RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

Ruby’s eyes followed Emer all the way out the door. The north docks. The Hard Nox. The time given was by no means definitive, but short. She had picked up her roots and left far faster in Grodrock, but she’d had more incentive to do so then. Her customer, speaking with the captain – who might become her captain – was forgotten. Even the captain was forgotten, for a moment. For a moment, there was only Emer.

And then a bowl was set across from her, and she glanced up to see Julien watching the wisewoman, too. Usually it was bad manners to eat when getting advice, but this was Zadari, and he preferred that food not go to waste. She pulled the bowl in front of her. Even if she didn’t actually eat it, just stirred, it gave her something to do with her hands while she listened to him.

Killers. She was a killer. She had killed. Not for something as noble as her Folk; she had killed to save herself. And, given the right circumstances, she would do the same again.

She didn’t need Folk. She needed to drown that ache in her heart before it grew into something dangerous. Zadari was echoing her own voice of reason, even if he had his own intentions in doing so.

The last part, though, drew her attention for its irony. She arched a dark brow at him, ears relaxing, face otherwise unchanging. “And what does that say about you? Or did the good captain lie when he said you were one of them?”
 
Juniper was, understandably, frustrated. They'd cornered the bastard, and were more than ready to put Alys at ease about the whole situation. It was going to make their stay in Leimor much simpler, safer, and keep the thoughts of changelings and who among the crew had been replaced at ease. Then, just out of the blue, the woman Ronan had brought aboard sprung to Sky's defense.

Of course she did. Misfortune was practically synonymous with the Hard Nox these last few months, and it only seemed to be getting worse. "Dammit, Ronan!" they hissed, doing their best to sidestep out of the way of his stumbling form. Unfortunately, he was much too large to fully dodge, and by the time he was out of their line of sight, the imposter had nearly made it off the ship already, and the woman who had helped him was between them.

Winter seemed to be blind. That was good! Easy to get by, they thought. Juniper charged forwards, aiming to get past her and not lose track of Sky. "Ronan, get her off the ship, or tie her up! We'll deal with this mistake later!" the sorceress called, before taking off towards the escapee.
 
A second passed, maybe two, and chaos ensued. There were canes being flung about, and living, breathing, highly inconvenient barriers standing in her way. She side-stepped and stumbled, clumsily trying to avoid Ronan’s towering figure and the cane, with only limited success. Perhaps it was the anger that caused her to tilt her foot upward upon the recoil, or the stinging sensation across her shin, but when she caught the hardened material in the crook of her boot, just between the heel and sole, she deliberately stepped down. That, and watch helplessly as Ciaran’s jacket fluttered to the deck, and as a fleeing figure disappeared over the railing.

Juniper was on him though, equally as irritated with the distraction - intentional or not. Her furious gaze fell upon the blind girl, who continued to hold the other side of the cane. Had she been only recently blinded and learning how to use a fucking cane? A good samaritan, perhaps? Or an accomplice?

Guilty or not, Alys held up a hand to Ronan, a silent command to stand down - for now. With one foot trapping the cane against the deck, the fae lifted her other boot to press down against the middle of the walking aid, her intention to break or at the very least, disarm the blind woman.

“You should really watch where you swing this,” she offered, her voice surprisingly level despite the circumstances.
 
She could feel it in a way, two forms momentarily crashing into one another before one stumbled past her and the other vanished over the shifting edge. She couldn’t quite see how that was shaped, the breeze curved around it blurring the edges into ever shifting lines. Sky was away at least, which left her with one less headache and the responsability to clean up the mess. Typical. The second woman gave orders as she pressed past this little tangle, but Winter was more than happy to let her go. Sky had his head start, and the only card that remained in her hand was troublesome to play.

And she had enough trouble now.

Seemingly not content with simply pinning her cane, the woman with the sharp tongue pressed her foot down on the center of the polished wood. She could feel it cracking with the stress of weight, though it was far from breaking. A shift in motion, a hand raised? A soft rustle of cloth, and a sifting of the wind helped the figure take shape. A motion for the giant, she guessed. She could appreciate that, he seemed a harmless sort so she had to desire to do him ill.

