A directory of useful threads for the One Piece rp "Journey into the Undersea
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Fandom One Piece: Journey into the Undersea IC
- Thread starter AtlannianSpy
- Start date
- Created at
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- Incomplete
AtlannianSpy
Alarmed and Strangerous
Chapter One: The Call
Somewhere in the middle of the East Blue is a relatively new island that nevertheless has an antique air about it. The island is mostly flat and low but at its centre rises a tall, thin spire of stone that, from a distance, seems to jut up out of the ocean itself like the horn of some massive leviathan. A wedge shaped channel of sea water leads from the island's perimeter into the centre, allowing ships to sail right up to the base of the spire and enter, if they dare, into the gaping, cavernous opening that yawns there at the base of the spire. Ships who allow themselves to be devoured in this way must take a long, dark journey through a cramped tunnel with barely enough water to keep them afloat, often scraping their hulls against slippery but exposed rock. Those who survive the journey however, find themselves somewhere entirely new, entirely alien.
The Undersea.
It has been thirty years since this island rose up from the ocean and since then humans have charted it, laid claim to it and left their mark upon it. The spire is now encircled by a looming, iron wall replete manned guard towers and a monumental gate that straddles the ocean channel that leads up to the spire and its maw. Inside this first line of defence is a fortified wedge shaped building that juts up against and conceals the cavern entrance itself. Outside of the wall, rickety huts and ramshackle wharves and piers extend up and out from the wet rock of the island like barnacles on the skin of a whale. Many of these adhoc structures appear to have been constructed from disassembled ships, there are certainly no trees on the island which might have provided an alternative.
Helmouth Station, as the island is now called, is a study in contrasts, befitting its role as a liminal space, a gateway between seas. Behind the gate, dwelling in security if not comfort, are the gatekeepers: a large detachment of marines who determine who is allowed passage and who is to be barred from entering. Outside the gate, occupying the wharves and shacks which are always expanding to accommodate their swelling numbers; are the wolves at the door.
The wharves and docks of Helmouth Station are home to a motley collection of pirates and would be adventurers who lack the funds or connections to bribe or bully their way onto a ship that has been allowed access to the Undersea. Most of these ships belong to the Undersea Trading Company and they do take on crew or workers for various commercial enterprises down below but competition for these positions is fierce so the docks are home to many who haven't yet made the cut. Too proud to cut their losses, these rejected souls circle and scratch at the walls like impotent predators, salving their wounded pride with cheap liquor, gambling and...company. Many taverns, pubs and other such storied institutions have sprung up among the waterlogged shacks of the Helmouth docks to cater to this crowd and one such enterprise is a bar by the name of the Leaking Seagull.
The Leaking Seagull was set up by an aging pirate with his cut of a final successful raid and because of his modest infamy the Seagull has become a gathering spot and watering hole for those of a buccaneering bent. Would be pirates gather at the seagull every night to take measure of their rivals and swap rumours about possible avenues into the Undersea. Most of these rumors turn out to be apocryphal, but every so often a genuine opportunity passes through the Leaking Seagull and tonight, one is arriving in the form of a young woman in a white, bearskin cloak...
*CRAAACK!
The door to the the Leaking Seagull swung open hard enough to crash into the wall beside it and a number of patrons looked up to see a figure clad in a bulky, white cloak standing in the doorway.
The figure reached up to their imposing, bear like head and tugged on it, to reveal that it was only a part of their cloak and that underneath lay the fair, but firm features of a young woman with a steely gaze. The woman brushes a strand of her messy, blond hair out of her eyes and swept her gaze across the crowd of patrons, her expression evaluative.
"Greetings fellow seekers of fortune," says the woman, stepping from the doorway into the centre of the tavern with even, unhurried paces. "I am Bridgitte Skaeling, sometimes known as White Cloak I suppose and I am seeking to put together a crew to sail into the Undersea in search of fortune, glory and adventure. If such an undertaking does not interest you, or you do not have the mettle for it then I ask that you vacate the premises while I conduct my business," she said, matter of factly.
There was a moment of stunned silence and then came a scraping sound as a hulking figure with a round belly pushed back his chair, stood up and swaggered over to Bridgitte.
"Now lissen heeer Missy!" Said the man, his slurred words tumbling out from behind an unkempt, coppery beard. "Iunno who the HELL you think you are but this whole dock is the territory of the Black Barrel Pirates and if you think for one second that"
Bridgitte rummaged around beneath her cloak and withdrew a little sack that she tossed towards the bar, where it landed with a metallic clink that hinted at its contents.
"For the window," Bridgitte said to the confused bartender
"HEY!" Snarled the large, bearded man, jabbing a fat finger towards Bridgitte. "Don't ignore me when I'm" Was all he manged before Bridgitte slipped her hands into the paw like sleeves of her cloak and then lifted the man up by his shirt and tossed him over her shoulder to crash through the dusty front window of the Leaking Seagull.
"Perhaps I was being unreasonable earlier," said Bridgitte agreeably, dusting off her hands against her cloak as if she had touched something unpleasant. "You may stay even if you aren't interested in joining my crew as long as you are quiet and do not interrupt me. If that is disagreeable to you then I advise you to make use of the door or I will evict you in a similar fashion. I think this is a fair compromise. Now then, who is interested in my proposition?"
Craftsdwarf
Phayne
Nuclear Magician
606
ZackStop
SomeRandomCanuck
KAmber
crypticcalypte
Somewhere in the middle of the East Blue is a relatively new island that nevertheless has an antique air about it. The island is mostly flat and low but at its centre rises a tall, thin spire of stone that, from a distance, seems to jut up out of the ocean itself like the horn of some massive leviathan. A wedge shaped channel of sea water leads from the island's perimeter into the centre, allowing ships to sail right up to the base of the spire and enter, if they dare, into the gaping, cavernous opening that yawns there at the base of the spire. Ships who allow themselves to be devoured in this way must take a long, dark journey through a cramped tunnel with barely enough water to keep them afloat, often scraping their hulls against slippery but exposed rock. Those who survive the journey however, find themselves somewhere entirely new, entirely alien.
The Undersea.
It has been thirty years since this island rose up from the ocean and since then humans have charted it, laid claim to it and left their mark upon it. The spire is now encircled by a looming, iron wall replete manned guard towers and a monumental gate that straddles the ocean channel that leads up to the spire and its maw. Inside this first line of defence is a fortified wedge shaped building that juts up against and conceals the cavern entrance itself. Outside of the wall, rickety huts and ramshackle wharves and piers extend up and out from the wet rock of the island like barnacles on the skin of a whale. Many of these adhoc structures appear to have been constructed from disassembled ships, there are certainly no trees on the island which might have provided an alternative.
Helmouth Station, as the island is now called, is a study in contrasts, befitting its role as a liminal space, a gateway between seas. Behind the gate, dwelling in security if not comfort, are the gatekeepers: a large detachment of marines who determine who is allowed passage and who is to be barred from entering. Outside the gate, occupying the wharves and shacks which are always expanding to accommodate their swelling numbers; are the wolves at the door.
The wharves and docks of Helmouth Station are home to a motley collection of pirates and would be adventurers who lack the funds or connections to bribe or bully their way onto a ship that has been allowed access to the Undersea. Most of these ships belong to the Undersea Trading Company and they do take on crew or workers for various commercial enterprises down below but competition for these positions is fierce so the docks are home to many who haven't yet made the cut. Too proud to cut their losses, these rejected souls circle and scratch at the walls like impotent predators, salving their wounded pride with cheap liquor, gambling and...company. Many taverns, pubs and other such storied institutions have sprung up among the waterlogged shacks of the Helmouth docks to cater to this crowd and one such enterprise is a bar by the name of the Leaking Seagull.
The Leaking Seagull was set up by an aging pirate with his cut of a final successful raid and because of his modest infamy the Seagull has become a gathering spot and watering hole for those of a buccaneering bent. Would be pirates gather at the seagull every night to take measure of their rivals and swap rumours about possible avenues into the Undersea. Most of these rumors turn out to be apocryphal, but every so often a genuine opportunity passes through the Leaking Seagull and tonight, one is arriving in the form of a young woman in a white, bearskin cloak...
*CRAAACK!
The door to the the Leaking Seagull swung open hard enough to crash into the wall beside it and a number of patrons looked up to see a figure clad in a bulky, white cloak standing in the doorway.
