when the cat is away........the mice will drink eggnog.

Jolly mood, Jack's in. He's got a handful of feather quills, perfect for writing or for atrocious lapel pins, but it's the thought that matters, really. St. Bridget's Day was a fairly old tradition, and even he had to participate. Blue feathers that meant I like you. And such.

People had to have some use for poisoned quills, right? Right. Jack had. Thus he looks for his next 'object of affection'.