[IC] Dream Scar

Misery sat cross-legged on an overstuffed chair in the captain’s cabin, recently violently torn from the grasp of unnatural slumber by equally-troublesome dreams. Fear tensed the lines of her posture, each nerve ending thrumming almost painfully with the desire to flee, for Reason knew she was in the company of criminals. Pragmatism stayed her anxious limbs, for to be sure even the company of criminals was more a chance at survival than wandering the barren deserts, trying to flee the Architect’s scavengers under nothing but her own steam. Resignation had placed down the bow and arrows she’d grabbed in some half-formed panic, and instead taken up the leather-bound vellum and a quill, driven to the pleasant arms of Distraction.

So Estelle sat across from the taciturn captain, the methodical scratching of the writing implement against cream-colored parchments the only sound in the room, save the thundering of her heart in her ribcage, but then she wasn’t so sure he could hear that, else he might have told her to be quieter. Despair did not pen her final memoirs, for Ambition still had hold on her, and there were much more important things to be recorded, including the results of the first-ever emergency test of her newest innovation.

The knock at the door startled her so badly she nearly spilled the inkwell balanced precariously on one knee, but as it was, she saved herself and the pirate’s furniture the misfortune by dint of quick reflex. She heard rather than saw the ursine man enter, his voice a rumble that might have crept up the floor and through her seat to her very scalp. Perhaps she only imagined it.

She did not speak, as she was not being asked to. Estelle was well-used to being discussed as though she were not present, and so this behavior did not offend her in the slightest, though she had once been told that it should. Her quill paused only once in its movement, when the word compass was spoken, and her free hand went automatically to her clavicle, where the selfsame object rested against her skin beneath her blouse. It resembled no compass, which meant that this man at least knew exactly what it was. She watched with guileless gaze as the electricity rippled over the metallic arms, and knew without asking that something had upset him. She could only hope it was not her, for it was a circumstance she had no reason to believe she would survive.

In the wake of their discussion, silence fell, and she glanced between them once more, before turning her eyes downward and resuming her business. Probably, she should be begging for her release or inquiring after their intentions or something more becoming of a hostage, but truthfully she saw little point. These were not people to whom her distress would make a whit of difference, and so she chose not to display it. This, too, was an old habit, one that was serving surprisingly well.

---

This had better be good. Rhys didn’t really care to correct the toxic nature of his thoughts as he blearily rubbed at his eyes to clear his vision. As usual, Barvassi had to do things in the most inconvenient order possible and had chosen to properly awaken as Rhys himself was headed to sleep, having been up most of the night. Ostensibly, he hadn’t been doing much of anything, but really he was helping Roussan keep things as orderly as possible in the aftermath of what was admittedly a rather chaotic sequence of events. Of course, he’d never let it look like helping, because he had a reputation to maintain as the biggest layabout in the lot. It was better to be thought of thus, because if people assumed you were unreliable, they never asked you for anything important.

Unfortunately, DeVargo knew somewhat differently, and sometimes he forced Rhys to regret that fact. Like now, when he should be enjoying some nice shut-eye while Jan got them to Cassim and most of the rest of them went ashore for a while.

He picked out the low murmur of voices as he approached the captain’s quarters and yawned widely, tossing a lackadaisical salute at Jan, who was approaching from the other direction. Rapping the door smartly thrice, he didn’t wait for the response before he entered- Barvassi would know it was him.

“Barvassi, Roussan.” He greeted both without title, moving to stand against a wall to the side. He could see everyone else that way, and also the door, which was his preference. After that, it was really just a matter of waiting for someone else to say something. He wasn’t the sort of person to express opinions about what they did unless someone was being a complete moron, which did happen sometimes, but not often.

---

Smoke curled lazily from the antiquated Ravein’s pipe, filling the small back room with the pungent odor of moonbloom shoots- a peculiar plant long considered to have analgesic effects. These days, it was the only thing that kept the pain from the old war wounds down to manageable levels, and the lupine gentleman partook religiously.

Clawed hands gripped the bowl of the pipe and removed it from his muzzle, tipping it upside down and tapping until the ash fell out into the glass dish. Glancing at his young associate, he raised a brow. “I fail to see how this is my concern.”

The other man, a half-human from the looks of him, narrowed his eyes, but refrained from speaking, correctly guessing that the wolf had not yet finished. It was unwise to interrupt, after all. “I built this city from the ground up, and while I understand that idealists such as yourself see much to be changed in it, I maintain that I would rather be free of all that rubbish than a little richer.”

The only other conversant party in the room (the rest being bodyguards) crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, which was frankly a little more haughtiness than the old canine usually tolerated, but he had rather liked this one at one point, and perhaps grew sentimental in his age. “I’m not the only one who sees profit to be made in the deal with the majnun. There’s a lot of raw material underground, and they’d keep us out of reach of the Empire besides-”

“Are you stupid, boy? You’d submit to one master to avoid a lashing from the other!” Several of the guards in the room tensed a bit at their employer’s tone; it would soon be time to eject the whelp from the room. “I’ll not trust the devils underground, and we’ve made plenty from keeping things just as they are.”

“You misunderstand, Ulfur. I’m not here to ask your permission. I’m here to secure your agreement.”

There was a short bark of laughter. “Well, you don’t have it. What will you do now, boy?” It was readily apparent that Ulfur himself knew the answer, for the anger had seeped from his voice, and he merely sounded resigned.

So perhaps, then, the men-at-arms were the only ones who didn’t expect the firearm to be leveled at their employer, and the trigger fired.

---

The first whispers of the death of Ulfur One-Eye were in the taverns and shops within an hour, as various people discussed the most likely culprit. Many were quick to blame the Empire and the Architect, supposing that at last the most powerful man in the world had grown tired of a city that escaped his influence. Others were wiser, and decided that the deed smacked of an inside job.

Once this was decided, the accusations were quick to follow. This or that man or woman with a dissenting opinion found themselves on the wrong end of baleful stares and fighting words, and, true to its reputation, the city of Cassim could only hold so many confrontational shouts before fists began to fly. The taverns were, predictably, the first places to hold brawls, but in time the fights spread to the very streets themselves, and in truth by then most people had not the faintest idea why they were suddenly attacking the nearest person to wander by, only that nobody seemed to be doing anything to stop it. What had once been a peaceful, if seedy, city was in the matter of an afternoon a full-on civil dispute, and woe was the poor stranger who became caught in the crossfire, for the throng of people was so thick as to block passage just about anywhere.

The moment the ship docked at Cassim, Hollystone could notice it, even from the bowels of the ship where the hired men slept and the roaches Naga worked so hard to exterminate lived. He was one of the last to leave, almost deciding to stay and lounge in the ship until he realized the most recent battle had drained him of his explosives and ammunition. He would need more ingredients, and bullets. He reached under his bunk, pulling out a weighty bag of coin and counted it. He could have used his own money, but this was Jan's. The Majnuun had given this to Hollystone, believing him to have less coin than a miser after breaking him out of prison. Of course, he wasn't- but Hollystone's stashes were spread out far and wide among the sands, and getting to them would have been a pain for such small amounts that meant little in the wilderness. Jan never had to know that, of course. He could just barely sense her contained emotions (what exactly they were, he was not sure) despite her reliance on his mastery with explosives and firearms. Not even the Mad Bomber was detached enough to disregard his surroundings. Quickly, Aren disguised himself- garbing himself in a white, thin hood in the semblance of a desert headdress that covered a majority of the head and showing only the face. He tugged the tight cloth around his neck to cover his mouth, and carefully patted an eyepatch over his left eye, disguising most of his burn scars on the face. He then changed his clothes to more fit the hood, donning a bleached yellow light shirt and baggy pants. He replaced both his guns on the ship, taking out a regular-looking repeating short-rifle, modified slightly so that reloading was easier. Slinging it over his shoulder, he disembarked the ship.

