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paixaorpg2011-10-16 07:12 pm
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Entry tags:
Are you worth your weight in gold? [active]
Character(s): Jack! Open to anyone~
Content: Jack arrives in a city with a name that means Passion. How can he pass that up?
Setting: Vanaheim gate area
Time: Afternoon, week 35
Warnings: None for now.
“Just to be clear!” a particular pirate captain states loudly, “whatever this is, it is not my fault, Mr. G -” he swung around, a finger poised in the air, ready to point, but there was no Gibbs to point at and Captain Jack Sparrow frowns. He drops his hand to his side, peering suspiciously around him, but there was nowhere for the stout pirate to hide behind. His eyes dart to the gates, curiosity waring with his sensibilities, but then, what was he supposed to do? Spit and spin in circles or some other strange ritual of Gibbs' in order to get him out of whatever situation dumped itself over him?
Because this was not his fault. He was on a beach! With his Pearl-in-a-bottle in hand (which to his greatest of great displeasures, he was currently lacking). There was very little Jack could have done to trigger this delusion -
Ah. No, he knew exactly what this was! He was lacking rum. It was making him delirious, hallucinations sprouting out from the sand that clearly must still be under his feet; or, under his back if he had fallen unconscious from the sheer lack of rum. He pats himself down, trying to uncover a flask, but to his irritation he was also lacking in that department.
Instead, his hand runs over his compass, and with a grin he slips it into his palm and flips it open. Rum! He wanted rum!
The needle spins in countless circles. Jack's earlier frown returns, deepening immensely. He shakes at the compass, but the needle doesn't settle. “Rotten -”
Cold washes as panic sinks in. “No, no, no.” He closes the compass and bolts to the desk by the gate. “Lass, darlin' lass, please tell ol' Jack that this quaint little place isn't the Locker!” Because the last time his compass was this erratic -
She tilts her head at him. “This is Paixao.”
“Pai -” he starts, then stops, mouthing the word over and over several times, changing the pronunciation, until it sinks in fully. It only made him look more confused, and he says, quietly, “Passion?”
“Your name, sir?”
He's still deep in thought, an elbow on the counter top, his hand drawing up to tap fingers beneath his lip, that he mumbles without his normal inflection, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”
“Here you go, sir.”
She hands him the journal. He just stares at it, bewildered, but he was never one to deny something that was free and so he takes it, brushing a finger over the surface.
“Passion, aye?” he says again. The grin returns, and he flashes her his teeth. “Who could pass up a city with that kind of name?” And he swaggers inside – right into a snowbank, causing him to trip, and sink into several feet of snow.
“MmmMMPH!”
Content: Jack arrives in a city with a name that means Passion. How can he pass that up?
Setting: Vanaheim gate area
Time: Afternoon, week 35
Warnings: None for now.
“Just to be clear!” a particular pirate captain states loudly, “whatever this is, it is not my fault, Mr. G -” he swung around, a finger poised in the air, ready to point, but there was no Gibbs to point at and Captain Jack Sparrow frowns. He drops his hand to his side, peering suspiciously around him, but there was nowhere for the stout pirate to hide behind. His eyes dart to the gates, curiosity waring with his sensibilities, but then, what was he supposed to do? Spit and spin in circles or some other strange ritual of Gibbs' in order to get him out of whatever situation dumped itself over him?
Because this was not his fault. He was on a beach! With his Pearl-in-a-bottle in hand (which to his greatest of great displeasures, he was currently lacking). There was very little Jack could have done to trigger this delusion -
Ah. No, he knew exactly what this was! He was lacking rum. It was making him delirious, hallucinations sprouting out from the sand that clearly must still be under his feet; or, under his back if he had fallen unconscious from the sheer lack of rum. He pats himself down, trying to uncover a flask, but to his irritation he was also lacking in that department.
Instead, his hand runs over his compass, and with a grin he slips it into his palm and flips it open. Rum! He wanted rum!
