Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

[lyn.]

THE ONLOOKER.

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WILLOW

FARCHILL

MOOD

IRRITATED, STRESSED

OUTFIT

soon to be burned

LOCATION

THE BRIG

MENTIONS

Nina, Toska, Calanthe, Cadence, Ephiram, Devana, Knox, Sonya

INTERACTS

picklemouse celestialbody

LADY JANE — WILSEN

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LADY JANE

sits on the side, watching life go by.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Willow was aware that being called a pessimist was an insult, it was something her mother had called her time and time again.

But maybe if the world stopped proving her right, she’d stop expecting the worst.

What was supposed to be a quick trip to the dining hall and back had turned into a venture into Horror City with an amnesiac. She blamed her own wretched curiosity for that. Her desperation for answers allowed her to be led onto the Antares streets like a dog chasing a bone. This choice did not end with her getting answers from Toska, nor getting food. Because that would be too simple. And what is Solas if not a cesspool of pathetic power-hungry monsters that intended to make Willows's new life as difficult as possible?

She cursed Nina for the disturbing sights in the Tavern. She cursed Nina for the night's humidity ruining her hair. She cursed Nina for the mud that had unknowingly crawled up her dress as they perused the streets. And she cursed Toska for the situation she was in now. Willow Farchill, proud member of the esteemed Hollandse family, and widower of the Duke Peyton, was now locked up in a cell.

She should be settled down in her cabin, reading a book or sleeping, but Antares had other plans. Toska did not seem to forget just his memories, no, he forgot every useful skill Romello had spent his decades of life learning. There was no instinctive reaction, nothing, and so here Willow was now, sat on the floor in the corner of a crowded cell. Her hair was no longer mussed but ruined, and she already had plans to burn her dress the moment she managed to escape this cell. Because that’s what she would do, she would get the hell out of here.

Willow did not move from the corner as her eyes scraped through the room. There were many people she did not recognize. Some made it obvious why they were here- a girl dressed up to the nines in pink and a woman in flashy jewels that practically shouted ‘Kidnap me, please!’ were no doubt easy targets.

There were familiar faces, too, and Willow’s stomach twisted at the knowledge that even all the way in Antares she could not escape the reminders of her past. A familiar jeweler, an unsettling woman… Toksa.

Willow could see her chances of escaping diminishing until she spotted another recognizable face. What was his name again? She must know it, she had spent much of her time in Zenith memorizing every face and name. Perhaps she had spent so much time away that her memory had gone rusty. A feeling of thrill ran up her spine at the thought, followed by one of terror- it was a noble woman's duty to know all and see all.

Judging by his state of dress, whatever happened to him after Willow left Zenith wasn’t pleasant. Perhaps he was fired and now spent his days locked up in cells and causing riots in Antares bars. Or maybe, just maybe, the King had sent a member of his entourage to assist in his new vessel, The Leviathan.

With that in mind, Willow finally rose to her feet just as another woman kicked at the man- Knox, that was his name, Knox Hood. A man she distrusted so only because of his proximity to the King, but desperate times caused for desperate measures. She was thankful at the woman's urgency, it seemed she wasn’t the only one unwilling to wait around for her impending doom.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Willow took that moment to approach, hands folded in front of her. She prayed she looked as kept together as she intended, even with the frizzy state of her hair.

“Your belongings are gone, and you are locked in a cell with multiple strangers. I do hope you have the observational skills for that much.” Perhaps. A tad bit aggressive. Willow.

“With your… injuries you seem to be the only man in the vicinity with the ability to assist with our escape. I believe we may be at sea, so unless they intend to push the wealthy off the ship with little reward but the gold off our backs, we have time.”

She turned towards the woman next to her, whose outfit screamed as wealthy as the rest of them. Willow made sure to wear clothes that didn’t stand out, and yet she was still here. Perhaps it was not her who was the target, but the man she had pointedly not looked at for the past ten minutes.

“It is nice to see someone else has the correct focus at hand.” She said to the woman, “My name is Willow.”

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[Harrowhark]

The Bard.

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Jack

Belrose

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

time for entertainment

OUTFIT

clothes im sure

LOCATION

mess hall

MENTIONS

Yasmine, Arata, whoever tf Loraine is

INTERACTS

AnimeGenork

Living in the Sunlight - Tiny Tim

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Can you behave?

Yes, if I wanted to,
but this is so much funnier

Bye bye Antares!

Poor Jackson, doomed to another day without his beautiful, totally legitimate wife. However will he cope?

This had become his daily routine, bothering Yasmine until she, not so kindly (maybe even violently) told him to go away. After which, he would have breakfast, play a little toon, pick his drug of choice for the day, and wander to find someone to bother. It went well until they arrived at Antares. The boat was so lonely!

Last time he had been to the port, he’d gotten on the bad side of enough people to make himself much more of a target than he’d like. Not that he was scared! No way! He could take all of those miscreants. Easy!

However, he would not be a fan of having to hide the whole time. That would be boring. So, he chose to stay on the ship. Not out of cowardice, but out of selfishness. Obviously.

Now that the ship had left port, all his victims were back in one place. Yippee! All he had to do was walk into the mess hall and pick one. Eenie meenie miney- Oooh that one looks fun!

Jackson picked his pal for the moment. A guy who looked piss drunk (they’re always the fun ones), but looked like he wouldn’t be so quick to shoo him off. Not like his lovely, workaholic wife.

So he plopped right down at the table, sitting a little too close for comfort.

“Day drinking or still drunk from last night?”

Wink.

“Am I right?”

Nudge nudge.

Without a response, Jack sighed dramatically as he took out his flask. He held out the metal vial in front of the man’s eyes.

“Care for a bit more?”

Shake shake. Here lil drunky. Here boy.

“Of course you do!” He smiled widely and unscrewed the cap. Putting the bottle to the drunkard’s lips, he did everything but force it down his throat.

“Cheers!” Jack made a show of holding his own imaginary drink and pretending to down it. “Ah! Hits the spot, doesn’t it?”

“Or maybe you are a bigger fan of a different substance... Not that I would have anything like that. Who told you that? They’re suffering from hysteria.”

Smooth.

“Was Antares fun? Did you like the hustle and bustle? Do a little haggling? Hell, I know for sure you frequented those bars.”

Maybe he’d made the wrong move staying behind. That shit sounded so fun.

“Was anyone talking about me? Don’t answer that. Was it that bitch, Loraine? Of course she would, she wouldn’t know how to mind her own business if I punched her in the face.”

Oh, wouldn’t it be nice if this guy could get a word in? Oh well…

“Not that I’d hit a woman unless she hit me first, and I know Loraine would hit first. She’s crazy.”

Jack laughed to himself before looking back at the person in front of him. Oh yeah! This guy!

“I bet it was wiiiild. Yep, fun times. Good for you.”

He gave the drunk man a hard pat on the back.

“Say… what was your name again? It’s right on the tip of my tongue.”

Jackson snapped his fingers a few times, trying to get the thought back up to the front of his brain.

“Ronald! No, you don’t look like a Ronald. Rat? Pretty sure that was some other guy.”

This could take a while…

Just as the man in question was about to speak, Jack put a finger up to the guy’s lips.

“No, don’t tell me, I’ve almost got it.”

He tapped his finger against the man’s mouth.

“Yasmine. Wait, that’s my wife. Did I tell you I have a wife? A real wife who loves me very much.”

He searched for another name, but came up short. Lowering his finger, he finally gave in.

“Tell me the first letter, that will help!”

A pause. Oh, finally, someone else can speak.

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[Daddy Dream]

THE KNIGHT

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Knight

MONTE

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Cautious but Friendly

LOCATION

LEVIATHAN

MENTIONS

Macklin, Lexis

INTERACTS

Gao

Make Me Your Villain— Bookish Songs

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DO BETTER

I find your lack of logic disturbing.

CHAPTER 4 - Meeting the Captain

How cruel for his lady to send him away in the wee hours of the morning to run tasks on this unknown boat. Well, she had a point, the boat was unknown and one of his tasks was to socialize and explore. Still, he would have rather been with Violetta, beating some sense into that half dead man than above deck sending messages in the sky. Monte's dark brown eyes examined the black bird perched on the boats railing, sat still despite the constant rocking the waves were causing. Its beady black eyes stare back at Monte, head tilting from the paper he was rolling between his fingers and to Monte's own staring eyes. This birds name was Sir Black, named personally by the school kids of the duchy who loved visiting the Roost in the castle.

Gentle hands tucked the paper into a small tube then attached it to the leg of the bird. It gave a few hops away from Monte once it had the paper, cawing impatiently before dropping off the side of the boat and reappearing over the sea. Monte stood there for a moment, watching the bird fly away until it disappeared, and even then he stood there watching the waves and feeling the wind on his face. He couldn't remember the last time he was on open sea like this and it was actually enjoyable. He had always seemed to struggle with slight seasickness at the beginning for the boat ride and would ease out of it after an hour or two of rest, was he getting better? Was his mind actually more distracted about what his lady was doing rather than his own body? He gave a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair before he heard a voice coming from the side.

Turning he spotted a seaworn, tanned skinned man approaching him, complimenting the morning before going into asking about if birds get tired of flying. Monte noted how the gentleman's attempt at conversation was a bit awkward and forced, was he trying to figure out who this new face was? Monte raised a brow at it but switched to a polite greeting smile before nodding towards the man.

"It is indeed a fair morn, with a cool wind and a pleasing sound of the waves to lull you into relaxation." Monte offered a hand out to the man, dropping his nobility manners and going back to his roots. "The name is Monte Greyfin, Royal knight to Duchess Frankfort. As for the birds, I do believe they could get tired, but are aware of their mission and will see it through."

He had a voice that was deeper than expected for his appearance and a smile warm enough to allow anyone to feel at ease. It was part of his upbringing to be welcoming and nice, as you didn't know what someone was going through. While his personality changed when he became a royal knight and his priorities of welcoming all to being guarded shifted, he still had the decency to show this side of himself when off duty.

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THE DUCHESS

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공작부인

VIOLETTA

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Relaxed, but Curious

LOCATION

LEVIATHAN

MENTIONS

Yasmine

INTERACTS

Aviator | CrimsonInk

The Skye Boat Song— MALINDA

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Be Yourself,

you don't make history by being liked.

CHAPTER 4 - What am I Doing?

The man accepted the deal, good. He wanted to use the technology for his lands too, already a given. If he was going to be a part of her land, she had to help him too, regardless of his current standing and views. As for allowing the King to find out, it was much too early for him to know. Later down the line, maybe, but that would be much later when the technology wasn't so...ominous. Right now, it was in the trial stages, with only 60% good results in a small territory range about the size of her duchy. Though, it pleased her how Macklin decided to make it known that she was a nobody Duchess, means that eyes were not on her and she was doing a good job staying low. The unfortunate part was how Macklin underestimated just what a Duchess, or in his case, a Duke does behind the scenes. The job is not easy, and its definitely not cushy either, but as someone who took over her duchy at a young age she might not have the same views as someone who inherited their lands when they grow older.

Witnessing Macklin's little coughing fit, she muttered under her breath, then sat back in her chair to wait for him to finish. It was then when she noticed he would not be looking at her, but past her. A brow furrowed, she had turned and found the possible, and most likely, reason why Macklin would be staring. There stood a woman dressed in an olive dress that made her body look less like an elegant huntress and more like a dangerous serpent. Violetta wasn't complaining, but she turned back to Macklin and narrowed her eyes at him. She scanned his features as he looked amused with her response to the situation, before asking an obvious question on if her knew the women at the buffet. A simple shake of his head and an answer that caused Violetta to confirm what she wanted to know was all that it took. He spoke of wanting to get to know the other woman and her irresistible shape bade Violetta nod and look back over to the women again.

