RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

“Mm, and there goes the problem child,” Winter said, an amused note in her voice. He was off to cause trouble with someone else’s face, no doubt. Winter could appreciate a live wire, the mess was most of the fun, and in its own way it made the times when she needed to save Sky from himself worth the effort. She ran her fingers around the neck of the bottle as she listened to Sky’s footsteps, her thumb rising until it came to a rest on the lip. She raised it carefully to her nose and took a sniff.

“Not a bad year at all.” Winter said, an ear out for Sky still. His footsteps were lighter now, and it took an effort to pick him out over the surrounding clash. He was far enough now, she was certain, so she couldn’t put off what Aamir had asked of her any longer. Well, she could put it off for another sip of wine at least. Didn’t do much to help, but it tasted nice at least.

“Heard the girl, over that way, somewhere. Dancing with someone by the sound of it.” Winter said, pointing her finger, and wine bottle, in the direction of Alys.
 
There weren't many Fir Bolgs at that party, so it wasn't that hard for Sky to find the one he'd been looking for. Ciaran hadn't seen him as Alys yet, which offered him time to plan an entrance. He messed with his hair as much as he could and tore apart the side of his skirt, revealing the tight trousers underneath. To add a final touch to the look, he spilled the rest of his drink on his face and got rid of his glass before stumbling forward, enough to get within Ciaran's radar before relaxing his legs, leaning on one of the footman as if the fae woman required help to stand.
 
There went trouble. Sky had shifted into a pretty fae woman before vanishing from view. There was no doubt in Aamir's mind that whatever he had planned, it was going to cause an uproar.

Well, at least the Lady wouldn't have people claiming the masquerade had been boring. He nodded along with Winter's analysis, looking around to see if he could pick out whoever it was from the crowd.

"Stay near me whenever the fighting starts." Only an idiot would have assumed this was some sort of chivalry. Winter could hold her own, and Aamir was only the chivalrous type when he was trying to impress someone. "I'll want someone to guard my back."
 
The music was lovely. It reminded them that they still needed to learn. Maybe they'd pick something up on the way home, something nice to practice with and to keep them company, given... everything. A sour feeling, paired with a frown, started to bubble up to the surface, the face of someone they were not coming with it. They deftly took a glass of something from nearby and drowned the feeling and face, and the easygoing smile returned.

A quick scan of the crowd revealed a whole lot of boring nobility. Everyone- well, most everyone- was dressed traditionally, stiffly. It was boring, but what else could one expect? They also noted the presence of a few familiar shapes, in absence of faces. The Baron and Wisewoman had only just arrived, the Master Gunner just before them. Near him, the... Quartermaster. Right, wouldn't be going over there any time soon.

On the other side of the ballroom, another pair caught their eye. A woman, with a cane, and a man beside her. They recognized that one. Or, they thought they did, it was hard to fully tell through the masks and the booze. What was she doing there, if it was in fact her, and who was her friend?

They began swaying through the crowd, eyes set firmly on both of them, tapping a ring on the glass all the while.
 
Polite clapping replaced the beautiful music, but just for a moment. As they stood patiently, waiting for the next song to begin, Alys kept her hand comfortably intertwined with Caleb’s, while the other left his neck to instinctively reach for her own. For the simple chain that kept the even simpler ring close when she needed it most. But, of course, her fingertips grazed the gold that adorned her chest, the stars that sparkled against the warm lights flickering above.

Glancing down, she took in the sight, remembering that she’d left the copper ring amongst her belongings back on the ship. And when she looked back up, the fae found Caleb’s gaze in the same spot, admiring.

“Yes. Well, no, actually. It was his. It’s all I have left.” All she had left to remember him by. She’d already forgotten his boyish face.

Her explanation was simple; truthful, yet it didn’t delve into the depressing story of how the ring came to be in her possession.

Wanting to change the subject, she smirked, placing her hand back on his shoulder. “It looks good on me, doesn’t it?”
 
If Alys paid enough attention she would see Caleb's eyebrows move, just slightly, in surprise. He didn't expect a direct response from her from such a personal question, but the surprise didn't last long as she changed the subject right away. They all had a past they were trying to forget, but Alys didn't seem to want to forget that part of hers revolving around that boy. Caleb wasn't jeaulous of a dead child, but he was jealous of Alys, for having a memory she didn't want to lose.