The figure reached up to their imposing, bear like head and tugged on it, to reveal that it was only a part of their cloak and that underneath lay the fair, but firm features of a young woman with a steely gaze. The woman brushes a strand of her messy, blond hair out of her eyes and swept her gaze across the crowd of patrons, her expression evaluative.
"Greetings fellow seekers of fortune," says the woman, stepping from the doorway into the centre of the tavern with even, unhurried paces. "I am Bridgitte Skaeling, sometimes known as White Cloak I suppose and I am seeking to put together a crew to sail into the Undersea in search of fortune, glory and adventure. If such an undertaking does not interest you, or you do not have the mettle for it then I ask that you vacate the premises while I conduct my business," she said, matter of factly.
There was a moment of stunned silence and then came a scraping sound as a hulking figure with a round belly pushed back his chair, stood up and swaggered over to Bridgitte.
"Now lissen heeer Missy!" Said the man, his slurred words tumbling out from behind an unkempt, coppery beard. "Iunno who the HELL you think you are but this whole dock is the territory of the Black Barrel Pirates and if you think for one second that"
Bridgitte rummaged around beneath her cloak and withdrew a little sack that she tossed towards the bar, where it landed with a metallic clink that hinted at its contents.
"For the window," Bridgitte said to the confused bartender
"HEY!" Snarled the large, bearded man, jabbing a fat finger towards Bridgitte. "Don't ignore me when I'm" Was all he manged before Bridgitte slipped her hands into the paw like sleeves of her cloak and then lifted the man up by his shirt and tossed him over her shoulder to crash through the dusty front window of the Leaking Seagull.
"Perhaps I was being unreasonable earlier," said Bridgitte agreeably, dusting off her hands against her cloak as if she had touched something unpleasant. "You may stay even if you aren't interested in joining my crew as long as you are quiet and do not interrupt me. If that is disagreeable to you then I advise you to make use of the door or I will evict you in a similar fashion. I think this is a fair compromise. Now then, who is interested in my proposition?"
Craftsdwarf
Phayne
Nuclear Magician
606
ZackStop
SomeRandomCanuck
KAmber
crypticcalypte
606
Lazyartist
Last edited:
crypticcalypte
cy crypticcalypte (cy crypticcalypte)
Sweetheart is a glaringly obvious example of someone looking for a job around here. He's shirtless, a cuttlefish bone hangs around his neck, he has a pink leather jacket, and he has about 6 more legs than everyone else here. Not to mention, his short stature has been the running gag amongst the drunkards since he stepped into this place hours ago, bored and continuing to scope for a captain who wouldn't immediately assign him to deck scrubber. Or even better, barnacle cleaner.
His face scrunches up, thankfully looking away from the girl wearing a bear cloak, and it causes the group he's sitting by to rile up again after the aforementioned girl wearing a bear cloak hurled one of their numbers through the window. He ignores their jeers, though, and instead pins his gaze on the girl. He's never heard any direct tales, but he has seen her wanted poster. Same with the other one; Koki, was it? Something like that. He respects people like that, so...
He nods, politer than most people in this establishment, but he hopes it's taken as a sign of respect. He puts his arms back on the table, spinning around slightly to point his body towards the two. To indicate interest, to show he's listening without interrupting. He'll wait a moment to catch their linguistics; he's out of practice in speaking like the people here, after all.
His face scrunches up, thankfully looking away from the girl wearing a bear cloak, and it causes the group he's sitting by to rile up again after the aforementioned girl wearing a bear cloak hurled one of their numbers through the window. He ignores their jeers, though, and instead pins his gaze on the girl. He's never heard any direct tales, but he has seen her wanted poster. Same with the other one; Koki, was it? Something like that. He respects people like that, so...
He nods, politer than most people in this establishment, but he hopes it's taken as a sign of respect. He puts his arms back on the table, spinning around slightly to point his body towards the two. To indicate interest, to show he's listening without interrupting. He'll wait a moment to catch their linguistics; he's out of practice in speaking like the people here, after all.
Phayne
[▬▬(ஜ۩۞۩ஜ)▬▬]
The Bombardier
Ezio Shahrokh
White Coat Pirates (Soon)
Outside the Leaking Seagull
Across the leaking seagull, several men had gathered among themselves, a small huddle forming as the majority of sea hardened men watched the two combatants in the middle compete against one another. The faint sound of grunting could be heard emanating amidst the chorus of cheers as two men currently engaged themselves in a test of strength; wrestling to see who could pin the other mans arm to the lid of the barrel. Apparently this was the 3rd bout in a series of 'best outta 5', the prize a small sack of Beri which was more than likely intended to be spent at the leaking Seagull; a tavern owned by one of the more 'infamous' former pirates that now chose to plunder those whose wallets were loose; rather than plundering the sea for gold and adventure.
A faint sigh would escape Ezio, as he sat perched above the crowd; legs dangling over the rooftop edge as he watched the contest below; gaze focused upon the two men yet his eyes solely eyeing the sack of Beri that would have found better usage in his possession than that of a drunkard. Given its size, it wasn't anything to marvel at... yet it would prove helpful in securing a warm meal for the next couple of nights.. at least until he found a ship outta here.
The last month and a half had been nothing but hazardous given his present situation; a fugitive on the run according to some wanted posters that had surfaced recently. A mere façade given his crime was nothing more than escaping captivity from the bastards that resided up in Marie Jois. Any hope of trying to start an honourable lifestyle now that he was free had been ruined the moment the poster had been printed... the only benefit was that the image of his poster depicted the visage of a 'Well-groomed' man... not the dishevelled mess that he presently looked like. Life on the run didn't afford that many opportunities to maintain his appearance.
"Ha! This the beginning of my comeback Seymore!!! You best bet you ain't beatin me this time Ya here me?!" shouted one of the men below, as he stood up; both arms raised in te air in victory as he narrowly avoided a three straight losses. "Let's take a breather and start ta next round. Give ya time to rest... so ya don't come up with some excuse!" he continued, before turning around and hi-fiving two of his mates. "Drink's gonna be on me once I win that Beri!" he shouted, causing the two other men to cheer just as loud.
"Tch... idiots..." spat Ezio, glancing towards the entrance of the Leaking Seagull as White coated woman entered; the bear clad woman a new sight to the town yet clearly she was either naïve, ill informed or confident in her strength.. at least from what Ezio could surmise. Given she was entering the Leaking Seagull where the Black Barrel Pirates presently were, it was almost certain that one of those blundering animals would attempt to make a move upon her. Pirates were no saints... and given this woman was entering a tavern presently hosting that particular bunch, who were undoubtedly under the influence of liqueur, it was almost a guaranteed that she would come across some form of trouble. A sigh escaped Ezio... that wasn't his problem... his only concern now was securing enough money to eat.
"Aight Boys!! Lets get round 4 started!!! Ya Ready Seymore? Ya ain't run with yer tail between yar legs yet? Gihagihagiha!!" goaded the most recent victor.
"Oh just get this over with... I'm getting hungry..." thought Ezio, focusing his attention directly below himself as the men got into position. Whilst he didn't ultimately care who won, his plan revolved around causing a distraction.. preferably one that ended with the men fighting among themselves while he profited from the chaos.
As the 4th round got started, Ezio would reach into one of his side satchels, clasping a round pellet of sorts; the last of a batch he had managed to whip up with basic tools whilst he stowawayed on the vessel that ultimately brought him to this island.
It wasn't until the 4th round seemed to reach its climax, that Ezio began to consider dropping the smoke bomb below, eyes focused on the prize so as to not forget where it was once the smoke spread. Alas, his smoke bomb would go unneeded as the sound of an argument could be heard emanating from within the Leaking Seagull, soon to be followed by the explosion of glass and wood as one of the front windows burst outward; the large body of a man flying from within the tavern and out onto the street; the drunkard crashing into the crowd of bystanders and sending several of them sprawling to the floor as a result.
Whilst the sight of the man flying through the wall was distracting, Ezio would only afford a second or two to look; first taking note of the Black Barrel Pirate sent flying and then the white cloaked woman standing inside, before returning to the scene below him; eyes searching for the sack of Beri. A sparkle of gold would catch his attention as the sack landed a few feet away; a few coins sprawling onto the floor. Target sighted, distraction initiated. Smoke bomb dropped.