The needle spins in countless circles. Jack's earlier frown returns, deepening immensely. He shakes at the compass, but the needle doesn't settle. “Rotten -”
Cold washes as panic sinks in. “No, no, no.” He closes the compass and bolts to the desk by the gate. “Lass, darlin' lass, please tell ol' Jack that this quaint little place isn't the Locker!” Because the last time his compass was this erratic -
She tilts her head at him. “This is Paixao.”
“Pai -” he starts, then stops, mouthing the word over and over several times, changing the pronunciation, until it sinks in fully. It only made him look more confused, and he says, quietly, “Passion?”
“Your name, sir?”
He's still deep in thought, an elbow on the counter top, his hand drawing up to tap fingers beneath his lip, that he mumbles without his normal inflection, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”
“Here you go, sir.”
She hands him the journal. He just stares at it, bewildered, but he was never one to deny something that was free and so he takes it, brushing a finger over the surface.
“Passion, aye?” he says again. The grin returns, and he flashes her his teeth. “Who could pass up a city with that kind of name?” And he swaggers inside – right into a snowbank, causing him to trip, and sink into several feet of snow.
“MmmMMPH!”
no subject
Alice's musings were interrupted by the sight of a very strange and apparently drunk man falling into the snow. She quirked an eyebrow, her lips curving up slightly (though she wasn't quite certain she should really be amused). She made no move to help him, at least for now, merely crossing her arms to see whether he would get up again.
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He does not look to be happy one bit. "Passion" was quickly losing its charm. He couldn't see Alice from where he was, but he did get a better view of the city. A very white city.
"Bugger," he says again, now unmuffled. He doesn't move from that position, no matter how cold he is. Getting up doesn't do him any good if he can't find a place to move and get warm again.
no subject
Rocking back and fourth on her heels, Alice addressed the strange man. "It's not usually like this, from what I've seen and heard," she offered, "but something seems to have gone wrong for the moment." It had been a machine, hadn't it? But Alice was hardly a factory worker and so hadn't the faintest idea of what to do.
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He turns his head to look at the girl and raises a brow. "No stricken goddesses havin' a fit over previous lovers comin' back to wrong them, I hope?" Because Calypso sure could throw weather out of whack, so who's to say there wasn't a more frigid beau that could do the same here.
Jack finally stands again with a bit of a wobble and a sway, pausing with his hands in the air before brushing the snow off him.
no subject
She watched as Jack regained his balance, wondering if perhaps he was drunk. Well, it wasn't as though she wasn't used to dealing with drunks in the slums of London. She could handle herself.
no subject
In terms of drunk, Jack certainly wasn't as intoxicated as he would like to be right now. If it came to rum versus a place of warmth, rum would win out; if he could get both? Now wouldn't that be splendid?
"Well lass, I seem to have misplaced both my ship and the beach I had been standin'. Don't suppose you know anythin' about that? Or, at least, where one could find the fancy of a spot of rum?"
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"As for the rum, I'm not certain. Surely there's somewhere around here where you may get as drunk as you like, but if there is, I'm unfamiliar with it." Not that Alice ever did drink, even if it was tempting to forget everything while maintaining some semblance of her lucidity.
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"Drunk as I like! That sound charmin', I must say." He takes a step towards the girl, unbalanced more than normal by the snow. Strapped to his side most notably were his cutlass, and by the knot of a tied sash was a shrunken skull. His pistol rested tucked in his belt. "A man should not have to deal with such oddities as these without rum, lass. If you wish to accompany me while I find a place to drink, the company would be most welcomed."
no subject
She didn't want to turn her back on someone so strange she'd only just met. After all, the inhabitants of Wonderland could be perfectly pleasant one moment and dark and murderous the next. If she really was hallucinating, as she still very much suspected she was, she may as well exercise the caution she'd learned long ago in Wonderland.
no subject
They're not. Jack is lost. Lost and cold.
He turns to face the girl. "You wouldn't by chance have a map now, would you, lass?" Something he probably should've asked in the first place, but one couldn't blame for Jack trying to look competent in a completely different realm. He needed the sea.
