Date: 2008-10-16 11:32 am (UTC)
The tip of the pen digs into his skin with every loop of Jack's handwriting, and James bites the corner of his lip, half in faint discomfort, half in amusement. Given the way Jack's dressed, James isn't entirely sure anything he owns qualifies as 'flash.' But he certainly knows how to dress himself up should the situation require it; there's no doubt about that.

'Flash,' he affirms, smirking around the syllables, 'I'll keep that in mind.'

The little kiss to the tender skin of his palm, and the leer that follows might have had him blushing if he was the sort of man who blushed. Fortunately for him, however, he isn't even remotely close to that sort of man, so he merely chuckles, curling his fingers away from Jack's.

'We'll see,' he says, inclining his head towards Jack in his own approximation of a bow as the other man sets off down the street. James shakes his head bemusedly, gazing after him for a moment or two. He hadn't noticed it before, not when he was walking besides James, but his gait is a curious swaying, swaggering thing, as if his entire, dubious balance centres around his hips. It draws a certain amount of attention to his arse, at least from this angle, and James has to admit, from what he can see of it, it is an eminently fine arse. He chuckles to himself, turning around to head back to his own flat, the faintest hint of a swagger in his own step.

He arrives at the restaurant in question at eight o'clock sharp. It's a nice place, classy but casual, lots of black around small, round tables of polished wood. Up on a low stage there's a man and a woman performing; the man singing harmonies to the woman's breathy alto, the woman with an acoustic guitar slung 'round her shoulders. Good music, if fairly predictable for this sort of venue. James, for his part, is dressed in what he hopes qualifies as flash; a black button up shirt tucked into nice jeans all fairly plain, but the sportcoat he's got on over the shirt is burgundy velvet. Slightly ostentatious, but beautifully cut.

He can't find Jack anywhere in the place, so he takes a seat in a corner booth, the cushions black leather, and orders himself a glass of red wine. Hopefully, he won't have long to wait.
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Jack Sparrow

November 2008

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