(no subject)

[pirate_jack]

The man who walks in -- no, strides in, moving with confidence and self-assurance -- looks much, much different from the man who came in last night. It's amazing what couture can manage. In addition to much more upscale attire (names such as Armani, Cardin, and Bruno Magli come to mind for the observant), his hair has been properly styled, complete with product and arranged with artfully careless perfection. There's not a bead or a braid in sight.

Jack seems much more pleased with life today as he strolls up to Bar and says, "Darling, it's been too long. You know what I like, don't you? Venti, triple-shot, organic soy, extra-hot latte, and of course I know you won't forget the rum."

The drink appears instantly, and he runs a casual hand down the wood, almost absently, as he picks it up. "Merci. Be a dear, would you, and give me the latest journals? The Times -- Financial, New York, and London all three, I suppose, plus the Wall Street Journal and the Economist. I know the holidays are coming, but--"

Here there's a bit of a smirk.

"--business never stops. Especially in trade, and you know I'm not one to miss the opportune moment."

He takes the papers as well and settles at the nearest table, then begins to read the shipping news.

Comments

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

At first, Puck doesn't think much of the businesslike fellow with the plethora of papers. However, a second scan of the bar's patrons leads him to do a double take.

Is that ...?






Puck facepalms copiously.

"Why," he groans.

[pirate_jack]

"Depends on what you're asking, I'd think," comes the reply.

Jack glances up from the stock pages of the Wall Street Journal, where he's been checking the performance of a number of companies.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck eyes him warily.

The smell of coffee is quite strong, and he thinks he detects a comforting dash of rum, but underneath, lurking menacingly-- is that soy?

"Heaven help us all," he mutters.

Cautiously, he edges closer.

"I suppose," he adds conversationally, "that the question is ... are you feeling quite well today, Captain?"

[pirate_jack]

"Never better -- why do you ask?"

He folds the paper over and gives his full attention to the other man.

[othercaptjack]

It takes a doubletake after the standard Jack Harkness Appreciative Glance for him to recognise Jack - the other Captain Jack.

Dramatic change in look there.

"Hi again, Jack," he grins, leaning on the back of a nearby chair. "Almost didn't recognise you there, but it is still an excellent look."

[pirate_jack]

"Why hello there, Jack. Good to see you."

"And what, this?" He flicks an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve and smiles back at the other man.

"I daresay that it's an improvement over that 'historical period' attire I was modeling for the publicity value, at that."

[othercaptjack]

...

"Sure. It had a roguish charm, mind you. This is more suave. You couldn't get me to pick a favourite. So what's been going on?"

Yeah, it's odd. But odd is as odd does, and Jack can cunning cut to the chase by asking straight out. The joy of being a busybody.

[pirate_jack]

"Rather a few quite successful things, if I do say so myself," he replies, looking almost smug.

"Oh -- you are coming on Friday, aren't you?"

[scourgeofpiracy.livejournal.com]

James strolls downstairs, Blackberry in one hand with his briefcase and laptop under his other arm. He stops at the Bar to get a coffee, nodding to the other man.

"Morning, Jack."

[pirate_jack]

"Hello, James."

He folds the paper over and glances assessingly up at the other man.

"The firm keeping you busy?"

[scourgeofpiracy.livejournal.com]

"Always does", he says with a casual half-shrug. "But more now than ever - I made junior counsel on the Sheringham case."

[pirate_jack]

"Junior counsel." That smile is slightly superior, just for a second.

"Small steps, I suppose. There's no question you're very effective i your work, after all."

[silver_flecks]

Do you have any idea how much women pay to get their hair this shade?

If it's done well, you're talking near $200, after all, not including those bi-weekly touch-ups (not that we'd speak of money because really, how crass can you get?).

And then there are those of us born (or perceived, if you will) with it.

The thing is, it's staying perfect, crimson, burning red and not changing a single bit.

And someone is frowning, a little.

