Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

Survival mode activated

Suddenly remembered that he's actually wealthy

The deck

CrimsonInk Atamita lyn.

Dahlia, Agnes

Receiving kindness from the woman he had come to know as Dahlia was rare indeed. She seemed the kind that had grown up rough and, so, had no patience for anybody that wasn’t tough like she was. A feeling he could understand - after all, one’s experiences greatly shape their expectations of others.

However, she had spoken to him with a softness that he had not heard in her voice before. For a moment, his mind was briefly snatched from finding safety in Devana’s presence. For a moment, he had allowed himself to believe that perhaps there was no danger at all. Perhaps the skeleton had merely been a figment of his imagination.

Of course, he just had to process all this without saying a word. So, after she had called out to him and extended an olive branch, a listening ear, he had proceeded to do nothing but stare at her for the better part of a full minute as his mind caught up to present times.

Finally, he opened his mouth to say something, but the only sound that was heard was that of a long, low whistle. A sound that he was mostly positive hadn’t come from him. He didn’t have the time to look around before the impact. The only thing he had managed to see was Dahlia diving to protect someone else standing there who he hadn’t even noticed. What is she do-

He wasn’t given time to complete the thought as the ship rocked violently and sent him tumbling towards the railings. A feelling that was, unfortunately, familiar to the writer. Reflexively o and rather clumsily - just before he slammed against the railing, he shot a leg out, attempting to find purchase but stepping on the railing. Just the way he had seen Maltke do when a storm almost claimed his life.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t Maltke. And he didn’t have the experience to stop himself by catching his foot on the railing. All that happened when he attempted was a twist of his ankle, resulting in him bumping into the railing anyway. A lighter hit than he would have suffered if he had flown straight into it, but at what cost?

The pain that shot through his leg had blinded and deafened him to all the chaos happening around them. When he finally managed to gather his bearing, he looked up and saw that it seemed as though it was about to rain. Inly that the clours were much lower than he had ever seen rain clous. It was then it occurred to him that the grey in the sky was looking at was fnot from clouds, but instead from smoke. And the only rain these would bring was one of blood and not water.

Confusion sent his mind spiraling. Was the skeleton real after all? Was it a vision for what was to come shortly. More pressingly, who are they attacking: me or the ship?

His thoughts, and the pain in his leg, had planted him firmly to the deck, unwilling and unable to move. That is, until, he heard someone cry out. He did not recognise the voice, but he knew the name all too well.

Dahlia.

She had been standing in front of him a mere moment ago, conversing like lambs completely unaware of the wolf’s presence. Where is she? Is she hurt?

The thought of Dahlia’s safety seemed to be enough to spur him to move. His ankle was in too much pain for him to stand, so he simply crawled towards the last place he had seen her. Below the smoke, he could make out her ever-striking red hair and some of the conversation she was having with the other lady.

“Take her to my quarters.” He instructed. He pulled himself from his crawling stance, forcing himself to stand on two feet, because stars forbid Dahlia see him looking weak. She would never let him hear the end of it. Despite his best attempts to hide it, however, he clearly favoured one foot over the other. Ignoring that, however, he proceeded to give directions to his cabin and how to identify it. “It is far enough from the outer hull not to be blown in by cannon fire, deep enough to hide from the chaos; and modest enough to hopefully be ignored by the pirates. Go, I shall be right behind you.” Despite the clear chaos and danger of the situation, his voice was surprisingly leveled, having to pull from a part of himself he didn't know still existed: the part that had to survive of the streets of a loveless world...that part of him that would do whatever it takes.

The plan was to run and hide. He was good at running and hiding. However, he knew he couldn’t go with them. With his hurt ankle, he would only slow them down. But he did not need Dahlia worrying about him. “There is someone else I must find.” A true enough lie. “Once I have confirmed their safety, I will join you both in the room. If the pirates board before I do…” a horrifying though. But, at least, they would be safe “...block the doors with the furniture in the room the best you can.”

Despite the pain he was in, there was little room in his tone for questioning or rebuttal, the tightness in his jaw and the firmness in his gaze as he looked at the two a clear indication that their safety was his primary concern and he would hear nothing to the contrary. This was not simply him trying to be a hero. This was him doing what he could to cut losses and save who he could. Starting with those who had been good to him.

hostile, moody, annoyed, reluctant

His usual dirty coat of course

The Levi's deck, a more secluded part

Magnus

Magnus, @Pepsionne

Except that unsettling, blood-soaked aura, Maltke had to accept the fact that his company was not interesting at all. This realization happened rarely since the old man enjoyed the company of anyone - well, until he could talk as much as he wanted, however the bounty hunter's unnatural style of conversation, similar to an interrogation which Maltke had experienced just ten to fifteen times... the pirate wasn't pleased with their exchange at all. Not to mention that his head had started hurting from the intensity of the concentration with which he had been trying - successfully - not to blow off his cover.

He glanced at his cigarette, the only gift one could recieve from Magnus besides a blade into their flesh. "Aye" Maltke groaned neutrally as a response to his company's answer of nothing. Fortunatelly, just a last drag and he could finish his cigarette and say a goodbye to the bloodthirsty hound that had been circling around him on this morning; just one last drag...

BOOOM!!!

The cigarette never touched the pirate's lips again. After the deafening gale of a cannon, it slid out of Maltke's fingers and fell into the sea, not even suspecting how many object and people would follow them into the azure hug of the deep during the events of the next hours.

The pirate himself lost his ballance as well, a string of annoyed curses joined to the death screams of planks sounding from where the cannon ball had hit the ship. "Fuckin' peaces of wretched little shits...yer mothers..."

