thecapitol | though you know so few words

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though you know so few words

Who| Jack Sparrow and OPEN
What| A fan decides the Capitol's resident pirate needs a fitting companion.
Where| District 8 Suites, the Central Commons, etc.
When| Sometime after the Binding plot.
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, probably drinking, parrot-related stuff, etc. It's Jack Sparrow.

Despite the mess of recent events, Jack had managed to keep himself out of trouble. He'd helped distribute supplies as discreetly as possible around the Capitol, and had finally taken up Swann's suggestion to do a TV special detailing a few harrowing (and some highly exaggerated) stories of his times at sea, with the intent of distracting a chunk of Panem. Nothing that could too concretely link him to the actions of the rebels, but enough to lend a bit of help.

The fall-out, thankfully, hadn't reached him too much, and Jack would rather keep it that way. He didn't know Initiate, or most of whom had been caught, and his role in it all had been overlooked. However, the people of Panem had watched his special. Which meant that one fan in particular had gotten the bright idea that, in order for Jack to be a totally proper pirate cliche, he needed to have a talking parrot too. One that spoke entirely in cheesy 'pirate phrases'.

It had arrived one evening in the middle of his suite room, a dazzlingly bright crimson and azure feathered macaw with a tiny black-and-white pirate hat strapped onto its head. The cage was huge and spacious for the bird, as well as ornate and expensive-looking. Taped on it was a note that read in fancy script: "Arrrr matey! I be enamoured of yer stories cap'n. Here's a mighty treasure for you xoxo"

On first sight, Jack had stared at the scene then immediately turned and left the room. Eventually, though, he'd returned to figure out what to do with the creature. Which clearly meant the parrot needed to be free, and perhaps needed to have a few curse words and colorful phrases added to its vocabulary.

(A. D8 Common Room)

Sometime later Jack can be found in the District 8 Commons, quietly humming to himself as he retrieves food from the fridge -- some fruit to snack on -- and sets it aside onto a nearby counter. He's busy picking out an accompanying drink, taking his time selecting what he's in the mood for, when there's a flash of color at the corner of his eye and a scratchy screech that sounds suspiciously like words: "Avast matey! Shiver me timbers!"

The pirate freezes, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, then he catches sight of the bird as it flies low into the kitchen area. It lands atop one of the counters near his food with a scrabble of its feet, flapping its wings and shuffling its feathers back into place, then fixes him with a belligerent stare. Sure, he'd given it free reign out of its cage since it'd shown up, but Jack had been otherwise careful to avoid the bird's presence as much as physically possible. Even if someone had given him it as a present, he didn't much care for the responsibility.

He waves both hands at it, lips curled with annoyance. "... Shoo. Go away." It doesn't pay any heed to his movements but instead, still glancing over in his direction every once in awhile, hobbles closer to his bowl of fruit and stretches its neck to peek at what's inside. Jack swishes his hands at it again, this time more vigorously, not wanting to get too close to that large, sharp beak that it has. "Leave it! Shoo, damn you!"

The feathers on its neck stand up in defiance, but the bird doesn't look like it will listen -- it's way more interested in the food. And surely enough, a few seconds later, the bowl will topple over onto the floor and loudly spill out its contents onto the ground. The bird puffs up to flap its wings, then makes the leap down to the floor to begin picking at some stray grapes.

"Oi! OI!" The words from Jack are a clipped shout, and the pirate moves to the mess with a grimace and his hands splayed. Anyone who happens into the room will be greeted with the sight, and most likely a couple more squawked phrases from the bird.

(B. Tribute Tower Central Commons.)

The bird needed to go.

It'd tried -- multiple times, as if it'd been trained specifically to do this -- to land on his shoulder, and each time the pirate had nimbly dodged its attempt. A few times it'd managed to scrape its claws against his arm, wings beating against Jack's face, but had mostly been unsuccessful in achieving what it wanted. So after awhile the parrot had taken to following him everywhere with small jumping steps -- around the suites, into the elevators, through the Tower's Central Commons. And that's where Jack had led it, this time, using its obsession to draw it out of the D8 Suites and into the bustling lobby area of the Commons.

He'd gotten it as far as the entrance leading outside, one hand propping a door open and the other wildly motioning for the bird to leave, but it doesn't budge. "Look, bird, freedom! Escape!" And then, muttered sorely beneath his breath, "Come on, you brassy, overly ornate chicken."

Instead of taking to its new freedom, the bird hungrily eyes his shoulder and bobs its head, ignoring the trickle of people trying to nudge past this stand-off and to the exit. Jack isn't paying much attention to who's trying to get past, either, and stretches his boot out to try and gently push at the bird, encouraging it to get outside.

It hops back a few steps back with its wings flared, cocking its head sideways to look up at him, then cracks open its beak to warn him that it's about ready to bite. Then its mouth works, and it calls out, "Cut your -- heart out. You slimee -- squawk -- cur. Sod you!" It wouldn't be too hard to guess where it'd learned that.

(C. Any other prompts you want to do -- out and about, with or without the bird!)

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"Yes, a name! All pets need names, how else will you call it?"

As it eats, Swann reaches out delicately, extending one finger to tentatively stroke the bird's neck and head, ready to yank her arm back if it's jumpy or snaps at her. "Aw, yes you are, baby, aren't you? What a pretty bird, a good boy."

She peers back up at Jack from her crouched position. "There are lots of names for birds, parrots especially! All sorts of pirate-y things, really."

"That's easy enough, it already has a name. Call it bird." He swishes a hand at it. "Or just shout and point in its general direction. Seems to have worked thus far." This is clearly a simple solution, no need to bring actual names into the mix.

As Swann reaches out, the parrot freezes in chewing on the grape and fixes its gaze onto her, the feathers on its neck smoothing down as it tenses. However, Swann's baby-talking appears to eventually win it over, and when her fingers make contact with its head the bird continues on eating its grape, allowing her to pet it as it murmurs to itself.

"'Pirate-y things'? Like what?"

"Well that's just ridiculous, Jack, it needs a name. Otherwise, it would be like if I just called you pirate or Tribute, instead of your name!"

She smiles and moves a little closer to the bird so that she can properly pet and scratch at its head, under the feathers where they've fluffed up. "Yes yes yes, sweet boy, pretty bird. What should we name you, huh?"

Actually sitting on the floor now, Swann folds her legs under her skirt, which settles around her in a near-perfect circle. "Uh-huh. There's always stuff like Polly, and Bones, and Roger, and Rogue. Treasure, maybe, if it's a girl, although I guess we don't have much of a way of knowing. Coconut. Timbers. Um, I think I remember reading a story when I was a kid, about a pirate who had a parrot named Pepe. Oh, or Crackers! Like 'polly want a cracker', you know?"

Pausing, she coos at the bird again. "Do you like any of those, baby? Do you like any of those names?"

She's got a point, of course, but Jack huffily purses his mouth nonetheless. The bird, on the other hand, slowly blinks both eyes, absolutely reveling in the affection that Swann is giving it, cautiously inching closer to her touch.

"Aye, wouldn't much know how to tell whether or not the bird's male or female. And I've not heard the phrase." It's usage had been a bit past his own time. Jack wags at a hand at them both. "If you're intent on givin' it a name, then, feel free to pick one for it. Else I'll keep calling it bird."

The parrot waddles further into Swann's reach, wings tucked neatly against its back, leaning its head down to start nibbling on the fabric and threads of her skirt.

Her nails allow her to reach under the feathers and massage the bird's skin, and since Swann can afford to replace all her clothing at the drop of a hat, she doesn't mind it chewing at her skirt, though she does extend her arm a bit in offer for it to come up instead of yanking apart her dress.

"You have to call it by its name then!" she tells Jack, and looks at the parrot as if it might speak to her and give an opinion on its name. "I think you're a Crackers. You seem like a Crackers. Do you like that, pretty bird? Do you like the name Crackers?"

It's a good thing she does, as the bird's beak is sharp enough to easily tear through the fabric and makes sizable holes. The movement she makes causes the parrot's attention to snap over to Swann and the offered arm. It excitedly shuffles over, extending a foot out to grasp at her, and Jack involuntarily starts forward, hands splayed, as if to jump in to stop it.

"Egh! Careful -- !" But it's too late, because the bird swiftly hoists itself onto Swann's arm and begins to climb up towards her shoulder. Its claws are trimmed, but she might still feel the sharp pressure and weight of its body as it digs into her skin with each step. Seeing that it hadn't outright attacked her, Jack's hands curl and drop back to his sides.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but the hesitation from him is more teasing than it is any way serious. "Aye. Sure. If that's what you'd want."

The bird begins to chatter back at her, squeezing in a few whistles between scratchy, "Pretty bird, avast -- pretty bird!" Then, louder, "Mangy sod."

If Swann's bothered by the holes in her skirt, she doesn't show it. She also doesn't react to the bird climbing up her arm, because if she can handle a small tiger nipping at her and pouncing on her, she can handle a parrot.

"Well, then that's his name. Crackers, Crackers, pretty bird, yes..." she says, turning her head to look at her new friend. Until he says something rude and she frowns a bit.

"That's not polite, Crackers. Don't say that."

"Crackers it is, then." He's not committed to naming the bird himself, one way or the other, so there's no argument from him.

Successful in its journey up to her shoulder, the parrot smooths its feathers down and nestles comfortably into place. As the two of them talk, it lifts one leg -- balancing -- and lazily scratches at its neck and head, ignoring Swann's gentle chiding.

"Bloody thing hasn't stopped chattering since it arrived. Don't know who taught the words it knows." Surely not him. "It came about already speakin' all these phrases and such."

"Really," Swann says, disbelief apparent on her face, and crosses her arms over her chest. The parrot on her shoulder only adds to the strange tableau. She leans against the counter and takes a strawberry from the fruit bowl, which she offers up to Crackers.

"Because he sounds just like you. You don't have to teach them, they can pick it up just from listening. Like children."

The bird happily takes the strawberry from her, holding it up with one claw and quickly nibbling on the piece of fruit as it watches him.

Jack lifts both his shoulders, like her disbelief isn't warranted.

"Ain't a lie, I promise. Never said 'avast' once in me entire life, or 'shiver me timbers', so it must've gotten those bits elsewhere." He's not mentioning the other words the bird knows, however.

"Uh-huh. And the insults and swearing? The piratey things are cute, did Rantipo Brightbee send Crackers to you? That sounds like the kind of thing he'd do."

She runs her finger along Crackers's chest as she watches Jack. "You have to write a thank you note, you know. And stop teaching your bird to swear."

Oh damn, totally called out. He lifts his chin, lips parted in a slight you-got-me smile. The parrot, in the meanwhile, finishes off the strawberry and drops what remains of it to fluff up at Swann's touch.

"... Eh? Rantipo Bright-a-who?" Beyond Snow and the Capitolites that lurked around the Tower, Jack had only a faint idea of who was who within the Capitol world.

He shrugs lightly. "But I haven't an idea, really. The note attached to it was signed -- " Air quotes now, " -- 'from a fan'. And what for?" He doesn't clarify which last bit the question was meant for, as it could be applied to either.

"Rantipo Brightbee, he's one of your Sponsors. He runs the resorts in District Four, he loves the ocean and sailing, so he's very fond of you. Sponsors a few in Four, but I don't think he's too keen on the actual Tributes they have right now. You're one of his favorites."

Swann has ties to the resorts in Four, ties she hates, but it made it easy to cash in on Jack's behalf.

Idly stroking the bird, she cocks her head, thinking. "Hm. Well, I'll figure it out. You can write a thank you note, and I'll make sure they get it. You should thank them because it's good manners, Jack. And it'll make them feel closer to you, which will make them give you more money. Make sense?"

"Good manners would be not dumping this fiend of a bird onto me lap without askin' if I'd firstly want it." He mutters the words, then his gaze darts over to her at the question. "Sure enough, luv, that makes perfect sense. I'll write it up soon as I can."

Probably. Most likely. As much as he's not exactly thankful for this gift, she has a good point about currying more favor with whoever had sent it to him.

Jack considers, then, scratching an index finger against his jaw. "Brightbee. Would that happen to be the bloke with the marina and boats?" If so, Jack is much more inclined to write the letter. As it stands, it's easier to give half-empty promises that may or may not be forgotten later on.

"Yes, actually. He is. There's the big lake here, and of course he has ships out on the coast, in Four." Swann gives Jack her best Serious Look, which is undermined by the fact that she has a parrot on her shoulder. A parrot named Crackers.

She takes a grape for herself before handing another to the bird, and points at Jack. "I mean it. You need to write a thank you note. Before you go back into the Arena. It doesn't have to be anything long or deep, just a little note. And maybe... I don't know, pirate it up some. Make him happy."

