Fifth Tide Turning ☠ Action | Voice
An exhausted Jack Sparrow fell asleep on October 30th cradling a child he loved. Water and moon and sky might have been pouring in, but he was willing her to be safe in the fortress of couch cushions he had built for her.
When he awoke the next morning on the living room floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets, the moon was gone. Things were normal, but...Seven was so quiet. So empty. Buffy soon informed the pirate that Jilly had been taken away in the night by Horatio Hornblower and Archie Kennedy. Given and gone and taken, and Jack realized he had failed in his self-imposed duty to protect her. Failed. And if he had failed her, then he could fail Joyce.
Jack had told Buffy that he could keep the dream child safe in his mind. That Joyce was not a Malnosso trick or trap, as the slayer had intimated; that she brought him peace in the face of madness and the worst parts of himself.
But then there was the fact that Giles knew about her: Giles, his enemy, knew about the little girl who lived only in his waking and sleeping dreams, and Jack knew that he knew. Joyce. Sometimes she had golden hair and dark eyes and sometimes she had dark hair and green eyes and she never spoke and always laughed and stomped her foot and scared the Fetches away.
She wasn't safe, now.
Jilly had been taken from right beside him and he hadn't awakened. What if she'd been abducted not by a harmless sailor, but by someone who would hurt her? How could he expect Joyce and the others to be safe in his brain if Jilly was not even secure beside him in Seven? And hadn't he once told Angelica that fathers would...should...sacrifice anything for their daughters? That was the proper way of things. And he'd carelessly fallen asleep and Jilly had been taken.
Archie Kennedy had been right.
...you've no bloody idea what to do with a child like her in the first place...You're not her father, Jack, and I don't trust your judgment with her.
Kennedy might have been right, but that didn't kill the strong desire the pirate had to punch him in the face for what he did.
Still...Jilly was safe, in the end. That was what mattered. And now it was time to move on; time for a change in how he did things, here. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. Children were not a part of who that person was, and never had been. They were a liability to him, and he to them.
So Captain Jack Sparrow secretively made an appointment with a certain dream woman. And early on the day of All Souls, he set off for Cullen House and his consultation with Paprika. All he knew about her was that she was named after a spice and that she might or might not exist. He lingered too long on the front porch of Seven on the way to their session, his knuckles whitening on the railing as he released a deeply-held breath.
Daddy
He rubbed at his temple and hurried forward, fast---fast fast. No. Please not now.
Daddy why
The children were just a dream---something his fevered brain created a year earlier when his body and mind and soul had been too ill to cope with all the worst parts of himself. Joyce, Xander, and Annie---they were figments. Not real. Enduring and endearing, but not real. Loved, possibly, but not real. Therefore he could banish them and protect them from the Malnosso or from Giles or from anyone else who could get a peek into his mind and try to harm them, or, worse, use them. He would have to let them go. It...wasn't abandonment.
NOT ABANDONMENT. NOT.
Paprika's suppression therapy would blur Joyce and her brother and sister out of his mind: a neat erasing with only faint smudges of children left. The rum would wash over those smudges and blur them further.
Safe.
Before his consultation with the dream specialist, Jack scribbled a quick word or two on the palm of his hand. Best to do it now, like. Might not recall it properly afterward, for all he knew.
Later, when the consultation with Paprika had ended, the pirate climbed to the attic of Cullen House to set his mind at ease: all of Katie's chalk drawings were still there. Safe. The Joanna Joyce? Safe. And so he made his way back to the village, squinting down at the inky lines scrawled across his palm before carefully wrapping one of his customary rags around it. Tying it tightly.
A bit later in the day, he will make a rather laconic announcement:
[voice]
Anyone else need a drink? Good Spirits. Rum. Darts. Bet you're not as good as myself. A few friendly wagers? Everyone's invited. Now.
[/voice]
[[OOC: Chronologically, the thread with Paprika will be first.]]
When he awoke the next morning on the living room floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets, the moon was gone. Things were normal, but...Seven was so quiet. So empty. Buffy soon informed the pirate that Jilly had been taken away in the night by Horatio Hornblower and Archie Kennedy. Given and gone and taken, and Jack realized he had failed in his self-imposed duty to protect her. Failed. And if he had failed her, then he could fail Joyce.
Jack had told Buffy that he could keep the dream child safe in his mind. That Joyce was not a Malnosso trick or trap, as the slayer had intimated; that she brought him peace in the face of madness and the worst parts of himself.
But then there was the fact that Giles knew about her: Giles, his enemy, knew about the little girl who lived only in his waking and sleeping dreams, and Jack knew that he knew. Joyce. Sometimes she had golden hair and dark eyes and sometimes she had dark hair and green eyes and she never spoke and always laughed and stomped her foot and scared the Fetches away.
She wasn't safe, now.
Jilly had been taken from right beside him and he hadn't awakened. What if she'd been abducted not by a harmless sailor, but by someone who would hurt her? How could he expect Joyce and the others to be safe in his brain if Jilly was not even secure beside him in Seven? And hadn't he once told Angelica that fathers would...should...sacrifice anything for their daughters? That was the proper way of things. And he'd carelessly fallen asleep and Jilly had been taken.
Archie Kennedy had been right.
...you've no bloody idea what to do with a child like her in the first place...You're not her father, Jack, and I don't trust your judgment with her.
Kennedy might have been right, but that didn't kill the strong desire the pirate had to punch him in the face for what he did.
Still...Jilly was safe, in the end. That was what mattered. And now it was time to move on; time for a change in how he did things, here. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. Children were not a part of who that person was, and never had been. They were a liability to him, and he to them.
So Captain Jack Sparrow secretively made an appointment with a certain dream woman. And early on the day of All Souls, he set off for Cullen House and his consultation with Paprika. All he knew about her was that she was named after a spice and that she might or might not exist. He lingered too long on the front porch of Seven on the way to their session, his knuckles whitening on the railing as he released a deeply-held breath.
Daddy
He rubbed at his temple and hurried forward, fast---fast fast. No. Please not now.
Daddy why
The children were just a dream---something his fevered brain created a year earlier when his body and mind and soul had been too ill to cope with all the worst parts of himself. Joyce, Xander, and Annie---they were figments. Not real. Enduring and endearing, but not real. Loved, possibly, but not real. Therefore he could banish them and protect them from the Malnosso or from Giles or from anyone else who could get a peek into his mind and try to harm them, or, worse, use them. He would have to let them go. It...wasn't abandonment.
NOT ABANDONMENT. NOT.
Paprika's suppression therapy would blur Joyce and her brother and sister out of his mind: a neat erasing with only faint smudges of children left. The rum would wash over those smudges and blur them further.
Safe.
Before his consultation with the dream specialist, Jack scribbled a quick word or two on the palm of his hand. Best to do it now, like. Might not recall it properly afterward, for all he knew.
Later, when the consultation with Paprika had ended, the pirate climbed to the attic of Cullen House to set his mind at ease: all of Katie's chalk drawings were still there. Safe. The Joanna Joyce? Safe. And so he made his way back to the village, squinting down at the inky lines scrawled across his palm before carefully wrapping one of his customary rags around it. Tying it tightly.
A bit later in the day, he will make a rather laconic announcement:
[voice]
Anyone else need a drink? Good Spirits. Rum. Darts. Bet you're not as good as myself. A few friendly wagers? Everyone's invited. Now.
[/voice]
[[OOC: Chronologically, the thread with Paprika will be first.]]