|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 27, 2017 16:21:08 GMT -5
All are claimed. If you're interested in the starters below, just drop a reply and I'll make a separate thread for us!
Hello, everyone! My name is Belladonna, but feel free to call me Bell or Bella. I'm new to this forum but I've been ghosting a LOT as a guest oops but I'm definitely not new to roleplaying! I have maybe eight years of online experience up my sleeves, ten years if you count DnD as online RP prep. Note: you will definitely get some DnD memes. You've been warned.
As for what my guidelines are, there's a short, to-the-point list.
One) Don't give me one liners. Just don't. Note that there's a difference between rapid-fire dialogue (like an argument) and one liners. If the characters are conversing, one liners can possibly be acceptable.
Two) Decent grammar, please! Mistakes are fine, but text talk - nope, farewell and goodbye.
Three) IF I SAY SOMETHING THAT TRIGGERS/OFFENDS/UPSETS YOU, LET ME KNOW!! I DON'T WANT TO BE THE JERK WHO SCREWS EVERYTHING UP!!!
Four) It's just a jump in! You're welcome to go at any time!
Five) Just let me know which intro you're going off of I'd like to mark it on the post.
And that's all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Right, here's how this is going to work. Below this post will be a few different starters with the settings/characters listed above. Feel free to jump in HOWEVER and with WHATEVER you'd like! Want a rainbow skinned person? Go for it. Gay pride 12/10, I'll love ya forever.
And with that, allow me to start us off!
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 27, 2017 16:56:38 GMT -5
Setting: Pirate Ship, "Ye Olden Days" My Characters: Female Captain - Anaya Vange Male Second In Command - Haven Vange Soft black leather lashed in salt-stained winds as the captain of the ship overlooked the wide sea from the Crows Nest, holding a small telescope in one leather-covered palm. Next to the figure flapped a pirates flag, and under those were the signature sails of the infamous Bleeding Corpse - huge white canvases, splattered red with what many armies of the nations hoped was only red paint for show. After ten years aboard the Bleeding Corpse, the captain knew as well at the commanders on land that the red was not paint.
“Ships in the south, Captain Anaya.”
The captain looked over her shoulder at her brother and second-in-command, a handsome man with sun-kissed skin to match long black hair. She turned her lean body, ducking next to him and scoping out the vast expanse of blue that was her home and her palace. A wicked smile crossed over her tanned face, and she collapsed the telescope to tuck it on her leather belt once more. “Good work, Haven - let’s get the crew up and raging!”
Her second grinned as his captain grabbed onto the railing and launched herself over the side without a second thought. Flame-colored red curls came alive in bright sunlight as Anaya wrapped herself around a rope and slid down calmly as it wrapped around the mast, under the sails. Heavy boots landing on the deck, she whistled loudly to gather her crew around her. They were all salt-roughened and strong, covered in battle scars like their captain. “Ships from the Southern kingdoms,” she reported as her second in command landed next to her on the deck, hand on his sword. “Probably Whisteria, or the Netherwoods. Either way, there are two medium cargo ships, traveling close together and lightly armed…”
Much time passed - the crew of the Bleeding Corpse hooted and hollered around a huge campfire on the sand of a long-forgotten island, barely a speck in the waters. The captain, dressed in non-blood splattered skin-tight leather pants and a plain black corset, dug through a bag filled with what seemed to be medicinal herbs and doctors equipment. The siege of the two ships was successful and brief - men died, fell into the sea to be forgotten like rusted pins. Money, gold, and medicine practically flowed over her crew - along with plenty of alcohol.
“Cap’n!”
Anaya looked up from the bottle of dried sage in her hand, seeing Haven knee-deep in salt water, near where the Bleeding Corpse was shored safely. The carvings of half-decayed bodies along the beautifully kept body seemed to stare down at her as she joined her second, raising a hand to the setting sun to block its magnificent glare. There! A small plant of wood from the ships her crew had taken down - they weren’t far from the siege. On the wood was another person - too far to see if they were alive. “What should we do?” Haven asked, Looking at the captain with trusting eyes. She pondered for a moment, mulling over her thoughts. “Bring them in.”
More time passed - the plank was dragged onto the sand by Anaya and a few crewmen, the smell of dinner-cooking making her stomach rumble. “A Whisterian,” a crewman spat, hand going to the knife on his belt. Anaya’s strong hand slammed into his chest, making him take a step back obediently. “Not just any soldier,” she crooned, crouched besides the unconscious person and lifting the front of their shirt, “a medicinal soldier. This one’s been trained with medicine and war both.” Silence fell after she spoke, and she stood up again to put her hands on well-sculpted hips. Her hair was out of her way - she had tied it up, volumes of tight red curls sleek and shiny from salt and ocean water. “We’re saving them,” she decided, drawing herself up with a straight back. Everyone knew the expression on that rough, pretty face - she was set in her decision, never changing her mind. “And once they’re awake, we’ll treat them like family. We need medical hands and this one might just be the key to our problem.”
Ayana had the person taken to the fire, letting them warm up from the chill water and dry. Dinner was served - a stew with previously dried beef, something that the entire crew ate copious amounts of and laughed loudly, trading bottles of rum and what seemed to be champagne for the finer tasting. Anaya joined in on the drinking, although she kept one of her golden-green eyes on their newest rescue - it wasn’t often she showed mercy, even for these reasons. “….Seven, eight, nine, ten!” Her crew cheered as she slammed the bottle of rum down on the sand victoriously, smiling after the ten-second chugging dare. She clearly had a high tolerance, barely affected by the liquor as she laughed in success.
Hopefully things would clear as time passed, and the stranger would wake up from the smell of good food and the sound of laughter. Captain Anaya Vange had some questions.
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 27, 2017 17:25:03 GMT -5
Setting: Private Jet, Soon to be 'Vampire Restaurant', Modern days Character: Human female - Victoria "Vix" Nerra
Vix was prone to the bad side of luck, but never has she stumbled this badly. First and foremost, she now knew that vampires were real. Yeah, vampires. And the second thing? They were the kind of vampires that would steal people from homes and sell them like meat at a market for other vampires to take their pick from, a sort of vampire McDonalds. Thirdly, last and certainly the least, she had blood meant for picking. This tiny packet of paper said it all.
Wonderful.
So here she was, dressed in her rock-concert-going-attire, with fresh-dyed shock-blue hair still pulled back into a messy bun with her bangs still falling into her eyes. At least she wasn’t wearing makeup… that would have been fun to deal with. The blindfold yanked over her face as she left the concert would have ruined any eyeliner worn. Still, her large dorky black glasses were slightly bent - it was irritating her more than it would have normally, but she supposed it could have been the fact she was kidnapped and was going to be sold as food.
Then again, she was being treated… shockingly well. Too well. It was a first-class private jet she had been locked into, waking up from drug-induced slumber in an over-stuffed armchair and a bottle of Coca-Cola on a small table next to her, resting on the angrily folded papers that explained her ordeal. No seat belts, no chains, no hand cuffs, nothing. There was no one else in the cabin - although she suspected the door behind her was a mirrored window for someone to watch her. Vix narrowed mint-colored eyes in its direction. Whatever.
The clock on the wall had two halves - one told the actual time, and the other counted down. Vix assumed that the jet would be landing when the clock went down to 0 - only another eleven hours to go. Yay. She was tense, that was obvious - anger mostly, her pale hands flexing on the arm rest and her left leg crossed over her right. The black skinny jeans had a new tear in her right knee - probably from when she fought viciously back against her kidnapper before he cheated and stuck a needle in her neck.
Still, she was antsy. She jumped to her feet and paced for half an hour - her stomach rolled with hunger, but she didn’t dare touch the huge pot of what smelled like heavenly perfect potato and beef stew. Her favorite. How did they know my favorite food?! Questions raced through her head as she continued to pace angrily, arms crossed over her chest as her black Pierce The Veil shirt brushed comfortably against strong curves.
Finally, Vix couldn’t take it. She stormed over to the mirrored glass and pounded on it with her fist, glaring at her own reflection. “Look! I don’t give a damn about any of this! Can someone please tell me why the-“ she said a very unladylike word that began with f and ended with k “-I’m here?! No more BS about vampires and food stops and that kind of crap!” She didn’t let whoever was behind the door have a clue that she actually believed the words. It would explain some other… odd things about her life.
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 27, 2017 17:50:12 GMT -5
Setting: Kingdom (without magic, other than the sorceress) and any time or era you'd prefer. Character: female sorcoress, Zavena
Scales and claws flung sand far behind, racing across vast expanses of desert. The creature ripped through the area like a lightning bolt, panting with a long, reptilian tongue dripping pale green venom from long fang-like teeth. Hooked into the back of his mouth, under his tongue, was an iron bit with reins made of thick leather and decorated with black, dull beads. He seemed more than happy to obey the woman who held onto the reins, leaning over his neck and perched lightly on his strong back.
Hours passed - the horrific beast, a cross between snake, lizard, and horse never needing water but snapping up scattering scorpions as a snack - and the woman riding on his back suddenly pulled on the leather reigns with strong hands, nails colored dark black. On the horizon was a row of trees, a sudden end to the desert - she had reached her destination. The woman smiled, showing tapered canines, before giving a rolling purr of a command from plush, soft lips.
The creature hissed in delight, sprinting towards the treeline even faster than before. He was faster than a horse, faster than two or three or ten combined. Anyone watching would see a streak of scales and a long, lashing tail - a flash of white the color of ice. It was a dangerously ominous sight as the creature leaped at the dense trees - a flash of fire blasted through the greenery, and a few women collecting wild berries screamed in terror at the sight.
The lizard clawed at the ground, chest heaving with excitement and red eyes glowing with magic as its venom killed circled of grass at his talons. "Where is the castle, my fair ladies?" His rider asked, her voice silken and luxurious - not at all scratchy, as one would expect from another after days of travel in the Cursed Desert.
The women gawked at the other woman, riding what seemed to be a horrid monster. Her hair was long and tightly waved, such a bright and vivid white that it looked like it was frosted as the creature shifted weight in the pure sunlight. "Th-the castle lies north," one of the ladies gasped, pointing into the distance. The woman on the mount smiled - her face was beautiful, the gathering women noticed at once. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her eyes almond-shaped and colored night sky blue. She wore nothing but a pair of leather riding pants, hugging sightly legs, and a corset that accented her strong curves. Scandalous at best, but the black colors made her caramel, sun-kissed skin even warmer.
