RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

The voices or the stomping feet, between the two it wasn’t too hard to choose where she’d rather stick her nose. She hadn’t the stomach for large groups, they felt exhausting to think about at the moment, and that aside the air felt nice on her cool skin. Her decision set, Nessa slid over the edge of the ship and down to the docks with a neat croak of wood. Nessa did not move silently as she hurried after the looming mass of Emryk’s back, but she was quiet, as she always was, against the sound of the swell beating itself into a senseless froth against the wooden pillars of the dock.

There was a murmur of magic in her ear, a rush of water as the Nox lifted itself from the surface of the sea and lingered. Nessa frowned at that, watching it warily over her shoulder. Were they planning on taking off? Why? Nessa moved a little faster after Emryk at that, though she offered no warning of her approach beyond the fact she was doing nothing to ensure that she would take him by surprise. There was a time for games and a time for questions, so she asked one.

“What’s happened?”

—~~—~~—~~—

Winter’s lips parted for a moment but the retort died in her throat. If Emer wished to be cross, that seemed fair enough to Winter, given the entire kidnapping situation. Instead she simply gave a small “of course.” and turned away. She ran her fingers along the counter as she stepped away, sometimes drumming her fingers in three quick taps upon the countertop until she found a drawer with the surgical pliers, and from an alcove above she plucked a roll of clean bandages.

The bandages were easier to find, she was no stranger to getting a fresh length from the cutter when she needed it. Winter returned to Emer with the requested items. She kept an ear on Aamir, to feel out what he had gotten, which she hoped was everything else.

“Here you are” Winter said.
 
“Take the helm, and stay focused.” Caleb told the man standing nearby, who answered with a nod. He jumped over the stairs and soared all the way back to the officers’ quarters, this time to his own room.

In a hurry, Caleb removed the outer layers of his fancy clothes, ending up with the black combination of trousers and a silk shirt. He needed more bullets, a sword and his rifle, and after loading his weapons and attaching it to his body he left, hoping the rest of his crew would be ready to leave as well. The first he looked for was Alys.

“Are you decent?” He asked, after knocking on the wooden door.
 
Aamir got Sky onto the table while Winter searched around for the other things that the stranger had asked for. He had always wondered if he could do half as well by memory and touch as she did, but the only time he'd actually tried it he'd been quite drunk, and while he'd managed to locate the floor successfully, he hadn't done very well at anything else. Sky had been with him, then. It had been a good time.

"You know your medicine, then?" Aamir's tone was hopeful, not just because Sky could use it now, but because that was ideal, given the other situation. The one he was politely waiting to talk about until Sky finished bleeding on things. "Where did you learn? Just pick it up here and there, or...?"

A leading question, though he didn't know how she'd answer. Perhaps she wouldn't answer at all, and she'd tell him to shut up an let her work. The best medic the Cloud Cutter had ever had had been a crotchety old grump who didn't want anyone talking while he was working - but he'd known his medicine, that was certain. He'd died some three years ago, sitting in his chair watching over a patient. The patient had woken, the medic had not.

Aamir supposed of all the ways that a pirate could go out, in one's sleep at an old age was not so bad. He'd been there for worse. They all had, hadn't they?
 
"As my mother taught me, and her mother before, and hers before that," Emer murmured, dampening the rag and continuing to clean. Glancing to the side, she took the pliers, then braced herself against her patient's leg, pulling open the wound to try and sight the bullet's debris. Focused intently, she continued talking - though quieter and curter.

"You are lucky to have a wisewoman on your ship, and luckier still to have one who has treated many wounds like this. Gunshots are oft a terrible mess to tend."

Gently guiding the nose of the pliers inside, she pulled out a black iron shard, then dropped it into the basin, moving in to fish out another.

"I doubt I have any hope at removing the blood from a fabric like this," she bemoaned to herself, even quieter. "Terrible impracticality. How to cope, spending every waking second forced to treat your dress as a newborn? Bah."

Another shard removed, another plink into the bowl.

"Though I suppose with enough wealth, one can ruin a dress a day and still buy another. You certainly seem of that mindset, hm?"

She smirked slightly, tugging at the tattered skirt of her patient's own dress.

"Right proper lady of a man. Now." A third plink, and she set the pliers aside. "This wound will not seal on its own, nor will it likely even staunch. Burning it shut risks damage, and to suture it takes a patience and skill none of you seem to possess. So."

She poked the thread through the needle's eye, tying it tight and giving the tip a flick.

"While I save your friend from what might otherwise be a likely messy death, I would quite appreciate two things in return. Another cup of tea, chamomille, preferably, and an explanation of why your blind-yet-seeing associate felt it necessary to strike me unconscious. Certainly not in prediction of this."
 
