no man's sea

[groundrules]

Avast ye — sprawling til 18 June is part I of the Storm at Sea travel arc, which doubles as a test drive. Participants don’t need an invite to reserve or apply over 10-17 June.

Try to label if you’re a test drive tourist or an old timer — and don’t hesitate to leave an OOC note to opt out of random NPC piraaaaaaaargh interaction. Test drivers can post both log and network prompts. Have fun!

NO MAN’S SEA

---

DEEP WATERS | SON OF A BISCUIT EATER | MOLLYWICK | | THE CROSSING | NOTES

Image source.

AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

Departing Ke-Waihu, the existing party joins paranoid pirate king, turned stalwart saint Samuel Vane — the feared Quicksilver Sam — aboard the Pariah.

Test drivers awaken anguishing at sea, floating on rafts, or on minuscule patches of deserted land. They are collected by two pirates and the recalcitrant sorceress Karsa — who supplies translation and communication devices. She explains the newcomers were summoned into the land of Akhuras by warring undead factions. Karsa’s master, the elusive Merchant, ferries newcomers east to beacons hoped to return them home. He has secured them passage on the pirate vessel Queen Zanyra of ’Wet Rope’ Caladan Kreil, an associate of Quicksilver Sam.

The Pariah and Zanyra meet at sea, a day’s travel away from Ke-Waihu:

■ Characters overhear that Quicksilver Sam seeks to reach the haunted Crossing Seas and ‘settle an old score.’ Long-term ally Caladan Kreil supports his cause.

■ The two vessels make daily supply and crew exchanges by rowboat. The Pariah’s passengers must give the passcode: flaunted like gold to board the Queen Zanyra. Staff of the Queen Zanyra must speak the words before the blind man to access the Pariah. Forget your passcode and fall at the mercy of whoever patrols the decks!

■ Tasks await all passengers: diligently clean and polish decks, climb tall masts to sew torn sails, banish a preposterous number of seagulls, fish, read post or… dubious novels to sailors, count loot, guard the decks, clean cannons or serve as boat lure for shark fishing. Medics and cooks can practise their natural trades, while musicians and entertainers should amuse the crew.

■ By all means, grab thematic garments from crew coffers. Also available: daggers, swords and rare pistols.

■ Characters may notice both ship crews are spirited, but grow weary when Quicksilver Sam fitfully orders his five on-call priests to carry out protection rites, or to ‘exorcise’ evil from random staff — through ineffective bitter potions, shrill chants and requests to sit in unusual luck-incurring poses, or to commit some mundane, repetitive task. Let’s bore the devil away.

■ Treat senior crew with respect: some pirates are equally drunk on rum and fleetingly authority and reward perceived slights with a 24h-stay in the brig. These fine accommodations fit two and annul powers while there. No dinner.


■ Sleep where you can: hammocks and rotting mattresses can be found in great common halls beneath decks. The sick and women (naturally, ill omens at sea) can share the four private cabins of each ship. Sumeragi Subaru has his own cabin aboard the Pariah.

■ Each night, expect drinking beneath the halls and a pirate’s greatest hobby: gambling. Conmen might lure you into an ‘innocent game’ that sinks you deep into debt, winning your valuables, favours, or kidney!

■ Ladies are afforded a wide, begrudging berth and some authority over the crew.

■ Accommodations: fresh potions are readily available to ward off sea sickness, and magically resilient oranges are on hand to counter scurvy. As woe would have it, the long-serving Mr. Ishmael has passed, and his earthly remains have been retained aboard the Pariah for Kaneki Ken. Viktor receives a leashed emotional support albatross — a large, loud but docile bird that flies above him counter-current to balance him, whenever the ship’s sway threatens his footing.

OBJECTIVES

■ Discover why good Quicksilver Sam is intent on his haunted travels. The captain declines audiences, but try to get information from the two crews.

■ Please share the information gained via network…!

Image source.

THAT SON OF A BISCUIT EATER

Trouble starts to brew, within days at sea:

■ Be on the lookout while on watch duty: on a handful of occasions, new faces appear aboard. They fail to offer the passcode — and attempt to injure characters, throw them overboard, or to enter the captains’ lodgings. Sound the alarm or seize intruders!

■ After interrogating an infiltrator, Caladan Kreil sends word that the assailants hail from the Concord, a war vessel of the Dawns’ Reach Trade Company that is pursuing the pirate ships at distance under the command of Maximilian Hawk. A credit to his name, Wet Rope Caladan has the spy hanged.

■ Prepare to get drafted for double watch duty, as both Caladan Kreil and Quicksilver Sam bolster defences. Tensions escalate, with pirate crew questioning the loyalties of newer recruits.

■ A few days later, at dawns, the silent, swift and massive Concord approaches close enough to fire its cannons at both ships and send vicious militia to climb aboard. Defend your ship!

■ The Concord withdraws by midday, after lightly damaging its opponents. Help with repairs and enjoy some rum — you’ve survived your first sea scuffle!

Image source.

MOLLYWICK

Just short of entering the Crossing, where the seas are dark and highly opaque, the Queen Zanyra and Pariah encounter a stretch of vibrant, lushly forested land.

■ Both vessels send crew over for a few hours, with captains urging quick incursions. Pair up to collect berries, scant mushrooms and sweet water. Curiously, no animals are found.

■ Veteran sailors say this is the Neverflight isle of myth, where sea kings have buried their treasures. Pirates share legendary coordinates of long lost loot, archived as riddles or poems. Grab a shovel and a-digging you go!

■ …ah, but don’t linger too long. What pranksters your sailor friends are. Within hours of the island’s appearance, the earth beneath your feet crumbles and quakes, and the land starts to sink. Evacuate or call for help to get out of here — as the great white whale Mollywick submerges in the waters with the Neverflight island it carries on its back. Hopefully, you don’t go under with them.

■ If you’ve threaded out a treasure dig, drop a line to receive some especially deplorable loot. You deserve it.

Image source.

THE CROSSING

The Pariah and Queen Zanyra — frequently chained together to avoid separation — creep into the Crossing : a stretch of eerily silent waters, dark and volatile.

■

■ Slowly, a thick, nearly impregnable fog dawns during the day, covering the sun and leaving the skies a desolate slate. Dreadful storms spark at night.

■ Strange, talking carps jump on board, offering to tell you your future. Caution: they only make bad luck readings (request yours) that turn true. They appear wherever their target flees and are exceptionally annoying, until either the moon rises, or you apply the superstitious cure of throwing salt on them.

■ Nightmares haunt you — your own, or glimpsed memories of ships crashing, sinking, falling to storm. Note: only your character suffers these memories/nightmares, but everyone else can experience their exhausted grumpiness, come morning.

■ Be wary, when pairing to cross over to the other pirate ship: you may find another rowboat beside yours, its sailor begging for an oar or ladle. If you give him one, he shovels water into your boat with inhuman speed — desert your vessel and swim quickly to a pirate ship, before undead hands pull you into the sea.

■ While alone on deck, characters might hear sweet, coaxing voices that urge them to walk the plank into the water. Break your brethren from this spell, or watch them fall into the arms of man-eating mermaids.

■ Now and then, the ships are shaken by long, whips of something lashing from the depths.

■ Pirates become increasingly skittish and on edge. Priests perform countless protection rites and exorcisms on both ships.

■ At night, a handful of undead men climb aboard. They lack awareness and are in a clear state of discomposure, looking to catch the living and drown them. With toothless, rotting mouths, some rasp, This is kinder.

■ As you officially enter the Crossing, beams of light erupt in the horizon, showing the distant silhouettes of several ghost ships.

Image source.

NOTES

TEST DRIVE QUESTIONS

OLD-TIMER QUESTIONS

Comments

QUESTIONS | OOC

[groundrules]

Arrrrrrrghhhhhhhhh. Drop off your questions here under the appropriate header, please.

Small request: if you're snooping for information, keep it down to one-two questions, and be specific about what your character wants to know, and how they'd go about winning the good will for their savvy. Thank you!

TEST DRIVE TOURIST QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

Blimey, the fresh meat.

number one ► star trek ► tourist

[unas]

// ahoy! scallywags!

( it'd be generous to call what she's floating on a raft, especially when she wakes and almost falls off the thing. after her brief startle, her hands grasping both sides of it, she keeps her movements slow and as still as possible.

water, lots of it. floating at sea. hopefully this wasn't a simulation, especially since pike hadn't planned one upcoming, and if this were some planet she'd been kidnapped and dropped onto-- )

Okay... okay...

( at least, luckily, there was a ship approaching? she really was hoping for a friendly rescue )

// network ► un: girl on top

Considering I woke up in the middle of the ocean I suppose asking where I am might not work. So what about planet, star system. Nearest continent?

( she has no idea who is even receiving this and it's a very bad idea but she's hoping that the locals are friendly or that somehow the enterprise is nearby and can pick this up. it's a big hope )

I'm assuming we'll be hitting land at some point. ETA?

// wildcards

once on a boat she'll be happy to chat to anyone, ask questions about what they've done etc etc. which might mean she'll end up in pirate brig for some of her questions (oops?). but then she'll do helpful ship things to get in their good graces if she can. or be a bit of a bossy bee where she can get away with it.

scallywags | aboard the queen zanyra

[sansdoute]

( Ayyyyyyyyyy, girl. For she's a lass and a folly and they be wearin' same face, and won't be Mr. Eames, second mate for want of a first on the good ship Queen Zanyra, who crosses her path on deck and doesn't turn his head, spooked. )

Eeeeeey, ma'am. Won't you be better served, you? In yer little home. The wee cabin, aye? ( Gods, but he's shivering. Seven years of bad luck for every minutes she wastes here. ) Permanently. For the missus' sake?

Lucius Spriggs | Our Flag Means Death | Tourist

[draughtsman]

i. Ahoy! Scallywags!

[OOC: Feel free to harass him at any stage of this prompt.]

