thecapitol | there's plenty of men to die

Entry tags:

there's plenty of men to die

Who| Jack & OPEN + a closed thread to Firo
What| Dealing with his Arena death back at the Capitol
Where| District 8 Suites & Tribute Center
When| Late week 3
Warnings/Notes| Drinking, mention of gore, talk of death, etc.

It felt unnatural, unreal.

Despite nearly three weeks of hell -- starvation, insomnia, constantly struggling to stay alive in spite of it all -- the only mark that had been left on Jack was wholly mental. The memories lingered back in his thoughts, but no actual physical damage had stayed. Even the hunger that had gnawed at him hourly, for days on end, was completely gone.

As if it had all been a vivid fever dream that he'd merely awoken from.

Of course, overshadowing all of it was the last few minutes, the moment the gun had gone off. Beneath the high-pitched ringing in his ears, the impact had felt like someone had taken a bludgeon and forcefully slammed it into him, followed quickly by a searing, burning pain. Then the disbelief had followed, the surge of adrenaline that poured into his body in an attempt to keep him alive.

And then everything had plunged into utter darkness, folded into the silence of death.

(A. District 8 Suites)

But now Jack stood in the Suite's kitchen, as if nothing had happened.

Naturally, upon revival, the pirate had made a beeline for the nearest bottle of liquor and drowned himself into a drunken stupor back in his room the first day or so. But having now run out of his initial stock of booze, he was pushed to venture back out to restock.

He's in the kitchen, at present, rifling through the Suite's selection of liquor, culling whichever bottles look the best to him and setting these choices aside on the nearest counter. He's dressed in the fancy clothes Swann had had made for him, all silk and brocade and tight material, largely because his old clothes had failed to turn up after a couple days of 'cleaning' like she'd promised.

All the while, the pirate is casually singing a particularly brutal song to himself:

"Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum
The skipper lay with his nob in gore
Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore --
And the scullion he was stabbed times four
And there they lay, and the soggy skies
Dripped down in up-staring eyes --
In murk sunset and foul sunrise -- "

In a mutter that's just audible above the hum of the television in the nearby common room. He turns to place another bottle in his growing collection, but the movement is a bit too off-balanced and quick. His hand bumps against one of them -- it wobbles, briefly, then slips off the counter, smashing onto the floor with a loud shatter. A sharp curse from Jack hastily follows it.

(B. Training Center)

Sometime later, Jack can be found down in the Training Center. It isn't a place that one would usually find him, but as much as the liquor helped to dull down and alleviate it all, the chance to release any pent up energy felt almost as good. Besides, his time in the Arena had shown him where a few of his weaknesses lay.

He spends a portion of his time practicing his hand at constructing the rabbit snares and traps -- and most times failing -- and the rest of it with a knife, skillfully stabbing and gutting the dummies, or hurling the knives at them with unusually good aim. Anyone is free to notice him -- and if not, eventually Jack may pause to take a breather and glance to the nearest person with a weapon to watch with interest, then remark: "You've quite the knack for that."

(C. Closed to Firo)

Apparently not soon after Jack had been killed, Firo had followed suit in a horribly similar way.

Already aware of how rough everything could be after revival, and as partial thanks for the time the boy had stuck around him in the Arena, Jack grabs whatever food was easiest to snag from the fridge -- which happens to be a half-eaten box of cold pizza -- and a couple bottles hard liquor, then heads to Firo's room.

He leans his head towards the door, at first, listening for any sign of life, then raps his knuckles against the hard surface and calls out, "Firo, lad. Are you there. I've brought you something."

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His expression tightens at her words, that same cheerless bend to his mouth on his face.

"Ah, did you." As much as Jack can take most things in easy stride, this isn't one of those moments for him. Not so directly after he'd been starved, half frozen to death, attacked by monsters, then shot and killed. All for the Capitol's sake and in the name of entertainment.

