Earth

Lieutenant Jallad Faires

"I am certain the crew will be perfect gentlemen to her, captain." And he could say nothing more sincerely. He had utmost faith in the Spiteful's members, without exception and no matter what their records say. He had been called naive in the past for this way of thinking, but it was not a part of him he once intended to change. In response to the dining, he merely said, "It would be an honor, as always," but Jallad didn't have a very long time to lower his head respectfully and smile, however, for the good doctor was soon on the scene. And the man was not alone.

Jallad had never been entirely certain what he thought of stowaways. The optimist in him likes to think they come from desperate situations, and truly would never intend any harm, merely trying to survive. Yet on the other hand, they are trespassers and runners from the laws, hiding like cowards. Most stowaways he'd encountered in the past were children, making an opinion easy to reach, but this young man was likely old enough to drink. Jallad looked into the face of the man called Caleb, features remarkably blank as he quelled the passing of judgement for the moment. The first thing that caught his attention was the man's odor. Pickles. The second was the fact that he was soaked, hair sticking to his features in small clumps and pale yellow liquid still dribbling down the fabric of his clothes. His posture was almost appalling, quite a contrast to Ms. Kovacs and the men on this proud vessel. Gradually, Jallad could not help but frown. Perhaps there was inner beauty to compensate for his disheveled outward appearance, his conscience insisted.

Caleb, he mouthed, trying to wean something off the name. He had nothing. Jallad would have to speak to the man to form a proper opinion of him, and he glanced toward the captain, curious as to whether or not the man had already thought of what to do with him.

CALEB FOUL

”Well before I tell you anything first tell me what your name is.” the doctor had said. Caleb continued to scowl, frsutrated that he couldn't get answers out of the man without being interrogated first. I guess that's what she should have expected from the navy though. He was a stowaway after all, albeit an accidental one. "Princess Hermione, but you may call me Your Highness." he drawled sarcastically, though he wasn't aware of how ironic it was that he said that. He had no clue the princess had been captured, and we merely pulling a well known name out of his ass in attempts to make himself seem like even more of a douche than before. His cerulean eyes met the other's challengingly before he sighed and slumped back to rest his head on the floor and closed his eyes. "The name's Caleb."

”Well first off, if by situation you mean escaping from this boat alive I would say the percentage is about 80%. The Captain won’t kill you but depending on your hygiene you might die from illness. As well if you are stupid enough you might piss off the wrong person and mysteriously not wake up tomorrow. As well if we encounter any pirates there is the chance that you might die in battle.” he answered, to which Caleb merely raised his eyebrows at. Well, wasn't this just peachy. So he would either die from being dirty, being offensively annoying, or at the hands of blood thirsty pirates. The first two seemed appropriate, and there were many people who could have probably guessed he'd go in those ways. The third, although unexpected, wasn't a death unworthy of him.

The rest of what the doc said was a blur as he sighed, suddenly drained of all the desperation he had before and ready to just... take a nap? Apparently he didn't get the decency of a shower so perhaps sleep could help him. You aren't aware how awful you smell while you're sleeping right? It seemed this wouldn't be the case, though, because it was in the next minute that he was getting picked up off of the floor and hauled on over to the Captain.

Disgruntled, he clomped behind the surgeon all the way until they were right next to the Captain and lieutenant. Not that he knew that he was lieutenant. He just looked like an average rich person you might find on a board, right? Caleb licked his lips as the medic introduced him, shifting his eyes nervously. He looked like a drowned dog. "Listen, Captain Sir... I can explain. This is all a huge mistake! I didn't mean to get stuck in that pickle barrel! I didn't even know it was full of pickles, let alone that it was on your lovely, truly exquisite, wonderful, respectable-" at the gaze of a burlier man on deck, he decided to abandon the flattery technique. "Uh, uh, uh... uhm... Ship! Yes, I didn't mean to board this ship! So if I could just leave, we really don't have to have a big fuss or anything. I'll just walk right on off here and we'll pretend none of this happened." It was in that moment that he took the time to notice the ship had already set sail. It was a long swim. Too long for Caleb, surely. "Oh dear god..." he murmured, eyes wide. He gulped and looked back at the two men before him. "Um... you don't happen to have a rowboat I could borrow, do you?"

"I am certain the crew will be perfect gentlemen to her, captain."

William couldn't help but give a little chuckle at this. "I believe you mean they will be made to be perfect gentlemen." These were sailors they were talking about, notoriously carnal creatures. While he didn't approve of some of their vices and recreation, he hadn't made an attempts to stop them when they were ashore. Having a woman of any sort could make the journey across the Atlantic a bit more interesting. It was at this time that Doctor Elama came approached.

“Captain. Here is our stowaway, Caleb he calls himself.”

The Captain turned to address the man, a small smile still on his face, but he didn't even have a chance to open his mouth before this Caleb started babbling.

"Listen, Captain Sir... I can explain. This is all a huge mistake! I didn't mean to get stuck in that pickle barrel! I didn't even know it was full of pickles, let alone that it was on your lovely, truly exquisite, wonderful, respectable- Uh, uh, uh... uhm... Ship! Yes, I didn't mean to board this ship! So if I could just leave, we really don't have to have a big fuss or anything. I'll just walk right on off here and we'll pretend none of this happened." It seemed to be only then that the man, William was now certain he was a man though he could easily pass as someone half his age. "Oh dear god... Um... you don't happen to have a rowboat I could borrow, do you?"

"Unfortunately none of the ships boats are for borrowing, and I see know need to launch one with it's only purpose being returning you ashore." The Captain was no longer smiling and his voice was hard, though there was no anger in it. "At this point you have to options. The first is to do with you what is normally done with stowaways, which is to lock in you the brig for the duration of the voyage and let you off at the next port we dock at. Or you may sign on as a member of the ships company for the duration of the voyage, which at the end you will receive your pay and be free to go. However if you do choose to sign on you will be expected to work hard and pull you own weight. I will not tolerate slothfulness or dereliction of duty amongst my crew."

There was nothing poetic about scrubbing pickle juice from the now darkened wooden floors. Sloughing a soapy rag between both hands, hunkering forward with each stroke; Domus regretted ever feeling compelled that the crew-mates even wanted these bittersweet things. And there was no amount of scrubbing that could rid it's wood of that vinegar smell! Domus could very well spend his days – years, even – scrubbing with lye and still smell the stench of pickles. He verily believed that the more time he spent down in the cargo holds, on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floors; the more he began hating the soft, fleshy vegetables. He wanted to hurry up to Albel's holds and see the pickle-man again; perhaps he was conscious, now. But, he'd have nothing to say whence he arrived. He could only offer half-smiles and awkward greetings, and those didn't amount for much aboard the dutiful ship. Abel would've ushered him out nearly immediately, but at least he'd chance a quick peek.

Oh, the God's were cruel. Domus crinkled his nose, eased out a loud, exaggerated sigh and plopped down on his buttocks. Thankfully, the boards behind him weren't touched by pickle juice, vinegar, or soapy suds. He kicked out his legs and leaned his elbows across his knees. The ocean-eyed boy; Jack Weaver. He's after ribs; bones bones and more bones. Or well, he'd like to be after them anyway. Well, that's what Domus believed. There wasn't much that Jack actually enjoyed. Even when they stowed away on the decks at midnight, munching on hard tack and watching the passing stars – there was a sadness in the boys' eyes. It might've been something that mimicked his own. He was writing a a secret novella about the crews-mates aboard the ship; stout, faithful Jallad; strong, dutiful Jack; stern, fair Captain William; mysterious, meticulous Albel; wizened, kindred Alistair; beautiful, righteous Nathaniel; and now, the newest addition, the flabbergasted pickle-man. How wondrous would his novella be! His name, Domus, would resound in the winds. Those mere whispers would grow into a loving chant, regaling him in his wit and cleverly written hand – Domus, Domus, Domus!

“Oi, Domus. Still need any help?” Domus' bubbly fantasies crashed down around him like cold, salty water being sloughed over his head. He yelped in surprise, flailing backwards backwards and catching air with his outstretched fingers. Gods, he didn't want to accidentally grab onto another pickle barrel and blubber through more vinegar; he swore, someday, he'd drown in the nasty stuff. Mismatched eyes viewed an upside down world, and then shifted towards the right, catching sight of the small assailant peering into the kitchens. His mouth twitched into an awkward smile, accompanied by a slow laugh. Oh, no, the great, incandescent Domus was not afraid. Anyone who would've said otherwise would've been a prattling liar. Only krakens and octopus monsters, with the exception of giants riding great wolves and mammoths, could terrify the pan-wielding cook.

"Oh," The cook suddenly mouthed, pushing himself back to his feet. He simply stood there, scratching his chin with sudsy fingers and surveyed the soapy mess. "You wouldn't have extra planks, would you?" He chided mirthfully, swinging his hands in a wide arc. "Absolutely ruined, I say. It'll smell like... like pickles for the rest of the year! And all because of that boy—... actually, did you sneak a peek at him?" His expressions were startlingly lively. It was probably one of the more remote reasons why the more masculine patrons aboard the ship outright avoided him; no man could be that exuberant without suffering homosexual tendencies, right? And if that was the case, no one was safe. What a stupid way of thinking! Domus was shallow; through and through. His vanity made it impossible to feel any attractions towards the ruddy, ostentatious crew-mates. They needn't flatter themselves.

Advancing with graceful, promenading steps, Domus' hands were firmly placed on his hips. He arched his eyebrow suggestively and pouted his lips. He wanted an answer! Not only that, he wanted Jack to offer some kind of mischievous mission that involved seeking out this strange stowaway. Jack's expression was always even-tempered; and he could practically feel him saying, “no.” And then, Domus was rolling his eyes and sitting on one of the wooden counters, kicking his legs like a child. "Oh, come now. Aren't you curious?”

---

Apparently, he’d caught the cook daydreaming again. Well, at least this seemed to be the best approximation given the surprised and finely-wrought discomfiture in his reaction. It was almost funny, and Jack almost laughed. But, in the end, it wasn’t quite enough and he didn’t, maintaining instead his ever-present neutrality- the default until a more predatory state of mind was required. For, as Jack was constantly having to remind himself in his more optimistic moments, he was a killer, through and through, a beast chomping at the restraints of order and civility, designed by his very nature to tear and thrash and let chaos abound. His time aboard such a fine vessel had almost given him enough opportunity to put on airs sufficient to shift this view of himself, but Jack was a realist, and thoughts of being a noble hero in the vein of Hamilton and Jallad swiftly destroyed with much the same fervor as his enemies. It was enough to be a caged beast instead of a free one.

Domus was, inadvertently of course, reminding him that he’d nearly lost that but a short time before, and pale green eyes bored into the exotic heterochromatic irises of he who might have been Jack’s only friend, if Jack allowed himself to have friends. There was a crushing shame there, heavy in the navigator’s thoughts; his pupils really should be slitted- to provide ample warning to those who dared approach. Even now, he wondered if someday he mightn’t turn on someone he actually took pains to protect, and the thought was burdensome.

