RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

A step followed by the stomp of a piece of wood. The sound repeated itself over and over again until it stopped, and the door to the restaurant was pushed open by a woman with pointy ears, dark chestnut hair shaved on one side with a crutch under her arm.

It wasn’t without hesitation, after seeing the state of the place that she took a seat at the only available table, setting the crutch aside and picking up the menu to see what her options were. If someone on the other table spared her a glance it wouldn’t meet her gaze, and if they looked under the table they’d see the gap between the floor and one of the legs of her trousers.
 
“Mm, are you looking to make a counteroffer on my pay, dear?” Winter said, a touch of her thumb turning the knife she held balanced. “Though, I will need a room all my own, can’t say I fancy returning to cramped bunks, I’ve had more than enough of that for a lifetime.” She caught the hilt of the carving knife in her palm, and stood once it sounded like Argent and Alys had taken their cuts. She rapped her knuckles against the tabletop, thrice, before she slid the blade neatly into the roast. Aamir’s cut was easy enough, he didn’t have many particulars, O’Cain was only tricky in so far as he had said no, not that it stopped her from carving him a portion that was lean and tender, and last she served herself a piece that smelled richly roasted and marbled.

“Under duress or not, the deal she struck is one that favors your ship.” Winter said, sliding a few of the vegetables onto her plate. “Some folk tales from her and in return we provide her with the death of Solomon King. Given rumors of a turbulent history between your Nox and the Teller, well, it seems a fair trade to me.” She spoke evenly, tracing the tip of her finger across the table top until she found a fork for herself.

She tilted her head in Aamir’s direction, leaving the rest for him to tell. It was his story after all, and not hers, and, his want to rescue a girl from a ghost ship. Winter’s attention was pulled away as the door swung open, and an odd sound of footsteps entered the room.

~~—~~—~~

“Damn well thinking about it,” Nessa hissed at the comment of just leaving. Emer would miss Emryk, and Alys didn’t deserve getting left behind in this dreary city, even if Caleb couldn’t stop putting his own boot in his mouth. She was just about to drop over the edge when the sound of footsteps caught her ear as Emer arrived at this entire mess of a scene. Nessa sat, awkwardly, her legs dangling in the empty air as Emer spoke.

“If you’re going then it’s all the more reason I should go with you.” Nessa said quickly. She raised a hand as she spoke, flexing her fingers which were pale, even for her. Her claws were still sharp, and that seemed good enough for this situation.
 
Bronze flowed down the Baron, yet Lucien found no temptation to drink, had no desire to lap at the unique blood that was before him. No, any thought apart from his hatred for the Baron was driven from Lucien's mind as he continued lashing out in a blind rage. Scales flaked and cracked, scattering across the docks with a harsh sound. Lucien grinned wildly as he felt the Al-Ashtavahk's flesh give, felt it curl up under his claws, felt his hands grow wet with blood.

Suddenly the Baron flew to life, knocking one of his hands away and pushing himself towards Lucien. While the vampire had strength, the Baron had sheer size and momentum. Lucien quickly found himself pressed under the immense weight of the Baron, one hand choking the unneeded breath out of him. The other was a hammer, constantly crashing into him, small flashes of pain that Lucien quickly ignored, burned away by his anger.

He brought one arm up, working to slow the rain of blows on him as he snarled at the larger man. The other went to the hand around his throat, claws ripping and digging into the flesh in an attempt to get the massive hand off his throat. While the Baron pushed down with oppressive strength, the pain was enough to gain the advantage. Lucien drew air into his lungs with a gasp, turning it into vitriol.

"She saved your worthless fucking life! You would have been consumed by the Teller had we not intervened! And yet you slander her name, we should have left you for fucking dead!" Lucien roared in the Baron's face, spittle crossing the short distance between them. Some voices cried out, but he neither heard nor cared for their words as he launched himself upwards, instinct taking hold as Lucien Kilta did the only thing he could do in the situation.

