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| && in the winter night sky, ships are sailing ♒; Active | Closed | Mature | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 26 2012, 08:17 PM (233 Views) | |
| Vidia | Oct 26 2012, 08:17 PM Post #1 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <br><br>"So, did you ever find it again?" I ask, my voice steeped with feigned excitement as my fingers coil around the thin, spiraling irons of the criss-crossing bars on the little door window. I wait for an answer, balancing on the tips of my toes, but there's only the sound of the creaking ship and the winds above deck. I'm not surprised. I've been talking with him for hours upon hours now, and the last thing he said was already very muddled and hard to understand. I didn't even know if he could fall asleep at first, but as I strain a bit closer to the bar, squinting at his closed metal lids and resting face, watching carefully for any movement…I'm decently reassured. "Hello?" I call one last time, and wait again. <br><br>…a few seconds later, and I'm slipping out the door, skirting past the old cyborg and searching for the captain's office. I'm not foolish enough to try searching his own cabin while he's sleeping, so I have to try the next place most people would keep their valuables. I walk as quietly as I can, thankful for my soft leather boots. I always told the angels I liked them because they were more comfortable. While that's not a lie, my real purpose lies behind their lack of noise. Although it fails to make much of a difference with the impeccable hearing of the angels, I've gotten myself out of more than a couple of scrapes where having a pair of silent shoes certainly helped. I walk gently through the hallway and climb up a couple of wooden steps, flip open a hatch and eventually, I'm on deck again. The study is usually somewhere under the quarter deck, and…there. <br><br>The handle doesn't budge. Locked…of course. That's a good sign. That makes there's something precious in here. I reach under the bottom of my corset where a small pocket has been sewn on the inside because…well, a lock pick is something of a suspicious item to own, so I think it couldn't hurt to be a bit careful with hiding mine. It's a slim little gadget, and I fit it into the lock and turn the dials accordingly, the metal gears shifting and clicking until there's a match good enough to turn it in the lock. I take deep breath as I slowly pull the door open, the moon glow lighting up the room. <br><br>There's a survey desk, a couple of bookshelves and cabinets…all the usual stuff…anyway, I'm not here to admire or critique decor. "All right, Ary. It's going to be a long night," I murmur to myself as I step inside, closing the door shut behind me. There were only six fragments left to find, and then…I could be with my family again. <br><br>Ten years ago, I was a nine year old girl living on the happiest island you could imagine. It was a teeny wisp of land floating on the clouds, quite literally. It was no wonder it was called Ivoryvale. No one could live in a more peaceful town--everyone knew each other, and cared for each other. I grew up in your usual sky chantey with my mother and father, Lyanna and Branson Westerling, and my older brother, Theon. My mother worked as a midwife and a herbalist, while my father was into the trading business. Theon was also trying his hand as a messenger during this time (he was twelve). We used to sit in a tree and share a couple of apples after his work, talking about what we were going to be when we were older. <br><br>We both wanted to get off the island eventually, but while Theon only wanted to expand Father's trade, I wanted to see things….because I wanted to draw a map of the world. I wanted to know every nook and cranny of this earth the same way I knew Ivoryvale, so I would constantly be reading about cartography. I drew my first chart of the island when I was almost seven, and after that, I just didn't stop. I used to feel like I was creating music on the paper whenever I had a ruler and brass sextant in hand. At first, I would combine maps from different books to make a larger, more complete one. But soon enough, Father made me realize that if I wanted to travel, I had to be able to do more than just chart, so he and Mother bought me books on navigation, and I added that to my studies. And when those books grew tedious, I started reading about the weather, knowing that forecasting a storm could be the difference between life or death when you traveled by sea, or sky, or land. I always kept myself busy, thinking of my mind as the ticket that would take me around the world. The harder I studied, the more sturdy that ticket became. <br><br>Other than that, my childhood wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. I played with other children and got into just as much trouble as they did--sometimes, even more, since there might have been a couple of instances when I "borrowed" a book without having the intention of giving it back. But I think the thing I remember most about those times were the nights when there was the full moon was bright and yellow. Theon used to make a big deal of it and try to tell me scary stories, but eventually, we decided it would be more fun to go down to visit Old Abel in the little hovel at the edge of the island. He was the oldest man anyone knew. In fact, he was so old, no one was really even sure of his age--even Maggie Wardle, a woman of eighty, swore he was already an old man when she was a girl. But that didn't really matter to me or Theon. We just wanted to listen to his tales. He was always prophesying about the return of some great evil that used to live on the island, and that we all should leave while we still could. But as the story always goes, no one believed him. Everything was so wonderful here. It would be impossible to leave it all behind, especially if it was only based on some crazy elderly man's whim. <br><br>Of course, he was right, or I else I wouldn't have mentioned him in the first place. <br><br>The waters didn't turn to black tar before hand, and the trees didn't loose all their leaves and become white as milk the way Abel said they would. But they did come, and that was all that counted. They just…appeared one day, out of the blue. Our pure blue, our crowning jewel of a sky. <br><br>From far away, it looked like any other ship. But as it flew closer and blocked out the sky, we saw that it wasn't only the largest ship we had ever scene, but the strangest. It looked as if it had been sailing before the beginning of time, the wood rotted, the flags tattered. It was an ashen, tired color, like the hairs of a soldier who had seen too much. It ignored the port and sailed right above the middle of town, dropping a rusty anchor as tall as a house by the center fountain, causing the cobblestone path to split open with such a violent impact that for a second, I was scared the whole Ivoryvale would fall to pieces from the sky. People retreated and watched from a distance, holding back their more curious and daring children. <br><br>And then they began climbing down. No one could tell what they really were…we couldn't name them. What would you name a creature with a body made out of mismatched bone like ill-fitting armor…with strings of melting flesh and rubbery sinew draped across their reed-like wings? A creature with black cavities where eyes and noses and ears should be, and a tangle of arteries underneath the translucent scraps of dangling skin? They were terrifying, without question, and yet…you couldn't help but feel drawn to them in some eerie way. You wondered if they could even be considered beautiful, if seen through different eyes. <br><br>To this day, I can still remember seeing them descending, the faint sound of clicking bone against chain as they crawled down like spiders, heads first. Once they reached the ground, they immediately began walking around…confused at first, unsure of what had had happened to their island--their island. But the sight of human houses with smoking chimneys and paved roads and fences began to settle in them like falling fire, and soon the skies filled with their howlsm, like the rattle of bones. They started grabbing whatever was closest--cart, or house, mother, or child--and ripping it to shreds with their bleached talons. Most people got away in time, but there were some who were too slow, or who lingered. <br><br>For all my books, Theon was still quicker than I was, and before I could even react to these beasts as we stood behind a booth of crockery, Theon seized my hand and started yanking me towards home, running as quick as he could. I couldn't catch up with him and I would've fallen behind if Theon hadn't picked me up when I tripped. The bullheaded boy, carrying his sister as he ran from the demons behind us. <br><br>Our mother and father had seen the ship in the sky, but they could still barely believe what we told them had come to our island. If I didn't have Theon there, I don't think they would have trusted the story (though I wouldn't have blamed them). Our family didn't know what to do. Father wanted to dig up his old weapons from the bottom of the chest in the attic, but Mother said it wouldn't do any good. From the looks of it, these monsters were already dead. The best thing to do would be to hide and wait, and if we were found…to simply listen and try to obey. Do all this, and maybe everything would turn out all right. Theon wasn't as sure, but we didn't have much of a choice. <br><br>I had always loved living in Ivoryvale, but it was at that moment when I realized its restrictions. The island always seemed so boundless with the sky wrapped around it…but leaving wasn't easy. You couldn't do it without being seen, so we were trapped here. <br><br>Our hiding didn't last long. The creatures began to enter every house, breaking down doors and windows and dragging people out of closets and basements. I remember their cold claws clamping around my arm, almost covering it entirely, and my mother telling me not to struggle as we were pulled outside. <br><br>In three hours, they had rounded up all who were left to stand in the village square until they could decide what to do with us. Some people were missing, and those still alive were crying. I was too scared to sob. They kept on arranging us and rearranging us by age, height, gender…unsure of how to handle their intruders. They shoved and pushed us around, until two different creatures emerged from the crowd of monsters. <br><br>These ones were special. Unlike the more skeletal appearances of the others, these two had faces that were almost human. They were the faces of identical men at least thirty years old, with unfocused, cloudy eyes, and blue veins that twisted out and over their pale skin like skinny branches. They were the ones who could speak, and told us their names were Silas and Cresil. In voices like gravel smeared in marmalade, they told us that they were angels. They were angels, and this island was theirs. They had left it centuries ago when they embarked on a journey to find something (they