Just as easily as Alys had changed the topic Caleb pushed his thoughts away and slid his hand down the fae's lower back, to a place no gentleman would ever touch in public.

"Anything looks good on you." He said, leaning so close to her ear he could feel the heat of her skin on his lips. "We can dance again later…"
 
This was bad, very bad.

She shouldn’t be having these thoughts, not this quickly, not surrounded by so many people, elegant or not. Her eyes fluttered shut and she arched her neck to the side, the feeling of burning returning with a near violent force. Despite the layers of fabric between his hand and her skin, she felt where his hand had drifted, and for a moment, she hesitated, simply letting it be.

But the music started again, snapping her eyes open, immediately reaching to grab his wrist and pull his hand back up to her mid-back. Her gaze was intense; playful yet scolding, as she whispered back, “Would you mind grabbing me another drink? And meet me in the garden after.”

She needed some air. To cool down. To talk some sense into herself.

At the very least, he’d have to cross the dance floor and find a servant carrying a tray, out alongside the outskirts of the ballroom. Hopefully that’d give her enough time.

Without waiting for a response, she released her grip and turned, weaving through the dancing couples, and toward the large glass doors at the far side of the room.
 
What he was saying didn't make a lot of sense. Something about a thief, a fight, about Alys, and someone whose name hadn't yet reached their quarters. Oh, what a poor little wretch he was. It was a pity he had picked the exact wrong crew to involve himself with. Through either the words he used or the tears which fell as he said them, the whole sordid tale made him out to be utterly spineless- shoved into situations (quite literally, it seemed) and unable to fend for himself. No wonder he was so scared. Mal thought they looked more human today.

At some point during his spiel, they let out a sigh and leant against the wall, curling the lock-thread around their finger; bored. There was work to be done- work they could be doing. Before his final cry could finish ringing out through the hall, it was interrupted by the bars slamming back open.

"What exactly were you expecting from the Nox, hm?" They chuckled, shaking their head, "I'm surprised you weren't delivered to me in pieces- disappointed, even. Still, I s'pose it saves me the trouble..."

They pointed back towards the mess- with their bound hand, this time, thus snapping the thread that tied it to the mechanism.

"Go on, then. Get to work- quick as y' like."

A phrase they often used, which could be translated (quite easily, through the tone with which it was said) as 'if you don't start doing this right now, I'll cut off your arm and do it for you'. That option seemed tempting, but... well, today was an odd one, wasn't it? Today, Mal was feeling lazy.

"Oh- and rations come after the job, remember?" They frowned, "Don't let me hear you complaining again- you've done enough of that already."
 
“Still a monster, huh.”

Nessa held her hand out, hovering in the dead air between her bunk and the hammock above, staring at her ring. Light glittered through the ruby stone, brightening deep within where red was wispish like captured smoke. It had been different when she found it, hadn’t it? Clear or… it was hard to remember really. With half-hooded eyes she rolled her hand, watching how the stone caught the light at different angles. Maybe she’d just forgotten about what she was? It was nice to not feel so empty; but she wasn’t really different.

Nessa let her arm drop, her eyes turning to the hammock where Yume hung. There was that dance, she’d heard others talking about it, but it would be nice to just sleep wouldn’t it? She’d been so tired the last few days, so maybe tomorrow would be better after some shut eye.

Maybe.

——————

“Of course.” Winter said, with the air of someone agreeing to what should have seemed obvious. She downed the remainder of her glass and set it aside, a bit of a waste to slug wine this nice, but she still had the bottle. Winter fell into step behind Aamir, her attention shifting towards the sounds of the party as she slid her cane off her wrist. Bodies blurred around her, the sounds of cloth and feet giving her something like a shape for the motion of the room. Which parts of the din she needed was always tricky, was there a whispered rumor that she should lend an ear to? An errant dancer? Or—

The tap of metal against glass caught her ear. It didn’t pull her notice at first only after she realized the tapping was making its way closer. Keeping with the beat of the music, it seemed, but they weren’t dancing.

“Behind us, someone with a glass is approaching.” Winter said, softly.
 
