Habbly listens intently to Oduim. Maybe... a little too intently. After his long spiel about wood that would make literally any other sane human wildly uncomfortable, Habbly stares with dead eyes at Oduim for an uncomfortable length of time before whispering, "I will be in my bunk."
----
Cog grunts a laugh, but otherwise doesn't react much.
----
Rosie stares uncomprehendingly at the fiddle for several long seconds before her lip quivers. "Gram's fiddle," she murmurs with a hitched breath. She looks up at the half-elf with shimmering eyes. "Y... you got Gram's fiddle back." She hardly seems to believe the evidence in her hands.
Suddenly she throws herself around Draxxie's waist and starts sobbing. More than one pirate gives her a weird look, and Jape and Sy actually point and snicker like high school Mean Girls, but the halfling cares not a whit. She squeezes with surprising strength.
"It's all I have left of her," she sniffles. "I thought I'd never get it back. Thank you..." For almost a minute, she simply weeps into Draxxie's waistcoat and repeats "thank you" over and over.
She finally pulls away, dries her eyes, and composes herself a bit. "Sure as s~+~, by my life, you've got a friend in me. You don't know how much this means to me. I owe you everything."
With bloodshot eyes and a huge grin, she says, "Now let's give 'em a jig that'll f%@* 'em bow-legged!"
Unfortunately, she spends a good deal of time pausing to re-tune so she actually doesn't get to play much, but she also doesn't seem to care. She hasn't been in such high spirits the entire week she's been on board.
Thankfully Draxxie's powerful vocal chords are more than enough to pick up the slack, and she and Conchobar belt out a fine duet that gets nearly all the remaining crew abovedecks dancing and clapping.
----
As the merriment dies down, Asami slips away to the middle hold to look for Owlbear. She finds him in a dark corner of the hold, gripping two strange bundles of sticks poorly tied together, one in each hand. It takes a moment to realize the stick bundles are in vaguely humanoid shapes, with heads made of small cinched burlap sacks. Crude faces have been drawn on them, and the huge man mumbles to himself in a sing-song voice as he makes them prance and caper before him.
At Asami's approach, he yelps and clutches the dolls to his chest protectively, looking as if he's still fairly well terrified of the woman.
Asami doesn't seem disappointed in the reaction; for disappointment, one needs at least some expectation that things can go differently.
She leans against the far wall, eyeing Owlbear with mingled compassion... and impatience.
"Not gonna hurt you or your friends," she finally says. She takes a long look at the pair of figures in his hands, and eventually scratches her chin.
"...Got one I could play with?"
Draxxie returns Rosie's hug with affection. "Music can stir the soul, Rosie, and nobody should ever be denied it." She gives the halfling a broad grin. "Your Gram is still with you. Now let's give these lubbers a show. An' afterwards, go say hi to Asami. It was her coin. I know she looks like she's all business, but Fox has got a big heart."
----
----
Owlbear stares at the brawler for a long time, but finally reaches behind him and pulls something out. It looks similar to the two dolls he's holding, but it has no head. Whether that's because it's incomplete or because he played too roughly with it, is hard to say. It could really go either way with him.
Eyes cast down, Owlbear points at the headless doll she holds. "You." Asami realizes this is the first time Owlbear has spoken an actual word. So far it's mostly been vocalizations and elaborate gesturing. He holds up one of the other dolls. "Me." Asami notices that the stick body he's holding up has something pinned to it, a small shred of cloth vaguely in the shape of a heart, more or less directly on the doll's chest.
He finally raises the other doll. "Nana." The doll has four pieces of string dangling off the back. It's not hair, or at least it seems unlikely. The string seems to be attached to the doll's back, not the burlap head. The crude face on this one has oddly large eyes, two uneven, pitch-black blots that are nonetheless mostly circular.
Owlbear finally looks up to meet Asami's gaze again, though only briefly. He seems to be waiting for something.
----
After almost an hour of merriment, the pirates seem to be slowing down a bit, partly due to the late hour and partly due to the additional rum that people have been chugging during the songs. A couple quiet games of dice are still going and Cog is trying to get someone to go a round of Heave with him, but he can't find any takers. Nobody seems willing to risk their livers (and lives) tonight. Besides, Cog seems three sheets to the wind already. He angrily grumbles drunken insults in Varisian as he stumbles off to bed . Since everyone's already belowdecks, it's a very short walk for him.
When the merriment dies down, Rosie wraps her fiddle in an oiled cloth and stows it carefully in her footlocker. "Gonna go find Asami and thank her for this. Any time you wanna play a few bars, you just hit me up, sister." She grins at Draxxie before heading off to try and find the brawler.
Asami quietly accepts the doll, smiling down at it with something approaching kindness. She listens intently, ears twitching a little beneath her silky black hair.
She raises the doll up between herself and Owlbear. "Me," she reiterates.
She spares a glance at his jaw, his middle, everywhere she managed to strike him. Shark does good work. Barely a scratch left; I'll be surprised if the big lug even feels it anymore.
She's quiet another moment, then considers.
"Was Nana nice to you?"
