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Post by Strawberry Scream on Jul 31, 2017 14:28:48 GMT -5
Vix watched the vampire with almost unblinking eyes. She felt different around him, int he most horrible way imaginable. Of course, this may have been another effect of her Anemia, but the girl felt as if she was weak. Her hands curled into rageful fists - her knuckles were covered in dense scars, bruised and scabbed from what seemed to be day-old injuries. Her body was almost as stiff as stone. Surely, this Rhysand man had to have felt powerful muscles underneath her fair skin. A dark bruise peeked out from her side - her shirt had rucked up a few inches, showing smooth almost bleached-white skin, and the bruises from what could have been a viciously swung baseball bat or a heavy fist into her stomach. She was not weak. I'm not weak! I'm not fragile! I hate you!
Something was odd about this one. The rage began spilling from her pores in a thick, bitter scent - damn right I'm more than a house pet! Her mind spat at this vampire. Her mind was telling her to get away. The animalistic instinct that kept her safe at night in the dark streets of Brooklyn was shrieking in a way it never had before, even when three men had come at her with brass knuckles on their hands. Something was very, very wrong. Her mint eyes practically glowed with her bitterness, the salt in her thoughts. Anyone else would have been terrified first and foremost, but this one had her anger and her fight overpowering that emotion.
Her mind was so deeply imbedded in her murderous thoughts that she was almost startled awake when the man spoke her name out loud. The silence fell around them - the lightness of his observing gaze was drowning in the thick waves malevolence washing from her pores like water from a waterfall. It made her heart pound harder and harder in her chest, her breathing catch in her emotions. Her instincts were rubbing raw in her mind, placing her closer and closer to a violent outburst - the kind that ruled her life at night in Brooklyn, exploring her city with shocking force in her slender frame.
And then he was sitting forwards, and offering her a chance to ask her questions. The very word seemed to pierce the rabid wolf, a direct path to her sanity deep under her rage. Her heartbeat faded from her ears and her throat - she was uncurling from her protective shield, heavy black boots hitting the ground with soft thumps. A red stain was on the edge of one - it was old, the smell rust-like and hardly there at all. Blood, probably from a fight from forever ago.
"Are you the one leaving bodies in my city?"
The words came from her lips like blocks of salt - heavy, bitter, and solid. During her explorations at night, the young woman had found at least six dead bodies - the worst being a girl just a few years younger than her, probably no older than a high school Junior. The others were men - all of them young, all of them too pale to be possible with red stained on their necks. She knew one of them - he had picked a fight with her, but she knew the black eyes she gave him didn't do that. Despite her bitterness, she hated seeing those people - the pain was still on their expressions.
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 1, 2017 8:27:59 GMT -5
( will respond soon )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 1, 2017 8:53:05 GMT -5
( have to go to the doctor then get my cat from the groomer's ^^ )
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Post by carmine. on Aug 1, 2017 9:15:42 GMT -5
Edith && Lan ✖ ✖ ✖
It would be a lie if he said he wasn’t at least the slightest bit surprised when he heard Haven’s announcement. Had Haven not seen the engraved black serpents on his shoulder? No, he must’ve — it was impossible he hadn’t from this position. It was then he heard the pirate’s low voice, too quiet for the rest of the crewmen to hear but himself. “—but I’ll let you keep that secret.” For the briefest moment, he thought he’d caught sight of a different light in Haven’s eyes — something that took him subtly off guard once more (today was just a day full of surprises, wasn’t it?), because he had not been expecting those poisonous eyes to be able to express such a thing. At that moment, Edith felt his curled lips remain as they were, half-amused and yet, veiled. “That’s awfully considerate of you,” was all he said as his head was roughly pushed to the side, revealing the curve of his neck where the knife would land its mark.
The scent of burning flesh permeated through the thick air, sharply jabbing his pauper’s nose. He sat alone, crouched in front of the flames with his back crouched and his shirt tossed somewhere to the side. He vaguely recognised the sound of a high-pitched voice resonating throughout the dark room, though he couldn’t be sure who it was coming from. Through his young eyes, he saw men and women encircling his small, quivering form, adorned in dark hues of red and black and blue. Luxurious jewels were draped over their thin wrists and locked around their throats. Standing at the front of the gathered crowd stood a tall man who seemed to command ultimate respect and authority. When Edith looked up to meet eyes with this man, he noted that his eyes were darker than the night sky, almost pitch black, like the bottom of the ocean. The man had long and thin fingers that were decorated with golden rings. “It’d be best if you kept quiet, Reuven.” Reuven? Who was Reuven?
And that voice that was ringing throughout the room — was it his own? He didn’t know. There was no time for fear, no time for trepidation. All he could think of was the bursting white-hot pain that seemed to surge through his skin, originating from his shoulder, and saw a wave of white flood through his vision. He couldn’t breathe when he felt a pair of hands haul him up on his feet, forcing his own eyes to met those of the high criminal. They were calm and venomous and intelligent, yet empty, devoid of any emotion, of any ambition, like a porcelain doll. Or a dead fish. It was then Edith realized he was looking into the eyes of a hollow shell. “You’re lucky, Reuven. You’ll do yourself a favour to remember that. From now on, you work for me.”
-
Lan couldn’t help but lightly rest her hand against her cheek upon hearing Haven’s words. The neck was a merciless location for the home of a brand, and though she hadn’t received hers on her neck, she was well aware of how raw and brutal the whole procedure was — every location was, really. She watched as the stranger’s jaws tightened, just before the knife came down.
It was moments later when she heard Haven speak as he wiped the blood off the blade of the knife, though her attention had caught the expression of her Captain momentarily. The emotions that had fallen over Anaya's face had surprised Lan, though it had not been the first time she had seen it, seeing as her position on the ship and the amount of years she’d spent with the two most respected individuals on the ship. But every rare time she caught the expression Anaya wore now, she would silently turned a blind eye, because she felt that the raw twist on her face was something she had not supposed to have seen. It was almost as if she'd seen something private — something that, had there been a choice, she should not know of. The first time she'd seen her Captain's face as it was now, she'd almost jumped a little. Now, there was a mixture of worry that stirred within her mind, though she did not speak. Perhaps it was not that she did not, but rather because she could not.
The open affection did not come as a surprise for Lan, who just lowered her eyes a little. Again, a part of her felt as if she were intruding on something, even if she didn't really mind, and she wanted to give the most respect she could for both Haven and Anaya.
“So,” she heard Haven begin, starting a little at his voice, “does she owe you gold, this time?”
The mention of the bet, she glanced up to see Haven, whose arms were crossed over his chest. “She doesn’t, actually,” she said, “because I bet on his back.” Then, at the thought of past bets where she’d practically had to live with empty pockets for a few weeks, her other hand lightly touched the side of her head. Did Haven remember that time? For some reason, the slight and amused smile on his face gave her the impression that he did, indeed, remember. The thought made her cheeks warm a little. Goodness, she was never, ever betting with Captain Anaya again, that was for sure (though she knew she most likely would in the future anyway, like she had today). For some reason, Lan didn’t seem to have the best of luck when it came to bets. She wrote down a mental note that if there came a chance when she had to make a bet with Haven, she’d try and avoid it. Then again, you probably will anyway, she thought with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Any time I make a bet with either Captain Anaya or you, Haven, it seems that I can’t win.”
-
It took a moment for the corners of his vision to clear, though he found himself still alive and breathing, and tied to the wooden chair. He felt something warm trickle down his neck and soak the ends of his shirt, dying the white fabric red, and he watched silently as the captain cut through the ropes with a jagged dagger. When he felt her press a clean cloth against his bleeding neck, over the newly engraved mark that would tether him down to the Bleeding Corpse no matter where he went, he winced. His eyes had been locked in thought at the memory that had resurfaced before his eyes, and he hadn’t seen Anaya fold the cloth during the time. “Goodness, at least warn me before you do that,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing together a little before he exhaled a small sigh. He’d have to adjust to this sort of treatment again, and he supposed it wasn’t entirely her fault. He’d just been a little startled from being abruptly hauled out of his thoughts, that was all.
His sharp eyes, which seemed to soften just a little at the thought, looked down (literally) to see her as he gently brushed her hand away, replacing hers with his own to keep the cloth in place. He knew that most individuals could have lost their hand for brushing a captain’s hand away, but the whole reason for why they’d brought him here was because his hands were familiar with a set of skills no other crewman had knowledge of — and if he lost his, he was most likely as good as useless cargo. He grimaced a little. This wasn’t going to heal in a long time, and as a result, he'd have to sleep on one side only. Now that was torture. He let his eyes trail over his surroundings once more, still as wary as ever. He was here on the ship and not at the bottom of the ocean because of Captain Anaya, and the command Captain Anaya seemed to hold, alone. It wouldn't be odd if there were one or two people who were discontent with his arrival, especially with the fact that Whisteria seemed to share bad blood with pirates.
(sorry for the late reply!! this took a while to type )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 1, 2017 10:57:35 GMT -5
There was a deep-set hatred burning in Vix’s striking eyes, and all of that toxic emotion was pointed at Rhysand. She was channeling all her hatred, all of her anger, all of her despair into her gaze, and as it bored into him Rhysand felt something within him lurch. The female’s scent became thickened with hate, and for the first time in a long time, Rhys found that the human’s dislike of him was… distressing. He’d long ago ceased to care what humans thought of him, considering that their life-spans were but a blink of an eye in Rhysand’s time-span. He studied her for a moment, heart sinking. There was a small part of him that wanted Vix to like him, wanted the female to find comfort in his companionship, but it didn’t seem all that likely, considering the manner at which we was glaring at him, practically foaming with hate and malice.