The streets were crowded as usual. Despite being a dusty city, it sure was bustling, almost like a certain city he had seen in a movie regarding an Empire. Walking down the worn roads, he quickly made his way to the Market District. It was not hard to distinguish which sections were selling food, which sections were selling clothing, and which sections sold everything else. Moving among the stalls and storefronts, the mad bomber made his way down the streets and saw a store that caught his eye. Ducking into the shop, he looked around. A common weapons shop, it stocked little more than what was absolutely necessary to imply that it was a weapon's shop. Approaching the counter, Hollystone glanced quickly at the clerk before asking if he did custom shells. The clerk scowled. "Do I look like some sort of rich pantie-wearing sand eater like who you usually deal with?"He asked, an edge of hostility in his voice. Hollystone fought the urge to flinch- he was horrible at social interaction. The clerk seemed to act this way to everyone, however because even as Hollystone hesitated the man eyed him in slight confusion. Recovering slightly, he asked quickly what kinds of ammo he carried. After rattling off some caliburs, Hollystone settled for the .357's, standard and simple. He also quickly asked for a couple boxes of .45s, deciding he would modify those bullets into the soft rounds his rifle. Making them by hand was extremely annoying and painstaking, but they ensured the kill way better than regular bullets.

He counted out the money necessary to pay the dealer, and was examining a crossbow imported from the underforges of the Ravein society when a loud gunshot alerted the clerk and Hollystone to the commotion outside. For some reason or another, an all out civil war has erupted suddenly, chaos quickly overwhelming the market district as looters looted, people fought, and the smart ran. Looking at the clerk, he cocked his weapon and exchanged quick nods. The clerk quickly took what little merchandise he had on display and locked it in a strongbox, drawing a bolt-action rifle. He opened the back door just as looters kicked the door in, just as Hollystone loosed a round. The bullet cleanly cut right through the man's torso, sending him toppling backwards as the recoil from the kick and force of the bullet propelled him into the other looters. Hopping over the counter, Hollystone entered the back room just as the sturdy metal door was shut behind them. Racing down the rows of ammo and guns, the Mad Bomber couldn't help but get slightly excited when he saw a row of rocket-propelled grenade launchers stacked neatly against the wall on a rack. Now was not the time, and they were at the end of the room before he could lick his lips in desire.

"Aren't you worried about losing your stock?" Hollystone shouted over the din that the outside chaos was making. The clerk scowled again.

"I worry for my own life more than my stock." He said gruffly, gingerly opening the heavy door and ushering him out. The man gave Hollystone a package, winked, and then closed the door in his face. Clipping the package to his belt, Hollystone cocked the short-rifle he held, trying to figure out the best route back to the Decadence. He dashed away from the main street, further down into the network of alleyways that defined the marketplace of Cassim.

---

The Mediterranean Wastelands
Cassim - Mercantile
Bryan Darco- The Monkey Man

Oh Cassim. You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. Well, maybe aside from those damned Imperials, but they were so big it hardly counted. Bryan's whimsical thoughts carried like this all the way from the ship where he hopped off eagerly to the markets and streets where idly browsed the merchandise. Luckily, despite his career as a relatively famous athlete he had fallen so far from grace he doubted there would be a soul that would recognize him, much less expect him to be here of all places. His cybernetic leg pumped as he pushed past crowds in order to proceed, looking for things of interest. He bought small little trinkets here and there with his money, but more often than not would give them to little kids that ran down the alleys playing games because he simply didn't need them. He did admit that giving a kid the brittle-looking bowie knife wasn't the best idea in the world, but in the end he had his knuckle dusters, which proved to be a much more valuable asset in close quarters combat than an oversized knife could be anyways.

He saw a hilariously stereotypical rug merchant, and for a while chatted with him as they discussed which carpets would be good for pets, food spills, or mental health. Apparently, as the merchant says, the color of the carpet can dictate your mental health. He decided to get a small mat, colored brown and gold that he would bolt onto the floor of his crows nest. Rolling it up and using rope to affix it to his back, he sauntered back into the shifting crowd, amazed that such activity was merely everyday business. He wondered if people have died being trampled here quickly before he recognized a familiar face.

"Oi, Shakie!" He called to the lizard man, cook of the Decadence. He was carrying a multitude of packages, which Darco quickly believed to be supplies for the ship. Scooping some out of Neyshak's hands before he could protest, he gave him the typical thousand-watt grin he carried. "I was just getting bored around here. Cassim's a nice place, but man your typical cowboy town does get boring after the umpteenth time we're forced to stop in." He prattled absently, falling into pace with the lizard-man. It was not long after that suddenly, the markets exploded into activity. Due to some sort of event that Darco could not determine, the Mercantile has combusted into a whirlwind of violence and chaos that was steadily converting the shocked crowd into an all-out brawl. Bryan would have loved to take a few swings himself, but as he was helping carrying Neyshak- as well as looking out for him like good comrades do, he had his hands a little tied. "We should get going, eh?" Bryan said nonchalantly, belying the low nervousness that filled his stomach with butterflies.

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence – Belowdecks – Captain’s Cabin
Roussan Filondar - First Mate

The sky empire would stop at nothing until their fleets overrode the Decadence. Nothing was more important now that they'd taken a probable hostage and laid waste to expensive weaponry and machines. They weren't the sort to forget any slights against them. The large bulk of the ship was keeping low in Cassim, until the costly repairs were finished, but that didn't mean there weren't Imperial spies skulking the alleyways. Caution still needed to be taken into consideration. Anyone could be bought in the slummy areas of Cassim with the right amount of coin. By some small mercy, Roussan had avoided the motherly, insistent lecture that the entire crew had always come to dread. He was always nattering at them, heaving his heavy shoulders in distress when he was greeted with rolling eyes and jutting lips. Few would listen, fewer still would come back without a few bruises to show for their recklessness. He was glad for the opportunity to slip away into the Surge's office and get away from the noise for a moment, even if it was solely bear bad news.

Such things were to be expected. Roussan watched his companion's downcast eyes before he slowly uncorked the aged bottle of brandy he'd acquired from the limp arms of an Imperial man. The bottle hadn't been opened and most likely was being reserved for a small victory; a celebration that was never coming. “O' course. Caution be tha' parent 'o safety, me m'aam used ta' say. Seems ta' me that'd be the wisest course.,” He replied in a thundering, hearty laugh that was neither content nor delighted with the sordid situation. It was a sad sound that rumbled from his belly, reminding him of ancient losses and new wounds. He glanced towards the slender woman—who was perched in an overstuffed chair that seemed to swallow her whole—and offered her a small nod, acknowledging her presence there as well as inviting her to share any words of her own. And a small apology for startling her so. He wondered vaguely whether or not the strange-smelling woman mistook Surge's words for a threat; that she wouldn't be found and rescued by the Empire. Was she frightened?

His onyx eyes darted across Estelle's petite features before he turned back towards the task at hand; fetching five ornate, wooden cups (presumably from another raiding adventure) and filling them to the brim with the bottle's contents, before discarding the half-empty bottle back across Surge's shelving unit. He lumbered towards the Captain, then settled the drink in front of him, clumsily pawing two extra cups in his clawed hands before he stepping towards the stranger. A small sound escaped his folded black lips. Essentially, it was merely a huff of breath—a quick intake of oxygen that indicated he'd brought the drink for her and mutely explained that if she wished to drink it, she could, and if she wished to leave it be, she could do so without offending anyone. He'd glimpsed her tapered, Academic fingers swish over her clavicle, resting against seemingly nothing—but he knew without asking that she possessed something. He wasn't sure what it was, nor it's purpose. A small flash of gold, and that was all.

“You,” He began slowly, attempting to soften his voice to a more pleasing tone: with little success, “are not a prisoner here.” Perhaps, Roussan had grown soft through the years of pirating. His sonorous voice and beastly appearance had always masked his maternal disposition. Long in his years, Roussan had grown weary of cruelty—he would allow none of that in or around the Decadence, and for the most part, everyone seemed to agree with his passive views. However, if something needed to be done, the Second in Command would not shy away. “May'aps, introduction's er' in order?” Another knock interrupted his thoughts, causing him to swing his shaggy head towards the closed door. Reminding him smartly that he'd have to have a word or two with Rhys. He offered his own short greeting, “Laddie.” Then tipped his muzzle. No doubt, Jan was verbally laying waste to the crewmembers as she swept across the decks, inspecting the damages with keen, hawkish eyes.

Intrusive thoughts of her offered him no quarter. He quietly sipped his brandy, savoring the smooth, woody flavour. It might seem a wild goose chase, but he considered asking Naga and Neyshak to accompany him; perusing Cassim's streets would be a welcome distraction.