"Mm." Aamir accepted Winter's warning, then turned around in place, offering a bow to the individual approaching. Well-dressed, he thought, with an eye for style. Not one of Lady... oh, he'd forgotten her name again - well, she wasn't important anyway. Not one of her little hangers-on, anyway. He straightened, taking a respectably small sip from the wineglass in his hand.

"Good evening. If you're looking for trouble, I'm afraid he's just left."
 


"But of course."

And so his warmth moved to her back, rough hands working with a delicate pace to clasp the ribbon's hitch in the back and lock it into place. Two fingers rested upon the neck-- a small squeeze to the shoulder, and he moved back around to the wisewoman's front, smiling down at her with crossed arms.

"You look positively beautiful." Emryk stated, taking her hand and leading her past the front guards-- sparing them a glance and a nod, but otherwise focusing his attention upon his date for the night. For the first time in quite a few years, the baron felt giddy-- a smile creeping along his snout, hand giving a reaffirming squeeze to Emer's.

"Now-- what would you like to do first, hm? The choice is yours. I am at your service for tonight, madame."

 
Caleb's heart was beating fast again. The reality of what was happening was catching up to him and he was half grateful she'd asked for some space, gratefulness that didn't last long after Alys left. What if she started having second thoughts about him, and decided this was a bad idea?

"I need a drink." Caleb muttered to himself, getting away from the dancing couples in search of a tray of beverages.

He was under the impression there were more footmen before, as he looked around trying to find any. If his father was in charge of the estate and heard that a guest had to search for a servant he'd be appalled. Caleb hadn't thought of him in a while, but this place… It brought back too many memories, even if he'd never been there before. For a moment he considered asking the woman in lavender dress where she'd found that bottle of wine, but a footman was finally spotted before he had the need to. He picked up two glasses and searched for the door to the gardens.

***

What was he expecting from the Nox? He had stayed away from the vampires like Vena had told him to, but he'd heard about them. He'd also heard the men from the crew telling tales of their latest raids, though most of them were drunk at the time and he wasn't sure what parts were true and what weren't. He assumed they were just trying to scare him.

Truth was, Ronan should've left that ship and never looked back the moment it landed on solid ground. If he hadn't been mugged, if he hadn't asked Winter for help to get back, he wouldn't be trapped in a cage with a monster with four arms.

It was only when the sobbing stopped that Ronan realized he was free - but not fully. He was out of the cage alright, but it didn't seem like that creature would let him off the brig. He wiped the tears off his cheek and pulled himself up on his trembling legs, looking down as he obbeyed his jailer's orders.
 
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Alexander wasn't sure what to do or where to start for that matter. He recognized no one, which wasn't terribly surprising. Running a finger along the side of a glass he eventually spotted a small group of people who also weren't dancing. He took a sip, grimaced, and put the wine back on the nearest tray. It was probably good but wine was apparently not for him. Too soft. He crossed the room for the pair, spotting another person approaching the same pair, tapping a wine glass with their ring.

A small part of him wondered if that was a habit or a signal. It was possible everyone here knew each other. Well, there was no point in hanging around if he wasn't going to talk to anyone. He approached the woman. "Fine party isn't it?" he asked the pair, stopping a respectable distance away and watching the approaching individual. He knew it was a clumsy attempt at engagement but such were his social skills. He always felt he was better one on one than with social occasions such as this. He could have stayed quiet in a corner, but it was better to challenge himself than take the easy road.
 
Never one to miss a beat, Aamir turned smoothly to speak to the woman who had approached them, it was an assumption on her part, but given the airs the good captain was currently putting on, Winter felt confident. She slid neatly into place behind him, and slightly to his left. Winter rested her hand on the top of her cane, her head tilting towards another set of approaching feet. A little slower than the tempo of the dancers, but moving towards the woman with the glass.

A small smile curved her lips at the awkward line, though she couldn’t tell who it was really directed at. That was always so tricky, who was talking to who in moments like these. Or maybe that was the point, to leave it simply open?

“Lovey music and plenty to drink,” Winter said. “Come looking for company or someone to dance with?”
 
Even the air quality was better here, on the property of some desperate, rich woman. It washed over her skin immediately, cool enough to illicit a chill if she stayed out long enough. Crossing her arms over her chest, Alys wandered out further, the sounds of music and chatter slowly drowning in the night air.

