[Jack had written a letter in the early part of October, after the information session, after taking time to process it all.
It did not survive the room explosion, but that's alright; Jack's found his feelings on everything shifted between the last half of October and the game show.
Still, he writes it again, some of it from memory, all of it now adjusted for his mood, but this time it's more like a cue card than something he intends to be delivered. Maybe. If he doesn't second-guess this.
Ahh, fuck it.
He stands in front of the bridge door, hand raised to knock, but hesitating. Is the Captain busy? Or is he in? Or does knocking even matter, if he's aware of everything on the ship?]
[The wait is a few minutes before Jack decides to - well, to either leave or, if he's going to wait here for the Captain to show up, to at least find a comfortable spot on the wall to lean on.
What he sees is the man with the beard who (probably?) watched him take out Arthur with a misfired corpse, who sure fits Siffleur's description of the Captain. And, uh, sure manifested from nowhere like he presumes the Captain on this cruise ship dimension could do.
This all is processed, of course, in the two seconds after he squeaks a noise through his teeth and jumps an inch in the air.]
Fuck. Uh...
[Right, now to actually talk to the guy.]
How... are you doing?
[That seems polite, right? And you want to be polite when talking to the guy steering the ship. Metaphorically. And literally? Fuck he should have copied more notes from the binder.]
[Welp, that's not positive enough for a 'hey that's great-' and a nice request, but it does at least feel honest.
So Jack nods, a little stiffly at first, but... sorta slightly eases into some honesty for himself, too.]
Ah, yeah. Feel that.
[He taps his letter/notes against his other hand, trying to figure out how to smoothly transition out of this. Despite what he wrote down, he ends up swerving to a slightly different direction:]
Can I - do you mind if I ask you something? About how you got us on the ship?
[Another little smack of paper as he looks at the Captain again.]
Historically, me meeting the guy pulling the strings on an enclosed community surrounded by ocean hasn't gone well for anybody, so I'm a little nervous.
[Jack's nervousness comes out in stiff movements and this awkward way of talking, very mild all around, namely because he's positive he can't kill the Captain, and while the muster demonstrated that he can very much be controlled against his will, he's confident that it won't be used to make him attack anyone right now. And if he dies, he'll probably come back. He doubt anything he asks will be offensive enough otherwise, but fuck it, at least he won't have unfinished business if he dies for real, either.
[Jack says it automatically, but hey, he means it!]
And you've been pretty light on the... [Even though it cut too close to the feeling for comfort, the forced attendance to the muster drill wasn't really mind control, but that means he needs to find a way to describe it that's close.] puppeting people bit, so that's two you have on the last guys.
[... Right, okay, better ask the question, because it's becoming clear that this is going to taper off into silence before he gets an 'oh yeah, go ahead'. He clears his throat, just a little, quietly, and glances quickly at the paper (still folded up, it's more of a magic feather for him at this point) and just gets on with it:]
... So. Is it true that when we end up here, that there's still a version of us back wherever we came from? Or something like that?
[Jack's almost relieved by the answer until it occurs to him that maybe - maybe that's literal? Like something from one of the sci-fi magazines he used to read, something about a vacuum?
He thinks about asking a third time, to be even more sure, but if he's reading too much into it, he doesn't want to make the Captain repeat himself, and if he isn't... Well, it's not like he'd be able to do anything about it.
But at face value, it all shakes out to be in line with what the binder stated. Maybe 'copies' isn't the right word, but honestly, Jack doesn't give a shit if he's copied or not, just so long as doesn't have to feel guilty for not trying harder to go back, or for not being where he was needed, if he was still needed.
The tension in Jack's shoulders eases out, and he sighs and nods.
[It takes Jack a second, just as long as it takes for him to remember where he glanced that name, and realize whose notes it was on, and what those notes were about, and which wall he found them on.
Jack's knowledge about conditioning is simultaneously faint and far too intimate - if you've made a machine out of a man, the easiest way of keeping the controls out of his hands is by keeping him from knowing they exist at all. But he's aware now, and unchained from them, and no amount of distance will be enough to make him forget what it felt like to respond unconsciously to a simple phrase.]
Similar fashions do abound, it seems. [a humorless smile] Though, it's more... When you've figured out the pattern, that those who speak most kindly are the ones that will be the most cruel, you start hoping the next one opens by striking you across the face.
[Well, right broadly, wrong specifically about the 'joke', maybe. But at the same time... He's already felt once what it was like to nearly hear 'would you kindly', and he imagines - no, he knows if he'd been approached on this ship by someone full of confidence and promises to steer him right and look out for him and they'll both make it out of this just fine --
Well, he'd also want to skip to the part where they're hopped up and screaming at him over a radio.]
Ah... Yeah, I get you.
[Still, some remembered exhaustion sinks over Jack's features as he speaks. Or commiserates?]
Not that it's any less fucking obnoxious when they're upfront with it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Captain
It did not survive the room explosion, but that's alright; Jack's found his feelings on everything shifted between the last half of October and the game show.