wouldn't tell us many details), but now they had returned, weary for once and wanting refuge from the rest of the world. They hadn't expected their island to be inhabited by humans. We didn't belong here, and they were going to remedy that. <br><br>Everyone would have to leave, now, or the angels would dispose of them. <br><br>At that suggestion, a couple of people began to bicker. Our whole lives were here. Most of the villagers had never left Ivoryvale--they had built generations of history on the familiar hills and rivers. My father was one of these people, and he stepped forward, voicing his argument and saying that they should all try to reach an agreement. He was seldom afraid of anything, and Mother had always said that was his curse. Before anyone could pull him back, an angel gave a gutless smile and plucked him off his feet. Theon realized what was happening before I did and grabbed me, turning me away before I could see it, but I heard my father's scream…and the next thing I knew, my father was dropped to the ground with a soft thud. The angel raised his hand, and there was blood on the white spines of the creature's spindly fingers. Father was lying on the floor with giant punctures in his body, like soil prepared for new seeds to be planted. Just giant, gaping holes… <br><br>Mother gave a shout but Theon snatched her wrist, and on my lips I could taste the salt of tears I wasn't aware were beginning to course down my cheeks. Silas asked if there would be anymore questions, but now everyone was silent, wives holding back their husbands, brothers shielding their sisters. I felt as if my soul had drifted out of my body, and the only sound in the world was the faint flutter of a few leaves of paper in my father's pocket. Cresil spotted them and pulled them out, and I immediately recognized them as the maps I had drawn that morning. I had given them to my father to look over, and the idea of them being in the hands of these monsters--murderers--made me push Theon aside and run for them, screaming that they were mine. But Cresil and Silas realized it was one of the maps they needed for their voyage, and upon realizing that I was a cartographer, they changed their rule. Everyone had to leave now…except for me. I would join their crew and draw maps for them. They needed someone who knew navigation. <br><br>They picked me up and started to carry me off as I shrieked for my brother to save me. Theon charged at them, but one of the angels lifted him off his feet, took his arm and crumpled it like a piece of a paper. Theon cried out and Mother hurried over, but then I screamed that it was enough. I didn't want anyone else to die. My eyes were burning so much with tears that I thought I was going to go blind. <br><br>That's the last memory I have of my family. My father, lying on the ground in a puddle of maroon, and my mother cradling Theon with his black and broken arm. I didn't even get to say good-bye. <br><br>Ever since then, I've been the angels' slave, working day in and day out as their navigator. I'm given everything I need…fresh clothes, good food, a cabin of my own, but nothing could ever compare to the life I had before. At first, I didn't do anything but sleep when I didn't have to draw. Grief can't touch you in your dreams. I would barely even eat, letting the fruit they left me spoil, and bread mold. After weeks of living in this muggy dream, I tried a little rebellion in the beginning, drawing a map wrong on purpose, but all it took was the vaguest threat of my family being hunted, and I resumed work as usual. I was powerless, and I grew to hate the thing I loved. If it wasn't for my stupid hobby, I never would have been separated from my family in the first place. I wouldn't have to live under the same sails where the creature who killed my father walked. <br><br>But my mother's words remained with me. Listen, obey, and maybe everything would turn out all right. I kept those words as my shield, making them believe that I had been fully converted into a true shipmate, and over time, I learned of their true purpose. They were looking for a specific island that had an enchanted garden with magical properties. The story was that if you entered the garden, you could be reborn as your perfected image. The angels believed that if they found this garden, they would become like true angels, beguiling and divine, instead of heaven's rejections. They thought that if they had a proper navigator, they would be one step closer to this goal. I didn't want to help them, but I didn't have a choice, either. <br><br>And, nine years later, they finally gave me a chance at freedom. They had neglected the ship for so long that they were finally forced to anchor in the deserted Ivoryvale and rebuild, possibly work on new plans in the meanwhile. They planned to rest for two years, and during this time, I would be free. But I wasn't going to just travel and see sights on my own. The thing was, I had heard of a magical compass that once existed. An amazing inventor had created it, and the apparatus had the ability to find any location. Silas and Cresil promised me that if I could find the compass, they would set me free. The issue was, the compass had been taken apart years ago, and sold in different pieces…spread out all over the world. I would have to find them and put it back together. But this was the only chance at freedom I was ever going to have, so I wasn't going to let it slip through my fingers. The angels weren't going to let me slip through theirs easily either, however, and before I left, Cresil broke off one of his fingers and clamped it around my wrist like a bracelet. The bone was as strong as steel and impossible to remove, and it made it so that they could find me when my time was over. <br><br>Through bargaining, research, and thievery, I was able to secure six pieces in the past year and a half, the last one being found just yesterday. I had been in a tavern called the Wolf's Flask when I saw a boatswain checking time on a rather unique watch. See, the thing about the compass is that every piece was specially made for it, everything from the needle to the chapter ring. In order for it to work, it had to have all the right components…even the glass. It had to be able to handle that type of power. Luckily, the inventor had marked all the pieces with a signature, so it was easy to tell if a piece was right or not. The glass of this pirate's watch had the signature etched on the side, so I immediately knew I wouldn't be spending that night in the tavern after all. I snuck onto the ship, stowing away with the cargo. Thankfully, the crew was fairly drunk, so it wasn't too difficult. Once the boatswain was asleep, I swiped the watch from his coat pocket. <br><br>But before I could escape the docked ship, they lifted anchor and started sailing, as fate would have it, taking me along with them. I panicked for a moment, but then I heard a couple of cabin boys talking, and from the sound of it, it wouldn't be too long before they stopped on another island. Apparently, the captain of this ship, Captain Orias, had recently taken something from another crew of…cyborgs? I almost dropped the watch when I heard that one. I had encountered many things while sailing the skies, but never anything as advanced as that. For a moment, I wondered if cyborgs could defeat the angels. But no, that was impossible. Nothing could. <br><br>The boys started talking about the captain of these cyborgs then, under the name of Captain Grayson Mauratius. It was getting harder to understand them under the engine of the ship, but from what I could make out, there were rumors that the captain had some sort of rare energy source. Were they talking about the source for the compass?! It was supposed to be one of the purest forms of power, drawing its strength from the magnetic fields of various points all over the world. If I could find that, then…I'd be so much closer. That's the most important piece of all. I try not to get excited about it, but…it doesn't hurt to hope. I've waited for years for my freedom. I just want to find my brother and mother again. I've tried searching for them now and then, mixed in with the time I spend searching for pieces of the compass, but it doesn't change the fact that if I do find them…it'd be no good without the compass. I'd just have to return to the angels once the two years are over, and go back to never seeing them again. This is the only way. <br><br>The cabin boys' conversations drifted over to talk about ghosts and spirits, and I had to smile, knowing that nothing would compare to the angels. But right as I was about to return to the cargo room to hide, there was screaming up on the deck, and the sound of gunfire, bursting into the night air as sudden as a cannon. The ship was being attacked! It was as if my earlier luck with finding the glass was being paid for now with this horrible luck. I had to think fast, and in a few minutes, I found myself running towards the brig, and slamming the iron bars in front of me. I hid the watch under my bodice just before the door burst open, and a group of…cyborgs stormed in. Captain Mauratius was the one invading! <br><br>Perhaps my luck hadn't run out after all. <br><br>They brought me up to the deck to meet the captain. I had pictured him to be the most terrifying of all the cyborgs, but…he looked nothing like one. He looked just as human as I did, and I was reminded of the way Silas and Crisel look in comparison to the others. Why is it the one who look human are always the ones in charge? Something felt wrong about that. I wondered how he came to be the captain of these others, but knew it wouldn't be right to ask. It was strange, though. He was even handsome, with dark hair that framed his face and deepest eyes like the parings of a chunk of azurite. I think he might've even been the most attractive person I've ever seen, because he didn't just look ordinary, he looked like he had stories to tell. He looked like adventure. <br><br> I pretended I was completely shaken up about the whole matter, lying and saying my name was Jane. I told them that I was some tavern wench Captain Orias took a shine to a couple of days ago, and that I had been spirited onboard against my will. Thankfully, I would just be another mouth to feed and take care of to them, so I was going to be dropped off at the closest port in the morning, and that would be that. That was a fair enough deal for me, since I knew that there were pirates out there who would do much, much worse than that. I made my gratitude known, and was given the anchor and cannon storage room to sleep in, with a cyborg standing by the door to keep post. I asked him about his life, and he told me of how he was once entirely human, telling me so many stories that he eventually talked himself to sleep. <br><br>And now I'm here, prying open a drawer in the captain's study, and reaching for what looks to be a tin case of cigars…but what would also fit the very piece I'm searching for. I'll soon find out. But right as my hands close around it--the door opens. I barely manage to shove the box back into place before I look up, and there Captain Mauratius is. Too late to hide, and too suspicious to lie. <br><br>"Oh, uh, good morning, Captain," I say, smiling over the rapid anxiety rushing in my veins. It's been a while since I've been caught. I guess I've grown a little sloppy. "…are you…fancying a midnight smoke?" I raise my brows, still attempting to be innocent despite knowing he's caught me red-handed. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Oct 27 2012, 11:42 PM Post #2 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>When I took a man named Wentworth Jamison Proctor onto my ship, I knew little of him except that he was an inventor, an odd trade for someone from the more mystical area he had come from. He had bartered with practically nothing, despite his sizable trunk, but a promise, a promise that by the end of the long journey, he would create something for me that was either invaluable or so entirely valuable yet useless to me that I would be able to sell it for a hefty sum. I highly doubted it would happen, as no true inventors came from that land, but he seemed so confident and yet rambling like a pile of nerves all the while, that I was amused enough to see, just in case. I'd be a fool to deny him and some other captain got a hold of this something invaluable. If he denied me my prize for allowing him passage, well, he would find a way to pay me off, that would be for sure. <br><br>As it turned out, this invaluable contraption came in a way neither of us expected. <br><br>There tended to be magnificent storms that occurred in the borders between the lands, and though I had encountered them before, this was like one I had never even dreamed of seeing. My eyes were nearly blinded by the amount of lightening, thunder so close it was more like a vibration in your skull than a sound, rain so swift it stung the flesh, and wind so fierce it was as if the devil was the one blowing you away. Control became an impossible feat, and soon, my ship was falling straight from the sky, heading towards the earth below at incredible speed. A decent amount of my crew believed below decks would be safer, while I and some of the braver few stayed above. I would go down with my ship, as was always the proper way for a captain, and so I held myself up by my ship's wheel, bracing myself for the impact, but halfway down, a jagged bolt of blinding light hit me right in the chest. <br><br>Never before had I felt such a pain, nor such an energy, the force of it sending me back, down the stairs and sprawled out across the damp wood. I laid there, twitching this way and that, and feeling the edges grow dark around me. I was unconscious by the time we had hit, and when I woke up, it was to the sound of a faint tick. My eyes hit the blindingly blue sky above, pupils shrinking as I took in my surroundings, wondering how I got there, how I was alive. I felt strange. I was weak, of course, but there was something else. It was if there was something in my chest heavier than usual, something not natural, and slowly, I reached, searching the bare skin until I found sutures, and what the sutures circled. It felt like some sort of metal framing a piece of glass, and that's when I swiftly sat up, preceding to wince as my body seized, the dense object inside of me ticking faster. <br><br>"Watch it, Captain." Worth had spoken up, and as I looked at him, he was surrounded by an abundance of supplies and a strange machine I assume had been in the trunk he had brought with him. He was forming a mold which looked like an arm, and I soon saw he was next to my bosun Ricksaw, who was almost entirely missing one of his massive arms, all of which was bandaged properly, awaiting it's new prosthetic. However, going by the wires strewn about, this wasn't just going to be something that sat there. It would move and function like a real arm, something I could see as I glanced about and saw a few of my other crew members with new ears, eyes, legs, arms, and a lot of things in between. The average ones were assisting Worth, preparing the rest of the damaged men for when it was their turn, as well as making sure there was always the right supplies. Worth had obviously taken control of the entire situation while I had been out. "Your new heart is going to have to adjust. You can't go gallivanting off just yet." Worth told me, hardly a glance over at me as he focused on attaching the arm. <br><br>"New heart?" I murmured in question as I slowly looked down at my chest, only to see a door which looked into my heart. It wasn't truly my heart anymore however, no longer one of organic tissue and muscle, but of brass and other metals, nuts and bolts holding it together. It worked though. I could see it working, keeping me alive. "What did you do, Worth?" I asked in my disbelief, the sight of an entire artificial heart resting in your chest a bit surreal. <br><br>"I saved you. You gave me a chance, and so I gave you a second one. I promised you something invaluable, and I gave it to you. Proctors never break their promises." He looked at me and gave me a soft smile. "And you will take special care of that heart, Captain Mauratius. All I had left of my father is the main key to that heart's life." He gestures to his chest, and I recall a slender needle, much like that on a compass, acting as a charm on a chain, as if it was a necklace. It had been engraved with the name Fletcher Proctor, which I now come to realize was his father's name. In my shock, I had carefully made my way over to him, resting myself back against a tree, watching him, and he had gone on to explain to me what he done to my heart, his father's needle the most important piece of my heart. It hadn't been working properly, having not enough power to keep me alive for long, until Worth recalled the piece, which was indeed like a compass needle, being that it was a magnet. However, he told me it was the strongest of it's kind, made up of synthetic magnetic materials his father had created, and was able to pull my blood through and pump it back out continuously. <br><br>I was alive because of this man, and my crew were not going to go without. He had taken charge, made use of his health in not only body (He had stitches along his arm and across his opposite shoulder, but was only bruised everywhere else) but also his mind. His contraptions were wondrous works of machinery, and they were the best alternative to the real deal. It even made them better. I spoke to those who came to check on me, only to find that one man's new pair of eyes allowed him to see a hundred times farther, while another with a mechanical hand and forearm were far stronger. Worth explained to me that once the heart adjusted to it's home, I would be able to endure more, tiring so much less than an average human male of my age. It was a grand upgrade for someone in such an active lifestyle such as mine. <br><br>It was a long process, but eventually all of my injured crew were as good as gold, or actually, even better. During the rebuilding of my ship, several of those who hadn't been so harmed in the crash left, impatient and possibly outcast. The men, the cyborgs, the fixed humans, stayed with me and in no time at all, we were able to sail again. Worth joined us, making sure all were properly functional even after so much strain. He stayed with me as we visited several ports in the far more industrial part of the world where he had wanted to be dropped off. I searched for men like me, like the rest of my crew, men who were different and not entirely whole. Despite the enhancements, we all felt as if something was missing from ourselves. We were aliens to people now, not entirely human. We were partly machines, and there was something about it that people didn't like. It alarmed them. I took advantage of that. A young doe eyed captain I had been, not much of anything truly, until I became the man with a crew of cyborgs, a cyborg himself, a man with a metal heart, truly a coldhearted sky pirate. Worth did eventually leave my side, wanting a life on the land, where he could have a family as well as work on his craft, though I made sure I would see him at least once a year, for his good work and his good company, for me and the man had grown close over the year we had traveled together. <br><br>It's been several years since, and Captain Grayson Mauratius is a name feared by many. I was becoming the most powerful man in the skies. It came with many advantages, though many a foolish pirate attempted to take from me, or simply attempt to take me on, only to be bombarded by me and my crew, destroyed really, and I took from them all that I could. <br><br>My most recent battle ended with me finding a wench in their brig. She was quite the tender piece of meat, with a long svelte body, cascading sienna hair, and large eyes that screamed innocence but were only disguising mischief. She gave me the name Jane, saying she was some broad Captain Orius had taken a fancy to. I wasn't entirely sure of her story, but not minding such a pretty face on my own ship, nor doubting my crew's ability to take her on if she tried anything, I allowed her on my own ship. I had her stay in one of our storage rooms where the anchors were kept, with Brussels keeping watch. I had been entirely too busy with truly bother with her, and I had planned on keeping it that way until the next day. For now, I stand at the helm, staring up at the massive three quarter moon, my heart ticking gently. It's only a sound one can detect with their ear up to my chest. Otherwise, only I can hear it due to it resting inside of me, much like a regular heartbeat. I feel no need to sleep right now, and the quiet of the night, while sometimes peaceful, is beginning to drive me crazy. I order a man by the name of Sermon to hold it steady for awhile, knowing he had his rest earlier in the day, and I head below. <br><br>My plan is to go into the privacy of my office, work on my log, and figure out a new course for us to take. There has been a dry spell lately, so a raid or any sort of juice to get my crews' lips wet would be much needed. My plan doesn't go so smoothly, as when I touch my hand to the doorknob, the usually locked door creaks open. My dark brows knit together, gray eyes growing narrow as I push the door open wide, only to see a little miss Jane standing there, looking like a child who has just taken the last cookie for themselves. Unfortunately for her, this is a lot more serious than that. <br><br>She attempts to seem guilt free despite the fact that I've obviously caught her, and I give her a smirk, taking the moment to eye her before my eyes find her face. "I'm going to doubt, Miss Jane, that you were attempting to find me in order show me your undying gratitude for what I did for you." I walk towards her, keeping my fury over the situation down in my core, showcasing a face of calm and slight amusement. I stop right in front of her, not hesitating to snatch her by the hips and press her up against the desk, my own hips soon touching hers, pinning her there. "Considering I could have just as easily sent a ray right through you, collapsing your heart before I threw you to the ground below." I murmur to her as I keep my eyes intently on her own, staring her down, daring her to look away from me. "I could have hung you right over the side of the ship and made you bird food. You wouldn't have like that, now, would've you, Miss Jane?" <br><br>I reach up, making it seem as if I am going to stroke her face, but instead I whip my hand forward and grab a chunk of her hair, pulling her head back while I lean forward, my mouth to her ear. "But I didn't do that, and look how it is you repay me." I scowl before with a quick turn of my hips, I have us facing the door, and I soon have my gun pointed to the middle of her back, right into the sensitive spot that will force her to stand up straight. "What would a fanciful wench like you want with anything in my locked office?" I shove her forward with the barrel of the gun, leading her out and towards where true prisoners go; The brig. I say nothing else until I am able to shove her into a cell of the black and humid brig, but I don't close her in, walking right to her, my gun never leaving her. "Tell me who you are and what you know of me so that I may choose whether to make your punishment short and sweet or long and agonizing." I grin at her a little wickedly, because the court is all in my favor. She's not a danger to me I'm sure, and a delicious kill with a torturous appetizer is just what my men need to see. "Unfortunate you're a lass with an angel's face and a devil's body, but I must play fair." Most other pirate captains would make her punishment rape, but considering that's how I was birthed, I don't play that particular game of cruelty. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Oct 28 2012, 09:56 PM Post #3 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR> His face seems even-tempered and even a bit entertained, but I know that with such people, expressions are two a penny. How many men must he have killed to be standing here in front of me with such a reputation? I wouldn't be surprised if he smiled while killing, either. The angels always do, and the lack of true lips does nothing to soften the cruelty. Captain Mauratius moves towards me, and soon he's trapped me against the desk. My hands scrabble behind me, my elbow knocking a quill over--thankfully, I catch the jar before it rolls off. He glares at me, the ripple of challenge in his eyes as I stare back, uncertain if it would be better if I played the weak, mindless girl who slipped under the radar so many times. "I-I know, and I'm very grateful to you--" I manage to interject before he continues, not daring to say that I shouldn't have to thank someone for not killing an innocent. It's pointless to argue honor with a pirate. You'd have better luck at spouting politics to pigs. <BR><BR>A long time ago, the threat of death wouldn't have seemed so bad. I was twelve years old and a prisoner, working so hard that I always had to have a basin and kettle of hot water on my desk so I could soak my aching hand every hour or so. Death would be release…a cheaper freedom. But if I died, I wouldn't be able to see Mother or Theon ever again. I wouldn't be able to be a part of their lives again, and I wanted that more than anything. I vowed I would make it through this. I can't die now, not when I'm so close to finally completing the compass. "…no," I murmur, catching myself before I glance away, but my body pulls back as far as it can, hands gripping the edge of the desk. <BR><BR>My eyes have barely any time to follow his fingers before they lurch forward and seize a tuft of my hair, yanking me backwards so hard that I give a sharp gasp of pain, my spine struggling to curve against the bone of my corset. Mauratius shoves me around before sticking the barrel of his gun behind me and pushing me to walk like a wind-up doll, but the clockwork motor is a pistol instead of a metal key. He asks what I would be doing in his office to begins with, but I pretend to take it as rhetorical, buying my time to figure out what I should say. The truth has never rewarded me. So few people have heard of the angels that I'm just put aside as a lunatic or a liar, and neither of those are helpful positions to be in. <BR><BR>He returns me to the brig, and for a moment I can't help but be mildly amused on how I've literally jumped from one cell on a ship to another…out of the frying pan, and into the fire. But that faint amusement melts away into fear when he mentions punishment and my body. He can't mean…he wouldn't…a chill clamps my throat, and I feel as if I'm suddenly standing on the railing of a ship, tottering and wavering in violent winds. Lies, truths, what matters when death is on the table, with all its fine cutlery? <BR><BR>"My name is Ariadne Westerling," I begin with sincerity, something I know and that will give me a lick of strength to continue with. It feels like a long time since I've told anyone my real name. Most of the time I knew it wouldn't do any harm, but I didn't want to risk it. "My brother called me Ary," I say, my bottom lip curling under my teeth as a short laugh of remembrance rolls out. But then my face smooths over and I take a deep breath, my eyes briefly moving back and forth from the gun to his face. "…I've been trying to find him, and my mother. We were separated years ago when pirates invaded our town." It's not a lie. I'm only keeping a few things out. "They killed my father and took me. I escaped last year." My eyes search his face for a moment, wondering if any of these words are eliciting sympathy, or just making him want to pull the trigger even more. There's annoyance in his left eye, and gratification in the right, and I'm not sure which one frightens me more. <BR><BR>If only my life had been as simple as I said. I don't dare mention the compass, though. He's a pirate after all, and every little piece is priceless beyond words. He'd have enough money to rebuild all his cyborgs with gold, and the ship, too. But I still have to have some excuse for being in his study. "…I…I was looking for maps." That would make sense, if I was really looking for my family. Which I am, I just--I don't need a map. <BR><BR>I remember then that he wanted to know what I knew about him, a command that spikes me curiosity. Does he have some great secret? No, he does. Everyone does, even an ordinary girl like me. "They say you're the terror of the skies," I remark finally, recalling the tittle-tattles between Captain Orias' infantry. I hadn't paid that much attention to them once I realized that Mauratius might have what I wanted, but I have a good memory for stories. "That you're an iron god in human flesh, and that you can't be killed," I finish, my chin lifting just slightly, asking if it's all true. </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Oct 29 2012, 07:05 PM Post #4 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>A simper finds my lips as she gives me her real name, because I had a feeling Jane was something thrown at me. I don't recognize the name in the least, so as far as I'm concerned, she's no one of importance. I look on with indifference as she informs me of her brother and mother, rolling my jaw from one side to the other as I determine if each word she speaks is truth. Apparently, she was kidnapped by pirates who murdered her father. What a delightful story. I can't say I expected anything happier. Anyone who gets themselves in a mess with pirates have not had their fair share of fine luck in their life. It's not overly tragic however, not to me. I can't relate to her tale, at least most of it. She gains no sympathy from me, not more than a drop of empathy. <br><br>I wait for her, arms crossing over my chest while I fiddle with the gun in my hands. It's not pointed at her anymore, but the simple turn of my wrist will have it aimed at her shapely chest in just a moment's time. If she tries to run for it... Well, I wouldn't suggest it. Ray guns of the caliber I use are highly illegal right now, and for a good reason. <br><br>I whistle a breath through my teeth, wanting the excuse she's going to come up with for being in my office. A captain's office is far more sacred than his own cabin. Each member of my crew know to not touch it unless they knock first, and I am obviously inside to open the door. It's a matter of respect and property, which I've gained much of over my years. I don't appreciate having some girl who is so far from earning my trust breaking into it. What grand need would she have for that? She must have heard of me before to think she'd find anything of value, though what that could be I can't be sure. There are so many rumors that are swiftly becoming legend about me and what I possess, whether true or not, that float around these skies and settle into the lands. What is it that she's heard, and what does she want with me? <br><br>"Maps?" This is hardly the answer I'm looking for. It's too plain and hardly desperate enough to illicit a break in. I step closer to her, my steps slow and deliberate as I speak, "That's all you have for me?" A short laugh slips out. "Maps? You had to break into my office in the middle of the night to find maps?" I grin at her like she's this horribly naive little girl, as I come within just a couple feet of her. "What were you going to do with these maps, I wonder? Take over my ship single handedly and get back to your darling little family?" My eyes are alight with amusement as I look over those doe like features. "You can buy maps in town, or steal them. I can assure you it's a lot safer than stealing from one of the most-" I use the barrel of the gun to brush back a strand of her hair, "-feared pirates in the skies." <br><br>She goes on to tell me what she's heard about me, all things that I can say I'm pleased to hear. A terror of the skies. That is a title I will gladly live with. Her other murmurs are only tall tales that have sprung up from story upon story being passed on through so many folks, but they are something I use to my advantage. I may not truly be an iron god in human flesh, but what would tell them otherwise? All they have to see is the window to my mechanical heart and that is proof enough to anyone that the rest of me is the same, and how do you kill a man of metal? I'm sure even some of my crew still have not a clue which parts of me are cyborg or which parts of me are human. Considering my heart is the only piece of machinery on me, it wouldn't make much difference if the rest of me was too. I don't tend to call myself human much these days. A man with a hunk of iron and brass keeping him alive is hardly human anymore, especially one now so much stronger than an average man endurance wise. It makes me feel more and less than human all at the same time. <br><br>"I see my reputation precedes me." A proud smile allows me teeth to shine as I take a short step forward, closing that distance between us. "It's true, Miss Ary. It's entirely true. I am the least human soul on this condemned ship." I never break eye contact as I speak to her, my eyes an ever growing storm. "So, I find that it was an awfully big mistake that you tried to take from me, maps