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Adair "Sock" Ravensdale

The impulsive and reckless captain of the ship.

0 · 164 views · located in The skies and Valdmire

a character in “Madam Midnight and the Sky Pirates”, as played by Hingyou

Description

Image
Gender: Male.

Name: Adair "Sock" Ravensdale.

Nickname(s): Naturally, he prefers to be called Captain, but given the familiar treatment he encourages in his ship, many people just call him by his name. The ship veterans also tend to use his middle name "Sock" at times, and the really brave ones have dared to call him Addie in the past, which yes, is a female name, and no, he does't appreciate it.

Age: 26.

Occupation: Adair is the founder of the sky pirates crew and has been the captain ever since its birth 7 years ago. As the highest authority in the ship, he is in charge of administration of funds, supervision of the ship's status, general planning and setting destinations; however, other than the last one, most of the time he will simply find a way to drop these duties on other people. In theory, taking responsibility and ensuring the well-being of the ship and its cargo is also his duty, but he would tell you a different thing. He spends the majority of his time trying to find new ways to entertain himself and researching things that will catch his interest in newspapers and even books, which often are the factors that decide the next course of the ship.

Personality: In a nutshell, it can be said that Adair is a man easy to see through once you get to know him, yet with a mind-work hard to keep up with. He is constantly in the search of entertainment by travelling the skies, always hoping to discover something fresh and new, be it land, treasure, a new ship or just anything that will catch his attention. Since he also tends to get bored of things very quickly, he always charges straight into his newest interests before his motivation begins to fade, usually disregarding his other duties entirely. As exciting as it would sound at first, his complete lack of sense of danger has more than once placed the crew in a precarious situation; whether this is a show of bravery or stupidity is a never-ending debate (though people lean on the latter). Be it gambling, trade or stealing, he has taken part and cheated in all of them, which has earned him many enemies not only among the government, but also from other pirate organizations. He usually tries to appear as a calm and collected kind of leader, especially to new people he meets, but due to his expressive and overreacting nature, this proves to be ultimately impossible for him. This is also the reason why it is easy to tell what he is thinking, especially for the members of his crew. Although he sometimes seems like a man with strong morals, his second greatest passion in life is money, and there is always a number that will be able to persuade him of doing something

He considers his crew family and prefers to keep an informal bond with them instead of what would be expected of a captain and his underlings; hence, he drinks with them, plays games with them and even slacks off with them. In fact, it is quite common to see his crew mock him regularly. However, there are times when business is business and at those times he demands the respect he deserves. Being an extroverted person, he doesn't have problems when talking to people regardless of their gender and usually acts the same way with both; that said, he finds it hard to truly understand women and is prone to making insensitive comments once in awhile. Much in the same way, social rank doesn't matter to him much either. His ship is his country and no duke, princess or king has any authority in it; unless of course they offer him money, in which case, rising through the ranks of the ship will prove surprisingly easy. His greatest fear is losing his ship, though he doesn't usually show much concern about it. He dislikes fighting as he isn't good at it and will usually only bluff and run away should the first option prove inefficient. Even when backed into a corner, he will only retaliate once he has confirmed climbing the walls is impossible.

Despite his usual lack of proper judgement and excessive impulsiveness, Adair has a natural charisma he himself isn't aware of and his free and noble spirit usually earns him respect from people eventually. Besides, his initially preposterous ideas have more than once allowed them to pull off impossible stunts before. While he does jump at the slightest provocation, it is hard to truly anger him. However, he does have a dark and serious side to him he only rarely shows. At the end of the day, and even if some of his newest acquaintances tend to forget about it, he is no less guilty than the rest of pirates.

