Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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ILLIRICA


"There are always clouds on the horizon, Lucien," the Captain answered, nonplussed. "It's merely the nature of our occupation. Even the clouds have their uses, though. It's merely a matter of navigating the storm." Much like the clouds they raced towards their destination, if Caleb planned to take things further than a few idle thoughts, Sinéad wanted to know who else thought likewise, and who could be swayed and what winds might sway them. She was of the opinion that a mutiny now and then was even good for the crew. It built morale, among the survivors - something they had all been through together. As long as she was one of the survivors, a little backstabbing now and then wasn't going to ruin her day - and Sinéad was very good at surviving.

"Most of the guards won't be local," she commented, moving back to the original topic. Fen Manor would have hired them in to protect the stockpiles. It would have a small guard force of its own, as was standard for a place like this, but during tax time additional guards would be hired on - from the capitol if one had the money for it, or mercenaries if one didn't, and then everyone would be watching each other to see if their hands were in the pot.

None of that was Sinéad’s problem, nor Lucien's. She gave him a slight nod of no doubt shared understanding. "Fair game."

No one needed them to rebuild, after all.
 
UMBRASIGHT


“Mm, all’s fair in that.” Nessa said, her attention returning to the land that can be seen in bits and patches through the clouds that roiled around them. Wasn’t hard for unknown blood and a pigeon to send word ahead of the ship, but who had time to slip off to make a message now that they were under Ciarán’s watchful eye? Though, nothing to say disloyalty couldn’t fester in the old hands too, plots were cheap ‘till you started speaking them out loud. Still, tomorrow’s problem, all that.

“Fan is it? I suppose I can forgive the hour for that.” She said, transitioning another yawn into a stretch. The chance to bloody the nose of the taxmen was worth a sleepless day, so long as a habit wasn’t made of these damnedable hours. Her amber eyes turned to Emer, “something nagging?” Nessa asked, sniffing at the air.

“Plenty of omens in the clouds, I suppose.”
 
THIMBLE


The barber's grin grew several degrees wider when he heard his name called.

"I see you have your work cut out today, Sliocht". He would have recognized that drawl anywhere, but the master gunner could make himself heard over a broadside in a thunderstorm.

"My work is cut out, and my work is to cut out!" He called over his shoulder, eyes still locked on his work. A silvered razor flashed in his hands, drawing specks of golden blonde hair along with it into a waiting bucket.

No one, least of all Sliocht himself, had expected a burgeoning friendship between the ship's barber and its master gunner. He suspected it had something to do with their common preoccupation with cleanliness, or perhaps their (technically) shared Fir Bolg parentage. Maybe it was something else entirely, but Ciarán was always interesting conversation, and his unique blend of naval discipline and corsair swagger had lent itself to some very interesting stylistic choices. There were a few crewmen that Sliocht could trust not to murder him over a spilled flagon of grog, but Ciarán was one he would readily drink with.

He finished his current patron, deftly folding his shaving tools into their places in a leather pouch. They were close enough now that any man still unlucky enough to not have received the barber's services would have to go without. The last stragglers had marched, scolded, into their positions on gun crews and raiding parties, and a grim quiet had spread across the open deck.

Despite the thick fog that belayed a fear of impending combat, Sliocht felt he could taste some other stress at work. The apprehension of battle was a tenacious beast, yes, but another strange creature lurked in the mood today. It reminded Sliocht of assemblies back in his childhood, when every child in the state poorhouse would be lined up for inspection for some vague infraction. The headmaster would bluster and shout, yes, but the real dangers were to the side, the conniving thefts and settled grudges enacted whilst the authority waved its saber. It was a sense of unease he most certainly did not appreciate.

No indication of this uncertainty was betrayed by his outward manners, however. Stretching a pleasant grin and spreading his hands in a most welcoming way, he tuned to converse with his carronade compatriot.

"I hear we're lifting some scratch off of the tax man today! Now, what clever scheme did the bridge deck come up with to pull that off
, huh Ciarán?"
 
DELFI


Nessa wasn't the only one to notice Emer's sudden shift in tone. Caleb didn't understand the sylph's sensitivity, but if Emer sensed something, it was often worth the worry. He grinned playfully however, tapping her shoulder.

"You better get some beds ready, but don't worry 'bout me." He said, pulling out a pistol from his wasteline and twirling it around his finger. "They're the ones who oughta be careful."
 
PAPERBAG FILL


The smell of sizzling food and the knife slightly knocking against the cutting board echoed from his station inside the ship. Preparations for food would be needed. Long raids and all would built up quite a hunger and thirst among the crew. Their eventual feast and drink he had no intention being unprepared for. It was better to have the work done ahead of time than be left to the last moment. At least he had a few methods of keeping the food warm while they would be away, as easily as it was to preserve the food. Spices and salts may do their trick, but freezing and keeping these ingredients cold for a long while worked splendidly.

His penchant for foreign magics not of this land came in handy in his job as a cook. Gathering ingredients and keeping stock of what they had and did not fell to him and him alone. Of course, he had the help of other crew members. Those who appreciated his finer cooking, but a cook was a thankless and time-consuming endeavor. His tasks for this hour, however, had nearly completed.

Heavy steps began making their way up to the deck of the ship. If he had to be thankful for something, it was that the magics of the ship kept it able to withstand his stature and weight. He ducked under the archway of the door before stepping foot outside. His eyes narrowed. Whispers of a storm from all around. Not his main concern here and he continued shuffling along.

The giant's arms would reach out and offer warm bread wrapped in a clean cloth to the captain. While Lucien approached her from one side, Soren came from what would be her blind side. A habit of his.

"Eat. You need keep up your strength."

Soren only pushed his hand forward further and gestured the slice of bread in front of the captain. His eyes simply remained resolute, no matter what glare he may have received. The giant would not leave until she had taken the food. She would be guiding the ship, storm or not, and would need her full strength of mind and body. It was his job to ensure all were well-fed, especially Sinéad.
 
ANNASIEL


Emer paused, then shook her head.

"Probably just the storm. It has a way of getting in the bones - nothing some mint tea won't fix."

She nodded once at Caleb, returning his smile, folding her arms, hands hidden beneath her coat. She'd grown used to it - the violence. It was a part of who these people were. A younger her might have been affronted by the easy talk of killing and theft, but it was a harsh world out there. One had to do what they could to survive.

Besides - she shouldn't have much tears for targeting those in power. There were things they could do - but refused - to make the world a better place for those below them, so the coming of raids was, in a way, a karmic comeuppance for their lack of care. At least, that was how she rationalized it, when she thought about it at all.

Usually, she preferred not to. Not just for the moral dilemma, but also the danger involved. The same sympathy that let her overlook what the crew of the Nox did also had her worry for them, a nagging that would drive her mad if she let it rule her thoughts.

"Don't let confidence blind you, Caleb. Stay safe."

Again, that sterness.

"And make sure the others do too, if you can."
 
GHOSTLY


Ciarán chuckled at the man's exchange and loosen the high knot of his shoulders. There was something about just speaking with Sliocht that always seemed to ease the spirits of Ciarán and the crew alike. Sliocht had joined a few years after Ciarán had settled in and began to grow frustrated with some of the company aboard, a feeling he'd made clear to Emer one night after a couple glasses too many. Sliocht was a breath of fresh air aboard, always jovial and welcoming - damned good at his craft as well as Ciarán and many others aboard would agree.

They'd grown to be good friends in the past four years, over cups and shears. Ciarán found a kindred spirit in their appreciation for personal care and felt comfortable with another Fir Bolg aboard, it mattered not that Sliocht was what some called a 'mongrel', sharing his company reminded him of the kind folks of Brimstone. While Ciarán would share a cup with most aboard the Hard Nox, there only a select few he truly considered a friend, and he was damn glad Sliocht was among them.

They'd shared stories of back home - their real home. The ones only their parents could remember from before the clans were lured astray with shiny metals and smooth silks. The Hard Nox always seemed to attract the broken and discarded - and she happily took them, but there always seemed to be something sturdy about their barber that Ciarán respected as both an officer and a friend.

"And damned fine work it is, my friend." Ciarán settled his hip up on a barrel and casually inspected both the freshly cut crew and those too late to enjoy Sliocht's work. He prayed they'd all make it back to sit under his razor once more.

"I hear we're lifting some scratch off of the tax man today! Now, what clever scheme did the bridge deck come up with to pull that off, huh Ciarán?" Sliocht said as he began to clean his tools and prepare for the storm to come.

"We'll be riding in with the storm, masking our approach with the clouds and mist. With luck the rain will douse their fires and we'll be on top of them before they can rally." Ciarán looked starboard into the clouds and drummed his silver fingers against the hilt of his sabre. "I've drilled the gunners on their positions and the marines on boarding and counters, but many of them are quite fresh - we hadn't the powder to fire a practice volley and I'm afraid I sent Emer a pair of boys who'd nearly run each other through over one of the maids," he said hushed and brief, with that pensive frown he was known to wear.

Then glanced at his friend, and a smile broke the tension. "Luck's always been on our side, I have confidence she'll shine on us again."

"Will you be joining the dance today, old man?" Ciarán teased, but still curious to hear where his friend would be seeing combat during their raid.
 
THIMBLE


"Old Man? Old Man?! Three years younger and he thinks he can call me old man" Sliocht smiled mischievously at the master gunner.

After a moment, his grin dropped ever so slightly. "Yes, I'll be with you on the ballroom floor today, dancing to a dead man's lead. Casualty Duty".

He paused for a moment, considering the weight of his task. Keeping the ship effective in combat was far more important than the wellbeing of any individual crewman, this he knew. Still, the horrific task of dragging the wounded and dying from their stations was not one that got easier with time. Sometimes, an amputation and hastily tied bandage would be enough, and the poor sods lived long enough to be dumped off at the next port. Oftentimes, it wasn't.

Sliocht knew that Emer tried her best, but even the kindly sylph couldn't be everywhere. A fair few crewmen owed their lives to the barber's bonesaw, even if those lives were effectively finished with how much of them he'd had to take to prevent infection.

Slipping the rectangular saw from its sheath, he drew a finger along its gleaming edge. "Well" He drawled, tightening thoughts of horror behind rows of gleaming teeth "This strategy of yours had better pay off, no one else on this ship can pull off a trim like you can"

He reached forwards, offering a hand. "Come back breathing, yeah?" It was a gesture of fearful camaraderie, a prayer and command and a desperate wish all in one.
 
GHOSTLY

Ciarán shared the barber's moment of contemplation, tightening his jaw at the notion of his friend's role. It was a gruesome task but perhaps the most vital during a skirmish, the wounded out of harms way and moving the dead... aside. He was certainly thankful that Sliocht shouldered that burden willingly, in the heat of battle it was a dangerous thing to have your fallen brethren cluttering the deck - for lack of a better term.

Unfortunately, that often out the rescuer in the line of fire - sometimes intentionally setting up an ambush for whoever would come looking for their maimed comrade. Ciarán was certain today would go well, but the stray fear of losing friends was not easily shaken.

"This strategy of yours had better pay off, no one else on this ship can pull off even a half-decent trim like you can." Sliocht said with a smile as he brandished a bone saw. "Come back breathing, yeah?" The barber extended a firm yet friendly hand.

"As should you, friend." Ciarán took Sliocht's hand with his own organic one. "Who else will give me that trim when I get back? Lucien?" He asked with utter seriousness but broke into a deep laugh - he pulled his friend into a brief one armed embrace and knocked him playfully on the back with his prosthetic hand. "Don't end up with any glorious battle scars today, I can hardly manage stealing the ladies' attention without you looking like some damned hero."

He stepped away from his friend and gave him a two finger salute as he turned and made his way to the quarterdeck. He'd need to finalize tactics with the Captain before they'd order the crew to their stations and made their final approach. He crossed the deck with his spirits high and his worries low, thanks to Sliocht. He spied Lucien conversing with the captain as he came to the base of the stairs - not looking to intrude nor eavesdrop on the captain - but certainly Lucien, he simply made his way up quietly and took his place leaning against the railing by the helm, glancing his way with a satisfied look.
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ILLIRICA

Another flicker in the reflection in the hourglass, but this one held no weapon - only a slab of proffered bread, and a mothering-like instruction that she ought to eat it. No surprise from Soren, that - he seemed to be of the opinion that the crew needed someone to take care of them, whether they willed it or not. A bit like Emer in that regard, she found, albeit generally less bloody.

The crew liked having him around, though, and it wasn't that much of a stretch to see why. His bread hardly ever had weevils in it. While he didn't always have the best to work with, Soren always seemed to whip something up. Before his arrival, the crew had only eaten so well on raids, and the kitchens had always ended up one of the places most thoroughly raided. No doubt there would still be some of that, but at least a decent amount of the stores would make it back to the ship these days. She took the bread, one handed, her eyes not stopping their dance from horizon to instruments and back.

