"Ah, yeah..." Airy's smile dissolves in to a frown, and she settles nearby, sitting up against the nearest railing and crossing her arms over her chest. The corner of her mouth turns up a bit, and there's empathy in her voice when she speaks. "Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. I was doing tattoos and saving up for my own shop before I met Plugg and definitely wasn't press-ganged." She's only a little bitter. The ship's name definitely fits for bitterness.
She sighs and a cheery smile returns to her face. "But that's a beautiful mermaid. If you don't think this counts as great, I'd love to see your work after a few more years of practice. What's your name?"
Grok looks angry, but it's not directed toward you. "Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, I've got them around here somewhere. Sorry, I'm just a little pissed off right now. Some a+%#&+$ tried to put the Evil Eye on me. I withstood his assault, but damned if I'd love to get my hands on whoever it was! You think your mage buddy'd mind earning a little extra coin?"
---------------------------------------------
"Jack Laybourne, but everyone calls me 'Scrimshaw.' You do tattoos, huh? That's pretty neat."
"Nice to meet you! I'm Airy, but everyone calls me Airy." She flashes her teeth at him. "And yeah, I do tattoos. This one's the most recent." She turns over her arm to show Jack the trident tattoo she inked on it. "I'm pretty proud of it. How long you been scrimshawing?"
The Grippli keeps himself silent as he takes the beratement because, in truth, he was in the wrong. Fear had gotten the better of him and the idea of returning to some degree of normalcy after such a sashay by death's door grew increasingly more important. As they continued to walk and eventually meet with Grok, he watches the way her eyes move, the color of the aura emanating from her skin, wanting to know if his actions had any lasting repercussions.
While the unaimed threat sunk into the Grippli's soul and lingered there, it was a comfort to see that Grok was not only aware but hardy. Clearly she had some sort of resilience that he could not have predicted... Some may think it odd for him not to speak or try to console the quartermaster, but he was already in deep enough. He was no masochist.
Jack gives you a friendly smile. "The pleasure's all mine. I've been scrimshawing since I was just a small boy. Self-taught. One day, after I get good enough, I'd love to open up a shop somewhere and sell my work. How'd you learn how to tattoo? You're really good."
Airy lets out a breath and sifts through some memories. "Well, learning to do them was part of training I did with my family's resident elder. She's a nice woman, and had thrice my number of tattoos. We Varisians love our body art! Ah, that had to be..." she pauses, clicking her tongue, "twenty years ago, I think? Something like that. It might have been thirty, the years go by sometimes. Did you have any ideas on where to open your shop? Some port I'd imagine, getting the materials would be rough otherwise."
Something kindles in Bolvak as he hefts his shield after so long, feeling a little more secure in this strange prison. Secure in his renewed capacity for offence.
He takes his hauberk off the table, too - still in good shape despite the sea - and pulls his mouth into a grimace. "S!+*ty break, that. Dunno 'bout the job, but prolly Airy'd be into makin' money, so I'll pass on the offer next I see 'er. I gotta get back to repairs, now, so I'll see you 'round. Thanks again for the gear."
Bolvak flicks a salute to Grok and leaves the shop to pick up caulking where he left off. Once his mail's strapped on and his shield's slung on his back.
Jack smiles. "I really haven't thought that far ahead. Varisia sounds like a good place, though - especially if there are lots of pretty tattooed ladies." He blushes and quickly gets back to work.
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Fortunately, there's no more need for rat-catching today, and you're able to finish your work without further incident. During tonight's Bloody Hour, Jack Scrimshaw is given a half-dozen lashes for "excessive fraternization." He's unconscious by the end of it. For dinner, you're given fish stew - along with the standard pint of rum.
Tamesis sneers at Scourge as he walks along the line to pick out his victim for the evening, and delights in the flash of fear in his eyes as she passes her in favor of the young lad. She had been certain after she mouthed off that her hot head and loose tongue would have sealed her fate for bloody hour, but apparently Scourge, at least, is faltering. In time, she is sure, she will break him.
