A man chooses, a slave something something (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obeyseventually) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-12-12 11:50 pm
obeyseventually) wrote in come_sailaway2022-12-12 11:50 pm
Entry tags:
I admit defeat, then I move my feet
Who: Jack and Siffleur, or Jack and YOU
What: Jack coping in various ways, or keeping himself too occupied to remember his history of taking orders.
When: Varying parts of early december
Where: Tommy Bahama, the sports deck, Playback
Warnings: Violence and/or sex for Siffleur's thread, nothing so far for everything else, but warnings will come as needed.
1. Siffleur [closed to siffleur]
Shortly after a conversation with the Captain and a follow-up with Skulduggery, Jack finds himself walking through the ship, his thoughts pacing between two points like an animal in a cage. Sympathy and horror that the Captain was controlled in some way, maybe as directly as Jack was, or maybe not but close enough... But also the reminder that Jack could still, at any time, be forced under someone else’s control again, that while he removed the puppet strings programmed into him in Rapture, that whatever happens on the ship could be purely external, and there’s nothing Jack could do to stop it.
He thought about numbing himself by dipping into the stash he rebuilt since his room exploded, but not only could he see himself wasting half of it to stay consistently drunk long enough for this to fade, he feels kind of awkward about the idea? Like, that’s maybe not a healthy response he should turn to every time he feels complicated about his -- past? Origins? Nature?
So instead, he rides the elevator up to the Promenade and texts Siffleur en route:
Hey, if you’re up for a hunt I’ll be around. Not sure if I feel like trying to completely fight to kill, but you follow your heart (or stomach! 😂) on this one! 👍👍
And just doing that lifts a weight off his shoulders. With his hands in his pockets and his mouth whistling a cheery little tune, he strolls into the Tommy Bahama, right up to the nearest checkout. He takes his pistol and puts it on the counter, as well as his wrench. After a second to think about it, he puts his shoulder bag on the countertop too. No need to waste EVE hypos on this, definitely no need to waste his only health kit, and no need to risk the drinks he brought along either.
Armed with only his plasmids and the need to burn energy, he walks deeper into the Tommy Bahama, and keeps walking until something interrupts him.
2. Fight Club
But earlier in the month, before all that-
Alright, about a month and a half ago, he discovered a tennis ball machine buried under the sports equipment, dug it out, set it up, and stood empty-handed at the end of its serving range. It was nostalgic, in a way, to catch and drop the incoming tennis balls with telekinesis, but eventually the practice was less in his reflex catching and more in perfecting carefully dropping a tennis ball instead of accidentally releasing it like a misfired bullet. Which, you know, still an important skill to have, but not as engaging as he’d like his practice to be.
So early in the month, he shows up at one of the Fight Club meetings with a sign asking people to ‘Throw Literally Any Object At Me’ pinned to his shirt, standing next to a pile of balls and pucks (though he’ll accept any improvised projectile).
3. Sports Deck
The other time he plays with balls - phrasing, pardon him: the other time he practices with telekinesis comes after those awkward conversations, and it isn’t really a concentrated improvement of skill as he does it. He’s just lying on the sports deck, staring up in the sky, and firing a tennis ball into the air. It comes down more or less in his line of sight enough that even if it’s not going to directly fall on him, he can reach out his hand and his mind and draw it back to his palm before it comes close to hitting the ground.
Then he holds his arm straight up into the sky and does it again. And again. And again. Just mindlessly killing time, lost in thought but not thinking at all.
There’s an open bottle of rum beside him, but telekinesis doesn’t use that much EVE, so there’s only a mouthful of it gone so far, and Jack doesn’t really feel like sitting up yet.
4. Playback
Jack predates arcades, so it’s been a reliable place for him to keep himself busy. There’s decades of technology and games to explore in there, and enough variety to keep it fresh for him, for now.
And yet, despite sampling a variety of styles of game through the arcade, today Jack is going through any game with a gun.
They’re not shaped the same and they don’t even come close to the same weight, but the adjustment is easy to make and within the first half dozen shots he adapts to the game’s idea of accuracy.