----
----
Owlbear nods with a small, sad smile. "Good hugs," he says. He sets down the Owlbear doll and lifts the limp pieces of string on the back. "Nana had lots of arms for good hugs." Wait--the strings are... more arms?
His lip trembles, and he gently strokes the string-arms on "Nana's" back.
Asami is silent as she considers.
Spider lady or something?
"I bet she liked your hugs just as much," she finally says.
Carlosss hisses, "AH F$#& IT COG. I'll give ya a match! But ya gotta go firsst so I know what to do. Ain't never tosssed an ingot before." He elbows the pirate next to him, "though I ain't ssaying I can't tosss ssomethin else, if ya know what i mean, HAHA!"
He borrows some of the grease used on the ingot to oil up his arms and chest. The firelight really makes his scales shine and sparkle. Draxxie may be able to perform. But this guy, he can perform too.
He may have had more than the required one rum ration this evening.
|
The undine watches the carpenter walk away Crap! He looks around the room looking for someone else to sway to the cause. His eyes fall upon 'Ratline'. Hmmm... As I recall, halflings have a thing for food, like desperately so. The cook's mate makes his way over and collapses next to the disfigured..??? ugly, ratfaced rigger. "By Besmara's Tricorn, I still have work ta do. I hafta get all the post clean for the mornin'. An' there's plenty o' food left that's jest gonna spoil 'n get tossed over like emptyin' a chamber pot. What a waste." He looks over at the lineman. "I don't suppose yer still hungry? Could be there's an extra bowl or two now 'n again."
Several nearby crew laugh at the uncouth joke. Cog grunts noncommittally, but the vishkanya does catch him staring more than once during the competition.
----
Ratline glares at Oduim. "Whater ya sayin? That I'm fat? Or mebbe I want scraps coz I look like a fuggin' rat-man?? Is that it?!"
He manages to hold the scowl for all of about five seconds before bursting out laughing. "Naw, I'm jes' 'avin a piss! Yer a good lad, fish-man. I like you. Not often ye get good folk on a pirate ship, an' I reckon you've got a nasty streak like the rest of us, but ye treat yer fellow crewmates good, an' don't think I don' see it. Ye can count on ol' Ratline as a friend, an' no mistakin'! As ta the scraps, I'm good. Tryin' ta watch me weight." He pats the small but noticeable paunch growing on his midsection. "It's throwin' off me balance, believe it or not. Didn' used ta have it, mind! Fit as a whipcord I was, in me youth! Gettin' older y'see, goin' on sixty now, well inta me middle years. Need ta watch me intake or I'll go wobblin' over tha mainsail beam an' sink like a rock!" He laughs and claps Oduim on the back, then leans in conspiratorially. "Though I might make an exception, if'n you an' Fishguts ever make any sorta pastries." He winks.
----
At Asami's words, Owlbear shrugs despondently. "Gone now. They're all gone."
Before Asami can respond, small feet come tromping excitedly up the stairs behind her. Rosie Cusswell bursts up to the middle deck, looks around frantically, then locks her sights on the brawler. With a massive grin, she dives headfirst at Asami and wraps her little arms as far around her as they will go (which, all things considered, is not very far). "Thank you so much for helping me get Gram's fiddle back! You don't know how much it means to me!" She untangles herself from the much larger woman when she realizes they're not alone, blinking in mild surprise at Owlbear. "Oh! Uh. Sorry. Did I interrupt something?"
Owlbear frantically hides the dolls behind his back and scoots away slightly into the dark of the middle hold, trying very hard not to look at Rosie.
Carlosss tosses five silver into the pot, "Let'ss get diss thing going!"
He tests absentmindedly strokes the hob with a sharp nail, before getting a couple test grips. He nods like he knows what he is doing and spins around once to give it a heave!
He looks at the target area with concern, "Where'd it go?"
Asami's head whips up to spot the incoming halfling; her jaw drops, presumably to speak, before Rosie collides with her like a very huggy projectile.
"A bit, yeah," she says, rather suddenly feeling like she might be going soft. She makes a snap judgment:
"Hey, you're one of those 'creative' types, right?" she asks. "You know how to play?"
She holds up her headless doll, and gives it a waggle. It might be described as a "playful" waggle, even, but Asami's face--even after some rum--has a trend toward dour.
Draxxie's in a good mood. A very good mood. Bringing joy to Rosie Cusswell might be the first properly good thing that Draxxie has done in a long while - even if she spent someone else's money doing it.
Don't get f!*@in' soft now, Draxxie. Yer still on a tub full o' bastards. Best make a few more pals if y' wanna feel safer.
She thinks for a moment about approaching Aretta Bansion. Nah. She's a mean b@$!#. Even if she made nice I could never trust her.
Instead, Draxxie raises a glass of rum with Tilly Brackett. "Hey Tilly, ya reckon Snake there's the biggest tosser on this tub, or what?" she jokes.
Tilly points to the "hog" that Carlos somehow managed to throw behind him and cackles, "Clearly not!"
"Oi, Snake Man!" Sandara calls with a grin, long-stemmed pipe clenched in her teeth. "I shoulda pegged you for somebody that prefers to toss behind!" That elicits a few cackles from the nearby pirates. For all her teasing, she is also staring unabashedly at the vishkanya's butt.