Lucius had not, upon finally giving up on treading water, expected that he would be fished out of the ocean abruptly by an angry sorceress and two grubby looking sailors. He had fully expected to drown. It's a pleasant surprise that he was rescued, he supposes...and while he has the general appearance of a drowned rat, he is as attentive as he is terrified when they return to their massive galleon the Queen Zanyra.

(That is to say: extremely. He is extremely attentive and extremely terrified.)

The Queen Zanyra is, without question, the single largest vessel Lucius has ever seen or imagined. Being on it is rather alarming, on the whole, but the crew and general atmosphere are familiar-ish.

He starts out his day with a mop in hand but he is absolutely startlingly dreadful at swabbing anything. Always has been. They set him to waving off seagulls before long, which he is somehow worse at? Even he's not sure how that happened, but the gulls do not seem to think he is anything resembling a threat. They're right, of course, but it stings a bit to have birds assess him that accurately. Finally, after hours of trying to do menial tasks he is fundamentally abysmal at, someone shoves a fistful of letters into his hands and tells him to go read them out to people who can do real work.

This--this he can manage. He does his task with gusto and a zeal he doesn't usually employ in work related functions. He reads letters, then saucy novels, then much saucier novels, then some saucy letters for a change, all without complaint. This is not because he enjoys work, or reading, in particular, but because the next job down the pole appears to be shark bait. So, yeah, he's really doing his best here. He doesn't want to know if he's good at being shark bait.


ii. Biscuit Eating Scoundrels

Whomever thought it was a good idea to put Lucius Spriggs on watch has clearly not watched Lucius Spriggs do anything.

He tries his best but terror is only so effective as a stimulant and eventually the threat of being tossed overboard loses its teeth. It's dark out and Lucius is stuck with a lantern, meandering the main deck, and supposedly on the look out for anything suspicious. The whole situation is suspicious, frankly, and it's not long before he gets distracted by the sounds of waves and the occasional sleepy flapping of the many seagulls who refuse to be chased from the ship. He doesn't have his sketchbook on him, which is tragic, but there's condensation on the railings and he has (most of) his fingers.

He ends up just idly drawing sleeping birds before long, lantern hanging loosely from his other hand. It would be excruciatingly easy to sneak up on him, either from onboard the ship, or a dinghy in the waters below.


Wildcard
[Want Lucius to fail/flirt aggressively in your direction? Just tell me when and where, buddy, and I'm on it.]

scallywags

[sansdoute]

( Mr. Eames has, through luck and exercise and righteous perseverance, prevailed upon the wicked task of many a fool's incompetence, aye. He looks upon deckhands, and sees — and him, a second mate, sir, earned every stripe on the Queen Zanyra, strong may her sails flow — as all men should:

Cannon fodder.

But then, they give this particular morsel a mop, and he seems like a child learning the way of spoons, missing his mouth. And Mr. Eames, ain't one for gawking, him, but God's good and God's grand, and He posted Eames on deck, hands to his hips and staring, He knew what he gone done. What's Eames s'pposed to do, except at one point, gently, gently steer the mop in the general vicinity of an actual stain?

...and watch still, in the hands of yonder fool, miss target? )

'scuse me... ? Eyyy, 'scuse me, sir? You's been blind long, aye?

mo ran | 2ha/dumb husky and his white cat shizun | tourist

[inkfire]

i. ahoy, scallywags

[ It's inevitable that Mo Ran's loose grasp of respect for authority lands him in the brig. Even as he'd run his mouth off at the crew member he'd been talking to, he'd known he was going to get tossed into prison.

It hadn't stayed his tongue, of course. And really, the brig isn't too bad. There's the potential for some company and it's not like he'll starve— ]

What do you mean, no dinner? [ That news, delivered as the pirate shoves him into the brig, gets received with a welling of anger, annoyance flashing in his eyes before he manages to control his expression. ] I just cracked a joke, it doesn't mean I should starve.

[ With no response, or relaxing of the rules, he slumps down against the bars, feeling petulant, arms crossed over his chest, pouting. ] Some hospitality they're displaying.

[ His bad mood disappears fairly easily, however; within minutes, he's looking for a distraction, digging through the pockets of his new, black coat (a fine replacement for his robes) for a lock pick. Or, failing that, something to keep his hands busy. ]

ii. mollywick

Treasure? [ Despite the fact that he's a grown man, one who has responsibilities and has spent years working to be an upright citizen, Mo Ran still feels like a kid sometimes, and the idea of hunting for lost treasure appeals more than he cares to admit. ] Do we get to keep the loot?

[ After some bargaining and wheedling, Mo Ran has a... map? He thinks it's a map, some lines hastily scribbled down on a scrap of paper that he thinks are meant to lead him to some treasure. He studies it for a minute or two, trying to puzzle out the clues, then folds the paper and shoves it into his pocket. When he finally looks around, it's to ask a question that will hopefully lead him in the right direction: ] Have you seen two crossed trees?

iii. the crossing

[ During the day, Mo Ran throws the carps back into the sea. It seems kind to them, even if one of them warns him not to, and then reappears to bother him again. And again. And again. Eventually, he gives in, just to get the damn fish to stop talking to him. (And he throws it back into the sea.)

But the night is different. Nightmares are no stranger to Mo Ran, and most of the ones he has here are actually better than the usual. Still, the dreams of ships crashing and sinking, when mixed with memories of his past life, are unsettling enough to keep him awake, seeking out quiet corners on the crowded ships. A few nights find him clinging to the rails, watching the storms on the horizon. He's abnormally quiet, those nights, but he'll talk to anyone who approaches. ]

iv. wildcard

[ Mo Ran will be around on the ship, helping where he can. He's especially good with manual labor tasks: swabbing the deck, coiling rope, fixing the sails, rowing across to the other ship. Evenings will find him gambling and talking with the pirates, maybe even reading ridiculous books aloud to people. Throw anything at him or let me know if you'd like a specific starter. ]

scallywags | the brig

[sansdoute]

( Would've been the old days, they be hangin'em off the yardarm for running their slack mouths each way like rabid dogs, would be the whip, aye! Would be stones and leaving them to dry for seagulls to pick their eyes, would be something wicked slow, somethin'terrible.

Instead, they're putting them to rest, and second-mate Mr. Eames of the good ship Queen Zanyra has got himself no delusion that this here rascal, they've put him to the long sleep. He'll be snoring, next Mr. Eames wanders, so he keeps his current visitation short, stares at the infidel through the bars and rattles'em a little for show. )

Ye want a floggin', lad? So we trim the fat off you?

( And 'lo, he's unpeeling a bundle of clothes, slow and slower when he bites into a stale biscuit, aggressively staring at the jailed man. Be teaching him manners. )

Xie Yun • Legend of Fei • Old Timer

[balancedwire]

[ Ahoy! Scallywags ]

[ If Xie Yun isn't leaning back on his perch playing his xiao, entertaining the crew, then he's up on the masts fixing up the sails. After all, this is a man who wire walks and he has no problem with heights.

Of course, one could ask him for a song or a story, but they'd have to know that he does those two things as well. He doesn't, after all, give too much of himself away.

As much as he likes to be up high, he does make sure to keep a close eye out. One should always be observant when around people they don't truly know. ]


[ Son of a Biscuit... ]

[ Sure, he could stand idly by and watch as passcodes fail and characters are injured, but it just isn't his way. Nor is it who he is. One does not stand idly by and allow people to injure others. If they needed to be tossed in the water to cool down, then so be it.

Which means there's a flash, more due to what he's wearing, from above as his feet hit the deck and what seems like a gust of wind hitting those trying to injure others, that wind gust sending the attackers overboard. He might not carry a weapon, but he is a weapon in his own right. Internal energy has its uses. ]


[ Mollywick ]

[ The Emperor knows isles of myth. He grew up on one such island. Was trained by immortal Taoist monks on said island. So, when one learns of an isle of myth... well, they should investigate.

Of course, he'll help those who might decide to find buried treasure, or he might stand watch. That isn't, however, to say that he won't also collect berries and sweet water. Anything one can carry. ]


[ Wildcard ]

You want anything else with Xie Yun, let me know, or toss something out there. I will follow whatever it is.

[sansdoute]

( A tardy addition to the Queen Zanyra, Mr. Briggs has traded in his fine career as a land-bound accountant for Master Caladan's pretty penny at sea.

He has retained his polish, his composure, and his considerable and unwaning dissatisfaction with errant children who parade themselves at great heights. What exactly is the meaning of this spectacle, when the task of testing the sails should be attended with perfect and perfunctory efficiency?

From down below, he shouts: )

You, lad! I say. Make less of a nuisance of yourself and finish swiftly.

A-Qing | The Untamed | Tourist

[firstkissofsteel]

A. AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

[This could be worse.

A-Qing can't actually think of how, but surely it could be, right? She's barely even ever heard of pirates before and definitely doesn't ahve her sea legs as she stumbles about the bridge, her walking stick clutched tightly in her hand]

I'm blind! [She snaps at a disgruntled pirate that complains about her whacking him with her stick] You want me to just knock myself over into the water 'cause I can't see where I'm going? Hmph!

[She seems to be rather selectively blind though. Does she seem to deliberately target people who are rude to her to 'accidentally' whack with her stick?? Crazy. Preposterous. She's a poor little blind meow meow beggar girl, how dare you.]

Ahoy! part 2

[The good thing about being blind is the nice five-finger discount it can give you to things! A-Qing walks with her stick tucked under her arm, checking out something in her hands that she's swiped from someone. Maybe it's a coin purse, maybe it's a comb or priceless jewelry or artifact from home. Maybe it's something from you, after bumping into you earlier?? She even whistles under her breath, pleased with herself.]

Wonder how much this would fetch...?

C. THAT SON OF A BISCUIT EATER

[A-Qing is not made for combat. Sure, she's scrappy, sure she's got her stick and a knife she's definitely stolen from the crew on her, but it's nothing formal. She mostly just tries to stay way the fuck out of the way once fighting starts and people start climbing aboard.

