The Troubles of Jack

A jolt of fear suddenly pierces at Marc's chest. Capitan Sparrow? The name sounded frighteningly familiar, and as the lad lifts his eyes to take in the man he nearly faints. Jack most definitely had the word "pirate" written all over him; kohl-streaked eyes, all manner of bead and trinket spun into his mane of black dreadlocks, garish bejeweled rings on every knuckle. Marc begins to tremble, and darts his eyes to the musket stuffed against Jack’s hip. What should he do? Will be attacked? Will he be made to walk the plank? What sorts of things do pirates do to unfortunate little buggers like him?

Jack notes the boy's hyperventilation and bites his lip: "Oh, but where are my manners? Here, mate, sit down.. let me get you some trousers..." He guides Marc back onto the cot, throwing a pair of breeches at him that are at least twice as big as what would fit him. Never the less, Marc silently slips into them and tightens the waist, glad, at least, to no longer be exposed in the presence of this.. capitan Jack.

"So, mate, yer name is...?" Jack sits down next to Marc, hanging his legs off the cot and taking a hearty swig of his bottle. "Or 'ave ye forgotten it? Ah know how these shipwrecks are... amnesia... confusion... water on the brain, eh?" He laughs and slaps the boy on the back, nearly sending him flying across the room. Marc clutches the sides of the bed for dear life.

"My.. My name's Marc." The boy says, and politely takes the bottle of rum when Jack hands it to him, taking a sip and coughing.

"Well, Marc, ye're aboard one of the finest pirate ships in the carribbean, the Black Pearl. We saw yer ship off northeast, already in ruins I'm afraid, too late to save anybody else. Looked like you were the only lucky lad!”

"I.. I don't really know what happened, to be honest with you." Marc pouted, taking another drink before Jack snatched the handle of the jug up in his ringed fingers and poured half of the bottle down his gullet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Marc noted that Jack smelled like the sea, an ocean musk that was overbearing and stung his eyes. Jack smelled like spices and rum, too, and there was something charismatic about his dirty fingers and the way they waved through the air as he spoke. Marc didn't feel as uneasy as he had before, although he was still very aware of the musket wedged at the Capitan's belt.

"That's not unusual. I'd say ye were blown up, from the looks of it." Jack passes the bottle between them, gesturing in the stuffy cabin air; "We saw ye floating on a piece of wood and decided to pick you up. If it weren't for us, mate, who knows how long ye would've been floatin' there. Shark bait, an’ all that."

"Well, thank you." Marc said quietly, making an effort to be as polite as possible. He did have manners, a few of them.

Jack peered at the lad then, looking at him with a hardened gaze. His posture suddenly shifted, and he was staring straight on into the boy. "What divison are ye?" He asked quite soberly.

"What?" Marc was taken aback at the Capitan's sudden serious tone. And truly, Marc didn't have the answer for such a question, not the answer Jack was no doubt seeking.

"Don’t be crass, mate." Jack bore his teeth then, making it perfectly clear with his tone that he was no longer making idle chit-chat. He needed to know.

"I'm not." Marc said, plainly.

Jack looked confused for a moment. He stood up and leaned his body against the dresser, staring at the ground. "Not what?"

"I'm not Navy. I'm not in the service."

There was a heavy silence and Jack's head sagged for a moment, then he turned around, pointing his eyes at the boy. "You were on the boat with them, mate, that’s evidence enough for my liking that ye’re involved somehow with the ranks. I'm not going to hurt ye, ye know, I just need to know WHAT your SHIP was doing in these waters…. Savvy?"

Marc pleaded to Jack with his eyes; it was one of the tricks he had learned how to do. After all, he wasn't lying; he was no Navy boy, he hadn't held a sword in his life; a few knives, a dagger or two, a musket, yes, but no fancy naval swords, never. It was just that Marc was... something else, something different, and he wasn't prepared to reveal his occupation to the drunken pirate at this juncture. With a stubborn tilt of his brow he repeated himself: "I'm in no way affiliated with the military or any rank of notoriety whatsoever! Ah'm just a commoner! Ah don't know anything!"

Jack's lips curled. He pulled at the corner of his moustache, stabbing his eyes at the boy, who looked a little shaken up. This was not the answer he had predicted--if anything, he was hoping the lad could've been more use to him as a First Mate or Steward, someone who knew where the ship was headed and why the British Navy was out in the carribean at all. Then again, he was lying. Jack could tell a liar apart from an honest man because, after all, Jack was one of the best liars there was.

So, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, Capitan Sparrow drew his sword and placed the blade gingerly against Marc's throat.

"Ah'll ask ye again, mate..." He spoke, lips pulled back like a wolf; "...what's the Navy got in store for the hot waters of the Carribbean, mm?"

Sweat beaded on Marc's brow, and he gasped as he felt the cold steel prickle across his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I told ye ah don't know! Ah'm not in the Navy!"

"Then wot were ye doing on their ship???" Jack snarled, pressing the blade against the lad's clavicle, tasting copper in the back of his throat.

"I'M A BUGGER BOY!" Marc cried out, then glared with black hatred at the Capitan, his brows heavy and cheeks brazen with frustration, chest heaving with anger. Tears stung his eyes; the truth had been revealed. He felt the blade slip away from his neck. "Ah snuck on for some good coin... ah had no idea they were settin' out to sea, thought they were just skipping ports and that I would get to another town that way. I'm just a hustler, I was just on the boat for a week before we sank. I don’t remember how. Ah don't know anything else."

When Marc opened his eyes he saw Jack smirking devilishly at him. The way Jack grinned made Marc feel naked again, made the sweat break out on his arms, made his forehead hot.