we didn't get it right but, love, we did our best

JACK

see me falling
yeah, down and lonely

Having left the Ark out at Jack Tar Landing (a place that feels like a namesake for the captain but isn't), it's been a fairly long trip into the Inner Quarter and down into The Last Whisper, such that when he arrives, night has long since fallen and all but the shadiest - or most fun, depending on your preferences - establishments have long shut up shop. Still, Jack has a feeling that the place he's searching out never sleeps. And he's got a man to see about a boggart in the Labyrinth.

If he's lucky, perhaps he'll be able to kill an Ancient two birds with one shard of ice magic, but even if that isn't the case, he's more than happy just to take the boggart out on his quest for the starlit goddess. Dressed in dark clothing very much intended to take advantage of the night, and with silver on his tongue and blood on his mind, Jack steps silently down the street towards the brothel known as the Dusklight.

are the angels on their way?
i’m in the dirt

the echoes of the thunderclaps
reverberation of the dead

Harper is a frequent face at the Dusklight, so what few souls that travel her path don’t look twice upon seeing the Stalwart crumpled on one of the benches leading to her doors. The irony is that he isn’t steeling himself for a drunken shuffle home - he hasn’t even made it there tonight. 

The time between his goodbye with Hadama and now is a murky lake of misery. How and what he failed to achieve doesn’t matter when it can’t surface above the agony of grief. A face and name that has never seen Caido’s realm and never will plagues him like a shade. Sticky, alcoholic residue coats his empty hands (where did the bottle go?) but in the darkness it looks and feels like her blood (why her? Why not those who disappeared, alive but cruelly absent?).

Boots on cobblestone make him jolt, bloodshot eyes sweeping sharply only to be followed by a lolled head. “Wait -” it’s a gurgle of a thing, broadcasted out to Attuned ears that are nowhere within reach, but perhaps the mumbled efforts of his lips might find purchase.

provides the tempo for the song
describing how all things went wrong

JACK

see me falling
yeah, down and lonely

It says much and more about Harper's thoughts that they don't even strum across Jack's radar as he passes by - nothing beyond the liquor-thick mire of a man deep in his cups, anyway. Only that one word - wait - has him pausing, the tap of his boots halting on the cobblestones, and were it not Harper of all people, a second's hesitation is all it would have been. But it is the Stalwart, however hilariously ironic that title has become nowadays, and the captain glances over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow at the man slumped on the bench.

"A picture says a thousand words, so they say," he drawls, and whilst Harper might not be able to see the captain's smirk in full - if he can see much at all - it blooms into full view as he turns to face the other man. "If Flora could see you now," he continues, remembering well the fiery leadership contest that had seen Torchline's current queen clash with... well, with this.

"Well? I've waited."

are the angels on their way?
i’m in the dirt

the echoes of the thunderclaps
reverberation of the dead

Harper has been too deep in the bottle for seasons - years - now to blame a lack of tolerance or the effect downer-substances on his mentality in the moment Jack turns to him. There is only the steady refrain of please, end it, stop it, take it away. 

Flora is a golden spark of familiarity that snuffs out amidst the void between stars, or perhaps the long shadow at Jack’s feet. Had she ever been more than that to Harper? The implication of her feelings can’t distract his wild state from Jack’s shadowed face. 

Jack. How funny it comes to this. A stranger, yet a thorn in his side. A man as easy to buy as those nubile bodies in the Dusklight, that is how Harper sees him. It’s hilariously cruel - one last pebble in his shoe - to know that Harper has lost so much he can’t even barter with a man like Jack. Is vitriol enough? Disdain? Is the weight of a con-man’s errant emotions enough to gamble his life on, hoping the coin comes up tails?

“Are you armed?” Would it matter? Any pain will be temporary. He’s already suffered this much. “I have coin and any items y’want at my room if you make it look natural. Or a mugging.” The slur of inebriation pales in comparison to the clarity in his eyes, the pain so deep it bends his knee before someone he should never trust to end it instead of prolong it. “Y’understandin’ me?” Oh, if only he knew exactly how clearly he’s coming through.

provides the tempo for the song
describing how all things went wrong

With the Hollowed Grounds’ alterations in landscape, some of the animals have grown a bit wilder. A bit bolder.

So while it may surprise some, and others not at all, a crow swoops down, snatching at clothing and bags with sharp, irritating, and annoying talons. Maybe you just lost a piece of bread, or a valuable keepsake!

Whoops. Best go try to get it back!

JACK

see me falling
yeah, down and lonely

Is Jack armed?

Always.

The crow, as it happens, gets away with a shiny bottle cap nestled beneath the bench between Harper's feet, but it only makes it perhaps fifteen feet away before ice promptly encases it, sending it plummeting down to the cobblestones with a dull crunch.

The captain can't decide if it's ironic or an honest shame, that the one person able to fully understand the black depths of the Stalwart's thoughts is also the one person who doesn't care. Jack stares down at Harper in his metaphorical pit, throwing neither rope nor shovel to help him climb up or dig deeper. He merely watches until he understands enough to know a mutually beneficial situation when he sees it.

"Oh, Harper," he says softly, stepping back towards the other man and crouching before him, as if he's some good samaritan doing his best to bring around one of the Last Whisper's rougher looking drunks. "I would've always killed you for free."

The items, the coin - those are a bonus that Jack will very much be taking advantage of, granted. But the killing? He'd do it for the hell of it, even before his quest from Safrin. "A mugging it is."

Rising to his feet, it's with barely a raise of his hand that the captain engages his newest magic, and in the dark and empty cobblestones, lightning flares harsh and bright around the Stalwart's body.

are the angels on their way?
i’m in the dirt

the echoes of the thunderclaps
reverberation of the dead

The soft croon of condescension has never sounded so sweet. It’s almost euphoric. The cut of cruelty in Jack’s handsome face is a sedative that has Harper sinking into the bench like a discarded marionette. If it takes the wind out of Jack’s sails to find relief and acceptance where there should have been disgust or anger, he won’t be around long enough to care. 

Lightning is a painful thing, but it’s no different from the electric touch the Voice had handled him with upon his entry to Caido. It’s swift, if nothing else, and for that Harper is grateful - though Jack hardly deserves it. 

In the millisecond where light casts upon Jack’s face, Harper’s eyes find the little star beneath his eye, and he thinks of Safrin and all that she gave him in this world: a home, purpose, friends and lovers all held beneath her banner. There is regret in the way he strayed from her light - but he won’t want for company in death’s halls, loving a deity of life without being able to reach them. At least the hurt of loneliness won’t reach him anymore in Mort’s arms. 

Harper dies as alone as he’s always struggled not to be, but the smile on his face is unmistakably relieved. The fight is finally over. 

- Fin

provides the tempo for the song
describing how all things went wrong