the funeral

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

The cool breeze of Leafchange grows colder with each passing week, and with it the amount of times he finds himself back at the Cataway Exchange to snag a variety of blankets to get the winter properly started back at the House of Midnight and his own home seemed to be more like a routine these years than it had in the past.

Ah, but unlike in the years past, something else occurs that draws his attention. A shadow, the murmurs, because while the Ark wasn’t a stranger to King’s End, the state of it was. So obviously the Flood goes to investigate, waiting until its come into port fully before he’s standing there with his bag of holding, head tilted, waiting for the familiar face of the Captain to show.

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

The Ark could use a new mainsail in reality, the ruddy fabric charred in more places than Jack wants to really look at, but that's a job for Deepfrost. It's a job that shouldn't be difficult to complete either, given the plethora of businesses afloat in the Castaway Exchange. Either way, it's not a today problem. Nor is the char along the mast or the sorry shape of the rigging - today is for finding a place to drop anchor and to get a real strong drink, and very little else.

The first they manage within only a few moments, though Jack knows they'll have to have a word with he doesn't really give a fuck who to arrange a berth for the following season. Appearing on deck in a charcoal shirt that looks slept in (because it is) and with his hair down and tousled, he has a quick word with Murphy to do just that before the gangplank is slamming down and the crew are beginning to file off.

Jack notices Sunjata, not by telepathy but by sight, and he steps off The Ark and tosses a lazy salute to the Flood. "Room for one more at King's End?" he asks, fishing in his pockets for cigarettes. "No, I ain't talkin' about it."

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

As the Ark settles, Sunjata can take in the damage to the main sail. The mast and the rigging look less than ideal, though Sunjata isn’t a sailor. He can recall what the Ark looks like in its prime and this definitely isn’t it. But when he sees Jack appear in his ruffled shirt, hair down and tousled with the wind tugging at it, Sunjata shifts his weight to wait for Jack’s approach with a casual nod of greeting in return.

Confusion still stirs within him, but at least it’s tempered. He knows Jack. He’s known Jack for a while. So he snorts with the question, because it wasn’t like the captain had to ask. They’d done well together once they got past the bullshit at the beginning when he’d ruled Torchline. He imagines it’ll be much of the same here. “We’ve got plenty of room.” He answers as he snags his own pack of cigarettes, offering one out for Jack before he takes one for himself.

“And fair enough. What do you need?” He asks, snagging the lighter to light his own before handing it over to Jack, his steel gaze taking in the state of the man before he looks back to the rest of the Castaway Exchange. If Jack wanted to start up his operations here, there’d be little complaint from Sunjata. There’d just need to be some readjusting of things down here in the Boondocks.

Luckily for him, Sunjata's in charge of it.

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

"Y'know, I was hopin' you'd say as much," Jack rumbles, something like relief easing the tight line of his jaw, and he accepts the offered cigarette with a grunt of thanks, letting his hands drop from trying to find his own. Sunjata's mind is like deep, still water; he's seen it turbulent and churning, but today, blessedly, its ripples are only small.

"My first mate'll sort a berth for us, give the Ark a permanent bit of Castaway to settle in when she makes port," he says, shaking his head at the offer of the lighter - the cigarette is already alight before it reaches his lips. "I can scope the place out, but if you know of any sailors lookin' for work, send 'em my way. An' you can start a tab for me at the House of Midnight, if you'd be so kind."

The rest will take time. The rest needs to take time, else it will all burn to ribbons before Jack has a chance to find his footing. "You down here for shits and giggles, or...?" He gestures to the marketplace.

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

“It’s not like I got much else going on here. It’s still fresh and new, as far as Caido’s concerned.” He admits with a soft, smoky chuckle of his own. Realizing shortly after that he doesn’t need to hand Jack the lighter, the butcher pockets it with an amused flare to the waves of his mind before it settles again. “Since when did you get fire magic?” He probes playfully, trying to flick through the spotty memories (thanks dad) to try and recall if he’d had it for a while or if it was new.

Regardless, he lets it drop as he peers back at the Ark and its glory, taking a long slow drag off the cigarette before exhaling in wisps that curl around his nose. “I get a few that slip in here and there. I’ll send them your way.” His steel gaze flits to Jack’s face briefly as he thinks about which portion of tabs to start – not opposed to it, of course, but curious which type it’ll end up being. “For the bar or rooms too?” Jack will see the flare in his mind that suggests he’s thinking both but the need to clarify it anyway.

