Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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GHOSTLY

Alys found an excuse and left the mess hall. Fair enough, it seemed her and Caleb were having some conflict as of late. He wouldn't get involved, it wouldn't be his business - until it was. Then he'd settle it.

Without Alys, it left just Ciarán and Caleb to share cups. He wouldn't complain, sharing a drink with his quartermaster wasn't something he'd run from. Caleb was... decent when he wanted to be. Somewhere beneath the jabbing and annoyance at his pettiness, part of Ciarán wished they could be friends. The drink was a good start maybe. He reached for the cup, but before he could take it Caleb pushed it towards Emer. A slight? Ciarán wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He let out a sigh and smiled for the wisewoman.

"Good to see you, Emer. Care for a drink, or is there something I can do for you?"
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

With Caleb's entrance, the reason for the crash had been made clear. Solomon King had retaliated, and knocked them out of the sky. Thankfully, it hadn't been a more direct shot, instead ruining their meal instead out outright killing them. Juniper picked themself up, doing their best to clean up despite the mess that had been made of them due to the crash, looking to the others in the room. Caleb, of course, was celebrating, hardly ever the one to let bad circumstances ruin his mood, and Ciarán had already busied himself with setting the place to rights again. Alys, uncharacteristically, had refused to have a drink, something the changeling found odd given how the woman was so often present at any sort of party the crew held. Beyond, they could hear the captain calling, shouting out orders, likely trying to establish order before the shock of what had just transpired threw everything into chaos for a while. Amidst the shouting, they heard their own name, along with a task.

Straight back to work, as if they had never left. To be expected, they thought, rolling the stiffness out of their shoulders. Alys stepped over rather quickly following Caleb's entrance, something they found odd, considering what he was offering, and had offered to help. "I don't- it's rather boring work, frankly. No offense meant, but I don't know how you would help, but considering the last few days, I don't think I'd mind the company," they said, nodding to the woman with a small, tired smile. Her earlier exclamation had been right, things did just keep getting worse, but surely it couldn't be a constant downward spiral from here.

As they collected theirself and prepared to begin drying up what water had made its way aboard, Emer entered the mess, cheerful as ever. A comforting presence, to be sure, and Juniper still needed to pay her a visit once time allowed, if not for anything other than to give their injuries a glance, to be sure nothing else needed done. They kept that same tired smile on their face as they passed the wisewoman. "I don't suppose sorrowful, no. Not now, anyways. I'm certainly not celebrating personally, though, but I figure Caleb is." They nodded their head back towards Caleb and Ciarán as they spoke, before proceeding past. "Come on, Alys. Don't want to keep the captain waiting, not after a crash landing like that. Good way to get put in a cage for a day."
 
ANNASIEL

By the time Emer stepped out of the kitchen, Alys and Juniper were gone, leaving only Ciaran and Caleb. Not - exactly the best of friends. She was content to sit between them. When handed the cup, she looked a tad surprised, but accepted it gratefully, taking a quick sip. The whiskey was smooth and hot in the back of her throat. She bit back a little cough, turning it into more of a huff.

"Everyone else will survive, thankfully," she replied, taking another, deeper sip. It was good. Relaxing. And - frankly? She needed a little relaxation. She hadn't realized how stressed she was, how tense her body felt. The past two days had passed like weeks, and she'd barely had a chance to sleep between them. "Thank you for the offer, Ciaran, but - I think, at this moment, all I need is a chance to sit."

She smiled, as if she were telling a joke, but it wasn't the most convincing.

"Did the raid go well, at least? I'd hope for all our ordeal it was fruitful."
 
DELFI

Caleb poured a third cup, leaving it on the counter for Ciarán. He left the kitchen, bottle and cup in hand and sat at one of the chairs that had already been picked up, waiting for the others to join him.

"We are richer than we were before." Caleb smiled, pulling another chair closer to rest his feet and taking a long sip of his drink, that burned down his throat. He could already feel his muscles relax.

