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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“Me?” Even though he’s the only person in the room. It’s something of an irritating habit he has.

Another drink and then he stares at the floor for a moment. He’s definitely not okay and he imagines Jack isn’t either. But the other guy’s managing to look fine, so Firo just can’t be honest. And he’s a Martillo capo, for Pete’s sake, he can’t admit to weakness.

He holds his arms out, the very-unheartfelt smile back on his face. “I’m in one piece, aren’t I?”

He feels like he’s about to fall apart, but the Capitol’s people seem to cobble people back together about as well as the elixir does. Did?

“I’m not the one who needs worried about.”

Jack takes a swig from his own bottle, quietly watching Firo's reaction. The both of them have their pride, a personal image to maintain, and the Arena had quite thoroughly dinged both of them. That was clear enough.

Not that Jack, either, wanted to admit it.

He can tell the smile isn't anywhere near actually cheerful, and Firo's answer has his brow furrowed. "Who would be, then?"

"It's a really long story."

Part of him feels he should clam up there and change the subject, but the impulsive part of him is much bigger. He fiddles with the bottle in his hand, but even keeping his hands busy can't stop the words from spilling out. "There's somebody who kinda... needs me alive, I guess. Back home, if I'd died, she woulda' gone with me. No choice or anything, it's stuck like that. I'm not sure how it goes here..."

He leaves out the parts with the homunculi and the immortality because that's kind of confusing. And the Capitol definitely shouldn't know about the elixir; that could only lead to very bad things.

Not entirely the answer that Jack had expected. His head cants to the side a touch, studying Firo with obvious intrigue. It seemed like people back home would be the least of all their worries, now that they were trapped in this place.

"Ain't like we don't have the time for it, mate." It was probably more whether or not Firo had the inclination to delve further into what sounded like a tender area.

Jack takes another swig from his rum, the taste nicely bitter and strong on his tongue, and then tilts his head back. "That would be Ennis, aye? 'Stuck like that' how, exactly?"

Despite the subject matter, he reflexively smiles a bit. "Yeah, that's her."

"I mean, well, it's nothin' we could change. She was set up to be like that from the start, so..."

So Szilard could have total control of her and so any secrets of his that she had would die with both of them. It was all about his safety, with not a thought of her.

"...So there was nothin' we could do about it. I didn't really worry about it all that much until now, but if everything's still the same between us even with me bein' in a different place..."

Neither of them could actually die back home, so why worry? Szilard didn't have the knowledge and Firo didn't have faith in himself to mess with something so risky that might not even work.

But now he's supposedly actually died and been resurrected. He has no idea how that would work on her end.

From what Jack could glean from Firo's words, the two of them were bound together in some unforgiving and somewhat mystical manner. It's an odd and curious thing to him, so the pirate's first impulse is to ask a ton more questions about it. But since Firo appears to be much more worried about the consequences his death would have for Ennis than elaborating on the subject, Jack will do his best to practice patience. For the time being.

"Ah. Then you wonder if, because of your untimely death in the Arena, the effect would be much the same back home for her." A measured pause, as Jack searches for what to say exactly. It's definitely a conundrum to be in, and Firo has all the right to be concerned. "Well. As it chances, I'd wager none of us could know the answer to that question, truly. Not at present." Perhaps not even the Gamemakers, who had ripped all of them from home and stuck them in this accursed place.

Or maybe they did know, and it was another way to add insult to injury.

He briefly chugs from his rum then rests it against his leg, hand wrapped around the bottle's neck. "Main point is there ain't a thing you can do about it, aye? So best not to let it worry you, I'd say." He lifts the bottle to gesture at Firo. "And, as it I see it, you're alive an' breathing now. So perhaps the lass is similarly safe and unharmed back where you came from. Or perhaps, even, your presence here has changed the circumstances there."

Jack hits it on the nose and Firo nods. "Yeah, that's it." Ennis doesn't need any more pain in her life and she certainly doesn't need to die. Firo couldn't forgive himself if his actions played a part in killing her.

He takes a drink as he listens to Jack talk, relieved for the moment that the guy wasn't calling him delusional or telling him to suck it the hell up. "...You're right. I shouldn't think about it."

That was the best way to deal with things, right? He wished he could run back home and rush to her side, but that was impossible in his current situation. So, failing that, forgetting was the best thing to do. It was just so much harder with this, for some reason.

"That... sounds like it makes sense, so I'm gonna hope you're right about it." It'd be nice if Ennis could be fully independent; failing that, it'd just be nice for her to be alive.

"...Thanks."

He was frustratingly fuzzy on the details of how the Gamemakers had ripped them away from their worlds and into this one, and so that was about the best comfort -- or advice -- that Jack could offer him in this situation.

"No need for thanks, lad. There's the hope, and it's all you can rightly do."

