RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

Mal was early, as expected. Though working on the leg had taken a while, they were able to finish it long before they would have to even consider leaving for the meeting, resulting in a happy customer for once. They didn't usually get to make things for people who appreciated them, though time would tell whether or not their newest client would beat her leg into splinters. Or get a single chip in it. Both were equally disrespectful.

They took a perch at the wall by the door, not really caring for the feast before them, appealing as it looked. They didn't need food, nor could they taste it.

There was a bitterness to their face, but that was to be expected- and, so too, was that bitterness to last.
 
“Summer.” She responded, taking a long sip to accompany Alys. Her eyes followed the fae’s towards the captain, who initiated the meeting by calling out a tall man that was busy talking to Nessa and Emer, sorrow emanating from the poor wisewoman.

“What happened to her?” She whispered, hoping the officer was in the mood to spread some gossip to a total stranger.
 
"Fuck if I know," Alys muttered with a shrug, lips brushing over the rim of her mug. The small grouping around Emer had seen better days, with the undead man who'd been severely beaten appearing to be the most alive among them.

It wasn't a complete lie - she'd heard mutterings and could make logical assumptions, but Alys hadn't spoken directly with the wise woman since their chat yesterday morning. She assumed it was a combination of factors; the recent death of her closest friend, being kidnapped, tending to the man she cared about, as well as his foe. Their foe. And judging from Emryk's hardened stare, why not add a lover's quarrel to the list?

"I should be asking you the same question," she added, turning back to look at Summer, then glancing down to the floor. She couldn't see the injured leg, but remembered the empty space between her pant leg and the ground, back at the Last Meal.
 
"I am fine, dear," Emer lied. Grabbing at the edges of her shawl, she drew herself up against the wall, taking a deep breath and releasing it through her teeth. "Simply a long day. You need not to fret over me, alright?"

She patted Nessa on the shoulder and smiled gently.

Too much hate, too much hurt. No need to add another shadow on the horizon, especially for those who had much better lives to live than one of dismal worry.

"I -"

Before she had a chance to say what she was about to say, whatever she was about to say, one of those shadows made their presence known. Lucien, looking no worse for wear. His injuries were gone. It was not unsurprising - expected, even - but even with that, underneath, there was -

Something. Something different, about him.

"I treated you, yes," she replied, body tensing. "As is my duty and my purpose. Do not think we are friendly for it."

She looked away from him, then, and across the room. Another shadow was here. One of her own making. He did not seem well - though, she could not judge. She doubted she looked any better. For a half second, their eyes met. Then, as if stricken, she flinched away, eyes shifting back to the cold certainty of the wooden floor.

She was not ready to speak with him. He was not ready to speak with her. Whatever - whatever came of that would come, she supposed, in due time.
 
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Lightning was so, so very different from fire. Of course, Juniper knew that coming in. The moment they picked up that staff in the Ice Lands, they knew it was different. It was faster, more erratic, more volatile. It made them antsy and, in the worse moments, anxious. It didn't, though, contribute to their anger, or their fear. No, the worst they felt at that moment was just the lack of focus.

Through some stroke of luck, they'd managed to convince Hester to come above decks, for fresh air and a bit of goofing off with magic. It was something Juniper used to do a lot, in years past, but hadn't found time for on the Nox. They spent what time they had shooting sparks between their fingertips, sending small bolts off into the sky as the necromancer watched from the side.

They liked to think they helped. It was very clear, though, that something was still bothering her. Juniper didn't pry. They knew how it felt to have someone pestering constantly, trying to get at something you didn't want to talk about, or feel. They spent most of that time just trying to give her something else to think about, something lighthearted and warm and fun.

She didn't come to the meeting, and Juniper didn't blame her. They went, though. Of course they went. This was the closest thing they had to a home, it was the only place they could think they deserved to be, given their history. From near the center of the room, they watched in a hesitant, tentative silence. No one in this room was happy.