Appearance: Adair has what could very well be summed up as a wild appearance that would be expected from a pirate. He stands relatively tall at 6'1'' and weights a (surprisingly) healthy 77kg. While not being especially strong-looking, he has a capable body with wide shoulders as a result of doing manual labor all of his life. He has long, dark brown hair he quite obviously has never brushed since he was born; while apparently being only long enough to reach a bit further than his wide eyebrows, he has kept growing the central-back part of his hair into a ponytail that goes as far as the middle of his back. Normally, he also likes to wear a hat to mark his position as captain, but a recurring issue he encounters is that ALWAYS without exception, he will lose his current hat at some point of each new expedition one way or another. He has big, dark green eyes that usually have a menacing look to them, mainly due to the shadow his low-wearing hat casts on them. Living on a boat and being constantly exposed to sunlight, his skin is tanned, albeit not to the point it would particularly call one's attention.

His clothes are also centered around the appearance of an old-fashioned pirate, consisting on a long coat of an almost black shade of gray and yellow but discolored lines around the the shoulder, neck and pocket areas. While clearly old, the coat is well taken care of and actually has a quite classy appearance thanks to its big, metal buttons, high neck and folded sleeves. Since he usually wears it open, one can see an unimpressive white shirt beneath it, accompanied by a pants of the same color as the coat. He has three noteworthy scars: one that extends from the left side of his nose horizontally until slightly past his right eye (made when he tripped by himself and landed face-first on the corner of the ship's rail), another circular one on the right side of his chest (made when he was saving his pistol and didn't set the safe appropriately, hence shooting himself) and a diagonal one on the left side of his stomach (made during a confrontation when taking over the ship).


Equipment: While obviously not carrying them around at all times, Adair has a lot of equipment befitting his role as a pirate, whether he even knows how to use it properly is a completely different story. He owns a cutlass sword he usually forgets to take proper care of and has more than once taken into battle without realizing its poor state; the one he currently owns is the eleventh one he has had since he became a pirate. He also has two pistols modified to fire bullets almost three times larger than the original ones, albeit with the evident disadvantages of being larger and heavier along with requiring much more gunpowder in order to fire properly. He is also known to hide many explosives under his clothes and no one has ever seen him run out of them.

It should be noted that, despite owning a wide variety of weaponry, Adair is only an average-level fighter without any kind of particularly impressive skills in fencing or the use of firearms. However, he is a quick and creative thinker who always tries to find a way out of a situation by using any kind of underhanded tactics and unorthodox tricks, making it hard for others to predict... well, anything.

History: Adair was born as the son of a prostitute and was abandoned before even receiving a name from his mother. For reasons he has yet to figure out (not like he actually tries to do so at the present point) the only thing left with him by his parent was a pair of socks. Thanks to his constant newborn crying, he was found out by a group of merchants who would take him in along with many other children under similar circumstances as his with the intention of eventually selling them as slaves. As cruel as it might sound at first, his new caretakers actually treated him quite properly, even if only for the purpose of making him a healthy slave in the future, and even gave him the name Sock since he wouldn't let go of the pair of socks his mother left him with.

Adair was finally sold at the age of 8 to a group of pirates who lacked both entertainment and the will to clean the ship themselves; it was the first time he had direct contact with the world of piracy, but, evidently, he didn't enjoy it. He was forced to clean the deck of the ship everyday even if there was a scorching sun burning him from the sky, and if he ever showed signs of slowing down, he would receive punishment from his new masters right away in the form of physical beating or being tied to the mast; anything more than that would be too much for his little body to survive, after all. Practically every night, he was forced to fight other children for food while the crew bet on who the winner would be, and it also became a common form of entertainment to get the loser to drink large quantities of alcohol until passing out; having never been a particularly skilled fighter, Adair had his good share of starving nights and often lost track of time due to heavy drinking. Since he wasn't the only child on board nor was he the only slave working there, he never even considered the possibility of him ~or any other kid, for that matter~ to have a different lifestyle and never questioned his masters about it. Hence, he grew barbaric and violent, adapting himself to the life of a pirate.

