Captain Jack Sparrow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drinkupmehearties) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-02-23 05:49 pm
drinkupmehearties) wrote in thecapitol2015-02-23 05:49 pm
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."
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"What, with the connection the two o' you share?"
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no 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."
no subject
"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."
about good to wrap up you think?
His gaze flits over to Firo at the gratitude, then the pirate focuses back to his rum bottle and waves a dismissive hand at him. "No need for it. Just speakin' the truth, is all."
Sounds good to me!
It's a start.
Firo smiles. "Still... I'm guessin' I owe you even more now." He raises his own bottle, both to take a drink and to indicate that he's grateful for the simple gesture of the visit and refreshments.
perfect perfect
"Fair enough."