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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Feb 28, 2008 15:57:07 GMT -5
As he'd pulled, she'd pushed. The trunk was by no means a light affair. She quietly hoped they wouldn't do much ship-hopping, as lugging the thing around would utterly ruin the charm owning it. She hadn't owned things such as this in years; it had been just she, her mirror, nail lacquer, lotions and whatever she'd needed to pamper herself. Trey grunted as he realized the weight of it, and she smiled quite brilliantly as it finally slid over the rails. Then he extended a hand, and conflict sparked in her. While a part of her purred for the consideration- anothers hackles raised at the idea of needing help. But it was Trey, she told herself, and Trey seemed to use a great deal of tact in his dealings with others. So she took the hand and flounced onto the deck in a flurry brightly colored silk and the airy tinkle of bells. "Apology accepted," As she cooed, she pulled herself to him and wrapped her other arm about his neck, and gave him a kiss that lasted just a hair longer than her usual greeting. Her eyes were warm, relieved; she really was very fond of Trey. "Though you gave me quite the scare this morning. God Lord." She put space between them and sat primly on the trunk again, hair lifting on the salt winds. Her eyes slid to the Russian, and something in them sparked. "You've a little something, though the shade is very fetching I admit." Bella flicked her thumb over the corner of her mouth to indicate the smudge of paint that remained. She crossed one leg over the other, vaguely irritated but only allowing amusement to show on her features, be it slightly bitter.
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Post by Spammich on Feb 29, 2008 21:40:38 GMT -5
Saigo's face had been rather peaceful but the mention of color, confused him slightly, what was she talking about? Then the realization shocked him, and his hand shot up to his face to the place she motioned to. He dabbed at it a few times, and glared at Trey, why hadn't he metioned the smudge of make-up, of shame, left on his face.
"Thank you Bella," he grinned, the smirk beginning on the Captain before shifting her way as she sat atop her throne. Saigo felt a bit sorry for the boy who had to drag it up the flight of stairs in the tavvy.
His eyes stayed on Bella, narrowed slightly, he was pleased that she was able to make it in time, he was surprised in fact that she didn't decide to run off again... This wasn't the second ship she aided in commandeering, though this time she wasn't dressed in drag to smuggle herself on board.
"What are your plans then Shadow," the Russian cooed at Trey, eyes sparkling, "You have only told me what to do up until now, and though I hate plans, I'd be able to find some peace if I knew what the fuck is going on in your head... over a scheme of this caliber anyways."
Saigo did hate plans, he enjoyed the spontaenity of attacks, pillagings, why else did he crash the poor deceased Truthless into the Evangelion? Well... It was fun, but it was also a faverent act to save his Captain from... him. Saigo spit on the deck at the thought of the Irish bastard the slave of the Monarchs. It had been a while between the thought and sight of that man, the Russian couldn't help but wonder what he was up to now... Still hunting them? Maybe, they did damage his precious mistress... though... the tracks probably ran cold in the hurricane.
The wound the giant first mate gave him throbbed, and he grasped it tenderly, looking over at Bella, she had some deep cuts of her own crawling down her back from that battle. Maybe it was wiser to continue running as Trey set out for the crown.
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Mar 19, 2008 0:52:50 GMT -5
Djordi's worldly possessions were few, but to them she was greatly attached. Having been drafted for work aboard the Gale (it was strangely hard for her to find work, considering how vastly talented she was) she'd made her way aboard the perky little vessel, and had been given the evil eye by more than a few ladies. She'd cut the bindings on her chest. It felt nice to give her tits a breather, and she wondered why she hadn't considered all female ships sooner. And then a lady sauntered by with her God-given assets jiggling about for all the world to see and the reason became incredibly clear. That would be a problem, if she weren't careful. She'd gotten the impression that Cara was the sort of woman who'd strip her skin straight from her bone if given cause. Evelyn seemed cute and harmless- but she knew well how much looks accounted for. The woman at the helm (blonde, scarred, and fucking terrifying) gave Djordi a vibe she'd rather not dwell on. "Who're you?" A sweet little blue eyed thing cooed from the rigging. "Georgette. Georgie'll suit fine." She called with a smile. Roma had two names- one to be used round clan and kin, and another for the rest of the world.
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Post by Clover on Mar 24, 2008 10:35:58 GMT -5
God, Evie's such a skank, migawds. Also, I named the chick. Hope no one minds. I'm thinking she's a free-for-all, yeah?
Evie'd come up the gangplank carefully, as she had no desire to knock herself back in the drink, harbour or no. And her hands were paining her, which she supposed was a result of having used 'em too often in the past few days. She'd tied her carpet-bag around her shoulder and carried it tucked under one arm, the better for balance. Her hair was out of her face with that damned head-scarf, and when she crested the plank and hopped into the boat (felt like comin home, this time), she laughed and shook it off. Kicking the scrap of fabric into the water was accomplished shortly, and she raised a hand in greeting to Fanny, guarding the wheel like some vicious pit-bull. The woman had spurned shore-leave and Evie didn't care to ask why; there was something about that woman that gave her the jibblies.
