It is with great interest that James sees the surprise manifest on Sparrow's face- it's intriguing, really, because it's something he's never even considered. Do his men think of him like that as well? Nothing but the Commodore, the brocade and wig and the fine sword? Would they find it absurd to think of James as a lad, cabin boy aboard his first vessel, scrambling to do things correct, as the captain wished, so that in time he might be a captain himself? They would, in all probability, and James is not sure how he feels about that notion.
Sparrow for his part seems utterly perplexed by his comment, and he waits patiently for the pirate to formulate a response. However, he very nearly laughs when he does hear it, and favours Sparrow with a just slightly superior raise of an eyebrow.
'Are you comparing me to Athena, Sparrow? Sprung fully clothed from her father's forehead?' He scoffs, both mocking and self-deprecating, 'Hardly. I assure you I was born in quite the usual way, much to the relief of my mother.'
He cocks his head at Sparrow, then, thinking suddenly. While Sparrow's idea of an eight year old Commodore is amusing, it makes him wonder about the pirate himself. Surely he was not always the rogue he is now, with his dreadlocks and his kohl and tatoos on his obscenely golden skin. No, that idea is as absurd as the notion that James was born in full dress uniform. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.
'And what of you- the wee lad Jack Sparrow? I was not born Commodore anymore than you were born a pirate, a little boy with beads in his hair and a bottle of rum in his hands.'
He bites back a smile at that image, his nose crinkling, for he has to admit, it is rather... adorable. Not that he should be finding any aspect of Sparrow adorable, even if it is only an imagined version of him thirty-five years ago. Regardless, however, it is, and eventually the smile breaks free, small, yes, but amused and entirely genuine.
'However, you've not answered my question,' he brings himself back to business (though the smile still lingers for some reason), 'What is a sailor to do aboard the Black Pearl?'
no subject
Sparrow for his part seems utterly perplexed by his comment, and he waits patiently for the pirate to formulate a response. However, he very nearly laughs when he does hear it, and favours Sparrow with a just slightly superior raise of an eyebrow.
'Are you comparing me to Athena, Sparrow? Sprung fully clothed from her father's forehead?' He scoffs, both mocking and self-deprecating, 'Hardly. I assure you I was born in quite the usual way, much to the relief of my mother.'
He cocks his head at Sparrow, then, thinking suddenly. While Sparrow's idea of an eight year old Commodore is amusing, it makes him wonder about the pirate himself. Surely he was not always the rogue he is now, with his dreadlocks and his kohl and tatoos on his obscenely golden skin. No, that idea is as absurd as the notion that James was born in full dress uniform. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.
'And what of you- the wee lad Jack Sparrow? I was not born Commodore anymore than you were born a pirate, a little boy with beads in his hair and a bottle of rum in his hands.'
He bites back a smile at that image, his nose crinkling, for he has to admit, it is rather... adorable. Not that he should be finding any aspect of Sparrow adorable, even if it is only an imagined version of him thirty-five years ago. Regardless, however, it is, and eventually the smile breaks free, small, yes, but amused and entirely genuine.
'However, you've not answered my question,' he brings himself back to business (though the smile still lingers for some reason), 'What is a sailor to do aboard the Black Pearl?'