Vigilance was required, lest his temper flare like the incendiary it was and burn everything around him. Had the man who set him upon this path known it? That man had known many things.

Lid and lash halved the expanse of sclera and iris, leaving but scant slits remaining. “Why would I be curious about a piece of scum?” Jack asked, though for all the bite in the words, they were gentled for present company, something that the officer was not known to do for anyone but the cook. Why this was the case was not something he could adequately express; it was as though the boyish man reminded him that some could turn out, no matter their lives, to have the kind of innocence that most people lost in childhood. It was at once an expression of everything Jack sought to protect and everything he had failed to become. Domus had a face that reminded him of the real Jack, not the one he played at being. His brother. Not in look of course, nor in cadence of the tongue nor mannerism, but only in that wide-open expression of one who had seen too much, known too much, but wouldn’t let it crush them as oppressively as it had crushed him, morphing him into that slavering, overprotective beast he was.

Everything he was not, in other words. Sighing, Jack supposed also it was probably the reason he had trouble denying his friend much of anything. “If you just want to see him- and I have no idea why you would- I’m sure he’s conscious by now. It’s not like I actually hit the ninny or anything,” he grumbled bitterly. Part of him was appalled at how close he’d come, and the other part was regretting not taking the swing when it would have been justifiable. Perhaps he really was just that feral. “Come on then. If’n you’re done cleaning, I see no reason you can’t take a break on deck.” The navy didn’t give out ‘breaks’ that often, but then Domus wasn’t really in the navy, was he?

ANIRUDDHA TOK

Tok was vaguely aware of his scholar placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn't realize he was so tense until he felt himself instinctively loosen up with the comfort of his friend. "Captain, You'll have time to apologize later. We should take her to the infirmary, get the doctor to look at that wound." he had said, to which Tok sternly nodded his head. The wound was... awful, for lack of a more gruesome word to use under his strained mind. He walked away a couple yards to give them privacy, and he was grateful for this because he was able to hear Raziah respond. She was playing it off like she was fine- typical Raziah. Her feigned smile made him want to wretch a little. Right after his final apology, his best friend began to sway back and forth alarmingly and, in an infection driven delirium whispered "How did you find out about that threesome I had in Paris? I never told anyone." collapsing on the spot. Maybe this was him being a bad companion, maybe a tad bit unsympathetic, but despite his genuine concern for his now unconscious partner, he found himself barking out thick, unrestrained laughter. He continued to laugh even as he scooped her up into his arms - Jesus, did she even eat? - and the end of his throws died out quietly as he headed towards Tiesa's cabin. When the laughter died down, it was replaced with a disgruntled sigh and a worried look down his chest at her face. Another snort ensued, but this one was much more grave and considerably less humored. She looked awful, yellow tinting her skin and hair clenching to her face with sweat.

Just as he was going to ask Sieg as such, he cried out "I’ll take the helm for now,” and he offered the other a grateful glance as he pattered down the stairs. It wasn't long before he was in Tiesa's cabin, barging in the door and laying the limp body on the medical table without so much as a look at either of the occupants in the room. He laid her on her stomach so that wound was accessible, and then pulled up the shirt to expose it once more. "Raziah's injured. I can't tell if mortally so," he almost snarled, seeing the puncture before him arising new emotions- anger. Why had she done this? Must she be so damned stubborn all the time? His gaze softened again as he whipped his head to look at Tiesa, "Can you check her out, please?" It was then that he realized the young Hermione was huddled in the corner, the back of her dress having been partially undone. He instantly reeled back, eyes wide, mouth gaping, eyebrows shot atop his forehead with horror. "Oh- je- go- sor-" he sputtered, feeling all too much like a pedophile. He turned away swiftly and flew to the door. "My sincerest apologies." he said before exiting the room and slowly, hesitantly, gingerly shutting the door without a sound almost as if he was afraid the princess would hear the sound of the door closing and would pounce on him like a rabid... well, chihuahua.

This day just kept getting weirder and weirder. Shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, he ascended back up to the helm to stand beside Siegfried. There was a silence- a strained one- before Tok let out an uneasy breath again and rubbed his face. He had to tell them. There was no other excuse to ride on anymore. That thought in mind, he left Siegfried and went back down to his cabin. He was just pacing now, fleeing from place to place before realizing that he had nowhere to go that wouldn't remind him of the daunting task ahead of him. He growled as he sat in his chair and studied the maps below him. Ink. Ink all over them. It wasn't enough to botch out what was on them completely, but enough to make his eye twitch. 'That bloody princess,' he thought. One last time, he went through the countless scrolls and books that had lead him to where he was now, seeing if there was any flaws he could find that might make him realize this was all for naught. He devoured it all whole and by the time he was done, he realized that day had turned to dusk, fragments of twilight waltzing about the horizon as the sun said its goodbyes and made a slow departure. The ship had sailed smoothly out of the Chanel and had just reached the sea. It was time.

He'd promised himself that he'd tell his crew in one public announcement his plan as soon as night struck, but it didn't seem quite so easy anymore. He rubbed his temples. "Bollocks. They're going to think I'm raving mad. Absolutely loony. Why did I even start this adventure? The crew is going to toss me overboard and sell the princess to France and then be on their way when they find that their beloved Captain is chasing fairytales." he frantically thought, having to gulp down the anxiousness. "Well, at least Raziah will be stuck in Tiesa's cabin for this. Now her rage will be bottled for a more convenient time than when I'm up there in front of everyone..." he assured himself. You'd be surprised how much this comforted him. This would be the day he'd very cautiously avoided for months, and while he'd relentlessly been rehearsing the words he'd say to persuade them all for a very long time, it all seemed to have drained out his ears as soon as the event can nearer. "And besides, these aren't fairytales and I'm not mad." he said aloud, more firm now and increasingly more determined.

With the most purposeful strides he'd done for the past couple of days, he made his way back to the helm once more, where he generally made important speeches. He cleared his throat a couple of times to get the attention of the men aboard deck, a curt "Excuse me," issuing from his lips. His voice felt dry as he stood there, gazing at the slowly forming group of people below him and feeling out of his skin. With time, a mass of people came about, shuffling up to their captain with either eager or skeptical eyes. He glanced at the crowd and noticed that not everybody was present. "Collect anyone below deck, please. This is important announcement you all need to hear." he practically croaked, voice hoarse from anxiousness. Where had that confidence from just a few moments gone? What in the world was this? He was the master of speech, "Captain Quick Tongue" when teased. Anticipation does such things to even the most fluent of speakers, he supposed. With a last swallow, he began.


"My beloved crew and my dearest friends, I'm sure you're all dying to know the reason behind this madness. I must admit, my conscious has grown heavy of late with the knowledge that you have followed me blindly into the dark with a loyalty that I cannot regard any less than astounding, while I remained shrouded in a veil of ambiguity like I've done my entire life. We've been together just five years, but still you stand by my side- by each other's sides- and I thank you for this. Never before have I met such a wonderful group of people- experienced such a wildly cohesive ship dynamic. I know I'm young, and I know I'm wet behind the ears, but it has to be true that, for pirates, we're awfully damned classy." He smiled a snorted a bit to himself before his eyes downcast again with the bigger things to tackle. It was easy enough to compliment his crew, especially concerning how how much he meant it. What would really be tricky was...


"This being said, I'm sure that we as a crew can do this. We're Ratgrins! Infamous in just a few years for being bigger, brighter, and better than the rest." he paused, forcing himself to tiptoe on the edge of spitting out what he needed to. "You're all wondering why in bloody hell we needed to capture the princess if not for ransom , I'm sure of it. I'm here to tell you that she is going to be the key to riches far beyond any that a silly country could give us and with a far grander adventure that a simple kidnapping. You see, I have been researching in depth since I was thirteen this topic, and the person who'd given me most of my knowledge on it had been researching for fifty years. After all this time- with the help of a few good men," he stopped here to eye Kai and Siegfried, "we've finally pieced it all together." He sighed, realizing he was rambling now more than anything.

"Imagine, an entire city peaking out of the clearest of waters, glimmering in the sun's gentle touch unlike anything you've ever seen before." he whispered exaggeratedly, eyes squinting as he spoke. "Colorful creatures your mind can't even imagine flock to and fro this magical place, brilliantly feathered birds swooping here and there, monstrously large fish treading through the ice-clear water. Everything circles around the heart of the city, all inhabitants connected by the spiritual pull of the ones within. Gold buildings jut out of the gold ground, even the trees seemingly painted to match the rest of the city. The most delicious, succulent fruit plop to the ground in abundance, the beautiful, kind people who live there never gluttonous, never greedy, never ungrateful. El Dorado, the City of Gold." he breathed, a certain brightness in his eyes making him seem almost like a child again. Suddenly, he was no longer on The Wandering Jewel, not in the channel, or anywhere near England. He was there in that fantastical city in his mind. "The city is waiting for young explorers to come in and prosper. All throughout history, there's been hints recorded, clues leading anyone brave enough straight to the sanctuary. They want us there. If we can prove ourselves worthy by getting pass all the obstacles in our way, we deserve to be there." As if at once, he deflated.

"That's the tricky part, though. The obstacles. It's been said that there are trials set up to keep the weak out. We don't have to get into details, because I know we can handle it, but there was one itty bitty detail in particular that put a stopper to things. Kai's actually the one who found this. Right before the entrance to El Dorado, after all the treacherous monsters and beasts, after the rains and the wind, after you've pushed yourself to your limit, there's a gate. There's been tales of entire ships of blokes making it that far, and then not being able to pass through the gates, all because in order to pass, you must have," he stopped, pulled out a torn, brown piece of paper from his pocket and read word for word "'the blood of a noble hearted daughter to the throne, royalty in its most pristine condition- the will of one chosen by the gods themselves...' Basically, we need the cooperation of a princess- and a non-corrupt one at that. Who better than Our Highness Hermione, no?" he chimed, trying his best to pick her out from the crowd but being unsuccessful. In that moment, Tok felt an elephant finally swan dived off his back with the relieving sensation of finally spilling a secret. At the same time, though, he felt a new one hop right back on. He continued his his explanation hastily. "Yes, I know, it sounds barking crazy. I assure you that it does exist and we could reach it. Up to our knees in gold, surrounded by pristine, Godly beauty- a paradise for all who are brave and clever enough to make it there. The city is waiting for people like us to come in and prosper. Of course, we needn't stay there. We could visit, take all the gold we can carry aboard, and leave once more. Some might choose to stay, as I'd been told that men fall in love with themselves and the world upon entering, considering it's the closet thing to heaven there is on Earth. Don't you understand? This is an opportunity of a lifetime! It's the most spectacular gift anyone could ever ask for nipping at your toes." His face had become bright but it dropped again when seeing the unfazed faces among the crowd.

