He's sloshing his way up onto shore, and he's some mixed up combination of spitting mad, astonished, and wanting to laugh hysterically. The purple butterfly fluttering around above his head keeps landing on his dripping, curly hair. He keeps flailing a hand at it to make it take off again.
"Stop it! Get off me! Of all the times-- of all the times--"
Laughter wins out and Jack sits his ass down on the shore at the base of the cliffs, head in his hands-- one of them holding a rough silver crown, the false, of course it is-- and laughs high and long. God sends a sign now, after weeks of imprisonment, after ignoring him at his own vigil and then failed coronation, and that sign is a purple butterfly, not orange, and some drop into a magical lake. Great.
2. Caravan
The explanation hasn't helped any with the surreal, dreamlike quality of all this. Maybe he's just finally gone mad, stuck in that single room with that poor child Lulu, with his regrets and his grief. The way the horses turn their heads to watch him is a little weird, too. The way he's hearing voices coming from them, some weird horsey gossip about a herd-mate on another carriage today and their supposedly lame hoof.
He tries to ignore it, slipping into one of the carriages and immediately opening the minibar. He wants to get so drunk. When someone else climbs in with him, he offers a wicked, somewhat bitter smile, and one of the tiny bottles. "For the lady. Or gentleman. Whatever you want, apparently they spared no expense."
3. Training Grounds
The fighting style here is different than the style in Gilboa. That could be both an asset and a detriment. So he spends their stop watching the others, doing some strengthening exercises rather than practicing with knifes or guns-- he has limited ammo on that, anyway, he's not going to waste it on practice-- and he watches. He smiles and makes polite conversation.
"Interesting move you did there," he says. "Is that common where you come from?"
4. Eat Well
This is at least familiar. The people at table are a lot more varied than he's used to, and the tables are a lot longer, and the silverware is a little more rustic, but he is a prince. And he knows how to pick up the tenor of the room, to make small talk with his neighbors, to smile just right to make a good impression. He's a little rusty with it, after... everything... but he's quick to get back on that horse.
"I'd try the boar," he suggests of his nearest partner, looking at ease and comfortable. "Looks baked to perfection. Those these fried pasta things are probably something somebody died for, they're that good." Maybe not the healthiest choice, but he's a young man trapped in a dream that's still light-years better than a guilded prison. He'll take it. It's also completely unfamiliar, so he can't have half a dozen memories of which state dinner he'd had it at, or the time his father made it for breakfast.
The purple butterfly is perched on the crown of the chair. He's trying hard to ignore it.
5. Grail
He knows it's stupid. You don't send strangers out after mythical goblets that grant witches, you send the military or a horde of excavators or you just manufacture a new one that looks enough like the old one to pass. You definitely don't sent strangers who just arrived here and doesn't know the lay of things yet.
But what the hell else does he have to do? And there might be money at the end of it, which he's discovering fast he's going to need. So he manages to follow a helpful squirrel out of the space loop, and now he's staring up a tree at the now less-helpful squirrel's mate. "Look, I know this is as stupid as you do," he says, as cajoling as he can pull off while talking to a goddamn squirrel-wife. "But you don't got any use for that hunk of metal, and I do. You gonna help a prince out, here?"
Jack Benjamin | Kings
"Are you kidding me!"
He's sloshing his way up onto shore, and he's some mixed up combination of spitting mad, astonished, and wanting to laugh hysterically. The purple butterfly fluttering around above his head keeps landing on his dripping, curly hair. He keeps flailing a hand at it to make it take off again.
"Stop it! Get off me! Of all the times-- of all the times--"
Laughter wins out and Jack sits his ass down on the shore at the base of the cliffs, head in his hands-- one of them holding a rough silver crown, the false, of course it is-- and laughs high and long. God sends a sign now, after weeks of imprisonment, after ignoring him at his own vigil and then failed coronation, and that sign is a purple butterfly, not orange, and some drop into a magical lake. Great.
2. Caravan
The explanation hasn't helped any with the surreal, dreamlike quality of all this. Maybe he's just finally gone mad, stuck in that single room with that poor child Lulu, with his regrets and his grief. The way the horses turn their heads to watch him is a little weird, too. The way he's hearing voices coming from them, some weird horsey gossip about a herd-mate on another carriage today and their supposedly lame hoof.
He tries to ignore it, slipping into one of the carriages and immediately opening the minibar. He wants to get so drunk. When someone else climbs in with him, he offers a wicked, somewhat bitter smile, and one of the tiny bottles. "For the lady. Or gentleman. Whatever you want, apparently they spared no expense."
3. Training Grounds
The fighting style here is different than the style in Gilboa. That could be both an asset and a detriment. So he spends their stop watching the others, doing some strengthening exercises rather than practicing with knifes or guns-- he has limited ammo on that, anyway, he's not going to waste it on practice-- and he watches. He smiles and makes polite conversation.
"Interesting move you did there," he says. "Is that common where you come from?"
4. Eat Well
This is at least familiar. The people at table are a lot more varied than he's used to, and the tables are a lot longer, and the silverware is a little more rustic, but he is a prince. And he knows how to pick up the tenor of the room, to make small talk with his neighbors, to smile just right to make a good impression. He's a little rusty with it, after... everything... but he's quick to get back on that horse.
"I'd try the boar," he suggests of his nearest partner, looking at ease and comfortable. "Looks baked to perfection. Those these fried pasta things are probably something somebody died for, they're that good." Maybe not the healthiest choice, but he's a young man trapped in a dream that's still light-years better than a guilded prison. He'll take it. It's also completely unfamiliar, so he can't have half a dozen memories of which state dinner he'd had it at, or the time his father made it for breakfast.
The purple butterfly is perched on the crown of the chair. He's trying hard to ignore it.
5. Grail
He knows it's stupid. You don't send strangers out after mythical goblets that grant witches, you send the military or a horde of excavators or you just manufacture a new one that looks enough like the old one to pass. You definitely don't sent strangers who just arrived here and doesn't know the lay of things yet.
But what the hell else does he have to do? And there might be money at the end of it, which he's discovering fast he's going to need. So he manages to follow a helpful squirrel out of the space loop, and now he's staring up a tree at the now less-helpful squirrel's mate. "Look, I know this is as stupid as you do," he says, as cajoling as he can pull off while talking to a goddamn squirrel-wife. "But you don't got any use for that hunk of metal, and I do. You gonna help a prince out, here?"
He has not noticed yet that he has company.