RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

The third time filling their cups was enough to dry the bottle.

“I do too.” Caleb admitted, though his nightmares were nothing like Emryk’s. Guilt over not being able to save her wasn’t the same as the one of getting her killed. Perhaps… No, it definitely was the alcohol that put down Caleb’s defenses. He thought about Emryk’s question, and answered as honestly as he could.

“I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if I didn’t.” Caleb said, though the extent of the trouble was far wider than Emryk would ever imagine. “I’m not a saint as I’m sure you’re well aware, but I think there’s a difference between looking out for yourself and getting off on killing people. I didn’t choose this life, but I wasn’t given much of a choice.”

“I was locked up when I was 16, the Hard Nox broke me out. They gave me a gun before I learned how to shoot, and that’s how this happened.” He pointed up at his eyepatch. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend there aren’t parts of it I enjoy. It’s fun to hit a moving target when you forget it’s a person, and the money… I could work an honest job my entire life, and I’d never see half the gold I’ve already spent.”
 


Emryk did not interject until Caleb said his fill, moving his cup to his lap and holding it between steepled fingers. It looked small, in the Baron's hands, like a child's mug-- though most things seemed diminutive when compared against the Al'Ashtavahk's frame. He didn't quite know what to say, for a moment, and let the Captain's rationalization hang in the air. The silence was not because he was stunned, or taken aback; rather, he didn't know what else there was to say upon the matter.

"We are all creatures of circumstance," Emryk stated, finally. "And it is what we choose to learn from our circumstances that defines us." Not content to let his statement be a mere platitude, he chose to reinforce it with an anecdote. "When the Fae came to the Isles, they pushed us into mines. Made us work, day in, day out. And they'd take a few of us and designate them to whip the rest, if work slowed-- whip, whip, whip, lashes along the back, letting us bleed into the dirt. And I always remembered wondering how they could stomach doing something like that-- working for them, whipping their own people. Cannibalism of integrity. But each day, as I left the mines-- this was long after my mother and father died, perhaps a few years-- I would go to the local bars. Take fights for extra money."

He took a long drink, for a moment, and sucked air through his teeth. "And I'd win. I'd beat folk senseless for a bit of extra money. Enjoyed it, too. It was an outlet. Hatred for the Empire, hatred of my circumstance. I learned to be angry, and I learned to be good at it."

Emryk looked to Caleb, for a moment, and then resumed his stare through the window. "Couldn't have been a boy over 19, one night, that wanted to have a go at me. I'd been liquored up, so I took it. It was easy. All I could wonder is why-- why he took the fight, why he kept going. Pinned him to the floor, cracked his jaw. Kept going. And then I recognized--"

He stopped, a moment, and his snout curled into a grimace. "-- he'd been one of the few that'd been striking us. Whipping us, down in the mines. I stopped, then. Still don't know why he didn't tap. All I could do was stare. Realize what I was doing. Didn't fight again, after that."

The silence hung between them, a moment. His gaze was emptier than usual.

"Better to hold the whip, or to do it with your own hands," Emryk muttered rhetorically, licking his lips a moment. "That, I could never answer for myself. But I knew that one of us made a choice, that night."

Another bout of silence.

"Some choices are not choices at all, Caleb." He stated, a solemn weight in the voice. "But what you learn from that choice is more important than choosing at all. I have the benefit of hindsight; everything I tell you, every plea to do better, it comes from a place of experience." There was a glimmer the eye-- a dampness, there, that was well-hidden in the dark. Indistinguishable. "I do not ask you to be good. I merely ask you to be better. Day by day. And maybe, one distant evening, as you sit upon the bow of your ship, or the rampart of your castle, you will look back with a keen eye and remember how far you have come. For yourself. For them."

Emryk rolled his shoulders and stood up, giving a short half-stagger to the cabinet and placing his glass back upon it.

"And then you may understand what it was all for." A melancholy smile, at that. "I am proud of you. And one day, I hope you may be, too. Enjoy the rest of your night, Caleb."

And then he was gone-- silent footsteps upon silent wind, with only the creak of the door to tell that he'd ever been there at all.