He had been swindled by those despicable cretins who dared refer to themselves as "civilized businessmen" and plucked him for his hard-earned coin as their cooks would the poultry they had stolen from the alms-givers on a daily basis! How could he have let such a catastrophe happen in such a short amount of time? Was it his poor mathematical-expertise, near-absent bargaining skills, or simply the dumb look on his face as they began spitting their ambiguous words with a rapidity he was unable to follow? Merchants be damned! The last one knew exactly as he had felt and the penny-pinching bread-monger had it coming to him when Neyshak heartily kicked the unsuspecting human in the shin and took off with several more rolls of bread than had been agreed upon! Oh dear...what did he just do? Did he resort to violence and theft to resolve his latent issues concerning aggression and incapability to manage simple dilemmas? He was a pirate, at least that was what the Captain and everyone else said anyways, but is that what pirates really do for a living? Then the tidal wave of memories of his partaking in several raids such as the previous flooding before his eyes settled the mental debate. They stole from the few people who stole from a larger number of people. So it must be pretty heroic to choose the life of a corsair who steals from the thieves! Well... at least that was what he needed to believe to keep such a broad grin planted across his face.

The reptillian had kept his brisk pace for long enough to slip into the crowd and down several side streets to succesfully avoid the bread-monger. Of course this meant he was more than likely unable to ever venture into this mercantile again, which would mean he would need to explain to the Captain why that was, which meant he was probably going to be put of dish-pans again. Wait a minute... he did dishpans anyways, so what did it matter? The impossibly broad smile spread across the cook's face somehow grew even wider at the idea that his possible punishment for the transgression would be something he did anyways! Marvellous! Well...the smile seemed impossibly large for a few minutes, but shrank with a speed unequaled by even the fastest Raptors one could find as the most dreadful words he could imagine were uttered from the mouth of one of the last people he had wanted to see...Monkey Man!

"Oi, Shakie!"

Without even inquiring as to whether the Ravein needed, much less cared for, his help the pesky, little man scooped up the sack of pilfered goods as Neyshak gazed helpless, speechless, and somewhat relieved after he thought about it. If someone WAS to question him over the subject of the stolen items he could merely brush them off by telling them who was holding the goods. If that did not work he knew he was faster than the pestering human, even if just by a hair. How well such a plan would work out did not occur to the cook, but the prospects seemed wonderous. Neyshak mirrored the bright smile given by the Monkey Man and continued down the road leading back to the docks. The man just had to start talking though, there was a word for people who loved the sound of their own voice, but he could not remember it for the life of him at the moment, well that was a lie because he did not even know the word, but it all seemed to make sense anyways. It seemed he had to grin and bear with it though, especially since it kept his associate occupied with other things than finding new nicknames for the nonce.

"I was just getting bored around here. Cassim's a nice place, but man your typical cowboy town does get boring after the umpteenth time we're forced to stop in."

Unfortunately the events unfolding at this time did not seem to coincide with his companion's observation. The streets were becoming quite crowded with mobs of unruly people assailing one another for unknown reasons, and a riot very quickly enveloped the two poor passerbs-by. The Monkey Man looked worriedly towards the Ravein cook, whose excited eyes responded in kind to the violent stimuli surrounding the two. This was bad, and he did not need some book-smart, nose in the air type to tell him so much.

"We should get going, eh?"

A violent shaking of the head in acquiescence to the hypothetical question sent Neyshak's orange head-fin flopping back and forth, well so much as it could seeing as to how rigid it had just grown due to the turbulent climate thereabouts. The little reptile quickly scurried off with a much hurried pace, his hands grasping the sacks of pilfered goods like a child would a saftey blanket under similar duress. Hopefully they would not need to involve themselves in such a violent situation as they were facing currently, but when people just started fighting and beating each other to a pulp the poor cook always seemed to be thrown into the melting pot. It was turning out to be SUCH a dreadful day!



It was almost comical, really. The entire civil war was approaching in the form of "he who punches shall be punched in return"- but with the terrible aim of most of the civilians in such a small space, an elbow was sure to go somewhere unintended. Even as he waited for the reptilian's response, he looked back at the weight that had lifted from his arms and realized that he had just been left for dead. Goddamnit. "Hey, that ain't funny, Cook-man!" the Monkey Man hollered, pushing his way past the dumbfounded crowd after him. Luckily, close-quarters was where Darco did best. The knuckle-duster he carried at all times was almost made to be used in such cramped spaces, and it was itching to be used. However, even with the retired athlete's impulses to stab somebody with the stiletto that could extend from the improvised knuckles, it would draw attention if he weren't in the brawl itself- which was gaining on them (or maybe just him, Darco had no clue how well Neyshak could move among this morass of people).

He soon learned it the harder way, as he finally rounded a corner and caught the brief flapping of the Ravein's fin. In a chaotic situation such as this, Darco sincerely hoped the cook knew where he was going- as he certainly didn't without being able to clamber onto a rooftop. Suddenly, the alleyways seem to explode outwards as the melee enveloped the small branches that pulled themselves from the main streets to join with others. How in the world did such a city even fit so many people? How did it get so damned crowded? The answer to both questions would continue to elude him as Darco pulled out his Knuckles, hastily sliding them on and making his last dash toward the bobbing fin before rioters surrounded him.

The people were not much of an obstacle physically, the only problem being that he physically couldn't see the Ravein now. He just had to keep proceeding in the general directio he saw that damned fin moving about. That cook could move. There was little time for grudging admiration, as the Monkey Man turned his attention to a racketeer who tried to clock his quarry with a swinging arm but missed. With two deft punches, augmented by his knuckles the man was out cold. Whether or not he would survive the trampling later would be another story Darco would not see the end of. Raising his knee at lightning speed, he lashed out with his mechanical leg, sending another rioter doubling over to receive a punch to the side of the head. Pushing past him, Darco managed to avoid the worst of the fighting but had to dispatch three more men in a similar fashion before being able to move on. Flicking his wrist, the small stiletto dagger popped out of the knuckle's holding area, allowing the Monkey to quickly eliminate another man. Even as he withdrew the pin-like blade from the man's neck, he burst from the top of the crowds trying to catch sight of the Cook. Luckily, his sharp eyes were able to do just that.

It would be a while before he managed to catch up, and they were in no way free from the melee that continued to rampage through the streets. Slightly out of breath, he managed to fall into the Ravein's quick movements. "And I thought I had agility" he muttered, forcibly pushing a man out of his way so he would not be left in the dust by Neyshak.



Despite Neyshak's substantial speed he could not outrun or outmaneuver the constantly growing crowd. The whole city seemed like a hot pot which had been left to boil with the lid on for much too long a period of time, in other words things were getting worse by the minute and all the scum started to rise to the top of the situation. Lukcily the little creature seemed half a step ahead of any direct confrontations, aiding in his ability to navigate the packed streets and alleyways that littered the city of Cassim, seeming more like a honeycomb with every passing second he thought about it subject. Hopefully the Monkey Man had been able to keep up with the cook's brisk pace, he had seen the little man hop around on the ship much quicker than any of the other crewmembers save himself, but the reptilian did not dare look back to check. He should be fast enough to keep up at least, even if he did not have a chance to tie the nimble Neyshak.

A new problem soon rose to the forefront of his mind as the streets began growing darker, dirtier, and much more dangerous. In fact, if he was to be any judge of the situation which could be a pretty good assumption seeing how chaotic things were at the moment, Neyshak could swear he had never been in this particular alleyway before. This startling developement was all it took to send the little reptile tumbling head over heels, still clutching desperately at his sacks of pastries, and smack dab into a pile of rubbish. Luckily there were fewer people on this particular alleyway than in those adjacent to it, but what they lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer ugliness. An excited head-fin fluttered rapdily as the reptile's eyes darted back and forth down several other alleyways at this particular juncture, his head moving so fast it seemed his neck might break from the pressure. Luckily the Monkey Man did not take long to catch up with the confounded Neyshak.

"Hey...I'ss don't know where we'ss at...Which way iss t'e ss'ip?"

"Well bollocks, neither do I!" crowed Darco nervously, "I thought you knew and I was just following you!"

The little creature finally gave up in his search of the alleyways, but things were soon beginning to heat up dangerously so in this particular area. It seemed that whatever conflict was in the main streets had seeped its way this far into the back streets, and soon they would be in some big trouble. Neyshak dropped his bags of bread, now completely destroyed thanks to his tumble, and dropped his head back in a show of complete failure and surrender, his inner-lids closed to keep out the dust flying throughout the air like a fog. Then the idea hit him. If they could not make their way down here... then why not try up there? While still looking up he posed a question to the Monkey Man.

"Hey...why not go on roofsss?"



