entranceway | Captain's Log 002 [ Video / Action ]

Why? Just idle curiosity, is it?

Just tryin' to learn as much about this place as I can, mate.

[ Jack gives a shrug. ]

Can't blame a man for wantin' to go home, eh?

What does that have to do with whose mind the event came from?

Could be nothin'. Could be everythin'.

Any body got a list, eh? Of who all be here, and who all's had events?

Hard to say. People come and go. No list could be terribly accurate and the person keeping it could up and vanish at any time.

Maybe a group o' people, then?

[ Beat. ]

Is anyone actually tryin' t' get home? Or are we all just sittin' around, complainin' about events?

If you come up with a plan nobody's thought of yet, give us a holler.

[ Jack considers this man for a brief moment, raising his head so he can look down on him. ]

I shall.

[ And with that, he ends the feed. ]

[ Buckingham's room is, well, Buckingham's room. Pristine condition, perhaps even embellished with a golden sign proudly displaying a message to the tune of [0][4][7] DAYS SINCE LAST FURNITURE-DESTROYING TEMPER TANTRUM.

Or perhaps not. ]

Let me guess, you have a few... personal words of gratitude?

[ One way or another, the duke has enjoyed himself and his assigned role greatly, and what better way to maintain the afterglow of the event's delight than by gossiping about its effect on the other residents, especially those perhaps less fortunate this time around... ]

Hardly a proper state for the reception of... such a welcome guest though, is it?

[ Buckingham nods at the mess behind Jack and smiles. ]

[ Jack's sure that whoever this is has plenty of useful commentary to add to his broadcast, but, really, Jack made up his mind about Buckingham the moment he catches sight of his room.

Arrogant. Overconfident. Wealthy -- probably hasn't ever worked a day in his life. Is likely handed everything on a silver platter and takes it all for granted.

Oh, yes. Jack's certain the two of them will get along perfectly well.

But then Buckingham begins to speak and, well... ]

...William?

[ Come to think of it, his face does bare a resemblance to young William. William, what on Earth are you doing, what are you wearing? ]

[ Buckingham slowly glances at the back of the room to his left. Buckingham leisurely examines the back of the room to his right. Buckingham finally encourages his gaze to wander back to the camera, and finally down on himself. He arches his eyebrows in mock surprise and mouths Me? before seeming to deliberate the question.

It is quite the development, you see, even better than the response he expected. Oh, several Williams he knows, no doubt, including his oldest brother, but he is - it goes without saying - not one of them, and bears little physical resemblance to any, not even (especially not) that aforementioned brother.

And yet he nods, half-nods, once, not to confirm anything, Heaven forbid, but to declare his comprehension of the situation and, above all, his interest. ]

Curious. Go on.

...Not William.

[ Because, contrary to popular belief, Jack Sparrow isn't stupid. If this were Will, and it's obviously not, there's no way William Turner would act like that, or be in a room that lavish, or give out the presence similar to that of Cutler Beckett.

In retrospect, he feels almost silly for thinking it.

Except Not-Will does have Will's face and even sounds a bit like Will, which is... confusing. ]

[ There is a point in this conversation where a simple, conversational clarification of the facts would have been appropriate, a moment to apologise for the confusion Buckingham's remarkably handsome features have caused and introduce himself by his true name and the title which adorns it, but... ]

Are you sure now? Third time is the charm, and... perhaps I am.

[ ... that moment has long passed, if it ever truly existed at all; after all, straightforward conversations have so little appeal at times, don't they? ]

Who is asking, I wonder?

[ Somebody capable of discerning Buckingham's state of 'not being William', or so the duke expects, but that should hardly stop him. It does bring a familiar imagine to mind, however. Something he is only slowly beginning to place, something... by the side of Wonderland's pool. ]

[ Oh no, it's already too late for Buckingham to start over and introduce himself. For Jack has already mentally dubbed him 'Not-Will' and, as such, will always be addressed in this manner.

He doesn't need to think about Not-Will's question because, ]

I'd think I'd know if you were Will or not, mate.