People screamed and dove out of the way as the horrible mount dashed through the streets and alleys between buildings and shops. It seemed that it was magical - its feet could grip onto walls with ease, pulling it forwards impossibly fast. Eventually, the woman riding the lizard pulled the reins and swung herself onto the ground - in front of them was the grand castle, and inside was a celebration. Holding the reins loosely in one hand, the woman strode forwards with complete confidence. Men pulled away - mothers hid their children from the sight of the horrid beast.
The woman stepped onto the stairs before the palace, and several guards rushed forwards. She said nothing - a tiny jerk of her head, her eyes glowing with navy blue light, and every single guard was thrown backwards. The lizard hissed in amusement and followed his mistress, talons carving into the marble of the stairs. Following the sound of music and circus acts, the woman soon found herself before two massive doors. The throne room. With a flick of her fingers, the doors burst open so fast that a gust of wind put out every torch and candle lit inside the room. Doors that took three guards each to open latched themselves to the walls to prevent them closing.
Knights, circus staff, the nobles, and the King and his son themselves were seated or standing, having a grand time in rich clothing and sweet wine. Swords were drawn - and turned into nothing more than a cloud of emerald green butterflies with a nod of the woman's head. "I come without malice," she soothed, and her lizard flicked his tail agreeably. She strode forwards, her gait as graceful as a dance as she locked impossibly blue eyes on the King. "I came from far, far away, Your Highness," she said, her voice the only sound in the room. One hand rose slightly by her side, her fingers flicked - the fire blasted back into life amidst gasps of shock.
"My name is Zaneva, Sorceress of the Third Branch of Magic. I come on the orders the Mother Goddess has given. I have come to serve the King to my fullest abilities of a Sorceress, the last High Priestess of the Old Religion." She stepped closer, her lizard mount hissing a warning at a guard who dared take an offensive step forwards. "The Great Dragon of Avalon has given me his last flames, his last magic breath. I come to protect your kingdom, but this glorious purpose can only be allowed with the Imprint between a King and myself."
She stopped in front of the two thrones, where the King rested tensely. She slowly lowered herself to one knee, a fist over her heart. "My Lord, in the near future lies a terrible sickness in your lands. Magic is the cause, and the cure - I offer myself as a servant, both as a maid and your magic, to protect the kingdom that once saved my people from extinction."
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 28, 2017 9:22:51 GMT -5
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 29, 2017 4:16:07 GMT -5
Reuven && Lan ✖ ✖ ✖
The Master Gunner watched as her captain - Captain Anaya to be exact - slam her hand into a crewman after he’d tried to carve the unconscious stranger into what she could only imagine as a hundred miniscule pieces of flesh. Both of her hands rested on her holsters, which carried two slim pistols that she would use without hesitance. Reaching for them or letting the tips of her fingers rest against them gave Lan the small amount of comfort she seeked, even if that comfort was a small amount. It was reassuring to know that she could put holes in someone, if they dared to threaten Captain Anaya's crew or even the Captain herself (ha, arrogant bigots - as if the captain had any time for them), and spell out the word "I'm sorry,” across their chest until they were dead. Then again, she supposed that whoever that foolish soul could be would be dead before she'd finish spelling out the two words.
A small flicker of surprise took ahold of Lan. It wasn't often that Captain Anaya spared someone, no matter what sort of occupation of status they seemed to hold.
“And once they’re awake, we’ll treat them like family. We need medical hands and this one might just be the key to our problem.”
Like family? She quirked an eyebrow. This truly was a rare occasion, though she had no complaints. Any demands that Anaya and Haven had in mind were things she could keep and follow without doubting their word. If they ordered her to walk the plank, she'd do so. If they wanted her to turn the wrong end of a barrel against herself, then that was what she'd do. If they wanted her to go and sleep, which was difficult for Lan because she believed that, while it was restful, it was a waste of time and something else could be done, she’d go ahead and rest (perhaps with a slight frown, though).
Dinner was served soon afterwards, and she sat back, leaning against one of the fallen pieces of wood with her arms crossed over her chest and a slight smile tugging the corners of her lips. While she liked to, it wasn't often she participated in the chugging dare, because her tolerance was rather low. Actually, the last time she’d done so, it had almost lead her to a situation she hadn't been able to come back from (er, it was something she didn't like to imagine because of how both amusing and horrifying and disastrous it could have been), and so she'd decided that it would be best if she didn't participate. Besides, she liked watching others enjoying their games more than delving into them herself.
But it was then her shooter's eye, sharp, observant, and a shade of brown that could've been dark amber underneath the light, flickered over to the tall stranger as he moved. He hadn't sat up, but his fingers had gingerly moved against his side, as if his muscles were making sure that he was still alive. She gauged his features a little more: she supposed he was attractive with tousled black hair and a fair complexion. He had smooth and graceful features — they couldn't belong to a man of constant bloodshed. At least, that was what she'd thought, until she took another glance at his hands. They were calloused. And when his dark, dark eyes turned on her, she thought she was being dragged under a labyrinth of secrets that she could not escape from.
-
Reuven was a man of mysteries, indeed. Aside from acknowledging his time with his younger brother who was now an adult and had left the small nest that had supported him, Reuven never spoke of his past and (playfully) declined to abide by any “games” that reinforced a reveal of one’s past life, specifically those done over a wooden table with an inquisitive crowd. Or a filled glass of you-know-what, for that matter. His reticence was what allowed those around himself to freely imagine what his life had been like without any restriction, and because he never acknowledged one over the other, he wore a veil of different lives despite wearing a rather mischievous demeanour. He was the son of a sailor, someone had said. He remembered that rumour specifically because it had been the most normal of them all. Others included less salubrious cases, or those filled with wealth and riches.
Taking a seat on the edge of his bed with his slender fingers tugging at his thick, inky locks, he took a glimpse outside at the gray sea. It was a vast body of beautiful, shimmering blue, but he was aware of how scarlet it could churn, permeating with the smell of disease and blood. And he was more than well aware that it could also become a dark void that engulfed anything and everything in its way. Well, no matter. It wasn’t as if he was wishing for misfortune, though Reuven was also aware of the fact that he did not seem like a man with good fortune and trouble always seemed to follow. To some, his misfortune could seem like a running gag. To others, it was a death sentence. But he always managed to escape them somehow, slipping out from the tight grasp of trouble with his silvery words and his charming (at least, he'd like to think) smile.
In any case, he was a man of intelligence, and as such, he carried himself with a certain air about him, though there was something behind his gaze that implied a much more serious, collected, and stoic side of himself that would not and could not let any intruders pass. So yes, one could say that if they knew the true Reuven, he did not trust anyone, even if he flirted with them once or twice, and he could not care less about sticking around an individual for long, because he never expected any relationship to last. Some cursed him for his ‘callous indifference,’ while others seemed to want more from him than he could truly give. He looked deceptively younger than he actually was, which, while he wouldn't freely admit, was over twenty-two. He could be twenty-three, but that was a very small mischief that he would keep to himself unless it was wrangled out of him.
He was in the midst of thinking when his view suddenly tilted and the world went dark, but only after he’d heard several voices holler and scream. Some were familiar voices - and others were not. Just his luck.
He awoke to the sound of laughter and a whiff of something delicious - something that his starving stomach could not refuse. But the laughter wasn’t that of the temporary crew he'd been with (it’d been so short that he'd only gotten the time to memorize some of their names), but rather belonging to an entirely different group. Where was he? What had happened? Ah yes, he thought, his mind still half-drifting, placing him near a line of subconsciousness and reality. The raid.
He did not rise immediately, instead opting to listen to his surroundings, because his head stilll felt numb and he knew that the corners of his vision would be a blurry mess if he rose now. The voices and the discussions that were going on could only indicate that these were... pirates? Next to him, his hand moved. It wasn't as if he was trying to hide the fact that he was awake - there was no point in that, if these individuals were truly pirates.
And the fact that he was here, so close to them... he'd either been a lucky survivor, or a man ready to be roasted on a stick. Even though not much fazed him, he prayed that he wasn’t categorised to the latter situation.
Slowly, gingerly rising with a small wince, he grabbed the side of his head and allowed himself to look. He felt his eyes widen, just the slightest bit, as he blinked once, then twice though he remained collected as much as possible as a man in this situation could be. He met eyes with a girl - she seemed young, though he doubted she was much younger than he was, with honey-brown eyes that were framed by dark lashes and a small face with a rather small height. Dark, chestnut hair cascaded down her shoulders, stopping around her mid-back, and he thought that her subtly wavy locks reminded him of a serene river at dusk.
He then spotted two other prominent individuals of the bunch - a very fine lady and a very fine man. But that didn't change the fact that these were all pirates, and that the men he’d barely known, were most likely dead.
Truly, he thought to himself with the smallest, wryest smile, though it barely looked like one and could appear to be a small grimace at the notion that the men he'd still known, no matter how brief it had been, were gone. Today was his lucky day.
( hello! this looked really interesting so i went ahead and wrote a response to the pirate starter. i hope you dont mind and i hope it's okay that i made lan the master gunner. if not, please let me know and i'll edit this post right away c: do you have any idea where you'd like to take this? also welcome to the forums! )
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 29, 2017 10:05:04 GMT -5
(( I'd be interested in the vampire plot ^^ Would you like me to make another human or a vampire? What sort of ideas do you have in mind? ))
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 29, 2017 12:22:08 GMT -5
@al (Nonsese, your post is wonderful! I'll have a reply soon!)
@rashard (Human, vampire, whatever you'd like! I think it would be fun to play a vampire interested in purchasing her, but it's up to you! No plot, just a jump-in!)
