Realistic or Modern french perfume (rp)

[fairyfawn]

location

dragon's ghost -- on deck, outside

mood

is good

outfit

clicky

tags

n/a

WINSTON "WINNIE" ALLEN

Shark Fin Cove.

A wonderful place if you're looking to get rich and lavish yourself in a bunch of gold and precious jewels. Legend has it that inside the cove, lays lost treasure that is highly sought after by many, many people. Gold coins, Gold wine cups, Pearl necklaces with ruby jewels attached, Diamonds, and more. How the treasure came to be there is up for mystery and whether or not this legend is even true is up for debate. Once you get past the numerous sharks that infest the waters, and maybe some traps, the treasure is yours!

Then again, Winston hates sharks. And a problem is that the only way to get in is to get on board a longboat and row yourselves into the cove. Just the thought of rowing and looking to the side and seeing a shark stalking you is terrifying! But then again as well, sharks don't attack unless provoked or hungry right? Right? Ah, the crew wouldn't have to worry about that for a while.

Furthermore, Winston himself believed in the legend of the treasure. Well, why not? A good adventure was in order to stave off boredom. Plus, imagine all that gold in the crew's hands. That sweet, sweet gold.

The only thing is, you need to know where Shark Fin cove is in order to sail over there. And for Winston, he did not know where the cove was. Therefore, he cannot find it. But fear not for they were going to go to the city of…. Tirie in order to find out where it is. Heard that information is good there. But there is just one little teensy problem for the crew aboard the Dragon's Ghost. The city of Tirie does not take very kindly to pirates and the residents go to great lengths to try and keep pirates from even coming into their dock.

Winston wouldn't want to have a rope around his neck. They'll have his neck for sure! Or his head! Oh, they should be quick about it. Blend in with the crowd for as long as possible! Then again, they should also restock on a few things. Just a few things for the long ride.

Especially rum.
More rum!
Love rum.

Then again, not everyone will be leaving the ship, someone needed to stay back and keep an eye on Rowan. Wait, why is Rowan here again? Oh yes, because he's 'useful'. It's fine because they weren't even near the city of Tirie yet. They can relax! Ah yes, nothing but the open ocean ahead of them! Oh wait! They needed to get to Tirie without making it blatantly obvious that they were pirates on a pirate ship. They must be polite, respectful citizens. Humble citizens! Nothing to see here, just respectful people buying rum and fabric and getting important information from people.

Furthermore, someone needs to… look after that princey boy and make sure he doesn't go wandering off and getting himself into trouble again. Yes, again. Why is he here again? Oh yes, freedom or whatever. Even though they're possibly going to run into trouble. Maybe Winston was internally rambling a little too much.

The short captain flicked out his compass and he stared down at it before staring at the ocean in front of him. Yes, yes they're going in the right direction.They never get lost! What do you mean they've gotten lost before? Winston's lips twitched before he put the compass away. Today is a very nice day. Needs a little rain though. Alright, enough of the internal rambling. For now.

Winston wandered away from the bow of the ship. Hmmm, he should really find something to do. Or someone to talk to. Something to do until they reach the city. Well actually, until they reach the city because they need to go over a few problems. First being about the ship and then second being on blending in and thirdly being on who goes and who stays aboard. Winston is going there of course, but he'll need help on interrogating people whilst the others buy stuff from the market.

Eh, he'll pick them when it comes down to that. Oops he's internally rambling about things again. Winston shook his head and he stretched his upper half out. Doc is probably going to get onto him again about taking care of himself. He often forgets to take much needed binder breaks and he needs to be reminded about it. Another quick shake of the head.

Hmmm, they should reach Tirie in the early hours of the morning if not by tonight.

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

 

[Gao]

The Gunner

Name's Rat, not to be confused with Ratthew.

mood: . ???

location: . Main deck

outfit: . Clicky

mentions: . Luca + Auguste

interactions: . Winnie

tags: . fairyfawn

"Nyehehe...." The laugh.

Snickering with a dangerous undercurrent, it was a malignant noise that resembled nothing good– or more accurately, a not-good somebody who was up to not-good deeds.

“Heheee?”

If one chose to follow the pernicious sound, they’d find themselves on the main deck, a hardtack biscuit broken up and sprinkled in a deceptive and all-too-convenient pile. Not a desirable trap for many, considering most aboard could clearly see the gunner; one boot propped against a cannon, inside of his cheek bitten as he leered down the barrel of a two-handed flintlock rifle.

Instead of trying to beguile any crew-members into his trick, his target was for someone’s specific ugly round eyes and creepy hands. Luca. A small monkey. Rat didn’t know where it came from or if it happened to belong to anybody. There was a high chance it hopped aboard when docked, but no matter its origin, Rat was quick to learn he didn’t like its presence.

“Come on,” a sweetly distorted kiss of teeth at the foul creature, watching it dance down the rigging with ease towards the trap. It was provoking the pirate with its threatening monkey hands and flat-nosed stupidity. Asking for it.

“Hungry, ya? Don't needs t' be shy. We be mateys, you and I.”

Fingers flexed and tightened on the rifle, itching with impatience to blow the little brain across the freshly-polished wood. Gangly limbs assisted the animal’s journey, finally down from the rigging and upon the deck. Yet despite being a quick dash from the alluring pile of biscuit, it had paused.

“Wants cookie?” The same honeyed tone continued to try and coax the monkey. “Ya ya? Food?”

The little beast stared back, unmoving.

Rat’s smile, now through gritted teeth, twitched.