Lucien was back on his feet, no worse for wear. The changeling wasn't relieved, by any sense of the word, but they didn't hate seeing him still alive. Maybe they'd come to regret it- they'd almost certainly come to regret it- and of course he'd gone to Nessa immediately. She was with Emer, who looked positively awful, and what was strangest about it was that Emryk was nowhere near her. He didn't look very well either, almost vacant in a way they'd never seen from him before.

As Caleb began to speak, Juniper found theirself wishing they had instead gone with Hester and avoided this like the plague. Somehow, they instead found theirself standing near Mal, the only person aboard who they knew wished they weren't on the ship. "What do you think this is about?" they asked, taking a seat beside the shipwright.
 
The pirate crew was having a meeting.

Pris was not really sure if she was supposed to be there. She was sort of a stowaway, after all. At least, she had been a stowaway, for a while, but now everyone knew she was here. Was she really a stowaway if everyone knew she was here? If there was only one person and they were keeping your secret, that was okay, but she felt like she had sort of gotten past that point.

She'd talked to the Captain earlier. It hadn't been a very long conversation, but she had talked to him, and he had at least... well, he hadn't told her to get off the ship, had he? And Miss Alys seemed to think she was fine to be there. And Miss Emer.

She had tried to hide in the kitchen again, like usual, but there had been a person there. That had been a surprise. Well, she was used to people being there, and Mr. Emryk being there, but this was someone new, and new people were terrifying. He also seemed like he knew what he was doing, and that was definitely terrifying. Mr. Emryk did not particularly care if some of her carrot slices weren't even, but this person seemed like he would - not that she had talked to him or anything. She had noticed him, sort of squeaked, and gone to hide with the goats.

That had been fine for a little bit, too, except then one of the goats had started trying to eat her shirt, and Pris wasn't going to let that happen - especially since she had had an actual wash after cleaning up in the brig and was currently wearing what she considered her good shirt, which was borrowed from Miss Emer and only a little bit too big, the sort of too-big that could pass for I meant for this to look like a tunic and not this sort of looks like my old acolyte robes, only not white. Of course, those had also been too big, because Mr. King wasn't really in the habit of keeping things around that fit children, but neither was Mr. O'Cain, so that was just another little similarity, but not one that she minded.

Lady Fingers had nudged her towards the meeting. Pris was pretty sure that constructs weren't supposed to do that, and she did keep meaning to ask Hetty about it, but everyone was busy and-

-And, okay, she had made up a lot of excuses, because she didn't really want to admit that she hadn't done her necromancy right. But maybe she would. Or not. Maybe it was fine to keep pretending that Lady Fingers listened like she was supposed to.

Pris was attempting to set a good example by listening like she was supposed to - or, at least, like she was supposed to if she was a pirate and not a stowaway. She didn't really feel like a pirate. Maybe she needed some better boots - big stompy ones. She bet she would feel like a pirate if she had stompy boots. She just had soft inside shoes, which she almost never wore, except in the kitchen. She looked down from the bench where she was sitting and wiggled her toes.

It probably wasn't worth getting big stompy boots until she stopped growing, anyway.

Oh, well. Maybe no one would notice her. Or - maybe, maybe-hopefully, they would notice her and think that she was supposed to be here, just like all the rest of the pirates. And if people did that...

...Well, then maybe they could convince her of it.
 
Lucien simply scoffed.

“I am not a fool, Emer. I think you would struggle to kill any person, even one whom you so despise.” There was something different about her, and Lucien caught her flinch and followed where her gaze had been merely a half-second ago. The recipient of that gaze was bandaged, flushed, and had the barely noticeable stench of alcohol on his breath. Lucien barely managed to pick it out from amongst the other scents in the mess where so many were already drinking. But there was a difference between ale from the cask and whiskey from the bottle. It was similar to blood from the neck versus what he had contained in a flask at this moment.

