Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

[floralmoon]

THE SOOTHSAYER.

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KADER

MOOD

LOCKING IN

OUTFIT

yoga time!! (head scarf)

LOCATION

RAT'S ROOM

MENTIONS

Raticus

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.

The mysterious cat's name had been revealed, Grog, Rat was quick to clear any possibility of him having named the animal that, but Kader hadn't given much thought to what it was called in the first place. “Pale, noseless thing it do be, ya ya.” Noseless? They raised an eyebrow at the description, skeptical about the exaggeration of the cat's image. There wasn't much time to protest the claims before Rat lead the two down below deck to begin their search.

Kader tried to stay as close behind Rat as possible as he split the mob of people that were rushing out in panic. They would easily get lost if separated from the blonde, so as the ship rocked from the attack, Kader slightly tightened their grip. Unfortunately, with the two forming into one, this meant when Rat hit the wall, so did they. Thankfully the man was quick to recoup from the stumble, and continued to lead the duo.

"Imagine if we died."

Words sharp in Kader's mind, were they going to die? No. No, that won't happen. Would it? Rat spoke up once more, questioning who would go first out of the pair, with the refusal to accept the fate of death on a ship, technically, Rat would probably be the first to go due to his health, right? Unless, of course, Kader was met with a cruel premature ending, but that was not something they'd wish to think about at the moment. "Neither of us will die today. That much I know true."

A mood shift abruptly interrupts the pair as they enter Rat's room, the rocking of the ship must've overturned everything, while the man assesses the damage, Kader quietly kneels down to one of the plants, scooping the soil and greenery into their hands. Looking around the room, amongst the broken pottery, they find a tea cup that had managed to survive the impact. They place the contents from their hands into the porcelain, whispering, "You are a survivor." and gave the plant a pat.

Turning back to face their partner, they come face to face with gardening sheers being snipped at them. "Weapon?" Well, yes, quiet anything could be used as a weapon if you are determined enough. A smile appears on their face at Rat's imitation of a pirate, some comedic relief was nice, allowing Kader to breath for a moment. Their finger pokes the top of the scissors, "Yes. Good observation." Their hand gently wraps around the new found weapon, and they hold it in their hands. "I will carry them for us."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

The Bereaved.

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Graham

The Bereaved

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Claustrophobia

OUTFIT

Bisexual Whore

LOCATION

Milly's room- PSYCH

MENTIONS

Milly

INTERACTS

@lyn.

De Selby (Part 2) — Hozier.

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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 followed Milly as amicably as one could, no thoughts head empty just hanging out not thinking about the fact that there was a fast encroaching boat here to murder everyone. Nope.

Would it be a little fun? Were pirates gay? Did they fuck? FOCUS.

Back at home, he had at least a knife and a throwing axe, but here? Nothing- Oh shit he’d just gotten onto a boat with absolutely nothing.

She brandished a ladle at him, and Graham felt a small thrill at the idea of death… though maybe it’s best to keep this lovely woman alive. Right.

“Maybe try the bottle first.” He said, picking up a chair and jamming it underneath the door knob so that they were barricaded inside. “That should at least slow them down.”

The sounds of footsteps on deck were loud and panicked, and the entire ship tilted, and Graham scrambled out of the way of running into the dangerous chemistry set. That wasn't great. Tiny room. Sinking ship. The door was barricaded. No escape. The entire room seemed to shrink even further as a crushing weight settled into his chest. He had to get out of here-

The man recovering seemed to have paled dangerously and broken out into a cold sweat.

“I need to get out of here” Graham’s brogue had gotten thicker as he wheezed it out of a closing throat. With a strength fueled adrenaline, he ripped the chair out from underneath the door, threw it to the side haphazardly and ran for the upper decks again.

There, in the hallway, stood a pirate, dirty ragged clothes and the scent of failure about them.

Graham stared at them.

They stared at Graham. A gleam of silver was drawn, a curved blade specifically for gutting people such as the helpless poor gardener.

He turned around and started trying to book it away from the pirate once more, giving Milly a little shove to move as well. "Gogogogogogogogogo"

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[tsurene]

THE ABEL.