"I was hoping you'd say that" admitted the Monkey anxiously, eyeing the ever-present crowd that threatened to overcome everything. Like a land wurm. Looking around quickly, he pointed toward a slightly more run-down building, where chunks of stone had fallen off to provide decent handholds. "Up that way, 'Shak." He said, bounding toward the building and easily hauling himself up. He didn't look down to check up on Neyshak, considering the focus it needed to climb and his confidence that the Ravein would definitely be able to manage. Reaching the top, he looked down and reached over to scoop the groceries from him to quicken his pace before quickly handing it back to him when he reached the top.

Using his sharp eyesight, he easily picked out the docking areas despite the inhuman amount of dust lifted from the fights along the city. This seemed pretty easy then to jump jump from rooftop to rooftop and avoid everything. It didn't seem too hard- the roofs were just as cluttered so there were a lot of handholds to grab and whatnot. "Alright, I think I got us a route." Darco said, double checking before nodding eagerly. "Let's get there before people start getting the same idea.

Throwing himself off the edge, he easily made the leap and rolled to his feet, raising his hands to show that he was open. If Neyshak decided to toss the food instead of just jumping across with it, he would place it down when he came back and the system would continue. It was pretty smooth sailing at this point, but even as they made the first few jumps Darco realized this might be a very physically daunting task. They were a respectably far distance from the ship. Checking back on Neyshak, he decided that if it was necessary they'd rest. However, as they made the next few leaps, men began to haul themselves to the roofs. Some, like Darco and Neyshak were simply trying to escape conflict. Others pulled out rifles and began firing into the crowd like madmen. A gunman that had positioned himself fairly close to Darco and Neyshak seemed to notice him, but suddenly collapsed as a bullet pierced through his head. Darco quietly thanked their savior, as he was terrible with a gun. "Hot damn," exclaimed the Monkey, a grin on his face "things are certainly heating up. We should keep moving."



Neyshak watched the Monkey Man dart up the side of the wall, using the conventient improvised hand-holds thanks to poor building maintenance, of a rather run-down building some distance away from his current locale, for a human he was definitely a nimble creature! In fact the cook had been so impressed by this show of agility and ability he had forgotten the plan he had suggested in the first place, that was until a rock, roughly the size of a grape, torpedoed into the side of his delicate skull, sending the poor reptilian spinning for a few seconds, but luckily his instincts kicked in and little feet began to peddle wildly. Unfortunately his dazed state sent him peddling into the wrong direction, and straight at his assailant! As his head-fin stood straight to attention the cook leaped wildly into the air, using the man's chest and face as a kick-off point to flip himself back around, and it seemed the confounded and near-maniacal look upon his face helped to startle the individual long enough to let this happen. A flurry of sand, trash, and dust signalled the scurry of the Ravein towards his intended destination.

Some might think that trying to leap frog up the side of a building with a sack full of goodies would prove impossible for a mere mortal, yet whoever would rush to such assumptions had never met a creature as resourceful and creative as Neyshak, especially when a heavy dose of fear, pain, and adrenaline were involved with the process. The ingenious, who would ever think of using that word in the same sentence as Neshak except to say, "Neyshak was outmatched by an ingenious opponent," cook curled his brilliantly useful tail around his sack of pilfered and precious cargo so as to make the use of both hands available. You would be surprised how well a reptile can scurry up a wall, especially when the threat of a good stone-pelting was foremost upon their mind, well that and losing whatever it was they are focused upon at the moment, whether that be their lives or sustenance. As he reached the top the Monkey Man reached down in a seemingly benevolent gesture that warmed the cook's heart, well that was until he merely snatched the sack of bread from betwixt his rear appendage and then so rudely thrust it back into his grasp the moment he regained composure amongst the rooftops. Humans could be so rude!

After the capable inhabitant of the Crow's Nest surveyed their area to distinguish the docks amidst the carnage that was the city, a mean feat the Reptile could not have matched oddly enough, and soon set off in the direction of The Decadence, safety, home, and a place to finally get some rest. It had been too long since Neyshak had himself a good run such as this, indeed his little paunch was even bouncing slightly with each step, and the leaps from roof to roof were none the easier upon the jiggle. He would definitely need to start exercising more often than he had been of late. Now he knew why the Green Lady had always been warning him about eating too many of those pies he had been baking as the long, lonely nights wore on. Sweets could be so treacherous, one minute they comforted you with their juicy succulence, and the next you are just a PILE of juicy succulence!

He did not have a clue why the Monkey Man stood there with his arms held out. Maybe he was just trying to be nice and catch Neyshak on his way over? Oh he must be making up for his insult earlier the kind man! Unfortunately as Neyshak leaped, with eyes closed none-the-less, he failed to realize Darco was just attempting to catch their food should he desire to toss it. The end result of this misconception was near disatrous as Neyshak went tumbling head over heel while the Monkey Man took off without even a look back! The damned human definitely starting to irk the cook, and to think of all the delicious meals he had prepared for the man, all the special snacks he had sent up to him while in that damnable pigeon coop of his! He would definitely have a few surprises in store for Darco the next time he was armed with a spoon. Unfortunately as they continued their leap-frog procession towards the docks many of the unruly populace began to conclude the rooftops were also a good spot for sniping/hiding/fleeing. A rifleman near to the Monkey Man turned at their approach, yet soon fell limp as he was shot.

"Hot damn," exclaimed the Monkey, a grin on his face "things are certainly heating up. We should keep moving."

"Shass up 'n keeps runnin' Monkey!" That had been all the inspiration Neyshak needed to double his efforts in their sprint for the ship.



"Right, right." Darco replied, flashing another cheeky grin at the reptile. Gazing down the rows of rooftops he once again confirmed that they were going in the right direction. It wasn't too far away now, Neyshak was doing surprisingly well keeping up with him. Despite the severe miscommunication block that so irked the Ravein, they were making very good progress, and the angry streets have not fully saturated the area of the rooftops just yet. Forging a path ahead, he kicked over planks, hopped over ledges, and maneuvered around obstacles in his effort to reach the Decadence, which was steadily growing in size. Luckily, the streets of Cassim had mostly uniform building structures, with one or two variances and it was relatively easy to move from roof to roof. Gunmen were certainly an issue, but since there were few and far inbetween, it wasn't much of an issue. In such chaos, a gunman could hardly afford to be wielding a rifle, can he? It was an easy way to get taken down quickly by a dagger or blow to the head. Suddenly, a hulking man hurled himself onto the roof, right in front of the monkey- who seemed dimunitive in size. He peeled off another man, who angrily clutched to his back while kicking him and threw him like a stone.

The man seemed to be in no mood for diplomatic debate, and was covered with various scratches and bruises. His eyes were red with rage, and his teeth were bared menacingly. He was a Ravein, a lion with a mane of black. Snarling, he turned to Darco and raised his large paws. "Get back, Shaka!" Darco hollered, dancing around the angry swipe, arming his knuckle dusters once more. Throwing himself under the Lion's reach, he proceeded to distract him by throwing a jaw-breaking punch to his stomach, causing the Ravein to snarl and slap at the ground under. Rolling away, the Monkey hopped back to his feet, throwing a vicious heel kick to the bear-man's knee. There was an audible thud as the Ravein fell to his knees, but he was easily able to shake it off before retaliating with a wild haymaker. The claws shredded the front of Darco's clothes, and part of his torso as well- barely missing the ribs and vital organs as he jumped back to dodge the attack. Superficial flesh wounds were always the worst- they hurt, but not enough that adrenaline would numb it. He dared not use the tiny gun on his knuckledusters, as it lacked veritable stopping power that would not be able to do significant damage to the bear unless he had it pressed to his skull. Fearless, the Monkey did not hesitate to engage him again, parrying another swing by lifting the offending arm over his head as it whistled toward him. It was harder than it looked, but it allowed Darco to land two hard punches to the enraged Ravein's side, causing it to flinch and roar. The lion then shifted it's weight, violently twisting it's body so that it made contact with Darco, sending the man flat on his ass. Before he could recover and get away, another dangerous haymaker slammed into Darco's left side, causing him to go skidding along the rooftop until he rolled to a stop at the edge.

Blinking stars from his eyes, the Monkey winced as his left arm exploded in pain- it must have snapped. Not surprising, coming from a Ravein with so much strength fueled by adrenaline. Stumbling to his feet, he barely managed to evade another heavy strike, taking heavy steps toward the edge of the rooftop that face the Decadence. However, because he was so disorientated, the Lion had no trouble catching up and pinning the Monkey to the ground. Baring his fangs, Darco helplessly looked around for the cook- at least he could have taken the opportunity to make it to the ship while the Lion was distracted.