If being clobbered by a flying drunk pirate wasn't enough, the men now knocked over and in a daze were presented with the sudden flash and release of the smoke bomb; their senses assaulted by the smokescreen whilst also jumbled from being the landing pad for the flying pirate. "Oi Wheres the beri!,,, Seymore this better not be one of yer damn tricks!" shouted one of the competitors.
"it.. it wasn't me!!" grunted the other competitor; all the while the two men unawares that the Beri was now in the pockets of Ezio; the shandian criminal swiftly making his way away from the scene and down an alley, hoping to quickly find a warm meal that his new found wealth could afford.
Mentions: Bridgitte
AtlannianSpy
Interacts: None
A faint sigh would escape Ezio, as he sat perched above the crowd; legs dangling over the rooftop edge as he watched the contest below; gaze focused upon the two men yet his eyes solely eyeing the sack of Beri that would have found better usage in his possession than that of a drunkard. Given its size, it wasn't anything to marvel at... yet it would prove helpful in securing a warm meal for the next couple of nights.. at least until he found a ship outta here.
The last month and a half had been nothing but hazardous given his present situation; a fugitive on the run according to some wanted posters that had surfaced recently. A mere façade given his crime was nothing more than escaping captivity from the bastards that resided up in Marie Jois. Any hope of trying to start an honourable lifestyle now that he was free had been ruined the moment the poster had been printed... the only benefit was that the image of his poster depicted the visage of a 'Well-groomed' man... not the dishevelled mess that he presently looked like. Life on the run didn't afford that many opportunities to maintain his appearance.
"Ha! This the beginning of my comeback Seymore!!! You best bet you ain't beatin me this time Ya here me?!" shouted one of the men below, as he stood up; both arms raised in te air in victory as he narrowly avoided a three straight losses. "Let's take a breather and start ta next round. Give ya time to rest... so ya don't come up with some excuse!" he continued, before turning around and hi-fiving two of his mates. "Drink's gonna be on me once I win that Beri!" he shouted, causing the two other men to cheer just as loud.
"Tch... idiots..." spat Ezio, glancing towards the entrance of the Leaking Seagull as White coated woman entered; the bear clad woman a new sight to the town yet clearly she was either naïve, ill informed or confident in her strength.. at least from what Ezio could surmise. Given she was entering the Leaking Seagull where the Black Barrel Pirates presently were, it was almost certain that one of those blundering animals would attempt to make a move upon her. Pirates were no saints... and given this woman was entering a tavern presently hosting that particular bunch, who were undoubtedly under the influence of liqueur, it was almost a guaranteed that she would come across some form of trouble. A sigh escaped Ezio... that wasn't his problem... his only concern now was securing enough money to eat.
"Aight Boys!! Lets get round 4 started!!! Ya Ready Seymore? Ya ain't run with yer tail between yar legs yet? Gihagihagiha!!" goaded the most recent victor.
"Oh just get this over with... I'm getting hungry..." thought Ezio, focusing his attention directly below himself as the men got into position. Whilst he didn't ultimately care who won, his plan revolved around causing a distraction.. preferably one that ended with the men fighting among themselves while he profited from the chaos.
As the 4th round got started, Ezio would reach into one of his side satchels, clasping a round pellet of sorts; the last of a batch he had managed to whip up with basic tools whilst he stowawayed on the vessel that ultimately brought him to this island.
It wasn't until the 4th round seemed to reach its climax, that Ezio began to consider dropping the smoke bomb below, eyes focused on the prize so as to not forget where it was once the smoke spread. Alas, his smoke bomb would go unneeded as the sound of an argument could be heard emanating from within the Leaking Seagull, soon to be followed by the explosion of glass and wood as one of the front windows burst outward; the large body of a man flying from within the tavern and out onto the street; the drunkard crashing into the crowd of bystanders and sending several of them sprawling to the floor as a result.
Whilst the sight of the man flying through the wall was distracting, Ezio would only afford a second or two to look; first taking note of the Black Barrel Pirate sent flying and then the white cloaked woman standing inside, before returning to the scene below him; eyes searching for the sack of Beri. A sparkle of gold would catch his attention as the sack landed a few feet away; a few coins sprawling onto the floor. Target sighted, distraction initiated. Smoke bomb dropped.
If being clobbered by a flying drunk pirate wasn't enough, the men now knocked over and in a daze were presented with the sudden flash and release of the smoke bomb; their senses assaulted by the smokescreen whilst also jumbled from being the landing pad for the flying pirate. "Oi Wheres the beri!,,, Seymore this better not be one of yer damn tricks!" shouted one of the competitors.
"it.. it wasn't me!!" grunted the other competitor; all the while the two men unawares that the Beri was now in the pockets of Ezio; the shandian criminal swiftly making his way away from the scene and down an alley, hoping to quickly find a warm meal that his new found wealth could afford.
Mentions: Bridgitte
AtlannianSpy
Interacts: None
Code by Serobliss
KAmber
Reverse Grip Apologist
Mitsachi Lampoon wasn’t one to brood in a corner.
She was sulking, sure, but it was loud and proud and in the middle of the room. Four glass mugs of beer surrounded her at a table meant for two polished and empty. Mitsachi sat alone – there was no other way to sit.
The busboy came to take her glasses. She stared down his hand before it got there. The dishes would be safer with her – they wouldn’t break, wouldn’t dirty, wouldn’t die…
It was easier just to keep them.
She wasn’t a heavy drinker, and while this day in no way constituted an *occasion*, there wasn’t a reason to lack celebration, either. Lack cheer. Having nothing to do and having nothing to be happy about didn’t mean Mishi wasn’t doing anything. Wasn’t happy herself.
But you could be happy and not feel happy.
She didn’t think too hardly on why she chartered to the Helmouth. Maybe for work, maybe for lack of anything else. And maybe it was just to be close to the Marines. Mishi wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t stupid enough to declare that to anyone. To be pushed away from the Navy and fit in badly with pirates. Where could that really leave someone?
Despite the desperation and waste here, there were still jobs. Bartenders, chefs, dockworkers, message-runners… Off the Helmouth, there were pirate crews, merchant ships, passenger ferries, a plethora of work if you looked for it.
Mishi didn’t ask. If she reached out first, she’d never let go.
That led back to the matter at hand, of course. Mishi was frowning. There weren’t any glassworkers on this island, she thought, nor any sufficient crucibles. All the glass, from the mugs to the windows, were imported.
…She didn’t have anyone to tell this to. Mishi wondered what would happen to their ears if they did.
There’s collateral damage in everything, she supposed.
Mitsachi took her eye off her table, striding through the crowd to attend to the recently broken window. A chore to come there from the center, and even more to draw eyes from the Skaeling girl to her. She wouldn’t return any glances, even if she felt to. Each nail in the floorboards was counted — how many were recycled, and how many were brought on new?
She hoped they wouldn’t rust without her looking.
Rope hangs off her shoulder as she checks the curtains. Minor cuts from the backsplash of glass, wood splinters, but nothing tragic. They were old, sun-bleached. The mark of a Jolly Roger. Reused from a disassembled ship’s flag.
So much history. She hoped it wouldn’t turn to dust without attendance.
Mishi leaned over the window-frame, hopping over to inspect the debris. The man, just in the center of it.
“Are you alright, bud? She really broke you to pieces.”
”Ah mean— I wasn’t hurt that ba-“
“It’ll take a custom order to replace you. That’s weeks without a window.”
She hops over, ignoring the man. Scooping up broken glass into the pockets of her jumpsuit.
“They might have to board up your old home before they bring a brother to replace you. That’s wood, and nails, you don’t deserve that. You had a long life left, you know? I couldn’t do much for that.”
Commotion. Smoke, accusation. Mishi coughs as she reenters through the door, crossing just past Koki and Bridgitte and straightening her visor on the way.
“Always the little people, isn’t it…”
AtlannianSpy
606
crypticcalypte
She was sulking, sure, but it was loud and proud and in the middle of the room. Four glass mugs of beer surrounded her at a table meant for two polished and empty. Mitsachi sat alone – there was no other way to sit.
The busboy came to take her glasses. She stared down his hand before it got there. The dishes would be safer with her – they wouldn’t break, wouldn’t dirty, wouldn’t die…
It was easier just to keep them.