"I am not forcing you into this. I want everyone to understand that because the pay off is so large, the risk is larger. Anyone who doesn't wish to continue can be dropped off in the Americas at a safe port where we'll never contact you again..." He said all of this considerably dryly, as if he were stating off his tax rates in the past twenty years. He licked his lips for a bit, feeling uncannily naked up there by the helm, and then cried out a perky, "...Questions, anyone? Should I expect raging mutiny in the near future?"

Why, he was feeling better already. I mean, Tok knew how much he'd bludgeoned his speech. When he'd practiced it, it'd been unspeakably persuasive, but right then it was like trying to get a fish on a hook without any bait. He just hoped his crew would be able to understand the greatness of it all without his sparkling words to spruce it up. But despite this, just having finally admitted this seemed to have brought back the spring to him as he contemplated his crews reaction. Even if they did decide to throw him overboard, at least he wouldn't be lying anymore. Just then, he turned to look into the ocean when he spotted something. Something very peculiar. For a single moment, he squinted at the figure in the horizon, but shrugged it off quickly. They were out of the Chanel already, and this silhouette was coming from the opposite direction of England. He'd inspect it further in a bit, but for now... he looked back down to his crew.

---

No matter how much she tried, Hermione could not stop the night from coming. No matter how slowly she ate, watching Tiesa work diligently around the young woman named Raziah, or how long she stared out the window, willing the sun to remain, dusk still came upon them. For a while, she had tried to help Tiesa, only to find that the beautiful doctor was politely signaling that the young, inexperienced princess was getting in her way. Hermione could take no offense, because she knew she was. It just helped take her mind off what had happened, what might happen, and all the why’s that she hadn’t bothered to ask.

Finally, she ventured once more out into the halls of the ship she would try and call home for the next few months. It felt like she was trying too hard to accept all this when she knew that wasn’t normal. Hermione knew that any normal person of royalty would be clawing, digging, and scratching their way out, but she wasn’t.

Why?

The entire day had been a complete disaster, ending with Captain Aniruddha walking in while Tiesa helped Hermione undress. Her initial reaction was to screech and hide away behind something, but his had stunted her own embarrassment. His face had turned such a shade of red that she didn’t think there was anything to really compare it to. The Captain had walked in quickly, determined to help his crewman and had left just as quickly.

Standing outside the door of the doctor’s room, Hermione couldn’t remember the walkway that had taken her into the dining room, nor the way she’d been brought from the Captain’s study. Her heart was beating quickly, her breathing panicked, until a dirty old man came trudging up to her, suspicion in his black eyes.

“Cap’n wants everyone up the deck.” He paused, looking her up and down, knowing exactly who she was. “Yer Highness.” The old codger hadn’t really spat the words at her, but with the way she was feeling, the princess felt suddenly despised and hated. Interrupting Tiesa’s work, Hermione informed her of the information and then quickly followed the limping man to the upper deck. The sudden scent of sea air and the breeze through her loose ponytail felt like a release. A smile crept onto her lips and she stood in the doorway, hands open at her sides, feeling dusk cover her in a cool, comforting blanket.

The general mulling about and the whispers thrown her way brought her slowly out of her self-induced reverie and she met with curious eyes all around. She felt naked and exposed and wholly judged in the worst kind of way. Hermione was the idiot Princess, the ugly Princess; she was the shame. They all knew this and now she was the Princess that had cost them men, friends, family… She looked over her shoulder, momentarily remembering the wound marring Raziah’s back. All to get her.

Standing toward the front of the crowd, Hermione held onto her opposite elbow and tried to listen intently to the Captain’s words. After a few awkward moments (for it was obvious he was nervous, to Hermione at least), he was finally able to get what he wanted out of his mouth. His words flowed more freely the more he spoke and soon he was somewhere else.

And Hermione was there with him.

All she had to do was close her eyes and feel the warm sun glistening off the gold of the city hidden in the maze. The birds made wild calls from their long necks and their feathers were shimmering with silver. Veins of gold decorated the tree trunks and there, standing before her, a woman held out a warm hand and a warm smile. There was acceptance there. And on their journey Hermione would experience adventure. She would be a part of the romantic heroism she’d read of. His voice kept fading in and out as she tried to stay within the world he’d painted for them all.

"That's the tricky part, though. The obstacles.” His sudden lack of artistry snapped her back into the darkening reality of being on a ship, surrounded by stinking men and woman who frightened her more than the men. The Captain continued on and Hermione felt herself filling up with rage. Something was boiling in her gut and she felt her fingernails digging into her skin through her shirt. Perhaps it was an irrational rage, perhaps it was still her anger from being horribly kidnapped and brought here against her will. Maybe it was the fact that Aniruddha Tok was so disgustingly arrogant that he assumed she would somehow give up and just do what he wanted.

Maybe what made her the most angry was that she was going to follow that giant, arrogant, impudent ass.

With a huff, the princess pushed passed a rather dirty man and walked up the steps to the quarter deck. Standing behind the helm, close to the Captain, was a very imposing gentleman with… She’d seen him somewhere before… Her rage redirected her mind to the dreadlocked fool and she shoved him rather violently toward the helmsman. With a scowl, Hermione lifted her chin. At this point she was delirious with anger.

“I swear on my country, its people, my father’s crown and my life, that if any one so much as steps foot off this ship in cowardice I’ll… I’ll… I’ll sic that man on you!” She pointed out the largest, most frightening man on the deck. With that said, she leaned against the railing with a purpose, eyeing every single man and woman.

“Men and women died kidnapping me. The least you could do for them is live in the lap of luxury in a city made of gold. It would be disrespectful to them as human beings to pass up an opportunity like this.” With a glare in her green eyes, she glanced at the Captain. “And if he is stark raving mad, I will be the first to … do something terribly painful to him.” Hermione made a mental note to get better at making threats.

Pushing herself away from the railing, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back. She’d said her piece. What she didn't realize, was that she appeared even more delirious than the Captain had previously. So consumed with irrationality and a selfish need for what Tok had spoken of, Hermione couldn't see herself through the eyes of all the others. What had been done, had been done, though. If they all committed mutiny, she may not understand now, but she certainly would once she was of a sound mind again.

Before the Captain could speak a word to her, she held out a flat hand to him, palm out, blocking his face from her view and she stated, quite plainly, “Do not. Speak to me.”

---

For hours, deaddark eyes had been fixed upon the horizon, the blue expanse of the ocean never seeming to grow or diminish in size once they cleared the channel. It filled nothing more or less than everything, unmarred by the telltale rise of rocky cliff or glittering sand. If not for the sounds of people moving about behind him, he would almost have been able to believe that noting else existed in the word but sea, sky, and something to see them with. But no, the tang of salt and the cry of gulls and the shuffling of people played upon his other senses like a tune he’d rather forget, dusty, issuing from the back corners of a smoke-hazed tavernsroom, as if for once, only when seen from the bottom of a bottle, he wasn’t so damn guilty.

But alas, being pathetic enough to wish his sins behind him did not make it so. He piloted the ship with the lightest of grips; with weather this fair, he was almost but not quite superfluous. It was, in some sense, perfect. Just enough necessity to continue existing, not so much that somebody would lose something important if he did succumb to his weakness and disappear, foam in the sea, black dust upon the wind. He was projecting again, though and the thought twisted his face wryly. He really had been allowing himself too much time to think lately. He needed to find himself some company for this lonely post up here, perhaps. Conversation was usually a perfectly polite excuse to flee from himself. Siegfried may not have ever seemed like it by way of first impression, but he was a remarkably good listener. Cloaking himself in the words and concerns and problems of other had always brought him a measure of bittersweet satisfaction; how sad was it that he was selfish enough to use their woes and their joys to balm his own?

Hopefully it only applied if he was unhelpful, which he wasn’t always. Occasionally in addition to listening, he could give something in return for the gift of sublime distraction. A funny turn of phrase, a witticism veiled in idiocy, a proverb with more applicability than one might first notice. He never gave with gravitas, but occasionally he managed profundity. When he wasn’t busy moping anyway. He appeared ever the same externally, but inside it was always either maelstrom or serene blue sky, and frankly he tired of it. Balance was always required, and the only balance he achieved was the equal regularity and intensity of opposite forces. Functional, but impractical, or at least he thought so.

Time slipped by, as it is wont to do whether you grasp at it as though trying to catch the wind or push from behind with directed urgency. The only thing that ever changes about it is the chords it strikes upon one’s soul. The fool rolled his eyes at himself and wondered if he hadn’t been drinking and not realized it. He was certainly entering that frame of mind, wasn’t he? Forcing his ruminations surfaceward, he wondered how everyone was doing belowdecks. He hadn’t had opportunity to speak with many of the others yet after the incident, though he suspected that few were pleased with him. That stung a bit- he really did try to do right by the crew, as he was absolutely certain Tok did as well. It didn’t mean that either of them would always succeed, but he like to suppose that between them, they’d have it covered most of the time.

Speaking of, the Captain himself was ascending the quarterdeck now, apparently to make that speech of his. Siegfried would readily admit that the version of it he’d received was pretty damned convincing, even if he wasn’t completely sure he yet believed in any of it. That was the frightening thing about people with silvered tongues- they could almost make you forget to care about your own belief in favor of theirs. The first mate had enough wherewithal to at least remember his, but then in the end it didn’t really matter. Loyalty made demands that would deviate from reason, and he fully accepted this, consciously choosing the former over the latter. What was life without loyalty, camaraderie, the company of friends? Bloody pitiful, and not good enough to be called life at all, merely existence. This, he knew for a fact.

Being that he’d known the information beforehand, he focused not on the captain’s words themselves, but the effect they were having on the faces of the crew. A few were openly discontent, but no small number of those were gradually softening their expressions, drawn into the honeyed web of persuasion Tok was spinning for them all. Less elegantly than usual, perhaps, and of course one was always to wonder whether the sweet vision was a lofty ideal or a base trap, but all the same it was far better than anything he would have been able to manage.

The princess’s contribution was unexpected, and when she pointed right at their resident seven-foot Namibian, a breathy chuckle escaped Siegfried. That would be a sight indeed- the ember-spitting Hermoine (for truly, she was not frightening enough to spew hellfire just yet) directing Chimola of all people to attack a potential deserter was highly amusing played out in his own private little mental theater. A rumble of full-blown laughter welled in his lungs, but Sieg suppressed it, or at least he tried to. The final part of her not-so-inspiring speech though, saw him loosing control of it, and it spilled over into sonorous laughter.

He was ruining the moment, but then he tended to do that all the time, and in this, the magnitude of the occasion was irrelevant. A few of the tighter faces seemed to relax, probably from their own amusement at her vague half-threats, the hissing of a kitten at a scrapyard full of dogs, but perhaps just endearing enough to earn something not quite approval, but close. For him, it was, as so many things tended to inappropriately be, bloody hilarious.