"I see, she is quite appealing. But I think the woman in green is more of a looker for myself. She holds more interest in her body than you can do for yourself." Violetta spoke, briefly locking eyes with the breathtaking woman before turning back to Macklin with a pleasing smile. "While you get to know her friend, I think I will make a connection myself with her."

It was at this moment when the duchess looked over her shoulder again and spotted a familiar face once again. Another noble in her trading circle who provided quality goods for her duchy had arrived. Lucreiza Cambridge, or Luci as Violetta had nicknamed her, was the embodiment of a walking ghost who somehow held quite a spot in the duchess circle. While the two didn't talk a lot face to face or outside of business dealings, Violetta did take time to send the occasional letter to see how the woman was doing. She felt oddly familiar with her ever since their first trade, like whatever Luci had experienced was similar to what she was going through at that time. However, it wasn't until after their letter exchanges where Violetta actually found out what was going on and grew closer to her. Turning back to Macklin, she stood and gave a soft smile.

"Before I go, I want to also say just one, tiny thing about our current dealings. Now that you plan on becoming a part of my duchy, make sure to give your life to seeing it survive. If my duchy falls, you won't be around to enjoy the riches after, I have made sure of that." Violetta gave an out of character wink towards Macklin, stole a potato from his plate, and sauntered off to meet with Luci. While she was walking away, she also deliberately and invitingly brushed against the green dressed woman, in view of Macklin of course.

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[CrimsonInk]

THE PALADIN.

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ADRIAN

BISHOP

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

LOSING HIS MIND

OUTFIT

HELP THEY STOLE MY THINGS

LOCATION

THE BRIG!!!

MENTIONS

VYLAN

INTERACTIONS

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE!?

TAGS

@LowkeyLovingLoki

WEAK — AJR.

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Morality cannot be legislated

but behavior can be regulated. Judicial decrees may not change the heart, but they can restrain the heartless.

CHAPTER FOUR.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Adrian couldn’t recall everything that had happened. It was all so fast. One moment he was speaking with a kind bartender at the tavern, but the moment he stepped outside a bag was placed over his head. Strong arms locked him tight without warning as they dragged him forward.

“Unhand me!” Adrian yelled, “I do not consent! I repeat! I do not consent! This is a crime you are committing!”

He wiggled trying to worm himself free from their grasp, only it wasn’t going that way. These men were strong, making him seem like a cooked noodle in their presence. He could hear them speak in their devilish pirate tongue telling him to knock it off. Fear started to creep at his back, biting his shoulder relishing in the idea of his survival being weighed before him. He will not allow his mind to taunt him about how foolish it was leaving the royal vessel. Instead, he thought of their safety. Could they have been kidnapped like this? If so, would that mean he would be able to see them?

Even in the midst of all the fear and anxiety he was drowned in, he just wanted to know one thing. Were they okay?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The awful smell of sea salt and seaweed stung the walls of his nostrils. His eyes bulged out from his skull looking at the people around him confused, desperate, and afraid. The disgusting parasites that kidnapped him stripped him of his clothing, leaving him with just his shirt, trousers, boots, and thankfully, his socks. It was farewell to any jewelry, broach, watch, and silks he wore to those damn greedy pirates. What he lamented most about was what he had kept on his person the most. His family crest. Though as much as he was worried about personal objects, he was facing an even greater danger: people. Distressed people.

"Wake up!"

Oh my stars, I’m going to die.

"Get up. Get up now."

Oh my stars and the divine, I’m going to really die.

He watched the gorgeous, vexing and terrifying woman kick the poor lad on the ground. He seemed to wake up just fine, but violence was not needed in such a delicate situation.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Adrian watched the other victims before him, curious if any had any idea where they were or what they planned.

“Your belongings are gone, and you are locked in a cell with multiple strangers. I do hope you have the observational skills for that much.”

WHY ARE ALL THE WOMEN SO MEEEAAAAN!??!!

Sinking back into the musty wet wood, he took another brief look around to see if there were any who were more well-mannered in this star forsaken cell. There stood another in a very ominous manner. White hair, an ominous mask, oh that was Lady….Miss Lady…..Lady Acindus. But why stand there so calm and collective? There was nothing calm or collective about this!

There must be another! Anyone! Please!

SOMEONE PLEASE BEFORE HE-

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
he shrieked.

Adjusting himself he cleared his throat, tugging his clothes nervously.

“Apologies.”

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[Harrowhark]

The Scribe.

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Blade

Longsword

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Frustrated

OUTFIT

something very cool and badass

LOCATION

where ever Ari usually beats the shit out of people

MENTIONS

Ari

INTERACTS

qunqun

Girl So Confusing - Charli XCX

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My Father and I

Are more alike than I'd care to admit.
For whenever I feel pure rage,
I know I am my father's daughter

One more time now

Blade laid face up on the floor, wondering how life could bring him such pain for the third time today. All because he got mugged in Antares.

Pirate life was supposed to be beer in one hand, gun in the other, singing shanties, and fucking around. Not violence. Antares was not chill like that. If she hadn’t had the sense to only bring a portion of her coin, she would have lost everything to a knife wielding scoundrel. That instinct to shoot she’d felt back in Zenith? Unfortunately, it did not apply to attacks from behind.

Before, her father’s gun had been enough for her to feel safe. Now it was all too clear that strength was a necessary asset. Maybe it was a one time issue, maybe she didn’t need to be putting in the effort to do this stupid shit. But opportunity came knocking, and she just couldn’t turn down a challenge.

This guy was huge! Aurelia didn’t stand a chance. However, Blade Longsword, he was delusional enough to try. The man introduced himself as Aurelian, to which Blade, in all his infinite wisdom, said:

“That’s not my name! What are you talking about?”

The first embarrassment out of several this morning as Blade undertook the educational sparring match. In all honesty, he thought there would be weapons in the equation, but it was far too late to back down.

At least it was a welcome distraction from the yearning and uncertainty Aurelia had come to feel in every passing second of silence.

Now, all Blade felt was regret, tired, aching muscles, and the unrealistic desire for massive fists.

“I thought you were going easy on me,” Blade groaned. Sitting up took a frustrating five seconds too long. Standing another three.

This time, he wasn’t as quick to start swinging again. He took a moment to stretch, get a sip of water, and tuck back in all the stray hairs that had come out of his coat since he started getting his ass kicked.

Was this fun for Aurelian? Probably. Look at him, all smug and self righteous. What an asshole! He needed to be brought down a few pegs. If only Blade wasn’t standing on the bottom rung of the ladder.

Logically, it was time to stop, but pride spoke much louder. Blade took position again with awful form, fists held up, not nearly solid enough.

“Let’s go again.”

This time, he’d win!

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[CrimsonInk]

THE RAVEN.

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LUCREZIA

CAMBRIDGE

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

HAUNTED

OUTFIT

ABRACADABRA

LOCATION

DINING HALL

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTIONS

VIOLETTA

TAGS

Daddy Dream

DA VINCI'S DEMONS THEME — BEAR MCCREARY.

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I BELIEVE MR. GRAVES,

There are tremors around us, like the vibrations of a note of music - hidden music. Some may be more attuned to them than others, what do those people do?

CHAPTER FOUR PT II.

This particular morning was much more dire for the Cambridge woman. She desired for yesterday to be today. Hair as white as snow and eyes as black as night, Lady Devana of House Acindus was a captivating omen. Their time at the bazaar had been one of the best days since she had left Zenith. They went through stall after stall, bargaining with the merchants for deals and traded a few items that were definitely worth the haggle. Only the time they spent with each other was too short. Lucrezia respected their departure regardless, but it left her lamenting and yearning for that grim touch just a bit more.

As melancholic as she had awakened for the day, it wouldn’t stop her from at least making an appearance to the rest of the world. Her stomach growled whispering to her the nutrients it needed to satisfy her hunger. She giggled.

Oh, stop it you, you’ll be fed soon.

Carefully buttoning her blouse, she tossed her hair into her iconic messy bun and light makeup to present herself to the other guests. Departing from her room, she traversed to the dining hall floating so elegantly like a ghost haunting the ship. Her smile widened at the disturbed guests, waving and greeting everyone she crossed paths with. Still others of high society remained quiet in their ignorant standing of her presence. Disappointing really.

Entering the dining hall her eyes wandered for a moment dancing around the room of people. My oh my was it filled more so than usual this morning. The cook must be rather busy, and hopefully the divine and unfortunate souls aid her for such a rush. Just before she was ready to settle on the idea of food there was an even more adoring presence that beckoned for her attention. Duchess Violetta Frankfort, the last royal child to reign in her bloodline. The Frankforts were reasonable and well-mannered people, but to disappear out of the blue was worrisome. Lucrezia remembered reading about their disappearance when she visited the Cascades. Whispers she heard from a raven told her that the first born son was supposed to inherit everything, but his misdeeds and irresponsible endeavors have made the Frankforts rethink otherwise. To be handed such a heavy responsibility must have been overwhelming, but from what Lucrezia has seen in the woman she had conquered. May the stars watch her closely, and her ravens closer for an ally like her is needed in Solas.

Pale blues met ones much deeper as Lucrezia smiled, greeting the woman and closing the space between them.

“It is rather sorrowful (endearing) to see such a divine butterfly meet a dead moth on such a woeful morning,” Lucrezia greeted, her lips curling into an awkward smile and pulling the woman in a hug, “it has been so long, my dear. How are things?”

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[Aviator]

THE VAGABOND.

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Lizbeth

Jessup

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

"What is  that?"

OUTFIT

Dress. Boots.

LOCATION

The Reaper's Brig.

MENTIONS

Nine strangers, oh wait, is that Pinkie Pie?

INTERACTS

Cadence. Nifty

BLACK OUT DAYS —
PHANTOGRAM.

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Lions sit in solemn lines

Drinking gin and dropping lines
Wasting beats in this heart of mine
Until the morning comes around.

CHAPTER FOUR.

(TW for sexual innuendos and allusion to sexual assault)

Bizzy’s flight from the Roost was short-lived, like a bird struck from the sky by a hunter’s bullet. Her mind was blank except for one pressing objective: to go east, toward the docks, with the fifty-Solari gold coin as her ticket to a new life. Or any life at all, because there was a chance that Madame Yan’s men would beat her to death if they caught her. Her leg hurting savagely at the nexus where flesh conjoined metal, she raced past houses with thatched roofs and unpainted doors. White shutters bordered windows of darkness, like bones peeking out of a decaying corpse, a foreboding premonition.

Her flute case thumped against her thigh with every other step, and her shoulder burned from hefting it as the other pumped. She considered abandoning it, but her flute had seen her through her darkest nights, eleven years ago when she had been tossed out of the Cascades with nothing but the clothes on her back, doomed to be hunted down by Noctivores. Her flute and her firelight had kept her from going mad with fear and grief. Abandoning her lifeline felt like breaking superstition, inviting bad luck. Besides, without the instrument, she would have no means of making money, as meager as the proceeds from busking were. No means except for using her body, of course, just as she had done at the Corsairs Kiss for a year now. But if Bizzy successfully escaped her indenture, she knew in her heart of hearts that she would rather succumb quietly on the street from lack of sustenance than go back to that life.

