entrancelogs | Dice and Vice...

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Dice and Vice...

Who: Porthos and Hector
Where: The main floor Tea Room... that looks more like a rundown salty bar.
When: TONIGHT IS THE NIIIIIGHT
Rating: PG-13, because lbr, they're them
Summary: A Pirate and a Musketeer are bored and find vices to entertain themselves.
The Story:

Porthos is glad he'd run across the man looking rather dapper in his waistcoat. A bit too long for Porthos' taste, but then, the man was English. Who knew what they thought about anything.

The set of dice is easy to find as are the bottles of Bordeaux and rum. He sets both bottles on the table and offers the dice to his companion, since they have nothing better to occupy their time. "What shall we wager then, since money means nothing?"

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"Why wager anything at all. What have we got when we can gain anything we want through those damnable closets, aside from dignity." Though he very much doubts a Frenchman would know much about that. Still, this one has proven to be highly preferable, to the rest of his lot running around.

But he picks up the dice, giving them a little shake. "Though, being honest, mate, I'd just as soon hang on to mine."

What does an English pirate - and don't tell Porthos he's anything but - know of dignity? He snorts into his wine, but doesn't ask it outloud. Now is not the time for country rivalries. They're both damned well stuck here; they might as well make the most of it.

"What's the fun in dice without the wager?" Porthos points out. He puts his wine down, trying to figure out what to wager.

"A new waistcoat." Porthos says suddenly. "A proper one." Not that English crap.

He'd hardly deny it if put to task over his profession, no worry there. But as for dignity, he knows plenty. He just doesn't say so, of course, but the sentiment that a Frenchman judging what a pirate does and does not know might be a little ridiculous is there all the same.

But at the suggestion, he gives a rude little snort, before glancing down at his own. There's absolutely nothing wrong with his and he's beginning to think the French present here in the mansion in their entirety are in a conspiracy with one another to treat the pirate like a paper doll.

It stands to reason he is not amused.

"A new waistcoat. And what, pray tell, be the point of that." Because really, if anyone thinks he's going to let the French have a go at him, they are wrong.

An Englishman knows nothing of dignity. Just look at Buckingham.

Porthos sits back in his chair and dangles the cup from his fingers, smirking. He sips his win and then pours himself some more. No need to waste it after all. He's still bored, but at least this looks to be entertaining, if the Captain's snort is anything to go by.

His eyebrows crawl upwards. "A new waistcoat? Well, the one you're wearing is rather ratty. The ladies would certainly notice."

Buckingham, Hector will and has pointed out before, is hardly someone anyone wants to claim, much less a pirate like him. After all, it was Hector who - once upon a time in the dim past - purposely slammed into that aggravating, arrogant little fop with Will Turner's face after Buckingham had highly insulted him about pirate dirt.

But that is hardly the point at the moment, and instead, he makes a face at the assertion that Hector would care at this point who noticed and who did not that his waistcoat had most certainly seen better days.

"What, the ladies here, I'd wager." And the emphasis on the word ladies is all he needs to say, to extend his opinion on that matter. "Hardly could call them that, could we. I've seen more ladylike manners in a punchhouse in Tortuga."

But really, there's not much else to be done here, is there. "Fine. Waistcoat it be. Game of Hazard, then?"

No one likes Buckingham. They can agree on that, since Porthos would gladly punch him without any provocation at all.

Porthos can't believe the man would turn down female attention, from the future or not. Obviously, he hasn't been giving them attention. They soak it up just like ladies from his time.

Porthos waves his hand at the table. "Roll the dice, Captain."

If Hector is being honest, it's not that ladies from the future aren't pretty of face enough - they are. But they're also lazy, judgmental, and it's impossible to get away from them at all in this place. And he has no desire in the slightest for attachments.

He's gone for ten years unable to feel nothing. He can go a little longer until he gets home where he belongs.

"Well, if you're going to be rushing me, then." It's said with a snort, before he glances up at the ceiling. "Calling it seven."

And with a rattle of dice, he rolls them out.

Porthos watches the dice roll end over end, landing on the table somewhere between the bottle of rum and the bottle of wine. He has to move the bottle to see them and whistles softly.

"Eight, so close." After letting Barbossa see the dice, he scoops them up and drops the pair into the cup again for the good captain. "Your roll again. I think the new waistcoat will be a lovely blue, don't you?" He tips his cup at Barbossa, smirking.

So close his arse. He answers that with a snort, scooping up the dice once more. "Blue." There's a certain snarkiness in that, and for good reason. There is nothing wrong with his own. It's still holding together right well, considering how old it is. It had been one of the first things he'd had made for himself and himself alone, fitted to him, when he became a captain.