Using the Baron's arm as leverage, Lucien pulled himself upward and buried his fangs in the Baron's shoulder, sinking them deep into the exposed flesh and scales.
 
Winter put a plate in front of him, which either meant that she thought Aamir should eat or she just thought she was supposed to give him one. To be fair, it did smell quite good. It was good to know that all the destruction hadn't changed the quality of the kitchen. Besides, Aamir was used to a bit of destruction. He picked off a tiny piece of roast with his fingers, holding it up to the cat to see if it distracted her from the ale, which he'd rather be drinking.

And of course, there was the matter of the meeting to attend to. No one seemed to appreciate the idea of a good kidnapping, regrettably. Sky would have been up for that plan. Sky was up for any plan, that was half the reason Aamir kept him around. Life was nothing without entertainment, after all.

"Ah. Well. As I told the Aos Gaotha lady - I want to rescue a girl. And since I doubt Solomon King would take kindly to all that, we'll probably have to kill him, and since I have no idea how to go about that, the dessicated old bastard, that's where you come in. I was hoping the wisewoman would have an idea but she seems like she might be as clueless as the rest of us, which is impressive, because we are all very clueless. Anything else you'd like to know?"

He picked up a fork, and applied it to the roast. It wasn't all going to go to the cat, after all.
 
Are you really the one in charge?

That question struck a nerve, and if it hadn’t been for Alys’ presence it was likely he'd make the white haired boy regret making it. He didn’t have to though, as she handled the situation gracefully as she often did, sprouting a proud smile on his lips.

“You’ve just missed our most recent recruitment, but if you desperately need a place to go, our bunkers are quite spacious.” He told Winter, watching her knocking on the table before cutting the steak with surprising precision for a blind woman. She was no regular blind woman and shouldn't be underestimated from what he’d seen of her this far. Even so, the thought of her killing Solomon was absurd.

“You’re going to kill him?” Caleb asked in disbelief, before Aamir further explained the situation. Upon the sound of the door being opened Caleb looked over his shoulder at the person who had just entered, turning back to Aamir with a look that asked if she was one of his, as she wasn’t one of theirs. As she sat on a different table, he decided to be mindful of his choice of words from that moment forward.

“If I knew how, I’d do it myself, and if you are just as clueless, I don’t see how you could be of any use.” Caleb responded bluntly. “Unless this girl you’re after is a stinky necromancer or a child with a skeleton hand, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Not unless you actually have something to offer.”
 
So it wasn't just Juniper who thought this situation was absurd. From their position, with a white-knuckled grip on the banister of the Hard Nox, they turned their head to none other than Hester. They hadn't seen the necromancer in some time, and part of them thought she had packed up and left. Of course, in retrospect, that couldn't have been the case, since Pris was still here.

Juniper offered a wave in greeting, taking a hand off the rail for a moment to do so. The wood had taken on the slightest singing, a testament both to their mood, but their considerable control in the moment. "Hello, Hester. I hope your morning has been better than mine. Nessa, if you need me to come down there, shout." They turned their eyes back to the squabble just in time to see Lucien take a bite out of Emryk, which was their sign to do something else.

Hester had raised a very tempting idea. "I would, but I don't know how to sail. Oh, and it wouldn't be very fair to Alys, being stranded with our new captain." It was immediately clear that they were not fond of the current chain of command, but there was only so much one could do about that without staging a mutiny, and there'd been enough turmoil lately. Adding more to the fire would only make things worse.
 
It was subtle, but Argent was accustomed to subtle. O’Cain, for the briefest moment, seemed to rise at Argent’s taunt, and from the rim of his bowl the elf narrowed his eyes toward the Nox’s captain. The woman who accompanied the boy spoke before he could react, though, and the ire was immediately replaced with a gleeful smile. Argent’s attention returned to the remains of the food silently as the conversation continued, looking up only once to observe the cripple who had hobbled to a nearby table.



