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anotherusedpageWarnings for m/m
‘But,’ says Sparrow, with very careful emphasis, ‘why has all the rum gone?’
Harkness shakes his head.
‘There was only a very limited supply of rum on my time machine,’ he says. ‘And we drank it, and now it is gone. Geddit?’
Sparrow frowns.
‘You don’t have more?’
‘Nope.’
Sparrow frowns in concentration.
‘But,’ he says, ‘if this is a time machine travelling through time, right, then the time when the rum is still here is still now, savvy?’
Harkness blinks.
‘Can’t say that I do. We drank it. Ergo, it’s gone. We could go back in time and steal it off our former selves, but then we wouldn’t have been able to drink it because it wouldn’t have been there then because we’d have stolen it, and then we wouldn’t have been able to get drunk enough to do something as stupid as try to steal alcohol of our past selves and so we wouldn’t be here now having this conversation. It’s a whatjamacallit. A paradox. A closed loop. If we did it, it undid itself and so we never did it.’
‘Do you mean,’ Sparrow asks, ‘That I could have already attempted to steal rum from my past self without knowing it?’
Harkness frowns. The whole logic is making his head hurt.
‘Umm. Sort of. Maybe.’
Sparrow shakes his head.
‘What a scurvy son of a dog I am,’ he says. ‘Attempting to prevent my future self from achieving such a state of perfect inebriation.’
‘Is that accent genuine?’ Harkness can’t help but asking. Sparrow stares at him, weaving back and forwards.
‘If it looks like a gold coin and spends like a gold coin, it’s probably a gold coin. But I’m not promising it won’t curse you.’ Sparrow’s eyes flash.
Harkness tries to make sense of that one.
*
‘Does she have a name, your ship?’
Harkness shrugs.
‘I conned her off some asshole in the forty-eighth century. He might have called her something other than worthless piece of space junk. I sure as hell don’t.’
Sparrow looks shocked.
‘And you call yourself a captain,’ he says.
‘Captain of an unnamed worthless pile of space junk is surely better than Captain of a non-existent pirate ship.’ Harkness grins. ‘Savvy?’
‘Oh, the Pearl exists,’ Sparrow says. ‘You can’t come and swoop me off my feet in your time machine – which I am perfectly prepared to believe in, despite its logical implausibility – anyway, you can’t then come over all high and mighty and then tell me you don’t believe in haunted pirate ships.’
‘You believe in my time machine because you’re standing on her damned deck,’ Harkness points out.
‘Oh, her deck’s not damned,’ Sparrow mutters. ‘Not like the Pearl’s deck.’
Harkness shakes his head.
‘Even if the Pearl exists, you’re not captain of her in the sense of actually having any say over her crew, destination, or cargo, or in fact any knowledge of her whereabouts, now, are you?’
‘None of those things make an honest pirate a Captain,’ Sparrow says with dignity.
‘What does then?’
Sparrow grins.
‘The hat has something to do with it,’ he says. Harkness rolls his eyes. ‘But we weren’t talking about my ship,’ Sparrow says. ‘We were talking about yours. She ought to have a name.’
‘It’s just a way of getting from A to B. Not always even that.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. A ship’s more than that, if you treat her right,’ Sparrow says. ‘A ship is freedom.’ Jack snorts.
‘I don’t need this ship for freedom. I could travel without her. Steal another one.’
‘So what you’re saying is that it’s not the particulars that matter. Just the idea of a ship.’ Sparrow looks away. ‘The idea of freedom,’ he adds.
Harkness is silent.
‘I suppose it is,’ he says.
‘Well, that’s what I’m still captain of,’ Sparrow says, with his chin stuck out. Harkness laughs.
‘And you think I should give my abstract concept a name?’
Sparrow spreads his hands through the air, as if trying to catch the words between his fingers.
‘The Abstract Concept,’ he says. ‘Very fine name for a boat.’
‘Ship,’ Harkness corrects absentmindedly.
‘Ship,’ Sparrow amends.
*
They christen her the best way they know how. Champagne has something to do with it, but mostly just because the rum is incontrovertibly gone.
**
Fandom: Pirates of the Carribean. Can't spell Carribean. Can't be arsed to google it.
Disclaimer: I sometimes find it difficult to believe that Captain Jack Sparrow is a creation that belongs to a coorporation rather than being a folk hero out in the public domain. But he is, and I'm only borrowing him, from Disney of all people.
Captain Jack Harkness still belongs to Russel T.
