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
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
It's probably his enthusiasm that keeps her interest hinged on him, her smile becoming placid as he sways his hands around and explains. "Someday, someone is gonna love me as much as you love that ship." She arches her brows at him in amusement, because it certainly isn't the first time she's heard about that boat. "What's so good about it, anyway? Is it just a really big ship? The biggest ship?" Because it being big clearly infers it's value, but Jolie can sort of understand the attachment to it. Maybe. She can see why he'd have such fond memories of something he loves back home, even if she's not entirely convinced that it isn't actually a codeword for a lover.
no subject
His mouth perks in a faint smile at her. "Aye, it's big. But it's also the fastest ship in the Caribbean." He swishes his hand around. "I wager, perhaps even the fastest ship in the whole world." It could outrun the Dutchman -- a ship that was, by all means, supernatural -- if the wind favored them. That was amazing enough, right?
His gaze turns distant, dark eyes focused on some faraway point. "But it ain't just a ship, you know? The Pearl, in its essence -- " He's clearly grasping at words to describe it to her, the love for his ship clear in his tone, " -- is freedom. Home. Life. Everything I'd ever want." And he'd paid a steep price for it, in the end.