[ Because while it might look like Will and talk like Will, Jack is 100% certain this is not, in fact, Will Turner. ]

Name's Captain Jack Sparrow.

[ He doesn't even bother asking for Not-Will's real name. ]

[ Now, now, now. They'd not be speaking about this if Jack had been so sure from the start, would they? Yet now Buckingham almost finds himself disappointed, at a confusion which was evidently only so fleeting. Perhaps the more interesting question would not have been about the one he is presently addressing, but about the one he was thought to be. Surely anybody bearing even a fleeting resemblance to the duke himself ought to be worth inquiring about.

...Still, the moment has tragically passed, and the lack of interest in Buckingham's own name goes just as unnoticed. An advantage of fame, as it were, that indifference is easily overlooked when one is so used to infamy. ]

Captain, eh? A captain of anything or anyone in particular, or did... the title come with the hat, and suited you so well that you kept it?

[If anyone were paying close enough attention to both feeds, they'd probably realize the rooms in the background of both are eerily similar, despite the destruction present in Jack's. Hector's is still as it ever was, a somewhat cluttered, chaotic order with candles over almost every available surface (old habits die hard) but the table in front of him, where he's been throwing a short knife into its surface.

Numerous times, judging from the gouges in it.

And even as the feed cuts on, he keeps right on with it, the blade sticking into the veneered and scarred surface with a thunk with each throw, though he's as calm and collected as death itself, even looking a bit amused, though that is so far from the case it isn't even funny at this point. He's had his rages like Jack before, but this is...Different. Very different. Dying is one thing; it's nothing new and he's done it before but...The Pearl. Giving the illusion of her and then snatching it away is...

A man's ship isn't something to be messed with. Especially not a ship like the Pearl. Especially not when Jack bloody Sparrow is present for the thing. After all, Jack killed him over that ship. They'd fought over it even when Jack had only been on its decks under the protection of parley, rather than dead in that cave on Isla de Muerta.

He can't private things. He knows there's a way, and normally he'd rather speak to Jack in person but given everything...Well. Vague is best for the moment. As vague and double-ended as things can be, considering he knows that look on Jack's face. He knows what the evidence of the tantrum behind Jack says. And he knows exactly what Jack's searching for because he's certainly wanting to know the exact same thing. And he knows Jack, as much as he himself, is probably sick of having his chain jerked already.]

Curious thing, ain't it, Jack. [His voice is just as calm, just as level. Along with a thunk of the knife hitting the table.] The way this place works.

[He starts to say more, before waving it away, working the knife out of the table's surface where it's stuck deeper than it has previous times, taking a chunk out of it as he does so.]

[ Jack doesn't bother looking up a the screen, still picking at the dirt under his nails. Quite a lot of dirt had accumulated there. Maybe he should consider taking a bath sometime in the next month or so. He's so focused on this clearly important task that it takes him a few seconds to reply.

He, too, is well aware of who, and how many people could possibly be listening into their conversation. The drawback to superior technology, he supposes. But it does have its uses. Gossip was made do very much easier and effective than before. He only hopes inquiries and confessions work just as effectively. ]

If you're here to say your 'I told you so's, mate, I ain't in the mood to be hearin' them.

[ His voice is just as calm, collected, even and nonchalant as it was in the broadcast. There's no heat in his voice, there's no anger in his eyes when he finally does look up, watching the repetitive motion of the knife hitting the table over and over and over again.

He's had his tantrum. And while he's not over it, not by a long shot, he's gotten the destructive anger out of his system, and when he catches Hector's eye, he doesn't say anything, but his gaze is steady and self-assured. ]

[He's silent for several moments, continuing to throw the knife at the table's surface and meeting Jack's gaze steadily. He dislikes being vague about this, because this, in his own opinion, is important. One of the more important things that have happened in this place. But at the same time, he knows that Jack is just as bitter, just as angry - whether the destructive part is out of his system - and just as absolutely vengeful as he himself can be. He knows exactly what Jack's thinking, because he's wearing exactly the same expression in exactly the same way.

In fact, to an outside observer, there's nothing to this conversation at all. And that's the way he wants it.