She wasn’t a heavy drinker, and while this day in no way constituted an *occasion*, there wasn’t a reason to lack celebration, either. Lack cheer. Having nothing to do and having nothing to be happy about didn’t mean Mishi wasn’t doing anything. Wasn’t happy herself.
But you could be happy and not feel happy.
She didn’t think too hardly on why she chartered to the Helmouth. Maybe for work, maybe for lack of anything else. And maybe it was just to be close to the Marines. Mishi wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t stupid enough to declare that to anyone. To be pushed away from the Navy and fit in badly with pirates. Where could that really leave someone?
Despite the desperation and waste here, there were still jobs. Bartenders, chefs, dockworkers, message-runners… Off the Helmouth, there were pirate crews, merchant ships, passenger ferries, a plethora of work if you looked for it.
Mishi didn’t ask. If she reached out first, she’d never let go.
That led back to the matter at hand, of course. Mishi was frowning. There weren’t any glassworkers on this island, she thought, nor any sufficient crucibles. All the glass, from the mugs to the windows, were imported.
…She didn’t have anyone to tell this to. Mishi wondered what would happen to their ears if they did.
There’s collateral damage in everything, she supposed.
Mitsachi took her eye off her table, striding through the crowd to attend to the recently broken window. A chore to come there from the center, and even more to draw eyes from the Skaeling girl to her. She wouldn’t return any glances, even if she felt to. Each nail in the floorboards was counted — how many were recycled, and how many were brought on new?
She hoped they wouldn’t rust without her looking.
Rope hangs off her shoulder as she checks the curtains. Minor cuts from the backsplash of glass, wood splinters, but nothing tragic. They were old, sun-bleached. The mark of a Jolly Roger. Reused from a disassembled ship’s flag.
So much history. She hoped it wouldn’t turn to dust without attendance.
Mishi leaned over the window-frame, hopping over to inspect the debris. The man, just in the center of it.
“Are you alright, bud? She really broke you to pieces.”
”Ah mean— I wasn’t hurt that ba-“
“It’ll take a custom order to replace you. That’s weeks without a window.”
She hops over, ignoring the man. Scooping up broken glass into the pockets of her jumpsuit.
“They might have to board up your old home before they bring a brother to replace you. That’s wood, and nails, you don’t deserve that. You had a long life left, you know? I couldn’t do much for that.”
Commotion. Smoke, accusation. Mishi coughs as she reenters through the door, crossing just past Koki and Bridgitte and straightening her visor on the way.
“Always the little people, isn’t it…”
AtlannianSpy
606
crypticcalypte
Last edited:
Craftsdwarf
Fairly There
“Get him! Get him you stupid...ah you bitch!”
“Sir.”
“Left! Left! Are you kidding me!?”
“Sir, please, our unit has been languishing.”
“You’re languishing!”
On one of Helmouth Station’s many roads, where a competitive fight club had been in action, Gerold Minchi couldn’t disagree with his captain’s claim. Falling in league with Captain Jape Jones of the Bad Mitten Pirates, he’d been hoping for the swift passage to the Undersea that had been promised, but the crew had continued to meander about, waiting for approval that would never come. Gerold had indeed been languishing: a navigator without a course to move on.
“Don’t get on my case about it, you’re the one with the UTC connects, you get us in!”
Gerold nervously adjusted his tie awkwardly with his mitten clad hands. “Sir, I already explained that I have no intent to-”
“Then the fuck good are you to me!” Jape fiddled with his mittens, pulling on of them off to flip Gerold the bird, before gong back to his gamble.
Gerold’s mouth shut, the middle aged man having no more words, only a dark pit swirling in his torso. This isn’t worth my time.
Perhaps the causality of the world was also in agreement. From a nearby tavern, there was a shattering of glass, a body hurtling into the crowd. Jape was bowled over, the man stumbling to his feet only to fall headfirst into a barrel. Lying on the ground, he kicked his feet in desperation. Gerold had mercifully escaped the chaos, filtering out the chatter as he went to his briefcase, a pair of legs folding out into a miniature stand. Opening it, took off a pair of black mittens before drawing out an inkpen and paper, going into a scrawl. When a smoke bomb erupted nearby, aside from a pinching of his eyelids and the tightening of his mouth, he was unperturbed, his hand unerringly punching out his words. As the smoke started to clear, he gave the completed letter one last look, before folding and sealing it. Dropping his letter of resignation by the still struggling Jape, along with his crew mandated mittens, he let out a low sigh before turning to The Leaking Seagull, the origin of at least some of this chaos.
“Sir.”
“Left! Left! Are you kidding me!?”
“Sir, please, our unit has been languishing.”
“You’re languishing!”
On one of Helmouth Station’s many roads, where a competitive fight club had been in action, Gerold Minchi couldn’t disagree with his captain’s claim. Falling in league with Captain Jape Jones of the Bad Mitten Pirates, he’d been hoping for the swift passage to the Undersea that had been promised, but the crew had continued to meander about, waiting for approval that would never come. Gerold had indeed been languishing: a navigator without a course to move on.
“Don’t get on my case about it, you’re the one with the UTC connects, you get us in!”
Gerold nervously adjusted his tie awkwardly with his mitten clad hands. “Sir, I already explained that I have no intent to-”
“Then the fuck good are you to me!” Jape fiddled with his mittens, pulling on of them off to flip Gerold the bird, before gong back to his gamble.
Gerold’s mouth shut, the middle aged man having no more words, only a dark pit swirling in his torso. This isn’t worth my time.
Perhaps the causality of the world was also in agreement. From a nearby tavern, there was a shattering of glass, a body hurtling into the crowd. Jape was bowled over, the man stumbling to his feet only to fall headfirst into a barrel. Lying on the ground, he kicked his feet in desperation. Gerold had mercifully escaped the chaos, filtering out the chatter as he went to his briefcase, a pair of legs folding out into a miniature stand. Opening it, took off a pair of black mittens before drawing out an inkpen and paper, going into a scrawl. When a smoke bomb erupted nearby, aside from a pinching of his eyelids and the tightening of his mouth, he was unperturbed, his hand unerringly punching out his words. As the smoke started to clear, he gave the completed letter one last look, before folding and sealing it. Dropping his letter of resignation by the still struggling Jape, along with his crew mandated mittens, he let out a low sigh before turning to The Leaking Seagull, the origin of at least some of this chaos.
Nuclear Magician
Junior Member
Dr Bongo Yeats
Location: The Leaking Seagull
Mentions:
AtlannianSpy
Splintering glass seized Yeats attention, his body leaping a garden wall before his mind fully registered the sound. Two streets over. Bar fight or break-in? He was halfway across the yard before the first could fill the air, skidding on the wet grass and muck that covered the ground. Hopping over another wall, Yeats grabbed a lamp post and spun, launching himself down a narrow alley. He could hear people shouting up ahead, shock colouring their voices. Onlookers at the scene. Non-hostile? Might keep tensions low. Shattering wood drowned out their cries and the inevitable sounds of pain as his patient hit the street.
Yeats slid to a stop as he heard the crash. Taking a moment, he straightened his lab coat, listening to the groans of pain as he double-checked his bag. He stepped into the chaos to project the correct air of "Concerned Medical Professional".
The crowd outside the Leaking Seagull were tough-looking lads, dock workers and fishers. Yeats started to shoulder his way forward, receiving a few vicious elbows in return before the colour of his coat began to register. They were slow to part, but eventually, he made his way to the front. The patient was a heavyset man, with gut and muscle in equal measure.
Reaching the centre at last, Yeats threw himself to his knees, grasping the injured man's head. Carefully avoiding the shards of glass, he thumbed the patient's eyelid open and snapped his fingers. Patient does not respond to visual stimuli. Yeats studied the man briefly before nodding to himself and reaching into the bag.
Facial abrasions and a potentially broken nose - hit the pavement and slid. Lacerations with glass and wood splinters in the wounds. Observation - The patient was thrown through the window, hit the table and slid.
Diagnosis - Probable concussion from impact, moderate blood loss from splinters. Moderate risk of infection.
Suitability - Excellent. Beginning Procedure 7-Y
Setting to work, Yeats began to slide the splinters from the man's face, delicately stitching the wounds with gut and applying a thin layer of antiseptic. Moving to the arms, he repeated the process, using the motions to discretely rifle through the man's pockets. He slid a cheap wallet from an inside pocket, slipping it into an offcut of bandage that he *discarded* in his bag.
