lucetilogs | I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch; Love is Not a Victory March

Entry tags:

I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch; Love is Not a Victory March

Who:

lists_to_port
What: Seeking Refuge at Cullen House
When: Monday evening, after this.
Where: Cullen House
Summary: 8| and :(
Rating: It's scaling toward a very emo PG at this point.

"Now watch yer step, Bonesy---this path's a bit iced over today." Jack Sparrow picked his way easily across said icy path, completely ignoring the Are We There Yet--

Damn it, why am I calling her that now?!

--because looking at the boat made him think of Jilly, and he did not want to think of her right now. Looking at her also made him think of Buffy, and he did not want to think of her, either. Of course, what one wants and what one actually gets are often two drastically different animals, and Jack was very busy having a lovely garden party in his head with both women in attendance.

It was the sort of garden party where it rains, and everyone's hats get wet, and then horribly misshapen lobster monsters rise up from beneath the crudité and finger-sandwich cart and begin attacking the guests, and the only thing you can do is draw your sword and try to fight them off, and the hats end up getting even wetter because of course it starts to rain HARDER, and that one lummox who always shows up uninvited complains about the state of the brie.

"Bonesy.....where.........where are we goin', again?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He fumbled with the bottle, but ultimately caught it in his hands after Jack carelessly passed over to him and his brow lifted higher at the sight of more alcohol stashed away in the chandelier, now creaking and swaying slightly as the doctor unscrewed the cap.

"I'll be damned."

"Nah---you'll be drunk. We both will. Marvelously so.

...

I miss her, blast it. Bloody love. Bloody vexatious trap in woman form."

"... Yeah. I miss her too."

Sparrow kicked the edge of the counter and then set his bottle of rum down. In minutes he had made a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, using the leftover materials Buffy had brought. These he trucked out to the living room, the bottle of rum now tucked safely under his arm.

"Experiments, hm? "Got to be over it now," do I? Maybe so. Maybe so."

McCoy was not a fan of that particular dish and had commandeered the couch as Jack made them in the kitchen and his expression twisted into one of aversion when he saw the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Becoming sick from a mallynapping or because of the weather (or in those rare instances when a damn intoxicated pirate let him get knocked overboard into the lake) often resulted in those damn things being shoved under his nose.

He barely heard the murmurings from the pirate as he looked away and stared fixatedly out the window and tried not to think about an absent spotted trill or a pointy-eared professor in the school house and how adorable she was when she... Goddamn it, how did people live in houses like this one? Not that it offended his southern sensibilities, but there was no damn privacy.

"Jack, you need drapes."

The pirate nodded. "What I need, mate, is to be living by the sea, or aboard my ship. Won't be long now that I'm quit of this place for good."

He sat down on the very edge of the couch, setting the sandwiches on the coffee table and opting to open the bottle of rum first. He hadn't really eaten all day. He wasn't sure he could do so now, but he didn't want to get sick.

"Do you honestly think sailing away in that damn bucket is going to do you any good?" And this chide was coming from a man who had fled from his own home and was staying with someone who had the ability to stress him out on a daily basis. It was like Jim and the academy all over again and he was beginning to loathe this cycle the universe had apparently lugged him with.

"Aye. I do." The last thing he needed right now was for McCoy to needle him about the Are We There Yet. And damn it, why did he keep calling it that in his head.

He turned his back on the doctor and, not leaving that edged-out seat, began half-heartedly munching on one of the sandwiches. It didn't taste the same when Buffy didn't make it for him.

He could act as petulant as he wanted. McCoy had a bottle of scotch to nurse by himself as leaned back onto the couch. There was something he wanted to know from Jack though and he stared at his back as he wolfed the sandwiches down.

"... Has it worked at all?"

"The pills?" It could only be that. Possibly. Maybe. "Aye."

He made a noncommittal reply, but was apparently satisfied that the treatment was working for him. Whether he had asked this question because he was concerned or worried about being clobbered over the head by one of the numerous Fetches whispering to him wasn't exactly clear.

"Do you believe in the body's innate recuperative powers?"

"I've been thrown off a two hundred foot cliff by Pelegostan grannies hurling pineapples at my head, Bonesy. My body? It recuperates."

An opportunity to forget what was on his mind. He took it without hesitation: "I don't think I've heard that story."

And this one? Is a long one. Jack settles back on the couch, his sandwich forgotten.

"Bloody cannibals, all of them--but they made me their chief. This came with the problematic yet rather poetic side issue of the fact that they also wanted to eat me, Bonesy. Roasted. With a side of coconut milk."

He raises an eyebrow. For someone who was almost roasted alive by some primitive culture, it didn't seem to unnerve him that much, considering all the dried-out salamanders he brought him while he was under the weather. Bouncing back so easily from something like that; it was vexing.

"Are you sure they just didn't like you?" McCoy asked with a trace of his trademark sarcasm as he lifted the bottle of scotch to his mouth. To hell with using a glass, it would only slow him down.

"Oh, I'm sure they were fond of me in their own way, dear children. Pelegosto: very fast runners. Also, fond of dogs."

The pirate noticed the doctor's use of the bottle rather than the glass and his eyes widened slightly.

"Is it your aim to drink yourself into a stupor McCoy?"

"That's the plan."

Well this did not best please Jack Sparrow, who was fond of a gentle buzz that made the world more colorful and pleasant to be in.

"Look, it's none of my business, McCoy---but just tell her how you feel."

Was he mollycoddling him? He gave the pirate a sidelong glance – was this really coming from the man who usually drank himself under the table when he was in this type of mood? Pot calling the kettle black and it reflected in his tone as he narrowed his eyes at him.

"I don't even know how I feel." He retorted in slightly confused vehemence and it was true. A week of manipulation had taken its toll on him; that is what he would keep saying. "Look at where I am. You're supposed to be scourge of the seas, not a psychiatrist."

"Can a scourge of the seas not also be a psychiatrist, Bonesy? When I took Raine out drinkin' that night, I knew she'd show another side. The girl can really open up. Not so formal all the time, is she? You could woo her."

He remembered the evening on Valentine's Day and the casualness between the two of then that he would probably fail to ever recapture again. If it would be awkward for him, no doubt it would be for her. "It's none of your business. You should stop trying to corrupt her."

"Well I was just trying to show her a good time, wasn't I? And we HAD one. Us. Or perhaps she'll simply invite you out for a good time."

Irrational jealously boiled in his gut when he heard him say that and he retaliated by jabbing the pirate in the ribs with his elbow. First he had taunted him with barbs about Emony being invisible and now this. He couldn't decide whether it was remnants of the experiment playing with his mind or genuine feelings which caused him to strike out.

"She's a school teacher, damn it. You can't go out getting her drunk every night." It was easy to lecture him. "Just leave her alone. Please."

"Oi! I didn't make her do anything she didn't WANT to, mate!"

"Can you go five minutes without lying?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject