full speed ahead 'til I'm dead in the fast lane
His magic floods with the wildfire of drunken violence, of chaos made manifest in bruised knuckles and bleeding teeth and black eyes. Add in the potent sting of liquor in his veins and, simply put, Jack is about as fucked up as anyone else here in the tavern, and for once it's exactly how he wants to be. No strategy or calculations or plans, just raw action layered atop the briefest flicker of opportunity.
It's why he doesn't really see Rhiannon until its too late.
He's aiming for the man with the broken bottle, his back turned away now so he can tussle with one of the other guys he's spilled beer over. A tray sails over their heads and someone else trips over an upturned table leg - he and two other men go down, brawling. Jack steps forward smoothly, or at least he thinks so, his hand lancing out to catch the drunkard right in the kidneys.
It catches Rhiannon under the ribs instead. A flicker of surprise echoes in the Captain's face for just a second as he gazes at her, hands up as if placating, leaving her wide open instead for what he's just done. For the tiniest of moments Jack almost feels guilty, before it's swallowed up by the cold acknowledgement of a task completed to fruition.
"Ain't personal, love," he mutters through the din, bodies around them writhing and falling and throwing punches, still, even as he directs more ice into the knife, letting it creep and crawl up towards her heart. "Just the wrong place for you, I guess."
It's why he doesn't really see Rhiannon until its too late.
He's aiming for the man with the broken bottle, his back turned away now so he can tussle with one of the other guys he's spilled beer over. A tray sails over their heads and someone else trips over an upturned table leg - he and two other men go down, brawling. Jack steps forward smoothly, or at least he thinks so, his hand lancing out to catch the drunkard right in the kidneys.
It catches Rhiannon under the ribs instead. A flicker of surprise echoes in the Captain's face for just a second as he gazes at her, hands up as if placating, leaving her wide open instead for what he's just done. For the tiniest of moments Jack almost feels guilty, before it's swallowed up by the cold acknowledgement of a task completed to fruition.
"Ain't personal, love," he mutters through the din, bodies around them writhing and falling and throwing punches, still, even as he directs more ice into the knife, letting it creep and crawl up towards her heart. "Just the wrong place for you, I guess."
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
