RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

"Elven wine," Alys clarified before the maid could slip through the door, a tight smile present on her lips. She might as well indulge in her favourite type - surely the nobility of Goswick had a bottle or two at their disposal.

As the Duke began to cough, the sight and sound nothing short of repellant, Alys turned away and began to inspect the riches that decorated the room. A beautiful vase. A finely woven tapestry. Her hands remained clasped behind her back, expression neutral as she examined and waited. Not for him to stop, but for the maid to return. Return and then leave once more.

When he was done, and had finally begun speaking, the fae turned to face him. "She didn't." Alys immediately said. "She worked as a barmaid not five kilometers south." She paused, feeling an overwhelming uneasiness rush over her. Eager to let it pass, she continued, asking, "Are you ill?"
 
`There was a tension released somewhere in Argent’s posture at Ciaran’s words. They of a similar mind, it seemed, though the elf was sure their paths were entirely different. They had also, apparently come to different conclusions on how to address the question of loyalty. It was clear the Master Gunner believed in his own loyalty, if nothing else. Argent respected the sentiment, if he didn’t agree with it.

Stopping to lean against a random door, Argent folded his arms over his chest before saying as much. ”No matter how you look at it, loyalty is currency in some form or another. Its no more real than the value you put on it, and bought through some means or another.” His words were cynical and weren’t likely to inspire any trust. He was taking a chance that his honesty would cover the disparity between their views.

”You can say my loyalty is as absolute as what binds me to any task or person. I owe my Captain something, and I follow his order to pay down on that debt. Once it is settled I will likely move on to my next greatest debt, or create one if one is not already present.” A wry smile tugged at Argent’s expression. ”People are creatures of habit, after all.” `
 
It made sense that she didn’t. The information of where Karina had found employment wasn’t news to him, even if he had never been there himself, not during one of her shifts at least.

The duke clasped his hands together and nodded, before looking up at Alys again. He wanted to give her a hug, but there was no way of doing that without giving off the wrong impression. She was a beautiful young woman after all, and he was a gray old man, long past his prime.

“You look an awful lot like her.” He said quietly, absorbing her question. His health condition was kept a secret from most, but he found himself saying: “Yes, I am. I’m afraid I don’t have many moons left, a year if I’m lucky.” A sour subject, he didn’t enjoy talking about. There were more of those unpleasantries in need to be said, however.

“I’m sorry about her. When that tragedy happened… I thought her young daughter had been a victim as well, but I’m so glad to see you’re well, and employed, by the royal family, no less.” A relieved chuckle left his lips. He knew the world to be cruel with poor orphans, even if it was a reality far removed from his. Knowing his words might sound suspicious he added: “She was very dear to us, your mother. To our family. Tell me, will you return to the Floating Isles when the festivities are over?”

***

At first Caleb couldn’t tell what was being said, but he recognized that voice; he’d heard it many times throughout the years, most of them against his will. Despite knowing it was Ciaran on the other side of the door, he didn’t open it until the person he was talking to talked back, and he felt safe enough that whoever it was, wasn’t someone he should hide from.

Unsure about how to feel, he twisted the handle and felt the weight of the door and the person leaning against it.

“I thought my escape had made it clear enough that I don’t need any help.” Caleb said, noticing the uniforms they were wearing. It meant at least part of the plan they had concocted earlier had paid off. “Go back to the ship, I’ll meet you there when I’m done here.”

***

Her face… She hadn’t aged a day.

Of course Sam would recognize her, even though by the look in the elf’s face she couldn’t say the same. A long time had passed… What was it, ten years? As much as the young servant girl wanted to approach her, the man by her side was too intimidating for her to do so. So she merely smiled and waved from afar.
 
Confirmation of his illness hardly mattered. If anything, it made what Alys was about to do easier.

She'd never received condolences before, not really, and not from someone who'd actually claimed to know Karina. Stranger yet that it was from the Duke, and that her mother had supposedly worked for his wife. Why had she left? Why choose to live where she did rather than here, on these grounds, where there were better wages and ample security? And why hadn't she told her? Even when she'd played pretend? The thoughts scattered through her brain as she kept her gaze on the older man, her body uncomfortably tense.

"No, I won't," she answered curtly, finding the slightest bit of amusement from his delusion. "Were all of your wife's handmaiden's so dear to the family? Even almost twenty years later? Why did she leave, if she was so cherished?"
 
“Because…”

He didn’t know what to say. The truth? Even he wasn’t naive to the point of thinking that she’d receive it well. The knock’s on the servant’s door and Rosemary returning with the tray with two glasses, a wine bottle and a tea set should have given him more time to think, but by the time she left, he found himself without a good answer.

The bottle was already opened and he reached for it, pouring two glasses of the elven wine and walking over to Alys to give her one. Could he bring himself to lie to her, after all this time? What outcome would be worse?

“Because she was with child.” My child, he said. His blue eyes, so similar to hers, stared directly into them. He offered her the glass, guilt sipping through each word whispered. “My wife sent her away. I shouldn’t have let her.”
 
He was closer now, standing a mere step away. A glass of wine between them, the liquid stark against the crystal glass. Alys took it, almost mechanically, without looking away from his face. He was slightly taller than her, but unlike on the stairs, she didn't feel that same intimidation.

His whispers should've been nothing, had been nothing, until she'd repeated them a second time in her head. Paired with the expression on his face, the insinuation wasn't obscure. She didn't raise the glass to her lips, merely held it. "Well, it certainly wasn't any of your business - with what your wife chose to do with her pregnant handmaiden. Unless it was."
 
The duke of Goswick stepped away so he could cough again, covering his mouth with his forearm before wetting his throat with some of the elven wine. Unless it was.

“So… You’re one of Maeve’s.” He said afterwards, changing the subject. In his mind, if she wasn’t returning to the Isles the only possibility was that she’d be relocating there, which should give him more time to get to know her better. “I mean the princess. A sweet girl, isn’t she?”
 
He was avoiding. The second coughing spell grew boring quickly, though this time, Alys didn't bother looking away. She stepped forward, matching his step back, and finally took a sip of the wine. "No, can't say that I agree," she said, and then without skipping a beat, added, "Did you know her well then? Your wife's handmaiden?"
 
His eyes widened. Speaking like that about the princess to the wrong people could’ve gotten her in trouble, but perhaps scolding wasn’t what she needed at that moment. The sides of his lips curled up slightly.

“I did.” He said, having a chance to speak about Karina to someone who has loved her like he had for the first time. “She was… Special, your mother.”
 
Special. But not special enough to keep her employed when she'd become pregnant.

Alys took another sip of the wine and quietly hummed in agreement, though didn't offer any further verbal prompting. She did look at him expectantly though, as if waiting for more. Was this it? He'd pulled her away so desperately, claimed to have known her mother, perhaps unknowingly and vaguely insinuated something more, only to deliver this?
 
A satisfied smile crossed Ciaran's lips. The elf was honest, and although they hardly had the same opinion on loyalty, they could still understand each other and in that understanding feel some semblance of security. Argent was quite a mercenary, and Ciaran could respect that. Freedom - to keep no ties and eyes straight ahead was a dream all too familiar to the old Fir Bolg. He was at a different point in his life now - similar steps, but a different path than Argent. Just the way things were, how they'd always be.

"At our center is the drive for freedom, no? Freedom from our debts and duties - our inhibitions." Ciaran wasn't one to play in words, he'd mean what he'd say. "Some would argue loyalty is such an inhibition, as would honor or pride or love - but it's just as you say, we are creatures of habit, after all." These were words meant only for a man in Argent's position. "Such tendencies are - inevitable."

The opening of the door triggered a response in Ciaran's arm, not quite a full reach for his sword but certainly the momentum was there to draw. Soon, the captain's voice put his nerve to half-rest and he spoke low in response. "Your escape made it clear you wanted to handle this alone, it's a shame your officers tend to act of their own accord - especially when it's considering your life." Caleb was alive. Good even, as far as he could tell. "I'd haul you back with me if I could, but you're stronger than you look and half your officers are crawling this castle hunting for royal throats and rescuing you. I'm not leaving till we're all out safe."
 