A relentless wall of wind pummeled her as she stumbled toward the harbor as fast as her boots decidedly not made for running could take her. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and seasalt and suffocating humidity that seemed to trap the breath in one’s lungs. Bizzy’s hair streamed behind her and then to the side as the fickle Antares weather battled itself, her bangs falling into her eyes and blinding her. A stitch pulled at her side, and nausea sloshed around in her stomach. She thanked her starless gods that she’d never had the time to drink her ale, because with alcohol pumping around in her system, it would have all been over. Angry slurs rained down on her when she shouldered between clusters of pedestrians blocking her way, calling apologies over her shoulder but otherwise not breaking stride. Her eyes latched onto the spindly fingers of wood that jutted into the sky over the harbor, rendered an impressionist’s haze through the thick sheen of fog that perpetually clung to the city. Almost there, almost there…

Suddenly pain exploded through her skull, wrenching her head back with a high-pitched yelp. Her flute case landed on the ground with a heavy thud! that would have made Bizzy worry for its condition if her attention was not otherwise occupied. The whiplash of momentum was almost enough to make her pitch backward after her instrument, but she dug the heels of her boots into the cobbles, fighting for balance. Her heart in her throat, she attempted to twist away, but the hand in her hair was insistent. “You could have been a good girl for me, Bizzy,” mocked a nasally voice that she’d recognize anywhere. “Good girls get rewarded. But I have no use for bad girls, and neither does the madam of your house.”

Bizzy twisted in Jonas’ grasp, clawing at his fingers in a concerted effort to break free. He tightened his hold, jerking her head back until she squealed and half-expected to see a chunk of pecan-colored hair tear off in his hand. Between clenched teeth, she hissed, “Was Magdalena a good girl before or after you blackened her eye, you sleazy fuck?”

Jonas sneered. She saw the blow coming but couldn’t even flinch away before his hand struck her face, heat blossoming through her cheek and temporarily deafening her. The force of the blow carried her to the ground, her knees coming down on stone hard. Tears burned in her eyes, threatening to spill over. But at least that slimy hand was gone from her hair. “If you were smart, you’d pick your words carefully, whore, because I can give you a lot worse than a black eye right now,” Jonas seethed in a harsh, brittle voice. It sounded like a step on thin ice. It sounded like a man who had run out of patience and was about to use violence to get his way. “And the madam will not stand in my way.”

A muscle tensed in his jaw, and he took a step closer. On the ground in a shivering heap, Bizzy flinched, eyes squeezed shut. Just then another voice rang out: a woman’s, low and sultry with operatic vowels. “Jonas!” she barked. The snap of a cane hitting the ground came up short. “The merchandise becomes less valuable with the more damage she incurs. If you expect a cut from the sale, then I insist that you move off immediately.”

“She took my money! By the Stars, I will get what I am owed, or else—”

“Or else you will find yourself as easily dispensable if you continue to cause problems for the girls in my house and me. Perhaps our red friends will have use for one more aboard their ship, no?” This retort shut Jonas up, and Bizzy dared a glance. Madame Yan was an aging woman, yet she looked resplendent as ever with her ebony hair pulled back in a neat bun and swathed in a gown that matched the color of her artfully applied rouge. She was tall and almost painfully thin, her ribs and hips jabbing at the fabric. In all her time at the Corsairs Kiss, Bizzy had been unable to deduce whether the cane was for function or fashion. The top was carved in the head of an otter, with beady black eyes staring out and a whiskered face rendered in almost unsettling detail.

Behind her stood three booze-reeking men in flashy crimson garments. Bizzy did not recognize their faces, but she recognized their allegiance to the Carmine Corsairs. The hairs on the back of her neck raised. These unsavory types did not comprise Madame Yan’s typical social circles.

For the first time, Madame Yan acknowledged Bizzy’s presence, a wintry gaze that sent a chill down her spine falling on her. Bizzy felt her lip wobble, and it took all her resolve not to look away. “Whores who cannot take orders have no place in my establishment,” Madame Yan intoned.

“Madame, he causes problems for the girls every week!” Bizzy wailed, unable to stop the sob that bubbled up her throat. “Maggie was in tears after he was done with her, an’ her face still ain’t right.”

Madame Yan put the tip of her cane beneath Bizzy’s chin and tilted her face up. “And Maggie accepted twice her usual rate for Jonas to play rough with her. It was not an unwilling transaction, and you were out of line to take matters into your own hands.”

“Well, I wasn’t offered twice my rate, and he left bruises on my thighs an’ told me to—”

Like a judge reading off her charges before a court, Madame Yan responded evenly, “You aren’t as desirable as Magdalena, your thighs are not a publicly visible location, and telling you to cry for his enjoyment is hardly an unreasonable request. If you think that those combined reasons are ample justification for your striking a loyal customer, then you are sadly mistaken and your contract in my house is finished.” She snapped her fingers, beckoning forth the three pirates. “Take her.”

Bizzy was surprised to find that, instead of fear, she felt a spark of anger kindle into an inferno in her stomach. “If you think your menacin’ friends are gonna scare me into beggin’ to keep my job, then you are sadly mistaken.”

Madame Yan snorted in derision, an unladylike sound that she somehow managed to make elegant and cold. “Oh, honey, we are well past that. When I say that you’re done at my house, this is not a matter of negotiation.”

The three men started toward Bizzy. Fear gave her a frisson of energy, and she tried to climb to her feet. She wasn’t fast enough before a pair of beefy hands closed around her upper arms, pinioning them to her sides. “Shhh, pidge, it’s all right, we got you,” hushed a pirate with a smile that was anything but consoling.

Madame Yan continued in that lifeless voice, “My best hopes of profiting from you now are to pawn you off to the Baron’s men to do with as they please. While it’s not my concern, I think you will find Jonas’ treatment of you infinitely preferable. Cheers.”

Another pirate scooped up the flute from the ground with greedy hands. “What that be inside here?” As if the obvious function of the latches avoided him, he shook the case about, making its contents rattle.

Perhaps foolishly, Bizzy was more concerned for the flute’s safety than her own at that moment. “What are you doing? Stop! You’ll break it if you keep—”

“That’s enough outta you, girlie,” drawled Pirate Number Three. He set a hand on her back and pushed, driving Bizzy forward against her will and almost setting her to tripping. “We’ve gotta get to the Reaper before she casts off! Let’s get going, eh?” Powerless to resist, Bizzy was herded through the streets of Antares to the docks that she had intended as her destination but under vastly different circumstances.

* * *​

To her surprise, the pirates did not use her for recreational purposes, as Madame Yan had alluded to. Although she got to keep her clothes on, Bizzy was divested of her valuables. Her flute, gold coin, and the antique globe earrings that her mother had given her were whisked away, her last souvenir of the Canyon, of a life that she had been taken from fifteen years ago. Some of the songs she’d learned as a child still survived on her lips, but some of the lyrics had faded from her memory over time, and Bizzy yearned for the touch of something tangible and permanent and not susceptible to the imperfections of human cognition. Other than her makeup kit, collection of insects, twin daggers, and chessboard—all of which still lay in her room in the Corsairs Kiss, abandoned—they were her only possessions. Losing her flute and her earrings hurt as if the pirates had severed a piece of her soul.

Aboard a sleek, sharp ship like the carcass of a jungle beast, Bizzy was thrust into a cell where four other people were sprawled about in various states of disorder and inury. Her dress had endured a few stains from its contact with the ground, and the knees were ripped. A glance in a cracked shard of mirror on the floor revealed that Bizzy’s hair was in disarray, a welt was blooming on the side of her face, and her makeup was smeared. Today she had done white eyeliner along the top and bottom lids—giving the illusion of bigger and rounder eyes—with smoky-gray shadow and fairy tale-red lips. Now her lips were just a blurred stain of color, as if she’d been eating a cherry popsicle, and her eyes looked like sunken shadows in her face.

She was unsure if the other prisoners were unconscious or too traumatized by their kidnappings to engage in conversation, but no words were exchanged by the early members of the group. Over a sliver of eternity which was really just the course of the night, five additional prisoners were herded into the cell. Or dragged into the cell, if they were too incapacitated to walk.

Fear for her future—if there was any to be had—was tempered by a quiet defiance that buzzed in her like brandy. She may have been spirited onto this ship against her will, but it was a result of her own actions. Her own decision to stand up to Madame Yan and not just quietly suffer through the stacked hand that she had been dealt. In a perverse way, she had gotten exactly what she’d wanted: an escape from the Kiss that didn’t involve dying.

And now she had two new motivations to keep living. Bizzy had never killed anyone before, and with the exception of the Oracles who had raised her and all the other kids in her cohort up on lies of duty and holiness before sending them off to slaughter, she had never wanted to kill anyone. Not even the count who had stolen her daughter, if only because he was Raine’s father. But now, she was sure that this black thing strangling her heart was hatred. Bloodlust. A desire for revenge. She wanted to see Jonas and Madame Yan dead. She wasn’t prideful enough to stipulate that it had to be by her own hand—beyond a few swipes with her knives to ward off drunken, handsy men, she was a stranger to fighting—but she wanted the satisfaction of standing over their cold bodies after it happened.

Jonas was just another trashy man who viewed women as property—a philosophy which was more common than not among the return customers at the Kiss—but Madame Yan’s betrayal stung on a deeper, more personal level. Throughout her year of employment, Bizzy had done exactly as she’d been asked, time and time again. She’d endured men with questionable hygiene and aging, flabby physiques. She’d worked doubles and sometimes triples without complaint. She had not pushed back when her clients had neglected to tip her for her services. And to be discarded like a broken toy for defending herself and her sisters hurt.

Hunger had begun to gnaw at Bizzy’s belly, but each time she asked the pirates who appeared with a new prisoner if they would be fed, they just sneered at her. One guy lewdly peeled his pants down and bade her to eat. Realizing that sleep was the easiest—and perhaps only—escape from her misery, she allowed herself to drift off into a restless slumber.

A bloodcurdling scream made her jackknife up from the floor, a cold panic gripping her. Her eyes were already scanning the room for threats. Had the pirates decided to sacrifice the prisoners to their crooked gods for safe passage across the ocean? Had they—

She promptly knocked heads with someone else beside her who had been similarly jolted awake. The collision of heads at full speed hurt about as much as you would expect, and Bizzy’s concern about the pirates’ intentions dissolved in the face of the more immediate fear that she had broken her skull. Her hand flew up to massage the site of impact and probe it for any disconcerting bumps or indentations.

When she’d ascertained that the injury was not fatal, her gaze slid to the offender. She looked like a debauched angel in a cotton-white corset that was partly unzipped, leaving little of her pale bosom to the imagination. A halo of dark hair framed bewitching ultramarine eyes. Her features were full and soft and perfect. She was the type of unscarred, aristocratic beauty that stoked Bizzy’s jealousy, made her blood sing with the unrighteousness of the hit to her head, which was entirely this stranger’s fault. But any accusations that might have risen to her lips fell away, for there was a conspicuous spot of ink on the other woman’s breast. At first Bizzy thought it was a tattoo, but it was smudged. She narrowed her eyes at the drawing, which was actually a word. With Bizzy’s limited literacy, she couldn’t decipher the word, but it didn’t look remotely like any pattern of letters she recognized. “Is that— erm, are you aware that there’s writing on your tit, ma’am?”

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[Gao]

THE KINGSLAYER.

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船井 蓮

FUNAI REN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

MEAN STEP-MOM

OUTFIT

ANTARES SLUZZA

LOCATION

LEVIATHAN'S DECK

MENTIONS

MILOOO.

INTERACTS

AnimeGenork

CRY — CIGARETTES AFTER SEX.

