tentacruelest | 16th Wave

So it would appear that your Capt. William Bush is not the lazy, rotten imbecile he'd have yeh believe. When push comes to shove, he gets his job done. I'm done with the damned Barge for good. Hang the lot of yeh, I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, you all deserve each other.

An' the next one of yeh who wants to mention tentacles to my face, I warn yeh that aye; I have regained the strength enough to kill a man in one blow.

I'll see this ship out to the end of the month and be on my way at earliest convenience.

[Private to Sylvanas]

My lady, I didnae expect this to be so soon. I won't trouble you for forgiveness. Ask anything of me and it will be done.

[Private to Dean]

Winchester. I expect you're purring like a cat right now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

surfaceshine

And yet here you are not snapping my head off, literally or figuratively, and I definitely never learned not to annoy my superiors.

[He shakes his head, begins pacing around as if there's anything to see in here that hasn't already made it back into the seachest. His hands stay in the pockets of his leather jacket.]

This place isn't supposed to change you that much. It never just goes away. I don't...

What happens here doesn't pave over the damn road. It just adjusts the curve a little bit, and you have to keep doing the rest yourself. [He doesn't look while he's talking; easier not to be so obvious when his eyebrows pull together more, when the corner of his mouth pulls down for a moment. He's thinking of the inmates he's seen graduate, of Kon, of Cain, of the Marquis, of Anya. Of Felix. They were never really different, after, at least not like Jones seems to think they should've been.

Just more of one aspect of themselves than the one they'd come on board as.] I guess it's still up to you if you want to keep whatever did change, or just go back to what you were doing before the second you're out the door.

From:

tentacruelest

That'd make a diff'rence to me if I was your superior, Winchester.

[Sadly, there's little else still available to pack, save for that which is most precious to Jones; his smaller chest, that contains his heart. A faint thumping is heard from it even now]

I'm going back to a battle. It's possible I'll be dying in the same manner, in the same way. I'm not a loved creature, and I fully expect betrayal.

But if I die, I won't be returning to this godforsaken ship.

From:

surfaceshine

[Whatever Dean's reaction to the first part - confusion, mainly - is washed out completely by the last part. The hunter turns then, eyes narrowed and sharp, shoulders tense without his quite realizing it.

Protective and wary, and uncharacteristically - or maybe more characteristically than ever - serious.]

You can take people back with you, you know. I'd go back with you. Back your play, make people think twice about messing with you.

From:

tentacruelest

[Jones gives a laugh; a full-throated, deep-bellied laugh at the thought]

Boy, if I thought one man would make a diff'rence in all this, I would.

But no; I've got a ship full o'men to do my fighting for me. This won't be a battle won with swords. I'll have to be...ehh.

Diplomatic.

But if you want to come and die on a pirate ship bound for the bottom of the sea once it's been blown to pieces by an English cannon, yer welcome to it.

From:

surfaceshine

[Most insults, most threats, most demands slide right off Dean Winchester, hit the floor at his feet where he steps over them, unacknowledged; at the laugh, though, at the words that come after, the corner of the hunter's mouth twitches down for a second, something in his eyes flashing darker, before he glances away.]

It's not as stupid as it sounds when you put it that way. The Admiral would pull me back here.

From:

tentacruelest

I wouldnae trust the Admiral to watch over a goldfish, let alone yer life or the life of any man. He'd cut yeh loose and then I'd be bringing yeh to Fiddler's Green.

Stay here, Winchester. You belong here.

From:

surfaceshine

No one belongs here. This is a crossroads.

[Which he says with a quiet sound that is almost a laugh; ironic, really. Philosophers might be on to something. But he cuts a look back to Jones finally, measuring in a way few enough would suspect him of.]

Can you win?

From:

tentacruelest

It ain't a sure thing. An' the odds are against us.

But the Dutchman isn't like any other ship. If she's properly allied with the Brethren Court, who's to say which way the wind will blow?

From:

surfaceshine

Alright, I don't know what any of that means? But I'll wish you luck and call it a day, for now.

But if you need backup, it's here. I'm sure I ain't the only one.

...though diplomacy ain't exactly my strong suit.

From:

tentacruelest

I have half a hundred men who can shoot a gun or wield a sword. Why d'yeh think I've got no interest in taking you?

If matters sour, drowning's an awful way to go.

[This finally reminds Jones; he had a present to give Dean. Grumbling, he stands up and goes to his packed sea chest, rummaging through it. After a brief few seconds, he returns with a small leather pouch, crafted amateurishly but looking old and worn, held together by twine]

Here.

From:

surfaceshine

[A muscle in Dean's jaw jumps, but he doesn't argue despite the way the dismissal sits heavy in his gut. I'm not afraid of dying, he doesn't say. Half a hundred men, he wants to say, and how many of them loyal?

But recklessness and loyalty's all Dean's got - in spades, but still - and Jones may very well have a faithful lieutenant awaiting him back on his ship, so he shuts up and tries to think of another way to say goodbye. That's when Jones produces the pouch and the hunter glances at it, then reaches to take it.

He turns it comfortably but carefully in one hand, glancing up and then back down before beginning to go about opening it.]

