RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

It was inevitable for some people to gather around, though none of the Leimorians were brave enough to step too close. As more and more of them descended the ship, more and more people recognized them for who they were - There were posters all over the place after all.

“The Hard Nox!” A woman whispered to her maid. “Oh my, this is terrifying!” Despite the comment, an adrenaline ridden smile perked through her lips and she couldn’t look away. It was dangerous, but also... Exciting.

“Should we do something, sir?” A young guard asked his superior.

“Yes. Ring the bell, we’ll need every man on port.”
 
Echo. Special girl, in one way or the other, if he'd only met her once and was willing to go through such lengths to kidnap her.

The conversation continued, briefly interrupted by the long awaited arrival of alcohol. While the others took to the ale, Alys found her gaze following after the owner of the restaurant, settling on the new arrival. On her unfortunate situation beneath the table. She turned back though, scarred hand having found the glass in front of her. It prickled; the fresh pink around her wrist. Perhaps it'd been Echo who had given it to her. Perhaps Aamir would be thoroughly disappointed.

"Change of scenery. Free booze," Alys quipped, raising her glass and responding to the inquiry about why they'd bothered to show up. She took a generous sip.

"What we want? Depends on how much this Echo is worth. What do you think, Captain?" She looked towards Aamir, slight smile on her lips. Was she a white coat - as Caleb had asked. How special was she, how heavily guarded might she be? Would taking her impact Sol? How badly did Aamir want her?

Perhaps he didn't know.
 
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Ringing in the ears.

Pain.

Hate.

Juniper's hands found his shoulder, burning-- another sharp pain lost in the tide of agony and fatigue that had nearly drowned him. The whine was defeaning. All he could hear was the flicker of a flame-wreathed corpse-- the thudding crack of skull upon stone-- the hammering rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand was wrapped tight enough in the vampire's collar to rip the cloth; his fist was cocked back, poised to finish the job. He was unconscious. Dead, even, from a cursory glance. He could finish the job. Kill him.

But then she was there, and the burn found his mind, and he paused-- twisting away in a dull shock, eyes wild as they settled upon the wisewoman, and then to the girl. Fist still cocked back, breath still heaving, clawed wounds and blood soaking his scales as it dripped from his maw and fist in equal measure. The cloth that wrapped his knuckles had split, coming away sodden with crimson and fully stained; his scales were split along the hand, the abnormal bruising of his flesh leaving a deep, rusted tone up to the forearm. He said nothing, for a moment. A great shameful silence passed in the space between the five of them, until Emryk's gaze flickered with a low, sharp pain-- a pleading stare, perhaps, as he looked from Juniper, to Nessa, and finally to Emer.

"Why?" He spoke. The word cracked as he whispered it; his eyes burned. "So-- so he can k-kill-- and I have to allow it? The same mistake as Naveen? Why do they get to live, and others-- die for it?" Gone was the rage, gone was the fury, replaced with a low, whimpering hiss of contempt that he could hardly control. His breath came out in a ragged heaving; Emryk's snout curled into a grimace as he looked up at the sky, fist still raised, arm still ready. It would be so easy. It would be so quick. He let out a grunt of frustration, low and pained, before a sigh accompanied the noise.

"... he didn't deserve what you did to him." A quiet, shuddering condemnation fell harsh as his gaze found Lucien-- almost peaceful in his sleep. How fortunate. Face battered, but he could feel the faintest stir of muscle beneath. No breath. Never any breath. He could have caved the bastard's head in, and there would hardly have been a change. What satisfaction would he garner from killing that which was already a corpse? "And you deserve so, so much worse, but you live because of them. Their mercy. That you do not deserve." But life was hardly ever what people deserved, so he would settle for this. Whatever this was.

Emryk's eyes glanced up to the growing crowd, his breaths labored as he dropped his fist, finally, and relaxed his grip upon Lucien's collar. Old urges harkened back to the days of the pit; the cheer of the gathered crowd, the warmth of shed blood upon the flesh. The rawness of knuckles, the soreness of bones that came with the low satisfaction of victory. But there was nothing to be won, here. Pyrrhic. Empty. A tired gaze found Nessa's, devoid of satisfaction.

"Please send for the Captain and First Mate at the Last Meal. Immediately." He stated. "We need to leave." And with a low rattle of strained lungs, the Baron stood-- still holding Lucien by his collar, and dragging him with uneven steps back to the ship. He said nothing more-- gaze fixed forward, hand clenching bloodied cloth. The sobering lull of reality made living a chore, but he persisted. Somehow.