What in the blue blazes was wrong with the people of this city? Every couple of buildings they jumped across there seemed some other insane creature wanting to do nothing more than rip their hearts out and eat them. Well he could only guess the whole eating part, but whatever they wanted to do with the ripped out hearts would only serve as speculation at this point in time. The cook tilted his head quizzically as the Monkey Man tried fighting his behemoth of an opponent, of course most people could be considered behemoths next to Neyshak, but that was another matter altogether, the problem right now was he was actually trying to fight the damned thing. Why didn't he just duck to the side and take off? They were obviously faster and more nimble than the burly creature...The things people did sometimes certainly confounded the simple Ravein at times, he would definitely need to ask why people would do things even HE knew better than to try.

Unfortunately it seemed that his foolish counterpart was being beat by the worst end of the stick, it was a pointy stick at that, and was soon overcome by the huge beast. This was folly enough as is, but soon there would be others with the notion of climbing up the sides of the buildings and trying to rip out their hearts for feed as well. This most certainly was a terrible predicament with which he was faced...oh why did HE always have to pick up the heavy loads? Without wasting another second of time, well maybe not two that is he was not really in a hurry, the cook whipped out his trusty blowgun strapped to his right thigh and carefully loaded the weapon with one of his infamous darts. He took careful aim of his query, and just as the leonine look as if he wanted a Monkey Man Meal the vicious, barbed projectile whistled out straight for the creature's left eye. While it would seem only like a superficial would to most, not many knew of the special liquids he dipped his darts into when preparing them for the week. Being this close to his brain should not take but...

Oh yes that was definitely fast-acting! The initial reaction from the beast was somewhat...stunned as it did not quite know how to handle being shot in the eye with such a small weapon, or that it did not know how such a little creature as Neyshak could effectively semi-blind him, but whatever the case the few seconds it decided to wait and think were what saved Darco. The beast began twitching in agony as the poisons began working on his nervous system, and the body involutarily heaved to try and expel a substance that was not in its stomach. Too bad Monkey is unda da creacha. Pondered Neyshak, oh well too late to do anything about that. As the lion toppled over onto its side, writhing in agony as his dart continued to do its job, Neyshak triumphantly replaced his trusty blowgun to its holder and traipsed towards his companion.

"You gets up now o' w'at?"



The monkey caught sight of the Ravein, who had stayed and pulled out a strange reed-like weapon. From a distance, it looked no thicker than his thumb. If he were to estimate it's size. With a quick puff, the dart flew from the tube, so quick Darco could barely track it as it carved a path straight into the Lion's eye. Nice aim. However, the time to admire the reptile's shot was not long, as whatever that dastardly cook put on the tip was beginning to work on the Ravein. It's hold on Darco weakened noticably, but even as it made groaning, belching sounds Darco knew what was happening wasn't pretty. Soon enough, Darco wasn't looking too pretty either. So much for netting some ladies down at the cantina. Even as the creature pitched over, falling down to the streets below, men and women were beginning to take the fight to the rooftops. Wiping lion sick off his face, Darco resisted the urge to wretch himself from the vile smell. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks." he said begrudgingly, making sure none would affect his vision. As ironic that would be. Without hesitating, he tested his left arm and confirmed it to be more-or-less useless for climbing until he could reach Allie. She could patch this up in an instant.

Judging by the distances between the remaining houses, Darco was fairly certain it was just a straight shot unless more Ravein or otherwise began climbing the roofs in front. Quickly taking decisive hops, he avoided jarring his broken arm as best as he could- but parkour was not a healthy way to treat broken anythings- as minor as they may be. He had certainly learned his lesson. Falling from the last roof, he sighed in relief. The torturous part was over. However, the docks were in turmoil as well- they had barely managed to make it ahead of the fight, even while hindered by Darco's slowed pace. While the fight in earnest raged well behing the crowd, looters and rioters loved pillaging in a chaotic environment, and if they were overcome by the crowd, Darco would find his purse cut and Neyshak's groceries stolen. If the reptile still had them. The Decadence was not far now- and as they took each step, the gangplank that lead up to the relative safety of the deck was almost tempting them to take an early leap. Throwing himself up the steps as he reached it, the Monkey turned back to look for Neyshak- but was met with a crowd ready to board just as they would a merchant ship. Luckily, the gangplank was narrow and the smooth sides of the Decadence were a natural wall to those who tried to scale it. Thank goodness the damaged side faced away from the docks. Lashing out with his mechanical foot, a looter felt his nose cave in as he toppled over his fellow thieves. "Get outta here, scum!" Darco snarled, hoping to scare them off. However, it would seem that each looter needed to be reprimanded.



This was about all he could handle for the day. Right when they come to the relative safety of the docks things start heating up real quick. First he had been robbed, then swindled, and almost murdered today. The worst part was his bread was now flattened and beat up so much it was nearly all crumbs now. NOW there were people trying to get on the ship, and they were in HIS way. He didn't like using his dart-gun all that much, but enough was enough. A few select darts later, and about five seconds, hey could hear the voice of Monkey bellow out some kind of useless thing at the mob, but his tactic was working much quicker. As looters and rioters began dropping likes flies, twitching, vomitting, and bellowing in pain the rest began to take notice, and they also took notice of the fire-eyed Ravein with the blow-gun. That was all it took an they soon began to rush of in search of easier prey. The cook harumphed in triumph as he happily trodded back onto the ship, his face beaming with a large smile. It was a bad day, but everything's okay now!

Cassim
The Decadence - Upper Deck - Port Side
Jan : The Sky Dragon

It was barely an hour after they'd made landfall in Cassim that Jhanjhavata had begun the prepares for the Decadence. It was not a wreck, as she'd feared, but the ship was in bad shape. One or two more good hits from artillery weapons of even median caliber would tear into the heart of the ship with ease at this point. Several plates of armor and support rungs within were twisted and blackened, while others were missing completely, the only signs of their forcible ejection the stretched bolts and jagged holes to which they had been moored. A good deal of underlying circuitry was damaged as well. Superficial things that were added into the design of the Decadence or tacked on during its time under Devargo's care.

Jan hissed a curse and jerked her arm out of the hole in the hull of the Decadence. An angry red welt on her wrist was already beginning to swell, a gift from the torn steam-pipe and an untimely spew of boiling water. The majnun gritted her teeth, reached into the fourth pouch on her waist and produced a green bandage. Slapping the adhesive on, Jan figured it could have been worse. She'd seen humans come out much worse from water-burns. Shrugging, the azure woman reached back in to the gap with a soldering iron. Numerous gashes, punctures, and burns lined Jan's forearms after only a couple hours of work, marked by the green and red bandages.

Reaching out to the scalding water within the pipes, Jan whispered fluid words of the elements and cooed it in to a lulled, cooled flow. During that brief reprieve, the majnun welded the pipe shut. With a sigh of relief, the helmsman backed out of the innards of the Decadence, leaned back in the harness keeping her attached to the ship and stared up at the sky. She squinted and held back a sneer.

"I have arrived, Sola'cori." Aellai. The lilting, gentle caress of her voice, so like the element that permeated her being, caused Jan no end of annoyance for Jan. Perhaps, Jan pondered, she may have been jealous of Aellai. Aellai was more charismatic, prettier in a classical sense, more statuesque, less icy, and had a less tempestuous personality. Jhanjhavata grinned at Aellai. It was not for the other majnun, but for herself. The woman with a brother-complex could be as superior as she wanted.

"You're a few hours too late, Iss'a." Jan responded with a laugh, using an old majuni term that roughly translated to 'airhead'. Jan replaced the soldering iron and withdrew a bolting hammer and some oversized nails. To the left of Aellai, a pair of deckhands were lowering the metal plating she'd ordered and half of the reinforcement bars. With only the slightest glance at Aellai, Jan donned red-tinted goggles and began the muscle-wearing work of pounding the new metal into the hull. The ship literally groaned in protest as its wounds were bound in steel and iron. "Try talking to brother dearest or the bear. Someone who's more up to date than you. Saying something, considering Barvassi's been out of commission for half a day."