or otherwise." I reach up with my free hand and wrap it along her slender neck, leaning in close to her ear. "How about we start your punishment by leaving you to starve here for awhile, yeah?" I scowl, before I slip the gun back into it's holster. "Oh, and before I forget." I pull out my dagger, keeping her still with my other hand on her throat, not hesitating to strike the blade down the middle of her corset, slicing it open and pulling it off of her. "Don't think I haven't had my fair share of ladies hide valuables in their bracers." It doesn't take me long to find the gadget she must have used to get into my office. "Ah, there's the culprit. Wouldn't want you sneaking your way out of here, though it's not as if there is anywhere to go unless you've got a pair of wings you aren't telling me about." I laugh, stepping back from her before I turn and walk out, pulling my keys from the inside of my coat as I close the door. I lock it behind me and give her one last glance before I make my way out, deciding I will truly deal with her when the light touches the skies, just as I had planned before. No need to get messy with her now. After all, half of my crew is asleep and can't enjoy the show. <br><br>By dawn, I had almost forgotten the skinny tramp. Almost being the key word. I feel she's hiding something from me, something of value, making it far from easy for me to begin trusting her. I'm intrigued by her actually. I need to get it out of her before I get my hands dirty agonizing her for trying to take from me. Did the tales of me not scare her, or was she so sure of herself about not getting caught? Why would she be so skilled in sneaking around like that anyhow? It makes me ponder if she is a talented little thief who's luck had run dry last night, or if she was simply crazy enough to go ahead with something so risky. I don't want to think of her as a threat, but I don't like to let my guard down either. Thinking they are dealing with some helpless woman with no ill intentions is what has led many a great man to their grave. <br><br>I have finished giving out my mens' daily duties for now when Brussels, who I chastised for allowing the girl to escape last night, by falling asleep instead of calling for someone to take his place, comes running up to me. I had told him to check up on our former Jane, being strict when it came to the fact that I would not allow him to give her anything no matter how much she batted her eyes or made her voice as wispy as a siren's breath. He told me she demanded to see me, and that it was incredibly important. I huff out as my eyes maneuver about, checking up on my crew with a quick gander before I bring my gaze back to the man and nod once, "Help the others with the scrubbing, Brussels. Thank you, mate." I squeeze his human shoulder before I make my way below decks, not at all fancying this. Is there something really dire, or is this some game she's playing? I walk down to the brig, showing my displeasure as I walk up to the cage, though I keep a reasonable distance. I don't want her spitting on me. "Now, what is it, Miss Ary, that requires my immediate presence?" </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Oct 29 2012, 11:11 PM Post #5 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR> Despite all odds, he's much smarter than a bucket of bolts, and it doesn't take long for him to wave away my excuse like a platter of yesterday's fly-rotten leftovers. Mauratius laughs at it like child's play, asking what I would've done if I succeeded. "I wasn't going to take over your ship!" I manage to cut in, my forehead scrunching at the idea because it really shows how stupid he thinks I am. All right, it was a foolish endeavor, but for that one piece, there's little I wouldn't risk. "What do you know about family?" I snap back, and it's another idiot's mistake to talk back like that when someone has a gun, but I can't help it. When someone comes even close to insulting my family, or the love I have for them, there are no hands barred. Everything I've done, I've done in hopes of finding them again. My family is little, and darling to me, but not in that despicable tone of his. <BR><BR>However, when I feel the cool steel of his gun sweeping by my temple as my hair is pushes aside, I'm quickly reminded that if I overstep again that I may never see them again, and I hold my tongue…just staring back at him as he calls himself one of the most feared pirates of the skies. He enjoys this, it's so clear, but why? Why do these pirates relish in being called horrible and terrifying? Because people tell stories about them? People tell stories about heroes, too. Why didn't they ever try that color? <BR><BR>Mauratius goes on to tell me that he is the least human soul of everyone else on the ship, and I believe that he has little mercy in him. From his reaction to my story, it's possible he might've killed a girl's father before, maybe even taken her on the ship too. I lower my gaze as I see the danger beginning to grow in his eyes, but in a second he's grabbing my throat again, and telling me he plans for me to starve. I breathe in sharply through my nose, head tilting back. "So it's long and agonizing," I murmur, wondering what my punishment would be if he knew the whole truth, if sneaking into his office and not doing any damage induces this sort of penalty. <BR><BR>And then I wonder if I've gone too far this time when Mauratius suddenly grabs his dagger, my heart leaping in my chest like a bird sprung to life when I imagine him opening my throat from top to bottom, but instead, he cuts open my corset, leaving me in my chemise. He finds the gadget that opened his door for me quick enough, pocketing it. I feel dread flood over me as I think he might find the pocket watch I stole from Orias' man earlier, but by good fortune, the leather garter under my skirt with its small pouch isn't discovered. And yet, before I can inwardly sigh with relief, the terror of the skies makes a comment on wings that jabs at me harder that a pistol or knife, and I'm left speechless. Mauratius leaves me in the brig, locking it tight behind him, and looking at me one last time. <BR><BR>I can feel the look of contempt, hurt, and despair all melding together like a sick potion and burning on my face, as the skin on my shoulder blades singe into my naked chemise. I had almost forgotten about them…that charred, raised, red marks on my back that the angels saw fit to give me to prove my subservience. Maybe one day I'll be able to finally get away for good, but these marks…this stupid brand will never leave me. <BR><BR>Trying to forget those marks again, I decide to lie down on the wooden bench kept up by two chains in some attempt to conserve my energy…if he really means to starve me out. Staring up at the planks on the ceiling with an emptying stomach reminds me of the times Cresil refused me food as punishment for doing a map wrong, knowing I had done it on purpose and in spite. I close my eyes, remembering just lying there in my new empty cabin, remembering my mother's cooking…mutton chops sauced in honey and cloves, her savory cream stews…it was torture, but good torture, the type that hurt when you reached the end of the memory, but felt so sweet while you were dreaming. <BR><BR>I don't want to do that now, though. Not now, or here. I've finally broken free of that place, at least for a while, and I have to make the most of it. I'm in another creature's clutches now, for heaven's sakes, except this time the fingers are mechanic cloaked in flesh instead of plain bone. Of course, I don't really believe those hackneyed stories about the captain, but I believe it when he said he was the least human soul on the ship. He might look the most complete, but from what I've seen, he's just as empty as a tin can when feelings are concerned. I had actually enjoyed my conversation with that Brussels--there was nothing enjoyable to be had with this one. <BR><BR>I finally open my eyes, resolved to try to think of a new plan. How was I ever going to get out of here? Mauratius would never trust me now, not after I lied…and lied a bit again. But what was I supposed to do…tell him about the angels? He'd hang me for a storyteller or a halfwit! But at least that would be quicker than starving…though I don't think he's just going to let me go that way, either. That pirate seems like he would enjoy a death with more creativity--and more pain. But that thought is hardly comforting, so I push it aside and try to think again, my gaze moving to the quiet clouds passing by, edged with froth like the lines of a basin of soap. Wait--froth? That's a sure sign of a malevolent storm! <BR><BR>I sit up straightaway, grabbing the edge of the window to pull myself up to look. Sure enough, the outwardly-tranquil clouds sail by as innocently as babes, but I know better. I've seen it tens of times in my childhood on the island, and experienced them on the angels' ship. Though they didn't usually bother us, we'd always have to bunker down just in case. But I've witnessed what these sort could do from a distance…cleaving a ship in two like an easy blade chopping vegetables for broth. From the direction the winds were traveling in, I could see that we were navigating straight into the tempest that would soon erupt. I had to tell the captain! <BR><BR>I start shouting then, but there's no one to hear me at the bottom of the ship. Thankfully, Brussels happens to come down in short time to give me a once-over. Before he can even say anything, I quickly ordered to see Mauratius, telling him that if he valued his life, he would come down. Brussels notices the sense of urgency on my face and gods be good, he does as I bid, and soon I can hear the familiar footsteps of one cold captain. <BR><BR>He doesn't seem happy to be in the dungeons here again, but I couldn't care less about his happiness, in this moment or the next. I immediately move forward, my hands grabbing the bars as I pull my face to the intersecting irons. "You have to turn the ship around," I instantly command, wasting no time. "We're heading right into a storm!" The panic is beginning to show in my voice like a bubble of foreboding blood in my mouth. I turn back to look at the porthole again, where gentle clouds ghost by like ladies in white organza dresses. I can see that this prediction would seem like madness with the sky appearing so calm, and for a instant I shut my eyes, taking a short breath of frustration. "I know it seems peaceful right now, but it's only a matter of minutes, seconds before this ship will be tossed into the sea below if you don't turn back around now!" <BR><BR>In heat of the moment, I step up onto the second row from the bottom of the bars then, loop the front of my boots through so that I'm closer to eye-level with this strutting pirate. "It will mean death for all of us," I emphasize through my teeth before returning my feet to the ground, my face looking to his for some sort of realization in his countenance, my own clenching like a fist. "Iron god or not, Captain." </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Nov 1 2012, 03:29 PM Post #6 