And then that voice made her stop, swivel and give out a hoot of laughter. There was Georgie chattin' it all up with 'Lizabeth, and she sighed. Coming up behind them on silent feet, she scowled up at the woman, her eyes narrowing fiercely. "Oy, riggy-monk'y, don' ya 'ave shit'ta be doin', if'in yo' wan' yer monies?" The girl scowled, stuck out her tongue. "Evie, I was just talking." Evie growled and shook her head. "I don' pay yo' t'talk an' bat yer pretty lashes, yus kin? Do yer job, chat lat'r.' The girl looked fit to do just that, sheer out of spite, but Evie grinned back at the girl, and shrugged.
"No 'ard feelins', monk'y. S'jus', I foun' 'er, an' I'm ri'ht set on keepin' 'er." She grinned, playfully, and bumped Djordi with her hip. "Nauw, as yo' can see, we're ri'ht fucked fer fresh blood, an' s'gon'ta be yo'r job to do a lot'a th' stuff. So yo' say yo're a jack o' all trades, an' tha's wha' we need." Evie grinned, showing white teeth and slightly-too-pointed canines in a smile. "An' jus' ignore th' girls. We're a friendly sort, 'ere. An' they're starved fer... 'ow'd'ya say?" She paused for a second, nibbled her lip, and then laughed. "Yea', fres' meat. Jus' smack 'em away when yo' get bor'd."
And with that charming introduction, she started walking, following the rigging and the gunwhale easily. "Yo' kno' 'ow ta sail, I'm 'sumin'?"
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Apr 15, 2008 4:43:23 GMT -5
"Iddn't smackin'em just encouragin a lass on?" There was a wink for the female (so named Elizabeth), who returned it and shimmied away, slightly pacified. Djordi shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, eyes following the tiny First Mate now. "Haven't done much of it, but I know my ways round aye." Djordi sent her a smile and shrug. All her experience stemmed from rented labor to spice traders (and well, spice trading once her cousins had had a mind to take over the ship for themselves. Cheeky things.). She'd gotten so sick of bein trapped on a ship with the lot of them, she'd gotten off at the nearest port. Which had been Rabat, and there she'd stayed, training and selling various avians. She was sick of teaching the birds now, too. And perhaps the sea wasn't half so bad with her passel of cousins mocking her chest. "Tell me what needs doin an' I'll get it done, shor as ya've a pretty face." It was the lightest of brogues she possessed, gleaned from spending the vast majority of her youth on the Isle. Course, it may worsen with Araby and her near incomprehensible speech about. Her kind had a bit of a trick with accents. Developin them while in country and mysteriously droppin 'em till they were useful. Djordi wasn't sure whether it'd serve her in this case or not, but she hadn't such a tight rein on her tongue as the rest of her family.
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Post by Clover on Apr 16, 2008 17:45:07 GMT -5
"Aye, t'woul' seem so", she laughed, amused by her glib comment. "Our girls are sinful as any moth'r's son, an' liable t'pinch yer bottom 'fore you've given yo'r name. Don't mind it, too much. T'ey're good girls, jus' starved for companionship." She snickered slightly, and shrugged in return. "Only one I wouldn' go talkin' to is Fanny--th' woman's a right 'Oly terror. We don' ask 'er a lot a questions, yus kin? She tends ta stay to 'erself. Personally", here, she leaned in, her tone conspiratorial, "She scares th' piss clear outta me."
Her little compliment made her laugh, sweet and high, and in a moment of cheerful companionship, Evie rested her head on her companion's shoulder. "Aye, I'm 'spectin' I'll like yo' clear 'nuff. Well, we've 'ammocks a plenty below-decks, so's t' get'cha set up. As common, meals, wat'r or rhum, 'cording t'yo'r pref'rence is availavle--but no drunks on watch. That's a matter for th' bosun, an' since we're short a' 'ands, tha's my job. So, jus', no drunks on watch, yea'? An' a split o' wha'ever we manage t'steal. Oth'r then tha', well, it's pretty standerd, yus kin? Fixin' shite on wat'r's jus' like fixin' shite on land, only the boat won't stop movin." She shrugged, laughed softly, amused. "An' I 'ope yo' can swim, Georgie, 'caus' it comes in rig't 'andy." The other woman's accent caught her eye and she blinked, and then smiled, a bright and broad thing full of teeth and good intentions.
"'Ey, where yo' from, lass? Yer speakin' prop'r brogue, an' it's a strange thing t'ear out on th' seas...pleasant, like."
