“Y’ever heard of pirate glass?” Jack asked out of the blue, his drawing hand stilling as he set his charcoal down. Davey raised a curious brow, and thoughtlessly tilted the angle of his head as he did so. This drew a ‘tsk’ from Jack - ever the artist - and Davey rolled his eyes fondly before returning to his original position. “No,” Davey responded, watching with surprise as Jack retrieved his pastels. This was an exceedingly rare thing, Davey knew; Jack’s sketches were almost always exclusively charcoal. Nothing more than smudges of black on white, and yet so much more. Jack breathed such life into his drawings that they hardly needed color.
Davey watched from the corner of his eye as Jack rifles through the box, pulling out several colors that he can’t quite see. “Why do you ask?” Davey inquired, his voice sounding strangely in the New York night. Even with the bustle of the city, the two of them seemed to be in another world where the only sound was the clattering of chalk.
Jack hummed as he shifted back, pastels in hand. “‘S neat stuff.” He said simply, starting in with one of the pastels - a pitch-dark shade, Davey could now tell. “When you look at it in the dark, or in most light, it looks just plain black or brown.” Jack continued, his hand making delicate, meticulous swipes across the paper. “Guess them pirates thought it helped keep the sun out o’ their booze or somethin’.” A chuckle, and when Davey looked over there was a sort of half-smile on Jack’s face, though his eyes were still trained on his drawing.
“But, if you get it in the right light, it’s anythin’ but plain. The color shines through.” Jack held up a bright spring green, something soft in his eyes that Davey couldn’t quite place. “Like a gemstone, y’know? Real pretty.” With that, Jack returned to the drawing, and the pair lapsed into quiet.
Chalk scratching paper, Jack’s soft, even breathing. Davey could stand to stay like this forever.
Davey isn’t sure how much time lapsed away like that, but eventually Jack stood up, tipped the chalk dust off of the drawing, and lingered awkwardly in his spot for a moment. A hand brushing over his braids, Jack turned his sketchbook around and extended it to Davey.
Staring back at Davey was his own face - his own eyes. Davey was no art critic, but it was obvious that Jack had made the eyes the focal point. His eyes. They were bright golden-green, like new spring growth, with dark around the edges.
Davey knew that it shouldn’t have been so special. He saw his eyes regularly in the small mirror kept next to the bathtub, after all. But Jack had made them look…different. As though the lights of the city had turned them into something else entirely.
What a funny thing indeed. Such a fitting concept for Jack, who seemed to know everything about the seemingly most unusual matters. Davey was forced to wonder where Jack had learned of it - perhaps it was just another case of ‘improving the truth.’
Regardless, there was something to be said about Jack using such a comparison to communicate his thoughts about Davey’s eyes.
Real pretty played back in his head, and suddenly everything clicked neatly into place.
And even if pirate glass was just a Jack Kelly-certified method of skirting around the truth, Davey could think of worse ways to find out.