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THE RED SEA IS

named for the dead algae within it
maybe I too am red for all the
slaughter carried within me

CHAPTER FOUR PART II.

He notices the contradiction in Milo when their thoughtful silence stretches too long. An autopsy out of view, the blonde sloshes with something, and walking around with dumb smiles and platinum hair isn’t going to wring it out like a wet towel.

Ren does not fit himself easily amongst emotions, even further foreign to speak verbally about them, but suspicion has edged itself in the tense interval of their consideration. In this suspended time does Ren realize nobody on this ship, not even an empty-eyed farmboy, are who they seem or claim to be.

“Do I? Well, frowns use up more muscles than smiles, so it’s not that hard, I reckon.”

Avoidant.

Maybe after spending weeks with a He Who Shall Not be Named who deflected Ren's prying habits, he has attuned to the importance of what is not explicitly said. It’s a fork in the path, and a serpentine skim of eyes stops on Milo for a moment, narrowing at the answer like the silent threat of a chisel.

He registers the fact this might be the first person to have checked on him since he boarded the Leviathan, flown close to the sun undeterred by melting wax, and in that solemn realisation, Ren knows the dark instinct to strike Milo in the jaw is a childish reaction from an equally childish man. Of course he does not want to hurt Milo, but he also does not want to be looked at with such pity. It’s that same dark instinct that would want to hit anyone if they asked if he was okay.

Last time he was honest with someone they disappeared.

He has been enough of a burden already.

The remark on the Lean breathes a vague smile, fleeting, but enough to have Ren look back to the sea and fuss with a tacky metal ring around his pointer finger.

“The Lean is not very good,” he admits, quieter. “I may retire it.”

He feels small, which is odd. Even when near others that overthrow him in the height division, Ren compensates well with his personality. Too loud to be ignored and too brash for any sensible competitors, but here he feels like a dark dust mote, a snake that does not rattle.

The head of Milo tilts in his periphery, and again Ren feels that unsavory mood stir at the inquisitive nature of it. Nosy. Nosy blondie. Get back. Hiss. Go watch cocomelon.

“Will it help if I say I’m not happy now, seeing you look so miserable?”

“Will that convince yourself?” It’s an abrupt reply, whip-quick before Ren can even catch it by the tether. Not spoken unkindly, but there is a bluntness that does not lend itself to anything gentle.

His neutral expression has returned, and the black opia of his stare affixes on Milo as Ren turns to face the blonde completely. There’s a sigh through his nose as he settles, a hard admission to call someone out directly. It’s easier to swallow when desperate to believe one is fine, but Ren has been guided to this ship by everything that is not easy.

“You’re not happy.” An observation that is no longer a question, “and it is okay not to be.”

A balanced climate, Ren is not cold and heartless nor warm and welcoming.

“As long as you haven’t convinced yourself that ignoring it is gonna work.” Is it embarrassing for someone to see? He watches Milo and thinks perhaps they are similar. Where every action or feeling or layer can be boiled down to fear of something.

“You don't have to be smiling to be worth something, Milo.”

The boy is going to mutilate himself like this, turn brutally inside out if he holds himself together for so long that he unravels in spools of ribbon.

“If you want to talk, I'll be here. And if you want my advice, don’t think so long when someone asks if you’re okay.” He can’t offer a solution, won’t tell him to pull himself together or snap out of it. He only offers Milo this, a moment to just be. Won’t mock or pry or expect anything else from the blonde, but one thing:

A hand reaches and nudges Milo’s wrist.

“And eat those peanuts.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

The Physician.

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Ilya

Jovanović

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

wwhEEEEE

OUTFIT

Emo Medieval

LOCATION

Medbay Again

MENTIONS

Grayson

INTERACTS

Gao

Melancholia — St. Loreto

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Humanist's Folly.

Extend the self, till all that remains is scattered to the winds

Chapter Four.

Ilya watched Grayson trip over basic pleasantries, a mad doctor morphing into a customer service smile as his tea making was slowly taken over - finicky about his tea, duly noted.

The milk and sugar supply had been replenished, and there as a small selection in the tea bricks that Ilya chiseled from, though undoubtedly none as fancy as the ones Grayson would've received as a child.

”It seems your Captain thought it necessary”

“Strange.” Ilya’s lips unsealed from drug use, the maelstrom of thoughts unraveling before filter can be placed onto words, the normal reticence cracked. “There wasn't a body left over to bury on either of our casualties’ behalf”

A small mulling between the pros and cons of having a funeral director on board, while maintaining life takes upon many of Ilya’s services, the dead and decaying bodies were not a mystery to him. Though the best way to put souls to rest, the doctor had nary a clue.

“I suppose in the future your services may be required though.” A singular nod of understanding echoed through the warm oaken gaze. Petulantly, the thought floated across his head as a last minute addition: not if I have anything to say about it.

A gentle blow across the surface of the tea cup as he took a small sip, he remarked the funeral director before him… a rather stuck-up fellow, but perhaps on a ship where he had been previously stabbed, the company could genuinely be worse.

Grayson returns: “I suppose we will see each other often”

And Ilya thinks: He really must think I'm shit at my job huh.

But who is he to say otherwise, as death has touched The Leviathan and everyone is in mourning over their fallen comrade. He finds it hard to not blame himself a little, passed out in the sand as he had been.

Before there can be true introspection upon that, however, he watches Grayson implode a little.

In no semblance did Ilya give the idea of romantic presentation to the stuffy man before him. He knows his manner of flirtation is peculiar and morbid, not for use amongst strangers (work colleagues even less so).

“... I was not aware that you were thinking of such propositions, Mr Grayson” He does not know his last name, and finds himself somewhat wishing he did for the sake of setting this professional(?) boundary(?). “Are you attracted to doctors?”

Because he has to have a little fun every now and then, leaning into the professionalism just so in order to watch the cryptkeeper squirm. The maniacal grin is back, the curtain of exhaustion drawn back from eyes fully engaged now in fun mode. The horror.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

PROLOGUE.

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Graham

The Bereaved

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

???!?!??

OUTFIT

Bisexual Whore

LOCATION

Boat deck

MENTIONS

Milly, Yanlin, Ren, Tallulah

INTERACTS

lyn.

Let's Fall in Love — FINNEAS.

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Aster's Eulogy.

A star has died, the brightest burn the fastest, and all that remains is silence

Chapter Four Part 2.

Graham woke up to a warm body and the sway of a ship, a moment of panic trilling through him as he realized he didn’t recognize his surroundings- clarity set in a moment afterwards. Yes, this was correct. He must’ve slept in.

After putting Mr Vommy to bed, he’d bid the other one (Tallulah, if he remembers properly) farewell and immediately fallen into the embrace of another on board. Yanlin, painter. Wonderful. And all without getting piss drunk… he fecking loved Antares, wow.

He rubbed his eyes as he quietly extracted himself from his slumbering partner, trying to wake himself up as he wrote a small note that just said “Sorry, love. I enjoyed our night together immensely, but I have to leave before the ship leaves port. Don’t be a stranger if you ever come back to Antares - G”

And he drew a little heart at the end of the letter before leaving it to get the fuck out of dodge.

The morning air was crisp, and the early sun was bright- ah shit. Graham’s eyes immediately locked onto the fact that Antares was in the distance, far ways away.

Well. Guess he was stuck on this fecking boat until they hit shore, huh. Maybe he should go back to Yanlin and tear up the letter, it’d be mighty awkward of a read now that he was stuck-

“Hello! My name is Milly, could you smell this for me?” An energetic and bubbly voice said, worry and anxiety laced in the undercurrent. Lots of energy, not enough forethought to filter ideas out.

Graham turned, a smile and a greeting pressed against his teeth as he opened his mouth only to be immediately greeted with a spritz of- ah christ what the feck was this shite.

Sputtering and trying to spit out whatever the feck this was Graham very suavely spit all over the deck, his senses overwhelmed with EWEWEWEW GET IT OUT GET IT OUT.

To add insult to injury, she was still speed talking to him-

“Does it smell good, or bad? I don’t have a very good sense of smell, so I thought I’d go get a second opinion. Oh! And if you like that, I also make and sell many other perfumes if you’d like some! They also make good gifts! I almost make other things upon request.”

Pffpfpfpfeeehpfhffpfpehheffffeh.

Cognition kicking back in, he realized that he should probably give a more substantive response than coughing uncontrollably.

“Sorry, love, it got in my mouth- ehm. Okay let’s try this again-” Very cool and normal jerk of the wheel trying to get this interaction back into comfort “Could you spray a little more in my hand?”

His entire sinus was infested with whatever smell this was but he thought that it would be best to make sure this lovely person had the idea he was trying to act in good faith.

“There’s-there’s something very… unique in here… What ehm… what…?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[floralmoon]

THE SOOTHSAYER.

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KADER

MOOD

CONTENT

OUTFIT

yoga time!! (head scarf)

LOCATION

LEVIATHAN DECK

MENTIONS

Ratthew

INTERACTS

Gao

The Healing Pool - Paul Landry.

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"prophet child, chosen by the sun.."

"do you hear the gods whispering those silent stardust words?"

CHAPTER FOUR PART II.

Kader braced themself for the door to be slammed in their face, but was met with surprise when Rat gripped one of the mugs from their hand. The way the man spoke was perplexing, maybe this was the reason for his lack of friendships. Though, his speech patterns would not deter Kader from attempting to form a relationship of sorts, they would become friends with almost anyone & everyone, no matter how strange.

The duo headed towards the deck of the ship, moving in silence, but once the door to the outside opened, Kader let out a satisfied sigh. Taking in the sight of open waters, the sun shining bright on the nearly empty deck, sounds of waves knocking against the ship, the smell of salt water, all the things that they would always cherish no matter how long they were aboard the Leviathan. As the two walk further out, Rat broke the silence, "Does Peanut often do morning yoga?".

"So long as the weather permits." Kader answers as they search for the perfect spot for the two, the spot they typically used only fit one person, so there would need to be different accommodations this morning. "If the weather does not allow for it, I will participate from the safety of my room." They continue, leading the pair to what seemed to be the perfect spot.

Approaching the area, Kader looks out towards the open sea, taking in a deep breath, and gives an approving nod. "This will be a good spot." They sit down, and pat the spot next to them, signaling their new friend to take a seat as well. "First, we will meditate for a moment. Close your eyes. Hear the waves, feel the sun & breeze, smell the salt." After giving the directions to Rat, they follow the instructions themself, taking in deep breaths and releasing them.

Slowly opening their eyes again, Kader turns towards Rat, "We will now stand and do simple moves. This is called Warrior I." They step out one foot to the front of themself, bending the knee, and stretch their back leg out behind them, raising their arms into the air with palms together. "Do not worry if it is too difficult for you. There are easier poses." Taking Rat's health into consideration, they didn't want to push him past the point of comfortability.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[celestialbody]

THE MERCANTRESS.

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Sonya

NIMBARA

MOOD

Calming Down

OUTFIT

This with a plain black cloak on top

LOCATION

Brig

MENTIONS

Knox/Willow/Adrian

INTERACTS

picklemouse lyn.

Son of Nyx - Hozier

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Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender

Adrift in a world of my own
I play the game but to my real shame
You've left me to dream all alone

CHAPTER FOUR

Sonya’s gaze remained fixed on the man as he began to stir, his eyes blinking rapidly as the disorienting shock of her slapping and kicking him wore off. She could almost hear the gears in his head grinding, trying to piece together what had happened, why he was here, and where ‘here’ even was. His hands moved instinctively, patting down his body in the same way everyone here did when they woke up, seeking their belongings, but finding themselves stripped bare of their items. Sonya understood how he likely felt. After all, she’d been awake long before him, her mind racing with grim possibilities of what lay ahead.