So Jack slips the worn -- but unusually clean -- tricorne from his head and places it over his chest. "Amazing that I didn't, then, i'n'it. Perhaps that would've been truly preferable to suffering through the rest of it." He slides the hat back in place, taps a couple fingers to his temple, then turns back to the task at hand.

His hand brushes across a couple more bottles, indecisive, then the pirate finally snags another for his collection. "Hope the show was gratifying and flashy enough for the lot of you."

Despite the fact that Jolie hasn't known Jack much longer than a month, it's fairly easy for her to pick up on his change in demeanor. She's a meddler by nature, she notices these things and she doesn't like these things.

Even so, a bland look reaches her face when he heads right into the dramatics with his hat. Must be a pirate thing, of course it's a pirate thing. It's also annoying because she can't say precisely what she wants to say here. She opens her mouth, closes it, pauses to watch him tinker about and then decides to talk.

"If they brought you back, then it was." She points out, reaching a hand out to rest it on the crook of his arm. "I dunno if getting wasted is going to help much, uh, luv." Look at her, using your words. "Maybe next time you'll be more in your element or something. Like a beach or a ship or something." She says that, but the sentiment feels pretty hollow and even she knows that.

"I know it sucks. I'm sorry." That was probably not much better either.

He starts to cram the bottles of booze into the nearby pillowcase that sat, crumpled and empty, on the counter close by him. It's only when Jolie touches a hand to his arm that Jack finally pauses in his efforts, then angles his head in her direction. His last remark had been mostly derisive in nature, because even if the pirate had done more than his fair share of questionable things in his life, this entire situation -- the magnitude of the bloodlust, the way the Capitolites fawned over and celebrated all the brutality and death that occurred in the Arena, then treated the Tributes like toys to play with and dress up -- sickened him more than he'd initially realized.

With his last choice of booze in hand, Jack moves back to face Jolie. This time, the expression on his face has softened -- particularly after her attempt to imitate him, which almost involuntarily forces an amused, genuine half-smile onto his mouth. The twitch at the corner of his lips happens to be the only indication that it nearly made it to his face. "Who's to say it won't, eh? It's helped before. And, by my reckoning, really, it's a great deal better than the alternative." He'd already spent more days than he'd like to count sober in the Arena and that had been near torture, mentally and physically. So there was no reason to stop, in his mind, now that alcohol was plentiful and within easy reach once again.

She mentions beaches and ships, and the look on his face sobers further. The thought of it makes him feel that pang of longing that has plagued him since his arrival -- for the vast and endless sea, for his beloved Pearl. It made the room feel all the more suffocating and small and stifling.

"P'rhaps." Yeah. Maybe next time. Once this prolonged punishment had resumed its course.

He's silent for a long, stretching moment after the apology. He doesn't want to believe that it's actually sincere in any way, not coming from someone like her. Particularly because he's certain that she's never experienced the Arena firsthand. But he's seen -- and heard -- honest concern come from her, especially at the Crowning before all the Tributes had been shuffled off to the Arena to die.

So his next question, as stupid as it sounds coming out of his mouth, is quietly pensive. "Why do you take part in it."

There's a part of Jolie that feels profoundly vulnerable in the conversation, and it's kind of gross. She isn't really accustomed to caring what people think of her, but it's only recently that she's stepped out of her bubble enough to realise the monstrous perception Tributes probably have of her. It's well deserved, of course, and she can't tell anyone how to feel. It just brings about those middle school feelings of desperation, when you want so badly to fit in that the slightest terse word is enough to make you second guess yourself.

It's pathetic, really, and Jack is entitled to go about his business of bitterness when he's been put through the wringer. There's just something profoundly hard to take about being insincere when you know sincerity is what people are looking for.

So there he goes with the million dollar question and Jolie practically squirms. It's a split second of hesitation before she tilts her chin upward, trying to emphasise her conviction. "It's an honor." And she could say that nobody turns down a job like this, not if they want to avoid the disdain of the better part of the Capitol. She could say that, but the truth is that it hadn't occurred to her. She'd been nothing but proud and eager to make her first foray into the business of murder, and the length of time it had taken her to acknowledge the faults of it had been embarrassing.