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Ephraim

PROKOPIOU

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

FREAKING OUT

OUTFIT

NOT YIPPEE

LOCATION

THE REAPER'S BRIG

MENTIONS

TOSKA, ADRIAN, LIZBETH, DEVANA, HOLLOW, EVERYONE IN THE BRIG...

INTERACTS

Shadow CrimsonInk

TOM ANELLO — NO SERVICE.

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Because empires will rise and fall

Like tides and I'll live through it all
But it won't mean a thing without
YOU.

CHAPTER FOUR.

…. Oh.

Oh.

Well, that was quick.

While the skull-faced man was beaten senseless by a prosthetic leg, Ephraim tried to steady himself as he stumbled back from his crouching position, his hands trembling slightly as he held his breath. The clang of metal on bone still rang in his ears, and he squinted in confusion, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. Aside from the sheer strength that lady must’ve had to swing her leg like a hammer, it was her accuracy behind the bars that threw him off. He really hoped the prosthetic stayed intact by the end of this, or at least salvageable enough for him to fix.

Though he was a little disheartened about his attempts on sneaking up to Hollow going to waste, Ephraim felt a flicker of relief that he wouldn’t have to resort to violence like he originally intended. The serpentinite rock in his grasp, cool and slick beneath his fingers, was unmarred by the violence that might have stained it. No red streaked its surface, no blood marred its polish; it remained pure green, like moss trapped beneath still water.

The young man turned his head back, checking his belongings and to see if his companion just saw the same thing he did. The half-and-half butterfly that Kohen bought him was still in the far corner where they sat moments earlier, untouched and still in one piece. It would’ve been a shame if his gift ended up getting its glass shattered. Ephraim was never as knowledgeable about insects as his brother was, but he knew from the perfect split down its wings that it was one of a kind. If he once again ruined something that had meant so much to his brother, then he wouldn’t be sure if he could possibly fix… everything.

Kohen would be furious. He was always so particular about the things he held dear, and Ephraim couldn’t blame him. The last thing he wanted was to be the cause of another broken piece between them.

But, right now, he had other concerns. Hollow’s mask was knocked out by the prosthetic, revealing a mass of grotesque, scarred flesh that was originally a face. Ephraim couldn’t help but feel a pang of something. Pity? Perhaps. But if he really wanted it, he wouldn’t have threatened everyone with a hole in their skulls. If only they met each other in better circumstances.

He spared another glance to the haggard-looking man who chose to help him. He must’ve been through hell and back before the abduction, yet he still jumped in for someone he barely knew. For that, the least Ephraim could do was to appreciate him. Once they finally escape and recover their belongings, he’ll make sure to offer something in return.

“Sorry that it didn’t go as planned,”

he said quickly, quietly.

“But thank you for helping me. I mean it.”

His steps were a little shaky as he stood, a faint limp betraying the tightness in his leg. He dusted off his overalls and made his way toward the gentleman who previously screamed his heart out, now composed in his fine ivory silk clothes.

“Sir, you said you knew Gallin Forestson personally, right?”

he questioned.

"Hollow won’t be able to kill us now that his weapons are taken. But if we're going to get out of here, you and the woman with the rabbit mask might be able to help put him in place. We just need him to listen."

He hesitated. The confidence he mustered for the attempted ambush was fading, replaced by a heavy weight pressing against his ribs. His eyes burned, and he tried to blink the feeling away, but it crept in anyway.

“I was traveling with my brother before this. Kohen. We were in Antares, just shopping. And then I was gone. And he- he’s out there. Or maybe he’s not. I don’t know. I don’t know if he even made it to the Leviathan, or if he’s hurt, or if he thinks I left him behind again.”

His voice cracked at that last word, a hot tear rolling down his cheek.

“I just… I need to know if he’s safe.”

He tried to breathe through the ache in his throat, but it was hard. Everything felt hard. The rock in his hand, the pressure behind his eyes, the fact that every second passing was another second without answers.

“I can’t lose him,”

he said, so softly it might’ve been to himself.

“Not again.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE PALADIN.

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ADRIAN

BISHOP

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

FOCUSED

OUTFIT

HELP THEY STOLE MY THINGS

LOCATION

THE BRIG!!!

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTIONS

EPHY | SONYA

TAGS

tsurene celestialbody

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.