The ship he lived in was raided three years after his arrival there by a warship directly under the command of the King going by the name of Goldwing. In a completely one-sided encounter, all pirates aboard the ship were either killed in the battle or captured and turned in to the government, while Adair and the rest of the underage slaves were taken under custody. Even though he had technically been saved, the now 11 years old child had been taught to treat anything related to order as an enemy and became rebellious towards the ship's crew. While the original plan was to give the unfortunate children to an orphanage that could afford to take them in, the captain of the ship, Sir Edgar Lowsley, entertained by Adair's behavior and partly out of a whim, decided to make an exception of him and kept him aboard the Goldwing to continue to perform labor. However, unlike when he was in the pirate ship, he received good treatment, even being allowed to have his own room and his work being not nearly as demanding and inhuman. With time, he began to open up to the crew and understand the notion that life wasn't as violent and rough as he had initially thought. The crew also grew fond of him quick enough and began imparting him with basic teachings, such as how to read, write, talk properly and even some history lessons. Receiving the teachings that "one should live how he wants while accepting the responsibilities and consequences of his actions", he eventually became an official member of the Goldwing at the age of 14 and was rechristened as Adair by Captain Lowsley himself, who explained it was a variation of his own name.

By the time he turned 19, Adair was still a member of the Goldwing crew and, while he didn't have any kind of proper rank among them, being something along the lines of everyone's errand boy, he enjoyed his time there and had grown fond of the ship. However, his loyalty to Captain Lowsley would waver for the first time in many years after the government issued a command to look for a famous pirate at the time named Edward Howsham. Howsham was a man with few resources but a cunning mind who always managed to remain one step ahead of the Goldwing and, even though he left mountains of eyewitnesses and clues behind, he always found a way to leave a place just before the warship arrived. The situation turned sour when the government's impatience forced the crew to begin questioning and arresting anyone who had had contact with Howsman. While the majority of the members of the Goldwing didn't approve of their orders, the only one who actually defied them and confronted Captain Lowsley was Adair. Claiming that it was in these situations when one should show responsibility, the captain ignored Adair time and again until one day their discussion escalated into a fistfight. Due to growing tensions on the boat, Adair isolated himself for a few days in his cabin, pondering about his conflict of ideologies until he came up with a plan he felt he could make peace with. He waited until the ship was forced to spend a night in a city dock while it replenished and his night shift came up. While everyone else slept, he placed several explosive barrels in strategic places of the ship and lighted them up at the same time, effectively forcing practically all of the crew to leave in a rush, fearing the ship would fall. The only one who remained on board other than him was Captain Lowsley, who saw through Adair's intentions of stealing the Goldwing and confronted him to stop his underhanded machination. Although vastly overpowered in terms of fighting skill, Adair managed to trick the captain and ended up throwing him onto the dock along with the rest of the crew, albeit receiving severe injuries during the encounter. As the Goldwing flew away, its new owner climbed up to the top of the mast and gave his final words of farewell to his former colleagues:

"Responsibility and consequences are the names ye've given to yer chains! I shall borrow this fine jewel 'till the day ye understand. With that said, godspeed to us both, and may we meet again in the vast skies, Monsieur Lowsley!".

He would've sounded much more convincing if he hadn't passed out from his injuries seconds after breaking into laughter. He awakened after a day and through some miracle managed to dock the ship in a small town, where he switched names in an infirmary's waiting list with an old man (who incidentally was named Ravensdale, a surname he would keep since he liked the sound of it) and recovered from his injuries. Only then did he realize his plan didn't go any further than that; since he would probably be treated as a wanted fugitive from that point on, he figured he might as well become a pirate. Finding an unexpected love for sailing the skies with no ties and searching for the unknown, he founded his own group of pirates which had no long-term objectives and simply flied seeking the next thing that caught their interest. The ship suffered so many blows from the takeover that it has yet to be repaired fully despite the passing of 7 years (partially due to a constant issue with lack of a steady income) and it can no longer be considered a full-force warship. To this day, the boat has yet to receive a new name despite Adair's claim that it lost its old one along with its old master; some people still refer to it as the Goldwing, while others have nicknamed it the Nameless. However, officially it is, as Adair would put it, "just an accursed ship!"

