animus_network | 001 ☠ Video/Possible Action?

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001 ☠ Video/Possible Action?

[He's been staring and prodding at the terminal for the longest time, wanting to at least have a basic grasp of its function before fiddling too much with it, though as of right this moment, Barbossa will fully admit (privately) that he really doesn't understand it. Witchery, devilry, some sort of voodoo...He's not entirely sure, and really, given the circumstances, he doesn't really care. What matters is that he's pretty sure it's for communication. And communicate he will.

There are far more important things afoot, thanks to the letter he's tucked haphazardly into the sash around his waist, because in it, the worst is delivered. He cares not for the world, but his ship...That's enough to make his blood boil.

But none of that shows on his face - for now. He's already raged privately, before deciding it is, plainly and simply, false. Instead, he looks more than a little amused at the circumstances, as he taps thoughtfully at the screen with one long, black nail.]

So, it do seem me home managed to get itself blown apart like a dinghy hit with chain shot. Funny, that. [He doesn't believe a word of it, and it's evident in his tone, and the quirk of his mouth.] Ye'd figure there'd be a tad more warning. Trumpets. Horsemen. Jack Sparrow running away from the scene of the crime. Alas, can't say as I remember a speck of any of that.

So what be the truth of it, aye? Did our saviors rapture us from our dying homes, convinced of our purity and contriteness? Be we the lambs before the slaughter? [Hilarious.] Nay, there be more to it than that. And since it seems ye have me at a disadvantage, I'd be thankful for some...Insight.

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[Jack... Sparrow... a name she only knew by reputation, and a fascination in an empty shack on another world for an overabundance of rum, a drink she still found... sickly to her tastes. However, it was a name she recognized, which made her ears perk up when she heard the message.]

An interesting question...

Does it actually matter what the truth is?

Aye, it does. Outside of the trinket I nary asked for and dislike intensely, I can't say as I'm willing to swallow a whopper of a tale sounding as though it came from a superstitious freebooter who knows not up from down.

[The accent was a little thick, but she heard this as 'I dislike my necklace intensely, and I think the story sounds like a crazy man or an idiot told it.' Well, that was pretty much normal. It made her smile a little.]

I lean towards believing it to be a ruse. This is not the first of these worlds I have been to, and we had guests from still another, and the world that is claimed to be destroyed whenever they try to convince me to listen to them is the world in which I am not but worm food.

...

So, I would lean towards it being a lie, but not one that is very important right now. You are here. That is what matters first, is it not? So then, what is the next order of business?

Rum?

So there be no solid proof Armageddon be come and gone and the angels have sounded the call, then. Rightly figured. What be this nonsense of building a body's body out of spare parts. [Because that's gross and weird, and if it's true, then they could have at least given him his bloody right leg.]

And furthermore, what makes you think rum would be me first order of business. [Whether it's true or not, that's another story altogether.]

It was apparently the first thing that Jack thought of in the last world I traveled, or at least... it was the only thing left in the shack he lived in other than furniture, the bottles long emptied.

[She chuckled and reached up to brush a finger through her hair.]

They have stolen you away to another world. Your body is probably not the one your spirit first inhabited. They craft new ones for you when you die and shove that spirit back in.

I'm told it is an unpleasant process.

[Warning. She's got a ghoulish sense of humor... oh wait. Why would this be a needed warning with Hector Barbossa? Considering the people he's sailed with...]

[Now that's funny. And sad. And sounds exactly like Jack, sadly. And that is why he can't keep a ship to save his life.]

Aye, we'll lets just assume I've already sailed those shores once meself as it stands. In short, we be but prisoners. Perhaps they're not wanting us to dance with dear old Jack Ketch, but what it is they want. Where's the catch.

They want to play with us.

You know...

Like dolls in a child's doll house, where they pull the heads off and put them on other dolls, or singe the hair on others and beg their parents for more toys to play with.

So the gods see fit to leave us in the hands of spoilt children with nary enough hard lessons.

Ye do realize this leans weight to this being naught but a sham.

Edited 2013-03-08 22:39 (UTC)

But even the mighty can die in a sham.

Think of it this way. You could have woken up naked in a Grecian bed after a strange dream only to find yourself trapped on an island run by a mad goddess of sex.

That happened to someone I knew once...

[Her.]

[...You do realize you're talking to a pirate who went ten years without being able to feel anything. Well. Probably not. However, that idea sounds much, much more preferable than where he is now.]

I fail to see the problem with that.

[He likely would have loved it, yes. She rather enjoyed it too, though for different reasons... given that she was dead in her own world.]

mmm

Atia would have loved you. Pity. You appear to have been captured by the gods of demented and deadly games. Be careful what floors you wander. Only a few of them are remotely safe, though those are also the boring ones.

Aye, so I've been told. However, to this beach floor I must go. [To kill himself a pirate.] Be there a map.

Take the elevator in the tower to sixty-one and descend a floor. There is a beach there. Other beaches might qualify, but I would suggest that is the one they mean.

Aye, ye've been a help, lass. More than I can say for others.

Heh, you're a shade more amusing than most I see... not go mention that I am something of a sucker for memories of that place.

Mayhap there be better ones on the horizon, if there be a way out of this accursed place.

I fear not, not unless I learn the means to transcend time, space or my fate. I know what lies in wait when I depart this place, regardless of what the local creatures say.

Fate. [Yep, scoffing at that.] Fate be naught but self-fulfilling prophesy.

mmm, in this case, it is a fulfilled prophecy I might note. I am quite dead, you see. Tends to change one's perspective on the accommodations.

Passing on is a truth in the world. We all do it.

True enough, though I am not quite in a hurry to rush back to oblivion just yet.

Given what we know about this place, lass, it seems an endless cycle of death and almighty resurrection be the less preferable of the two.

All a matter of perspective. Dying loses its sting after you've experienced it a few times, and torture... has its merits if done well.

Aye, dying be easy. It's the pulling yourself back together that be hard.

[Been there, done that, stole the Black Pearl. Again.]

It does not hurt to be a priestess of a god of death for that...

[That dragged a chuckle out of her lips. There were days she missed those gods far more than the admins here. They were easier to understand.]

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