When faced with a sailor she doesn't recognize who definitely doesn't seem to care that he might be fighting a small girl, A-Qing screams and hits him as hard as she can across the head with her walking stick.

The stick cracks but doesn't break and the pirate goes down, leaving A-Qing wide-eyed and bewildered in his wake. Her hand scrambles for the sheathed dagger in her robes as she blurts out]

Is this where I stab him!? [That's how this goes, right?

Also feel free to save A-Qing from any other meanie pirates trying to take the easy bait of the totally blind girl]

D. THE CROSSING

"Aaaaaa-Qiiiiiing.

Today, you will stub your toe... on fiiiiiiiive... naaaaaaaaaaaails.

Aaaaaa-Qiiiiiiing. You must not truuuuust.

Naaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiillllllls."

[Why does this thing know her name?? She regrets this so much, staring at it unimpressed]

...That's it? What about money? Is this the same nail five times, or five different nails, or...? These things are useless.

[DEEP SIGH.]

E. Wildcard

[Everything else!]

#ahoy 2

[sansdoute]

Half a pence, girl.

( A rather... off-put voice, from a man who all but erupts into existence, dragging aboard a fine found of readily weaponised disgruntlement. It is unclear who, or what has cordially relieved itself in Master Briggs' morning oats, but as Captain Kreil's personal assistant in matters pecuniary, he has the experience to assess both a-Qing's capture at a glance, and the girl herself.

He manages to sound less than immediately prone to strangling her. If the petty fools, his colleagues have been so readily eased of their private burdens, then perhaps the girl should be named welcome to her catch. All the same: propriety and discipline must rule aboard the Queen Zanyra. )

You've pilfered lead.

Oona | OC | Tourist

[mermaiding]

A. AHOY! SCALLYWAGS -- Part A

[Oona's presence aboard the ship(s) is like they've taken in a wounded, feral animal that shows teeth whenever someone comes near. From the matting of scars along her neck and body, to the fact that she appears to be wearing only a pair of too-big black pants and a ripped up labcoat, leaving her bare chested and unafraid, most of the pirates seem reluctant to go near her for reasons other than being clearly female. She's been wandering everywhere, but seems to walk as if every step is terribly painful to her.

Oona stalks about, narrowing eyes and looking sneering and disgruntled at anyone human they see, but she seems perfectly happy to lean over the edge and watch the sea go by, looking nostalgically out across the waters.

Unless someone gets too close, in which case she full-body flinches and backs away, baring her teeth like an animal]

Who?! Who says you come near?! Tch! Go 'way! Stupid human, always where not wanted...

[She seems more bark than bite though, at least, as she winces as she turns to face whoever's approached]

B. AHOY! SCALLYWAGS -- Part B

[Though Oona doesn't particularly want to help, she's reluctantly had to admit that surviving seems prudent right now. Unfortunately.]

Tch. Lower me to the water! Useless.

[She sniffs derisively and makes a big deal about how annoying she finds this all.

Once near the water, though, however she's lowered down, she touches the surface and begins to sing. The water stirs and within a few minutes the fishing nets are all but full before Oona climbs back up to the ship deck]

Hmph, do not expect it again!

C. THE CROSSING -- Part A

[These talking carp things are annoying, but hey, food is food!

...Wait, what?? Yeah. As a carp continues speaking, trying to entice Oona to ask for her fortune, Oona has adopted an unimpressed expression while, uh.... eating it alive. She doesn't even bother to cook it, just biting into it raw and chewing it up. The carp itself seems not to notice nor care about it predicament, continue to call not only to Oona, but now anyone else in the vicinity for a fortune.

Oona continues to munch on its body and watch the water like this isn't the most disturbing thing in the world.]

D. THE CROSSING - Part B

[So some poor NPC has been lured by a mermaid, oh no! He walks the length of the plank, straining to listen to the sweet singing voices, when Oona appears!

Oh good, someone is going to save him, so clearly you don't have to get involved, except... Uh. Oona pushes him.

Yep, right into the water he splashes, only to be dragged under moments later to be devoured by the mermaids. Oona looks delighted, laying down on her stomach to get a better look at them]

Is good? Ah, welcome, welcome! We sing together soon, yes? Enjoy!

the crossing | mermaids

[sansdoute]

( Ayyyeeee, but life at sea's a mystery and a blessing and a curse, and you thank the good Lord each day for what He gives you. Water can't be rushed, and more fool he who thinks, well, there's'em mermaids, and well, you make loud with your buckos, you belay'em.

Truth is, they come, they go, and they was here before you. Same for the girl, the little strange thing, and look'ere, and second mate Mr. Eames is certainly squinting — she's gone and dropped ole Cod overboard. Blimey.

Them others are feeding below, Cod's screaming going down, screaming when he lands, screaming with all the might of him, for all he was barely twigs and skin and that mean, mean, look, whenever he won at the betting table (too often for any honest man). God save his soul, but Mr. Eames removes his hat and holds it to his chest in respect for the dying. Then, he murmurs to the girl, preening: )

...owed'im half a month's wage at cards, me.

( So, perhaps Mr. Eames isn't the most concerned that ole Cod's gone kicked the bucket. Can't be blamin'im. And he'll say a prayer all the same.)

Winnifred Prismall | Original | Old Timer

[soulsrob]

A.AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

[When the pirates talk about women being bad luck, they might actually be speaking of women like Winnie. Winnie flits back and forth all around the deck and below, chatting up anyone who will listen.

She seems very excited about this all, talking at length about the books she's read and the stories she's heard and how exciting an adventure this is bound to be. She really seems taken with the pirate idea, even dressing up in--gasp! pants! And the blouses and a big ol' hat, a bonafide pirate queen. She is delighted.

She can often be found telling stories or reciting poems to cast and crew alike, her knowledge of new ones seemingly endless. She has no problems pointing out to someone and asking out aloud:] Hello, dear! Yes, you there, come here! What would you like? A poem, or a story? What kind? Go on, give me a theme, I know so many fairy tales and poems and riddles, let me share one with you!

[look at her eager lil face, how can you say no??]

B. Look Out Below!

[Winnie's gleefully climbed one of the masts to sit and sew a sail, whistling cheerfully or singing a tune as she does so. She seems to be having fun!

At least until she finishes and goes to try and get down, slipping from the mast. She doesn't even scream, only given a semi-startled 'oh!' of surprise. The ropes, luckily, seem to catch her up, leaving her all caught up in them and suddenly very glad she'd gone for wearing pants for right now.

She also doesn't appear very scared or concerned, simply waving a free hand at anyone below]

Hello! Excuse me, would you be a dear and help me down? I think I'm a little stuck.

C. THAT SON OF A BISCUIT EATER

[oh, a fight, is it? Winnie tries to stay in the background and out of the way, not particularly interested in all this hubbub going on.

That doesn't mean she's an easy target though. It doesn't take long for her to shoot an enemy trying to advance upon her... actually she doesn't even blink

The pirate drops and Winnie's face is almost scarily blank as she watches him collapse on the floor.

She blinks slowly, head titling as she observes the life leaving him like some cold-blooded scientist squishing a bug. Or a snake strangling the life from its prey. The only emotion that shows after a moment appears after a shudder as she steps back, brow furrowing and a pout settling on her lips as the blood pools and touches the tip of her boot]

Oh, these boots are practically brand new! How rude to get blood on them! These pirates truly have no manners!

[Winnie seems far more distressed over that fact than anything else here, balancing on one legs and wiping her boot on a relatively clean part of the man's clothes to try and get the blood off before it can dry]

look out below, but before she slips

[sansdoute]

( Scantly seen by his crew, Quicksilver Sam all but haunts the deck at hours when his people are certain to sleep away the fumes of last night's drink, or to rush and bruise themselves in the battle for the choicest cuts of the midday meal.

He appears all but sickened, possessed. Pale, wild-eye, his prayer beads caught in a tight hand, clutched severely. He hears the girl before he sees her — knows, instantly, that she has surely been delegated the tasks traditional to her sex, and rolls his eyes at the sheer pedestrian superstition that still commands half of the crew.

There is no trouble women can bring. Only the dead. Peacefully, he calls out: )

Woman. There is work for you below the deck too. There's no need for this.

Regulus Black | Harry Potter | Tourist

[royal_venant]

Ahoy! Scallywags

Regulus had left his world through water and had arrived in this one drenched the same. When he’d breached the surface, it was a blinking few seconds before he’d counted the differences: the natural light of the sun, no cursed undead dragging him under, air in his lungs. The last was only achieved by copious amounts of coughing up water, but all the same, not something he would have accomplished in the circumstances of his departure.

To say he was thoroughly confused by this turn of events was an understatement and was really in no position to argue or bargain for something better when Karsa found him. He kept all objections or questions about anything—the conditions of his rescue, this funny communications device, his present state of alive-ness—to himself until well after being transferred to the larger vessels.

He kept his expression unreadable but ears pricked for information gathering as it was becoming quickly apparent to Regulus that things, for him, had gone awry.

It was finally on board that he made his first objection: manual labor? Him? Oh no, no, no, no. Polishing the deck or cleaning canons were simply not to be born for this high society, in-bred snob. . . until he’d sassed the wrong sailor and found that their anger resulted in extra-judicial imprisonment with no food or drink or comforts of any kind. And worse of all, somehow the negation of his magic.

How rude.

After one 24-hour stint, he sang a different tune- he assessed his situation and adapted. Repair sails? He knew how to mend fabric, even at great heights, the masts did not scare him. Count loot? He was excellent with numbers, he could make a game out of it. Banish seagulls? He had a spell for that. Read to the sailors? He didn’t even mind the trash they wanted to hear, why would he begrudge them salacious indulgences?

Guard the deck, however? He was dispassionate enough for that, but who was willing to put up with his nonsense to guard with him?