He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching for the calm he’d built over the years when something distressed him. There was a brief flicker in his violet-blue eyes as he opened them again; a tired longing for companionship, a deep-set fatigue that had been built over hundreds of years. And then it was gone, replaced by the amused indifference that Rhysand had worn but a few seconds before. He raised an eyebrow as he scanned her form again, noting several bruises. That, he’d been prepared for; those who had nabbed her had warned Rhys that she was a fighter. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the murderous rage that burned in his chest. He stifled a snarl of fury, resisted the urge to demand who’d had the audacity to leave a bruise the size of a two-by-four on her abdomen. His eyes flashed again, with a protective urge. She was his, he’d decided. His. Anyone who dared to bring her harm would remember why Rhysand was often referred to as the king of his kind.
And then she spat an accusation, one that had Rhysand reeling. Are you the one leaving bodies in my city? His eyes widened in surprise at the question, brow furrowing in confusion. He certainly hadn’t expected that sort of question. He’d expected more demands regarding why she’d been targeted, why she was there, what he planned to do with her. But she’d surprised him yet again. “No,” he responded. “I do not live in Brooklyn.” He remained silent for a moment, pondering the implications of the deaths. He frowned. If there was one of his kind prowling the streets of Brooklyn and killing indiscriminately, it was a bad sign. Perhaps it was a new-born child unable to deal with the intensity of the blood-lust, or perhaps it was a rogue. He wouldn’t know unless he investigated. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Just how many bodies did you find?” There had been several such cases over the centuries, but they’d manage to hide their existence. With the advance in technology, hiding the existence of vampires was growing more and more difficult.
He sighed to himself. He’d been away for too long, had let his people go unchecked. He supposed it was time to step back into the world of the living.
---
( sorry this is short x.x I'm so tired right now, but I wanted to get you a post before I fell asleep for a nap. My next one will be longer and more detailed. )
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 1, 2017 14:22:39 GMT -5
(No worries! I'm sorry this is kinda short. I also have a question. How do you center your text into your column? I'm really bad at this BBC code thing.)
Haven offered another tiny, barely-there smile to Lan, reaching out to place his fingertips gently on her head. It was a sign of affection from the burly pirate, one he seemed to give very rarely. In any case, his touch was shockingly gentle for someone so large and powerful, and for someone who just carved letters into a man skin with white-hot metal. A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest like thunder. "You'll find that when it comes to bets, my sister and I seem to have a little more experience."
His hand fell from her head, crossing over his chest once again before finally unraveling, his hands sliding into the front pockets of his pants. "Come with me," he said, and for a moment, he was a mirror version of his sister. had his hair been her flaming red, their shared blood would have been all the more obvious. Body language mimicked Anaya's for a split second as he turned, his expression settling into his sisters' authoritative tilt. The moment ended the moment it began, and the second was himself again with his snake-like, stalk-like gait.
He nodded to a few of his ship mates and deck hands absentmindedly, seeing coins being handed back and forth between them. Once again, things were looking up for the crew. Food was plentiful for months, fresh water was stored in dozens of barrels, and gold dripped from every chest and trunk. Spirits were higher than ever now - a medic was aboard, and that was a sign of good fortune. Haven pushed open a door rarely opened - revealing something of a tiny, barely-there library. Dust fell from the doorframe as he held open the salt-worn wood for the woman behind him.
"I know you can't read," he said in a low voice, his signature sound as he pulled a thin book from the shelf and letting it land on the tiny table with a small thump. "Sit down. You're going to be taught." He grabbed one of the chairs at the table, flipping it backwards and straddling it that way. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge the fact that what he was doing was very unlike his typical self. He was a man of secrets, of blackmail - when he had any knowledge someone else did not, he used it against them. It was his job, and his talent.
When he didn't Lan immediately obey his order, he glanced up at her with his poison-like golden green eyes. "If we're going to the True North Sea," he quipped in his death-like voice, "you will need to know how to read the basics at lease. We don't know whats out there and frankly, it's a life skill Anaya should require everyone to learn." That was probably the longest sentence he had said to anyone on the ship other than his sister, looking at the book again. It was a simple novel - something he or Anaya could zip through on the clock, but it was good for beginners. He was aware that it was a piss-poor excuse to teach this woman, but the truth was something he didn't want to give. He noticed how she looked at her Captains books. He wanted to give Lan the same privilege that he and Anaya had since childhood. He rather like the Master Gunner - although he would never admit affection of any sort out loud.
~~~~
Anaya, unlike most captains, didn't seem irritated in the least that her hands was brushed away. Rather, it seemed to bring the stranger up a notch in her opinion. One brow rose just slightly, and she glanced him up and show with charcoal-lined eyes. The quick, messy beauty product made her eyes practically glow. She debated saying something, then just shook her head and turned towards her personal area, motioning for him to follow her inside.
When the door closed behind the man, Captain Anaya was already behind the desk she had put I her quarters. She unlatched a drawer and pulled it open, producing a few things. One was a small medical kit, with different bottles of pastes and liquids Anaya knew nothing about. Dried herbs of different kinds. Large folds of bandages. Another item was a bottle of strong rum, and two wooden glasses that looked hand-carved and sanded. She continued in her silence, pouring two generous cups of the alcohol and pushing the kit towards him. Finally, she spoke.
"You did better than most of my crew during Initiation." Praise, generally speaking, was rare from this woman. There were few aboard her ship who she praised regularly - Lan being one of them, but her brother was not. He knew when she was pleased with his work, even if she said nothing. The number of bodies pushed into the sea under his name made her boil boil with pride. She motioned for the man to have a seat in front of the desk, then offered to take the bloody cloth in exchange for a proper medicinal kit. "Now, consider this the second part of initiation. You need a new name, and I'm not one to assign. You can be called anything you want on the Bleeding Corpse - new life, new start. But before that, I need you to understand something."
The Captain sat on her desk, leaning forwards to place her elbows on her knees and clasp her hands together in a rather masculine position. "We are pirates, yes, but we're not monsters. I'm sure you're thinking that we are cruel people who kill for pleasure, or for a spot of gold. Well, you'd be right about that." She offered a sly smile, taking a swig of the alcohol without flinching. "But we treat our crew like family. Every single one of us came from a background that wasn't pleasant. Any abuse between cremates is forbidden, and I do not tolerate those who abuse their fellow family members. When you walk back out there-" she pointed to the door "-you're gonna be treated as if you're wanted and needed here, because you are. We're a family, after all. You won't be beaten or tortured here."
She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other in a sudden more feminine posture. "Now please, make yourself at home. There's a hammock in the mens' quarters waiting for you, and there are always fresh clothes being sewn. It's time to start over, stranger. What do we call you?"
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 1, 2017 15:04:23 GMT -5
(No worries, you're perfectly fine!)
Vix leaned back at his answer, the scent of hatred twisting with surprise. Her expression looked taken back for a split second, then her hackles seemed to rise again. This time, her malice wasn't directed at Rhysand. It slipped from her pores like smoke, boiling with goosebump intensity and spreading densely across the floor like smog from a machine on Halloween. She glared at her hands, flexing them into fists over and over again. Calloused and rough - from fighting and guitar both. Her knuckles ached, the bruise across her abdomen was throbbing, and another across her back was killing her - painkillers were wearing off, and she knew that the pain would be rather intense the moment they were out of her system.
"I found six," she finally replied bitterly, her voice dripping with seething malevolence. "They looked like ghosts and their throats were bruised and bloody. Except for the kids," she said, her expression suddenly faltering into one of... pain? Her guard came back up immediately, her seething anger covering any slips again. So that was what the anger, hatred, and other murderous emotions were produced for. Something was being kept from reality, and she probably didn't even know about it. "Her throat was cut across." A shiver went down Vix's back, and her vision blurred from another flux of her heartbeat. She coughed into her arm, feeling her lungs tighten. "Just a kid," she said hoarsely, rubbing her chest absentmindedly.
She uncurled her legs cautiously from her chest, needing to get up and pace. She made it to her feet, beginning a slow, aggravated pacing pattern. Back and forth, back and forth. Six steps. Six. Seven steps. Seven. Six steps. Six. The pattern continued, even though she was feeling weaker and weaker by the second. Clearly, this woman didn't feel safe staying in one place for long - what was her life like with that instinct? She was half-animal by now, living on her own with a dagger at her throat but a gun at her back - each weapon of her own creation, keeping her on her toes and on a thin line between danger and safety. It was easy to see that her feet strayed towards the danger more frequently - her shirt raised as she ran her hands through her hair, yanking out the hair tie and letting blue strands fall around her shoulders. On the small of her back was the bottom of a bruise so vicious, it looked like someone poured black and red paint over her skin.
"Who's the one scaring my city?" She asked, her teeth clenching painfully hard as she ran her pale hands through shock-blue hair again. She cared more than she wanted him to know - she cared for the people in her city, which is why she was covered in the marks of rough fights. Too many times she tried to play hero and got bruised and bloody for it -but in the end, she never regretted what she did. Deep deep down, underneath her bitter and hateful shell, was a sick sense of pride for putting herself in harm's way for the city that raised her strong.
If there was a vampire wrecking havoc in her city and her streets, she wanted to be the first one with a gun in her hand. She didn't know what to feel at the moment - three hours ago, fairy tales were fictions and all her enemies could be taken out with metal and lead. Now, she was in a first-class luxury plane and the vampire who was mostly going to buy her like livestock was sitting not fifteen feet away from where she was pacing. Her hurt all over, both from bruises and Anemic effects. It was getting hard to breathe again, but she refused to sit still anymore. It was going to be a long ten-hour flight.
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Post by carmine. on Aug 2, 2017 12:32:06 GMT -5
Without warning, the Master Gunner felt someone’s hand gently rest on her head and she almost found herself tensing underneath the touch until she realised that it was Haven. Much to her surprise, there seemed to be something quiet about this tiny, temporary gesture, and she realised that the rare sign of affection coming from the second in command had admittedly taken her off guard.