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Post by Spammich on Apr 16, 2008 20:27:41 GMT -5
Caroline walked onto her ship and the majority of the crew froze and looked at her as they were preparing to set sail, the stares they gave her broke into happy greetings as she forced a smile and trudged onto the boat. The blonde flicked her eyes at the gangplank and four of the girls started to untie the ship from the dock. "We are leaving now," she said lifting a finger and pointing at the sails that fell open. She could see the strain the storm had on the canvas and she sighed heavily, knowing that a new ship was in their future, also meaning the ship beneath her feet was going to get torched. Her eyes scanned the dock and fell on a new face she tilted her head and called out to the girl eyes narrowing slightly. "Oy, new blood," she called raising a hand and resting it on her hip, "Come 'ere let me have a look at you." Little thing was darn pretty thing, masculine in some ways, made the girl look slightly androgynous.
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Post by Trey on Apr 18, 2008 2:20:22 GMT -5
The captain relinquished a smile onto his current crew, glad to have a few familiar faces. It was going to be a long and hard battle, and despite his usual tactics of completely refreshing his crew, it was a good time to pick the loyal ones and keep them close by. He slipped his outlandish and easy to spot hair back under the hood of the cloak and headed over to the anchor, eager to give way to the sea, his rightful and long time home.
Being no novice at the act, Trey had made quick work of the anchor, and made silent gestures to his crewmen(and woman), urging them to release the sails and prepare the ship. The sun was rising, and he wanted to be at the horizon before Rabat knew what happened.
((Bitches love me 'cuz they know that I can rock.))
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Apr 19, 2008 21:29:20 GMT -5
"From th'back of a wagon, I hear tell." Djordi smiled, eyes sparkling. As they slipped to the wheel, that sparkle rather dimmed and she suppressed a cringe. "I ah...had that inklin, meself, actually. I'll be givin her her space, shor'nuff." First Mate and Quartermaster? Accomplished little bird. Lovely thing, too. And a quick talker, Christ. She rattled off the basics of ship-life aboard the Gale, and Djordi took mental note of each. The accent wasn't the hard bit to handle; it was the sheer speed at which the little woman spoke. But Djordi caught it all.
She'd be having rum, but sparsely. She couldn't afford to lose what little good sense she had; the odds for good fortune diminished without it. And she greatly preferred odds in her favor. The job itself was certainly something she could handle. Swimming she still wasn't all that fond of, as a cousin had taught her by droppin her off the edge of a fishing boat with the (he'd thought) humorous instructions to "sink or swim". She'd blackened his eye so thoroughly he'd near lost sight in it. She learned to swim, but she also learned to dislike it. Djordi's eyes flickered to the bandages on Evie's hands, and her brows moved a fraction. "How's your hand litl'boss?"
But then there was a flurry of activity; girls cried out and giggled, waving slender wrists and tossed flirtatious greetings toward the gangplank. They were all eyelashes and flashes of tanned legs and bosoms. Djordi forgot she'd asked anything at all, then- was momentarily dazzled by the sight, and once she'd reclaimed a fraction of her wits, inwardly sighed. Father, forgive me in advance- me thoughts are gonna be a smidge impure for a while.
She was trying to decide whether she'd stumbled into Heaven or Hell when the Captain called for her. Djordi shrugged at Evie, smiled, and made her way towards her new commanding officer. "Pleasure to be makin yer acquaintance, boss lady. Georgette Fawe, an I'll do most anythin ya ask me to." She leered, went to extend her hand and then paused, considering. "Eh I'd do tha'to I s'pose, though I get the feelin ya won't be askin." Djordi held out her hand, the hazel of her eyes glittering good humor.
Djordi was a bit taller than the Captain, and she was privately grateful. Her height was a sour note. Caroline was a pretty woman, with clear blue eyes and hair like sunlight. She also had curves that set Djordi's eyes to rollin, and she tacked on a few extra apologies in her mind. Pretty though she was, Djordi got the distinct feeling the woman took very little (if any) crap from her subordinates. Or anybody else.
She'd best find whether the lady Captain appreciated her brand of humor or not before they were long at sea. Or at all at sea, really.
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Trey didn't grace them with an answer; though he did see fit to give them a smile. It distracted her momentarily from the Russian feeling his wounds, and from the knowledge that the Captain himself was still battle-worn. Her own hurts were minimal, she told herself, and didn't warrant anymore thought. Though she would be a hair easier on herself; at least until she had the stitching out. Belladonna understood the difference between pride and stupidity well, though she had to remind herself of it (with dates and examples) often.
The ship was in excellent condition. She creaked and sighed in a way the poor Truthless had forgotten by the time they had gotten her to port. She was anxious, rather than tired, and it encouraged those that manned her to share in her excitement. And to an extent, she did. Yet while the new ship had rejuvenated the crew in spirit, she didn't magically erase the pains of prior campaigns. Bella supposed she could nag if the boys got out of hand. That queer maternal feeling returned, and she mentally scoffed.
There was work to be done, and she rose to aid her crew-mates.
