lucetilogs | you're in the jungle, baby / you gonna die

Entry tags:

you're in the jungle, baby / you gonna die

Who: All draftees
What: Fighting the Third Party... and perhaps the wildlife.
When: June 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th. (Characters will be pulled out at 11:59 of the 6th.)
Where: An as-yet unmapped by the Malnosso tropical rainforest.
Summary: Here are your details. Try to stay alive, won't you?
Rating: Anywhere from PG to R.

No cut for you. Most of you will know how this works by now; if you don't, follow the lead of the others, or perhaps look to the last draft's fighting post for ideas. Don't forget to use your handy dandy character tags. Go forth and conquer thine enemies!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm a pirate."

That might have been enough right there, but Jack continued: "The rat what doesn't win gets thrown aside. Garbage. He might fight fiercely, but he's still garbage in the end. And occasionally the sailors laugh as he dies."

He doesn't look at him--can't look at him--but his face softens and he blinks quickly.

"Imagine what would happen, Kennedy, if all the rats came back and rose against their captors." The thought seemed to amuse Sparrow. He shifted restlessly again and drank more water. "Imagine if they made him fight, and beat him when he tried to get free, and tore him up, and he came back and struck a mortal blow. Wouldn't life on board ship be different."

"You'd have an even bigger corpse to clean up." Back then, he had imagined murder--not for revenge, but to stop him. Somehow, strangely, it had not been born out of ill will. He had feared him, but never hated. The hatred and anger both had been misdirected towards others. Maybe that was even worse.

"Or just one to burn away to ash."

"On board a ship?" Someone is getting too caught up in the metaphor.

"......No. Not on board a ship." Jack replaced the canteen in his pack. "What is your mission now, lieutenant?"

"To protect the camp." He unscrewed the cap on the water bottle and took another drink. "They gave me cannons."

"........Cannon. How many, may I ask?" Jack didn't doubt Archie's ability to head the cannon division. He was wondering how well cannons would work in a jungle.

"Three. Not to mention quite a few five-inch shells. It isn't easy to keep the powder dry against the humidity."

"Lad, I'm almost envious. Keep the powder dry and don't go blowing off any limbs. Your Dawn would never forgive you."

He seemed to take the news that Jack was almost envious of him better than the news that Jack admired him. "Once she learnt how heroically I did it, she might change her mind."

"Ah. She likes heroes, your Dawn?

...

I suppose, then, she'd be very pleased indeed. Though I'd suggest you not tell her about running distraction back there, mate."

He rolled his eyes at the insinuation, then shook his head. "She doesn't like heroes, no." A hesitation, and another drink of water. "She begs me not to be one, when this happens, and so does Jilly. I don't rightly understand what they mean, sometimes."