The needle was the tricky part, it always was, little prickling things that held little lenience for the searching tip of her finger. For that she rapped a knuckle against the drawer until the image tightened in her mind and she could pluck one up without pricking herself. She tucked the needle into the thread and delivered it to Emer who was quick at work removing the bullet. An unpleasant noise, and by a small mercy of the Five, nothing she had to see.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it seeing,” Winter said, raising a hand as if to ward off an expected rebuke as she turned back to the door. “Chamonelle should be no problem, and the warning stone should still hold enough heat. Keep the door open, hm?” The last part she said to Aamir, looking back over her shoulder and letting her vague eyes drift to where her captain was standing. Then, she vanished through the door with no promise of finding alcohol for Sky.
 
It was starting to be a very nice potato. You couldn't really rush this sort of thing. If you just wanted to cut it up and boil it, it went pretty fast, but if you wanted it nice and crispy and golden brown, you had to take time. Leo had looked like he needed the sort that was really good, and Pris didn't really need to worry about taking the time here because he was going to be cleaning up for a long time anyway. There had been a lot of mess.

Lady Fingers gave her a tap, and Pris stirred the pan again. It was a lot easier having Lady Fingers to keep an eye on things. Pris wasn't entirely sure how she did that since she didn't have any eyes at all, but she guessed Mr. King's skeletons and things didn't really have eyes either, and they knew which way to go. She wondered what it would be like if they didn't, and you summoned a great big skeleton army and they just walked into things and each other and got all tangled up in a heap of bones. It seemed like it would be pretty silly.

Mr. King was definitely not silly, though, so Pris would make sure she never mentioned that if she ever saw him again, which she wasn't sure if she wanted to or not. People on this ship said a lot of bad things about him, but he'd said some bad things about the people on this ship too, so maybe she just shouldn't listen to people when they were saying bad things about each other.

There was a movement at the doorway, and Pris looked up from the potatoes. That was the fireperson. That was not what they were supposed to be called, was it? Could you just call someone a fireperson? They probably had something else they called themselves. Aside from their name, which was - which was what?

Lady Fingers put a dusting of flour on the counter and drew a pointy tree in it with some little berries. Pine? No, not pine, they weren't pinecones.

Juniper, that was it.

"Thanks." A whisper, though it probably wasn't as quiet as Pris thought it was. "Hi, Juniper. Are you looking for something to eat? I think Mr. Leo is going to be down in a little while."
 
Sky tried not to react, but a few groans and heavy breaths left his lips as the wisewoman tended to his wound.

“FUCK! Get me a fucking drink!” He shouted at last, while the largest chunk of the bullet was being removed. The talk of his possible death wasn't making it any easier. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, nervousness meddled with the pain, and when the worst seemed to have passed, Emer prepared her needle to stitch him up. If Aamir didn’t move, his hand was ready to grab the bloody basin and toss it on his head.
 
A wisewoman.

Of course, that was the whole point of all this, but Aamir generally tried not to hope too hard. He'd thought, perhaps, she might know one, or know of one, but this - this was all the better.

And of course there had been that little matter of kidnapping. Maybe she wouldn't hold it against him. She certainly didn't seem to be holding it against Sky, at least, although perhaps she was and he just couldn't tell.

"I'll get you a drink when the wisewoman says you can have one," Aamir stated. "You know medics. Remember old Jaren? He'd be shouting at you about drink being a poison you could destroy your liver with after he was done with what he was doing. And you'd have to sit there and listen because he'd just walk off if anyone tried to get a word in edgewise. Used to gag his assistants until they learned to hold their tongues in his presence." An irrelevant reminiscence, perhaps, but it might serve to keep Sky's mind off of the surgery.

And if not, well, Aamir had had things thrown at him before, and he was generally pretty good at ducking. You had to be, in this line of work. "Besides, I imagine you had a few at the party - you should have, anyway. The wine was the best part. Maybe we'll go back again next time. You can dress as a flamingo."
 
In a matter of days, Alys had assembled quite the collection of riches. It took a minute or two to remove all the jewellery that sat on her fingers and arms, purposefully hidden by the fabric of her dress. That's all that sat in the otherwise empty room - Sinead's former room; the safe, along with the boxes of weapons she'd purchased that day. Weapons designed for a special type of population, as well as weapons to replace the ones she'd lost in the Ice Lands. The usual came with her - pistol, sword, and dagger - as she descended back to the women's quarters, where the rest of her belongings remained.

Alone in the room - both a blessing and a curse - she had to contort her arms to untie the back of her dress and finally slip it off her body. Clad in dark trousers, she'd managed to pull a simple tunic over her head when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," she called out, sitting on the edge of her bed as she laced up her boots. A small smile graced her lips and she tilted her head to the side, towards the new, shiny weapons laid out beside her. "What do you think?"
 
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Caleb's order was clear. "Aye, we'll find her. I promise." Ciaran looked to Emryk, his thanks meant more than he'd know. Once, he'd asked the Baron about the love he held for Emer - tonight he would see the lengths he'd go for her.

He left Leo's scolding to Caleb and Alys, there were more important things right now. Leo was dangerous but he wasn't the enemy, Ciaran being one more person against him would only drive him towards anger and potentially - violence. Ciaran hoped not. As Alys passed and spoke softly, Ciaran regarded her with a silent nod. She'd taken note of what he'd said about Sky's impression and hopefully wished to speak about it, as did he.

Without another word, Ciaran passed through the door and back towards his quarters with purpose. It was time to rally their numbers and show these bastards that their aggression would be met with swift and thorough action.
 
Caleb opened the door and leaned on the frame. Alys was back in her normal clothes like he was, and the only indication that the night had indeed happened was the rouge left on her cheeks. The necklace was gone, likely tucked away with all her new rings and he found himself wondering if that ring was still there, hidden beneath her tunic. He pushed the thought away, smiling back at her.

Her question provided him with a reason to approach and so he did, in a nonchallant way. After all, he didn’t know what that night had been. A fantasy? It sure felt like it. Caleb picked up the knife, the light of the lamp glistening on the fresh blade.

“Efficient, but not as pretty.” He said, smile fading into a frown. “Last I’ve seen it, Naveen had it."
 
It was a shame to have lost the dagger, one that was both pretty and efficient, especially to Naveen, who was supposedly long gone. But there was no use in being upset about it, not when good money had been paid for something equally as lethal. After tying the final knot, she stood and took the dagger from his hand, fastening it to her thigh. "Well, better efficient than pretty," she replied with a shrug, sliding the holster for her sword over her shoulder, ignoring the dull ache that appeared. "Like that gun of yours. I know you were just warming it up for me," Alys teased quietly, securing the last of her weapons.

Taking a step closer, she allowed her hand to glide over the side of his torso, until her fingers ran over the gun secured to his back. "Good, you found it." She lingered, allowing the closeness for just a moment, before dropping her hand and sidestepping him on the way towards the door. "You think he was telling the truth? About Naveen?"
 
Juniper blinked. It was slow, drawn out, and a little lost. It was also a perfect timer for how long it took them to process what had just been said to them. They'd almost- no, they had forgotten about the girl. Pris? The one who came with Hester, from King's ship. So many new faces lately. The changeling made their way to a table, mulling over Pris' question. They felt nauseous, and their head hurt, and they weren't actually sure when they last ate something, so the potato was starting to sound like a delicacy.

"I, uh... don't think he'll be making it. Something came up, so he's... busy. Maybe later." It was hard to dance around the subject like that. Hopefully, though, she wouldn't ever have to hear about how Leo had essentially used the fact that he'd not killed her in a blind, ravenous fury as a positive in this entire situation. Certainly, it'd make them sick to their stomach, if the same had been said of them. "I would love something, if you-" they stopped, the nausea rising again for a moment. "If you can. And water? Please."
 
Not a fantasy. Caleb wanted to lean in and kiss her, but as quickly as it started the moment was gone, and Alys was already halfway to the door.

“Not entirely. He’s hiding something.” He answered, catching up to her while leaving a modest distance between the two. “He said something about the curse. I need to know what it is, before…” Caleb sighed. “That’s not how I wanted the night to go” he grunted, picking up a lantern and his pistol, hitting the back of it against the metal as a makeshift alarm.

“WE'RE RESCUING OUR WISEWOMAN! MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASSES AND GET UP ON DECK!” He shouted, loud enough to be heard throughout the lower deck, at least that level and one bellow. “Did the changeling mention anything else that might be important?” He asked Alys, lowering his voice once again. He stepped aside, letting her climb the stairs ahead of him.
 
A curse?

She'd assumed he'd meant the curse of vampirism, but Caleb had other suspicions, worse suspicions. It struck something inside of her, that familiar paranoia, and she began to consider their options. If he knew too much, he was a problem; if he knew just enough, perhaps a solution. Or maybe he knew nothing at all, and the curse he spoke of was in fact the one inflicted on him.

Her thoughts changed as Caleb posed his next question. "He said Aamir has self-control. No notoriety or casualties," she began to say, climbing the stairs up to the top deck. "Must be a tight-knit crew. Loyal. Like the blind bitch. I had him earlier, right here, on this deck. Ronan showed up with her and she helped him escape. Don't underestimate her."