She was no stranger to the work required, and put her aching back into it as completely as the men on the ship. More so, because many of the faces were new, and she could already see the spark of challenge in their eyes. The memory of such men, and how she'd bested them, was etched into her skin. She didn't regret a single lash, and she'd gladly take more. As much as she loathed marring her pretty flesh; marks so earned were ones she'd proudly carry. The path she'd chosen was unrelenting and harsh. It required she be harder, she be faster; and that she never give so much as an inch to the cretins around her. Ten years at sea, and not so much as a centimeter had been relinquished.
There was a mutter about her trunk as the sails dropped, and she gave a snort. "Don't touch it," She told the mutterer, keeping her hands busy, "Since I'd have to take it out of your hide, and I do hate being short-changed." Perhaps she'd sleep on it. It was a rather large trunk. Her eyes slipped back to the Captain, glittering green in the light. She was flushed with color, clearly happier as the sails filled and the ship lurched forward. She was, again, glad he was alright. It would have been terrible to lose such a charming man.
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He stuck his hands in his pockets, and gave a little shiver. Why the motion brought him so much pleasure, he couldn't say. But he always felt rather diminished without his coat. It was such a fine cut, and had so many fine memories attached to it...
Achar's lips took their usual sinister turn, and he gave a happy sigh. Kind of the man to retrieve his coat. What an incredibly intriguing character the Captain Slattery was. When he'd spoken of the contest for the crown- he'd seen a spark in the younger mans eye. Such a lovely green, and all the more fetching for the maliciousness he saw festering in their depths. But it was a brief flash. A moment of shining, malevolent glory and then it was gone.
Achar would very much like to see it again, the darkness that doubtless lurked in this servant to the British crown. Slattery didn't strike him as a servant. He did, however, strike him as a man who knew how to bide his time and use the resources at his disposal to their fullest.
You lecherous old thing, His mind purred as he moved below decks Nursing tender feelings for the little Irish Captain.
Delano was not, in fact, little. He stood eye to mismatched eye with Achar. He was of a thicker build than Achar, who was reed thin and dancing the line between hale and malnutrition. Fucking Edwin and his neurosis with food. He rubbed his chin again, continued toward the infirmary. His progress was slow, as lazy as he was 99.9% of the time.
He understood the lapses he had in time, in memory. Knew that its name was Edwin, and that, at one point, he'd had a wife and child. Achar'd done his absolute damnedest to wreck the life his other half led, once he'd put the bits and pieces of his fragmented existence together. He'd half hoped Edwin would vanish then after. Ed hadn't. He was slumbering somewhere in the depths of him now, waiting.
Achar entered the ward, and was mildly soothed with the chorus of agony and suffering that greeted him. The odor within was putrid. Death and those very near to it; the cloying, choking scents of decay and illness. Old blood and stale urine. Achar flashed his teeth at the little Spaniard-something-else, thoughts slithering back to the Captain.
He'd only given the vaguest of allusions to the contest for the Pirate crown- and Slattery had sent Cadiz away; quite forcefully requesting Achar share what he knew. And Achar did, with a glee akin to what he assumed gardeners felt whilst nurturing their begonias. The Captain had listened, considering, and sent him away too.
"I was First Mate as well as surgeon on the Maiden." Achar had admitted with that slow, disease ridden smile. Then he'd stood, moved to the door. "Don't hesitate to call if you find yourself in need of my services, Captain."
It would be considerable trouble, if he'd read him wrong. Making him prisoner aboard the Ev instead of a surgeon with merely questionable loyalties. But he remembered that spark (ahh that sweet spark) and moved one hand from its pocket to smooth his hair.
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Post by Spammich on Apr 20, 2008 20:32:50 GMT -5
Caroline eys sparkled for a moment and she flashed a wide smile at the girl, "Georgette, I'll remember th' name and hold you to your words."
The blonde took the hand that was offered to her, smiling at the strength behind the shake. She cast her blue eyes up over her first mate for a moment then turned them out to the sea, raising an eyebrow at the taller girl. This Georgette seemed a wee bit flustered, even though it was well hidden so the Captain motioned up at the sails that were being let loose with her thumb, "We are short some girls who decided to ditch ship at port, I need you up aloft."
"I know somebody else who needs her," another girl laughed and the Captain looked up at the ratlines where the woman was hanging. The girl waited to see Caroline to tilt her head then continued, "Bertha, she scared away another one, and needs help down in the galley."
"Good to know," the blonde said looking back to Geargette, "Help down there once we are out on open sea, you'll get your orders from that woman without me having to say a thing other than good luck."
She laughed loudly then let the girl's hand go, she didn't realize that she had been holding onto it the entire time she was speaking to Georgette. With a flip of her curled locks she head to her cabin and kicked the door close, dropping the bags she had on her back and stripping off the long skirt she had worn in Rabat, exchanging it for tights and oversized shirt around which she pulled a thick leather belt. She latched the harness then sat on the mattress within her quarters sighing heavily...
