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Snippet #2821207

located in Never Land, a part of Return To Never Land: The Hidden Truth, one of the many universes on RPG.

Never Land

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Deirdre Galloway Character Portrait: Serenity Minua Character Portrait: Xaria 'Xary' Hellier Character Portrait: Lilian Galbraith Character Portrait: Gisele Character Portrait: Wendy Darling Character Portrait: Clara Valle
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Ciaran MacLeod
Helmsmanx|x|x#208148

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“More wind, MacLeod! Me body be feelin’ the lack of magic and I don’t much like it! Our bones be turnin’ ta dust! Get us back!” Captain Hellier called out to the helmsman up on the quarterdeck. A tall, lithe man dressed head to toe in black leather stood at the helm of the Jolly Roger. Once also the navigator, there was no longer a need to read the stars. The magic of the fairies guided the ship into the realm without magic and pulled it back again on its invisible leash. Now, with the magic of the island reverberating through his body, he uses his aerokinesis to push the ship through the waters.

Ciaran MacLeod has been with Captain Hellier since the golden age of piracy and Nassau. While generally, he was loyal, he didn't always accept being told what to do. He never betrayed his Captain for someone else but he'd find little moments to not do exactly what he was told. Tonight. he was particularly enjoying the smell of the sea air. The only part about the runs was the crisp night salt air of the realm he once knew and loved. The air was different in Neverland. He used his magic to speed up the ship as commanded but he didn't to his full capacity. He wanted to prolong the night just a bit.

When they passed through the veil and the cliffs materialized before them, he sighed. Besides the dirty business that was about to occur, he sighed to be back in the monotony of the place. Everything is the same day in and day out. The seclusion and unpredictable nature of time (or lack thereof) over hundreds of years had made him so stir crazy it was bordering on psychosis at this point.

The Jolly Roger began gliding towards the slip as drawn by magnets. Ciaran moved down the steps to the main deck, lighting a cigarette as he went. His heavy boot-clad footfalls thudded across the wooden planks of the deck, carrying him over to the stairs to the levels below. He took a long drag off his cigarette, the tip of burning bright for a moment, then let the smoke drift back out on his breath.

“G, Mai, you got this?” He offered his help to his crewmates but really wasn’t keen on actually helping. He was so tired of this business that had no clear point, no clear end-game.

Mai was below deck with Giselle and the captives, practicing her aim between her daggers and the mainmast. She glanced up at him with a weary look. They’d done this countless times. “Go blow your wind somewhere else, MacLeod.” She gathered her daggers and slipped them into the strap across her chest. Ciaran grinned his classic sideways grin and turned on his heel.


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