shatterverse | (no subject)

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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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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.

"Mine," Jack informs him.what he means is that they came with him from his world. "Every one has saved my life in times past.

"I'm still searching for more shot for my pistols."

"Oh? All I got on me's a switchblade. Guns're hard to come by."

Tom needs to break into one of the gangs that's controlling the gun supply, or get some money to buy a gun.

"Not if you know where to look, or how to get them."

Jack glances sideways at Tom, and smirks conspiratorially.

"You want a gun?"

Tom, it must be admitted, has always thought of guns as a 'Sworn weapon, and so hasn't been searching terribly hard.

"Well, shit, cheers. Scrape up some clink to pay you back, when I got some," he tells Jack.

This is true, sort of - Tom doesn't add that it might be some time before he can pay Jack back.

Jack just winks.

"Oh, you'll work for this as well."

There's nothing quite like raiding criminal hideouts, is there?

Tom sighs ever so heavily. "Last time I think you're doin' me a favour," he bitches, but the pleased expression on his face is at odds with his tone.

Jack grins cheekily at him, and hesitates for a couple of seconds while working out the best direction to go in.

He's always been a big believer in crime as a solution for bad moods, and this world is turning out to be no different.

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