Realistic or Modern dead men tell no tales (rp)

[fairyfawn]

location

dragon's ghost -- the brig

mood

tired

outfit

clicky

tags

Ren Gao

WINSTON "WINNIE" ALLEN

Ghost Isle.

A rather strange and heavy place. And cold too. Something about this isle was just heavy and ominous, perhaps it’s the thick fog surrounding it. Maybe it’s the rumors that it is haunted. And the waters around it are haunted as well. You see, Winston loves a good ghost story, but he wasn’t sure if he should believe these haunted rumors.

Now you might be wondering why Winston is planning on heading towards Ghost Isle. Well, it’s just what he’s been thinking about. Is it haunted? You see, when they were in the town of Oriasea, Winston was drinking down some rum and he overheard Ghost Isle being mentioned. And Winnie was bored and he and the crew didn't have another adventure so why not check out the isle?

It's not like they had anything better to do. Winston craves something to do, boredom tends to set in very easily for the tiny captain so naturally he's bouncing and looking for something to do. Something to keep him occupied. Ghost Isle it is, then! They might need more blankets though. Warm blankets for the trip to the cold and ominous and heavy haunted isle.

Right now, Winston was standing on the deck, staring down at his compass. He poked at it with a fingernail before lifting his head up to look out at the wide open ocean. Nothing but miles of ocean ahead of them. You might think they're heading straight for the isle, but no. They need to swing by the town of Chatsa first. Heard that fabric is good in Chatsa, so maybe this town had more blankets. Then again they could get some more meat and veggies for the cook.

They'll have to tread lightly because Chatsa doesn't take kindly to pirates. It's sad, Oriasea welcomes pirates but Chatsa does not. Nevermind that. Winston closed the compass and stuffed it away. And then a yawn passed through his lips.

Oh look, here comes Minnow! The best cat ever! Winston patted Minnow on the head before straightening his posture.

Winston pined for sleep, he wanted to settle down in his bed with his cat and sleep. But, there’s a certain nuisance on board that is preventing Winston from getting any sleep. Or at least a full eight hours of sleep. And this nuisance is the prisoner on board the ship, and he’s kept in the brig which was a great idea at first but now Winnie is starting to regret ever taking this person as his prisoner.

Speaking of the prisoner, it's about time he pays him a visit. See how he's doing. Maybe take him outside on deck and see if that'll keep him happy. Winston turned on his heels and began to make his way off deck and down to the brig.

Ah yes, it’s Ren. The prisoner of the ship that Winston had regretfully let on board for and stuck him down in the brig. Ren is like a thorn in poor Winnie’s side, he screams, he wails, he cries, he bangs against the cell bars, he is the cause of sleep deprivation. Ah, Winston would love to get a full night’s rest for once and not have to put up with Ren keeping him up at night with his wailing and banging a stick against the bars.

There was a thick swallow from Winston.

He began to approach the cell, "Ye doin' good down 'ere?" Winston asked before clearing his throat and continuing.

“If I let ye out fer a little bit, will ye speak no more at night an’ avast bangin’ on the cell bars? Ye want out don’t ye?”

Maybe some sunshine will do Ren some good and maybe it’ll get him to shut up and be happy for a while. Anything to help Winston get some sleep. And Ren may be a thorn and a nuisance but they’re stuck with him. It’s not like Winston can make Ren walk the plank just for being annoying and being the cause of sleep deprivation.

Oh! But, Winston could not let Ren walk around the ship unsupervised and free. No, as long as Ren is out of the brig, he’s got to stick close to Winston! He would be damned if Ren was left unsupervised on his ship. He didn't trust the prisoner to be uncaged alone.

Winnie proceeded to curiously stare at Ren. And his lips twitched in thought, wondering if it was worth letting Ren out for a while. It's not like Ren had anywhere to go and jumping overboard was not a wise idea. Alright, Ren can get a walk! His daily walk. A small sigh before he pulled out the keys to the cell to unlock said cell and let Ren out.

