driftfleet | April System Mingle

I am NOT dying! [Dear lord, Rip Hunter is a bloody Time Master from the twenty-second century, or he was, and either way the point is that he is not drowning just because they've gotten a bit happy with a hose.

So there. :|

That doesn't mean, however, that Rip isn't thankful when the spray is a bit less directed. When he can finally look over to see the source--well, it's really hard to say, given the chaos still unfolding. But Rip does catch sight of Jack's rather distinctive form dashing ahead, and far be it from Rip to lag behind.

Even if he is completely drenched. And has to punch a guard who manages to grab hold of the blasted cuff still dangling from his arm.

The point is, he does follow, and quickly at that. Rip's got speed on his side--squishy boots full of water, yes, but that's not going to stop him from getting out of this bloody place.]

[Jack can hear the other man's footsteps on his heels. Beyond that there is a lot of shouting, and shouting is good, because it means confusion and, at least for the present, a lack of effective communication and response. That is all certain to change, unfortunately; the jailers will collect themselves and come at the escapees in force.

That's one reason why this quiet corridor is so worrying to Jack. There are no windows -- only darkness -- and he is starting to think it's not a terribly effective way out.

But there's no choice but to keep going.]

I know you didn't really really die, but you impersonated it quite well, mate.

[He slows down once he catches up to Jack, which affords Rip the opportunity to look around--at least, as much as one can when faced with a darkened corridor. He frowns, quickly coming to the same realization as the other man has.]

About as good an impression as you did of looking like you knew where you were going. [He doesn't mean it unkindly, exactly, but look. He really didn't need to get whacked by Jack's hat, okay.

He looks back towards the path behind them; the shouting may be good, but it likely won't be long before they're being chased down.] I really hope you've got some talent with that sword, Mr. Sparrow. We're likely going to need it, assuming the guards don't just decide to taze us first.

I'm just hoping there's some outness to this corridor.

[He pauses and pulls out his compass. In the semi-darkness he can just make out the needle's swing.

Way out way out way out way out way out.

The needle points first in the direction they were heading, then swings back to point back toward the shouting pursuers, then back in the first direction again.]

Seems one way's as good as another, but dunno, mate. Don't like this way.

Outness would be preferred, yes.

[And then Jack does something Rip really isn't expecting at all. It's more than a bit hard to tell just what he's pulled from his pocket, given the dimness about them. Worse, whatever it is doesn't seem to give the man much confidence.]

Unfortunately, it's either this way or fight our way through a significant number of guards, all armed. [And while in the best case scenario Rip finds himself able to confiscate a weapon of his own? He doubts they'll be any more willing to ask questions first than they had been the first time he'd been arrested.]

Let's press on. [And Rip steps forward to do just that.] Perhaps if nothing else, we can lose the guards in the dark and backtrack once they've decided to search elsewhere.

Alright, then! [The pirate is swift to continue down the dark path ahead.

Strangely, though, as they pass beneath an ornate, arched doorway, the sounds of pursuit begin to die off behind them.]

Do you smell somethin', mate?

Aside from wet leather?

[Except even as he mutters the bitter commentary, Rip knows Jack's right; there is something, a scent he can't quite identity. The doorway offers no reassurance either. Rip pauses a step back, squinting his eyes to try and make better sense of it in the dark.]

What in the world is this place?

[Wet leather does smell kinda gamey.]

It's a place we probably should not venture into, is my guess.

[The pirate sniffs. The smell is definitely coming from the doorway. The ung makes a nervous sound inside his shirt.]

My ung is quivering.

[Well maybe next time someone should shout about something other than bees.

Whatever misgivings Jack has, Rip begins to get a sense of the same at mention of the poor creature tucked away in his shirt. Certainly instinct is far from the most reliable thing one might opt to make a decision based upon, but—

In this case, there is enough hesitance to make Rip reconsider their options.]

Going back the other way most assuredly means fighting through the guards. [Which had been their reason for pressing on to begin with. Still, he offers it as observation, not counter.] It'll hardly be easy to accomplish--but I've been in a few scrapes before.

[Even some while he'd been drenched.]

[An enticing smell suddenly wafts from the dark doorway. It smells like warm apple pie and murder. It makes the pirate both want to walk through the door and run away as fast as he can. He takes a sidling step toward the black opening.]

You're far too soaked to fight, lad. We should just take our chances with the pie.

[As pleasant as the fragrance is, for Rip it merely cements the notion that they should go any way but. The coincidence of them turning away from that opening only to be tempted back in is too much for Rip to accept at face value.

Although it would seem the opposite stands true for Jack.]

I've fought through worse. [Although water-bogged clothing would make it that much harder. Still, Rip's got a fair bit of quickness on his side--like when he reaches out to take Jack's upper arm after that first step.]

I really think we'd be better off against the guards, Mr. Sparrow.

[From the direction of the guards, then, comes a blood-curdling shrieking roar of something big and hungry. Maybe hungry for pie. Jack doesn't know. He doesn't care.

There's a swift and purposeful clicking, as of many insectoid legs striking the stone floor, carrying some giant multi-segmented centipedal monstrosity right toward them.]

Bugger. That's no bee, mate. Not guards, either. And unless it's terrified of soaked Rip -- unlikely -- it shall gobble us into its mandibles.

[Jack makes another step toward the Door. He'd so much rather face the Pie.]

--What in the bloody hell is this place?

[Really, between ominous doorways and bakery scents, and now overgrown insectoids that have apparently been unleashed all in the name of defending the queue, Rip is more than ready to be outside once more.