[OOC: Feel free to start up at any point in this section]

That Son of a Biscuit Eater

Regulus should have been prepared for the knife, given his newfound surroundings. And yet, when the assailant lunged for him, he was shocked- shocked! that he would be the target of an attempt on his life. Mainly because he was damn well certain he’d done nothing this time to deserve it! He hadn’t said anything (which was what usually landed him in hot water with most people he interacted with).

He jumped to the side just a little too late and the tip of the knife sliced his left upper arm.

He was more distraught over the tears in his clothing and the blood staining around the tears than the cut on his arm. Priorities!

“Look what you’ve done, you fucking bastard!” He gestured at his arm, thoroughly put out. Skin could mend, but-- “Do you know how hard it is to get blood stains out of a white cotton shirt?”

Regulus did, he was well practiced at it, after all, but the work he would need to do, even with magic.

His complaint phased his assailant a moment, but only for the sheer surprise it must be to injure someone who did not worry at the pain inflicted, but the rent clothing instead.

Insulted by his indignation, Regulus was slow to realize the wholesale assault now being launched on ship.

Mollywick

Regulus huffed in exasperation as the blueberry burst between his fingers, staining his skin further. This was not the first time this excursion that he had damaged the thing he was supposed to be gathering.

Oh, of course he’d tried using magic to pick the berries, but his rate of success was far more dismal with his wand than with his fingers.

And if he wasn’t accidentally pre-juicing the berries, he was scratching his arms on the branches.

It was carelessness and a lack of practice at anything close to manual labor.

He scrunched up his nose at the damaged mess between his fingers and dropped it into the bucket. Whoever worked with the contents of his bucket would just have to deal.

He inched over to the individual working nearest him to peer into their bucket to see how their levels measured against his.

scallywags

[sansdoute]

( He's got the voice, the lad, the angels' own song burst of his young mouth to bring the true lush words of the great poem The Spirited Wife of Eight Men to life.

Truly, the legions of sailors have rallied below deck and they don't be heavin'im, good Lord gave'im the blessed spirit, and they pass him one book and the next, each more tattered and bruised. Gots them the coin for more, but what use, if there ain't no guarantee for a reader?

So, they make the boy read the same trinket once, once and again and the fifth time over, and you ask second-mate Mr. Eames, he only puts more soul into it at each turn. )

That part... always be makin' grown men cry.

kujo tenn | idolish7 | tourist

[mypreciousworld]

I.) Ahoy! Scallywags

[ he can't say that he's particularly happy with these circumstances, but the prospect of finding a way home is stronger than facing the despair of not being home in the first place. being unable to continue working toward a shared dream with his partners, his friends... he has no choice but to keep walking forward at this point. even on a boat.

except...

exhaustion is wearing him down. he knows he looks pale; someone has already handed him an orange to snack on, thinking that tenn is already facing some of the initial stages of scurvy. the weakness, the irritableness. unfortunately, that's just who he is. being directed toward one of the cabins also pisses him off--- he's not part of the infirmed. he can take care of himself.

but knowing he might be able to get some peace and quiet, not be as exposed to the briny air... ? tenn gingerly makes his way toward what he believes is one of those private cabins, resting his forehead against one of the doors with a sigh. ]

II.) That Son of a Biscuit Eater

[ watch duty... what is there to watch for, exactly? unsure what to look for, tenn's been idly staring off into the horizon. sometimes, he allows himself some time to hum one of his songs--- one of his own parts, playing the rest of it in his head. it's a good way to pass the time, though it comes at the disadvantage of making his heart ache. the weight of unfinished business is heavier than the anchors that he's seen both boats hold.

it's the sound of someone approaching from behind that has tenn turn around slowly, mostly out of caution so he doesn't accidentally slip and fall off, but as he's about to ask the unknown face if he can help them with something? they grab onto his shoulders and push, sending him down to the ground with a grunt. ]

What's your problem...?!

[ and then he realizes that he's in real danger when a sword is pointed down at his throat. the boy quickly pats his sides, unsure where he kept the weapon that he picked up prior, but... it's nowhere to be found.

well. heck. ]

III.) Mollywick

[ any chance to get onto dry land, or at least... not-boat land, is a welcome reprieve. especially if it's to do something relatively simple and less dangerous than getting fired at from some war vessel? if he stays still and lets his mind wander, tenn can still hear the sounds of cannons firing, the shattering of wood splintering, and the cries of people being somewhere in the middle.

his hands are shaking. the mushrooms that were in them are now on the ground, and it's all he can do to not collapse down to join them. as tenn crouches down to pick them back up, he realizes that he's not alone--- and he doubles his gathering efforts, hoping to look a little more composed than he did just moments ago.

there's no excuses, only a genuinely shaky and apologetic smile instead as a greeting to whoever has come across him. ]

IV.) The Crossing

[ the sounds of something whipping and lashing somewhere below the ship has kept him awake this time, and the only way to escape it? go out and see exactly how intense the storms have been. it's not that bad--- a little bit of rain and wind doesn't necessarily hurt him. he tells himself that it's fine, that he can deal, and that he will. and maybe he's particularly lucky this time, as things seem particularly muted, even though there's a silence that is almost deafening, there being barely any noise coming from the boat's movement.

again. a sound that comes from his side has him reach for the flintlock pistol tucked into his belt, and he doesn't hesitate to point it at where he thinks his ambusher might be flanking him from--- only to see nothing.

a sigh. his nerves are on edge. maybe he should just retreat back to his little nook and chew on another orange slice or two.

and then? another noise, and he's quick to turn on the balls of his feet, aiming it right in the face of someone who probably doesn't expect it. ]

Ugh. Sorry.

V.) Wildcard

[ pm me or drop me something here... i'll roll with whatever c: ]

scallywags

[sansdoute]

( Captain Kreil is a frequent, if distant apparition on his own ship, like a merchant consumed by obsessive regard of his own wares. He walks the decks, trails his fingers where dust drags out empire, verbally applaud men who execute their orders and takes tally of belongings and crew.

His. A world, his own.

Little eludes him. Less would presume to. A young man — straggling, bereft of rest opportunity when Caladan's indications that their new inherited passengers be treated fairly is... an unpleasant sight. He corrects it, sidling near, to nod where the cabins sleep within proximate distance.

Only a few steps more, little trinket. )

I believe, you are best positioned in a bed there, my little friend.

Anduin Wrynn | Warcraft | Oldtimer (action or prose!)

[chosenbylight]

I. AYOY! SCALLYWAGS
Once they are on board the Pariah (which is still an ominous name, if Anduin has ever heard one), Anduin does not waste time in taking the pirates up on their offer of an outfit change. He has still mostly been wearing his court attire, having acquired a few new things here and there but the people he has encountered thus far have been in poor circumstances and he's felt guilty taking much. Here from these pirates, however...

He does his best to find something that doesn't look entirely out of place on him, as close to a Kul Tiran uniform as he can, but this isn't Azeroth, and these are pirates, so it's much more monochrome in style and far less of a uniform than an assemblage of pieces. He feels a bit like a king playing dress-up, which. In all fairness, is exactly the case.

This isn't Anduin's first sea voyage, nor the rest of the old-timers for that matter. That doesn't keep him from scanning the faces that pass him on deck (or below, in the cabins for that matter) for any signs of sea-sickness.

"How is the voyage treating you?" he asks, in greeting.

II. THE CROSSING
A."Aaaaaannnnduuuuiiiiiin.

ThroughOOoOOoOooUuut your jooouuuurnneeeeey

Yooooouuuuu will staaaAAaaaaAAAaaart

Two smaaaaaaaaaaaall fiiiiiiiIIiiiires

Annnnduiiiiiin, whhhhyyyy do you looooveeee

Staaaartiiiing fiiiiiiiireeees?"

Anduin has not had nearly enough sleep for this. Undead sailors, climbing aboard the ship at night. Some great behemoth of a creature, rocking the keel from underneath the water at random intervals. Perhaps they really have found themselves in Kul Tiras after all, he thinks to himself irritably, as he frowns down at his newest annoyance -- Vague prophecies from talking fish.

B. He really hasn't been sleeping well. Which isn't exactly anything new, but what with everything else they've had to endure and the fact that Anduin is not the sort of person to want to burden anyone with his troubles, he's feeling -- somewhat worn down. Not entirely on his guard, as he picks his way up to catch a breath of fresh air on deck one evening, on his own.

He should know better, he does know better. He has no doubt what Mathias Shaw would say, if he were here. Back at home, he'd hardly ever been allowed to go anywhere without a shadow, and he knows it's for good reason. Here and now, it does feel nice to catch a moment alone however. He isn't used to these communal living spaces they keep being forced into, and he just needs...

He's let his guard down, and that's when the voice comes. Soft, gentle words, carried over the sea air and straight into the darkest depths of his mind.

The ocean is peaceful. Quiet. You are tired, traveler. Come and rest.

Stiffly, Anduin straightens. Yes. He is tired. He has been tired for such a long time, if he is being honest with himself. The ocean does sound quite nice...

[sansdoute]

( Mr. Briggs' patience is a most finite and excruciatingly costly commodity, gradually depleted by the earnest company of his — colleagues at sea. When he accepted this assignment and traded in his service for adequate compensation, he assumed a certain degree of composure, civility and personal hygiene were ingrained within the general population.

He should have doubled his fare.

To his credit, the young man who sidles close smells as if he has neither recently bathed in the entrails of a dead thing, nor fosters great aspirations to become one. As such, Mr. Briggs deigns to answer the greeting. )

The weather is agreeable today. ( Which, translated, means Mr. Briggs is clinging on to his mental health.

...just as a storm starts to brew. )

Faolan | The Bridei Chronicles | Tourist! (action or prose is fine!)