"Jesus Christ. What the fuck is goin’ on?"

Sonya knew he probably needed some time to process and understand fully what had happened and what was going on. Yet, as she watched the man groggily attempt to orient himself, her impatience flared.

The logical part of her understood that it would take him a moment to comprehend, to process the shock of it all. But she was too keyed up to give him the time he likely needed. Her thoughts were already on the next step, the next move. She didn’t have the patience to coddle someone who seemed to be moving at half the speed of her own mind. She knew she’d need to help him along through it probably but she honestly wasn’t sure she had the tolerance to. Before she could bring herself to offer a curt explanation—one likely laced with more irritation than sympathy—another voice piped up answering him instead, drawing her attention.

A woman approached, her steps light but purposeful, she was shorter than herself, with dark hair that was a bit unkempt, probably from being tossed around by their kidnappers, and had piercing eyes that seemed to match her own sharp gaze, the newcomer exuded an air of command that would have left Sonya impressed had she not been so angry and distressed in the moment. Despite the simplicity of her clothing, there was something undeniably refined in the way she carried herself. Sonya’s trained eye caught it immediately: poise, grace, and a certain confidence that suggested this woman had been raised in an environment where control was paramount, whether it was over people or situations. Perhaps nobility? Or at the very least, someone who had experienced life beyond the normal peasantry. Sonya’s gaze flicked over her with curiosity as the woman spoke, her tone calm and measured.

"Your belongings are gone, and you are locked in a cell with multiple strangers. I do hope you have the observational skills for that much."

"With your… injuries you seem to be the only man in the vicinity with the ability to assist with our escape. I believe we may be at sea, so unless they intend to push the wealthy off the ship with little reward but the gold off our backs, we have time."

The woman was blunt, but there was no trace of unnecessary emotion in her words—something Sonya could appreciate. As the woman explained their situation, detailing what little they knew in a way that was efficient and to the point, Sonya found herself breathing easier. At least someone here has their wits about them.

Sonya had been pacing, anxiety gnawing at her insides, unable to settle her mind. But hearing someone else speak—someone else who had clearly already thought through their next moves—helped ground her. The woman was right, there was no rush. No need for panic. She could breathe.

"It is nice to see someone else has the correct focus at hand. My name is Willow."

Sonya tilted her head slightly, her lips quirking up in a dry smile, the action was out of habit rather than her actually being happy about the introduction. "Sonya," she replied evenly, her voice a touch flatter than usual. "And I share your sentiments, it's nice to at least hear someone else say they don't plan on making it easy for these men to do what they want with us with no resistance. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but…" Her gaze swept the dim, rank surroundings of the cell, taking it all in and sweeping her hand out in a gesture that was saying 'I mean look at where we are.' She looked back to Willow, raising an eyebrow. "Given our current...setting, I think I’ll reserve the more welcoming greeting for a time when we’re not locked in this miserable place."

Just as Sonya had finished speaking, a piercing scream pierced the air, an unexpected sound that had her nearly jumping out of her skin. Sonya’s hands shot up to cover her ears, and she froze for a moment, heart racing. She turned sharply toward the source of the sound, expecting to find one of the captors entering the cell, possibly taking their frustrations out on one of their fellow prisoners. But instead, she realized the sound came from the man in the corner. Another one of their cellmates curled into himself on the floor.

Sonya’s brow furrowed, and she let out a long, frustrated sigh. Of course. The last thing they needed at this moment was a grown man crumbling into a heap of helplessness. They were in a dire situation, and this kind of breakdown could be more than just a personal issue—it could be a liability. She couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for someone who wasn’t contributing to finding a solution. The weight of her frustration built as she rubbed a hand over her face. Great. I'm surrounded by useless men.

Turning away from the man, who at least seemed to be recuperating after letting out his scream, Sonya’s attention returned to the now fully awake man and Willow. She gave him another look—a cold assessment this time, her mind clicking through possibilities. He was a bit battered but better than nothing, and at the very least he was awake now. That was a start.

"Well," Sonya began, her voice low. "I suppose Willow here is right—no need to rush into anything reckless—but still, I was wondering…" She let her eyes linger on the man, her gaze focused and calculating, as she weighed her words. "Can you pick a lock? Fight? Know how to make a shank?" The barrage of questions hung between them, her tone less sharp but still direct and blunt. She waited for an answer, but before he could respond, something else struck her, and her brow furrowed.

"Ah—pardon me," she added, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of frustration at her own lack of composure. She had gotten Willows's name but completely disregarded the man's, not that she really cared for it but if she wanted something from him it made sense to at least know what to call him. "I’m Sonya. I helped you wake up just now, you're welcome. And your name is?"

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AnimeGenork]

MADELINA VOLKOVA.

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Maddie

Decoy

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Warm & Melancholic

OUTFIT

Put Together

LOCATION

Dining Hall

MENTIONS

Dolores

INTERACTS

Rayna

TAGS

lyn.

WOLF — FIRST AID KIT.

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A PRINCESS

always takes care that her words are honeyed, for she may have to eat them.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Even with her drastically improved mood, Madelina’s lacking abilities in social interaction had not prepared her for the bombardment from one Rayna Mallor. Hands gripped her shoulders, eliciting a yelp from her mouth as she struggled to pinpoint the source. Was the ship under attack? Was she? Maybe it had been a terrible idea to leave her room—but no, it was simply the older woman directing her into the dining hall. Her lips parted to respond, but the words failed her.

She gazed upon her unexpected companion’s face, noting the way she seemed to be looking for something. Or someone. Because of course she was. Why would anyone choose to spend time with her, on purpose? This interaction was happenstance, a coincidence. Madelina lowered her eyes, resigned to being the second choice for Rayna’s morning. It was a form of kindness, and so she was not in a position to protest it.

Despite clearly having decided to join her on a whim, Rayna began talking as if it was nothing, no effort required to speak to the ship’s resident guest-turned-murderess. Madelina’s mind could keep up with the flow of the conversation, but her mouth could not. She tried to find an opening to reply, especially to the comment about being pale—she had to keep her complexion as close to the princess’s as possible—but floundered in the wake of the barrage of words.

Finally, an opening presented itself. Yet Madelina could only shake her head and stammer, “Oh n-no, please don’t trouble yourself. I-I am perfectly fine with everything in my cabin.” Oh. Well. She did need something. “Um, b-but if there’s any around, I could use some p-paper and a pen.” Yes, keeping it vague would help. The less the ship knew about her intended correspondence, the better.

Briefly, she considered answering the question of how she was doing, but she chose to ignore it. That was a question she was not sure she could answer, even after the heartening conversation with Dolores. One evening could not change the guilt in her heart, nor the breakage, as much as she wished it could. And one woman’s kindness over breakfast could not shine enough light on the new darkness in her soul any more than the true sun.

So, although she was ignoring half of Rayna’s inquiries, her gaze drifted to the buffet, and she allowed herself a small smile. “I wanted to obtain my own food. I’ve inconvenienced everyone enough.” Though she was used to being treated as a princess, or as a prisoner, she had barely been afforded much opportunity to choose her meals for herself. Before the beach, before it had happened, she had managed to do so just fine on the Leviathan. But the muscle memory had been lost in the chaos. It was time to get that back.

Stopping before the buffet, she eyed the spread before her, a little overwhelmed. So this was what mealtime on a ship looked like after docking and restocking. How wonderful…

Oh. Was she drooling a little?

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AnimeGenork]

ARATA FUKUDA.

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Arata

Cupid

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

REVIVED

OUTFIT

Drunkie (+ Red Sash)

LOCATION

Mess Hall

MENTIONS

Ilya

INTERACTS

Jackson

TAGS

Harrowhark

STILL REMEMBERING — AS IT IS.

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MAN

being reasonable, must get drunk. The best of life is but intoxication.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Following the smell of food was a cinch. Where there was food, there was drink, and that was a simple fact of existence Arata had learned from the moment he’d become reacquainted with rum. Even as disheveled as he looked, it was nothing compared to the state of the ship itself, even with its recent restocking venture. It didn’t take Arata long to ascertain that he had made it onto the ship destined to take him elsewhere for his vacation, anywhere but Zenith. There was talk of Sirocco, and while there would be those there who would beg for his matchmaking services, he was willing to put up with that so long as he was far, far away from the epicenter of noble circles. Of course, he would need plenty of drink to be able to handle such a thing, and so here he was.

He'd made it to a table, which was progress over passing out in some hallway the previous night, his new best friend gone, presumably to bed. As soon as he sat down, gravity, or what of it existed while on the sea, weighed down his bones and muscles, rooting him to the spot. His head gradually lowered, and he figured he would doze here, on this very uncomfortable wood, until such a time came when he recovered his energy enough to raid the liquor stores.

Arata was well aware that someone had sat next to him, but in the not-quite-hungover-not-quite-drunk state of his mind, he was as yet unable to distinguish the words hurtling at him through the fog. Or was it water? So hard to tell states of matter like this. He definitely wasn’t underwater, but he might as well have been for the muffling of words out of the other man’s mouth.

And then—flask.

His hands wanted to grasp it, but the muscles did not cooperate. Thankfully, his new new best friend (sorry Ilya), unscrewed the cap and held it up to his mouth. Arata’s lips embraced the flask greedily, gulping down just about the entirety of its contents. Ah, refreshing. Like water for normal people.

As if he hadn’t been momentarily disabled by tiredness, Arata sat up and stretched his arms above his head. Fully recharged, now that he’d had—well, he wasn’t quite sure it had been rum, but it had alcohol, and that was all that mattered right now. He still wasn’t listening very well to the man, something about someone named Loraine (who the fuck was that?), but he at least afforded a blank gaze in his new best friend’s direction. Pretending to listen was easy.

The apathy had returned to his face, but he managed an eyebrow raise at being called Ronald. That was new. Perhaps he should adopt that identity when they got to Siroc. Would make things easier, so long as he remembered to lose the sash. Shit, that was thing was like an alarm bell to every noble desperate to marry.

He’d had no intention to speak just yet, so as the man tapped his mouth, he stayed silent and still. Amazing how sober he could look while alcohol flowed through his veins and drowned his liver. Yet in moments, he was given an opening, and since he wasn’t required to say much in response, at least by his estimation, he leaned his elbows on the table and managed a smirk.

Giving the other man a bombastic side eye that bordered on flirtatious (except it wasn’t because Arata had no clue how to give off such an aura on purpose), he simply stated, “A.”

That was all that was required of him, yes?

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

THE BUTCHER.

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Aurelian

Fiocchi

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

friendly (i swear)

OUTFIT

shirtless rip

LOCATION

The deck

MENTIONS

Blade

INTERACTS

Harrowhark

Hell Above — Pierce The Veil

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Fuschian Purgatory.

Not calm enough for purple, and too gentle for red. Do you even exist or are you just a concept as well?

Chapter Four.

Aurelian woke up before dawn with a hangover and immediately regretted everything about last night. Control freak about himself and his own body, he immediately felt something twist inside of him – a strange tension as he felt the alien untetheredness that he so loathed.

He needed to get up and get back to his schedule.

In the kitchen, he did not say anything to Lara as he gave her the menu of the day. Standard stuff that he wouldn’t have to think too hard about making.

After doing his job for the first time in a while and then prepping for lunch, he made himself a black coffee with eggs and then began to stretch out his muscles, feeling all of the creaky strain of muscles that hadn’t been worked over. Shadowboxing was something which he had already resigned himself to when nobody was around to indulge in his sparring needs.

He was just wrapping up his knuckles when a man approached him.

A challenge. Strange name, Blade Longsword. Most definitely fake, but then again… Well it took a certain type of person to cast themselves aboard a ship for an indefinite period.

“Aurelian.” He would not give Dante the pleasure of sharing a last name.

“That’s not my name! What are you talking about?”

The denial is immediate. His eyes narrow, but the truth of the statement keeps him from responding. Yes, that is indeed not the name that he gave.

“... my name.”

Not a question, an answer. Only cowards answered questions with other questions.

It did not take long for Aurelian to understand that the Not Aurelian was hopelessly outclassed with his abilities. If it was worth doing, though it was worth hundred-percenting so as he waited for Blade to get back up, he was still bouncing on the balls of his feet, though keeping his hands in a more lowered stance, only stopping when it was clear the fellow Siroccan needed a longer break.

“I thought you were going easy on me.”

“Why would I do that.” A flat question, though his hackles were raised somewhat at the implication of not trying his hardest. With the soreness that Blade quite clearly displayed, there was an element here of probably needing to call it quits. However, this lad was clearly not a quitter, and neither was Aurelian.

Fists drawn back up, he took in the scribe’s form in all of it’s… fascinating display.

…

“Let’s go again.”

Aurelian did not respond verbally, just resumed bouncing. A left jab to the chest, a right uppercut to the gut, and then a weave backwards. With Blade’s flagging energy and clear poor posture, it was not hard to floor him once more.

He weaved again to the side. Aurelian was not one for excess or showboating, but he did send a small karate chop to the base of Blade’s neck, sending him to the ground once more. That was excessive, thank you. But then again, not knowing your limits was one’s own folly.

“... Have you fist fought before? Your form is lacking, and your stamina is low.” There was also a physical advantage, he had a larger wingspan and much more muscle laced into his frame — most definitely an experience gap as well. But someone like this usually was not confident enough to challenge him to a fight, and such ambition should be rewarded.

That being said, it did come out as critique rather than anything constructive.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Pepsionne]

THE HUNTSMAN.

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MAGNUS

MOOD

CURIOUS, REFLECTIVE

OUTFIT

classy

LOCATION

THE LEVIATHAN

MENTIONS

MENTIONS !!

INTERACTS

escapist Maltke

THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD — NICHOLAS BRITELL.

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DEATH TWITCHES MY EAR

"Live," he says,
"I am coming."

CHAPTER FOUR.

Thin morning light washed over Magnus’ pale skin as he stood aboard The Leviathan. The water churned beneath the cut of the ship’s hull, an ambient white noise to pad the lining of his skull and cut down the free roam of his thoughts.

Smoke twisted in snaking tendrils, stretching and diluting until the sea breeze greedily ate through its hazy form. He ashed the cigarette over the railing with a simple flick of his fingers. Magnus’ gaze lingered on the skin of his knuckles. Pale, washed flesh stared back. He thought of the crusted blood that had stained such pristine looking hands merely hours ago. The metallic smell infiltrated his nose from the memory.

Magnus took another drag of the cigarette. He titled his head back slightly, back leaning on the hard wood of the Leviathan’s railing. A dull groan pulled from his throat when he allowed his neck to relax further. A few clouds dotted the yawning arc of sky above. He squinted against the strengthening rays of sunlight, stretching their long fingers further along the horizon as each second passed.

Heavy coins burned a hole in his pocket, their reminder of the deed required to earn them eating through his clothes like acid to press hot shame into his skin. The man’s life he had taken last night fit neatly into the small space in his coat. If he took his mind off of it for even a second, the weight was simply--forgotten.

Despite the moral quandary that dared to float in the murky gray waters of his conscience, Magnus felt a soothing relief to the gnawing desperation of his uselessness aboard the ship. His skills were still as sharp as ever--even though last night’s bounty had ended messier than he would have preferred.

Heavy footsteps dragged against the ship’s wood flooring. Magnus was pulled from his moment of reflection, straightening his posture as the sight of an older man came into view.

His grey eyes bit with the razor edge of a knife as he raked them over the man’s figure. Analytical, vacant, predatory. The cold gaze of a wolf as it closed in on its prey.

The two men contrasted each other with the starkness of shadow against sand. Magnus, buttoned up, pale and swathed in black fabrics. The older man was disheveled, slightly greasy hair tousled with little care and clothes hanging to their threads for dear life.

Magnus could feel a lethality to him, however. Something lurking beneath the façade of a harmless drifter. He ashed the cigarette again, the motion sharp--controlled brutality.

“Rough night in Antares, huh?” He smiled, white teeth gleaming with a hidden threat.

He fished into the pocket of his coat, revealing the pack of cigarettes out to the man. He raised a heavy brow. “You smoke?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Shadow]

The Drowned

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Toska

"??"

...

MOOD

Still confused + pain

OUTFIT

Still dirty + Coat

LOCATION

The Brig

MENTIONS

Willow, Adrian, Brig Team

TAGS

...

Souvenirs - Saycet

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How can one Live

With heartstrings unwound,
and nothing beneath?

Has a ghost ever overcome despair?

Chapter Four.

Strewn over with the pattern of shadows in The Reaper's brig, but not disguised by it, Toska stood against the back wall, looking almost as if someone might have ordered him to stand there.
Yet his vacant gaze suggested a far less productive occupation: thinking.

Familiarity...recognition...
Some...vague sensation of being slightly less untethered than he had been.

In Antares, something had occurred which was impossible to describe and impossible to disregard: he had encountered the first tiny flicker of familiarity in another's eyes, could still imagine it perfectly if he tried, and found a certain comfort in knowing he might be able to recognize it again, if he was lucky enough to arouse such sentiments in anyone else.

The bartender at The Roost had asked if he would order the usual, then looked him over a second time before frowning and apologizing for mistaking him for someone else. On further questioning, they had acknowledged that, yes, perhaps Toska had been there before, and no, they didn't know his real name.
They had gone on, however, to supply two other pieces of information, which Toska still struggled to accept quite as easily; he had always been drunk whenever they saw him, and always appeared to be alone.

It couldn't quite match the elation he might have felt if a memory had returned directly to his own mind, nor was it a particularly favorable remembrance, but it was something to cling to: a solitary, belated thing that Toska was still glad to identify as a piece of himself, still relieved to crystalize in his mind as one of the footprints in the path that must have led to where he currently was...

...kidnapped and ocean bound: his hands hung empty and unblemished at his sides, while fresh dirt layered over old dirt on his clothes and a slight crust of blood on his lip played evidence to any observation one could make that he had been in...a fight?
Nay, a struggle, at best.
Of course, there weren't many things that could bring someone into The Reaper's noxious guts aside from some conflict or other.

That knowledge hadn't informed Toska's reaction when the pirates first accosted them, though. In fact, getting kidnapped had only reinforced the faint misconception that now colored his thoughts with deepening hues.
- In the span of a month, he had woken on a beach, been swept up rather generously by the crew of The Leviathan and taken out to sea: then, winding up bewildered on the streets of Antares, he had been swept up somewhat less generously by the crew of pirates who now bore him out, presumably, back onto the open ocean.
If he had ended up with the impression that being confused and lost on any solid ground meant some ship's crew might snatch you up and take you back to sea...well, could he really be blamed for it?

Toska certainly had some regret, though, that he had caused anyone to fall into these circumstances with him.
It didn't seem to be in Willow's nature to look lost or confused, so if she had given that impression to their kidnappers, it could only have been for her proximity to him.

And so, ever since the pair had been deposited unceremoniously into the cell, Toska found himself unable to meet Willow's gaze or even attempt to look anywhere above the height of her shoes. Well, it was mostly the hem of her dress: which, he realized with further remorse, was now wrinkled and dirty beyond what such a nice fabric should ever be subjected to.

Another wave rolled beneath The Reaper as the whims of the open water forced them into its drift, and Toska leaned reflexively into the wall to steady himself, stared even more blankly at the dim, damp floor.

If he had managed to set aside his pensive manners, he would have encountered an uncomfortable awareness of the speed of his heartbeat and the sticky sweat coating his palms; would have felt his breath coming in short, stiff bursts that didn't quite concede to any urge to panic, reasonable though that might have been.
Instead, he was nudged closer to the looming chasm of impotent lethargy by the eruption of a long shriek from someone across the cell from him.

Startled, Toska abandoned his thoughts and attempted to identify the source of the wail, but the subsequent apology prompted him to carefully avoid staring at the gentleman.
Yet, in looking away, his eyes flickered across Willow and drew his notice to the words she spoke: "the only man in the vicinity with the ability to assist..."

Whoever the intended target of her words may have been, Toska felt its reproach with immediate sting.
His face became painted in a stark blush, and in cruel symphony, his ears thrummed with the rush of blood, made him lightheaded, and slightly worsened the nausea that his current state of dehydration had already caused.

Toska straightened his posture with an evident effort toward appearing reliable, maybe even calm. But he couldn't find the necessary strength to move away from his small haven within the wall's supportive reach, and could only manage to weather one last glance toward the three dauntless captives, before he sank to the floor.

Plenty of the other prisoners seemed distraught or numbed by their circumstances, so he tried not to dwell on whether his own actions were acceptable or not. If someone could simply tell him how one ought to act in a captive situation, though, his gratitude would have been considerable: he was beginning to crave a relief from the guesswork, which so fruitlessly occupied his thoughts.

For now, sitting motionless on the horribly crusty floor, bashful and fatigued, would have to do.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[lyn.]

THE CHEMIST.

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MILLY

BYRTHA

MOOD

EXCITED

OUTFIT

I WOKE UP LIKE THIS

LOCATION

THE LEVIATHAN DECK

MENTIONS

SCARLETT, GRAHAM

INTERACTS

qunqun

SPACE GIRL — FRANCES FOREVER

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SAY WHAT YOU WANT

but say it like you mean it
with your fists for once, a long cold war
with your kids at the front

CHAPTER FOUR.

Milly almost patted herself on the back. What a great start to the day! Getting help and gaining a customer in one go! She was doing a great job! This was a great sign, maybe this venture on the Leviathan will be as profitable as she had hoped!

Wait. Is he coughing? He couldn’t be sick, could he? The thought made Milly nervous, of course the first person she found was sick! There was no doubt a sickness would spread fast on a ship, they always did in Empyra Academy. Oh, how Milly hates being sick! She can barely move or do anything! Back in Empyra, getting Milly up to eat took Anan all day to do! Maybe she should find someone else to help her before-

“Sorry love, it got in my mouth-ehm.”

Oh! Nevermind.

Milly smiled as the man asked for more, maybe it smelled good after all! Perhaps Milly should stop relying on her nose, if its smelling ability was this warped already. She sprayed more of the perfume on the stranger's hand at his request.

“There’s-there’s something very… unique in here… What ehm… what…?”

Milly tilted her head and began counting with her fingers. “Alcohol, some aldehydes, parfum- I didn’t add any fixatives because this perfume is just a test. So the smell won’t last very long. I don’t have many ingredients for scent right now other than the aldehydes. But someone on this ship did me a great favor earlier, and I promised her I’d make her some perfume! I used some fruits from the dining hall! Juice from a lemon, orange, durian, and some grapes!”

She wondered if the boat had an alcohol collection. Perhaps if there were some strongly flavored drinks, she could attempt to use those as well. Or maybe there was someone on the boat who collected oils!