She's not the only one, either. Jack Scrimshaw, the young man who lost his hand to rats just the other day, is watching the sorcerer's movements quite keenly. Nobody but Draxxie seems to notice, and when he catches her catching him, he looks down at his gauze-bound stump, blushing furiously.
Meanwhile, Cog harrumphs as the greasy "hog" slips out of his grasp mid-throw and plops down about 4 feet ahead of him. A few pirates laugh but technically that puts him ahead of Carlos. Then Giffer hobbles up, picks up the "hog" that's half the size of his head, and lobs it over twice as far as the big Varisisan. The small gathered crowd cheers, and the gnome cackles, showing teeth so yellow they're nearly brown, several of them missing or broken. He steps in and swipes up the pile of silvers, plus the gold piece he'd thrown in himself. Clearly Giffer felt good about his chances.
----
Rosie looks down at the headless doll, perplexed. "Uh. 'Creative'? Not... not really. I just play the fiddle. Not even that good, to be honest. I play 'coz Gram liked listening to me play. I dunno what the f!&& this is." She nods at the doll, then shrugs, looking a little lost. "Sorry."
Owlbear peers out from behind a crate, then ducks back. It sounds like he's mumbling to himself again, but it's hard to make out what he's saying.
Carlosss winks to Sandara, "Oh ma'am, I prefer to tosss from all ssortss of ssidess, no one way iss better than t'other."
He gives everyone a great view of his body as he works through some stretches, "That wass my problem, not loosse enough! Who'ss up for another game?" Five more silver are slapped down onto the table.
Asami's dour goes sour at that, but she shrugs it off. F&*&'s sake, how hard is it to get in touch with your inner child when you're the size of one?
"Well, I'm glad you're happy, at least. You owe Owlbear over there just as much as I do-- don't figure they pay him if he wins a fight, so your good fortune is as much his doing as mine."
"What do you say, Owlbear? Her arms are short and there's only two of 'em, but I can vouch for her... uh, hugging ability."
"If you don't mind, Rosie. If you do, help me out here and we'll call it even."
At this point, several of the crew have passed out in their hammocks, and those who haven't are either too drunk or uninterested in another game. It seems the evening's festivities are winding down. It's quiet enough now that you can hear the rain pelting up on the main deck, and the sound of water occasionally dripping through the hatches above.
Sandara tamps out her pipe, smashing the few remaining embers with her boot heel and spitting on them to make sure they're out before stowing the piece in her footlocker and patting Carlos amicably on the back. "Maybe tomorrow night will go better, yeah? Keep that throwing arm strong!" She makes a motion with her arm that is somewhere between a throw and... something else. She chuckles and plops into her hammock, pulling her battered tricorne hat over her face. One of the last remaining crew not completely s#*%-faced moves to the lanterns and starts dousing them.
----
Rosie glances uncertainly at Owlbear, then gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Uhm. Thanks. Can I um--?" She opens her arms in invitation. Owlbear refuses to look at her, but scoots forward and, arms still wrapped around his makeshift dolls, plops his head onto Rosie's chest, resting his cheek against her collarbone. Rosie, looking entirely out of her depth, awkwardly wraps her arms around his head and pats it gently. After almost a full half minute without the big man moving so much as a twitch, Rosie looks a little uncomfortable. Since it's obvious Owlbear isn't going to end this, she gives him one last pat on the back and gently lifts his head.
"Thanks again. You have a good night, yeah?" Rosie gives him a grin and gently socks his shoulder. Owlbear doesn't look at her, but he does nod his head vigorously. When he turns away toward Asami, the brawler sees he's blushing.
As Rosie passes her to return belowdecks, she says, "You two should probably get some sleep too. It's getting late, and it sounds like the rain's getting worse. Tomorrow's gonna be a real s!@@show, I bet." She squeezes Asami's arm and heads down the narrow stairs to the crew quarters below.
Once she leaves, Owlbear looks around before saying, "Tired." He makes eye contact once before looking away. "Thank you. For playing. Nobody plays. Only work. And... and sometimes tar." He glances down at the handful of dark splotches still stuck to his skin. At least the feathers have mostly fallen off by now.
Carlosss's disappointment as everyone begins crashing for the night is pretty obvious. He was pretty sure this would lead to something good.
But Sandara is right, he can always solo the game. He secures his crossbow and scrollbox in his lockbox and crawls into his hammock, nude as usual. He quietly attempts to relieve his stress in the darkness.
Eventually the job is done, though much less enjoyable than it could have been. He slips into a deep sleep, comfortable with the extra rocking of the ship.
Asami watches cautiously. She's still trying to get a bead on Owlbear, and isn't sure what to make of him--or Rosie, for that matter. Still, things seem... wholesome enough.
"I'll visit again," she says, rising slowly from her squat on the floor. I've got more questions, if nothing else. Can't help but wonder if he even likes being called Owlbear.
She pauses in the doorway, and turns her head back.
"Sleep well."
She claps her hands together quietly and bows her head for just a moment, muttering something foreign under her breath before she returns to her own hammock, settling into it with a long, frustrated sigh.