Leaning over slightly, toward his Captain, Argent whispered again, though he made it loud enough that the entire table could make out the words. ”We should watch our words, to be safe.” It was likely obvious to the rest of the pirates as well, but he wanted to be sure it was said. If the restaurant had been crowded it would have been a different matter, but in the state the Last Meal was in the stranger struck him as suspicious.



Argent’s bowl was set aside, practically licked clean of its contents by the time O’Cain responded to his Captain’s purpose. A single eyebrow rose at his words, only slightly, but enough to convey surprise. ”You’re saying you have already stolen away not one, but two women from that ship? I suppose your predecessor taught you better than I had assumed.” Argent wasn’t one for praise, but that was considerably close, and likely the best he could manage to a stranger.



”Our ship is small, our crew as well. We aren’t as legendary as your own or our enemy’s. However, we are a savvy bunch.” The inflection Argent placed on the word “legendary” was ambiguous, impossible to tell if it was said with respect or disbelief. ”We also offer an element of surprise. If you’ve faced the necromancer before then he will know what to expect of you.” Argent’s eyes darted to the stranger for a moment, then returned to the Nox’s captain.



”Aiming to kill him would be far easier with the both of our crews to bear, wouldn’t it?” He looked back to his own Captain and snapped his mouth closed. It wasn’t his place to offer up anything toward the alliance without Aamir’s go-ahead. The Captain had made a different request of him, and it occurred to Argent that now might be the best time to make an attempt.



”In the spirit of mutual understanding perhaps we could show one another what we have to offer firsthand? Without any forceful relocation. A representative from your crew could observe our ship and our practices and one of ours might do the same on your own?” It might not have been as cheerful as Aamir had asked of him, but at least it was a step in that direction.
 
The sound of hull giving way brought the Master Gunner out from below decks - from his isolation. Half his face was still white from shaving soap, while the other was still yet to heal. Something seemed set into his eyes - yet, deeper somehow. His shadow drew long and heavy behind him, and he acted as if he was only partially present in reality.

He hadn't left his quarters in quite some time, scuttlebutt around the ship said Torrel had brought him a few meals and that the sound of music could be heard after dark. Cadre leaders continued their dailies, but no drills had been performed by the Master Gunner. The ship had seemed to fall into a malaise - nothing felt the same.

He passed by the damage but did not stop to gawk as other crew did. "Cannon ball?" Someone proposed, a good guess - no, they'd have heard the blast before the impact. When he emerged upon deck, he did it with a short rifle under one arm and his sword yet to be affixed to his hip. No attack, but plenty of eyes looking overboard at the cause of the destruction. Spirits above, just what they needed - the tension had reached its splitting point and now Emryk and Kilta were tearing each other to pieces.

Ciaran approached the edge and breathed in deep. Nessa, Emer, and Juniper seemed intent on getting between them as well. Unfortunately for the three of them, Ciaran was less than confident in a peaceful resolution. It would get bloody - er, bloodier. "Skies are good, horizon is clear," he looked starboard, then back at his friends. "If there was ever a good day for it, this would be it."

He slid a grapeshot load into the chamber of his rifle - metal pellets in a cartridge sealed in wax. Less than lethal he'd hope. He paused at Juniper's comment to Ms. Falmouth about the prospect of sailing off. He pondered it in silence if for the slightest moment before descending the ramp.
 


Lucien was not wrong. Here Emryk was, besmirching the woman who had, for better or for worse, given him a second chance. What example was he setting, doing this? Indeed, he could hear the screams from the Nox proper. The others could see him now-- Emer, Nessa, Juniper, Ciaran. All folk he'd tried to set a good example for, their perception of his character undoubtedly tarnished in the wake of this fight. Some pillar of virtue he was, clawing tooth and nail to kill.