She's still measuring her words when she continues, but she sounds a little more like herself. Wry and smug and avoiding the answer he really wants. "Because if I didn't do it, some no talent hack would be in my place talking to you." And things could be much, much worse than a pushy drag queen. Things could be neon latex, sequins, physical violence and abusive language. There isn't much pride in being slightly better than the worst, but Jolie takes pride in it when she can.

He hadn't expected any earth-shattering revelations from the question -- particularly since it'd just been a way for him to make a point to her, to in some way express all the horrible aggravation that had squeezed itself tight inside his chest the moment she'd entered the room -- and so Jolie's plainly straightforward answer comes as nowhere near a surprise to him. There's a litany of things that Jack could say in response to it, to her saying this vile situation is an actual honor to take part in, all scathing or angry or disdainful and all probably expected or well-tread territory for a Capitolite like her.

But instead Jack merely studies her face, burying deep any hint that her words still somehow stung him, resoundingly idiotic as that was, beneath a stone-faced and guarded expression.

And it's true. It could be worse.

He could've been placed in Jason's district.

Eventually the pirate lifts both hands in a useless gesture, fingers splayed then curled, as if he's about to say something important about the matter at hand. But whatever it is, it doesn't actually surface to his lips. Instead his hands lower, a touch, then his mouth closes.

Another beat, then the pirate slowly reaches forward to brush a few fingers softly against the side of her cheek. "Aye. Then fortunate for me it was, as I'm glad it's you that's here." Those fingers trace a line down beneath her jaw, and like nothing else the urge to forget about the pain and bloodshed and his own battered sense of vulnerability hits him. Somehow he's shifted closer into her space, and if she hasn't pulled away, Jack leans forward to press a kiss on her lips.

As it is, they're both mutually reeling from bitter words and bitter questions. There's not a hell of a lot Jolie can do other than deflect at this rate, and she can only hope the constant deflections don't make her seem either suspicious or vapid and cold. It warrants a bit of a pensive moment for her and she ducks her head a little, trying not to look guilty and wracking her brain for an appropriate segue into something less troublesome to talk about.

It looks like Jack has other ideas, though. She nearly reels away from the hand, she should reel away from the hand. Instead, she's very much stuck in place with her brows arched almost all the way into her wig. Even if she's frozen in place, the fingers against her jaw are enough to send a shiver down her spine. The vulnerability is just barely visible to her, and it's part of what keeps her locked in when Jack leans far too far into her personal space.

Despite all signs pointing toward it, the kiss startles her enough to make her exhale a muffled sound of surprise against Jack's lips. She raises a hand to his chest as if to push him off, but she doesn't manage to get that far before she betrays herself and leans in the slightest bit. Just enough for Jack to know it isn't unwanted but brief enough for him to know it's not possible.

Finally, she gives him a little push backward and puts a hand almost too daintily over her lips. For once, she's at a complete loss for words until she raises a finger at him and waggles it. "No no no. Not allowed." She probably could have handled that better.

The brief moment that she yields into his touch isn't lost on him, and his other hand had lifted to nearly settle on the other side of her face and pull her even closer. But it's too soon when she places that hand against his chest and pushes a space between them, and it causes Jack to abruptly halt in his venture, his other hand still raised. He initially moves as if to touch her again, to act on that desire, then stops.

Not allowed.

The subtle, expectant part of his lips presses into a partly dispirited, partly ruminative smile. Her words throw into sharp relief, once more, the quite clearly distinct lines of separation between them -- that Capitolites shouldn't deign to mingle with Tributes. That's to be expected, he supposed.

Amusement finally tempers the look on his face, covering any of the need that Jack had to continue further, and the smile on his face widens. "Aye, that's about the measure of it, i'n'it." The pillowcase has found its way back into his open hand, the bag heavy in his grasp, and the pirate lifts the one bottle that hadn't yet made it in there. "What do you say? I wager it's about time to see how much, supposedly, this doesn't help, eh?"