[reticence]

AHOY! SCALLYWAGS
Faolan takes to his situation as well as he can, which is to say with begrudging acceptance. He has at least been on sea voyages before, many times on the journey between Dalriada and the land of the Priteni, and these ships are not that unfamiliar with the vessels he has traveled on. Unfortunately, for the most part everything else is uncannily foreign. Even the crew, and the others he has found himself stranded here together with -- Karsa explained they are from another world, but it is more than that. There is so much here that Faolan has never seen before, and he gets the feeling, as he quietly observes the others aboard both ships, that is not entirely the case with most others.

Still, he does his part. And he secretly prides himself in being one of the only other outsiders canny enough with the lines to be allowed to help haul the ropes with the crew. He puts his head down and works without complaint, making certain not to stand out too far -- an admirable member of the crowd.

It is at night, when the crew is drinking and gambling and singing and entertaining, that Faolan doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

What does a guard dog do with himself when he has no one there to guard?

Wandering the deck with a mug of stew in hand, he spots someone else who seems to have made a similar escape as himself.

"Not enjoying the festivities?" he asks.

THAT SON OF A BISCUIT EATER
Faolan supposes that it says something -- a lot, really -- about himself, that when word spreads of the potential for conflict, he feels almost relieved to have something to break the monotony of the sea voyage.

He supposes that it was something of a selfish thought, especially understanding how unlikely it is that some of his fellow otherworlders are indeed prepared for such a combat. He is a spy, an assassin, among other things. He has been killing people for quite a long time now, and he is really quite good at it. There is a reason that people like him exist, and it is so that people like -- well, some of them, do not have to do such things.

Ah, well, he thinks, drawing his daggers at the first sound of cannon fire. It cannot be helped. He can do his best to keep them alive through this, provided they don't get themselves killed.

"Can you handle this?" he asks, as the ship rocks slightly under the boom of yet another bombardment.

THE CROSSING
This strange otherworld only seems to get stranger to Faolan. Not a very social man -- a hazard of the job, he tells himself -- when not on duty he has taken to spending most of his time up on deck, away from the majority of the passengers and crew. Down below, it is... Too much for him. Too many people, too much merriment. Someone has an instrument he does not know the name of and has taken to playing it in the evenings and that especially is too much for him, on these nights where he feels so entirely out of place. So lacking in purpose.

He will not allow himself to consider the idea that he might be lonely, for it is a foolish thought, and a man like himself cannot be afforded such emotions, but. He has been a tool, honed for a specific purpose, for the majority of his adult life. Without Bridei here -- which is a foolish thought, for of course he isn't, and for that he is grateful -- he does feel rather like a blade left to rust in the sun.

It is in the midst of these idlings that Faolan nearly, very nearly misses the sight of a man, climbing on board the ship. But of course that's ridiculous, because this vessel is actually quite large, and how in the name of the gods would they have gotten up here?

And then there comes another, and he realizes quite suddenly that there's something exceedingly wrong with the pair of them.

"This is kinder," the closest one rasps, swiping for Faolan, to which Faolan replies by drawing his dagger and stabbing the man in the chest.

It doesn't do a damned thing.

Faolan's eyes widen slightly, staring at his dagger protruding from the man for a second too long. Just long enough for the man to grab at him, with startling strength, and tackle him to the deck.

"Holy-- Over here!" Faolan calls, wrestling with the larger -- why does everyone seem to be larger than him here for that matter -- undead man. "A little help?!"

scallywags

[sansdoute]

( A fine night to be marooned empty-handed, drink to spare and the clamour of the deck belly building, merrymaking all stoked — and second mate Mr. Eames, old salt of a hundred seas, stands bereft with his mouth a dour, steeling line.

He grunts when the young foreigner approaches, less in greeting or inviting him over than in the time-honoured indication at sea that a man has been sighted, and he will be tolerated for the time it takes for both parties to acquire better sense and a mutual aversion of each other's fleas. )

...lost me silver. To'at rascal there, Cod.

( And he nods to a man lean, mean, grinning over another set of cards, while a different sailor before him curses up a storm. Mr. Eames, graciously: )

He cheats just as well as the dead whore his mother did on his good father.

Tian Guan Ci Fu || Xie Lian || old timer

[scrapgege]

[AHOY! SCALLYWAGS]

[A]
[Xie Lian isn't one to shy away from hard work, and he is pretty good at cleaning, as it is. But when someone asks him to go help in the galley...]

... Are you sure? I don't think it's a good idea. I can eat my food, but...

[Unfortunately, he doesn't get afforded the chance of refusing, and by nightfall, there might be a lot of people hurling the contents of their stomachs over the side of the ships, and that's not all due to seasickness.]

((OOC: Xie Lian's cooking is canonically so bad it can cause human with powers to faint for days and even affect gods pretty badly. Feel free to decided how badly you're affected if you decided to partake.))

[B]
[The galley adventure did lead to Xie Lian being unceremoniously throw into the brig for ... well, a while.

Not that he minds though. It's not his first time, and going without food for a long time is also something he's done before. Anyone who ends up in the same cell might find him meditating or even simply sleeping. If not...]

Oh, hi! What did you do to get thrown down here?

[THE CROSSING]

[As people who have been around him know, Xie Lian isn't one to be scared of any undead, sentient or not. So when he gets faced with one shuffling about on the deck, he doesn't even bat an eye, just grasps the zombie's shoulders and gently turns it around.]

Alright, alright, that's far enough, time for you to go back.

[And he will almost nicely walk the zombie back to the edge and... push it back into the sea.

And then absentmindedly wipe his hands on his robes.]

scallywags.b

[eighttaels]

( And 'lo, bundled and quivering beneath spare blankets, soft-skinned and pale and utterly bereft, can it be, can it be so? A most handsome and familiar face, peeking between layers of damp wood and splinters thick, blinking away squinted stupefaction in utter dark.

Heavens did not prepare him for a life at sea. A brother committed to water did not prepare him for life at sea. Heaving and hauling himself to trot busily after the nearest shipmate, only to get swatted off like a shivered flea, did not prepare him for life at sea.

It seems to him, three hours into imprisonment, now sharing the luxuries of his accommodations (two blankets, a dog's bowl of fresh water), that maritime existence is a tenuous prospect, an unfair and unjust calamity that will surely elevate him to greater and utter godhood.

...thank everything for His Highneeeeeeeeeeessssssssssss, here to behold Shi Qingxuan's misery, where he curls up in his corner of the brig, holding up a mutinous thumb for either kissing, or the removal of its splinter: )

They said, um, BEING TOO LOUD and WAKING EVERYONE UP, can you BELIEVE it, can ANYONE think of a GREATER LIE????

james t. kirk ➢ star trek aos (tourist)

[winscenario]

➢ AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

a.)
[ Whatever Jim's standing on when he wakes up can't exactly be called an island— it's the smallest bit of "land" he's seen, and it feels far too unsteady to be considered that. Then again, that may have something to do with how disoriented he is.

Accepting help comes without a second thought; as soon as he realizes these pirates (pirates? really?) aren't about to attack him, he takes whatever assistance he can get, wherever that may lead him. Everything happens in a blur, the rescue almost as disorienting as his awakening, and he doesn't really have time to process any of it until his feet are touching the wooden floor of a really old pirate ship, amulet in hand and too many questions struggling to prioritize in his head. ]

Okay. What the hell.

[ ... sure, he'll start with that. ]

b).
[ Things don't exactly become any easier the more he understands of his situation. If anything it seems all the more dire now, and whatever few items he has on him that may have helped have proven useless so far. He is, for lack of a better word, stuck. And alone.

Or, well, separated from his crew, which is about the same as alone for him. But he's never been the type to sit and cross his arms. Always the type to help others, that's exactly what he chooses to focus on, and even in the midst of whatever duties he's assigned, he finds the time to assist others when he sees them having any difficulty with a task before they're being yelled at by the crew.

Granted, that might mean he'll get into trouble as well, but that's not gonna stop him from helping.

But he also might find himself in need of assistance, particularly doing tasks that he has little or no experience with. One he has particular difficulty with is sewing some of the torn tails: his fingers struggle with the pieces of fabric flapping in the wind, and just when he thinks he got the needle pushed through one side of the tear, it slips from his grasp and falls all the way down to the floor of the ship. ]

Oh, shit—

[ How is he supposed to be able to do this? How is anyone? ]

➢ MOLLYWICK

[ He's got little interest in digging up treasures, so he focuses on what he thinks is the most important thing right now instead: food.

Well, he tries his best, collecting whatever he can find of fruits, plants and mushrooms. But he doesn't look too sure of himself as he gathers them all up into his bag. ]

Just hope someone can tell which of these are edible, [ he comments to whoever happens to be nearest. ]

➢ THE CROSSING; WILDCARD

[ ooc: I'm open to playing out any prompt in The Crossing, so if you want to do anything from there, hit me up with a starter or let me know and I'll gladly write you one! ]

➢ MOLLYWICK

[unas]

( it's the gold shirt. it stops her from the job she'd planned on doing, which by the bag in her hand was also a fruit gather, noticing the rank on his shirt as she moves closer )

Captain?

( she doesn't recognise him, hasn't seen him before but it's starfleet. maybe they'd been on different ships, or maybe (after she'd finally gotten out of the brig) he'd been on deck whilst she'd been sequestered below deck with the other women. it doesn't matter, they've got an opportunity now, even if a conversation is all it is )

Sorry, it's just-- a uniform's a sight for sore eyes right now.

( even if it's not actually been that long )

licyn mansbane | original character | tourist

[bravelyrunsaway]

Ahoy! Scallywags: Lost (and Found) at Sea

The raft Licyn finds himself on holds together better than his soaked, tattered shirt; before long he's shed it to bolster the tie to three floatsam pieces he's rigged into a sunshade on top of the raft.

When he sees someone else in the water, on a tiny shoal, or on their own raft, he lifts a hand to wave.

"Ahoy! You as searing lost as I am?"

At least he's amicable about the whole thing, along with the pointing toward sails intruding from the distance:

"Think we might want to head that way and get loud, love, delightful as it'd be to stay stranded with you!"

