pirate_jack | (no subject)

At least the floating pier is supposed to move underfoot- just now it seems as if it is about to slide away, along with the rest of the world spinning about.

With a wince, he eyes the sea ladder and the Pearl.

"I can try, sir?"

The reasons of why for all of this are slipping away when he tries to focus on them, so for the moment, it is better to just go along with what was happening-

Or try to, at least.

"Can't ask more than that."

Jack's eyes are gleaming with near-feral intensity as he adds,

"Take it slow, lad. I'll be right beside you."

He nods slightly, gritting his teeth.

... Not since he first started learning the ropes on board the Worthington at the age of 13 has it taken him this long to climb up something this easy. The hull of the Pearl keeps moving under his fingers-

Wellard has to pause quite a few times to close his eyes and take deep breaths, while looking green.

Every so often when he does, he'll feel a steadying hand on his shoulder.

The rigging-made sea ladder is easily wide enough for two to climb it abreast, and Jack is doing just that-- to one side and a little below, in case the lad should slip.

"Take your time, son. She's not going anywhere."

It may take subjective ages- but with sheer stubborness Wellard finally gets up to the railing-

And only Jack grabbing ahold of his arm keeps him from crashing hard onto the deck-

But at least Wellard is onboard ship, now.

"Much more better."

Jack swings over the railing and casts a quick glance back toward shore. No sign of any pursuit, at least not yet.

"Come on into the cabin, son. If ever a man needed to sit down, you're that man."

"Just as long as everything stops moving." Wellard mutters, hands rubbing at his eyes for a moment, before he looks out onto the Pearl with a flicker of confusion.

"...What happened? We weren't- Did I fall?"

It's the third or fourth time he's asked the same question, and Jack's expression tightens into something very grim as Wellard looks out over the deck in confusion.

"Something like that-- you hit your head, son," Jack tells him. "I take it you don't remember?"

He puts a hand on Wellard's shoulder, steering him toward the cabin.

"Come on. First you sit down, then we'll get this sorted, aye?"

"We were working on repairs..." Wellard glances to the downed yardarm he had been working on earlier.

It is hazy, but seems only moments ago.

"I- I don't know what happened. We were just going to be taking care of things since the weather-"

He bites his lip, heading with Jack's help to the cabin.

Not good.

"The weather, aye."

He settles Wellard in a chair, and picks up a jug of fresh water -- not rum, in this case. Pouring a cup full, Jack hands it to the young man, asking casually,

"You and Norrington, was it?"

Both hands on the cup, studying it for a moment, before he blinks, looking up at Jack.

"You said that he hadn't shown up, for the repairs- or was he hurt? Is that why he wasn't here? Is he alright, sir?"

"The young missy was taking a doctor up to see him when we left, savvy?"

Jack shakes his head, sending beads rattling.

"I won't lie to you, son, he wasn't doing well-- but I've seen worse, and he'll be all right."

If he's not, that's a whole other set of problems that Jack will deal with later.

"Drink that," he adds. "Slowly -- just a bit at first."

He takes a deep breath, and nods slowly. "' doctors here are much better, at any rate. He'll be alright."

Wellard obediantly sips at the water, slowly.

"Specially when they find out what happened."

"Especially then, aye."

Jack leans against a post, absently glancing up at the bright unwavering white flame in the lantern that hangs from a hook there before looking back at Wellard.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He bites his lip, frowning.

"I was measuring the yard arm we're going to have to replace, and you- you were saying that Norrington wasn't here. I thought I'd go look for him, he's usually here. ... Didn't I?"

"You did," Jack confirms quietly, still watching him.

"I came after you when you didn't come back."

Wellard blinks, and starts shaking his head-

And stops, wincing.

"I didn't find him- at least, I do not think I did. I don't remember."

He looks at Jack, wide-eyed. "Did something happen? What happened, Jack?"

"It's all right, son."

Jack's voice is low, but steady.

"Had an accident, is all, and hit your head, savvy? Rang it like a bell-- it'll come back to you in time."

A beat.

"Just an accident."

It is supposed to be reassuring. It should be.

... And right now his head hurts too much to try to figure out what is exactly wrong with everything, that it is Not reassuring. Wellard takes a deep breath, and nods slowly at Jack.

("I'll remember.")

"... Things will be alright." He closes his eyes.

"Aye, son. They will."

Jack straightens, swaying, and strides over to a small chest that sits against the wall.

"Now where did I put-- ah."

He comes back across the cabin, and puts one hand on Wellard's shoulder as he holds out a small vial of dark brown glass.

"Take this--it's willowbark, savvy? Help with your head, what's probably pounding like a regiment of drummers about now," Jack tells him.

"Then get yourself into the hammock. I've got work to do, so I won't be needing it for a while."

Thankfully, that is one of the few painkillers Wellard would accept, from his own world and time. With a wry nod to Jack, he takes it carefully.

"Everything's all... twisting about, but it hurts too much to have been laudanum or something like that. At least for things moving around..."

Somehow, this make sense in Wellard's head, as he unstops the small vial and downs it. ...

Though he had forgotten how vile willowbark tea tasted, and this is worse. He gags, taking a quick sip of water.

"Aye, it'll do that for a bit," he says. "Come on now, into the hammock you go-- sleep it off, and you'll feel better for it."

Not that Jack has any intention of letting him sleep undisturbed for too long He's seen what can happen if that's done -- if the lad can't be woken, then he'll need a doctor himself, but otherwise...

"Up you get."

The spinning of the room has somewhat slowed by now- only a little of Jack's help is needed to get into the swinging hammock.

... At least he is able to move better than the last time he had been hurt, and needed help to get into a hammock.

"... thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, son."

As Wellard settles deeper into the hammock, Jack leaves the cabin briefly-- he has something to do.

A short while later, having cut the floating pier from its shore mooring and pulled it back against the Pearl, he returns.

Jack sits down at his table, ostensibly to work on his accounts. He stares at the papers without seeing them, thinking over the day's events and trying to ignore the occasional bump of a very large shark against the ship's hull.

Eventually, however, he hears a different sort of noise-- and in an instant, he's out of the cabin and waiting, out of sight under the quarterdeck stairs.