In the heat of the moment that ended the peace of the morning, the old man forgot to care about his barely convincing role of a 'humble sailor': the shift of the deck below them was unexpected for sure, however his two decades on the sea served him well enough to regain his ballance quickly enough to continue insulting the attackers' mothers on his two feet again. His muscle memory was hard to turn off or ignore.

With slightly bent knees, Maltke turned towards Magnus, grimacing disappointedly when he saw that the ghoul hadn't fallen into the sea. "Too bad" A silent thought crossed his mind but said nothing. They looked at each other silently, a bit confused by the current situation. Then...

"If I hand you a weapon, will you know how to use it?"

"Are you stu-..." Maltke cut himself, realizing that in fact he was the stupid one. Obviously, the bounty hunter couldn't have known about the pirate attack - that would have been funny - but he used it cunningly to his advantage, giving an ultimatum to the old man. At this point, he didn't have a chance to get out of the hound's piercing sight. "Fuck these pirates!" He grumbled, more likely to himself than to Magnus.

"I mean..." He squinted, taking a few steps away from the bounty hunter, turning his head towards him, not wanting to get that dangerous man out of his sight. "Ye be kind but don't ye worry, lad! Back in my days I could defend myself..." He spread his strong arms, shrugging modestly. "I don't know what ye plan to give me but swords ain't really my favourites! I have bad aim too...axes also be too heavy for a battle like this..." As he was talking back and forth, he took a few steps away from Magnus, moving slowly and deliberately. His right hand disappeared under his coat, searching for a less pirate-looking knife. Not like it mattered now, the thought of the approaching sea battle quickly made the act meaningless and his antics being washed away, replaced by a cold, reluctant seriousness.

"I be fine with this lil' friend of mine!" He assured Magnus on a sour voice and a cruel knife appeared under his coat in his right hand with a practiced flick of his wrist. The sharp, deadly metal was glinting in the sunlight. Maltke's eye searched for Magnus's gaze, looking at him in a way that suggested they would become neither friends nor comrades. He inhaled a breath of freshening air, forcing a less tense posture on his body what was twitching slightly with adrenaline and nerve. "Probably we be all this fuckin' ship has as protection." I cleared his throat, trying to reason with Magnus, nodding towards to other side of the deck from where desperate screams and heavy footsteps sounded, an obvious sign of how useless the majority of the guests were in a fight.

Maltke sighed, bracing himself for fighting against Magnus or against unknown pirates, rats like himself. None of them were a beckoning optionbut what an old pirate could do? Maybe Magnus would be killed by one of Maltke's colleague. That would be blissful.

"Now come!" The old man sighed again, finally turning his head away from the headhunter, preparing for worst behind and in front of him. "I swear I be too old for this shit! Do I even get paid for actin' like an idiot soldier of the King? For fuck's sake, has bein' a sailor always been this exhaustin' or..." He kept muttering like an absent-minded old-timer as he started walking away from Magnus, holding his dagger firmly in hand.

Another Death

Put Together

Main Deck

Dahlia, Antarin, Genevieve

Rayna

lyn. CrimsonInk

Though there were people scattered around that Maddie could have tried to help, but she was floored by the leering stares of the pirates across from her. A fear unlike that she’d felt so far on this voyage paralyzed her, cloaking her lungs and throat in something sharp and choking. She tried to breathe, but it was to no avail.

Rayna’s reappearance was a relief, though her face likely didn’t show it with her furrowed eyebrows, widened eyes, and pale face. Instead of answering with her words, she shakily nodded, stepping as close as she could to Rayna without seeming rude.

Her throat felt dry as she parted her lips and stammered, “I d-don’t think so.” Was there anyone around who would let her hide with them? She didn’t think so. Friends were few and far between, with acquaintances nearly as rare. Consequences of being someone as bad at socializing as she was. “I-I’ll just find someone to hunker down with.”

If she hadn’t blanched before, she certainly did now that Rayna had handed her a dagger. All of the blood in her body froze as she stared at the blade, remembering the rock that had served as her weapon the last time she had been in a dramatic situation such as this. She desperately wanted to refuse the weapon, but Rayna was already turning away, calling out to someone further down the deck. Maddie’s hands tightened around the dagger nervously, the skin of her palms biting into the blade before she tucked it away into the sash around her waist. There. She felt a lot better with it there.

At least, that was her thought before all hell broke loose.

It occurred to Maddie that ships normally didn’t rock like this, before Rayna dove at her and her vision of her surroundings was obscured completely. Therefore, she didn’t see the shape of a person pushing them both to the deck as the noise of carnage and battle deafened her. While the pirates waged their seemingly purposeless war against their vessel, Maddie weakly tried to lift her head and get her bearings. Smoke and powder and debris blocked her vision, yet the tang of blood was also in the air, and she tightened her jaw, trying not to heave.

When the air cleared enough to see ten feet in front of her, she let out a scream.

Why.

Why why why. Why why why why why why wh—

It had happened again. For the second time since she’d begun this voyage, Madelina had borne witness to the end of someone’s life. And for what purpose? Rayna had been keeping Maddie safe, and, based on the sight before her, Antarin had done the same. The ambassador. The same man who had tried to reclaim Genevieve from the monsters at Algol. He had looked at her with eyes shocked and accusatory, asking her why she’d committed the murder she had never intended. And now, he was dead.

How many deaths would she be responsible for?

