And one to another you'll hear them all say

[drinkupmehearties]

Who| Captain Jack Sparrow & You!
What| His arrival
Where| Training Center Suites & Central Commons
When| Shortly after the latest Arena ended
Warnings/Notes| Nothing besides drinking and pirate-y stuff, because yep it's Jack.

(A. Suites)

The heat of the Caribbean sun above, the taste of salt on the cool wind, the bounce of his dinghy on the ocean's waves, rum bottle in hand -- these were the last wispy traces of memory that Jack had before the hard metal of a cot and terse words of the Peacekeepers disrupted it. A map had been shoved in his hands after their brief explanation, then the men had exited the room and left the pirate to his own devices.

It was a dream. Had to be, right? An incredibly vivid one, at that, sure, but not real in the least. Because, really, how else to explain any of this? How else to fully absorb the fact that he'd been kidnapped by some mysterious and powerful force, then dropped into some bizarre, alien place where he'd be forced to fight for his life? So. Nope. Didn't make sense otherwise.

(Yet. Even a small part of him worried that it wasn't one. He'd experienced strange things in his life, in the past, hadn't he?)

"Tributes. A battle to the death. Bugger. Not entirely the best dream I could've come up with on me own." He ran a couple fingers down his goatee, grimacing. "And honestly, it could do much better with more rum in it. At the very least." After a cursory survey of his strange surroundings, Jack roamed with unsteady steps towards the kitchen, intent on exploration. The gadgets and devices on the counters were wholly foreign and incomprehensible, and the pirate furrowed his brow. He prodded a finger against one in particular -- a metallic box, its front side adorned with a square piece of glass -- then noticed the numbers and words printed on it. "Popcorn. Potato. Pie-zah." His eyebrows raised. "... What on this earth is any of that supposed to mean?"

A considering pause. Then Jack experimentally pressed a finger against one of the numbered buttons, flinching back in surprise when a short beep accompanied it. A few more pushes, each followed by its own beep, and the pirate slowly lost interest -- what use, ultimately, was there in some weird magic number-display device that made noise at him.

And thus, if someone hadn't stopped him by now, the pirate would move on to explore more of the kitchen.


(B. Central Commons)

Some time later, once he'd figured out how to operate the elevators, Jack would make his way down into the Central Commons. There was a flurry of excited activity, murmurs of 'the latest Arena finishing' and its victor, all of which Jack took brief note of, then ignored. He lingered at the entrance to take in the intensity of it all instead, to stare at the unusual costumes and hairstyles these people wore, the wholly unnatural way this entire place was built and decorated, then his attention snagged on the word 'bar'. His expression brightened, "Ah!"

Navigating his way through the area -- but poorly, that is, and by bumping against a few too many people -- Jack settled into a seat. Minutes later he'd have a glass of rum in hand, and would take a long, long swig of it. If someone happened to sit next to him, the pirate would eventually throw a glance in their direction, then not-so-subtly lean towards them.

"Oi. Do you happen to know what, exactly, all this bustle and -- " he waved his hand, "-- noise and what have you is about?"

Comments

a

[reallynow]

It's unfair, really, that Jolie should be as ill informed of the arrivals of tributes as they are themselves. She has business to do, clothes to make, she doesn't have time to be running into weird guys standing around the kitchen looking like a hot mess.

"It's a microwave, dumbass." The voice probably isn't as feminine as the person it's coming from. She folds her arms over her chest and quirks a brow at Jack, not being subtle about giving him a lengthy once over before stepping in a little closer.

"What's your name, newbie?" Carefully, very carefully, he looks a little crazy- thinks the Drag Queen decked in animal print with huge hair and gaudy make up. They're both a couple of perfectly casual, normal looking people here.

[drinkupmehearties]

The voice pulls him away from musing over the odd device; the insult thrown at him is a couple centuries past his current knowledge, but it’s easy enough to glean it’s meaning. “Oi!” He’d swung around to retort in kind -- because what how’s he supposed to know this -- but his mouth hung open when his eyes landed on Jolie. A finger lifted as the pirate makes another attempt to speak, words barely on the tip of his tongue, then it slowly lowers. His kohl-lined eyes narrow as he returns the once-over, not sure exactly what to make of her.

The masculine-sounding voice doesn’t help, either, and it takes a moment for the pirate to decide how to address her.

So when sense eventually kicked in, his mouth snapped close. “It’s Captain Jack Sparrow. The Captain Jack Sparrow.” In case she wasn’t clear on that. He clears his throat, the corner of his lip tugged in a half-smile, a glint of gold in his teeth. “And who, pray tell, are you, luv?”

Some sort of nobility, he figured. He’d seen the ridiculously white powder that nobles sometimes wore on their faces, the poofy wigs that sprouted atop their heads, the rouge on their cheeks, the dab of red on their lips.