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 29, 2017 12:42:23 GMT -5
( okay cool. I will get a post up soon - meeting a friend at an arcade (: )
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 29, 2017 13:15:25 GMT -5
( thank you! take your time ^^ )
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 29, 2017 13:33:30 GMT -5
Haven was an observant man. He was also a patient man, which made sense that he had chosen to light next to the Master Gunner with his dinner rather than participate in games. He didn't say anything - the only person he usually spoke to was his younger sister and Captain - but he gave a respectful nod, leaning against a bounder int he sand behind him and crossing his ankles. At his boot was a small knife - one of many on his form, as always. There must have been dozens hidden under leather and cloth.
Of course, he noticed the man was awake, a few moments after Lan noticed though. Her eyes were the finest of any of the crew, and she was highly respected. After all, she had more authority than many of the men and women there, a special place, given by the captain herself among the fifty shipmates. "Anaya," Haven got to his feet quietly, moving over to his sister - she held up her hand as he approached her, her golden-green eyes resting on the man shuffling awake on the board he had been adrift on.
"Haven," The captain murmured, her eyes still on the stranger as he shuffled around in a daze. Haven immediately listened, crouching next to his captain. She spoke in the hand-code of their crew, a private language that only members of the Bleeding Corpse could understand. Search him, then get him clothing and food. Then, take him to my quarters. The man just nodded in understanding and stood up, clapping his sister on the shoulder with family affection before approaching the stranger. The captain turned to face the Master Gunner, her golden-green eyes flickering with light from the fire as the sun began to fully set. "Come with me," she ordered firmly, getting to her feet. "I need to discuss something with you before the stranger joins us."
The rest of the crew watched as Haven helped the stranger from Whisteria, offering a drink of fresh water before helping him to his feet. Haven was tall, broad, and stronger than many - he had no issues taking some of the man's weight. He said nothing, but his sister offered a silent expression - the two were close, it was obvious. They seemed to be able to communicate is subtle body language, in a way that the rest of the crew couldn't see or understand. He offered a subtle nod, then continued to the Bleeding Corpse - there was a pulley system that the crew used to haul injured onto the deck, which was what Haven planned to use to help the man aboard.
"Kinsley!" Anaya called, and a man jumped to his feet immediately. He had a compass around his neck, a star tattooed above the leather cord. Navigator. "Direct the Bleeding Corpse to the North," she said, and his eyes widened dramatically. "Captain, are you sure-"
"The Northern Lands, Kinsley! Do not disobey!" The woman said fiercely, and the man ducked his head in submission. The Captain nodded as he began to look up at the stars, just starting to appear. She turned to Lan once more, jerking her head towards the ship. "I have something for you. Follow me."
Several minutes later, the Captain inserted an old, slightly bent key into a door only she and her brother had seen unlocked. It was one time and one time only, when they were but thirteen years old - almost two years after they were brought aboard by the previous captain. The Captain paused before opening the door, glancing at the Master Gunner. "Lan, what's behind this door is yours and yours alone. No one is to see it. No one is to know about it. It is a secret between you, me, and Haven. If I hear anyone else speak of it, there will be consequences. Understand that."
With one last stern look, the Captain pushed open the door. Inside was a weapon - but not just any weapon. It was a cannon with the oddest formation, etched with silver and foreign symbols. A Kraken Killer - something rare, and very, very valuable. Something that many pirates had spent their lives searching for. "I assume you know the legends of the True North waters? That there are creatures of fairy tales that attack ships from the bottom and steal crewmen and women in their sleep." She held out the key, waiting for the other woman to take it from her open palm. "This is your station the moment we pass the border. You will sleep here at night with a lantern on at all times, and you will keep it loaded the same. Until then, I need you to train the others on proper firearm handling. We're going to be in rough waters, and I don't mean the storms."
Meanwhile, Haven managed to help Reuven onto the ship and to the male quarters. He said nothing, only retrieved a plain shirt and a pair of leather trousers that looked to fit the stranger. It was only after he set the clothes on the hammock he had seated the man that he spoke. "Change quickly. The Captain has a few words for you. Do not lie. Do not leave out anything. Do that, and she will most likely feed you to the sharks. Adress her as Captain Anaya, nothing else. Understood, stranger?"
He didn't care about the answer - it was obvious as he turned away towards his own hammock, beginning to shed weaponry like a snake sheds skin. Dozens of throwing knives left his person, clinking together in the case nailed to the wall. Three sets of daggers. Two small pistols. A hand-held crossbow and a dozen darts. A bottle of something that looked suspiciously like Deadly Nightshade oil was considered, then tucked back into who-knows-where. Finally, the man shut the chest and locked it with a key that hung around his neck then turned back to Reuven. "Are we ready to meet Captain Anaya, now?"
Anaya heard her name from behind the door into the men's quarters, but she ignored it as she led Lan - who now had the key to the locked-again door of the secret room - towards the Captains rooms. She and her brother both used the area, even if Haven slept with the other men. "Join us for questioning the stranger. You have the finest eyes of the crew, and I need you to tell if he's lying to us about anything. If he his, shoot him immediately. I'll clean up the mess afterwards. Understood?"
|
|
|
Post by ✦ ┇ W ι ɳ on Jul 29, 2017 13:53:26 GMT -5
(hey!! The third plot looks cool mind if I respond? I'll get a post up in a bit c: )
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 29, 2017 14:18:36 GMT -5
(Sounds perfect!Go right ahead! )
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 29, 2017 16:18:07 GMT -5
( I will get a post up as soon as I can. I'm feeling a little dizzy right now so I'm gonna lay down for a bit )
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 29, 2017 16:30:08 GMT -5
(Of course, of course! Take your time, don't worry about it. Feel better soon!)
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 29, 2017 21:46:00 GMT -5
Rhysand
A sharp inhalation was the only sign that he had awoken. He breathed in, pulling oxygen into his lungs before exhaling the carbon dioxide his body had produced. Although his body no longer aged, he still had a few basic biological functions. He breathed, he slept – sort of – and he ate. Not the normal diet; his diet was about as strict as it could be. He stirred, eyes flickering open to stare at the sloped ceiling of a private jet. It took a moment for him to remember his surroundings, as his body tensed, eyes dilating. The jet. The humans. That was it. He relaxed marginally, rising from the plush seat he’d settled into earlier. When the others had approached him with the prospect of engaging in the trade of humans, for the sole purpose of their blood, he’d originally been disinterested. As old as he was, he didn’t often need to feed. A few months later, they’d approached him again, and Rhysand had finally relented and agreed to engage in the trade. Perhaps it’d bring some amusement to his life, if only for a short time.
There was an undertone of boredom to his life nowadays, he decided. When you lived to be a millennium in age, he supposed it wasn’t entirely unusual to be constantly bored. As the years ticked by and stacked up, it seemed the human species grew less and less interesting. It was always the same with humans; they lived, they reproduced, and then they died. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. He’d seen civilizations rise and fall; had seen individuals reshape the nature of power in a short time, only to be knocked from their throne just as quickly. He’d seen countless wars, battles and conflicts, and it had all become a mindless, soundless drone as he drifted through time. He was ageless, outside of the norm.
In one smooth motion, Rhysand uncoiled his six-foot-two frame from the plush leather airline seat, stood to his full height, and turned his violet-blue towards the mirrored wall that separated the human’s compartment from his cabin. While the organizers of this trade hadn’t been happy about Rhysand’s request, they’d relented. He’d insisted on traveling with the human they’d been planning on kidnapping. He wanted to observe the human, before making his decision. He cocked his head, watching the female pace back and forth, arms crossed over her chest in a defensive position. The pacing went on for a half hour, before it seemed her patience reached an end and she approached the mirror wall.
A smile tugged at the end of Rhysand’s mouth, and he found himself… intrigued. Such a simple feeling, but one he hadn’t felt in a long time. The female was abrasive, irritated, and uncomfortable. Her eyes – such an odd color – were flashing with anger, her jaw was clenching and releasing, and she was curling her hands into a fist occasionally. Her instincts would be riding her hard, warning her of all the dangers of the situation; fight or flight would kick in, and adrenaline would flood her system, increasing the oxygen content of her blood, the metabolism rate of her muscles, and heart rate. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the pounding of the female’s heart. With a purr of amusement, Rhysand moved closer to the mirrored wall, pressed a button on the side of the cabin, and watched with a bemused expression as an invisible door swung outward. With the grace of a jungle cat, Rhysand stepped into the human’s compartment, pinning her with an intense violet-blue gaze. He inhaled her scent; a forest after a hard rain. It was refreshing, one that Rhysand found he liked very much, although it was marred by the scent of the stew nearby. The invisible door swung shut behind him without making a sound.
The edge of his mouth curled upward in a smirk. “Greetings,” he purred in a velvety smooth voice. He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not language becoming of a lady, is it?” His voice was soft, but had an undertone of authority, of power. He could snap the human’s neck in an instant, and she wouldn’t be able to stop it. His gaze scanned her form, taking in the small injuries. Her jeans were torn at the right knee, and there was a needle wound in her throat. He frowned. He’d known they would’ve drugged her, but still he hadn’t expected the… anger at the prospect of the female in front of him being injured. She was fragile; they should’ve been careful.
She was a pretty little thing; not even the shock of blue hair on her head detracted from that. So fragile, and still Rhys could sense an underlying strength just below the surface. If she was pushed far enough, she’d fight back. That would be an amusing sight; he’d bet she was like a little wild-cat. The intrigue, the amusement he felt in that moment, was welcome. He hadn't felt anything in a long time; hadn't been engaged in life in a long time, and although a small part of him felt sorry for the female's situation - she had been kidnapped, after all, and was going to be sold, either to Rhys himself or another buyer - he was far too intrigued by the female to do anything that would change the situation. Yet.
He scanned the surroundings, raising an eyebrow as he returned his gaze to the little female. “Comfortable?” he prompted, in an almost taunting voice.
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 29, 2017 23:43:45 GMT -5
Vix was, understandably, not amused. In fact, she was so unamused that she leaped back with her feet taking a natural defensive formation. When the door suddenly whipped open and this hulking tower of a man stepped through, she was so unamused that she raised her hands to defend herself.
Okay, so she was startled. Close enough.
