The door to the small room that served as Jack's quarters flew open and
its resident came rushing in. The room was located in the eastern
corner of the building and the ceiling slanted downward, giving the
room the feel of a quaint nook. There was a small window with
dilapidated shutters overlooking the dirty streets of Tortuga, and
beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.
Jack turned around eagerly to face his new captain, continuing to walk backward as he did so. "Welcome to my humble home, Cap'n. Now, I'll jus' be needin' a minute to get my things," he stopped abruptly as he tripped over an unidentified, fluffy object which emitted a harsh hissing noise and raced away, darting around the boots of the captain and fleeing out the crack left open by the door. Jack glared after it with a scowl from where he sat awkwardly on the floor and shook his head.
"Damn cat's drunk," he mumbled as he pushed himself up.
Hawk blinked and raised an eyebrow, not quite sure if he had heard correctly, but was granted no further explanation. He shook his head, half wondering what he was getting himself into. The boy was opening drawers, grabbing articles of clothing seemingly at random and tossing them into the air behind him carelessly. After a few seconds of this, he paused and looked over the resulting disorderly and rather small pile that had formed on his bed with satisfaction, shoving them together into a more compact collection. He then walked over to the window to grab a few more things. He was momentarily distracted and stopped to gaze out at the familiar view one last time. It hadn't quite sunk in yet that he was really leaving--that all of this was really happening.
"Wha'd'ye got there?" Hawk asked as Jack returned to the pile on his bed. He held up a pocket-knife in one hand, and an oddly shaped piece of wood in the other. Hawk furrowed his brow, taking it in his hand to hold up for closer inspection. There was a long moment of silence as he stared at it.
"What exactly is this?" he finally asked.
"That," said Jack proudly, "Is art."
Hawk glanced up with wide eyes, and then looked again at the befuddling creation. It seemed to have been a somewhat thick stick that had been carved and sculpted into an abstract shape with random bumps and niches; it was not even completely stripped of its bark and a couple of twigs stuck out on its sides.
A corner of Hawk's mouth curled upward. "Jack," he said slowly. "Would ye like me to teach ye how to whittle?"
Jack's jaw dropped as if utterly shocked at this proposal and he folded his arms proudly. "Teach me?! Let me assure you, sir, I'm in no need of teachin'. Perhaps you simply are incapable of appreciating true masterpieces as you've never been fortunate enough to encounter one before, savvy?" He seemed to suddenly remember who he was talking to, his expression of mock indignation cracking a bit as his eyes gleamed and he fought an embarrassed smile. "Captain?" he ammended.
Hawk sent a warning glance down at his new cabin boy, though it was softened by a wry smile of amusement. "Perhaps," he allowed. He frowned thoughtfully and glanced at the ground, then back at his son, deciding to humor him. "What I meant was, ah... how would ye like to learn another man's... approach... simply to broaden yer horizons?"
Jack glanced at the ceiling, letting his fingers rest on his lips in thought for a moment. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose," he finally acceded. Hawk grinned and slapped his back.
"How magnanimous of you," he said with a laugh.
Jack placed the knife and the work of art on top of the pile of clothes. He then took the corners of the blanket covering his bed and brought them together over the pile, tying them into a crude knot.
"Ah, see, there's a thing I can help ye with," said the captain, sitting down on the bed. "Let me show ye how to tie a proper sailor's knot."
Jack watched the motions of his hands with eager, focused eyes, quickly memorizing the technique. Hawk untied it and nodded, indicating that Jack should try it. He observed his son repeat the procedure, his small, agile fingers going through the steps rapidly, soundly securing the knap-sack. He swelled with pride at his success. The boy would do well. It had been the right decision.
He tugged at the bundled blanket a bit. "Seems alright. Let's be off, then."
The sun was glaring brightly on the waves as they gently nudged the boats scattered among the docks. Hawk indicated his ship, and Jack tilted his head back, squinting at its tall form in awe.
"Think she'll do?" he asked with a smile. Jack returned the smile dazedly, not breaking his gaze on what would now be his home. "The Seabird. She's a handsome brigantine, she is. Not very big, but she handles beautifully—you'll see. Well," he said, gripping Jack's shoulder briefly, "I wager you'll be fine from here. I've got to get back to the Inn, talk to my first mate about some business, see about gettin' me a crew; maybe head over to The Faithful Bride. See ya' in a bit."
Jack turned his head suddenly as his captain left his side, then looked back up at the Seabird. He pursed his lips slightly, contemplating it, and slowly approached it, his light make-shift sack slung over his shoulder carelessly. His bare feet slapped loudly against the wooden planks of the gangway as he made his ascent. Once aboard, he grinned, reveling in the realization of his dream, and sauntered over to the side rail of the boat, climbing up onto it and leaning over, as if to share his delight with any sea creatures that might chance to look up and see his beaming face. A slight breeze ruffled his unruly hair and he closed his eyes in contentment.