So begins...

Adair "Sock" Ravensdale's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Elizabeth Grey Character Portrait: DJ Arnolds Character Portrait: Adair "Sock" Ravensdale Character Portrait: Fingall MacCreary Character Portrait: Faulkner Frey Character Portrait: Django
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Madam Midnight's request to the Respectful Captain Ravensdale.

To whom it may concern I, Madam Midnight offer thirteen thousand in gold for the capture of the Princess Elizabeth Grey of Valdmire. I offer a further twelve thousand for her safe journey to me.

On entering this agreement you will be entering a contract. This will ensure that you, your crew and ship will be under my orders until the Princess is delivered to me. Only then will we exchange flesh for gold. If you in anyway divert from the agreement I assure you no one will bargain, trade or deal with you again.

Whilst she is in your care I expect you to restrain from spoiling her so that future profit will not be compensated. Any attempt to sell the Princess for self gain will be prevented by my sources by any means necessary.

I do hope you consider my request. Looking at the numbers I'm sure you'll agree it's an offer you simply...cannot refuse. Once you have completed the said mission all records of our dealings will be destroyed.

Yours Sincerely,

Madam Midnight



Life was a web and the Madam was a rather large spider. She placed down her feather quill and smiled smugly with those rich red lips she used to seduce so many poor souls with. With this letter presented to all the under-scum of Valdmire she would have the Princess soon enough and then...her wicked way.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Juliet Marie Bendlet-Cross Character Portrait: Adair "Sock" Ravensdale Character Portrait: Fingall MacCreary Character Portrait: Faulkner Frey Character Portrait: Django
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#, as written by Hingyou
To Madam Midnight. My most humble greeting to you, my lady.

In response to your request I, Captain Adair Ravensdale, take upon myself the task of the abduction of Princess Elizabeth Grey of Valdmire, as well as her delivery to the specified location of your preference. In doing so, I expect a total compensation of twenty five thousand in gold as per your offer.

Naturally, I hereby abide to the conditions imposed by the consequent contract and shall personally take responsibility for the guardianship of the Princess in regards to her health and chastity. Furthermore, I submit command over my ship, crew and myself to you until the conditions to the specified contract are met and acknowledge the consequences that may befall should I fail to meet your expectations.

Let me express a personal gratitude for seeking us, and to a prosperous agreement for the both of us.

Yours cordially,

Captain Adair Ravensdale.

P.S.: Should the transportation of Princess Elizabeth suppose significant additional expenses, I trust you will be willing to engage in further negotiation.




With poor hand-writing worthy of a small child with broken hands, but proper words unbecoming of a pirate, so went the response Madam Midnight received days after contacting the crew of Sky pirates.

________________________________________________________________________________

Adair Ravensdale - Captain of the ship.


No sound but the calm gust of the wind crashing against the sails of a lone ship polluted the silence of the night sky. Surrounded by the darkness of the night, the boat cut through the air at great speed, majestically floating through the clouds, defying the laws of nature. Nothing other than further blackness extended in the horizon, yet the flying vehicle sailed surely in a straight line, certain of its destination. At the front of the fine vessel, sitting next to the bowsprit with one leg hanging like a pendulum outside the safety of the ship's deck, Captain Ravensdale was looking straight at the never-ending, dark mantle of the sky with a smile printed on his face and eyes struggling to remain open against the cold wind. Nothing but the poor illusion of a calm pirate. Though composed at first sight, a second glance could confirm that the captain was beyond any possibility of soothing. The corners of his smile twitched in fixed intervals and his left hand gripped firmly the hat that symbolized his status as a captain while the right one tapped continuously on the wooden floor of the ship. Adair was filled with the uncomfortable excess of energy of anticipation; the only reason why he had decided to remain on the front of the deck was because he wanted to witness the moment when the lights of Valdmire's central city appeared before them. After all, it had been a long time since his face beamed with such excitement as in that instant. Yes, that night promised to be full of thrills.