"I will regret this." He muttered to himself, hauling the vampire's body back to the Nox. Both men lived another day, and not by each other's hand. "... worse still, I know that I will."

 
What a farce this meeting was, and it seemed clear enough at this point that the Nox was far more interested in keeping its treasure hold fat and happy than they were anything else. Perhaps she should have expected as much from a ship known primarily for its predilection for turning pleasant towns into ember and ash, but still, couldn’t quite rid herself of the feeling of listening to nobility complain about how much coin they were being cost due to the crooked things hunting merchants between the trees. Winter washed such thoughts away with a pull of ale, and a sigh.

“My dear, as important as a discussion of an equitable alliance between our two ships might be, we seem to be getting distracted.” Winter spoke smoothly, there was no point in letting annoyance tinge her voice, or would it just be disappointment? “As I have stated, and as has my captain, we have already made a deal with your wise woman for some of her people’s folk tales.” At this, Winter lowered her voice, though it was hard to say if the woman ordering wine actually cared to listen.

“Rumor stands that one of the tales passed down by the Aos Goetha contains the secret to King’s base of power. Something we have been chasing down, and I believe would be beneficial for both of our ships.” She took another bite of roast as it was becoming clear that would be the only positive from this meeting.
 
"Morning was fine. Up until now." Hester grimaced, glaring down at the docks. "I'm going to go clean up belowdecks and find somewhere to hide before those guards come aboard. See you." The necromancer pushed away from the railing and jogged back toward the stairs belowdecks.
 
They couldn't get through to him. It made sense, they supposed, given everything that had just happened. Still, something about it felt sour- felt wrong. So often, Emryk had given them good advice, sound advice, and Juniper had been trying to take it to heart. It was hard.

Clearly, it was too hard for him. What chance did they have?

The crowd was beginning to mutter. Emryk drug the unconscious form of Lucien back to the ship, still somehow finding it within himself to give orders. Juniper didn't protest, and didn't watch to see if Nessa was going to follow them. They instead retreated to the ship not long after Emryk, though after he was out of sight. They didn't want to be seen, didn't want to hear the crowd talking. Being on the ground when the guards arrived would only be worse.

Their head hurt.

Instead, the changeling followed a familiar voice, one who was not as invested in everything- Hester. They caught up with her somewhere belowdecks, though they couldn't be sure where exactly. Through a hoarse voice, they offered apology. "I get if you'd rather be alone, but- uh, I need quiet, right now. You... seem the best to be around for that. If you don't mind."
 
"Of course," Hester said, waving a hand airily to cover her shock. She'd been in the middle of disassembling a construct too big to move quickly; she kept her eyes locked on her project. The whole 'people actually want to be around me' thing would get less surprising one day, surely.

"Did you see the cau--oh. Quiet. Yes." Oops.
 
"Argent." Aamir's tone was a warning one, which would have worried anyone who hadn't known him for longer than a few hours. He raised an eyebrow, and then the half-empty mug. "If you keep talking like this, I'm going to have to promote you."

Well, maybe there was a threat involved, after all, from certain perspectives. He'd offered to promote Argent before, and the damn man was too sensible and kept turning him down.

Good thing they had Sky for backup. He had no sense at all and had accepted the position right away.

"All right, all right. Look. I'm not paying anyone to do the job. The question is whether you want to do it anyway. King's already got an eye on your ship, and if you want to keep it and not end up part of his fuel stores, I'd say it's in your best interest. Now. We'll be trying to gather information - stories, tales, whatever we can get our hands on. We'll be in Armadilla in... oh, two-three weeks time, I think. If you can keep from setting it on fire long enough to meet up and exchange information, it could be good for both of us."
 

"I'm afraid they already paid for the roast, dear. You're welcome to ask, but I have a few cuts of venison that were untouched; I'd be happy to prepare you something. Your choice." He almost turned to leave, until her commentary upon the restaurant stopped him; there was a tense discomfort that settled upon his body as he looked back over his shoulder, though the unease diffused into his typical, albeit tired, regality.

"I'm afraid your curiosity will have to remain unsated." He stated, simply, with a shrug of shawled shoulders. "I woke up bloodied and beaten. Something came in the night, attacked me and the shop, and left. Gangs, most likely. I'm not known for my tact."

And then he disappeared for a minute or so, into the kitchen proper; he returned with a bottle of wine a moment later, setting it down on the table alongside a glass.

"And what brings you here, hm? Besides the good food."