Freedom.
"Oy!" came a sudden shout from behind him. "You there! What are you doing 'ere?"
Jack whirled around only to find a man's face far to close to his own for comfort scowling at him. Before he could say a thing, strong hands took hold of his shirt and lifted him off his feet, tilting him back over the rail slightly. He let out a little yelp and threw a dismayed glance over his shoulder at the ocean, which didn't look nearly as inviting any more.
"We ain't fond of stowaways, boy!" the man spat at him, giving him a hard shake. Jack grasped at the man's arms, trying to hold himself up and regain his footing, but in vain.
"I'm no more a stowaway," said Jack, breathing in gasps, "than you a pretty young girl in pink!" The man blinked in confusion at the unexpected analogy and frowned as the boy continued. "...dancing gaily in a field of flowers, in the spring sunshine, with her puppy..." The man's eyes narrowed in irritation as he prattled on senselessly. "...who is little, and white, and fluffy and—"
"—Alright, shut up already," snarled the pirate.
"...named Princess."
The man growled at him and Jack offered an appealing smile, eyes shining in a fashion similar, no doubt, to those of Princess. The pirate raised an eyebrow an shook his head. Perhaps he was just a harmless idiot who had stumbled onto the ship somehow. He grumbled and lowered Jack to the deck. "You are one strange kid."
Jack grinned. "But I'm no stowaway."
He rolled his eyes. "What are you doing on this ship, then?"
"I, sir, am the new cabin boy, thank you very much, and I'm honored to make the acquaintance of a fellow member of this fine ship's crew," said Jack, holding out his hand.
The man eyed it skeptically for a moment. "The Cap'n showed you aboard?" he asked.
"Aye," said Jack.
"Hmm," replied the pirate, looking doubtful. "I don' know what we'd do with a cabin boy... Most likely just get in the way. Not much need for one on this ship, and not like none of us care if the place is a mess or not..."
Jack gave no response to that, but simply remained holding his hand out expectantly, looking at the man with an innocent smile. The pirate finally sighed and accepted the boy's hand.
"Jack Thompson," he said triumphantly. "And just between you and me," he whispered, leaning in close, conspiratorily, "You really ought to work on how you welcome mates."
The man snorted, eyeing the kid expressionlessly. "O'Malley," he mumbled in return. He grabbed a hold of Jack's shoulder and roughly walked him over stairs leading below deck.
"Oy, Turner!" he shouted.
"What?" came a muffled cry after a moment.
"I'm sending you a present. Just keep an eye on it until the captain gets back."
Jack turned around eagerly to face his new captain, continuing to walk backward as he did so. "Welcome to my humble home, Cap'n. Now, I'll jus' be needin' a minute to get my things," he stopped abruptly as he tripped over an unidentified, fluffy object which emitted a harsh hissing noise and raced away, darting around the boots of the captain and fleeing out the crack left open by the door. Jack glared after it with a scowl from where he sat awkwardly on the floor and shook his head.
"Damn cat's drunk," he mumbled as he pushed himself up.
Hawk blinked and raised an eyebrow, not quite sure if he had heard correctly, but was granted no further explanation. He shook his head, half wondering what he was getting himself into. The boy was opening drawers, grabbing articles of clothing seemingly at random and tossing them into the air behind him carelessly. After a few seconds of this, he paused and looked over the resulting disorderly and rather small pile that had formed on his bed with satisfaction, shoving them together into a more compact collection. He then walked over to the window to grab a few more things. He was momentarily distracted and stopped to gaze out at the familiar view one last time. It hadn't quite sunk in yet that he was really leaving--that all of this was really happening.
"Wha'd'ye got there?" Hawk asked as Jack returned to the pile on his bed. He held up a pocket-knife in one hand, and an oddly shaped piece of wood in the other. Hawk furrowed his brow, taking it in his hand to hold up for closer inspection. There was a long moment of silence as he stared at it.
"What exactly is this?" he finally asked.
"That," said Jack proudly, "Is art."
Hawk glanced up with wide eyes, and then looked again at the befuddling creation. It seemed to have been a somewhat thick stick that had been carved and sculpted into an abstract shape with random bumps and niches; it was not even completely stripped of its bark and a couple of twigs stuck out on its sides.
A corner of Hawk's mouth curled upward. "Jack," he said slowly. "Would ye like me to teach ye how to whittle?"
Jack's jaw dropped as if utterly shocked at this proposal and he folded his arms proudly. "Teach me?! Let me assure you, sir, I'm in no need of teachin'. Perhaps you simply are incapable of appreciating true masterpieces as you've never been fortunate enough to encounter one before, savvy?" He seemed to suddenly remember who he was talking to, his expression of mock indignation cracking a bit as his eyes gleamed and he fought an embarrassed smile. "Captain?" he ammended.
