JACK
"Gods, you need a pair of fuckin' sunglasses to make it through this place without goin' blind."
The last thing one might expect, arguably, is to see Jack Barclay in attendance at the birthday party of his three Safrin-born children - and believe it, the captain has been continually surprised at himself the entire walk over. At his back, a few of the more well-known members of his crew file in as well, offering gruff cheers and in some cases trying (and failing utterly) to wipe away glitter that has fallen onto their clothes.
A study in opposites, Jack is of course dressed in darker colours; a midnight blue button-down embroidered with tiny stars along the collar, and a pair of black slacks that you can't really see the blood on. (Go figure). Under one arm, he carries a small crate, swanning through The Hanged Man to deposit it on the bar. "Happy Birthday," he announces, using the blade from a knife in his boot to crack the crate open, rifling inside.
For Calypso he withdraws a bottle of something pale and greenish tinged - tequila, flavoured with cucumber and jalapeno peppers. For Nova there's a bottle of white rum with the faintest of faint pink hues (blushberries, though she'll only know that when she tries it). And for Vesper, there's a classic, single malt whiskey in its own wooden case. Not just that, though; a small white envelope sits atop it.
"That's for all three of you. Open it later, an' don't do anythin' I wouldn't," the captain instructs with a wolfish smile. "Now fuck off - I'll man the bar tonight."
The last thing one might expect, arguably, is to see Jack Barclay in attendance at the birthday party of his three Safrin-born children - and believe it, the captain has been continually surprised at himself the entire walk over. At his back, a few of the more well-known members of his crew file in as well, offering gruff cheers and in some cases trying (and failing utterly) to wipe away glitter that has fallen onto their clothes.
A study in opposites, Jack is of course dressed in darker colours; a midnight blue button-down embroidered with tiny stars along the collar, and a pair of black slacks that you can't really see the blood on. (Go figure). Under one arm, he carries a small crate, swanning through The Hanged Man to deposit it on the bar. "Happy Birthday," he announces, using the blade from a knife in his boot to crack the crate open, rifling inside.
For Calypso he withdraws a bottle of something pale and greenish tinged - tequila, flavoured with cucumber and jalapeno peppers. For Nova there's a bottle of white rum with the faintest of faint pink hues (blushberries, though she'll only know that when she tries it). And for Vesper, there's a classic, single malt whiskey in its own wooden case. Not just that, though; a small white envelope sits atop it.
"That's for all three of you. Open it later, an' don't do anythin' I wouldn't," the captain instructs with a wolfish smile. "Now fuck off - I'll man the bar tonight."
romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic
and recommended
and recommended
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