One didn’t lean against a door without at least some subconscious awareness that someone could be on the other side, particularly not in Argent’s line of work. He had no real warning though, as the wood was suddenly absent from behind him, and while he didn’t completely fall he did stumble backwards. O’Cain spoke in the manner of an order, though Argent felt like he couldn’t have sounded less like a Captain with his words.



The Master Gunner seemed of the same mind, denying Caleb’s demand and confirming the mission was tied to Caleb’s vitality. Whatever O’Cain had done to make enemies of the Duke to such a degree Argent doubted his ability to handle it with his own two hands.



”And your plan was, what? Scare the family to death with your bad haircut?” He let sarcasm practically pour from his words, though Argent couldn’t suppress a small grin as he straightened his stolen uniform. ”We had an agreement, and I expect you to survive and be present to uphold it.” He had tucked his pistol beneath the purple coat, and when his straightening was finished it found its way into his hands with the bag of powder and ammunition. ”You might have better luck with this.”
 
An awkward silence took hold of the room, as the duke didn’t quite know what else to say. He sipped on his drink and considered how to talk to his long estranged daughter that he didn’t know anything about besides the name.

“Tell me about yourself. How’s your life been? Since… You know.” He returned to his seat, expecting she would, this time, join him at the couch in front of him. It was unlikely he would be missed at the party downstairs, with those closest to him knowing his health exhausted him quite easily.

***

Half his officers. Considering his latest conversation with Juniper, it came as a surprise that anyone would show up, except for maybe…

“Which officers?” He asked, fearing Alys’ name would be mentioned. She would have stayed in the ship had things gone according to plan, and he found himself suddenly scared of her opinion surrounding his actions, and that he might have put her in danger due to his recklessness.

“As much as I appreciate your consideration for my life, I know what I’m doing, and I intend to return to the Nox with life as soon as I’m done here.” He said, in response to him as well as Argent, ignoring his jab towards his haircut. “Find the others and return to the ship; it’s my command.” He said, before returning his attention fully to Ciaran. “I gave the crew my word you would no longer kill innocents. I got myself into this mess, I’ll get myself out.”
 
How unhelpful the old woman was. Nessa could gather that she had met Caleb somewhere in the private rooms of the estate, which made sense if he was off trying to do his assassination plot all on his lonesome, but would he still be there? Poking around rooms looking for the happy couple maybe? A damned headache all of this was.

“Very well, madam, if I see the one eyed man I’ll let him know.” Nessa said, fairly certain that there wasn’t much more useful information they could get out of the old woman anyway. And, really, Nessa was also pretty sure that she would quite like to see the look on Caleb’s face if he had to deal with the old woman again. It’d serve him right for this entire mess.

The girl with the not-quite familiar face waved, which gave Nessa the inkling that perhaps her face was more familiar to the girl. That part left Nessa stumped, as she was fairly certain she didn’t know this servant girl. Someone she was friendly with in some nearby town? That didn’t seem right. Well, when in doubt…

Nessa raised her hand and returned the wave.

“Hello, have we met before?” She asked.
 
This time Alys obliged, sitting on the very edge of the couch, right across from him. Crossing one leg over the other, she gently placed the bottom of her glass against her thigh. The deep red wine swirled from the movement, and she watched it, the red sloshing against the sides.

Since she'd been left alone?

"I wouldn't even know where to begin. Besides, it'd be impolite to ruin such a happy occasion," she managed to get out, finally looking back up to meet his gaze. "After all, your son has married the sweet princess."

Alys paused to take another sip. This was dragging on for far too long - she wasn't here to drink wine with the Duke of Goswick. But, that simple, terrifying curiosity remained. "Did she ever tell you - or your wife - who the father was?"
 
Lucien barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes and thrashing the old hag. Of course she would have very little of use, half-demented as she most likely was. The vampire had seen a couple of people who had gone that way, so lost within their own minds they could not determine if they were in the past or the present, if the events they were discussing happened yesterday or yesteryear.