But, at the same time, this went beyond that.

[reallynow]

"Oi yourself." Jolie huffs back, hackles raising immediately before she forces herself to chill out. He's a new tribute, he's confused and it's probably why he stinks as well. It's all a beautiful, rich tapestry that she will one day set on fire.

"Pleasure." She retorts with a wide, fake grin and a flash of perfect white teeth to contrast his mismatched grill. He's weird, but he's increasingly interesting. Very marketable, he has a look. Good god, that smell though.

"I'm sure they've given you the run down by now, right? Arenas? Fighting? Representing a District? You're, I'm guessing, here for District Eight." She spreads her hands to gesture at the suites. "I'm your Stylist." Now it's time for jazz hands and the inevitable look of confusion. "And before you open your trap- yes, you do need a Stylist. You needed a Stylist a century ago, by the looks of it." She's inviting herself to reach out and touch the feathery end of his goatee before pulling a face. Nasty.

[drinkupmehearties]

A rich tapestry that the pirate is inordinately proud and protective of -- it took awhile to collect all these very important trinkets and items, much less weave them into his hair. And the kohl around his eyes? That took some practice. At least.

As Jolie’s hand reaches out, the pirate eyes her and slowly leans backwards. She still manages to catch the tips of his goatee, and Jack’s hand instinctively slips up to smoothly nudge hers away. “Somewhat of it, aye.” Mostly a brief snippet that he’d wanted to immediately dismiss as pure lunacy, or a figment of his imagination brought on by some bad rum and a long night. The pirate edges himself away from Jolie, his attention partially returned to the counter and the intrigue it holds.

“A what?” As Jack speaks, he lifts the lid to a small ceramic container and -- yep, dips his finger in, then tastes whatever it is. A grimace later, and the pirate has moved on to the nearby toaster. “And what for, exactly?”

[reallynow]

It's.. a look. It can be worked with, improved upon even. Have him look less like the dollar bin at a charity store and more like a very rich hipster who pretends to dress like expensive trash for the irony. He might be weird, but he's full of angles that Jolie can use to make him unspeakably popular.

"That's gonna go." She says in a low, menacing voice. Her gaze is pointedly on his goatee, so she barely notices when her hand is nudged away. "You didn't listen to any of it, did you?" She's making this assumption because he's waltzing around like he has some sort of attention deficiency.

"A stylist. For styling." She crinkles her nose when he dips his dirty finger into the container, swiping it as he moves away from it. "Well, frankly, you look like trash. The fact is that they've brought you in here to ogle you, pay homage to you and watch you prance around knifing people for entertainment. They want you to look the part, too. And honey.." She trails off, casting a once over on him before hitting a switch, making a surface of the counter snap open so she can just toss the entire ceramic container in there. "You don't. But it's alright! I'll make you look good, I'll up talk you to people and then people will start celebrating your existence and giving you money and presents and useful shit in the Arena so you don't just up and die on them."

B. The Commons

[arrogantalloy]

As he approaches the bar, and the new man asks him about the hullabaloo. Tony looks around after making his order he looks around himself.

"Uh, afternoon crowd?" He gives a shrug. Because there really isn't anything that special happening today. "Well we just finished an arena. More explosively than normal, hasn't really changed the crowd though."

He sits down when his scotch is put down in front of him, giving the new man a look up and down before contemplating his glass for a long moment.

"I'm guessing you've barely been here a day, then?"

[drinkupmehearties]

Finished an Arena. The Peacekeepers’ words bounced back into his thoughts, the brief comment they'd made about how he’d most likely lose his life in an extremely painful and messy way, and Jack felt a drop in his stomach. It didn’t show on his face, however.

“Aye. Though long enough to know this ain't a dream.” A second gulp, and Jack finishes the rest of his drink with practiced ease. The bartender passes around to snatch his drink back and leaves refill it, and the pirate scrubs thumb and forefinger against his goatee. He casts a sidelong glance at the other man. “I’ve a hunch, then, that you’ve been here a touch longer than that?”

[arrogantalloy]

Tony is quiet momentarily as the hunch is offered, counting his months here twice just to make sure the numbers were right. Of course they were right, his math is never wrong.

"Two weeks off nine months. So what have you been told so far?"

Really Tony shouldn't feel like this kind of conversation is common place. While it's true everyone here will try and help new tributes, he also knows very well that it really never penetrates until you're actually in the arena feeling it's irritating realness.

[drinkupmehearties]

The length of time curls his lips into a grimace, and the pirate makes a low noise in his throat akin to egh. “More n’ nine months. Blimey, mate.” Jack accepts his newly filled glass from the bartender, then downs half of it. The burn of the booze feels like a tiny, familiar comfort, in stark opposition to the uncomfortably peculiar environment around him. “You’ve managed to survive that much, then, eh?” He wasn’t yet aware that in the Games, death wasn’t a permanent fixture. He cocked his head a tad, then, evaluating Tony. “That is, provided you aren’t -- “ He uses his drink to indicate the garish rabble around them, rum sloshing around inside the glass “ -- one of ‘em. You know.” It’d become quickly clear to him that there was a distinct difference between himself and some of the other people in this place -- namely the death sentence apparently looming over his head.

