TheCorsair
Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
"Three girls?" Scarlett mused. "You might just have an idea there, lad." She gave Giselle a half smile. "Why don't you just go crawl into bed there, and we'll see what we can do for you."
Head spinning, Jack staggered upright and aimed himself at the nearest of the beds that swam in his vision. His rolling gait was a reasonable approximation of his father's, at this point, but then his knees crashed into the edge of the mattress and he pitched face forward. "Meant... meant to... do that..." he slurred, struggling to turn over. "Just... just give me... a minute..." He tried again. "Stupid.. bed... fights dirty..." After a moment, he stopped trying. "Just... just need... to rest up..."
The next thing Jack knew, the sun was blazing a few inches from his face and his skull felt like Uncle Sean had belted him. He cracked an eye, and the throbbing agony exploded as the sun burned into his eyeballs. "Uhhh..." he groaned, closing his eyes and trying to quell his heaving stomach. "Uhhh...."
"Ah, lad, you're awake!" Giselle said cheerily.
"Not... not so loud..." Jack whimpered. "What... happened..?"
"Hung over," she told him. "Ain't you never been drunk before?"
"No..." he admitted. "I... I've had beer, before. But..."
"Oooh, that makes sense. You'll need to get used to it, though, if you want to pass for Captain Jack. Your dad can drink rum like water, he can." Jack winced as she stomped towards him, obviously wearing boots made of solid steel, and his stomach heaved and rolled as the bed lurched. "Here," she said, pressing a glass to his lips. "Drink this."
"What... is it?"
"Water, mostly. With a shot or two of rum, to help take the edge off things. A bit of a hair of the dog. Get it down you, lad." Jack sipped and swallowed, and made a gagging sound as his stomach rebelled. "Here now, none of that," Gieselle told him. "I just washed those sheets."
"Here's the thing, lad," Scarlett said. "You can be Captain Jack all you want, but you'll still need cash. Boats ain't free, and crews wanna get paid, and you can't do either one with a noble story about rescuing your mother."
Jack still wasn't feeling his best, but the throb in his skull was manageable and his stomach had settled down to the point that he could eat porridge. Bland porridge. Slowly. "That's the rub, isn't it?" he muttered, swallowing. "I mean, I'm good at cards. But - unlike my dad - I don't have any gold hidden away."
"Maybe not," Giselle remarked. "But we know who does."
"Who?" Jack asked.
"Why, the Sisters of Charity, in Port-au-Prince," Giselle remarked. "They've got a convent school and hospital there, and the Church uses it to bank tithes and offerings they've collected until they can be shipped off to Paris." She grinned. "Seems like a clever man like Captain Jack Sparrow could find a way in and get his hands on some of that gold..."
Head spinning, Jack staggered upright and aimed himself at the nearest of the beds that swam in his vision. His rolling gait was a reasonable approximation of his father's, at this point, but then his knees crashed into the edge of the mattress and he pitched face forward. "Meant... meant to... do that..." he slurred, struggling to turn over. "Just... just give me... a minute..." He tried again. "Stupid.. bed... fights dirty..." After a moment, he stopped trying. "Just... just need... to rest up..."
The next thing Jack knew, the sun was blazing a few inches from his face and his skull felt like Uncle Sean had belted him. He cracked an eye, and the throbbing agony exploded as the sun burned into his eyeballs. "Uhhh..." he groaned, closing his eyes and trying to quell his heaving stomach. "Uhhh...."
"Ah, lad, you're awake!" Giselle said cheerily.
"Not... not so loud..." Jack whimpered. "What... happened..?"
"Hung over," she told him. "Ain't you never been drunk before?"
"No..." he admitted. "I... I've had beer, before. But..."
"Oooh, that makes sense. You'll need to get used to it, though, if you want to pass for Captain Jack. Your dad can drink rum like water, he can." Jack winced as she stomped towards him, obviously wearing boots made of solid steel, and his stomach heaved and rolled as the bed lurched. "Here," she said, pressing a glass to his lips. "Drink this."
"What... is it?"
"Water, mostly. With a shot or two of rum, to help take the edge off things. A bit of a hair of the dog. Get it down you, lad." Jack sipped and swallowed, and made a gagging sound as his stomach rebelled. "Here now, none of that," Gieselle told him. "I just washed those sheets."
"Here's the thing, lad," Scarlett said. "You can be Captain Jack all you want, but you'll still need cash. Boats ain't free, and crews wanna get paid, and you can't do either one with a noble story about rescuing your mother."
Jack still wasn't feeling his best, but the throb in his skull was manageable and his stomach had settled down to the point that he could eat porridge. Bland porridge. Slowly. "That's the rub, isn't it?" he muttered, swallowing. "I mean, I'm good at cards. But - unlike my dad - I don't have any gold hidden away."
"Maybe not," Giselle remarked. "But we know who does."
"Who?" Jack asked.
"Why, the Sisters of Charity, in Port-au-Prince," Giselle remarked. "They've got a convent school and hospital there, and the Church uses it to bank tithes and offerings they've collected until they can be shipped off to Paris." She grinned. "Seems like a clever man like Captain Jack Sparrow could find a way in and get his hands on some of that gold..."