Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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ANNASIEL

The hammer hit the button with a crack, handle splintering slightly as the Baron drove it down full-force. Instantly, the ball shot up, crashing into the bell hard enough to break its fastenings. There was an ear-splitting DING, then the bell fell, hitting the ground with a far more muffled thud.

Emer looked frazzled, eyes wide, hands hovering above her ears as she stared at the broken attraction.

"It wasn't - supposed to do that, was it?" she asked tentatively. The operator shook his head slowly.

"Mighta hit it a little too hard, there," he said blankly. "Eya - think that's a win?"
 
QUIRBLES

"OF COURSE IT'S A WIN! Hah-HA!" Emryk bellowed out, dropping the hammer and giving a flex of his arms as he stared at the conquered tower. Letting the high of the victory taint his attitude for a moment, he gave a wild and satisfied smile to Emer once more. The expression on his face was short-lived; upon seeing the concerned expression of the doctor and the defeated expression of the game-master, the Baron quickly assumed a more courtly disposition and moved to the bell, picking it up and setting it on the strike zone of the game.

"I-- sincerely apologize, sire, I'm not sure what got into me! Must be the air tonight, ah-hah. I do bet that you've never seen that happen before, hm?" Despite his gentle tone, there was still a bit of that boisterous self-satisfaction present. "I can help fix the game, if you'd like, and then we can discuss a prize of sorts, perhaps?"
 
ANNASIEL

"Nah!" the man said a little too quickly. "Nah, I'll - patch 'er up. Prizes on tha shelf."

Grumbling something under his breath about 'bloody creatures,' he trudged behind the stall and began rummaging through a crate there.

"That was - certainly something," Emer said, moving up beside Emryk as her eyes followed the man. "Do you have much experience with this game, then?"
 
QUIRBLES

Resting his closed fists upon his hips, Emryk gave a sigh of content victory as he observed the prizes on the shelf. There were a few that stood out-- a ragdoll, a small banglet carved from what appeared to be an antler, and a necklace of flowers. The Baron gave the selection another moment's consideration before he stepped forth and took the antler bracelet. Giving a final nod of thanks to the game-master, he turned to Emer-- and extended the banglet out in both hands, smile still wide.

"For you!" He declared. "Much too big for my own wrists, I'm afraid."

Her question of experience, for the moment, seemed to go unanswered.
 
ANNASIEL

"Come now, it's your -" Emer began, protesting lightly, but Emryk wasn't having it.

Instead, she took the bracelet graciously, flipping it over in her hands before sliding it up her wrist. She held her arm out.

"It's quite lovely," she said, meeting the Baron's eyes. "Thank you."

There was something there, wasn't there? She'd be a fool not to see it. No, the hesitation, the awkwardness, stemmed more from her own uncertainty over whether or not - this was something she truly wanted. The gestures were nice. The talks were nice. The smiles, the touches -

But it was still a horizon unexplored, a stranger bringing changes, and something about that left her at arms' length.

"Emryk -"

And yet, even with that uncertain certainty, she balked to ask. Why? She was never afraid to speak her mind. A simple question, was he interested, and they'd have a firm foundation to proceed from.

"- would you like to - get something to eat? I'm afraid I'm a little peckish."
 
QUIRBLES

"Well, lovely friends deserve lovely gifts. I would be remiss if I didn't give proper compensation for your company, Emer." The Baron replied, taking her hand for a moment to adjust the bangle upon her wrist. He gazed over the arm with an appraising eye before nodding and letting go and falling in beside the doctor, looking down to her as she spoke his name. For a moment, his heart seemed to catch in his chest-- something about the way she said it was undefinably different, and the way her eyes met his own was enough to halt the world around them both. Emryk stopped his stride for a moment, staring as he awaited her next words.

"Yes, madame?"

Ah. Food. At the mere notion of dining, the Baron's stomach gave a clarion rumble, and he touched a hand to his gut in idle ponderance. The moment of quiet between the pair passed, and Emryk's smile returned, his jovial demeanor resumed. "I'd say winning that game has made me famished. Though, unfortunately, I've no funds-- and I would simply be mortified to ask you to pay in my stead."
 
ANNASIEL

"It's no trouble in the slightest," Emer replied. "Consider it payment for helping me with the bags - and for the pleasant company."

The loud rumble of the Baron's stomach coaxed out a short laugh.

"Besides, seeing as I am responsible for your health, this is simply fulfilling my obligations."