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She'd yet to even so much as go to the cafe, herself, but at least it was public, and the city seemed to be keeping an extra eye on the non-natives.
no subject
"The Cheap Prayer," he says, pointing a dirty finger at the map and grinning. "Sounds like my kind of place." Sounded like a kind of establishment that could fit right at home with Tortuga. He made a face, remembering where Alice had said they were, and then waves a hand through the air, silently determining the proper direction to move, and then awkwardly continues off in the direction of the Cheap Prayer.
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The Londoner didn't even blink at the mention of the Cheap Prayer; back home, she had frequently paid visits to a brothel in order to visit her old nanny. She followed Jack without a word, amused at his odd way of moving.
seriously going to cause LJ harm for all my missing notifs :|
"And I have quite the magnificent ship!" Which is in a glass bottle, and currently not in Jack's possession. He could only hope that Gibb's had her safe and - ...no, actually, that was a terrible thought. The last time he left Gibbs to watch over his Pearl, he LOST it to Barbossa -
And then Barbossa lost it!
No. The Black Pearl should have been right in Jack's protection only, where she belonged.
But this was all neither here nor there. His subconscious mind digresses.
When they finally made it to the establishment, Jack could have planted a kiss to the door. It was exactly as he dreamed, though it looks sad amongst the snow, its usual outdoor bar closed, and the shack of a tavern seemed as though it could just tip over if too much more snow landed atop it. But Jack had confidence in it. And besides, even on the small, miniscule happenstance of the building collapsing with them inside, he much preferred that to the snow.
At least inside there would be drinking involved.
Unfortunately the inside's warmth was not much better. It protected from the chill of breezes, but there was little heat to be had, even though it seemed that the workers were trying to set something up involving metal barrels and wood, or something of the like.
Jack leads Alice through the weaves of the tables, candlelight the only kind of light to guide his path, and proceeds to take a seat, pausing, then awkwardly shuffling back up and pulls out a chair for the girl, shadows dancing over the uncertainty in his face. Gentlemenly things. He could attempt those.
Sometimes.
"Here you are, la - Madam." Pause. "Alice." His eyes shift to look around them.
<3
At last, they arrived, and Alice followed Jack to the table he chose, not particularly caring where they would sit. She was surprised, however, when he actually pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down, giving a slight nod to Jack in return. "Thank you," she replied, the words strange and almost foreign on her tongue.
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He slips a coin off to his waitress, then downs a third of his drink.
It's as putrid as he enjoys. Not rum, but it would do.
"Now, tell ol' Captain Jack about yourself, eh?"
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"There's not much to tell, I'm afraid," she told him. "My name is Alice, and I grew up in England. When I found my way to this place, I felt sure I'd gone mad." Again, she told herself. Then again, there was no proof that this place wasn't a dream, after all...
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"Lovely," he says, though the word is like a bad taste in his mouth. He supposes maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't complain so much about the whole debacle. It did get him back to his Pearl. Tiny, and in a bottle, as it was.
"Well, of course you're mad," he adds after a moment, drinking more, the warmth of alcohol finally putting off the chill. "We're all mad."
no subject
The Londoner laid her hands in her lap and nodded. "Of course I'm mad," she agreed with a shrug. Being mad didn't bother her, not in itself. Others' reaction to her madness, however, did. But those people weren't here, wherever "here" was.
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Yes, he's still trying to get her to drink with him. Really, what fun is there in drinking alone? ...Despite the fact that Jack did it almost always, having a companion was often a benefit. As long as they didn't later try to slap him for things he almost-certainly wasn't at fault for.
He pushes a mug that he had yet to sip from towards her and winks, raising his own glass, expecting her to meet him half way in toast.
He's going to be disappointed, isn't he?
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On the other hand, it was a large part of why her life had gone to utter hell once her parents had died. Nevertheless, she supposed just one sip couldn't do any harm.
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You know, Alice... It always starts with a sip. But how about another? And maybe another...
...Staying with Jack might not be the safest of plans.
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Of course she didn't have to imagine; one of the children at Houndsditch had complained of a stomachache after devouring some of the stuff, and had confessed to Alice what it had tasted like.