At that point, it’s over for enemies on the screen. Be they zombies, or aliens, or dinosaurs, Jack hits them as soon as they spring up, again and again and again. The thing is, it’s hard to tell if Jack’s enjoying it.
He’s got a stern, focused look on his face as he works, no hint of a smile at all as he methodically clears through stage after stage of whichever game he’s on. While he doesn’t get a perfect clear every time, he makes it pretty far through each game before he has to start the process over.
Do you think he needs a break? He might need a break.
5. Wildcard
[Jack can also be found getting food pretty much anywhere on the ship that serves it, wandering around the Tommy Bahama, or wandering the decks at night, or anything else you can think of!]
What: Jack coping in various ways, or keeping himself too occupied to remember his history of taking orders.
When: Varying parts of early december
Where: Tommy Bahama, the sports deck, Playback
Warnings: Violence and/or sex for Siffleur's thread, nothing so far for everything else, but warnings will come as needed.
1. Siffleur [closed to siffleur]
Shortly after a conversation with the Captain and a follow-up with Skulduggery, Jack finds himself walking through the ship, his thoughts pacing between two points like an animal in a cage. Sympathy and horror that the Captain was controlled in some way, maybe as directly as Jack was, or maybe not but close enough... But also the reminder that Jack could still, at any time, be forced under someone else’s control again, that while he removed the puppet strings programmed into him in Rapture, that whatever happens on the ship could be purely external, and there’s nothing Jack could do to stop it.
He thought about numbing himself by dipping into the stash he rebuilt since his room exploded, but not only could he see himself wasting half of it to stay consistently drunk long enough for this to fade, he feels kind of awkward about the idea? Like, that’s maybe not a healthy response he should turn to every time he feels complicated about his -- past? Origins? Nature?
So instead, he rides the elevator up to the Promenade and texts Siffleur en route:
Hey, if you’re up for a hunt I’ll be around. Not sure if I feel like trying to completely fight to kill, but you follow your heart (or stomach! 😂) on this one! 👍👍
And just doing that lifts a weight off his shoulders. With his hands in his pockets and his mouth whistling a cheery little tune, he strolls into the Tommy Bahama, right up to the nearest checkout. He takes his pistol and puts it on the counter, as well as his wrench. After a second to think about it, he puts his shoulder bag on the countertop too. No need to waste EVE hypos on this, definitely no need to waste his only health kit, and no need to risk the drinks he brought along either.
Armed with only his plasmids and the need to burn energy, he walks deeper into the Tommy Bahama, and keeps walking until something interrupts him.
2. Fight Club
But earlier in the month, before all that-
Alright, about a month and a half ago, he discovered a tennis ball machine buried under the sports equipment, dug it out, set it up, and stood empty-handed at the end of its serving range. It was nostalgic, in a way, to catch and drop the incoming tennis balls with telekinesis, but eventually the practice was less in his reflex catching and more in perfecting carefully dropping a tennis ball instead of accidentally releasing it like a misfired bullet. Which, you know, still an important skill to have, but not as engaging as he’d like his practice to be.
So early in the month, he shows up at one of the Fight Club meetings with a sign asking people to ‘Throw Literally Any Object At Me’ pinned to his shirt, standing next to a pile of balls and pucks (though he’ll accept any improvised projectile).
3. Sports Deck
The other time he plays with balls - phrasing, pardon him: the other time he practices with telekinesis comes after those awkward conversations, and it isn’t really a concentrated improvement of skill as he does it. He’s just lying on the sports deck, staring up in the sky, and firing a tennis ball into the air. It comes down more or less in his line of sight enough that even if it’s not going to directly fall on him, he can reach out his hand and his mind and draw it back to his palm before it comes close to hitting the ground.
Then he holds his arm straight up into the sky and does it again. And again. And again. Just mindlessly killing time, lost in thought but not thinking at all.
There’s an open bottle of rum beside him, but telekinesis doesn’t use that much EVE, so there’s only a mouthful of it gone so far, and Jack doesn’t really feel like sitting up yet.
