RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

He hadn’t thought about that period in a long time.

“I was sixteen.” He said, after a moment of silence. “She hadn’t been captain for long, and every man on the crew talked about wanting to fuck her. Not to her face, they were too scared to say it to her face.” It wasn’t pleasant to dig up old memories, and Caleb didn’t like the feeling it brought him. He stood up and made his way to Alys, lips searching for her neck.

“I don’t want them to want to fuck me, just to like me.” He joked, hoping to lighten the mood. “I think you do. How did I make that happen?”
 
"I did not."

Emer's voice was low - a quiet hush, as if she were trying to hide them from anyone who might hear. From even Emryk. It tore at her heart. Yes, Leo was of her folk. He had not lived here long. He had not had much a chance to be known, to be understood, to be loved. But he was one of them, and now he was dead.

"But -"

Sky bless, Sinead would know what to do here. She would have the answer. She might do away with Lucien, as Emryk wished, but at least then Emer would have a Captain's word to hide her heart behind. She was one for wisdom. For consort, for clarity, for comfort. She was not one for choices. It was hardly her right.

And Caleb - poor Caleb. It was his rightful place to fill the silence Sinead had left, and he had chosen to stand by. But for all her trust, she could not believe one way or another if it was his decision out of reason, or a mistake out of fear. He was not hardened like she was. He was not final. And as much as it wasn't her place to question, she questioned all the same.

"He will not any longer. He will be brought to heel. And if it is a mistake to not let you strike him down where he lay - then that is a mistake I will take on my shoulders." She strode past Emryk, slipping the bracelet from the folds of her shawl. She turned it in her hands once. Twice. Then, she slid it onto Lucien's wrist, and stepped away. "Sinead was a cold woman, at times, but she did not keep him out of coldness. I will not betray her faith in me."
 
She allowed it for a second or two longer than she should have. But when her skin began to grow hot, Alys tilted her head away. Her hands found his shoulders and she steered him back gently, though it provided little relief. Choosing to ignore his bold statement and the question that followed, the fae tried to redirect the conversation.

"You're just a year older than me," she said first, quietly and absentmindedly, not meeting his gaze.

"She led through fear. And built loyalty from that. But I don't think you want to be like her. So if not fear, how do you get people to follow?"
 
Caleb didn’t protest when Alys made him stop, knowing as well as she did it wasn’t time for that. He didn’t pull away though, hands lazily resting on each side of her hips.

“I don’t know what loyalty looks like.” He admitted. He’d seen it, blind loyalty. First with his father then Emer, and Lucien to some extent. They'd tried it on him. Caleb had been hurt, threatened, but despite all of it, he was never loyal because of his fear. Fear had only ever made him angry.

“I don’t want to be afraid, and I don’t want them to be either. But no matter what I do to try and change that, it always ends up backfiring."
 
Her hands dropped, brushing past his wrists until they rested flat against the wooden surface behind her.

"I-..." she began, finally looking at his face. At the face of someone who didn't know loyalty, even when she'd offered it to him. He wanted more, that was clear. He wanted a crew.

"I don't know if you'll ever be unafraid," the fae said quietly. She also didn't know how to make the crew not hate him. He certainly made it difficult at times, even for her. "But you've been a Captain for what? A week? I find it hard to believe Sinead didn't ever fuck up, even if the entire crew wanted to get her into bed." She considered for a moment, then rose a brow and tilted her head, wondering if he'd been among them. If he'd eventually been successful.
 
Looking into Alys’ eyes, Caleb felt some of his worry melt away. He’d never had it before, someone to tell these kinds of things to. He trusted her, in a way he’d never thought he’d be able to in his life. At her raised brow, he smiled.

“Not the entire crew.” He said, giving her a quick kiss as a silent ‘thank you’. “I’m calling a crew meeting in a few hours to set some things straight, and tell them how that meeting went. I need you by my side.”
 
It wouldn't have mattered if the opposite were true. At least, she didn't think it would. The reassurance was nice though, the kiss quick, smile somewhat contagious.

Leaning back, edging further onto the desk, she gave him a slight nod. "I think that's a good idea. A chance for the rest of the crew to get a voice." Even though this wasn't a democracy.

Her smile wavered, expression hardening. "Don't get all of this twisted though. I'm still pissed at you." She paused. "But I'll be there."
 
