A/N: Mmmm...Heh. Have you missed me? I hope so. 'Cept I don't have any good JavaJunkie stuff right now. Just this tidbit of boredom. Basically the uberly smexy Captain Jack standing around. More of a fic-let, really, just me...being...unproductive. Please review )
An enigma.
Marching to the beat of a different drummer- humming his own tune and playing his own game, Jack Sparrow danced just inside the borders of insanity, every so often teetering towards that borderline of the unknown. He was the faintest scent of the salty sea-spray as it flitted across your face in brackish torrents- the distant call of a seagull lost amidst the masses of monotonous blue and the quiet, tearing sound of wind against dropped canvas; water rushing against a boat's side. Jack Sparrow was the future. He was the past. But most of all, he was the present- he was the Captain of a dream, steering it to the corners of space and beyond, stars brushing against the aphotic sails of his dream- his Pearl. The pride of the ocean itself. Jack Sparrow was freedom.
He was the dark, ghostly leader of a crew of miscreants talked about only in legend- his very figure was wrapped in stories like a sickly sweet candy coating. These stories fueled him, they kept him going, egging him on in his pursuit- his pursuit of what? That was Jack's secret. The little morsel of information that everyone saw flashing just behind the sepia flames in his eyes- the tiny kindling that energized his personality, the slightly inebriated sway to his proud walk. It was simply this: he didn't know. Jack never knew what he was going to do next. He never knew where he'd take his crew. He never had a real heading. He never plotted their route. Jack just went with the winds and the arrow of his compass, following those paths with a sense of lackadaisical deftness that, in all actuality, was nonexistent.
His hands, weathered and wind-beaten clutched the black railing, the very tips of his fingers tapping idly against the wooden frame. Rocking back and forth from his heals to his toes, his eyes dancing anxiously across the horizon, the quirky Captain's entire visage was varnished in dusty ochroid, his black hair glowing with a golden static. They'd been sailing around in circles for a day or two- since to an untrained eye the sea looked basically the same, no one had really noticed. But Jack had. Of course he had- he was steering the bloody ship. He knew that the Dauntless was lurking not too far- he'd seen it two days ago on the horizon, just a speck in his telescope. He had no desire to encounter the British at the moment, especially with such precious cargo.
A chuckle. Gold and silver teeth gleamed like the treasure itself, contrasting against the stark white fleetingly as the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a mischievous grin. Dark eyes squinted, trying to make out that ominous figurine. But nothing. Another chuckle. Pivoting on the heel of his boots, Jack traipsed towards the wheel of the ship, his hands caressing the wood fleetingly as he walked past it, his eyes remaining on the fixture. No one would be woken up for atleast another hour. That was how Jack liked it- having The Pearl all to himself. It was how the Captain kept his mind clear- came up with their heading. Or, atleast what to tell the crew until he actually thought of one. But like everything in life, the dawn hours were fleeting, and Jack Sparrow knew he'd have to become the hearty, quirky, outgoing Captain again in an hour- but for now he was but a sailor, an enigma of the sea, without a care in the world.
And that was how he liked it.