Winter kept her grip tight on her cane, despite the weight, though she let it drag down slightly. The angle would be important if she needed to draw it smoothly. The woman’s voice masked its edge well, but malice always dripped.

“My apologies, but the thief is getting away.” Winter said, with an amenable tone and a slight cock of the head.

———

“Oh, no that’s…” Nessa said, momentarily taken aback by the man’s sudden appearance. Annoyance took its place soon after, a frown lining her lips as she rose to her feet. What a pain in the neck this was, did he really have to go and make a whole scene out of this? She stared up at him for a long second before she turned on her heel. This was fine, it wasn’t like she was looking to join their little cult anyway. Just annoying. Nessa paused and looked back over her shoulder at the two.

“You know he has a vampire in his crew, right?” Nessa said with a sudden flash of teeth before she turned away and headed for the door.
 
"Not… The… Face!" Naveen grunted, turning his cheek so that Ciaran's fist would meet the half covered in an ice mask, that shattered revealing the gap on his skin. He didn't fight the attempt at a headlock, melting the ice that connected the two and bending over abruptly, in an attempt to toss the fir bolg over his head and once again, at the lizard in front of him.

***

Sky had made it back to port, and looked over his shoulder to see the person with a staff chasing after him.

"Shit." He muttered under his breath, turning a hard corner and immediately shrinking in size to look like a human child. The pants fell off his legs and his shirt turned into a long dress. He searched his pockets for the bag he had stolen for Ronan, before getting the hell out of there.

***

Ronan had his eyes closed, cursed himself for doing everything wrong. Juniper had told him to get off the ship or tie Winter up, both seemed to be awful things to do. He didn't know anyone and didn't have any money, that despite not understanding the use of, he knew it was important in the outside world - and Winter - Winter had helped him. Sitting up straight, he looked up at Alys and her foot in Winter's cane. She had only tried to help.


"I'm sorry Alys, I… We're going." He stood up from the floor and reached for Winter's hand, putting it on his arm like he'd done when she helped him find the way back to the ship.
 
It was the second time Leo found himself flying through the air, though this time was far more brief and the impact against the table far more painful than when Naveen had thrown him into the cave. Despite the shield on his back taking the brunt of the blow Leo could already feel the bruises forming where its edges had slammed into him, and as the air was driven from his lungs by Lucien’s boots black crept to the edges of his vision. Despite the needlelike claws that pricked his throat Leo gasped in a chestful of air as Lucien’s fanged words sneered in his face.



He waited until the blackness faded and his vision cleared, his golden eyes meeting Lucien’s ferocious crimson gaze with cold fury as he pushed air into his lungs against the vampire’s weight. There was a slight rasp to his voice as he leaned forward to face the navigator with their noses mere inches apart.



”I have been called nothing before, vampire. As far back as I can remember. I was a small child when I ripped the wings off of those who tried to convince me that I was worthless.” He delivered his words through gritted teeth, and his right hand wrapped around the iron wrist behind the hand around his throat.



”You do not scare me. Death and losing do not scare me. I fight, and I let my rage out because every time I do it proves them wrong. It proves you wrong.“ Leo began to pull at the wrist, ignoring the ripping of his flesh as the sharp nails and vice-like grip were slowly torn free.



”King left his ice pet here to remind us that he took her from us. I may not have known her long but I am going to do my part to protect what she left behind.” It was slow agony as the nails drug against his skin, his blood dripping to mingle with its fermented ilk that spilled similarly from a ceramic body. Despite the pain and the weight and threat of Lucien’s anger Leo grinned madly with teeth clenched against his efforts.



”King thinks the same as you. Ice-Face thinks it too. They think we are all nothing. They think the Captain was nothing. You’re just sitting around agreeing with them instead of proving them wrong.” The instant he had pulled Lucien’s hand free of his throat Leo rocked forward with all of his strength, aiming to ram his head directly into the vampire’s face.



”I am a beast, a lion. I will be glad to die proving it!”
 