The open sea was sure to remedy her heart.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A grin, was all that the first mate flashed, when Trey showed off his own set of pearly whites and pulled up his hood. Saigo helped getting the ship set, barking order when he could and taking the time to climb the lines to the crowsnest to shake the sleeping forms of Timble and Polly from their drunken stupors laughing at their states, and wondering how they managed to get on the ship without anyone taking notice of their presence. The new crew looked confused and coarse, wondering where the new people who were taking control came from, but they didn't asked questions they just took their orders the wa they were trained. Surely thinking that anything else was better than the old Captain and Mates, there were sparks in some of the depths of the men's hues when they surveyed the Venecian woman and Saigo smothered a few of those sparks with an icy glare fit to freeze the desert.
The sails sighed and Saigo sighed with them, something flying from his soul when the ship started to leave the coast behind, crossing into the Mother's open and treacherous arms. They had been ashore too long and the Russian left the weight he was carrying back on those shores, laughing at the stinging scratches and bites, the gash from battle spitting blood lightly onto his shirt, having been reopened through so much healthy and welcomed activity. He leaned on a wall and searched for the hooded figure then caught sight of the man at the helm, and he grinned and joined the man's company.
"When you leave your post, I could use some help," he said clutching his stomach, "My stutures have become a little loose... and I'd stitch them meyself but I can't see the damned wound."
The Russian could if he bent the right way, but flexibility was something he had to ignore for a while, less he wound come completely undone... His mind fell on the scars of his mates, glancing first to the woman in the lines, and then back to the cloaked ghost. He wondered slightly what his friend would say to the new "wounds" he had recieved on shore, the Russian was sure that the man was tired of listening to the stories and gloating, but Saigo didn't care. He was too amused by the reactions...=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Delano was twirling a scapel in his hand, staring into the dark quarters where he was left alone... to think. His mind was trailing back to his original goals, earn fame, earn fair fortune, grind himself into the ground to earn station. He threw the scapel across the room and it stuck into the wall vibrating with the impact. Those things were so far, impossible even for somebody of such low breeding, even though he had sacrificed everything, he still was serving under greater men, gentlemen and commanders he could easily challenge and kill without a thought. His only equal a damned pirate with a loyal crew, who had sailed through a storm to survive the onslaught Delano had brought to their planks of wood and sails. To think... that this man was after the highest glory of feral beings and had a chance, without having to have pedigree without having to serve anyone but his own desires. Delano wanted that, he wanted a run at something possible against somebody worth his time, his attention, he stood up and adjusted the lapel on his jacket. Raising a hand to smooth his hair back.
His boots click ominously on the Evangelion's planks at he stepped onto the deck, drawing the attention of the living crew. They were haggard, a few still had spirit in them and Delano grinned something evil which instantly smother those spirits.
"Thing are going to change," he said, and the crew just waited for him to continue speaking, confusion was something that wasn't allowed on this boat, "The Government is supposedly good, all that it right and 'free,' and so I hate to be the Devil's Advocate..."
His eyes glimmered darkly.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The ship, was a piece of shit. The hull was held together with random pieces of wood, some painted other stained black with tar, all obviously pried from the frames of other ships. The Sails were random pieces of stiched canvas layered for stregth, void of holes because the ship Captain was obcessed with keeping the ship moving. The only time they were allowed to stop was so that they could slaughter another crew, burn the dead ship with the Captain's crest steal the treasure, steal the rations, steal the sails, steal the hull to mend their own. The crew was vile. Men of all walks of putird life, all strong but not as strong as the man who kept them in check, and all a little insane for serving under the insane. They were mostly talented in mending, repairing and fighting, so the ship moved and set sail slowly, because the best climber was a six year old child in the Captain's care and under his protection. The girl was spoiled, but acted like an Angel. She walked around in silks, in gold trinkets, and kept the Captain quarters as her own personal play room. The Captain was positive that the child was a Goddess, and there was no way that anyone could convince him otherwise, those who tried had their skulls crushed between his strong hand in front of the rest of the crew. They girl didn't ever say a thing, and she would never say a thing. Being a mute the girl had no qualms with the slaughters. Treachery was the name of the ship, and Judas was the nickname of dear Captain Kohdey Radford. The Captain had a reputation for turning on his own crews before he became the owner of his ouwn sailing ship. He had a thing for fire, a thing for oil and the smell of burning flesh and melting tar. These were only rumors among the ears of these men serving on the Treachery, but they didn't want any show to prove the rumors true. They feared their own necks. Captain Kohdey stood at the Helm with a spyglass held to his eye, and a pair of small arms wrapped around his thick neck. He spot the ship in the distance and flashy and beautiful ship and his hazel eyes glistened slightly. He looked over his shoulder at the shild clutched to his back and she smiled at him. "Good idea Baby," Kohdey replied to himself more than to the child.