Sinéad bit into the bread, trusting her cook or her stomach well enough that she thought it unlikely there would be weevils, and if there were... well, it wouldn't be the worst thing she'd eaten, now, would it? A pirate might strive for a life of luxury, but that didn't mean it was luxury every step along the way. "Good. Thank you. Make sure the crew's fed up a bit as well. Don't let them eat too much or they'll make themselves sick, but they've work to do as well."

They all had work to do - work that would be coming all too soon. She shifted her eyes over the crew and the way it was assembling, the bladeworkers preparing their weapons and the surgeons preparing theirs. There would be blood today, work cut out for many of them. And other things cut out as well, but that was the pirate's life. She waited with keen ear for a moment's pause in conversation - a Captain didn't yell over people, not a proper one. Half of that was discipline, and the other half was merely theatrics.

"We'll be coming down within the hour. Those of you who need to make preparations, do so. When we get down, focus on the stockpiles and those guarding them. Nessa! They'll have a surgery or apothecary somewhere down there, aye? That'll be for you. It needs a more delicate touch." Half the crew wouldn't know what to steal, and the other half would be swigging the poppy milk before they got back to the ship.

Sinéad wouldn't have it any other way.
 
DELFI

"Don't let confidence blind you, Caleb. Stay safe." Emer said, and he let out a chuckle.

"Won't make that mistake again." he gestured towards the cloth covering the right half of his face. It'd been long enough that he could joke about it, even though he'd grieved over the loss of his eye for months after it happened. Caleb nodded at the sylph's request to keep others safe. He'd do what he could, as he had for the past decade.

The conversation was cut short after the captain's words. They were close, which meant it was time to scout the area before their arrival. Caleb used to do it by himself until Alys joined the crew. Six months had passed and he still wasn't sure what her deal was, but she'd made it clear he wasn't it. He'd learned to not flirt while she was armed, just in case.

"I'll catch you later. Don't die." He waved at the both of them and flew away, searching for the other fairy with wings on the ship.
 
GOLDEN

Patience was a virtue.

A virtue that Alys had always battled to practice. Yes, she'd once waited years before striking, biding her time for an opportune moment. As the years passed, as her skill level grew, that hunger became difficult to manage. There had been times where it overcame her, and she was forced to leave something good behind. She didn't want that happening again. Not this time, not with this crew.

This crew, it seemed, fit together well. There were a couple characters who seemed to rock the boat on occasion, merely with their presence or boisterous personality, but it was all contained by the captain, one way or another. Most of the others though, they were easy to get along with. Ciarán, albeit tough, was a fair trainer when she first arrived. Sliocht boosted morale. Emer and Nessa kept her sane among the testosterone. After her first raid on the High Nox, when she looked a little rough around the edges, the cook had slipped her an extra piece of bread. They brought back more than any other ship she'd serviced, and it was because the backbone of the ship had been together for so long. 10 years. Practically a third of her life. She couldn't imagine knowing people for so long. That's why she had to be careful.

Today, her patience (or lack thereof) stemmed from the excitement. The eagerness to get down there and plunder, to take a small cut of the reward, to get wildly drunk and eat her fill. Nothing more, and she expected nothing less.

She paced among the group of raiders, weapons gleaming and strapped in place, silent but eager. She'd occasionally stop and look over the railing, watch as the faint, twinkling lights below signaled their proximity. Then she'd sit for a moment, twiddling with her prized blade. Like a newborn babe, it didn't take long before it'd be dirtied and in need of a wash.
 
ANNASIEL

"Well - keep an eye out for trouble, then," Emer replied to Caleb, her lips quirking into a slight smirk. It was nice to see him lighthearted. When he'd first lost his eye, he'd been bitter. Who wouldn't, to lose something so integral to who they were? A sure-shot and a scout, suddenly down to half the sight he'd had before. He'd taken a while to joke about it, but it was a good sign when he had - humor, after all, was as good a medicine as any tonic, if more for the spirit than the body.

Caleb soon departed, off to prepare, and moments later, the captain called for Nessa.