Speaking of, Lucien produced a flask from within his jacket, what had most likely once been ornate before a significant portion of its face had been scratched, as though someone was trying to hide or remove what was underneath. He took a sip, enjoying the warmth of cloves, honey, and orange all blending beautifully with the rich blood. This was one of his personal favorites. He held it towards Nessa, gesturing for her to take it, if she felt so inclined. If she chose not to, he would simply replace it within his cloak.

His attention was quickly dragged towards the front by O’Cain calling his name. Of course, now was the time he would gloat over whatever damnable contraption this was. Lucien raised his arms, flicking his hands as they reached head height. His sleeves fell down with them, revealing the bone bracelet firmly wrapped around his wrist. All the while, the vampire remained cool, unfazed, his signature smirk filled with all the disdain he could possibly muster towards one single fairy.
 
It was there. The bracelet was there.

With that weight off his shoulder, Caleb looked around, searching for Emryk, who stood by the door in the worst state he’s ever seen him in.

“Be grateful my quartermaster didn’t kill you. From what I heard he could have.” His eye turned to Lucien once again, and he took slow steps forward while addressing him, as well as the entire crew. “This bracelet you have on is a gift from our resident necromancer. It was made for Leo, but now you’ve killed him, it belongs to you.”

He stopped in front of Lucien, far enough away that he didn’t have to raise his chin too much to look him in the eye. For the first time, he felt he had power over him, and it was a feeling he very much enjoyed.

“It contains the spirit of an angry johtunn, that will be set free and consume you if any more blood is spilled by your hands.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It hasn’t been tested, but I believe in Hester’s capabilities. Do you?”

***

Summer didn’t know a lot about Emer, but based on the exchange of looks she caught between her and the quartermaster, there was enough to be speculated. She took another sip of her ale while listening to what the captain had to say - A cursed bracelet; that was interesting.

Her gaze turned back to Alys, who looked down at her foot, covered by the hem of her pants. She pulled it up, offering her a better look at Mal’s handiwork.

“You have a very generous crew. It was the first time I’ve gotten anything for free, and it’s quite charming, isn’t it?” She looked back up, holding her chin on her hands, with her elbows at the edge of the table and a carefree smile on her lips. “Pirates took it, a long time ago. Is there anything else you wanna know?”
 
“Are you referring to the johtunn that the pup killed as a newly-born vampire? When he barely knew any of his strength, any of his power?” Lucien sneered, looking down his nose at Caleb. So that was his gambit. He wanted to forcibly bring Lucien to heel, and kill him if he ever tried to disobey. He would have to try a lot harder than that.

“Alright, I’ll play along. But two things, Captain.” Lucien drew the word out as he lowered his arms, not bothering to adjust his sleeves to hide the bracelet. That would show cowardice, wanting to hide his supposed scarlet letter. He would not give them the satisfaction.

“First, let us not forget that it was you who ordered me to kill Leo. You could not handle a new vampire so you ordered me to put him down. Interesting to see how you repay loyalty.” Lucien knew that none on the ship expected him to be loyal to O’Cain, but if even the smallest seeds of mutiny could be planted, then Caleb would realize that Lucien did not need to spill blood in order to harm.

“Second, she never needed to wrap a chain around my throat to ensure my obedience.” Lucien sneered, knowing where the dagger would land. “I for one cannot wait to see how else you fail to live up to her legacy.”
 
“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done it regardless. She may not have put you on a leash, but she kept you well fed.” Caleb stepped closer, with Lucien’s words meant to intimidate, having the opposite effect. “I hope for your sake you still have some of those bottles left.”

“I have no intention of living up to a whore’s legacy.” He sneered out, turning to Emer afterwards, knowing the effect those words would’ve had on her, while addressing everyone in the room. “I’m tired of all the excessive killing. I have many regrets, and I’m sure most of you have too. If you want things to go back to the way they were, there are plenty of pirate crews out there you can join, heck, even the Truth Teller. I want things to be different for us.”

