There seem to be an awful lot of pigeons about today. They blanket the courtyards and pathways, cooing and fidgeting and fighting. They’re as flighty as ever, wheeling away in great flocks as soon as anyone approaches. All but the odd one or two, who hop on the spot half-heartedly, or else fly in a circle and quickly land again
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So when a few of the dirty, nervous feathered beasties wheel back around and land near by seemingly unafraid. Jack was able to get a better look at the contraptions the pigeons seem to carry.
Little canisters.
"Well that's clever."
And curious.
He bends over and whistles to the pigeons, "Here. Come here. Come closer you mite ridden feather dusters."
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"Come here. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a nice Jackie. That's a good birdie now."
He gets lower even and reaches out a hand to entice the pigeon closer.
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Wings flapping, the bird flies the last few feet and lands at Jack's feet. Once there, it peers up at him. There's a canister on it's back. Whatever could be inside..?
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"Well. That's never happened before." Then he realizes that this is likely the only opportunity he is going to get to find out what is inside. "Thank you mate."
With quick fingers he is able to open the canister and pull the paper out without disturbing the ugly little thing.
"Now lets just have a gander, shall we?"
Yes, he's talking to the pigeon.
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( ... )
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"Samples lost. Ran out of- what? What was ran out of? What samples? Whose it to anyways?" He frowns.
"That's so unhelpful, it doesn't make any sense at all." He looks again at the bird, "Is there more to it? You hiding another piece somewhere on you then?"
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Maybe there was another one?
Pigeons? Have a Jack looking to see if there's another bird with a canister on it's back...
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Jack spies the bird just on the port side of him, "Why, hello there! There's quite a few of you little bastards, aren't there?"
And he'll be out here catching every one that he can to satisfy his curiosity, or until he gets caught.
"Won't you oblige me a bit, birdie. just, hold still a moment." With a quick snatch he goes to grab the bird around the middle.
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( ... )
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He's one to know of cursing, like a sailor even. It's another matter seeing it all written out in what appears to him to be blood, when reading and writing in the first place are such rare things that writing out 'fuck' was not something he's come across before.
Even worse still, this one seems to be done up by a mad man.
"Screaming? I don't quite like the sound of that." What is out there in this strange Keep?
He looks for another blighter with a bottle on his back.
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But he is rather resolute. The birds seemingly hold the answer to a strange riddle indeed.
"If I didn't like cats, more than I don't like pigeons- I'd be well on my way to searching one out by now."
The pirate does his best impression of stalking the flock where it flies. That can't be all that's there.
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