It had only been a few days since a young woman had somehow managed to make contact with the ship through many struggles, all for the sake of delivering a letter to him. Never in any amount of centuries would Adair have been able to predict that an offer as daring and compensating as the one in the letter the girl carried would be given to him. The sender was none other than Madam Midnight, a woman of great reputation he had only heard about in rumors. Though in appearance merely a madam, she obviously had more contacts and resources than would be expected from someone of her kind, reason why she had gained quite a reputation in the underworld; this, however, he had only realized when he received the letter. While his poorly written response would suggest a different thing, the captain had to admit he had only been able to partially read the letter, as the moment his eyes gazed on the very generous amount of gold he would receive should he succeed in capturing the Princess, the rest of the words seemed to become small and blurry. Whether it had been intentional or not, it still remained true that starting the message by writing down a huge number accompanied by the word gold at the very beginning had had a great effect on the greedy captain of the ship. Otherwise, it wasn't likely that Adair would have accepted the demanding terms of the contract Madam Midnight had set on him... or not. Money was money regardless of the order it was mentioned in, and the ultimate truth was that he wanted it, needed or not.

It was surprising the complete negligence with which he had tackled the issue. He didn't question even for a second how their contractor had been able to find them, nor how she had such a ridiculous amount of money from dealing with young girls, not even why she could possibly want to kidnap the Princess (any other noble would probably offer just as much money for their daughter anyway and the risk wouldn't be as high). Even now, when in only a few minutes he would be attempting to capture none other than the Princess of Valdmire, he was far more nervous and excited than scared; after all, consequences were something he had resigned to think about since a long time ago. In his mind, he already had his plan set in stone, so why should he be worried? He had only briefly considered a silent infiltration in the King's residence at first, which would allow them to fly away peacefully and switch places between the Princess and the girl who had carried Madam Midnight's letter (who bared an uncanny resemblance to Princess Elizabeth) without raising suspicion. However, in order to achieve that, he would require many men able to both climb on the walls of the mansion and defend themselves from guards if necessary, and the only member of his crew he could picture doing that was Django, who he would rather not send by himself. Hence, and much to his own satisfaction, he decided to resort to a different tactic that would appeal more to his own style: a frontal assault!

Even though the inside of the King's massive residence was an unknown labyrinth to outsiders, one could guess which areas contained rooms and which didn't based on the structure of the buildings as seen from the outside. Now then, aside from the main anchor, the ship counted with other three supplementary ones that could be used at the same time if necessary. With those two pieces of information, the course of action seemed very obvious to Adair: they would fly above the clouds before reaching the mansion's grounds to avoid being spotted before arriving; once they were at their destination, they would descend and drop the four anchors on the spots they had already determined were most likely closest to the Princess' chambers, after which some of the crew members would be able to descend and infiltrate. Once one of them found Princess Elizabeth, they would give a signal and the lookalike girl would descend and switch places with her; after that, they would retreat, pretending they failed at whatever purpose the attack had. Was the plan perfect? Of course not! The moment an anchor touched the ceiling, they had to keep track of a countdown before guards began to appear and the Princess was evacuated in a matter of minutes. Did the plan guarantee their safety? Most certainly not! The captain hadn't even thought of a retreat signal in case they couldn't find the Princess in time! Did the plan allow for a safe escape route? Again, no! If they didn't act fast enough, they could have a ship following them as they tried to fly away. Why on earth would it work then? Because if getting to a member of the royal family was as easy as infiltrating through regular means, something like this would've happened years ago. Besides, the strong point of utterly preposterous ideas such as this was that no one thought anyone would actually dare to try them.