She takes her food and poison with a nod and smile of thanks to Velvet before heading back to her group's usual spot. On the way, she tosses the rum overboard. Feeling so confident, though, she is a bit less cautious than she otherwise should be.
She plops down and grins at the others, "Looks like Scourge knows when he's beaten. Just gotta get Plugg to face that same truth."
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Velvet serves a bowl for himself first but sets it aside while shoveling out the rather sad stew to the rest of the crew.
He returns Tamesis' nod, but instead of his usual smile all he can return is a pained grimace.
"Ouch, I have to find that cleric of Besmara and see if I can beg a favour...it's like there's a party in my body but the only one's that showed up like to kick the stuffing out my organs. I hate rats."
By the time he's done serving, his own stew has cooled enough to down in one go. Once satisfied he's cleaned the bowl of every bit of unsatisfying sustenance, he takes his mug of smelly death and looks for Sandara. He'll have to go with the Wounded Puppy, Velvet was doubtful he could pull off Cool Sauve at the moment.
Feeling sufficiently bitten and berated, the Prince of the Gripplis smolders with frustration as he takes his meal. Apparently the Bloody Hour presented some sort of human for flirting too much. Likitt was merely grateful that he wasn't taking the whip, for he had been slacking off as well.
To no success whatsoever...
Taking his bowl of fish stew and quart of ichor, he... really doesn't mind it. Fish was a standard on most boats when they could get it and fish stews were all pretty much the same. It wasn't fit for a king, but expecting such things from this vessel was asking for failure. The Rum posed another problem. He had been considering treating the rum as some sort of poison, which he might be able to cure. Seated at his usual table, he intones in a low quiet voice, asking the spirits to see what they can do to cleanse this foul substance. It was getting too risky to dump overboard and Velvet couldn't dance forever.
You're interrupted as a heavy hand falls on your shoulder. It's Scourge, and he looks angrier than usual. "What in the Hells do ya think you're doin' wasting fine rum like that?!?"
You find Sandara finishing her stew. Her flirtatious look is mixed with concern. "Hey there, sexy dancer. You're not looking so hot. What happened?"
Your rum glows faintly as the toxins are purged. After a few seconds, the glow fades, leaving your drink noticeably clearer. Smells better, too.
"My lady, you are too kind," Velvet does an exaggerated bow. The effect is ruined when a stitch acts up in his side and he makes an unattractive face due to the pain.
"I and a few others were ordered to the bilges to take care of a rat problem. They were...not so civil. Since you carry the symbol of Besmara, I came to ask if there was something you could give me for the pain. I could of course repay the favour once I'm back to my more...limber self,"" Velvet waggles his eyebrows playfully.
He glances at his undrunk rum "Though I suppose this will make me feel just as bad, even if I were at my most energetic self. Say, how does someone as young and spry as yourself deal with this horrible thing? A few nights drinking this and my complexion would be absolutely ruined"
Tearing her arm out of Scourge's grasp, Tamesis sneers at the man, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want it? Should have told me beforehand. Personally, I don't feel like being poisoned, Свинья ублюдок."
Anyone who speaks Abyssal and Infernal might recognize the insult, though only one who understands the intricacies of the Daemonic combination would realize that she had said it wrong. In fact, sensing the rage behind the glare, and predicting that Scourge may wish some revenge for the embarrassment earlier, Tamesis opted to state the command word for her choker.
Her sneer hides the smile that would otherwise have spread as she feels the familiar pressure of the invisible protective force appear. She feels so much better, just having the protection, even if there is no visible sign that it exists.
Bolvak watches Tamesis' predicament unfold in glances, studiously keeping his eyes off ol' Bastard Cur. Turns out he didn't know when he was beat, though Bolvak wasn't sure how he got beat in the first place. Turns out he didn't know what good rum was, either. Likelier a hell of a commitment to ship propaganda.