But he had no shame, now. Just like in the pits. His anger flared, drowning out his doubts in a tide of rage. He hated Lucien Kilta-- hated everything that he stood for. Most above all, he hated him for this. Making him do this. Dragging him down to the level of beasts, into habits he'd spent decades unlearning, back into the horrid oblivion of filth-laden ire. But he had no cares, now, beyond the throat he gripped and the visage he sought to pummel-- to brutalize like Leo's--

"Ghhhrr-- RRRHHH." Emryk growled out, a guttural sound leaving his maw alongside blood-laced spittle as he was forced to give up his grip upon Lucien's throat-- wrist and forearm carved deep by the flurry of clawed strikes. How long until he bled out? How long until his heart could not replace that which had been so thoroughly lost? Hate. So much hate, and it bled from him in droves, eyes open and wild in an expression of animalistic desire. Kill. No greater priority. Nothing but the man before him, small and fallible, pulling his arm back--

-- until the man leapt up and sank his teeth into his shoulder.

The response was immediate; borderline instinctual. The Baron's eyes widened, pupils dilated as he unleashed a guttural bellow of pain-- practically animal in its tone-- and drove his own jaw downwards, teeth aiming to sink deep into the vampire's own collarbone. Unlike Lucien, his bite lacked the capacity for finesse-- like an alligator, the blow was crushing and inelegant. As quickly as they he into flesh, Emryk jerked his head up, aiming to rake his teeth along flesh and muscle to rip his jaw away before both arms wrapped around the vampire, coiling in a bear hug that would've likely crushed the breath out of any lesser man. Against a monster like Lucien, he prayed it would be enough to merely keep him in place.

"RRR-- RRRNNNHFFGH--"

Needed to think. He was close-- body-to-body. Both hands gripped at Lucien's sides, trying to lift him up--

"-- GHHH-- GET-- OFFHH-- !"

-- and then back, as Emryk threw his entire form into a body slam to take them both downwards into the stone dock-- aiming to whip Lucien's upper body hard into the ground, head-first. Following up the blow was an attempt to press himself atop the vampire, straddling the hips in a grappling hold to keep him there. "COME ON! YOU SHOULD'VE LEFT ME FOR DEAD-- YOU MURDERED LEO-- FINISH THE JOB! WHAT'S-- ONE MORE DEATH-- ON THIS FORSAKEN SHIP." One hook swung fast for the side of Lucien's skull-- the other guarded his face and gut. "HERE'S AN IDEA. I'LL SEND-- YOU-- TO JOIN THE LATE CAPTAIN." Another jab-- this time, directly at the jaw. "PERHAPS WE'LL SAIL BACK TO THE ICE LANDS-- DUMP YOUR CORPSE IN THE SNOW. IF THE EARTH WISHED FOR YOU TO LIVE, IT WOULD NOT HAVE HAD YOU MEET ME, LUCIEN KILTA."

 
What a waste of fucking time.

Alys stared at the trio, shifting her gaze between them as they spoke, listening as they offered essentially nothing. Asking for a communal wise woman, who no doubt treated a recent gunshot wound. Asking for the Nox's assistance, for the sacrifice of their people, to retrieve one girl. Promising to kill Sol - their one and only form of payment mentioned - but not having any idea of how to actually do it. Alys could walk by the docks and round up a group of savvy enough men to fight for them instead, promising them a gold coin and the lift of her shirt. Ciaran would have them holding a sword right side up in a day, ready to march for the Teller. Fucking, mutual understanding.

Sure, they had a problem with Sol, but their problem would only magnify if they went against him so soon, and with no chance of winning.

By the end of it, the fae had turned her attention to her plate, savouring the tenderness of the meat. Caleb was asking the right questions so far, the same questions that she'd thought of. Apart from - "Who's the girl?" She asked between bites, looking to Aamir, amusing twinkling in her eyes. "Former love? Love child? Long lost sister?" It was partially for entertainment - perhaps he'd tell a gripping tale. Or perhaps she'd be able to gather some information - true or otherwise.
 
Emer paused, for a moment, then nodded. Nessa could talk sense into Lucien, and she could calm down Emryk. There were few better than the two of them, for the pair that were fighting. She reached out to take Nessa's hand, clasping it firmly, then wrapped her other arm around the girl's torso for good measure. She was small and doubtless light - they could make the jump, though the landing might be hard.

