Pirates of the Sky (closed)

Bella watched the young dark haired man and the young barmaid exchanging words. She had heard him mention looking for a crew as he looked around the room before hand. This might be my ticket out of this place. Though she didn't immediately interrupt them, instead leaning against the bar allowing herself to follow their words until she was sure he was actually looking for a crew.


She half sat half stood against the bar stool bottle raised to her lips. The brown liquid in the bottle burned as it traveled down her throat, several gulps emptying a large portion of the bottle. She turned towards the man with the black hair, let's see just what this lad is offering.


She stood turning swiftly towards the black haired man nudging him in the shoulder with the bottle, "Aye lad, I over heard you yapping about needing a crew. Just so happens I have some experience working the guns. Luck's the name and ain't a finer gunner around, I can guarantee that. Though you seem mighty young for a captain, albeit most wouldn't think me capable of working the guns aboard a ship." She said a lovely white smile crossing her lips as she waved her hands dismissively, the brown liquid inside of the bottle sloshing around flinging a few droplets off in several directions.
 
I take a moment to consider how to proceed, and start by turning to Ozzy. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am looking for a few more people Miss Ozzy, and it would be great to have you on board." I turn to Bella. Her dark red hair sticks out due to its rarity in this area. "Well Miss Luck, if you really are as good as you say, I would be happy to have you in my crew." I laugh out loud, "If you all join, all I need is a surgeon, and I'm set." I say, chuckling to myself, "Anyone know where I can acquire a good ship for around a amber? That will be the first thing we need to do before we set off." My, this is going surprisingly well. I finger my clockwork sword out of habit. Now I'm itching for a good fight. I take another sip of my water, then place it on the counter. I look around the room, and it seems to be business as usual. However, I'm getting a few angry looks from the patrons that were recently beaten by my crew-to-be. I continue to finger my sword, though I'm almost hoping I need to use it. Don't want to get rusty now, do I?
 
Luther looked at the little group formed nearby him and immediately grew interest. Without looking away he placed a few coins of thanks as he walked up to the little group. Taking off his hat and placing it on the counter he looked at the people and said,


"You don't suppose you have a reservation for a-" He thought for a moment then realized he only knew only one thing that suits him rather than any other skill he could possess,


"A medic?" He finished. "You all seem very capable of doing what's best to protect the ship and the worst you all could ever receive is the.... err... common cold. Except-- under the knife. I can provide medical needs quicker and more efficient than you can ever find anyone in this bar. Maybe because well, doctors don't go to the bar. But still, I can assure you, my services will come well awarded as long as I am as well, treated the same."


"No need for a contract, no need for an eyewitness, if you let me 'tag along', my body becomes yours to use 'till the end of my service, and, well. You know the gist of it, right?" He said in the most positively confident smile he could produce
 
An angered man, who appeared to be quite the bodybuilder rushed towards the group. He certainly was furious, a gruff, young man who looked as if he'd been in many fights, and had recently lost a fair sum of quid to the girl known as 'Luck'. He was certainly mad, his face bright as a tomato and a vein pulsing on his neck. From the looks of it, he'd recounted his money and the man who was obviously three sheets to the wind was short on cash for another drink. And apparently he wasn't too fond of pirates.


The man stormed up to Luck, practically screaming,


"


"What's yer problem?! Ya already stole from me an' now you want to take from me tradin' ship too? Why yuh filthy hornswaggling rat , I oughta fit you for yer chains here an' now!"


Dimitri quickly forced himself between the two, seeing how the situation was bad. Of course, Dimitri doubted he could calm the man down, and he didn't know how to anyways. The drunkard was getting madder and madder, and Dimitri stood his ground, simply watching.People gathered around, the soft murmur of chaos occasionally interrupted by a cheer or taunt.


"Get outta th' way, yuh dog! Yuh don't have anything t' do with this!"


Dimitri didn't move, change expressions or say a word, much to the fury of the drunk man. Enraged, the drunkard balled up his fists, obviously ready to throw a punch. Dimitri widened his stance. He'd never been in a fight but his father did teach him how. All you needed was one, fast sharp hit to the right spot.