Thinking of rum, though, he's got to do something about his share; he's still hurt enough that his body's got no time for poison. He rises with stew in one hand and rotgut in the other, and turns to Airy. "Grok's got a paying job to offer you, by the way. Funny story behind it. You oughta ask Likitt for the background, if you're interested."
He leaves her with a wink, crosses the room, and sits with Sandara and company.
As the invisible but all-too-emotionally-charged spirits cease their endless circling of the cup, the drink appeared... halfway pleasant! As if swill of that nature could be made drinkable, but if the Spirits provided, he was grateful. swirling the mug in a gentle motion, the Grippli sniffs it, eyes it carefully, and does every sort of test he could figure out before taking a careful sip...
Great Spirits Above, You are a Genius!
Now that everyone appears to have left, he seeks out Airy, who seems less cheerful than usual and grins wide, tiny spiky teeth poking out of the upper half of his jaw, "Miss Airy, I believe I have found a solution to our rummery problems, if I may demonstrate." With an obscure gesture and a word of power, "Pia Fantomok , Távozz!", the ominous glow of spiritual cleansing leaves the drink purified, "It still tastes poor, but perhaps changing to Coconut Milk may be a better option... And Bolvak walked away before I could confirm... I believe he is still sour about earlier today."
Airy watches Bloody Hour unfold with a tight frown, casting a few suspicious glances at Plugg and Scourge. Beaten to unconsciousness for a few minutes of conversation. She grows pensive, and goes about the rest of the day until dinner in silence. She can't confirm it at present, but she's sure the two are watching her; or the group, at the very least. It can't be coincidence that they whipped someone she was talking to for such a short time. It was the only explanation she could come up with that didn't involve them both being insane. She just hoped it wasn't an act of jealousy. That's not the kind of attention she wants from either Scourge or Plugg.
She joins her usual companions at their usual spot on the ship, still less than pleased about the afternoon. She doesn't participate much in conversation and grows very still when Scourge heads their way to reprimand Tamesis. She listens to Bolvak and nods to him as he leaves, making a mental note to ask Likitt why there's a funny story.
After Likitt purifies her rum, she prestidigitates it to taste like fresh spring water, chills it with the same spell, and guzzles the concoction as if she were living in a desert her whole life. It's close enough to the real thing to not matter to her all that much that it isn't. "Sore about what? Does it have to do with the job Grok's offering and the funny story he told me to get out of you?"
Likitt's satisfied grin shifts to a pensive one in a matter of seconds. Glancing about to see if anyone was listening, then leans in, muttering, "Well... I asked one of the local spirits to allow a sense of... friendship. I did not know the woman, so it seemed to make sense. With my full magic, The rats would have been asleep with no troubles... Now she thinks I was giving them a devil's eye..."
"I have no idea what you just said."
Sandara touches you with a softly-glowing hand, and you feel the pain of your injuries subside. "There you go! You can pay me back later. Regarding the rum, Besmara's blessing allows me to make it more ... healthy."
Scourge could be a Tiefling, the amount of redness in his face right now. He raises his whip and is about to strike you when a hand touches his shoulder, and the calm voice of Mister Plugg interjects. "Come now, Master Scourge, there's no need for violence. This poor swab clearly lacks the culinary competence to comprehend the sophistication of the concoction." He smiles at you, although there's no friendliness in his eyes. "You see, madam, the recipe of the beverage is calculated to be the perfect mix of delicious and nutritious. It's exactly what your body needs to recover from a hard day's work. If you don't find the flavor to your liking, that simply means that you haven't worked hard enough, but that's easy to rectify. We're down a man for the night watch tonight. You can take his place. Go ahead and start your shift now - and don't worry about bringing your dinner. Working on a full stomach can cause nausea and indigestion."
