Jack was still feeling unsettled from his conversation with whashisface. Just a might unsettled, the feeling was. Hardly noticeable. Could barely pick out the wild-eyed, desperate look of panic in him with a two-foot long scope.
That was, of course, if you were like that strange scragly looking pirate with the fake eye.
The whole trouble started when he accepted that key, he was sure of it. He still didn't know where he was, but any place that came with the provision of never leaving did not appeal to him. Not at all. Not when there was a whole wide world out there left waiting for him to explore, instead of standing here in this strange hotel, meeting and seeing all sorts of oddly dressed blokes.
God, he hoped there was rum. And wenches. And... more rum. With that craving being craved, Jack had it in his mind to set off to find some liquid reprieve when he heard the ding, ding, ding of a call bell sounding off from behind him. A man was there -- again, oddly dressed; did these people never hear about fine fashion? -- and seemed
( ... )
Bertie jumped a mile, eyes going salmon-wide, walking stick nearly flying from his grasp. When his brain finally came out from under the bed and decided to process the newcomer, he smiled delightedly.
"I say! What an absolutely smashing getup! I've seen some fancy-dress togs in my day, but this is the tops! Who's your tailor, then? Got time for any late arrivals? I didn't bring a costume, but give me a spare set of bedsheets, a tuft of fern and a stiffish martini, and I can Cicero with the best of them!"
What luck! Bertie must have stumbled across a costume party, and there were few things he enjoyed more than an open bar, a few creative outfits and a turn 'round the dance floor with an obliging bird. And really, a costume party could be the only explanation as to why a pirate was standing in the lobby of a fine hotel.
Oh, and the man could talk! Jack reeled away a few inches, trying to distance himself from the onslaught of questions. And avoid that walking stick he seemed to have a hard time holding onto.
The man had to be one of the gentry, some high class Bob if he was carrying such a thing. Jack had only seen govenors and their ilk carry walking sticks. But he never heard a member of reputed polite society babble at him quite like that.
Grabbing on to one word out of the melee, Jack repeated intelligently, "Costume?"
"Costume, certainly!" Bertie wondered if the fellow was hard of hearing, or drunk. If it was the latter, then that boded quite well for the remainder of his evening. "You've done a marvelous job, especially with the plaits in the old soup-strainer." He mimed stroking an invisible goatee and beamed a smile at the man. "I must say, you almost look like a real pirate!"
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That was, of course, if you were like that strange scragly looking pirate with the fake eye.
The whole trouble started when he accepted that key, he was sure of it. He still didn't know where he was, but any place that came with the provision of never leaving did not appeal to him. Not at all. Not when there was a whole wide world out there left waiting for him to explore, instead of standing here in this strange hotel, meeting and seeing all sorts of oddly dressed blokes.
God, he hoped there was rum. And wenches. And... more rum. With that craving being craved, Jack had it in his mind to set off to find some liquid reprieve when he heard the ding, ding, ding of a call bell sounding off from behind him. A man was there -- again, oddly dressed; did these people never hear about fine fashion? -- and seemed ( ... )
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"I say! What an absolutely smashing getup! I've seen some fancy-dress togs in my day, but this is the tops! Who's your tailor, then? Got time for any late arrivals? I didn't bring a costume, but give me a spare set of bedsheets, a tuft of fern and a stiffish martini, and I can Cicero with the best of them!"
What luck! Bertie must have stumbled across a costume party, and there were few things he enjoyed more than an open bar, a few creative outfits and a turn 'round the dance floor with an obliging bird. And really, a costume party could be the only explanation as to why a pirate was standing in the lobby of a fine hotel.
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The man had to be one of the gentry, some high class Bob if he was carrying such a thing. Jack had only seen govenors and their ilk carry walking sticks. But he never heard a member of reputed polite society babble at him quite like that.
Grabbing on to one word out of the melee, Jack repeated intelligently, "Costume?"
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