“We’re getting rid of the crow cages, for good.” He said, looking at Juniper. “We’re not killing innocent people, if we can avoid it. There is plenty of gold that can be stolen without the need to burn down an entire village.” At last, he looked at Alys, remembering the conversation they’ve had earlier. “I’m also… Willing to listen. I know I’m not most people’s favorite person, but I’m asking you to give me a chance.”
 
Ah.

It had been wrong to come here with an unclear mind.

Emer opened her lips, as if to speak, as if to interject, then stopped, thinking better of it. Instead, she met Caleb's glance for less than a second - eyes still read, face still dark - before again turning away. Emryk's own words still hounded her. That cut had only sent them ringing through her head once more. Tightening her grip around herself, she turned, brushing behind Nessa and Lucien with a whispered apology.

The door slammed in her wake as she slipped into the hall.
 
Mr. Lucien was being sarcastic, but he also sort of had a point. Miss Emer was just too nice to kill people, really. And maybe that was what he was trying to say, and he just wasn't very good at it. She gave him a little smile that she hoped was encouraging, her quiet approval turning to curiosity as he raised his hands at Captain O'Cain's directions. The bone bracelet captured her attention even before the Captain told them what it was, and his explanation only fascinated her further.

"Oooooh, neat." A whisper, to Lady Finders, perched on her shoulder. "I wonder if I could make one?" She didn't have an angry johtunn spirit, but spirits were easy to get, as a pirate - and they were pretty much always angry.

The information about how Mr. Leo had died was... complicated. Pris didn't really know what to make of it. She was sorry he'd had to die like that, but also - well. It was complicated. She raised her hand, fingering the necklace she wore thoughtfully.

A door slammed, making her jump. Pris turned her head, wondering what that had been about. Oh - Miss Emer was gone.

She wasn't sure what to do about that, but maybe it was time to not really be a pirate for a minute, if that meant she didn't need to be in the meeting. "You stay here and come get me if there's anything I need to be here for, okay?" Lady Fingers... might listen. Pris didn't know if she would or not, but she was at least willing to sit quietly on the bench as Pris got up on quiet feet and slipped out the door, closing it behind her - very softly.

The ship wasn't that big, and she knew all the hidey holes by now - though it wasn't likely that Miss Emer was in the cabinets with the potato sacks. Still, she couldn't be that hard to find.

"Miss Emer?"
 
“What?” Nessa’s voice escaped before she could catch it and her gaze sliced from Lucien to Caleb and back again. What sort of goddess fucking circus had this ship been through in the last half of a day? Leo was dead? Leo had killed Ronan? Caleb had ordered Lucien to kill Leo? The hells sort of threat was Leo, was he going to try to dance them all to death or drown them in soap? But then there was Ronan… and that damned folk dance.

Emotion twisted through Nessa’s face, horror to revulsion to anger to sadness to a flash of fangs as her lips curled from her teeth. Her gaze moved again between the two as if she couldn’t quite decide which of them was most deserving of her ire. Maybe they both deserved it in equal measure, though it wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty to give away at the moment.

“What did you do.” There was less shock, and acid dripped between the words. Which one the words were aimed at didn’t particularly matter. There was a fleeting thought to the flash of fists and a nagging mention of vampirism. What part of this was improving one’s home? “What in the goddess’s name is wrong with you.”
 


Two steps forward, three steps back.

It was often the case, in life. Progress did not come without pain. Emryk scoffed as Lucien began his little tirade; while it might've been infuriating upon any other occasion, the contempt was mollified solely due to the fact that he was able to perfectly envision Kilta's pummeled vision in his mind's eye. It did wonders as an outlet for his stress, and he closed his eyes to sigh, crossing his arms tight along his bandaged chest and leaning back against the wall. Keeping himself steady, trying to focus upon lessening the spinning of the room and the subtle whine in his ears.