"So the lizard's gonna make it. Did he give you a name?" Sineád was probably dealing with it as they spoke. He'd find out the next morning if he had made it into the crew or was thrown out at sea, along with that weird friend of his.
 
ANNASIEL

"Richer is good," Emer replied, tone a tad blasé - as if she were agreeing more for the sake of agreeability than anything else. She took another quite long sip, and upon sitting her cup down, realized with some surprise she was more than halfway through.

Well - drink to health, and all.

"As for the 'lizard,'" she continued, "His name is the Baron Emryk, and he is quite the well-spoken gentleman. I daresay you could learn some manners from him, Caleb."

She smirked.

"He is fit and fair, aside from some minor injuries and malnutrition, and shouldn't be dying any time soon, sky forbid. I sent him to speak to the captain with my commendation."
 
UMBRASIGHT

For a long moment Nessa was still, letting the rocking of the ship in its rhythmic sluggish swells roll over her. It was nice to just lie a moment and stare up at the ceiling though half hooded eyes. From a raid gone sour to the raid on a ship gone sour, it had been a long couple days, hadn’t it? So, if only for the moment, it was nice to just lie down. The problem, however, was that moments passed along as soon as they had come whether you wanted them to or not. So, with a sigh, Nessa rolled herself up into a crouch. Her hip protested, but it was a dull sort of pain, like an itch left behind by the memory of pain before she rose to her feet.

She contemplated following her original plan of picking through her treasures to pick out a few choice items for herself, but heading up to see what exactly had just happened seemed like the better choice at the moment. She needed to pass the map along to Sinéad as well — though, did she? She’d no doubt want to see it first, but she was likely busy for more important things, which turned Lucien into the obvious second choice. For all his faults, the man was loyal (territorial?) to Sinéad, and he was the navigator. That, and he had been present when she had taken the thing, which on a ship full of thieves perhaps it would be best for her to keep it between those who already knew the map existed, until the captain made her choice.

That, and she’d quite like to open it, so off to Lucien’s cabin she went.

People on the upper decks were hard at work already trying to put the ship back together by the time she arrived. The sea glittered in distant rolling waves, and it felt an odd thing really for a ship to be at sea. Up so high the waves looked like they were frozen in place, but here they pressed relentlessly forward, rocking their little boat. Very strange.

Nessa turned away, and continued her way up to the navigator’s quarters. She rapped her knuckles against the door to announce her presence before letting herself in.

“Don’t know where Sinéad went off to, so you seemed like the best person to go see,.” Nessa said, using the back of her boot to close Lucien’s door as she dropped one of the sacks onto the floor. She fished in her pocket for a moment, pulling out the folded up map. “As you’re the navigator an’ all. Though, can’t say I fancy being on the sea, doesn’t seem the proper place for a ship to—” Nessa paused as she looked up. Knotted silver scars along a broad back, mending wounds and one that was still quite fresh on the right shoulder. The coying sweetness of blood prickled in her nose, accompanied by the bite of alcohol. Nessa froze in place, lips parted and fangs glittering like the jewelry adorning her ears. Restraint.

Nessa swallowed, dryly, before forcing herself to pull a breath. Her body relaxed, but her gaze scarcely strayed from Lucien’s shoulder. She lifted the map between her index and middle fingers for Lucien, and herself to see. She stepped away from the door, forcing her eyes to the map as she carefully unfolded it.

“Courtesy of the undead Captain himself, though I haven’t a clue where this is at.” Nessa said, placing the map on the table and carefully running the back of her hand along the creases to even them out.
 
REYN

"I'm not-"

Mal caught themselves.

"I'm not multiple mes, whatever that means. I'm just one thing."

They sighed.

"One malleable thing."

They returned the wrench to its job, tightening the screws whilst this screw-loose stranger continued to ramble. She wouldn't be good at it- of course she wouldn't be good at it, she was a child. The only thing a child was good for on a pirate ship was extorting money out of their parents at bloody sword-point.