She stared at the man for a moment with anger-lit mint eyes, slowly relaxing her body as much as she could from the defensive position. She didn't say anything to him at all, for a bit - she just half-glared at him in disbelief. Did he really just ask me that? Surely he's being sarcastic. Finally, at last convinced she wasn't going to get jumped again, the young woman lowered her hands completely and slid them into the front pockets of her skinny jeans. "Yeah, and also really amused with this whole thing," she said with scathing sarcasm. Boiling water practically dripped from her words. "The whole thing was absolutely fantastic. The needle was a nice touch. Really classy. Is this how you treat all your guests?"
Obviously, she couldn't stand being still for long. Despite the intimidating gaze resting down on her - she was, after all, at a solid five-foot-seven-inches - Vix began to pace again, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes stressfully. "What's going to happen now? Is this a prank? I swear to god if you glitter in the sun, I'll snap my own neck," she seethed half to herself, absolutely enraged with the situation. The vampire was right - it was easy to see her as a wildcat, her hackles raised as she stormed back and forth with angry almost visibly dripping from her skin. "I was supposed to go to the hospital in the morning too! Ah, F-Bomb, this is why I don't take painkillers anymore." she was ranting now, understandable in her situation.
She glared towards Rhysand again, pushing her glasses rather violently back on the bridge of her nose. He was amused! Amused at this whole situation! Her anger was almost at its snapping point. She was ready to keep going when it suddenly hit her. A wave of dizziness so powerful washed over her, she stumbled in her tracks and had to lean against the wall of the plane, her anger suddenly funneling into a panic. Oh no. Her iron deficiency - it was acting up again, making it hard for her to see straight or breathe. Without the iron supplement pills - which were in her bag, which was thrown away after she was drugged - she would have this problem more and more until she had to be rushed to the hospital for treatment. The girl completely lost her balance, sliding down the wall and trying to force air into her body.suddenly felt as if she hadn't slept in a week, she was so tired. A heat wave zapped through her body like temporary fever, making her shiver violently.
The whole attack lasted maybe forty seconds. After that, Vix was slowly able to get oxygen back into her blood even if the dizziness and fatigue didn't quite pass. She glared at the vampire, leaning her burning back against the cool plastic-covered-metal wall of the plane. "F-Bomb you, F-Bomb all this S-Bomb. Don't you want someone with healthier food to offer?" She gave air-quotes around the word food, then slowly began to force herself back to her feet. All the color drained from her face, and she leaned against the wall again as she cursed under her breath. Anemia was great.
Vix glared at the vampire again with her strange minty eyes, not flinching at his blue-purple gaze. She didn't say anything else - she felt weak, dizzy - but her bitter glare was more than enough to tell him that the thoughts going through her mind were so bitterly sarcastic that he could have felt them singe into his soul for the rest of his forever-life.
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 30, 2017 0:05:55 GMT -5
( ^^ will respond tomorrow )
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 30, 2017 0:51:54 GMT -5
Reuven && Lan ✖ ✖ ✖
Spotting Haven nod in her direction, Lan blinked once before returning the same respectful gesture. It was a quiet exchange as he didn’t say anything, but she didn’t mind. Her mind flickered back to the time when she was still a little girl, walking across the street with a basket of small flowers in her soot-covered tiny hands, her bare feet bruised from scurrying around the uneven floor from a long day’s toil. At the time she’d met eyes with an older woman in the distance, and that older woman had, after a moment of blinking, smiled in her direction before disappearing down the crooked street. For some reason, it was small details and means of communication like this that Lan refused to forget. She wished she’d smiled back at the older woman, but she’d been too dazed at the kind gesture to really have done anything.
When she finally pried her gaze away from the stranger, she caught Haven and Captain Anaya exchanging a word together, though she could not make out what they were saying from the distance she was at. Moments later she saw Haven clap her on the shoulder — with a certain affection, Lan thought — before approaching the stranger, who was dragging his hair through his tousled hair, his half-hidden and half-curious dark eyes scanning their surroundings before landing on the powerful duo. It seemed that he might’ve had something to say, though he continued to remained silent, almost even patiently waiting for the next event to take place. She almost felt herself bristle a little. She was used to seeing desperate men begging for mercy, or those who fell in panic, but she hadn’t yet seen someone so wrongly serene in a circumstance like this. It was even a little unsettling.
“Come with me,” she heard her Captain speak, and it took her a brief moment to realise that Anaya had indeed been regarding her. Her amber-brown eyes looked up to see those of Anaya’s — a hue of golden-green that seemed to illuminate fiercely brighter from the reflection of the fire. The sun was beginning to set. She thought that perhaps it had been Anaya’s bright orbs that had stolen that light.
Something to discuss? With her? Her eyes flickered back over to where Haven was, then back over at Anaya, and she found that her back had straightened a little more. “Yes, of course,” she said steadily as she fell behind the Captain’s footsteps, following her with a short glance over her shoulder.
-
The corners of the Whisterian’s lips had curved to form the smallest hint of a smile of gratitude when water was offered to him. Reuven hadn’t realised that his throat had been dry as an old roll of parchment - it was only after he’d let the situation register in his head that he began to notice just how much his entire body ached, particularly his shoulder. “Thank you,” he croaked, surprised to hear that his own voice sounded so rough. It was a stranger’s voice.
Once he was up on his feet with the help of the other young man, he rolled his neck a little with his other hand resting on his slim waist. Just as he’d thought, rising to his feet had made the corners of his vision blurry, and he felt his head numb sharply, almost causing his knees to buckle. But he manage to remain where he was, concealing the fact that he was seeing bursts of red, yellow, and blue stars across his eyes with the layer of leisure that lingered upon his expression.
-
Lan watched as the Navigator turned to face the stars, which were beginning to appear. To her, they resembled diamonds lazily sprawled out across a King’s velvety cape. Impossible to reach, and yet, oddly beautiful. But what had caught her attention the most was Anaya’s words. “Direct the Bleeding Corpse to the North.”
It was no wonder why Kinsley had reacted the way he had, because temporarily, Lan’s eyes reflected the same surprise as those of his, though she remained silent, because the Navigator was the one who’d spoken before her, and she was glad that she hadn’t gotten the chance to open her mouth. She didn’t want to seem like she was questioning Anaya by any means, but there were many vicious and strange tales that encircled the Northern Lands, and none seemed too pleasant indeed.
They stood before a door. A door that had, for the longest time she could remember, had been locked — a door Lan had never seen open before. And yet, here she stood next to Anaya, who’d inserted a slightly bent key into the door. Curiosity filled her and pulsed through her veins — it had been a long time since she’d felt this sort of inquisitiveness, because the idea of sailing to the North was still at the back of her mind, and so was what could possibly lay beyond the doors. It was almost a childish sense of curiosity that had took possession of Lan.
"Lan, what's behind this door is yours and yours alone. No one is to see it. No one is to know about it. It is a secret between you, me, and Haven. If I hear anyone else speak of it, there will be consequences. Understand that."
“I understand,” she said as she leaned her weight on her right foot with a thoughtful furrow of her eyebrows. “Captain,” she then began, pausing a little before continuing. “Are you sure this is something that you can trust me with?” Again, she didn’t mean to question Anaya’s decision, but it was almost a little overwhelming to think, for a moment, that she was about to see what lay ahead as well, because as Anaya had said, only the three of them would know what was beyond the wooden surface. And if the Anaya and Haven had kept it hidden for so long, she was certain that whatever was inside was something indescribably valuable. “I’m sorry,” she quickly said while sheepishly resting a hand on the side of her head while ducking a little. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was questioning you. It’s just a little overwhelming to think that you’ve entrusted me with something so important.”
And important it was. The sight of the odd yet powerful and ancient weapon made Lan freeze. This was no ordinary cannon, and she was aware of what significance it held. "I assume you know the legends of the True North waters? That there are creatures of fairy tales that attack ships from the bottom and steal crewmen and women in their sleep.” Listening to Anaya’s words, she nodded her head to indicate that she had heard of the legends as she received the key, a little hesitantly at first. Her expression, however, shifted, changing from that child-like curiosity and wonder to an unyielding sternness. Your station, the words seemed to ring in her ears. She felt her lips tug a little, and a familiar look of mischief crossed her face as she held the key in one hand while the other gently touched her holster once more. “You needn’t worry, Captain. I’ll make sure that’s all done in a day or two.” She was joking, of course. There was no way she’d be able to train every man and woman with proper firearm handling in two days, but she was determined to make it happen as soon as she could.
"Join us for questioning the stranger. You have the finest eyes of the crew, and I need you to tell if he's lying to us about anything. If he his, shoot him immediately. I'll clean up the mess afterwards. Understood?"
Maybe she’d get the chance to spell the words “I’m sorry” on this stranger, after all. Her hands reached for the guns at her side, though she didn’t necessarily pull them out just yet. With a flick of her fingers, that would all change. “Your wish is my command, Captain Anaya.” A small, wicked smile appeared upon her lips. “Leave it to me.”
-
"Change quickly. The Captain has a few words for you. Do not lie. Do not leave out anything. Do that, and she will most likely feed you to the sharks. Address her as Captain Anaya, nothing else. Understood, stranger?”
Reuven only quirked an eyebrow before leaning back into the hammock. It was clear that this man didn’t really care about his answer, so he remained where he was, glancing over at the new attire he’d been given. So, he was about to meet the Captain, was he? Captain Anaya, the man had said. Hmm, he thought as he tilted his head a little to the side, watching the other man shed his weaponry. He’d never seen someone with so many weapons - the man was hiding more weapons in his clothing than a wardrobe could hold. “I don’t really have any other choice, now, do I?” Was all he said with his deceptively light-hearted voice to the question, an unrevealing smile dancing across his lips. It wasn’t unfamiliar to see him with one, even if he was stuck in plights. "So," he started as he slowly massaged his own shoulder, which felt quite cramped and swollen. Maybe he'd been knocked into something during the raid and hadn't realized it. "May I at least have your name, or am I to refer you as beau?" He’d heard once from someone that he was a man who even seemed to enjoy bringing all sorts of unexpected trouble in his own direction (which he’d lightly shrugged off at the time with a laugh). Perhaps it was true. After all, how boring would life be without a few surprises here and there?
"That attitidue's going to get you killed one day, Reuven."
"Alas, here I still am."
He remmebered that voice snorting with small laughter. "True. You do seem to have the devil's luck when it comes to surviving."
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 30, 2017 0:53:39 GMT -5
( sorry for the late response! the time difference is p crazy )
|
|
|
Post by ✦ ┇ W ι ɳ on Jul 30, 2017 8:01:31 GMT -5
(sorry yesterday got bushier than I thought I'm gonna go back to bed and reply in a few hours!)
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 30, 2017 9:13:34 GMT -5
Anaya looked at her Master Gunner with obvious approval before beckoning the other woman to follow behind her, shedding the black leather that she practically lived in. Crewmen were beginning to flood onto the boat, preparing for a night of sailing - half of the crew stayed above deck, the other half retired to the sleeping areas. They would take the day shift - those who slept during the day would guide them through the night. A young woman gave a salute to the Captain as she passed, and Anaya nodded back with her golden green eyes glowing in the firelight of dozens of lanterns and lamps.
She lead the way onto her personal quarters, motioning for Lan to take a seat in one of the fine chairs in front of a table with jars of ink, quills, papers and maps neatly covered the surface. "We'll wait here for the time being." She hung her leather coat on the hook by the swaying hammock. There used to be a small swaying sea-bed, but after the woman took over for the previous Captain two years previous, nothing felt quite like a loose hammock so she took away the bed, replacing the area with several trunks of some of the most precious cargo - books. Knowledge truly was power.
~~~~
Haven didn't crack a smile. He didn't even crack a different expression than that neutral contempt. "You get crew names when the Captain says you get crew names," he intoned in his salt-wind harshened voice, looking at Reuven with the same golden-green eyes his sister had. "Now get changed. The crew hates that symbol on your chest, Whisterian."
Once the other man was presentable by their crew's standards, Haven flipped a knife in his hand and it seemed to vanish without him moving much. It was hidden somewhere along his form. There was an admiring rumor being spread that any Southerner's army officials could pat him down, and find nothing - then had their throat slit the moment they turned away. "Walk," he said dully, pushing the man forwards lightly as crewmen began piling into the hammock-crowded area, eyeing the newcomer curiously. "Oi, who'sat?" One asked, motioning towards the stranger with non-hostile curiosity. Anaya had told them to treat him like family, and they didn't plan on disobeying a woman so merciless.
"Duck," Haven said in a monotone voice, and a lithe man suddenly swung over them on a rope with a lit torch in his hand. He cackled happily at the joke, landing easily on the thin railing along the edge and running along, lighting severals lamps, before catching the rope again and swinging off behind the massive red-splattered sails. A song began starboard of the ship - the singing caught up all around them, two dozen men and women joining in on the sea chant as they worked with calloused hands all too used to ending lives.
They call me hanging Johnnie, Hooray, Hooray! They call me hanging Johnnie, Hang, boys, hang.
They say I hang for money, Hooray, Hooray! But saying so is funny; Hang, boys, hang.
I'd hang the highway robber, Hooray, Hooray! I'd hang the burglar jobber; Hang, boys, hang.
The song continued behind the pair as Haven opened the door to another area below deck, motioning Reuven in before himself. The Captains area was plain and undecorated, save for an assortment of incredibly fine swords along the wall. Those weren't only decoration - there was a cleaning cloth on the ground, stained red from the death it had cleansed from those bitter metal weapons.
Anaya looked up from the book she had been reading, a thick volume with a firm leather binding. She didn't say anything, just set the book down and took her crossed ankles off the table. Haven nodded respectfully to her and Lan, offering the Master Gunner an expression that was all too clear: I don't like this man. Anaya ignored this, walking towards the stranger and crossing strong arms over her chest. She was silent as she walked around the man, looking him up and down curiously. The only thing she wore a shirt was a plain black leather corset, the back laced to show a wide strip of her strong, lean back that had considerably fewer scars than her front.
Finally, she looked over at Lan. "Eyes peeled," she reminded the woman, then glanced at the stranger once more. "My name is Anaya - I'm the captain of this ship. Over yonder is our Master Gunner, Lan - behind you is my Second and my brother, Haven. Take a seat, but keep your mouth shut, stranger." She nodded towards the table again before taking another seat a bit away, on a plain wooden chair, and crossing her left leg over her right. Haven sat on a seat next to his sister, flipping a chair around and straddling it backwards. Anaya glanced at Lan and gave a shake of her head. The Gunner would not be seated for now. The Captain wanted her as nimble as possible.
Haven glanced at his sister with the exact same eyes as her, seeing her study the man curiously before finally sitting up straighter and laying the deal on the table. "The Bleeding Corpse needs a medically inclined crewmate," she said bluntly. "I've taken a few lost soldiers from your country, but our medic took a fall a sea and a half ago, snatched up by the sharks almost the second he hit the water. The badges on your coat suggested you were at least trained in the basics of medicine." As she spoke, Haven glanced back over at Reuven to see his reaction, then at Lan. He knew that her eyes were the finest on the ship - even the finest in the seas, he didn't hesitate to say. She was sharp and quick, intelligent. He admired it. She had been a valuable member of the crew.
"So here's the deal," The Captain suggested, crossing her arms over her folded leg and giving the man the stare that made her crew uneasy. The last captain didn't have this expression - a piercing look, making it seem like she saw directly into a soul. "You are a secretive man," she intoned - it wasn't a question - "and that is fine. If you agree to join our little family aboard the Bleeding Corpse, you can start your life over. For all the world knows, you're dead and long gone. You can choose a new name if you wish. A new life story. This is a chance to completely start over."
Her brother looked at her, running a hand absently through his long black hair. He knew that this nice side of her wouldn't last long - he was waiting for the violent streak he knew ran thick through her. Then again, it's even worse in me. He was what the crew called an interrogator - and what any other government would call a torturer.
"If you decline my offer, our Gunner will carve some choice words into your chest with bullets, then we'll feed your corpse to the sharks waiting below. Even the sea creatures know why we're called the Bleeding Corpse." The captain looked approvingly at Lan again, eerie-colored eyes proud of her gunner. "Isn't that right, Lan?"
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 30, 2017 11:23:23 GMT -5
Edith && Lan ✖ ✖ ✖
All around her, the crew soon became a flowing human current, moving past her and onto the surface of the boat as they prepared for the long night that stretched ahead of them just like the vast distance the ocean covered. A terrifying, admirable endless shadow, Lan thought as she watched the warm glow of lanterns and lamps illuminate the ship. A separate world of itself that would mercilessly drag those who disobeyed its command under.
Nodding at the motion of her Captain, she took a seat in one of the fine chairs without trying to look around too much, though admittedly she found herself taking a few discreet glances at the jars of ink, displayed maps, and finally over at the Captain who’d hung her leather coat on the hook. She’d seen Anaya’s personal quarters before, though she believed it was not a place that she could tread around so lightly. But her memory tended to be quite sharp, especially when it came to remembering locations and memorising the routes and rooms of different buildings.
That was most likely a result of her past life, though she didn’t suppose it’d been too hard — anyone living as a pauper in this era were bound to go through some rough times, and there were thousands and thousands of people who’d been born into a poor house. And most paupers, if they still had the capability, tended to fall into the path of doing anything and everything to scrape all the pennies they could. Everything had changed for her the moment Captain Anaya and Haven (she vaguely remembered referring to him as “Sir Haven” in the beginning) had emerged in her life. They’d given her everything. Perhaps that was why her loyalty could not and would not bend.
“Understood, Captain,” she said as she finally allowed herself to relax a little into the seat at Anaya’s words. The one thing she was terribly curious about were the trunks - what was inside? She’d seen Captain Anaya openly read in her quarters, but every single one of them couldn't hold books, could they? Gold? Rare jewels? The skulls of her defeated enemies? Maybe when she’d gathered up enough courage, one day, she’d ask.
She felt her cheeks warm a little. She liked the thought of books, but… given her background, she couldn’t... well, she couldn't exactly read or write. It made her embarrassed, actually, but she'd never had it in herself to mention that aspect of herself. Maybe... maybe she'd learn someday. Maybe she'd even ask for someone to teach her. The thought made her cheeks warm even more. Oh, nevermind. Besides, who would she inquire, anyway? Captain Anaya? Haven? Nonsense, she scolded herself quietly. They were too busy. So instead, she sat there, letting her mind wander for the briefest moment before she heard someone enter.
-
Lightly tipping his head to the side with slightly raised eyebrows and a subtly amused smile, Reuven only breathed out quietly in what could have bordered a small snort. Well, this fellow clearly didn’t understand the definition of humour, did he? No matter, he thought as he simply answered with a “aye, aye, sir,” at Haven’s following words. “I don’t really wear this symbol because I want to, though,” he sighed underneath his breath. If he could, he would more than simply love to wear a dashing black coat - or one vibrantly etched with all sorts of hues. He changed, lightly gathering his slightly long, tousled hair with his slender hands and tying it so that he appeared less of a mess, and he pushed his white sleeves up a little so that his lower arms and wrists could be seen. No particular reason, honestly. Just a preference.
Whoever this man was — he’d simply refer the man as Beau for the time being as he’d promised — he was skilled, and there was no doubt about that. The weapon he’d flipped into his hand seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye, and Reuven could only assume what damage would be inflicted on an individual if they were on the wrong side of his good-and-bad-chart. He did walk when he’d been lightly pushed forward, though he was in no hurry to reach their destination, and as such, also looked around curiously. He realised that others seemed to eye him with a similar amount of inquisitiveness. “Oi, who’sat?” He heard someone say, and rested his hand on his waist. Now that he thought about it, they hadn’t bound his hands. At this notion, a small, wry smile appeared upon his lips. He held very little power at the moment, and they were making it quite obvious. “Pleased to meet you,” he said with his velvety voice. A small part of his mind told him to simply keep his mouth shut.
“You know,” he remembered the same individual telling him one evening. “You’re quite okay to look at with your mouth shut. ”
“Why, thank you,” he’d responded sardonically and yet good-naturedly as he’d taken a long drink from the glass that had been in front of himself, his gloved hands picking up the thick surface with ease. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The memory seemed to make him subconsciously reach for the thin, silver ring around his finger.
“Duck.” It was Haven—… excuse him, Beau’s voice that had hauled him back to reality as he ducked just in time. He watched at the lithe man cackled happily, and couldn't help but feel the corners of his lips tug a little more genuinely at the sight. Well, someone was having fun, at least.