A marble balcony overlooked the main portion of the garden, with a beautiful staircase on either side, leading down to the base. She stopped upon reaching the edge of the balcony, pressing the palms of her hands against the smooth surface, and embracing the sharp cold that pricked at her skin.

Impossibly trim bushes of various shapes, straightened trees, and massive pots of flowers sat below, illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns. It was a beautiful sight, truly, and yet Alys looked up at the night sky.
 
Her skin tingled where he touched, fine downy feathers sticking up on end as if lightning were about to strike. She certainly felt as staggered as if it already had - perhaps it was the air of the night, charged and brimming, or perhaps it was the slightly-too-tight torso of the dress stifling her breath. Whatever the case, she steadied herself on the Baron's shoulder, smiling brightly as she turned to face him.

"Please, Baron Emryk, I can only take so many kind words," she murmured, feeling his hand take hers, letting her hand take his. The guards, a momentary concern, were all but forgotten as they passed them by, entering into the ballroom proper. It was beautiful. But not - beautiful in the way she was used to. No, this was something different, something ethereal, something that didn't fully exist. Did anyone have that much gold, that many diamonds? And - forget the decorations of the hall, the people themselves were adornments, each wearing enough money to buy out her entire clinic stock a thousand times over. She was no stranger to wealth in coin, but to wear it so brazenly was a different matter entirely.

Emer shifted closer to the Baron, her grip tightening around his hand. There were many, many people, here, and their voices rose in a drone-like chatter that was almost daunting to experience.

What did she want to do? What was there to do, and what wasn't there?

"The - refreshments, perhaps? I daresay a small amount of liquor would be kind. To... temper my nerves."
 
It was a sorry sight, but Mal wasn't going to look away- not with their standards. They stepped further into the hallway to get a clearer view of the lad at work, coming to a stop against a wall in front of him. Oh, this was going to take forever. Picking up all the little parts, fixing all the surface damage in a passage seldom seen- there were more important things to do, but they couldn't exactly leave this man alone, not when every other word out of his bloody mouth was "get me off this ship". They needed a way to keep an eye on him, whilst keeping their own eyes on what actually mattered. Oh, what was going on with the outside of the ship? Being away from it, being forced to wait was beginning to drive them mad; warping their mental image of the damage further and further into catastrophe.

"Fuckin'ell..."

They pushed their body off the wall and opened a door to their left- the door to their quarters, their workshop. Keeping their eyes trained on their new employee, they backed into the room and kicked something out from under the desk. It was large, compared to everything else in the room; about the size of a large dog, or a person on all fours, or Mal, when they forgot to put their legs on. There was a heavy sheet covering it, protecting it from either dust or stares. Mal picked it up, throwing the sheet across the room, and making another temporary stitch connecting them to its engine.

Then, with a loud CLANG, it jumped out of their arms and skittered off towards the hallway, its eight sharpened legs carving shallow gashes in the wood as it stepped. Mal followed closely behind, making sure the thread didn't snap just yet.

"As thrilling as it is, watching you toil, I'm afraid I've got something less menial to be getting on with."

They slapped the top of the--machine? Creature?--causing it to stop in place, a small door parting on its back to reveal what looked like a crossbow, of sorts. It was clean and intricate, as was everything Mal made. The whole thing looked almost mass-produced; as if they had an entire army of the little bastards waiting just around the corner. Perhaps, given more time, they would.

"If I have to pick your guts out of the wall you just cleaned, I'm going to be absolutely bloody furious- so try to get things done properly. I'll be back in an hour."

It was a prototype, however, finished as it looked. He didn't need to know that- although, even if he did, it would likely be just as effective. They only wanted it to keep him in line.

The machine was a spider, of sorts- polished bronze and varnished wood, looking almost more decorative than functional. Its legs were long and elegant, each segment ending on both sides in a sharpened point. The body it held up, the one that housed its primary mechanism, was partially armored- engraved metal covering the wood, to protect it both from damage and accusations of poor taste. Every step it took was purposeful. Every twitch of the chassis, like a guard-dog surveilling its prey. The crossbow on its back seemed almost superfluous- if the machine had any will, then its will seemed more to impale than to shoot. At least then it wouldn't miss.