From the moment she’d stepped onto the Bleeding Corpse and she’d first spotted the second, in her eyes (hopefully it wasn’t too strange of her to think so), Haven had appeared to be something similar to an entity from the wild stories that the women on the streets longly spoke of with their hushed voices. To her, a young, lost pauper who’d never had the proper time to truly see beyond the walls she’d been trapped within, there’d been something different about the infamous siblings, as if the air around them alone could invite others to their deaths — or their fortune. At least, this had been the case for a young Lan, who’d (at the time) been trapped between the border of feeling awed, yet terrified all the same of the pirates.
She reflected Haven’s tiny smile, though in her dark amber-brown eyes, a small glimmer of bemusement could be found. “As expected of the captain and the second in command,” she said while leaning her weight on her left leg. She was surprised to hear that her voice held an undercurrent of calm amusement. “Remind me me to never make a bet against the captain or you in the future — if the same pattern continues, I’m certain my pockets will remain completely empty.”
When Haven spoke, for a brief moment, Lan thought that she thought she saw a strong resemblance of Anaya in him, almost as if to mirror her even to her body language, though the temporary lapse disappeared for her in a blink of an eye, and she was left until she noticed that he’d already walked far ahead. "Come with me.” Her dark amber-brown eyes swept over the other crew members, who seemed uplifted by their rush of fortune, but soon landed on a specific member whose piercing hazel eyes seemed to meet hers during that split second.
Arlen Marleigh Ainsworth wasn’t the tallest man on deck, but his poised stance and perceptive gaze made him appear taller than he was. A long, black coat was usually leisurely swung over his shoulders, remaining set in its place from the lock that kept it together. He possessed a deceptively youthful face, and slender — almost gentle — features, despite his devious hazel eyes. In between his long, thin, and gloved fingers, there always seemed to be a slender pipe, which unfurled a wisp of smoke that resembled the single feather of a swan. When the lean man spoke, his voice was unyielding, leaving no room for contest, though ember resided within his icy eyes. It was true that Arlen’s love for fights often got him in mischief, but his loyalty to the Bleeding Corpse and its captain and second came first above all. He was quite restrained in that sense, fully obeying to the orders that were given and reserved despite his tendency to be quick-tempered from time to time. And, she thought, he usually moved with feline grace, though, currently, he remained static, leaning against the edge of the Bleeding Corpse with his back resting against its smooth wood. Arlen’s sharp, hazel eyes caught sight of Haven, and soon danced back over to her. Then, the corners of his lips seemed to tug up a little to form a nefarious smirk, and he looked both vaguely surprised and amused.
Rolling her eyes in his direction, she followed Haven into a minuscule room she had rarely stepped within. It was his low voice that hauled her back to reality, and she felt her lips barely pull apart to form a small ‘o.’ "Sit down. You're going to be taught,” she heard from him as he took a seat. A part of her felt confused — was Haven Vange, second in command of the Bleeding Corpse, offering (or ordering) to teach her how to read? Another part of her felt ready to shrivel up in the dusty corner like those old, lone spiders that had gone for long without food. How long had he known that she was illiterate? Lan had no doubt that the hue on her cheeks were most likely a bright shade of pink, and that thought alone made her cheeks warm even more. She was supposed to be someone Haven and Anaya could rely on — someone in possession of both strength and a certain degree of knowledge — not some silly illiterate pauper who was taking up their time.
"If we're going to the True North Sea, you will need to know how to read the basics at lease. We don't know whats out there and frankly, it's a life skill Anaya should require everyone to learn.”
There was a moment of silence before Lan swivelled around. “Hang on, I’d like to bring something,” she said with a collected voice as she hurriedly left the small room. Maybe she’d turned around quickly to hide her most likely reddened face, though it was difficult to tell what thoughts were going through Lan’s head by only listening to her voice. Moments later, the Master Gunner returned with something — an old, almost nearly crinkled book of some sorts with yellowed pages. Sitting down next to Haven with the very thin book still in her hands, she tentatively placed the ancient material down on the surface of the table before lightly tracing her finger over the torn edge of the bound papers. It’d been her companion for a very long time now — and it had been the last gift she’d received before she’d been swept away in a life of solitude until she’d joined the Bleeding Corpse. “If you don’t mind,” she then hesitantly started, “would it be all right if you could perhaps tell me what it’s about?” Her gaze then glanced down at the novel that Haven had chosen out, and the Master Gunner straightened her back a little. “Only after the one you’ve chosen, though. This isn't important,” she said while touching the crinkled book she'd brought.
It was a little bit of a lie. Seeing the old book out of its little fabric pocket in her little space in the female quarters seemed to inspire knots to gyrate in her stomach. The name on the bottom of the book said: To Lena.
It’d been a short story of a young boy setting out for the seas that had been written by a father as a gift to his daughter who’d sat sullenly in front of the the family kitchen table after she’d spotted a group of girls with polished books in their hands one late evening. I can’t read this, father.
One day, I’m most certain that you will, Lena. Until then, make sure to keep it with you at all times. Promise?
Why she’d felt inclined to bring this novel now, at this time and moment, to ask for Haven’s aid, was something that Lan wasn’t quite certain of herself. But aside from that and the initial embarrassment she'd felt, she was willing to learn as much as she could here and now, because she wasn't certain when this sort of opportunity would ever happen again. And who knew — perhaps there truly would be a situation where this new asset would allow her to help the Bleeding Corpse.
-
When the door closed behind him, Captain Anaya was already behind her desk, and she seemed to search for something in a drawer before displaying some things. He scanned the items she’d produced and felt a small sense of relief within his head. The items were familiar to him, and he was well aware that he was in need of some of the bottles filled with different pastes and liquids that would alleviate the still-burning mark on his neck. The pain was still vibrant — not as violently raw as it had been when the actual procedure that had happened, but it was still a nightmare latched onto his skin.
He hadn’t noticed before — perhaps because of all the hectic and rapid pace everything had been moving in — but he felt a small sense of curiosity when he noticed that Anaya was wearing beauty product, and one that seemed to accentuate her eyes, nonetheless.
Approaching the desk and lightly resting the tips of his fingers on the lids of some of the bottles, as if to let his mind count how many of each valuable item they possessed, he soon blinked at the sight of the filled glass that was offered to him. Hmm, they didn’t drink chicken blood or something, did they?
It wasn’t a logical thought, he knew (and he rubbed his hand over his face at the idea that he’d even let the thought flicker past his mind), but the generosity still made him a little skeptical that there was an underlying intention to her actions, most likely because he was admittedly incredibly weary from the long day, and because he was still wary of these strangers. Perhaps they’d gotten to understand each other and accept each others’ companionship over years. For him, however, he’d just been tossed onto a foreign ship after his own had been ambushed, then he'd been branded with a brilliantly steaming knife, and then shoved from one quarter to the next. Surely a bit of wariness was necessary. He was aware of how tantalizing these criminals could make each and every syllable that came through their lips sound. Of course, that included himself, too.
“That’s quite a compliment,” he said with a subtle curl of his lips as he picked the glass up with his slender hand, eyeing the substance that swirled within the smooth cup. “But one I’m well acquainted with.”
At Anaya’s motion, he took a seat, relieved and somewhat aware that most of his muscles felt as if they’d been torn from the damage inflicted during the initial ambush and all the following events. There was an undercurrent of calm to the way he spoke that he hoped would mask the slight grimace that had formed at the sore aches that seemed to rattle his bones as well. The intense concentration of heat wasn’t something that wouldn’t affect most parts of his body. Three days later, he knew he was going to be in a world of hurt, more so than now, and perhaps even more than the whole procedure itself.
Prying the cloth away from his neck, he folded it and gently let it rest on his knee with a small smile. “I’d like to keep this until I can clean it, if you don't mind. I’ll return this to you, afterwards, if you’d still like it then.” He’d been labeled as a pirate now, but that wasn’t going to change his usual attitude or some of the manners he’d been taught to follow. At least, it’d been a rule he’d had to follow when he’d still lived on shore.
“When you walk back out there, you’re gonna be treated as if you’re wanted and needed here, because you are. We’re a family, after all. You won't be beaten or tortured here.”
Thinking back on Haven’s sadistic voice and venomous smile, he couldn’t help but doubt those words, even if it was just a little.
"Now please, make yourself at home. There's a hammock in the mens' quarters waiting for you, and there are always fresh clothes being sewn. It's time to start over, stranger. What do we call you?"
Interesting. So she wasn’t going to declare his name for him? It was what he’d forgiven for so long — letting others take control of what character they wanted him to be, pinning him with a name that conquered the impression he gave upon first glimpse. In a way, he’d let them shape a small portion of his life, because each and every name he received had lead him to live a different life surrounded by different people and a different environment with different rules. And yes, a large part of that was because either he hadn’t cared all that much what they’d referred to him, or because he’d simply have no choice in the matter. But now that he thought of it, no one had truly asked him what he would like to be called for a path he hadn’t yet walked.
Lightly eyeing the liquid in the glass he held, he let his mind wander a bit. A name, was it? Was there a name he wanted to be called by? It was that instant he felt a rush of past events flow over his mind, and he was standing in a variety of locations at once, yet as a different person at the same time. A tavern, a ship, a wealthy home, a small, humble cottage, a cell, a bloodied town, a medical tent… His attention flickered back to the cover of a novel he’d held during the time he’d spent under the wing of a specific man, when the pages had offered his younger self a sense of false comfort and a leeway to a world he’d wished had engulfed him. When he spoke, his velvety voice was thoughtful, almost as if he had travelled back to those days, lost in words underneath the shelter of a wooden desk, his only companion the sound of the candle flickering. The humble and unknown author, if his memories served him correctly, hadn’t been using his real name for the publication of his novel, either. What had his name been written as?
“Glenn.” Raking his hand through his tousled black locks, he leaned back a little in his seat. “Glenn Andreasen.”
-
( that’s totally okay! no need to apologize - in fact, i wouldn’t call that short at all oh, i’m really bad at coding too haha the one i’m using is p much the only coding that i sort of know. i'll send you the coding through pm c: )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 2, 2017 16:29:04 GMT -5
( will respond tomorrow. Have to wake up at 5 am my time for this shadowing thing ): )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 4, 2017 17:11:59 GMT -5
( sorry. I was soooo tired. I'll get a post up after dinner (: )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 5, 2017 0:42:50 GMT -5
( ... I am the literal worst. Pleas don't hate me :c I had a headache and I totally forgot. Gross my heart and hope to do I will get you a post soon )
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 5, 2017 9:53:08 GMT -5
(Hey hey hey, don't stress about it ^-^ It's okay, I promise, no hatred here. Real life first!)
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 5, 2017 19:23:41 GMT -5
Rhys closed his eyes and sighed softly. The air thickened with rage, with a malice that boiled and thrummed with power, as if it had a mind of its own. Vix focused her gaze on her hands, as if studying them intently – as if trying to find some clue, some answer, in the callouses that lined her fingers and palms, in the flexing tendons beneath skin over her knuckles as she curled her hands into a fist and relaxed them. He studied her for a moment, remaining quiet as he awaited Vix’s answer to his question. She rattled off an answer, voice clipped and bitter and so damned furious that Rhys blinked in surprise. Six, she said. She’d found six, dotted across her city, discard like trash. Their lives forgotten, their humanity disregarded. He remained silent, watching the pain flash across her face before she slammed her mental and physical shields up, and the anger shifted back to create a mask to hide whatever insecurities and painful memories that lurked in her heart.
Rhys’ jaw clenched when she mentioned the children. A low growl rattled in his chest, almost inaudible but for the sharp, snarling exhale. His teeth lengthened, canines elongating to dangerous points, but he kept them hidden behind pursed lips. His violet-blue eyes flashed with a deep, primal rage. Long ago, he’d made it a point to punish anyone who had the audacity to even think about harming a child. He ground his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn’t shatter, but as a vampire he was a tad bit more difficult to break. The human moved, as if she couldn’t stand to sit still. She began to pace back and forth again, six steps forward, one step rotation, and then seven steps back. He watched her for a moment, already concocting dozens of methods to punish whoever had the audacity to be so sloppy, and whoever had dared to go against him. While it was true he’d more or less become withdrawn from the world and had left his people to mostly govern themselves, he’d made his rules clear before taking his leave, and had made it obvious, in no uncertain terms, that he would have people watching for any transgressions. He exhaled once, curling his right hand into a tight fist.
“Her throat was cut across,” she said, a distant look entering her gaze. “Just a kid.”
Indeed. Just a kid, and one who most certainly didn’t deserve to die. Death and life were intricately bound, the balance of each other. Ying and Yang; dark and light. Without one, there could not be another. Without life, there could not be death. Without death, there could not be life. The two were inseparable. Even so, no one deserved to be slaughtered in such a manner, in such a brutal struggle. Children deserved such a fate least of all; they were innocent, and at the most basic level, without children, humanity would not continue. Without the continuation of humanity, Rhys’ own kind would sputter and cease to exist. It was hard to kill a vampire, but it was possible, and starvation – while taking much longer than a human – was one way. His thoughts turned inward for a moment. Something similar had happened long ago; the mass killing of humans, men and women and children alike, when the world was far less civilized and it was much easier to hide in the shadows. Some of his kind had decided they no longer wanted to hide, wanted to take their place as rulers of the world. It had ended in a brutal conflict, one where millions of humans had been caught in the middle. They’d been slaughtered, torn apart in manners that Rhysand was sickened to remember. Humanity had blamed the event on some plague; the Black Death, if his memory served correct. Black Death, indeed. With a single blink, he returned to the present as Vix turned and faced him again.
He exhaled once, sharply, regaining his control. He retracted his fangs, checked his power and energy, and focused back on the human in his presence.
“I do not know,” Rhys responded, voice blunt. His expression softened a bit and his tone gentled. “I am sorry.” The words wouldn’t fix the problem, wouldn’t erase any of the memories, but he had nothing else to say. Nothing else to offer, save revenge. “I am sorry that you had to… experience that.” He shook his head. “I do not know who is running rampant in your city, but I intend to find out.” He clenched his fist again, and stared into Vix’s eyes. “And when I find whoever it is,” he said, voice soft, tone built form molten steel, “he will wish that I had remained in the shadows.” He will remember why I am king, he snarled to himself, and why I have remained king for so long.
He sat back in the seat and sighed through his nose. “You should rest,” he told her. “It’s going to be a long flight. We are due to land in Romania.” From there, he’d arrange to have her taken to his home, where he could figure out what to do with her then. He’d have to investigate her claims, although he didn’t necessarily believe she was lying, and that would require a return flight to Brooklyn. What remained to be seen was whether or not Vix joined him, or stayed behind. First, he needed to get her healthy, and ensure that she’d be alive if he decided to bring her with him. Ten hours remained.
“If you wish, I will leave you to your own thoughts,” he told her. He’d understand, despite that he liked her company. Rhys was a brooder as well, and understood the need for quiet and solitude to regain his composure and sort through his thoughts. Vix looked ready to drop, likely due do the adrenaline rush – and subsequent crash. He stood, uncoiling his form again, movements lithe and smooth, like a wild cat preparing to pounce. He inclined his head, awaiting the human’s answer.
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 6, 2017 9:02:48 GMT -5
Haven waited patiently for Lan to return, getting to his feet and trailing around the room once, just to make sure all was in place. Satisfied with what he saw - the dusty but otherwise clean books and the writing tools - the black-haired man with venomous eyes left the library for only a half moment.
He went the opposite direction of Lan, slipping into the men quarters with his eerie, silent ways. Half-floating towards his hammock, the man unlocked the chest on the wall with the key around his neck and picked up a few things - two quills, a slim notebook made of parchment sewn together, and a bottle of dark ink. Placing the items on his hammock for the moment, Haven silently shut the small trunk and locked it once more as he listened to the sounds of the day-shift sleeping. A wave slammed against the port window - he glanced up, seeing the nighttime sky above them and cocking his head. Quickly, he gathered the supplies and moved onto the deck to feel the difference.
The air changed, and Haven could feel it against his skin as surely as he felt the chill breeze. It turned saltier, more bitter - the wind suddenly swapped direction, and he could feel the Bleeding Corpse start to sway underfoot. He easily shifted his muscles to keep balance, then narrowed his eyes out into the sea. His sister had a way of speaking to the vessel they lived on and far, that was true - but Haven could communicate with the sea in a way that was uncanny and eerie. "I feel you changing," he murmured to himself, then went back below deck.
He was moving his chair closer to Lan's when she came back in. He looked at the book she brought curiously, although his expression didn't shift from his neutral contentment (a big step-up from his usual slightly bitter look). "I may be the older sibling," he said, straddling his chair backwards and setting the writing things on the table, "but Anaya has taught me several things I wish I knew in my younger years. One of them is that no book is more important than the other." He glanced down at the book he had pulled from the shelf and slid it closer. "However, I don't want to invade your privacy or your past. I'll teach you to read, and then you can read whatever this-" he placed a hand gently on the small book she had brought in, a shockingly gentle touch for a man who seemed so cruel "-may be." He moved his hand, pulling forwards the two quills, the ink, and the paper.
He was quiet for a moment, quietly pulling a piece of paper loose from the bindings. Unscrewing the jar of ink, he pulled off the lid and slipped the end of the quill into the murky, sticky gel-like liquid. "This is alcohol ink," he mentioned. "I'm just letting you know now. If it gets on your skin, do not use salt water to rub it off. Use a bit of drinking water - it'll come right off." He drew a capital A, then a lowercase. He was quiet, quickly filling out the entire alphabet on the paper before giving the beautiful amber-eyed woman a blank sheet of paper, her own quill.
He was a surprisingly good teacher, for a man who spent much of his time inflicting mass pain onto intruders and those Anaya disapproved of. He gave her the alphabet, teaching her the sounds and uses for each letter. He told the Master Gunner about the different vowels, the placements and what they meant. "Try copying the shapes," he urged, placing the ink jar next to the paper. "Don't worry about penmanship right now. Just get the letters down."
~~~~~~~~~
"Both the cloth and the kit are yours," Anaya said passively, waving her hand dismissively. She rarely used either - she was trained with giving orders, sailing a ship, fighting - she was trained to kill, not to heal.
As the man in front of her thought, the captain poured herself another half-dose of rum into the wooden cup and raised it to her lips, watching him over the rim of the cup. She was being careful, it was suddenly clear, but not for the reasons many may have believed. She was not being cautious around this man - he had been welcomed aboard, after all - but she was being careful. She did not want to offend him in any way as of now, so she was taking to watching his reactions with her brooding eyes, absorbing all the information she could.
"Well, Glenn Andreasen, welcome to our family." She gave him one of her signature sly smiles, knocking back the rum as if it was a shot of tequila. She placed the cup back on her desk, then turned back towards the newcomer and rested her arms on her leg. "Congratulations about dying, because that's what every Kingdom that has heard of the Bleeding Corse thinks you have done."
A sudden subject change.
"We're sailing into the True North seas soon." She slid back onto the ground, resting her hands on the hilts of her chosen weapons - two curved scimitars at either hip, two blades that she was widely feared for. "There will be many, many islands between here and there, which means there's plenty of places to find any herbs or medicinal plants you need of." She walked behind her desk again, placing her rum and cup back inside the drawer before withdrawing a slim book. "Here is the medicine log from our last medic. Nothing has been changed. nothing has been used." She walked back around the desk, handing the man the notebook.
Inside were detailed notes on the supply of herbs and barks, saps and bandages - all sorts of inventory. "There will be many, many fights in the True North sea," she told, crossing her arms over her chest out of habit. "We're going to need mass amounts of everything. You're one of the very few members of this crew that can come in here without permission, day or night. When you need to land to collect anything, just tell me or my Second."
