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

[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."

[drinkupmehearties]

That means next to nothing to the pirate, and his brow furrows at the decidedly bare-bones and casual explanation -- obviously this must be some sort of commonplace knowledge here.

"Ah! Right then. Electricity and microwaves, aye, I knew that." Yep. He'll just mark it down as somewhere within the realm of sorcery or voodooism or witchcraft, because that made the most sense.

"By the by, you aren't one of those Capitol blokes, are you?" The other man didn't entirely look the part, but who knew.

[aintyourdad]

Joel has to laugh at that, a mirthless sort of sound, and shakes his head. "Nah. Most of the people here aren't. You know 'em when you see 'em, mostly.

"Name's Joel."

[drinkupmehearties]

" ... Figured as not." The corner of his lip twitches in a partial smile. "They do have a distinct ... look about them, don't they?" It reminds him, in a way, of the nobility back home. Gaudy and snobby and overly powdered to the point of absurdity.

"Cap'n Jack Sparrow. It's a pleasure, mate." He leans his weight against the kitchen counter. "Have you been here awhile?"

[aintyourdad]

"That they do," Joel mutters, almost smiling at the assessment. They look nothing like anyone where he comes from - but that's not shocking, given that his world went through an apocalypse.

"Way too long," he admits. "Three, four arenas now? They start to all... muddle together after a while."

[drinkupmehearties]

He's heard already that most Arenas end up with one Victor. He's also heard that death wasn't as permanent as it should be. So eventually a distant scowl settles on his face when Joel mentions the amount of Arenas that he's been through.

"How often do these loathsome affairs take place?"

[aintyourdad]

Joel shrugs. "It varies. There's usually at least a few weeks between them, though. Last one was short, it was more dangerous than usual so everyone died a lot faster, but usually they last five or six weeks."

[drinkupmehearties]

"Good fortune," said with a helpful dose of sarcasm. This all sounded less than wonderful to him.

"What made it so much more dangerous?"

[aintyourdad]

"It was all closed in. And there were these..." Joel makes a face. "Monsters, I guess. Nasty things. Then a couple people managed to blow the whole thing up just a few weeks in."

[drinkupmehearties]

The pirate stares off, away from Joel, for a long moment. What's he got himself into.

"Blimey." He glances back to the other man. "Is there no way to avoid the Arenas?"

[aintyourdad]

"'Course not, that's why we're here. So they can watch us die horribly every week on national TV," Joel points out with a snort.

[drinkupmehearties]

A grimace down pulls at his mouth.

"... And the lot of them are all good and fine with that?" His hand gestures. "The Capitol ones, that is." He's witnessed cruelty in the past. But this was absurd.

[aintyourdad]

"If they're not, they keep it to themselves," Joel says, glancing around. "You don't cross the people in charge of this place."

[drinkupmehearties]

He's already sensed a bit of the tension that seems to seep just under the surface of this place. Good to know it wasn't merely his imagination.

"I'd assume some sort of unsightly or otherwise unpleasant punishment would occur if they didn't keep it to themselves."

[aintyourdad]

"They like to brand our foreheads when we misbehave," Joel says dryly, in agreement. "Among other things."

[drinkupmehearties]

"Aha." Yep. About what Jack could expect. He absent-mindedly rubs at the wrist of his hand, upper-lip plucked upwards in thought. Better, maybe, then, to deflect the subject elsewhere.

"Either way, I've heard talk that not all the Tributes hail from the same 'worlds'. Is there truth to that?"

[aintyourdad]

"Yeah," Joel says, happy to change the subject. He doesn't want to get into trouble, himself. "There are aliens from outer space here. Trolls, dragons, people with magic and super powers."

He waves a hand vaguely. "Hard to believe it until they're standing right in front of you."

[drinkupmehearties]

Most of that doesn't appear to surprise him all too much; finding one's self in the enormous maw of a once-thought-to-be-mythical beastie could do that to a person.

The mention of aliens, however, makes him abruptly lean forward off the counter. "Pardon, from where?"

Supernatural powers, walking skeletons, deities jammed into human form -- all of it had become pretty standard to him back home. But the scope of his world had been always limited to Earth.

[aintyourdad]

"Outer space? Other planets?" Joel waves his hand up - at the ceiling. "You know. The stars."

[drinkupmehearties]

A lengthy pause as Jack takes a second to digest that.

"Suppose that shouldn't surprise me. After everything."

[aintyourdad]

"It's one of the least weird things about this place," Joel admits with a shake of his head. "After the bloodbath arenas and genetically modified monsters created just for entertainment value and constantly watching our every move. Why wouldn't there be aliens from outer space?"