in blazes did ye get yerself one of those, Jack?" asked the burly
quartermaster, gazing at the enourmous, striped pelt on the floorboards of
the Captain's cabin.
"Traded for it along the Yangzee. Fellow said the tiger was his dear
companion for many years, and he'd not wished to part from it when it died.
But he'd found the grief of reminiscence worst in the presence of the thing.
T'was born in the far reaches of the Tsar's Empire, if I recall..." Jack
gazed off for a moment, then snapped back to the present. "Come, feel it."
He crouched and ran both hands over the orange and black fur.
Gibbs looked askance briefly, as Jack in a garrulous and generous mood was
sometimes a thing to be wary of. But how often does one get the chance to
stroke a tiger, after all? He knelt next to his Captain, and reached out a
"So... so soft..." Joshamee's voice filled with wonder.
Jack's eyes glinted a little. "Who has the helm, this watch? Anamaria?"
"Aye, and t'was clear to the horizon, not moments past, Jack." That glint
was usually all the forshadowing Joshamee ever received, but that never
seemed to be much of an inconvenience, really. He rose quickly and threw the
bolt home on the latch at the cabin's door. Yet in that brief turning away,
Sparrow managed to divest himself of every stitch of clothing.
One of these days, thought Gibbs, I'm going to have to watch and
see how he does that.
"You too, Josh. All of it." Jack requested. "And let's see exactly how
soft this thing feels, aye?
"Aye, that'll be an inneresting thing to see, Jack." Gibbs flashed a grin to
match his Captain's own.
The fur was very, very, VERY soft.
Especially on certain very sensitive parts of the anatomy.
But Joshamee wondered if he'd be pulling little orange hairs out of his
mouth into next week.
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