"Well, you answered your own question there, didn't you?" They turned back to face her, "No."

Wait- did she say something about necromancy? Good god, did Sinead pick a fight with a child? And then lose it!?

"You were good enough to tear a hole in this ship, weren't you?" Mal grumbled, "Well, how about you finish the job- take the other sail out with you, go on. Oh, oh, and if you see Hetty, why don't you tell her to start work on rotting the bow as well? There's a fine patch of unmarred teak up on portside- take that out, and the whole ship sinks like a stone!"

They laughed- hoarse and bitter.

"Not very good- not very good! You don't need to be very good to break the Nox- in fact, it actually helps to be a clueless, brainless, spineless little-"

A sharp inhale.

They seemed a little calmer after that.

"I haven't seen her, no."
 
FANG

Leo’s smile faded as a new voice called out to the unlikely pair, a voice unrecognized from both prison and escape. She spoke with an air of authority, words clipped and terse as if she would rather not be there dealing with a sea soaked stranger and a scaled giant.

”Neither of you is mine." Leo looked up into dark amber, deep and bright, as a wave of heat coursed through him.

"Are you Sol's?" Leo’s heart pounded as the sunset gaze met his own, the heat he felt around him sizzling in his ears as he rose to one knee.

”Or did you just get lost on the way to the whorehouse?" Leo’s smile returned, soft and bemused.

Leo glanced over to his friend, for a moment considering the man before he turned back to Sinead.

When he opened his mouth to speak he found his tongue in knots, twisted like the flame within that orange gaze. “I’m, well,” he began, trying to puzzle out which words were right. Emryk was much better at this sort of thing, even speaking while carrying Soren on his back in solid, measurable command as imposing as his frame. Leo did his best to emulate what he had seen of the lizard-man during their escape.

”I am Leo, a prisoner that escaped the other ship with four others during this ship’s raid. Unfortunately two of our number were lost. Soren succumbed to injuries he had gained before joining us, and Poppy was killed by one of the grotesque King’s children.” Leo paused only long enough to motion to Emryk. ”Emryk, me, and Juniper, they aren’t with us, managed to make our way to this ship. You might know Juniper or may have known Soren? Emryk carried Soren from the cell on the other ship. He is a big lizard and is very determined to do what he sets his mind to. The dull one eyed fairy thought he might have killed Soren but Juniper seemed to know the guy so I figured they must have come from this ship.”

Leo sucked in a breath of air, thinking this must have been how Juniper managed to speak so quickly before. That amber stare drove him to speak like the sea, in constant waves with little respite. He wondered if seeing that one eyed bird made their flames feel as odd as this foxy eyed woman made his. It was pleasant, fueling the surge of words from Leo’s mouth at Sinead’s feet. With his hand shielding his lips from Sinead’s eyes Leo leaned to his grandiose friend and whispered, “What’s a whorehouse?”
 
GOLDEN

"I don't- it's rather boring work, frankly. No offense meant, but I don't know how you would help..."

Alys began to silently plead with Juniper. Her mind raced and she even considered praying to the gods and goddesses, despite not believing in them, because surely the universe could grant one teeny tiny request. She'd been quite good lately, having saved two lives within the last forty-eight hours (the others didn't count).

"...but considering the last few days, I don't think I'd mind the company."

A soft exhale escaped her lips and she followed Juniper towards the door. Thank fuck.

"Have you seen or smelled the state of our room? A crow's cage might not be a bad place to crash tonight," she whispered quietly, not wanting to give Sinead or any other of her henchmen any ideas.

As they climbed the stairs to the deck, a silence fell over them, albeit brief. Juniper had been one of the ones rescued, and although they'd only been held captive for twenty-four hours, it was likely an intense day. "How are you feeling?" Alys asked softly, not necessarily wanting to pry, but also providing a willing ear if Juniper wanted to share.
 