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Post by Clover on Apr 21, 2008 15:54:52 GMT -5
"Fer fack's sake she los' anot'er one? Jaesus Mary an' Joseph', wha's tha' woman tellin' those girls?" Evie's tone was strident as she arched her head up, shooting a wicked look to the girl in the rigging, hanging like a monkey as she chatted with the first mate. "Shit iff'n I know, but we've lost 'er, an' there's piss'awl t'be done 'bout it, Evie, beggin' yer pardon." Evie merely shrugged and allowed Caroline to take control of the situation; as Captain, the woman's word was law. And the kitchens were a good place to start Georgette. After all, cooking on water was the same as cooking on land, except more wet and less tasty, all things told. But what could ya do, when rations ran low? For the time being, though, they had perishables a plenty that needed to be eaten, and they'd leave the rest for the longer voyage.
At Georgie's flirting with Caroline, Evie merely grinned. She was not a possessive lover by any stretch of the imagination, and of Georgette wanted to knock boots with Caroline, Evie would make no move to stop them. She expected Cara took much the same mentality towards it, though she couldn't be sure, and it was early days yet. Her smile was slow, at that thought, and she shifted her hips in the barest of wiggles, content with the world and her place in it. For the moment, at least. Complacency was a horrible thing in a pirate--killed the morale and sapped the fighting spirit. So for now, with the soft wind and the bright sun and the smell of sea and salt, she could be a little bit pleased. But once the waves picked up--then.
Then she'd hunger for to put that damned crown on Caro's pretty curls. She'd no desire for it herself; long association with pirates had shown her that Pirate Kings tended to last about as long as a drunken sailor in a whorehouse, and she had no desire of seeing herself deposed. But Caro, she could protect. And that was good enough. Shaken from her thoughts by the ship shuddering under her feet, she laughed, high and wild, her head tipped back and the sun on her face. "Ay, it's feelin' sore as fuck, Georgette, but not to worry. Doctorin' lady said it'd heal, an' so it will." As Caro departed, Evie moved forward, and then stopped, in an aborted, and somewhat nervous, gesture.
She was wary of revealing anything to the crew; her status was too precious to her, to have it whittled down to Captain's Whore. And she'd be damned if any would think less of her for it. So she turned her attention back to Georgette, her face closed and eyes flat; momentarily shutting her off. And then, as though a rope had snapped, down fell the facade, and she smiled once again. "I think yo'll leik it 'ere. We're pirates to a one, but fair 'bout it. S'as good as yo'll get, on land or High Sea." Reaching out, she patted Georgette's shoulder fondly. "Fanny!", she called, her voice loud and clarion-clear, a sailor's call. "Take us out and out." The woman raised her hand in response, and the ship responded; Evie's smile widened and she returned her attention to her newest little companion. "Let's go ta intr'duce yo' t' Berta. Don' worry. She ain' gon'ta chop fing'rs off. She jus' looks leik it."
Cadiz had been trained as a noble. With an estate, a noble had paperwork to sign, rounds to make, people to oversea, things to do. This was not so different to being a noble. He still had a lot of things to do. They just moaned, when he did things to them. And not in a pleasant, happy way. They moaned because they couldn't muster the energy to scream in pain. Cadiz discovered he was quickly becoming desensitized to the life of a ship's surgeon, and he worked his way through the pile of bodies steadily, with no distractions and no unwanted dramatics to slow his pace. His hands were steady, and if they shook every time his eyes landed on bone, or when his nose smelt viscera slipping out of a stomach cavity, well. He was only human, after all. His bangs fell into his eyes and he pushed them out of the way with his shoulder, looking almost avian as he did so. Bird-boned and thin, slight and petite, he looked like some exotic species of tropical fowl, and the squack he made when he looked up and his eyes fell on Achar in the doorway only reinforced the image. Shuddering slightly, he scowled up at the taller man, his eyes gimlet grey and unamused. That might have had something to do with the fact that he was trying to reset a particularily vicious spiral fracture in a man's femur, and the man was concious and had just kicked him soundly in the solar plexus.
It had not been his day, and Cadiz suspected it was about to get much worse.
"You're not injured, what do you want? I've no time for fripperies or pleasant chit-chat." He wasn't about to let them man intimidate him, for all that he distinctly wanted to crawl under a table and pull blankets over his head. Achar, it seemed, was the sort of person who could inspire primordial terror in a person. Cadiz had once seen sharks from a small coastal boat--large and vicious and following the little catamaran like sadistic puppy-dogs, hoping for someone to step poorly and dip in for a swim. Achar's eyes reminded him of the sharks, flat and fishy and altogether inhuman. The Spaniard fought the urge to shudder again, but felt his blood freeze as his eyes met the man's gaze. "What do you want", he said, his voice clearly enunciated and sharp. If he acted cold and snippy, perhaps the man would simply leave him be.