"... he also said they were planning to head east." An after thought, one she hoped wouldn't matter.

"Isn't it weird though? Naveen disappears and Emer is kidnapped, by someone claiming to be related to Sol?" Alys asked, turning to Caleb once they were enveloped in the night air once more. "Why Emer?" Was it just coincidence that they went after someone so essential to the crew? Someone they'd drop everything for? "They'll know we're coming." Perhaps that's what they wanted.
 
"Oh. Okay." Pris supposed that the cleaning up was taking longer than Mr. Leo had thought it would. It had been a lot of cleaning up, after all. She decided not to worry about that, even though she was worrying about it. Apparently deciding not to didn't actually help any with doing it.

She looked up cautiously at Juniper to see if she could figure anything else out from them. They looked... well, they looked like they were about to fall over, actually. "Um. Are you okay?" That was kind of a stupid question, wasn't it? They really didn't look okay, and either they were going to say they weren't, which was obvious, or they were going to say they were, which was a lie, and that wasn't good either.

Pris decided maybe it was better to spare them from having to answer. "Maybe you should sit down. If you fall over, you could hit your head. Miss Emer says that's bad and sometimes you don't know how bad until later. So I'd rather you didn't. I'll get you some water. And you might as well have this potato, because it won't be any good cold. I can always make Mr. Leo another one, right?"

That seemed like a good plan. Pris put the potato on a plate with a fork and got a class of water, carrying them over carefully. "Do you think he needs help? With the cleaning up, I mean. I could go help, it doesn't really bother me."
 
"He can have a drink if he needs one," Emer assented, "though truly, I have tended children who cry less than you, dear."

Pulling the thread taut, she lined the needle up with the edge of the wound.

"Look me in the eyes. Do not turn away."

She smiled at Sky.

"Three. Two."

The needle pushed into the skin, curving round, thread pulling both ends together. Then again. Then again. Emer moved quickly, methodically, not breaking eye contact with the man.

"Neither of you have addressed my little dilemma. It almost seems as though you are avoiding the issue. Perhaps you misunderstand. I am calm - not complacent, and I am not very content with my current situation."

Tying off the suture, she cut the thread, placing the needle in the basin with the bullet fragments.
 
The kid was right, they did need to sit down. As she went to get a glass of water, Juniper took their seat, in front of the plate. Gods, it smelled wonderful, and exactly what they needed right now. "I'm just... tired, I think. Did some very exhausting things today that I wish I didn't do. Thank you," they said, taking the glass gently. After a sip, and giving their stomach time to settle, Juniper took a bite, then looked to the girl. "I... I think you should let him do what he needs to. He'll be okay, he has Mal to help him." Whatever good that would do, they couldn't know.

The sorceress took a moment, looking over the poor kid. She seemed better than when she'd first made her way on to the ship, and she certainly wasn't afraid to talk. That could be either good or bad, but it was nice to have the company right now. As always, that skeletal hand hovered around her, appearing busy but never straying too far from who they assumed had created it. Just a few months ago, they would've been repulsed by it, something so abnormal, but they'd seen the good in both necromancy as magic and those who practiced it, thanks to Hester.

"Who's you're friend?" they asked, motioning towards Lady Fingers. "Did you make it? I know Hester makes things. Did she teach you?"
 
"Ah. Well, if you must know, I told her to bring you back here," Aamir answered. He had learned he could get farther with the truth than a lie, sometimes. Especially when people didn't expect it, or didn't know what to make of it, or assumed he was lying anyway.

"I saw you at the party and hoped to talk to you. I don't suppose you're the sort who spends much time on the docks-" She seemed to dignified for it, unlike the rest of the company present. "But there are often rumors about - well, everything, but the ones that interested me in your particular case were the ones about the Aos Gaotha having access to forbidden magics and things of that nature. I thought, perhaps, you might know something, or someone."

He paused, not bothering to disguise the interest with which he watched her. "You see, there is this girl."
 
"That's Lady Fingers! She's a construct. I named her after a dessert I got to have once. It was nice! And I thought it was funny." The construct raised a few fingers from where it was perched on the girl's shoulders in what was evidently meant to be a wave.

"And Mr. King taught me to do it, not Hester. Hester taught me a lot of stuff, too, but that was after he started teaching me things. She's not a very good construct - she doesn't listen very well - but she's pretty useful in the kitchen, so I guess that's all right. Hester's constructs are a lot better at listening, but I guess she's had more time to practice than I have. And I haven't been. Practicing, I mean. I've mostly been making potatoes and cutting up vegetables. But Lady Fingers helps, and that's okay. And you guys don't seem to need a skeleton army."

A pause, then, curiously, "Do you need a skeleton army?"
 
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