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>My arms cross along my chest as I listen to her, and what she has to say is absolutely ludicrous. Turn the ship around? For what reason? There's no storm out there. The skies are as blue as her face would be if I were ringing her neck about now and the clouds are a sweet creamy white like I'm sure the skin under that chemise is. Is she actually crazy? Why on this earth or any of the next would she believe this would work on me? Is that where her little home is, the opposite way? Is she trying to make a fool of me in front of my crew? She really has something missing up there if she thinks I will believe what she says. My upper lip turns up into an entertained half smile, "You must be mad, girl." I mutter, turning my eyes towards the porthole, squinting faintly at the sun's light brushing against my irises. Calm. Serene. Peaceful. It is ultimate sailing weather outside. <br><br>She's a good little actress, I can give her that, giving a little oomph to her performance by stepping up onto the bars with such liveliness. I lock my eyes with her own, fighting a bigger grin as she threatens death, even for me, the iron god. "Oh, look at that. I'd have chills if I were so easily frightened." I tease as I stick out my hand and pretend to examine it for goosebumps, before I laugh, resting both my hands upon my hips. "Miss Ary, what did you really think the chances were of me believing that little antidote? I am hardly about to go off course because one of my whiny little prisoners tells me death is coming for me and my crew if I don't. Touching effort, darling, but not in the least bit thought out." I chuckle again as I turn to leave, before glancing back over my shoulder at her, a deep simper implanted on my mouth. "Oh, be careful riding out that storm." With that, I head back above decks, that smirk hardly leaving my lips. I take a glance around as the faint winds tickle the hairs at the back of my neck, and I huff a last chortle as I walk towards the helm. Believe me, if there was any sign of a storm, I'd be turning around as quickly as possible. It's not as if I've had the best experience with them. <br><br>I soon come to find the joke is on me. <br><br>Creeping up faster than is to be believed, the clouds had transformed into something of nightmares, rolling into nearly pitch black wisps of destruction, cascading white rain down upon us. The rain was only the beginning, something I could deal with easily enough, cursing Westerling in my mind for being right, my pride pleading that this was all there was to it. The wind grows sharp soon enough however, the rain nearly becoming horizontal and whipping against our skin, making it hard to stay upright as we attempt to keep the ship steady. I struggle against the wheel as the wind threatens to take it, but I do not tire. I grit my teeth, keeping my focus through my fear, until I see the flashes around us. I can feel my heart ticking faster as my nerves become shot, an icy tremble running through me. As a ship captain, you can never be too afraid of storms, but after it's the thing that almost kills you, a death that would have certainly come if Proctor hadn't been present, it unsettles you. I feel ill at the bottom of my core, but I have to fight it. I have to get my ship and my crew through this. In my jostled state, the wheel slips from me, causing the vessel to pull tightly to the side. I catch it, but not without losing one of my own over the railing. <br><br>I growl as I fight to steady my ship, barking out new orders, until I see a tornado forming in the nearing distance. The orders soon change, demanding that they brace themselves down tighter than before, as I move to tighten the harness upon my own waist. The force of it is beyond grand, and while I am able to keep the ship from being ripped apart, one of my cabin boys is swept off, his harness breaking apart. We pass the twister, but that's not the last of them. We come up against two more towering black whirls of the fastest winds you can imagine, hail coming down upon us, most the size of nuts and bolts while some rival the size of our own fists. One of the latter manages to smack down against my shoulder, causing me to shout out in pain, the throbbing intense as I fight to hold onto the wheel. I fight. We are all fighting against this one. She was right. This could be the death of all of us, even me. She somehow knew it was coming. How? Where did she see it? If we get out of this, oh, I will know. I will rip it out of her if I have to. <br><br>I scream my orders over the thunder and the wind, the roar of the twisters drowning me out, but my crew is smart enough to understand what needs to be done. A bolt of lightening strikes upon the right side of our second set of wings, lighting it on fire, the structure disintegrating in moments, causing us to pull them in before the unevenness turns us off course. In forces like this, it makes us weak to lose the set, causing us to steep down, the ship flying more erratically, the muscles in my arms shouting at me though my heart continues as strongly as it had in the beginning. It seems like eternity until the shrieks of wind begin to slow, the rain lightens into a drizzle, and we are able to breathe. <br><br>The ship took a lot of damage, which means we'll have to port early for repairs and take it slow until then. I come to learn that I lost fifteen men in the storm, including the two that I had seen. We take a moment to pay our respects to our lost members before I give orders to get the ship into it's best working order once they've had any injuries taken care of. My shoulder can wait. The Westerling girl comes first. <br><br>I rush down to the brig, my anger rising as the pain in my shoulder fuels it further, my footsteps heavy with purpose. I get the key ready as I step onto the brig floor, about an inch or so of water covering it from the rain that had gotten inside. I can see the girl is a little worse for wear due to the storm, and I'm only happy for it. I hope she's bruised all over that pretty casing of hers. I hope she broke a wrist or an ankle. It doesn't really compare to what I want to do to her. "How did you know?!" I scowl, my voice breaking as I shove the key into the lock and get the door open, storming into the cell before I grab hold of her by the front of her chemise, shoving her up against the damp wall. "How did you know about the storm, girl?" I grasp onto her jaw and turn her face to the side, the pressure in my fingers unforgiving. "The skies were perfection. How did you know?" I let her go, dirty nails scratching along her skin as I do, my breath labored while I leer at her with desperate and unnerved eyes. "Answer me honestly or pay dearly, little Miss Ary. How did you know, and why were you in my office last night? Say maps again and I swear on what humanity I have left, I will skin you." </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Nov 1 2012, 09:52 PM Post #7 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR> He laughs off my warning like a common cretin, thinking I'm some charlatan. I know it would be hard to believe with the weather being so calming and pleasant, but ships wouldn't need navigators of all weather rang a lightning bell before it came. I try to reason with him, taking it from his point of view. "Why would I make something like this up?" my temper begins to flare, but the flames unable to reach him from this distance. "It's not some ruse--I can't escape, you said so yourself," I glower, his humor in this treacherous situation far from pacifying me. He goes on to add trimming, measuring his skin for any trace of fear, an act that pushes me over the edge. <BR><BR>"PLEASE!" I finally shout, slamming my fist against the bar. "People might die!" Although they were pirates, and under his rule no less, I knew that not every marauder was ruthless. Brussels, for one--I didn't want him to die, not when I hadn't even been able to hear his full story yet. "Don't you care at all!?" my voice strains, before I remember how he said he was the least human one on this ship, and breathe through my nose sharply, seeing how futile any of my further efforts would be now. But I'm not the type to give up, especially not when lives are at stake. "I didn't have to think it out, I just had to look," I protest, although that's not entirely true. There's more to it than seeing, and by now, I can almost feel the storms coming, like a cat. Something will just strike me as off or wrong, and I know. <BR><BR>Mauratius starts to leave then, deciding not to waste any more of his "precious time" with my "silly predictions", I'm sure, but I don't want to let him off so easily. "What are you doing?" I begin, his back facing me. I follow him as much as I can within the cage, which doesn't get me very far. "You have to get the ship ready!" It might be too late to turn around by now, the least they could do was be prepared. "Reef the sails! Heave-to!" <BR><BR>But all he gives me is a snide little glance backwards and another quip which I don't find funny at all, because to me, it's serious. "I will, I'm indoors," I retort with narrowed eyes (which were very close to being rolling) but soon lose the scorn when he continues on his way. "No, Captain, you have to listen to me! STOP!" I scream, but it's too late, and he's slammed the door behind him, probably on his way to peacock himself up on the deck, telling his mates about the crazy, stupid girl in the brig. But I don't quit, continuing to shout for him or anyone who will listen until my throat starts to feel raw, and I have to come to terms with the fact that they're not going to heed anything I say. I hate how the other members of the crew don't even have the knowledge of the storm that's coming so they could choose for themselves how to deal with it, but I can't do anything anymore. I have to make sure I live this. I do the best I can with what I've got and take off my belt, using it to girdle myself to the bars like a living piece of art on a wall so I won't be thrown around this cell until I'm made into a bloody mess. <BR><BR>I don't have to wait long before my words come true, the few raindrops coming through the porthole and speckling planks beneath me. I wrap my fingers tightly around the bars, knowing fully well that this one will be a bad one. That iron-willed captain's put all of our lives on the line, and I just wonder if he'll be able to bear the responsibility when the aftermath rolls out with the dregs of the storm. I'll never forgive him if I die. <BR><BR>I can hear the wind roaring like a chained lion with is mane being shorn, like weather that was alive and struggling to erupt from the cage of clear skies and quiet air. The rain was shooting across the window in pellets like bullets so fast that you'd think the gods were having a war and we were flying in the battlefield. And with the cries from above, I'm reminded that we're in our own battlefield, but I'm just some barometer that was tossed aside for junk, while everyone else plays soldier. Lightning crackles at my window and it's so strange to be shut away from