When Frost meets Ice (Jelsa)

Confession Part three

Jack curled his fingers around Merida's hand and for a moment the world seemed alright.

"Thanks Merida, you're the best." Jack said, two bright orbs of light appeared passed Merida's red hair turning it into glowing flaming locks, the lights grew rapidly and collided with the car. Then next moment, there was actual fire and red drippings from those fiery curls. That was the last moment anything would ever be 'alright'.

** ** **

Jack awoke with a start.

That nightmare plagued him with uncertainties to this day. Jack looked around him to take in his surroundings and cursed in French.

"Mmm, Jacquis, if I'd known you spoke French, last night could have been all the more fun." a young woman slid her hand over Jack's bare chest. Her hair was a mess and the incense failed miserably in covering up the detestable smell of the place.

Jack placed one hand over hers to halt her explorations, as her mouth found his neck. He took stock of everything around him. Salt water stung his nose and simple sunlight streamed though the wooden windows. It was not the first time he'd woken up in a new world in such an 'establishment, and from his new body's memories, he knew exactly where he was.

Jack cursed again, he thought for sure he'd awaken in his own time. Yet he wasn't surprised to find himself lost in a new world just as a fresh love had finally succeeded... again. He had no words to waste on the paid woman, she'd apparently done her job and was only eager to put 'Jacquis' deeper in debt. He flung the bed sheet aside and gathered his clothes against the woman's protests, he knew her face, he knew her voice. She forever haunted him as the harbinger of every new ring of Hades he stepped through.

Jack was tired, and he was jaded. He'd lost count of all the years he'd spent doing this, all the wars he'd been in, all the faces he'd seen over and over again, and all the miles he'd logged onto his poor soul. All for what? For love? He was sick of love. But at the same time it was always Elsa, and as much as he hated to admit there was a bright side to his torture, he loved being in love with Elsa. Her kisses haunted him with a cold comfort.

A loose white shirt was first, then some sea stained pants and a sash to hold them up. Well-worn leather boots went on his feet with practiced ease. He found his sword and pulled it from its scabbard long enough to examine its edge before he strapped it to his waist. A fine cutlass, no nobleman's sword but it was well cared for and sharp, it would cut though a man well enough, he had enough experience at this point he didn't even consider the morbidity of that logic. He swung his arms into a tan waistcoat with worn away blue inlays and an expertly hidden steel plate protecting the wearers heart. Two vembraces, four daggers, one flintlock pistol, one bandana, and one empty coin purse later and Jack was ready to leave.

Jack left the smell of incense for the smell of grinding metal, oil, and dung when he leapt from the window landed in the street with a cry from his bed mate. He took off down the street to begin sorting through the memories of his host.

Jack followed his feet, muscle memory lead his steps. His muscles were strong and lean, a predators muscles and he could feel it as every footfall felt as if he could spring to or from any violence. The calluses on his palms told him of long hours handling rope and battle. The dark tan of his skin told him of long hours under the suns battering ram. The way his eyes found coin purses and gauged the price of jewelry told him volumes about his career. But not nearly as much as three gentleman that begun trailing him, they told him all he'd ever need to know about this place until his body's memories could sink in.

"Pirate!" a voice rang out to catch Jack's attention.

Jack turned to see a triad of Noble sons playing at vigilante.