"Missing something."

[pirate_jack]

One eyebrow arches elegantly as he looks up at her-- and that charming smile is very, very appreciative.

"Hello, darling. It's been far too long-- and you're far too pretty to be frowning like that," he adds.

Jack folds his paper over and beckons to her.

"Come tell Jack all about it."

[silver_flecks]

"Not so long," she responds, still frowning as she sits next to him and rests her chin on her fist.

"Was it? I don't know. I thought I got it backwards again, but no. No."







"I hate health food."

[pirate_jack]

"Now, darling, I know that it takes a bit of getting used to, especially when one's been inundated with all that processed stuff," Jack remonstrates, with surprising gentleness.

"And it's not as though you need to consider it for anything other than ecological responsibility, you look perfectly lovely, as always."

[touch-destiny.livejournal.com]

She is seated by the fire, holding...something in the palm of her hand that clicks together as she opens and closes her fingers. Her stare as she surveys the room is flat, her mouth stern.

She is not well pleased.

Outside, a wind keens through the frosted rigging of the Black Pearl, but it only thrums harmlessly against the windows of the warm, lit bar.

[pirate_jack]

Well. That's certainly interesting.

He makes a small moue of distaste as he notices the ... gamin-like... attire, but it's quickly covered with a professional smile.

"You look troubled, darling."

[touch-destiny.livejournal.com]

Her eyes narrow, but the clicking stops for a moment, and she curves a smile at him.

There's something predatory in the baring of her teeth, and in the flick of her head that sets her coiling hair swinging over bare shoulders. "Thieving again, Jack Sparrow," she says, caring little whether he can hear her over the distance between them or not. Her hand, still carrying those...whatevers...swings back and forth gently.

"Ye've changed your plumage, magpie. Don't suit you, hm?"

[futures_of_ash]

The change is certainly noted. Appreciatively.

And no, she didn't feel the least hint of shame in letting her gaze linger. Linger for staring was uncouth. "I think..." she chuckled softly as she came up beside his table "...that I detect the work of a very talented pair! I'm surprise Hollywood hasn't scooped you up and hidden you away from us..."

Rachel? Well, she had never needed styling, oddly, it was an instinctive thing...but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate sheer artwork.

[pirate_jack]

"Rachel, darling, how are you?"

His tone is simply filled with concern.

"I've been so worried."

[futures_of_ash]

And she's delighted that he asked. Truly, she is!

"Oh, I've been so much better!" she enthused. "It's utterly horrible that I can't trust the people here, but you know how things are in such a low rent area, and even I can't work miracles overnight in respectability...so I've security being installed above and beyond common precautions..." she waved a hand dismissively though.

"But that unpleasantness aside, life has been utterly charming. Yourself, Jack?"

[gramarye1971]

Now this is...interesting.

It isn't quite the same as that one incident from some time before, but the difference is -- not dissimilar.

Merriman also has a copy of the Times, but it certainly isn't the most recent one. And right now he happens to be looking over the top of it, regarding Jack with a rather clinical expression.

[pirate_jack]

He favors the older gent with a pointed once-over, assessing material, cut and quality of his clothing, and then smiles.

It's sharp, and not exactly the friendliest of expressions.

"Merriman Lyon. You're looking very... yourself, today."

[gramarye1971]

Merriman inclines his head a fraction of an inch, though his gaze holds the same detached, clinical regard.

'I should certainly hope so,' he says simply. 'Far too much trouble to go about looking like someone else.'

Which is more than he can say for Jack at this moment...but that will have to come later. At least he has ascertained that there is no specific memory loss.

His gaze falls for a moment on Jack's choice of reading material. 'If it's the shipping forecasts you're after, you could do worse than to acquire a copy of Fairplay. Unless you feel you've sufficient information from the standard trade press.'

The magazine wasn't created until the 1880s. Merriman is well aware of this, which is why there's a very slight emphasis on the word "standard".