Adair was mentally going through the plans when suddenly something caught his attention in the distance: city lights! As adrenaline began to run through his system, he jumped to his feet while his grin and eyes widened.

"Come out, ye lot! 'Tis time!", he exclaimed as he made his way towards the quarter deck on the opposite end of the ship with an energetic yet strangely dignified pace. On his way there, he stomped strongly on the spot he knew also served as the ceiling of Fingall's cabin, where he would most likely be doing... whatever he did in there other than sharpening his many edged possessions. He repeated the procedure for Juliet's room and the kitchen, as he wasn't sure which of the two the woman would be in; she rarely ever came out of the kitchen, but then again, that wasn't the moment to be doing anything there.

"Frey, Django! Out!", unsure of where the remaining two would be, he simply called for them in a loud voice. Having been aboard the ship for longer, they weren't as reclusive as Juliet and Fingall, so they didn't necessarily have to be in their rooms.

As he waited for the crew to assemble on the dock, he glanced back at the city lights, which shined as brightly as the gold their dear Princess Elizabeth would help them obtain.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adair "Sock" Ravensdale Character Portrait: Fingall MacCreary
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#, as written by Cypher
Some Time Ago...


"Oh my, oh my, how dreadful..." Fingall MacCreary was tutting over a note on his desk that Captain Ravensdale had written. He had been staring at it for the better part of a day, as a matter of fact. Adair had handed it to him that morning over breakfast for proofreading, and over the course of the long working day it had become no clearer. The financier could only wonder whom had taught the good captain his penmanship lessons. Mayhap it had been some sort of old god, or someone who only knew a foreign language, far separated from the proper Valdic he had learned. He had only learned what the purpose of the note had been, in fact, when Adair had told the crew they were going to kidnap the Princess of Valdmire.

He hoped he had kept his reaction under control. It would have been most ungentlemanly for him to stab his king in the intestines over the kidnapping of the heiress apparent to the throne of his country.

Aside from his rampant jingoism, Fingall had his own reservations about the kidnapping. For one thing, this wasn't some penny urchin in a dark alley--this was the princess of the realm, for God's sakes! She would be heavily guarded, of course, and given Adair's penchant for going in guns blazing, they would only have a matter of minutes to slip in with the faux princess and out with the real ones. That was a few minutes to either avoid or disable the castle's staff and guard complement, break into the princess's chambers and perform the switch, not to mention engage in some sort of diversionary tactic to draw attention away from the princess's chambers, a task which Fingall volunteered to perform, but wasn't sure whether or not he would actually be performing during the raid. For another, even if there was a clean escape, there was no way to tell that their ship wouldn't be identified--or what if, say, there was a bounty put out? What if someone saw the princess aboard their ship? They would have literally the force of an entire nation trying to run them down.

To say that Fingall wasn't at least a little nervous would be a lie. But he was confident, at least to some small extent, in his captain, and (moreso) in his crew, and he trusted that they would get him through this debacle alive.




Now


Shhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrr...

Fingall had his grinding wheel out again. He was glad for the little wood-burning engine that he had acquired and retrofitted to the machine; as good as the exercise was for his calves and thighs, he had to admit that his gentleman's vegetables something fierce. The little stove powered the foot pedals that spun the grindstone, and all he had to do was make sure not to be burned and keep the fire stoked up and he could sharpen to his heart's content.

Fingall was very fond of sharpening his lovelies. He was quite good at it, as well.

Take this particular blade, for example. Fingall had been working at this particular weapon for several hours now, despite the fact that previously it had been sharp enough to shave the wings from a fruit fly in a single swipe. It was a rapier that had been given to him some months ago as a gift for rescuing a minor noble's son from a bar fight whilst Fingall and Django had been drinking; in addition to a hefty purse of gold for the lezard and gratis repairs and refits to the ship's hull, of course. It was well made, of fair quality and little wear, and Fingall had seen fit to use it properly in the short time (compared to many of his blades) that he'd owned it. In addition to being a fine potato peeler and vegetable slicer, it served admirably as a letter opener! And Fingall supposed that, in a fight, it would do its job fairly well... Fairly well.

