lucetilogs | Everything was beautiful; nothing hurt.

Everything was beautiful; nothing hurt.

Who:

lists_to_port, and anyone who wants to help them/laugh at them/take advantage of the situation/shake their heads in exasperation.
What: Irons. And Lots of Irony. (Yes, they get handcuffed together.)
When: 1 August, sometime nearish 3pm, after this.
Where: Good Spirits and perhaps around the village
Summary: Good God somebody help them.
Rating: Mothers Lock Up Your Daughters (PG+?)

After the unfortunate and highly accidental breakage of the medical thingy, Jack decided that the best thing to do would be to dump everything from his bag of booty onto the bar at Good Spirits so that McCoy--when he walked in angry--might be distracted by Interesting Junk. He tried to make two piles: Things of Interest to Bones, and Things of No Interest to Bones Whatsoever. There were sharp-looking scalpels and dull-looking scalpels and things that looked like they might be used to prod people's ears and other things that looked like they could be used to sew things like ears back onto the human body.

Into the other pile went some clockworkish items that Jack felt sure would be of interest to Donatello. He'd decided, somehow, that this turtle who was so intent on breaking through the barrier would need any help he could get, and if the pirate could do that by supplying random Malnosso technology, then he was more than willing to play that part.

The last thing he laid upon the bar--a set of iron manacles he'd swiped from one of the prison cells in the abandoned mountain structure--really could not be classified. He couldn't see Bones wanting them, and Donatello would definitely not want them and would in fact probably go off in a huff or something after even seeing them. So Jack ordered another tankard of ale and toyed with the metal handcuffs, wondering idly if he might reshape the iron and use it for fittings on his boat once she was finished.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I can't bloody well stop this if we want to get out of here and over to the smithy, savvy?"

In what was quickly turning into the arm equivalent of a three-legged race.

"You're making this more difficult than it should be." The doctor insisted, feigning ignorance that he was being perfectly helpful during this whole situation.

Edited 2010-08-04 03:21 (UTC)

"Look, mate, there's a good chance that the entire bloody village will probably see us---best to act casual, shall we?" Jack moved around behind the doctor so that his chained arm wrapped around McCoy's back. It was still awkward, as he found himself leaning into Bones a bit just for lack of chain length. The pirate grunted in dismay. "Right. Casual, remember? And Buffy never hears about it, lad."

"Casual? I have a reputation to uphold; how the hell am I going to explain this one?" McCoy sighed heavily as Jack moved around his back with his usual swagger, the chain of the shackles clinking with each step as he attempted to adjust himself on the other side of the extremely dour doctor, who felt the chain rub uncomfortably against the scapular portion of his wings.

"I shouldn't have given you any ale," He remarked with a grimace, sharply feeling the shackles play havoc on those overly sensitive wings of his, "then maybe this never would have happened." And yet he felt that he was negative enough to accept this would have happened anyway, whether or not Jack had been felled by the drink or not. For his credit, he did not shove him away.

Jack, meanwhile, had to cope with McCoy's sensitive wings in his face. He sneezed several times, violently. "Your reputation will likely be improved by all this, actually. What of Captain Jack Sparrow? Man who can escape any given trap? Who has broken the most formidable stone fortresses of the world? Laughingstock, after this." He sighed and shook his head and sneezed several more times.

"You were a laughing stock to begin with." McCoy said, inclining his head away from Jack. Disease was being spread by the pirate, who often got him involved in dangerous situations. It was not space that he had left to fear as he turned his head and snapped, "Stop sneezing in my face!"

McCoy finally snapped and swung his free hand, possibly to shove his face in the other way, or pinch his nose until he stopped spreading germs everywhere. Either way, it would possibly end up with the two of them squabbling again and no step closer to the door.

"OI. LEH. GO. MAH. DOSE."

"I'll let go when you stop sneezing."

Childish, McCoy.

"RIGHT!" The pirate made a grab for the doctor's wings, intending on twisting one into a winglock--which is an immobilizing move that he is making up as he goes along.

