The wind is light, only tops'l's set, and Sparrow has perfect control of the ship, but even so, he shouldn't just slouch there.

Black eyes regard him appraisingly, move their focus to the top of his head. "You've got to get rid of that thing, mate."

Norrington sighs; a tired subject. "Sparrow. I will not."

"'Captain Sparrow' on my own quarterdeck, savvy. And why not? 'T's not part of the uniform, is it?"

"No, not exactly, Captain Sparrow, but I wouldn't be presentable without it."

"Presentable to whom, exactly?" Perfect mimicry of Norrington's blue-blooded accent. "Perhaps you've not noticed, but we're all pirates here, mate. 'Cepting your own fine self, of course." A smile spreads, slow and dark as molasses.

An eyebrow arches. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just that we don't stand on such pomp and ceremony here, whatever you may do ashore."

"That's not what I mea—, ah, rather, what I mean to say is..."

"Ohhh, you meant the part about your fine self." The smile widens, a glint of gold.

James flushes mutely.

"I mean what I say, Jamie, you know that. But the wig must go." A hand flits up to stop the inevitable protestations. "The rest of the uniform I can take. And even like." Appreciative eyeing of the fine bright buttons on the coat cuffs, the tight white breeches. "But the wig, Jamie-luv, it just won't do."

Indignant spluttering. More coloring as a result of the eyeing.

"No, I've made up me mind, and the captain's word is law aboard his ship. The wig goes, or we don't resume our negotiations. And how would Governor Swann like that, eh?"

"Jack, you're being preposterous. Stop abusing my wig, and stop tormenting me with your lewd stares."

A sinuous movement and Jack stands erect; a motion to Gibbs and he releases the wheel. He advances on James, utterly invading his personal space until he is nearly pressed full-length against him. James holds his ground, heart thumping, smelling sweat and tar and rum.

A lewd stare, a low voice. "I will not stop tormenting you, ever. And I most certainly will not stop abusing that wig." A quick motion, clever as a cat, and Jack thrusts his pelvis into James to distract his attention, snatching the commodore's hat with one hand and his wig with the other. The hat is back on his head and the pirate six feet away before James comprehends what happened.

Labored breathing. "Return it at once!"

"No." And Jack tosses the offending hairpiece over the taffrail and into the sea. Satisfied crossing of arms over chest, one booted foot thrust out, smirk in place.

James watches the wig sail majestically over the rail, highlighted for one brief instant against the brilliant blue of the Caribbean sky, and then tumble into the foaming wake. It bobs helplessly for a moment, before sinking out of sight. Incredulous eyes turn to Jack. "You. You drowned my wig!"

"Like a rat in a cage."

More spluttering.

"Oh, leave it, Jamie. 'T's not worth all that. Leave it all behind, for now at least. Time enough for wigs when you're on land, Commodore. Now, accompany me to my cabin and we shall resume our talks." A few steps, head turns to look back slyly out of the corner of a kohl-rimmed eye. "'Sides, that was easy enough. Let's see what other parts of your uniform I can get off you."

Mouth begins to form the shape necessary for spluttering. Stops. James looks back at the distant spot where the wig sank; looks forward at the pirate sashaying down the quarterdeck steps. A lewd stare; he follows the pirate.

Read Wigs 2: And More Wigs