 
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Emryk has listened to Caleb vent in silence, and in return, he did the same. Never would he have guessed that part of the baron’s past. The part about the fae wasn’t a surprise, he’d seen the work of the empire around its colonies, but the violent side... It was engrained in him, deeper than he'd led on.

The conversation reached its natural conclusion, even if Caleb wished he would’ve stayed and talked longer. He liked Emryk, he realized, and it wasn’t often that he liked someone. Caleb stood up and walked to the cabinet, dizzy from the liquor. He picked up another bottle, one of Sinead’s, and opened it. He dropped some of it on the floor and drank another sum, straight from the bottle.

“To you, bitch.”
 
Lucien made his approach to Nessa, and Juniper took that as their sign to leave, taking a step away from the group and towards the door.

Of course, there had been a reason they were reluctant to join this little post-meeting group, and of course, that reason is what stoppped them from leaving. Alys seemingly appeared next to them, in that moment they hadn't been paying attention, and had asked a question. Through the dread they felt from hearing her voice, she didn't catch it at first, needing a moment to gather themself, eyes quickly darting away.

After a few moments, eyes settling again on the ring, now in Lucien's possession, they shrugged. It was all the response they could manage, though they figured it wouldn't be enough to get them out of this. "Don't know. Would need longer with it."

There, perfect.
 
Though the answer was perfectly reasonable, Alys couldn't help but to frown at the response. There was a tension in their body, and coupled with their slow inching towards the door, it was obvious that Juniper wanted to leave. With a heavy sigh, the fairy stepped in the opposite direction, towards the two vampires. She'd let them go. There was more she wanted to know, more to ensure here, with Nessa and Lucien and the ring. Followed by plans to drink herself silly. Still, for now, her focus remained on the changeling. "Can we talk? Not now, but sometime?"
 
The dreaded question was asked, and all Juniper had to keep theirself from combusting on the spot was the fact that the issue wasn't being pressed now. Regardless, their breath caught for a second, and they felt their energy spike. Adrenaline was normal, but this was more than that. Their entire body was set on pins and needles, and it was actually physically uncomfortable to stand still. It took them a second to realize it was because of the staff, and not the dread.

"I... yeah."

It was, regrettably, all they could manage. They did need to talk, about quite a few things. Why Caleb? She'd called them out on even the concept of sleeping in the same room as him, so why was she- did she hate them, now? After the whole Sky thing. They'd not told her. They'd not told many people, on account of changeling's reputations, so did it bleed over? Was it better or worse, that they didn't say anything before? Was all of this fixable, could they still-

"Sorry."

The genuinely had no idea how long had passed between their apology and their acceptance. Rather awkwardly, and quite anxiously, they left the room, without further comment.
 
"Violence is all I have left." Lucien murmured softly, his voice lowering to where even his fledgeling may have trouble hearing it. "My soul burned with the manor." He stared at the ring in his open palm, its swirling ruby red almost taunting him. Even as he knew what it did, he could understand the temptation. He had sought this life out, had deliberately been made into a monster. She had no choice. And now here he was taking it away from her.

"I do not expect any less." Lucien returned to a normal volume, his fingers curling around the ring in case Nessa suddenly experienced cold feet. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the flask once more, pushing it into her hands. "An older blend, one that is not to my tastes. Apples and autumn."

He said no more as he took a single step back, bringing the ring up to his eye for one last inspection. The light glinted crimson as he let it fall to the floor of the mess, swiftly bringing his heel down on it with all his strength, not dissimilar from another movement he had made naught but a few days earlier.
 
Leaving with haste, Juniper and their nervous energy disappeared behind the wooden door. Frozen in place, Alys watched it close wordlessly, feeling her chest rise and fall, temporarily defeated. Her eyes closed and she lifted a hand over to the side of her face, fingers bridging over her freckled nose. Their next conversation would be drastically more painful. With another heavy sigh, she dropped her hand and turned, moving back towards the two that remained.

She didn't have a chance to stop it - the ring fell from Lucien's hand, clattering to the wooden floor. Alys opened her mouth to object; they could use it, perhaps modify it, but it was already gone. She heard the tiny crunch beneath his boot, the edge of the heel grinding the stone into nothing more than specks of dust. And then her attention turned to Nessa, who clutched the flask that'd been forced into her hands.
 