"Time draws short. You'd best answer," she said, patting the girl on the shoulder. "And remind me to make you a quick spot of tea before we land. Something to perk you up at this dreadful hour."

Emer winked, then let her depart, instead moving down past to the deck proper. As she slipped between bustling sailors, bursting with fervor and cheer, her smile faltered slightly - still present, still warm, but taking on a somber edge. They were all so excited. How could they be, with this tension? She didn't understand, even on simpler days, how men and women like this could look their deaths in the face and grin. Perhaps it was the freedom of it all. If they survived, riches beyond their dreams, and if they died, they died in the heat of the moment, living a life with no regrets. There was no weight to lift but that of their own guns and blades. However, there was one among the crew who - if this ill feeling befit what fate had planned - would share in her burden. He stood alone, now, saw in hand, finger tracing rivets along the teeth - one duty to the crew fulfilled, another on the horizon. She placed a cold hand on his arm as she settled beside him.

"Good morning, Sliocht. I see the blade is already bared?"

She sighed between teeth clenched against the cold.

"Do you feel it too, then?"
 
DELFI

From up above, the pair of baby-blue wings were easy to spot. Caleb landed gracefully in front of the girl who sat with her blade in hand and put his arm forward, offering to help her up.

"We're close. Should we take a look around?" He asked, but as quartermaster of the ship, it was more of an order of service.

Besides his trusted rifle, Caleb counted with a short sword, a pistol and a flare gun, which had as one of it's uses to let the captain know if it was clear for the ship to land. Ever since he joined the crew that'd been his job, but he felt like it was beneath him for a while now. If Alys proved to be trustworthy he planned on passing the task down to her. Only time would tell.
 
UMBRASIGHT

“The storm, say? Does have its own way of leeching the warmth.” Nessa muttered, her gaze fallen to the clamor below as Emer bade Caleb to exercise a healthy dose of caution, though how much the man would listen was known only to him and the Goddess behind. What would come to things she’d not learn until the storm would call them back to the Nox, though that was just the shape of things.

The captain’s call drew her eye away. Medical supplies was it? As good as gold to a dying man, though perhaps with less glamor. Nessa turned back to her companions as Caleb took his leave, putting his eye to use to see what the taxmen had prepared in their own defense. She offered him a wave and a spot of good luck as the latter had its own premium to it just before a raid.

“That sounds lovely. Would be most appreciative if you have the time.” Nessa said, to Emer offering one of her energizing tonics. A touch of edge would serve her well. She gave the sylph a smile as placed her hand atop the one Emer pat her shoulder with before taking her leave. “Aye, be well.”

It struck her, as Emer made her departure, that she should have asked if there was any ingredient in particular that the slyph needed most, though she could always make a guess. Those that thickened the blood were always in demand, and as sweet the smell and tempting the taste Nessa wasn’t one to treat her crewmates as a personal feast. Something for infection would serve the crew well, as well as something to numb the pain — grog was good for many things but pain was not chief among them. Sliocht too had his own needs for his bloody work, if she’d the time to catch his ear.

Nessa kept her footwork soft as she made her way to the helm. It was less a game, trying to see how close she could manage, and more brushing off the last of the cobwebs to turn her mind the proper way round. Sinéad had her own way of keeping a watchful eye, the hourglass was one Nessa knew. But that one was easy enough, large and polished, clear to one with an eye for things that it gave a good view. Of the other instruments, Nessa wasn’t quite as sure, but they served the captain well without a doubt. There was some small grace with her now, Lucian and Soren would create blind spots, ones she’d try to keep herself within.

She kept soft, picking a careful path where wood scarcely creaked. Soren large and she small so she made his reflection hers in the hourglass as she closed half the distance. She paused there, with an introductory clear of her throat. “Lucian, Soren, Ciarán, Cap’n, good day.” She said, biting back a yawn. “Manor that big’ll have something. Question though, want me to leave just enough to mend their broken, or take all I can hold?”
 
GOLDEN

The quiet, and all too familiar sound of fluttering wings alerted Alys to the Quartermaster's arrival. Her gaze lifted, while her long fingers slid the blade into the sheath fastened tightly around her thigh. "You got it, boss," she drawled out, opting to accept his hand to hoist herself up. The corners of her lips lifted into a slight smile because she knew that it was nearly time. Time for that epinephrine to pump through her veins, for the raid and all that it came with to begin.