 
Alys stole the words out of his lips, so Caleb kept them busy with the ale while the people around him talked. One cup to relax, and perhaps a glass of wine later to keep him happy, that’s how far he’d allow himself to go. He’d gotten in enough trouble sober.

“Three weeks. Fine by me.” Caleb said at last. It was perfect really, he had nothing to lose and a potential ally if Aamir managed to find anything of worth. He considered sharing the little information he had about King, but despite his instinct telling him Aamir was telling the truth, he couldn’t know for sure he wasn’t one of his followers sent to mess with him.

“Now that that’s out of the way-” He said after finishing off his ale, grabbing the bottle of wine and uncocking it with his teeth. “Tell me more about this girl you fancy.” He poured himself a glass and smiled. “How pretty is she?”

***

“No, thanks. Venison is fine.” She chuckled at the prospect of asking for leftovers from the table nearby, taking a sip of the wine directly from the bottle. The explanation he gave for the restaurant was weak, but her curiosity had been satisfied in other ways by the time he returned with another question. What was she there for, indeed.

“Waiting for something of mine to get fixed, and then I'll go looking for a ride that’ll get me out of this goddamn island in exchange for labour. Do you know anyone I could ask?”
 

She'd asked who she could hitch a ride from to get away from Leimor. The response would've been immediate, wouldn't it? But, no. Instead, he simply offered a kind smile, tilting his head somewhat.

"Haven't the faintest idea, darling. I wish I could help you. You're best off asking the fishing boats by the pier, or some merchant ships if you can buy passage. Was how I got here," Julian stated, taking a step away. "And how I'd leave it, if I could."

Ships only had so much room, after all. Competition wouldn't do, if he needed to get aboard the Nox. And what was she going to do, if she found out he hadn't been telling her the whole truth? Run after him?

"Venison's an excellent choice, love. I'll bring it out."

 
“Ah.”

Nessa found herself locked in place, even after the blows stopped falling. Her lips were parted, and there was that heavy smell of copper and salt between them. He wasn’t a good man, she wasn’t a fool, but was he so… was she so…? The tip of Nessa’s tongue lingered on the edge of a fang, as sharp as it ever was. Did her claws scrape Lucien’s wrist when it had been wrenched from her grasp? Nessa flexed her fingers, felt the nip of her claws against the palm of her hand.

A direct address drew her from her stupor, and Nessa’s gaze rose from the blood soaking into the thirsty wood of the dock and to Emryk’s retreating back.

“Making your house better, is it?” Nessa turned away. A crowd had gathered, and Nessa could guess what they were whispering about.

“Fuck.” Maybe Hester was right. Still, with a flash of teeth, Nessa dashed down the pier heading for the Final Meal.
 
After a moment, Juniper responded. "... no. Just heard them crash through Lucien's wall." They didn't blame Hester for asking, not in the slightest. They likely would have too, in their shoes, and almost certainly wouldn't have caught theirself until after the full question had been asked.

Despite that, it wasn't exactly a subject she was keen on ruminating on. Instead, they turned their eyes to what Hester was working on. It was grim, certainly, but they lit candles with a fire that had destroyed small towns, so who were they to judge? Magic was magic at the end of the day, and deep down, they were still that bright eyed child who wanted to learn it all.

"What are you working on?"
 
Ah, now there was the first truly insightful question of the evening, in Aamir's opinion. Obviously the Boy Captain had a lot to learn, but he was asking the right questions, and who better to learn it from?

"All women are beautiful," Aamir said, gesturing with the mug, holding it in a practiced, steady hand that didn't spill a drop despite the movement. "Some of them haven't learned it yet. Some of them have forgotten. Some of them do not believe. But! We lucky ones, sometimes we teach, sometimes we remind, sometimes, we give them a little faith."

Aamir smiled, then set the mug down and leaned forward.

"Do you have your mind on one, Caleb O'Cain?"
 
Was the blind woman irritated? Alys hoped that she was. Because the patronizing feel behind her words, as if the fae were a child, made Alys want to leap across and bury her dagger into the blind woman's neck. Instead, she settled on having her left hand disappear beneath the table, palm and fingertips pressing harshly into the flesh above her knee. Her right hand guided the glass of ale to her mouth for another generous gulp.

She hadn't known about this deal between Emer and the Cutter crew. A detail that would've been nice to know, or better yet, discussed with the wise woman. Her fingertips dug in deeper. At the very least there was clarity, and a possible solution to their Sol problem - one completely dependent on folk tales.