The song seemed to linger at the back of his mind even as he entered another area below deck. His eyes danced over the swords and finally at the still-bloodied cleaning cloth tossed on the ground. His gaze then landed on the same striking woman he’d seen before, as well as the smaller girl. If looks could kill, he thought as he winked in her direction. He’d probably be dead by now, because she was glaring at him extra hard. His focus returned to the supposed Captain of the ship, who set the book down and watched as the little woman offered Beau a small smile. She seemed to answer his look with one of her own: me neither, Haven. Me neither. Her unwavering gaze told him that this woman held a great amount of respect and admiration towards Beau - and, he thought, an undying sense of loyalty. And behind her gaze, he thought (with some bemusement) that he could even see a small light of kindness.
In any case, he remained still with his weight leaning on his right leg as the Captain inspected him, up and down. With her piercing gaze, he felt that his whole life was being analysed by her. He didn’t need to look twice at her to know that she was not only a striking woman, but a powerful individual as well. “Eyes peeled,” he heard, and spotted the shorter woman nod her head in understanding with a determinedly set face.
Ah, so this was Captain Anaya. And that was Lan, and the man was Haven. Fitting names, he thought as he took a seat, keeping silent as she’d ordered. While he wasn’t mute, he knew when to keep quiet, and this, he felt, was one of the necessary times his sarcastic retorts wouldn’t be too welcomed. He kept his sharp eyes on the Captain, and as such didn't quite catch the Master Gunner's response to Anaya's shake of the head.
"The Bleeding Corpse needs a medically inclined crewmate,” he listened. Getting straight to the point, aren’t we. I suppose I don’t dislike that. "I've taken a few lost soldiers from your country, but our medic took a fall a sea and a half ago, snatched up by the sharks almost the second he hit the water. The badges on your coat suggested you were at least trained in the basics of medicine." Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Haven watch him, searching for a response, then back over at who he could only assume as Lan. He remained still, though, simply listening with his right leg crossed over his left. He’d been given the order to remain silent, and he found no reason to interrupt or speak up. Captain Anaya’s words were clear, and any disobedience, he understood, would bring him consequences.
-
From behind, Lan was looking at all three individuals - her Captain, Haven, and this stranger. She was bemused to find that he was perfectly calm, almost seemingly unfazed as he sat there, listening to her Captain. She didn't know what he was thinking, but he had intelligent eyes, and despite his jocose demeanour from earlier, there seemed to be a light and serious glint in his eyes, which took her slightly off guard.
A secretive man, indeed, she thought. Just who was he? The man still hadn't spoken, remaining where he was, until her Captain regarded her.
“Isn’t that right, Lan?”
The same wicked smile from before danced across Lan’s features. “Of course. In fact, I’d say they know us a little too well. We’re quite infamous across the lands, too,” she said as she pulled her weapons from their holsters, pointing the wrong end of the barrels against his head. No one doesn't know us, she thought silently, feeling a small blossom of pride in her chest. It was all thanks to Captain Anaya and Haven and the rest of the hardworking crew. “So, what will it be, stranger? I’d be more than happy to watch Captain Anaya throw you off.”
After a momentary pause, she heard him speak. “Edith,” he said, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a name, love, and you needn’t worry about pulling the trigger just yet.” She saw his dark eyes when he turned his head a little so that he could eye her. “All of you have made it very clear that I don’t really have a choice. Besides,” he said as he leaned back in his seat when she slowly, very slowly pulled her weapons a little further back. “There’s still something I must do, and that’ll go to waste if I’m fed to sharks now.”
She thought, for a moment, she saw a flash of grim pleasure and sadness pass through his eyes, though she reassured herself that she'd been imagining it. Briefly, her eyes paused on the long scar over his left wrist.
-
He'd always disliked his given name. Edith. Personally, he hadn't minded it too much in the beginning, but there had been a time, back when he’d been small, when he'd been told constantly by his peers that it was a name that should be changed. One day, someone had given him the name Reuven, claiming that the name Edith was unsuited for the work he was about to do. There hadn’t been a choice for him at that time, either, and it wasn't like he cared too much about what others called him, especially in the line of work he'd been involved in before he’d changed. So he'd worn several names that hadn't belonged to him — that was, he had, up until this point.
Something about the Captain’s gaze made it impossible for him to state a false name that did not belong to him, and to some extent, though he wouldn’t admit it, he did feel a certain degree of sheepishness at this notion. Aside from that same callous man who’d given him the name, he'd never encountered an individual who had such piercing eyes - he was certain that some parts of her orbs had stolen light from the sun itself.
He drew in a small, quiet breath. Truthfully, there was a side of himself that was bracing for the worst. These pirates didn’t strike him as terrible right off the bat, but rumours and stories of what pirates did weren't uncommon to hear of, and their cruelty was practically a given statement by this point in time. Besides, this wasn't the first time he’d heard of the Bleeding Corpse. In any case, he wasn't exactly unfamiliar with being on the receiving end of violence, but it never was really a pleasant experience or procedure to go through. Whatever was heading in his direction, he’d at least like to be mentally prepared to take it.
“Now that I've agreed to accept your offer, what do you plan to do with me?” He asked with a small tip of his head, his arms loosening to rest against his side. “I don't suppose you’ll suddenly let me freely wander around."
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 30, 2017 11:46:44 GMT -5
Rhysand
The human responded exactly as Rhysand expected her to, as he suddenly stepped into her personal space. She backed and raised her hands in an attempt to defend herself, acting on instinct. The animal hindbrain section of her mind would be whispering to her, warning her of the danger that Rhysand posed. He was the ultimate predator, one that hid in plain sight and lurked in the shadows, before striking. He met her mint-green gaze boldly, offering her another half smirk. “Sarcasm is known as the lowest form of wit,” he purred in response, shifting a tad closer to invade the human’s personal space. He shrugged. “The drug was necessary,” he responded, almost bored. “It makes the process a lot easier. Or would you prefer to remember the last few hours?”
The human didn’t like that though, didn’t like the stillness that Rhysand posed and began to pace again, back and forth, back and forth. He watched her silently, violet-blue gaze following each of the human’s movements. She took of her glasses, rubbing at her eyes. For a moment, Rhys was disappointed to break her gaze. She was small and fragile, but there was a strength in her. Her movements were smooth and fluid, and although the acrid, coppery scent of fear flavored the air, it was almost overpowered by the scent of her anger and frustration. Her rage was almost a living thing, pulsing in the space between the two creatures, thrumming through the plane’s recycled air. She was a feisty little thing, and Rhys found that he was thoroughly enjoying her company. She began to rant again, mentioning something about glittering. He frowned at that. “Why would I glitter in the sun?” he scoffed. “That’s preposterous.” Where did she get such an idea? Were all humans so bizarre? He pointedly ignored her other question – the what is going to happen now part of her little outburst. She was smart, astute; she’d figure it out.
She whirled on him again, green eyes flashed with that rage again, and shoved her glasses back into place. She opened her mouth to speak again, but something seemed to knock the wind out of her. She staggered back, utilizing the plane’s wall to support her weight. Rhys cocked his head, watching her carefully. That was odd; something was obviously wrong with the girl. He knelt in front of her, studying her with an astute gaze for a long moment. He inhaled, pulling her scent through his nose, sifting through the different layers. Fear: check. Rage: check. Ah, there it was; her blood was weak, due to an iron deficiency. Hm. The kidnappers hadn’t done their homework, or they hadn’t done a test on her before nabbing her. Rhys’ sense of smell was far greater than most of his kind, considering his age, so the kidnappers would’ve needed to test her blood itself before they decided she was alright to grab. They obviously hadn’t done that. Why?”
The vampire eyed the human, meeting her mint gaze with his own violet. “Quite the tongue you have there, little bird,” he rumbled softly. The look in her eyes – the fire! – made a smile creep across his expression. He uncoiled his form in one smooth movement, pushed a strand of his black hair from his face, and then stared down at the human again. She was weak, tired, and sick. “You should eat more broccoli,” he commented as he moved. In a blur, he knelt again, swept Vix into his arms, cradling her like he would a child, and then spun towards the plush leather seats, depositing her gently on the cushion. He’d moved with a speed that her brain wouldn’t have been able to comprehend; he was preternatural, beyond the worldly that she understood.
He sat in the seat opposite her, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “I am Rhysand,” he said after a moment, continuing to study her with an almost unblinking gaze.
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 30, 2017 13:21:26 GMT -5
Captain Anaya gave a nod of praise to Lan as she noticed the barrel of a gun practically pasted onto the side of the strangers head. She knew the loyalty beneath the other woman's skin was as strong as her own - one of the reasons that she swept the woman into her crew with open arms. She ignored Reuven's name, his question - for the moment, she ignored everything about him. "Ah, of course," she sighed in a satisfied tone at the mention of being known on land, unfolding her legs and standing in one fluid motion. "The Bleeding Corpse, a fitting name for our crew. Don't you think, Haven?" She directed that question pointedly at her brother, and he gave one of his wicked smiles.
It was a trio that ran this pirating operation. The Captain was a fierce warrior, cunning and sharp. She knew when to pull back, when to press harder, and when to order the Kill All card. She could speak to the ship in ways the other crew members couldn't, one of the most striking reasons she was Captain. This vessel was more than her ship - it was her home and she knew that if the Bleeding Corpse had any sort of issue, he would tell her. Haven was her second for a few reasons - one of them being the meaning behind that wicked smile he was offering her, the one that turned those pretty eyes into venomous reptilian slits. His hand in interrogations rarely slipped - he knew the human body, he knew the human mind. He was the manipulator, cold and harsh. And then there was Lan. She was fiercely loyal, someone who would take down a stranger just because Anaya would give the signal. Sharp eyes, happy trigger finger, and a streak of harshness that matched her Captains, Anaya placed a great deal of trust in her. She was invaluable to the crew.