Network Communications: Early Days

Magic nonsense, storm take it and everyone with it...!

Thankless fellow travelers, if any of you were so curious as I was, not one of our seamen fellows has ever crewed with our dear, beloved captain before. Not one! Is that usual, I have no idea, I'm a mercenary not a sailor.

( but he sounds a touch amused. )

Either way, they think this is some kind of grudge between the good captain and his former crew. Also something about unfinished business with how his vessel before this one was lost, the Storm at Sea, which is the best name for a storm-struck boat I've ever heard, hah! So there you are, no one knows what's happening, but now you know that everyone is equally in the dark.

And new.

Mollywick Beneath Our Feet

Behold, this beast who is on four legs, twinned ears perked forward, tail held low and easy, one of the companions to come ashore or who was here on arrival. A red wolf, the only animal one might encounter beyond those brought aboard by the older travelers, perhaps, and so willing to lead you forward.

Or more likely, in the middle of digging with truly canine curious flare as dirt goes flying out between his hindlegs as his forepaws drag more and more out of the way, revealing... something underneath...

Come, join him in unburying treasure! He's most the way there, what better time to snipe a find from a wolf than now?

The Crossing: Mermaid Travesty

I'd sleep with them.

( he says, from where he's looking down at the furious mermaids who're watching them from the wake of the ships, and between them, keeping effortless pace. )

If it didn't require me drowning or having my throat torn out.

( Licyn sighs and shakes his head, glancing away from the mermaids and to his momentary companion. )

What about you?

OOC Note: Licyn is a flirt, will sleep with anyone willing, is a werewolf, and is also a walking magical battery. Feel free to be aware of his magical nature/being/essence if it makes sense for your character, and let me know if your character is using magic -- he can be aware of it, without knowing what it does, and isn't all that trusting of magic as a whole. Which makes it fun! I'll tag in prose or action, whichever you prefer.

network

[eighttaels]

WHAT do you mean, the best name, that's the WORST, the VERY WORST, AHAHAHAHHAHAHHAA, that CAPTAIN who named it, was he so poor, he sold off all his GOOD SENSE and FEAR to debtors??? Hey, YOU, can you ask if he STILL NEEDS MONEY??? My brother has a FORTUNE to spare, give or take, can it at least buy us BETTER BISCUITS?

sumeragi subaru | x/1999 | old timer

[sacral]

I. AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

[ It's an interesting experience to belong where he does not. But belonging has always been a two-pronged subject for the young Sumeragi heir, then and now, so he wears it with as much grace as, well. A pirate ship will allow. He did come bearing Quicksilver Sam's will and his generosity, even if the latter is somewhat wrought by a mutual goal. He can be found a number of places on the ship with as much comfort as his familiarity with it and its captain will afford: ]

SAINTED —
[ Aboard the Pariah, Subaru is a busy man earning the keep of the newest motley crew. Maybe not as busy as the priests that Samuel Vane still keeps in his service, all rustle and noise and full of as much egregious squawking as the gulls that soar overhead — but they're harmless enough, so Subaru doesn't interfere with the illusion of safety they bring. Rather, he can be found on deck at auspicious hours, peeling sun-worn paper talismans from the ship's deck and replacing them with new ones, the ink midnight dark and splashy. It takes a quiet incantation and gesture of fingers to reignite the barrier that the talismans make over the ship: five points that hinge at one atop the vessel's tallest mast (how did that get there?) to make a slim pentacle, if one were to simply connect the dots. The barrier shines and pulses with thin, gossamer energies, but Subaru gestures at the sight of another crewmate. ]

You can pass through. It's not meant to harm you.

[ On other occasions, the threats are more commonplace; shrewd gulls and their boisterous thievery are always a problem, especially so in the beginning leg of their journey when the shore is still within sight. Luckily, the Pariah isn't lacking in aerial defense either. When the gulls attempt to make off with anything remotely edible or shiny, they're intercepted by much smaller flock of birds with paper-white wings, signaled by chirps like temple chimes. They very quickly and with human cunning retrieve stolen goods (notably without harming the gulls), ferrying them back to Subaru.

Whether he's got your glasses or your... lunch...: ]

This is yours?

[ He may as well offer it back, even if it's something that's been mangled by the real demons of the seas. ]

BUNK CRASH —
[ Those looking for accommodations that aren't musty hammocks or ten people deep may find themselves at an unattended and unlocked cabin that looks lived in, but barely. Its squat walls are illuminated by an oil lantern, firelight and brine heavy in the air. A stack of paper and an inkwell sit on the desk, alongside a pair of gloves a length of black cloth. A cat, what must be a mouser, lays in the chair. The bed looks unused. You can investigate to your heart's content, even when Subaru arrives, offering a calm acquiescence from the mouth of the doorway. ]

If you're tired, take the bed.

[ There isn't exactly gentleness in his one good eye, but there is a measure of understanding. Does he really look like someone who sleeps? ]

OBJECTIVES —
[ Subaru gets a share of Quicksilver Sam's loot, whether he really wants it or not. Mostly, he doesn't, content to stockpile what treasures he receives or otherwise exercise that "sainted" generosity and just give it away. His one vice he must indulge in on the uppermost deck where the night wind carries the ship and her twin through black seas. Stars arc overhead in flushed, silver brightness, a navigator's dream.

On deck, the flick of his lighter from home casts a pale orange glow against the crests of his cheeks and his cupped fingers, the hand-rolled cigarette of gifted tobacco pluming dirty and grey. There is too much that is flammable down below to indulge in his nasty habit in private. It's just as well, when he patrols the majority of the night.

Still, he is amiable, if not sharper for the surge of nicotine. ]

Are you looking for vices or answers?

[ So happens... ]

II. SON OF A BISCUIT EATER

[ Though Subaru has done a handsome job with his task of protecting the ship from spiritual aggressors, aggressors with swords and pistols and cannonballs is a very different problem. Not to mention they are — human. Another very different problem. As the Concord carves through the seas and banks hard, preparing to swing around and flank the Pariah to make use of its cannons, Subaru is well-aware that their window to do something is closing. The militia begins its ascent to the tune of scraping metal and gunfire; Subaru is way too big a mage for this and so turns to the nearest person who's actually armed, talismans fanned in his fingers. ]

Can you handle them? I need to get to the bow!

[ Without, you know. Getting shot or stabbed. He is actually quite squishy, please tank for him. ]

III. THE CROSSING

[ Following the skirmish and the ships' arrival at the Crossing, Subaru is ill at ease. Its energy sinks into his skin like teeth, gnawing past muscle and squeezing until it finds tender bone, sweet marrow. It grips him even in an uncharacteristic bout of sleep that finds him while he takes a break from one of his watches, tucked against stacked boxes of ammunition. Pinpoints of light dance on the backs of his eyelids, beneath a furrowed brow damp with humidity. White and pink and a sudden violent wash of red, the rupture and then the collapse —

A resonant thump against the bottom of the ship starts him from his dreams with a thick gasp, the word "Don't! on his tongue. Reality coats his senses, watery and dull, and his white knuckles grip the wooden edge of the box as frustration moves across his face. ]

I'm sorry, I didn't realize... [ he fell asleep on the job oops ] Did you hear that?

[ Or feel it? ]

(ooc. any of the initial prompts are free to segue into any of the others, hit me up here or at elate if you'd like something different or a closed starter!)

iii

[mypreciousworld]

[ to pass the time, of course he's going to do more than just stand where he feels the safest and keep an eye out for anything unusual. he's done plenty of sleeping at this point; now all tenn has is a kind of anxious energy, a foreboding feeling that touches his core and leaves it trembling. it quivers and shakes, causing the slightest of jittery hands which clenches a thinly bladed sword. something that is light and doesn't feel cumbersome, something he can flick and twist and find the spots that he knows will stop someone from jumping him.

a familiar face, napping. trying to find sleep. and maybe he's... he clenches his jaw. steels his heart. ]

Hear what?

[ maybe that heightened state of awareness has done him good, and he turns on the balls of his feet. ]

leonard mccoy | star trek aos | tourist

[homeostatic]

I. Ahoy!

A. cw for puke

( That's right, Leonard McCoy gets seasick.

The first day he's fished from the sea and taken aboard, he mostly spends slumped over the railing. With his head spinning, stomach cramping, he awaits the moment the imminent need to fling his head over the open ocean hits, and he heaves pathetically into the choppy surf.

Aviophobia was conquerable. Turns out seasickness is much more stubborn. Slumping aside, he pillows his aching head in his arms, and moans unhappily to anyone who'll listen: )

Are we there yet?

B.

( He's a doctor, not a sailor, and certainly not a pirate. Fortunately for McCoy, he's not without work aboard a sailing vessel once he's got his sea legs, though it's a sight different from Starfleet, and not in any way he enjoys.

The medicine chest of a ship is worth its weight in gold, and yet its contents are so limited, but he'll try, dammit. Bones pulls splinters from calloused palms and sets broken fingers, cleans and bandages cuts, shoves tinctures at others with seasickness, and continually makes compresses for the various burns one can collect at sea. Grease burns, rope burns– even sunburn.

Is someone lobster-red and looks like they're in pain? He'll call them over in his gentle but firm drawl: )

You look scorched. I have something for that.

C. cw for 'dubious' books

( Bones is unsurprised to find that most of the crew are illiterate, and his general grumpiness dissolves as he reads to sailors their letters from home, from families giving updates on their lives and how much they miss these fathers and sons, brothers and uncles.

There's even the occasional illicit lover. He even manages to keep a straight face through some very... loving passages, summarizing the contents for their recipient.

Apparently, they felt he had a knack for reading aloud, as a slim volume of uncertain provenance is soon produced from someone's hammock– fairytales, he's assured, from far off on the mainlands.

Except, no, this is... this is smut. He closes the book once he figures it out and waves it crossly at the snickering bunch. )

Seriously? This isn't even realistic. And you gotta ask someone before you spank them.