She was trembling. That was all she managed to think as Rayna helped her to her feet. Her hand in the older woman’s, Madelina stared blankly at her, any light previously in her eyes now masked by the sadness and grief of having once again caused an innocent to die. All because she’d tried to do something she had no business doing.

What was the point of living if she just brought death everywhere with her?

Stumbling along, she followed Rayna as she called out to her friend, this Dahlia person. What a beautiful name. Maddie almost told Rayna not to bother. What if this Dahlia also died by being near her? What if she just gave herself over to the pirates right now? Or better yet, dove into the sea and let it do the rest of the work?

If there was much left of the decoy’s soul, it had been destroyed in the cannon blast, along with the late ambassador.

FLIRTY | CONFIDENT

DRESS TO KILL

THE DECK

N/A

MACKLIN

Aviator

There he was. Same dark locks she could easily grip with her hands, a mess of a uniform that was too form fitting, even for a man like him. And here he was with a painfully set of puppy dog eyes that could melt anyone's heart. Too bad hers was formed by layers of thick ice.

She was careful with her steps watching the ongoing fire between the leviathan and the reaper. It was practically a thrill to be in the line of action again. Her hands twitched whenever it touched the handle of her blade, an insatiable hunger ready to glutton over men who dared to challenge the vipress. A soft smirk stayed on her lips breathing in the salty air around Macklin.

“I call it playing impossible to get. It’s a step up from playing hard to get.”

Sure it is.

“Do you think I’ll get a callback for a second date?”

Unlikely.

“You didn’t have to change outfits just for me. You know I like you in anything you wear, angel.”

A low chuckle escaped her lips allowing her veneers to show. Her brows raised at the comment ‘angel’. A word she hadn’t heard in a long time. Truly far from the word itself, unless it was talking about the one that had fallen. Then maybe she would have considered the endearment it gave to have at least plucked a couple of her heart strings.

“Angel? Well, that’s something I haven’t heard in a blue moon,” she said, her tone playful and melodic, “calm down now. I wouldn’t want such promises to go to waste in the middle of battle.”

Oh, if only the King knew about their history, a fair exchange between two people who shared a desire — the baron sure would with how loyal she was to him before the King’s promises to her. Every decision, every secret, every piece of information used to get her where she was now. No piece of solari would bring this vipress to her knees, no she was better than just any loyalist to the crown out there. Her loyalty was to what it symbolized – a delicate and sweet power only she craved. And it all started with him — her most trusted ally on this ship. Macklin.

Feeling the brush of his lips against her knuckles almost made her miss those nights in Antares. Truly a romantic at heart with the solari to back it up. He really hasn’t changed a bit. The poor guy was the same lovestruck fool from years before. It was only now that their dance will begin, and it would be a crime for a lady like her to deny this passionate tango.

“It couldn’t be both?” she spoke with a sultry tone, “besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun. It could be just like old times, just this time blade and gun aren’t pointed at each other — we now have a common enemy. That and well, I wouldn’t want to ruin your chance at that second date.”

It was like their touch burned each other when her hand grazed against his. Sapphires gazed deeply into dark browns holding onto something she had missed — the attention of another who almost saw the real her. A version that was not always so tempting to devour in lust, but someone who was almost true to a human. She took his pistol with a gentle hand and started to take her position next to him. Checking the number of cartridges that were in the firearm, she proceeded to take fire over the ledge. The thrill sending goosebumps over skin, hairs standing high, and someone who knew what they were doing right next to her — oh this was better than a night at a whorehouse any day.

“I hope you’re planning to extend those pretty legs of yours,” she called out, “I can’t be the only one looking good while beating ass today.”

Excited

clothes im sure

Dining hall --> armory --> cannons

Arata!!!

AnimeGenork

Arizona’s proposal was instant. Wow! Jackson loved a man who could instinctively be on the same page as him.

“Damn, you talk like that to all the guys, or am I just special?”

This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“You got a deal, pretty boy.”

Jack held out his hand to shake on it, despite the fact no bets were made. With an enthusiastic shake, their plans were in action.

“I think I’ll stick with Arizona. Has a nice ring to it.” He put a hand out to help the drunkard to his feet, not that he was any less accident prone. Luckily, they didn’t both end up on their asses. Off to the armory! Wherever that was.

Somehow, between the two of them, they found it, or at least, walked around until they saw something shiny. Good enough. Jackson practically drooled at the sight. So many blades just waiting to be used. How could he even pick?

Well, he was technically only supposed to be on the cannon, but while Arata was looking, there was no harm in a little window shopping. Look at a dagger here, peek a sword over there, all so gorgeous in their own ways.

“This is so fucking cool.” He whispered under his breath. Looking around, he made sure no one was watching before picking up a dagger to look at it.

Wait…

He was allowed to touch all of this! Taking one wouldn’t be stealing. It would even be encouraged. This was Jack’s own personal heaven.

“So cool!” Yep, he was nabbing that dagger. And a second one, just in case. And a third, for emergencies. On a whim, he grabbed a sword, just to use as an accessory.

What? Jack didn’t know how to sword fight, but he did know that a sword in the belt looked awesome! The historical equivalent of a black pair of sunglasses.

Turning back to his battle mate, Jack flashed him an all too excited grin.

“Ready to fuck shit up?”

Yippee, off to an unattended cannon they went! He wasted no time, instantly grabbing one of the balls (haha balls) and struggling to lift it into the mouth of the machine.

“These are girthy.” Jack groaned. With a thunk, he loaded the cannon, almost squishing his fingers in the process. “Bad word choice. Maybe… Fuck, what’s the word? You know, heavier than they look?”

Arizona was no help.

“Fuck it, I’m just going to shoot these douchebags.” Luckily he had a lighter on him for any emergency pirate attacks! Yep, that’s all it was for.

Time slowed down as the fuse burned down. Anticipation licked at Jackson’s skin, sending a tingle through his whole body.

KABOOM! Hell yeah! Got em-

Sploosh.

“Oh. Shit, I forgot to aim.” Very impressive. Arata wanted him so bad right now, for sure.

So he went through the pathetic ordeal of loading the damn thing again.

This time he remembered to turn it towards his target. How smart.

“Okay, take two.” Fuse lit, he waited. “Should we be using ear plugs?”

KABOOM! Okay, now those fuckers are-

Sploosh.

“Shit. Okay, damn. I think this cannon hates me.”

Once again, loading the rude ass cannon with his subpar upper body strength.

“Third time’s the charm. Don’t let me down, baby girl.” Giving the cannonball a big, exaggerated kiss, Jack pushed it into the chamber.

Aim adjusted, he lit the fuse a third time.

“If this shit misses, I’m walking myself down the plank, I swear to fucking-”

KABOOM.

Don’tmissdon’tmissdon’tmisspleasedontmissori’ll-

CRACK!

“Let’s fucking GOOOOOO!” Jackson pulled Arata into a tight hug, jumping up and down. When he let go, he immediately turned to look out the porthole. “Oh.”

Okay, so he only BARELY hit the other ship, breaking off a small chunk of the railing. Nothing earth shattering.

But his aim was getting better!

“Literally what the fuck.” Brushing his hair back with a huge, dramatic sigh, Jackson turned back to the cannonballs. “Is it too late for me to change my bet?”

MOTHER MODE ACTIVATED

Other rags

The Deck

Gallin

BRIEFLY GALLIN
NOW AGNES, RAYNA, AND MADDIE

Atamita | PENDING Wyll
lyn. AnimeGenork

Between the chaos in her mind and the world around her, overwhelming would be an overstatement of what Dahlia was feeling right now. Never in her life had she really experienced a time when there were others who needed her aid. Not like with the baron and his crew. These were people she could feel her heart beat for, her arms reach out for, and summon the strength inside to take action for. They need an ally.

“Dahlia!”

Her head whipped around, seeing a familiar face—a face she briefly knew from the Corsairs, but never truly spoke with. They walked around each other, afraid to break any eggshells by acknowledging one another, a routine they’d both adopted. Neither made eye contact nor breathed in their direction. It was a silent agreement to keep the peace. But now, the woman’s face contorted in a familiar anguish that Dahlia knew better than anyone. A face that needs another.

“Take her to my quarters.”

She turned back to face Gallin. Her eyes searched for his, listening to the instructions coming from him. But she couldn’t allow herself to hide. Not like this. Not when there were people who needed her. Right now, she had to trust her gut before giving in to any demands that could lead to safety. The woman next to her could hide there, and better yet, so could the others just across from them.

“Fine,” she finally said, her hand reaching out to grab his arm in a tight grip, an unconscious instinct carried with worry. “Don’t do anything stupid. Stay alive.”

With that, she let go of Gallin’s arm and grabbed Agnes with a similar protective grip. “With me!” she instructed.

Feet scuttled against the wooden floor of the ship as she balanced herself and the vulnerable woman she held onto toward Rayna. The ship rattled beneath them, the tide crashing against the hull. A cannon blast echoed through the air, rattling the vessel and causing passengers and crewmen to scatter. Dahlia was almost certain that whatever reason was left in her mind was now abandoned. Any rational thought, the decision to head to Gallin’s room, to find a hiding place and leave everyone to their fate, was gone. Something inside her had changed. Whatever it was, it had better keep her alive.

Her feet slammed against the wood as she caught up to Rayna and the girl next to her. Her eyes searched for bruises, injuries, or anything that may need immediate attention. But then she saw him. The burning man next to them. Hands instinctively turned Agnes away from the body. As her eyes took in the sight of him, she saw metal melting into bone and skin. The armor gave it away—it was a Kingsguard who’d been caught in the blast. Her gaze flickered back to Rayna, still clearly in shock. No. Not now.

“I’m here,” she breathed out in quick, shallow breaths. “I’m here. Stop looking at him and look at me.”

Dahlia stood in front of Rayna’s line of sight, her amber eyes locking onto the familiar brown ones. Her gaze shifted between both women, searching for any sign of acknowledgment before she spoke again.

“Right now, I can’t have you shutting down. We need to get these two to safety. I know a place. It’s on the other side, far from the chaos. Not even those fucking ugly bastards will get them, but I can’t do it alone. We do this together.”

Freeing her hands from Agnes, she grabbed Rayna’s shoulder with a desperate urgency.

“I swear. Together.”

Interest in Yas > interest in the fight.

Monte's Stolen Swag.

The Leviathan; main deck

n/a

Yasmine CrimsonInk & Violetta Daddy Dream

Macklin savored each of Yasmine’s giggles, each raise of those dark dramatic brows, as if he was making up for the months they'd been apart in the span of a few short moments. He was trying to get a read on whether Yasmine was amused or annoyed by his flirty witticisms, but as usual her true emotions evaded him. During Antares, he’d learned that Yasmine was prone to either hiding her emotions or feigning them when she didn’t have any, all for some kind of calculated result. It sounded like an exhausting game for her to maintain, yet here she was, and he was unsure if she was genuinely enjoying his attentions or merely indulging them until she found someone else to admire her. Deciding not to second-guess himself without ample reason, Macklin mimicked her easy, playful tone. “Well, you haven’t seen me in a blue moon. I was starting to feel forgotten. You may have to prove to my poor, wounded heart that I’m not.” He punctuated this with a wolfish grin.