it, the whole storm temporarily confined to the frames of my window, like it's just some bit of a painting that's been possessed. I grit my teeth and hold on as much as I can as the ship creaks all around me, as if it's suddenly sick. I shut my eyes, my body dully aching from the violent jerking. I'll be all right. I'm fine, I've bunkered down, I'll survive this yet, I'll be with my family again, this won't be the end of me, even if the ship is blown to smithereens and I fall from the sky, I'll find them, I-- <BR><BR>Suddenly, in the middle of my prayers, I feel the pocket watch get dislodged from beneath my skirts, and before I can do anything, the evil thing gets knocked out of its place and wheels over the floor. I bend over to catch it, but I'm caught by the belt, just as another brutal wind throttles the ship like a clob with a cane, and my stomach's pushed inside out. I pause for a moment to make sure I'm not about to gag, and when the moment passes, I realize I can't wait--what if the glass shatters? I don't care what happens to the rest of it, but I need that glass! <BR><BR>I quickly undo the belt and run across the floor, but just then, the ship shifts her weight, and the world goes out, pitch black. In the darkness, I'm thrown me off my feet and sent crashing into the other side, my arm taking most of the blow against the unwelcoming iron. I let out a gasp of pain as I fall to the floor, head reeling as more lightning flashes, but I manage to catch the watch just before it rolls through the space at the bottom, clipping the malicious piece to my shirt and tucking it inside my blouse. The ship was tottering like it had both slept in a tub of grog and was now tossed in a churn of butter as I slowly rose to my feet, clinging to the wall for mercy--in my haste, I had left the belt on the other side instead of taking it with me--wondering if I could make it back over, but nature soon had a cruel answer for me, and gravity left me again, only this time, my knee hit the edge of the bench with such an impact that for a second I thought I heard the bone break--but it was only the skies again, repeatedly shattering like dishes. <BR><BR>I couldn't even hear my own moans of agony over the clamoring twisters, but I dragged myself over to the side and took down the belt, buckling myself in my seated position to the floor, only wanting an end. My own or the storm's, at the second, it didn't matter. Either I fell into a dream from the pain, or the storm slowly died, but eventually, the world came back, crawling, with only a bit of rain to shed for the dead. Even if no one died on this ship, I know someone must've, somewhere. There's never a time when everyone survives something of this caliber. <BR><BR>With the light and my full senses returned, I'm able to see the true damage. The arm I fell on was partially dislocated, and my knee…my knee was bleeding through my skirts, turning the deep umber into crimson. I undid the belt with my good arm and with a deep breath, gingerly lifted my skirt above the knee…it wasn't pretty. I bit the cuff of my sleeve and tore of a strip and immediately began to sluice the blood with it and a bit of the rainwater left over, and that was when I heard some rather angry footsteps heading my way. I drop my skirts back over my knee and pull myself to stand, and before I can ask what the damage is, Mauratius snatches my throat, ramming me into the wall as he demands to be told how I knew. For a second the pain whirls in my eyes like windmills and I breathe, looking back at his enraged face. "--allergic to apologies, are you?" I manage to choke out, incapable of letting all of this go without one comment. <BR><BR>He becomes a shade crueler then, his nails stabbing into me like blunt knives as he commands to know all of the truth, and whether I'm delirious from the stinging in my knee and arm or I'm thinking clearly, I see no point in hiding it any longer, and despite his hold, I turn against it to face him, eyes unforgiving. "I'm a navigator," I spit out, force myself not to squirm. "I didn't lie earlier…at least, not completely. I was taken by pirates…but they were more than that." For a moment, I almost forget the storm that's just happened, remembering them instead. "…monsters, though they're called angels. They wanted to use me for my navigation skills to find some enchanted isle," I cough, struggling against the aches. "But I just want to go home." I press my lips together then, a coil of nausea knotting in my stomach again, but I fight through it to finish this, to give this captain what he wants. <BR><BR>"They said I could if I could reconstruct the Millennium compass, so I've been looking for the pieces. I heard you had one…the azimuth ring, or needle, maybe," I murmur, and I can't tell what he thinks, but I can't stand to be called a liar again, though I don't know how much he knows about the angels, or the compass. "It's the truth." With that last statement, I grab the chain I had quickly fastened to my shirt and pull the pocket watch out, the name Fletcher Proctor etched into the glass.</div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Gipity | Nov 6 2012, 11:15 AM Post #8 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR>The brat was a navigator. <br><br>Navigators, along with surgeons, were extremely important components to a crew, and yet they were also the hardest pieces to come by. Those types spend years of their time researching and learning their trade. Usually, they are people who want adventure, if they want to work on a ship, except without so much of the consequences, or more importantly, without filthy consciences. They want prestigious work, under their country's flag, and not having anything to do with pirates. It would cost a pirate a pretty sum to acquire a proper navigator, since they know how valued they are, and that's only if you can find one willing to leave their more cozy life for one far more devil-may-care. Most of the time, pirate captains will have a reliable member of their crew learn what they can, as well as learn themselves, and it's enough to get them to where they are going, though the weather ordeal is something left untouched, as much as my fears would crave knowing in advance. I would have kidnapped this girl with ease if I knew of her gifts as a navigator, and look, now I already had her. This could turn into a decent day after all, if it weren't for so many casualties. <br><br>"A navigator? A pretty little thing like you?" I inquire incredulously as I search her face. Navigators tend to be more on the male side, most of the time a tad older than this spring flower here. It's impressive. It's extraordinarily impressive considering what she was able to predict. She's almost invaluable. I say almost, because she is no doubt incredibly annoying. She's a little less irritable now though that she has more appeal than that pair of legs the length of my masts and a face fitting to be the figurehead of my ship. Maybe whenever she grows too unbearable, I'll tie her to the front as a live ornament. Oh, what a delicious idea. <br><br>She continues on, giving me the whole truth. The pirates who took her were monsters, apparently, titling themselves as angels. A few on my crew would think her to be crazy, but I've heard of my fair share of legends, and some of my older men have stories to tell of encountering mystical beasts of their own. If you delve too far into the heart of Ayorthia, what you find may shock even the most believing. The same is no different for Valantis, I suppose. It is the marriage of the two main lands. Monsters traveling by ship don't seem entirely farfetched. Besides, details like that don't matter when she mentions them wanting her to locate an enchanted isle. "Enchanted isle? Isle of Silentium?" I ask as my breathing gets more under control, the tick of my heart finding it's normal rhythm. Legend has it of this particular isle, one I've only dreamed of locating, which perfects you. I think it's obvious I don't need any perfecting on the outside, but what I would give to be entirely my own again in the inside, with a true heart pumping in my chest. I can only imagine the happiness it would bring to my crew. It would render us vulnerable, and we'd be without the certain colorful details that make us so frightening to others, but I won't let that define me as a successful pirate. Stories would be written about me of how I found the enchanted Isle of Silentium, and who knows the rumors that could be spread of what it did to my strength and mortality. I will be of legend. <br><br>I ignore the fact that she wants to go home. That's too bad. If she is able to help me locate Silentium, she will not leave my grasp until then. I don't say this to her just yet. I don't need to hear the tears and the whining. I precede to listen intently as she goes on, and I learn that there is a way to get there, and that's with the help of a compass. The Millennium compass. All pirates know of it. It's their every dream come true. It's nearly impossible to acquire due to the fact that the creator made things difficult by splitting it apart and sending the pieces every which way. She believes I have one of the pieces, and as she reaches for something, my mind is whirling. I know who made that compass, and she only proves it by showing me a pocket watch with etched glass, the name of the father of the man who saved my life staring back at me with fanciful handwriting. <br><br>The same name in the same handwriting carved into the most important piece of my heart. <br><br>The needle, the most required part of a compass, is what keeps my heart working. Worth gave it up, his most prized possession, to save my life, only putting a heavier weight on it's significance. The Isle of Silentium would become out of the question if it would mean losing my life for anyone to find it. I won't be having that. There would hardly be a point. There is no way she can know I possess it. I wouldn't put it pass the sneaky girl to find a way to knock me out so that she may rip out my heart and dig for the piece. I have to keep her off my scent. <br><br>It makes me glad I'm not one to give away my thoughts so easily. I look at the pocket watch with intrigue, my eyes still bewildered from the storm I had only just endured, but otherwise I make it seem that it has no significance to me. I force myself to laugh, my charcoal lined eyes creeping from the device to her big brown orbs full of hope. "That seems to be one legend that's unfortunately not the least bit true." With hands of a thief, I reach up and snatch the pocket watch from her, a quick step back putting me out of her reach for a moment. "I'll be taking this, darling, if you don't mind." Obviously, she does, but I don't care. The pocket watch is slipped into the inside of my vest, into a secure pocket close to my heart. "We'll be finding another way to get to that isle, Miss Ary. I will make sure of that." A grin slowly emerges on my lips. "In order to do that, I will have to keep you uncaged, pet. You have a new employer now! I hope your little angels won't miss you too bloody much. Welcome to my