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 6, 2017 9:49:20 GMT -5
Vix glanced at Rhys as he spoke, her pacing paused as her anger suddenly took a steep dive to calmer waters. The hatred sank through the ground, vanishing completely. Instead, a rush of curiosity made her chest twist, her heart pound hard as she narrowed striking mint eyes, noting the tiny, subtle checks Rhys was putting on himself. She said nothing else to him at all, even when he asked her if she wanted to brood alone. She just stood aside, pointedly leaving a direct path to the mirrored door.
The moment the door shut behind the vampire, the girl completely ignored his suggestion to rest and continued her pacing. Her thoughts were spiraling back towards those she had found dead. Soon enough, her adrenaline was pounding through her veins again with such a furious hatred and shocking rage that she felt energy buzzing through her limbs. She took it out on a section of padded wall, throwing punches that made her bruises and scabbed knuckles scream in pain. She spent over an hour with non-stop movement, throwing well-practiced punches and kicks to the wall. She stripped off her shirt, leaving her in a sports bra, to help keep cool. By the time she was done, her hands were bleeding profusely and she was breathing hard, the smell of her enraged hormones and sweat mixing with the scent of her blood.
She tore a small hand towel she found in the snack bar into two long strips, wrapping them around her knuckles expertly and tightening knots with her teeth before tucking the loose fabric under what was helping stop the bleeding. She was almost dropping where she stood - after not only an attack from lack of iron but several rushes of adrenaline, the girl was practically a zombie on her feet. She more or less collapsed onto the couch, fast asleep almost the moment she laid down. Her bruises were almost covering her - her shirt still laid across the room on the floor, leaving her in skinny jeans and the exercise top. Her skin still burned from the intense beating she gave the wall.
It was the shrill beeping that woke her up - several hours later, the pilot had hit the alert that they were going to land soon. The girl was still tired and sore - her knuckles ached, but she didn't care. The painkillers had worn off by then, and she let out a hiss of pain as she tried to move. She froze in that spot for a moment, then slowly stood up with a short groan of pain. She cursed under her breath, her anger already sparked just a bit. Quite a temper...
Vix carefully leaned down and grabbed her shirt, pulling it back on to hide the angry black and red bruises, wincing as even the soft hush of fabric made her body ache. She cursed again, running her hands through her electric blue hair and tying it back into a messy bun, although her bangs slipped free to frame her face. Feeling a difficulty breathing again, the girl carefully sat down on the couch again and curled one leg up, the heel of her boot firm on the couch cushion. The feeling of leaning back made her back scream in pain, but she just gritted her teeth and stuck it out, forcing her body to relax as the jet touched down and coasted, eventually stopping.
The girl looked over her shoulder, startled when the sound of a door opening caught her attention. Cautiously, she stood up and snuck a glance at the mirrored door before disappearing in a flash. A deep bark came from outside, along with the first sound of happiness Vix had given. "Shark!" She was already on the ground, kneeling as an absolutely massive canine sprinted towards her, barking happily. He was shaped and colored like a husky, but so undeniable colossal that it was obvious he was part mastiff. The dog practically tackled her, panting happily and wriggling around like an excited puppy when the girl clung to his neck and shoulders, face buried in his thick fur as she hugged him lovingly. Several other vampires surrounded the area, dressed in sharp black suits and waiting patiently for instructions.
Shark yipped again, pushing his muzzle into the girl's neck and whining happily as his tail lashed side to side with blurring speed. His ears were flat against his head - he was obviously relieved to see Vix, unused to her being gone for so long.
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 8, 2017 12:28:41 GMT -5
A wry smile crept across his features as Vix simply studied him, and then stepped to the side, making a direct path towards the door he’d originally entered through. He flashed her a smile, before disappearing back behind the mirrored wall. When the door swung back shut and clicked into place, he exhaled once, clenched his jaw and released a low guttural sound akin to a growl or a snarl. His hand curled into a fist and he allowed his rage to overwhelm him for a brief moment. His power washed out, threatening to shake the very walls of the plane, but he managed to keep the leash on tight enough to where Vix would not sense it. When he felt he’d surrounded to the anger long enough, he yanked his mask back on, locked his power and his energy down, and exhaled again. His eyes had closed during the process, but he snapped them open again. It was time to make some phone calls, and figure out what exactly had happened in the century or so that he’d been away from society.
There was a distant thud, and Rhys went still on instinct, locking all of his muscles in place. His teeth elongated, eyes flashing. Another thud followed closely after, and there was soon a cacophony of noise against the plane wall. He cocked his head, listening carefully. Sweat and adrenaline flooded his nose, and it was soon followed by a scent that Rhys recognized very well. Blood; sweet, mortal and… sick. He frowned. What in the hell was Vix doing? Judging by the sounds against the plane wall, she was either punching or kicking something. He snorted to himself, and, shaking his head, strode towards the table where he’d left his phone. A few quick pressed of the pad of his finger to the glass had the proper screen before him, and he tapped in a ten-digit number he’d committed to memory. The other line rung twice, before another male voice answered. “Duncan,” Rhys offered in greeting. “I have a request to make.”
“Of course, my lord. What can I help you with?” “I have information from reliable sources that there are children running loose in New York. Investigate the matter, Duncan, and report back to me.” “It will be done, sire.”
Over the next couple of hours, Rhys continued to make phone calls, organizing meetings, and tracking down a few of his contacts in America. Considering that he didn’t live in the United States, the contacts were vital, and most often kept him updated on the actions of his people overseas. He’d been out of the loop for a while, but he’d still made an effort to keep in contact with his people across the different continents. There was a soft knock on the door that led to the cockpit, and as Rhys turned his gaze to the door it swung open to reveal one of the stewardesses. “We will be making a landing in approximately ten minutes, sir.” Rhys gave her a nod, and then made one more phone call.
“Meg,” he greeted, voice softening to a warmer, gentler tone. “I’d like for you to make a call to Peterson, and have him meet me at the estate.” He fell silent as he listened to the woman’s response. “No, Meg, I am fine. We will be having a guest.” He rolled his eyes at the excitement that suddenly filled her tone. “I need Peterson to make sure she’s alright. Thank you, Meg. See you soon.” He hung up, just as the plane made its landing. The touch-down was as smooth as it could be, although the plane jolted a tad still. They taxied along the runway for a bit, before entering a private hanger. When the pilot announced it was safe to disembark, Rhys stood, although he had a feeling that Vix had taken the chance to try and run. There was a happy shout of some name – Shark? – and then silence.
Rhys stepped off the plane smoothly, shifting his gaze across the people that surrounded the plane. Some of them were his people, and some of them were part of the group that had originally kidnapped Vix. He frowned at them, letting them know he was displeased and a few of them were smart enough to blanch in fear. He turned to Vix, and studied her expression as she was practically attacked by a mass of fur and fluff. The beast was massive, and colored like a wolf. Rhys raised an eyebrow as the pair was clearly reunited; Vix wrapped her arms around the animal, burying her face into its fur around the scruff of its neck. “Who is this?” Rhys asked, voice smooth. The dog looked at him, ears pinned to his skull, and it was clear that the dog wasn’t a fan of the vampire. He’d protect his mistress with his life.
The sound of an engine distracted him for a moment, and he turned to watch two sleek black cars enter the hangar. “Your chariot awaits, my dear,” Rhys told her. A blond man stepped out of the driver’s side of one car and opened the back door, waiting patiently for Vix. “You and that wolf-dog will take one vehicle.” He glanced at the blond vampire. “The estate, if you will, Jared.” The blond vampire nodded, bowing his head slightly. Rhys turned, waiting for Vix and her aquatic-named animal to move towards the car.
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 9, 2017 8:23:58 GMT -5
Vix didn't respond to the vampire right away, instead leaning back from the massive beast of a canine and roughly grabbing at his head, turning his eyes towards her. He didn't seem to mind the rough hands - in fact, his tail wagged even faster, if possible. He gave a snarl, lips pulling back from his sharp white teeth, as Rhys spoke to his mistress and a paw the size of a medium-sized bowl came protectively over Vix's shoulder. The girl roughly scratched the neck and shoulders of the beast, and he seemed to relax a bit as his mistress scrubbed him.
"This is Shark," The young woman finally replied, slowly standing to her feet and looking over at Rhys with a hand still on the canine's head. The wolf-like dog shook out his thick coat in what seemed to be amusement and the sudden wall in his owners' voice - she was never guarded around him, and this vampire was getting the brute of her bitterness. "I rescued him three years ago as a pup."
As the cars slipped into the area, Vix had to wrap her hand around Shark's thick leather collar as he snarled, beginning to come forwards threateningly. She understood how the canine felt - her feet itched to run, to sprint away and try to escape. However, she knew better - she lived on the streets, for the most part. She knew when a fight was against her. So, with a cautious and cold look toward Rhys - and a scathingly hateful glare towards a few of the vampires she recognized at her captors - Vix approached this Jason character and stopped several feet away, her hackles beginning to rise as she glanced him over carefully.
She turned to Rhys for a half-second, looking him up and down for any hint that she was being pushed into a blood-draining trap. After she was mostly sure she would be safe, the girl approached the vehicle and ducked inside, unwrapping the makeshift bandages from around her hands as folding the thin cloth to set on the seat. Sharp jumped up, his talon-like claws scraping the ground, and squeezed into what was left of the seats next to Vix before laying his massive head over her lap protectively, one of his paws following suit.
The door shut, and the sudden separation from her and Rhys made her realize just how completely and utterly exhausted she was. Even after nine hours of sleep in the plane, the young woman's' body was being affected by the lack of iron and it made her muscles sore, her brain hazy. Shark scratched at his side with one of his hind legs and then practically laid over the girl as she curled her legs to the side, leaning against the car door in a comfortable half-laying position. The easily 180-pound dog wasn't a heavy nuisance to her - she appreciated the protective feel from Shark as he curled half over her, resting his head on her waist and letting his eyes mostly closed. Neither gave any signs of friendliness to this Jason vampire, but neither did he receive hostile glares.
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Post by carmine. on Aug 10, 2017 8:41:27 GMT -5
( hey bell! i'm so sorry for my slow reply. things have been really hectic over here for a lot of reasons ^^' i'll try to get a response up as soon as i can - it may take a bit but i'll see if i can post it tomorrow or the day after that. really sorry again for the inconvinience ; )
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 10, 2017 10:02:15 GMT -5
Aw honey, don't worry about it! Real life before role play! I hope you're doing okay. Remember to eat and drink water if you're stressed!
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 11, 2017 21:29:21 GMT -5
Sorry x.x I was distracted yesterday and I was sooooooooo tired today
I'll do my best to get a post up tomorrow, but it's my dad's birthday :3
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 11, 2017 21:45:13 GMT -5
Nah, no worries!! Enjoy the time with your family Say happy birthday from me!
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 11, 2017 21:49:15 GMT -5
I will haha thanks (:
Hope you've had a nice week so far
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Post by carmine. on Aug 13, 2017 3:41:41 GMT -5
Aw honey, don't worry about it! Real life before role play! I hope you're doing okay. Remember to eat and drink water if you're stressed!
( thank you so much, bell. that's really really nice of you to say and i can't say ty enough <3 again i'm so so sorry for this very delayed reply xc )
~~~
Lan
“I may be the older sibling, but Anaya has taught me several things I wish I knew in my younger years. One of them is that no book is more important than the other.” There were certain words that stuck with Lan — words that she still remembered even if she’d heard them when she’d been young, because they’d lasted for her. She wasn’t entirely certain why some words lingered more than others. Perhaps it was because some seemed to hold more meaning behind them than others for certain individuals, because they could connect particular words with their own values as well. The words that Haven spoke, she thought, regarding these novels was something she thought she wouldn’t forget in a while. This small reading and writing session that he’d offered, something that she hadn’t been expecting at all, was something she was certain she’d remember for a long time, as well. Her dark eyes watched Haven as he lightly placed a hand on the small book, and she found herself feeling subtly surprised at his touch and how gentle his gesture was — something that she had only thought she’d imagined before on other past occasions. Slowly, she nodded her head as she leaned back in her seat, letting his words sink in her head as well as the situation itself. It felt surreal, really, to have Haven Vange first offering her a lesson on learning how to read and how to write, then to see what she could only recognise as a different side of him as well — something much more subtle and quiet and, she thought, benign. Outstretching her hand, she eyed the ink and the paper and the two quills with mild curiosity before (almost hesitantly) letting the tip of her finger rest against the smooth surface of the quill. It took her a moment to realise that Haven was pulling a piece of paper loose from the bindings, and she finally managed to pry her eyes away from the quill and the ink — two items she thought she’d never be able to hold with a touch of ownership, or the intent to write. Images seemed to flicker past her eyes, colors of her past accumulating to create one memory after another, though she blinked them away as quickly as she could. “Alright,” she answered to his advice, leaning over a little so that locks of her dark hair brushed over her cheek and pooled onto the surface of the table, falling over her practically glowing eyes. “I’m glad you let me know,” she then said with a slight curve of her lips, her voice light-hearted, easygoing, and non serious. “Knowing me, I probably would’ve tried to wash it off with salt water.” She then watched fastidiously as he drew letters on the paper, loops and thick and thin lines of alphabets she barely recognised, before her attention turned to the paper that he handed over to her. If there was one thing Lan realised, it was that Haven was a good instructor; she thought it’d been impossible for herself to understand anything when it came to writing and reading and alphabets, yet here she sat, taking her time to listen and understanding most of the things he spoke of. Of course, given her personality, there were times when the Master Gunner felt a small twinge of reluctance to ask questions (she was certain that if she’d been attending this place referred as ‘school,’ she would’ve been the student who sat at the back of the classroom rather quietly), but he was surprisingly forbearing, and she found herself repeating the pronunciations of the alphabets in her head, trying to hold onto each and every sound and line as best as she could. Tentatively reaching out when he urged her to copy the shapes, she dipped the tip of her quill into the ink jar, though she kept her hand hovering over the smooth paper for a while, as if to hesitate. Watching Haven gracefully write the alphabet was one thing, but imitating it was another. "Don't worry about penmanship right now. Just get the letters down.” Relaxing a little at this, she placed the end of her quill down on the paper and started to draw. When Lan shakily finished one alphabet, then another, a different light seemed to reside within her eyes — one that seemed to express subtle delight, curiosity, sheepishness (her penmanship was similar to that of a child’s, there was no other way around it), and yet, appreciativeness. She was actually writing letters.
Glenn
“Why, that’s nice to hear,” said Glenn as he tipped his head to the side with his dark, tousled hair falling over his sharp, yet slightly inquisitive eyes. Despite his casual tone of voice and nonchalant (now streaked with a bit of pain from the earlier marking) smile he wore, he was a little puzzled himself. This woman — Captain Anaya — seemed to not be careful to avoid offending him for some reason, though he thought that this could have only been conjured from his imagination. He thought he could still see sparks of whites and blacks flickering across his eyes from the earlier little ceremony, after all, and the stinging from the wound only seemed to grow worse and worse with every passing second. His deep-set eyes regarded her calmly as she officially welcomed him, and he found himself reflecting the sly curl of her lips as she took another drink before placing the cup back on the desk. "Congratulations about dying, because that's what every Kingdom that has heard of the Bleeding Corse thinks you have done.” To this, he quirked an eyebrow, though he only said: “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I can only say thank you.” Perhaps there was a little bit of truth in his words; even if this luscious woman was the Captain of the Bleeding Corpse, it was true that he was alive because he was here, right now. Even if he knew that he was most likely here for personal gains and the medicinal skills he could offer, the fact that he wasn’t dead was still something he couldn’t deny. He listened quietly as Anaya changed the direction of the conversation and found himself suddenly doubting that he’d be alive much longer, though he kept his expression the same, leaving no trace of doubt in his eyes. It would be a lie if he said that he’d never heard of the True North Seas and the dreaded creatures it held. They said that it was a haunted place — that it was a hideous part of the sea, filled with treacherous malice and evils. That silhouettes prowled beneath the surface of the water, unknown to mankind and mightily vicious. That thorough the murky blue, the hunched back creatures were as silent as the leaves caught on a drift of wind. Glenn found his eyes narrowing a little at the thought. He’d never truly believed in these superstitions, not really, especially because he’d never seen them before with his own eyes, and myths like those could not prove themselves apart from being passed around as bedtime stories to get children to behave. The only thing that there was to fear, he’d learned from his own experience, were people, and nothing else (well, perhaps the complicated twists and turns different relationships could bring, as well). He felt a small twinge of surprise and collected amusement, once again. She was just permitting him to walk in and out of her quarters without permission anytime he pleased? That was quite generous of her. Then again, there really was no reason for him to cause a commotion, so he supposed (solely based on his own thoughts) that she was placing a bet on his lack of motive to bring her any harm during those hours, because if the captain of any ship for that matter were to fall with these circumstances, he was most certain the suspicion of the crew would point to the outsider, and it’d be only a matter of seconds before he was thrown off to the sharks. That, and she was strong. Something told him that Anaya wouldn’t go down with a fight — one that could and most likely would result in the demise of her opponents, no matter who they were. Receiving the notebook with his smooth, dexterous hands, he flipped through some of the pages, eyeing the meticulous notes on their supplies before letting the material rest on his lap as he turned his gaze back to meet those of Anaya’s. “That’s all good, captain, but what I want to know,” he said as he leaned his back against his seat, his velvety voice simply curious, if not just a little wary, “is why you plan on traveling to the True North sea.” He narrowed his eyes a little, though his gaze remained intrigued. There must be some objective for wanting to go to such so-called dangerous waters. “From what I’ve heard, nothing lies there except for certain death.”
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 13, 2017 21:26:36 GMT -5
(Aw honey don't apologize! It's okay! I just hope you're alright )
"Heh," The captain huffed in amusement, slowly crossing her arms over her chest and tipping her head to the side as gold-green eyes narrowed curiously. "Interesting."
She shook her head then, flicking some of her blazing red curls behind her shoulder with a practiced ease that still radiated danger. "We're going to True North because of what lies in the center," she finally answered after a moment, her voice thick with amusement. "They call it the Pearl of Truth, a treasure worth no gold, yet the universe. You get one of two things from the Pearl - eternal fortune, or eternal fear. My crew all came from wretched backgrounds - the plague took their lives and their loves, or their past is too harsh to speak about. The Pearl will show us who belongs and who does not."
The young woman reached behind her, sliding a long, strangely elegant blade from the table behind her. It was made of stunning silver, tapered to ultimate perfection as she held the hilt between two fingers, letting the tip drag along the wood of her desk - it left a shockingly deep scratch as if an animal had raked a talon across the surface instead of a knives' light touch. "I'm sure you've heard of this knife," she changed the subject, flipping the glittering metal in her hand expertly. "The Archangel Dagger. Supposedly, it doesn't exist - except in the True North seas. My crew is ready to risk everything to know if they're destined for happiness. Are you?"
She had tactfully skimmed the subject he had presented her, half-answering his questions as she studied him closely. "Now, let's get you to your post. I'm sure you'd like to see everything we have in stock in person, not just on a log." She walked past him, and the icy-cold edge of the Archangel Dagger touched the branding on Glenn's neck. Instead o instantly beheading him - look what happened to the table - it soothed the pain, like opium in an addicts lung. A ripple of gold light passed over the wounds, and they began to scab over at last.