"Brace yourself, dear," she murmured, before kicking off the edge of the ship.

The fall was faster than usual. Wind whistling through her ears, clothes billowing around her. She hit the ground with a gasp, falling to a knee, but sprung up again, moving fervently towards the brawling men.

"Stop this! Stop it at once! Apart, before you fools kill each other!"
 
"Not one of those, no," Aamir responded to the other Captain, looking like he very much wanted the rest of the story on that one. Argent touched on it, briefly, something about stealing people away. That was an interesting idea, but...

...No, it just wouldn't work. King would need to be dead. If only it were so easy - they were turning out to be very good at kidnapping strange women.

The woman - Alys, that was her name. Sky's Alys, except she wasn't his and she didn't want him, which was regrettable but also understandable. She had the sense to ask about the girl specifically, and Aamir sighed, looking into the depths of his ale to see if it held answers or, more likely, cat hair. "I only met her the once," he stated, squinting at something that was... yes, probably cat hair. He fished it out before taking a drink, his gaze quite far away and, also, quite thoroughly besotted.

"Her name is Echo."
 
“The stone and the river, Argent.” Winter said, gently, with an amused turn of her lip. She wasn’t quite certain what the newcomer would gain from listening in any way, beyond perhaps running off for the guards to turn the lot of them in, which would be a shame, as the food smelled lovely. She turned to face O’Cain, her amused smile lingering. “That part wasn’t negotiable I’m afraid. A shame, but I suppose developing an eye for talent takes time.”

Winter cut a bite of meat with the side of her fork, the skin crackled pleasantly as the meat parted without much fuss. It practically melted as it touched her tongue, rich with a touch of some herb or spice. She listened as Aamir gave the girl’s name, though she spared an ear for the newcomer if only to hear what it was they were up to.

—~~—~~—

“Right” Nessa said as she slid over the edge of the ship. There was that feeling of weightlessness in her stomach, of dropping away though did it feel a little lighter than it usually did? Not enough to soften the heavy thud of her legs hitting the planks of the deck. It sent a jolt through her body, and she landed at a crouch, but soon enough Nessa was back on her feet and sprinting after Emer.

“What the hell are you two idiots doing?” Nessa half yelled, mostly growling, as she neared the two. She reached a hand out to catch Lucien’s wrist before he could continue to do something she was going to make sure he’d regret. Emryk could be Emer’s problem, for right now.
 

The kitchen was largely silent, save some distant mutterings and the faint clatter of cookware. Eventually, Julian returned to the dining room proper after an inordinate amount of time for a drink order, multiple cups seated upon a platter alongside a taller bottle of dark, red liquid.

"Ale. Last of it we have. The rest of you will have to make do with wine; vintage, from the north." Rolling his shoulders with a wince and low rattle of breath, Julian gave a curt bow-- preserving the last vestiges of his debonair habitude-- and moved past the table to the newly-entered customer, leaving the cutthroats to fight over the drinks. Caleb would need the hair on his chest, it seemed, given he looked to have shaved off everything there and stuck it to his chin. Thinking such an insult wasn't nearly as satisfying as saying it to the man's face, but he was in polite company, and most importantly, he valued not getting shot.

That, and he might need passage aboard the Nox after all.

"Limited selection, today. À la carte; only wine." If she understood what that meant, good for her. If not, she'd find out soon enough. "With that in mind, do yo have any specific choice in mind, madame?"

 
“It does.” He smiled back at Winter, leaning towards her and lowering his voice significantly. “Your friend will learn eventually. If he doesn’t die early, like most do.” He smiled at Argent, who couldn’t possibly have heard what he had just whispered, but his attention shifted quickly towards the elf with a silver tray cat-walking towards their table.

“About time.” Caleb huffed when Julian reappeared with the drinks, rushing to get the first cup and hand it over to Alys, briefly exposing the mark on the back of his hand. He was more careful the second time, using his left hand to grab his cup.

