Binnacle: from the Latin word for 'dwelling place' A common term pirates used for the box that holds the compass on deck.
It was as though he had been made for moments like these.
Below his feet, the sea pitched and rolled, its waves a murmuring furor that soothed his senses. The salty sea air filled him with adrenaline, allowing him to open his eyes and fight for another day. The ship's wood creaked, a lullaby he beloved and felt as though he had been born for.
His hair hung, in lanky strands as it was apt to do. Another strand of beads had been added- a recognition of yet another time he had retaken the Pearl. He could feel his chest intake a breath that filled his lungs, expanding them until he could take in no more and let it out in a single whoosh of air.
A pair of mischievous, ever cocky brown eyes opened and surveyed the crew that stirred beneath him. He was the king here, and this was his realm. Nothing could topple him from his throne. His eyes lightened as they traveled across familiar riggings and well swabbed decks, drinking in every inch, every detail as he reacquainted himself with the Pearl.
His flashing, well-used smile was genuine as the Pearl quivered below him like a high-strung horse. It turned at the slightest touch of the hand, a loyal dream that he forever chased. Black sails flapped merrily in the wind, and the sound was enough to keep the smile fixed on his face even as the sodden waves soaked him yet another time.
His boots clinked as he took another few steps forward and bowed cheekily to his first mate. Gibbs didn't look pleased at the lighthearted mockery, but the man didn't question his captain. It took little enough time for orders to be given and the crew to once again jump to their feet, their movements swift.
On one finger, the man twirled a well-loved and abused hat. The object flipped idly through his hands, tumbling endlessly as he occupied himself with it. It felt good to attach a title to a ship, a captain's hat to a captained ship. The hat was well-washed, well-worn by the constant use and sea salt that had peppered it for years of his life, but he would never bring himself to replace the object. It was as much a part of him as the long hair, the gun, and the ship beneath him.
It was rare that he felt this feeling. This feeling of contentment, rather than the constant need for adventure and change. He didn't mind the thirst that was always in him, the desire for things to be greater and more but it always left a strange longing in him when it vanished. The longing was like a half-remembered dream, of a childhood of never seeing land.
He took in another breath, the tingling feeling of satisfaction welling inside of him. His crew paused as if they sensed their captain's strange mood, but they did not respond to him. They were used to his peculiarities, and perhaps they enjoyed it. He moved forward, a cat's easy grace in his stride as he walked across his small piece of freedom.
The corsair had lived an odd life, even to the point of sometimes not being alive at all. He had been cursed, resurrected, killed by a sea monster. He was a complex puzzle of sorts, that never quite seemed finished. He lived in constant contrasts, betrayed and betrayer, striver and full of strife. He was a pirate to his core.
All of those things made him up and more, but it all came back to this life. The life of a ship beneath his feet, the life of sailing on The Black Pearl, escaping Fate time and time again. On this ship, he was untouchable. On this ship, he was free.
On this ship, he was everything that was Captain Jack Sparrow.
Reviews, as always, are appreciated. And they're even better if they're meant for get well presents after I've been sick for three weeks.