“And there you have it,” he said, half to himself, but probably loud enough to be heard. After giving a moment for anyone to say what they wished, he espied the rigger and yelled. “Oi Charlie! There’s slack in the sails, you lout!” The rigger, rolling his eyes, nevertheless threw Siegfried a mocking salute, and the captain a more subtle nod of understanding, before breaking away from the group to do his job, hopefully signaling for others to do the same. Doubtless some would not go so easy, but that was Ruddha’s torment to endure, and he’d done what he could to help.

Atlas Winters

“How the fuck did I get all the way out here?”

Atlas looked all around his small, single sail boat, realizing that he must have fallen asleep again. Furthermore, he had lost his nets. Again. With a sigh, his hand drifted to a bottle, gin this time, finding it depressingly empty save for a single swallow. Yet the swallow was his only current friend, and as opposed to drinking it immediately Atlas decided to say a few words for his soon to be fallen brother. “You did your duty,” the sailor began, “which is more that can be said for many. Though you may one day be forgotten, you may rest assured that it is due to the likes of others much like yourself that the forgetting will occur. So now, go, complete the task to which you were destined since your creation.” Nodding to himself, Atlas figured he had said enough, and was therefore able to down the last swallow completely void of any guilt whatsoever. The swallow of gin would feel its life to be one of success and fulfillment, something his own life had lacked for a good long time.

Yet that was why he had the gin in the first place.

It had been a long time since the sinking of his ship. Ever since, he found himself trying to drift farther and farther out to sea, despite the small size of his boat. Yet each time Atlas would reach a certain point, memories of that night would flood into his mind with an unstoppable force. Looking out to the west, he knew he had reached that point, yet the memories did not come. That was more depressing than anything he could have imagined. The memories? Where were they? Had he lost them too? When you felt nothing but pain, losing the pain became pain in and of itself.

It wasn’t that Atlas no longer had those memories, but today they seemed less and less important. No, I’m just drunk, that’s all. In truth, he was slightly drunk, even after his nap. And yet he was sober enough to know that he should turn back towards land, but he could not, would not, not without those memories having the same meaning they did once before. How long ago was that? Hours? Days? Time meant nothing to him anymore, if it ever did. He was no more than a drunkard, a man whose fish paid only for his booze and nothing more.

Something dropped onto his hand, rain. Yet there was no rain, not a cloud in the sky. Another drop, where were these rain drops coming from? Atlas’s right hand found his cheek, wiping away a tear. So this was what he had become? A woman, crying on her boat for lost love. I should not even be alive, I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it.

“I don’t deserve it,” Atlast mumbled as he found his pistol and pulled the hammer back into its proper position. “I don’t deserve it,” the words more of a whisper now. Slowly, yet purposefully, Atlas pointed the pistol at his own head, but then he realized that such a death would not do. It was not how he was meant to go. No, he belonged to the sea, always had, always will, and to the sea he should return. The end of the pistol moved from his crown to the ship he floated on, and the ex captain did not hesitate, not for a moment. He pulled the trigger, sealing his fate. The hole left in the bottom of the boat was not very large, though he had nothing to mend it anyway. Water began to seep in slower than he expected it would. With the water came memories, some good, some bad, but his.

“Derek! You’ve a strut to yer step ‘at you hadn’t afore you went ashore. Did you find ‘evan son, twixt the legs of an angel?”

Derek only smiled. He was sixteen at the time, on one of his first jobs as a sailor in the New World. It was a merchant job, and upon learning that Derek was still a virgin the men made sure to see that he rid himself of such a daunting ailment. They took him to the best whorehouse the likes of them could afford, which wasn’t saying much, though the Mistress swore on the woman she believed to be her mother’s grave that they were all clean. By that point, Derek was far too excited to have cared anyway.

“So which will it be, my pet? We’ve girls of all ages, races, colors, even boys if you prefer.” The Mistress of the house talked in a surprisingly educated manner, but Derek was far too focused on the women who lined up in front of him to have noticed. Upon seeing his gaze, the Mistress waved away the nude males who had begun to enter the room behind the ladies. His eyes moved from one to the other, feasting upon their bodies like he owned them. The options were many, which made his decision all the harder. Should he use this opportunity to try something exotic, or stay with the local flavor? Damn, they were all so beautiful. It also did not help that each girl was in continuous movement, trying to sell him onto their own bodies, to sway his decision their way. It appeared that the girls who received the most business were probably treated better, making this point in the deal something of a competition among them.

“Well lad, which of these fabulous women do you prefer? We have younger girls, if my good sir prefers those of a fresher complexion.”

Without the ability to speak, Derek somehow conveyed to the Mistress that these would do nicely. They all seemed in their late teens, early twenties, all of them full of enough lust and sexual energy to make the room feel a hundred degrees, although Derek wondered for a moment whether or not that was just him. Eventually his mind settled upon a beauty that looked no more than seventeen. She wore a thin, see-through dress with tiny underwear on underneath, leaving only enough to the imagination to inspire inside of Derek a desire to satisfy that curiosity and ultimately replace such fantasy with reality.

“Her, I pick her.” Derek pointed carefully at the girl, only at that moment becoming nervous.

“Splendid choice, young master. Sarah has not been with us very long, yet we’ve only heard positive things. I am sure she will satisfy all of your,” the Mistress paused for a moment, “curiosities.” Nair grinned, though felt no less nervous, and the nerves only increased as Sarah approached him, her hips swaying seductively, her perfect green eyes not coming off of his own. The whore took his hand, and it was as if the touch of her soft fingers rid him of all nerves instantly, and suddenly he was hers without question.

The act itself ended quickly, though Sarah played her part well, leaving Derek convinced that she, too, had enjoyed it as well as he had. Rolling off her, Derek found himself starring at the ceiling of the candle lit room, watching the shadows dance. The young man’s life flashed before his eyes at that moment, not just the past but the future as well, multiple futures, yet all seemed to end in pain and torment for him. Filled with a sudden feeling of dread, Derek felt a tear slip down his cheek, quickly followed by another. They came uncontrollably, more and more tears, until his face was flushed red and wet. Gently, two soft hands took hold of his head on the sides and turned him. The first thing he saw again was her eyes, perfect green eyes, shining with a passion he did not know could even exist.

“Derek, my love,” Sarah started, apparently under the belief that once a man had been inside of her it meant automatically a first name basis, “What is wrong?” It didn’t occur to Derek at the time how many men she had called “my love.”

“I fear my place in this world does not exist. I sail for lack of home, nor do I believe the ocean to be fond of me either. I find only restlessness wherever I go, never feeling satisfaction or fulfillment.” Slowly, Sarah moved herself closer to him and brought her mouth to his. It was not the kiss a whore would give a client, but the kiss of one lover to another.

“If you know not one place where you belong, then maybe it means you simply belong everywhere.” She kissed Derek again, though this time with more passion than he had ever felt, enough to bring his manhood back to life. It was differently this time. Sarah made love with him, and this time maybe she even did enjoy it as much as he did. When it was over, Derek stood up from the bed and looked down at her, as she looked back up at him, again with those eyes that could do no wrong. “You belong everywhere, love, and nowhere. Live, then. I fear I’ll never see you again. ” Derek placed a pouch of money on the table by the door.

“You won’t.” He said. Yet he saw her as often as he closed his eyes.

The water had risen up onto his calves at this point on its slow yet determined fill into the boat. The small vessel only had a few more minutes, Atlas assumed, before it would never see the surface again and would leave him treading water. It was unfortunate that he would not, in truth, be going down with the ship, though he was contemplating grabbing a hold of the sail and seeing how far the ship could drag him down. Tears still stained his face, though they had stopped flowing.

“You belong everywhere and nowhere.”

“Yes, like the bottom of the ocean.”

“Live, then.”

“I can’t though. Not after what I’ve done.”

“Live.”

It was too late for life though. There wasn’t anyone for God knows how far. Immediately following that thought, water rushed into his face as the last of the boat disappeared beneath the surface. Why had he not tied himself to it? Surely it would have been enough to carry him down to the depths below. Derek wanted to let himself drown, but instinctively kicked his feet bringing him back to the surface. Even if he wanted to live, there was no helping himself at this point. Soon his legs would no longer kick well enough to keep him above the surface, he would inhale water, and his pain would be over. Soon he would…

What was this? How had he not seen this? He must have been so caught up in his memory and desire for death that situational awareness had left him. That’s the only way he could think of to describe how a large ship could have approached him so closely without him noticing. It was still a ways out, yet it’s heading was directly towards him. So maybe he did have a choice.

“Live, then.”

Treading water seemed easier then. Sarah wanted him to live. He would live, if only for her. He would be everywhere and nowhere, like she predicted. Atlas began to swim towards the ship, though it showed no signs of turning course. Surely someone on the ship had seen the whole thing, and if they hadn’t someone would have heard the gunshot that sunk his boat. It would be simple to fix his story. A mistake, boredom turned to into a possibly fatal situation. He saw a fish and thought to shoot it, only to drop his pistol, causing it to go off and sink his boat.

The ship was soon upon him, and multiple crewmen had noticed him by now. “’Ello, mates,” Atlas called out to anyone on board. “I’d fancy a lift if you’ve room on your ship! Apparently boats aren’t too fond of gunshot, certainly something I’ll be taking into account from here out! I can earn my way, should you so desire!” The ship wouldn’t be out here if it were not on its way out to sea, to the Americas if it kept is heading. It had been a while since Atlas had seen the New World. He had been in England far too long.

Grinning sheepishly, Domus' smoothed his ruffle feathers by straightening posture, combing his fingers through his shaggy hair and fiddling with his leather cuffs. All of the cotton, soft shirts that the sailor's were issued were always so itchy and ill-fitting. He always wanted to roll the sleeves to his elbows, but all of his outfits swam around his slim torso and draped across his arms like curtains. It was more than an annoyance to constantly heave loud sighs, whilst pushing his fallen sleeves up his arms; again and again, until he simply bundled the accused garment and threw it across the room. He'd always feel guilty about mussing up the vibrant habiliment. It wasn't unusual to catch him slinking to the corner, shamefaced and trying to smooth out the wrinkles he'd created. Unfortunately, the material was so thick that his sewing needles had difficulty piercing through the fabric so he couldn't adjust them even if he wanted to. Lieutenant Faires had promised him silken doublets, velvet sashes, cloths of gold and silver, rich satins, as well as sand-washed garments from the Southern regions.

Sometimes, Domus begged Jack to read him books he'd recently found hidden in the store rooms. He soaked up the knowledge with a toothy smile, and the twinkling eyes of a child. But, he still struggled with certain words and ended up a flustered, blubbering mess whenever Jack pushed the book under his nose. He'd recently been read a book about weaponry, and blacksmiths; he'd seen pictures of elaborate ornamentation on arms and armour, in addition to jewels and precious metals used in the decoration of such devices, as well as colours being mixed into the metals themselves. So, Domus approached Lieutenant Faires a few days past and offered another meagre demand—he wanted, more than anything, to have a sword. He wanted to name the sword something gallant, as well. The Righteous Blade of Heroes! Or, better yet, the Brothels' Vanquisher, readily lopping any heads who deem them unruly!