You know I don't smoke, right? [Much. Anymore. Whatever.]

From:

tentacruelest

[Jones snorts in response; the pouch doesn't hold tobacco, but instead a few shells, a glass bottle with a bit of liquid inside, and some unidentified glossy paperish object best not left up to the imagination]

It saves yeh from drowning, Winchester. You keep that, the sea won't claim yeh. It'll spit yeh right back out again.

Won't do much good against sharks or blowing yer limbs off, but yeh won't die with water in yer lungs.

From:

surfaceshine

[Dean realizes approximately .5 seconds from Jones saying anything at all that he's holding a goddamn gris gris bag. The recognition sparks across his eyes immediately in front of the kind of intent curiosity that is normally extremely well hidden in the hunter, careful not to tilt the contents out of the pouch lest it dick with the magic of it, but eying the contents critically nonetheless. Davy answers his question before he can work it out for himself.

Dean, in turn, goes still except the motion of his thumb turning one of the shells carefully over with the pouch between his skin and the contents; then he glances up, squinting.]

You make this?

From:

tentacruelest

[Jones instead watches Dean's face with a secretive, defensive scowl]

I do more'n carpentering, lad. It don't do me much good, as I am, but I've known a few sailors to carry it. We're a superstitious lot.

From:

surfaceshine

[He doesn't notice. His attention is back on the bag, carefully folding the contents back into it, winding the cord exactly as he unwound it.]

Yeah, I'd heard that. Hunters, too, but I'd bet we have more proof to back it up.

[He rubs the faint scar bisecting his right eyebrow with a thumb completely unconsciously, a fidget and a tell both, and then glances up again.]

Thanks. For Sam, too - he's always reminding me of that time this selkie almost did for me. Doesn't seem to care that it wasn't even s'pposed to be there, or I'd've...

Anyway. Thanks.

From:

tentacruelest

[If Jones notices the tell, he doesn't mention it. He does enough telling on his own without calling others out.]

Selkies are lucky. Don't be taunting their gifts.

You're welcome, lad. You're...[He fights to get the words out, looking off with an embarrassed grumble]

...Yeh ain't bad.

From:

surfaceshine

Oh, it wasn't me doing the taunting...

[But this is a space-filling mutter, insincere and vague. He's distracted by whatever's going on across from him and, when he realizes, the strange feeling of discomfort lodged under his ribcage. The crawling feeling that something bad is about to happen.

He smirks, shrugging with an elaborate, seamless motion of his eyes and face more than his shoulder, but doesn't comment further. It's awkward enough without saying thanks, without pressing for more.]

I uh. Brought something for you, too. Probably less useful, but I wouldn't wanna start a new trend now, huh?

[The pouch disappears into his jacket pocket with his hand, but doesn't qithdraw it again just yet.]

From:

tentacruelest

Did yeh, now?

[Despite himself, Jones looks curious. He reaches over to pick up his cat, petting her with his free hand]

Yeh came prepared.

From:

surfaceshine

Yeah, yeah, don't look so surprised.

[It's a stalling mutter because he suddenly feels stupid. It's not actually that uncommon a feeling for Dean, but this level of acuity is unusual, and he still can't figure out why. Well. He can, but he's not willing to let it be that.

He shrugs - get on with it, Deano - pulling the pocket knife out of his pocket, and holds it out to Jones.]

At the very least maybe you can throw it at someone.

From:

tentacruelest

[Perplexed, Jones takes the knife carefully from Dean, flipping it over and looking at it]

Do yeh imagine I get into many knife fights, boy?

From:

surfaceshine

[It doesn't look like much of a knife, not until Dean points out where the blade is folded in. Beside it, concealed in the handle, are several other tools which the hunter doesn't even realize until it's already done that he probably won't have use for, where he's going. He's pretty sure it's a couple centuries before the advent of the Philips screw.

Oh well. He shakes his head.]

No, but that ain't much good for knife fights anyway. It's for getting outta tight spots.

From:

tentacruelest

[He looks the knife over in his hand, confused, until realization dawns on him. One by one with Dean's help he manages to take out the bits and pieces, looking it over with curiosity]

...Aye. I see that.

Clever thing. It'll be useful, on any ship.

Edited Date: 2014-05-07 05:04 pm (UTC)

From:

surfaceshine

That's what I'm hoping.

[He folds the last piece out and then steps back, relinquishing it completely to Jones.

Which means there's not much left to do or say, so he nods. A moment later, a crooked grin sprouts where a frown tried to take hold.]

Try not to need it.

From:

tentacruelest

[He takes the knife in hand, looking it over before sliding it into his chest pocket. With his other hand, he hesitates, before reaching out to grasp Dean's shoulder in what is, for him, an affectionate embrace]

You take care, boy.

From:

surfaceshine

Don't I always?

[This with the characteristic cockiness, but underneath Davy's hand, Dean's shoulders straighten reflexively; thoughtlessly he makes himself more solid, more steady.

He raises his chin, slightly, and claps a hand over the other man's wrist for just a moment.]

You too, huh?

Don't come back here.