And as Jack surmises? Better to face the pie than that.

He releases his grip; at this point, there's no further hesitation.]

Right. Let's not stick around to find out, shall we?

[Running now. Towards pie and murder.]

[This prison is curiously guarded, it would seem. Escapees end up with the inevitable choice of facing the rampaging giant house centipede or whatever is beyond the darkness of the Door.

Jack runs beside Rip in his own flourish-filled sashaying way. Runs, that is, until the Elderly Woman blocks their way. She is orange, like everyone else on the asteroids, and she is holding a pie in each hand.]

Erm......hallo, madame. We're just...tryin'....there's a giant bug, you see.

[The old lady doesn't speak. She just looks at them both, then points at Rip. When she speaks, it is in a querulous old-lady voice.] I choose you.

[At this point, Rip isn't at all convinced that they aren't still back in their cell, now both twitching helplessly due to being tazed, and all this mess is some sort of ridiculous nightmare concocted by his electricity-addled brain.

But of course there's an old woman now blocking their path; of course. Why wouldn't there be, at this point?

Speaking of points. She points. At Rip.]

--Right. [He turns towards Jack, and even goes so far as to rest his hands on his hips, handcuff still dangling down.] There's pretty much no chance that this just means I get to take a piece of pie back with me, is there?

Because it does smell delicious. [Spoken to the old lady now. He expects she'll be trying to kill him at any moment.]

Now you shall marry my daughter. [The old woman croaks this command.]

Erm...look, missus. We're not the marryin' kind, us two. Mostly we're trying to break out of prison and potentially eat some of that pie. Not marry!

[...And with those few words, Rip suddenly wishes she were attempting to murder them.

He very wisely doesn't point out that Jack actually isn't entirely right. Rip has in fact been married once, happily so, for just over ten years. However, he's not looking to change his status from widower to anything else at the moment, so.]

Indeed, as, ah, kind as your offer is, I'm afraid my friend and I will have to politely decline. Now if you'll excuse us, we are in something of a hurry--

[Especially since Rip suspects there will be a massive bug-thing on their heels at any moment.]

My daughter will mate with you. Then, she will devour you, and her offspring will crawl the length and breadth of this asteroid belt!

[The old woman begins to laugh, so hard in fact that Jack has to rescue one of the pies so it doesn't smash on the floor. He helps himself to a slice. Behind him, there is bug-leg-clicking.]

[In between mouthfuls of pie:] You know, lad, you COULD do worse around here...

[Mate, devour--oh bollocks.]

Actually, I rather don't think I could.

[He looks back towards the way they came--towards the way of clicking legs and powerful mandibles, and--

Yeah. It's absolutely ridiculous, but at this point?

Rip is fully convinced.]

Especially since I'd hardly be surprised to learn our gigantic friend from earlier is going to turn out to be the daughter in question.

[Because why wouldn't she be at this point?

By the way, Jack's free to enjoy his pie. Rip's just going to make his way around the cackling crone and start running again.]

[Jack grabs the OTHER pie and starts running after him with two pies.] You wouldn't have had to go through with it, you know! Could've gotten to the "you may kiss the bride" bit and then yelled out "HAD MY FINGERS CROSSED, BLIGHTERS!"

Then jumped from a window.

[Wow Jack sounds like he's done this before. Also, there is the sound of a large, angry, pursuing bride. Uh oh.]

That is entirely too thorough of a scenario for even someone who possesses such an active imagination as yours, Mr. Sparrow!

[Someone whose first thought on orchestrating a prison break is apparently to yelp about bees.

Unfortunately, running through the darkness is no sure thing. Although by this time Rip's eyes have started to better adjust, there's still just no way to see everything.

For example? The rather large and protruding rock that Rip catches at just the right angle to send himself sprawling forward with a shout.]

Rip! [Jack skids to a halt and bounces one of the pies onto his head, balancing it there perfectly. That leaves him a hand free to help his co-escapee...except

the bride

is upon them.

Her mandibles clack together. Eyes stud the rounded bulbous head -- pupil-less and black, but with a red gleam that speaks of betrayal and bloodlust. Antennae flicker on her forehead. Armored segments stretch behind into the gloom, each attached to a pair of clicking legs.

Jack desperately throws a stone at her. It bounces off her face, and she growls. He realizes he is not even armed, except for the pies.]

Get up, man!

[There's little time to think, less time to act—and it would indeed seem Jack's forgotten that he is in fact armed thanks to a sword stolen from a guard when their little misadventure began. Rip, however, has an excellent reminder of his presence as he struggles to get up—and equally so, opportunity to grab hold of the hilt, drawing it from where Jack's stashed it and twisting where he's half-up on his knees to face

the bride.

Bloody hell.]

Back! Back or I swear to God, I'll find a way to—stab your bloody eye out! [It's perhaps the worst threat he's ever uttered, but what the hell else is he supposed to say when face with a massive man eating bug thing that's apparently looking for a skinny little English mate-and-or-snack?

And he means it. So much so, that Rip lashes out at the first mandible that comes within reach, just to prove his point.]

[And Jack starts throwing pies. It's over quickly. He only has the two of them, after all.]

P'raps if you just tell her she's not your type, mate? Because she's clearly got to hear it from your own mouth. How you're not serious. How you never loved her.

[[OOC: I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE. Feel free to ignore/drop the thread if you want to move on from here.]]

Edited 2017-06-12 20:19 (UTC)

April System Mingle

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STOMACH FLU KILLED ME SORRY I AM BACK NOW

Re: STOMACH FLU KILLED ME SORRY I AM BACK NOW

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