And he knows good and well discussing this in person would be no clearer, anyway.

He pauses with the knife's handle gripped in his palm, before he stabs it into the tabletop to the side, almost negligently, though it wiggles with a tell-tale sign of undue force.]

No I told ye sos, Jack. Simply that's the way it be. [For now.] I told ye, nigh on once a fortnight. [Though he hasn't told him everything he's learned. Not by a long shot.]

[ He's almost grateful that the conversation they're having isn't a conversation. The words they're saying is nonchalant and causal, it's practically small talk. Jack Sparrow doesn't do small talk often - he doesn't understand the point of making idle chatter with the purpose being of no value.

But this is different.

This is the Pearl.

Jack's never been good with feelings. He can barley say the word feelings without becoming slightly nauseated. That is, after all, why he fell in love with a ship instead of a woman. And anger and pain is just as hard to express, just as hard to talk about, as love and happiness, and Jack simply wants no part of it.

Even if Hector had sought him out, even if Jack had allowed himself to be drawn into a real conversation with Hector, there wasn't any chance it was going to be about the Pearl. Not now.

But while Jack couldn't have done that, he can do this:

He lazily raises an eyebrow at Hector. He remembers that conversation -- the one they'd had when Jack first arrived in Wonderland. He remembers Hector not doing much more than glossing over the pertinent details of what Wonderland was like. He'd known then, of course, that Hector was leaving things out. They were pirates, after all, and it had been every man for himself. ]

Did you, now?

[That conversation had been different, of course. Because then, it had been every man for himself. Still is, to a degree, but the situation has changed, and he knows that Jack's very aware of that. When Hector had first shown up, things hadn't been that bad. Distasteful, but not that terribly bad.

And then Jack had shown up, and it seems everything is going to Hell in a hand basket faster than he gave it credit for doing.

So, he's aware, of course, that at this point, while it's every man for himself, it's pirates and buccaneers first, and really, that leaves the two of them. He doesn't trust not a single soul in the mansion, not really, and that includes Jack. But he also knows Jack has an amazing talent for having the dumbest good luck.

And as much as it pains him to admit such a thing, he and Jack work better together than on opposite ends of the table. The problem is, of course, goading Jack in the right direction. Of finding just the right words to say to drive the point home and make it stick like a thorn in Jack's side, while at the same time keeping it light and inconsequential for anyone that might be listening.

He's under no illusions that anyone cares, of course, much as he doesn't care about anything they have to say themselves, but...Well. One can never be too careful. Mistrust goes hand in hand with their profession and lives like apples and pie.

And he's not remotely interested, either, in giving anyone else the head's up.

So there's a long pause before he answers, while he idly picks through a bowl of apples on the table (another old habit that won't die), before choosing one.]

Aye, surely you've noticed that pattern yourself. [And there's certainly more to it, some of which he's guessed at, some of which he knows, but all of which he thinks might actually be important.] Like the tide or the moon, it seems. Funny, that.

[There's a rhyme and a reason to it; all things have one, no matter how nonsensical it might seem at first. The hard part was finding the origins of the pattern. He was willing to bet it lie in the queens. No one, not the other, but both of them.]

Aye! Well. I suppose that be no never mind to the likes of you or me. One doesn't fight the tide when it goes out or in, but simply plans accordingly.

[ Unfortunately, the side effect of destroying everything in one's room in a rage induced temper tantrum, is that he doesn't have a lot to fiddle with while stalling for time. And so, Jack switches from digging the dirt out under the nails on his left hand, to his right hand.

If he keeps this up, there won't be any dirt under his fingernails. And what a novel concept is that? ]

I had noticed.

[ But that's not an answer. At least, not yet.

Because it feels a lot like asking for help. And Jack Sparrow has never asked for help in his entire life. Not from Teague, not from Will Turner, and especially not from his former First Mate who mutinied and stranded him on a deserted island not once, but twice.

If it were any other case, the answer would be no. He wouldn't have to even think about it. He'd hang up the feed and go on his way, by himself, just like he always had.

But it's not any other case.