“Bits here and there; mostly that I’ve found meself taken hostage in a country called ‘Panem’, whatever or wherever that may happen to be, then essentially, and not-so-voluntarily, press-ganged into service within the ‘Hunger Games’, where I’ve been told I need to murder others or be killed in turn.” Another gulp of his drink, then Jack’s expression shifts, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn down. “Why’s it called that, at any rate? ‘Hunger Games’?” It was hopefully not what it sounded like.

[arrogantalloy]

"Survived? I've died in every arena so far. Well, considering there's only one winner per arena normally, most of us die in the arena." Tony takes a drink of his own before glancing at the other man. "They have the technology to bring us here from our worlds, and make death a less than permanent thing." Tony explains not only for the pirate to get a little more understand about the arenas, but it has the added bonus of proving he wasn't one of them.

"To be fair that isn't entirely accurate." Tony begins. "There's just as high a chance that none of the other tributes will get a chance to kill you. The arena's are pretty effective at that on their own." Tony's eyebrows knitted together when he was asked why it was called the Hunger Games. He actually had never looked into it because he thought it was unimportant.

"Probably something to do with the civil wars before we were brought here. Before they found out how to bring us here. They were using their own kids from outside the capitol. Didn't bring the back either. Something about doing it to remind everyone of what they lost before."

He gave a shake of his head before having more of his drink. Making it kind of obvious that he doesn't approve of that way of things, or at least showing he thinks it's a stupid idea.

B

[wizardplease]

The young man with the glass of something fizzy and yellow-orange in his hand pulls his weary-looking gaze from the no-doubt fascinating spot off in the middle distance that he'd been staring at, and blinks over to Jack. "Huh?" And then the question actually settles in Haruto's slightly tipsy brain, and he gives a vigorous nod. "Yeah... yeah, I do. No one's told you?" He gives a huff, then takes another sip of his drink. "No one tells anyone anything around here, unless you go flip some tables and get yourself hauled off...."

Maaaaaybe he's had enough for the day. Haruto seems to realize, after having said that, that he's being too grumpy and too mouthy, and he sighs. "Don't mind me. Never mind that...."

[drinkupmehearties]

He lifts his hands, leans closer, palms downwards towards the bar counter. “Aye, the bare bones basics, more or less.” Which, at first, he’d refused to believe. But it’d become more and more clear, to his great concern, that this was no rum-induced hallucination or otherwise.

And that his life was on the line in a horrible way.

“I’ve the gist of it, but not exactly the meat and bones, as it were.”

The other man’s apology is waved off with one hand. Jack is more than used to ornery crew member here or there, particularly after a long and arduous day at sea, and it doesn’t bother him much.

[wizardplease]

"The basics are that we can't go home and they're going to put us in an arena and watch us kill each other." Hey. That's what he wanted. Haruto washes down some of his bitterness with a long swig of his drink, then lets out a long sigh. He needs to try and be helpful, here. He needs to be the informative person that he sure as hell needed when he first popped into this place.

"...the rest is a little more complicated. I mean... you'd have to wonder why they want to grab a bunch of people and make them fight, right?" And having posed that question, he grins. Let's see what this guy thinks.

[drinkupmehearties]

The pirate downs his own drink, finishing off the rest of his glass, then eyes the other man. "Aye, I'd already gathered as much." Enough people had already been chomping at the bit to tell him how utterly dead he'd most likely be when the next Arena rolled around, all while others watched.

Fun times to be had by all, right?

"Sure enough one would, wouldn't one. But I've not the faintest inkling." Jack lifts his glass, absent-mindedly inspecting it. "Could be anything, really. Misplaced malice? A profuse, immeasurable, and crushing sense of ennui?" Once the bartender comes around, the pirate hands the glass over to him to replace. "Mayhaps pure sadism, for the plain sake and entertainment of it." His gaze rests back on the other man, questioning. "Do you know the point of it?"

[wizardplease]

"All good guesses..." Haruto nods soberly (though he's quite drunk already) and lets those guesses hang in the air for a moment or two more. "Did you know that before they started bringing us here, they'd send in children? From all over the country. Two from each district, a boy and a girl. Make them fight to the death. Have everyone here watch because it's fun. Have everyone there watch because... well. They need to be reminded of things." What things, exactly? He's omitting that for now, and draining the rest of his drink. Then setting the glass down and absently expecting a refill.