4. Playback
Jack predates arcades, so it’s been a reliable place for him to keep himself busy. There’s decades of technology and games to explore in there, and enough variety to keep it fresh for him, for now.
And yet, despite sampling a variety of styles of game through the arcade, today Jack is going through any game with a gun.
They’re not shaped the same and they don’t even come close to the same weight, but the adjustment is easy to make and within the first half dozen shots he adapts to the game’s idea of accuracy.
At that point, it’s over for enemies on the screen. Be they zombies, or aliens, or dinosaurs, Jack hits them as soon as they spring up, again and again and again. The thing is, it’s hard to tell if Jack’s enjoying it.
He’s got a stern, focused look on his face as he works, no hint of a smile at all as he methodically clears through stage after stage of whichever game he’s on. While he doesn’t get a perfect clear every time, he makes it pretty far through each game before he has to start the process over.
Do you think he needs a break? He might need a break.
5. Wildcard
[Jack can also be found getting food pretty much anywhere on the ship that serves it, wandering around the Tommy Bahama, or wandering the decks at night, or anything else you can think of!]
no subject
Back in Rapture, Jack would run for cover or failing that just take the blows he couldn't catch, but with him issuing the challenge there's a little pressure to perform. He makes the attempt: one puck stops in front of one palm, and another stops in front of the other - and that alone feels impressive since he's used to only having one hand free for this. But the other two-
One puck drops to the deck normally, and it's hard to tell if Jack catches the third puck naturally or with his mind. The puck in his other hand shoots from his hand like it was fired out of a taut slingshot, bouncing against the deck, while the fourth thrown puck thumps against his chest.
"Oof." Jack says, though it doesn't really hurt. He fumbles catching that puck too, and just watches it roll on its side on the deck before it flops over.
He looks from the downed puck to Erin.
"... Right, it's more of a - it's moving things with my mind, so no, it doesn't have to come for me." Jack says, and to demonstrate he uses telekinesis again to pick the puck up off of the deck. "This is more to keep my reflexes in shape."
no subject
|Stone? All the way to the edge of the world.|
And Stone, the might of the living world, sayeth: On it.
Erin winds up and throws, well away from Jack and anyone else who might wander into the path.
The puck shatters the sound barrier.
no subject
Jack flexes his hand, and then lowers his arm and turns to Erin.
"Alright, so... Maybe we should dial back from that one." Jack says, although he really sort of does want another stab at that, just to see if he has better luck if he knows what's coming, just to see if he can. Focus, focus.
no subject
Erin tosses a puck in her hand, looking thoughtful. "...Think about the speed of a pistol shot might be better?"
no subject
"Maybe if you didn't aim it at me? The thing with this is, they got the telekinesis working, but enhanced reflexes were sold separately, so to speak." Jack says.
He doesn't entirely know what she means by 'pact', but figures it won't be a problem if he does or doesn't know it. (Plus, though it doesn't occur to him yet, he didn't exactly explain where his powers came from either.)
no subject
While she waits for that answer Erin takes a deep breath. Her body changes...subtly. Her hair becomes less tempestuous, resolving into distinctly human hair that blows in a wind that is not present. Her moving tattoos slow, resolve into a single song that plays on loop, the red of her lips pales to a human color rather than that of lipstick.
Dialing it down has some side effects, it would seem.
no subject
"Genetic modification, commodified." Jack explains.
The process Erin goes through is... curious. It's like watching someone step out of costume, only Jack isn't sure if that's true or not. There's enough people with strange hair and eyes and so on that it can't really be called 'out of the ordinary' anymore, so he hadn't given much thought to the way Erin's hair behaved or its colour or anything, just when it started behaving differently.
Anyway he flexes his hand and waits for any cue to get ready.
no subject
(How many people from horrifying supertech capitalist hellscapes are on this ship?)
Listen. Why are we and Darcy the only ones from magic Earths?
(...Not sure how that relates but okay.)
Erin gives Jack a nod, points in that same direction as before (about five feet off to his right), winds up, and throws.
It's subsonic, at least.