Among many things, Jolie is known for having a reputable temper and a reputable amount of boyfriends. She has nothing against Tributes, she's done worse with Tributes, but when they're in her District she can't help but feel like there's someone out there ready to turn it into a scandal.

And that's where the temper kicks in, because it's not like her to give a fuck what people think about her. Even as a Capitolite, her style and her manner has always been bold and abrasive. Nothing bothers her more than being a disappointing prude. Except for being a disappointing prude who looks down their nose at Tributes.

They have so much to offer, they have so much to learn from them. They're like fantasy, story-book characters come to life and of course it's physically painful how attractive they are. She's already knee deep in relationship problems, so she should let this die with his disappointment and move on with her life, but her hand is snapping out in front of her and grabbing the front of his shirt. She tugs him down sharply, moving in quickly to lock lips with him a second time. His question goes unanswered for the moment, because she's making the most of this kiss before she freaks out about someone walking in and ruining the moment. Again. Like she just did.

Jack had been near ready to angle past her, to dismiss this whole interaction and return to his Suite room as originally planned. He'd practically drowned himself in booze for the past few days as it was, and right now continuing straight back on that course sounded extremely appealing to him.

And so because of that, and since she'd made it pretty clear that this wouldn't happen anyways, the way she grabs him and the press of her mouth back against his comes as an abrupt surprise. So much so that initially the pirate only jerks a hand -- with the bottle -- upwards, away, and merely lets it all happen for a couple short beats.

But that confusion fizzles away quick, replaced with a raw hunger. He's smoothly freed himself of the bottle and bag, and the warm palm of one hand slides against the nape of her neck to pull in closer and deepen the kiss, mouth parting to allow a teasing graze of his tongue over her lips. The other hand moves to skim against her shoulder, then slides downwards towards her waist.

If the fact that he's practically marinated himself with booze wasn't obvious from watching him or smelling him, it's definitely apparent in the kiss. Jolie suspects that the alcohol levels in her blood are raising just being this close to him. That's dangerous, being drunk at work? Shameful. Probably as shameful as locking lips with one of the people you're employed to willfully undermine.

She's not sure how she gets herself into these situations, and it would be very easy to blame Jack, but she's pretty sure she has a problem here. The biggest problem is that this is good and Jack is good and it feels deeply satisfying after something of a harrowing month for everyone involved. The concern of someone walking in is present in her mind, but it makes her want to enjoy it while she can.

So she parts her lips, grip on his shirt loosening as she lets herself angle up against him. The fact that this is so incredibly risque is only making it all the more exhilarating and her hand moves upward to grip his arm almost anxiously. She makes it further this time, obviously, but a timer seems to go off somewhere in him and she's pushing at his arm again so she can pull her lips away. This time it's slower, less shoving and more of a demure action, it doesn't help that she's smirking.

"I had a feeling you were going to be trouble." She murmurs, not relying on cliche at all. Nope.

Edited 2015-04-03 02:08 (UTC)

He has ample reason to resent Jolie -- or, really, any of the Capitolites in this place. His time in the Arena was enough, all by itself, to justify dumping on her that outrage and anger that had wound its way into him since his arrival. The interactions he'd had with other Capitolites -- like the recent brush he'd had with Jason earlier, and the way Swann had made it her business to strip him, take away his personal items, and shove him into a shower -- were only more twists to what felt like an unjustified stab of a knife to the gut.

It could be that this truly was some sort of involuntary penance for all the terrible misdeeds, crimes, and not-so-heroic acts that Jack had committed in his life back home. It was hard not to think that way, even if it was shrouded in some hollow bullshit about entertainment and political scare-tactics and taking the bullet for people the pirate could not care less about. Even if they were children.

And somehow, it felt worse than his trip to the Locker, because at least back then he'd had the Pearl with him.

But all that didn't make this situation feel any less miserable to him.