“Eat the fuckin’ cracker, shit-brained weasel.” Unable to keep his voice at a soft coo, it quickly devolved into it’s usual bitey tone. “An’ don't be staring wit' them ugly eyes! I’ll skin yer-”

The monkey, sensing danger (and rightfully so), turned tail and scampered back up the rigging.

“No!” Rat screamed in despair, “I be sorry! Don't-!”

BANG.

Regret was cut by the loud shot of the flintlock, followed by a chorus of cussing and further insults that would make most land-dwellers cup their ears in shock. Admittedly there were productive things he could be doing, yet Rat thought it appropriate to simply… not do them. To spill his frustration in the form of short-lived vulgarity was a decidedly better use of his time.

The gunner kicked the pile of hardtack across the deck, scattering crumbs and fragments for a future crewmate to clean. Composure only resumed once he huffed, rubbed the back of his hand against his nose, and accepted the loss of this battle against… The Monkey.

They must be polite, respectful citizens. But oh, how much Rat was not a polite, respectful citizen. A rotten core of a human being, grinning something terrible as they noticed the nearby individual. Unfortunately (or fortunately for who was in question), Winston had stepped into view. Someone Rat couldn’t unleash an entirety of playing cards upon, but could at least lend ears to his shenanigans.

“Cap’n Warthog,” a greeting, followed with an oh-so-troubled sigh. “Someone’s shootin’ guns, they are.” Not Rat, obviously. The rifle had been slung over a shoulder, out of sight out of mind. “That big thing, dead fodder from below deck. Ya, ya, reekin’ brute it is. Saw it with me own eyes, came up here, ham-fists firin’ off lead like some loon!”

Rat swooned his body over a cannon, back of hand held to his forehead – such an elegant lady.

“Poor wee Rat,” lamented the gunner, still strung over the cannon like a renaissance art. “So scared! If only the grisly beast would gives us hard workin’ folk some peace 'n quiet.”

code by valen t.

 

[lethemosyne]

The Dragon's Ghost was soon to port, and Cyrus was in a good mood.

Or whatever passed for one, anyway. It wasn't that he held any particular love for Tirie or it's swinging gallows or the rum that his crewmates swore by. But the city's cutthroat enforcement of the law meant that his companions would at least be tempted to behave like civilized human beings while within it's port, and their visit would provide a welcome reprieve from life on the sea's rolling waves. Cyrus was, dare he say it, looking forward to it.

With little in the way of actual work to accomplish- he hardly needed to map the way to Tirie, after all- and the air in his cabin having grown a bit stifling (not that subjecting himself to the sun's unrelenting glare would do him much better, but such was life at sea, loathsome as it was), Cyrus decided that he might perhaps deign to engage in some socialization (which, for him, entailed 'spending time in the vicinity of others').

And so Cyrus for once set aside his quill and smoothed out his longcoat, stashing his sketchbook away in one of the pockets, and ventured out of his cabin, making sure to lock the door behind him. He'd just made it to the hold when the sharp crack of a gunshot fired above deck cut through the space. An attack? Alarmed, Cyrus rushed up the stairs to the main deck, swinging open the lattice hatch with one hand, the other flying to the pistol at his hip- only to freeze as he took in the situation. Or rather, the lack of a situation. Relief gave way to confusion gave way to irritation.

Cyrus' expression twisted into a scowl, an immediate accusation on his tongue. Nevermind the fact that he hadn't actually seen who had fired the shot- Rat was present. He knew.

"Bloody hell!" Cyrus spat. His fingers twitched, briefly, on the handle of his pistol, before clenching into a fist at his side. "I ought to have known this was more of your nonsense, you gun-waving lout. What, does that thing have a hair trigger? Or do you fire it off as thoughtlessly as you do your mouth." He jutted his chin sharply in Rat's direction, observing with no small amount of distain as the man draped himself over one of the cannons.

Whatever rare desire Cyrus may have felt for social interaction had been swiftly extinguished the moment he'd set eyes on the gunner. The urge to turn around and retreat back below deck was strong, but not moreso than Cyrus' pride, which forbid him to flee or- god forbid- show Rat his back. Instead, he opted to make his way to the other side of the ship, putting as much distance between himself and that vermin as he could manage. He was not running. It was only that thought of spending any time in the other man's presence made his skin crawl, that was all.

"Reckless imbecile," he seethed as he strode past toward the stern deck, coat whipping behind him, followed by a more neutral but still rather curt, "Captain." The greeting was accompanied by an attempt at a respectful nod, which in his agitated state came across more as a sharp jerk of the head. Cyrus had no quarrel with Winston, really, and had actually been intending to speak with the Captain regarding some of the particulars of their impending arrival at Tirie, though he was loathe to do so now with the Rat skulking nearby. It seemed that conversation would have to be postponed.

So much for his good mood.

 

[Miaow]

I threw myself with
trust in me, but why am i
just being hurt?

HWANG LUCA

MOOD

so hot, I'm dying

OUTFIT

clicky click

LOCATION

on le ship somewhere

INTERACTIONS

Rat, Cyrus, Winnie

TAGS

Gao fairyfawn lethemosyne

"It's so HOOOOOT!" Luca whined as he lay on the deck, staring up at the sun like a man stranded in the desert. He could go inside, he could also take his snazzy leather vest off, but that was far too much effort for Luca. He couldn't wait to be on land, the unlimited drinks, the shade, the ground will actually be solid for once. Although, the way the boat rocked did help him get to sleep at night.

Pirate life wasn't so bad, it beat sweaty men punching other sweaty men while even more sweaty men watched them do it. His nose was actually on straight now, that was always good. He missed stealing from restaurants, though, food always tasted better when it was stolen.

