herotypical | ooc ↻ appointments & messages

Sparrow sank back until he found his shoulder blades pressed against the cool wall of the fort. He let his hands drop to her waist and held her loosely, letting himself drift in their kiss. It felt free, kissing her like this. It felt joyful.

It felt happy. This fact surprised her because she wasn't entirely certain she had expected to feel happy today. The hand still holding onto her gift-shells was left with the curl of her fist pressed lightly against the back of his neck. High -- high enough to avoid both the bruise and the lettering.

Anyone left at the beach could have chosen that moment to also return to the village but...but it was dark and comfortably chilly and she had him. And he was coming home with her.

Afterwards, her forehead rested on a patch of chin just left of his beard. Some sadness dovetailed into her happiness: she missed Cullen House; she missed solitude; she missed their bed and couch.

The fireplace. The sleeping bag. The table. J-O-Y.

"R-right. No more kissing distractions until after you're iced. Or we'll never make it back."

"No more, then. But later? I want you to distract me lots." The transporter beckoned. Jack was surprised at how much he missed Cullen House. When he'd first gone to live there, in the throes of a murderous madness, it had been hateful and frightening and lost and lonesome. Somehow along the way, it had gained (and lost) other occupants. Somehow it had become home, with a tiny bitty small "h", of course.

Seven? Seven was like a shrine. Like a shrine filled with gods and idols that a living mortal man dare not disturb. There he must be quiet and stealthy and cautious. He is reminded of past occupants whom he misses still. And he has a hard time thinking of it as Home for these reasons.

But her bed is soft. Her window is unlocked to him. He can make her waffles there. It's alright. Going to be alright.

On the other side, the air stopped smelling like salt and baked sand and seaweed. Here, it smelled like pine and growth. Not new growth, though -- spring was come and gone -- but the forest was in a fit of pungent, rich-smelling summerness. All dark greens. Bark and moss. Stones and dirt. These were the smells that best invited Buffy back to reality; the shore still managed to smack of fairy tales and dreams, to her. It had always provided her with an away to escape to, not a home.

The sun had sank too low to keep heating the village. It wasn't as cold as the fort but Buffy struggled with the knot of her sarong, hampered by her fistful of shells, and hoped to drape it over her shoulders instead.

"Hmm. Jack? Do you know anything about a villager named Shikamaru?"

He tried to help her with that knot. Jack was excellent with knots. "Hmmm? Aye. I know who he is."

After a moment or two, she surrendered all unknotting efforts unto him.

"What have your seagulls told you about him, then?" She just-about-joked.

Jack considered his answer as he drew breaths of pine-scented air and swiftly untied her sarong. "They've told me he's got himself buried high up in Luceti's strategical hierarchy. And he's all the more formidable for that."

He draped the loosened fabric around her shoulders.

She met his eyes and communicated her gratitude with them instead of with her words. Her words were still in the service of other business.

"That's about where my intel plateaus, too. I don't like it when people know more about me than I do about them. Makes me feel all creeped on."

The wind picked at her new cape's corners and so she secured it around her neck with two pinched fingers.

"Tell me."

She spoke her next few lines with astounding stability. It was a good sign.

"I had Albert proxy my warning to the village 'cause, as you very probably figured our right around the same time you figured out what happened, I wasn't exactly interested in the publicity. Didn't seem to matter. The guy knew it came from me. Or else he guessed. I didn't think I'd given away much..."

Or she was still missing a puzzle piece, perhaps.

"I see."

And Jack vowed to himself to keep a very close eye on Shikama-whatsit from there on in.

"No one else has approached you about it?"

"No one. Either they're well and truly fooled or they're just too polite to ask. I'm okay with both scenarios. 'Cause it's not like I'm afraid of the guy, I just...

Really don't need it getting out. Around town."

It was bad enough that the General had as good as defeated her in the first place. "So far, everyone's been way more worked up about all the other tidbits we've learned. Like about the--" Children. "I'm okay with that continuing to work in my favour."

"Hmmm? About the what?"

Unaware of what he was doing, Jack Sparrow had started pacing. Nervously pacing. He looked up and fixed her with dark, dark eyes.

Meanwhile, she worked through her own agitation by striding forward. And by falling back on some diplomatic wording: "You know. Just the fact that the TP grunts have probably spent their whole lives here. Albert was telling me about how they're obviously way more comfortable with this dimension's natural cycles than we are."

"Ah.

About the children."

A small bit of black heart broke off and tumbled down to the gravel path beneath Jack's feet. Not the first, no -- not since that announcement.

"I suppose....Wolfwood. Anyone else with wee little ones. Archie and......

They'll...they'll have to keep a good eye on them."

In an effort to make it better, she very well might make it worse. "I don't think it's like a...natural state for any child ever. I mean -- the General was big on stressing that potential recruits had to be, ah, ready."

But Buffy agreed with Albert. It was hard to ignore the inherent homelessness of those born here, in this world.

"Still. No wonder the Malnosso are experimenting with world anchors..."

"No wonder indeed." He walked quietly at her side, trying to kill the agitation and reclaim the peace. "I hope for their sake...for Kennedy an' Liz...they get it right."

"For their sake. Right. Of course."

She could just about make Seven's shape in the distance. Buffy picked up her pace and opted not to remember the bizarre day when Giles had tried to tell her that he'd played privy to a Luceti-future that had turned her into a mother.

Buffy found the drive towards protectiveness bad enough when it was Dawn. Surely, motherhood would crack her into a couple of pieces. And with this new risk involved...No.

Her MO remained one of staunch avoidance.

"If the soon-to-eventually-be-newlyweds knew what was best for them, they'd..." She felt the shells grind together in her fist.

"Let's use the window."

They'd what? Not....not bear a child together? Jack drummed his fingers against his belt and stared up at the window: his personal private entrance to Seven, as he saw it.

"I think he'd make a good father. Kennedy."

Sure, Archie was dead. But if the risk was real than none of then could afford the selfishness. And if Elizabeth was just going to go back to get married otherwise, then...

"The point's a little moot, isn't it? God. It's like everyone's decided that right here and right now is when they need to figure these things out. Katara's too young to be a grandma and Archie's too deceased to be a dad and Winry dumped Haruhi 'cause they won't have kids and..."

And she was more than a little sick of it. Not even Norrington had done her the favour of being properly annoyed with the prospect of children. Nope -- he'd gone so far as to suggest that Luceti was a great place to start a family.

She pushed the window open. "In you go."

"You've decided," he pointed out. Then: "Ladies first."

"Nah. Injured first. I insist."

"Most beautiful beloved women first."

She cupped his cheek with her empty palm. "If I said climb in before I throw you in, would you take me seriously? 'Cause I can at least really really pretend like I mean it."

"I always take you seriously, Buffy." He turned his head to give her palm a brief kiss before hoisting himself up and in.

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