Dimitri found the point to hit, but wasn't quick enough. The drunk hit Dimitri right across his cheek, the cheap, silver ring on his middle finger tearing a long, thin cut right below Dimitri's eye. If Dimitri hadn't been prepared and standing wide, he would have been knocked back a ways, and the second punch to his chin nearly did knock him over. He still suffered quite the hit though, enough for blood to gather on the edge of his mouth.


The drunk drew back his arm to hit Dimitri again, and Dimitri grabbed his wrist, still getting a bit of the impact. But the man was off balance now, and Dimitri delivered a harsh blow to the side of the man's head, using the side his forearm, rather than his fist, like his father taught him, and Dimitri's loose hand flung back with the force, hitting the back side of the drunk's head. The perfect hit. The drunk fell to the ground, and the crowd grew hushed.


A few of his buddies gathered the knocked out man, slumping him against the wall and turning to the rest of the crew.
 
Oswin watched the whole scene play out with wide eyes. Dimitri, in now way, appeared at first glance as a fighter, but apparently, he was one. A very GOOD one, infact.


She also took notice of Luck, the apparent instigator of the squabble, and the rather elegantly dressed man who volunteered himself as a medic. He seemed a smudge out of place; then again, she probably seemed out of place as well. Not any more, though, she had a crew.


It was then that she noticed the rather rude man who had been practically destroyed by Dimitri had a couple of friends. Friends who were now, most likely, going to pick a fight. Oswin had learned a few combat fighting skills over the years, but he was still doubtful. She leaned towards Derivik and said quietly, "Well, Captain Derivik. What do you suppose we do?" Oswin knew the answer was obvious, but she wasn't going into a fight without knowing that she wouldn't be the only one to do so.
 
I stand up, and sigh. I draw my sword, a fairly large one with no hilt, and turn to the men. "You have 10 seconds to leave this bar. If you don't comply..." I smile, "Lets just say I might get a bit of a bounty." I look them in the eye.


The man is startled for a second. "Yer the Crimson Eye, aren't ya... If we kill you, we'll get 'erselfs quite the reputation..." He pulls out a cutlass, and one of his mates grabs a iron bar. "Of course, you could surrender yerself." He says with a crooked smile.


I'll finish this quickly... I decide on my first target, the one with the cutlass. I notice another man, with a smaller frame, draw a dagger. I quickly charge without a word at the first man,and he strikes at me. I parry the blow, and punch him in the chin with my right arm. I finish him with a kick in the chest, but as he falls over, I feel a blow from behind. The man with the iron pipe had hit me in the head, and I feel my consciousness slipping. I turn, and slash at him, but he blocks the blow with his pipe.


"Yer a tough one, aren't ya, but I'd die before losing to ya!" He bellows preparing for another attack. I stab him in the chest, and his body falls the the ground, limp.


"So be it." I say simply. The other man grabs the uncounsous drunk, and runs, dragging him out the door.


"We'll be back, yer haven't heard the last of us!" He says. Real original... I slide back into my chair, trying to stay couscous. The blow has hurt a lot more then I thought it would have. "Damn it... What was he talking about?" I ask, annoyed. I kick at the dead man on the ground, and look at the unconscious man. "And somebody clean this up..." Oh what the hell.. Such a bother... And I think I got blood on my suit. What idiots. I notice glances from many across the room.
 
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Oswin stood in surprise as the fight ensued. Well, this is going to be a violent little adventure. She was impressed by the way Derivik fought. She felt almost out-of-place once more, sticking out like sore thumb.


After the thugs departed, Oswin hopped over the bar, and looked down at the unconscious body, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head in distaste. "Dammit. I spent hours scrubbing vomit and scuffles off this floor. Now you've gotten filthy thug blood all over it." She noticed the looks that Derivik was being given, and scowled.


"Don't pretend like the lot of you have never seen a sight like this before! Go back to your business or help and get rid if the ruddy body!" The people in the bar that were staring quickly turned away at Oswin's tone, like children being scolded, while a few of the stronger men grabbed the limp body and carry outside.