Tammy watches the lash rise, already anticipating its toothless bite. She almost frowns when Plugg stops its fall. Her sneer never leaves her face as the "punishment" is laid down, a chuckle even escaping her throat as she sets down her bowl and wanders off.
As the night wears on, she praises her own forethought. She had planned on exploring the ship after everyone had gone to sleep, anyways, and had prepared a spell just for that. Once people start heading to their bunks, she casts it on herself, keeping herself wide awake as she wanders.
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Bolvak arrives in time to see Sandara work her literal magic. "Lookin' good, Velvet," he says as he starts on his stew, then freezes, spoon dripping broth. "I mean, you were pretty chewed up and now you're all good, y'know. You're a real lifesaver, Sandara." He fixes his eyes on his bowl and starts shoveling food in his mouth, lest his foot finds its way back in.
About halfway through the stew he remembers he came over for a reason. "So, Sandara, any chance you could spare a lil' prayer for my drink too? My leg's still a bit leaky, see, so I'm hopin' for a good night's sleep. Or divine intervention, if you're feelin' generous with Besmara's juice and no one else's left hurtin' worse."
After Sandara's touch, Velvet feels as if he'd just come back from a rejuvenating spa.
"Wow, you certainly have talented hands. I feel great, thanks!"
Bolvak arrives awkwardly. He seems to only have eyes for the stew.
"Thank you Bolvak, those rats were a real pain in the ass. But it's back to it's fully healed, round and plump self now. Although you may want to stick around the rest of the night if you want to make sure."
Velvet swirls around the toxic drink while Bolvak asks Sandara to fix his own poison.
"Oh yes, that'd be wonderful if you could do something with mine as well. Of course I'd be willing to help with any favour you'd like. Barring seducing Scourge, he's not my type. I'm on good terms with Kroop though, seeing as I'm in the kitchen all day. Come by anytime if you'd like to chat."
I better get on the friendliest terms as possible with this woman, I just know I'm going to need life saving in the hell hole. Again.
Sandara discretely casts some sort of spell on both of your drinks, causing them to become less opaque. The unidentifiable black specks that were floating around seem to have disappeared, too.
Giving the Undine a wink, Sandara replies, "I'll definitely call in that favor. Been wondering why people call you 'velvet' so I may be wanting a demonstration sometime soon."
Success! Velvet thought.
"Bolvak knows it's because I'm so smooth and, luxurious" Velvet makes sure he makes wide eyed steady eye contact with the brawler for that last word.
He addresses Sandara again, "but as you've seen, I'm also creatively limber," Velvet gives a friendly wink, then downs his hopefully better tasty, less floating speck having, liquid disguised as a beverage. He then gets up, intending to find Kroop.
"Come visit me any time. By day I toil in the galley, by night I hate to be bored."
Likitt took a moment to tilt his head, baffled by Airy's confusion. Perhaps in the haste of things, he wasn't able to explain himself properly but to be fair, he was terrified. "Look, I did something foolish and I would not suggest taking Grok up on her job, lest I get roasted on a spit."
Hearing the shouts of angry pirates, the Grippli cringed into a more defensive stance until he realized that they were directing their hate towards Tamesis. That woman had some mouth on her and didn't seem afraid to die.
Hrm... Wonder what that was like.
Taking a sip of his purified grog, he refers to Airy again, "Our red friend seems to have a habit of getting into trouble. She may just get keel-hauled before we can formulate a plan..." He glances meaningfully, inferring an eventual escape but keeps his voice low and smooth, "Have any ideas?
Bolvak grabs the purified rum as soon as the colour settles and slugs down the whole quart at once, then stands up. "Y'know, thinkin' about it," he says, rattling off words rapid-fire while examining the far wall, "All I got's some scratches and Likitt was lookin' some wounded yet, so I'll go ask 'im how 'e's doin' now, yeah. And thanks kindly for fixin' my drink!"