“What was that—” Nessa caught the flask as it was passed to her. She turned it over in her hand, feeling the liquid slosh against the walls. She tried to pick out the words, or the words she thought she had heard him say but it was just —

There was a snap. Maybe it was in her head. Maybe it was in her bones. Maybe she just heard it. But she could feel it even before she saw the crimson shards scatter from the impact, like something sharp had been pulled from her stomach, leaving only the hole behind. The thief gagged as the muscles in the back of her throat constricted. There was a rather unpleasant noise as she doubled over, fingers pressed over her lips and a hand to her stomach before throwing up.

Unpleasant black bile that smelled of all the pleasantness of food well in a week’s rot. Nessa fell to her knees as she retched again, her nails scratching floorboards as she gulped down air.
 
She shouldn't be here. That was her instinct, one that'd been ingrained in her.

But watching Nessa fall to the floor, her frail back and upper shoulders heaving, body desperate to purge what'd been consumed unnaturally, Alys felt partially responsible. She felt the fear that brewed; fear of the unknown, mixing with the stench. Perhaps Nessa was closer with Lucien, but she felt compelled to stay.

A middle ground, that's what she needed. One in between leaving and moving closer. So she lingered, perhaps uncomfortably, watching.

At first, she thought about offering water, but what good would that do? Then, naturally, her mind went to the flask, which laid discarded, just out of reach. While Nessa continued to retch, Alys crept forward, leaning down to move the flask closer, upright.
 
Nessa gasped and the salty-sour tang of rot scratched the back of her throat. She didn’t feel a moment of blissful relief once the retching ended, just the sharp edges of hunger cutting into her sides and squirming deep. She felt dizzy. She was dizzy. The room rocked — or maybe it was her. Did she wobble on her knees? She almost gagged when she turned her head, her teeth bared as she stared towards —

It was a bit like realizing you could feel again after your hand had fallen asleep, the prickling feeling that chased after the hunger. The touch of warmth, a beating heart beneath thin skin. Her fangs were bared, her pupils as thin as the knives she carried and she stared at the fairy. Warm and sweet. She turned her body, fingernails scraping the floor, the curve of the neck in her eye. Something slimy and wet dripped down her chin.

Just a bite. That hole in her chest longed for it. Moonlight glittering off pale skin. Eyes open wide. Just a bite and it would be gone.

She raised to an almost crouch and —

Nessa’s wrist knocked over a flask sending the silver thing tumbling. It contents sloshed, thick and sweetly, and Nessa’s gaze snapped from Alys’s neck to the glitter of silver. The vampire didn’t reach for it, so much as she dove after it, snatching it up from the floor. Her thin fingers plucked dumbly at the cap with an almost panicked necessity until she felt it turn and spin loose. She was half frantic by the time it opened and Nessa’s teeth snapped at the smell that escaped.

Nessa brought the flask to her lips, she was dully away that she cut her lip on the edge, before she took long greedy pulls. Her vision blurred, and Nessa blinked away the tears.
 
Lucien's nose wrinkled as the sickly-sweet stench of rot mixed with the sour reek of bile. Of course the ring had not been able to change Nessa's vampire physiology. So any food that she had eaten during that time had simply sat within her stomach which, only being capable of processing blood, had merely held the food and let it rot, festering within her. That explained the lack of appetite and the resulting weakness. She had been rotting from the inside out.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he saw the hunger reflected in her eyes, the pinprick pupils of a starving animal who wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into unsuspecting prey. Lucien believed he had never had that look upon him, having never reached that point of starvation. He hoped he never would. His hand flexed, prepared to intercept his fledgeling if she lashed out at the fairy. While it would no doubt be an amusing act of defiance to have the Quartermaster's whore killed while he merely stood by, Lucien knew that Caleb would accuse him of inaction, and release this supposedly vengeful ghost upon him.

The eagerness and desperation with which Nessa clung to the bottle brought Lucien's mind to another time she had been desperate, when he had found her suckling on a bloody rag in a desperate attempt to quench her thirst. Not wanting a repeat of the incident, both for his own sake and for what little dignity his fledgeling still clung to, Lucien reached down smoothly and scooped Nessa into his arms, presuming her too weak to fight him off.