Something like that, anyhow. Domus' regarded Jack through lidded eyes, naturally demure with his long eyelashes and European complexion. Resuming of swinging his legs in a childish manner, the cook's eyes crinkled mirthfully and he arched his eyebrows until they were hidden beneath his tousled brown hair. “You have that look on your face—,” The cook began, scrunching his nose and narrowing his shapely eyebrows so he could look somewhat gloomy, though it only passed off as looking ridiculous. “Scurvy dog! Dern' pickles, have at ye'!” Swinging his sword-arm in a wide, clumsy arc; the swaggering hero bounded off the table and flourished an exaggerated cadence towards the circular window. Seahawks blustered across the open sky, offering their own squalling cheers at such finesse. At such grace.

“Why, because we found him in a barrel of pickles,” Domus exclaimed with barely contained excitement. The words tumbled from his throat huskily, warring between gleeful squeals or winded explanations that they would be on a grand adventure. Anyone else would have cuffed him across the head for such insolence, for such complete disregard for the chain of authority. Jack was an office, after all, and Domus was a mere cook. Almost a peasant. Cook's were useful, though. Everyone appreciated a good meal. Again, Jack's eyes were narrowed to slim slits and his mouth was sternly set; relaying that his thoughts were elsewhere. Sometimes, he felt like the smaller boy wasn't with him. Even when you met his eyes, Jack always seemed to be further, and further away, pushing himself to another corner where no one would dare offer him a hand. He always thought it must've been lonely, and so his hands were always offered—a glib and useless as they were.

Frivolous expectations romped in his mismatched eyes, wide with a beseeching need to discover what the pickle-man's true nature was. He was prone to bouts of pitiful begging, and most times, it worked. But, now he simply watched and placed his hands firmly on his hips. Simply waiting for a response. “Oh, good!” Domus heart nearly burst with renewed excitement. Honestly, he hadn't expected Jack to relent so quickly. There was always heckling involved between them, and the promise of extra lemon cakes or honey biscuits. His baking was sublime, definitely to die for. There was always his secret stash of Vintage wines he'd acquired from strange-speaking peddlers, which he wasn't willing to share with anyone besides his frigid companion. Gracefully tiptoeing towards Jack, he captured his hands in his and brought them in front of his eyes, pressed them to his forehead and released them. Such was his custom of appreciation. “I knew you wanted to see him, too.” He stepped away from Jack, and then guided them past the throng of barrels and towards the staircase. “How kind of you; I'm sure that the fresh air will help against the smell of pickles.”

Throwing his friend a wink, Domus smiled. “Oh, I'm sure the ninny will wet himself when he catches sight of you.”

Catherine "Cathy" Eccles

It took Cathy just a little while to notice the commotion going on down below, as crew mates gathered round, ceasing their duties to hear what their captain had to say. Her captain too, she noted as she wriggled her nose, almost in distaste. The backs of her wrists were tucked into her waist (a poise some had told her made her look like a bird, at which point she kicked them ferociously in the chin), and she tore her eyes away from the undulating waves and sealife sweeping against its surface. Her reddened hands grabbed onto and slid down a piece of rope for support, and she near tipped herself off the crow's nest to get a proper look-see (and hear-hear or whatever the listening alternative was), stomach indented heavily by the rim of the bucket she deemed to be her home aboard the vessel.

"I ain't yer beloved, Cap'n!!" she wanted to comment, but she bit down on her lip and told herself to be patient, looking positively like a bucktoothed rodent. Blah blah blah loyalty, blah blah five years. Hah! Cathy hadn't been here five years, hah! He was incorrect and Cathy was right! She allowed herself to wear a smug visage for the rest of the speech... Until he told them a story. Cathy remembered stories, from so very long ago. Knights and monsters and innocent little girls who were never ever wrong. Tricky witches and malevolent dukes. Prince charmings. Cathy tilted her head against the rope as she lost herself in the narration, and nearly lost her balance. Rotating her free arm like a windmill for a moment, she managed to lean back and skip away from her near death experience, holding her rope tightly with both hands pressed under her throat with a noise that sounded like "aiiiiieeeeeeeeee..."

But he mentioned fruits! He mentioned gold! He mentioned wild and strange things she never would otherwise think to exist! While Cathy had not developed enough of a bond with Cap'n Tok to trust him, nothing stopped her from the glittering spark of fascination; the same spark that captured you as a child, made you wander outside and reach for the entire world around you, believe there was the potential for magic in your fingertips. He asked for questions, and Cathy found herself throwing her limp-wristed arm about wildly, almost not hearing the words of the princess--which Cathy would have otherwise giggled at and admired.

"QUESTION!" she screeched down at the top of her lungs. "QUESTION, QUESTION! Um... Um, see, WHUDDIF IT DON'T EXIST? WHADDA WE DO THEN, HUH?"

It was not a question of malice. It was not meant to sow doubt or usher forward a mutiny. No, it was a genuine matter of curiosity. Cap'n Tok, after all, seemed the type to think things through completely and utterly. She was sure he had some alternative--a second hidden city, maybe! Completely enamored by the notion of a golden city, Cathy failed to notice any outside approach until it drew clser than she felt comfortable with.

"AND UM. WHASSAT? I MEAN--IT LOOKS LIKE A MAN ON A SINKIN' PIECE OF--UM, HE'S COMING THIS WAY NOW." Siegfried told her what to say when she saw land approaching the ship (or vice-versa). But this wasn't a land, so she figured she may as well improvise. "Man ho...? MAN HO!!"

Having been herded with the rest of the crew above deck she waited for the Captain to speak. Kei was loyal, she would not allow herself to be any other way. Disloyalty was dishonor, surrender was dishonor, not cutting restitution from her enemy's flesh was dishonor and above all, dishonor was death by regaining honor- harakiri, or kigai. This was the bushido of her people, and though she had separated herself from them, she still held onto their teachings and customs that had been so deeply engrained into her.

She listened intently during the captain's speech. She always did, it was disrespectful not to, though this time it was different.

"El Dorado... the city of gold." An almost feverish gleam entered her near-gold eyes as she reverently whispered the words. El Dorado, this is what she's been waiting for. The adventure and the treasure that she's been waiting her whole life for... she just didn't know it until now. No matter... they would get there, and they would plunder and pillage and leave very wealthy people, each in their own right.

"Captain," She called, ready to give her support, "I follow you!" She thrust the longest of her three blades into the air, "I give my swords, my skills, my heart and any courage this humble follower might offer. As your crew, I shall follow. Lead on Captain!"

CALEB FOUL

Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeezy fuck goddamn NO! This could not- could not be happening. Caleb's face contorting into the utmost face of disgust as he listened to the captain's response, as if he were watching clips of genocide. If he weren't currently being watched by so many important, scary people, he would've slumped to the ground to wallow in his own self pity. "Unfortunately none of the ships boats are for borrowing, and I see know need to launch one with it's only purpose being returning you ashore. At this point you have to options. The first is to do with you what is normally done with stowaways, which is to lock in you the brig for the duration of the voyage and let you off at the next port we dock at. Or you may sign on as a member of the ships company for the duration of the voyage, which at the end you will receive your pay and be free to go. However if you do choose to sign on you will be expected to work hard and pull you own weight. I will not tolerate slothfulness or dereliction of duty amongst my crew." He digested the information with horror.

He couldn't allow himself to rot away in the brigs! What about wooing ladies? Well, if he were to be truthful (that's not very likely) he didn't have much luck with them anyway but... The matter of fact was, being locked up wasn't going to be his decision. He'd go crazy there and turn into some mass murderer. He was a flighty kinda guy, ya know? Being held in one place for two long meant certain destruction. That meant that he HAD to sign up to be a military dog. There was absolutely no other choice. I mean, there was one technically but not REALLY. If what the man said was true, he'd even get some cash for it. Then it struck him rather painfully in the chest that he couldn't be an HONEST man! That was absurd! That was... that was... that was so good. Caleb had never been a good man in his entire life. He couldn't possibly just switch around his scamming and conniving in favor of hard work and bravery. Why, he'd rather die than spend an ounce of honest effort! Well, at the same time... he could never go back to his life of thieving if he didn't live. It was almost like he was a man suffering from obesity, running in a marathon with the thought of rich, chocolate cake being at the finish line. He could just stop in the middle of the race, plop down on his hiney and roll around in the dirt, or he could keep going to finally get a taste of sugar and chocolate and fat and calories and everything else that he shouldn't be having.

He still didn't have to be particularly happy about it. "Sir, yes sir..."
he practically groaned. Was that even the proper way to talk to him? He didn't even know. Oh god, he was getting sick from all this damned respectfulness already. But perhaps it was just the smell of... himself. "Um, but if I may be so bold as ask your most... respectable-ness... sir... Could I wash up first? I think if I keep on smellin' like this it might become a public health threat. Besides, aren't sea dogs supposed to look all clean cut and span and stuff?" he mused, picturing himself with his shaggy hair buzzed off and the scruff on his chin being shaved until he was bare and naked. He took a look around at all of the people around him and realized that they weren't exactly his sorts. A rueful, pathetic sigh that might have passed for a sardonic chuckle escaped his pickled lips.

Kai blinked as Tok took off with Raziah down below deck towards Tiesa. Well he wasn't needed obviously so he just stepped out of the way and found another quiet place to be for the time. When the captain returned to talk to the crew. Kai returned to the captain's side. Ruddha seemed; well lost in his own words. Kai figured he should offer his assistance, but at the same time he felt that the man needed to address his crew by himself. Which is what was decided as he held his place.

Ruddha slowly got better with his words, Kai could actually feel himself leaving the ship and appearing where Tok was. The place was beautiful, almost more then even his imagination could create. His eyes roved the crew, it seemed several already showed excitement with finding the place; others still showing a little bit of skepticism. He could only nod in agreement to Ruddha's words. Once the man had finished his speech, not long after the princess made her debut. She was, well spirited was the best work Kai could use to describe it. He tilted his head watching her; her words filled with fire. The best part was when she pointed out Chimola, well this could only make him smile, though he hid it behind a hand.

Though that didn't stop Siegfried from bursting into laughter, which took Kai's attention as he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, and then the man barked out the order to the rigger. He closed his eyes and knew that it was time to start their adventure. Though his eyes shot to crow's nest as he heard Cathy and her question. He tapped his chin, the question was very good one, and from Cathy and there was no point to think of it as a threatening question, being Cathy's natural curiosity was well known amongst the crew. Though soon she began to stutter out words about something; and then let out something he couldn't help but laugh at. 'man ho', well he knew what she ment, but still it was quite amusing the term she used, though before any reaction could be made to her declaration Kei; made her approach towards Tok. She made her intentions known quite well, and it was quite something to listen too. He settled into his place his arms now crossed over his chest; he had no words to say, Ruddha knew he would be with this trip entirely, so he need not voice his loyalty to the mission; and though he was brought up in the speech; the captain had already covered it as well. He need not sputter unneeded words.