Oswin then turned to Derivik and frowned. "Looks like that hurt, Captain. You might want to get that looked at. Getting hit a pipe is no simple punch."
 
Dimitri watched as the calamity played out, surprised yet not really showing its softly sighed. Yet when the dead man fell to tho ground, his eyes flashed with horror. He fell with the man, staring aimlessly at the blood. So much blood. Dimitri touched the man's throat, his fingers getting moist with the warm, red plasma. He stared at his fingers, not feeling a pulse. (A cutlass to the chest would take about 30 seconds to die, so by then he's dead.)


Shivers went down his spine, and he stared fearfully at his bloodstained fingers, quickly wiping it off with one of the rags used to clean a table, and this one, despite being ragged, was clean.


He couldn't stay on this for so long, and he had to distract himself by doing something Dimitri grabbed a bottle from the ground- shockingly in tact, and leaped over the bar table, not noticing an angrily protesting Varg. Using a machine with a cooling device to get cold, icy water, Dimitri gathered it into the wine bottle, then wrapped it in the rag.


He quickly left the bar stall again, returning to Derivik with the compress, and he pressed it against his leader's head, arms extending as far as they could. He was shaking. From Jeremiah leaving him, from the chaotic bar, from his fight, from the pain all across his head, from the blood, from seeing someone die. So he shook, doing his best to hold still and keep the bottle on the back of Derivik's head.
 
I smile, "Thank you Dimitri." I then turn to the newcomer, asking about a need of a medic. "Actually, a medic would be very useful, perhaps you could show your expertise right now." I cringe, the wound continues to sting. "Bastards. Anyone know what they wanted?" I tap my fingers on the table, simply out of habit. I take my sword, and with a rag, I slowly clean in, as I have many times before. Well, while that was a bother, it was little but that. They said something about a ship though... And that, is very interesting. I frown at a small chip on my sword.
 
Oswin leaned against the bar and looked down at the blood-stained floor in disgust. Her eyes then wandered to Dimitri, who was nursing Derivik like a close friend. She began to wonder if the two were in some kind of relationship, but the thought left as quickly as it came. It didn't matter to her, anyhow.


Realizing she still had the barmaid apron on, Oswin quickly removed it and threw it in Varg's direction.


"Make sure to tell the owner I quit, would you, love?" She said sort-of absently, then looked back to Derivik.


"I heard them say something about a ship, Derivik? Would you want to go take a look at it? Ships are fairly expensive as it is."
 
An old, gruff man stood up. He looked to be in his mid sixties. He had a large bulbous nose above his white speckled brown mustache, and thin, cracking lips that was framed in his long, greasy beard. He had long , frizzy hair that was loosely tied in a low ponytail. His wrinkled face was scarred and sunburnt. His left eye had a jagged scar going down it diagonally, the cornea scarring making that eye pale and light. A bad cataract was developing in his other eye, which would leave him blind within a few years.


He obviously had been through harsh times: he was missing several fingers and even his right leg from the thigh down. He did have a poorly functioning prosthetic leg powered by neurowaves. It was one of the relics from the times on Earth, although the technology had been lost. The man could walk, but slowly and awkwardly. His cheeks had a myriad of stitches in every which way.


As the man walked forwards, his darkened steel limb whirring and buzzing with movement, and his boots clinking against the hard, tile flooring, people moved out of the way. Out of respect, sympathy or fear, Dimitri did not know, but he was fixed on this man.


The man spoke, his voice husky from years of cigars and garbled and loud from his ever fading hearing abilities. His breath was full the smell of tobacco and strong liqueur, although he appeared to be able to hold his own, not appearing to be drunk


.


“I’ve got me a ship, a real beaut too. I can’t ride her in me condition, but I don’t want the poor lass to waste away like me. I’ll give her to ye, on one condition. The first thing ye’ll do on the ship is to take down the crew who took me leg and the all of me crewmates.”


His eye scanned across the pirates, arms crossing as he awaited a response. The crowd around them burst into soft whispers, but to Dimitri, it was an annoying noise, which he could not dismiss as white noise in the background.
 