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The cane wasn’t breaking - cracking, ever so slightly, but not breaking. Alys was certainly not the heaviest person on board, but her weight should’ve been enough. How peculiar.

She released the cane, allowing Winter to collect herself and Ronan to come to her rescue. Her fiery gaze tracked their movements; the hand in which the blind woman held her cane, the way the giant guided the other to his arm, gentle as can be.

She tracked and paced, her boots firmly pressing against the wooden deck, never daring to get too close, nor too far. “Your concern for our thief is touching,” she said, perhaps too quietly.

Suddenly, her wings unfurled gracefully from her back, and she willed them to begin to flutter. The familiar hum filled her ears, and certainly not only hers. She felt the corners of her lips lift upward. If either of them thought that the woman was getting off this goddamn ship as easily as she’d arrived, they were sorely mistaken.

Her pacing continued; a circle, half-circle, line, another half-circle, until she was in position, completing the triangle. “A piece of friendly advice? He wasn’t worth this.”

Then the cutlass was drawn and swung, sharply without hesitation, level with Winter’s neck. Her wings continued to flutter, humming, their movements fast and eager to jolt Alys out of the way - if needed. Behind Ronan. The blind woman had the right idea; his hulking form was the perfect shield.
 
“I’d simply like him caught.” Winter said, with a sigh.

Ah, a fae. The wings were always such a hard detail to place until they actually used them. There was hope, soon dashed, that the woman had taken her advice to go after her thief, but she seemed to have a different plan in mind. The fae circled, and Winter listened, one hand resting on Ronan’s arm, and her other adjusting the grip she had on her cane. In front, around, behind. Poor Ronan for a shield, but she couldn’t hide that hiss of metal or that peculiar tang of old blood.

It would be best to duck and respond while the fae recovered, but that seemed likely to end with a sword lodged in Ronan’s arm, and that didn’t quite sit right. Against her better judgment Winter swung her cane up, and with a heavy thud the fae’s sword cracked into the wood. Winter swayed with the impact, a jolt ran through her arm and she might have stumbled from the fae’s follow through if she didn’t have Ronan’s bulk to bump into. Winter slid her hand from Ronan’s arm, taking hold of the side of her cane as she turned on her heel to better face the fae.

“You should take your own advice.” Winter said, coolly. A slight twist of her wrist and with a smooth draw a blade slid free from the shaft of her cane. No point in trying to talk sense into those with none. “Ronan dear, leave if you don’t want to die.”
 
After his Last Meal, Caleb sought to prepare himself for the highly anticipated ball. The wealthiest part of Leimor was much more policed, forcing him to get in disguise even before the masquerade - a disguise that consisted of a stolen hat and a long cape covering his bright orange wings. While shopping, Caleb kept his head lowered whenever possible so people wouldn't notice his eyepatch, but he did have to threaten the lives of a few shop owners that wouldn't be easily bribed. Fame was exhausting.

At the end of the day, Caleb had found himself the perfect outfit that consisted of a black and white ensemble, complete with a golden mask that covered only the upper half of his face. His curly hair was concealed by a white feathery hat and his pistol and knife were tucked on his back, for precaution. Balls, especially the noble kind, weren't the type of place people would bring their weapons to, unless extremely necessary. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to be unarmed even in his sleep, let alone in a room full of people wearing masks.

A few hours later, not long after the sun had finally set and the full moon illuminated the streets of Leimor through all the fog, Caleb sat on the roof of the Last Meal, waiting for someone. While he waited, he tried to come up with something to write in the piece of parchment he had spread on top of the small leather box he’d shown to Emer earlier.

Alys,

That was it, it was all he’d written so far.

***

It was hot - too hot.

Naveen didn’t know for how long he’d been passed out, but even before opening his eyes he knew he was no longer in that alley. Wherever he was, it was too hot for his mask to stay on, and the ropes and chains around his body kept his arms from moving. It was the first time in decades he could smell his own sweat.