II. The Crossing

Angels and ministers of grace, defend us, ( McCoy mutters in the darkness, as the undead drag their sodden boots across the deck above. )

'THIS IS KINDER', ( the undead hiss, and Bones is thankful for the sheltering dark, the way it hides how badly the doctor's shoulders are shaking. He folds his arms across his chest, white-knuckling his biceps. He's not strictly religious, that was his nana, but he lifts up a silent, fervent prayer anyhow, to God or Whomever will listen.

Once the dead are gone and the sun is rising red and pink through the oppressive mist, he dares to ask: )

Why do they say that?

Wildcard

( Feel free to hmu with your own! )

b.......... sort of.

[sansdoute]

( Mr. Eames is an honest soul, virtuous, devout and possessed of every sensibility. But he has, as godly men do, for only the Lord is perfect, his failings.

...restraint, some might say, if they running their mouths, sink'em — could be one. It only be companionship that means, Mr. Eames encounters a filled glass, and he cannot let that wretched sin stand. Not on his watch, sir. Good God wouldn't wish it.

But He's not opposed to a visit to the medicine man, where Mr. Eames scuttles rather sheepish, taking a seat before the newcomer to churn through his grievances: )

Don't know how it be happenin', me, what brought to it. Feeling all sorts, aye, waking with me head all jumbled, a wee caulk does nothing for the spell, light be stabbing me eyes, like the sun be out for me, for a killing... even my appetite's troubled, sir. Blimey, don't know how it happened.

( Just... just let him have another sip of his rum bottle, to calm his heart, as he survives life's cruelties. )

cardan greenbriar. — the folk of the air, tourist

[breed]

ahoy! scallywags

( to anyone who may or may not know the true nature of cardan greenbriar, or who spends perhaps more than a moment in his presence, it's of no real surprise that he finds himself tossed into the brig after a night on board. in true fae fashion, he has no interest in any of the scummy work, preferring the revelry of gross sailor booze and nights spent in debauchery. well. he imagines that's what the nights are like — he has yet to see one, stuck as he inside the rather inhospitable jailing cells of the ship.

truly, it's a sore sight for bright eyes. sighing dramatically, cardan pokes a polished toe at a rotting crate which caves in under his touch, like a thumb shoving into soft fruit flesh. wonderful. )

I suppose this is a lesson in good behavior. ( but — there's a stony corner mostly unaffected by saltwater that cardan plops himself down into, tucking his hands behind his head and crossing his feet at the ankles. regal and unbothered. ) Consider me a stubborn student.

the crossing

( the infuriating side of faefolk is not unknown to cardan, and in fact — he is, potentially, one of the very best inspirers of fury in his own court. that said. talking carps? cardan only has about two nerves to begin with, but already the fish has gotten on his last one, making him clap his hands over his ears in a model of very mature avoidance.

inevitably cardan snaps, turning to the fish irritably. )

Would you be quiet?

( obviously not, as the glub glub voice of a talking carp continues to converse with him.

severing whatever last string of decency cardan has, he can be seen on deck the queen zanyra choking out a fish, which possibly does not even need air to breathe. well. )

wildcard.

( anything else & pm me with any questions you might have. )

putting the ho in ahoy i see

[ensanguines]

[ Toshi is not good with other authority figures at the best of times, and current circumstances do not even have a passing relationship with 'fine'. Kondou was the kind of leader who wanted to hear all grievances, leaving Toshi to be the iron fist which suited him just fine.

These instincts do not serve him now, the raucous crew taking issue with his tone and calling it insubordination.

So now he's in a cell, with some theatric foreigner who talks to himself. Or is the man addressing Toshi? That's a mistake. It's Toshi's particular time of month, after all, and something about this stranger smells too good even over the salt and rot of the sea. They're locked in together for an entire day, and while Toshi likes to pride himself in his self-restraint, there's far too much going on here for him to feel confident in his self control.

His teeth grind and he scowls at the stranger, trying to take shallow breaths and keep his head clear.

There's a strange flicker in his eyes now and then, almost like a trick of the light. One moment they're purple, the next, a deep red— ]

Does that mean you actually did something to wind up here?

Spock | Star Trek | tourist

[intermingled]

Letters
[ Spock offers to read one man's letters to him shortly after he arrives, but this becomes a string of requests from others until he finds himself in a corner of the galley with a small group of sailors each clamoring for a requested letter or piece of written news to be read aloud. It's when he gets to the latest one that he pauses as his eyes scan over the words. ]

Pardon me, but this is quite pornographic.

Scuffle
[ The ship is under attack before Spock knows what hit them and he scrambles out on deck to help where he can. He may not have a cutlass or pistol, but he does have an uncanny ability to dodge attacks and as the militia men climb over the rail and attack anyone they see, Spock is able to dodge blades and fists, slipping behind one man to give him a nerve pinch and knock him out and then another. He may not be stopping everyone this way, but he's thinning the number of attackers on this area of the deck at least.

Then he sees one of the militia men going for another of the guests on the ship and the best he can do is grab their jacket and yank them out of harm's way. ]

You'll do better if you watch your left.

Mollywick
[ The island is a fascinating place. Spock isn't exactly looking for treasure so much as he's looking to take in the new environment he's now found himself in. He helps to collect some berries, but it isn't long before the island begins to rumble and break apart beneath his feet and the berries in his sack are slung over his shoulder as he bends his knees and tries to take stock of what exactly is happening here. ]

I think we may have to run.

Letters

[winscenario]

[ A tall, random stranger approaches the group, not interested in the letters so much as the man reading them. He's still in uniform gold, stubbornly sticking to it even though he really should have changed by now, and he stays silent up until the point Spock is handed that letter.

Pressing his lips in to suppress a smile, he offers a hand out. ]

Give that to me.

[ He's just gonna take a seat next to him and promptly start reading the letter, not the least bit shy even as he gets to the juicy parts. ]

Wow, you were right. This is very explicit.

[ But on he goes, reading it aloud to a bunch of touch-starving illiterate pirates. This is his life now, apparently. He pauses halfway through to add a— ] How can you even bend like that? [ —or with another interjected— ] Well, now that's just unsanitary. [ —but he diligently finishes the letter, then returns it to one very happy pirate who immediately absconds. Wonder why. ]

Alright, boys, I think that's all for today. [ A collective groan of complaint follows. ] Calm down, calm down. More tomorrow, deal?

lady sif (mcu) tourist

[asofwar]

ahoy! scallywags; network post

DISAPPOINTED AT THE LACK OF SINGING ON THESE SHIPS. IF I AM TO SAIL STRANGE SEAS TO GET BACK HOME, AT THE VERY LEAST ONE CHANTY ABOUT SHAVING DRUNKEN SAILORS? THERE
WAIT
HOW DO I CHANGE THE
IT LOOKS LIKE I AM SCREAMING
I ASSURE YOU I AM QUITE CALM
I am also
Ah there we go
I am also Lady Sif. You may call me that.

un: thread and needle

[sansdoute]

If my ship does not meet your quality of expected entertainment, may I suggest its sister?

Wrathion | Warcraft (existing player!)

[blackscales]

SCALLYWAGS:

Sea travel is not new to Wrathion.

He took a ship across to Pandaria, many years ago, and remembers the rough waves then. The mists around the island. The warm sunshine of the Jade Forest.

This ship is, however, a little different in flavour.

He is not terribly keen to mop the deck (swab? He's not entirely sure the difference between mopping and swabbing, no matter) or clean canons, or similar tasks. He can, however, climb rigging and patch holes, scare away seagulls simply with his own presence, and fish with a spear -- and he can read.

Which is what he's doing currently, flipping his way through a letter that has been handed to him in silence by one of the crew. He takes a moment to adjust to the scrawled handwriting.

"It seems your chickens suffered some sort of mite," he begins finally, "and the children handled the chickens and became covered in mites too. They had to be bathed and the clothing all washed out."

A pause, as Wrathion reads on.

"The dog also had mites. Quite a bit of this is about mites. Do you require the detail?"

He glances between the crew member and the nearest other person. Chicken mites. Truly thrilling stuff. The letter is handed back after a moment, and he offers a faintly amused smile to his observer while waiting to see if he'll be handed another.

"Does sea travel suit you?"

THE CROSSING:

The fog is thick, and Wrathion loses track of time in it.

He sleeps poorly on a good day, but out here somehow it's worse still. Not that the hammocks are comfortable to begin with, but something about the fog plays on his nerves.

He'd had little sleep before. The anxiety, leading up to the volcano. The anxiety of hiding in a cave, the creeping dread of the Beastmaster, the anxiety of facing it all. Even the respite after did little to truly... well, rest him.

Now he's here, on this ship, and the crawling sensation of losing control is sinking back in. The nightmares are back full force, and he can't tell anymore which are simply his own and which are... induced.

He dreams of Stormwind City, plunged into darkness. Of Xanesh's dark laughter. Of N'Zoth's voice.

Insolent whelping, you desecrate that which you were bred to serve.

In the darkness, the words spin slowly in his head. In truth, he suspects it's currently late enough to be early -- and yet he's out on deck, awake. The corner he has found himself in has a few crates in which serve to give a small amount of shelter, both from the breeze and from the eyes of passers by. He's been flicking salt around to keep the carp off the deck, and tuning out the coaxing voices of the mermaids by reading his book on the stars from Taravast. It may help with navigation, although only so much -- he doesn't really know where they're going to begin with.

Something lashes the ship, and he pauses in his reading -- eyes flitting aside. It felt... like a heavy impact. Like something large. It hits again, and he finally pushes to his feet. Red eyes rove over the waves as he idly holds his book behind his back and leans over the edge, thoughtful, then skip over onto the deck and land on another figure.

Ah. Well, he's given up his hiding space now. He can't exactly duck back into it.

"It would appear something objects to our presence here."

Potentially fish do too, but they aren't slapping the vessel around. Unless they're very large fish.