The newcomer interests me. I look into his eyes; I don't think he would bother lying. This may be the golden opportunity. I stand, and turn to the old man, sword still in hand.


"Good Sir, it would be my pleasure. Lead the way." I say simply. This moment is different then any before. In a single day, I have amassed a crew... And soon, a ship. Not only that, but the only cost is to kill a few cutthroats, then I'm free of the deal. My senses sharpen, as if any moment something could go terribly wrong. My eyes dart around, ever observant. I can smell the aromas around me stronger then ever. It takes all my willpower to stay composed, this is a chance of a lifetime. But then, I start to wonder; The man's ship could be pathetic... The crew that attacked him great. I don't know a thing about my crew-mates, they have no reason to be loyal to me... Hurry up old man, before I kill you in anticipation.
 
“If you’re going to kill a man, at least clean up after yourself.” She spoke over the whispers, obvious as to whom she was addressing. A glint of bright blue could be seen from beneath the shadows of the stranger’s hat, like flecks of ice contained within stunning pupils. “The last thing anybody needs or wants is to slip in the blood you spilled. They might get a concussion…..which, according to practicality, is what you most likely have.” She shrugged. “Well, it would mean more business for me, ether way.” She had been leaning in the corner the whole time, hidden by the shrouded darkness of the dim lighting. Tilting up her headwear, it was now clear the speaker was female. Quiet an attractive one, at that.


The girl smirked, taking in another gulp of whiskey from the silver flask she held in her hand. Slinging it back on her belt, she crossed her arms once more, uncrossing her legs. “You’ll be lucky if all you have is a concussion, Mister Soul.” The young woman said his name with a strange edge, implacable, but still there. “In my professional opinion, you need to see a Doctor.


Luckily for you, I am present.”


She straightened her back, moving a couple steps from the wall. Even in those few motions one could tell that she walked with natural grace and elegance that could only be acquired through the brutal training of swordsmanship. Her boots were as silent against the ground as the rest of her advancements were, her facial expression nearly emotionless. It was only her piercing eyes that gave away intense cunning and deductive precision. Bones was very much aware who this young man was, and what he was capable of.


Also that despite his otherwise calm demeanor he was a ravaging, beastly man hungering for enemy blood.


This, of course, fascinated her.


Keeping her sights locked onto his, the female did not even look where she was stepping. It was as though her feet had minds of their own, quickly moving over and around splatters of blood and chunks of human flesh. She took in his appearance, making the slightest of notions along even the smallest details along his apparent formations. She had watched him fight. The Crimson Eye was no man to be fooled with; his skill exceeded that of most.


But then again, so did hers.


“Actually, judging by the velocity of the blow, the weight of the iron pipe, the force provided by the man’s arm, and the thickness of your skull…….” She lightly tapped her chin in sarcastic theatricality, “I’d say that your occipital bone has been damaged, or at least bruised. I’d need to check in order to be completely positive, though.” Bones stepped over the dead man, walking past the other people till she stood directly in front of the Captain himself. “The occipital lobes are the center of our visual perception system. They are not particularly vulnerable to injury because of their location at the back of the brain, although any significant trauma to the brain could produce subtle changes to our visual-perceptual system, such as visual field defects and scotomas. The Peristriate region of the occipital lobe is involved in visuospatial processing, discrimination of movement and color discrimination.” Without averting her gaze, the female opened a pack on her belt, removing a small, black device with a lens to the front. She flipped the back gear, causing it to suddenly glow with a bright white illumination. Raising an eyebrow, she twirled it within her fingers as she held it up, making a notion to his eyes. Her voice was testing, trying him. “Mind if I have a look? Before you go, that is."
 