The vampire opened his eyes and realized he was back in the Hard Nox, and the heat was justified when he saw the piles of chalk and furnace responsible for the propulsion system of the skyship.
 
illirica said:
"Minding the foul beasts? Well! You're more talented than I thought!" Rielle seemed to think this was an impressive feat. "And not opposed to hats. Very good! Excellent, in fact. You shall be... I have already got a sidekick. You shall be my psychologist." Rielle delivered this pronouncement with a flourish, as if it were meant to be impressive.

"Mental health is quite important, you know! Just as important as physical health, under the right circumstances. Or perhaps under the wrong circumstances? Why is it under, for that matter? Could one be below the right cirucumstances - no, that sounds like the sort of tale that starts in a tavern and ends in a tavern but upstairs- Hm. No, we are not in that sort of tale, or at least, we try not to be." She nodded, quite firmly.

"In any case. Very good. You'll be excellent for the role, I'm sure. They say you're completely mad! Wouldn't want a sane psychologist, right? How would they know anything?"
Click to expand...

"Psychologist." Hester stared up at the adventurer, blankly. What the hell was--oh.

"Is that like an alienist, then?" Now that she knew what this woman's game was, she refused to lose her temper. Letting Rielle get to her would be--well--something. Something bad. Something that flickered across her face when Rielle called her 'mad.' "I've no experience in that profession, nor do I care to gain any. It is the domain of the foolish and the perverse. And you shouldn't trust everything you read. Is that all you wished to speak about? May I pass?"
 
There were many things Lady Gobhaim didn’t have. She didn’t have close relatives or close friends - actually, she didn’t have any friends. She also didn’t have loyal servants as she’d often fire her staff for the pettiest of reasons, but there was one thing that was never missing: Money. Oh, she had money. Loads of it.

One thing about being filthy rich and terribly alone was that at some point, there was nothing else to spend that money on and that is why once every trimester Lady Gobhaim would host a ginormous ball, to flaunt her wealth to strangers, as those were the only people who would willingly visit her home.

The guests had begun to arrive and the rule was simple: so long as you were properly dressed, you could enter the ballroom. An easy way to keep the lower class away, though they’d always try to get in one way or another. Lady Gobhaim had hired private guards especially to keep that kind of people from contaminating her house. She stood at the top of the grand staircase, smiling at the masked faces who would undoubtedly gossip about this marvelous event for days to come.

Lady Gobhaim’s skin showed she was at least a couple centuries old, but old age didn’t stop her from dressing in the finest couture, imported directly from the Floating Isles. The embroidered gown was fit for a queen and matched the creamy color of her wings. Her mask, adorned with pearls - real ones. She’d make sure to bring that up casually in conversation whenever possible, as well as the costs to put all the decoration together.
 
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Oh, what a disordered soiree this was.

As usual, the Lady of the Evening - not 'of the night,' that was something else entirely, and she was at least a century past that particular consideration - ah. The Lady Gobhaim, as it were, was determined to make this event as exclusive as possible. If she'd been any good at it, of course, it would have been the same crowd for the last six decades. Perhaps it was on purpose.

Or perhaps not. Far be it from him to fathom the minds of the fae. If he was to be plumbing their depths, well, it wasn't their minds he would be most interested in - and as noted, she was hardly worth the interest any more.

He was Aamir Rake, though that was hardly the name he'd given at the door. A well-dressed man, strong of build beneath the tailored suit, with just the first flush of silver strands in the darkness of his hair. He could have been anyone, which was rather the point. Everyone of interest would be people like him, people who really shouldn't have been here, but had gotten dressed up for the night nonetheless. The half-mask that shadowed his eyes did nothing to hide the smirk, golden hawk's feathers arching back from a beak of gold. It glinted, in the scintillating light, as he watched the hostess attempt to debauch herself, with little success.

He wondered what she had been like, in her youth...

Probably an ostentatious wretch then, too. He'd have rather enjoyed her... briefly.

His head lowered slightly, to the one standing beside him.

"Which ones do you think will come?"
 