‘But,’ says Sparrow, with very careful emphasis, ‘why has all the rum gone?’
Harkness shakes his head.
‘There was only a very limited supply of rum on my time machine,’ he says. ‘And we drank it, and now it is gone. Geddit?’
Sparrow frowns.
‘You don’t have more?’
‘Nope.’
Sparrow frowns in concentration.
‘But,’ he says, ‘if this is a time machine travelling through time, right, then the time when the rum is still here is still now, savvy?’
Harkness blinks.
‘Can’t say that I do. We drank it. Ergo, it’s gone. We could go back in time and steal it off our former selves, but then we wouldn’t have been able to drink it because it wouldn’t have been there then because we’d have stolen it, and then we wouldn’t have been able to get drunk enough to do something as stupid as try to steal alcohol of our past selves and so we wouldn’t be here now having this conversation. It’s a whatjamacallit. A paradox. A closed loop. If we did it, it undid itself and so we never did it.’
‘Do you mean,’ Sparrow asks, ‘That I could have already attempted to steal rum from my past self without knowing it?’
Harkness frowns. The whole logic is making his head hurt.
‘Umm. Sort of. Maybe.’
Sparrow shakes his head.
‘What a scurvy son of a dog I am,’ he says. ‘Attempting to prevent my future self from achieving such a state of perfect inebriation.’
‘Is that accent genuine?’ Harkness can’t help but asking. Sparrow stares at him, weaving back and forwards.
‘If it looks like a gold coin and spends like a gold coin, it’s probably a gold coin. But I’m not promising it won’t curse you.’ Sparrow’s eyes flash.
Harkness tries to make sense of that one.
*
‘Does she have a name, your ship?’
Harkness shrugs.
‘I conned her off some asshole in the forty-eighth century. He might have called her something other than worthless piece of space junk. I sure as hell don’t.’
Sparrow looks shocked.
‘And you call yourself a captain,’ he says.
‘Captain of an unnamed worthless pile of space junk is surely better than Captain of a non-existent pirate ship.’ Harkness grins. ‘Savvy?’
‘Oh, the Pearl exists,’ Sparrow says. ‘You can’t come and swoop me off my feet in your time machine – which I am perfectly prepared to believe in, despite its logical implausibility – anyway, you can’t then come over all high and mighty and then tell me you don’t believe in haunted pirate ships.’
‘You believe in my time machine because you’re standing on her damned deck,’ Harkness points out.
‘Oh, her deck’s not damned,’ Sparrow mutters. ‘Not like the Pearl’s deck.’
Harkness shakes his head.
‘Even if the Pearl exists, you’re not captain of her in the sense of actually having any say over her crew, destination, or cargo, or in fact any knowledge of her whereabouts, now, are you?’
‘None of those things make an honest pirate a Captain,’ Sparrow says with dignity.
‘What does then?’
Sparrow grins.
‘The hat has something to do with it,’ he says. Harkness rolls his eyes. ‘But we weren’t talking about my ship,’ Sparrow says. ‘We were talking about yours. She ought to have a name.’
‘It’s just a way of getting from A to B. Not always even that.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. A ship’s more than that, if you treat her right,’ Sparrow says. ‘A ship is freedom.’ Jack snorts.
‘I don’t need this ship for freedom. I could travel without her. Steal another one.’
‘So what you’re saying is that it’s not the particulars that matter. Just the idea of a ship.’ Sparrow looks away. ‘The idea of freedom,’ he adds.
Harkness is silent.
‘I suppose it is,’ he says.
‘Well, that’s what I’m still captain of,’ Sparrow says, with his chin stuck out. Harkness laughs.
‘And you think I should give my abstract concept a name?’
Sparrow spreads his hands through the air, as if trying to catch the words between his fingers.
‘The Abstract Concept,’ he says. ‘Very fine name for a boat.’
‘Ship,’ Harkness corrects absentmindedly.
‘Ship,’ Sparrow amends.
*
They christen her the best way they know how. Champagne has something to do with it, but mostly just because the rum is incontrovertibly gone.
**
Fandom: Pirates of the Carribean. Can't spell Carribean. Can't be arsed to google it.
Disclaimer: I sometimes find it difficult to believe that Captain Jack Sparrow is a creation that belongs to a coorporation rather than being a folk hero out in the public domain. But he is, and I'm only borrowing him, from Disney of all people.
Captain Jack Harkness still belongs to Russel T.