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.

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"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.

Her laugh and enthusiasm gains a bright grin from him, and Jack slides an arm around her shoulders so she can sway back and forth in rhythm with him.

"She was built in Roman time,
Held together with bits of twine!"

Éowyn has no idea what a Roman time might be, but she's willing to roll with it, slinging her arm around his shoulders in return as she belts out the chorus.

"Nothing in the galley -- nothing in the hold,
But the skipper's turned in with a bag of gold,

Jack pauses with each verse to let Eowyn sing her part, grinning and laughing heartily in the meanwhile, then loudly singing his own parts,

"Off Orford Ness she sprang a leak,
Hear her poor old timbers creak,

We pumped our way round Lowestoft Ness,
When the wind backed round to the west-sou'-west,

Into the Humber and up the town,
Pump you blighters—pump or drown!"

Éowyn laughs and sings her part, although half of what he's singing makes no sense to her. Between choruses, she drinks, and somehow by the time he's done singing, her glass is empty.

"A good song," she decides aloud, when he's finished, and smiles at him. "I like it."

Jack returns the smile, pleased, his expression cheery.

“I’m glad. Now you can say you’ve sung a proper sea chanty.”

"A claim few Rohirrim can make," she says gravely, and smiles, nudging his shoulder. "Is there a little more of this?" And she raises her empty glass a little.

"Blimey, shame on me. O' course there is." He slips the glass from her hand, grabbing his own in the meanwhile. The carafe clinks lightly against the glasses as Jack refills them both, and he takes a short sip of his own before returning Eowyn's to her.

"Have I told you by chance, luv, that you have quite a lovely singing voice."

She laughs, taking the glass. "You have not," she answers, with a smile. "And were you to, I should have to question your experience. I am scarcely the best singer in this or any other world." She's not a bad singer, she knows, but she grew up among a very musical people.

An amused smile pulls at his lips. "Ah, well, nevertheless. It's merely me own thoroughly unbiased opinion on the matter." He's slipped into her space, casually, extending an arm to place his palm beside her on the window. "So question away."

She laughs, sipping her drink, and glances sidelong at his hand, and how he's shifted into her space. "Unbiased," she repeats dryly, and raises one eyebrow. "And wholly unrelated to that look you're giving."

Jack dips his chin so his face is closer to hers, a humored smirk edging into his expression. "Of course, luv. Wholly and entirely unrelated." He angles a touch forward, then, to press a soft kiss to her lips.

Éowyn laughs, low in her throat, and lets him kiss her for a moment. It's a long enough moment to make her mind up: when she pulls away, it's only to set her drink aside so she can move more easily to straddle his lap, grabbing his wrist in one hand and his hair in the other to hold him steady for a far more aggressive kiss.

After all, she already had one crisis about whether this was right. She can't be bothered going through it all again, when she's pretty sure it'd come out the same either way.

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