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entrancelogs2013-10-05 02:16 pm
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.
Who: Hector Barbossa and you.
Where: The mines.
When: The duration of the event! There here is a catch-all for Hector.
Rating: PG-13 for pirates being pirates.
Summary: Hector's catch-all, featuring some of your favorites like Jack Sparrow, Ellen Harvelle, and more! All days open except Day 5 (obviously), which is closed to Jack Sparrow.
The Story:
DAY ONE
He wasn't surprised in the slightest, given the timing. He knew it was coming, just as he'd told Jack before: Once a fortnight.
Even finding himself lacking sword and pistol hadn't been all that shocking, and he'd managed to scrounge around enough to find himself a makeshift weapon, though it wasn't nearly suited to his own tastes, so there'd been a happy, serendipitous moment where he'd run into Jack, and they'd found themselves swapping and moving on, nary a word passed between them.
The sledge hammer was heavy, and slow, but the idea of Jack trying to swing it was hysterical, and it would pack enough punch, he was sure, that anything attempting to get the better of him would sorely regret that choice.
Food was a negligable thing, though he managed to find something akin to boucan and had tucked it into his jacket, for when it was really needed. After all, a day or two without food wasn't the end of the world.
The rest was spent wandering, exploring, and looking for the chink in the armor of the latest little trick, because there was one. It was just finding it without getting frustrated.
DAY TWO
The dogs had nothing on the hellhounds, at least. True, they made the most awful noises when the sledge hammer connected with their skulls, but he didn't feel remotely bad about that. Why should he, after all, when it was them or him, and he liked himself far better than he did anything or anyone else in this absolute hellhole.
And he was no closer to figuring the whys of this little event out than he was the day before, though he wasn't terribly surprised by that, either. He did, however, wonder how long it would drag on. This place lacked any sense of timing whatsoever.
He sighed and sat down a moment, wiping his gorey hand on his gorey face, leaving a clean swath on his cheek. He wasn't worn down, not yet, at least, but being underground in a mine had never been a thing he'd ever remotely been interested in.
DAY THREE
Worms.
The dogs had been disgusting, but this was just horrific on so many levels. And out of all of the strange things he'd seen in his life, before this, at least, giant worms had never been a part of the picture. He almost had the urge to blame Jack, but he knew that - while Jack Sparrow could be blamed for many, many things - as far as he knew none of the tales and none of their little adventures together had ever contained any such nonsense.
But he was starting to get a bit fed up, because really: No sense of timing. It was as though the mansion and whatever controlled these silly little events had no idea how to quit while it was ahead. He was starting to get hungry - truly so - and yet he was filthy enough, and disgruntled enough, that the idea of eating what he'd managed to squirrel away in his current state did nothing but make him annoyed and frustrated. Not the grandest of combinations with the others drifting in and out here and there.
After all, he didn't want the sob-fest that was sure to follow if someome managed to irk him enough into killing them, once this event was said and done.
DAY FOUR
The horrific monsters kept coming, and he was starting to wear down after four days of nonstop wandering, little food, and next to no sleep. He could have breezed through this, he knew, a year before. Breezed through it and never batted an eyelash at the mess, because what were things like sleep and rest and food to the undead?
But, thankfully, in his opinion, that is not the case any longer. He'd take the aches and pains and sore muscles, along with the mind-numbing fatigue over the other any day. He'd even take that hollow in his gut, where it felt as though his stomach was sucking the very marrow from his spine. It was better. It was preferable.
But there was still the question of the chink in the 'event' armor, and there was still the question of finding a way to get home. The latter was far more pressing - moreso than it had been in a while - than anything, and he found himself taking a short break, to mull over what he knew. There was something there he was missing, he was sure.
And during that break, he finally forced himself to stomach a bit of what he'd found, before shoving off from against the wall of the mine once more, ignoring the clinking and clanging of unfamiliar machinery.
DAY FIVE - CLOSED TO JACK
This was the climax, then. A door. The idea that what he was searching for was behind that door, and the niggling sensation that, much like all the other events in this place, that was naught but a lie. He wasn't a fool, and he wasn't gullible. He'd not have survived as long as he had, death by Jack aside, if he were.
Their kind learned, and learned the hard way, that trusting things at face value was honestly the stupidest thing a pirate could do.
Oh, there was curiosity, of course. That was idea, he was sure. Make him curious enough to open the door and face some horrific fate. Or be led to another set of lies that wouldn't translate, once the event was over.
Like the Pearl.
And so he simply stood across from the door, both wanting to open it, and knowing better. It was an awful conundrum, and one he would admit to freely, at least to himself. And he was angry. It was the calm, cold anger that he'd started to grow accustomed to, thanks to the mansion and Wonderland and all her inhabitants. Angry, because he was absolutely sick of being jerked around like a toy on a string.
no subject
But at the same time, he was highly amused at the boy's contriteness (and he was nothing but a boy, the way he reacted proved that fully and completely).
"Well. If you had perhaps asked the question rather than assuming, you might have a better answer." Because he was such a stickler for those loopholes in things, after all. "But as long as we're pretending to be polite, aye. I'm a pirate. After all, I doubt you're going to find the hangman down here. And if you do...Well. Dying happens, doesn't it."
no subject
"Think it happens more'n enough, yeah," he agreed, opting to try to move past the awkwardness born of his earlier assumptions. "Not so keen on any kind repeat performance — wasn't all that long ago I died the first time." And wasn't that funny to say? Or, perhaps more accurately, it was funny for John to say, as he hadn't ever experienced a world where death was anything but solid and concrete.
He reached into his bindle and dug until he produced a couple think strips of jerky. "Got a little bit to spare."
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"Passing on be one of the absolute truths. Coming back...That should be the miracle you hope for." He'd done that twice already, as well.
But at the offer, he simply patted his at his jacket absently. "Aye, so do I. Keep your'n, as I'm sure there be those in this godforsaken place as needs it more than I."
It wasn't an act of kindness, that, however. No. He wasn't going to owe anyone in this place a damn thing, if he could help it.
no subject
"Seen a lotta others? Haven't had much luck myself," he said, and he glanced over his shoulder to make certain there was no crowd of lingering Wonderland residents lurking in order to make him look further the fool.
So far, so good.