“I’ll be struggling with ingredients until we dock on the next ship, so if you know anyone who collects flowers or scented things of the like, please let me know as well! Oils, juices, drinks, flowers, herbs, anything can be put to use! I’d also be willing to give you some of my products as a thank you as well! Many men don’t use lotion, it makes no sense! It makes you smell good and your skin happy, why wouldn’t they use lotion? You use lotion, right?”

She gestured towards the stranger's hand, “Do you like the smell? Should I adjust it at all?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE CAPTAIN.

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LEXIS

THE CAPTAIN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Sighs dreamily... sharks...

OUTFIT

FROLICS ABOUT

LOCATION

LEVIATHAN DECK.

MENTIONS

Monte, Knox.

INTERACTS

Daddy Dream

TRAVELIN' MAN — DEAD POET S.

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WHEN GOD TOOK

the rib out of man
he left him missing one bar
a deliberate half-closure

CHAPTER FOUR.

The man raised a brow at Lexis.

A single brow.

A single, malevolent, judgemental brow.

This simple action is enough to crush the captain’s short-lived bravery in initiating a conversation, and apprehension rises to the surface to wind tension back through his shoulders. Monte’s features crust over with the brevity of a smile. Shallow, polite, maybe enough not to make Lexis turn on a heel and walk off to hide in his quarters.

"It is indeed a fair morn,” oh my god, “with a cool wind and a pleasing sound of the waves to lull you into relaxation."

Oh lord. Oh heavens. Words bathed in politesse and carved with a prose far better than his own, the delicate syllables and conversational ease has Lex needing to stare at the horizon to regather his senses. Water good, water safe, water doesn’t speak or smile or hold you at knifepoint–

That is not a knife that is a hand.

In the distraction-seeking tendency, he is delayed to respond to the extension from the man. Ah. Lexis knows of these, the handshakes. Many undefined facets to these affairs: one shake? Two shake? Three shake? Four? How many till considered inappropriate? How gentle to hold the hand? Do they hug?

Lex takes it firmly and gives it a single shake. Good. Efficient. Not weird. Hello. I am a human being, too.

"The name is Monte Greyfin, Royal knight to Duchess Frankfort.”

Oohhh.

Ohhhhh fuck that’s certainly a name.

“Your introduction is duly noted.” Say something else. “Greyfin has a fitting association to sharks. Pleasant creatures.”

Okay.

Thank-you Lexis.

The duchess sounds familiar from his records, and when in this nobleman’s estimation, Lex worries he does not have many titles. Should he? Should he be mischievous and flex? Royal Captain? Knower of Sharks? Would that seem like he’s threatened and trying to out-title the man?

“Lex.” He omits his position in hopes it will help him avoid any questions on where to find things. Knox is the gatherer of towels, wherever that boy might be currently.

Hunting linens. Or women. Both, perhaps.

“How righteous,” he praises Monte about the bird. Speak fancier. This is a royal knight to a duchess. “Your faith in the avian species is acknowledged and respected. We can only hope to emulate their loyalty to a cause.”

Is this bonding? Is this how it’s done? Bonding over loyal birds??

Royal knight to Duchess Frankfort— should Lex bow? Antares Bumpkins aren’t made for this. The man has not made any sudden movements, remained steady as the sword Lex is sure the man knows how to wield, and for this he can be grateful.

They stand in odd silence while the blonde moves bored eyelashes through the sapphire toned air, watching the ocean and the blue crystalline that divides this crew and another. A stare turned prising, eyes weighing with curiosity.

“Ship.” He observes flatly. It sure is! New variable to the equation, and it softens the unease for conversation. “Fast ship.”

At this distance it is only a vague shape on the horizon, blurred blue from scattered light and pervasive reflection of the sea. Not something for alarm, but it is the Captain’s equivalent of announcing “horses” on a roadstrip.

“May I enquire about your enthusiasm for vessels of the sea, Sir Greyfin?” Sir seems right. Mister does not feel applicable for such young features. Like a hobbyist determined to capture a bug or plant, Lexis is patting his coat for the location of his small spyglass. He finds it on the inside, extends it out and eyes the item of maritime interest for a long moment.

The ship from Antares, sleek as oil and inconveniently sailing for their direction.

Ah.

Impolite.

“You may wish to inform your Duchess,” he calmly offers the spyglass towards Monte without moving his gaze from the silhouette, “I anticipate conflict in our near future.”

It is, as they say… a hot new bombshell has entered the villa…

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE CRYPTKEEPER.

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GRAYSON

B. MOYER

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

YOU BITCH.

OUTFIT

COATY ON THE BOATY

LOCATION

MEDBAY

MENTIONS

GROG & ILYA

INTERACTS

qunqun

FIRST DATE — SHAYFER JAMES.

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TAINTED BLACK AND BRUISED

A chorus lifts itself onto my mouth’s blade:
dying is an art, so just like everything else
I must do it exceptionally well.

CHAPTER FOUR PART II.

“There wasn't a body left over to bury on either of our casualties’ behalf.”

Grayson rotates like a plate in the microwave. Menacing. He’s sneering at Ilya like the man has just insulted his ancestors. All his pale, crusty, temperamentally challenged ancestors.

“I beg your finest pardon.” A chord has been hit, and although Grayson is passive enough not to strike Ilya physically, the talon of his hand snatches the doctor’s cup away like a parent revoking a child’s toy.

Oh good, Grayson is ROBBING people on his first day.

“You do NOT need a body to mourn people.” A scold for the grown man who has diminished his job to just hanging out with corpses.

He’s more than that! He eats tasty little biscuits with families!

As well as hanging out with corpses!

With nothing more to add to his pointed finger reprimand, Gray realizes that he is still holding the drink hostage.

“Don’t know why I took that from you–” he corrects his behavior and gingerly returns the cup back to Ilya’s vicinity so he may proceed with the tea-making. “Here you are.”

Frustration ever entangled with the funeral director, how easily influenced the Moyer boy is to ire. Older and less polished around the edges maybe, but the scarcity of patience in the face of disregard and eccentricity is a spur still easy to skewer.

“I suppose in the future your services may be required though.”

HE SUPPOSES???????

The girls are FIGHTING.

Gray’s lips thin to a line, and he thinks he has greatly misunderstood the territory that spans between them. Once viewed to be a familiar platform, now a dividing line of rivalry. A chill of dislike blankets his original interpretation of this thin man. A healer and a grave digger, oil and water. One mends the body and the other buries it.

“I do not need your supposition.” He bites back. “Fail to do your job, and my services will be required.” A warning? An omen? Grayson is not cruel by design, and if he were to know the fault Ilya had shouldered from Algol, perhaps the allocation of that anger would not be so aimlessly flippant.

The grump lacks the provision and context for understanding, and in his annoyance, wants to look anywhere but at the doctor. His own petulant sip sounds from the cup— oo yes a proper good brew— for the quicker he finishes the tea, the quicker he can flounce away from this oddity like an aggrieved bird.

“... I was not aware that you were thinking of such propositions, Mr Grayson.” Oh no. “Are you attracted to doctors?”

His brain stutters and the mouth follows— heat flaring from face to throat. The tea goes down wrong, then worse: up, searing through his nose. He jerks, eyes watering.

“Hoh—“ it’sa me, graysio. “It’s ho– ‘s in my nose, oh my fuc–”

Gray waves a frantic hand to dismiss any possible opportunity the doctor may take to do any doctory things. He’s still blinking against the uncomfortable sting when he manages a reply outside of strangling noises.

“I most certainly am not.” How dare this LEWD PROFESSIONAL man speak to him like that. This time the doctor’s grin does cause disquiet, and it’s enough for Gray to set the tea down heavy on the counter.

Enough was enough.

He must attack this man.

Shall they backflip?

“I’m going to ask this, doctor, with all due respect,” which was none. Grayson steepled his fingers like a lazy prayer then pointed them towards Ilya like the tip of a drawn arrow. “Are you intoxicated or just insane?”

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[CrimsonInk]

THE DESCENDANT.

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DAHLIA

BLACKWATER

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

HAHA NOT SCARED (YES I AM)

OUTFIT

Other rags

LOCATION

THE DECK

MENTIONS

BARON >:|

INTERACTS

AGNES | PENDING BOOK MAN

TAGS

@Atamita | PENDING Wyll

HOIST THE COLOURS
— JONATHAN Y FT. OTHER PPL.

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Everyone is a monster to someone

Since you are so convinced that I am yours. I will be it.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Sight of the Reaper caused a breakthrough in Dahlia that she hasn’t felt in a long time — Fear. Voices she had once ignored began to rise, their deep echoes sending shivers down her spine.

The king and his men stole the queen from her bed

No. She wasn’t ready. The sea better be ready to roar the Reaper to the ends of the earth. May there be no man on that ship alive enough to see her. She won’t go back.

And bound her in her bones

Many know not of her birthright. The way the devil of Antares and the siren of light from the Cascades fell in love. Only their love would become short and tragic with the stars cursing the bride with their sight. A sight that would tell of the devil's demise. The constant reminder haunted her, even after giving birth to their child, Amelia. So she turned to the one thing that kept the demons at bay — rum.

The seas be ours and by the powers

Dahlia took in deep breaths pacing around the vessel's dock. Her hands tightening to fists, opening, then closing again. An energy coursed through her as if she could have been pumped with sugar. Is this what being anxious was? No, that’s not right. She can’t be anxious. It wasn’t in her blood to be. Fuck you anxiety, you can’t get me.

Where we will, we'll roam

Her stomach growled but she wasn’t hungry. Her throat was as dry as sandpaper, but she wasn’t thirsty. Right now she didn’t know what she wanted. All her thoughts kept spinning since they departed Antares. Stepping foot in that shit hole felt normal. It felt so close to something inviting, but was that really what she wanted? It agitated her. It fueled an anger so deep she kicked the wooden crate next to her breaking it.

Yo-ho, all together

No. That’s what that man wanted. She wasn’t about to have it. Emotions carried the Antares runt off not relying on reason to deal with her own demons. In the midst of her wanting to cool off she ran into a person — her nose hitting their face hard with a shot of pain spreading out to her cheeks.

Hoist the colors high

“GAH!” She yelled, her eyes narrowing towards the person she ran into.

Short black bob hair, questionable eyes, and a look of ‘oh shit’ plastered on her face — now what do you have to be so scared about? Oh. Right. Me.

Heave ho, thieves and beggars

“Hey. You,” she sniffed, letting a hand out, “are you hurt?”

Never shall we die

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[escapist]

THE OLD-TIMER

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Maltke

Cycek

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

hostile, disturbed, talkative, slightly amused

OUTFIT

His usual dirty coat of course

LOCATION

The Levi's deck, a more secluded part

MENTIONS

Knox, Magnus

INTERACTS

Magnus, @Pepsionne

No - No

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"Why am I still here? Someone help!"

Chapter Four, Part ii

"Rough night in Antares, huh?" Yer little son of a leper, lifeless...

Maltke stopped, he didn't want to though. He would have prefered to walk past the now oddly friendly-acting figure, keep looking for Knox or just enjoying the keep looking for Knox or maybe forget about him entirely and just enjoy this beautiful and uneventful morning for once. However he now did stop which meant he had to deal with the situation, using every last of skills of decieving and manipulation.

"Nah...nothin' speacial." He grunted, trying to revive his weak voice that had been overused in the chaos of last night. He finally turned fully towards the ghoul, his lone eye connects with Magnus'. Maltke squinted, holding the intense eye-contact with a mixture of challenging stubborness and cold-blooded warning before he caught himself. "Ye know..." He cleaned his throat and dropped his gaze like an absent-minded grandfather whose mind was already drifting to another, equally irrelevant memory.