As he finished the last stitch, a handful of figures stumbling out, the door opened. Snapping his fingers, Yeats stood, pointing at the lead figure, a rumpled-looking figure with a beard to match the patient. "This man has a concussion. Sit with him; he should wake up in the next few minutes. DO NOT let him fall asleep again. If anything happens, come find me. I'll be inside tending to anyone else who got hurt in this debacle." He gave just the right air of "Unimpressed First Responder" before brushing past the newcomer and passing into the pub.
Stepping inside, Yeats could see a small group at the centre of the room, the object of everyone's attention. Our victors, it would seem. Yeats sat nearby, giving their apparent leader, a white-cloaked young woman, a polite nod. Beckoning for a waiter, he pulled out a journal and set his watch on the table. Setting the timer, Yeats began to take notes in a smooth-flowing script, his finger tracing directly across the thick paper.
Psychoactive Stimulant Trial 7-Y. An active agent was administered to glass-induced lacerations. The subject is unconscious due to impact, with a potential concussion. The anticipated delay should not exceed the five-minute mark. Emotional trigger - stolen wallet. Beginning observation."
Yeats turned to look out the broken window, watching the man's companions try to slap him awake and begin taking notes.
ZackStop
Senior Member
It had been days at sea for the single traveler aboard a rather small ship fit for only a couple of passengers, spacious enough for a single mattress to fit snuggly within it's cabin. A cheap boat for leisure travel, but not fit for the treacherous mission into the undersea. A quest to find one man and make him pay for what he's done.The young girl with vibrant red locks had docked here at the ugly maw of the Undersea, Helmouth station, which she found particularly on the nose once coming across it's sign. Essentially calling this place the 'mouth to hell,' not to say it wasn't fitting. As she stepped off onto the dock with two very large bags, each nearly the size of her over her shoulder, the first step of her plan was to find a ship willing to stow her away and bring her along for a ride to the mythical place, a tall order as it soon became apparent. She had heard from the last island over when in search for leads that it was possible way across, but after spending all morning looking for a crew who would take her, doing everything she could to convince them with her skills, she found no luck in her ordeal.
Her boots creaked against the dock she walked down in a bit of a huff. She was so close yet the day has been fruitless so far, and running back and forth to different crews and UTC ships left her exhausted. All she could do now is find a place to sit and hope the next shipment came soon where she'd try her luck once more. That place of rest came in the form of the Leaking Seagull, a bar of course, and to be expecting in a place crawling with low life pirates came one crashing through a window as she was walking over. It didn't at all deter her despite her smaller stature. How bad could it really be in there so long as she stayed out of it?
Instead of walking around him, she decided to step on top of the man as if he was just another part of the dock, and considering the weight of her luggage, it was quite a painful moment amongst his other current aches. She swung the door open, wasting no time finding a seat near the opposite window that had currently formed a crowd. With a heavy crashing sound, one of the black bags holding an assortment of metal object hit the floor, while the other one was placed leaning up against the wall behind the girl's chair. She sat down and removed the big sunglasses she had been wearing.
She had her chin resting in her hand as she watched all the commotion going on. She grumbled to herself thinking about her failures, wondering who wouldn't want a mechanic as good as her on their ship. They really just didn't know what they were missing, not like that helped her case any. But then something caught her ear, talks of a crew? It was feint amongst the chatter of the bar, but upon finding the source her expression went sour. She had to remember that every single person in this bar was a pirate, something she wasn't at all fond of. Regardless, she kept her ears open on the conversation between the two other women. She had low expectations, but just maybe this would be her ticket into the Undersea.
AtlannianSpy
606
AtlannianSpy
Alarmed and Strangerous
Bridgitte Skaeling
As Koki introduced herself Bridgitte's expression split into a savage grin, more curiously the bear headed hood of her cloak shifted and grunted like a living thing as it stretched to better regard the martial artist with its onyx black eyes. Talk of beasts had aroused the bear cloak's curiosity it seemed.
"Welcome aboard, Beastbound Koki!" Bridgitte said, grasping the other woman by the forearm and tugging her forwards to stand besides Bridgitte herself. "The rest of you sea dogs need some more persuading I suppose which is reasonable enough. -Hold this-" That last fragment was directed aside at Koki as Bridgitte rummaged around under her cloak for a roll of paper that she pressed into the hands of her first crew member such that the paper unfurled itself, revealing its contents to the onlookers in the Leaking Seagull.
The roll of paper was a set of blue prints for a strange looking ship. It was almost fish-like, with its sails angled back sharply and a set of extended, paddle-like rudders extending down below its hull. There was very little open deck space, with most of the ship's top side covered by a smooth, egg like roof that was almost vertically symmetrical with its hull.
"This beauty is the Persephone," Bridgitte announced fondly, studying the paper with the air of a proud, new parent. "She is a one of a kind prototype designed especially for the exploration of the Undersea, her unique design allows her to easily transition between above water and under water travel and her extended rudders allow her to ride and navigate the powerful currents of the Undersea much more efficiently. Persephone was designed by a joint initiative between the UTC and the Navy, with the UTC providing most of the funding while the Navy provided the shipbuilding facilities and expertise. Therein lies the rub of course, the UTC expect the persephone to be assigned to their Surveying and Prospecting division to scout out valuable resources while the Navy would prefer she be assigned to their Orthrus fleet to take up pirate suppression. As a result of this shameful bickering the Persephone has languished at port for some months now, moored inside Helmouth station within the artificial harbour the marines have excavated for high value ships they don't trust to the docks out here. This state of affairs is slated to change however; the UTC has ordered one of their executives to ride the cargo elevator up from the Undersea and take possession of Persephone,"
Bridgitte bared her teeth in a savage expression somewhere between a smile and a snarl. "He will not make it. Few people know of this but there is a second entrance into the undersea tunnel, which bypasses the Spire and Helmouth station entirely, we will use it to drop down onto the cargo elevator take the executive and his crew by surprise. Once we subdue them, we'll take their uniforms and their place and have the marines hand over the Persephone practically with a bow around it," Bridgitte swept her gaze across the room appraisingly. "Now who else is interested?"
Craftsdwarf
Phayne
Nuclear Magician
606
ZackStop
SomeRandomCanuck
KAmber
crypticcalypte
As Koki introduced herself Bridgitte's expression split into a savage grin, more curiously the bear headed hood of her cloak shifted and grunted like a living thing as it stretched to better regard the martial artist with its onyx black eyes. Talk of beasts had aroused the bear cloak's curiosity it seemed.
"Welcome aboard, Beastbound Koki!" Bridgitte said, grasping the other woman by the forearm and tugging her forwards to stand besides Bridgitte herself. "The rest of you sea dogs need some more persuading I suppose which is reasonable enough. -Hold this-" That last fragment was directed aside at Koki as Bridgitte rummaged around under her cloak for a roll of paper that she pressed into the hands of her first crew member such that the paper unfurled itself, revealing its contents to the onlookers in the Leaking Seagull.
The roll of paper was a set of blue prints for a strange looking ship. It was almost fish-like, with its sails angled back sharply and a set of extended, paddle-like rudders extending down below its hull. There was very little open deck space, with most of the ship's top side covered by a smooth, egg like roof that was almost vertically symmetrical with its hull.
"This beauty is the Persephone," Bridgitte announced fondly, studying the paper with the air of a proud, new parent. "She is a one of a kind prototype designed especially for the exploration of the Undersea, her unique design allows her to easily transition between above water and under water travel and her extended rudders allow her to ride and navigate the powerful currents of the Undersea much more efficiently. Persephone was designed by a joint initiative between the UTC and the Navy, with the UTC providing most of the funding while the Navy provided the shipbuilding facilities and expertise. Therein lies the rub of course, the UTC expect the persephone to be assigned to their Surveying and Prospecting division to scout out valuable resources while the Navy would prefer she be assigned to their Orthrus fleet to take up pirate suppression. As a result of this shameful bickering the Persephone has languished at port for some months now, moored inside Helmouth station within the artificial harbour the marines have excavated for high value ships they don't trust to the docks out here. This state of affairs is slated to change however; the UTC has ordered one of their executives to ride the cargo elevator up from the Undersea and take possession of Persephone,"
Bridgitte bared her teeth in a savage expression somewhere between a smile and a snarl. "He will not make it. Few people know of this but there is a second entrance into the undersea tunnel, which bypasses the Spire and Helmouth station entirely, we will use it to drop down onto the cargo elevator take the executive and his crew by surprise. Once we subdue them, we'll take their uniforms and their place and have the marines hand over the Persephone practically with a bow around it," Bridgitte swept her gaze across the room appraisingly. "Now who else is interested?"
