full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane
Jack's telepathy has grown recklessly fuzzy around the edges by the time Rhiannon walks in through the doors, such that he doesn't immediately clock the arrival of an agent of law and order in their midst - not that he'd have changed tactics even if he had realised. No, he's busy cheating at his third game of cards, bottle of whisky half empty, his decisions careless and sloppier than he'd ever normally allow - almost gunning for a fight, one might think.
More than one does think, in fact, the members of his crew who are still present and sober enough to realise it quietly angling themselves to jump into the fray if and when the time comes. And they won't be kept waiting all that long either; one of the gamblers at Jack's table, a grizzled hunter even more drunk than the Captain, slams his fist hard enough to send drinks toppling, his flushed cheeks all the more ruddy for his anger.
"Yer cheatin'!" he barks, chair scraping hard as he rises to his feet, seizing his bottle of beer.
Jack scoffs and slumps back in his seat, shrugging his shoulders like he's the owner of the tavern instead of a stranger in the heart of this cold city. "An' you're ugly," he fires back. "Y'know, if we're goin' 'round sayin' shit that's obvious."
The bottle shatters against the table, glinting fiendishly in the tavern's low light, and honestly, no one is all that surprised when the hunter lurches across the table with the weapon held aloft.
More than one does think, in fact, the members of his crew who are still present and sober enough to realise it quietly angling themselves to jump into the fray if and when the time comes. And they won't be kept waiting all that long either; one of the gamblers at Jack's table, a grizzled hunter even more drunk than the Captain, slams his fist hard enough to send drinks toppling, his flushed cheeks all the more ruddy for his anger.
"Yer cheatin'!" he barks, chair scraping hard as he rises to his feet, seizing his bottle of beer.
Jack scoffs and slumps back in his seat, shrugging his shoulders like he's the owner of the tavern instead of a stranger in the heart of this cold city. "An' you're ugly," he fires back. "Y'know, if we're goin' 'round sayin' shit that's obvious."
The bottle shatters against the table, glinting fiendishly in the tavern's low light, and honestly, no one is all that surprised when the hunter lurches across the table with the weapon held aloft.
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