The doctor would later be ever so thankful that the bar was essentially deserted at this time in the afternoon, so no one would be witness to their own twisted version of a masochism tango, as the southerner kept a firm grip on his nose. Immobilize the pirate did manage to do, but McCoy was not eager to let go that easily.

"Ow! Goddamn it, let go!"

"NO! YOU LEB GO!"

This was really starting to hurt, damn it. Apparently in the future they practiced deadly nose holds to annoy their opponents into submission. Jack realized he'd have to fight a bit dirtier, so he twisted the wing. Hard.

"Fine! Fine!"

McCoy was a doctor, not a soldier and there was only so much brutal treatment he could withstand, which was why he let go and tried to writhe out of the pirate's grasp, before he ended up doing something stupid like snapping the feathers in half. He knew, from firsthand experience, that maiming those wings fucking hurt.

Edited 2010-08-04 20:42 (UTC)

Jack released him and rubbed his nose. Whatever Bones had intended by it, at least it had stopped the sneezing. A cure, of sorts--ironically.

"Blast it, doc! That hurt, it did. We'll get nowhere at this rate. Look--door's there, savvy? If we stay close enough together we should be able to reach her. Long's you don't trip me up that is."

"Don't trip me up either." McCoy muttered darkly, his wings still smarting after that attempted wing lock from Jack.

The two, very slowly and with plenty of grumbling, managed to make it over to the door. Sparrow paused, a hand on the latch.

"You wouldn't perchance be able to reach my hip flask with your other hand, mate?"

"No." The answer to that question came firm and swift as McCoy looked away from the door and gave him an incredulous stare. He had just tried a shot of romulan ale and now he wanted a top up?

"Good God, man."

"Didn't want your hand in my pocket anyway," Sparrow groused in return. The Romulan ale was still a fiery presence in his system, he would admit. "Right. Let's try to do this without being seen, savvy?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me." McCoy responded with a customary roll of his eyes, glad that he would not be subjected to delving in his pockets for a hipflask. Such an action might have end up in another squabble.

With every caution, Jack poked his head out the door and led the way. Or--tried to lead the way. There really couldn't be any true "leading," as he was sort of behind McCoy, and they were chained together so closely. "Should we stay behind those bushes, think you? Don't want to be seen like this."

"And I don't want to risk being seen cowering in a bush." He tugged at the chain impatiently, his mind already in the smithy where someone would hopefully free them. Or with any luck, there would be no one there and they could just use the equipment themselves, "If anyone asks, this is your fault."

The pirate considered this. It was sort of his fault, though he'd never had such a problem with irons before. Well, there was that one time, with Beckett...and that had been his fault as well.

But it had been worth it.

"Bonesy," he began as they shuffled along, trying not to look like two guys who were trying not to look like two guys who had accidentally chained themselves together, "Bonesy, have you ever spent time in prison, mate?"

"Never." McCoy replied to that question without delay, although there was a distinct ambiguity in his voice that could not be managed because of the speed of which he articulated his reply. He might not have ended up in prison doing time, but he could not say that he had never been involved with the law either.

Diplomatic incidents at gymnastic meets and his best friend getting into bar fights at the academy often resulted with the law enforcers grilling him far longer than he felt necessary; the former of those two examples easily made him reminisce the event with a distinct amount of embarrassment and discomfort, since he was just a few months shy of turning eighteen when they talked to him about his roommate's attempted murder. While he had to deal with how much of an ass he had acted the evening before without apologizing.

So, he tried not to dwell on this and kept his eyes on the road (actually uncertain where the smithy was actually located) and walking with the pirate positioned oddly at his side, "We don't use these either." McCoy added sullenly, raising his shackled hand to prove a point.

"How do you restrain your prisoners, then?" Jack had his doubts about McCoy's answer of "never," and he was more than willing to press that point. "So when you were facing troubles with the authorities, did they just tie you up with rope?"

"We use brigs that implement force fields, of course – wait, who said I was ever questioned by the authorities?"

"Never said 'questioned,' mate--it's clear enough there were troubles. What sorts of questions, then? Out with it."

LOL THAT ICON

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