[ Can switch to action if preferred! I just default to prose. ]

scallywags

[sansdoute]

( Devil and devilry, and it be a mean and ugly thing and vicious, also, to think o' the little squirmers, how they fluff and look at you, all beady, and get everywhere, wherever their little leggies can.

Disgusting, be what it is. True menace. Verily, mites are the worst. And his wee children, and the wife whose face he was too drunk on the wedding day and bedding night and every twilight after, to remember — all o'them, covered.

Plagued by the many-legged red scourge. )

Them's so young... them'n'that eighteen-year-old dog...

Kaneki Ken / Tokyo Ghoul / Old timer

[enucleation]

AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

[ Kaneki wanted to refuse the thematic garments, but given how dirty his clothes were after everything that happened in Ke-Waihu, but in the end, he had to accept them . Mostly, he keeps to himself, avoiding most of the crewmates, however he is still diligent when it comes to the tasks given.

PROMTPT A ) Like cooking. Surprise: kaneki is actually a pretty amazing cook. He naturally doesn't cook for himself, but he used to cook when he was human, long time ago, and he is still pretty skilled. Whoever approaches the cooking area will find Kaneki making the crew's soup for that night, but he will turn to the closest person while lifting a spoon towards them ] Can you taste this and tell me if it needs more salt? [ Sadly, kaneki can't taste anything he makes, so he has to rely on someone else's palate ]

PROMTPT B ) when he isn't cooking, Kaneki is wandering around the boat, watching the ocean as if wanting to make sure they won't suddenly be boarded during the night. If anyone bothers to notice these things, they will realize Kaneki barely sleeps. If he is sleeping, it's because he passed out somewhere in a corner but not because he actually tried to sleep and rather because his body gave up, so he can be found in really random locations on the boat. Locations he probably should be sleeping in, like between the cannons.

As for the priests, Ken opts to ignore them completely. There is no reasoning with crazy, he tells himself, and after what he saw in Ke-Waihu, he continues to insist that it's best not to deal with this world's events and beliefs. It's not like they will be staying here forever. ]

THE CROSSING

[ Silent creepy waters? It's just another day, isn't it? But while Kaneki never expected this journey to be less than creepy, the fact that the rest of the crew is on edge leaves everything feeling a bit worse. Kaneki's paranoia doesn't allow him to rest ever, but now it's more intense because of course it is.

PROMTPT A ) And then there are... talking fish? Kaneki is confused but they seem mostly harmless. But then the fortune starts happening. Kaneki doesn't sleep a lot, but he does try, and when he is laying down and almost!!! falling asleep, he suddenly hears some... suspicious sounds from the hammock besides his. Naturally that means he has to move to another hammock, and yet again it happens. Again. And again. All the time. To the point Kaneki is just so frustrated, so he ends up climbing the main mast to get away and sleep on the crow's nest. He is so tired of all this.

PROMTPT B ) The undead were not a surprise at all, Kaneki had been expecting them at this point. When they board the vessel, Kaneki is ready to kick them out with proper violence and inhuman strength. Four red tendrils join the fight, only to cut through the decomposed bodies as if they were made out of butter. Kaneki shows little pity for the undead creatures, but the pieces of them that remain on the boat - cut limbs and alike - at the end of the fight, kaneki will gather them in a bucket, before he places his hands together and closes his eyes for a second in a more caring gesture. He isn't always violent, no. ]

canteen

[sansdoute]

( Caladan Kreil is an ill omen aboard his own vessel, the Queen Zanyra, but a more sympathetic and quieted ghost on the Pariah. Today, he only visits — the by-product of a hasty exchange, rowed in by sea, and earnest attendant of an extended conversation with the flinching, trembled Quicksilver.

Matters of business settled, he concedes to dine at Quicksilver's invitation, and interrupts the young man who presides over the canteen with a curious glance, beneath the rim of his dark hat, and a silent push of his bowl forward. )

We are at sea. ( Calmly, as if perhaps the boy has failed to notice. But gentled, also, dipped in humour. ) You can rest assured we have all tasted enough of salt.

( Sprinkle lightly. )

Tonia | In Sound Mind | Tourist

[cattetonia]

Scallywags

Being a cat, there aren't too many tasks that Tonia is built to do. Nor does she feel she necessarily needs to, given her superior ability to evade whoever might want to make her work. (You don't see humans so easily slipping behind barrels, do you?) But she's not opposed to being helpful, and given the confusing and threatening circumstances she's found herself in, she'd rather comply than risk being rounded up and used as shark bait.

As such, you might catch a flash of white fur as she chases yet another seagull from a perch on the deck. "Go on, shoo!" She calls after it as it flies off, probably to just find another place to land about a minute from now. Or another one will. They seem to be endless.

She sighs, taking a brief moment to rest, only for a fine spray of salt water to mist over her. Making a face, she shudders in a vague attempt at fluffing her newly dampened fur. The ship is sturdy, and this is nothing compared to the flimsy raft she'd started out on, but still-

"Ugh, why does this place have to be so wet?"

Crossing

Wherever they are now, she doesn't like it. The sea is calmer, but it's not peaceful so much as creepy, and she'd happily trade the thick fog for the occasional sprays of sea water. Not to mention the fish. That felt like a particular form of personal torture, considering fish were supposed to be both silent and tasty. These were definitely neither.

She makes a slight scoffing sound when she spots someone struggling to avoid one of the irritating talking carp. "Don't bother. The only way I've found to get rid of them is to eat them, and that doesn't even last for long." As if on cue, one flings itself onto the deck next to her and asks her yet again if she wants her fortune told. Her long-suffering gaze flicks to the fish and then back at the person she's talking to as if to say, "You see?"

Her features twist in mild disgust. "They really don't taste good, either."

Scallywags

[jedied]

Rey's minding her own business, just getting a feel for the ship, honestly. She's never been on anything remotely like this, but it's as fascinating to her as the ones used to navigate the space between planets. Sure, it's annoying to suddenly have found herself in the middle of someone else's conflict -- someone else's galaxy entirely, it seems -- but her curiosity is currently outweighing her confusion at being unceremoniously dropped here after straying too close to the waters of Ahch-To.

She looks around her for the source of the voice, her eyes landing only on the cat, who looks so indignant Rey could almost believe she had spoken. It gets a laugh of her in spite of herself, and she looks around again for the actual speaker in confusion for a few moments before turning back to the cat, nonplussed.

"He..llo?"

She glances around her furtively, hoping no one's witnessing this. It can't have been the cat. Right?

emilia di carlo, old timer.

[valeas]

starters can be found below. please feel free to pm or ping me at moonstones if you'd like something!

mollywick, for allison.

[valeas]

( It took no coaxing to get Emilia to return to land, if only for some hours. She wants to stretch her legs and give herself a respite from the cramped nature of their temporary abode. Beggars can't be choosers, true, but even beggars have their limits.

Besides, she was a plant mom before her life turned upside down quite literally. She knows how to forage, how to determine which berries they can pick and which they should steer clear of. It helps when you're in good company, as Allison Hargreeves has joined her for the task.

She takes in a deep breath, a small moment of contentedness to be surrounded by such luscious greenery. The witch in her, the one with a connection to the elements, feels renewed. ) One of the sailors said this is where sea kings would bury their treasures.

Daenerys Targaryen | A Song of Ice and Fire | Old Timer

[thebrideoffire]

I. THAT SON OF A BISCUIT EATER

[Perhaps this was the life Dany might have had, had she pursued sailing instead of ruling as a queen. But as this crew seemed more like pirates than merchants, she couldn't say she was feels as comfortable as she had during other sailing trips. Added in was the Concord and the crew that were slowly appearing on the ship.

Tensions were high, and as it seemed there might be a battle coming, loyalty was being scrutinized even further. Dany could endure insults and attacks, such things were common for a queen, but even during watch duty, having someone constantly follow and question her, it was starting to test her patience.

Drogon remained close. During the early days of this journey, he had been languid and excited to fly over the ocean. He listened to her commands and never breathed fire on the ship, hunting several feet away for large fish or mermaids. He seemed at home. But with the frequent trespassers, something shifted in him. He was tense and on guard, snapping at sudden changes in the wind or a different smell.

The Concord was close behind them. He had to sense it.

Climbing up to the Crow's Nest, Dany stared across the water. The ship was near and so was dawn. With the sightlines clear, there would be some sort of battle and conflict. There was only the tension of what was to come.

Another her joined her in the small space and she gave a smile.]

Are you my watch partner?

II. MOLLYWICK

[The crew spoke of treasure, and it wasn't clear whether it first intrigued Dany or the sailors had essentially gotten her to agree to excursion. Either way, she had a shovel pushed into her arms and was given a list of coordinates, told to dig said treasure as fast as she could.

Fine. She'd gladly accept the adventure, if only to explore the island that Drogon didn't seem interested in flying over, and to stretch her legs. The coordinates were easy to find, for the most part. She had to employ some techniques Ser Barristan taught her, but in the middle of the dunes, there was supposedly something buried.

She was a few feet deep when another came to join her, looking about as confused as she felt.]

Did you get enlisted in this too? I think I am close.

[sansdoute]

( Mr. Eames be as righteous man as the Queen Zanyra can name, God be thankin' Caladan Kreil for lending him coin and service. He's seen things, doing the Rope's work, walking his deck and polishing his plank, ships scuttled and mermaids tarred, though only dead men tell fewer tales than Mr. Eames.

But he ain't seen one o' these up close before, not since they brought a dragon from the depths yonder, to trade her and her eggs long far. Was a trip that, and she a bigger creature, but this one's small and prettier, and already showin' the start of fire.

He's thrilled, is Mr. Eames, when he catches Daenerys on deck with dragon, next day after the great old whore, the Concord's shown them her back. )

It be yours, aye? ( So what if she's a woman and a curse on all ships? Mr. Eames, he be a forgivin' sort. ) Maybe luck ain't all forsaken us.