"If you think about it? We're really doing everyone a favor. They're nice enough to bring us back after we die. Usually. Before us? They weren't that lucky."

a

[aintyourdad]

"It heats up food," Joel says gruffly as he passes, cracking open the fridge to dig around in it for a beer. He could ask an avox to get him something else, something stronger, but he hates dealing with them. They're too creepy.

Another newcomer, clearly, and probably someone from one of those old timey places, he figures, the way he's prodding at the damn microwave.

[drinkupmehearties]

The pirate shoots a glance in the other man’s direction; he’s one of the first people Jack has seen since the clean-cut and stiff-shouldered Peacekeepers had manhandled him here from the room that he’d awoken in. But after a moment, the pirate’s gaze rests back to the microwave.

In the meanwhile, Joel’s words elicits a slightly amused smirk. “Good one. But you have it all wrong, mate. I think you’ll find that it is, in fact, merely a box.” He’s already pulled the handle to check inside, and besides the flameless light that had illuminated it -- similar to the ones that hung above him in this room -- Jack hadn’t found anything of value. “A noisy, metal, useless box with numbers.”

Clearly, fire was needed to cook food, and there was none in sight.

[aintyourdad]

Jesus Christ. This guy really is from the Stone Age or something. Vaguely annoyed, Joel opens up the fridge - the cold box - and pulls out a slice of pizza, not even caring that it's not his. Woops.

Then he waves the other man aside and plops it into the microwave, hitting the pizza button and watching it go.

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack steps to the side when Joel shoos him away, brow drawn downwards, and watches him place the food inside. The device beeps, the fake light switches on, and the food starts to slowly turn in circles. A couple seconds in and the pirate can make out the sounds of it actually cooking -- sizzling and popping and crackling.

Once it finishes, Jack pops open the box and the aroma of food drifts into the room, and steam visibly rises from the slice of pizza. "... by all what's holy and unholy, it does heat food up." One eyebrow lifts in bewilderment, and Jack turns to Joel. "What in all creation is this thing?"

[aintyourdad]

"It's called a microwave," he says with a shrug. "It uses electricity and, well... microwaves."

B

[a_minute_younger]

Gary sits next to Jack and almost immediately regrets it. That...is an interesting smell. On a day like this, where the Commons are particularly crowded with people excited to watch the Arena ending and get Tribute reactions, it's hard to tell who exactly is the culprit. Did a homeless person wander in here? Gary hasn't seen any homeless guys in the Capitol. But the guy who gets his attention a moment later certainly looks homeless. A homeless guy wouldn't know what's going on with mainstream media, would he? Neither would a new Tribute, granted, but Gary likes his idea better. It's an exciting change from the norm!

"Oh?" The teen spins on his bar stool with a wide, excited smile on his face. There's a tall can of energy drink in his hands and his nose is only a little crinkled. "Uh, yeah! We're watching Arena recaps." Then, without a second's thought given to it, "Are you a hobo?"

lmf A+ post

[drinkupmehearties]

That was 18th century hygiene for you.

Jack hadn't expected the excited reaction, prompting an eyebrow lift, and the question that follows furrows his brow completely. It’s not a familiar term for him.

"Eh? What are you on about?” Possibly it was some nonsense Capitol speak. “If you mean, by that, a -- “ He gestures, because what was the word again damn it all “ -- Tribute. Then aye.”

thank

[a_minute_younger]

Oh man, he even moves like a hobo. Definitely a hobo. Nothing can sway Gary's opinion now, not even a direct contradiction, such as the one Jack provides a moment later. Gary mouths an exaggerated 'oh' and gives him a wink.

"Ah--a Tribute. Yeah, I see." He is so on to you, homeless guy pretending to be a Tribute. Gary casually takes a swig of his fizzy drink. "The open bar is nice, huh? Television, press, free booze..."

[drinkupmehearties]

He's not entirely sure what to make of Gary with that, but it doesn't matter all too much to him if he believes Jack or not. Being a Tribute wasn't a badge of honor, as far as Jack was concerned, or something that he'd want to dwell in a conversation over. But as for the last question? The pirate has been thoroughly enjoying Capitol hospitality since he'd arrived.

"Sure as can be, lad. The drink is exceptional." He downs more of his rum, and flashes a grin. Then Jack swishes a hand towards one of the screens, indicating. "Television. Is that the name for those?"

[a_minute_younger]

Gary gives Jack a look like he's just asked where the pink elephants have run off to. He doesn't know...how does he not know what a TV is? Even some traveling hermit would know what a television is in this kind of place, Gary thinks. They're kind of unavoidable. But Gary isn't a terribly firm believer in the whole 'alternate universe' theory, either, so maybe that has something to do with his confusion here.

In the end he decides that Jack is just smashed off his ass and won't remember any of this in a few hours. Which means Gary can have some fun! "Yeah. It's an anagram for...some Capitol conspiracy or other. I read it in a paper once!"