Fingall had a great many other fencing blades he would prefer to use. This one was just too pretty for actual fighting, like an ornamental chestpiece or a ceremonial robe--great to look at, but easily ruined when used for its truest purpose. So, it remained a kitchen implement. Which was ironic, in a way, because Fingall was pretty sure that somewhere in his collection was a kitchen knife he used as a fighting blade--

TUMP. TUMP. TUMP.

That was the captain calling for him, he imagined--and sure enough, here he was shouting down the gangway. Fingall sighed, dressing himself in a padded waistcoat of deep chocolate brown over a dark gray shirt and brown trousers, and his softest pair of boots. He quickly tied on his belts and his shortest fighting sword--an arming sword with a slightly curved, double-edged blade--and threw his knife band around his neck, tucking its ends beneath his waistcoat before grabbing several small lengths of leather cordage and tying down the sleeves of his shirt and the cuffs of his pants--a necessary precaution to prevent the loose ends of his clothing from flapping, making unnecessary noise and generally being a nuisance. Once these tasks were complete, he quickly scrambled through the dark entrails of the ship and climbed to the deck, letting the cool night air grace his features as he watched the lights of Valdmire close in the distance.

He assumed a place several paces from the Captain, a respectful and polite distance, and called to him in the loudest voice he dare use (even though they were far from the city, Fingall was nervous about alerting anyone to their presence). "What ho, Captain Ravensdale? I am here, as you requested. Is the hour of reckoning nearly upon us?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Juliet Marie Bendlet-Cross Character Portrait: Adair "Sock" Ravensdale Character Portrait: Fingall MacCreary Character Portrait: Faulkner Frey Character Portrait: Django
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Faulkner Frey

Frey didn’t wake up until the afternoon. Normally an early riser, sleeping in so late could only be the result of one thing and his throbbing head confirmed it: Django had gotten him to drink again. His memory was foggy- they had gotten some new job, one that paid well enough to put everyone in a celebratory mood. He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks when he realized he was in his pajamas; he doubted he could have managed that on his own. But then, it wasn’t the first time this had happened and at least there weren’t any weird drawings on him this time.

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The breeze whipped his already wild hair into a frenzy. He liked it up here in the crow’s nest. It was cold and sometimes hard to breathe, but the other crew members seldom made the climb so it was the perfect place when he wanted to be alone. This was his domain anyway, from up here the whole world stretched out like one of his maps only more vibrant and alive.

He couldn’t believe what they were about to do. Capture the princess? Drop anchors onto a building? Did the Captain come up with this plan during last night’s party? Still if one was going to kidnap the princess (and with that reward there were few people who wouldn’t) Faulkner was hard pressed to come up with a better plan. That didn’t make it any less stupid though. If it were up to him they would sneak into town and scout the place out, learn the guard rotations, make maps….but the Captain had no patience for that sort of thing….

As the light of the day began to fade he dismantled his pistol and cleaned it, making sure all the parts were pristine before loading and tucking it back into it’s holster- a routine he’d repeated at least three times that day. Then he took one last look through his spy glass and climbed down to the deck. On his way to his room he stopped by the galley for a small slice of bread with cheese. It was time to get ready.

Frey knew it would be difficult for him to get the princess if he was the one who found her. Things would be so much simpler for Fingall and Django who could easily toss the girl over a shoulder and run back to the anchor. He wasn’t sure what Juliet’s plan was, but he was hoping he could convince the princess he was some sort of palace dweller so that she would come with him of her own volition and that required dressing up.