Adrian was impressed and overwhelmed by the spirit his fellow cellmates portrayed in the matter of seconds compared to him. These people were not any regular sorts of nobles who would allow nature for it to take its course to decide where to put them on the pyramid. They hungered for their place, and rightfully so, they all collectively knew their true place wasn’t here. Compared to them, he was an embarrassment to the Bishop name.

What would his dear sisters think of him to just idle in this cell left for him to rot? Genuinely they would laugh at first, but they would be disappointed. To give up so easily was a luxury. It was that sort of mindset that kept him placed in his own hell, where comfort was his normal and anything challenging against that would scare him. But these people….

“Sir, you said you knew Gallin Forestson personally, right?”

The judge turned his attention to the young lad. Soft brown eyes that were lost in a sea of tears made Adrian really focus on him.

“Hollow won’t be able to kill us now that his weapons are taken. But if we're going to get out of here, you and the woman with the rabbit mask might be able to help put him in place. We just need him to listen."

His sense of fear was starting to fade slowly into the back of his mind.The devil on his shoulder no longer tempting him to run or hide like his cowardly spirit.

That man won’t listen to us I fear….

“I was traveling with my brother before this. Kohen.”

His head raised more with interest.

“We were in Antares, just shopping. And then I was gone. And he- he’s out there. Or maybe he’s not. I don’t know. I don’t know if he even made it to the Leviathan, or if he’s hurt, or if he thinks I left him behind again. I just… I need to know if he’s safe.”

Family. A value Adrian deeply held close to his own being. Family is practically everything to him, and to selfishly not acknowledge others who also have family made him upset with himself. How dare he not realize they also hold that special pain?

“I can’t lose him. Not again.”

Hearing his story about his own brother and worrying about them made him truly realize his own sense of worry for his family. His reason for why he was here. His purpose. It pained his own heart to see the young man in such distress. The world didn’t deserve kind hearts such as him, but it was the people like Adrian who were here to change that. His gavel to change that. Mustering whatever brain cell he lodged away in the corners of his mind were brought to light. A hand reached out to his shoulder with a protective hold to him.

“You won’t.” His words carried in the air, lingering in this deep promise he made for the young man.

Looking around the cell he had been bothered by the rust and feel of its metal since they were held captive there. The sound of the metal rattling from the corner made him think how long were these bars here before them. Likely years with no care to them, and that it was Adrian was hoping for.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the cell bars and starting to rattle them harshly.

There was no way they would have kept up maintenance with their cells. Pirates were more worried about things they could control and were often not so organized. With each bar he gripped, he rattled harshly with whatever muscle he had to bend them. That was until he found a pair that were starting to bend, his lips curling into a smile with a sense of ‘hurrah’ coursing through his veins.

“Young man! Over here,” he called over, “pull from the bottom and I have the top here.”

With both of them, it was easier to bend the bars and make a small opening. His muscles ached and hands dirty, he took a breath unable to pull back the metal any longer. Looking towards the others, it would seem that the women would only be small enough to go through — only his sense of reason started to fight against it. Not for their protection, but he needed to trust someone to know what they were doing. That was until his eyes raised to the woman in gold, the one who held the knife with an intense confidence he could feel resonate from her.

“You, miss, in the gold. The lad and I made a small opening here, and I believe you are our best bet into getting out. Please.”

Thankfully the woman seemed to understand and was able to squeeze through with no issue. Adrian patted the young lads back in thanks to his aid, and also let it rest on him protectively. Whatever happens now is up to the stars. That idea of prayer seemed almost funny to him as he had never thought of it before. Maybe the idea wasn’t truly mad.

Heavy stomps and ruckus from above started to make him question what was going on out there. His eyes looked up at the shadows moving about, the flecks of dust now raining down like snow until he heard a voice.

“Oi! Allow!”

Oh no.

“Yer needed for t’e Kings sheep!”

Oh stars no.

That voice followed with a man going down the steps with a gun in hand. A man who was just as grimey and disgusting as the last, held a gun to the group who were holding down Hallow. Adrian used his body to cover the young man and anyone else that was behind him from the possibility of the pirate firing at them.

“Don’t move!” he called out.

♡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.

The vacuous emptiness of space through holes of darkness, pupils blown wide as he stared like a cow at Grayson. Lips flapping. Sounds not at all reaching him. Void.