True, it's a little loose now, as he's dropped some weight since being in the mansion, but that's something easily rectified.

"I hardly see why anyone would give one or t'other about what I choose wear, anyway." But he rolls the dice again, hoping to actually lose with a twelve because a new waistcoat. Really.

"Oui, blue. The ladies will love it." Porthos promises. Besides, what else is there to do but get new clothes, gamble and occasionally fight a friend or two? Porthos has yet to find anything to take his attention from the prison they're in.

He snorts, sipping his wine. "You'd be surprised who notices what, mon Capitan." Porthos swirls the wine in his glass, watching the dice roll along the table. He tsks softly as the dice show double sixes. "A new waistcoat for you it is." Porthos smirks, already planning.

He can feel it. It's coming...And there it is, one of those massive, earthshaking, world-spinning eye rolls. Sometimes he simply can't help it, and this is one of those times. The dice are against him, that much is clear, having rolled himself an eleven.

"I care not what the ladies here will love or not." Being the recluse he is, and the fact that he feels a person could blow in one of their ears and feel it exit the other. His opinion of future folk is heavily lacking.

"And if they be noticing, I could care less. But fine. Have it your way, mate."

Porthos laughs delightedly and drains his cup. Every room comes equipped with a closet. "No time like the present, is there?" He puts his cup down and pushes himself up, walking over to the closet.

His lips disappear under his mustache as he thinks at the closet, wanting something blue, but appropriate. He's not going to stick the man in something that would make him uncomfortable. He scratches his chin and then opens the door.

He pulls out the powder blue waistcoat. The gold and green embroidery adds weight along the bottom hem, but is subtle. Nodding in satisfaction, Porthos turns around and shakes it out. "Well? Better to pay the forfeit now."

To which Hector only squints at it, his expression otherwise neutral. Dear God, save him from the French, even if Porthos is highly more tolerable compared to some of his ilk running around this place.

One finger taps at the rim of his own cup, before he gives the slightest of acquiesces by the tiniest of amazingly regal nods.

"Better to call that quits while it's still not so horribly overdone as to be shameful."

A certain anonymous gift around Christmas comes to to mind there.

Porthos grimaces, remembering a couple of the clothes that he'd received in answer to his request. He settles at the table again. "Better to try it on. The closets have a sense of humor." He's gotten several coats that are far too baggy and have closures that make no sense.

He pours the last of the wine into his cup. "Another game?" He asks, smirking.

He is, of course, not going to remotely answer Porthos's request at all. Honestly, these Musketeer types are either entirely too brooding with their noses in the air, too foppish, or...Well. Perhaps in another life, and another time, Porthos would have found himself on the deck of pirate's ship, rather than whatever that nonsense it is they do.

He has the attitude of one.

"P'raps instead of worrying about its little jokes, we should be worried where it comes from, aye?" After all, they're talking about closets that can spit out living creatures. One might say it makes Hector's skin crawl, to a degree.

"Another game, for what, mate. Trying to overhaul me wardrobe, are you."

Porthos sighs and sips his wine, watching the pirate. He understands the man’s hesitation when it comes to the closets. There’s not much they can do about it tonight. “And what would you have us do? Enter the closets and try to find the beginning? It does no good. They’re simply small rooms behind a closed door the minute you step in them.”

He shrugs and then chuckles. “Perhaps, monsieur. Perhaps.”

"Nay, that does no good, and you and I both know it. But taking all we can from them like it be the commonplace..." He trails off a moment, tapping one nail on the rim of his own glass. "Foolish, that be. Nary have I been so dependent on anything me entire life, and nary do I intend to start now."

The last earns a bit of a sharp look. "Me clothes be just fine, thank you kindly, anyway. I've no use for finery, as sea salt do stain." Along with blood, but that goes without saying.

Porthos tips his glass in salute to Hector. Their amusement for the night has done wonders to let him relax and find something normal in this place of magic and future wonders. Then again, playing hazard with a pirate probably isn’t normal. (only probably, some of the folks he’s gambled with over the years have been of questionable repute.)

“But think of the wonders you could pull out of them. Your life’s history, wonders that even those of a modern era haven’t seen. I’m not saying to fully trust them, but enjoy what they can be.”

Porthos raises his eyes at the pirate. “I would never disparage a fellow inmate’s fashion choices, but perhaps there could be further choices? There’s not much sea salt here.” There’s the ocean but Hector’s not spending that much time on it.

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Dice and Vice...

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