She didn't know how she got stuck with this job - or why. She suspected it started because the Quartermaster had the impressive ability to flirt with anything that walked, but perhaps it ended with an appreciation for her nimble frame and quiet skill with a knife. In the past, before her arrival on the High Nox, Alys' contributions involved the bare minimum. She'd give her all in the areas she was useful in; often during raids or battles, or in the general maintenance of the ship. But she never had ambitions to climb the ranks. Perhaps it brought more loot and power, but it threatened her ability to blend in, to remain forgettable or anonymous. It would eventually make it harder for her to disappear. That didn't mean she wasn't expendable - she most certainly was. Almost everyone was.

The pair lifted off and plunged into the clouds below. Cold mist covered the freckled skin of her face with a layer of dewy moisture, and although it was a welcome sensation, Alys used the back of her hand to wipe her brow. As the lights of the city began to flicker more brightly, she glanced over at Caleb. "Anything I should know about this one?" Despite having been assigned this role, she was still green enough to be kept out of the need-to-know, inner circle.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Of course the Captain merely saw any troubles coming as mere obstacles, waiting to be twisted into an inevitable advantage. She had always done that, at least for as long as Lucien had served her. This was not the first time she had cautioned him of potential uprisings against her. She had no fantasies of him taking it down from within, she knew how little the rest of the crew trusted him. No, if he had to guess as to the reason, the Captain knew that if Lucien wanted to betray her, he either would have either done it already, or at the very least would not be collaborating. Which naturally would be correct. She was formidable, yes, but Lucien was not so cowed that he would go to the likes of Caleb for assistance.

Lucien’s reverie was interrupted by the Captain’s further comments about their raid. Guards, undoubtedly pulled from the capitol or from the various mercenary cesspits that had tried killing him all those years ago. Back when his mere existence was a cause for fear, not his reputation upon a ship. A smirk flitted across his face as he returned the nod, the unspoken meaning carrying between them, master and monster.

Fair game. Fresh meat.

Lucien didn’t react to the oaf’s arrival, merely wrinkling his nose slightly at the stench of ground wheat, yeast, and rot. Food never sat well with him after his transformation, especially those with no sign of life, former or current. Footsteps caught his ears, soft, subtle. A barely audible yawn before she cleared her throat. Lucien turned to see his younger counterpart. She was barely into her new life, especially when compared to him. He felt a small connection to her, one that he could mostly ignore. However, sometimes her inexperience made him step him. Lucien reached to his hip, unhooking a small silver flask, turning towards Nessa while extending his arm.

“Take a sip. It will serve you well.”
 
PAPERBAG FILL

"Mngh."

Soren simply grunted and nodded every so slightly. His way of agreeing with her orders. Not that he didn't appreciate her word of thanks, but he knew she'd prefer he got straight to the task than waste time on returning words. No good if the men starved halfway through the fight. Although, the food he whipped up was meant for their return and far more heavy than what Sinead had in mind. Which meant he'd need to procure something else to hold over the crew until their arrival and subsequent raid. Soren simply rolled his shoulders once, finding his task here done and time for him to move on. As he began to turn around, he heard steps behind him before meeting face to face with Nessa. The little elf. A simple deep breath escaped him, rumbling throughout his body and even into the very ground itself. What was she doing, trying to be all sneaky-like?

He simply extended a hand out to ruffle her hair a little before he lumbered past her.

"Stay safe."

The only other person he acknowledged was Ciarán. A small nod of both greeting and passing was sent toward the gunner's way. As for Lucien, Soren found it best to not give the man any real acknowledgment. The vampiric individual was Sinead's personal lapdog. It be best if the vampire believed he even had a giant under his thumb.

Soren kept walking down the set of stairs before disappearing below the decks once more. Only a few minutes had gone before a large crate came into view, followed by Soren's head and shoulders. Carrying over one such large shoulder, Soren held huge wood barrel easily within his tree-trunk arms. Before setting it down with a mighty crash upon the deck. Loud enough to draw the attention of most. The only thing that may have been louder was how his voice boomed afterward.

"Everyone. Eat. Grab an apple."

Not bothering to use a crowbar or any other means to open it, Soren simply took the lid off with a few centimeters worth of leverage. The lid held in his grasp and he set it away before displaying inside an assortment of the fruit. While it may not have been coffee or tea, apples would be filling enough and held enough sugar to help wake up anyone feeling a little under the weather. No risk of anyone being lulled into a sense of malaise over these fine fruit.

Putting on a pair of clean gloves and picking up two apples, both within the palm of one hand rather easily, Soren simply stalked forward before raising an eye at the two flying fairies. Caleb and Alys. The two must have been scouting ahead. No matter, they would return and have their share. Especially Caleb. His thoughts carried themselves over to the more grounded and level-headed members of the crew.

His footsteps were heavy with each step, moving forward and paying little heed to anything else. Sure, his eyes would glance about. That old warrior's trait of minding his surroundings and listening. But his task here was to bring these apples to two individuals. Sliocht and Emer.

His frame shadowed over them as he simply extended one arm out, holding the apples out for them. One for each of the pair.

"For you both. No fighting on an empty stomach."

His eyes slowly glanced over to Emer, "Or working on those medicines."

Soren rather not have their resident medic to suffer from a lack of sleep or a lack of food when her tasks were usually the most crucial. Thankfully, he was not easy to injure. Perhaps that would be of some small weight off her shoulders. His gaze simply returned back to the group, only allowing his gaze to falter to the blade Sliocht held. Soren never let the man touch a hair on his head. Partly due to tradition and partly due to Soren not caring if his appearance look a little wild and unkempt despite how he may tie up his hair or smooth his beard. It only added to the image of someone not worth bothering too much.

And, if he was honest, that was more or less the goal of who to be for him.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

A storm was brewing, that much they knew. They... No, she, for today, at least, could feel it in the air, the pent up energy, longing for release. A feeling all too familiar, a feeling all too tempting. She wondered if it was drawn to her, the wild, reckless, destructive storms, a sort of karmic retribution for the past, or if this was just life trying to tempt them once again with the prospect of forces beyond her control, but only slightly. Instead of sitting on these thoughts, she pulled her robes tighter around themself, readjusting their glasses, before grabbing the staff leaning on the wall nearby, a tool of the trade and one of few things that made their job easier. Grasping it tightly, Juniper went to the top deck, longing for fresh air and to no longer be alone with the ambient electricity, thinking it best to distract herself by at least watching everyone prepare for... Whatever it was that was going to happen today.

And how could something not? There was a great storm brewing, of course it would mean something for the High Nox. More convenient a cover could not be found in the dreaded skies, and the two had nearly become synonymous at this point. At least, Juniper thought so, as she ascended the stairs and stepped into the open air, feeling it rush by freely as they took a deep, long breath, calming their nerves. She took a look around, assessing who was out and about.

'Let's see, the Captain, of course, with Lucien and Nessa... Oh there go Caleb and Alys, just missed them... Oh! Apples!'

With the mere sight of the fruit, she walked over and plucked one from the top of the stack. She found everything harder to control and manage on an empty stomach, and doubly so when everyone's lives were at risk. Best to play it safe and have a nice, early meal.
 
THIMBLE

"Do you feel it too, then?"

He most certainly did. Emer shared a similar duty, and he knew she understood. The raiders, the ones who fought, they drove forwards with adrenaline and anger to fuel their hearts in battle. To keep that fire burning on willpower alone, to drive yourself forwards on the tinder of nothing but duty was an altogether different task. Still, it subtly unnerved him how effortlessly Emer seemed to be able to peer behind the curtain of his thoughts.

"Yes, I certainly do. The air tastes bloody today". He pondered for a moment, thinking on Emer's question in more detail. Did she share the same uncertainties about today? If any others would have noticed, she would have been one of them.

"Something's up, too. It feels like we're all staring down a badger as the wolf slips closer".

He felt the cook's approach as much as heard it. Sliocht knew that Soren could be quiet when he wanted to, and evidently now was not one of those times. He quickly returned to his cheerful stoicism, not keen to draw attention to his many misgivings.

"For you both. No fighting on an empty stomach."

The cook's presence was a welcome one, a distraction from matters at hand. Whether the food came from a place of compassion or duty, Sliocht was not sure, but the fruits seemed reasonably fresh. Reaching out and taking a bite out of the outstretched gift did wonders to improve his mood, as the apples were sweet and firm.

"Many thanks, big fellow" he said, flashing a winning smile to the ship's behemoth culinarian as he took another bite.
 
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