"Indeed," Haven rumbled in his gravely voice, letting his expression slip back into neutral discontentment and Anaya finally acknowledged Reuven. She stood behind him and clapped her one of her hands on his shoulder in an almost companionable way. The other one gently pushed the barrel from his head, nodding to Lan once again in approval. The woman had done well. "That is where you're wrong," she said, glancing at Haven meaningfully. Once again, she and her brother seemed to communicate in a way only close siblings could, and he stood up from his seat before turning his back, opening the door and walking outside. The door shut behind him. "You're part of the crew, which means a few things. First of all, you don't like the name you gave me. Well congratulations, you're not this Edith man anymore. Consider this your clean slate. Think up a new name, or one you would rather have."
She released his shoulders and turned towards Lan, crossing her arms over her chest with a slight smirk on her pretty face. "Lan, do you remember Initiation?"
What crew member of this ship didn't? With a white-hot blade of one of Havens knives, each and every new recruit was strapped down onto a chair on deck as everyone watched the branding take place. Captain Anaya chose hers to be on her back, right between her shoulder blades - the large symbol was a cursive BC, for Bleeding Corpse. It took weeks to heel, and the scar was still very prominent even after ten years. Haven had his done on his chest, right over his heart.
She turned back to the stranger. "On your feet, not a word until further notice." And with that, she shooed him out the door before winking at her Gunner, motioning the other woman to follow. This man was strange, mysterious, and acted in a way she had never yet seen. How would he react to this ritual?
~~~~
Meanwhile, Haven was preparing for the initiation. A crew mate brought over a simple wooden chair and some rope, and Haven locked the chain against the mast as the others hooted and hollered in excitement, yanking on ropes or fixing navigational devices. The navigator was the only one slightly withdrawn about all of this, steering the ship with his lips in a thin, anxious line as he directed the Bleeding Corpse to the True North oceans.
He had a knife from who-knows-where again, flipping it around his fingers expertly. With one last spin, Haven opened the small slot-like door on the side of a hot lamp and slipped the blade inside to heat - it fit perfectly, letting none of the heat escape the metal cage. Hearing footsteps behind him, Haven glanced over his shoulder to see the former Whisterian making his way from below deck. A ghost of a malicious smile etched over his features before being whisked away with a salty breeze. "Take a seat," he purred in a rumbly voice, motioning towards the not-at-all ominous wooden chair next to him.
His black hair rustling in the breeze, Haven waited patiently as he spotted his sister and their Master Gunner approach as well, the pair creating an easy split between the crewmates. "Tie him," she ordered a few other men nearby, and they immediately latched onto Reuven and jerked him onto the stool. Haven was there again, calloused hands working fast. Left hand, left foot - another pair of hands got the right. The crew began to crowd around the stool and man, seeing his hands tied almost directly beneath his shoulders.
"This won't be long if you hold still," Haven crooned in his monotonous voice. "If you move, it'll take longer. You have three choices. Your neck, your back, or your chest - where would you prefer to be branded?"
~~~~
Anaya crossed one arm over her chest, the other hand running lightly along her fine jaw in thought as she watched Haven pull his white-hot blade from the lantern. She was silent for a moment, watching, waiting. She was awfully curious about this man - she never got his chosen name, even if he wanted to keep Edith as his title. She would properly introduce the man to the rest of the crew after she patched him up, knowing that those burns were going to hurt like mad the first few hours. "Where do you think he'll choose?" She asked Lan, still watching her brother. "I'll bet five gold coins he's getting his chest."
What was a harmless bet?
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 30, 2017 13:39:53 GMT -5
The young lady glared daggers at the vampire with mint eyes so cold, they seemed to be frosted. "I'm not a F-Bombing bird, I'm not your pet," came her seething reply, even with a hand clutching at her shirt over her chest. The air was becoming hard to take in again, probably because she was still on the hard ground and curled up into herself. That never helped. The man told her to eat more broccoli, making her anger surge back up. No wonder she was so tired, even after the Anemia began affecting her - anger was like a suction to energy, and she had a lot of anger. "Stop treating me like a house cat."
Which, of course, lead to him picking her up like a child instead. Her reaction was instantaneous and borderline violent - she fought against him viciously, fueled by sudden panic and rage. He kept a vice-like grip on her, though he didn't harm her. Still, the instinct to get away was far too strong to be normal - perhaps something happened to her in the past when someone touched her like this, or she just really hated being touched. From her general show of her harsh personality, it could go either way. She pushed against his chest with surprising strength, tried to pry out of his arms and into freedom.
And then she was being gently set on a chair that was on the opposite side of the cabin. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably - she was stunned into complete stillness, her body refusing to comply with the impossible speed it just traveled in. It was like she was teleported, except she could still feel a tiny breeze in the area from the impossible speed and movements. The vampire took a seat directly across from her, but the blue-haired girl just curled her knees to her chest defensively and glared daggers as he introduced himself. Her racing heart made her condition worsen, sending a new wave of dizziness over her. She leaned against the back of the recliner, entire body tense but feeling weak.
She usually burned with curiosity. She was the kind of girl that wanted and craved to know the answer to every mystery in a room, wanted to know how she could piece together hints until a problem was solved. This time, her anger and fear made it impossible to feel that way, just curling into herself protectively. "...Vix," she replied with her nickname stiffy, shoulders tense again as she pulled her knees even closer to her chest.
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 30, 2017 15:14:12 GMT -5
Edith && Lan ✖ ✖ ✖
"The Bleeding Corpse, a fitting name for our crew. Don't you think, Haven?”
With his head still slightly tipped and his eyebrow slightly quirked, Edith simply listened. It seemed like he was being kept in the dark, and there was likely a good reason for it, too. So, he didn’t speak up again, instead remaining where he was with his arms lightly crossed over his own chest and his right leg still crossed over that of his left. Any possible thought of this crew being a little less callous vanished upon sighing Haven’s wicked smile. The venom it dripped with was not an unfamiliar sight for Edith to realise, and the air around that one tug of Haven’s lips was thick, permeating throughout the rest of the quarters. Perhaps he’d subconsciously been hoping for the best instead of truly facing the reality that was being unraveled in front of his eyes. Yes, that was most likely it. He’d been mad for thinking, for even the slightest second, that perhaps the crew would turn out to be different from the rest he’d encountered before in grimy situations. It was a bad habit of his - despite seemingly possessing a cynical nature, he did try and look for small specks of light even during plights.
I truly and surely may die on this boat, he thought, though he found that the notion inflicted no fear in his heart - was it because his mind had become numb and the situation still hadn’t fully registered in his head, or because he now lived for one sole reason, and nothing else? With everything given in his life that had lead him to this point, there was nothing left to lose, and Edith himself was well aware of it. He was snapped out of his reverie at the touch of Anaya’s hand on his shoulder, and he soon felt the removal of the cold barrel that had been against the back of his head.
"You're part of the crew, which means a few things. First of all, you don't like the name you gave me. Well congratulations, you're not this Edith man anymore. Consider this your clean slate. Think up a new name, or one you would rather have."
She’d noticed? He felt his eyes widen just a little at this, in what bordered surprise. But how? He hadn’t spoken with any discontent when he’d regarded Lan, so he wasn’t entirely certain how this Anaya had managed to pick up the fact that he disliked his name. The thought slipped across his head and vanished, though, when he heard her continue.
“Lan, do you remember Initiation?”
Oh, well, that sounded wonderful and harm-free. An initiation to a pirate crew. Suddenly, getting shot and having his remains fed to the sharks didn’t seem so bad anymore.
-
“Yes, I do,” answered Lan at the mention of Initiation as she glanced over at the calm stranger — Edith. “I’d be more than simply bemused if someone forgot that, Captain.” It truly would be a miracle if someone on this ship forgot Initiation. After all, it wasn’t the most forgettable memory that an individual could retain, and remembering the sight of the white-hot knife had, in the beginning, caused doses of fear to surge through her veins until it’d built up to become a numbing roar in her ears. Up until that point, she hadn’t known anything about the process, because she’d never heard much of pirates unless she was seeking out specific locations such as taverns to eavesdrop on several individuals. Her brand had been engraved on her lower back, and she remembered the blazing pain that had not settled for days. “I still remember mine very clearly.”
She watched as the tall and lean man rake his hand through his dark, tousled hair as he simply (and subtly) rolled his eyes when he was shooed out of the door. The only reason for why she hadn’t reached for her weapons at that was because she could tell that there was no malice in his dark eyes, but rather, she thought with a slight tilt of her head, an oddly harmless light. What a strange man, she thought as she lightly crossed her arms over her abdomen with her arms leisurely resting on her elbows. At the wink coming from Anaya, Lan felt herself shrink a little, feeling strangely embarrassed (honestly, if there was one thing she wasn’t going to get used to, it was her Captain and Haven or anyone on the crew for that matter winking at her, though by no means did she dislike the mischievous gesture), though the ends of her lips tugged a little in response as she rose to her feet with her hands on her hips.
Perhaps there was a small twitch of sympathy that struck Lan, just a little when she saw the white-hot knife and the chair and the rope and the way how the weapon seemed to dance on Haven’s fingers. Her gaze then turned to meet those of the stranger’s as he emerged from below deck, though she found that his dark eyes were impassive as ever, easygoing, and yet difficult to see past. Like the bottom of the ocean, she thought, surprised at the words that had popped in her head. And she felt a twinge of surprise once more at the way how his lips curved, just the briefest moment, when her eyes had met his, though it’d disappeared the moment he turned to regard the cheering human current momentarily, and was soon abruptly hauled onto the stool by other strong hands. She couldn’t read his thoughts, though the air around him seemed to remain collected. It was only when she fully saw his dark lashes, his eyes comfortably closed as the others bound his wrists and feet against the chair, that she thought, perhaps there was more to his thoughts than he was willing to reveal.
-
At least give me something to bite down on. The thought flickered past Edith’s head as he opened his eyes at Haven’s voice. The tone used of his voice made Edith’s lips smile, though it was far from genuine or good-natured. Perhaps ‘smile’ wasn’t the right word, really. The top row of his teeth was revealed, and there was a faint curve to his lips, but there was no crease that had formed beneath his eyes, and whatever emotion his lips were playing at, it did not reach his dark gaze. A note of black harmony crept into his tone when he spoke, his dark eyes like those of a cat’s. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Haven. You must be quite used to this.”