Disappointed but stress at least partially relieved, Carlos drifts off to sleep, the faint pounding of rain on the hull lulling him into velvety darkness where he dreams of flying sex snakes.
----
Unsurprisingly, the big man shows no signs of recognizing her native tongue, but rather slouches into a dark corner of the hold where she can just make out the outline of a makeshift sleeping pallet of straw and bits of discarded cloth. A handful of items seem to surround the pallet, though with the stark contrast of black-and-white from her darkvision, it's hard to make out enough detail to tell what they are. It would be a good guess they are items of a similar nature to his makeshift dolls, however.
Asami falls asleep, but her dreams are not so whimsical as her semi-serpentine friend. She dreams of a woman, tall and narrow of frame, with sharp brown eyes, bedecked in a bright red tailcoat, blue leggings, and a violently yellow sash, into which is tucked a cutlass that practically hums with powerful magic. The lower half of her face is covered with a ceramic mask carved and painted to resemble a snarling oni. Despite the covering, her voice booms over the deck of a battered sailing ship as she barks orders to a scrambling crew as they man ballistae and a forward trebuchet.
The ship's hull bears no symbols of the common Taldane alphabet, but Asami knows them easily enough: Saigo no Warai, better known as The Last Laugh to the enemies of Kyubi Honoka, herself better known as "Kyubi the Thunder." Two hundred years ago, she was one of the most feared pirates on the sea, until ship, captain and crew all vanished without warning, never to be seen again.
Yet here she is, crashing through stormy waves as she does battle with some supernatural enemy. Indeed, the ship assaulting hers is clearly not wholly terrestrial in nature: the hull is breached at the waterline in several places, and monstrous figures scramble about the deck, only half-seen in the driving rain of the storm, as not ballista bolts but cannon fire erupts from her dark silhouette to rupture the hull of the Saigo no Warai. Despite her ship listing dangerously port-ward, Captain Honoka bellows another challenge into the raging storm.
Just as another fusillade punishes the port hull of her ship, she tumbles forward from a jolting thrust--and out of her hammock onto the lower deck of the Wormwood.
It takes a moment for Asami to untangle herself from her dream-self, her ancestor, but eventually in the dark, she sees other crewmates blearily waking up. No one else seems to have reacted to the brawler's tumble, so it's likely it was brought on by physically reacting to the dream rather than her dream incorporating something that had happened in reality.
Yet there is a heavy sway to the ship, and the pounding of rain is hard and constant. The weather is getting worse...
----
As the bell tolls and the crew gathers on deck, eating their breakfast of a ship's biscuit in the middle deck before hustling up to the main deck, you are each in turn greeted by a heavy pelt in the face of hard, fat rain drops as yesterday's drizzle has graduated into fully fledged rain. To the port and starboard, you can see you are not yet out of the Shackles; a narrow chain of islands stand to port, and the low mountains of Motaku Isle loom out of the curtain of rain to starboard. The day is gloomy and gray, and everything is soaked. Plugg and Scourge stand by the mainmast, unfazed by the rain and what it may portend in the coming days, barking orders just like every other morning.
----
The rain makes Plugg's command hard to hear, but you make out the words "upper rigging." You know the drill by this point.
----
Scourge puts Carlos to work on the many ropes and knots across the ship. It's tougher than usual because everything is soaked through, and the constant rain driving against him is distracting.
----
Scourge puts Draxxie to work on repairing ropes, sails, and nets. Despite its tedium, she knows it's one of the more important jobs today; they need every rope and sail in tip-top shape if they end up sailing into the eye of the storm--which it seems increasingly likely they'll be doing; the storm appears to be moving northward.
----
The most work Oduim really has to put in today is keeping his balance with the swaying ship as he helps Ambrose cook. The worsening weather seems to help keep the cook from overdoing it on the rum today. Ambrose focuses on solid foods today--no stews or soups. "Too big a hassle when tha ship rocks so," he says sagely. "B'sides, nobody wants a belly full o' liquid sloshin' 'round on a night like this, eh!" He chuckles as he begins hollowing out several stale bread loaves and slathering the hard crust with most of the ship's meager store of butter. "Hand me some o' them salted pork bits, eh?"
----
Asami pushes herself off the ground, head full of questions. That dream was both more sensible and less than they tended to be.
Was that a prophetic dream, or one of those dreams where I'm convinced a bee is my dad and I need to help him get to the onsen before school?
She shrugs and drags herself up, onto the deck, chomping into her tack as she heads toward the upper rigging, almost before Plugg can even tell her to. Apparently, she's good at it.
Never liked the storms. Sailin's all good, and a frenzy's all to be expected in the sweet trade now an' again. But a storm can take ya any time. Get caught in the wrong place on the wrong day, ain't nothin' t' do but pray.
And pray Draxxie does, that Besmara spare her and the rest of the Wormwood - except Plugg and Scourge and Harrigan - from the coming storm. Meanwhile she does what she can to prepare the ship.
It's a tough job in the wet, but when she thinks she's not being observed Draxxie makes it a little easier with Prestidigitation to dry things out, and Mending to make repairs.