crew, love." <br><br>My hand slips behind her back as I move slightly behind her, taking a moment to let my eyes linger upon her neck, where there's a bruise emerging. Maybe I choked her a little too hard. This reminds me that she's pretty worse for wear after the storm, and while I'm cruel, I'm not about to have her going about untreated. She's part of my crew now. She deserves somewhat equal treatment. I run my tongue along my lips but I hold myself back as I push her forward more gently than I've handled her before, without weapon in hand, out of the brig and towards my cabin. "We'll want to get you cleaned up first. You can take it as my way of apologizing for earlier." I don't specify for what, but she can assume it's for not believing her about the storm. We head inside my quarters, a room of rich reds and browns, and I sit her down on the edge of my grand bed. "How can I amend you, darling?" I ask her with a simper as I move to my dresser, where I pull a medical kit, it's case made of leather, out of the second drawer. I don't have a doctor on board, so we all do what we can, though I suppose Worth had been able to teach me the most. <br><br>I kneel in front of her, hoping I won't get a kick to the nose, and I place the kit down as I grip her calf with one hand to hold down her leg while I flip up her skirts with the other to reveal her knee. It's going to need stitches. I rakishly place the hand that had lifted up her dress just above her wound, right on her thigh, while I reach under my bed to pull out a bottle of rum. I did have iodine, but the last of it was used on a cabin boy named York when he sliced his arm on a rusty broken railing in a bar fight about a month ago. Unfortunately, he hadn't treated himself quick enough and the infection had set in, leaving the poor boy fighting spasms and fever. I left him on land to be treated, though whether he survived or not is unknown to me. I haven't acquired the medicine since, so now, I have to resort to using some of my strongest venom. "Don't make this a waste of good drink, milady." I pull the cork out with my teeth and spit it out before splashing the ugly wound with the poison, a short chuckle escaping at her gasp of pain. "That's nothing compared to some things, I assure you." I take a swig of the rum, swallowing like a pro before I hand it off to her, my free hand going into the medical kit. "So, enlighten me, Miss Ary." I say as I pull out the needle and thread. "How does a girl such as yourself become such a profound navigator? I've never seen anyone predict the skies quite like that." </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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| Vidia | Nov 6 2012, 06:06 PM Post #9 |
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[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 375px; text-align:justify;"> <BR> His first reaction to finding out I'm navigator is to how unlikely it was, something that I should have grown used to by now, but have always been too irritated to spend time putting it out of my mind. "I wasn't aware that looks were a factor when it came to maps," I quip in return, pretending to frown in confusion. What was so unbelievable about a woman being a navigator? Just because we wear dresses (though I'm very fond of pants as well) and have longer hair? Does that make us any less smarter, or capable? Or was he alluding to the idea that a woman who wasn't entirely unattractive in particular didn't belong in the field? Would I be better off married to some rich gentlemen, spending my life arranging galas and painting pictures? <BR><BR>…the sad part is, I might have. Maybe Father wouldn't be dead, and maybe I'd still be able to see my family now. So despite the temporary nettle that built on that seemingly-harmless statement, I don't say anything more. <BR><BR>To my own surprise, Mauratius actually knows of the exact island I mentioned, although I didn't even name it. Why would he know of it? Only the most desperate of…oh. His condition. The crew's condition. Did they think that the island would heal them too? That they would go back to their original forms? Were they looking for it all along, too? I felt like it would be hopeless cause since the angels would find it before anyone else, and they planned to destroy it after so no human would be able to use it to become more powerful than them…but I don't say this. Although Mauratius is a brute who doesn't care for anyone else, there's something terribly sad about someone who isn't whole, or doesn't find themselves to be. "…yes," I confirm, and that soft sympathy has crept into my voice a bit without my meaning to, so I give him a dirty look as if it's none of his business to even it out. <BR><BR>After looking over the pocket watch, he's quite to dismiss the possibility of the compass. Which I find entirely critical because if you accept the island exists…surely something like the compass could, too! It has to, or I'm lost. I'll never find my way home without it. "How would you--HEY!" I start to demand how Mauratius would even know what is real or not, when he snatches the pocket watch I risked my life for, and I reach to swipe it back but too slowly. "I do mind!" I protest, and I start to scrabble for it, but he holds me off. "I mind it completely!" What was it to him, if the stupid compass doesn't exist in the first place, as he believes?! Oh, I'm only glad that I haven't brought along the other pieces, those bits stashed away somewhere no one could find but myself, a place where you can only find things if you know where to look. But that's still all pointless if I'm missing one piece! <BR><BR>My struggle to reclaim what's mine is interrupted when Mauratius drops another bomb, saying we'll find another way to the island. "It's impossible. Not without the compass!" I retort. We'll find another way…what rubbish, no, we won't! Wait, we?! Why is he involved in this all of a sudden!? "What?" I jerk back suddenly when he announces that I have a new employer, and I'm a part of his crew now. "Are you insane?!" I ask it as a serious question, for clearly there's something lacking. "No, that's rhetorical. You are, and they'll kill you." They might even kill me too, if they think I've betrayed them to help someone else find the island, but mentioning that would be pointless because I'm sure Mauratius doesn't give a whit if I live or die. He's just doomed us all. Terror of the skies or not, those angels would turn him into iron powder. <BR><BR>I'm about to make further protests, more for my own good rather than his own, when I realize something. He says he can find me the island. And although this captain seems far too arrogant, I feel like I could almost believe him. If he did find some way to it…who's to say I couldn't betray his way to the angels, and earn my freedom without the compass? And even if he didn't, sticking on with a fearsome crew of the skies was a lot safer than being on my own. I could search for pieces whenever I stopped at port with them, or they plundered a ship….perhaps this wasn't a bad arrangement, after all. Still, I give him a sour look. "..forget the island, or the compass. You're even more impossible," I dissent, but in a way that shows I've given up, wanting to give off that surrendering aura of "What choice do I have?". Essentially, Mauratius could kill me either way, so that bit's not even really fake. <BR><BR>Making me his navigator has changed his manner and all of a sudden, instead of being shoved and pushed about, he's escorting me, almost like a gentleman, saying I'll get fixed up as an apology. "Couldn't I have my freedom instead?...or at least the watch." I mutter bitterly, giving off the air of still not entirely satisfied with the arrangement--and it's not so hard to put on a mask when you've already got all the parts. But after the shock of the whole situation has worn off and I have to climb some stairs, the sharp pain in my knee quickly reminds me that I'm in no position to argue, and once I'm led into a room as flamboyant as its owner and seated on his bed, I relent. <BR><BR>"My knee, I guess…" I concede, watching Mauratius as he gets the proper things and then kneels before me--that's a nice change. Him flipping my skirts was an action I hadn't been counting on however, but I still my difficulty in my chest, not wanting to seem like some green little girl. That doesn't stop me from giving him a look of daggers when he puts his hand on my thigh, however, warning him that it better not get any higher than that. Why would he be reaching under the bed--rum. For God's sake, did it have to be so messy? I grit my teeth and remind myself I can't complain, because my knee does need attention, but it doesn't stop me from crying out when that burning liquid splashes over my wound, my hands crumpling over the folds of my skirts. <BR><BR>"I know," I counter through gnashed teeth and pain, not one to let a remark like that go over. I'll not have him think of me as some girl who traveled the skies in a first class carrier, playing cards with friends as the skies glided by. I let out a deep breath, releasing the pain. "Please don't take me for one of the common girls you charm over in the pubs, Captain Mauratius." I sweep my gaze over to him with narrowed chestnut eyes. "I've seen things--done them, too." My hands weren't clean. I raise the bottle to my lips, chugging down a good deal in a most unladylike way, but I never had much etiquette to begin with. <BR><BR>He actually gets personal then, asking about my past, to my surprise. I guess there's no point in holding it in any longer when I've already told him most of it. But I'll need another swig first. "Just call me Ary, please," I say after I drink, wiping my mouth on my sleeve and actually laughing a bit. "Miss Ary is only a blink away from misery, and while I'm not too far from that myself…."--I give him a look--"I would appreciate it if I wasn't constantly reminded." Another long sip. <BR><BR>"When I was younger, I had this dream of drawing a map of the world," I start, and shake my head. "Foolish I know, but I was driven. My parents told me I'd have to know more than cartography to travel, though, so I studied navigation and the weather." I can recall all the worn-out books in my room, stacked up high. I didn't even have enough shelf-space. "..my skills were supposed to be a key, and they ended up a cage." I shrug one shoulder, really, there's nothing more to the story…or maybe I just don't feel like telling anymore until I'm a little more drunk. I've never told anyone the whole thing, with all its intimate details. Sometimes I think it's because I get scared that it'll make me lose some of it on my own. <BR><BR>"And thank you," I say suddenly, and then clarify with a smirk. "Because I feel like a compliment must be worth a couple of Millennium compasses, coming from you." God knows how hard it would've been to wrestle one out of him earlier, before he knew anything about my talent. "What about you, Captain? How did you become the terror of the skies?" </div></center></BR>[/dohtml] |
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