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Jack is driving along one of the many roads on this big ol' wide continent in the Coraline, with all the windows open and a self-satisfied grin on his face. There's a bass guitar in the back, along with a couple amps (one of which actually goes up to 11 - he found the best); his cutlasses and guns are resting happily on the passenger seat and he's whistling while he looks out for other useful things to bring back to the farm.

(He's also looking for a friend he's missed recently)

There's no joy like the simple joys, and of them, Jack's favourite has always been the open ~~sea~~ road, knowledge of being useful to his friends, and a warm woman waiting for when he's done roaming.

Yo ho.

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"Oy, mate!" he calls back, moving to stand by the truck. Casting a look into the back, he says, "So what's all that shit, 'en?"

He hasn't seen what's in the passenger seat yet.

Hey, the passenger seat is just Jack's normal accoutrements! He likes to stay armed.

"I appear to have been recruited into a musical group," Jack says with a heavy sigh. The things he does for women, honestly.

Tom would appreciate that!

"Oh? What part?"

"Bass guitar," Jack informs him. And with a meaningful wink, "Iris is drums."

"Ohhhhh, that girl. Surprisingly clever, mate." Tom would give Jack a manly smack on the shoulder, but the truck's in the way.

Jack smirks.

"Music works everytime with some. And how have you fared? Can I tke you somewhere?"

Tom's face darkens at the first question. "Cheers, but not if you're headin' out of Kansas," is the answer to the second.

"Only for a cruise, I'll be back 'fore you miss me."

But Jack's smile has faded with thought and apparent concern.

"Will I find you on my way back?"

"Was doin' a little walkabout myself - got supplies," Tom gestures to the rucksack on his back. "I'll keep an eye on the roads for this hunk of scrap."

Jack's eyes widen then narrow at the insult.

"Should know better than to insult a lady, mate."

Tom looks thoughtful. "This large hunk of scrap?"

Jack snorts. "That's better.

"So you're returning to the farm, aye?"

Tom frowns and shakes his head.

"Makin' Metropolis my new kip. There's a mad fecker back at the Cooper's who'd kill me soon as look at me - only just got away from 'im in time."

Jack's smile fades instantly, and his general expression becomes positively dangerous.

"Need someone dealt with?"

Tom is taken aback for an instant, suspicious the next instant, but finally decides that he'll take what little luck the universe offers him and says, "Yeah."

Jack grins a particularly nasty grin, and tips his hat to Tom.

"Been a while since I indulged in actual piracy."

This might as well be fun.

Tom answers with a grin of his own.

It twists to a snarl a moment later, his hands balling into white-knuckled fists.

"They think just 'cuz you got a beast in you, you gotta be evil." A lie of omission - the 'Sworn have other reasons to think so.

"The cocksuckers-- Ain't like bein' a 'skin is the bloke's fault; we get feckin' bit, don't we? But those whoresons got their feckin' book that says we're demon spawn and the motherfeckers come at us all the feckin' time.

"And they succeed. 'Skins always get caught. Just a matter of how long we live 'fore they burn us to ash."

Jack gives a scowl of his own when Tom lies, but he gets other impressions too.

"There's no laws and no chains in this world. And the book has no weight. We'll get him seeing that. Nothing I hate more than a law swinger."

Tom knows Jack can read lies - but if he didn't press the issue, that means it doesn't matter.

"I'd've ripped the arsehole's throat out myself but they--" he sucks in a breath and swallows. "Cross one of their Wards and your flesh peels from your bones. The fire they make goes right through clothes an' burns flesh. They can call up hounds and hawks to kill for 'em if you're out of pistol range.

"I was a feckin' coward, righ' 'en? But for good bloody reason!" Tom is quite willing to punch Jack out if he disagrees.

Jack leans out of the truck window and spits on the road for his feelings towards witchhunters.

"It's no cowardly act to save your own skin when outgunned," Jack points out. "There'll be a way to make him safe, you wait see."

Tom is a bit disappointed that he doesn't have an excuse to deck someone - though he realizes that fighting with Jack wouldn't help the situation any.

After a moment of silent snarling, Tom says, "Killed the Protectors, the feckin' cunts did."

Oh. Jack can only imagine the pain of losing one's entire crew like that.

"He'll pay for that, right enough."

Who cares if it wasn't this one. Lawmen are all the same.

"I didn't run," Tom feels he has to explain. "The Rat King and some of us juniors - we were meetin' others 'skins. We came back to the city-- and we found out-- an'-- were too late--

"Motherfeckers," he hisses, glaring down the road that eventually leads to the farm.

Jack leans over now, and pushes the passenger's door open.

"We're finding a tavern."

Tom takes a moment to be distracted from his past, then gets in, shuffling the weapons aside.

"Good haul," he comments after a moment.