everything the same and a little different
[Who:] Captain Jack Sparrow, Pink Floyd
[What:] After waking up from the dead, for a second time, Jack is seen to at the hospital.
[When:] Early Week 7?
[Where:] Hospital
[Warnings:] Nada, will update as needed.
Captain Jack Sparrow has yet to leave his hospital bed, upon waking a day after his rather spattering death.
He's also clutching something to his chest, a bulky package of standard-brand something or other sealed tight like food should be, although otherwise indistinct. Occasionally, his speaky box machine squawks something or other, but it mostly goes ignored save for suspicious glances. Fully dressed, boots and all, hat set aside and effects otherwise strapped to him variously, Jack does not resemble a dead man, but that is par for the course of Zone Fifteen. He does resemble a somewhat haunted man and it might well be the missing memory teetering out of reach on the edge of his brain. He couldn't even say what it was, can't actually articulate the shape of the wee hole in his memory, blanker and more defined than the other cheese-cloth thin patches he often has.
Sitting with his back ram rod straight, legs in front of him and booted fleet a little splayed, showing the soles worn down to a shine. He'd woken up here before, hadn't he, in a room just like this one, even met the same company, except that Amy Pond hadn't stayed for as long. Just enough to leave the item he grips to his chest now as if holding it looser would make it disappear or something.
Next is meant to be Mr. Floyd, everything the same and a little different. This Locker was a weirder thing than Captain Jack Sparrow had initially given it credit for.
[What:] After waking up from the dead, for a second time, Jack is seen to at the hospital.
[When:] Early Week 7?
[Where:] Hospital
[Warnings:] Nada, will update as needed.
Captain Jack Sparrow has yet to leave his hospital bed, upon waking a day after his rather spattering death.
He's also clutching something to his chest, a bulky package of standard-brand something or other sealed tight like food should be, although otherwise indistinct. Occasionally, his speaky box machine squawks something or other, but it mostly goes ignored save for suspicious glances. Fully dressed, boots and all, hat set aside and effects otherwise strapped to him variously, Jack does not resemble a dead man, but that is par for the course of Zone Fifteen. He does resemble a somewhat haunted man and it might well be the missing memory teetering out of reach on the edge of his brain. He couldn't even say what it was, can't actually articulate the shape of the wee hole in his memory, blanker and more defined than the other cheese-cloth thin patches he often has.
Sitting with his back ram rod straight, legs in front of him and booted fleet a little splayed, showing the soles worn down to a shine. He'd woken up here before, hadn't he, in a room just like this one, even met the same company, except that Amy Pond hadn't stayed for as long. Just enough to leave the item he grips to his chest now as if holding it looser would make it disappear or something.
Next is meant to be Mr. Floyd, everything the same and a little different. This Locker was a weirder thing than Captain Jack Sparrow had initially given it credit for.