Now that they were in the festival proper, normal wares and groceries in the stalls had given way to touristy knick-knacks and all varieties of foods designed to be eaten in hand. Various forms of meats on sticks, breaded things, simple wraps bound in leaves of unleavened breads. There was a nostalgia, here, not wholly unpleasant.

"I haven't been to a fair in quite some time," she said, voice quieter. "I do miss the food, I think."
 
QUIRBLES

"Well, if you're offering..." Emryk couldn't help but chuckle, at that. "I won't eat you out of house and home, but your generosity certainly will not go untaken, rest assured." Fair food was a guilty indulgence, and part of why he had been such a portly boy in his youth. All the more cheek for his mother to grab upon his snout, he'd been told, but it had taken much of his later teenage years to turn that aristocratic chub into muscle. The incentive had not been entirely his own-- the mines were hard work, after all, and labor was as good a workout as any. By the time he had reached 25, his arms had been trunks and his gut had been slimmed to a managable slab of garnered strength. Ultimately beneficial, but the circumstances that led to his metamorphosis had been dire. The alternative to survival and fitness was the same as it was in nature.

"When was the last time you'd been?" Emryk asked, tone cautious as he approached the subject of Emer's past. She hadn't any family she'd spoken of, and he had been familiar with the unfortunate fate of the aos gaotha. Idly, he put a hand upon her shoulder-- nothing encroaching, nothing subliminal, but a simple weight to remind her of present company. She was not alone, much as her thoughts may have suggested to her. Of course, his gesture was based on a handful of assumptions, and he needn't predicate his kindness on a delusion.

"You haven't spoken much of your time before the Hard Nox." He said, tone a bit quiet. "I do sincerely apologize if I've overstepped, Emer, but I would love to know of your family. Your people. Anything you wish to talk about. Did they have celebrations like this?"

His hand hadn't left her shoulder, yet-- perhaps he'd forgotten to take it off.
 
ANNASIEL

Her smile faltered, a little, face falling at his question. When was the last time she'd been? It wasn't that night - no, there had been fairs and festivals in towns she'd passed during her travels, and while she never stayed long, never cared to take part, she'd certainly seen them.

But never remembered. It just - wasn't something she wanted to care for.

She jumped, a little, when his hand settled on her shoulder, warm and firm against her skin. Forcing her smile back in shape, she shook her head.

"A long time, I'm afraid. Even longer since I've partaken in the festivities myself. They aren't really something I usually enjoy."

She would've been happy to leave it at that. The questions kept coming, though, moving on to past and family. There were too many people, here, and she was - suddenly - far too aware of how loud the crowd was. It felt like drowning.

Emer moved quickly, shrugging off Emryk's hand, that shackle keeping her to earth.

Empty. Sky.

She took a deep breath.

"We used to. I'm sure other of my folk do, still, but I do not anymore."

Her demeanor had changed. She was tenser, colder, a bit more distant. When she smiled, it was controlled, her fingers tugging at the bangle now on her wrist, rubbing at her plain silver ring.

"Let us just find something to eat and return to the ship, alright?"
 
ILLIRICA

Try as she might to abandon everything that she had once been, there was something in the ritual of bathing and cleanliness that couldn't entirely be replaced by piracy. A quick wash with a rag and basin might have sufficed for practical purposes, but it didn't feel clean. There was especially something about the hair that just couldn't be replicated properly with naught but a bucket and a bit of soap. A bath was a luxury, and one she wasn't entirely willing to abandon.

Sinéad hated it, of course. Not the hedonism; she had no problem with that in the slightest. Rather, it was that there was still something she liked from what she had been, who she had been. She would never really forgive herself for that, so she hated it, and enjoyed it in a rather masochistic way, which was perhaps entirely in character. She'd gotten what she wanted out of it, though - her skin was clean and smelled vaguely of cherries, and her hair was damp, unbound and unbraided as it almost never was, the ends of it floating in the hot tup she was seated beside. Occasionally, she would dip her fingers in, but that was warmth enough.

There was a glass beside her, filled with iced lemonade of all things. It wasn't even alcoholic, which had been almost more of a surprise than she was willing to put up with, but the ice had been a saving grace. There must be a great deal of it in town right now - Allegria would have brought in all sorts of shipments of foods for the festival, and much of it would have been packed in ice.

That, or someone had a winter wizard around. That was certainly the easy way. Sinéad was not generally inclined to do things the easy way.