ILLIRICA

Oh, so they were a someone and not a somemany, after all. That didn't bother Pris at all. What did bother her was that apparently this stranger thought that she had been responsible for the big splat that had ruined the ship, and now Pris was going to have to admit she couldn't do that sort of thing.

Not that she would have, or at least, she didn't think so - but it would have been nice to have the option. Pris didn't have a lot of options.

"Hetty wouldn't do that," Pris cut in, defensively, at the sudden slander of her only friend, "She's nice. Or, at least, nicer than anyone else except Mr. King. But Mr. King is kind of scary when he's nice. He's probably the one who broke your boat. I would apologize, but I don't think he's sorry. He usually isn't." She sighed, echoing the stranger. It seemed to calm the other person down, but it didn't really help Pris - she still felt all keyed up and lost, like a bone that had gotten tossed in the wrong pile.

"I'm sure she's okay." These words had the very definitive quiet tone of someone who was doing their best to convince themselves, and not being very good at it. Pris supposed that was something else to add to the list of things that she was not very good at.

"So, what's your name, anyway?" If she was going to be a stowaway, she might as well know who she was stowing away for. Or from? She wasn't entirely sure about the preposition there. "I'm Pris. That's Lady Fingers. I like your stitches. I think they're neat. And they're very even."
 
DELFI

"From Baron to pirate? Talk about a downgrade." Caleb chugged his entire whiskey, and filled up his cup once again. His inhibitions were starting to get to the backburner, and his Reason warned he'd have to be careful not to overdo it. Two more cups and the Reason would leave the building as well.

"Must be an outstanding fellow to receive your commendation." The quartermaster teased, raising his eyebrows. If he was a 'well-spoken gentleman' as Emer said, he'd be better off decking on the next port as soon as possible.
 
ANNASIEL

"Still a Baron, I believe, simply a victim of unfortunate circumstances. He was among the prisoners," Emer explained, holding out her cup for a little bit more - just a bit. Her normally ashen cheeks were beginning to look slightly purple. A little more wouldn't hurt, but after this, she'd pull the reigns. "And besides, I felt - someone of his sort could use a bit of help. I trust Sinead to make a wise choice, but -"

A noble was a good opportunity to exploit? The man seemed too mild-mannered to make a good impression on the captain? He'd seem useless and soft, and therefore, be discarded? Possibilities she had considered. She wanted to hope the best - that Sinead would see he had helped them, and want to honor that - but there was always the possibility things could go southward.

"- sometimes, I think, a little nudge is warranted, for morals' sake."
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

"I happened to stop by, yes. After the last day, I think I've built up an immunity. What even caused that? It's horrid," they said, looking over to the faerie woman as they worked. Bent over aboard the ship, palms facing the deck as small embers of flame jumped to life across their skin and between their fingers. Heat radiated out, much like a comfortable fireplace, carefully and efficiently drying the deck. It was something they had done before, on rare occasion, though it had been some time since the last they had performed this task. Typically, it was menial, boring, something they wanted done as fast as possible. Today, it was some semblance of normal, and having a companion while they worked made it all the better.

It wasn't long after, however, that Alys asked an unexpected question. It was appreciated, but not what they had assumed she would want to speak on. The two had talked before, after all, they shared a cabin aboard the Hard Nox, and while Juniper would consider them acquaintances at the absolute least, the two of them hardly ever discussed their own wellbeing, unless it was some grievous injury the other had sustained, like her wrist. They froze for a moment, the heat emanating from their hands steady on a single spot for longer than they had intended. Luckily, no lasting damage was done, and work continued as the sorceress gathered her thoughts a moment later. They shrugged beneath the meadowed cloak, before speaking.

"I... Mm. I'm fine, I think. It was a lot to process. Was afraid I was going to end up a servant of the ship, or that the others were. Didn't know how long we'd be there, either. I'm very thankful you all arrived when you did, and I figure the others are too."