"If that is all?" Lucien raised an eyebrow as he looked to Alys, his body language making it clear that he was going to take Nessa and if Alys wished to argue then he would risk the Quartermaster's ire. And, if no more questions were asked, he would stride back to the wreckage of his quarters, his fledgeling held loosely, but securely, in his arms.
 
It wasn't often that Alys felt true horror. Even in the Ice Lands, surrounded by winged creatures and blood-soaked foes, she hadn't felt what she felt now, here in the mess. Alone with two vampires; one who couldn't care less, and one who was losing control.

On her hands and knees, Nessa's body contorted towards her, the roundness of her gaze far gone, amber eyes fixated on the fae. They didn't meet hers, instead boring lower, to the ache in her neck. Alys had felt her heartbeat quicken, felt her blood pump more rapidly, practically pulsing beneath her fair skin. Perhaps Nessa could hear it, maybe even see it. Her hand began to drift towards her holster, watching as the vampire's knees lifted from the ground, feet ready to spring forward...

Alys took a step back and watched as she drank hungrily, finding what little control remained. And Lucien, to his credit, interjected. Collecting herself, she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "Take care of her."

When they were gone, leaving the fairy alone in the mess, she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She stood, listening to his footsteps as they retreated down the hall, towards the stairs. And once there was near silence, Alys turned and found the ale she'd left behind earlier. Drank it greedily until nothing remained. Then refilled it, letting the ale flow over her fingers, while reaching for another clean glass. One for each hand; full and empty.

She took a seat on the floor, legs sprawled out. And began to collect the remains of the ring, dropping the band and bits of crystal, some larger than others, into the empty glass. Their high-pitched clangs joining the steady heartbeat that pounded in her ears.
 
t was empty, but her tongue flicked at the neck for the last lingering drops. It prickled down her throat and burned in her stomach, and left a haze lingering in her mind. Nessa drew the flask from her lips. She watched the ceiling as it moved. As the whole ship moved. Everything moved around her. She giggled, a bubbly feeling on her thick tongue.

“Didn’t need to steal th’ apple, y’know?” Nessa said, words blurring their edges. Were those stars? Ah. Was that Lucien? Her eyes turned to him. “Stars are bright tonight.” She muttered.
 
"No -- not many people do," Emer solemnly agreed, squeezing Pris' shoulder and moving to her kettle to begin the brew.

A hell of his own design, no? With the kind of man he was, he didn't garner much compassion, and he wasn't needy for it either. He lived in his own little world with his own set of rules, his past a foggy blur, his future a trail from desire to desire. Much like her Sinead, in a way. Perhaps - perhaps that was why she abided him.

She was the same. She didn't care to think of it, but she was. She cared for others, she helped where she could, but in the end, she lived a quiet inner life.

In the end, she was willing to turn away from things that didn't suit it.

"He does not know what he is doing," she said, voice quieter. "It was not the proper time for him to shoulder this burden. He is a child yet. Hotheaded and quick to embrace change for change's sake. It is his duty, however, and his alone, for the sake of - for Sinead. She had faith in him. She trusted him."

But he wasn't ready. He isn't ready. Turn by turn, he brought the crew turmoil, turned them against each other. Folding her hands on the edge of the counter, she stared out at the sky, lost in the swirls of clouds through the small window. What would Sinead have wanted, here? Emer knew her better than any here. She knew. She knew.

Did that mean it was her question to answer?

Emryk had been right. Not - not about Sinead. Never about her. But -

They trusted their wisewoman. They trusted their wisewoman as they trusted their captain. She knew Sinead, and she knew what Sinead would say. He wasn't ready.

"Pris, dear. Would you - could you find Lucien? I wish to speak with him."
 
At first, Pris wondered if there was another kid on board that she didn't know about. It took her a minute to realize that Miss Emer was talking about Captain O'Cain. She didn't think he was a child, though - he seemed like a fully grown man, to her. She wondered how old Miss Emer was, but maybe it wasn't nice to ask - and she didn't know if it would mean anything, anyway. A lot of different kinds of people aged differently, after all. Maybe Miss Emer was younger than Pris - but she didn't think so. Or maybe she was a hundred years old.