He's about halfway done with his booze by this point, chugging for another few seconds before Jack furtively glances back to Firo. "Who is the lass, anyhow?" He'd mentioned that she was family in the past, but the pirate had his suspicions. "Sister? Mother? An inamorata of sorts? Past lover?"

Firo nods. He'll have to find a way to thank Jack without words, because he strongly feels there is a need for thanks. He's mulling it over as he takes another drink.

Those thoughts fly out the window--and the drink almost out of his mouth--at Jack's question. "N-no way!

He stares at the ground, moving his hands in circles as he gropes for an explanation. "She's just..." He has a lot of words for what Ennis is to him. And for what he wants her to be. It's hard to pick exactly what would describe their current relationship: they're friendly, they're close, and she's one of the most important people in the world to him.

"...We're roommates. Friends. That's... that's it."

It doesn't take a genius to sense that there's just a bit of disappointment in there.

All the while, Jack watches Firo's reaction unfold with a now half-perked smirk on his face. As heavy as their conversation had been so far, and as much as his Arena death haunted at the corners of his every thought, this faint touch of levity was more than welcome.

"Oh, aye. Friends. That's truly it, is it?" Easy to see that Firo wants, whether he'd like to openly admit it or not, for them to be more. He takes another drink from his bottle and lifts his eyebrows. "So tell me, why's that? Is the lass attached or otherwise spoken for -- or merely uninterested?"

"A-attached?" Aside from the peculiar bond she had to Szilard and now to Firo, Firo knows that Ennis hadn't been permitted any 'attachments' in her life, particularly not romantic ones.

He scratches his head, eyes bouncing around the room, looking everywhere but at his friend. "Well, uh, she doesn't really... know about any a' that stuff. The guy who..." How to even describe Szilard? "She was never allowed to really get to know people at all, really. So she's kinda... I guess she's kinda behind on all that. Doesn't even really know what it is, I mean."

And, god, he hopes she isn't uninterested.

Well, that helped to explain it. Kind of. Either way, poor Firo.

"Aha, naive and innocent to the ways o' the world." A considering pause. "The man's an overbearing and uptight father figure or somewhat of the type, it sounds?" That's what it seemed like, from what Jack could gather.

"Does the lass know how you feel?" Because honestly it was simple enough to see Firo held a generous amount of affection for the girl.

"...Yeah, that's basically it. He was a jackass." The last bit isn't entirely relevant; keeping Ennis ignorant to the ways of romance is hardly one of the worst things he did to her. Firo's just hard-pressed not to insult Szilard when he brings him up.

The look that comes over Firo's face suggests that Jack's just asked one of the most horrifying questions Firo can imagine. His eyes widen, his jaw drops, and he nearly lets go of his bottle. "N-no way! I'm not gonna just tell her! That's just... I mean..."

He raises and lowers and flutters his hands about helplessly as he casts for the words he needs. Talking to girls is hard and talking about talking to girls isn't much easier.

"...It'd be inappropriate."

"Sounds it like, from what I can tell." This whole situation sounded messy and complicated and weird, and so Jack fixes him with a sympathetic look.

"What, with the connection the two o' you share?"

"I... Yeah. Bad enough to say things like that to a girl in the first place." He shakes his head at the obviously appalling idea. "But it'd be even worse like this. I don't want her to feel pressure, you know?"

He'd want to destroy anyone who treated her that way, including himself. The corner of his mouth tugs to the side, turning from a frown to a grimace. "She's already too good to people."

Not that Ennis is all that innocent in affairs beyond the emotional and romantic, but she has a way of being so accommodating and polite that makes Firo concerned about her.

The first part immediately makes Jack furrow his brow, but the pirate doesn't comment on it yet. He takes a long swig of his rum, instead, letting Firo finish, then lowers the bottle to incline his head.

"Aye, that'd be understandable, with that particularly twisted situation the two o' you've got yourself caught up in. From what I've gathered, either way, she seems to be a remarkable young lass." And Firo sounded like a protective love-struck puppy, with the way that he talked about her. It's darling.

Jack swishes the bottle in his hand, though, and pauses a beat. "All the same, what's this about it being 'bad to say things like that to a girl in the first place'? Expressin' interest in a woman ain't anything to be ashamed about, lad." Which, coming from Jack, his version of 'expressing interest' would be more in the realm of the carnal variety. Having actual feelings for someone was a subject that he was more likely to skirt around.

"She is," he agrees with sudden confidence. Firo may not know a lot, but he knows that Ennis is a special person.

"You really think so..?" Firo tends to operate on the assumption that the general man who expresses his attraction to a woman is trash--an assumption grown from the weight of experience and nurtured by Firo's tendency to view his experience as absolute. But he's come to appreciate Jack's opinion and the man's a friend, so he doesn't dismiss the remark outright.

His shoulders slouch forward, like he's a clam trying to wiggle back into his shell. "It's just, you know... That's what creeps do."