With that, the water majnun delved in to her work once more. Roussan's assessment of Jan having some sort of empathetic connection to the Decadence was not far off. Each time the ship was attacked, torn, beaten, ripped in to...Jan felt a twinge of pain. A pang of loss originating from deep within her wallet. This blasted ship was, in Jan's opinion, the greatest investment of her life. As long as she kept it in one piece, the money would keep flowing in. Sadly, its repairs were nearly as costly as the average mission when things got as bad as this. With one last sigh of resignation, Jan focused on her work. Those damned tubes better arrive before she was ready to seal up the next part of hull.

---

The worst of the damage was about a third of the way through already, and that was only three and half hours of work. Granted, Jan had not slept in a couple days and this would most certainly not help, but it was the efficiency that counted. She'd left Akir and Paul in charge of handling the loading of the sudden influx of supplies from town, freeing her up to relax a bit and report the progress of things for the moment. Upon arriving at Barvassi's room, Jan entered without preamble and proceeded and lean against the wall near Rhys.

"Captain," she said, inclining her head slightly. Covered in grease, sweat, and hydraulic fluids of varying origins, as well as a slew of bandages, the majnun was quite the sight. For the sake of work, Jan had opted to wear only leather breeches, boots, and a midriff exposing her scarred core. She seemed not the least bit self conscious, although her crystalline eyes did rove over the human girl. Not caring to observe her further, Jan assumed that Estelle was another pomped up human lass that Barvassi had taken in as a bargaining chip.

"We should be ready for battle by the end of tomorrow, the day after if we're in no hurry." the words sounded foolish, considering they were always running from something. "She'll be ready to fly again by the end of today. Although, i'd rather not finish the repairs dangling over several thousand feet of open air as some rube pilots my ship." Jan shrugged as if the possibility was bearable in any case, absently fingering a bandage on her forearm that was stained red with blood that had seeped through. Glancing at Roussan, then Barvassi, the blue-skinned woman straightened as if to leave. After all, this was just an excuse to let the lactic acid in her muscles die down a little. "If that is all...?"

The streets roared with an incoherent rage that swallowed up any attempts for reason. There was no way Hollystone would be able to punch through the crowds on the main streets, and thus had to take the route that some people were doing- the rooftops. However, as the brawls dragged on people began climbing up just to kill people down below, consumed by bloodlust and anger. However, Hollystone considered himself one of the better marksmen, and without a second thought he hurled his bought supplies up onto a roof, following suit and ducking behind a vent before carefully peeking over the edge.

It was madness, the ship itself was a good distance away which made the endeavor a lot more difficult of a prospect. Raising his smaller repeating rifle, he cursed slightly as he wished he had brought the Arenburg with him instead. With a crack, a man emptying his handgun into the masses toppled over the building, clutching at a hole that blossomed in his side. Grabbing his bag, Hollystone moved on, lightly hopping over the buildings. His side still pained him, having not fully healed yet after the shrapnel from the caravan skirmish afflicted him. However, if he were to stay here there was the likely chance that he would be marooned- Hollystone was the weakest link, the man that was as good as dead if unable to return to the ship promptly.

Firing off another couple of rounds at a man who had noticed him, his enemy was thrown back as a bullet punched right through his left eye. Things were getting grim- He could not outpace the movements of the crowd, which were pushing out toward the docks where the Decadence was moored. Tossing his bag over another roof, he allowed himself to jump over a particularly large gap between buildings, taking cover as one of the few gunmen on the roofs noticed him. They exchanged rounds, forcing Hollystone to reload for the first time as the short rifle did not allow for accurate shots. A minute later, he finally managed to shoot his assailant in the hand, causing the gun to clatter to the ground. Hollystone took the opportunity to dash for the next rooftop while his quarry was nursing his bloodied hand. He was getting closer to the docks now, and was jumping over the last of the rooftops.

An echoing blast of gunpowder registered in the mad bomber's ears, but the bullet had already punched straight into leg, sending him toppling off the final rooftop. His bag landed soundly, luckily the contents did not slip. Rolling onto his back, the Mad Bomber, looked around, and saw another man firing indiscriminately into the mass of people, the bullet hitting his leg through sheer luck. Cursing, Hollystone swung his firearm over his shoulder, forcing himself to his feet. He grabbed his bag, and grabbed an ice pick from a nearby meat vendor. The small tool would serve him better in such a close, dangerous moment than a long and bulky firearm would. Dragging himself along the running mass, it was all the Bomber could do to keep himself from being pushed over and trampled. Breaking out to the side, he collapsed to the ground as he gripped the grievous bullet hole in his upper thigh. The ship was right fucking there. He wasn't going to let himself be left behind when he was this close.

The crowd of people would not yield to him as he tried to make his way down the dock. Twice, he was pushed out of the way, looking increasingly ragged and tired. For some unknown reason the gangplank was lowered. Perhaps, somebody useful was still out there. Thank heavens, he would not be left behind. With a surge of strength, the Bomber limped heavily up the plank, coated in a cold sweat as he pushed open the doors that would lead below to the crew quarters.



The workers were getting increasingly tired of Hollystone. Even as the gunman groaned once more and emptied what was left of his stomach into a bucket. Out of pity, one of the members picked the pail up, covering it first with a lid to prevent the disgusting stench from wafting out, and took it up to the deck to dump over the side. Because he had let his wounds fester for so long, Hollystone had managed to get it infected, and consequently, became sick as his body tried to heal, fend off the infection, work, and fend off various forms of disease that ran rampant in many ships. At first, he had received a heavy fever that left him bedridden. However, he refused to see Aellai and warned the other crewmates not to tell her of his plight.

The workers, more numerous than when they had docked often relied on being subtle to get past being scrutinized by the higher ups as long as they were good. However, Hollystone used it as leverage. Using false claims of him being close to Jan, the second in command, he managed to get the rowdy groups to quiet down slightly. He never bothered to have them serve him, but he was adamant about them not informing the doctor, and covering him as he continually was absent from work.

When asked why, he merely responded again that he was not worth the time.

"You may get paid, because you have no debt." Hollystone groaned as a horse-faced worker sat on the bed across with a quizzical expression. "I am penniless on this ship, I cannot afford to see that doctor, nor is it worth her time and energy to heal one that is essentially a throwaway slave." Shifting his weight, the bomber decided to go back to sleep. The sickness had slowly been healing over the course of the days, and soon he would be back working once more. The worker shrugged irritably, replacing the pail back beside the bed and walked away.

Cassim - Mediterranean Wastelands
Marketplace- The Rioting Streets
Naga Neroli, That Janitor



Naga at one point found himself shoved against a wall, which he did not appreciate one bit. As he would insist to those that knew him well enough, slamming one's palms into another was a grievous insult, worthy of deadly and justified retaliation in the majnun culture. He was quite drunk each time he asserted this, however, so the truth of the matter would have to receive certification from elsewhere. Today, he decided to respond with simple reason, calmly reassuring with his assailant that he hadn't the faintest idea why they were in the hostile situation they were in; the (smaller) man sheepishly admitted likewise, backing off, even murmuring an apology over his shoulder. That was nice of him, Naga thought. Naga straightened out his clothes, renew his grasp on Hakuna Matata, and set off at a brisk pace. He'd heard much yelling and what could have been sounds of violence prior to being attacked, and had no desire to get involved. He might have thought otherwise long ago, but throughout his years, he has since learned that a blind man's nosy involvement in delicate matters either changed too little, or too much. He wouldn't want to lose his nose in addition to his sight, anyway.

Confrontations were blooming with increasing fervor by the time he managed to board the ship, and he was glad he received little more than a very bruised shoulder that would sting in the bath. Rubbing the back of his neck, he realized dried blood had caked part of his cloak--from the base of his skull, he deduced from further inspection. And I was looking forward to arriving to this silly city, for once, he thought with a sigh. "Good we did not end up worse for wear, eh, Shinyscales?"

"...Shinyscales...? Astrid Kur?"

It was then that he heard gunshots, and it took every fiber of self-control in his being to refrain from bolting down the plank. It was entirely possible that they had beaten him, and were already aboard the Asura. What would prove this theory wrong? He would look for them on the ship--though he made sure to caution someone nearby to look for a large gator ravein and a woman in the chaos. After Naga was done asking around, he returned to the plank to wait for them, though he was sooner passed by a lizard and monkey. He could swear Neyshak was aiming that danger flute at him for a minute there, and raised his palms in abrupt and unconditional surrender. He'd discussed poisons with the lizard in the past, and was not inclined to have any mirroring manifestations of the conversation inflicted on his person. No, sir. Little did he know: Had Lady Luck not favored him, ushered him along before the chaos truly consumed Cassim, he would be especially worse for wear. Perhaps ignorance would be bliss, as he is a happier man without mental images of a shredded left arm and bullet wounds from behind. He was a happier man to be unable to spy such wounds in others, as well. Blindness did him a favor, as the sight of the world curling into itself and ripping at its own stomach would frustrate him to no end.