Anaya led Glenn outside again, the magical dagger left behind in her quarters. The moment she reached the deck, she could taste the difference in the air - more salt, less warmth, icy-cold like winter. Her eyes sought out Havens' and she held up a fist as a silent signal. "Down the hall," she pointed towards another entrance below deck, "and to the left. You can't miss it, there's a pretty obvious sign. I suggest deciding if you need more hers quickly - we're about to cross the borders."
~~~~~
Haven was patient, nurturing even, as he corrected letter formations and pronunciations. Several minutes passed, almost an hour before things started to get... tipsy. Quite literally, in fact - the bottom of the boat began to sway, and Havens' hands flashed out expertly to catch the ink bottles that began to slide - his other hand caught the thin novel she brought in, her name etched on the front.
"Haven!"
The man glanced up as the navigator, Kingsley, suddenly bolted into the room with his chest heaving. He had a dagger in each hand, eyes wild as he braced himself against the doorframe. The second-in-command was suddenly his usual self again, all steel-framed and venom-eyed as he rose to his feet, staring down at the other man. "True North seas," they said at the same time, and then the navigator bolted back to the top deck. They were going to cross soon.
Haven turned towards Lan, his posture only gentling a fraction. He handed the small book back to her, easily topping the ink jars with a swift hand. He glanced at her then, his eyes softening just a fraction. "Time to roll," he said, jerking his head towards the door frame before offering a hand to help her stand, feeling the furious waves that the Bleeding Corpse was cutting through. Leading her out onto the deck, Haven immediately felt the power in the water below them. A feral expression crossed his face, his poison-colored eyes narrowing as a wicked smile crossed his features. He obviously felt right at home in these dangerous waters, rolling his shoulders and turning his neck as his joints cracked loudly. He always seemed to absorb energy and power from the waves underneath, and now that they were crossing into the True North seas, it was like he was being gorged with power.
Outside, he noticed his sister and Captain come from her quarters with her usual confident stride, easily adjusting to the swaying seas. He also noticed her fist raising by her shoulder, a sign she and he had for years - even before their time aboard. Test the waters. It used to mean that they weren't sure if a building was infected with the plague - but Haven knew better now. He knew that she actually meant to check the literal waters. "Aye aye," he said to himself, before turning to Lan. "Prepare the firearms," he told her, jerking his head towards the chambers that kept a small armory, "and then find me and Anaya on the deck again."
Without another word, he produced a knife from nowhere and cut a rope on the side of the ship, wrapping it twice around a strong wrist and vaulting over the side of the railing like a madman. He felt the rope taunt when he was hardly a foot above the crushing power of the waters - he could see that it was almost black, could see things under the surface. He didn't dare touch it, but he felt the power radiating from the currents as he pushed himself forwards, his feet landing solidly on the top of a half-rotted corse's arm. The carvings used to bother him - not anymore. How, he was grateful for the foot holds as he watched the waters below with cautious eyes.
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Post by carmine. on Aug 14, 2017 10:51:44 GMT -5
( thank you <3 i hope that you're doing okay, too ;) ) Glenn
Of course it was treasure. He’d been expecting something along those lines, so Anaya’s words came as no wild bewilderment to Glenn’s ears, but rather settled his minuscule suspicions. To this, he dragged his hand through his dark, tousled hair, feeling the weariness take over his eyes as he simply exhaled a small sigh. It’d been a long day, and he swore he could feel the dryness of his dark orbs from the turmoil of the long hours and the specks of sea water. Already so much time had passed since he’d been discovered on the drifting log and brought to their side, and he was cautious not to let his memories of his fine day (before it’d shattered into ruins, of course, when the pirates had waltzed in his life) overwhelm him. In any case, why did it always seem like these pirates were always so obsessed with superstitions and little whiffs of guidance — specifically flaky rumours regarding certain mystifying objects? It all sounded ludicrous, because it sounded like something that could be spilt from a fairy tale. It would make a certainly good bedtime story for children, yes, but for reality to unravel around such outlandish myths? Well, Glenn wasn’t going to premeditatedly brush the notion off, since it seemed that his personality was quite flexible when it wanted to be, but it certainly did contradict everything he’d lived up to believe. It went against every second of his life, actually. He wasn’t a callous individual — actually, during those rare moments his young self had been able to bury himself in books in a covert corner, it hadn’t been peculiar for him to let his imagination drift, often conjuring impossible, fantastical tales of the land or the sea. But all his life, he’d been meticulously trained to abandon such ideals, and to let those silly ideas remain locked behind a tight door until they were ultimately forgotten. Yet, here he was, now, being swept up in one, standing in front of the captain he’d never imagined that he’d confront. His sharp, deep-set eyes watched Anaya as she reached behind her before revealing a long, oddly unearthly blade from the table, its silver brighter than any gilded armour he’d ever seen (he didn’t let his gaze rest too long on the deep scratch made on the surface of the desk, though.) "I'm sure you've heard of this knife,” he heard her speak as she deftly twirled the weapon in her hand. Glenn quirked his eyebrow. Change of subject, hm? "The Archangel Dagger. Supposedly, it doesn't exist - except in the True North seas. My crew is ready to risk everything to know if they're destined for happiness. Are you?" As of now, Anaya, he thought, though his only response was a light curve of his lips. No, not really. I have one and only one thing left to do, and that one objective may offer temporary satisfaction, but it won’t result any lasting contentment. He thought of reminding the pretty woman that the only reason for why he was here was because he didn’t have much of a choice, and because if he refused to cooperate them, he’d most likely be shark bait, but he decided against it and instead focused on her following words. “My post?” He repeated before nodding his head. “I suppose that would be good, yes.” He stilled, however, when he felt the ice-tip of the dagger touch the branding engraved on his neck, mildly curious and half-caught off guard at the abrupt gesture, and even more so at the sudden golden glow, and the warmth that seemed to course through his neck until the throbbing ebbed away. Gently, incredulously, he reached up to let the tip of his finger rest against the earlier wound. When he pulled his hand away, he saw that there was no blood. Not anymore. “You could’ve done this for me a little earlier, you know,” was all he said (not sarcasitcally or unkindly) as he stepped outside, following the captain. He was tired. For now, he’d let himself think of the events once he’d gotten the chance to finally rest, and instead decided to let any astonishing factors slip past his “I care” meter for the time being. But he did take a quick glance over his shoulder at the direction of the weapon which she’d left behind. "Down the hall and to the left. You can't miss it, there's a pretty obvious sign. I suggest deciding if you need more hers quickly - we're about to cross the borders.” With one hand resting on his waist and the other lightly brushing his locks away from his eyes, he tipped his head with a familiar crooked smile in Anaya’s direction. “Aye aye, captain.”
Lan
Almost an hour had passed in reality, but for Lan, it’d felt as if no time had flowed at all. So it had been somewhat of a startling factor for her when everything suddenly seemed to become lopsided and unsteady. Relief filled the master gunner as she watched Haven deftly catch the bottles of ink — her hand had been ready to snatch the jars if needed, but his hands had expertly flashed out to grab the glass container before her (honestly, she was just glad that no black smudges had been left on any of the property here for she was certain that Anaya would’ve murdered her had that occurred.) Her thoughts didn’t linger too much on the fact that Haven had also caught the book — the book that perhaps meant to her more than she would ever readily admit. “Haven!” After spotting Kingsley, she pushed her chair back in the desk and fully rose to her feet, her dark, cat-like amber-brown eyes watching the navigator as he braced himself against the doorframe, his eyes wild — panicked. The master gunner felt something seep away from her current demeanour, replaced with a different persona, one that kept her face beneath a mask as realisation settled in her head. “True North seas,” she heard them both say at the same time before the smaller man was back scrambling up where he’d come from. Lan’s eyes narrowed, just a little. They were crossing already? Perhaps she’d let herself relax for a little too long; she’d gotten too immersed in trying to learn the letter formations and pronunciations of so many words - words she'd thought she would never be able to recognize at all in the slightest. She received the small book back in her calloused hands silently, her dark eyes softening a little before they steeled once more (though there was undoubtedly a small, nefarious curve on her lips that was starting to form now) before she took his outstretched hand. She remembered the image that had flashed across her eyes when she’d first met Haven and Anaya — it seemed that now, she was taken back to that same time, when she could see power, although transparent, emanate from the second in command, as if the rough, roiling waters fed him deadly strength. “Prepare the firearms and then find me and Anaya on the deck again.” She gave a perfunctory nod to this, indicating that she understood clearly of what was being required of her now at this time. But before the second in time could truly depart, the master gunner — without realizing it herself before it was too late to retrieve the motion — found herself reaching out to gently take a hold of the man’s sleeve. Holy stars, what was she doing? “Haven,” she said, for the first time in a while actually looking in his venomous eyes with her own (it wasn’t often Lan directly stared back at him as she was doing now, because when she’d been on board the Bleeding Corpse and a little younger [and noticeably much more naive], she’d heard from someone as a prank that if she took too long to take in his eyes, she’d be dead the next day.) Briefly, she struggled to get the right words out — what was she doing this for? Because she felt appreciative that he’d done all of this? Or because, despite herself, a very, very small part of her longed for that writing session to remain intact, frozen in time, as she often had yearned for when she’d been a child watching the blue skies and hearing her father’s laugh? Or because she hadn't been able to thank him at the time for catching her book and handing it over to her just moments before? “Thank you.” Without taking a glimpse over at the rest of the crew, her focus already narrowing down to one sole objective and one work only, she briskly made her way over to the chambers that retained all the armoury they would need. Swinging a silver gun over her shoulder, she eyed the weapons that they had. If legends were true, if all those stories she’d heard hadn’t been false, then they were going up against more than simple, strenuous challenges. Setting her jaw, she spun around, making her way back to the deck with her hand resting on her holster, where her pistol lay. She’d make sure that this was all they needed.