As for what he’s down here doing, he gestures back toward the shops on the docks with his lightning scarred hand. “Got some supplies for the House. Always go through more blankets in Deepfrost.” He shrugs like it’s the most normal and boring thing he’s had to do as of late which is absolutely a lie. He hasn’t done much lately aside from meet with Frey and make decisions for the region that ultimately mostly kept to themselves. “You wanna grab a drink? I’ve already got the shit I needed to get.” He’d just been getting ready to leave if he hadn’t noticed the Ark’s arrival.

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

"Fresh an' new, huh?" Jack raises his eyebrows as he takes a slow inhale on the cigarette, glancing around at the ramshackle stalls and businesses that have come together under the Castaway Exchange. "This looks like it's shapin' up pretty good at least." Flicking ash from the tip of the smoke, as Sunjata asks the obvious, the captain's gaze darkens a little and he glances over his shoulder towards his ship.

"Few days ago," he mutters. The Flood can probably put two and two together from there.

Grunting an acknowledgement that the other man will send any suitable workers his way, at his question he scoffs around a whorl of smoke. "You know the answer to that," he drawls. Both. Definitely open a tab for both. "Though the drink is what's more important right now." And since Jata is offering, Jack gestures for him to lead the way out of the Boondocks and up towards the infamous House of Midnight.

"Blankets, huh? Fun don't stop 'round here," he adds as they fall into step, managing a wry smirk around the cigarette. That's code for sounds like you're bored to tears, if the Flood can't tell.

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

Looking down the dock toward the rest of the shops that dot the Castaway Exchange, the Flood’s amusement flares in him as a gentle wave that brushes against the confines of his mind. Happiness and calm in the face of a mind that had more often than not been turbulent and stormy. “Thanks. Been a lot of work.” And now without the void they might actually stand a chance at doing something for the region that wasn’t just protection against the Family.

Which leads to a whole host of creativity that feels rather stunted for the moment. At least they have until next year before deciding on something.

The mention of a few days ago sparks another quick glance to the hull of the ship, the quiet nod because he can and does put two and two together and wisely chooses not to ask about it more. Instead, snorting to make the mental note of the tab for both drinks and the brothel itself. Easy enough. “Sounds good.” He hums, shifting the bag of holding in his hand to start to guide the way back toward the House of Midnight.

He picks up on the code too, letting the warm ripple of a laugh escape him that ends in a sigh that’s paired with a playful wince. “Tell me about it. At least it’s better than how it was when I left Torchline." They both know he’d been half insane when he’d left Torchline, faced with impossible choices and trauma. “Speaking of, don’t suppose my father’s remains have washed up, have they?” He assumes if anyone would know it would be Jack. And if his father hasn’t washed up, perhaps he should put his orca or hydra to work in scouting out the bottom of the Arclight just to check.

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

"It shows," Jack mutters - he plans to have a real scout around the Exchange once he's found his bearings in King's End, to test just how mature it really is in its dealings (seedy or otherwise). He's been here a decent amount before, of course, so he knows the ropes, but this is different. This is putting down roots, setting balls rolling, the sort of shit he hasn't had to do since he was a much younger man in Torchline.

And he can feel the vague prickle of creativity, of hope that the Flood has for his budding region, though by and large it seems as though they've been against the odds with the onslaught of the void. Tearing his gaze away from the stalls and shops at their back, he falls into step with Sunjata, a hand in his pocket, the other taking the cigarette from his lips.

"Tch, you mean the way you abandoned Torchline," Jack corrects with a brief raise of his eyebrows that dares the other man to challenge him on it. It might be a long time ago now, but Jack hasn't had nearly enough opportunities to needle him about it just yet. As for his father... "If he's washed up, it ain't pinged anythin' in any of my networks," he confesses. "Then again, might be he's been smashed to bits or picked clean or both. If that's the case, I'd not expect much to wash up other'n bits of bone an' rags."

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

Jack will find that when he does have a chance to look around the Exchange, that it’ll be ripe with opportunity. The people there aren’t unfamiliar with shadier dealings, only having not had a person to spearhead it. Perhaps because they weren’t aware of Sunjata’s own past dealing with it, but the few people that have tried to rise had been knocked down enough that it was still somewhat disorganized. And it would take someone like Jack to get them to heel.

Respect and all that, of course.

He drags on the cigarette again, the smoke wafting behind them as they walk toward the House of Midnight only for Sunjata to huff a soft laugh in response to the challenge. “If that’s what you wanna call it. Figured it was easier than Safrin murdering me ahead of schedule if I refused to do what she said.” Glancing over at Jack as if to say don’t worry, she did and would have succeeded if it weren’t for Ronin, he shrugs a shoulder.