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Post by starvingartist on Apr 21, 2008 21:29:52 GMT -5
It had almost become a dance to him, albeit a gruesome one, spinning about the ward at frantic speeds (where on God's green earth had Ed gon, for chrissake) dealing with whatever patient he saw first. He had not the doctor's bedside manner, nor his skill with a needle (his stitches, while passable, were clumsy at best) and very shortly he would be needing to leave to be ill. The scent of illness, blood and vomit and beneath it all the wretched dull reek of fecal matter, men dead and bowels loosed was overwhelming, and even the cloth tied over his mouth and nose was failing to serve him over the atmosphere of the ward. And so he moved, a twist of the hip bringing him round from one patient to the next, an (accidental) slide over the floors sending him to the far end of the ward to see to another, and another, and he was grateful when he heard his companion speak sharply to the man in the doorway. (His companion was another issue far and beyond that of the duties he'd been stuck with here; rather than face Delano he'd opted to come down here and tend to the wounded, only to discover that the lithe little Spaniard was also here, and he was, to say the very least, a distraction. Cross with him or not, he was still overwhelmingly curious, a failing he'd carried from youth.) Cadiz spoke sharply, and Cameron was glad for the mask that hid his mouth; the man was a spitting cat, with the attitude of a much larger man, or even perhaps a woman of the same size. But there was something more pressing, something strange in the way Ed was smiling, the way he held himself...there was something distinctly not-right about him, and he wondered that it was not perhaps simply the misery of the ward colouring his perception. Nonetheless, there was something that screamed danger in the tension between the doctor and Cadiz, and he grimaced. The patient he stood by uttered something, and he caught a verb, a conjugate, and wondered what god was on his side. Never particularly religious, he was nevertheless inclined to believe that an excuse this good to keep the tiny man from (not quite?) Ed could be nothing but miraculous. "Sir!" he called, pitching his voice to carry, though it was somewhat muffled by the mask. "I don't understand this patient. I think you may share a language, could you assist me?"
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Post by Trey on Apr 24, 2008 19:57:46 GMT -5
Trey glanced around the meager crew they had working during the first watch. Half of them already knew of Trey's plans and proceedings--though they didn't know it was Trey, and the others fell in line, apparently glad that the cruel officers of their last trip were no longer in command. He motioned to a well muscled man, one who had just finished helping the sails get hoisted to their positions, and the man strode in only a few paces to where Trey now stood. The captain knew the man--he had sailed on Trey's ship before--and so with no question, the captain relinquished his post to the man, muttering commands to him in a scratchy voice that hardly sounded like Trey's at all.
Trey was in a hurry to help his first mate with his wounds, he wanted to ensure that Saigo himself got the next watch, wanted him to strike fear into their hearts. Trey wanted to stay out of sight from now on. It was essential that none of the crew--who by now all had heard of The Truthless' captain being hanged(he was a large threat to the East India Trading Co. for a while now)--knew of Trey's existance. Not until they grew comfortable with Saigo and the others, not until they were far from port, and in a position to fear the ghost of a returning thief of the sea.
Then there was Trey's own wounds. The large gash on his side had refused to heal, and Trey was--for once--thankful. The Pirate King spoke of power and a title. He spoke of earning that prize. Surely the pirates of the world were not meant to float around and do the same thing they always did, for the Pirate King must have left clues. Most of the hunters striving for the prize thought the same way. They all knew there had to be a clue.
Only difference was.. Trey knew where it was.
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Apr 28, 2008 17:03:32 GMT -5
She was momentarily dazzled by the other womans smile, and was quite taken by the glitter in her too blue eyes. Good woman. She thought, and Djordi's initial assessments of folk were off the mark next to never. "Aye Cap'n. Up I go then." As soon as the Captain had released her hand, Djordi had given a friendly wink and shimmied up the sails. There were introductions and a bit of flirtin with the girls up there with her as they set about shovin off. Djordi was nothing if not a social creature, and less than that if she wasn't happy about it. By the time the Gale was doing her merry cork-bob she already had her hands full batting away the advances of a handful of the girls crawlin about the rigging and owed the lot of them a proper telling of why she spent an afternoon hiding a magistrate's daughter from her father whilst cutting the girl out of horse tack.
She dropped back down to the deck, pushed her hair from her eyes and grinned at the First Mate. The woman had told her the story of her hand when they'd met at the docks, and she was right lucky to limp away as she had. If they ran into that particular crew she owed the man that dove in after her a handshake and a drink if possible. She'd be hard pressed to think of a man or woman outside her kin who'd do such a thing for a friend, and it shouldn't go unrewarded or unsung. When Evie turned her eyes on her- she was startled. She opened her mouth ask to question the look in her eyes-or rather the lack of it- and then she was smiling again. Djordi shrugged it off, crossed her arms over her chest. "Water logged gypsies, pirates, aye? Should'n have a prob'lm then." She followed the much smaller female to the galley, shrugged off the good-humored warning. "Dealt with more'n me share'a tuff folks in me time. Won't be an'issha."