It does lessen the effect somewhat. Particularly when the bird lifts one leg, balancing, and snatches a thread of hair from Swann and lightly nibbles on it, making Jack refrain from giving an amused smile. However, the bird stops preening Swann when food is offered to him, quickly snatching the grape from her fingers and tearing the piece of fruit apart with his beak.

"Any idea of when the next one is due to start, by a chance?" He can be hopeful, but from what Jack had gathered, the last time had been a complete surprise to most everyone. His brow knits. "And how would I go about 'pirating it up', exactly?"

Again, Swann doesn't seem to notice the parrot's antics -- it's entirely possible that she's simply too used to her own pets to really care. It could also be that she just prefers animals to people, and doesn't mind having her hair chewed.

"You know, just throw in a lot of pirate stuff. Arrghhh and walk the plank and whatever else pirates say. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum? That's a thing, I think. If you ever meet him in person, just be... I don't know, swashbuckling, I guess. Play it all up, like an actor." She shrugs and shakes her head. "And no, I don't know yet. They only ever let us know about a day in advance, for the record, and we're not supposed to tell you guys. But know that if I ever tell you to get some sleep, it's probably because you're really about to need it."

With the grape having been thoroughly murdered via beak, Crackers continues idly nibbling at Swann's hair as the two of them speak.

"Alright. That's simple an' easy enough to do." A smirk twitches at his mouth. He's done it in the past -- acting, but in other capacities -- so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for him to play up the pirate angle for a Sponsor. Particularly if he got a boat out of the whole thing.

Then Jack clasps his palms together, as if in thanks. "I hadn't realized that. But I'll be sure to listen to you when you do, luv." Which didn't mean he'd abstain from drinking the night before. In fact, it'd most likely tempt him to drink more.

"Just always be patient with your Sponsors, if and when you meet them." Swann gently pushes Crackers from her hair when he pulls a little too hard, and passes him up another grape. She looks pensive now, and is clearly trying to be delicate. "They can be... well, I hesitate to say annoying, but... okay, let me put it this way, as someone who used to actually be on TV and have fans the same way you guys do. For a lot of people in this city, it's a lot easier to live their lives through other people's stories being told, instead of making their own. That's why there's always talk about romance and fights and stuff, and even though it's not the reality, what they see on TV and in magazines is what they believe. It's who they want you to be. And it's a lot easier to just be that than it is to try and convince them to like the real you. Let them swoon, let them fawn, let them have their fantasy. It's better for everyone, but especially for you. Tributes. All of you."

Her brow is creased, because she understands why that's contrary to so many of them, why they can't just give up and play the part for a few hours without complaint, and she understands because she's been there and done that, is still doing it in her everyday life, to some degree. She understands how hard and unpleasant it can be. She also understands that Jack is probably the only District 8 Tribute who will actually listen to her.

"And if I tell you not to drink, don't drink. Gamemakers don't care if you're hungover, it just makes you an easier target for them to have fun with."

He has encountered the occasional rabid fan down in the lobby, or when he'd ventured outside of the Tower. And while Jack didn't always appreciate being badgered about how so super cool it was to see that huge lake monster nearly crush him to death, or hear about how it's sad that his death wasn't more entertaining or exciting and maybe next time it'll be more brutal and interesting to watch -- the attention most Capitolites showered on him wasn't completely horrendous.

In his own way, Jack reveled in the constant admiration and starry-eyed looks that his mere presence received. Whether he'd like to admit it or not, he absolutely thrived on approval like that.

And so, Swann is basically preaching to the choir. He'd rather people judge him by his lavish, colorful tales from back home, or by the outrageous and fanciful fantasies they constructed about his past or the way he'd lived life. Not by his failures. Or weaknesses.

He inclines his chin a touch. "I can be whatever the lot of them want me to be, if that's what it takes to be kept alive." Honestly, it was a game that Jack was well-versed in playing, even back home. Be the person that people thought him to be, even if it wasn't entirely the truth. But while being well-loved by the masses wasn't a guarantee that he'd come out on top -- if Brock's disappearance was any indication of that, from what he'd heard about the man's fame -- it was a better shot than pretending it'd do any good to struggle against it.

The last remark tempers the expression on his face, however. "That ain't a guarantee I can exactly make, luv. What's it matter, either way? The Gamemakers'll take it upon themselves to torment me whether I've had a few drinks or not." Drinking was a vice that Jack clung to viciously and without remorse, and it'd be a monumental uphill battle if Swann thought she'd be able to stop him even for a night.

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though you know so few words

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