open | i am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass.

[category]

[ those ghost-robots have fished what appears to be a fresh corpse out of the water. where did this guy in a wwii military jacket come from? who knows. a door probably opened a little too close to the side of the ship at the least opportune moment knowing this ship's track record and the dead man in question's luck.

—or, perhaps, not so dead after all.

lifeless one moment, he's surging back to life the next. air rushes into his lungs with a powerful gasp and he sits up, turning and hunching over slightly so he can properly cough up the water that flooded his lungs out onto the deck. ]

Drowned. [ the laugh that mingles with the tail end of his coughing fit doesn't at all sound amused, but he doesn't seem all that bothered by any of this, either. ] Haven't done that one in a while. Gotta love the classics.

[ by the time he pushes himself to his feet, it's as if he did nothing more than take an impromptu swim. soaked to the bone, but breathing fine and showing no signs of having been lying dead on the deck mere minutes before. ]

Comments

[bochord]

Would you like dry clothing?

Rose lifts up her tiny whiteboard in Jack's direction, her handwriting neat. She has taken to carrying it around with her everywhere, deciding it's easier than playing charades with those who do not know her language. She doesn't know that he died, only that he is now soaked to the bone, and there is a clothing store near by she can take him to.

He won't even have to pay. She comes from a world where capitalism and free trade are the bastion of all things, so this is slightly strange to her, okay.

[category]

Had she signed at him, he would've understood. Jack's been around a long time, and while he may not have the luxury of being within the TARDIS's telepathic field to have instantaneous access to its translation circuit, he's had time to pick up a few things, especially when it's relevant to Torchwood business. He's had the time and opportunity to brush up.

And he would've signed back in return, but he doesn't want to insult her by assuming she's human and knows a Terran form of sign language. He's been on board for less than an hour, but he already understands the nature of this place better than most. Just because the majority of those he's run into have been human doesn't mean everyone who is able to come here will be. It was ignorant to assume so, and one of the many flaws of the breed of human he's been around since bouncing back to the late 1800s.

They always assumed it was all about them.

"No, thanks," Jack responds, testing the spoken English waters. "But I appreciate the offer, Miss...?"

[bochord]

Rose's eyes drift toward his lips, focusing on the movement of them.

She has to wonder why he wouldn't want dry clothes when they're available - though she supposes it would be hard to trust anything about a ship you suddenly find yourself in - and she decides she won't wonder any further. He must have his reasons, and she doesn't want to make too many assumptions of her own. Being here is strange enough.

Rose. My name is Rose.

And his name is Jack.

Thus why the narration decided to toss her at him. She thinks she's amusing, sometimes. :')

[category]

Jack's eyes follow the path of hers. Good, she can read lips.

When she tells him her name, he can't help but grin and let out a short, clipped laugh.

"Fancy meeting you here, Rose. My name's Jack-- Harkness, not Dawson." He holds out a hand. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."

[bochord]

Rose's face crinkles into a smile.

Pity. We'd have to believe in fate otherwise.

She's teasing, of course. She gets the reference as much as the next person. Jack's holding out his hand, so Rose has to let go of her teddy bear, aka the clipboard, to properly introduce herself also. She shakes his hand, and still mouthing the words, signs out of habit, as well.

Nice to meet you, Captain. That sounds fancy.