Which added into the confusion, when it came to Jolie. She could be aggravating and pushy and condescending, of course, but Jack was still fond of her company. He's seen the faintest glimmers of humanity from her, and something about that drew him to her.

So Jack takes his own time to relish the close contact, to enjoy the way she leans into him and relents into the kiss. Once she eventually pulls away, Jolie will see that she's somehow elicited an actual half-smile from him, an upward press to the corner of his mouth that otherwise wouldn't be there given the mood that his death had put him in. The remark Jolie makes only serves to widen it and show off that glint of gold in his upper teeth.

His thumb moves to trace the line of her jaw, fingers on his other hand curled against her hip then slowly, reluctantly, both hands drop away.

"Naturally. What else could you expect."

One of the many things Jolie has begun to understand since siding more and more with Tributes is that resentment and anger are understandable. Painful, awkward and understandable. It doesn't pay to fight for affection or try to argue people out of their opinions, it's better to be ambivalent about it all and let them come around to you.

Sometimes, they come around too well. Sometimes, Jolie comes around too well too. It feels good to give in to impulses like that, it feels good to be real and passionate for once, but it's dangerous. She's feeling it more and more now that she's well and truly pulled away, but somehow the way he smiles makes the anxiety fade fast.

She tilts her chin upward when he traces his hand along her jaw, attempting something haughty and defiant when she feels anything but it.

"Dunno. Never met a pirate before." She says matter-of-factly, fishing for a nearby spoon to check the state of her lipstick before glancing around at him. "So other than being a sad sack, what are you doing?"

He represses the urge to grimace when she casually throws out the pirate word, but doesn't bother to argue the point; he's realized it doesn't mean much in Panem -- in fact, the Capitol seemed to essentially fawn over the idea of one being in their midst -- but the fleeting reaction is more instinctual and deeply ingrained in him than anything else.

As she preens, Jack merely rubs a thumb across his mouth to wipe away any faint trace of lipstick left from her. "I'n'it obvious? Gatherin' supplies to make for a better night." He reaches to twist open the nearby bottle, taking a hearty swig from it, then lifts it. "And makin' up for three weeks of lost time." Being drunk or buzzed was his preferred baseline for dealing with the world, and so it'd been total hell to be stuck between an approximation of that and total sobriety within the Arena.

His fingers curl tighter around the bottle's neck, and eventually Jack sidles back in closer to her personal space. "And I had a thought, luv. As it stands to be, I'd be all by me lonesome with all these drinks for meself and none to share it with. But if you were inclined for the company, and, o' course, your fair claim in drinks, there's room enough for two back in my suite." It's said with a flash of a grin.

It really doesn't mean much to Jolie, in the long run. Any negative connotations or risks behind being an out and open pirate are beyond her knowledge, primarily because it's near impossible to read up on anything about them that isn't horribly romanticized and cheesy. She read her way through quite a few of those articles, though.

"Is it really gonna be a better night if you spend it blacked out with your ass in the air? Because if you're into that thing, go for it, but there's a lot more you could be doing." She tries not to openly pout about it, but it's saddening to see someone lock themselves away when there's a whole world of better booze and food and dancing outside of the tower. It's so depressing, cooping yourself up in your room, she mulls that over before she can edge away from his sidling.

When she stops thinking and starts paying attention, she blinks her eyes almost comically to express her surprise. "I don't know if you're trying to get into my pants or if this is just a foreigner thing, but I already told you that's a terrible idea." She reaches a finger out, pressing the tip of his nose as she steps back. Life is hard, so hard. She doesn't want to turn down whatever that offer was, but wandering off to get horribly drunk in a Tribute's room is even less appropriate than kissing him in the kitchen.

Still, she isn't inclined to remove herself from him entirely. She should probably encourage him to do something other than drink his weight in booze while all alone in his room, so.. "Seeing as how your plan sounds stupid, are you hungry? I was gonna go out to eat. You can come if you don't have your heart set on being a slob."