“You should stop assuming things.” He told Argent, before a long sip of the cold beverage. The boy kept talking, and in the end, Caleb couldn’t help but scoff. “We don’t need a spy, and I wouldn’t give one of mine away to a random crew I just met-” He raised his cup towards Aamir, the most sympathetic one of the bunch. “No offense.”

Charismatic he was, but Caleb was now wondering if he was also a bit crazy, considering the lengths he was going to rescue a girl who, according to him, he had only met once.

“Is she one of the white capes?” He asked, out of curiosity. If she had been captured like Juniper and Soren, it was unlikely she was still alive.

***

She could feel the others’ eyes on her, but it didn’t take long for them to resume their conversation and ignore her presence. Good, she had no intention of bringing a whole lot of attention to herself.

“I’ll have…” She looked down at the menu another time, and then over to the other table. “What they’re having. Do you have it as a single serving? And a bottle of wine, please.” She reached for her pocket and placed the coins on the table that would pay for her order. “I’m surprised you’re open in these conditions. What happened here?”
 
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It seemed that Argent was profoundly interested in the grain of the table for the track of his gaze after his proposition was made. If he was surprised by Aamir’s motive it was hidden well, though he took a mug of the ale readily as it was presented despite his earlier protestation. He had found that to often be the case with this particular Captain. If he chose a cup, you had best choose one as well. For your own sanity.



”Oh, I don’t assume, Captain Caleb O’Cain.” Argent took a deep pull from the mug and looked to his own Captain for a moment. He probably wasn’t going to be happy with Argent’s behavior today.



”You see, there are enough posters for you and a good number of crew littering the streets to wipe my ass with for a year. You and your ship have a name for yourselves,” Argent’s eyes narrowed as he spoke of the Nox’s reputation. ”And yet you came to this meeting anyway.” Argent set his mug down and leaned across the table toward O’Cain.



”Our methods are fundamentally different. You’re the type to go big, burn entire towns and mansions to get what you want. There is nothing wrong with that, its a pirate’s life, after all. We take what we want.” Argent leaned back again before concluding.



”The question now is what you actually want from us.”
 
Lucien let out a chuckle wrapped around the hunk of lizard flesh. The Baron's bellow of pain was music to his ears, he would hear it so much more before this day was through. The vampire's victory was short-lived, as an growl of his own was forced out, the Baron's massive jaws clamping down upon him, teeth digging into flesh, ripping, tearing, shredding. The rip of fabric and skin, muscle and meat filled Lucien's ears as he watched Emryk's maw flash back, stained crimson. He could not help but chuckle through the pain. The Baron had lost. He was just as much an animal as Lucien was.

The chuckle came to a strangled gasp as Lucien was wrapped in a crushing grasp, Emryk forcing all the air from his lungs as he launched them both backward. Lucien toppled to the stone with a sickening crack, his vision blurring and shifting for a second, a heavy weight landing on him, pinning Lucien as blows began to rain down, stone hammers seeking to shatter Lucien's bones. His vision struggled to clear, Emryk's roar filling his ears.

Another voice rang out, and Lucien saw her.

Cold. Harsh. Uncaring.

She landed on the dock, shouting at him as she so often did. She would reprimand him, he would remind her of the flimsiness of their bargain. That was always the way it had been with them. Some days he thought she truly cared for him, others it was just a distant memory. She was tempestuous when she was not in the air, in the cold, where her scars could be forgotten, if for but a moment.

Another blow from the man above him, and Lucien's vision swam into focus. He saw not the imposing figure of his captain, but the softer, bundled figure of the wisewoman, of her confidant, of perhaps the only other person on this ship who felt as he did. Lucien glanced up at Emryk, snarling at he who would desecrate her memory so, lashing out with a hand still embedded with dozens of glass shards, seeking to scar this man and blind him.

His hand was caught. The grip on it was loose, weak. Perhaps he had not tried as hard as he thought. Lucien whipped over to see his fledgeling, so pale and weak, how had he not found what was wrong with her yet? Had he been too busy feeling sorry for himself? His eyes softened, from bedrock to obsidian, and his arm went slack.

