Here's chappie three of odd habits. Jack and the rigging, and the stars…
Late at night, Jack snuck outside his cabin and smiled his usual smile. He climbed up the rigging and grinned. Making sure no one was around for the final time, he swung over the crows nest and climbed up the rope.
He climbed all the way to the top of the horizontal mast holding the sails in place about the centre mast. (sorry for the confusing-ness, think of the top of a capital T) up there, he swung around once, twice and lay down facing the stars on a single rope. Ana could barely watch.
His hands went eagle spread beside him as he pretended he was a bird in the breeze. That was truly what he was, the spirit of a bird, trapped in a body. He soared like any eagle, higher maybe. He could touch the sky in his mind. He felt like puling down one of the stars and keeping it in his pocket. But alas.
He looked at the stars and grinned. They were some of the things that were global. He could tell millions of tales just looking at the stars. To him, they were a timeline. Each adventure had a timeline, a time, which could compare to the rotation of the earth, which he said was round, unlike those morons in the Navy said.
In the month of Aries when he was 12, he started his adventures on the Black Pearl. That's how he kept time. It was just his weird way of taking in the beauty of the skies without seeming soft. He gazed at the constellations. It was his birthday in three days. He was about to reach Tortuga, but had a mind of turning off course just to stay on the ocean to spend his birthday.
He flipped down the riggings like the agile monkey he was. Reaching down, the breeze no longer reached him. He toned down. His hair was rearranged neatly in it's original position, if you could call it neat. He once again became the original Captain Jack Sparrow, not the true one, the one in his heart, the one who loved freedom.
I know, not up to usual. Sorry people
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