------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------
WINSTON'S INVENTORY: compass , red ribbons , cell keys

code by g o l d i e l o x x

 

[Gao]

MOOD: I am expensive. Let me out.

OUTFIT: Clicky

LOCATION: The brig!

basics

MENTIONS:
Winston + Entire crew !!

INT:
fairyfawn

tags

TL;DR From flirting, threatening, bargaining, to flattery!!

tl;dr

船井 蓮 — FUNAI REN

Mistreatment is subjective.

Many may find knuckles to the corner of a lip, boots to ribs and withholding food till of bony austerity, as mistreatment. Ren was not inclined to agree. Mistreatment was locking someone away in the dark for what felt like eternity, and though robbed blind of destination, things had not gone unnoticed.

Layers of paint and wood tarnish could not preserve heat, encroaching cold grew harder to ignore. Stagnant air had a pungent taste to it, clinging sour against the pink lining of his throat and flapping in his chest. Churning, never keeping still, desiring movement. Like a feline promised sirloin steak, he’d paced the square of his cell to near insanity. Nothing to entertain himself with, the smallest of things became his new past-times.

Awaiting the soft mouse that would spill out from its hole and skitter past without a greeting or second glance— well, that’s fucking rude. Had he stooped low enough that not even rodents paid him such a mind?!

Learning the cell bars rattle louder if he kicked them here instead of there. The crew will be appreciative of this, sure to reap the benefits of his newly-found knowledge.

Swiping a hand at anyone foolish enough to walk past, hoping to rake lucky nails into their eyes or snatch the hilt of a weapon. He was not a patient pendulum.

The little games of Ren and the crew; a regular one. Provocation for sport, ugly intentions dressed in pretty phrases and honeyed purrs from his side of the bars. Complacent in their presence, it was prompt to change to trouble when he didn’t get what he wanted. Rob them of peace. Wail like a banshee until his throat gave out, hit against the iron as a psalm of rebellion, anything to disturb the tranquil of night.

As to every visitor, irises of black minerals burned to shine like pissed-off soot suns at the sound of boots approaching. Their voice confirmed identity without the need for looking over. The Captain on his scheduled inspection, small and smug and here to taunt the prospect of unobtainable freedom. Ren begged to know what could be considered good about a dark, cramped cell.

“You look tired, Winston Allen,” Ren said conversationally, as if he was not the very source of the Captain’s exhaustion, the guilty culprit to blame for each and every hour of the ship’s lost sleep.

Drifting closer, fingers curled around the cell bars that divided him from lunging the opposing pirate scum. After prying a rusted nail free till fingers were pink and tender, the pathetic excuse for a weapon, now tucked away in Ren’s shirt, called for usage.

Behave, he reminded his thin patience, wait.

“Are you not resting soundly?” He asked, voiced dripping with concern that surely doesn’t originate from a man of his gross self-interest. “You know, I could always be of assistance.” He cant his head, cold iron pressed flush against the slope of a cheekbone. “Keep your bed warm?”

There was a brief but heavily intentioned pause, then, a smile.

“I’m also certain I could punch you hard enough for a deep and restful sleep.”

Flirtations short-lived today, it seemed. But alas, the offer to be let out held immense attraction. Something stirred within his chest, tempering threats into a far more docile manner.

“... Walks are nice,” sulking sad eyes flickered away from the vessel’s figurehead, “you don’t let me out enough, it's dark down here.” Clawing for tethers of sympathy, he’d learned the curious Captain held no interest in killing him. A caged life undesirable yet tangible proof.

A sigh escaped, ostentatious, scheming. Pushing the chances and attempting some bargaining was an opportunity Ren wouldn’t so foolishly dismiss.

“My silence has a price. A bottle of spiced rum, another blanket, and a jar of pickled fruit.” His demands were quick as a bullet. “Or,” a greater (though very unlikely) alternative, he looked back at Winston, “release me at the closest port.”