Some serving girl kept attempting to catch the fledgeling’s eye. Lucien was a moment away from asking her if this was an issue that needed handling before she left to go talk to her. He merely turned his nose up, stepping off to the side and simply surveying the room, his haughty gaze drifting across the faces of the attendees. He knew not what the Duke’s family looked like on sight, but undoubtedly they would be the source of a great deal of fawning. An occasional glance was directed towards Nessa, keeping watch in case the situation turned hazardous.
 
There was no way of dodging that question. The duke watched her silently, lost in thought before lowering his glass to the side table. He slid down to his knees, tears forming behind his eyes as he reached for his daughter’s hand.

“I would have looked for you. If I had any idea you were still alive, I would have-” He didn’t know what he would have done, not while his wife was still alive. But since she passed, there was no one who could have stopped him from doing something. He pursed his lips.

“It’s me. I am your father, Alysandra.” He said, even though he’s just made the fact quite obvious. “And I won't let you go through any hardship, ever again. You'll have a home here, if you so desire."

***

Perhaps Sam was making a fool out of herserself, and that was just another elf who looked a lot like Mrs. Mae Rinn’s daughter, who ran away many years ago. When she was addressed by her, she wondered if it would be rude to ask.

“I’m… Samantha Rhodes, missus. I’m sorry, you look an awful lot like someone I used to know.” She said, smiling awkwardly, surveiling her expression for a sign of any recognition of her name.
 
"Good luck convincing Alys to leave without you, never mind Lucien and Nessa - though I'm sure Summer would be happy to get to safety sooner than later." Ciaran planted a hand on the doorframe and leaned in, he didn't have to tell Caleb that he wouldn't be marching off to the Nox like a stupid puppy, loyal as ever.

"So, what was your plan exactly? I don't doubt you're capable, but if you're planning on pulling this off without innocent deaths, you're going to have quite a lot of trouble with a pair of vampires and your sweetheart walking the halls." They'd all taken off so suddenly, it was easier said than done gathering up the kids and running home.

"We should at least stick together until we find the others, then we can figure out how we get you out of this whole mess - together."
 
Nessa didn’t quite hide the twitch in her expression as the girl gave her name. The little girl from down the street? The face wasn’t quite as round and babyish, but the eyes were the same, and those she wouldn’t mistake for the little girl who followed her around with one hand clutching the hem of Nessa’s shirt. She had babysat her enough, Nessa was shocked she hadn’t recognized her immediately, no matter how different she looked.

Nessa’s gaze flicked to Lucien, but it seemed the elder vampire’s attention was on the room, trying to pick out the targets, before her attention returned to the girl. Was there any point to denying that the girl did know her? With how much she was staring, Nessa doubted the girl would have missed the twitch.

“I remember you, but I don’t think you were much taller than my hip.” Nessa said. “You’re far from home here, aren’t you?” There wasn’t really time to catch up, but maybe the girl had seen Caleb around, that was worth a shot at least before she could shuffle Sam off to be somewhere safe from King’s plot.
 
Soft, warm hands reached for hers, first plucking the glass from her grasp and placing it on the floor, and then enveloping her own. Alys stiffened and stared down at the touch; at the contrast between his older, untouched hands, and her own. At the pale pink scar wrapped around her wrist. She slowly took in the rest of him, kneeling before her.

He wasn't at all what she'd pictured. She'd always imagined him to be a ruggedly handsome sailor or soldier, someone who'd stopped by the tavern in their part of town and had been taken with her mother. Someone who'd left as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving her mother with no real choice. Or help. But he'd been here all along, and he'd known the entire time.

Her own vision grew blurry and she bowed her head slightly, as though she were in pain. Silently wishing that the tears would go away. Instead, they began to fall down her cheeks. Quietly, she stuttered out, "Why didn't you come after us? Why didn't you fight for us?" The answer was clear, but she asked anyway. Would he ever have chosen her?
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top