Folk tales the Cutter had attempted to extract during the kidnap. And since they were caught and unsuccessful, now needed to approach the Nox seeking an alliance. As the fae watched Aamir speak, once more diverting the question and offering no additional details about Echo, she knew she wouldn't trust them. But could they use them? Caleb seemed to think so.

Having come to some agreement, begrudgingly and silently on Alys' part, she finished off the glass of ale. She'd need at least a couple more to continue sitting in this company, perhaps another five to be apart of this conversation. How unfortunate that getting drunk, as badly as she needed it, was a terrible idea. Later. Definitely later.

Rolling back her shoulders, Alys pushed her empty plate away. "Of course he does. Where would we be without women?" Without sparing Caleb a glance, she turned towards Argent. "What about you? Has a woman been on your mind? Or maybe two or three?"
 
The mug of ale did not survive the next round of the conversation, unfortunately. The Nox’s second answered his question glibly, in true pirate fashion. Argent silently raised his mug to the sentiment, as he was of the same mind. An agreement that filled both of their pockets would be ideal.



When Winter spoke Argent found himself drinking for a different reason. Each word held a hidden edge, much like the blind woman herself. If Aamir had asked for intimidation he might have asked it of her in that moment, and she might have obliged willingly. Argent had come in the hopes of avoiding an overt conflict. They might have had the number advantage in the moment but they were bound lose face to face with Nox’s firepower.



Aamir’s sharp tone took Argent away from the cup for a moment, only to drink even deeper at the suggestion of making him an officer. From his Captain’s lips, to his ears; that was a death sentence, and as much of a warning as was needed.



By the time he was questioned directly the bottom of the mug was shallow indeed, and Argent drained the remainder before returning the fairy woman’s gaze with his own. There was again a crinkling around his eyes, and a new ruddiness to his cheeks after such good brew.



”While I must agree with my Captain in essence, Miss Alys, I’ve found that it’s best to keep only one woman to mind at any given moment.” He paused to reach for the wine, though he only filled his cup a little before taking a sip. ”And that woman should always be the one in front of you. Wouldn’t you agree, O’Cain?” Though he spoke the man’s name his gaze remained fixed on the captain’s second.
 
Haven’t the faintest idea my ass.

The woman smiled a ‘thank you’, nodding as the man left and made his way back into the kitchen. A meeting in Armadilla was scheduled at the table ahead, but the group didn’t seem ready to leave just yet. With the subject changing, she looked at the two women at the table, questioning if they were interested in the conversation or bothered by it.

***

“To women.” Caleb cheered, and once again, Alys answered on his behalf. He wondered if she feared he’d speak too much, or if she didn’t want to know what he’d answer to that question. With his blind spot, it was impossible to look for an answer in her expression, but he could see Argent just fine.

“You should reconsider flirting with my second, Argent. You saw what happened to yours.” He joked.
 
Though he spoke to Caleb, the man kept his eyes on Alys. She looked back, smile widening when a response was given. "Sensible advice, Captain," she mused, once again reaching for her glass. Reaching, and lifting it towards Argent, who now held the bottle of wine. A silent request for a refill. "Sensible, but boring. Tell me, Argent. Are you a boring man?"
 
ShoddyProduct said:
"What are you working on?"
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"The problem with necromancy," Hester said, glancing over at the pyromancer, "or one among many, I suppose, is that it leaves a great deal of physical evidence. It isn't illegal, here, but the College likes to maintain its monopoly. And few ships have a necromancer aboard, even in Leimor's harbour." She twisted a bone perhaps a touch harder than was strictly necessary; the material snapped, and with a curse she set it aside.

"Those idiots made the portmaster's day complicated, so I suspect they're going to make our day worse, if they can. There'll be a search. I'd like to provide them with as few reasons to make that search detailed as possible. Maybe we'll get away with a bribe." Or maybe she'd be better off jumping overboard and swimming for it.
 
The corner of Argent’s mouth turned ever slightly upward at Caleb’s reply, lips parted to speak just before Alys did so instead. A quirk to the other corner accompanied the bottle as he raised it to the rim of her glass.



”More boring than Sky, perhaps. I try to use my head for more than ornamentation, you see.” He filled her glass well and set the bottle to the side, taking another cautious sip from his own mug. ”But you can hardly call anyone in our line of work truly boring. I’m sure I have more than a few surprises about me if you’re interested in looking.”



The young captain’s advice was likely sound indeed, though Argent expected the lead that threatened him might come from another barrel.
 
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