JACK
hellraiser
risk taker
risk taker
Settling in to lean against the tavern's rough stone wall, Jack's smile is something quick and half doused in shadow, the Captain silently taking her lead and instead occupying himself with another cigarette. The posse at the table are even less likely to notice him now, especially as The Ark rises to her feet, her voice soft and commanding as any ship captain's, and as he rubs his fingers together to produce enough flame enough to light his smoke, one of the thugs starts to laugh.
It's a brash sound, the kind of confidence bolstered by winning hands and a lot of liquor, and he slouches back in his seat to gaze up at her - not at her face, of course, but at her ample chest. "Don't matter how you got it, tits," he crows at her, "Jack Barclay's in King's End. Ain't like he can do much from there, is it?" His second bray of laughter is joined by a few of the others, though some seem a little more uncertain; mainly those who have been at the edge of the tables and able to take note of those coming and going along the path.
The one with his hand fastened around her wrist isn't one of them, unfortunately. Bolstered by his big-mouthed friend, he leans in as well, enough that his sour breath will wash across her face. His fingers tighten around her wrist.
Before he can reply - or more accurately, before he can yank her forward and down onto his lap - the area around the table suddenly crackles with a potent ring of static, leaving the stink of ozone in its wake. Not enough to announce Jack's presence, but maybe enough to make them believe it's come from The Ark.
It's a brash sound, the kind of confidence bolstered by winning hands and a lot of liquor, and he slouches back in his seat to gaze up at her - not at her face, of course, but at her ample chest. "Don't matter how you got it, tits," he crows at her, "Jack Barclay's in King's End. Ain't like he can do much from there, is it?" His second bray of laughter is joined by a few of the others, though some seem a little more uncertain; mainly those who have been at the edge of the tables and able to take note of those coming and going along the path.
The one with his hand fastened around her wrist isn't one of them, unfortunately. Bolstered by his big-mouthed friend, he leans in as well, enough that his sour breath will wash across her face. His fingers tighten around her wrist.
Before he can reply - or more accurately, before he can yank her forward and down onto his lap - the area around the table suddenly crackles with a potent ring of static, leaving the stink of ozone in its wake. Not enough to announce Jack's presence, but maybe enough to make them believe it's come from The Ark.
full speed ahead
'til i'm dead in the fast lane
'til i'm dead in the fast lane
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