Still, he writes it again, some of it from memory, all of it now adjusted for his mood, but this time it's more like a cue card than something he intends to be delivered. Maybe. If he doesn't second-guess this.
Ahh, fuck it.
He stands in front of the bridge door, hand raised to knock, but hesitating. Is the Captain busy? Or is he in? Or does knocking even matter, if he's aware of everything on the ship?]
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What he sees is the man with the beard who (probably?) watched him take out Arthur with a misfired corpse, who sure fits Siffleur's description of the Captain. And, uh, sure manifested from nowhere like he presumes the Captain on this cruise ship dimension could do.
This all is processed, of course, in the two seconds after he squeaks a noise through his teeth and jumps an inch in the air.]
Fuck. Uh...
[Right, now to actually talk to the guy.]
How... are you doing?
[That seems polite, right? And you want to be polite when talking to the guy steering the ship. Metaphorically. And literally? Fuck he should have copied more notes from the binder.]
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Eh.
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So Jack nods, a little stiffly at first, but... sorta slightly eases into some honesty for himself, too.]
Ah, yeah. Feel that.
[He taps his letter/notes against his other hand, trying to figure out how to smoothly transition out of this. Despite what he wrote down, he ends up swerving to a slightly different direction:]
Can I - do you mind if I ask you something? About how you got us on the ship?
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Did you bring notes.
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Yeah. Kind of, half-note, half-letter.
[Another little smack of paper as he looks at the Captain again.]
Historically, me meeting the guy pulling the strings on an enclosed community surrounded by ocean hasn't gone well for anybody, so I'm a little nervous.
[Jack's nervousness comes out in stiff movements and this awkward way of talking, very mild all around, namely because he's positive he can't kill the Captain, and while the muster demonstrated that he can very much be controlled against his will, he's confident that it won't be used to make him attack anyone right now. And if he dies, he'll probably come back. He doubt anything he asks will be offensive enough otherwise, but fuck it, at least he won't have unfinished business if he dies for real, either.
So he just shrugs. What can you do?]
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[Jack says it automatically, but hey, he means it!]
And you've been pretty light on the... [Even though it cut too close to the feeling for comfort, the forced attendance to the muster drill wasn't really mind control, but that means he needs to find a way to describe it that's close.] puppeting people bit, so that's two you have on the last guys.
[See? Nothing but positives here.]
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[...]
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[... Right, okay, better ask the question, because it's becoming clear that this is going to taper off into silence before he gets an 'oh yeah, go ahead'. He clears his throat, just a little, quietly, and glances quickly at the paper (still folded up, it's more of a magic feather for him at this point) and just gets on with it:]
... So. Is it true that when we end up here, that there's still a version of us back wherever we came from? Or something like that?
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[Okay, yep, this is definitely the level of thinking they didn't make him to do. Which in fairness, was any level, he's trying his best here.]
So - there's not an empty space where I used to be back 'home'?
[Just to be sure. Just to be really sure. He knows what he hopes the answer is, but fuck is he afraid it'll be something else.]
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He thinks about asking a third time, to be even more sure, but if he's reading too much into it, he doesn't want to make the Captain repeat himself, and if he isn't... Well, it's not like he'd be able to do anything about it.
But at face value, it all shakes out to be in line with what the binder stated. Maybe 'copies' isn't the right word, but honestly, Jack doesn't give a shit if he's copied or not, just so long as doesn't have to feel guilty for not trying harder to go back, or for not being where he was needed, if he was still needed.
The tension in Jack's shoulders eases out, and he sighs and nods.
And he smiles a little.]
Okay. Thank you.
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[like he can't even get mad about being thanked like normal what the fuck are you even talking about.]
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For answering the question? And, I guess, for wherever it is that puts me here without - removing anything?
[Small, a quick shrug, he still doesn't entirely get it and he doesn't entirely want to, either.]
Mostly the first one.
Do you... Not get thanked often?
[Because, well, that wouldn't surprise him given the reactions from the healthy, more normal people on this ship.]
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[so.]
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... Do you not like to be thanked? Or...?
[... Is it just counter to the whole 'using their emotions and suffering in exchange for powers' thing? Or however that works.]
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Jack's knowledge about conditioning is simultaneously faint and far too intimate - if you've made a machine out of a man, the easiest way of keeping the controls out of his hands is by keeping him from knowing they exist at all. But he's aware now, and unchained from them, and no amount of distance will be enough to make him forget what it felt like to respond unconsciously to a simple phrase.]
Jesus christ, you too?
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Well, he'd also want to skip to the part where they're hopped up and screaming at him over a radio.]
Ah... Yeah, I get you.
[Still, some remembered exhaustion sinks over Jack's features as he speaks. Or commiserates?]
Not that it's any less fucking obnoxious when they're upfront with it.
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I think you're fine to generalize if you're pulling from hundreds of examples.
[... A beat.]
Do apologies or - condolences fall in the same box as saying thanks?
[Y'know, just so he doesn't make it worse for the guy.]
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