Nor is Jack about to forget that he and Hector had worked together recently. Or, well, recently for Jack, futurely for Hector. But, the point is, that it had worked. He and Hector might have had different agendas, and different ways of accomplishing those goals, but the end result had been the same for both of them.

Jones was dead. Beckett was dead. And the seas were theirs once again.

But being in Wonderland was different. Their continual survival isn't a threat here, what with the whole "dying and coming back to life" thing. And, really, even if it was about their continual survival, he wouldn't trust Hector anyways.

No, this is all about escaping. Except that's not the whole truth either, is it? If it were, Jack wouldn't need the help. He'd gotten himself out of numerous sticky situations before, more than Hector could possibly imagine. If escaping that was all there was, Jack Sparrow wouldn't still be in Wonderland.

At the bottom of things, what this is about, what they're talking about, is information. Information and debt.

Because Hector has been in Wonderland longer than Jack has. And, therefore, he knows more about this place, how it works, who the key players are and how they act, how they run this place. How they can stop them and return home. That's information that Jack sorely needs.

But the other part of that is debt. Hector Barbossa doesn't give anything away for free, and he will want something in return for parting with that valuable information. And Jack's willing to bet he knows what he wants in return: Knowledge of the way home if, and when, Jack finds it.

It's a compromise. The only question now, is it a compromise he's willing to accept? ]

Good thing we know a lot about tides, you an' me.

[ Unfortunately, that answer is yes. For now, at least. ]

[And Hector releases a silent, slow breath he's not been aware he's been holding. Not that he doubted Jack would see reason in the two of them forging ahead together as opposed to separately. Because honestly speaking, if it were only a matter or escape...Well, Jack would find the way quicker, he'd admit that. But he wasn't incapable of doing so himself, either.

No, there's much more to the whole thing; things Jack doesn't know, because Hector has figured - and rightly so, in his opinion - that Jack would have to see the true horror of this place for himself before he could be talked to like a reasonable soul. And that's the kicker. The horror isn't the events themselves. He could care less about hellhounds and doubles of himself and killing over secrets. That's another workday in the Caribbean, for those that know about such things.

No, it's the toying with emotions and memories that's the horror, and the sudden slap in the face when reality is returned to them. Giving them the Pearl. Feeling her deck under his boots again, where - he knows - both of them know every creak and groan she's capable of. And then reminding them that it's all a fantasy, and they're truly trapped here, with nothing in the way of true freedom.

And given those that are here...Well. Jack's the only one who knows anything comparable to that. He's the only one with that same need and drive to get back to that, where to Hector...The others are, for the most part, content to spend the quiet days doing little.]

That we do. [And now it's just a matter of filling in the details for Jack. On the surface it's a simple thing, but at the same time...Well. Giving vital information to Jack is always a ticking time bomb.

He just has to be careful it doesn't explode in his face.]

Edited 2013-10-04 00:46 (UTC)

[ And, unfortunately, Hector was right. Jack can be very stubborn at times and, when it comes to things like this, the hard way is the only way for him to learn. And Jack stands by his earlier claim -- being in Wonderland was way better than being in the Locker. But, in the same vein, it was also worse.

Better because he wasn't alone. There were people to talk to here, there was more than just different hallucinations of himself. Jack is a very social person, and being all by himself had not done him any favors.

There was also a setting here. There was the mansion and it's various rooms, the grounds, the forest, the ocean. There were places to go and things to see beyond white sand as far as the eye can see in all directions.

These two things alone were enough for him to claim Wonderland as better.

But it was also worse.

The Pearl wasn't here, and there's no way for him to get the Pearl back. This wasn't just a simple revenge scheme where, at the end of ten years, he'll have his ship back and things will go back to normal.

And the events.

Jack hasn't been here for the "fun" events. He didn't get to battle hellhounds or other such things. No, it keeps bringing up the past, time and time again. It leaves him with uncomfortable reminders of the Locker, where there was nothing else to do but go over the past and all the decisions he'd made. But here, in Wonderland Jack simply can't afford to think of the past as he tries to move forward, as he tries to think of a way out.

