Jack laughs when Norrington speaks of his mother's relief.
It can be a dangerous thing to bring up a man's mother and Jack was not sure if Norrington would play along or scold him for ever daring to even breathe her name. He wonders what her name actually was, if she still lives somewhere (By the look of him, Norrington doesn't seem an older man, so his mother might still be amongst the living. In fact, he probably is younger than Jack, though truth be told Jack doesn't know either of their ages.) and thinks on her Commodore son. If she thinks he is a good man for his efforts under the Crown.
He does not know where is own mother is. Hasn't stopped a day to think of her in many, many years. Doesn't care much for it, family. With a father whose name is known better than his face and a mother much the opposite, lost somewhere in a boyhood memory, Jack doesn't feel the need to have much of family. The Pearl is his family. Wife, mother, daughter, lover. She is all he needs. And where he came from, what he was like as a boy -- well that was Jack Teague, wasn't it? Jack Sparrow rose from the watery depths with his ship, fully formed the pirate he is now.
So he looks at Norrington with darkling eyes and whispers in his best impersonation of encryption and mystery, "And maybe I was. Who said I ever had a mother at all?" He slinks towards Norrington, starting to circle him. "Maybe I rose from the sea, just as I am now," he murmurs lightly into his ear.
And then pulls back with a wide grin. "If you're to be believing the tales, of course," Jack amends, cheeky and cocky once again, relishing in his own near-mythical stories.
He stares at Norrington for a few moments, waiting to see if the Commodore will buy such an answer. Knows full well that he is avoiding his other question.
"And sailors do here what they are to be doing aboard any ol' ship," Jack hums, steering away from the question as soon as he answered it.
He still isn't sure where exatly to offer to place Norrington in the ranks. Doesn't quite believe the man knows how to work the riggings or mend the sails to his liking. A man forgets, after all, what is work when he does nothing all day but stand aboard deck, surveying. Jack isn't keen to the idea of ordering the Commodore around like a simple deckhand, though maybe serving under a pirate would re-order his priorities. He fishes for time to think it over by turning the question back on Norrington.
"Need to see some credentials before I know right what to be placing you."
no subject
It can be a dangerous thing to bring up a man's mother and Jack was not sure if Norrington would play along or scold him for ever daring to even breathe her name. He wonders what her name actually was, if she still lives somewhere (By the look of him, Norrington doesn't seem an older man, so his mother might still be amongst the living. In fact, he probably is younger than Jack, though truth be told Jack doesn't know either of their ages.) and thinks on her Commodore son. If she thinks he is a good man for his efforts under the Crown.
He does not know where is own mother is. Hasn't stopped a day to think of her in many, many years. Doesn't care much for it, family. With a father whose name is known better than his face and a mother much the opposite, lost somewhere in a boyhood memory, Jack doesn't feel the need to have much of family. The Pearl is his family. Wife, mother, daughter, lover. She is all he needs. And where he came from, what he was like as a boy -- well that was Jack Teague, wasn't it? Jack Sparrow rose from the watery depths with his ship, fully formed the pirate he is now.
So he looks at Norrington with darkling eyes and whispers in his best impersonation of encryption and mystery, "And maybe I was. Who said I ever had a mother at all?" He slinks towards Norrington, starting to circle him. "Maybe I rose from the sea, just as I am now," he murmurs lightly into his ear.
And then pulls back with a wide grin. "If you're to be believing the tales, of course," Jack amends, cheeky and cocky once again, relishing in his own near-mythical stories.
He stares at Norrington for a few moments, waiting to see if the Commodore will buy such an answer. Knows full well that he is avoiding his other question.
"And sailors do here what they are to be doing aboard any ol' ship," Jack hums, steering away from the question as soon as he answered it.
He still isn't sure where exatly to offer to place Norrington in the ranks. Doesn't quite believe the man knows how to work the riggings or mend the sails to his liking. A man forgets, after all, what is work when he does nothing all day but stand aboard deck, surveying. Jack isn't keen to the idea of ordering the Commodore around like a simple deckhand, though maybe serving under a pirate would re-order his priorities. He fishes for time to think it over by turning the question back on Norrington.
"Need to see some credentials before I know right what to be placing you."