"Sol thinks I should help him take over the Floating Isles." An odd essay into nothingness, but it had been a bit on her mind.
 
QUIRBLES

"Festivals were a cornerstone upon the Isles-- perhaps we merely took the opportunity to celebrate and stop working whenever the chance presented itself, but they were plentiful, and they were swell." He could not help but lower his view to the doctor, watching the strain in her eyes and the oddness of her smile. His fingers brushed lower, moving from shoulder to tricep. They were warm, and she was cold. "But then the Empire came, and-- well, things changed." A brief piece of his history had been offered in return, an exchange meant to take the pressure off of what appeared to be a strenuous confession. His own smile fell in turn, and his expression turned to one of concern as she stepped away; idly, his hand reached out for a moment longer, but fell back to his side. Quickly, he stepped forth and took his jacket and the herbs back from her arms, lightening the physical burden upon her as best he could.

"How-- rude of me. Here I am, bragging about my strength, and I leave you to carry the goods we'd bought. My... my apologies." His grandiose tone had faltered, joviality deflated. Had he pushed too much? Was there merit to continuing? Emryk gave a nervous glance out to the crowd, and attempted to brighten the doctor's outlook with a smile and half-step to fall in line with her own pace.

"And nothing after? Are you certain? Perhaps we could see if there's any more games to win, or-- or perhaps we'd be able to find a nice musician's booth. Pass the time there." He gave a nudge with his elbow, gentle and reminding. "I am at your service, Emer. Whatever you wish to do, we shall do. Hm? Surely, there must be something beyond just heading back to the old clinic, yes... ?" A pause, then, as he glanced over her once more. "Perhaps a bit more talk about your folk, should you find it comfortable? I'm a curious man at heart, Emer. Forgive me. Anything you'd be able to tell would be delightfully interesting, I assure you. You'll find no judgement here."
 
ANNASIEL

And he, oblivious he, pushed forward, taking the bags and clothes away from her arms, looking down at her with concern. She didn't want to meet his eyes - afraid she may have hurt him, afraid he might think her hurt. She was fine. This was fine. She was acting foolish. She let him move the burden from her arms to his, her own - now having nothing to hold - instead held herself.

"No," she said firmly, resolutely.

But he just kept talking, his own voice mingling with the shouts and din. Pushing. More and more, the people around her seemed to be closing in, stealing the air away with her presence.

"I said no, Emryk."

She finally stole a glance his way, and saw what she feared in his face. The night was ruined at that. Falling apart in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm just - I feel unwell."

Not firm this time. Quiet, voice cracking slightly. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. When she spoke again, it was a little louder, but still a little softer, too.

"We have what we needed. We can go back to the ship, now - I will find something to eat there. Stay out if you wish, Baron, I cannot stop you."

Pulling up her shawl, she bundled it tightly around herself, heading back for the Nox.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper soon followed suit, behind Sinead, on their way to the baths. Their rings had been laid out neatly on their blouse, which had been folded neatly over the top of the precious silver. Once everything had been folded and tucked away neatly, as they had been taught nearly twenty years ago, the changeling made their way rather quickly over to the tub. They hadn't had a proper wash in months, maybe even longer, and they were looking forward to water they didn't have to heat their self. As they stepped over the ledge and slid down, feeling the nice, warm water creep up their back, they let out a long sigh, feeling the stress born of the last few days, and frankly the work aboard the ship, melt away near instantly.

Once settled, they looked to Nessa. A great question, did they have anything else to do that day? Or for the festival at large? Beyond some new clothes to replace the damaged ones and a new pair of glasses, they weren't quite sure. "Frankly, Nessa, I don't have much, and am very open to suggestions. It's been so long since I've been to a festival, I'm not quite sure what you actually do at one anymore," they said, before fully leaning back in the warm water, letting it wash their worries of the past days away.

As the sorceress relaxed, their mind wandered. It went back, to when they were a child, when this was a regular occurrence, rather than a rare treat. When things had been simpler, nicer, and easier to handle. Things were different now, but not all necessarily bad. Juniper soaked lazily, letting the warm waters and pleasant smells carry them off. They nearly dozed off, before Sinead spoke up. It pulled them from the edge of sleep, and they sat up a bit, blinking their eyes and stretching their back as they reached for soap.

