Oct. 29th, 2008

notjackkerouac: (i // man about town)
Today, London is boiling. Even for August, it's uncomfortably warm. Sweat has clung to Jack's hairline and gathered in the small of his back since early morning, when he was cruelly woken by James shoving all of the covers on top of Jack in his sleep. It felt like being smothered by an elephant who had the mistaken assumption that Jack was a peanut and had sucked him into her trunk: sweltering and strangely damp. Jack had shucked the attacking sheets, kicking wildly until they retreated to the foot of the bed and padded into the living room to make sweet love to the fan.

The other thing about London today is that it happens to be boring. Jack sits for an hour, whispering dirty phrases into the whirring blades to hear his voice buzz back at him, and tries to feed apple slices through the wire mesh after the first activity grows old with no one around to hear the deft trick. Half the slices never manage to stay uneaten to meet their maker with the fan and the other half only catch the blades rather than being shredded into apple sauce. Jack gives up after a while and goes to shower the juice from his fingers and legs.

James still isn't awake by the time Jack dries with a towel, even after he sang "Sweet Caroline" six time through at the top of his voice (musical interlude included), so Jack dresses and fluffs out his hair and goes out onto the street to find something to do there.

Ice cream seems like a decent idea, given mother's nature intention to conceive hell on earth. Jack wanders down to the shops but the first four ice cream places he finds (well, three ice cream and one gellato stand) are closed. It's not quite ten in the morning so Jack supposes he should find this understandable but it's summer and his shirt has begun to stick between his shoulder blades and nothing open means he has to walk further to find a refreshing lick of mint chocolate chip.

A place finally finds him sometime after six blocks or so, near the park. A queue of four or five people with similar ideas stretches to the door. Jack joins the queue behind a man in a smart suit with great hair and somehow falls into a conversation with him over which ice cream flavour is better. The man defends cookie dough so astutely that when it becomes Jack's turn to order, he asks for a double cone, mint chocolate chip on the bottom and cookie dough on top.

The man is still nearby when the clerk hands Jack his cone, so Jack goes to sit next to him on a bench. It isn't until the man introduces himself as the Doctor that Jack realizes why he looks so familiar.

He studies the Doctor quizically. "You're taller than you look on television," Jack says, then licks at his ice cream. The Doctor just looks confused so Jack explains how he watches him on Saturday nights when he happens to be home.

The Doctor doesn't seem to understand that he's on a television programme so Jack offers to show him, promising that he has old betamax tapes somewhere back at the flat. They finish their ice cream as Jack leads them up the stairs to his door and slips his key in the lock, opening the door for the Doctor.

"Make yourself at home."

He doen't know if James is awake yet or not. Jack's sure he doesn't want to miss this.

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Jack Sparrow

November 2008

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