He sighed as he looked the result of his labors in the mirror. Even with all his best clothes and his hair tied back in an orderly ponytail (it had taken several tries to get it that way) it was still a long shot. At least he assumed as much, he’d dealt with nobles before but only minor ones and he really had no idea what to expect from palace folk. But then, there was always his pistol if his “disguise” didn’t work out. He had two shots so if brandishing the weapon wasn’t enough to intimidate her he could afford a shot at her feet; though he really hoped he wouldn’t have to since the noise would send all guards toward him. When he heard the captain calling for him he went over everything in his head to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He was clean, well dressed, wearing boots (for once), his hair was up, his pistol was clean and loaded at his side, he had extra ammunition in his right pocket, a compass in his left. Yes, he couldn’t think of anything else he might need to bring or do so he made his way to the deck with the others.

He took a deep breath, “Ready to board, Captain!”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adair "Sock" Ravensdale Character Portrait: Fingall MacCreary Character Portrait: Faulkner Frey Character Portrait: Django
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Django, Mate or Other


One roaming the deck might have glanced upward in passing to catch the shimmer of scales against the moon. And the voice above would sound, 'Allo!, complemented by the glow of a live smoking pipe. "Out of the nest, baby bird," he'd go to the young navigator who occupied the crow's, for that was clearly lizard territory, and to deny this would surely result in a horrible fate. Tonight was different, however. He left his reservations with the wine barrels. The monstre lay dormant, oddly enough, perfectly contented with a tipsy Frey, letting Finny rant and rile over handwriting fit for ill-headed children (and Django himself could have hardly done better) while Bendlet huffed over broths. To the captain, he had no use in squabbling—it is impossible, Addie; why are you such a bastard, Addie—when he could speak with a knowing quirk of the brow. It was the feverish energy that had him bristling, seemingly resting otherwise, as he perched atop the main mast, plotting, scheming, having a laugh.

Right, perched was an odd term. Adhered, more like. He was unperturbed. Gusts whipped at unruly hair. An old formal shirt hung from the red sash round his waist, threatening to blow away at a moment's notice. Narrow limbs outstretched, hands and feet planted on the spur, head pointed downward with chin rested on wood, the man cut the image of a readied spear. His sole movement lay in the tail, which lethargically swished about in the air. Concentration aside, the thought of the Madam conjured wild images; the letter alone had been more than enough to raise his suspicions, and beyond the swig of ale were stored memories of women silhouetted in fog. He knew the goings-on of her kind. He knew the scum of Valdmire, reveled in their ways. Surely she had her methods and motives, questionable as they may be. To risk being immersed once more in past crimes was quite the danger indeed. But disputing the pay was a hapless cause: in spite of his wariness, the glint in his eye spoke of a creature who would not hesitate, no matter the end result, to fulfill their duty. Some small part of him was roaring to strike. Another just wanted a drink.

Maybe the princess was a classy drunk.

Sock then made a point to start heckling. What a perfect alarm he was. The first mate idly opened his eyes, greeted by the lights of the looming city and a rather excitable captain below. Disregarding status, he did not rush to stand at their leader's side. Curiosity tensed him into lingering on the spur, preparing his body for a tidy landing as he watched the small crew file out on deck. A smile tugged at him. They were... cute, for the lack of a better term. Good for bantering in the face of death. With no petit Juliet in sight, at least for now, he descended the mast at a brisk pace, one hand in front of the other. Claws flexed, gripping the surface. It was the odd sight of a writhing, climbing thing that guards of royalty would stand against. He loathed to think of their determination, hot-headed knights charging into a dragon's den. At the very least, a challenge was often welcomed.

From the shadows of sails he appeared to the band of rogues, taking his place beside the captain. "Present."

Django gave a sly salute to them all. He stretched and let out a large yawn, and as he hunched slightly, his spines flared out before flattening against his skin. No holster. No blade. How utterly messy.

Speaking again, he tossed on the white formal shirt. His feet were bare. They would remain that way. "Euh, sorry for ze wait," he said. "I was writing our eulogies." And to Frey with a smirk and a wink: "Found your head?"