His father is a more interesting subject, though, and he hums softly. “I’d rather he be smashed to bits, to be honest.” Shitty father as he was and all that, it only seemed right he was granted an equally shitty fate.

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

They walk together, leaving a soft trail of smoke and all sorts of rumour and gossip abound in the Exchange as the Ark's crew get settled and begin to take stock of things around them. "It is what I wanna call it," Jack confirms, "though I'll give you that, 'bout the murderin'. Still, you still got a shrine to her here, an' that's enough for me." It's quite a trek out into King's End - and maybe he'll do something about that given time and inclination - but for now it will do.

"Seems more likely'n not," he agrees with the Flood about the fate of his father. "Was nothin' short of a miracle that you turned up in one piece, more or less." Flicking the ash from the tip of his cigarette, he settles into an easy stride until the sound of the Boondocks begins to fade away behind them. Glancing sidelong at Sunjata, the captain finally arches an eyebrow.

"So tell me, how's a guy who owns a magical brothel so bored?"

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

Snorting at the confirmation, Sunjata drags on the cigarette in much of a motion that says alright, I’m not gonna argue with you. But when he mentions the murder, Sunjata hums a soft sound of consideration, squinting in the distance as though he could see through the rolling fog and hills to the direction the Safrin shrine was in - the very same that he'd been at when she'd made her murder attempt. “I keep a wide berth from it, so. Most of the blessings here are from Frey.” Which is obvious. All that to be said that he wouldn't stop anyone from going to Safrin's shrine, but he definitely wouldn't be going to her for any regional things. Probably forever.

But hey, he has been bored and things haven’t been happening here for awhile aside from what they start, so maybe he’s blabbing a little too much.

Ah well. “Yeah, somehow I’m pretty lucky with that shit.” He murmurs, though as they both know, that’s pretty much where his luck ends. Self preservation takes all of it in favor for making the rest of his life relatively unlucky (how many times did he try to grab for the blade sticking out of Pierce’s chest? Too many fucking times, that’s how many).

When they’re far enough away from the bustle of everything else and back on the path toward the House of Midnight, Jack’s question stirs a deep laugh from him as he stomps out the last bit of the cigarette. “What else is there to do? The region’s pretty relaxed and I only have a few appointments in the brothel each week. The rest of the time is just helping out here and there with minor issues.” It feels like being a cop again, but without all the excitement and drama of the world falling apart around them.

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

"Mm, no shit," Jack mumbles around his cigarette - given the presence of two Frey demigods in the vicinity, one of them being the leader of the region, it would make no sense to ask for boons from anyone else. The captain, however, plans to remain star-studded, and so he follows the other man's gaze out into the rolling hills with a thoughtful look.

Taking another long drag off his smoke, Jack flicks the ash away and huffs out a laugh at Sunjata's response, the captain shrugging his shoulders right back. "When shit falls apart or you got real problems, I'll remind you of this day," he informs him. "There would've been a time when you'd be dyin' for boredom over drama."

See their previous subject of conversation about his dear old daddy for reference.

Slowly but surely, the outline of the House of Midnight comes into view, Jack tilting his head as if committing the route and the building to memory in a way he'd never needed to before. "A'right," he says, dropping the butt of his cigarette and stepping on it, "let's see what you got here that can become my poison of choice."

// call out in the middle of the night
for when else would I hear you? //

Satisfaction thrums in the Flood’s bones as Jack makes his mumbled confirmation. It wasn’t much of a ground rule, given the common sense of it, but he’s still happy to know that there wouldn’t be any problems there. So, he continues to guide Jack down the well worn road toward the House of Midnight – a few distinctive signs for any off shoots toward farms or cemeteries dotting their way.

“Ugh, I know. But sometimes a little mix of it is nice.” Something to shake up the calm here and there. Even if it wasn’t anything overt.

Ah, but then the House of Midnight looms in the distance and his steps slow as Jack stubs out his cigarette while the Flood rids himself of his own, gesturing with his lightning scarred hand toward the doors that hide a variety of people, music, drinks, and debauchery behind them. “I can think of a few options. They're on the house today.” And he does think of the options he'll pull out, mulling over a variety of darker drinks – between whiskey and rum, depending on Jack’s preferences. Ones he’s happy to show the Captain until he decides which one’s his go to.

- FIN

the flood

// fall out in the cold starlight
i can save you if you do //