But they will work better if they work together. Or, at the very least, figure out a way to start. For as lazy as Jack might be, he greatly dislikes being idle and there's simply not a lot to do here.

Once Hector gives up his information, it will be time to get down to business. ]

Best not waste any time, eh? Tides can come in quick.

[Hector won't deny that his view of what death was like and Jack's are different. Hector can't remember it, not really. It's as if all of those memories were burned out when Tia Dalma dragged him back into the world of the living, out of wherever it was he'd gone after Jack had shot him.

And he, of course, only has Tia Dalma's word on what the Locker is actually like. A place of punishment, she'd said, and his imagination is good enough that he can conjure a few guesses as to what that means, but at the same time, that's a hard thing to assume.

But all the same, Hector's been here, in Wonderland longer. And it hasn't been a joyride by any means. And he won't lie; he wants to go home. He wants to be back in Tortuga where he should be, finding passage to Singapore. As much as he wasn't all that keen on the idea of negotiating with Sao Feng, it was a better than sitting here day after day, waiting for the next 'event'. Waiting to see what memories this place was going to drag out against his will for all to view at their leisure.

But all in all, if allying with Jack Sparrow is what he must do to win, ally he will. He's not above it. He knows they work well together, because of and despite the history there between them.

And as loathe as he is to give away information so carefully retained, in this instance, is just may be worth it.]

Nay, would hate to see it come upon us unheeded, mate.

[ Jack isn't entirely sure where he's spent more time -- the Locker or Wonderland. It was easier to tell the passage of time in Wonderland, with the sunrises and sunsets. But, in the Locker, the part he'd been taken to, there wasn't anything. The sun was perpetually at high noon, the weather never changed. Jack never thought he'd be grateful for the things like the daily motion of the sun but oh, he is.

Dying does tend to do that to a person, he supposes.

Wonderland almost seemed to do the same. Being idle, doing nothing but wandering the halls and the grounds, counting his footsteps to see how many miles he can walk in one day. It was dull and pointless, and made him appreciate the life he'd had before.

Not that he wasn't grateful for all of those things back home -- his ship, his crew, a free ocean without Jones or Beckett. He was properly grateful for all of those things, but he finds himself wishing to return him so he can experience those things once more, and be doubly grateful for them.

Jack says nothing. He only gives a nod. He's not sure when or where this exchange of information was going to take place, but he doubts the specifics will be discussed over the network, where anyone could overhear and eavesdrop. He trust Hector will have a plan of action -- he's always had one before -- and that things needing discussed get discussed before the next event occurs. ]

...Are you going to beat them up?

[Or make them walk the plank, maybe. That'd probably be more appropriate for this guy. She'll save that one for later.]

[ Jack's well aware that innocence is a look that never looks honest on him. However, there's truth in his eyes and sincerity in his voice when he replies, ]

Not at all, luv. You have my word.

[Her cheeks color slightly.]

I don't know who's it is, but I'd suggest you be sure you're not in the "destroying bedrooms" phase of your emotions before you actually talk to them.

What, this?

[ Jack looks over his shoulder, waving a hand at the obvious destruction before turning back around to the feed. ]

This ain't destruction. This be... chaotic organization.

The similarities are astounding.

In any case, I've been here a while. If you have a question or something, I could probably help just as much.

I was wonderin'...

There ain't a list, is there?

[ He waves his hands in the shape of a rectangle, in the shape of a piece of paper. ]

A list of the events, whose they be, an' how it connects to them, eh?

There could be a pattern, savvy? With the events bein' so regular an' all.

I don't have a list myself, but uh. There was that Kirigiri girl, with her database. And Mark usually keeps notes on stuff. You could ask him, or uhh. I think Chihiro has the database now.

[ Jack gives a nod, committing those names to memory. Mark and Chihiro. Seemed easy enough to remember. ]

I'll see if I can find 'em.

[ He gives her a smile. ]

You have my thanks, luv.

[Blushing:] Uh. No problem.

...Try to keep the destructive tendencies under control, alright?

Whatever you say, luv.

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