During the day Draxxie catches Giffer Tibbs' (one good) eye. "Hey Giffer! Heck of a throw ya got on ya! Ya beat Snake good on the hob lob last night. Mebbe ya c'n show me ya trick there!"
With the blowing pelting rain, at least Carlosss doesn't have to take as many water breaks. Or worry about a shower in the morning.
He looks around at everyone with a bit of a frown, This probably IS their shower.
With that disgusting thought rattling around his brain, he actually feels better about his solo action the night before. He gets to work, quite happy to NOT be up in the rigging.
He did his job but g$!#~%mit he is tired!
The work is long and treacherous, yet despite her conflicting thoughts about her dream threatening distraction, Asami is as sure-footed as they come. Her long practice both in the rigging and in hand-to-hand combat makes her almost preternaturally capable of knowing where to put her feet for the best traction without even having to look down. A couple of the riggers glance her way in surprise as they struggle to complete their duties.
----
It's like he's posing for a damn marble statue, he's so sexy. Which is actually kind of a downside now, seeing as how he's a little turned off by how gross the rest of the crew's hygiene must be.
All this looking like the cover of a trashy dwarven romance novel is super exhausting, and Carlos finds himself nearly collapsing against the stairs with relief once the workday is done and anchor is dropped for the night.
----
The mending sails by as Draxxie surreptitiously sneaks in a little magic to aid the process.
At her compliment, Giffer looks bewilderdly in her direction. "Wha?! I did?? Oh. Yuh. Guess I did. Uh. Thanks!" She looks genuinely confused to be getting a compliment. Draxxie catches her blushing a little as she turns away.
----
As you make stuffed pork-loaves, Ambrose regales Oduim with more tales of the high seas. "Lotsa pirates got their minds in tha gutter, aye. Most of us know the tall tale o' the Hurricane King an' 'is bone hand o' course. Most pirates think 'e done the dead lady some sexual service with it an' that was the price 'e paid. Narsty-arse hogswallop! What use's a dead woman got fer sex? Eh? None! No, 'e got that 'and when 'e shook on an accord. She weren't no ordinary dead, she weren't. She 'ad power o' some great sort, no doubt! She promised 'im the throne, an' when 'e shook on it, that evil spirit took the flesh of 'is 'and as a reminder o' what awaits 'im on the Other Side..." Ambrose leans in conspiratorially and whispers dramatically, "... payment."
He leans back in a deep belly laugh. "Well, that's me interpretation o' the story, anyway. Wouldn't be tha first pirate ta make a foolish deal in a bid fer power. Anyway, let's spice this up. Grab me a handful o' that ginger root, we'll shred some up afore stickin' these in th'oven, eh?"
-----
Once again, the evening's affairs after sundown (which is almost entirely hidden behind fat dark clouds now) take place around the crew's hammocks in the lower deck. Rum rations are handed out, followed by helpings of shockingly delicious stuffed pork loaves, though the bread is surprisingly spicy thanks to a thin layer of shredded ginger baked on top.
With full bellies and rum drunk, the crew settles in for a bit more somber of an evening tonight. The pelting of the rain and the swaying of the ship are getting more intense as the storm approaches, and a few of the less-salty dogs look anxious. Everyone knows how deadly a storm can be to a ship, but particularly a ship that's currently sailing between two jagged, rocky shores. Perhaps Harrigan had hoped to make better time and beat the storm; he wouldn't be the first captain to try their hand against nature. Even if they made it out the other side, one could hardly ever call it a "win." Still, the veteran sailors know what's coming and seem mostly unconcerned. For several, it's not their first storm, and all of them understand there's nothing to be done about it now but wait and get through it best they can.
Regardless, the mood is quieter tonight, and no one seems particularly up for games. Several of the crew go to bed right away, knowing they could be woken at any moment to ready the ship for the oncoming storm. Some of the newer crew also lie down, though they don't look like they'll be sleeping anytime soon.
The only people who seem to be up are Crimson Cogsward, who is rolling dice in a corner by himself and looking as surly as possible, and Conchobar, who hums a soft, pleasant tune to himself on his hammock. It's soft enough to be a lullaby, meaning even the pirates trying to sleep don't complain about it.
He's clearly hoping to avoid social interaction tonight, perhaps because he doesn't want anyone to see how nervous he is.
The song is a ballad from an opera by a gnomish songwriter named Dagland Shortstone (you have no idea if there's any relation or if he likes the song because he and the writer share a surname). It was popular in the 90's for its sweeping adventure and tragic tale of unrequited love. You also can't help but note he's staring off at Rosie while he hums it, who is already asleep.
After grabbing his meal and ration, Carlosss sits next to Jack, "How you doing bud? I can't even imagine lossing a limb. I'm here for you if you ever want to talk or... whatever."
Assuming no extensive interaction, the snentleman gulps down the sandwich and washes it down with fruity-ish rum before hopping up, heading to bed to try to get a few z's.
Draxxie settles down, half-listening to Shortstone and trying to place the melody, but she's distracted by Cog's dice. She can tell that something's up with the man. He may want to be alone - but maybe now's the best time to let him know that he's not.