His body shook, a tremor going through him, rebooted once more. “Yes. Tools. Medicine.”

Really inspiring confidence here, Ilya.

There was a shuffle of feet towards the wooden cabinets, slow and deliberate movements of someone who definitely thought he was moving faster than he was. He pulled out a bag and… oooooo the world was spinning now.

Bag flying across the room, sharp implements swiftly becoming hazardous barbs of stinging death.

“Wheeee.” Completely undisturbed, star priests wished that they had this chill of a strung out physician. He lands upon something soft, like a pillowed piece of wood, and Ilya decides that this is his new home.

A fluffy white hazardous barb, Grog immediately lands on his face, fur a puffy cloud of indignation and fear as his yellow eyes darted around. The horror, the absolute terror inflicted upon the furry creature as he stared up at the two cuddling humans.

Immediately, the cat scurries underneath a cot and stays there enveloped by shadow and mystique.

“I’m alive, endangered, but alive.”

“Mmm… yes… it appears so.” He manages to clamber back up with the creaky ache of bones and joints much older than his soul. “We need to pick up the knives.”

They were not knives, they were needles and scalpels, and one by one, Ilya began to collect them once more. “We should also clean them at some point.”

Not right now, though. That sounded like a lot of effort.

…

The sound of heavy footsteps above, the loud clatter of steel and guns. Ilya stared upwards, a moth drawn to the swinging glow of the iron lamp above, hypnotized by the sounds of death and oooo fireball going in a circle.

“Are you good with a scalpel?” Ilya said, his eyes getting dragged over to Grayson’s pallid complexion. “The injured will come down, and we will have to sew them back together… all the little meat holes reopened…”

Meat holes. Ham handkerchief. Probably shouldn’t think about it too much. Though Ilya seemed to be a little more galvanized by the sounds of strife above, he began preparing for surgery.

A black cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth and then tucked into his shirt so that his entire neck was covered. A pair of gloves pulled out as he looked at Grayson, throwing the bits of stained leather at him. “There are tiny rocks in a test tube in the upper left cabinet. Add them to this bucket of water. Don’t touch the mixture. Use the gloves. Wash the tools.”

Ilya pulled out his herbal mixtures and began preparing for a massive amount of injuries.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

THE BUTCHER.

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Aurelian

Fiocchi

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

he paddlin'

OUTFIT

shirtless rip

LOCATION

The deck

MENTIONS

Blade, Melchior

INTERACTS

Harrowhark @yokai.

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.

The clouds of smoke and debris were beginning to blanket the sun. Beams of light were finding their way through, but Aurelian was struck with the sudden notion that it was quite kind of them to attack while everyone could… at least mostly see.

He stalked forwards, willing to help this stupid, annoying, condescending prick.

And then the world tilted sideways and sent Aurelian scrambling and sliding to stay on his feet, unused to the way that the world pitched and shifted suddenly, his knife going overboard.

Dragging his eyes off the ground, he saw a stupid idiot flying limply towards him and immediately hit him in the center of his body. The wooden railing smacked into the small of his back as the velocity of this motherfucker sent him into a freefall.

The first thought he had while falling: Ow.

The second thought: Wow I’m falling for a while this landing is going to suck.

The third thought: Oh shit which way am I fall-

The water shattered around his shoulders as he plunged into the icy depths, tendrils of cold seeping into immediately soaked body, air punching its way out of his lungs as he went feet overhead in his tumble downwards.

He coughed outwards, and water immediately rushed inwards, bubbles floating around. His limbs immediately began to flail, though his sense of direction was completely off, it felt like he was moving towards the warmth, his lungs burning beneath him as he broke the surface and something trapped in his throat.

Water poured out of his mouth gracefully as his throat reopened and he gasped for air. His arms pinwheeling and smacking into the water with the utmost class and skill in swimming. His legs kicking rapidly in a facsimile of how he believed this must go, the fabric of the pants floating about him and getting caught.

The water was freezing, his skin prickled. A wave smashed into his face and he swallowed a bit of saltwater.

There was a body next to him… floating. The frozen face of Antarin staring into him. He let out another incredibly dignified hacking cough through the burn of seawater going up his nose.

With, again, incredibly graceful flailing that was not at all the signs of a drowning man, Aurelian felt a deep heaviness drifting into his body, though he knew to stop his… swimming would be to die.

Stupid Antarin and his stupid body that made him go over the stupid railing- ACK another wave made Aurelian spit out more seawater.

The anger towards the indignity of this situation fueled his limbs to start slowly paddling his way towards the boat

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Harrowhark]

The Crusader.

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Elera

Korey

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Preaching yahoo

OUTFIT

Sunny day attire

LOCATION

Her room

MENTIONS

Aranyani

INTERACTS

@Naomiii_

California - Chappell Roan

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Stars are Proof

that even on the darkest
nights, there's a little light

Day Ruined!

“Oh! They are shooting at us!” Astute observation, Elera. One that was not at all obvious with the shaking of the ship, sound of cannon fire, or smell of smoke. Yes, it was very necessary to say out loud to her companion and anyone else within the general vicinity.

At least someone here was much better than her at comforting words. Someone who knew how to process her thoughts before speaking them out loud. What a useful skill! One day, Elera may attempt to become proficient at such as well.

Not everything was so terrible though, for it seemed her preaching did not go unnoticed. Elera had gotten so used to everyone brushing her off that, for a moment, she didn’t quite know what to say. Another rock of the boat had the covenant member briskly pulled into her chambers. She waited a moment for the ship to steady before gathering her thoughts.

“The Stars say- Well, the Oracles advise that the Stars have already written what the future will hold. They have a plan for all of us. So we must believe in their power, and that they will see us to the end of our journeys.”

Of course, that meant they would not die today. At least, Elera would not, for her purpose had not yet been fulfilled. She did not know the path of the woman before her, so she could not say for certain if she too would be spared.

“Perhaps we should still manifest, just in case.” Elera quickly traced the Sign of the Stars across her chest and forehead. “We are going to be okay. The Stars will see us through to tomorrow. We are safe and protected from needless violence.” Yet, she could not actually bring herself to believe. While she had never doubted the Stars, she had also never known peril like this.

Elera almost brought herself to say more, but the ship had other ideas, lurching in a much harsher way. The motion sent her down to the floor, hitting her head against the bed and knocking the wind out of her. She hardly had the chance to feel the pain before the ship’s abrupt turn made her body skid across the floor. This time, she caught herself before hitting the wall. She hissed as her wrist bent back a little too far under her weight. They were lucky to be in an enclosed space now. If not, there was no telling how far they could have gone. Perhaps the Stars were in their favor after all.

The pain was almost instant. Not sharp as expected, but dull, as if she’d climbed the star gazing tower the day before. The Stars must have taken her pain in order to keep her steady through the turmoil. However, it was more than likely that later, they would return it tenfold to maintain the delicate balance of the world. Nevertheless, Elera was grateful.

“Are you alright?!” Despite the room still spinning, Elera looked to ensure the handmaiden was okay. “I-I think we better stay down here. We will only be further harmed by standing up again.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[celestialbody]

Trigger Warning: Little tiny bit of blood

THE MERCANTRESS.

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Sonya

NIMBARA

MOOD

Adrenaline is pumping

OUTFIT

This with a plain black cloak on top

LOCATION

Brig

MENTIONS

Knox/Calanthe/Hollow/Lizbeth/Adrian/Ephraim

INTERACTS

@picklemouse CrimsonInk Aviator

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

The next few moments passed in a blur, quick, chaotic, and oddly seamless. Calanthe chattered on endlessly, spinning wild tales and nonsense with a sparkling grin, her voice a syrupy lure to draw the Bone Man closer. He leaned in, too curious for his own good, and just as he crossed the invisible line between caution and folly, she sprang like a trap, arms wrapping around him with startling force.

Sonya lunged in a heartbeat later, grappling with his other arm. Bone Man shouted in outrage, his voice a high, rasping protest, but it was drowned out by the clamor of the woman who had fallen earlier, now charging (Or more accurately, hopping) forward, her expression tight with frustration.

Improvisation. Sonya had to admire it.