---

Time passed. A mad bomber was ill, and Naga occasionally felt obligated to sit next to him and listen to the retching--not out of any sick pleasure, of course (you'd wish), but a desire to extend aid, alongside the inability to do so properly without poisoning him with something worse. Naga nagged Aren a little, teased him that his kinswoman would not bite, but would not go against the man's expressed concerns. Still, it was a worrisome couple of days, and this majnun could do with a loud tavern or two right about now.

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence – Belowdecks – Crew Quarters'
Roussan Filondar - First Mate

The nightmares were different, but the general theme was always the same. Loss. Death. Disappointment. Utter, incomprehensible failure. The responsibilities of second command weighed heavy, but he had always assumed them with outward confidence and an unhesitating gait. He allowed the fear of failure a voice only in private, remnants of afterthoughts and a solemn subconscious, where no-one else would hear. Once dismissed, the First Mate had made his rounds and found himself slumped, unabashedly, on two adjoined wooden benches, leaning his shaggy head against one of the beams connecting to the staircase. A familiar smell assailed his senses, flared open his nostrils. It smelt of death—something he was accustomed to, something that would follow him, eventually, to the end of his days. He's lived through nightmares before. He knows better. A cold sweat poured down between his coarsely-covered shoulder blades, heart thumping painfully, mournfully, eyes still seeing blood dripping down a blade. Down the barrel of a proffered muzzle. Sticky across his fingertips, crusting the fibers of his claws. These feelings did not belong to him, at all.

Roussan's beady eyes jerked opened—like shutters abruptly being thrown aside to allow the sunny days' light flow within a sullen chamber, only far more contrived. His jerky limbs sent fading tendrils of adrenaline harrumphing down his aching joints. He was aware that his breathing had become rapid and shallow, and that his throat was suddenly parched. How long had he dozed off for? His mouth seemed like an uncomfortable wasteland sandpapering across his tongue; and a wavering oasis could only be found within the confines of his leathery canteen. He brought it to his lips, tossed off half of it with a toss of his head, then huffed out an impatient breath. The canteen sloshed within his shaking paws as he clumsily attempted to latch the leather straps back to his waist, only to deposit the damnable thing across the bench. These were shadows of the past tormenting him, and of the present, of the near-future they were bound to face sooner or later. To steady his nerves, the First Mate heaves himself from his afflictions and wanders the Decadence. He runs his claws amiably along the bulkhead, obsidian in the diminished light of the night cycle; breathes in the humid air, cool and vaguely familiar, steadying himself; taps the engine affectionately, oil and grease coating his fingers, as he helps Jan with urgent repairs; rests his elbows on the rough oak table, feeling the ridges and grooves and memories that the years make. Knots and nearly-ancient grooves that will continue telling their tale for as long as the Decadence cuts through the skies.

The Decadence shuddered suddenly, and the engines whirred and hummed back to life. Something was happening. His lumbering footsteps clomped away from the kitchen table, nearly spilling the bountiful contents of his bowl, he'd been occupying and back to the main decks where the crew members gathered. Others had already begun preparing the faithful ship for a hasty getaway. Roussan's gaze solely belonged to the scene that befell Cassim's centre; it's heartland. Plumes of smoke billowed from the burning buildings, filtering the scene with a sheet of hazy smog. Cassim had always been known for its' violence—a notion that had been widely adapted to by it's inhabitants while equally befuddling those who did not understand it's peculiar ways. His mouth opened, then closed. The Captain's roaring commands broke through the reverie of gunfire and carnage, as they always had. Roussan's hulking form vaulted over the Decadence's lip, slamming down the wooden plank so that supplies, and missing crew members alike, could clamber aboard. Only when the last person appeared did the First Mate retract the plank and board himself.

---

Who had first told him of Hollystone's silently-suffered plight? Ah yes, the comely-looking worker who'd been secretly spilling the man's stinking pail over the Decadence's lip. Honestly, Roussan could not understand the gunman's protests. He'd clearly told him that Hollystone wished to be left to his own sickly devices and crooned that the gunman had warned him not to tell Aellai of his afflictions, so as to not waste her precious time, which excepted the First Mate. How could that stubborn fool believe that it would waste Aellai's time caring for those she'd always been willing to help? An irritated grumble rattled in the depths of his throat, threatening to spill out into a more bestial noise. Had it not been for the urgency of the comely-man's request and his own nattering worries, perhaps Roussan would have allowed Hollystone to heal on his own terms. Alas, the First Mate never could turn a blind eye on anyone.

Surely, Hollystone would have known that his absence wouldn't have escaped his watchful eyes. And so, Roussan's heavy feet carried him below decks where he imagined the gunman would he slumbering and retching and warning his fellow companions not to worry anyone else about his condition. His black lips curled backwards, then puffed forward. Clearly exasperated. Clearly weary of this unnecessary dillydallying. No old hound—not even including himself—deserved to lick his wounds in the darkness, alone. His heavy paw, wrapped tightly in a woe-begone fist, rapped unceremoniously against the door, lest Hollystone was busying himself with his pail, before he merely threw the door wide open. It rebounded off the adjacent wall and stopped itself short off Roussan's shoulder. It wasn't often that the beast-man even sputtered out more than a few words at a time, unless it was duly necessary.

“Aren Hollystone,” The Ravein rumbled, displeased by his own inability to display tact. A bull's brusque snort flared through his nostrils, ending curtly in a pointing claw. “If you do not report to the Doctor's Quarters, so help me, I will drag you there m'eself.” His unwavering eyes squinted hard, glossy with annoyance, and caught sight of Naga accompanying the sleeping man at his bedside. Doing nothing to remedy the situation. Still, Roussan was relieved that he'd come out unscathed. "And you, should have told me."

"Just get on the bloody boat you said, we'll figure it out later you said." Taissa glared at the inside of a barrel she was stuffed into, and when I say stuffed, I mean stuffed. Taissa's fluffy tail barely allowed her to breathe, and she was pretty sure some of the fur stuck out on the top. It was only because they had chosen a barrel in the back of the storage deck that they had yet to be discovered. The stuffy smell of musty wood, the dampness that made it unbearably hot, Taissa had enough. "It has been three days Char Char." She huffed, quite fumed by now, fumed and hungry and hot and cramped and a million other things. "Can't we just fess up already?" She pleaded, "I was charming enough to get that nice docking man to believe we were part of the crew, I'm sure I can work my magic on the Captain~" This argument over what to do had lasted long enough, they needed to come up with an actual course of action.



Char glared at his friend/owner, debating on whether or not to argue her point. It would indeed have been easier to come aboard the normal way, claiming to be refugees, but he didn't feel like trusting any more ship captains after his most recent betrayal. Muttering under his breath, the diminutive platypus budged the lid open enough to get a peek out. There didn't appear to be anyone in the room, and from his knowledge of the crew's habits (garnered from their stay) he believed that no one would come into the room for a long while yet.

"Coast looks clear, Taissa. I think we can bug out for the moment," Char whispered. Carefully prying the lid all the way off, he set it on the deck next to him. Like a ninja, Char hopped out of the barrel and rolled soundlessly to his feet, ready to incinerate anyone who stumbled upon them. He did feel bad for making Taissa have to put up with him for so long, but he'd make it up to her later. Just as he was about to relax, Char's heart dropped into his stomach. Big, lumbering footsteps reverberated through the deck, warning the coming of an enormous being. Smirking slightly, Charrask put his goggles on and fired up the bender's engines grafted into his arms, causing the air to ripple around them as the ambient temperature increased.

Charrask could just pop right out of the barrel no problem, whoopdy frigging doo! Taissa had to wiggle and grunt and struggle, ending up coming out tail first, then hind legs, and the rest of her, knocking the barrel down in the process. She could feel the air around her get hotter suddenly, and that quite frankly was enough. "OH NO, no no no, you put your fire out mister it is hot as hell!" She hissed, adding warmth to the musty room was not her idea of a good idea, but then again she had not heard the footsteps, until now. "Oh shit!" She covered her mouth, hissing out the curse word as quietly as she could. Her hand automatically flew to her guns, but she checked herself before she wrecked herself, deciding to remain unarmed, killing one of the crew was not a good idea either. "Char wait! We'll be dead if we piss the crew off!" She hissed as the steps got closer and closer. Until...