Sol? They hadn't heard that name before. That could mean anything, of course, when it came to Sinead. For all the changeling knew, it could have been a lover the captain had kept in touch with, however unlikely. From what they could tell, she wasn't big on romantic commitment. But taking over the isles? It had to be someone who didn't know her well. Instead of inquiring, as some may have, Juniper instead focused on this mysterious Sol's request. "He does know how you feel about them, right? Being in charge of the isles would maybe be nice, but anyone who even halfway knows you knows better than to think you want to leave them floating." This much they knew for certain. The captain had no qualms about informing the crew on her hatred for the aristocracy, or frankly faeries in general. It was a miracle Caleb and Alys were allowed aboard at all, and they knew that if their upbringing had been just a bit different, they would be on the end of that spite as well. They were only half certain they weren't right now.

"On the other hand, though... Could use it as a chance to get close and then take them down from there, right? Why'd he even offer?"
 
QUIRBLES

Ah. He had pushed too hard. Ignorant as he was, resolute as he had been in trying to break past the wall between them, he had only succeeded in salting the wound she clearly wished to hide from his prying eyes. Stupid man. Putting his snout where it didn't belong, wasn't he? Bully. Browbeater. Quietly, he pulled away a step, the rejection sonorous in his ears. He had not heard her a moment ago, but her words were so very clear now.

Slowly, his brow fell into a furrowed tempest of embarrassment and hurt. His eyes fell away from hers, staring first at the ground and then moving off to some distant point beyond. As if that would save him any face. Hmh. Bound to reap what he sowed, in the end. Nobody to blame but himself. "I-- ah. Yes. If-- you're unwell, then-- perhaps it's best, yes, to just..."

And then she spoke again, and he stopped-- for he had been oblivious once, but would not be again. Emryk listened, and he nodded, hands clenching beneath the jacket once more. What was he to do? Apologize? The Baron opened his mouth to speak an apology, but only air came forth, spiraling and meaningless. His mouth hung half-agape, for a moment, then closed. His fists unclenched, and he looked away, back to that distant point. Stupid, stupid man.

"... but of course, doctor." No apology. No plea, and no parting words-- only a gaze that met her shawl-bound back as Emer stepped by him. Small as she was, her presence was swallowed by the crowd, and Emryk Vakaan was left alone, with naught but failure to keep him company. His snout tightened, a knotted thing that curled upon itself for a moment, and he gave a lofty sigh, far different from the ones that had come before it.

Heart of loam.

"Farewell."

It was cold, now, and the Baron pulled the jacket upon his shoulders with a low grunt. The herbs and clothes were stowed in its deep pockets, and he wandered out into the festival proper to fill the rest of his evening.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien did not dignify the obvious taunt with a response, with violence. The crew of the Nox simply saw him as an unhinged monster, one who craved violence and would kill without abandon. He was more than that, though. More importantly, he knew when to show restraint, when to let a slight pass. He would not feast on this infant yet. Something was launched, hurtling towards him out of the corner of his eye. Lucien simply leaned out of the way, the weapon striking the wall behind the counter and clattering to the floor.

“I am trying to conduct business, boy.” Lucien calmly stated. “If you truly wish to jump from the frying pan into the fire, I would be more than happy to oblige you at a later time.”

Caleb called for Leo, clearly not wanting to clean up the mess. Lucien spoke to the quartermaster as he was leaving. “Despite all your ambition, your desire to take her place, you still cannot even bring a pup to heel, quartermaster.” He stayed facing the counter, examining the blades that had been presented, smirking internally as the blacksmith’s jovial demeanor quickly drained.

“My apologies for the interruption. I do believe you still had to elaborate on this other blade.” Lucien spoke with the calmness of someone who did not just have a sword launched at him.
 
KATPRIDE

The trick is to attract, not to keep. Lula draws in the customers, her birds do their work, she sells a few things, and then they’re off with lighter pockets and heavier necks. If they stay, that’ll be more time for them to notice just how light those pockets have gotten. Her birds do good work.

And so there are busy times and there are lulls. It’s during one of those lulls that she spots him. She’s just tucking a few wayward feathers back into place on Wobbly - who she’s added a bit more cushioning to for the occasion, to mute the clanking - when she looks up and spots a big scaly fella walking by.

His scales. How they shimmer. She tosses Wobbly aside in her haste to jump to her feet, her wings fluttering for balance as she hooks a knee half-up onto the table in front of her. “Hey you!”

“You with the scales!” She calls, waving her arms at him. “Do you shed?”
 