Hawk sent a warning glance down at his new cabin boy, though it was softened by a wry smile of amusement. "Perhaps," he allowed. He frowned thoughtfully and glanced at the ground, then back at his son, deciding to humor him. "What I meant was, ah... how would ye like to learn another man's... approach... simply to broaden yer horizons?"
Jack glanced at the ceiling, letting his fingers rest on his lips in thought for a moment. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose," he finally acceded. Hawk grinned and slapped his back.
"How magnanimous of you," he said with a laugh.
Jack placed the knife and the work of art on top of the pile of clothes. He then took the corners of the blanket covering his bed and brought them together over the pile, tying them into a crude knot.
"Ah, see, there's a thing I can help ye with," said the captain, sitting down on the bed. "Let me show ye how to tie a proper sailor's knot."
Jack watched the motions of his hands with eager, focused eyes, quickly memorizing the technique. Hawk untied it and nodded, indicating that Jack should try it. He observed his son repeat the procedure, his small, agile fingers going through the steps rapidly, soundly securing the knap-sack. He swelled with pride at his success. The boy would do well. It had been the right decision.
He tugged at the bundled blanket a bit. "Seems alright. Let's be off, then."
The sun was glaring brightly on the waves as they gently nudged the boats scattered among the docks. Hawk indicated his ship, and Jack tilted his head back, squinting at its tall form in awe.
"Think she'll do?" he asked with a smile. Jack returned the smile dazedly, not breaking his gaze on what would now be his home. "The Seabird. She's a handsome brigantine, she is. Not very big, but she handles beautifully—you'll see. Well," he said, gripping Jack's shoulder briefly, "I wager you'll be fine from here. I've got to get back to the Inn, talk to my first mate about some business, see about gettin' me a crew; maybe head over to The Faithful Bride. See ya' in a bit."
Jack turned his head suddenly as his captain left his side, then looked back up at the Seabird. He pursed his lips slightly, contemplating it, and slowly approached it, his light make-shift sack slung over his shoulder carelessly. His bare feet slapped loudly against the wooden planks of the gangway as he made his ascent. Once aboard, he grinned, reveling in the realization of his dream, and sauntered over to the side rail of the boat, climbing up onto it and leaning over, as if to share his delight with any sea creatures that might chance to look up and see his beaming face. A slight breeze ruffled his unruly hair and he closed his eyes in contentment.
Freedom.
"Oy!" came a sudden shout from behind him. "You there! What are you doing 'ere?"
Jack whirled around only to find a man's face far to close to his own for comfort scowling at him. Before he could say a thing, strong hands took hold of his shirt and lifted him off his feet, tilting him back over the rail slightly. He let out a little yelp and threw a dismayed glance over his shoulder at the ocean, which didn't look nearly as inviting any more.
"We ain't fond of stowaways, boy!" the man spat at him, giving him a hard shake. Jack grasped at the man's arms, trying to hold himself up and regain his footing, but in vain.
"I'm no more a stowaway," said Jack, breathing in gasps, "than you a pretty young girl in pink!" The man blinked in confusion at the unexpected analogy and frowned as the boy continued. "...dancing gaily in a field of flowers, in the spring sunshine, with her puppy..." The man's eyes narrowed in irritation as he prattled on senselessly. "...who is little, and white, and fluffy and—"
"—Alright, shut up already," snarled the pirate.
"...named Princess."
The man growled at him and Jack offered an appealing smile, eyes shining in a fashion similar, no doubt, to those of Princess. The pirate raised an eyebrow an shook his head. Perhaps he was just a harmless idiot who had stumbled onto the ship somehow. He grumbled and lowered Jack to the deck. "You are one strange kid."
Jack grinned. "But I'm no stowaway."
He rolled his eyes. "What are you doing on this ship, then?"
"I, sir, am the new cabin boy, thank you very much, and I'm honored to make the acquaintance of a fellow member of this fine ship's crew," said Jack, holding out his hand.
The man eyed it skeptically for a moment. "The Cap'n showed you aboard?" he asked.
"Aye," said Jack.
"Hmm," replied the pirate, looking doubtful. "I don' know what we'd do with a cabin boy... Most likely just get in the way. Not much need for one on this ship, and not like none of us care if the place is a mess or not..."
Jack gave no response to that, but simply remained holding his hand out expectantly, looking at the man with an innocent smile. The pirate finally sighed and accepted the boy's hand.
"Jack Thompson," he said triumphantly. "And just between you and me," he whispered, leaning in close, conspiratorily, "You really ought to work on how you welcome mates."
The man snorted, eyeing the kid expressionlessly. "O'Malley," he mumbled in return. He grabbed a hold of Jack's shoulder and roughly walked him over stairs leading below deck.
"Oy, Turner!" he shouted.
"What?" came a muffled cry after a moment.
"I'm sending you a present. Just keep an eye on it until the captain gets back."