Oh, Jack was certain there were plenty of different activities and distractions the Capitol could provide for him outside of the Tower. And sequestering himself away was not his usual method of enjoying himself, boatloads of booze in hand or not. But even the days that had passed by hadn't managed to even smudge the memory of the Arena, or his death, from his mind, and surrounding himself with the people responsible for it didn't sound like a much better time to him.

He'd rather get drunk alone, blackout, and forget it ever happened, truthfully. Because at least his visit to the Locker had been brief and a one-time-thing. He'd nearly been driven insane by that ordeal, all by itself, and that was something he'd actually been able to escape from. Eventually.

He gives her a shameless grin in return, as she steps away. "Can't fault a man for tryin', eh?" The offer to eat, however, is received with a visible touch of hesitation from him. He'd rather polish off a few more of these bottles, far away from the constant buzz of Arena recaps and excited babbling of Capitolites. But still.

"Nonsense. My plan sounds perfectly well and good." He gives her a mock affronted look, then eventually the corner of his mouth perks. "Suppose I could be hungry, though."

Vaguely, Jolie is able to comprehend that Jack might not want to go out. Somewhere in her, she can accept the idea that he might turn her down for the invitation. He seems set on his stupid, stupid plans and that's all the more reason to distract him. She's all for binge drinking, but only socially. She finds she doesn't much like the idea of hiding out and getting wasted all alone, even if she can imagine why he'd prefer to.

"I can fault a man for exactly that." She points out, arching a brow at him for his trouble. She's glad to see him play along, it's a good sign as well as a terrible one because it makes self-restraint all the more difficult to hold onto.

"It sounds depressing." She says frankly, but her expression brightens considerably when he gives what seems to be approval. Despite rebuffing him, her hand is reaching for his and squeezing it in an effort to be comforting. "What do you eat, anyway? Fish? I only ever see you drinking."

Depressing, sure, maybe Jack could silently accede to that point. But, in his mind, it was also a perfectly pleasant, valid, tried-and-true method of coping with this immensely aggravating situation. He wasn't happy in this place, in any case, or with his situation, so ultimately what did it matter.

He gives a roll of his eyes at her, either way, but it's in generally good humor. He also weathers the hand squeeze with some stiffness on his part, not quite liking the feeling of being so openly pitied like this.

"Ain't particularly choosy when it comes to food, honestly." Mostly because back home, Jack couldn't afford to be. Not when ship supplies had a tendency to sometimes spoil or run out before a journey was over. "So pick whatever you'd like."

"Are you sure you trust me?" She sounds sincerely skeptical, even if her body language indicates that she's teasing. She takes a few enthusiastic steps ahead, then turns back with a frown as she studies him. Trying to redress him won't win her any points, so it takes balling her hands into fists and huffing to stop herself from trying to do something quickly.

"Guess we'll figure it out as we go." She suggests, waiting for him to follow before she heads out of the suite and toward the elevators. "Do you like ice? Trees? Eating in the dark?" She inclines her head to the side, because clearly she's not good at the whole pick whatever you like thing.

"Should I not?" Despite being said with a straight face, his tone suggests he's not entirely serious.

And Jack has seen that I-want-to-dress-you-up-in-something-weird spark in her eyes in the past, and so it's a relief to see that she eventually dismisses the idea. He's already had to squeeze himself into this silk shirt and too-tight trousers that Swann had given him in lieu of his old clothes, and he's really not in the mood, at present, to fight Jolie about it.

He swaggers after her towards the elevators, and it takes a beat for him to catch on that she's throwing out restaurant locations. Ice sounded cold and eating in the dark didn't sound appealing. "How 'bout trees. Sounds like it could be lovely."

Edited (changed icon and wow i can't html) 2015-05-25 03:01 (UTC)

Tone aside, it earns him a fond look. Jolie then goes on to prove that she's completely trustworthy by not taking the time to force Jack into new clothing. This is the kind of thing that takes incredible personal strength. You know, that and not encouraging him to keep trying something inappropriate, which is still a thought in the back corners of her mind.

