After the gong had sounded, Jack had essentially disappeared -- for the first half of the week -- over into the more northern end of the pine forest, in an attempt to get cover from the other Tributes. The scuffle at the Cornucopia had left him with a couple aching bruises and a few shallow nicks from recently acquired knives, but not real or fatal damage. He had, thankfully, made it out of the chaos with his own weapon -- a sharp, serrated hunting knife.

But he wasn't exactly a hunter. The famous Captain Jack Sparrow knew how to live for months at sea, could fish for turtle and bird meat on a desert island and survive, had even climbed out of the maw of Hell itself. But snagging a fleet-footed deer or rabbit had proven too difficult thus far, particularly as the abrupt lack of alcohol took its toll on his system and caused him raging headaches and a general sense of malaise.

And so the aroma of meat cooking is what draws him in, cautiously, towards the the firelight. Trying to snatch the food and run would be ideal, of course, but Jack knows there isn't the energy or willpower in him to do it or fight for it. He instead takes a few seconds to linger behind the cover of a tree to properly suss out the situation -- just as the man calls out to him.

The pirate's upper lip twitches, not liking that he's been found out, and after a moments hesitation Jack slips out from cover and lifts a hand in peace. "Meant no harm, mate." His gaze slides down to the spear the man has, a slow and deliberate motion, then back to his face. Another pause, then, "Blimey, that smells downright wonderful."