What calls to us [semi-closed]
WHO: Jack Sparrow (kraken_snack) and Tsukiyono Omi (truthandfreesia)
WHAT: Jack tries to wrangle some company for a stroll into the jungle.
WHERE: Outside Weiss HQ
WHEN: Nighttime, shortly after this post.
The night air tasted sweeter than rum and smelled freer than the sea, and if anyone had ever tried to tell Jack Sparrow that either of those things was possible he would have laughed in their face.
But then the night had never felt quite like this before, never looked so bright or sounded so clear. And Jack had never before had the sort of wanderlust that drew him inland rather than out to sea. He'd never felt so strong or so fast….
He'd also never had cat ears before or wanted to gnaw a hunk of raw meat.
But on the other hand, he had been an undead skeleton sort of thing for a little while there. And he'd been captain of a grounded ship full of hims. So he supposed that, really, cat ears ranked a touch lower on the odd-changes-in-the-register-of-shape-and/or-structure scale than some of the rest.
Anyway, the point was that, after several hours of very unpleasant cramping he could best describe as growing pains, Jack had reawoken to the world with an unquenchable restlessness and what felt to him, at least, as a perfect clarity of vision: the jungle. He wanted to be in the jungle.
In the jungle he would be free. Freer even than on board the Pearl. Freer than the sea could ever make him. Soon. Soon, he knew, he would have it.
But not yet. There was something he had to do first. Someone he had to take with him. A person who yearned for freedom as much as he did himself.
Scenting the boy from the pages of his journal, Jack stepped out into the night and began to follow his nose. He'd never been to the house where Omi lived before, but he found it easily enough, because he could smell him. He could smell worry and fear when he got there too, and the lingering scent of others who were…like him now.
He circled the building curiously, beset by a strange sense of longing and want. Up on the second floor a window was open or-no, not open, broken-and something about that window drew him.
The tree that was just outside of it was one that Jack would never, normaly, have attempted climbing. Not that climbing trees was his standard fare-he climbed rigging, not trees. But this one called out to be climbed, and he shimmied up it and then out onto one of its branches with barely a thought. He was sitting perched in the boughs just outside the window now, and the yammering of want was stronger than ever.
He raised his head, scented the air, and smiled. "Omi," he called softly. "Omi."
WHAT: Jack tries to wrangle some company for a stroll into the jungle.
WHERE: Outside Weiss HQ
WHEN: Nighttime, shortly after this post.
The night air tasted sweeter than rum and smelled freer than the sea, and if anyone had ever tried to tell Jack Sparrow that either of those things was possible he would have laughed in their face.
But then the night had never felt quite like this before, never looked so bright or sounded so clear. And Jack had never before had the sort of wanderlust that drew him inland rather than out to sea. He'd never felt so strong or so fast….
He'd also never had cat ears before or wanted to gnaw a hunk of raw meat.
But on the other hand, he had been an undead skeleton sort of thing for a little while there. And he'd been captain of a grounded ship full of hims. So he supposed that, really, cat ears ranked a touch lower on the odd-changes-in-the-register-of-shape-and/or-structure scale than some of the rest.
Anyway, the point was that, after several hours of very unpleasant cramping he could best describe as growing pains, Jack had reawoken to the world with an unquenchable restlessness and what felt to him, at least, as a perfect clarity of vision: the jungle. He wanted to be in the jungle.
In the jungle he would be free. Freer even than on board the Pearl. Freer than the sea could ever make him. Soon. Soon, he knew, he would have it.
But not yet. There was something he had to do first. Someone he had to take with him. A person who yearned for freedom as much as he did himself.
Scenting the boy from the pages of his journal, Jack stepped out into the night and began to follow his nose. He'd never been to the house where Omi lived before, but he found it easily enough, because he could smell him. He could smell worry and fear when he got there too, and the lingering scent of others who were…like him now.
He circled the building curiously, beset by a strange sense of longing and want. Up on the second floor a window was open or-no, not open, broken-and something about that window drew him.
The tree that was just outside of it was one that Jack would never, normaly, have attempted climbing. Not that climbing trees was his standard fare-he climbed rigging, not trees. But this one called out to be climbed, and he shimmied up it and then out onto one of its branches with barely a thought. He was sitting perched in the boughs just outside the window now, and the yammering of want was stronger than ever.
He raised his head, scented the air, and smiled. "Omi," he called softly. "Omi."