From her position on the floor, Raziah's mind struggled to regain control of her senses, even if it could not control her limbs any longer. She was aware that she couldn’t move and that she couldn't respond. Sounds floated in and distorted something terrible, yet she tried to fabricate some sort of meaning of the gibberish as her body floated weightless without any sense of direction. It was strange, this shifting waterworld. She could sense that Siegfried was speaking. From somewhere deep within this dream state, she thought he heard Siegfried saying he'd actually take the helm. Was this some sort of purgatorial nightmare? 'Over my dead body,' she fumed, raging against her body's will to be so useless, emotion bubbling up from her stomach. She might have wretched in her mind or it might have been a dry motion in the 'real world,' but she felt it was an accurate depiction of how she felt about all of this.

The moment she completely lost consciousness must have been the moment she reached Tiesa's table. The cool surface feeling like a pleasantly icy dip in a body of water. It felt cool on her cheek and chest, especially on her stomach and thighs. Her body momentarily tensed before lapsing into relaxation, something that wouldn't have happened for her muscles but for this supernatural sleep.

If she felt the steady fingers numbly moving beneath her skin to painstakingly clean the wound, or the needle as it popped the flesh along the wound, the wire threading through, she gave no such indication. Besides the small movements of her body, acted on by the force of the medical procedure, she remained deathly still. Her breath was quiet. Perhaps the pain was affecting her dreams, the strange delusions that danced behind her closed eyes. Expression scowling even now; perhaps her face really was stuck this way. But perhaps the cool comforting hands of the doctor had a soothing affect on the girl, for her breath faded from a rasping desperation to indignant sighs. All these things might have had an effect on her dreams, but they might not of. It was true, Raziah was a force of her own, inexorably self-centered. The world did not affect her, she affected the world.

And as if she were bursting through a worm hole, suddenly the vulgar smell of ammonia (perhaps mixed with eucalyptus to soften the blow) invaded her system. Her eyes snapped open as she was plunged into this strange place. At first she didn't realize where she was--just a moment ago she was above deck, but it was much darker here. Instinct took over, and she immediately pressed her palms into the table below her, snapping upwards only to receive a stiff pain in her back--it did not slow her but blurred her vision--as she tried to stand, reaching for the sword that wasn't there. She found standing to be beyond her ability yet, but remained sitting, and she whirled around to see the doctor, to whom she semi-cocked her head curiously.

"Tiesa," she stated, mostly for the sake of establishing her own bearings. "Tok must have brought me here over that silly little scratch, the big baby never could handle a bit of blood." She laughed weakly. "I assure you, I'm fine now. I was always fine."[/b] She insisted that she be left alone, that she would try to eat the food, and she merely wanted some time to gather her wits about her. "And… thank you," she called after the kind woman as she left.

As she slipped back into a dreamy sleep after the doctor disappeared quietly out the door, her footsteps falling as sweetly as the dove she was, Raziah was missing the speech Tok was giving on deck. It was probably for the best of everyone, including Tok's sanity and dignity. If she had been there, she'd have made a scene, probably interrupting the man as he got to his golden words, the pixie dust, she liked to call it. He would sprinkle pixie dust over the crew, and they'd magically disregard all reason and follow him straight into the depths of the ocean. But she didn't know what stories he was sowing as she felt the cool sensations of the wood on her skin, wishing she could wrap herself in a blanket of ice. She muttered in her sleep, mouth moving almost imperceptibly as she had a long conversation with herself, devil-tonguing as if still plagued my the same demons she should have been avoiding--those the captain was unleashing above her.

And suddenly. And suddenly. She heard Siegfried's laugh. That booming, rolling sound that always rattled her, affecting her at her very core, as if she were a tuning fork that someone had inconsiderately raised from the dead. Once again, her eyes violently split open as she sat up in a single, almost instant motion, ripping through the air, as alert as ever. Was he…steering the ship?

Her face never changed, from the moment that she awoke in that instance to the moment she exploded out the door and up the stairs, standing like a feral animal there on deck, staring up at Tok. She was in time to see the perplexed look on the Captains face as Hermione placed a delicate hand in the air, as if walling out his face created a force field through which he could not communicate through, separate worlds. She locked eyes with Tok fiercely, critically, scathingly. And her eyes crept passed him to see that fool touching her wheel.

She was filled with too many emotions to really think. It was all fury, but it was directed at too many individuals. Mad at Hermione for disrespecting Tok, mad at Tok for carrying her to Tiesa, for missing the speech, that he was making a speech in the first place, that Siegfried was at the helm, that Siegfried was even alive really would be enough to irritate the woman at this point, though perhaps that was a stretch. Her skin was still pale and dark circles encased her eyes, but she did look much better. At least she looked alive now.

"Siegfried," she hissed. Which, in Raziah language, roughly translated to step away from the wheel.

"Tok… what exactly did I miss while I was below decks?"

But there was a commotion as a man was pulled from the ocean. "What the hell?" And she prowled immediately over, drawing her scimitar. "For fuck's sake, what is going on here? Has everyone gone daft?" Perhaps she had woken up into a different universe, perhaps she was still dreaming, but the passed 24 hours had been absolutely bizarre.
She saw this man, presumably the refuge of another ship, unwanted garbage. "Why should I not kill you right here? I'd make use of you by using you as meat for the rats. "
She had never met the man in her life, had no idea that the man she was threatening had any sort of relationship with Tok. It was absolutely incredible that this woman had sprung up from the dead and immediately into action. As she circled the sopping wet sea dog, sword lifted aggressively, she felt a pulling at the skin Tiesa had spent so much time weaving back together. She would really have to take it easy in reality, but the threat of pain or death never stopped her from threatening another person before.

William watched the apparent inner turmoil in the mans mind as he tried to sort through his options, while his own mind was still applied to the task at hand. While he had decided for the West Indies, they still had no clue what sort of ship they were looking for, which made this whole needle in a haystack search that much more difficult.

"Sir, yes sir..." The man said, sounding rather put out buy the whole affair. "Um, but if I may be so bold as ask your most... respectable-ness... sir... Could I wash up first? I think if I keep on smellin' like this it might become a public health threat. Besides, aren't sea dogs supposed to look all clean cut and span and stuff?" William nodded, however not in response to this last request, and turned to Jallad.

"Mr. Faires, please see to this man. Make sure in the books that his enlistment term is specified as for the voyage and not for the commissioning." All of the men on the ship were enlisted for the commissioning period of the ship, a much longer time, but also one with a definitive ending date, while Caleb's enlistment 'for the voyage' ultimately would be decided by the Captain. "And please see him assigned to Mr. Baillie's division." Crew assignments and duties were usually handled by Jallad, but William had decided intervene this time. From the fact that the man was a stowaway, combined with the little William had been able to get of his story indicated that the man probably couldn't be trusted to the fullest extent. Mr. Baillie, a tough, no-nonsense Scotsman, was his oldest and most experienced deck crew. He was fair, but stern, and not much got passed. His duties, as well as those of his division, were those on deck and up in the rigging. He expected the best from his men and ussually was able to get it. "I'll be in the chartroom should you need." With that William left, leaving this Caleb in Mr. Faires capable hands, spending the next hours, practically till dinner time, pouring over charts of the West Indies, looking for a likely place where fugitives of the crown might try and hide.

Lieutenant Jallad Faires

Jallad had been honking into a handkerchief as discreetly as any man was able. He was paying attention, of course--far be it for him to zone out whenever there was conversation or action to be had! But having nostril fluids leaking over his lips could in no way promote the air of professionalism Jallad thought the ship and all upon it deserved. "Yes, Captain?" He answered no less than moments after his surname was dropped into the conversation. Unusually, Jallad was watching the new "member" of the crew rather than his superior. Still as scruffy as when he last looked at him. "Mr. Baillie, then," Jallad concluded, folding the used piece of cloth and tucking it into his jacket sleeve. He barely knew the man, for the most part owing to the accent. His experience with foreigners and their speech was severely limited to Spaniards, a couple of which he spent time fencing with. Likely the best smalltalk Jallad could ever come up with for the Scotsman would be "Te gusta bailar??"

He spared Captain Hamilton an "At your leave" and a curt salute, as well as a nod for their ship's good doctor, in case the man had other things to do.

When he turned at the torso to address the remaining man of the immediate vicinity, he had little to discriminate him from a mortician surveying a corpse. How on Earth did that scuff get there? It wasn't there a moment ago. Such scraggly clothes will have to be burned, the fish would surface belly-up in complaint if they threw them overboard. Did his entire family have such greasy hair? That slouch will have to be corrected, and by his own hand if necessary. And what is that?

"I don't suppose you'll be able to wash up without a new set of clothes, Mister..." Jallad said, as slowly as if he were reading from a will. He paused, pressing a knuckle to his chin, as if tasting some new form of vegetable, and was uncertain what he thought of it. That is, until he wearily and warily decided: "Caleb." "Some sort of crossbreed between pickles, celery, and expired spinach dipped in ranch. And that's just the smell of it." Perhaps when Caleb here had freshened up a tad, however, Jallad's opinion of him would raise. Perhaps even plummet into the stars and break the moon into two pieces. It was no good to not try to have the best opinion of others, Jallad chastised. Still, something about the young man simply nudged him the wrong way. Just the name and the averted gemstone eyes left a bitter taste in the lieutenant's mouth, one that was... most foul.

Oh, what nonsense, he was sure he was exaggerating.

"Our cook may have spare shirts he can provide. His name is Domus." (At the mention of the name, Jallad glanced over to a stack of barrels. He couldn't place his finger on precisely why.) "Presuming you will be presentable afterwards, you are invited to dine with us. As for Mr. Baillie, he is that man over there, with the red mane, long mustache and tattoos. You will be introduced later, when he is less occupied. Lastly... the men here are of a respectable sort, and deserve to be treated as such. Do avoid referring to them as 'sea dogs' in the future."

For the duration of his request, Mr. Faires was looked almost unfriendly. The grim atmosphere lifted as quickly as it came (which was not at all quickly) when he tucked his hand into his pocket. "Now, I suppose you will be needing a guide. Wouldn't do to have you wandering the ship by yourself...." His eyes met those of the midshipman. The midshipman vigorously shook his head, making slicing motions over his throat as he shuffled away. Jallad sighed through his nose.

Atlas Winters

Atlas was a bit thrown off for a second, before realizing how much head missed the company of pirates at sea. He had recognized the ship long before they had hauled him onto its deck, and yet he found himself as he was being hoisted wondering whether or not it was still run by that young aspiring pirate he had met oh so long ago. They boy had so much potential, truly, and when Atlas had learned that he had become a captain himself he could not have been more pleased. Surely only among the Ratgrins would one find a woman as outspoken as this one. Part of him considered a dozen witty remarks to throw back at her, though he found himself a bit more hesitant than he used to be. Of course, it was to be expected. There was some rust to wipe off the old piratey joints. Patience, girl, I've been retired longer than you've been a pirate. There was a slight bitterness to his thoughts, considering the last time he was on a pirate vessel he had been a captain and had someone spoke to him in that manner they would have undergone a few cleverly thought up painful experiences until finally breathing their last...simpler times.

"Kill me, my lady?" Atlas said with a hoarse laugh, making him realize that whatever muscle controlled laughs also needed some of its rust kicked off. "I'd be glad for you to try. As many times as I've failed at the attempt myself it would be quite refreshing to see someone succeed." It was in jest, of course, but only slightly. The boat a few minutes ago was not, in fact, his first suicide attempt. He was being kept alive for something. Maybe he would become wise to that certain something somewhere on the course of this boat. Hell, at this point he could feel his pirate blood sparking back to life. Now all he needed was a sword (considering he had sold his for beer) and a pistol (considering it and not him had the courage to go down with his boat) to complete his return into pirate-hood. A dagger, too, yes, and also a smoke. Damn, could he use a smoke just then.

"I'd be happy to oblige you; however, I doubt I'd do much good for the rats. I'd be curious to discover if I'm as tasty as I used to be." Smiling, Atlas surveyed the crewmen, looking at each of them as his eyes swept the deck. "Let's see here then. Women with bigger balls than most men, half the crew looking like they're too young to have ever enjoyed the comfort of a whore, and an air about the ship that just smells of good ol' festivity. So, Ratgrins, where might your captain be? Is it gold you're after, or a fairy tale?" He laughed again, though he felt as if he were the only one doing so. He only met Tok a few times, and only for short bits of time, but the boy had spirit and a mind for adventure unlike anyone he had ever really met before. He had no doubt that them resurfacing in England was a part of some sort of plan that most would only scoff at.

Atlas was overjoyed to find himself on this ship, almost to a point where it felt more like fate than anything else. Surely his destiny awaited him with this crew, for now, of that he was positive. If not, he'd of found himself on the deck of some merchant vessel making a boring run to the new world for cotton and tobacco, and not on the ship of an infamous pirate crew--an infamous pirate crew whose captain he just happened to be friendly with. "If you're not so intent on killing me, deary, then maybe you can go inform good Captain Tok that Atlas Winters would like to submit a request to join his crew. I'm a bit rusty, though, but I've become quite skilled with a net." Atlas wondered if there was anyone on this boat besides Tok who would recognize him, or at least his old name: Derek James, Captain of the Daunting Smile.

As small moan escaped his lips as he roused, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his calloused palms. Tinker hadn't moved much from amongst the stacked barrels on deck, listening to Captain Tok's hesitant words; full of something he couldn't even put his hand on. It might've been hope, or pure wonderment. Either way, if Tok believed that this golden city existed, then it was worth following him into the fray. Blind, as ever. His blurry vision wavered across his determined features, upright chin indicating that even if his entire crew thought he was nutters... he was certainly serious enough to tell them all upfront about his plans. It took guts. His elbows were anchored against the lidded barrel, two leaden limbs that may as well have been useless. Through the corners of his functioning peripherals, beneath the lidded swell of his eyebrow, he spotted Siegfried manning the wheel. Fingers poised gracefully across the wooden object, almost tender. Tinker knew well enough that Siegfried could fill any position with ease—well, that's what it seemed like, anyway. It wouldn't stop Raziah from snarling her teeth across his throat if she found out. Fiesty one, that was.

Most of the splendorous speech careened through Tinker's ears like a jumble of acoustic noise. Fruits and gold; probably golden fruit. It seemed farfetched, but more than that... it was merely a buzzing noise that didn't resound in his heart. Not right now. His wounds, not the ones on the surface, were fresh. They'd lose more men along this journey, and he wondered how far they'd go to reach this magical place. Everything was far too loud, and left him lolling his aching head about. Unfocused stars shivered into his vision, sending long lines of wheedling worms that disappeared after the blinking trails. A wry expression teased his lips. At least, only one of his eyes was acting up. Everyone seemed to carry on their business, jumping across the decks with the bosun's accompanied bellows. The carpenter's movements were a lot less animated, and restricted to kneading his knuckles across his throbbing temples. It felt like he'd drunk a whole cask of rum, swaggered down into the filthiest brothel, and awoken with half a dozen love bruises... from angry husbands, or young bucks trying to impress a tavern wench. Either way, he didn't feel very good. He wasn't up for any menial tasks, and doubted anyone would bother him about it. Without any part of the ship to repair, there wasn't much he needed to do besides helping whoever needed a hand.

He thought about cajoling with Siegfried, but found his tongue wasn't jiving with his scattered thoughts. Conversation wouldn't be terribly eventful, or logical, so he thought he'd spare him. Sun baked and dry, Tinker licked his lips and shielded his eyes, staring up at the Crow's Nest. With slackened limbs and fumbling movements, Tinker managed to make his slow ascent towards the nest. His clumsy fingers were stable enough not to come falling back onto the deck, so he continued on until his hands felt the edge of the wooden bucket. “A... A man?” He puffed through his teeth, pulling himself into Cathy's sanction. Intruding or not, it was one of the most calming places aboard the ship. He figured that Cathy wouldn't mind. Cupping his hands to either side of his head, Tinker followed Cathy's vision and spotted the debris floating across the languid waters, aboard it... a man. He clucked his tongue.

First, this talk of golden cities and forsaken treasures. Secondly, coming upon a man floating on wooden planks, come from God knows where. What was next?

“I'll be damned,” Tinker grinned, eyeing Cathy beneath a myriad of bruises. “What'll you think we'll find next—krakens, I bet. Hopefully, made of gold.”

Catherine "Cathy" Eccles

At first there was a great, indignant, and startled SHRIIIIEEEEK when Cathy bounded to the side of the nest--from which the Tinker approached--to block his passage. An invasion, an invasion! An uninvited guest! How dare he!! She was going to have to call for back-up to get this invader out of her domain! He was going to steal her job! Her cheeks puffed like a hamster during meal time as she very nearly mashed her nose into his less rotund counterpart. The lookout squinted viciously at the invading carpenter, certain her very gaze would tear into his head and slice it into two pieces, like squishy fruit sliced by a knife. As her bright irises bounced from a swollen eye to a spot of bloated, bruised skin to his parted, dry, and splintered maw; she found herself emitting less cutting venom than she preferred. Relenting with a snort, Cathy slunk back unceremoniously, clambering onto the side and crouching to keep an eye on the newcomer and his sinking raft. She balanced on her toes and palms, still on the defensive--very much like a gargoyle perched atop a church's awning. "Nothin's broken, the Tinker," She said, her tone torn between warning and reminding. "I'm not broken. The ropes and the woods aren't broken, at all--no--I take care of them! You're broken very much. Didja--come up for solace ta fix yourself?!" She hesitated, suspiciously inhaling a breath of salt-tainted air before snarling, "You won't find it here!!"

Cathy stared the Tinker down, pouting mightily. Then she pouted even more as she relented a second time, mumbling almost guiltily as she stared down the deck below them instead: "You can find it here, I'll be quiet and stuff. Chase away the birds. Um. Tell the dolphins and fishes to shut up. Stuff. So's you can fix yourself if you wanna."

The Tinker clambered next to her, and she looked upon him with the pity of a God looking down on His mortal creations: with a perplexed and moderate degree of haughtiness. "A man?" he asks! Of course there was a man. What was wrong with the Tinker? Was he punched in the head very very hard? That must be it. For if Cathy said there was a man ho, then of course there was a man ho. How dare the Tinker doubt her...! How dare he try to acquire evidence by looking over the edge himself! Was she not trustworthy? Of course she was! Her seething mental accusations were halted when he suddenly decided to meet her eyes, and she instinctively hunched down at the shoulders as if to cower away.

“What'll you think we'll find next—krakens, I bet. Hopefully, made of gold.”

His visage was welcoming, as if he hadn't heard her thoughts, and his words--Cathy made a funny face; amused, pained, skeptical and bewildered all at once. It lingered as if her countenance were turned to stone, then, quite suddenly, she alternately guffawed and squeaked, smacking her hand on her elevated knee in elation. "Gold is heavy, the Tinker! Ha ha ha! We'd be doomed and crushed--! Oh, we'd be doomed and crushed..." She turned sullen, merry attitude passing as quickly as it came. Her entertained and toothy grin fell into a thin, undulated line, and then she shrugged. "I don't hope we meet 'em. Have you ever seen a kraken before, the Tinker? I haven't." She tipped her head amiably, smiling for the few moments where she forgot she hadn't invited him. She did enjoy not being plagued by loneliness once in a while.

Speaking of fixing people, she wondered if Raziah had been fixed yet? Cathy craned her neck over the edge, vexation pressed gently between her lips. She searched through the multitude of brown bodies for a head of raven hair that was almost messy enough to rival her own. She found herself squeaking quietly in delight. Not only was she up and well and all better, she was picking a fight with Siegfried! Yes, go!! Perhaps she'll punch the juggernaut so hard that Cathy's bracelet will fly off his wrist, and she'll be able to crawl down with stealth and get it back finally!

Raziah might have been vibrating with anger, body bristling as her nerves prickled with agitation. Her face was definitely cut into a sharp scowl, snarl rippling through her features at the man's blatant display of disrespect, his recklessness in the face of what he should expected to be certain death. Her jaw clenched as she ground her teeth, small nostrils flaring much like an enraged bull might. Today had been ridiculous, completely and utterly ridiculous. Her question earlier about those around her growing daft seemed to not only be confirmed but applied to the whole damn universe. She was no one to be taken lightly, yet the world seemed to be poking a teasing finger jeeringly in her face, brushing the tip of her tiny nose. Things needed to come back under control, and she needed to reign in everything about her, yet it seemed everything was getting away. So rather than meeting the lack of luck with common sensibility, she decidedly met it with more aggression--typical Raziah mentality.

She snapped savagely at the man, lunging towards him and placing both palms on what she considered his unimpressive chest, blade glinting as if it were snarling along with its owner very near to his face. She shoved him roughly backward, the action sharply punctuating her words that she spat. "I don't think you're in a position to be negotiating, old man," she put extra umph and force behind her violent reactions, "You wreak of arrogance, old man."

He might have just picked the wrong day, the wrong moment to be rescued by the ship, but he was likely to have received the same greeting from Raziah any day of the week by simply calling her 'deary.' It was as if she were seeing red. I'm no one's deary, fuckin' sexist swine!

"I'm not your little messenger girl. You don't give me orders. I don't think you know how things are done amongst the Ratgrins, you pile of rancid dog retch," With that, she started to swing her scimitar with all her might, blade position above her head as she began to bring down all her weight on the blade in what would be a diagonal swipe. She would end him for his impudence, and with him, this strange day.