She didn't think she was going to ask, not today - not when Miss Emer was actually asking her for something. Miss Emer never asked for things. Oh, little things, certainly - like to pass the honey or to hand her a wrap - but never anything big. Somehow, finding Mr. Lucien seemed like a big thing, or at least a bigger thing. She hopped up, readily.

"Yes, Miss Emer! I'll go right away." She caught herself on the doorframe, just barely, pulling herself to a sudden stop and looking over her shoulder, just once: "Can I be here though? When you do?"

Maybe Miss Emer would agree, or maybe not - but Pris wasn't going to let either answer get in the way. Mr. Lucien was usually easy to find, anyway. He was probably in his room. Her steps departed down the hallway, seeking him out.
 
"Of course, dear," Emer replied, smiling slightly. "I would never ask you to leave."

She continued to stare out the window even as the kettle began to whistle, lost in idle thought.
 
"They are indeed." Lucien responded, wondering what it was that his fledgeling saw. Perhaps he had fetched too strong of a bottle, and had gotten her thoroughly intoxicated. Or perhaps it was simply the traumatic effects of reverting back to one's vampiric nature. Whatever the case, he set her gently down in his hammock once they had reached his quarters. It rarely saw use from him, but he did not wish to lay Nessa on the floor.

"I know." Lucien turned to busy himself, half-responding to her and half talking to himself. "But you wanted it, and so you took. Sometimes the want is simply too great, and you convince yourself that if you can take it, well then the original owner never deserved to have it." He did not seem to quite be talking about apples as he drew out another bottle, one that had barely begun fermenting and cracked it open, setting filling a glass halfway and setting it on a small table next to the hammock.

"Rest now, fledgeling. I will watch over you." His brief moment of hospice care was interrupted by a small figure at his door. The child from the Truth Teller. Sometimes Lucien forgot she was on board, which was desirable. She was a remnant of their last raid gone right, and a connection to King. He listened to her message before waving her off, turning his back to her.

"Tell the wise woman that I am otherwise occupied. If she wants to speak she can either come to me herself or I will come to her at my leisure."
 
10 DAYS LATER​

10 days had passed since they’d left Leimor and Caleb was thankful for the temperature shift. After multiple meetings with his officers he’d decided to stir the ship south of Goswick, where it was warmer and less guarded, and make a stop somewhere to restock all the food and water they’d consumed while crossing the ocean before flying past the alps. From the forecastle he could already see the coast, only a few hours away.

Caleb let go of the mast and made his way down the stairs, with a clean shave, a white bandana and red linen shirt over black trousers. His pocket knife was tucked under his belt, along with his new favorite pistol, loaded with bullets made of silver. As his right hand brushed over the railing a familiar pain, stronger than it had been before, burned beneath the black mark.

The first time it had happened it felt just like being poked by a thousand small needles. The second time the needles sank deeper, and this time, it felt like a plaque of hot iron was being pressed over his hand. Coupled with the visions, it had been near impossible for Caleb not to be concerned despite the peace that had unusually made a home in this cursed ship.

He would need to tell Alys about it. The visions had never been clear before so it wasn't until then that he managed to assign meaning to it, but as the pain slowly faded he slowly realized he couldn’t be putting this off anymore. She wouldn’t be as forgiving of him for withholding information as she was the last time.
 
"Mr. - Captain?" It was a little voice, at the edge of Caleb's awareness. Maybe he'd been distracted by the pain, or maybe she was just small and used to going unnoticed. There was concern in it, though, as Pris watched him come down the stairs, gripping the railing. Usually she would have hidden, but... well, she was a real pirate now, not just a stowaway. Kind of.

She didn't have to hide, anyway, unless she wanted to.

"Are you... should I get Miss Emer?" He'd looked like he'd been hurting, for a minute there - but people didn't always want to see Miss Emer when they were hurting, even if they probably should some times. Pris thought about that, briefly, and then added, alternatively: "Or Miss Alys?"


Miss Alys liked him, after all. Not that other people didn't, but... well. Miss Alys liked him differently. And he'd given her presents, she had said.
 
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