existing, that is all

JACK

The night is kind to some - less so to others. And Jack can't decide if, tonight, he's been lucky or not. As dawn reaches its fingers into the sky and promises another beltingly hot day, he meanders along the shoreline, his boots in one hand and a mostly empty bottle in the other. Bare feet leave a snake of prints in the sand, and if one looks close before they are eaten by the tide, one might notice that they are not entirely straight.

If the captain wobbles, it's only partially because he's still mostly drunk from the night before. Mostly, though, it's the evidence of the fight he's gotten into. With knuckles bloody and a shiny bruise forming along one of his sharp cheekbones, Jack can (and will, to anyone who asks) say that he won the fight. He doesn't know what it was about any more, exactly, but he won.

Up ahead someone is standing and watching the sun come up - his telepathy pricks at him and tells him as much without him needing to look from the sand. And he plans to ignore them, in truth, were it not for the lost footing that sends him stumbling - and promptly laying in the sand on his belly. The waves creep against his clothes and his skin, and y'know what? Who cares?

Jack will just drown for a while, it's fine.

believer... believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes