thecapitol | so get up

Entry tags:

so get up

Who| Jack & Eowyn
What| Jack invites Eowyn to see the Little Pearl.
Where| Just outside the city, on the lake.
When| Backdated to post-Arena and pre-war stuff.
Warnings/Notes| Will add if needed.

He'd made it to the very last week of the Arena, battled storms and explosions and dragons and hideous beasts. And yet Jack had still fallen maddeningly short, downed by those terrifying pale creatures that hid within the bunker and screamed in unnervingly familiar voices that didn't rightly belong to them. Winning was his ticket out of the Games, he'd realized by now, and that'd been ripped away from him once again. He'd have another round of bloodbath to look forward to, and he was beyond frustrated and angry about it.

But this time, Jack didn't allow himself to wallow too much in self-pity. He'd drank himself silly the first night after he'd woken from his revival, of course, but then he'd settled into the usual routine of photoshoots and Sponsor meets and fittings. And soon after his return, too, he'd sent a note to Eowyn inviting her to come see the ship that Swann had given him, located on a lake just outside the city proper. At the least, being in her company would help keep his mind from his recent and brutal death.

When Eowyn arrives she'll see him leaning comfortably on the rail of the pier, waiting patient, shadowed by the ship that rests in the water near him. It's less than a quarter in size of the actual Pearl, but still painted black and made to look very much like the tall ship that'd been seen in the Arena. It tugs lightly at the anchor cable that dips down into the waves, seemingly just as eager to get out on the water as Jack is.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Éowyn smiles to see him, through her obvious weariness, and raises one hand in greeting. She's still dressed in her stable clothes, hay caught in the cuff and her hair braided back tightly.

She'd known to expect it, this time, but it still grieved her to have lost Brandybuck, and to have died trapped underground like a beast in a cage. That had been no way for a daughter of Eorl to die.

Still, she manages to smile, striding over to him with a little nod. "The note," she comments dryly, "was a mannered touch. You might simply have come to my door."

"I wagered manners might be appreciated, in a place that most times lacks it." Jack answers in turn, offering her a charming flash of a grin. Then he motions with a sweep of his arm for her take the gangplank first, moving to follow up after her. "Careful as you step, luv."

The main deck is pleasantly quiet besides the cool, gentle breeze of wind that sweeps across it and rustles cloth; the three men employed to help sail the ship have taken to the shrouds above them both, working to loosen the black canvas that hang overhead and get the ship underway. Jack glances up to check their progress then, satisfied, looks back to Eowyn.

"What do you think of her? She ain't as stalwart as the Pearl, o' course, far cry from it, but she's got a charm to her."

She moves carefully, almost comically so, unused to ground that moves beneath her feet. She has good balance, from horse-riding and fighting, but this is a new challenge, and while she's a competent swimmer, she doesn't much like the idea of taking a fully-dressed dip in a lake.

"I think..." she says, and trails off, considering. "I think you may be asking the wrong woman. I can scarcely judge ships, when this is the only boat I have ridden on. Yet she is passing fair, no doubt of it." She looks up at the black sails, and a crooked smile splits her face. "And well-suited to a corsair, I see."

He grins again in return, metal in his teeth flashing in the waning sunlight. "Aye, you could say she is -- " He waves a hand around, " -- or, really, as much as she can be in this place."

He doesn't quite want to mention how the Capitol had basically given him the equivalent of a toy boat -- pretty to look at, sure, and able to float and sail the lake, but ultimately without its teeth or claws. Not that that would be of any use here anyhow. "She was modeled off me own ship, includin' all the sails and such, but made to be much smaller. It was an odd sight when I first laid eyes on her, but I've gotten someways used to it."

The canvas finally unfurls above them, fluttering and catching a bit of the wind. As the men clamber down the rigging to take to their stations on deck, Jack indicates with a cant of his head towards the ship's helm. "I've a need to guide her out of the dock. Come this way."

Éowyn follows him obligingly, stumbling a little when the sails catch a side-wind and the ship cants. She finds her footing easily enough, though, and laughs low in her throat. "This is your vengeance for my finding fault with your balance on a horse, I take it?" She's joking, of course. Truth be told, she feels like she could come to enjoy this, although she'll always be a creature of solid ground and growing things at heart.

"How big is she, then?" she asks, as they head towards the helm. "Your own ship, I mean."

That brings a good-natured laugh from him, too, as Jack trails behind her to the helm. "You've figured me right out. I wager we're square now, eh?" Likewise, when she'd taken him out on Hafod, he'd enjoyed the ride more than he'd imagined he would.

He takes place at the ship's wheel, grasping the spokes and shifting the wheel a notch to the left. The prow of the ship edges further out towards open water, the hull dipping freely and eagerly into the cold water. "Much much bigger. She has three masts, instead of -- " He briefly swishes a hand, indicating, " -- the single mast this one has, three decks to her, and room enough to fit thirty-two twelve-pound cannons fore an' aft. For all that, though, big as she is, she's still tremendously fast." But strangely still not the typical choice for a pirate ship -- the one they were on now would've been more commonly used. "She used to be a merchant ship, before I had her. That was awhile back."

Jack adjusts the ship's direction, pausing to make sure they're on a good course, then glances to Eowyn with a tug of a smile to his mouth. "Would you care to try your hand at sailin' her for a bit?"

Éowyn considers only a moment, then nods. "If you would entrust its care to me," she says, half-joking, and looks over his shoulder at the wheel. "Though I fear you will have to coach me as if a child. For this is far less obvious steering than a horse."

The small smile turns into a pleased grin, and Jack steps away a pace and motions for her to take his place at the wheel. "I've all confidence in you, luv. And I'll be right here to coach an' jump in, should the need arise."

He may have every confidence in her, but Éowyn herself looks very dubious as she steps up to the wheel, mimicking his grip. She's surprised by the weight of it, and the way it tries to move under her hands. "How does it work?"

"The wheel's attached beneath -- " He's brought his hands into this, flattening one palm and demonstrating rope lines with a wiggle of his other fingers, " -- by way of pulleys and ropes and other such things, to the ship's rudder down in the water." His palm is sideways, now, idly mimicking a rudder as he speaks. "Moving it one way or the other turns the rudder, creatin' drag in the water." Then Jack reaches past her to one of the wheel's handles, pulling it towards the left. "Which, then, turns the ship whichever way you'd intended."

Éowyn listens, her forehead creasing a little as she tries to picture it. "I had a mind it would be more about the sails," she admits, and laughs shortly, cautiously turning the wheel right. She's a little surprised by how heavy it is, and finds it turning further under its own momentum than she'd intended.

"Ah, well. Her sails play their part, certainly, in movin' her about in the water. There ain't much steering that can be done without them." The ship gently noses starboard at her command, the canvas overhead snapping as the cloth catches a fuller wind and nudges the ship forward at a slightly faster pace.

A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "Either way, you're doin' well at it thus far, luv."

"Don't patronise me." But she smiles a little nonetheless. The breeze in her hair has the same unnaturally sweet scent as all the Capitol air, but it's a breeze nonetheless, and there's a kind of freedom in feeling even slightly in control of where she's going. Experimentally, she turns the ship a little further to starboard, watching the sails fill.

Yes, she can see why he loves this as he does. Even if the constantly-shifting deck is starting to make her a little queasy.

His mouth splits into a humored grin, hands lifted. "Wouldn't dream of it." The sun has begun to settle past the horizon by now, casting a deeper orange over the darkening waves and the Capitol boats that had decided to stick around, and Jack takes a moment to enjoy the sight.

Even if it isn't the vast sea that he's used to back home, it's still easy to revel in the feeling of a ship (no matter how small) beneath his feet and the splash of water against the hull, or the damp coolness in the breeze. It's freeing, after months spent caged up in the Tower and city with nothing but blood and death to look forward to.

"Whenever you've tired of it, we can hand the helmsman the wheel and I'll give you a tour of the rest of her."

Éowyn nods, but she doesn't move, still getting the feel of the ship. She isn't used to wide expanses of water, and even after months in the Capitol, it takes her breath away to see the sunset over the lake like this. She smiles faintly, a little distantly, and guides the ship in a wide, gentle curve across the water, further from shore.

By the time she steps away from the wheel, it's mostly dark, which is why she moves. She doesn't trust herself to navigate in such fickle light; even on a horse, she'd be careful, and she's been riding since before she could walk.

"Tour away."

He'd figured as much, the darker the sky had gotten; the burly helmsman, lingering around the rail of the lower deck, takes his signal from Jack and shuffles over to take the wheel from her. The other two crewmen, in the meanwhile, are engaged in trimming the sails, paying little heed to Jack and Eowyn.

The pirate briefly waves a hand in the air, motioning, leading her down the short steps onto the main deck. "She ain't really huge enough to get lost in, of course, but she's got a deck below this one." He moves to a cabin door built under the quarterdeck -- where they'd just been -- and swings it open, indicating with his hand. "And the captain's cabin here. Ladies first."

Éowyn ducks through the low door with a little smile, squinting in the darkness. "You live here?" she asks, looking back at him. "On your own ship, I mean. Or do you only work here, and sleep elsewhere?"

He follows in behind her, ducking to clear the doorframe as well. The small cabin is filled mostly with a wide, circular table made of polished wood, and a couple walls are decorated with ornate carvings. Usually there would've been an assortment of navigational instruments, empty bottles, charts, and maps scattered messily atop the table. But since Jack had none of that in Panem, or any need for them, really, there's instead a pile of books (some open, some closed) spread over its surface -- and a lone carafe that Jack meanders over to, using it to pour a couple glasses.

"Aye. Live, work, eat, and the like. The rest of the crew would've had their hammocks belowdeck, in what's called the berth deck, to sleep." Then he offers out one of the glasses, "Fancy a drink?"

She takes it without thinking, and sniffs it. "What is it?" she asks, looking up at him.

"Rum." No surprise there, of course. "With a bit o' cinnamon and nutmeg added into it. We'd call it bumbo, back home." He grins, offering to toast with his own glass. "Not quite mead, as it happens, but hopefully you'll enjoy it."

She smiles back, tapping her glass against his and taking a sip. It surprises her with its strength, making her cough, and she laughs a little. "It's strong! Good, but strong!"

Jack drains his own glass rather easily and quickly, long since accustomed to that welcome burn that the alcohol brings to the back of his throat. His lips part in another lighthearted grin, laughing a bit as well at her reaction. "Excellent, I'm glad you've a liking for it."

He moves over to fill his glass once more, lifting a finger. "Now, I think there was some business we had about you learning a sailor's song to sing with me, wasn't there. What do you think?"

She laughs, taking another sip of her own mead and leaning against the windowsill of the cabin. "By all means," she agrees, gesturing for him to continue.

He looks delighted, swaggering over to join her at the windowsill and downing some of his drink. "Wonderful. Let's see, a good one ... " Jack takes a moment to muse over the songs he knows, idly scratching at the scruff on his jaw with his free hand. Then he snaps his fingers. "Ah! I've got one."

He takes another swig, then lifts a hand in the air, fingers curled some. "Now, you'll take the chorus on this one. At the end of the verse, you'll sing -- " Jack clears his throat, bobs his hand a little to an imagined beat, then sings,

"And we're waitin' for the day,
Waitin' for the day,
Waitin' for the day,
That we get our pay!

-- Savvy?" Jack takes a beat for her to confirm, then polishes off the rest of his drink and sets it aside. With the same bouncy rhythm as the chorus, he starts on the first verse:

"The worst old brig that ever did weigh,
Sailed out of Harwich on a windy day,"

Then gestures for her to jump in.

"And we're waiting for the day,
Waiting for the day,
Waiting for the day,
That we get our pay!"

She laughs a little as she sings it, loud and clear, tapping out the beat lightly on her knee.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject