"Have I met the others?"

"Look for romance and buggery elsewhere, ponce."

He takes the cigarette and holds it with a little more tilt to his wrist than anyone who should call another queer. Still, he's always lacked tolerance for those who see buggery as more than an occasional outlet for frustrations at sea. A practice he never partakes in, if you asked him.

"V is occasionally reasonable, though he's far too much of an idealist. Rosiel has occasional moments of lucidity in the midst of being mad as an army of hatters. Crazy bastard... Most everyone else here are lambs to the bloody slaughter, wouldn't you say?"

Sands smirks at Jack's backhanded insult to his playful teasing as he shows off just what a poof he really is. The most amusing part of it is Shel isn't sure Jack knows he's doing it or is trying to be funny. He's putting his money on the fact the man has no idea how gay he comes off.

"I have the same probably with V. Raphael is by far my favorite of the angels. The others are a little intense. Most everyone everywhere are lambs." He quietly agrees, taking a new interest on poking at Jack's morals.
"But so few real wolves. It's just not balanced."

He is fully and completely oblivious to how queer his mannerisms make him seem. Those who call him on it, rarely live long enough to explain what brought them to that conclusion.

"Raphael is likely the most useful of the divine presence here, certainly. ... It's only right that there be more lambs. Otherwise the wolves would soon be feeding on each other.. And that happens often enough as it is, does it not?" A wide grin creases his face at the memory of the scent of burning flesh and the horrified look in Cutler Beckett's eyes as he set the brand into the man's flesh.

"And the sheep in wolves clothing? How that does throw shadows. You wouldn't think a man with our face could still wear the wolf. Looking like the lost lambs we do. But you, Jack Sparrow, I have heard 'Baaa' one times too many."
Sands grin his grin. The one where he got to cut deep and doesn't believe he'll be hit. Every time he's played with Jack like this he got his butt handed to him on a platter. But Sands' most consistent mistake is not knowing when to stop.

But if this Jack remembers the Lucy situation differently, Sands dig will just make him look drunk and crazy, or he'll be hit over the head with a bottle... so many of the turning points in their friendship come to this.

Anger creases his brow and there's a low, growling sound in Jack's throat. Finally he draws the glock from his belt and leans forward to have it better centered in its aim between Sands' eyes.
"Tell me, does this seem like a 'baa' to you, eh?"

To Jack, this is casual. This is a common mid-point for their conversations. Eventually, someone pulls a gun. It's rarely serious. He laughs and lowers the gun.
"That's a bloody fool accusation to make, mate."

Oh, he remembers the Lucy incident much differently.

Sands stares past the barrel at Jack's face looking bored. It's a good trick when your balls are receding. Though it's common- the thing that makes it fun is that any day it could go farther.

"Stop bogarding or I wont share." He pulls out a joint from his cigarette case and lights up intending to get that bottle back.

That truly is what's fun about the whole thing. One day one will blow the other's brains out, and maybe the only good thing about this place is that they'll be able to go back to playing the game again the next day.

"Oh...well, the pay is certainly good enough." Another short drink and he passes the bottle over in trade, he's assuming, for the ganja.

Sands speaks holding in the smoke.
"The pay is the best this city has to offer."
He exhales as he leans forward to pass and take the bottle, blowing the smoke in his twins face.

"Like Amsterdam without the plane ride."

His lip curls as he waves the smoke away. Jack reaches to take the cigarette, discarding the tobacco one he'd been given earlier.

"I fail to see what in hell it has to do with the Dutch."
Not that it matters much. He takes a drag, breathing the thick smoke out slowly through his nose.
"Filthy bastards. I say another decently run war and enough of them left dead would show them reason and have them out of the Company's way, but the crown hasn't the stones for it."

"Hey. Waste not want not you fucker."

His amusement in Jack's confusion about his Amsterdam comment disappears as he blinks slowly taking in what just came out of his friends mouth. Shock is hard to see on Sands' face, more like a switch turns off and for a short moment he's just a blank thing one could knock over with a feather.
Where the fuck did that come from? Jack sounds exactly like him- only a touch more bitter.

"... what?" Oh yeah. His training as a fast and witty agent is kicking into full gear now.
After several starts and stops (the bottle uselessly held halfway to his mouth this whole time) he gets something out.
"You know- every nation is on the very cusp of war with themselves. The easiest trick in the book is to turn it to their neighbor."
He studies Jack's reaction to this suggestion as if he was watching a man start to chew his own foot. The pirate has obviously been spending far too much time with him and it shows.

Another short hit and he holds the cigarette out to Sands to trade off again.
"Of course. I've traveled far enough to know more than half the population of any place are weak minded idiots. Another waiting target is as good a way as any to keep them from each other's throats. With savages it's even easier. If one of their godforsaken tribes refuses to cooperate, merely provide liquor and weapons to the other. Problem solves itself."

Jack smiles, slow nd cruel. It's more of a tight line and a distant, mad look to his eyes than his usual easy smile.
"There are few things as profitable as war. Especially those you do not fight in yourself."

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