James blinks. A moment before, he was surrounded by his fellow chosen in the courtyard between the insulae, in the bright sunlight of a new morning and now he is... not.
It is dark, but not dark at the same time. Lights of a thousand colours glow from a hundred windows in buildings that soar towards the sky. There is a press noise, of conversation and mechanical humming. People walk past him, taking no notice of the man in a sandal and tunic, too busy talking into strange slim boxes in their hands.
Something zooms passed him, a carriage that has no horses, that emits a cloud of foul smoke behind it. He steps backwards, utterly bewildered, and missing his footing on the raised kerb, tumbling into someone.
Carnival
Whatever the noise was like in the busy streets of the City, these streets are cleared of traffic. Instead they're full of stalls and entertainments not unfamiliar to James. They're like the markets he knows from England and Port Royal, and while the prizes and the games are not the ones he remembers from his boyhood, the place itself somehow... is not as frightening as it could be.
He wanders from stall to game to display, until one of the stallholders calls to him and catches him by the elbow. "Shoot the bottles sir, win a cuddle toy for your sweetheart! A prize every time!"
He tries to pull away, but a musket of some sort is thrust into his hands.
"Sweetheart?" James says bewildered, looking around. He has no sweetheart, and there certainly isn't anyone stood near enough to him to be mistaken for such a relation, is there?
James Norrington / PotC
James blinks. A moment before, he was surrounded by his fellow chosen in the courtyard between the insulae, in the bright sunlight of a new morning and now he is... not.
It is dark, but not dark at the same time. Lights of a thousand colours glow from a hundred windows in buildings that soar towards the sky. There is a press noise, of conversation and mechanical humming. People walk past him, taking no notice of the man in a sandal and tunic, too busy talking into strange slim boxes in their hands.
Something zooms passed him, a carriage that has no horses, that emits a cloud of foul smoke behind it. He steps backwards, utterly bewildered, and missing his footing on the raised kerb, tumbling into someone.
Carnival
Whatever the noise was like in the busy streets of the City, these streets are cleared of traffic. Instead they're full of stalls and entertainments not unfamiliar to James. They're like the markets he knows from England and Port Royal, and while the prizes and the games are not the ones he remembers from his boyhood, the place itself somehow... is not as frightening as it could be.
He wanders from stall to game to display, until one of the stallholders calls to him and catches him by the elbow. "Shoot the bottles sir, win a cuddle toy for your sweetheart! A prize every time!"
He tries to pull away, but a musket of some sort is thrust into his hands.
"Sweetheart?" James says bewildered, looking around. He has no sweetheart, and there certainly isn't anyone stood near enough to him to be mistaken for such a relation, is there?
Wildcard!
Have at it!