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Dimitri watched as Derivik stood, and almost wanted to hold out a hand to steady him, as he saw a distance in his eyes, accepting the offer. Yet, after he talked, Derivik seemed alert, if not too much. He almost resembled a madman, eyes darting about and making rapid movements. The old man seemed to notice it too. He showed a bit of annoyance from the unsheathed sword. He warily stepped forwards, his fake limb creaking as he accelerated into a quick, working walk. He still looked uneven, but at least he could support himself. The old man took out a key from one of his tattered back pockets, bright and shiny, as if he’d polished it every day in expectance and hope of being able to use it. Just as he neared the bar’s exit, with Dimitri apprehensively following at a distance, on his tip-toes hopping from clean tile to clean tile amidst the bloody floor, a voice spoke up.


“If you’re going to kill a man, at least clean up after yourself.”


The old man was visibly annoyed at the interruption, obviously the impatient sort. He shoved the silver keys into Deriviks hands, stalking back to his corner of the bar but only after retorting,


“Go to the east dock. The ship is named, ‘The Damned Siren”. This will unlock ‘er. Ye can do whatever ye want with ‘er, but if you don’t put her to good use, I’ll know. Within a month’s time, if the Grave Diggers are still in the skies, then I will hunt ye down. I have plenty of mateys still in the sky that love feeding the fish.”


The old man left to the corner now, with several old, but rough looking men around him. They spoke little, but pulled out coconut shells to play Cachito and cards to play Talonmarias.


Unsure of what the last statement had meant, Dimitri ignored the old man. His eyes drifted to the girl, filled with interest. He had completely ignored the old man and Varg, and most people in general. Intelligence and strangeness was what made him interested. He’d analyzed the old man and Varg fully within minutes. Varg was pig headed and dumb. He was also lusty and greedy, without much of a moral compass for any but his friends and regulars, and was willing to do anything to gain replenishment for his needs. That was all that Dimitri wanted to know about Varg. He’d seen his type everywhere in the markets, and although he had made assumptions, they weren’t wrong. The old man was bitter. He was a warrior of some sort, and from the looks of it, he’d used his body for what his brain lacked. And now, with a broken body, he only wanted to harm the people who had damaged all that he had. They had simple and one track minds, both Varg and the old man. But this girl, and Oswin and Derivik all had noticeable intelligence and depth to them, and he was drawn to them.


She began to speak of a concussion, of Dimitri’s captain’s concussion to be specific. His eyes drifted to Derevik’s scalp, which looked terribly battered. She left the shadows, and Dimitri began to study her. She had a pretty face, but it made him uneasy somehow. He wasn’t sure of her expression. He had never been good at them, they were always changing and deforming themselves for no apparent reason, as were voices. Her outfit was complex, with various strange things on it. He was curious mostly of her belt, and the strange things inside of it. Poor Dimitri had only ever been to the doctor twice. First, at birth of course, secondly for his exam. But even when he had broken his nose, Jeremiah had only just wiped it off with alcohol and told him to suck it up. So most of the objects were foreign to him, and even as she talked and neared, he gazed at the medical equipment, particularly the syringes, which he had made up in his mind to be filled with ink and used like a bizarre pen.


As she neared, Dimitri quickly retreated backwards, watching from beside Oswin as she neared Derivik like a hawk swooping down on its prey. She seemed to have good intentions, but she still made Dimitri uneased. However, he did do a bit as she said, helping mop up the blood.
 
Standing in the background, Luther was inspecting the group quietly. He didn't mind the attention due to the presumptions he created from first impressions they displayed.


'Of course we have your classic stereotypical captain. Of course in terms of defense we are safe in terms of skill.


And definitely points for a... Um,


The 'mechanic' has yet to show the importance and that would be the opportunity depending on the state of the ship itself. If it's really a pile of rust or a flying castle. Coming from ol' stubby, probably did not fare too well.'


'I should really introduce myself. I am appearing in an awkward manner, they practically don't know of my existence. Sure I asked a question already but they practically brushed me off.'


'How do I talk to people again?'


'....'Hi.' To feminine. 'Good afternoon.' It's pirates, not a gentleman's club.'


He begin to tap on his foot in a rapid pace. He usually never nervous. But he's gotta make the impression count if he ever wanted to be in the group with open arms, or make smooth sailing amongst the winds.


'Should I speak in general or the captain specifically? I should have said something from the get-go.'


'Ooh, nice hit.'
 
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