Despite himself, Macklin couldn’t help wondering if Yasmine’s bed had been empty in all the time since their last tryst, and he doubted it. Not that she owed him anything or they were exclusive, of course. In fact, he found that they both had a mutual avoidance of that topic when they were together, and so they’d been content to never define it. But seeing other women—and he had seen a few since the start of their on-again-off-again flings in Antares—was never as fulfilling when he could have been with Yasmine instead. It had gotten to the point where Macklin had almost started eschewing other hook-ups altogether, because they had begun to feel sad and pathetic and meaningless. Not to mention the legitimate risk that any woman interested in him could have been a temptress thrown his way by the Baron or another political opponent of the King. Macklin had bitten into that fruit once and he’d be damned to do it again. It was unlikely that a flirtation with another enemy agent would end as neatly as it had with Yasmine, what with her converting to the Kingsmen.

Macklin snorted at the casual way she pointed out that they now had a common enemy, as if she’d been reading his thoughts. “Well, if not having to kill me is convenient for you, then by all means,” he returned drily. He snuck a glance at Yasmine, surprised to detect a note of what almost sounded like nostalgia in her voice when she recounted old times. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you almost miss playing cards in shitty taverns and being a perpetual thorn in my side. I wouldn’t have taken you for the sentimental type,” he teased.

Yasmine covered the hand he had on the railing with hers, and a long moment passed where they looked at each other. It felt intimate and vulnerable and dangerously intoxicating at the same time, and Macklin felt his heart do a dizzying little pirouette. He wondered again if it was a true expression of her emotions or just another formulaic manipulation. Yasmine eased the gun from his hand and adopted it for personal use like a wife going on a shopping spree with her husband’s money. Not asking permission, and perhaps not asking forgiveness either if he didn’t notice or object. “What, you forgot to bring a gun to the gunfight so you have to use mine instead?” he asked in the interval that she paused to aim. Unlike Macklin, almost all of her bullets had found a home in some poor Corsairs bastard. “Shouldn’t it be second nature to prepare for these sorts of things by now?”

Making a face, Yasmine offered him the pistol back, but Macklin held up a hand, refusing it. “You can keep it for now. It’s my only one, but you’ve proven yourself a better shot than me. It’s more capable in your hands.” With nothing much to do until the Corsairs got within close range, Macklin lazily pulled a cigar from his lapel and lit up. “I’ll dispatch any that make it past you. What with this ship’s negligible defenses, no doubt those buggers will be boarding soon.”

Macklin said this boredly, in the way that seasoned soldiers facing a trivial new threat do. In a way, he was almost glad for the unexpected skirmish with the Corsairs. On the open ocean and far away from the royal palace where he worked whenever he was not leading field operations, it had occurred to Macklin that there wasn’t much he could do until whenever they arrived in Siroc, and he could resume his search for the bleeding heart flower that was believed to hold a cure for Queen Sharvi’s illness. He wasn’t used to periods of idleness. Time was crucial for the Queen, and the thought that Macklin just had time to kill until the Leviathan reached its next destination made him feel restless. Fighting pirates at least felt like a productive use of time, despite the inherent risks.

He inhaled from his cigar, contemplating how long the pirate riffraff would drag this scuffle out until the Kingsguard clobbered some sense into them. While sleek and armed with cannons, the Reaper was small. Smaller than the Leviathan. Macklin doubted that the infamous Red Baron would be sailing on such a puny and plain vessel. The Baron’s own ship had to be large and foreboding and formidable, striking fear into the hearts of men and coaxing a surrender without the need for engagement. No, for the Baron himself to meet a King’s crew head-on like this, he would bring all his forces to bear and take no chances. Whoever was sailing the Reaper was some disposable lackey, likely tasked with weakening the Leviathan’s defenses before the real trap was sprung. He wondered if Yasmine had so far today struck down any of her former comrades, anyone she knew. He wondered if she cared. Unlike her, Macklin had never and would never turn traitor.

As if either the silence or Macklin’s lack of participation in the fight had worn on her—but what did she expect him to do when she had his only gun, hawk and spit lethally on the enemy soldiers?—Yasmine bade him to extend his pretty legs. Macklin’s head turn was quick and sharp, the movement a match makes when it strikes the box. Equal parts taken aback and wildly amused, he smiled and lifted an eyebrow at this particular selection of words. He cackled, and Yasmine eyed him with a little scowl, as if this reaction was not the intended effect of her words and it bemused her.

“You don’t want to know. Dirty boy joke,” Macklin cautioned. Unable to resist what he’d been about to say, Yasmine threw him another questioning glance, yet this one was also a touch defiant, as if she was daring him to scandalize her. “Well, if you insist,” he began, which was a denial of responsibility and code for you brought this on yourself. Macklin moved closer to Yasmine, standing to her side and a half-step behind her so he could whisper in her ear. Her hair was damp and darkened with ocean spray and smelled like salt. “You just tell me your room number and give me a time, and I’ll extend them, all right.” He smiled diabolically.