Mal raised their arm as they left, hooking the unspooling thread over a light fixture to keep it raised off the ground. Its vision was still a work in progress, currently requiring a direct stitch to their body in order for them to see for it- in order for it to aim correctly. Sure, it could go by sound just fine, but that was often too imprecise for its weapon of choice. Still, knowing the motion was suspicious, they turned around and offered one final word of warning.

"Oh, and if you try to do anything to that machine, I will know- and I will be forced to stop what I'm doing and find you." They said, "You don't want to interrupt me when I'm working, young lad."

They turned the wrench over in their hand.

"You. Do. Not."
 
Ciaran scanned the party - if questioned he'd say something along the lines of surveying for threats but the truth was he was bored, lonely, and the taste of wine had grown sour in his mouth. He noticed Alys as she tumbled into his line of sight, a tad disheveled and oddly alone. O'Cain was no where to be found - typical of him.

He frowned at the thought of Caleb and felt embarrassed. Why did Ciaran blame him for every misfortune and misstep? Sure, the man rarely tried to be pleasant towards Ciaran, but truthfully why did he feel the need to chastise and grind gears with the man? It was childish and with the way business aboard the Hard Nox was moving, Ciaran would have to adapt or leave.

The Master Gunner approached his fae friend and offered a gentle hand. "Enjoying yourself, Alys?" Ciaran smiled behind his mask, one half peaking out beneath. "Need water, or perhaps some fresh air?"
 


Unlike the wisewoman he'd courted, the Baron seemed entirely unbothered by the hivelike activity of the ballroom proper. Truth be told, it was a most nostalgic sensation-- the busyness of it all, the undeniable air of opulence that pervaded the chamber. How long had it been since he'd been to a function like this, he wondered-- a few years, certainly, since the eve of his 40th had been the last of his visits to the Floating Isles. Much like the Floating Isles, there was nary an Al'Ashtavahk in sight. Keeping his eyes peeled along the crowd-- and noting no kin of significance-- Emryk gave a reassuring squeeze to Emer once more, and led her to a modestly-staffed bar at the far end of the room.

"What would you like to drink?" Emryk inquired, glancing over to the wisewoman. "And, more importantly-- do you know how to dance?"

 
He found her by herself on the balcony leading up to the garden, staring up at the night sky. Caleb inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly, putting on a smile that hid his nerves before approaching Alys, holding out one of the glasses.

"You like stars, don't you?" He asked, realizing it wasn't the first time he'd seen her looking up like that. He rested his elbow on the marble surface and took a sip of his drink.

***

The creature had left, but a giant spider made of wood and metal replaced them. If you try to do anything to that machine I will know, they'd said, so Ronan lowered his head and worked, helping the spider to clean up the mess, sometimes glancing to the side to watch the machine and its movements.

Ronan feared what would happen when that one hour had passed. They'd said rations would come after the job, but what if he was the rations? The johtunn couldn't risk finding out what would happen when the creature came back, and even though the spider seemed just as dangerous, perhaps it would stop moving if he cut the thread he'd seen them carefully hang from the ceiling. If it didn't he was screwed, but he had to try.

He was already a clumsy guy, but this time, Ronan even clumsier on purpose. He'd drop a tool here and there, and lift his hands up when the crossbow would point at him, waiting for the spider to get back to work before he'd start moving again. Little by little, the spider would turn less often.

Ronan didn't know how long had passed, hopefully less than an hour. He'd found a sharp shard of metal and hid it under his knee, and decided it was now or never. He stood up and stumbled towards the thread, swinging his arm with the shard to try and cut it in half. When he was done he turned to the spider, praying it wouldn't be moving anymore and he'd have a chance to escape

He'd need a new pair of pants after this.

***

If the fake captain looked beyond the mask, he'd see a distraught expression on Alys' face. The changeling disguised as fae took the man's hand and tried to stand, but her legs were still too weak, or so it seemed. Alys' other arm went up to hold Ciaran's shoulder, leaning all her body weight on him.

"Fucking b-bastard…" She muttered angrily, hiding her face on his chest. "He put something on my drink, I-"

Alys didn't cry in front of anyone, Sky knew that. If Ciaran knew her he'd know it too, which is why Sky didn't cry but instead clenched his jaw and pierced his nails on his jacket, as if he was using all his strength to keep the tears from falling.
 
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