However, he was still getting used to life at sea, having to spend time with the same few people in a confined space... especially Rat, he was extra annoying. He'd maybe throw some orange peel at him later, just for fun.

He shot upright as a bullet was fired. Finally, some action around here! He jumped to his feet, rushing to the source of the noise, only to be disappointed to see... Ratthew. He opened his mouth to complain but was interrupted by Cyrus, clearly he'd had the same idea.

As Cyrus stormed off, Luca's eyes drifted to the crumbs spread across the floor.
"Ooh, a cookie!" He exclaimed, though stopped himself before he could scoop up and consume the scraps. Maybe later, when people weren't watching...
"Don't leave cookies on the floor, we'll get ants!" and it was a waste of a cookie... could ants even swim?

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​

 

[mix.ie]

the surgeon

location

The Dragon's Ghost's cells

mood

Very hungover

outfit

Outfit

mentions

Rowan, Rat

delphine 'doc' emmit.

One would think with how much she drank, Delphine would be used to the throbbing hangovers that plagued her body the day after, and for the most part, she is. It's just that the constant back and forth swaying of the Dragon's Ghost and the blinding sun making everything unbearably hot doesn't help anything. So yeah, that just about sums up how her day is going so far. At least she's only spewed up her guts only once today (so far). On days like this, she wonders why she even drinks so much. (And then she let the bittersweet burn of rum rush down her throat, and suddenly she's reminded.)

If not for the fact that she had the responsibility of keeping everybody alive and without scurvy, she most definitely would've slept for three days straight, but, alas, there's no rest for the wicked. Deciding to forego her usual jacket, as she knows the layers would cook her alive, and she'd be damned if she died from heatstroke. Her vest went unbuttoned, and overall she looked like a fine mess, so nothing unusual for her.

Huffing, Delphine tapped her foot impatiently. Before her was Rowan Kraemer, the Dragon's Ghost's very own prisoner— one of the newest additions to the ship. She quickly found that she didn't like the man, but then again, no one did. She may not care for many people in her life, but she made a vow to protect her crew, and he tried to get in the way of that. Kicking the metal bars that separated them, she glared at the man. “Oi!” she said, further catching his attention. “Don’t tell me ye’ died in the night.”

You see, when the crew first caught on to Rowan’s attempts at stealing away their prince, they weren’t the most…gentle with him. Violence regularly runs rampant throughout the ship, so it was no surprise to anybody that the thief got roughed up. Now that they were keeping him (for whatever reason), it was her job to make sure he didn’t get hit too hard, so she’s been checking in on him for the past few days. How is he supposed to atone if he’s dead?

Leaning forward, she kicked the bars once again, just as a shot rang out right above them. She flinched and jumped back a little. Then, glaring at the ceiling, she sneered. “We better be gettin’ shot at,” she muttered as she rubbed the pain in her temple away. She knew that was probably not the case. Rat was such a trigger-happy fellow she wouldn't be surprised if it was him.

coded by natasha.

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: .... Fuck you.

OUTFIT: What's up, it's ya boy just got out of the medbay what's good

LOCATION: Deck

basics

MENTIONS:
Doc


INT:
Rat Gao

tags

TL;DR Ugh.

tl;dr

Auguste

A month ago, a deceptively frail man had been escorted onto the ship. All lean muscles and bones, he appeared wild. Long wild dark hair. A sneer and a snarl. All teeth, and the feral stare of someone who’d been fighting to survive.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep fighting.

He didn’t remember much of getting shuffled onto the ship in chains, weighed down by heavy lead weights until stepping forward was a herculean task.

The kind captain had released him as soon as they’d taken off of port, and someone had spat in his direction. Well, maybe someone had spat, maybe someone had just breathed. But the wild beast had launched himself at the poor fellow, teeth and fingernails trying to tear into their skin as he tried ripping them apart like the wolves he was famed to have grown up with.

He had the foggy memory of his vision going black and then nothing after that.

Auguste had jumped the second he was freed - probably in an attempt to launch himself at one of his new crewmembers, and promptly fell on his face, out like a light.

Long story short, the next month had been a series of feverish and barely lucid moments as he recovered from years and years of being overworked and malnourished.

But! He was awake now!

He’d awoken the day previously, and Auguste was now itching to get out of the damn bed. It made him nervous, not being able to do anything. Be locked into a little bit of space. He felt almost worthless at the idea.

And being worthless meant that he’d be dropped to the sharks. Which meant he died. Game over. No, he had to get out of bed this very second.

He swung out of bed, glancing around for the doctor who’d been keeping him company. And also the only reason why he hadn’t run out of the medbay the absolute second he’d woke up. He’d been pushed back down very gently and been told to stay.

So, with the expression of a dejected puppy, he’d laid back down. But! He’d only agreed to lay down that day so…

He was doing the incredibly good idea to do hard manual labor 1 day after getting out of his coma while he was still recovering and going to go help out.

And just in time because he heard a gunshot. Shirtless and grabbing a scalpel to fight with, he climbed up the steps completely barefoot.

Now, there was a 6’7 man climbing up the steps. The month he’d been in out of lucidity with a high fever, funnily enough, had given him enough time to plump out a little bit as his muscles had relaxed. So he was freakishly muscular, with the dark hair floating into his terrifying stare.

And he was holding a scalpel like he was the main villain of your classic slasher horror movie.

He stared at the chaos of what was occurring.

No, no in fact they were not getting attacked. That was annoying.

…. Well now what.

code by valen t.