Arlen Marleigh Ainsworth
Arlen Marleigh Ainsworth watched as the stranger made his way towards their storage room, where all. Of. Their. Stock. Lay. Defenceless, vulnerable, and freely open for some tampering. One smart and wrong tap into the herbs and the medicine, and they could all be killed in less than a day. His deceitfully youthful face scrunched a little to form a small scowl, and he was certain that there was now a furrow between his eyebrows. If there was one thing he wasn’t familiar with, it was keeping his arms open for outsiders, and Glenn Andreasden happened to be just that. Perhaps he was quite forbearing when he wanted to be with his crew mates, but there'd been nothing but trouble after trouble with some newcomers, particularly those with an attitude. Surprise, surprise, Glenn also fit into that role. He wasn’t planning to initiate any trouble — no, his respect and loyalty for both Captain Anaya and Haven (and mayybe Lan) stretched too far beyond for him to act solely based on his own personal interests, but he wasn’t so sure about the rare bunch on the deck who came off as unpredictable and even dangerous for an experienced fighter as himself. Brushing a speck of dust from his black coat that was swung over his shoulders, Arlen lowered his pipe after exhaling curls of smoke from his lips. Haven was now graciously swinging himself from the rope like a madman, and Lan looked a little scarier than she had when she’d taken a step in the small library with the second in command, her dark eyes now jagged and astute. Goodness, today was one hell of a busy day, wasn’t it? Dragging his slender gloved hand through his messy hair, he soon lazily glanced over his shoulder to see the darkening waters. Ah, well, this was splendid. They were about to cross to the True North seas very soon. Softly clucking his tongue, he rolled his shoulders and rose to his feet properly. Well, work wasn’t going to be finished on its own; his minuscule worries concerning the outsider could come later. “Captain,” he heard a little while later, and glanced up to see the master gunner next to the captain (who wasn’t too difficult to catch from her flaming hair, really), her eyes sharpened like those of a lynx. “The firearms are ready.” “And I don’t think any more herbs are necessary,” he heard the second voice, only to spot none other than the outsider, who looked effortlessly nonchalant with one hand resting upon his waist (which honestly for some reason irked Arlen. Was that just him who was bothered by the man’s unnerving indifference?) “I daresay we even have a surplus of them.”
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 15, 2017 7:17:28 GMT -5
( I will reply soon c: )
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 15, 2017 10:35:02 GMT -5
Haven swung up from the rains, soaking wet from freezing salt-water spray. Shaking his head to fling droplets of water to and fro, making his sister shot him an absolutely petrifying glare as she wiped a few drops from her cheek. "The sea is in turmoils," he reported to Anaya, glancing from face-to-face before turning fully to his sister again as she spoke.
"Lan, good work," she praised, dipping her head to the Master Gunner before turning to their new medic. "Glenn, good to know that we're set to sail. Keep track of those supplies, I've got an itching feeling that we're going to need as much as we can." She then turned to Arlen, motioning him over with her poison eyes cool and sharp. "Arlen, spread the word to secure the life lines to the mast when we're done here. As far as I can tell, we're head-on towards the borders of True North. Haven," she turned towards her brother again, who just crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for orders. "The waters. You said they are chaos already?"
"Yes Cap'n," he replied, not even shivering from the ice-cold salt water clinging to clothes, skin, and hair. "The sea is ready to fight against us. She has things below the surface."
"Things?"
Haven didn't reply right away, narrowing his eyes at his sister just slightly. It seemed they communicated through expressions again, although their faces hardly changed from their hard expressions. Apparently, whatever he saw, he felt only his sister needed to know. Suddenly, Anaya's face broke into a wolfish grin and she turned from her brother again, glancing from Lan, to Glenn, to Arlen. "I see," she said coolly, her eyes rather cat-like for a moment as the sky suddenly darkened with dark clouds, threatening to unleash hell upon them. Thunder rolled viciously overhead, and the ship gave a sudden lurch as a vicious current suddenly pulled directly north. Anaya and Haven immediately reached out to each other, not even thinking about the movements as they steadied each other easily. They glanced at each other, then Anaya gave a slight nod. "Be careful," she said, her hands gripping his arm tightly. "I mean it, Haven. Be careful."
The older man stared down at his sister for a moment, at her hard eyes and her stern expression, and was suddenly struck with the knowledge that she wasn't speaking as a captain but as his little sister. Despite her higher authority on the Bleeding Corpse, she still needed her brother next to her like she did when she was a child, abandoned in the streets and her ribs far too prominent. Softly, Haven pushed her hand away and dipped his head, backing away a few steps before grabbing the same rope he had lowered himself with before, unsheathing a long dagger. He knelt to tie the rope around his ankle, secured the knot carefully, then vaulted over the side of the railing. A loud splash followed soon after.
Anaya looked after her brother for a moment, then turned back towards the three in front of her, considering them closely. "Lan," she said, turning towards the other woman. "Distribute shotguns to our best snipers. Give them rounds that can cut through water the best, but make sure that there are plenty left below deck for later use. We'll be in True North waters for a long time, I reckon. After that, Haven will join you at your new post. Glenn," She addressed, flicking her venom eyes towards his, "I'd suggest you prepare a plethora of bandages, and definitely any treatments for open wounds. Arlen, we're done here. Get a life line on your ankle and tell the others to do the same. Tell them to set the sails and rig the wheel to sail deeper into True North seas. Go on," she commanded them, then walked over to the side of the ship.
Just in time. Haven resurfaced from the water with something in his hand, dagger between his teeth. "Anaya!" He called out as best he could, and his sister immediately flung down another rope. He climbed up carefully, the thing in his hand wriggling around. "Bucket!" he said, and another crew member immediately tossed one down into the water before pulling it back up on the deck as Haven heaved for air, kneeling from exhaustion. Whatever happened down in the water, it really winded him. Not a good sign.
He tossed the thing into the water, wiping his slimy hand on a cloth then tossing it almost angrily over the side of the ship. "Anaya," he said, grabbing onto his sisters arm tightly, "No one is to go off deck for any reason," he fumed, his voice dark and hissing. His sister crouched beside him as he told of the strange creature that attacked him, how a mouth filled with needle teeth tried to bite him. "I cut it open, killing it," he finished, "but the spawn came out - hundreds of them, swarming towards the bottom of the sea. I grabbed one, thinking you may have read about them." He pointed at the bucket, where the creature writhed. It looked like some sort of warmed eel with red splotches, a tiny mouth with needle teeth on one end. Anaya said nothing at first, just looking her brother over carefully. She was the Captain, and she knew her brother respected that, yet he was giving her an order?
"No one leaves the ship!" She yelled over the pounding waves, throwing a towel-like cloth at her brother and nodding towards where the Kraken Killer - Lans new post - telling him to get dry and then joint he Master Gunner down there. She would deal with the strange creature.
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 16, 2017 21:42:33 GMT -5
( sorry been really busy. Moved back to school so )
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Post by Strawberry Scream on Aug 17, 2017 7:02:26 GMT -5
(You're fine! Take all the time you need, I'm a patient person Good luck with your studies!)
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Aug 17, 2017 14:30:28 GMT -5
Rhys inclined his head to the snarling beast, watching Shark with an amused expression. The wolf-dog would certainly defend Vix with his life. Protective, indeed. “Respectable,” he responded. Several of the horses, sheep, goats, and cattle on his land were rescues as well, that he’d taken in some time ago. When the vehicles rolled into the hanger, the wolf-dog tensed and growled at Rhysand, moving to protect his mistress. He raised a brow, and chuckled to himself. He remained silent as Vix moved towards one of the cars, dragging the dog along behind her by the thick leather band wrapped around his throat. Rhys remained standing, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, violet-blue eyes unwavering as he watched Vix moved. He remained drawn to her; to her scent, to her fire, to her mean streak that stretched a mile wide. She slid into the car, and the wolf-dog jumped in behind her. Jared closed the door behind the female, and strode towards Rhysand.
“Sire,” the blond vampire said, inkling his head in greeting.
“Jared,” Rhys said warmly. Jared was one of his children, one of those he’d personally brought into the vampiric world. The blond vampire hesitated, as if he wanted to speak.
“Speak your mind, Jared,” Rhys chuckled. “We are among friends, no?” Although he allowed his vampires to speak freely most of the time, he was by no means a lenient lord. He policed his people well – most of the time – and keep his vampires in line. He’d slacked off over the last couple of years, but that would be ending. Now.
“She is not your usual time, my lord,” Jared responded, raising a brow.
“Perhaps,” Rhys responded. “I like her fire. She’s got quite the mouth on her. You should’ve heard her swearing on the plane.” He flashed a grin.
“Are you going to keep her?” Jared prompted.
“I have not decided,” was the vampire lord’s response. “I enjoy her company well enough, but we will see where the cards fall. Take her to the estate, Jared, and ensure that Meg gets her settled in before Peterson sees her. I will be along shortly.” He nodded to Jared, who bowed his head and response and returned to the car, sliding back into the driver’s seat. A moment later and the sleek car drove out of the hangar and disappeared. Another of his children slid to a stop to stand next to Rhys.
“My lord,” he said.
“Tao,” Rhys greeted. “We’ll head to the estate shortly, but I would like to make a stop first.”
“Of course, my lord. Where to?”
“The sanctuary, please.”
He slid into the car, settling into the backseat. Tao entered the driver’s side, shifted the car into drive, and took off.
The drive to the estate took about forty minutes, and Jared was quiet for the entire time, keeping his attention on the road. After what seemed an eternity, he turned onto a smooth, unmarked road. Another ten minutes had them pulling to a stop in front of a sprawling mansion. Its architecture was ancient and yet still modern. In the distance, horses, sheep, goats and cattle grazed in peace, surrounded by a wide, expansive forest. Snow dotted the landscape, but it had since mostly melted away. Jared parked the car, exited the driver’s side, and went to open the door for Vix. “Welcome to Lord Rhysand’s home,” the blond vampire told her. “He will be along shortly. In the meantime, Meg will ensure that all your needs are met.”
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