"Just um...some drinkin'..." He grimaced as his mind was working on full power to come up with a fulfilling, yet vague and not too suspicious answer.

"You smoke?"

"Yes fuckin' please!"

Maltke's hand darted out maybe a bit too quick and eager to snatch a cigarette out of the pack. Nicotine would help him to relax and concentrate for sure. He stepped aside, looking through the situation's thick veil of tension and the wooden railing of The Leviathan while his other hand disappeared under his coat, searching for a match. His restless eye relaxed on the horizon where the blue sky kissed the shining waves that were brushing the ship bellow them.

The idyll of the skyline was disturbed only by a distant, black dot of a ship, approaching slowly. And of course the presence of the bounty hunter, whose close proximity maintained the pressure on the old man's muscles, keeping him on his toes. After a little fumbling, Maltke scratched the sole of his old boots with the match and finally lit his cigarette. Choosing the same position as Magnus, he leaned back against the railing and inhaled the caustic smoke.

"Even a humble sailor like me need some time on the mainlands to release some tension..." The pirate in obvious disguise continued to clumsily fabricate his alibi for existence. "So ye see, I ran into a friend of mine and we spent our free night with explorin' that wretched city... Ye probably noticed these already..." Maltke carelessly pointed at the faint bruises on his skin and his overall disheveled appearance. "Well, we met a few unpleasant face...ye know how those pirates are, startin' a brawl out of fuckin' nothin'."

The smoke of their burning cigarettes mingled in the space between the men as Maltke kept speaking, controlling their conversation with his usual way of dumping word-thunder on the listener.

"I be no big deal but we uh...solved it somehow" He shrugged casually as if the convenient ending of his story surprised even himself. He took another drag, looking away to evade those unsettling eyes of his company. His mind was busy with creating a dream about a distant future of finishing the cigarette and leaving the bounty hunter politely. Meanwhile his mouth was moving of course.

"So yeah, a great time we had overall. I've never been in Antares before but t'was a positive kind of disappointment..." Maltke spat out words without remembering them after they left his lips. "Just too many troublesome folks, ye see. We be lucky to get away from there without bein' sinked. Anyways...I hope ye had yer fun yesterday!"

Maltke Cycek finally collected all his willpower to turn towards Magnus. Noted the sour expression on his face which seemed to be his usual characteristic.

"Life be not just about work, lad!" He nodded, being a bit satisfied with the wisdom he had just shared so casually. "Antares had the finest brothels...or they say so..." A faint grimace. "Some details be foggy about last night...anyways, how'bout ye? Did ye have a rough night? Based on that face of yers, I bet bwahhaaha"

Maltke allowed himself a respectful and boisterous laughter amidst the tension, not knowing the nature of the fun Magnus had last night. Yes, he was sure about that he would get out of this situation smoothly.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wyll]

THE GEMINI.

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Gallin

Luc Cardin

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

...Haunted

OUTFIT

Suddenly remembered that he's actually wealthy

LOCATION

Some hidden area in the ship

MENTIONS

CrimsonInk erzulie

INTERACTS

Dahlia, Skull-Faced Thing

Monster — EPIC SAGA.

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SEE THE WORLD

"Never feel bad for a blind man," he said finally; "for you see the world as it is, while I see it for what it could be."

CHAPTER FOUR.

Perhaps he had spent one too many nights romanticising sea faring - a life where the waves for his wife and the tide for his mistress, the shore naught but a jealous ex lover that he never had to see again. Perhaps he envied the freedom of the life they lived - doing as they pleased and going where they willed. In gacy, perhaps a small, naive part of him pitied the surely misunderstood lives of pirates. Perhaps we would be able to love them more but we cared to walk a mile in their shoes.

Who can say. The point is, for whatever blinded reason he told himself, when he saw the pirates on The Reaper, what held him was not fear. Even as greedy, hungry and blood-lusted gazes looked at all passengers like they were simply the next night’s meal, Luc simply watched from a quiet corner, almost awe-struck. To speak it out loud would be madness, but as he looked at them, he couldn’t help but feel that his own life was inadequate.

Until, that is, Luc saw him. Or…it. For there is little guarantee that what he saw was a person at all - it most certainly didn’t quite look like one and yet, at the same time, it did.

It stood at the back of The Reaper, a lone island in the sea of pirated aboard The Reaper. It was dressed fat nicer than any of the other pirates, and didn’t seem to be interested in the same things as the pirates. While the pirates scanned necks and wrists, Luc could swear that its eyes were fixed solely, entirely, almost obsessively…on him. However, it was more feeling than fact. After all, this thing had no eyes that Luc could see. Nor a face, for that matter.

It was either a mask - and a rather convincing one at that - or, Luc was experiencing some illusion induced by stars know what. But, whatever the case, Luc was now staring at a rather impeccably dressed thing with a black skull for a mask.

As soon as Luc spotted it, it seemed as though both hulking ships, the crowds on people on the ship and even the sea that separated the two ships vanished. For that matter, there were no clouds, sky or sun either. All Luc could see was this skull-faced thing. And, for lacking any actual eyes, Luc could have sworn that its gaze followed him as the two ships passed each other.

Endless, black, abyssal void within its eye sockets pored through Luc like he was see through and sent a debilitating chill down his spine. With no eyes, words, or facial expressions made, this skull face broadcast an emotion so raw, so potent, that it was nauseating. It felt like waves beating relentlessly, tirelessly, upon a rock until there was nothing left of it. It was pure, unbridled, malice. And every punch of it was directed entirely at Luc. Almost as though it couldn’t see - or, perhaps more accurately - didn’t care about anybody else. Those hollow eyes promised him a world of endless pain and eternal suffering and never has Luc believed so strongly in words that were never spoken.

And then Luc blinked and it was gone. The sky had returned, clouds floated above once again, and water crashed against the side of both ships as they passed each other. However, the mysterious entity that had been staring Luc down not a moment ago was nowhere to be found. It was gone, but never forgotten.The vision of it plagued his dreams and he woke up in a cold sweat, panting and clutching his chest, as though to make sure he hadn’t been dispossessed of his own heart. Panic eyes scanned the room, half expecting to see the skull-faced menace in the corner, waiting for him. But there was no one. Not a soul in sight, and yet, his room felt tighter than it ever had.

“...I need to find Devana.”

On any other day, Devana meant training, which meant a spoken spirit and aching bones. But today, for once, she meant safety. They had been training for so long that he knew all of her usual corners. However, he had searched every one of them, most of them as many as three times, but she wasn’t to be found in any. It was the one time he was actively seeking her out and she was nowhere to be seen.

Skull face had gotten to her. It was the only explanation. It had, somehow, known of the relationship between Luc and Devana and had gotten her out of the picture so that Luc would have no defense. He was a much more capable fighter now, thanks to her, but how does one fight a skull? Honestly, if anybody had an answer to that question, it would be her.

And so, he continued his search. The panic had fully set in, but he couldn’t allow that to be public knowledge. The great Galin Forestson could not be seen to be panicked in public. It would raise too many questions and he didn’t have any answers that didn’t make him sound like an absolute lunatic.

So, as he walked across the deck of the ship, he kept his appearance perfectly proper, almost too proper - as though every part of him was held by a string one hair away from snapping. His eyes were fully open, but he was only half seeing. Black spots would randomly appear and fade from his vision such that he couldn’t focus on anything at all, most certainly not where he was going.

It was probably why he bumped into her. Auburn hair, brown eyes, and ever bumping into his path - Dahlia. Although, he face was currently obscured by one of the aforementioned black spots in his vision, so he greeted her with a simple “Pardon me ma’am,” and continued on his way, getting more and more desperate as the clock - which only he could hear - continued to tick.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[lyn.]

THE AMENDED.

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RAYNA

MALLOR

MOOD

OUTFIT

mighty fine

LOCATION

DINING HALL

MENTIONS

LEXIS, GARY, MADELINA

INTERACTS

AnimeGenork

KING AND LIONHEART — OMAM

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PAST THE WANDERING EYES

of the ones that were left behind.
though far away, we're still the same,
we're still the same, we're still the same.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Listening to Madelina stumble on her words made a sort of amusement grow over her otherwise panicked mind. Oh, how adorable, Rayna should have approached her much sooner!

“Um, b-but if there’s any around, I could use some p-paper and a pen.”

Rayna hummed out loud, bringing a hand up to rub against her chin. A pen and paper made sense. If Rayna had someone close to her in Antares, she would want to share her traumatizing experiences with them as well. Especially when The Leviathan was supposed to be a simple luxury getaway. Alas, Rayna had no one to write to. Not even her sister would be bothered by her lack of reaching out.

“Order placed! I’ll have those sent to your room later today, how's that?” A mental note was made to send Gary on that errand later. It should be fine; the errand was simple enough that even he could not mess it up. It's not like anything major was going to happen. haha.

“I wanted to obtain my own food. I’ve inconvenienced everyone enough.”

“Please,” Rayna snorted, “if you want to see a true inconvenience try witnessing the Captain attempt a conversation.”

Approaching the buffet, her hunger came back full force. Rayna didn’t even realize she hadn’t eaten in Antares until she’d returned to the ship. It was instinct, it seemed, to avoid all that was too familiar to her.

Not to mention her only real option was the bean soup in that shitty bar. Ew.

“Phew! Thank god for this. I didn’t eat at all last night. Antares has good food, don’t get me wrong. But all that grease has made some of the residents here a bit gassy.”

Rayna piled as much food as she could fit onto her plate, sneaking food onto Madelina's when she wasn’t looking, and offering a sheepish smile when she got caught. She cleared her throat as they reached the end of the line and stood by Maddie's side. Already resolved to follow the girl around all morning.

“Alright, since you didn’t answer my question of ‘how are you?’ I’ll answer it for myself instead! I’m doing great now that the ship is back on track. You don’t know where we’re going next, do you? We’re going to Siroc, lovely place. I’ve only been there once myself, it’s fun, but spending time with no one but the wealthy is extremely exhausting. I was probably there for two weeks before I couldn’t take it anymore.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

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IN-CHARACTER

PURSUIT PART II

ROGUE WAVES

ANTARES.

EVENT.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑, 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬.

It’s the type of urgency that is fated to make some irrational, no matter how officials try to calmly shepherd guests towards their cabins. Word had dispersed through the ship like plumes of flame, drip-fed from crew to patrons until the once drowsy hive of the Leviathan was stirred with activity.

Pirates.

A foreign threat to the ship until now, having remained untouched and unscathed with most days spent in relative peace. There’d been the occasional marauder that would observe from a safe distance, but reconsider when they realized her mythic build is not just pure hubris.

A conflict not made for Zenith fields or Cascade marble, the cannons that lather the Leviathan with prestige is not a power to be mistaken as decorative. Noise from crew scampering around the main deck begins to reverberate through her layers as the Reaper’s approach is ascertained too direct to be one of peaceful tourism.

With charred wood like dead matter, the red of their sails are a growing haemorrhage in the wide blue, and no divine thought is needed to foretell the violence that will surely derive. You see each other as filth and share the same space of the apathetic sea. In this natural hostility, it will not be long till cannon-fire begins.

Fight you must, pledged allegiance to the King and therefore entered oneself to the machinations of noble sea fodder.

Cower you may, and thus begins a challenge where you may meet the fate of the weak regardless.

{IN-CHARACTER}

night owl