 

[Miaow]

If I keep forgiving
maybe I'll believe that you
never meant for life to hurt for me

NAGASE MIYU

MOOD

practice better trigger discipline >:c

OUTFIT

clicky click

LOCATION

on le ship somewhere

INTERACTIONS

Auggie, Rat

TAGS

qunqun Gao

It was so loud, she wasn't sure how to explain it. She found herself surrounded by people, curled up in the corner with her knees to her chest. She could feel the vibrations of people through the floor, drunken yelling, spilt drinks, sticky floorboards... She wasn't meant to be on the floor, she was meant to be dancing, serving drinks, doing her job... There were just too many people, they would grab at her dress and yell commands at her that she couldn't even hear.

She felt something clamp onto her arm as she was yanked to her feet. Her boss... or more accurately, her owner. He was yelling, not that she could hear him, but he had that scrunched up look on his face he always had when he was angry. She could only stare, wide-eyed. She couldn't focus on lip-reading, he was talking too fast, there were people everywhere. She tensed as he raised his hand to her.

She took a sharp breath in as her eyes shot open, blinded by the sun as it pounded down on her. She was going to get sunburnt if she didn't get down from this lookout stoop soon. She was curled up in the fetal position with Momo fitting perfectly against her stomach. She slowly sat up, careful not to wake the sleeping cat, and rubbed her eyes to try and clear her vision. How long had she been out for..? How red was her face going to be by tomorrow?

She peered down over the edge of the lookout stoop, frowning at the crowd that was forming. There weren't many jobs that needed doing, they were just drifting towards Tirie, why did everyone need to be so close together? She felt Momo clamber onto her shoulders, signalling he was ready to make his descent. Momo was a talented kitty, he could use ladders, but this one was simply far too tall. She watched as he flinched, his pupils suddenly widening before they returned to their normal size. She frowned, what was that all about? Whatever it was, he seemed okay now... She gave him a little scratch on the chin before positioning herself at the top of the ladder and making her way down, her long skirt bundled up in one hand so her feet wouldn't get caught.

She felt Momo jump from her shoulders when she was on the last rung of the ladder, hopping down herself. She cringed, was that... crumbs on her feet? Gross... As she turned, she almost walked face-first into Auggie's chest, stumbling back into the ladder with a sharp gasp. God, she could've walked right into that scalpel... She was sure a man of his size would make plenty of noise when he was moving, but to her, he was silent, she couldn't have known he was coming. She swallowed, fidgeting with her hands as she spoke aloud.
"Sorry," She said in her distinct accent, her face flushing red. She couldn't hear her own voice, was she yelling or whispering?

She looked down at her feet, watching as Momo rubbed around Auggie's legs. Momo didn't know what a dangerous, sharp object was, he just saw a man with big legs, ample surface area for rubbing. This normally got him scraps, he just had to employ his kitty charms.

She turned to the rest of the group with a frown. Rat seemed to be draping himself over one of the cannons... if she knew what was going on, she'd feel inclined to paint him in that pose, but she couldn't help but notice his smoking gun... She approached, pointing to the trigger guard.
"Finger... here!" She told him. Rat had been foiled by Miyu's good eye once again.

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)

 

[Keylyn May]

• mood
• 1outfit1
• tags

• 
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  relaxed
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
• 
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Her outfit
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
• 
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  the ship's mainsail
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

mood

filler

outfit

filler

location

{{ alright! I am just going to try and jump in here some how }}

Harper's leg swung loosely in the wind from her perch, her head leaning back against the large center pole of the mainsail. Her blonde hair moved gently in the wind as the white of her dress fluttered like that of bird wings. She liked her little perch. It was high enough to see what was going on, though of course not too high. In her hands was a book, unmarked on the outside but containing beautiful depictions on the inside. Various herbs and their uses were houses there. Harper was well aware that they had a good doctor on this ship, but if she was out working then she was on her own.

A loud noise made Harper jump slightly and her gaze was torn from the pages of her book. She looked down at the ship, her eyes scanning those who had decided to move about. She had no doubt that it came from Rat, an individual that she was not sure of at all. Harper watched him often, trying to figure out what he was doing when. He seemed rather trigger happy, though Harper was sure there was more to him than what was on the surface.

Harper noticed a movement towards the bow of the ship, her watchful eyes finding Winston. The ship's captain. Harper didn't much care for the captain, though she kept such thoughts to herself. Frankly, Harper was sure that the man would not be able to survive without the help of the crew. Harper needed this place, however, so she held her tongue firmly.

Harper shifted slightly in order to see who else had made an appearance, and an amused smile came to her lips as she saw their newest member. Luca laid on the deck, his voice coming out in a whine about how hot it was. Harper shook her head gently. There was much Luca was going to have to learn if he was going to survive here. He didn't even look like a pirate, that was for sure. He seemed so soft and innocent. She wasn't sure he was cut out for life on the ship, but then again, people have a tendency to surprise you.

It was only moments later that Harper saw Auguste's head coming up from below deck. Now there was a man Harper liked to look at. Of course, she only looked. She wasn't sure about getting too close to him due to his reputation, and the fact that he was holding a scalpel right now did not help. But the fact that he was so muscular... A girl can enjoy some eye candy, right? And what was it like being part wolf? It was all very intriguing to Harper, that was for sure.

---tags----
Rat Gao
Winston fairyfawn
Luca Miaow
Auguste qunqun

♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡

 

[cash]

mood :

about to piss his pants

location :

the Dragon's Ghost's cells

outfit :

picture

mentions :

Winston
Ambrose
Delphine

interactions :

mix.ie

KRAEMER

ROWAN

Oh, life was good while it lasted.