When Djordi laid eyes on Bertha, she nearly swallowed her tongue. To keep from laughing, of course. She didn't see what all the fuss was about.
-
Timble groaned, opened his eyes and thought surely, surely someone had pulled them out their sockets while he'd slept, left them on a sandy beach to dry- and then shoved them right back in his big head before he'd thought to wake. Or was shaken awake by a leering Russian. He cursed, bellowed like a branded beast and sat his massive frame upright. His cry echoed over the water, frightened what birds that had settled from the sails back to open air, and set a few mens knees to knocking before they realized the sound was human. Or had been uttered by one, at least. "Christ'an wee fishes Saigo- I feel like a half-dried carcass." He coughed, slammed a great fist against his chest and his eyes crossed. Carmella had done quite the number on him, bless her pretty head. But goddamn her fists. He'd freely admit he was afraid of his wife and that she could beat him to hell and back. When she was in earshot, since any man who doubted him then would get a taste of what his lovely lady wife was capable of.
He laid a meaty paw on Polly's head, gave it a bit of a friendly shake and got to his feet. "Ya can hold more liquor'n'is holy little man, an had yer fingers up more skirts last night than I lifted in th'whole of me life. Yer a'ting of fuckin legend." Timble crowed, rubbed a thick finger over the gimps pets head, and looked around him. They were already out to sea. "Ah well. S'time ta get ta work. I expect ta'ave anuther round'a drinks wi'ya next port." He demanded with a sinister leer, and then half slid half leapt to the deck below.
His eyes rolled when he got a good look around. "Ga'damn thought you'da been left at port." Belladonna rolled her eyes in return. "And I thought Carmella was finally going to kill you." He snorted, swaggered across the planks. "Woman loves me. She jus' likes ta remind me who's in charge." It was Bella's turn to snort- and then Timble was snarling something to one of the men on deck, who looked quickly away from her as he did. She shot him a look and he dropped his voice as he lumbered by. "I'm not fond of ya. But I'm of mind-" "I don't need your help." She hissed and Timble stooped so his face was level with hers. "T'ain't help. S'keepin shit smooth fer th'Cap'n an'Saigo. They run a good ship, an I know jus'ow ya handle them looks they's sendin ya. Jus'doin Cap'n a favor by keepin his crew in one piece. Got better shit ta worry fer than some cocky female killin off his crew." When he was finished growling, Timble straightened (marginally) and lumbered off, leaving Belladonna with arched brows and mixed feelings. -
When the Captain left his cabin, Robert had turned his eyes from the water to look the man over. And there was a strange clenching in his gut. Slattery smiled, and Robert had the distinct feeling that something was about to go horribly, horribly wrong for him. He'd seen smiles like that before. Knowing the man responsible for them was somewhere on-board, he really shouldn't be that surprised. He clicked his teeth against his pipe and he waited, dread weaving steadily into his marrow with each passing moment.
Achar's brows lifted, and he gave a delighted chuckle. "I am a surgeon, Cadiz my boy. Though my bed side manner may be decidedly lacking." There was a glimmer in his two tone eyes, something vicious and amused, and he strode into the ward. It was true. Achar was quite the capable doctor. He just used that knowledge for evil, as good was altogether no fun. He toyed with a scalpel, flicked his eyes to the nervous young Spaniard and smiled something sickly sweet. And then his eyes found the white haired creature known as Cameron.
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Post by Trey on Jun 26, 2008 21:09:12 GMT -5
The cloaked figure placed a gentle hand on Saigo's shoulder, motioning that they should head to the captain's cabin with a nod of his head. His hand slid from the first mate as he stepped away and made his way down the staircase. The captain had picked his own quarters for many reasons. It was the most secluded, for one, and thus they would have the most privacy for conversations as well as removing Trey's cloak to redress his wounds. And also, the new captain was eager to see what kind of cabin the deceased man kept. Secretly he hoped for a good set of seacharts, ample equipment, and some clothes to change into--the ones he took from the drunk man when he posed him as Trey smelled like vomit and urine. Also, with a captain as pompous as this one was, he was sure to have kept the medical supplies close by.
The door opened easily--Trey was quite fond of picking locks-- and the new inhabitant was not disappointed. The room was lavishly furnished, the walls decorated in useless yet pricey decorations that Trey mentally price tagged as his gaze fell upon them. A large oak desk sat by the large window in the back, and atop the tabletop, a thick and vast stack of detailed sea charts, far outweighing the meager ones Trey had brought with him just in case.
Despite his eagerness to map out their heading, Trey turned from the desk and the dark view of vast and empty ocean behind them(Rabat was almost gone by then, just a thin line gripping the horizon) to search for the medical kit.
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