The woman pulled off her prosthetic leg without ceremony and swung it like a club, cracking it against Bone Man with a dull thwack. A strangely effective attack. After the assault, Bone Man had dropped his weapons, almost too luckily, into their cell, and his mask had slipped off, clattering to the floor as well. His face was so startlingly horrific that she almost dropped her hold on him as he started panicking. With his weapons dropped, Knox proved himself sharp and swift, darting in to snatch up the pistol and knife. Knox was quick to toss it toward the man who had been screaming earlier, and he curiously threw it right back as though it burned his hands.

Sonya raised a brow. Odd move. But maybe not so odd. Not everyone was keen on bloodshed, even if it meant survival. Knox didn’t seem to mind. Without missing a beat, he turned and offered the blade to her instead, and she quite happily took it from him. She wasn’t exactly a master swordswoman, or even particularly handy with a blade, but she’d take a weapon over empty hands any day.

Then something caught her attention. Her eyes were drawn to the far corner of the cell where the previously panicked man, who had just refused the knife, was now working with steely resolve to pry open a weak spot in the bars along with another man. There was strength in his arms, shaky but determined, and a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Before she could marvel much longer, she realized someone was calling her, not her name, but certainly calling for her attention. Her gaze dropped, and she found the woman with the prosthetic leg who had smashed it on Bone Man just a few moments ago, adjusting the straps of it, her eyes flicking up to meet Sonya’s.

"Don’t ‘spose you could spare a moment ta help me with this," she said, voice worn but not without charm. "I’m worn slap out and these straps are hard to secure without anotha set o’ hands. If you could just put your fingers here and here, why, that would be the cream on my cake."

Sonya tensed inwardly. She didn’t hate helping people—she wasn’t heartless—but she did hate being touched, and worse, having to touch someone else. It made her skin itch in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Still, she was about to force herself to nod and get it over with when—

"You, miss, in the gold!" Her head snapped up. The man by the bent bars waved her over, urgency in every word. "The lad and I made a small opening here, and I believe you are our best bet into getting out. Please."

Sonya hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing between the woman and the weak point in the bars. As much as she hated the thought of crawling through and being out there alone, she knew that escape wasn’t going to present itself twice. Besides, Knox had the gun, and while he didn't know her personally (And the first thing she'd done was kick him) she felt pretty sure in the fact that he’d protect her, if only to secure his own shot at freedom.

She offered the woman an apologetic smile and nodded toward the rest of the prisoners. "I’d love to help, really, but I think opening these doors comes first. One of the others should be able to lend a hand."

Without waiting for a reply, Sonya stepped toward the opening in the bars and sucked in a breath, steeling herself for the squeeze. She hoped she could make this look graceful.

...
She did not make it look graceful.

Her limbs flailed briefly as she wriggled and writhed through the narrow gap like a fish caught in a net, finally tumbling out in an unceremonious heap on the other side. Dust clung to her clothes, and she instinctively began brushing herself off before catching herself. Right. Not the time. Clean later. Survive now.

She had barely gotten to her feet when the door to the brig banged open.

A pirate stormed in, stomping hard enough to rattle the floorboards. "Oi! Allow! Yer needed for t’e Kings sheep!"

Sonya’s breath caught. She bolted to the nearest cover—tall crates stacked against the wall—and pressed herself tight to the shadows. The man didn’t see her. He was too busy drawing his weapon and pointing it at those still inside the cell, barking threats and swinging the situation back into chaos.

Well…that wouldn’t do.

She crept forward, blade in hand, careful not to make a sound. The man edged closer to the cell, distracted and shouting. Perfect.

She slipped behind him like a whisper and pressed the cool metal of her blade firmly to the side of his neck. He stiffened instantly.

"You don’t move," she said, her voice low and cold. She pressed the blade hard enough against his skin to be threatening and draw a bit of blood, but not hard enough to actually cause much more harm. "We’ve got a man with a gun in there, and I’ve got a blade to your neck out here. So let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. How about you go ahead and open up that cell for me and we can leave without you or your theatrical friend there getting hurt hmm?"

The pirate was still for a long moment. Weighing his options, probably. Then he cursed under his breath and slowly reached into his coat, pulling out a ring of keys. Sonya stayed close, watching every move, the blade unwavering at his neck. She didn't want to move her hands off of him, worried about him trying to overpower her if she eased off his neck, so she pushed him forward to approach the cell, "Go ahead, you open it." He hesitated a moment before sucking his teeth, then finally unlocked it, swinging the door open with a heavy creak.