They did their best to keep things neutral, separate what had happened from how they felt in the moment. Best not to show attachment, not here. Not that they were worried Alys would do something about it, just a general practice, something they had been trying since they had boarded this ship and learned how the captain felt about distractions, as she put it. Juniper's tone, however, betrayed the truth. They sounded flat, detached. Noncommittal, even to their own experience, and even if Alys did not notice that, she would remember the body the changeling had been carrying, the tear-stricken face they had worn on first entering the mess of the Truth Teller.

"What about you? Your wrist seems bad. Was it during the raid, or aboard the Truth Teller? How bad is it?"
 
QUIRBLES

Emryk had hardly noticed Leo's approach, winded as he was, and gave a strained smile in response to the boy's uproarious laughter. Nevermind the fact that he'd been thrown overboard and nearly thrown out the Baron's back, it seemed-- though he hardly ruined the moment for his compatriot, nodding silently instead of scolding him for... doing whatever it was he'd done to get himself thrown so flippantly overboard. Scaled mitts gripped the railing with enough force to creak the wood as the Baron kept himself steady, ragged breaths resolving into a deep-hearted sigh as he looked out over the ocean.

"I'll rest... when we are all safe." Which, hopefully, would be quite soon, as he was running out of strength to give. Another bout like that, and he'd be an 8-foot decoration-- no more useful than a busty merfolk on the bow. Surely, he'd find some sort of occupation to excel at upon the ship that didn't run him ragged. Hopefully. That would be a matter to discuss with the captain, he supposed, whenever she--

... ah.

Emryk slowly turned to the voice of who he could only assume to be the Captain of the ship, Sinead. He made a note to address her as the former, not the latter, and took the brief period silence Leo's explanation afforded him as a means of quieting the storm in his lungs. When his pounding fatigue abated enough for him to speak, the Baron gave an askance glance to the boy-- who he now knew the name of, thankfully-- and furrowed his brow.

"I'll explain later." He would not. With that matter swiftly postponed, Emryk turned his attention to Sinead, stepping forward and extending out a roughened hand for her to shake. "Captain. I am Baron Emryk Vakaan-- I had been taken prisoner aboard the Truth Teller for over 40 days. Held for ransom, I suppose." Whether or not she returned the handshake, the Baron's hand would withdraw to his side, posture straightening in the presence of someone who-- at least for his time aboard the Hard Nox-- would be a superior. His stance did not seem to suggest subservience, however, nor did it portray submission-- rather, he was a diplomat speaking as equals. A courtly disposition, one could only assume. "Neither of us were affiliated, nor did we particularly enjoy our time with, Solomon King's crew." He crossed his arms, at that. "One of your subordinates, Juniper, can attest to the fact that I aided in her escape-- and, as Leo here said, I secured Soren's body for burial. Unfortunately, he passed during his time in prison with us, and there was little we could do."

Emryk's gaze fell, at that, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his snout for a moment before continuing. "I believe I met with your clinician of the Hard Nox-- Emer, her name was. She recommended I seek you out and tell you that she recommend I take Soren's wardrobe, given my, well..." He looked down at himself, then back to Sinead. "... particular similarities in stature. She also asked me to tell you that she has vouched for me. I'm perfectly willing to work for my stay aboard this ship, until I may leave its service-- whenever that may be." For the forseeable future, it seemed, the Baron would be a resident of the Hard Nox. Unless the Captain or crew forced him off, of course, which would be... unfortunate, certainly, in their current climate. "It had been my intent to seek you out personally before we'd fallen from the air, and it seemed there were a few immediate matters to tend to." A glance to the capstan, and then to the anchor, still being rigged back upon the slightly-damaged cathead. Emryk scoffed at the sight, shaking his head with a bemused expression. "I do apologize, but I believe I put a fist through one of your crates below deck in the crash. I suspect I have a bit of cleaning to do in the clinic, as well, from my unorthodox arrival-- but, barring that, I should be perfectly capable to lend my hand to any matter you please. Within reason. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, surely!"
 