It was endlessly running for his life and putting his pride and moralities aside but it was good, somehow.

Just as the captain was questioning it, Rowan had been questioning it, too. Why was he even here? Tied up and thrown into a cold cell. Objectively, the answer was obvious- he'd attempted to abduct a person (who actually belonged to, what, a whole gang of his paid goons?). Subjectively, Rowan found it ridiculous. He was very much inclined to believe that he was simply doing God's work. What are parents without a child? A kingdom without its prince? Like a round of beer without a side of meat: it's straight dog manure.

Granted, it wasn't like he completely agreed with the sentiment. Hey, he couldn't care less about family issues; he's just in it for the money. Shallow as it was, it was sincere and true.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen if he had actually managed to take the prince home? They wouldn't harm His oh-so-precious Highness, would they? He'd return to his royal, comfortable life. Relaxing in his royal, plush bed; sipping his royal, posh red wine in his royal, silk robes. What was there to complain about? Social elites are always such an arse sore. Got 'em privileges and not the brains, he'd say.

...did he fool anyone with these thoughts though?

Clearly not.

Now he's had his back against the uneven cell wall, which, hurt like a mother, by the way. Sore all over, head hung low with occasional sneering and sucking air through his teeth. His voice had long died in his now-scratchy throat as the outcome of mindless and borderline pathetic wailing and complaining these past few days. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. Anything done out of simple spite is pretty valid at this point, he's just petty like that. Although, to be fair, ganging up on a poor, hardworking young lad was not the nicest thing a bunch of strangers could offer as a greeting. Of course he had more than enough rights to retaliate.

For the past few hours, he'd been staring at the restraints around his wrists with utmost malice as if they'd offended him. Clearly scruffed from his fruitless yet persistent attempts of tearing them off with his teeth, they remained fastened around his purpling skin. Any more friction and they were sure to pop the hands off its arms. Hey, maybe that was better than being shackled like some dog. But having no hands to strangle people would suck, he'd be better off betting the limbs away for a bottle of ale.

Speaking of ales... what in the seven hells was this smell? Ah, right, right. He'd almost gotten used to it by now.

In the count of three, two...

As if on command, the metal bars rattled harshly. There it was... your hungover resident doctor.

Rowan hadn't lifted his head, unkempt mop of dark hair obscuring his visage. A good thing, lest people would want to see what's become of it, absolutely worse for wear from the traces of bloodthirsty, very very uncalled violence. What the doc implied about wasting away to death gave him ideas of playing dead. It seemed like a great idea, in his humble opinion. But then again, who can say it wouldn't only get him tossed in the water as shark bait? Yeah... no, no. Thank you.

It was only when the loud 'BANG!' from above jarred the soul out of him, "whatta absolute asslicker!" being the prelude to his oh-so-wealthy vocabulary that poured out irritably as he found the new subject of his hate-crime, the poor ceiling. Unfortunate to his precious dignity as the dangerous, intimidating criminal on-board, the slight tremor of his body betrayed the thunderous attitude. The doctor's voice to the side quickly nudged him to collect himself and he swore he had never wished for more than to leave this vessel of unhinged a-stinkin'-hoy mateys. Throw him in the seas, he wouldn't care. Dolphins and turtles alike will catch him in grace if the universe wills it, god damn it.

"Hey," he hastily addressed the woman on the other side of the metal bars.

Here's the fact: these people are insane. That was his conclusion (among seventy other but we don't talk about that) and the situation called for drastic measures.

"Ya oughta let me go. I... I've caught... guh, consumption," and with that, obnoxious coughing commenced. Quite a lot of wheezing was thrown in there, too. Adding to the shameless, sickly flair, he practically flattened himself against the ground like a feeble leaf. Amidst the sympathy-rigging act, he continued to run his mouth off with what pitifulness he had left in him. "Wouldn't wanna... COUGH- bring the whole looovely crew down with someone like me... y'know? You lots can- cough, drop me off at whatever next town yer dockin' at. That'd be more than great. I could use some water, too... and- COUGH-"

Please. Someone give him his archaic equivalent of an Oscar.

coded by reveriee.

 

[mix.ie]

the surgeon

location

The Dragon's Ghost's cells

mood

Annoyed

outfit

Outfit

mentions

Rowan, Rat, Auguste, Cyrus

delphine 'doc' emmit.

Taking a deep breath, Delphine closed her eyes for a moment and willed her headache away. She braced herself for another gunshot, but nothing came. Okay, so then it was Rat. She makes a mental note to be a little rough the next time he needs stitches.

Then, huffing to herself, she opens her eyes and takes in the pathetic sight before her. The presence of people begging before her feet usually brings excitement, but now she just wants to sew his mouth shut.

Delphine barely bat an eyelash at that…performance he put on. Instead, she just stared him down, her expression blank.

“Consumption, aye?” she replied, her eyebrow quirked. Then, squatting down to his level from the other side of the bars, she squinted at him as if taking a quick examination. “In that case, I can tell the Cap’n to throw ye overboard. Can ye swim, mate? I reckon I heard that map maker o’ ours saying the sea is especially unforgivin’ around these parts.” She deadpanned, not falling for whatever lies he decided to throw her way.

“If yer gonna bullshit me, at least be good at it,” she all but growled. His cough was unconvincing, and much of his pathetic look is attributed to how the crew beat him senselessly. “I oughta call that big fellow down here to finish the job,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. Delphine knew for a fact that Auguste was in no shape to hurt anybody, much less their prisoner. She’d spent the past few weeks tending to his weak status for that exact reason. (Which is why she just wanted to get this over with so she could go and make sure he was okay.)

