It is a very strange thing to hear Norrington laugh at him. Not in derision or in contempt as he has seem to do the very few times Jack has ever heard him laugh in his presence, but an actual expression of mirth. He stares up at Norrington with a mock cross expression but he can't stop the smirk what tugs on the corner of his mouth.

"Different definition of a lot of things I'd be imagining," he replies, flapping his hand back and forth with more vigor. "But don't worry, you're to be learning the way of things soon."

He watches Norrington watch him squirm on the floor -- he can't really help it if the man won't give him his hand -- with his raised eyebrow and meets that expression with one of his own half-smiles, the glint of silver and gold just visible, until finally Norrington obliges and hauls him upright. And right into hisself. Jack "oofs" and grabs hold of a fistfull of Norrington's shirt when their chests knock together, holding on for a moment even after Norrington starts to back away.

"Rather forceful in the morning, aren't you?" he playfully chides, staggering back and forth on two feet, trying to find his tipsy center of balance again. Same as every morning.