As if their closeness had provoked a saboteur to disrupt it, Macklin felt a burst of air that parted his hair. An arrow whistled past his left shoulder from behind, perhaps a foot from impaling him and Yasmine. Indignant and unable to believe the incompetence of the fools he was traveling with, Macklin swore and jerked around. He caught a glimpse of pale skin and sleek dark hair before the shooter ducked behind a barrel on the Leviathan’s deck for cover. A flash of white blouse and brown leather pants that looked familiar. “Violetta!” he called out. “Violetta, honey, why don’t you come join us? Shoot from up here before you take the lady’s or my head off!” The way he’d said honey was not affectionate as some people would. Rather, it was condescending and bitter. In the not unlikely event that his voice was drowned out in bursts of gunfire, Macklin raised an arm, beckoning Violetta in a universal signal to come hither. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if the near miss had truly been accidental.

HUH, I FOUND SOMEONE INJURED

LATER

LEVIATHAN'S WHEEL

N/A

NEMO, MONTE ( parhelion , Daddy Dream )

There’s a gap in her wardrobe.

Rhys perches on the edge of her bed and looks at it, just evaluating. She’s already hung all of her clothes and even placed a partition to create a display case for the pieces she plans to create for her clientele. Still, the darkness seems to glare at her. It’s a bit unseemly for a first-class dressmaker to lack the outfits needed to fill the space that’s been deemed necessary for affluent passengers.

Knowing that she thought about taking a hiatus from her craft for the duration of the trip, Rhys can’t help but thank her decision to allow her future self the freedom of choice. The thought of having to leave even more of this space makes her click her tongue in distaste, and her painted brows furrow in a clear emphasis of the sentiment.

Then, Rhys hears it, that distant rumble on the horizon. Her Sirocco blood leaps at the sound like it’s the beating of war drums, and she knows its origin with perfect certainty despite having never seen the blast of a cannon. In her childhood, the taste of gunpowder was always the monster under her bed.

With twenty more years under her belt, Rhys is pleased to see that her hands no longer shake from the paranoia that her blood will be the next to stain the streets. She’s not the urchin she was before, left without a safe space to hide. She could stay here, in her room, and wait for the crew to weather the storm.

It’s a choice she used to dream about, but like most childhood dreams, it’s something she’s grown out of. Rhys slips a pair of fabric scissors into her pocket and ascends the stairs to the deck. It’d be a pain if pirates took over the ship, and even without a proper weapon, she could still offer to load the cannons.

Yet, as Rhys picks her way through the carnage to do just that, she catches sight of an injured crewmate, and the path in front of her diverges. Pale blond hair silhouettes the man’s head like a halo, and he sits there like some similarly removed divine presence, hands pressed against the red weeping down his side. He mutters something that she can’t hear, but he doesn’t cry or scream or writhe. It’s like he’s borne the agony and accepted it with all the grace of a saint.

Rhys hates it. Her daughter used to do that when she realized her sickness wouldn’t be getting better.

The man’s lips move again. A request to the heavens? Rhys can’t hear him over the battle, and she certainly doesn’t pray over misfortune, so it seems like she’ll have to act instead. Of course, it’s not something she does without protest.

the mutter escapes from Rhys’s lips as she slips off her jacket and stuffs it towards the man’s bloodstained hands. The truth of her statement shows in her bedside manner, pathetic as it is. She crouches and watches, hands unmoving by her side like her job’s already been completed by offering Nemo something to staunch his bleeding.

Someone else would be better suited to this. There’s one of those someones standing at the wheel, and despite his occasional glances across the deck, there’s something determined etched into his expression. she calls, because surely that’s who this man is,

It’d be a disaster if the captain let go of the wheel, and in the chaos that’s descended on the ship, there seems to be a decided lack of any unoccupied ship hands. Rhys resigns herself to the duty of being the unfortunate vessel who’ll have to carry out those instructions.

FOCUSED

DRESS TO KILL

THE DECK

JACKSON

MACKLIN | VIOLETTA

Aviator
Daddy Dream
Harrowhark

Yasmine’s lips only grew into that trademark smirk of hers, displaying an unimpressed expression with his wolffish wit. It was a part of his charm that she had gotten used to, or rather found ways to continue their banter in order to ease the intensity between them. The difference between Macklin and her alibi (her fake husband Jackson) was simply what they had to offer. Jackson offered a limited use of his skills to her, other than a cover she would desperately need if anything. He knew how to talk and adapt to situations to say the least. While he spoke out of his ass, he simply knew how to distract the other without effort. She hasn’t truly seen him in a fight, but she had to guess that he probably knew how to handle a sword. Not well, but enough to get him to run. He was a pawn in a game she was playing with leagues that hid in the shadow. An unfortunate endeavor for a fellow fluvian, but it could be worse — she practically saved him from spending a night in a cell.

With Macklin it was more than just playing house — their history was delicate, intense, and dangerous. With every relationship she had created with other unfortunate souls were artificial, stagnant, and nothing more, but when it came to Macklin there was something magnetic. Their tango between the powers aligned were tainted in a familiar fog that made their love madder than those drinking the tea in algol. It was a sweet poison that ran through her blood that fueled her prerogative. A curse being that what she truly felt would cause her to go mad, even if the cards told a different story.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d almost miss playing cards in shitty taverns and being a perpetual thorn in my side. I wouldn’t have taken you for the sentimental type,” he teased.

She smirked, letting her silence be the answer. If she were to truly lay out her cards, the game wouldn’t be as fun. Afterall, if it was the games he missed then he surely hasn’t been paying to the one they were currently playing. Her eyes settled on targets that she was able to get rather than on ones that were probable, a difference between both agents when it came to their styles in combat. From what she had observed, Macklin expected the unexpected or what ifs. But with Yasmine if she can’t see the target or know its exact point, she wouldn’t waste a shot.