ILLIRICA

"Leo. Emryk." Sinéad elided the titular Baron, a certain warning note in her tone making it entirely evident that this was deliberate. She didn't hold much faith in aristocracies, no matter who they belonged to. Still, she accepted his hand and gave it a firm shake, then extended it to Leo in the same manner, without comment.

The hint of hardness softened, though, even if it was only for a moment. "Soren was one of mine." He would be missed, certainly. Sinéad looked back over her shoulder, across the deck. "We'll carve his name in the main mast at sunrise." It would join all the other names there, of those who had been her crew once. Mal would throw a fit, as usual, about something so gauche as carving letters into what she thought was her boat, but Sinéad would overrule her. They'd been part of the crew once, and the living crew found some value in the idea that they were part of the ship still, in some small way.

Quick as it had come, the moment was gone, and when her eyes met theirs again, there was only steel. "I'm Sinéad Oíche, captain of the vessel. I'm not in the habit of running rescue missions, but the Truth Teller is a special case. You'll have until we reach the next port to decide if you want to be dropped off or initiate as one of the crew. We're experiencing some delays at the moment, so I suggest you find ways to make yourselves useful in the meantime."

She gave Emryk a nod, of acknowledged appreciation. The anchor could have caused even more problems, and she certainly didn't need any of those. "This is a good start. You're welcome to look through Soren's clothing - there's a few on the ship who are deft hands with a needle if you need something altered. Nothing but the clothing, though - anything else will be divided among the crew. In the meanwhile, do either of you have any skills I can use?"

Sometimes she was fortunate with the answer to the question, other times not. She couldn't say she had much hope for the half-drowned boy, if he didn't even know what a whorehouse was. In all likelihood, he was either an idiot or an academic. Sinéad hoped it was the former. She didn't have much use for academics on her ship.
 
FANG

The smile Leo wore slipped again as Emryk introduced himself with an extended hand. The lizard had done it again, speaking articulately and with measure, answering the questions asked and unasked alike with an air that was dignified and humble. Leo was going to have to practice somehow to get to that level.

”Leo, Emryk.” Leo shivered as the woman said his name, the coolness of the water secondary to the cause of the shudder. Her tone fell sentimental as she shook Emryk’s hand. ”Soren was one of mine. We’ll carve his name in the main mast at sunrise.” She extended her hand to Leo as well.

Leo had never seen a handshake prior to the one Emryk and Sinead shared, and despite the fact he had just witnessed the proper procedure the flush of that woman’s gaze seemed to muddle his mind. Gingerly he took the woman’s hand and held it between his own, without any motion or release he simply held her hand there.

”I'm Sinéad Oíche, captain of the vessel.” Her voice had shifted back to its imperial form in that moment, and Leo looked down at her hand between his. Captain? I should probably let go. His hands did not release, instead his mind was overwhelmed with the details of it, the callouses on the palm, the softness of the skin beneath his rough hands. “I'm not in the habit of running rescue missions, but the Truth Teller is a special case. You'll have until we reach the next port to decide if you want to be dropped off or initiate as one of the crew. We're experiencing some delays at the moment, so I suggest you find ways to make yourselves useful in the meantime."

Leo took stock of himself as he continued simply grasping the Captain’s hand. The seawater had taken a good portion of the filth from his body, leaving behind the scent of salt and sea that was far more pleasant than that of an unwashed man, but his torso remained as bare as his feet. His pants were tattered ruins, barely protecting modesty Leo had never known. His hair was matted and tangled by the filth and brine. Compared to the Captain he appeared the beggar, street filth one of her caliber would walk past rather than clasp hands with. The fallen smile retreated into a heavy frown.