Sharpclaw's stomach had been bothering him all day, and Neyshak wouldn't cook him anything tasty to eat! He had finally gotten fed up with his neglect, deciding to help himself to the salted jerky rations they kept stocked up in case of emergencies. Well this counted in his book! Ever since that riot back at the city, he's been in a foul mood. Not only did some villager take potshots at him, but he'd lost the book on birds! Enough was enough. As he rounded the corner, however, Sharpclaw overheard a crashing as well as a female voice. His curiosity piqued, Sharp peeked into one of the holds, not expecting to find what he ended up finding. The first thing the gator noticed was the rather beddraggled raccoon looking very frightened. The next thing was the small birdlike creature glaring at him. Sharp missed him on his first examination of the room, on account of Charrask's stature, but once he was found, there was no escape. Sharpclaw pounced on Char with a cry of glee, picking him up bodily with one massive hand. Being manhandled by a titan wasn't exactly Charrask's idea of a good time, but Taissa had forbidden him to fight back, so he simply accepted his fate glumly. Sharpclaw took great interest in Char's tail, seeing as how it was so oddly shaped and very un-birdlike.

"What're ye, small bird-thing? Yer unlike any I seen a'fore, 'n I can't quite make ye out....Oh, 'n a'fore I forget, how th' blazes did th' pair o' ye get on th' Decadence?" queried the croc, looking between his captive and the woman.


Taissa sort of froze, mouth agape, as the thing that rounded the corner turned out to be a huge motherfucking reptilian ravein. Thick hide would give even sharp claws like her's a load of trouble. She hoped to whatever gods were out there that he didn't react negatively to them being there. And she nearly had a heart attack when he grabbed for Charrask, but luckily he turned out to be overjoyed instead of hungry for bird-meat. He was trying to cuddle Char in much the manner she always did. "Well tan my hide and call me a liar, guess the term 'friendly giant' applies here doesn't it?" She straightened herself and cleared her throat, trying to fix her matted fur around her face. "Ahhum, we uh, well the story goes like this. You see our Captain turned out to be one hell of a bastard! We hail from the Green Sally, and you can tell just by the name that the lot of them aren't exactly what you would call proper. I mean who in their right mind would name a ship that? It's not even intimidating!" She laughed, conversationally gesturing and smiling. "And so basically Char and I found ourselves out of a job due to a huge indescretion by a certain Sailor who had the nerve to pin the blame on Char, and he didn't even do anything wrong! I mean look at him?!" She gestured to Charrask, to whom the Ravein had obviously taken a liking to. "He's too damn cute to do anything wrong. End story, Cassim blew up in a raging hissy fit all of a sudden so we kinda took shelter on this ship and have been here for three days it looks like." She scratched her arm, "Is this ship by any stroke of luck lacking in a Navigator and or a Gunner?" Her tone was pleading.



Sharpclaw listened to the female Ravien's story expressionlessly, weighing unknown variables in his head. Charrask struggled weakly, but to no avail. Sharpclaw's grip was like an iron vice, not crushing him but not releasing him either. Charrask finally couldn't take it anymore and began to thrash around, shouting obscenities at the top of his tiny lungs, his voice rising higher and higher in pitch. A toothy grin split Sharpclaw's serious visage and he bellowed in laughter at the sight.

"Alright, ye wee bird-thing. Ye 'n yers can stay a time in th' lower hold while's I discuss th' issue wiv th' Cap'n DeVargo. He'll be th' final say in yer fate." At the mention of DeVargo's name, Chorrask froze mid swear and twisted around to look at his captor with wide eyes.


"DeVargo Barvassi? He's a Captain? He's not dead? WHERE!? Take me there, you fat cow! Now!" Char continued to bluster and huff incomprehensibly, unaware of Sharpclaw's confusion. With a shrug, however, the croc turned tail and began to lumber off. Almost as an afterthought, he beckoned to Taissa, indicating that he'd protect her on the way. They tromped through the lower deck to the stairwell, passing several prying eyes, but no one stopped them for interrogation. As they neared the Captain's cabin, Sharpclaw gestured for Taissa to be quiet as he rapped lightly on the captain's door. Hopefully DeVargo was in, and in a good enough mood to hear that he had a couple more mouths to feed.





Taissa was quite like a deer in headlights at the moment, she couldn't tell if the Ravein had bought her story. But the tension in the air suggested he didn't, and millimeter by millimeter her hand inched to her holster, weary of the fact that he could crush Chorrask in a split second.

Charrask had a knack for breaking tensions however, and he suddenly started to squirm and make a fuss, making her twitch in alarm. The croc spoke finally in his broken english, he bought it? But then at the mention of the Captain's name Charrask seemed to know who it was, just their luck! For once Charrask was probably going to be the one to save her! Finally, I mean really he did owe her a few by now. She let out the pent up musty air from her tense chest and cricked her neck, rubbing her sore muscles as she went ahead and followed. She again tried to straighten out her appearance as they passed crew members, a couple of them doing a double take at her uh...lady lumps, but she didn't mind, she found it flattering. She gave a nod at the croc's gesture to be quiet, grinning still at their impeccable luck.




"Char...how well do you know this guy?" Taissa commented from behind Sharpclaw, eyeing the poor cabin boy as he ran off.








Charrask blinked in surprise. "Not as well as I'd hoped. The DeVargo I knew was a much kinder, less...alcoholic man. I can try to talk to him, though..." Sharpclaw set Char down in front of the door and backed away a bit, grinning slightly. Taking a huge breath, the diminutive platypus dropkicked the door open and charged into DeVargo's room.

"DeVargo Barvassi! You cowardly, lactating fool! How dare you let me believe you dead all these years! I should burn your head off and piss down your neck!" he roared, his deep voice booming into the small cabin. Char ducked a blow, then another, dodging under the captains legs. "Stop it. I've learned a thing or two since our time in the service, you great ninny!" Char continued to dance around Surge's hail of punches, swearing and taunting the whole time.










Char's little heart's BPM's shot through the roof as he felt his tail be grasped by a huge metal hand. Sure that his life was forfeit, he muttered a quick prayer to whichever god was listening at the moment. However, it seemed that the gods had favor on him and blessed DeVargo with a restored memory. Char released a huge breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, glad that the Captain had come to his senses.

"Yea, fine and good, surprise. Can you put me down now? It hurts to hang by my tail." Charrask turned to glare at DeVargo as he was set down, but made no otherwise hostile moves. "Somethin' tells me you've got a big story to tell, old friend. Speaking of stories, I've got some...baggage that I need quarters for. Do you have room for a Navigator and maybe another gunner on this scrap pile you call a ship?" Char pretended to appraise the vessal with a critical eye, but in truth he was just glad he wasn't dead. He pulled a knocked over stool to the table in the Captains cabin, flipped it upright and clambered on top.

"Would you like to meet her? She's waiting outside with your hulking bodyguard," Char quipped.


Taissa was firmly hidden behind Sharpclaw, her hands on her cheeks and hopping from one foot to another. She did not like the sounds coming from the room, oh no she didn't. At the same time it was quite obvious that she could not just whip out her guns and go charging in either, especially if this Captain man had people on his crew like the croc in from of her. She looked behind her to see that the deck crew were all staring, and she smiled nervously, waving slightly before turning back around when the noise stopped abruptly and she could make out words. Apparently this was just a routine gruff greeting, completely normal, something Taissa would have had no trouble listening to if it were anyone but her precious slave Charrask. "Phew." She relaxed and ran her nails through her fur in places, hopping out from behind her hulking sheild and taking the initiative to step inside the cabin. "Well Char Char, you never told me about your time in the services! I'm all sorts of jealous now." Taissa strolled in, at ease with no sign of her previous concern lingering.

"Taissa Gillian, best aim in the world at your service!" She smiled and gave a mock bow. Crinkling her nose and squinted directly afterwards, hands moving to rest on her hips she commented, "Hey, we have met?" Taissa vaguely remembered this man's face. "I could swear I've shot at you before." If DeVargo was the person she was thinking of however, he must have gone through quite a bit, his limbs were mechanical now. "It can't be, you look almost the same! You'd have to be part Majnun like me for you to be who I'm thinking of. Hahaha! Never mind then!" Taissa came up behind Charrask and leaned forward against the back of his chair.