“Shouldn’t it be second nature to prepare for these sorts of things by now?”

“Most of the time, mon cœur,” she cooed, finishing her set of rounds before trying to give it back.

With him denying it, she began to question if she had triggered something in the man. Her eyes softly laid on him bringing that disgusting habit to his lips. Smoking? Really? It was one way to quit drinking for sure, but one vice after another — maybe she should recommend yoga to him. He’d at least find some sort of benefit with that. It came plain to her that most people need it.

His cackle after her comment left her questioning about her effect on him. It wasn’t surprising from the way his eyes looked at her with possession and sin, and his own cautious words trying to deflect his own form of greedy thoughts made her just want to poke at his heart even more. In reality, her mask hid that amusement and scowled at him for acting like a teenager.

If it weren’t for her concentration on the pirates, she would have grabbed him by the throat for how close he was to her. His breath tickled against the perspiration on her skin and she took in a deep breath. She raised a brow at his invitation and boy, does this poor man have it bad. Couldn’t even buy her a drink first.

The next part had caught the serpent by surprise, and it was the kind of surprise that sent her instincts to kick into her merciless, huntress. Being impaled by an arrow was not in Yasmine’s destiny — her head quickly jerked with eyes set on the target, her body following in position with a natural poise and just before her finger extended the trigger did she stop mid second to pull it back.

It seemed Macklin had been busy with other beautiful women after all. Hair as dark as night, skin white as snow, she could have said this woman came out from a fairytale. Then it hit her, it was the same woman who had extended a hand who brushed against her skin. Now this intrigued Yasmine and she forced the gun down to fully observe this ‘Violetta’ woman. Other than the white of her blouse and brown trousers, she seemed to be a woman poised, graceful, and not a bad shot — for someone who may need a little practice in their aim.

“You really have been busy now have you, mon cœur,” she teased.

Her eyes returned back to the enemy coming closer and with her eyes widening, a hand extended to Macklin with a protective hand. The whistling split of a cannon pierced against her ear drums with black clouds intoxicating the air around them.

“DOWN!” She yelled.

Her feet pushed first running towards Violetta, her arms reaching to hug the duchess and gliding against the wood behind a set of barrels with her body covering the woman. She closed her eyes ready to brace for the impact that was coming, mind rushing and adrenaline sprinting through her veins. They were coming, and they were coming for blood and tears for the leviathan.

Fucking pirates.

Military Man Knox, Activated

Boots; Pants (But make them Dark Brown); Shirt (But make it really dirty and messy); Grey kerchief on his neck to cover his face, Fabric wraps on his hands, wrists, and where his pants tuck into his boots; All extra dirty and some blood woohoo surprise!

In the brig of The Reaper

Hollow and The Brig Bitches (Mentioned: Devana, Gallin, Hollow, Sonya, Calanthe, Ephraim, Bizzy)

Wyll ; CrimsonInk ; celestialbody

There was a lot to process, and while Knox had a smart mouth, this was not the time for words.While in the King’s guard, Knox Hood was trained to act first. Think never. Don’t ask questions, don’t solve problems beyond your pay, and certainly don’t speak up when your voice wasn’t needed. Now was not the time to placate the mad pirate, nor was it the time to get all noble about the writer, Gallin Forestson, who no doubt had made many enemies over the years in his line of work. Knox included, no matter how entertaining he was when they all gathered for songs and stories on the deck.

There was something to be said about the way militia training embeds itself in your DNA, just waiting for the trigger to activate. Turns out, the key to activating Knox’s super soldier mindset lay in the act of Hollow pulling out his gun and firing it in Lady Devana’s direction. Bang! He missed, somehow, and the shock from the discharge rattled him for only a moment before his spine stiffened. This man was dangerous.
But when Hollow recklessly bashed his gun against the ship’s interior, causing another shot to ring out, the bullet thankfully landing in the ceiling, Knox’s eyes narrowed. This man was dangerous and stupid. As the skeleton pirate lifted his chin to let out a laugh, folding over as if a comedian was entertaining the scene and not a deranged, armed pirate, Knox determined he must be dealt with swiftly, and as quickly as possible.

The pirate continued to taunt the Lady Devana through the bars, fixated on the gun in his hand before sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. He was tinkering with the weapon, as if he hadn’t been preoccupied with terrorizing the imprisoned innocents moments before. Carelessly (though Knox determined at this point the pirate was not so concerned with care) the barrel pointed towards the others, and the masked man fuckin’ pulled out a knife, going to work on fixing the aim of the gun.

At least they had some more time to figure a way through this mess.

Out of the corner of his eye, Knox noticed a young man he hadn’t noticed before, scooching carefully towards the familiar, haunted man. The boy had conspiracy in his eyes and a rock in his hand, so Knox let him work and tried his best not to draw any attention to him. Sonya, the goddess creature who woke him, moved quickly to Lady Calanthe. Apparently they were old friends, which was a regrettable strike against Sonya, though she had conspiracy in her eyes as she also noticed the boy with the rock.

Suddenly, the cell was loud with Lady Calanthe’s irritating babble. Doing what she did best, which was to relentlessly yap about everything no one but she cared about, though now that she’s weaponizing her conversation, Knox couldn’t help but admire the quality. While Hollow was occupied with her ramblings, the archer quietly crossed behind, not taking his eyes off the weapons in his hands. All he needed was one moment and a little luck to get them out of his hands and hopefully into his own. Or at least to someone who could utilize them in their favour.