GOLDEN

The scent of jasmine and citrus surrounded her senses well past Alys' third head to toe scrubbing. Her dirty blonde hair had never been shinier, and her tanned, freckled skin had never been smoother. Gods, she wished she could do this every day. "I need to swing by the blacksmiths sometime while we're here. Wouldn't mind purchasing some new clothes. And I'm definitely making a trip to the tavern. Can't wait to get piss drunk, dance until I can't stand, and make bad decisions with men. I have many many plans, dear Nessa. And yes, I am one of those fools." She had said, responding to the vampire's question with enthusiasm.

As the foursome unwinded, enjoying the sensation of cleanliness and the hot bath water, Sinead finally spoke up. Unlike Juniper, who had jumped into the conversation eagerly, Alys stayed quiet, merely listening. For one, she had no idea who Sol was, and two, it was probably not the best idea to discuss fae aristocracy with Sinead, being one of two faeries aboard the Hard Nox. Her body stiffened slightly, and she had the urge to retract her wings if given the option. Gods, why on earth did she think going to the bathhouse with Sinead was a good idea again?
 
FANG

Teeth ground and knuckles cracked as the mosquito lord simply leaned out of the way of the launched weapon and replied with the patience one might give an adamant fly buzzing about their head. His curt words and flippant demeanor grieved Leo, unable to name his pride as injured as no slave or monster could lay claim to such a notion. Still Leo’s perturbance was a nearly audible tension of body from head to toe.

Until Caleb called. Leo pushed the flames away, reminding himself that free men do not have to follow orders, not from man and not from flame. With a short hiss between his teeth Leo turned away after One-Eye, turning to speak over his shoulder as he walked through the door. ”Next time, Lord of Scraps.”

~~~


The smith rose with a set frown, the saber already grasped in hands with whitened knuckles. Had it not been for the presence of the graceful aristocrat, regardless of dietary habits, the balding man might have kicked the ruffian who disrespected his wares in such a manner to the moon. The involvement of the not-lord before him, however, had instinctively struck a fear of violence in the smith he had never known. A flush colored his cheeks as he responded to the calmly inquired sword.

”Right, yes this.” His words stumbled, his grip on the offended saber loosened before he found his words. ”This one here might suit your tastes. A simple design also well suited to cuts and slashes but with a needle-like point to pierce the smallest gaps in defenses. Holds an edge like a razor. The guard is composed of four interwoven rings, a single bar extended to the pommel to guard your hand. Plenty of room to drive a wagon through even while wielding, the position allows for an effective strike that spares your knuckles.” At the outset the smith had been reluctant to part with what could easily have been his greatest work.

”Pick whichever you’d like, sir. You’ll find no better anywhere else I lay my name on it.” The smith leaned over the counter conspiratorially and whispered to the sophisticated gentleman, ”I’ll give you a deal if you teach that man-child a lesson for mistreating my weapon.”
 
DELFI

Caleb's hand stopped at the door handle as Lucien referred to him, and just like the Vampire, he didn't look back when he spoke through a smirk.

"I don't understand what you're implying, Mr. Kilta."

He let Leo have the last word and the duo left, leaving that interaction behind and focusing on more joyful aspects of their trip.

He got Leo a pair of boots and a fancy hat, the latter against his will, but worth it for getting the man to shut up for a few minutes. Caleb's stomach craved for food, and he was about to get in line for it when he spot a familiar pair of feathery ears heading to where they'd tied the Nox.

"Emer! Over here!" The quartermaster called. He couldn't help but notice the scaled gentleman who seemed to keen on her company was no longer around.
 
ANNASIEL

It was a long walk back to the ship, and long walks meant time to think. She had made a mistake - it was on her hands. All of this was new, feelings she hadn't explored in years, memories she refused to touch - parts of her heart she had little experience in maintaining.

She would have to apologize. It was only right. No point in going back to find him now, though, within the throng of the crowd. She'd wait until he came back to the ship.

If he came back.

Oh, that thought ached, didn't it? The Nox wasn't his home, and the crew weren't his folk. She might have, with her words, driven him away - made him realize he had little reason to stay. Feeling bitter, she bit into her lip, eyes hot against the breeze.

A familiar voice called out to her. Wiping at her face with her shawl, Emer glanced up and put on her best smile. Her eyes were a little swollen, still, but she did what she could.

"Hello Caleb, dear. And Leo! I'm glad to see the both of you getting along."

She inhaled deeply.

"I was just - heading in for the night. The crowds have taken their toll, and I want nothing more than a quiet room and some tea."
 
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