The dress was, in Winter’s opinion, a dreadful thing. Long where she wished it wasn’t, tight where she was certain it shouldn’t, and a hindrance to put on. Still, she had been informed that the colors suited her, purple with a trim of silver, and Winter was willing to take their words at their face value. The mask she didn’t mind quite as much, it covered from her forehead down to her cheeks, with only thin slits where her eyes should be, she had been told the mask was decorated with lines of silver as well, and she could feel the lines so she took Sky at his word for the color. It had the pattern of a flower, she was told, though it felt like a spider’s web when she had traced over it with her thumb. A thin cane hung off her wrist from a leather strap, it wasn’t her favorite one, but her favorite one now had a crack in it, and didn’t go with her dress anyway.

The gala, also in her opinion, wasn’t much better than the dress. That was the way of these things of finery and pomp, it was all too rigid, and perhaps she simply lacked that touch of romance to really understand the wonder of it all, though it simply seemed to her that the rich threw awful parties. The booze smelled nice at least, maybe she could lift a bottle or two before she left. The music was nice too. She tapped her heel along with the beat, as she tried to keep track of the movement around.

“Of Sky’s? Met one of his old flames on the Nox, and she seemed like the ballroom sort. That and wasn’t he chasing after some girl on the south side?” Winter said, lifting her head. “I’ll put money on one of the Nox’s bloodsuckers too. Plenty of rich blood here.” She smiled at that.
 
Alys was late.

It’d been a day straight from hell, but once she’d managed to crawl back out onto the miserable streets of Leimor, the fun finally began. She spent every last coin she’d brought into town; the sum nearly equal to her earnings over the last six months, though hardly comparable to the rest of the wealth she’d locked in her temporary room. She returned to the Nox with new weapons; a dagger, cutlass, and pistol, well-made and sleek, with just the right amount of embellishments. A second pistol, double the price of her own, also returned with the fae, housed within a case made of ebony wood. But majority of her coin was spent on other, perhaps more important investments. She’d slipped the shopkeeper an extra pouch for his discretion, and walked away with the recommendations he’d given to manage her recent vampire infestation. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Preparation for the ball followed, including a much needed bath, and a last minute reservation at the closest, most prestigious salon. By the time they’d released her, the sun was beginning to set, the lowest point just barely touching the horizon. She swiftly made it back to change, careful not to completely destroy her pinned curls or the slight rouge on her cheeks.

But changing, of course, was easier said than done. Finding a way to secure her weapons was nearly impossible, not when she’d enlisted the help of another to tighten the lacing at the back, to the point where she couldn’t inhale deeply without nearly breaking a clasp. There was simply no way she could hide something down the front. Or anywhere else for that matter - expect for beneath the skirt. Despite the daggers strapped to her legs, accessibility remained an issue, one she’d anticipated and planned for while the woman had been pining the curls of her dark blonde hair.

A near darkness enveloped the streets by the time her hooded figure emerged from the ship, making her way to the designated meeting place. The Last Meal. How positively frightening.

Was that why her heart began to race as the sign came into view? Or was it the figure, lounging on top of the building?

Alys looked up, the glint of her golden mask illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. “Playing hard to get?” She sure as hell wasn’t flying up there.
 
Sky’s outfit consisted of muted colors and a removable skirt with pants underneath, in case there was the need to take a different shape other than the Fir Bolg woman he’d turned into earlier that day. He had gone off to find himself a glass of sparkling wine before returning to Aamir’s side, catching only the last few sentences spoken by Winter.

“There are two of them, from what I’ve heard.” He took a sip of his drink. “The Man-Shaped Monster is the one we should be careful with, though the female is quite a skilled thief.”

After escaping the person called Juniper, Sky had plenty of time to gather as much information as he could about the pirates of the Hard Nox. He happened to meet a sad little teenager that had spent some time with them and after a couple drinks, didn’t mind spilling her guts about her opinion of them. The man whose jacket he’d stolen was quite a heartthrob as much as he was a liar, and apparently Alys' new affair.