"It's okay, Cog" she says quietly enough that nobody else should hear. "Keep rollin'. Jus' wanna tell ya, I'm plenty nervous too. Look about ya. Lotsa folks feel jus' the same. Y' ain't alone, friend.
So, ya wanna play? How's about 'liar'? Take yer mind off it."
|
|
Odium is appreciative of the quiet night. Weather like this tended to remind him of his father. His anger once again rises, leaving his mood sour. I have been getting too soft. Making friends? Ha. These people are all a means to an end. Once I get my revenge, I will be gone from this ship and these criminals. Maybe I'll take the victims with me...maybe not. He travels fastest who swims alone.
Asami disappears shortly after the rations are handed out-- both the food and the rum.
As before, she's headed to Owlbear's spot.
Jack had been lying in his hammock but clearly awake, staring at the dim outline of the ceiling in the flickering light of the only lamp currently lit. He nearly falls out of his hammock when Carlos approaches, and in his struggle to sit up quickly gets him momentarily entangled, partly thanks to having only one hand with which to balance, which he forgot in his panic and wound up putting weight onto. Thankfully he put weight onto the soft thin ropes of the hammock rather than a hard surface, but it doesn't stop him from letting out a hiss of pain and clutching the stump to his chest as he finally manages an upright position.
Rather than looking angry at the kerfuffle-inducing imposition, Jack casts his eyes down, blushing hard and clearly embarrassed.
"Well that was humiliating," he says with a forced laugh. He gestures to the hammock, offering Carlos a seat next to him. "Sorry you had to see that. I used to be pretty dexterous before..." He shrugs morosely, briefly holding up the stump of his right forearm. You know how I got the name 'Scrimshaw?' I bet you can guess." He reaches down to a small burlap sack next to his footlocker and pulls out a three-inch tall figurine made of bone. It appears to be a young dwarf girl with two long intricate braids, wearing a sundress and in mid-prance. The craftsmanship is hardly expert, but it shows great promise and is clearly made with care. Jack's voice trembles slightly. "Can't hold a carving knife and the bone at the same time, so I can't carve anymore." He barks a small, bitter laugh. "Hells, I can't even hold a mop now. I'm basically useless. I dunno how long I got before I get tossed overboard with the contents of the slop buckets." He closes his eyes, and it's clear from his expression he's doing his damnedest not to cry. Fear and self-loathing are written plain across his face.
----
Cog scowls at her, snatching up his dice. "Everybody's alone. Don't pretend you know me, woman. I been alone all my life, ain't no reason to change now. Go pity somebody else." He goes to leave, then stops, as if thinking better of it, before plopping back down. "It's... it's my first storm. Okay? I been through a lot, but it was always people. And a horde of zombies, once." He shakes his head. When he speaks again, his Varisian accent is slightly more pronounced. "I have fought and killed a lot of people since Korvosa. Some of them were a damn sight scarier than those zombies. But they were still just people. This?" He waves a hand vaguely toward the sound of cracking thunder outside the hull of the Wormwood. "This is... you can't fight this. You can't stab it with your cutlass or blast it with a spell. What do you do against that?"
He shakes his head, clearly bewildered.
----
-----
When she goes to Owlbear's usual spot, she knows he's asleep before she even reaches his dirty straw pallet by the heavy, rhythmic sound of snoring. When she peers over some crates to take a look, she sees something tucked into the crook of his arm near his head. It's hard to make out from here, but it looks like it's a folded piece of embroidered cloth of some kind.
Carlosss stands there for a second while Jack talks. He lets out a hisss and collects his thoughts.
F~!*. I’ve been working to make friends of most of the crew so when s#~$ goes down I might survive. But have I been a good friend? F~~% no. I’m just using my looks and charm like an ass.
He sits down on the hammock and as Jack buries his face in his hands, Carlosss wraps him up in a big hug, pulling the tearful young man (right? Not a teen like cabin girl?) into his warm scaled chest.
”It’ss okay Jack, it’ss okay,” he repeats, over and over soothingly.
After a bit, maybe thirty seconds, maybe five minutes, he loosens his grasp and looks at Jack, ”I’m not wise, Scrimshaw. I’m not old and full of wisdom. But I’ve learned one thing, you never give up. Because around the next corner or maybe not until the fifth next corner, is something good. Now tell me more about this dwarven maiden. Or about a happy part of your past. Or even a s*%@ty joke. I’m here to listen and learn something about a new friend.”
Asami is barely in the room when the sound of Owlbear's snoring hits her pointed ears. She shrugs and turns around; she's not here to snoop. Back in the yakuza, snooping was the fastest way to get yourself beaten.
Despite people moving around and talking, the heavy beat of the rain on the hull drowns out a lot of it, and the druid is eventually able to fall asleep.
----
----
----
Jack stutters slightly. "Y-you want to know about my carvings? O-okay!" He holds out the dwarf maiden, gently rubbing her face with his thumb. "I had a friend growing up, Tilda. She was a hellion. Always starting trouble. We got along great." He laughs wistfully. "I dunno why, it's just... A while back I thought about her and how we used to steal bottles of port from her father's general store, and I decided to carve her holding a bottle of the stuff. The bottle ended up looking wonky so I just removed it. Looks a little weird now, but... I dunno. I like it." He has a look on his face that's equal parts pride and the unique discomfort that comes from someone with low self-esteem trying to explain their creative process.