Craftsdwarf
Phayne
Nuclear Magician
606
ZackStop
SomeRandomCanuck
KAmber
crypticcalypte
Nuclear Magician
Junior Member
Dr Bongo Yeats
Location: The Leaking Seagull
Mentions:
Eyes locked on the window, Yeats' finger slid across the page, oil soaking into the treated paper. Seconds ticked away, slowly turning to minutes as the patient began to stir. His motions were slight at first, the barest twitch as strength returned to his limbs. His friends crowded around, their drunken, uncoordinated motions obscuring Yeats' view as they tried to haul their companion to his feet. It was a painful process, their lack of finesse coupled with the patient's disorientation slowing them greatly. Several minutes passed as they hauled, shoved and berated one another, slowly raising the patient to a seating position, then to a crouch, then to his shaky feet, clutching two men for support. He was almost upright as the stimulants began to take effect. It started with the eyes, a slight tightness that spread across his face. The patient let out a low groan, lurching to the side and bearing his teeth to one of his companions. He began to speak, his voice a soft slur beyond Yeats' ability to hear. He began to trash, throwing his aids off. And promptly collapsed. Yeats pursed his lips before finishing his notations.
Observation - Patient response to stimulant and psychoactive components as expected. However, the combination of concussion and disorientation resulted in an uncoordinated response to emotional components and impaired motor function.
Course of Action - Increase stimulant dosage to reduce disorientation. Modify composition to remove mental blocks and induce hysterical strength. Progressing to trial 7-Z.
Commotion from within the bar drew his attention, the white-cloaked figure loudly proclaiming at a set of schematics. Yeats managed to avoid rolling his eyes and was about to turn back before catching the faintest hint of motion. Shifting his gaze upward, he saw the cloak stir, seeming to breathe and move like a living creature. Composing his face, he turned a page in his notebook and began another set of notes.
Anomaly 3-C - Devil Fruit Mechanics
Subject - White Cloak, bear skin
Observation - The subject appears to be animate, displaying at least minimal locomotive abilities, respiration and response to stimuli. The subject's condition suggests Devil Fruit interference. Initial observation suggests Paramecia-type fruit, capable of converting living creatures to clothing. Further observation is required to verify.
Yeats locked eyes on the apparent pirate, watching the cloak but considering her words. The plan was intriguing; any opportunity to access the Undersea was worthy of consideration. Particularly when it came with a ship and a chance to pump a UTC executive for information. Still, no point joining up if it's just a suicide mission. Yeats began to examine the rest of the bar's patrons, trying to size them up for likely contenders.
Craftsdwarf
Fairly There
“It won’t work.”
Stepping through the crowd, one hand holding a briefcase, the other adjusting his tie, Gerold Minchi drew even more eyes when he placed his briefcase down.
“The UTC is no military organization, certainly, but there is a protocol to things. Even if you’re able to find someone who can pilot the ship, the Undersea is relatively new ground. Even with charts, 13% of sailors run into trouble on their first voyage purely from operational errors. Compounded with the Persephone’s unique traits as a vessel, and the dangers of the Undersea itself, the chance of failure goes higher and higher.” Spinning a dial, he cracked the briefcase open, withdrawing a black thermos. Pouring a cup of still warm coffee into the lid, he took a seat and a sip at the same time. “I would expect we want the numbers to go lower. We are diving into the Undersea, after all.”
Crossing his legs, he remarked, “I am a former member of the UTC, though my work was primarily in speculation, consultation, and sales. I also have extensively studied navigation. I’m not of much use in a fight, but I can chart the path out of the port and into the Undersea if we can get aboard that ship.” Gerold whipped out a leaflet of paper. “My résumé.” Looking down, he quickly scrawled an addition, marking his time in the Bad Mitten Pirates as ‘former occupation’ before handing it off to Bridgitte.
Stepping through the crowd, one hand holding a briefcase, the other adjusting his tie, Gerold Minchi drew even more eyes when he placed his briefcase down.
“The UTC is no military organization, certainly, but there is a protocol to things. Even if you’re able to find someone who can pilot the ship, the Undersea is relatively new ground. Even with charts, 13% of sailors run into trouble on their first voyage purely from operational errors. Compounded with the Persephone’s unique traits as a vessel, and the dangers of the Undersea itself, the chance of failure goes higher and higher.” Spinning a dial, he cracked the briefcase open, withdrawing a black thermos. Pouring a cup of still warm coffee into the lid, he took a seat and a sip at the same time. “I would expect we want the numbers to go lower. We are diving into the Undersea, after all.”
Crossing his legs, he remarked, “I am a former member of the UTC, though my work was primarily in speculation, consultation, and sales. I also have extensively studied navigation. I’m not of much use in a fight, but I can chart the path out of the port and into the Undersea if we can get aboard that ship.” Gerold whipped out a leaflet of paper. “My résumé.” Looking down, he quickly scrawled an addition, marking his time in the Bad Mitten Pirates as ‘former occupation’ before handing it off to Bridgitte.
KAmber
Reverse Grip Apologist
People were so difficult sometimes, weren't they?
They broke things, hurt each other, rushed to their deaths and came out smiling.
Granted, Mitsachi reserved, she was difficult to herself, too. On occasion. This time just so happened to be one of them.
Her ears were difficult. They fought when they listened. One of a kind, unique, untrusted -- ohh, someone would need to take care of her, wouldn't they. Thirteen percent…
Thirteen percent made sense. It mattered. Significant. Mishi's first ship didn’t go down, either, and neither did the second, and the only one that did…
Her eyes betrayed her next — the blueprint was there, and then so was her gaze. She looked, and she couldn’t stop looking — every detail of the ship she imagined, rusted or cracked or broken. Holes in it the size of a finger. She saw how it moved, breathed, sailed. And Mitsachi just couldn’t look away.
Then she noticed the hands. Those were attached to a person, and if Mishi stopped watching now then maybe she was only responsible for that. You could live without hands. Like eating with a fork that had two tines bent backwards.
Her head was too high. She could almost look into Bridgitte Skaeling’s eyes, and she decided that was too close.
It would be selfish to rob a captain of their sight, not when you didn’t need to see.
Mitsachi makes a grab at her visor and wrests it back down.
“Fought over like a prize… too early for that, you haven’t even felt the open water yet.” She crouches downwards, getting eye level to the blueprints. “Gliding, cutting through the surf… Trust me, it’s wonderful.”
Failure, failure, failure. That’s what everybody needed to avoid.
A crew would need hands. Someone to patch the cracks, to plug the holes, to bend the instruments back into position. Someone to fix everything.
Failure, failure, failure.
It would be selfish to rob a captain of her help.
"Poor plan, too,” she remarked. “That needs help. We’ll never get to you like that. Dropping down… no, you need to climb down. That’s harnesses, rope, pitons, and a good sense of where the elevator even is. And besides the executive, you’re still held under lock and key and a dozen competent people that can sniff out pirates on sight.”
She talks, gestures — and it’s increasingly clear that the woman is speaking to the paper more than anything else. Staring. Focusing. Doesn't need to get more involved than she already could be.
They broke things, hurt each other, rushed to their deaths and came out smiling.
Granted, Mitsachi reserved, she was difficult to herself, too. On occasion. This time just so happened to be one of them.
Her ears were difficult. They fought when they listened. One of a kind, unique, untrusted -- ohh, someone would need to take care of her, wouldn't they. Thirteen percent…
Thirteen percent made sense. It mattered. Significant. Mishi's first ship didn’t go down, either, and neither did the second, and the only one that did…
Her eyes betrayed her next — the blueprint was there, and then so was her gaze. She looked, and she couldn’t stop looking — every detail of the ship she imagined, rusted or cracked or broken. Holes in it the size of a finger. She saw how it moved, breathed, sailed. And Mitsachi just couldn’t look away.
Then she noticed the hands. Those were attached to a person, and if Mishi stopped watching now then maybe she was only responsible for that. You could live without hands. Like eating with a fork that had two tines bent backwards.