***

Alys,

Fuck, this shouldn’t be so hard. Luckily Alys hadn’t arrived yet, so Caleb had plenty of time to stare at the nearly blank piece of parchment until finally coming up with something to write, after remembering all the times he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, the secrets shared amongst the livestock, the gentleness she'd shown him when he was a sobbing mess. He dipped the quill in the small vial of ink and wrote down the three words, coming to the conclusion he wasn’t ready to give her the note, not yet and maybe not ever.

After the ink dried he folded the paper,put it in his pocket and waited for the woman to show up. When he was starting to think she wouldn’t, a figure covered by a dark cloak with dark blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, decorated into an intricate hairstyle stopped in front of the restaurant. He was sure it was her the moment he heard her voice.

Leaving the ink and the quill behind, Caleb pulled his cape over his shoulder to release his wings and jumped, landing gracefully in front of her. A golden mask covered partially her blushed cheeks, and Caleb couldn’t help but notice the rouge in her lips. Perhaps he stared at it a bit too long.

“How am I to know it’s really you?” He asked with the corners of his lips raised, a hand behind his back while the other reached down to take hers and pull it close to his lips. His eye didn’t leave hers for a moment.
 
"Well, we'll have to see. Or I will, I suppose." Winter wouldn't, after all, but that was hardly what Aamir kept her around for. Sky had come to join the conversation as well, or at least it was presumably Sky, since anyone else would have been rather presumptuous about it and have little reason to talk to the two of them.

The information on the vampiric cohort was received with a nod. Vampires were always something one had to watch for. Miserable wretches, the lot of them - although the same could be said about pirates, or about the wealthy. Everyone here tonight was undoubtedly a bastard, or was hoping to become one.

"Is she pretty? The vampire girl."
 
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her.” Sky said. “They also have an Aos Gaotha, a blonde one with glasses and a necromancer. A quarter ghoul, if you’re into that kind of thing.” The reason why Sky was bringing up all the different kinds of women they had aboard the Nox was simple: The more options Aamir had, the less inclined he’d be in taking interest in Alys. If he did, Sky would have to kill him which would be unfortunate, because he quite liked his ship and his crew. The shapeshifter downed the remaining liquid of his tall glass. “Any of you want something to drink?”
 
A breathless laugh escaped her lips, her gaze flicking back and forth between his eye, the green accentuated by the gold details of his mask, and the sight of his lips gently touching the back of her hand. His question was a test for both of them, a question she certainly didn’t have a hand in choosing, but one she’d end up asking anyway. Even if she was fairly confidant it was him.

Once he released her hand, she took another small step forward and placed that very same hand on his shoulder. Her blue eyes remained on his until she was too close, lips nearly by his ear. She shifted her focus to the illuminated restaurant behind them, at the elegant customers who drank and dined inside, paying little attention to the pair who stood outside. Or so it would seem. She knew very well that wandering eyes were easily hidden.

The corners of her lips tilted upward, and she continued what was supposed to be a performance. “Tell me about the first time we slept together,” she whispered.
 
It was Alys. It was definitely Alys, and she was standing too close to him. He could feel the heat of her breath on his neck and smell the jasmine in her hair; it was like he was bewitched by it.

“It hasn’t happened yet.” He whispered back, his lips suddenly a bit too dry. Caleb opened his eye he hadn’t realized he had closed, tilting his head just slightly in her direction. Could she hear his heart beating from where she stood? He touched her left shoulder, sliding his hand down her cloak in search of her hand. Fear kept him from ending the distance between them, that couldnt’ve have been more than an inch.
 
“Yet?"

Good, it was him, overconfident as ever.

Alys felt him angle his head towards her, felt his hand trail down her arm, and allowed him to find and take hers. As she pulled back, the tip of her nose grazed his cheek; from certain angles, it might’ve looking like a kiss on the cheek. But she didn’t allow illusion to become reality. “You keep dreaming about that, Caleb,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with a smirk and then taking a full step back.

Their hands, however, remained interlocked. She squeezed his, expression softening. “As lovely as this place is… I believe I owe you a dance? Your words, not mine. But rest assured, it’ll be the best dance of your life.”
 
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