"How did... you figure it out, Hester?"
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The necromancer sat back, head tilted, eyes aimed at the ceiling. What a question.

"Well. I could say books. But." She scraped a tangle of hair out of her face. "Necromancy's not pyromancy. It's not hungry. Or I suppose it is, but--it's a different kind of hunger, yes? It's not a dog; you don't need to leash it. It's slow and patient. It's after you--it couldn't care less about anything else. If you want to hurt other people with it, you need to trick it or distract it--with nails, effigies, constructs... And it doesn't eat them, the same way the core of it gnaws on you--it takes bits of them and makes them part of itself. Which, well. Taking bits of other things and making them my own is what were were doing anyway--before all of this." She shrugged, suddenly discomforted; her eyes dipped back to the constructs. The corner of her mouth quirked down into a scowl. "
 
“Famous? Shocked that anyone knows the old recluse’s name.” Nessa said as she made her way down the stairs. He didn’t go on raids often, but he had been with the ship for as long as there had been a ship, so she supposed it probably wasn’t too odd was it. “Just, y’know, try not to annoy him. Bound to take your limbs if you do.” She said with a quick flash of a smile before her gaze flicked to Argent.

“Been on the ship ‘bout five years, give or take.” Nessa said with a shrug after a moment. “Its not the worst gig.”
 
She didn’t look pissed, but after further consideration, he agreed she had every reason to be. Caleb didn’t let her get away, his hands making their way underneath her knees to pull her closer, to the edge of the desk.

“I’ll make it up to you.” he said with a devilish smile on his lips.

***

The last set of stairs took them to what Summer assumed to be the storage, considering all the boxes, and the brig. Summer wondered when was the last time they had someone locked up in there.

The final stop was a wooden door, half opened. She couldn’t help but peek inside.
 
They should've known it was so different. Obviously, it looked different, but part of them had hoped that maybe it wasn't as different as they thought, that Hester would just so happen to know something they didn't. Juniper sighed, then frowned, then set a construct down in front of them. "Sometimes," they began, leaning back against a cannon. "Sometimes, it feels like something else entirely. Something completely out of my control. Like, it's part of me, but I don't always feel like I'm the one calling the shots."

They sighed again, shaking their head. "I don't know, I guess I was hoping you knew something. I guess what I do is very different what you do, though, huh?" It was only then that the sorceress noticed the scowl on the necromancers face. For a moment, for a good, long moment, they considered asking what was wrong. They wanted to know what was wrong, so they could maybe help.

But helping wasn't always about providing a solution. Sometimes, it was providing a distraction. "Hey, you didn't get off the ship hardly at all in port. We're away from Leimor now, and I still haven't given the staff I found in the Ice Lands a good test drive. I promised that I'd let you take a look, right?"
 


Emryk allowed the wisewoman to say her piece, unmoving from his leaning perch against the countertop. His fist was clenched; his head hung low, for a moment, as he considered her words. The disappointment upon his face was plainly wrought for her to witness.

"No." He stated, simply. "I still have my guilt, Emer, and my responsibility. Simply saying it is your fault does not work, and you know that." Was it anger, now, that welled in his gut? Directed towards her, the sycophant, with her honeyed words and charitable portrayal of Sinead's motives? Just how infatuated was she with the late Captain's image? "And she kept Lucien around because he was a skilled killer, Emer. Sinead kept people upon the Hard Nox because they were useful to her. Lucien was a trained killer. Caleb was a good replacement and second. You were a skilled healer. Her relationships were one of convenience, not camaraderie."

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he was entirely right. Hardly mattered, now, didn't it? He'd already sullied her name while barking his insults against Lucien. His true feelings upon the matter, once held down to spare the feelings of the woman he loved, now came to light beneath the dying lantern of the clinic.

"Sinead is dead, Emer." Emryk declared, looking to her once more. "I am not. What of my faith in you?"

 
Dragging her forward by the back of her knees until they grazed each side of his waist, Alys did her best to keep a straight face. "Will you?" She asked with feigned skepticism, tilting a brow upward. "Does that include an apology? And an update about the final deal you made with the Peacock Man?"
 