Her head was too high. She could almost look into Bridgitte Skaeling’s eyes, and she decided that was too close.
It would be selfish to rob a captain of their sight, not when you didn’t need to see.
Mitsachi makes a grab at her visor and wrests it back down.
“Fought over like a prize… too early for that, you haven’t even felt the open water yet.” She crouches downwards, getting eye level to the blueprints. “Gliding, cutting through the surf… Trust me, it’s wonderful.”
Failure, failure, failure. That’s what everybody needed to avoid.
A crew would need hands. Someone to patch the cracks, to plug the holes, to bend the instruments back into position. Someone to fix everything.
Failure, failure, failure.
It would be selfish to rob a captain of her help.
"Poor plan, too,” she remarked. “That needs help. We’ll never get to you like that. Dropping down… no, you need to climb down. That’s harnesses, rope, pitons, and a good sense of where the elevator even is. And besides the executive, you’re still held under lock and key and a dozen competent people that can sniff out pirates on sight.”
She talks, gestures — and it’s increasingly clear that the woman is speaking to the paper more than anything else. Staring. Focusing. Doesn't need to get more involved than she already could be.
Phayne
[▬▬(ஜ۩۞۩ஜ)▬▬]
The Bombardier
Ezio Shahrokh
White Coat Pirates (Soon)
Outside the Leaking Seagull
Without so much as sparing a glance back, Ezio would quickly gather distance between himself and the ensuing chaos taking place at the gambling table; the two participants ready to come to blows as each accused the other of foul play; without so much as a smidge of suspicion towards a third party being involved. Ezio almost had to laugh at the whole fiasco; the ease in which he had managed to get away with his prize being akin to stealing candy from a baby.
A wry smile would cross Ezio's face as he lightly tossed the pouch in hand, measuring the weight of his latest bounty and taking solace in knowing that it would cover more than one warm meal; a luxury that had been quite sparse in recent days. The only problem was that he was now presented with a new problem, his stomach grumbling at the mere prospect of being spoilt for choice. Sea Beast meat was a definite forerunner in what he craved, yet the potential for a nice stew was also quite tantalizing; drool beginning to form against his lower lip as he savoured the phantasmal imagery of the various food that danced across his mind; each more delectable than the first.
"Oi! Did ya hear?!" cried a voice from across the beaten cobblestone pathway. "There be some big shot pirate at the Leaking Seagull!" the voice slowly grew in volume, getting closer to where Ezio stood; back leant against the closest wall of the nearest building. "I hear she be lookin fer a crew! This be our ticket outta e're" it continued, turning the corner. Two unsavoury looking men had passed Ezio, a smile prevalent across their face as they headed towards the direction of the Leaking Seagull, Ezio's interest piqued as he slowly followed behind them.
Mentions: Bridgitte
AtlannianSpy
Interacts: None
A wry smile would cross Ezio's face as he lightly tossed the pouch in hand, measuring the weight of his latest bounty and taking solace in knowing that it would cover more than one warm meal; a luxury that had been quite sparse in recent days. The only problem was that he was now presented with a new problem, his stomach grumbling at the mere prospect of being spoilt for choice. Sea Beast meat was a definite forerunner in what he craved, yet the potential for a nice stew was also quite tantalizing; drool beginning to form against his lower lip as he savoured the phantasmal imagery of the various food that danced across his mind; each more delectable than the first.
"Oi! Did ya hear?!" cried a voice from across the beaten cobblestone pathway. "There be some big shot pirate at the Leaking Seagull!" the voice slowly grew in volume, getting closer to where Ezio stood; back leant against the closest wall of the nearest building. "I hear she be lookin fer a crew! This be our ticket outta e're" it continued, turning the corner. Two unsavoury looking men had passed Ezio, a smile prevalent across their face as they headed towards the direction of the Leaking Seagull, Ezio's interest piqued as he slowly followed behind them.
Mentions: Bridgitte
AtlannianSpy
Interacts: None
Code by Serobliss
ZackStop
Senior Member
Gala's expectations only lowered as this Bridgitte character lost about 90% of these morons with this long winded emphasis on some big boat and all the fine details, way too much to keep up with. It was an impressive build, but she was confident she could come up with something better. She was familiar with the tech, having seen some blueprints similar to the one the wannabe captain was holding proudly. Where she even found such a thing was beyond her, but for all Gala knew this scheme was no more than a way to get swindled. She couldn't trust a pirate after what happened the last time she did, it was the whole reason she was here to begin with, for some payback, but a bar full of low life pirates was the last place she would want to be. She was here for a reason though, any slimmer of a chance to get past that gate, so despite the unsavory setting the young woman listened to the hairbrained idea."Guh, where did she find out about all this huh? Some genie?" Gala thought to herself. She leaned back into the chair she procured moments before and crossed her arms with skepticism, but Bridgitte's words sure seemed to rile up whatever crowd was still listening after that whole spiel. All this lone mechanic could do was laugh.
A small giggle escaped her lips. All she could think about was how the whole plan of theirs could go wrong, after all every pirate here couldn't make it big. Chances are they'd screw this up anyhow. Then again if they did screw up, Gala could take advantage of that chaos to sneak aboard, maybe even procure it all for herself. She certainly wasn't gonna join in on a beat down especially not with the military. Leave that all to the meatheads if that's how they want to go out.
Gala stayed in her seat, leaning back as a few others chimed in on the conversation, expressing their own concerns about the plan Bridgitte had proposed. There was plenty of room for improvements as the other patrons soon proved. Reaching back for her bag, She began to question if she should just leave now and try another way, or stick around despite the flaws. She didn't have much faith in this as it was, however, it was the best option she had that revealed itself to her.
606
Lazyartist
AtlannianSpy
Alarmed and Strangerous
Bridgitte Skaeling
"It will work," Bridgitte said, receiving the complaints to her plan with an almost serene certainty that clashed somewhat with her warlike appearance. "I...no, We will make it work. If it was easy then some band of fools would have done it already. Because it will be difficult the way is clear for those with the skills and mettle to stride forwards into glory," Bridgitte waved vaguely with the resume she had been handed. "We have a former UTC employee who can advise us on the correct protocols such that our ruse is convincing enough in the short term- This one-" Bridgitte used the resume as a sort of mitt to pat Mitsachi on the head, seemingly unbothered at being addressed "-Will procure ropes and such to aid in our decent and, really the elevator is impossible to miss. It is the primary means by which goods are moved up to the surface for sale and research and because those of pale valour find standing around in the dark to be upsetting for some reason it is usually brightly lit. For all the other unforeseen variables and complications-"
There was a swift *CRUNCH as Bridgitte withdrew an imposing looking battle axe from underneath her bulky cloak and slammed it down to lodge into the floorboards.
"We rely on swiftness and overwhelming force to seize our objective before our enemies realise what is happening. The bulk of the base's marines will be stationed at the outer defences to ward off a frontal assault and it will take some time for them to redeploy their full strength. We can be aboard the Persephone and on our way by-"
*CRAAACK!
The door to the tavern was flung open for the second time, revealing a crowd of burly, bearded men. The largest and most imposing of the men lead the pack, dressed in a large barrel around his midsection held up with thick, leather suspenders, smaller barrels, perhaps the size of a head, had been slipped into loops on the straps making them function as bandoliers.
"BOSS!" Cried one of the men who had been assigned to watching over Bridgitte's earlier victim. "Lookit what they did to Gregges!"
"Yeah!" Cried the other, lifting up the still unconscious patient and shaking him like a rag doll for emphasis. "They're disrespecting the Black Barrel Pirates!"
The hulking man who appeared to be the leader of the group snarled viciously.
"YOU RABBLE DARE WALTZ INTO MY TERRITORY AND ASSAULT A MEMBER OF MY CREW!? EVEN KNOWING THE DREAD REPUTATION OF I, BROAD BARREL BARNES, CAPTAIN OF THE BLACK BARREL PIRATES!? FOOLS! ATTACK MEN! LET NONE SURVIVE!"
With a ragged cry the bearded, burly men swarmed into the Leaking Seagull, clubbing patrons and anyone who stood in their path with small barrels that had been crammed over their fists like boxing gloves. In their off hands the black barrel pirates wielded the usual assortment of pistols, cutlasses and other typical armaments favored by pirates. With no regard for who was ultimately to blame, the black barrel pirates charged in like an ocean tide of sweaty, booze stained flesh, weaponry and barrels!