“Now c’mere so I can check yer wounds. Maybe if ye shut up, I’ll be gentle,” she warned with a glare.

coded by natasha.

 

[Cello.]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  

  Main Deck

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  STRAWBERRY MENTOS

  
  
  
  

  Leanna Firestone

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  These days, knowing more makes you more miserable.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  Cordy hunched over their notebook, sitting in a small corner of the main deck, their brows furrowed in concentration. It was a frequent expression on their face recently with the new piece they were trying to bring to life. The graphite in their hand paused as they assessed the rough sketch of the dress. A snug sky blue corset that dipped off the chest fading into sapphire blue sleeves. With flowy white skirts that parted at the front to reveal layers of different tones of blue from sky blue, blue-green, and deep blue that almost looked black. They were decorated with different symbols the darkers the layers got, from clouds to constellations. It was meant to represent the phases of the day.
  
  They didnt know why it irked them so much they havent finished it, they had plenty of unfinished designs in their book and its not like they could ever make it. They didnt have the money for the fabrics nor was it practical for the ship. They snapped the small leather shut and rubbed their temple, easing away the pain that built up there. The sun was currently beating down on the ship, no mercy for the pirates.
  
  Their skirts clung to their legs and their feet were slick in their boots. If only Cordy could dive into the ocean without drowning or not being frozen to death. The multiple layers werent wise in this weather or sun, but Cordy could bare it in the name of fashion. Slowly, Cordy wrapped their hands around the wooden railing and hauled themselves up. Sliding the book into one of their many pockets, they withdrew a fabric bundle and a needle. Already threaded from the night before when Cordy was working on Rats present. The needle glided in and out of the green fabric, a pattern of lines weaving in and out forming on the edges.
  
  A gunshot boomed into the air and Cordy jumped, the needle plunged to its death in the violent unforgiving ocean. Just like that it ate their needle without so much as of a sound. They inhaled a sharp breath, the salty air burned their lungs but they were used to it by now. A hand smoothed over the light blue frills on their dress before turning around. Someone needed to learn how to handle their weapon- it was Rat. Of course it was him.
  
  Cordy started across the deck, dancing around the crumbs littered on the floor. Poor person who had to clean it up, maybe Cordy would offer their services to help. A light smile graced their features as they strolled up to the small group collecting. Some were telling Rat off, like Cyrus and some were just standing there. Facing Cyrus, they clapped their hands in front of them, tilting their head. “Oi, avast Cyrus. Louts not a nice word. Apologize?” They said, a quiet voice that was hard to hear. Though it was clear he wasnt going to.
  
  They approached Rats side, who was draped over the canon up to his usual dramatics. They tugged at his sleeve and shook their head with a laugh. “Bloody hell Rat! Trigger happy ‘ere as o’ late arent ye? Scared the crap out o’ me. I lost me needle! Oh, I made ye a gift!” They held out the small scrap of green fabric that had the name “Rat” sprawled out on it in sea-green writing.
  
  They cleared their throat and rolled their shoulders back, the smile brightening. “As a thank ye fer teachin’ me piano!” Their eye caught on Winston, not breaking eye contact as they dipped into a mock bow before rising and giving him the proper tip of an imaginary hat. ‘Cap’n,” They straightened their skirts, glancing out at the ocean. “Where be we to dock?”
  
  They shook their wrist, the blue and white bracelets clicking together. They would have to be a nice citizen and behave which wouldnt be a problem. They would also become the parent of the group while they drank. They could buy some new fabrics though which would lead to more designs and outfits!
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Content

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  To the left

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Winston, Rat, Cyrus

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  fairyfawn Gao lethemosyne

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  CORDY.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

@CordyAmana

9 minutes ago

nine lives

 

[fairyfawn]

location

dragon's ghost -- his cabin

mood

worried! lazy!

outfit

clicky

tags

n/a

AMBROSE "AMBY" VERNE
How long has it been since he had escaped? How long has it been since he last saw his parents and brother? Quite frankly, Ambrose has lost count on how many days it’s been. And his parents were (most likely) out looking for him to drag him back. He doesn’t want that! He wants to stay here where there’s freedom! Actually, his parents were looking for him because well… there’s posters with him on it! The absolute nerve of his parents to do such a thing! Ambrose was even lucky to manage to escape in the first place, so he was not keen on being dragged back to someplace he did not want to go.

Furthermore, the Dragon’s Ghost had its very own prisoner. A prisoner that tried to kidnap Ambrose himself and hand him back over to his parents for bread. Well… money. Then again, the prince had wandered off from the group as per usual since he got distracted by something. Ambrose should really stay on the ship whenever it docks or have someone basically follow him around. And he’s guessing that Rowan had seen one of the posters of Amby. But why keep him on the ship? Even if he is below the deck. Hmmmm. Ambrose does not trust Rowan, at all, because there are… so many things that could happen. Like… Rowan could escape! How? Don’t know! And uh, Rowan could come after him again! Yikes, Amby’s mind sure is going to the worst-case scenarios.

Then again, those scenarios are very, very unlikely to occur. Right? Anyways, Ambrose has been quite… lazy the past few days. Whoops. He hasn’t really helped around much as of late. He really needs to get off his ass and do something. Amby has been slacking! And he’s been worrying. And getting distracted. Ambrose has been doing many things. As of right now, the prince was in his cabin. His cozy, wonderful cabin! He should really step outside and-

A loud bang interrupted his thoughts. How rude! Now wait a minute, was that a gunshot? A… gunshot…. outside…. an unexpected gunshot, oh my, did his parents find him so soon!? Was this it for Amby’s taste of freedom!? No, he does not want to go back home. Ambrose contemplated on staying put but then again, he might be jumping to the worst-case scenario here. It could be Mr.Bully Rat shooting off his guns again or something. Rat the cruel bully! Rat is always so mean to poor Amby. One day, Amby will end up having a heart attack because of Rat. His poor heart.