“I took his man in, not sure if I should have or not. If he starts causing trouble we’ll toss him overboard, if not, he’ll go with us to a meeting scheduled in three weeks in Armadilla, to trade information on whatever we figure out about King.” As he talked, the smile faded into a more serious expression. Caleb’s tattooed hand went up, touching her beautiful golden hair and tucking it behind her left ear. “I didn’t tell him anything. Not about the mark, his army of harpies or the scars Hester told me he has all over his body.” His hand moved down and his gaze followed, slowly pulling the cord to untie the knot on her lace up shirt. His eye met hers again, just a palm away.

“I promised you no secrets, and I didn’t keep my promise. I won’t make that mistake again.”
 
Alys was beginning to lose whatever self-control remained. She'd gotten the information and apology that she was looking for, and although it was a terrible idea; pulling him away when he was likely needed by the crew, she couldn't deny that he'd been right.

She watched his face as he pulled on the drawstring, and met his gaze when he looked at her, searching for sincerity behind his words. And for whatever reason, she believed him.

"You won't," she repeated firmly, seriously, before the corners of her lips lifted upward. Squeezing her knees into his waist, she said, "You can start making it up to me now."
 
The new-place was strange. It wasn't a good-place. It smelled - wrong. Like deep filth, and old blood, and hidden violence. This was where her man-thing had come from, then? Where he had got that bitter scent. Naturally, given a new kingdom to behold, Pumpernickel had set out to investigate the territories she had been bequeathed by fate. She brushed against the corners, pressed her head into wood and cloth alike. If she was to have this place -

Well, she would leave it smelling better, at least.

She had found herself in some far corner, hidden in the dark recesses beneath something that stunk of a different man-thing. Not hers. One of the ones who lived here, she presumed, so one of her new subjects all the same. Then - footsteps. Words. Crouching, she crept to the edge of the shadow. The door had been closed. Her way out, stolen from her.

Bastards.

This was an elaborate trap, wasn't it? An assassination attempt on the high priestess. Closing her off from escape, then striking her down. But the two man-things didn't know she was here. No nefarious desires, simply soft-spoken words and touches. Mates? Her man-thing never brought home mates.

Crawling out from the shadows, she hopped up onto the edge of the wood-counter the pair were leaning against, making her presence known.

"Mrow."
 
She didn’t have to say it twice. Caleb kissed her, a long and intense kiss that didn’t stop until the third presence in the room made itself known.

How the fuck did Julian’s cat get there? He’d have to tell the cook later to keep it away from his room, or it’d end up in the stew. Caleb pulled off his shirt, whipping it at the feline so it’d scare it out of the desk.
 
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The quiet meow startled the fae, even with the thundering sound of her heartbeat echoing within her head. Her body jumped slightly and she joined Caleb in glancing at the feline, which had somehow gotten itself locked in with them. A bark of laughter escaped her lips as he threw his shirt at the feline. But just as quickly as the cat had taken her attention away, Alys found herself taking advantage of the bare arms and torso in front of her, her own shirt slowly sliding down either shoulder.

Pressing her lips against his neck, she scanned the room behind her, looking for other signs of movement. "Do you have anyone else hiding in here?"
 
They had visitors.

Unfamiliar visitors.

Mal didn't usually have to deal with the new ones- not unless they found themselves in the brig. They were, and always had been, entirely too impersonable. It wasn't always a matter of scaring them off. Sometimes, their abrasiveness was just irritating, and irritated guests tended not to make for good negotiation. Still, at this point in time, tensions were so bloody high, that their usual greeting of 'leave me alone, you land-hugging bilge-rat accident-waiting-to-happen' would end... poorly.

So, they turned towards the door, and- well, they still couldn't muster a smile, but they didn't immediately tell the intruder--the guest--to fuck off into the watery abyss.

"What did the captain drag in this time, hm?"
 
“Fresh blood” Nessa said, a flash of a smile on her lips as she poked her head into Mal’s workshop. He looked about as annoyed with this sudden drop in and he did with just about anything, which was probably a good sign. Irritated was better than actively annoyed anyway. Nessa flicked a finger over her shoulder first, and pointed to Argent,

“That one wanted a tour of the ship, so I’m being nice and showing him all the best spots. And this one,” Nessa’s finger flipped to Summer, “is shopping around for a new leg. Figured you could make some out of scrap or something, yeah?”
 
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