He'd been listening to the shouts and screamed commands from safely outside the room, as despite William's request there's no way in heaven, hell, or in between that Jack Sparrow has any intention of allowing himself to be dragged into that sort of madness.
When the next message for relay is passed out to him, he mutters under his breath and heads straight for Bar.
"It's for the lad, William Turner," he explains, gingerly patting the wood. "Not for me this time, luv. His wife's after having their little one -- you'll remember how that goes -- "
Jack glances toward a particular wooden globe, and grins a little as the bottle of rum appears.
It's a particularly large one.
"Ah. I'll tell him you've wished them well, aye?"
When Jack returns to the shoreline, he's carrying a gallon jug of rum crooked in his arm as other men in another time and place might carry moonshine, and whistling tunelessly.
"Seems your patience won't be tried much longer!" he calls out, cheerfully. "Lizzie sends her regards -- or something of the sort -- and says it won't be long."
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When the next message for relay is passed out to him, he mutters under his breath and heads straight for Bar.
"It's for the lad, William Turner," he explains, gingerly patting the wood. "Not for me this time, luv. His wife's after having their little one -- you'll remember how that goes -- "
Jack glances toward a particular wooden globe, and grins a little as the bottle of rum appears.
It's a particularly large one.
"Ah. I'll tell him you've wished them well, aye?"
When Jack returns to the shoreline, he's carrying a gallon jug of rum crooked in his arm as other men in another time and place might carry moonshine, and whistling tunelessly.
"Seems your patience won't be tried much longer!" he calls out, cheerfully. "Lizzie sends her regards -- or something of the sort -- and says it won't be long."