Sinead’s words to Emryk of his work raising the anchor and of Soren’s clothes fell upon muted ears as Leo slowly released Sinead from his grasp. When she posed the question of their skills he opened his mouth, then closed it promptly. I can scrub floors and I can kill, Leo thought as he absently traced a circle upon the fabric of his pants with his thumb. She probably has an entire crew of people who can do those things. Leo bit his bottom lip slightly as he considered.

”I can scrub floors, and I can kill.” Why fix what wasn’t broken? These were his most developed skills and it would be pointless to try and claim any others. “You only need to ask it of me and I will figure anything else out. I would like to be at your service so long as we are surrounded by so much water.” Leo motioned to the edge of the deck. “Out there I will drown. The depths already tried to take me once.” A sour, almost vengeful look crossed his face for a fleeting moment. “If there is a way to earn a coin or two for outfitting and supplies I would be glad to take on whatever task you assign me. I need to equip myself for the next time I face Solomon King.”

Leo smiled again with pride. This time he had measured his words, sounding much more like the reasonable Emryk despite the consistent thudding behind his ribs. He blinked into the Captain’s gaze and shuddered again, gooseflesh rising at the heat that passed over him again. His head spun momentarily as he stepped closer to Sinead, her breath brushing past his skin as he took on a new tone, more serious but with a hint of something even he could not place name to. “You’re very pretty. I would like to speak to you in private if it is a future possibility.” He realized it was true as soon as he spoke. He would do nearly anything to bask beneath her sunset stares.
 
DELFI

From baron to prisoner was even worse. Caleb wouldn't know for how long Emryk had been kept as a prisoner of the Truth Teller, if only a day like Juniper and Soren or longer. His own experiences with metal bars had been short lived, though there was a time when it happened quite frequently. Come to think of it, it'd been six years since Sineád locked him in a crow cage the last time. He didn't miss it in the slightest.

Caleb retained a smile at the small jab at Sinead; sober Emer would never make such a comment outloud. Sober Caleb would probably have let it slide, for the sake of not getting in more trouble.

"Let's hope for his sake he stays a victim of unfortunate circumstances. Goddess knows we all were at some point." Before we turned into thieves and killers. Even Emer, who never joined the fight, was responsible for saving the lives of those who'd end dozens. Wasn't she a murderer as well, or at least an accomplice? Ciarán was even worse, he had actual blood on his hands.

At least Caleb didn't pretend he was good.

"How many people do you think we killed in Fen Manor, Ciarán? 100? 200? Let's make a bet!" He tapped the gun master on the shoulder, cynically excited about the idea. The Fir Bolg was awfully quiet for the entire conversation.
 
ANNASIEL

"A terrible hope," Emer huffed, nursing her second whiskey, taking this one a little bit slower than the first. She wasn't fully sure how much the drink had hit her yet, and hoped to keep her head level with the - questionable direction this conversation was going.

Was that an attempt to antagonize Ciaran? Or simply an ill-thought attempt at sardonic levity? Either could be the case, for Caleb, and neither sat well with her. At least the latter had less of a chance of turning into a fight.

Emer shifted in her seat, her smile entirely gone now, eyes fixated on the quartmaster.

"Caleb -" she muttered, tone admonishing, but subdued.

She didn't say anything else.
 
QUIRBLES

The name Sinéad Oíche rang a distant bell in the back of the Baron's mind, unacquainted as he was with the finer aspects of the maritime world. Perhaps it had been a warning uttered by one of the men aboard the Sweet Rosegarden, before its demise and his subsequent capture; what a poetic turns of events, then, to have him unintentionally rescued by the very scoundrels he'd heard tell of on his trip. And for a special case, no less-- which begged the question of why it had been so special in the first place. Given Solomon King's reputation and methods, he could only assume that the mission had been one of convenience... but to what ends, he did not know. The finer mechanisms of his reasoning eluded him in his fatigued state, and the matter certainly did not concern him regardless. Best to let sleeping hounds lie.

"In terms of practical skills, I'm literate and well-read-- should you need anything taken care of in terms of financing, accounting, or other matters of interacting with trade ships and vessels, I should be of some use." A finger to his chin helped hasten the mind, hand stroking the cragged edge of his jaw for a moment before he seemed to come to an epiphany. "And-- metalworking, which I believe would be far more of a practical use to you. Knowledge of metallurgy and geology, from the time at my estate." He wasn't entirely keen on elaborating beyond that, and launched into his final point with a gesture to his stocky form. "Of course, there's the topic of my size and strength. I was able to carry Soren's body from the depths of the Truth Teller to the clinic of the Hard Nox--" With a shortcut, of course, but that seemed to be a trivial point to raise. "-- and raise a runaway anchor by my lonesome." Emryk gave a smile at that, professional and curt-- though it quickly faded, somewhat, as Leo explained his own repertoire. Truthfully, the Baron thought him far more capable of cleaning and killing-- too oddly-juxtaposed skills to list in tandem-- and looked to the boy, hand on his shoulder.

"Leo here is also quite quick on his feet. Dextrous, too, and perceptive-- should you need a lookout, I'm sure he wouldn't mind being away from the water, hah!" He dearly hoped his compatriot wasn't afraid of heights-- that would have been a commendation most foul, if true. The Baron's hand returned to cross both arms, and he quietly regarded Leo as he stepped forth in a bit of an awkward gait to... lean beside the newly-introduced Captain, his desires perhaps stated a bit louder than he might have anticipated. Truthfully, Emryk's brow could only raise a bit at the scene, eyes flashing with a mix of bemusement and secondhand embarrassment. Perhaps a word or two (or three, or four) of advice would be offered the boy's way, after all of this. Mature in age as he seemed to be, the bare-chested human was as subtle as he was clothed.

"Perhaps that silver tongue of yours has tarnished in captivity, Leo," He muttered, attempting to offer a bit of help to the boy as he stepped forward and clapped a hand upon his shoulder once more-- this time, to subtly and firmly pull him back a step, in case Sinead took the advance a bit brashly. He could hardly imagine how the pirate captain would react to being propositioned by a man who'd just boarded her ship. Especially by one who'd just admitted moments prior that he hadn't the faintest idea what a whorehouse is. "Isn't he just a charmer? Do try not to let him steal your heart away, I suppose. Hah!" Right. Enough of that. "Now-- if it isn't too much to ask, Captain, I haven't had a meal in... 46 days, I believe. Given that I've hoisted your anchor, would I be able to have something from the mess? If you will anything of me, I'll get started on it right thereafter. Amicable?"
 
GHOSTLY

Ciarán had taken the cup and stayed silent, if Caleb wanted to act the fool and pretend he cared about small talk with Emer, then Ciarán would let him. His mouth stayed shut, he wasn't looking to bicker or compensate in front of Caleb, who seemed in no mood to have a genuine discussion on why he insisted on acting like an idiot.

The conversation drifted to the matter of the Scale-Folk, the one who'd carried Soren out and been tended by Emer. He seemed a fine lot, but for his sake Ciarán hoped he'd leave ship at next port. The ship had a surplus of good men turned wrong. Caleb echoed his point, and for a moment Ciarán almost wanted to toast to that. A victim of unfortunate circumstance, yes he'd been such a man once. But no longer.

A point Caleb seemed to jab at, or at least call up without respect.

His cup was empty, fire stirred in his belly. Under better circumstances he would've held some tact together, but not now. "I'd give you the count, but I'm afraid you'd be disappointed. You'd know how many we left there dead, if you hadn't been nearly split stem to stern and on your back for half the fight." He swiped the bottle and filled his cup. He was getting deep, duties and crisis kept him from drink most nights - Caleb's insolence drew him back.

"Conveniently out of harms way and carried like a pampered lady when the Truth Teller came knocking."
 
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