Carlosss will share as well, "I can't say I have a good memory like that from my childhood, but it wasn't all bad. Some of the other orphans weren't total dicks, but being low race on the totem pole doesn't do you any good when it is decided who gets picked on. But there were good things too, I never went hungry. I always had a place to sleep. I learned rigorous control over myself too, so when my magics manifested I didn't hurt anyone or lose my mind.'
"But the one really good thing happened every morning. See, the temple I was raised in was up on the hill slightly above the city. And most days as the sun came up I could sit up on the east wall and watch it rise out of the ocean. Just pure golden light reflecting off an endless expanse of possibility. It was breathtaking. As it rose higher I could see all the ships moving, sailing in and out of the harbor. I don't know if I have a specific connection to the sea, some people say I look like I do, but I could tell from an early age that the only way I would ever truly be free was to hop on a ship and never stop."
"Obviously I'm not free now... but someday, who knows."
As they eventually doze off Carlosss promises the young sailor, "As long as I live, I will seek a way to allow you to craft again. That is my promise to you."
"I ain't got much pity in me, Cog" Draxxie tells the Korvosan. "Ya got no worry on that score. As fer the storm, ha! We got an undine on this tub thinks it's him, can't wait t' see how he handles it! Me, I pray. Cast my lot with Besmara. If she will it, we'll sail another day. If she don't, f##~ all we can do about it so no sense losin' sleep over it.
Now, how about them dice?"
Asami falls asleep, thankfully with no more weird ancestor dreams. There is a kitten in it, actually, and offers to sell her pesh in exchange for fish.
Gods know what that all means.
----
Cog snorts, but whether it's amused or derisive is hard to tell. Cog seems hard to read right now. But he nods and snaps up his dice, shakes, and tosses with a single practiced motion.
----
As Carlos talks, Jack leans his head against his shoulder. Before long, he's asleep on the vishkanya. He's not sure if Jack heard his oath, but perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps he made it as much for himself as for the young sailor. He drifts off to sleep, Jack shifting to lay his head on the sorcerer's chest.
----
Oduim dreams he is the storm, smashing whaling ships against sharp rocks with Gozreh's merciless fury.
Draxxie puts up a silver coin, and trusts to Besmara's Luck. After a few rounds of dice, she yawns, scoops up her winnings (or congratulates Cog on his good fortune) and heads to her hammock to sleep.
A few rounds later and Draxxie has doubled her money. Cog doesn't seem too broken up about the loss, and seems in better spirits when you both head to sleep.
The ship rocks and sways in the night, lulling some to deep slumber and making others restless. However, when the crew wakes and the bell tolls for the workday to start, the only one feeling like they didn't get enough sleep is Carlos. Though, considering he woke up next to a dashing young rogue, perhaps it was worth it. Jack raises himself off the sorcerer's bare chest with a sheepish smile, squeezing Carlos' hand before making his way upstairs for duty.
The crew make a fast meal of a ship's biscuit before heading out into the heavy downpour to their duties. Surprisingly, the storm hasn't hit the ship yet -- but your course remains the same, and it's inevitable.
----
Plugg is already on deck, barking orders to the riggers. He calls through the din of the rain, "Line work! Get those sails up when I tell you! This storm rips them and we're dead in the water!"
----
When he arrives at Master Scourge for his duties, Carlos stifles a yawn. The bosun doesn't miss it. "Ye spent yer night grapplin' with a crewmate, eh? Bein' awake fer yer job in tha middle o' a storm not as important as gettin' yer little snake wet?" He smacks the vishkanya's arm hard with a rope bash and snarls, "Get on tha ropes! Make sure them knots is tight an' don't loose no lines afore they're ready! We lose those lines an' I'll have yer head on a f+&#in' platter!"
----
With nothing in particular to complain about with Draxxie, Scourge just snaps, "Join Sandara an' Shivikah down in tha bilges! Pump like yer lives depend on it -- coz it does!"
----
When Oduim reports to Ambrose, the disheveled cook looks more alert than the druid has seen him thus far. "No cookin' today, lad, not with a storm a-comin'. We're reportin' ta Scourge fer swab duty today. C'mon."
Up on deck, the rain pelts the undine, making his skin glisten in an almost supernatural way. Scourge looks a little afraid of him, but says, "Go uh... go join the snake on tha ropes and knots, aye."
----
As the morning progresses, the sky erupts with thunderous flashes, the crack of the lightning sounding both massive and muffled in the driving rain. Every surface is like a pool, and even with all the hatches battened, the bilges are a never-ending tirade of new water for the swabbies to pump out. The waves begin to swell to ten... fifteen... twenty feet tall and higher! Every moment on deck feels like it could be your last as the terrible might of nature slams into the Wormwood relentlessly, cresting over the rise of one massive wave to drive down into the base of the next. Through it all, Captain Harrigan wrestles with the wheel of the ship, teeth bared and eyes bulging with intense fury as he fights against the very elements in their full wrath.