The slight curve of his lips seemed to waver at the mention of the back, and he cursed himself for that faint and brief miss of his expression. Saints, anywhere but there, he thought, his jaw tightening a little. There were enough markings on his back was there already needed to be. In that instant, he saw two serpents entwining together, forming a dark, dark crest, and curved lines that encircled their long, twisted forms, and a dark, room that had been barely illuminated by the dim lighting above. That marking rested on his upper shoulder just above the long scar that traveled down to his waist - a symbol that had been earned through similar, only now with a different group of people, back when his two feet had rested against land, not wood. But he supposed it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t even certain whether if Haven would listen to him. Not to mention he had a small feeling that the pirate would go ahead and let the blade of the knife sink against wherever area of his flesh he pleased. Letting the smile linger on his face as tipped his head to the side, he spoke, keeping that same black note in his velvety voice. “I’ll leave that up to you for your creative input, Second-in-command.”
-
The smile both men had on their faces almost genuinely scared Lan. Watching Haven and Edith was like watching two predators circle one another, eager to pounce at any given chance, their lips drawn back and their eyes dancing with dark, sinister colors often flamboyantly depicted by beautiful, yet poisonous creatures.
But Lan watched curiously further as she saw Edith’s smile waver a little at the mention of his back. Was something there? Lightly playing with a lock of her dark brown hair, she leaned back on her feet and hummed a little in thought at Anaya’s small bet. It was another side of Lan where each of her words counted - she didn’t know why, but she was inclined to giving consideration on things more than she really needed to, even if they were simple. Her eyes glanced over at some of the other crew members, who seemed to be doing the same by placing bets, or watching with a keen sense of interest. “I’ll bet five on..."
|
|
|
Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Jul 30, 2017 22:16:51 GMT -5
[
Rhysand
The female’s reaction was instantaneous when Rhysand lifted her from the floor. She fought like a wild-cat, just as he’d assumed, although her thrashing and battling achieved her nothing. She froze when he deposited her on the chair, glaring at him with those strange eyes again. Her heart beat thudded in his ears, drawing the more animalistic instincts of Rhys slightly to the forefront. The soft pitter-patter stirred the beast within him, who longed to sink its teeth into the female’s slender throat and bathe in her life’s blood. Alas, such things would have to wait. She curled up again, pulling her knees to her chest to defend herself. He could hear the air rattling in her chest, could hear her lungs wheezing and struggling to breathe in enough oxygen. Her heart was thudding at an increased speed, trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen, trying to properly supply all of her organs. Sinking his teeth into her now would do either of them no good; she’d probably pass out, might suffer irreversible brain damage from the blood loss, and he’d get nothing from it. So he corralled his instincts, locked the beast away behind bars of iron will.
“But you are a little bird,” the vampire chuckled softly. “Soft and fragile. Longing for freedom.” The man’s eyes became slightly hooded as sat back in his chair. He flashed her a straight-toothed grin. “I would never make the mistake of treating you as a common house-cat, little one. You are something far more unique.” A rare find indeed, and Rhys was beginning to feel thrilled that he’d left his home for such an occasion. For the past century or so, he’d retreated to the quiet of his home, away from the prying eyes of humanity and their ever-increasing technology. He’d left his home sparingly, and only to hunt briefly. He preferred the company of his animals, and of the peace that nature offered. After so long a life, after seeing so many chaotic things caused by humans, he’d grown tired and weary of all the fighting. He’d assumed all humans were that way, but there was something different about Vix. Clearly his assumptions were wrong. Ah, well, you know what they say about making assumptions.
He cocked his head to side, offering her another half-smile. “Relax,” he said after a moment. “I am not going to bite you.” The yet was clearly implied. Vix. So that was her name; he tested her name in his mind, rolled the syllable across his tongue. Tasted the name, and decided he liked it. It had fire, just like her. “Vix,” he purred, letting her name roll off his tongue like silk, “it is nice to meet you.” With that, he fell silent. He leaned back in his chair, and studied her. Watched. Observed. The silence stretched on for what seemed an eternity, the air humming with tension. The only sounds that punctuated the silence were Vix’s rattling breaths, and Rhysand’s much quieter ones. The plane thrummed as it cut through the sky, heading in a straight course to its destination. The pilots wouldn’t interrupt, and that was good. He wanted this little female all to himself.
He shifted forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees before he settled his chin on his hands. “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here on this plane,” he finally said. Of course, he knew she’d been left a note explaining the circumstances, but he could almost sense the questions brimming beneath the surface of her simmering anger. “We have quite a long flight remaining. You have questions, I am sure.”
|
|
|
Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 31, 2017 14:01:23 GMT -5
Haven didn't say anything else. Rather, he flipped the white hot blade in his hand and easily twisted it around his fingers with enviable grace, grabbing onto Edith's shirt front and placing the white hot metal against the fabric. The material smoldered but did not burn. Golden-green eyes flicked to the markings on the man's shoulders and back, suddenly pausing in his movements. He looked back at the man, ed his head just slightly, and then turned to the crowd. "The neck it is," he announced in his almost sadistically pleased voice, then glancing down at the man once more as he turned the blade, hearing the cheers of his crewmates.
"I don't know what those marks are," he said in a voice too low to hear by anyone else, lips too still to read, "but I'll let you keep that secret." There was a flash of something in his eyes - mercy, perhaps? However, the warmth was gone the moment it came, and he roughly pushed the man's head to the side as he touched the glowing-hot metal to the sensitive skin with a deadly precision. He had done this before, many many times.
He took his time. Pirate brandings were things of pride and beauty - he would not allow any mistakes int he beautiful markings. He had a few other pirates pin the man down completely, making it impossible to move at all - but there was not stick nor rope for Edith to bite down on, nothing but his jaw and his own tongue. The stench of burning flesh reached the furthest corners of the vessel, and the crowd began to disperse as the best part drew to a close. "I don't suggest biting your tongue," Haven said in a low voice, concentrating on the second letter. The side of the neck was a harsh place to put a branding - it would take weeks to heal fully, but it was the only place Haven could put the branding without having to remove the man's shirt.
Haven had secrets too. Maybe that was why he showed mercy.
~~~~~
Anaya wasn't fooled. Haven made the choice to put the marking on Edith's neck - she could see it in the way his shoulders sat, the way his back was moving. She knew her brother better than anyone did - she was the only one who had the privilege of seeing his smiles, his real smiles. Before she knew it, Anaya found herself half-lost in memories.
They were orphans almost the moment Anaya was old enough to sell flowers - six, the legal age. Her brother was almost ten. The two had always been close, even before their mother left them in the dust and their father fell ill with grief, then with the plague. They weren't rich, but Mr. Vange went deep into debt to send his children to school. He knew that he wasn't going to make it - the debt would be cleared from his family, thanks to his military service in Whisteria years before. Haven and Anaya were bright - strangely bright. They learned to read in weeks, learned their maths and sciences almost with a snap of their fingers.
They showed it in different ways. From the early age of eleven, Haven was predestined to live the life of rich businessmen. He had a set internship with the finest of the ship-castors, and he obtained encyclopedic knowledge of ships by the time he was twelve. His math sheets were filled and turned in on time, he was quiet and obedient - he loved science. Anatomy was a passion of his - not a surprise, seeing the role he played in the crew.
Anaya was the strange one. She daydreamed in class but still achieved high scores - her papers and notebooks were filled with beautiful words of poetry and song. She was a romantic, soft-souled and gentle with people. She was popular and kind. Books filled her dorm room, top to bottom and underneath her bed. She was quiet with word and story and became slightly famous for her story telling.
And then everything changed.
Their father died of the plague. The children - at ten and thirteen - were told to leave their academy because funds were no longer coming in. They had no debt, but they had no home, either. Haven worked at a doctor's clinic, earning low payments as his little sister became a maid far too young. Still, they were placed in an orphanage - a dark time that both she and her brother contracted the plague. She almost died, but her brother saved her.
And then their small city was burned to the ground by Pirates. Miraculously, Haven survived the flames at the clinic with horrible burns on his back, and his sister was safe in the basement of the home she worked in. Like a fairy tale, the former captain of the Bleeding Corpse stood int he doorway with alcohol and fire, listening to the story this mere child wove. He swept into the room, beginning to catch ablaze, and saved her and her alone. He almost killed her brother int he streets, but Anaya had always been good with words. She convinced the pirate to take her brother too.
Things changed for the siblings. Anaya had an authority, proving she was born to be a captain. Her brother, with his skills in anatomy, immediately became their interrogator. Of course, he hated it at first - and then the adrenaline would kick in, and the dull blades and acids became something akin to his friends. Years later, the brandings still fresh in their skin, the children were killing like true pirates. Anaya was second, back then - but the captain left for a woman, leaving her in charge at the tender age of sixteen.
~~~
"Anaya." Haven glanced at his sister, who seemed to be studying him closely as he wiped the blood off the now just-warm blade. He knew that the expression on her face - an odd twist between anger and pride - was one she had when she was remembering the past. She seemed to draw out of it, straightening her back and nodding. "Good work, Haven. I'll take him to the hammocks and help the burns."
Her second only nodded at her, suddenly reaching up and brushing a few loose red curls behind her ear. It was rare for the siblings to show such open affection on deck, but no one really minded. Everyone there knew that if the world to end, the siblings would go out hand in hand. He watched as his sister left, his hand now lowered and his arms crossed over his chest. "So," he began, glancing at Lan with his poisonous green-gold eyes, "does she owe you gold, this time?" His lips rose slightly in an unusual, amused smile - last time, his sister almost emptied the Master Gunners pockets.
~~~
Anaya crouched by the man, still tied onto the stool. She said nothing, just cut through the ropes with a ragged dagger and helped him to his feet. Still silent, the captain folded a clean cloth and pressed it against the mans burnt, bleeding neck, then lead him towards her quarters once more. That was where he would get what treatment they could offer - a raw police of anti-bacterial herbs, a clean bandage, maybe some pain-killing tea.
|
|
|
Post by carmine. on Jul 31, 2017 14:21:47 GMT -5
( aw no poor anaya and haven D:
lan's pockets are still probably completely empty haha it's really late here so i don't think i can type a response up at the moment, but i'll try to get one up after i wake up! )
|
|