Coal pupils watched the draw of keys, a pleasing sight for a lover of sunlight. As if not guilty of threatening to strike the pirate, causing a racket every night, trying to attack anyone near the cell, he felt the need to voice his shallow gratitude:

“I have always liked you. Such a generous Captain.”

code by valen t.

 

[screaming armadillo]

Within the belly of the Dragon’s Ghost sits a literal beast of iron. Not a cannon nor a hold of rum or even a captain’s treasure chest, no it is simply a bulky behemoth of a stove. With its gigantic oven and five burners, along with a rather convenient hand pump which draws water from the huge storage tanks below, this iron monster could feed a hungry crew and then their extended families. Should said families not have anything against breaking bread with pirates of course.

For most of the day and much of the night there burns a fire inside the stove and one Henry Franklin Melville tends it. A dutiful cook with a voluble yet impotent rage he had made his home behind this iron beast ever since his unceremonious hiring, if one could call it such a thing. So long as the fire remains hot the cook, well, cooks, and all the while with a sea of curses, clangs and demands from whoever the unlucky sod was that got stuck being his runner for the day. Hauling a sack of flour up a ladder is a chore no matter if it is done once or twenty times.

Though in no way as shrill, Henry was possibly the only person aboard who could rival a certain prisoner when it came to making a ruckus. This little fact created a regular rock and a hard place situation for those who enjoy some quiet peace. So it should come as a surprise to nobody that he was making a fuss.

“Salt!” Came his bellow, and to emphasize the request Henry politely stomped a short boot on the wooden deck. Before going back to his simmering pot he gave a stern but entirely fair warning down the ladder, “And if ye ruin another sack o’ flour you’ll be drinkin’ sea water and eatin’ horse hide ‘till Kingdom Come!”

 

[-ferret-]

Bashi Ravern​

The passage to Chatsa was a rather dreaded one in Bashi's humble opinion. It made the hair on his arms stand on end and made his nose twitch. Bashi, a feral little beastie of some sort, prided himself as knowing when things would go awry. Though it wasn't hard with their mischief loving Captain Allen and the troublesome crew. And maybe the fact that the whole kit and caboodle was in fact, a pirate kit and caboodle. People these days tended to look down upon those kinds of kits and caboodles.

It still made Bashi's teeth ache to be so near a place so obviously in opposition of pirates. The whole entirety of this idea was bad and Bashi was unappreciative of his general displeasure to steer clear going ignored by their captain. Of course all he really did was grumble and growl. Which wasn't actually much different than what he did on a normal basis. So maybe Captain Allen didn't actually know. But Bashi was unconcerned with who knew what he was feeling and more concerned with stalking the length of the ship like an angry panther.

On top of that, his lack of sleep lately had been making him even more agitated and cranky. The prisoner that the captain had been keeping for God knows what reason was almost as feral as Bashi himself, maybe more so in the kind of way that rats are. If rats could talk and shake the bars of their cells so loud that it woke up most if not all of the crew. Ren was the new pain in Bashi's boot and on more than one occasion did he imagine the decimation of the prisoner. Mostly by his own hands. In fact Bashi has quite a few plans laid out for how he would orchestrate the rats' untimely (or hopefully timely) demise.

It usually involved pushing him overboard. Or sticking him on a deserted island with a single banana leaf and a half empty bottle of rum.

He'd never give him a full bottle. That was too good for the bane of his existence.

Still. The rat lived on.

So Bashi stalked the upper deck with a glower on his face, waiting until they reached Chatsa. He supposed he could make the best of being in the rather bustling city. He was in desperate need of new materials and such and it wouldn't harm him to steal a few things, make sure his skills weren't getting rusty. Left pondering, Bashi paced by the main mast.

 

[sox]

hack. slash.

"ye're slow! way too bloody slow!"

flourish. cleave.