Already a few feet from the table by the time he finishes talking, Bolvak's back to sitting with Airy and Likitt a moment later. "Sounds like you two sorted out Grok's offer. Rum too, judgin' by you're sippin' it?"
It's good to have fun Velvet thought, then went looking for Kroop.
Sandara chuckles and gives you a wink as you make your exit. Kroop isn't hard to find: he's sharing a bottle of some kind of alcohol with Grok and raises a tankard at you in greeting as you approach.
It's going to be quite windy tomorrow, and several degrees colder than usual.
Velvet tips a non-existent hat to both Kroop and Grok. If he had a hat right now it would be such a good looking hat. Not too flashy, but of obvious quality. That hat would be so fabulously functional it would make others swoon with envy. It would be the best f+&$ing hat ever to grace a head. F@#+.
I need to surround myself with nice things again before this poverty kills my spirit. Velvet thinks with more than a little desperation.
"Hello friends, and how are you fine gentlemen this evening? I'd say well myself, but there's always that constant itching fear of Scourge's Stroke. Why, if he were a lad back at the house he'd be demoted to Fluffer. Still, what's life without a bit of trouble?"
Velvet chuckles. It's a sad laugh, one someone uses when in a bleak time.
Airy stays very still when the yelling starts, preferring not to draw attention to herself being just nearby the action.
"Which plan? For Grok? I can't take her up on her offer if you're the one who did it. There's not much more to plan."
Airy smiles in greeting when Bolvak returns. "Likitt diluted it with water," she says, and the distinct pleasure in her voice makes water sound like the finest wine, "and I chilled it and masked the taste a bit to taste like water, too. Hey, did that woman fix you up?"
Likitt stared at his sylvan companion for a moment, wondering if she had a difficulty understanding his speech, or if he just didn't explain things properly. Subtext, it seemed, was lost on the poor girl, bless her heart. "No, lass... Plan with Tamesis. Although I am grateful for you being complicit about the quartermaster, I am more concerned about the Tiefling. I can only assume from her actions that she retains considerable pride. Bolvak, good sir." He gestures to the mercenary as he arrives, bringing him into the conversation, "You two have worked together before. Is she always so... How do you say... Bull-headed?"
Likitt follows up Bolvak's question with a simple shrug, "I did not know if I could purify our drink, but I took a gamble and succeeded. If you desire, we will not have to consume swill or run the risk of getting flogged." He glances at Sandara from a distance, nodding, "It appears the Speaker for Besmara has respectable power as well... She has been and will be a potent ally..."
Finishing the last of the 'meal', the Grippli Prince considers the people who he has not yet met. Some of the larger ones seemed quite intimidating and moreso ready to fight... Perhaps it would be best to try and befriend more of his size, create an army underfoot, as it were. Perhaps that gnomette with the eyepatch.
"Well, she's more demon-headed, as y'can see, but yeah. She'd start a starin' contest with a statue for sake of pride. May be that I'm not gettin' paid to keep her safe anymore, but I'd bet she'll get outta this one alright anyway.
"Good t' hear you got the poison in hand, too. Sandara did my mug for t' night, but I might take you up on it another time. Didn't need her healing myself, but she got Velvet ship-shape and could do the same for either of you. Maybe both."
Airy sucks in a thoughtful breath. "Well, I can't be sure telling her to stop giving them s@&+ is going to do anything but make her try harder. I know the type: fun in bed, not so fun when trying to avoid fights. I'll wager that she won't be the one getting the real punishment though. These two, it might end up being that they'll want to try to isolate her by punishing those she keeps company with so they abandon her, and then do as they please."
She leans back in her chair and swirls the water in her cup. "I think that's what they were trying to do with Jack and I. They saw us being friendly and talking for a minute or two and whipped him in to unconsciousness in response, maybe to send a message to others in the crew to avoid us. Or me. Either that or one of them got jealous, and I really don't want to think about that."
"I'll go see Sandara before I sleep for that healing. Maybe ask her about my theory to see if it has happened before."