Never mind the fact that a couple of his friends are married and happily so. Firo hasn't quite figured out how they approached their wives.

Oh boy. By his words and body language, Firo clearly has a few hang-ups about this whole subject. And while Jack had come across his fair share of people like that back home, being prude wasn't in his personality or vocabulary.

And it was was a pity to hear that Firo felt that way.

"Sure and certain of it." Jack's brow knits together. "What makes you think that, lad?"

He sighs, "'Cause you see it all the time."

His mouth thins just at the thought of it. Of course, he's not going into his personal experiences that willingly, but he's seen enough from the outside to argue his point, he feels.

"It just ain't right to treat somebody like that."

Firo doesn't realize that he's painting with an awfully wide brush here. Better to come down too harshly on men, he thinks, than let one of them get away with it.

His lifts both hands, mouth parted slightly with concern, brow still thoroughly furrowed. "To be clear; we're talking about merely lettin' a lass know you've interest in her, aye?" Because of all things to do to a woman, that was perhaps one of the most harmless in his mind.

Jack doesn't wait for an answer. "Firo, lad." He's nearly parental in his tone, now, though it's not entirely intentional on his part. Chalk it up to being a captain to a crew for years and having to lecture more than his fair share of grouchy, gruff, opinionated sailors.

"I don't know who's put that in your head, mate, or what manner of man has given you that impression, but that's nonsense. Bein' interested in someone and letting them know it, whether that'd be verbally or otherwise, isn't treating them like anything -- much less poorly or wrongfully, savvy?" Now navigating further past that, beyond the initial stages? Jack wasn't the best at it, if the collection of slaps to his face he'd acquired over the years were any indication.

"An' what about the lass herself?" Because it seemed like Firo was skipping over an important piece to the puzzle. "Would she be treatin' you poorly if she showed interest in you?"

Surprisingly, this isn't really something Firo's friends have ever tried to explain to him. He blinks at this astounding information. "You really think so..?"

"Wh-what?" In one way, the thought of Ennis showing interest in him is like a dream, both very pleasant and very far-fetched. He straightens in surprise, just staring at Jack for a moment and nearly forgetting the question.

"Sh-she's not like that! I-if it ever came to-to somethin' like that..." Which is very unlikely, he almost adds. "...she just wouldn't be like that. She's not the type to push somebody or be an ass about it."

"Wouldn't be speakin' the words it if I didn't."

Jack listens, taking another swig from his bottle. That Firo had this so firm in his head -- he has to wonder what manner of people or experiences have given him such a reaction to the whole subject.

"Aye there you go again, equatin' it with treating someone poorly. That's not always the case, lad, you have to realize that. It ain't wise to blanket every person, every interaction you have, in such a way." His fingers scratch down his goatee, searching for how exactly to explain this to him.

"There are men -- and women, to be fair -- that can be downright unpleasant about it, there's truth on it, to be certain. But that doesn't always mean showing your interest is invariably equivalent to being pushy or nasty about it. Elseways, how are two people to rightly get together?"

Firo opens his mouth, then closes it. The point Jack makes is a good one and it's not one that Firo hasn't grappled with himself. Didn't he spend a good amount of time trying to figure out how to hold Ennis's hand only to have his plans ruined by a tiny detail? Two years later, there was still no progress. If the world played by Firo's rules, it wouldn't be populated.

And he can't deny that he has seen loving couples out there.

He shrugs, conceding with a slow nod of his head. "...Yeah, all right, I dunno how that'd work." A pause. "I asked my friend about how he asked his wife and he wouldn't tell me."

Well. At least the agreement from Firo was some sort of progress on the subject.

"Depends on the situation, I'd say, and the people involved in it. Sometimes it's simple enough to both parties. Most times it's much more complicated."

The latter, of course, taking up a larger portion of Jack's experience with women. He'd seen his fair share of couples who'd seemingly been drawn together without much effort, and then managed to happily stay that way. He envied them, in a very distant way, with how simple and easy it looked for them. But it wasn't a feat Jack was able to accomplish for himself, or one he cared to. He couldn't see the value in opening up himself to that degree, or relinquishing his freedom.

Better to eventually run off and not follow through.

His mouth pulls at a small smile. "But either way, lad, bein' awful doesn't have to be part of it -- and thinking that's all there is to it ain't helpful."

Even a scrap of progress is progress, right? It's best not to expect too much from Firo in this area.

"Yeah, yeah, all right." He takes a swig of his drink. "It'd help if people proved me wrong once in a while... But I think I get what you're sayin'."

Whether he was going to actually apply it to anything was another matter, but he preferred to cross that bridge when he came to it. Which was hopefully never.

Still, he has to admit that he owes Jack more than a little for the words--as well as the fact that he didn't just laugh and make fun of him. "Um, thank you. For all a' that."

there's plenty of men to die

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about good to wrap up you think?

Sounds good to me!

perfect perfect