Carlosss is in a good mood. Doing a good thing always does that to him. Maybe someday he’ll actually remember that and stop doing bad things too.
Then he sees Scourge and bad things come to mind. He spends the first bit of the day dwelling on those bad things before he realizes the s~!~ everyone is in right now and focuses hard on his task.
He ain’t one to offer up prayers. But today, a few slip past his clenched teeth.
Asami's usually something of a quiet type, but those who share a working space with her hear more than their fair share of Minkan swears.
As she works, she ponders faces. Sandara. Owlbear.
Honoka.
I should be the one barking orders, she thinks in frustration, in a tongue not so foreign as Taldane and a ship not stained with the guts of a sticky-fingered cabin boy.
"Sandara! Shivikah! Nice t' see ya both, shame about the s&#$ we're standin' in. At least we killed all the f+&%ing rats, eh?"
Draxxie grins as she gets to work. "Plus we're outta the rain and the wind down here! What's not t' like? Neither of ya mind if I use a little Draxxie-magic do ya? Makes the work here a little easier, that's all."
The storm is serious business, so Draxxie focuses fully on the job. But pumping in the storm is so much harder than in a calm sea. At least she can keep her crewmates' spirits up.
|
|
Swearing under his breath, Oduim follows the chef out into the storm. Accustomed to the swells of the ocean, he keeps his balance easy enough. The druid does realize that the deck of a ship has no safe place in weather like this. He keeps an eye out for any threat that may endanger any of his new friends and allies.
Asami's drifting thoughts cause her to almost topple off the mainmast and into the churning dark waters below, but she catches the rail at the last second and dangles on one foot for a moment before the Wormwood lists back the other direction and slams the nogitsune into the rail. It knocks the wind out of her, but at least she can grasp the rail with two hands and plant her feet on the central beam again. After that, she puts her head down and eyes forward and makes damn sure to concentrate on what she's doing. Time enough to dwell on what might have been when she's not battling the wrath of Gozreh.
----
Good deeds feel good, but thinking about punching Scourge in the mouth feels even better. Unfortunately he's got his hands full with the ropes. Hemp knots are a nightmare to work with when soaked, but his fingers remain nimble and he gets the job done.
----
Draxxie gets a little out of sorts with everything going on -- swells rocking the Wormwood back and forth, everyone in the bilges tumbling about when she crests a massive wave or smashes back down, and her crew shouting frantically as they struggle to keep the bilges from overflowing. She finds herself focusing on the wrong things in her -- well, perhaps not panic, per se, but frustration and discombobulation, and keeps trying to dry off the pump with her spells instead of working it. Finally Shivikah snaps, "Enough with magic! Pump, damn you!"
Unfortunately, while the pump handle is nice and dry for a moment, Draxxie is not; she's covered in bilgewater from the chest down, and the pump quickly follows suit. The skald finds her fingers constantly slipping while trying to pump, and does not add much to the effort.
The water steadily rises, and by the time they're called up for dinner, the water is up to their waists.
----
The druid certainly has gotten used to doing the simpler task of helping in the kitchen. The sudden thrust into grunt work is far from ideal, but Oduim manages to make it look easy even in the midst of a massive, deadly storm, because of course it's easy for him. Why these other Plebs are having so much trouble is just beyond him.
----
The hours are dark and soaked in saltwater. It's impossible to say when morning ended and afternoon began, but at some point the bell rings and people slip down to mid-deck for a quick supper of dry, stale ship's biscuit before being assigned new jobs. The storm shows no signs of letting up, which means everyone is going to have to keep working into the night. Exhausted and shivering, the crew nonetheless stoically takes their new orders and gets to work. Even Scourge and Plugg, normally feisty with the will to snap, sneer, or snarl, look weather-beaten and tired, eyes bloodshot and clothes soaked through, as they dole out your new tasks.
----
Asami is assigned to the crow's nest for the night; her darkvision and demonstrable skill in climbing seem to be the deciding factors. "Make sure we don't wind up in a cliff face, yeah?" Plugg grumbles wearily as he sends her on her way.
----
Despite his fingers feeling numb and his knuckles aching, Scourge sends him back on rope and knot work. Surprisingly, the bosun doesn't have any malice in his visage as he assigns Carlos. He looks too exhausted to have done it out of spite; he probably just assigned the task without thinking. At least he's not up in the rigging with Asami?
----
Perhaps having heard about her failure in the bilges, Scourge puts her to work running the deck sending messages.
----
Scourge puts the druid's nimble fingers to work once again, this time performing repairs. Several of the sails tore before they could be furled, and have been replaced, but need to be fixed for when the new ones inevitably rip in the whipping winds.
Carlosss is almost happy for the task. It's hardwork, but he was actually getting the hang of it and at least knows exactly where he left off.
But his confidence is misplaced and his hands keep getting stuck in the ropes as he tries to unwind the knots. He keeps praying none of them snap taut at a bad moment.
Besmara's T!#%! This is not good. At least I'm out of the f$&*in' bilges.
Draxxie is grateful to be out of the stinking bilges, and lets the driving rain wash her clean as she slides around the ship's decks.
Queen of the Seas, we adore you
Get us through this f~*@ing storm, we implore you!