Caleb was the next to speak. Only when the slam of doors sounded beside him, did he open his eyes once more; Emer had left in a hurry. It seemed she had once again sought to run away from things she did not like to hear; she was awfully good at that. Fortunately, it was no longer his problem. The twinge in his gut-- guilt, and shame-- was sidestepped by alcoholic apathy, and he rolled his shoulders with a twitch of his snout, focusing instead upon what Nessa said. Of all the people who spoke, he was most interested in what she had to say-- and was most interested in the answers she was owed.

"Answer the woman, Captain." He spoke. "Want us to give you a chance? Honesty. No more lies, no more half-truths, no more omissions. I am not interested in the games Sinead played-- nor do I think you have her skill, in that regard." Blunt. Too blunt. He shrugged his shoulders. "And I believe me when I say that I mean that entirely as a virtue."

 
Perhaps bringing up Leo’s death like that hadn’t been the best way to relay the news, but it wasn’t like Caleb had had a say in it. He felt nauseous, not because of fear of Lucien, it was a different kind of fear; And guilt, though it lasted but a second before he pushed it away.

“I was scared of what he could do.” Caleb said. “When we were in the Ice Lands, Leo attacked me out of nowhere. When we tried to help, he confronted all of us, and we still don’t know if he freed Naveen intentionally or not. I wasn’t willing to bet on him, and I don’t regret my decision. If he had escaped and killed someone else, it would’ve been on me.” There it was, the honesty Emryk had asked for. Not all of it, some truths would have to stay hidden forever.

“Not all vampires are like you, Nessa. You’ve never killed for sport, and you don’t even drink blood anymore.” She did look more tired than before, but it hadn’t killed her like he thought it would. “I wish there were more like you, but I think you’re the exception.”
 
Argent’s gaze flicked from face to face, around the room almost manically as he tried to take in the wealth of information that was being laid out. On the other side of the door frame a mountain of scales and scars lumbered in smelling of sweet wine and the faint hint of dried blood. A heavy cloud hung around him, soaked with more than just the alcohol as he glanced toward the feathered and shawled woman with bags under her eyes. A single eyebrow arched at their silent exchange, the woman looking for an instant as beaten as the lizard he could only assume had been responsible for Kilta’s earlier injuries.



Pale eyes slid from Emryk and the Aos Gaotha, over the waif from before and onto a hearty and hale Lucien who sneered at his new Captain. So his beating was earned from killing a fellow crew member, and O’Cain was clearly trying to establish his position through it all. The vampire wasn’t playing along, though. Argent’s arms crossed pensively as he glanced toward the Nox’s second, and the hobbled elf with a new spring in her step. A veritable minefield of dangers in a single room.



The tension only worsened, the waif joining in with a demand for clarity. Argent hadn’t noticed her fangs, hadn’t pieced together what she was until that moment. He should have been more careful with her during his tour, unique among her kind or no. The mountain next to him rumbled and supported her demand for an explanation, for truth. Argent almost laughed at that, at the very idea of a pirate offering honesty.



He supposed O’Cain offered a kernel of it at most with his reply. Argent found himself leaning back against the doorframe, arms crossed and a slight quirk at the edge of his lips. This meeting was certainly a good idea; for him at least. It might have taken him half of his time here to get so much information, if he were able to earn that kind of trust at all.



Of course, none of it was useful for his end goal, but every step taken was a step forward.
 
She wasn't difficult to find, with some searching - though perhaps not in the most comfortable place for Pris to be. Emer stood on the top of the deck, leaning on the rail, watching listfully out to the deep blue expanse of the sky. She didn't notice Pris approaching, and startled slightly when the girl spoke, glancing over her shoulder before returning her attention to the open air.

Empty.

"Ah - hello, dear," she murmured. She glanced at Pris again. "Is something the matter? How may I help?"

She braced her shawl against the wind, lowering her head as she stepped away from the rail.
 
Half a glance at the prosthetic, at a familiar flash of teeth as Summer gave her a sweet smile, yet Alys' prolonged attention quickly turned away. She heard the woman's words, and paired them quickly with her demeanor. They were cut from a similar cloth, the two of them, though certainly not the same. Alys had worked, hard. In her world, there was no such thing as a handout, no matter how charming or pretty you were.