"ye call this a duel?! any slower 'n ye'll be feedin' the fish afore ye can say 'blimey!'" one last thrust from the gunner sent alfred, the deckhand unfortunate enough to be her sparring partner at the moment, stumbling backwards onto the deck floor, landing flat on his rear as the tip of her cutlass hovered over his collarbone. "put yer back into it! that wee townie blouse o' yers be cleaner than a pirate's ever best be!"

nishika had been tasked with training the crew in close combat when they weren't caught in battle, and as per her rigidly crafted schedule, the group had been sparring since the wee hours of the morning. even in her drowsy, sleep-deprived state, the deckhands weren't even close to meeting the standards she'd been hoping to evaluate them by before reaching the port at chatsa. their destination wasn't too kind to pirates, so cannon practice was out of the question lest they set off any alarms as they approached the shore; this was a good opportunity to hone their sword skills before they lost a limb on two in uncharted territory. they weren't half bad when it came to manning the cannons, but they were severely lacking in actual hand-to-hand combat experience and as such, they did not fight with the fear of death ingrained in their movements.

in their defense, the crew was likely just as cranky as nisha with all the commotion below deck keeping them up throughout the night thanks to their newly acquired prisoner, funai ren. the jarring sounds of his rattling cell door were still ringing in her head as she begrudgingly gave up on sleep to prepare for another day of training. she didn't get get one and a half times the other seamen's share of booty for nothing, after all.

despite his reputation as a lying, backstabbing thief, nishika couldn't bring herself to blame ren for his disruptive behavior; the gunner had never been an advocate for taking hostages, especially considering the torture that prisoners were put through in her last crew. she trusted winston to be better than that— she really did— but their desperate screams of agony cutting through the nights were seared into her memories for eternity, putting a sour taste in her mouth at their current state of affairs. furthermore, he seemed like a decent conversationalist and interesting enough character; if she didn't respect the captain as much as she did, she would have long taken it upon herself to find a way out for their hostage.

nisha helped alfred back up and tossed him his discarded cutlass before resuming her stance. "again," she ordered, gesturing towards the other deckhands waiting their turn. "ye two join in, too— this time, disarm me 'n pilfer this larimar charm off o' me waistband. if ye manage t' even get close, i'll fashion each o' ye a new dagger."

with the promise of fresh weaponry on the line— they'd need better weapons anyways if they were to venture into the infamous ghost isle— the trainees get back to it, the trio lunging at her from all directions in an attempt to disarm her. after nearly half an hour of back-and-forth, they succeeded; nisha's blade clanged against the wooden boards of the deck as the charm was simultaneously snatched off her waistband by a smug alfred. before the deckhands could begin to celebrate, however, she switched to her throwing knives in the blink of an eye, pinning the thief's pant leg against the mainmast while the other two watched on in shock.

"did ye reckon ye're safe jus' 'cause ye got the charm?" nisha chastised, a smirk devoid of humor on her lips as she sauntered towards alfred and swiped the charm back from his grasp. "if ye can nah retreat properly aft completin' yer mission, a one-way trip t' davy jones' locker be all yer sorry arse be good fer."

after giving a quick critique of the duel, handing out pointers for them to improve on, and sending them on their way, nisha finally noticed an agitated bashi by the mainmast, pacing just feet away from where she'd terrorized the poor deckhand moments prior. between his prior antics and love for shiny materials, the gunner had always felt they had quite a bit in common, despite not exchanging many words.

"oi, lil' plant whelp," she greeted, a genuine grin replacing her previous threatening smile as she unclasped a flask from her waistband and took a swig. "i heard thar be a wee makeshift steel mill on chatsa prime fer a lootin'. i may be headin' thar while cap'n hits the market, so let me know if thar be anythin' i can grab fer ye." it wasn't a question so much as a notice— if he really did want anything from her, she figured he'd let her know in his own way when the time came— and that was perfectly fine by her; the gunner was more-or-less used to this form of nonverbal communication by that point, a stark contrast to the rigid commands and hierarchy in the royal navy's war fleets.

the gunner

nisha.

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

• filler tab!
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  xxxxx

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  on hand

  
  
  
  

  crude training cutlass, balanced steel throwing knives, two french court dueling pistols (holstered), seven seas cutlass (holstered)
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  tags

  
  
  
  

  -ferret-
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