Besides that, there was nothing else better for Ambrose to do so he might as well see what was going on. Nosy. Curiosity! Curious prince. After a moment, Ambrose decided to leave his cabin and check out what's happening.

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

 

[Gao]

The Gunner

Name's Rat, not to be confused with Ratthew.

mood: . Happy!

location: . Main deck

outfit: . Clicky

mentions: . Cyrus, Luca, Cordy, Auguste, Miyu, Harper.

interactions: . Cyrus, Luca, Cordy, Auguste, Miyu.

tags: . lethemosyne Miaow qunqun Cello.

If the gunner had been in a good mood already, it was now beyond that.

Rat’s favourite music box, tightly strung and easy to wind up, had made their grand arrival; Cyrus. Entering the gunner’s range in quite the huff, bursting from below deck ready to face what was to be assumed, an important matter.

“Dearest Cynthia!” Alas, no such thing as important when it came to the Gunner. “Lookin’ twitchy,” he clicked his tongue, “bad dreams, ya?”

Rat watched as Cyrus’ processed the situation. The characteristic smile on the gunner’s face waving a silent taunt at the severe individual. It could almost feel cheap, how easy they were to rile. Perhaps it would devalue the crewmate if Rat didn’t find the reactions positively thrilling. A beautiful thing to witness, seen uncountable times before. The stages of grief, alarmed eyes congealing into realisation, and then brewing an inevitable heatwave.

"Bloody hell!"

The blast of irritation was, as always, so very british. Their cruel expression, harsh and sharp, clashed with Rat’s gleeful essence of nonchalance. Lazing over the cannon came at the price of rigid weaponry digging into his spine, and he shifted only slightly to recline his head back and glance over the side of the ship. Checking for something.

“Lookin’ like ocean t’ me.” Rat observed, no ‘blood’ or ‘hell’ or combination of the two in sight. “Useless mapper, you is.”

Worded bullets bounced off like raindrops. If there was any debate whether the gunner deserved such palpable vexation, he was sure to solidify it.

“Ya knew ‘twas I.” Sighed a happy Rat, “Cydney cares, yes she do.”

Like a bird ruffling its greasy black feathers, the cartographer marched off with a lashing of his coat and mouth. Entertainingly moody, yet drawing Rat’s wandering attention to the second arrival. Another victim, lured by the mysterious gunshot. For a fleeting (and exciting) moment, Rat thought the trap that failed for a monkey was going to prove successful with Luca. Watching the new crewmate scuttle the deck for crumbs would be nothing short of delightful, but to great misfortune, they had some semblance of standards. Boo.

“Cookie.” Rat affirmed, reaching a long leg to kick at a nearby fragment. “Ya should swabs it, afore we get em reekin’…” subtle was Rat’s pause of judgement, yet enough for anyone with keen ears to notice. “Ants...” How Luca survived past childhood remained to be a mystery. Many of their comments managed to render the gunner temporarily stumped, and the mention of ants was no different. Rodents, the fucking monkey, fleas, so many things on-board that could have been chosen. But ants? Perhaps it would be a good thing if Rat tried to shoot him now. Stupidity was not fatal, but it could not be cured.

Saving the discomfort of his spine, the gunner pulled himself from the swoon into leaning against the railing. Elbows against the polished wood and boots crossed at the ankle. Like dominos, more crewmates arrived one by one. Rat could only lap up so much attention, but the smug glint in his eye conveyed his emotion clearly: Victorious.

Even more so as Cordy appeared, trying to urge Cyrus into being civil. Like a child hidden behind the safety of his mother’s skirts, Rat’s grin somehow grew in size.

“Ignore the parchment-hoardin’ runt!” Loud and clear was the gunner, waving a dismissive hand that would seem more suited for a drunk. “Boots on too tight, and cares lots for dearest Rat, I bethinks.” It’d be easier to pry teeth than get an apology from poor Cyrus.

Cordy was soon at his side, a tug at the sleeve followed by brandishing a green gift. A thank-you for teaching them piano, in which the olive of his eyes flickered sharply with an unreadable emotion. Perhaps a warning, perhaps just a reflection of light from the sea.

“'Tisn't teaching if yer still shite at it.” Gifts weren’t his domain, nor did he desire the crew to be thinking anything of it. An illiterate, gun-waving lout was him. “Gives t' me.” Rat took the fabric, squinting at the sea-foam scrawl. “What’s it be sayin’? Ben, ya?”

He adjusted his hold on the cloth, before giving the tailor a light smack upside the head with it. “Nye-heh.”

Pocketing the item with no more than a silent glance– a wordless thank-you, the gunner was about to resume his common peskiness when he noticed them. Or specifically, it. Emerging onto the deck like a rabid animal, the aforementioned ‘grisly beast’ had made itself known. Bedraggled hair curtaining a murderous gaze, glint of a small weapon in their brutish hand. The embodiment of what Rat had warned the crew of, even if his words were bullshit at the time. An undeniable loon, painting its own version of ill-timed truth.

Rat had a moment of contemplation, the rifle slung over his shoulder a viable option for what appeared to be an attack. Yet, it appeared Miyu was going to take this one.

By walking right into it.