In an impressive showing of cunning and strength, the Lady Calanthe snatched Hollow by the collar, Sonya grabbing hold of his other arm. The boy with the rock was posed to strike, but it was a prosthetic leg cutting down from above which knocked him down. Both the gun and the knife flew through the bars, clattering to the floor at his feet. Both weapons were collected in haste and Knox aimed the gun at the pirate. He took some steps back, deeper in the cell, tossing the knife in the direction of the tall man who yelled earlier.

That was a mistake.

The man threw the knife back and Knox decided Sonya was safer to wield it. Without glancing at her, he offered the blade handle first. His eyes were firmly locked on the now unmasked pirate who was falling apart right in front of them.

It pained Knox to think of the man as grotesque, but the trauma in his face was undeniable. Eyes were red and wild as his hands scrambled to find his mask in his disoriented state. Skin and bone puzzled back together after what must have been a near death smashing. The scars cut through his face like rivers on a map. It made Knox’s browline furrow as he stayed focused on his target.

Knox didn’t care for guns, though there was no fundamental difference between shooting a gun and a bow. Aim. Shoot. Hit the target. Mechanically speaking, a gun was cold and brutal. Not that he ever wished to aim his arrows at anyone, he didn’t want to kill this man. Even if he was acting like an absolute terror, pulling the trigger on the sniveling and grovelling man felt wrong without due process.

He started his manifestations, mask secured once again. “I am not Gallin. I am not Gallin. I am not Gallin. No. I am more dashing. I am funnier, duh. I am richer. Well…no, that one’s not true…But I will be richer when he’s dead! That counts!”

Knox knew Gallin in a casual manner. Both were prone to storytelling at night. Whether Gallin knew who he was, Gallin’s column was the subject of much conversation around the citadel. There wasn’t a noble around who hadn’t had at least one moment of spotlight seasoned and ready for the enjoyment of the precious dewdrops within his fanbase. It was the cutting account of the massacre which claimed the lives of many of his friends and fiancé that made Knox hold Gallin at an arms length.

But what was the connection between him and this pirate?

Renewed, Hollow’s anguish turned into rage and he turned on the cell once again. “I’m not Gallin, okay?! When he dies, I’ll be richer than him too! Mark my words! But as for you…you…you heathens! You are all tarnished, the lot of you! You were born in darkness and raised in sin, the stars have never shone upon you and you have not seen their light. How dare you stain me with your filthy hands?!”

The pirate moved as if to raise his gun towards the Lady Calanthe. Knox stiffened his position, taking one step towards the crumbling man in front of him. As if he forgot his gun had left his hand “Not Gallin” lifted his hand in an ill intentioned pantomime to Calanthe. A panic raised in the pathetic pirate as he patted himself down to look for the weapons he had lost.

It was petty of Knox to clear his throat at this moment, cocking his head towards the gun firm in his hand, but it had been a long…god, it hadn’t even been 24 hours since the ship docked in Antares.

Hollow’s diatribe sweetened as if he could be persuaded to return the weapons to their owner. As far as Knox was concerned, everyone was better off without the wildly unstable man being armed.

“They get really lonely without me, you see.”

“I doubt that” Confidence bloomed deep within him as Knox stepped forward, gun held away from reach in his right as his left hand grasped the front of “Not Gallin’s” shirt. The leverage as his body was pulled against the bars helped Knox bring Hollow to his feet. “Now, I assume you had this gun loaded before you decided to take some shots at the lady. I can assure you, this bullet has your name on it if you try anything funny.” With a turn of his wrist, Knox tightened his grip on the pirate’s shirt. “So, how about, we keep your gun and your knife. You help us out of this cell and get our personal effects back to us. Maybe you get your belongings back.” For added measure, Knox jerked the man against the bars, fabric twisted in his grip. “Does that sound fair to you…Not Gallin?”

Focused and Frustrated

LEVIATHAN WHEEL

Lexis

parhelion | luciferin

Monte turned toward the new body that joined the fray and furrowed his brow. Where did this woman come from? Why was she here? Didn’t she know it was dangerous up here as is? And did she just call him Captain?! He narrowed her eyes at her seemingly posh demeanor and sighed, turning away from her to assess the situation. The enemy was approaching fast with another attack and people were flooding the deck for some reason other than safety. Turning back to the woman, he resigned to the idea that she was one of the few who resorted to being up top than below. He also wanted to correct her on the mistaken identity, but that was not important

”I can help, but it will involve a lot of blood and the chap there will be screaming. If you’ve got the nerve, then find a hot iron and shove a belt in his mouth.”

Monte had tons of experience patching up wounds from his days in the service of the crown. From stopping the bleeding with hot plates and herbs to sloppy stitches of deep cuts, basic medical knowledge was just something that he carried with a note of importance. Shaking his head a bit from his mind, Monte continued with the explanation.

”How deep is the shrapnel and where is it located? If it looks shallow and not in any major areas like the leg, center of the gut, or chest then you will need to pull it out and quickly cauterize the wound with the hot iron. If it is in one of those three area’s, leave it. Moving it may cause even more extreme bleeding.”

Monte was about to continue when all of a sudden the enemy had fired another round of cannons at them. The ship jerked and the string of curses that came from his mouth was loud. He watched from above as someone had tackled Violetta to the ground, allowing her to keep herself from being injured from the next attack. His hands gripped on the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white as his eyes darted to the enemy. Thoughts of ramming this massive vessel into their ship ran through his mind repeatedly. He wanted to capsize their ship somehow, but would it even be possible without taking significant damage?

Flustered and Flirty?

DECK

Macklin

CrimsonInk