"Good choice. You'll love it, it's gorgeous." She shoots back, clasping her hands together excitedly until the elevator takes them to the lobby of the tower. This time, she doesn't wait for him to follow, she grabs him by the wrist and zips through the lobby toward the doors and onto the street. Now she's kind enough to let him go, peering around expectantly for a car to pull up.

"Is it weird, not catching boats everywhere?" She asks, watching a car pull up so the driver can step out and busy himself opening the doors for them.

Edited 2015-05-31 03:10 (UTC)

The corner of his mouth perks a touch. "I'm sure of it."

He has barely to react to the elevator doors opening before Jolie is tugging him out to the outside of the Tower and onto the sidewalk. The comment she makes, however, receives a weird look from him. " ... Pardon? Catching boats everywhere? How do you mean?"

The car that pulls up is given an equally strange look. He's seen them around -- loud, metallic contraptions zooming around with people inside of them -- but has never actually been in one before. When the driver steps out to open the door, Jack looks incredibly hesitant to get inside.

"You know, you don't have cars- or jets!. How else are you meant to get places? I thought that's what pirates did, sail around to get places." She seems briefly defensive, like she suspects he's fooling around with her.

"I read about it. A little bit, anyway. It's hard to find that stuff, but I did. So you can't fool me." She taps a finger against the side of her nose and steps past him to get in first. Once in, she watches him hesitate and wastes no time reaching out for his wrist to try drag him in. She's a good person, helping him combat his fears.

"Oh." That's what she'd meant. He hadn't been messing with her as much as puzzled by the turn of phrase. "Suppose you could say it is a bit odd to see, aye. And ... experience."

He doesn't have a chance to continue that thought -- or hesitate further about whether or not to get in -- as she's already reached forward to pull him into the car. Jack is unbalanced as it is, and with so much alcohol already humming through his veins, his entry into the car is nowhere near graceful.

He slumps in place next to her with an oomph, using a hand to steady himself against the seat so he doesn't end up squishing her instead. With that done his other hand lifts, then, and he continues. "Back home, the only ways to get around were with horses -- on their back, in saddle, or with carriages. And with boats, o' course. Or tall ships."

Jolie is grateful for the fact that he doesn't squish her, though she can't help laughing at the way he tumbles in with all the grace of a baby horse. She probably should have known he'd fall like that, but it surprises her all the same. With Jack in place, Jolie leans forward so as to direct the driver to their destination.

And now, with that aside, she settles back in her chair and considers his response with the air of someone who might actually be learning something. "Wow, you're from way back aren't you?" She keeps saying that, but it still impresses her. She can't help feeling bad for him and how homesick he probably is, but it also sounds crap. Who lives without cars? "What's the difference between a boat and a tall ship?"

As the car jumps forward, Jack instinctively clasps a hand against the handle of the door to keep himself from toppling again. But not soon after the pirate sinks fully against the seat, sprawling into it as he often does, and casts a glance over at Jolie with a soft perk to the corner of his mouth.

"It was 'bout 1750, last I knew." And he's horribly, horribly homesick, even if it doesn't always show. The technology that the Capitol held was incredibly impressive, beyond anything he could've ever imagined, but it was sometimes overwhelming and baffling and complicated. More often than, Jack found himself longing for the relative simplicity that he'd had back home -- of drifting off to sleep to the lull of the ocean against the hull of his beloved ship, listening to the sound of the waves and sometimes the patter of rainfall against wood, the next sunrise promising that they'd be that much closer to whatever destination he'd set out to pursue. He missed it.

"There's a fundamental difference in size between the two o' them. Boats are smaller, more meant to be used about the coast or in shallower waters. Ships are much larger, built to make long journeys and travel across deeper waters like the ocean." His hand is gesturing as he explains, an absent-minded movement. He absolutely loves talking about this subject, and he'll talk about it forever if she lets him. "For instance, the Pearl was a tall ship, a three-masted galleon."

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