Rat’s teeth set down on the inside of his cheek, an indecipherable wince at whether he found the situation funny or downright aggravating. Momo, the fat useless creature, was the second line of defence. Winding and rubbing against legs with all its might.

“Can ya just kick the fuckin’ thing!?” Instead of anything reasonable like caution or fear for the bulky stranger, the gunner had pinpointed his aggression on the feline. Shouting his usual crass remarks that were sure to win the hearts of nobody.

But Miyu had crept over, and he followed the point of her accusatory hand towards his rifle.

"Finger... here!"

What a snitch. There was no loyalty aboard this boat.

“Ay ay ay!” Rat swatted the hand away, “don’t be jabbin’ at my Elizabeth, ya little maggot. A sensitive piece, she be.” All of Rat’s weaponry was named accordingly, and treated with the same amount of intensity. Do not touch, insult, or accuse his beloved artillery.

Today, Elizabeth the flintlock rifle had drawn quite the crowd, a brief glance confirming who was and wasn’t present. Most were not too much of an issue, probably bumbling about doing tasks beneath. It was the missing spies that danced a shudder along his spine, prying eyes and quiet feet brewing a recipe of fear for Rat. As if affected by a cold chill he flinched, shaking his arms to rid the ‘heebie jeebies’ of their territory. Strange for those nearby, his abrupt wiggly movement coming without warning, rhyme or reason.

But the scary brute, unsuccessful in being subdued by Miyu and Momo’s grand effort, was still a pressing issue.

“Sir.” Offended was Rat, finishing his creepy-riddled writhing with a shake of his foot. “Did ya not see we was prayin’ here?! ‘Ave we no respect? No care fer our gods?”

A disappointed parent, Rat shook his head at Auguste. “Gonna have t' scuttle ya fer bargin' in.” The unbuckling of a pistol at his hip gave hint to motive, slapping the weapon right into Miyu’s hand. "Go ahead,” he urged with a melodramatic sniff. “Shoot 'im dead, the poor bugger.”

“Oh!” Rat cried, turning away to sob over the side of the boat. “I can’t be watchin’! Make it quick!”

code by valen t.

 

[fairyfawn]

location

dragon's ghost -- main deck

mood

wow !

outfit

clicky

tags

Rat Gao Cyrus lethemosyne Cordy Cello.

WINSTON "WINNIE" ALLEN

Ah yes, the atmosphere is very peaceful and quiet and relaxing. Well, there was the sound of the ocean waves lapping against the side of the ship of course. But other than that, it was a very nice, peaceful setting with the aroma of the salty sea air. It’s very nice. And there’s nothing but miles of open water ahead of them for hours and hours. Winston lingered in the spot where he was standing, as if it were the only thing he could do. Well, he could go inside his cabin perhaps and wait for nightfall to arrive and see if they had arrived earlier than planned. Perhaps he could.

Well, that was before there was a very loud bang. Really? At this time of day? Winston’s head cocked to the side, lips pursing as a small response.

“Cap’n Warthog.”

Lovely nickname for Winston, truly. Something would sound better though. Captain Win. Win. It has a nice, amusing ring to it. He should bring that up next time. So anyways, he should be paying attention to beloved Rat now and listen to Rat’s woes. “Rat.” Winston replied smoothly, and it was followed by a small hum as well. Oh, someone is shooting off guns? Shooting off guns unexpectedly? The short captain let out a loud exhale through his nostrils. “That there be funny because I remember you be the one ‘andlin’ the guns, Rat. You givin' out guns?” A little emphasis on Rat’s name. Winston sucked his lower lip in between his teeth as Rat continued to rant and place blame on someone.

“The new man? Shootin' guns?” Winston inquired further, eyebrows slightly furrowing in response. The big thing, dead fodder as Rat put it apparently. Below deck. Auguste? He’s up and about already? Really? Where be the Doc at? Oh, and there goes Rat with draping himself over a cannon. So elegant and graceful of him. “I ne’er imagined you would be one to get scared.” Winston commented with a thick swallow.

Oh, and here comes Cyrus! A frustrated, irritated Cyrus to be more exact. Apparently he, too, had heard the loud bang. Then again how could you not hear it? Winston’s gaze watched the cartographer for a brief moment. And there he goes chiding and scolding Rat, nothing of surprise really. This is a really good day! Winston could sit down and watch this in sheer amusement!

Winston’s gaze then flicked over to Cyrus once more and he gave a rather small nod in response, “Cyrus,” he responded humbly.

Speaking of Auguste, there he is, what a perfect timing! Maybe? Standing with…. A scalpel in his hands. Okay so maybe Auguste was not the one shooting off guns but he’s got a dissection tool in his hand.

Then there's Luca with his cookie and Miyu too! And you can't forget about Momo of course. Winston loves Momo.

Oh, and Cordy! Wow, everyone has come crawling here! Not that Win was complaining though, of course not. “Cordy.” Winston said in acknowledgement before continuing, “lovely day it be.” A small amount of humor before he audibly cleared his throat. “We be dockin’ in Tirie later in the night or early mornin’.” Winston informed them. Or they might get lucky and arrive earlier than planned. Or would that be lucky? They still need to go over everything!

Oh dear, Rat is heading to sob over the side of the boat. So lovely.

How in the sea’s name did Winston wind up with a chaotic crew like this? Not that he was complaining, though! For he, too, can be chaotic as well though this is all going down because Rat, yes Rat, caused the loud bang. Yes, Winston believed it was Rat who did it! The captain ran fingers through his ponytail, heaving out of a hard breath. What a lovely crew he has, truly.

"Rat." Winston called out in a chiding tone of voice.

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