ANIRUDDHA TOK

Why, he was feeling very put together, indeed. He had done it! He'd be damned, maybe, but he'd done it. Why hadn't he just said it earlier? Tok sniffed as he felt his muscles relax. Just moments before he'd been semi preparing for all of his friends and family to stagger towards him in undead rage, tear him from limb to limb, spit on his deprived body, and tell him he was a sissy boy n' nothin' less! in a scene much too similar to those awkward teenage years nobody ever wishes to talk about. All that would be missing was a fix of his drawers above his head and it'd be the ultimate prepubescent nightmare come true. Thankfully, he was met with an almost quiet acceptance. This... now this was just dandy. You could practically see his ego slowly replenishing himself, the pathetic shriveled balloon he'd been earlier finally working on getting some volume back into itself. If you squinted a little harder, you might even see him pat himself on the back, do a round of fist pumps, call himself a champ with his hands raise above his head in victory.

"Captain, I follow you!" cried the ever faithful Kei, thrusting her swords into the air. "I give my swords, my skills, my heart and any courage this humble follower might offer. As your crew, I shall follow. Lead on Captain!" A goofy smile spread on his face like wild fire.

"Things turned out better than expec-" said the oh-so-pleased-with-himself captain just in time to be interrupted and look like a fool as the tiny, snapping puppy galloped over to him and shoved him towards Siegfried. Tok's mouth fell open in shock before involuntarily transforming into an open mouthed smile as he swung his head back and forth as if looking at everybody and saying, "Did that really just happen...? Is this even allowed?" He staggered back to his full height, trying his best to scrape back together what little dignity he still had left after this week or so of his life. “I swear on my country, its people, my father’s crown and my life, that if any one so much as steps foot off this ship in cowardice I’ll… I’ll… I’ll sick that man on you!” Hermione had snapped so ferociously it was almost cute. “Men and women died kidnapping me. The least you could do for them is live in the lap of luxury in a city made of gold. It would be disrespectful to them as human beings to pass up an opportunity like this. And if he is stark raving mad, I will be the first to … do something terribly painful to him.” Hell, who was he kidding? That wasn't just cute; it was adorable. This narration wasn't even a humorously sarcastic one, as Tok genuinely felt like it suited him to scamper over towards the princess on his tippy toes crying, "Who's a cutie wootie little princess? You are! You are!" as he pinched her excessively large, chipmunk cheeks. She was being nice! Sure, it was in her own, bratty, unmanageable, and typically humiliating for him way... but nice nonetheless. The fact that he at least had her somewhat on board with her plans- even if begrudgingly so- had to mean success somewhere. He was elated, overjoyed, jubilant! His hands went from smushing his cheeks upwards in glee to spreading out wide like a pizza maker discussing the joy he felt about cuisine to a costumer.

The next moment, he was getting the hand. Now, he'd gotten the hand in many ways before. Some in ways too foul to speak of or even put in the same context as the young princess, and others (usually coming an indefinite time after the previously mentioned) being considerably more sharp and painful- typically accompanied with "you beast!" or “we’re through!” This one, though, was unique to its own, so childish that it brought him all the way back to Raziah when she was only 9 or so. "Do not. Speak to me.” she huffed snippily. Tok's shoulders creeped up as he eyed her with amused confusion. Siegfried's laughter only made it more entertaining than before. "Wh-? But...? I- no- um... Okay?" he got out, though he wasn't sure if it was a affirmation or inquiry. A laughter all his own was soon to follow, which he was sure the princess did not appreciate, but couldn't really help.

“And there you have it,” Siegfried piped, which inevitably brought Tok's attention to him. Paying Hermione one more perplexed look, a dreaded head shaking, he turned and took the few steps necessary to be within conversation distance with the man. He waited as he gave Charlie an well-needed order before saying a short and simple, "Thank you, Siegfried. I really appreciate what you've put up with lately,", also sure to give Kai a similar look before the both of them broke off to do what was needed to be done. Well, kind of. In that moment, everything seemed to unravel, the balance in the world setting things straight again.

"QUESTION! QUESTION, QUESTION!" screeched Cathy, and he could already feel his hairs standing up and his muscles tensing in preparation for her unintentionally ruthless commentary. "Um... Um, see, WHUDDIF IT DON'T EXIST? WHADDA WE DO THEN, HUH?" she cried. He winced, pausing in his descent down the staircase and shutting his eyes like he'd just been struck across the face. Thankfully- and no one but God himself could possibly understand just how thankful he really was for this- he needn't actually answer the question he knew he couldn't. As Cathy would vocalize loud and clear, MAN HO!!! Tok's savior came as a nifty distraction. That must have been what he'd seen on the horizon. he remembered vaguely, hawk eyes darting towards the ocean where a raft could be seen not too far away. He finally made his way all the way down the stairs and stared cautiously at the bottom step as the drift away was pulled on board.

And that was when everything comforting and safe in the world was sucked in the vortex that was Raziah Moreau. Ruddha heard the most terrifying whisper on the tail of the wind, a furious snarl of "Siegfried" as ominous as any foggy cemetery during a lightning storm he'd ever experienced. The most horrified of all horrified faces crashed onto his stubbly face like a speeding wave, eyes wide, mouth a sideways crescent, eyebrows both knotted and raised, head tilted upward, but double chin still present. It was perhaps the ugliest and most undignified face that any man could make, and one Tok had grown used to using at least once every two years- and that was really pushing it- when in the constant company of his life long companion. A prayer zipped through his mind- just in case- as he turned around to face the dark skinned woman as slowly as he possibly could, trying to deny any eye contact as best he could. His attempts were futile. As soon as her voice pierced into him ("Tok… what exactly did I miss while I was below decks?") he felt as if his eyes were magnetically drawn into her own around the same time that his soul had been taken from him.

See, there were just a couple issues about Raziah and El Dorado. They weren't exactly the chummiest of chums, if that made sense. Back in the day, when Ruddha and Raz had been not but youthful, hormonal turds- Raziah a bright eyed 14 and Tok a stubborn, hot headed 17- they'd taken home as petty runaway criminals with a wise old man by the name of Golruth who had been absolutely obsessed with the lost city of gold. Raziah had dubbed it as foolishness and a senile man's sillly tales even then, but Tok had been enamored by the allure of it and took to studying it alongside their mentor. He passed away not very long after, which is when they had a parting that still made Tok feel ashamed when thinking about it. He would be damned if he let Golruth's whole life go to waste and let his studies on El Dorado die with him. Ruddha became obsessed with it himself, and vowed to find it. This, of course, lead to numerous fights between the two passionate youths, one of them so fierce that they decided to part ways until Ruddha, quote un quote, "put these pipe dreams behind him already". Ruddha had, of course, done nothing of the sort. Six years went by- six years in which he became a pirate and then, by a bittersweet strike of fate, a captain. Six years for his heart to grow weepy and longing for his best friend and six years for hers to grow bitter and longing for him too. He sought her out as he recruited for his ship and once he found her, had said nothing of El Dorado since. It's been a five year long secret- eleven if you count the time they'd spent apart... and one that he'd just unleashed today.

"Someone up above have mercy on me." he pleaded in his mind.

And his wish was granted. Raziah's rage was redirected to the newcomer that Tok had almost forgotten about and it didn't take long for her to storm over the man, swearing and threatening not far behind. Goosebumps ran rampant over his body as the pounding of relief sounded deep his heart. Safe, at least for the moment. Once he was able to compose himself once more, he turned back around only to see Raziah spitting fire at a crusty fellow, overhearing her raging fumes. "I don't think you're in a position to be negotiating, old man," she said. [i]"You wreak of arrogance, old man." She seemed personally offended by this stranger, and Tok wasn't sure if this was just because she had woken of on the wrong side of Tiesa's table, or if he had truly done something vile. He quickly paced over to the two of them to assess the situation.

The next few moments were more of a blur of drunken memories, all colorful and swirled than anything else as he trod up to them and got a good look at the man's face. Familiar... there was something very familiar... and then, it clicked! He knew precisely who this old man was! Just as Raziah swung her sword down, Tok did a move all too similar to a peppy girl's booty bump, knocking her a bit to the left just in time for her scimitar to indent itself into the ship's deck as opposed to the man's head. In that same motion, Tok raised his hands above his head and cried, "Well, I'll be damned! If it isn't Derek James!" before embracing the other in one of those masculine hugs that involve too much punching of one another's shoulders and upper backs. He pulled apart from him, wide smile pasted on face. He looked over at Raziah for a moment and the grin faltered in a mixture of fear and guilt. Raziah had no clue who this man was, or the fact that he was a living legend, which probably wouldn't have helped his case to begin with, but would have been nice to have stacked on his side of the bargain. He quickly darted his attention back to Atlas, but he was unsure if it was because of eagerness to see the man or avoid Raziah's wrath. "Good God, it's been years, mate! You look...!" he paused as his eyes involuntarily flicked over his appearance. Honestly, he looked a mess, but such things weren't to be said, especially not on such fond occasions. "Well, you look like you've certainly been living. What have you been doing, bloke?"

---

Siegfried's laughter subsided in just enough time for him to hear Tok's words of gratitude. Never being quite sure what to do with gratitude (because really, he didn't really think he ever did much to merit it), he took the coward's way out and leaned back on his oh-so-subtle facade, shrugging with oafish nonchalance and giving the world a split-faced grin that probably would have pissed Raziah off for no other reason than because it was so damn beatific. “No idea what you're talkin' about, Ruddha," he replied easily, and he didn't need to say anything else because Cathy was yelling down from the nest and someone was rather displeased, if the way they strangled his name on it's way out of their windpipe had any bearing on it.

“Miss Raziah," he replied cheerfully, “you look better already." An utter lie, of course; she looked tired and angry and downright sickly, kind of like the beat-up urchin on the street who'd sooner cut off your hand than let you help them. Then again, that last part at least wasn't really a departure for her, now was it? He knew she wanted him away from the helm, and he was quite happy to cede, or he would have been if the spectacle of the man being pulled onto deck wasn't enough to turn her away from the situation entirely so that she might visit her alley-cat wrath on some other poor sod. He almost felt bad for whoever they'd just pulled in, actually, but then probably being chewed by Raziah was still marginally better then drowning.

He did not leave the helm unmanned, in the end, but rather chose to keep himself in a nice position to see what was going on. Tinker was ascending the crow's nest, it seemed, and the confrontation down near where the half-drowned man was grew rather surly in short order. Damn, buddy, you gotta be ten kinds of reckless to be sassing your rescuers like that. Either that, or he didn't care too much whether he lived or died. Maybe both.

“Betcha never thought pirating was a spectator sport, did you, Miss 'Mione?" he asked the young lady next to him with a gesture to the chaos. “It gets better, too. Just watch what happens when I decide to ask Miss Raziah to tell us all about what happened in France." The thought was almost too entertaining to save, but he was at heart a patient man. The minute someone was under pressure and needed a laughingstock, though, he was going to be at it in a first-class kind of fashion. He wondered if she'd chase him around the ship trying to stab him or just shove him overboard. It was sure to get a good laugh either way. Fortunately for him, he just so happened to be much harder to actually do away with than one might expect, so he could get away with playing it for comedy.