The words she paid closer attention to brought an air of stillness to her body, a quiet tension that radiated from her skin. Her fingers unconsciously brushed the holster at her hip, the pistol loaded with something special. The vampire wasn't stupid enough to do anything here, but she didn't have nearly as much faith in the necromancer as the Captain did. Fortunately, the conversation continued.

She bristled at some of his choice of words, but when he looked at her, she held his gaze and gave him the smallest of nods. Someone had to back him, and as some of the others continued to rain down their criticisms, quick to forget their own grave mistakes, latching onto a woman who was dead, to beliefs that made them better, Alys felt her palms press against the surface of the table. "Nothing comes for free," she muttered, absentmindedly, pushing off and standing to her feet quietly. As she slunk closer to the group, shoulders back, Alys kept her mouth shut, for now.

She found herself looking at Argent, a happy spectator leaning by the door, soaking up every last bit information - a different type of leech. Her expression didn't change; neutral, bordering bored. And when she felt her message was portrayed, she looked away, dismissing.
 
It wasn't exactly the first place she'd looked, the top deck of the ship - but when Miss Emer wasn't in the usual places, well... Pris had decided she had a goal in mind, and she was going to do it - even if that meant going above decks. It wasn't like she had to leave the ship, at least. She could just... go down again.

There was still too much sky. Miss Emer was staring at it, and Pris wondered if she had ever been scared of it. Most of them weren't, she thought, but then again... would they have told her if they were? She hadn't been sure if she should interrupt, but since it wasn't really a conversation, it hadn't been an interruption, and Miss Emer didn't seem to mind, turning around to ask about her, as always.

Which sort of confused the conversation, really. Pris paused for a moment, uncertainly, and then turned it around and admitted, somewhat sheepishly, "Well... I was going to ask you that."
 


Emryk's stare was vacant, for a moment, as he looked beyond Caleb-- beyond the meeting hall, and beyond the ship entirely. His mind was elsewhere, if not for a moment, until he seemed to reach some sort of introspective consensus; his head tilted, briefly, and then he nodded.

"Have me guard any prisoners you're uncertain about, from now on." He stated, simply. "If I could handle Lucien, I could've handled the boy." No point in arguing. It only would have undermined Caleb's authority, which was on the brink of collapse as-is. He stepped forward, taking initiative to avert the current disaster by raising both hand and voice.

"Which is to say-- things will be different, around here." Emryk declared to the group. "I am Emryk Vakaan, and I am your new quartermaster. I am tasked with punitive and monetary control over the Hard Nox. The Captain saw it fitting to entrust me, and for that, your trust is reciprocated with loyalty." He gave a nod to O'Cain, then straightened his posture. "Punishments will be monetary, first, and then corporeal, depending on severity." He crossed his arms, at that, looking to Lucien. "And it would be wise not to test my capacity for mercy out of pettiness." His gaze was steeled. Neutral. He gave the vampire not an ounce more of his attention, shifting the weight elsewhere to the remainder of the crew.

"When we raid, I will be the first over and the last to leave. I will protect you with my life. I will treat you like the brothers and sisters you have come to be. You will have my complete trust from the moment we step off of this ship to the moment we set foot back upon it." A roll of his shoulders, and his expression hardened, distaste building on his maw as he continued. "But there will be no killing if any of us cannot help it. It brings untoward attention. I do not care if you agree with it. My word on that caveat is law, as quartermaster, and it is a law I intend to enforce." He turned, looking around the room. "You will not maim to cause suffering. You will not torture unless we deem it necessary. You will defend your life, as I will defend it. That, I do not discount. But if you act like a rabid dog, you will be put down like one."

He looked to Caleb, then back to the group.

"You do not have to like these new rules set forth by the Captain. But you will understand them. You will obey them. He will listen to you, as you will listen to him. So I will say this-- are we clear about O'Cain's leadership?"

 
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