606
ZackStop
Phayne
KAmber
Craftsdwarf
Nuclear Magician
"It will work," Bridgitte said, receiving the complaints to her plan with an almost serene certainty that clashed somewhat with her warlike appearance. "I...no, We will make it work. If it was easy then some band of fools would have done it already. Because it will be difficult the way is clear for those with the skills and mettle to stride forwards into glory," Bridgitte waved vaguely with the resume she had been handed. "We have a former UTC employee who can advise us on the correct protocols such that our ruse is convincing enough in the short term- This one-" Bridgitte used the resume as a sort of mitt to pat Mitsachi on the head, seemingly unbothered at being addressed "-Will procure ropes and such to aid in our decent and, really the elevator is impossible to miss. It is the primary means by which goods are moved up to the surface for sale and research and because those of pale valour find standing around in the dark to be upsetting for some reason it is usually brightly lit. For all the other unforeseen variables and complications-"
There was a swift *CRUNCH as Bridgitte withdrew an imposing looking battle axe from underneath her bulky cloak and slammed it down to lodge into the floorboards.
"We rely on swiftness and overwhelming force to seize our objective before our enemies realise what is happening. The bulk of the base's marines will be stationed at the outer defences to ward off a frontal assault and it will take some time for them to redeploy their full strength. We can be aboard the Persephone and on our way by-"
*CRAAACK!
The door to the tavern was flung open for the second time, revealing a crowd of burly, bearded men. The largest and most imposing of the men lead the pack, dressed in a large barrel around his midsection held up with thick, leather suspenders, smaller barrels, perhaps the size of a head, had been slipped into loops on the straps making them function as bandoliers.
"BOSS!" Cried one of the men who had been assigned to watching over Bridgitte's earlier victim. "Lookit what they did to Gregges!"
"Yeah!" Cried the other, lifting up the still unconscious patient and shaking him like a rag doll for emphasis. "They're disrespecting the Black Barrel Pirates!"
The hulking man who appeared to be the leader of the group snarled viciously.
"YOU RABBLE DARE WALTZ INTO MY TERRITORY AND ASSAULT A MEMBER OF MY CREW!? EVEN KNOWING THE DREAD REPUTATION OF I, BROAD BARREL BARNES, CAPTAIN OF THE BLACK BARREL PIRATES!? FOOLS! ATTACK MEN! LET NONE SURVIVE!"
With a ragged cry the bearded, burly men swarmed into the Leaking Seagull, clubbing patrons and anyone who stood in their path with small barrels that had been crammed over their fists like boxing gloves. In their off hands the black barrel pirates wielded the usual assortment of pistols, cutlasses and other typical armaments favored by pirates. With no regard for who was ultimately to blame, the black barrel pirates charged in like an ocean tide of sweaty, booze stained flesh, weaponry and barrels!
606
ZackStop
Phayne
KAmber
Craftsdwarf
Nuclear Magician
Nuclear Magician
Junior Member
Bongo swore as the Pirate lunged for him. He launched himself backwards with a kick, filling the air with paper and ink. The Pirate snarled, swinging widely. Barrel-clad fists grazed Bongo, sending a sharp line of pain along his jaw. Reeling back in his chair, he lashed out, bootheel striking the Black Barrel in the gut. Shattering wood filled the air as they both hit the floor in a hail of splinters. Groaning, Bongo groped in the tinder, hand searching for his medical bag. Grasping the heavy leather, he hauled it toward him, fumbling at the catch.
The Pirate let out a bellow, hurling a length of shattered timber. It struck the case, tearing it from Bongo's grip and sending it tumbling into the melee. Bongo bit back the pain as He tried to extract himself from the mangled chair. The Black Barrel followed him, shards of wood flying through the air between them. Scrabbling backwards, he watched his "medical equipment" scatter, phials of volatile liquid shattering against the floor in little puffs of blue, green, and red.
Eyes widening, he snatched a handkerchief from his pocket; its limited protection was better than nothing. The Black Barrel lurched forward, diving toward Bongo, teeth bare. The gauntlet slammed into Bongo's stomach, doubling him over. The Pirate grinned, striking again and again. Bongo screamed with each lance of pain, scrabbling franticly for something, anything that resembled a weapon. He spun, grasping a shard of wood, only for the black barrel to slam into his elbow. The join screamed, splitter flying away. The Pirate hauled him upward, the stench of booze burning Bongo's eyes, before hurling him to another table.
KAmber
Reverse Grip Apologist
Aid. Aid, a quick little pat on the head. She nods heavily, keeping her eyes low on the boards in the floor and her head high. The ponytail on the back of her head bounces, shiny black hair drenched with oil or water or both. The sentiment was there -- it mattered, she felt it, but she was still a bit reserved. Regardless, Mishi didn't shy away. She wasn't sure how it mattered, how she felt, but... there was a plan. She was a part of it. Without even asking, Mitsachi was already part of a plan. She had a job.
She had a smile.
Crunch. It sounded like bone, like gravel piling over a shallow grave, like a snail being suffocated inside of its own shell. She looked, and the wood was broken. It couldn't be saved. It would rot, and it would be replaced, and another soldier of a board would come to fill its place to be stepped on and break in its place. She could take the splinters, she could do so much, she could do so little, she could-
Doors swing open. Mishi didn't have time. Behind the cover of a white cloak, Mitsachi reached for rope unseen. Gently, she threaded a lead fishing weight to the middle of the line -- gauged distances without looking, caring only for her targets' feet. Two, four, six -- there was enough for everyone. All Mishi needed to handle was one person at a time. She slackened the line, let one end fall to trap under her boot with two fistfuls of fiber already in her hands.
A pirate with a bandana came to slash down at Bridgitte Skaeling. She hadn't seen the Captain's face yet -- no, that was too risky -- but Mishi couldn't bear to see it split open. With one snap of the girl's hand, her line launched over the polar-bear cloak entirely, bringing a half-loop over the pirate's head, and the fishing weight to thud against his back, weakening the footing. With the second hand, Mishi pulled it hard to the side, letting the still-falling rope fall to the other side of Bridgitte's body before yanking it taut, causing the Black Barrel to slam directly into the ground, shattering his nose and causing the cutlass to clatter to the floor just inches before it could touch fur.
Mishi wasted no time. The cost of this was blood on the floor. The result of not acting would be worse. No, she needed to do this. She knelt just by the battleaxe, tying a mooring hitch around its haft with both ends of the rope. "Your reins, sir," she started, in a bright and cheery voice -- addressing the weapon, not the Captain. "He's a young buck, tossed all that tried to ride him -- but I'm sure you can break him in!"
She had a smile.
Crunch. It sounded like bone, like gravel piling over a shallow grave, like a snail being suffocated inside of its own shell. She looked, and the wood was broken. It couldn't be saved. It would rot, and it would be replaced, and another soldier of a board would come to fill its place to be stepped on and break in its place. She could take the splinters, she could do so much, she could do so little, she could-
Doors swing open. Mishi didn't have time. Behind the cover of a white cloak, Mitsachi reached for rope unseen. Gently, she threaded a lead fishing weight to the middle of the line -- gauged distances without looking, caring only for her targets' feet. Two, four, six -- there was enough for everyone. All Mishi needed to handle was one person at a time. She slackened the line, let one end fall to trap under her boot with two fistfuls of fiber already in her hands.
A pirate with a bandana came to slash down at Bridgitte Skaeling. She hadn't seen the Captain's face yet -- no, that was too risky -- but Mishi couldn't bear to see it split open. With one snap of the girl's hand, her line launched over the polar-bear cloak entirely, bringing a half-loop over the pirate's head, and the fishing weight to thud against his back, weakening the footing. With the second hand, Mishi pulled it hard to the side, letting the still-falling rope fall to the other side of Bridgitte's body before yanking it taut, causing the Black Barrel to slam directly into the ground, shattering his nose and causing the cutlass to clatter to the floor just inches before it could touch fur.
Mishi wasted no time. The cost of this was blood on the floor. The result of not acting would be worse. No, she needed to do this. She knelt just by the battleaxe, tying a mooring hitch around its haft with both ends of the rope. "Your reins, sir," she started, in a bright and cheery voice -- addressing the weapon, not the Captain. "He's a young buck, tossed all that tried to ride him -- but I'm sure you can break him in!"