"Damn the earth. And damn you." He muttered bitterly.
 


Lucien's grip had been held back; the Baron's had not.

KRAK.

It was not in the nature of animals to show mercy, after all. Compassion was alien to instinct, and Emryk Vakaan had nothing left to spare. Nessa very well could've been worlds away as both hands wrapped around Lucien's skull, palms crushing inward as he jerked the vampire's head off of the ground and slammed it back into the concrete with a grunt. His eyes were frenzied; he had tasted blood, and he would not stop.

"JUST-- A DAMNED-- BOY-- I COULDN'T RECOGNIZE HIM-- !" More blows to rain down upon the man, hooks and savage hammer-fisted strikes against nose, against jaw, and against temple and forehead. Distant words rang hollow-- words not meant for him, but he chose to be insulted nonetheless. "WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? HE WAS-- WHY WOULD YOU LET HIM-- WHY WOULDN'T YOU--"

His eyes burned, yet they were unharmed. His chest heaved, a failing engine fueling piston-sharp strikes. He wanted to knock out teeth. He wanted to cave in this bastard's head like he'd done to Leo's. He wanted to cry, and he wanted a thousand apologies, but he could have nothing but his blood, his wounds, and his savagery. His clawed mitts rose high above his head, locking together as he brought them down, and down, and down, grunts ringing out into the empty space of the docks. Violence was the language of negotiation for beasts, and there were no men, here.

Only monsters.

 
It only took a few moments for everything to change. Juniper, to their credit, was doing their best to not pay attention, to not look at what was happening down below, on the docks. They were trying to just talk with Hester, trying to focus on continuing the conversations they had started in the Ice Lands, after everything had calmed down somewhat. It didn't work. They could hear Nessa and Emer's intervention, and they cast a glance over.

They couldn't hear what Lucien said, but he stopped, Nessa holding his arm back from the Baron. they both looked ragged, exhausted almost, and why wouldn't they be? Thinking the worst had passed, they looked back to Hester, a tired smile, small as it was, gracing their face for the briefest of moments.

Then, they heard the shouting.

And the cracking.

Juniper's face fell all at once, and they rushed to the railing. Emryk was-he was screaming. In a way that made them very self conscious, and part of them very afraid. If he couldn't stop it, what chance did they? They moved without knowing it, only realizing what they were doing as they were falling over the side, in the same fashion Nessa and Emer had. In that unconscious hurry, they forgot to account for the fact that they were of normal weight and strength.

The landing was jarring, and they were mostly certain they'd just hurt their ankle or leg in a pretty decent way, but they limped forwards regardless. They were shouting now, too, but their own words never made it to their ears. They had no idea what they were saying, what pleas they were asking of the Baron. They pushed forwards, past Emer, and placed both hands on the scaled shoulder of Emryk.

Their touch was beyond warm. It was blistering, hoping to snap him out of this rage, this feeling they knew all too well. Their words fell to a repeated mutter, a pitiful mantra more for their own sake than anyone else's.

"Stop, just stop, he's stopped, this isn't-"
 
Emer swept between the pair. Lucien's rage had faltered, but Emryk still persisted. Juniper moved past the wisewoman, placing hands on his large shoulder, so Emer tried to force herself firmly between them, thrusting her arm twixt Emryk and Lucien and fixing her eyes on the Al'Ashtavahk's own.

"Emryk." While she intended it to be stern - calm - resolute - the antithesis of, of, whatever this was, it came out in a strained choke. She blinked, and swallowed. "Emryk. Please."

She looked from him, to Lucien, and back to him.

"We have had - far enough bloodshed. Far enough hurt. We can talk of consequences, of - of intent - further on, but for now, please. Come back to the ship. Let me - treat you. Both of you. And then we may talk. If not for yourself, at least for me."

Her gaze settled on Lucien, now.

"And - for her."
 
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