The moment the lock clicked free, the other prisoners surged into motion, filing out with desperate, wild-eyed energy.

And just like that, the cell was no longer a prison. It was a starting line.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE OPHIDIAN.

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YASMINE

LAVIGNE

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

FOCUSED

OUTFIT

DRESS TO KILL

LOCATION

THE DECK TO
THE REAPER

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTIONS

MACKLIN | VIOLETTA

TAGS

Aviator
Daddy Dream

LETHAL WOMAN — DOVE CAMERON.

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POWER IS POWER

The gods have no mercy, that’s why they’re gods.

CHAPTER FOUR PT II.

WARNING: Blood. Violence.

There was something bittersweet when the feeling of vertigo begins to take control of all your senses in the midst of battle. Yasmine didn’t even sense Violetta checking her for any wounds that she may have gotten from the attack. Her eyes rested dull and lifeless into the ones below her, her mind trying to catch up with the present.

”No sign of open wounds, that is a relief.”

No open wounds. Yes. That’s good.

Inhaling the toxic black fumes she let out a dense cough away from the woman under her. With a deep breath she held her stance and was practically using her body to cover the woman. The ship swayed horrendously, and the turn almost knocked the barrels over them. In a swift motion, she held onto Violetta and tugged on the rope connected to the wood panels behind them. Whatever force made the Leviathan swerve into such a position could only mean one thing. The captain finally did something smart for once — letting the anchor down. With her pulse rushing, that sweet kick of adrenaline finally settled into the serpent woman’s bloodstream where the need to take action was practically handed to her on a silver platter.

“Make sure next time you take a shot; you better be confident it hits the target.”

Whether it was actual advice or some playful reply for the woman was up to her, but such things were not on her mind at the moment. She rose to her feet, helping the noble woman with her eyes looking for Macklin. Beyond the light smoke and the light set of people on the deck, they were paralleled to the enemy ship before them. No longer did her focus lay on the rope burn against the palm of her hand or the noble woman’s presence — this new set of emotions and adrenaline was animalistic. She carefully began making her way over to Macklin’s position, but it seems that a set of bald men or unhygienic mops were starting to get in her way. A soft smirk lifted with putting the gun away. Five men stood before her with their vocal set of catcalls and degrading, perverted eyes ready to devour her. Pity it was that she was too expensive for them to even taste.

“I must say boys,” she began to announce, “this seems quite unfair, even for you. Five against one?”

A man chuckled darkly, “Don worry t’ose precious tits of yers will be awrs to sh’re.”

Yasmine snorted, her hand slipping up the gun to the man next to him with a clear shot. Her stance was a little off from the last shot, but the message was clear. Blood splattered all over the men, parts of the flesh from the eye now decorating their faces and clothing with the body falling to the floor. Silence sat in the air from the shock of one of them dead before their eyes of wrath flashed back to her.

“You bitch!”

Her eyes glinted, cold and calculating, as she prepared for the attack. The first pirate—a bulky man with a rusted cutlass—lunged at her. His movements were sloppy, driven by brute force. But Yasmine’s body flowed around him, just out of reach, her feet barely making a sound as she ducked under his swing. She grabbed his wrist in a sudden, fluid motion, twisting it so his cutlass flew from his hand and clattered against the deck. Her knee collided with his stomach, pushing him back to take care of the others swinging at her. Another man lunged at her with a more refined sword, most likely stolen from another ship to spill blood.

He seemed quick, but in this case she was quicker. Barely escaping the slash towards her torso, she sidestepped in a fluid, slithering motion away from the man. Her foot collided with the cutlass below her and with precision lifted the handle with the point of her boot, kicking it up just at the right moment for both blades to clash. She gritted her teeth from the strength he had against her, pushing her back towards the railing with the sea against her back.

“Not so tuff, ain’tcha gurly?” he snickered.

The man spoke too soon for Yasmine’s liking. He seemed to try to push her more and more into the railing itself, and when she got the chance, she used her foot pressed against the wood and the weight of her body to push him back. With the opening she made, she lunged the cutlass into him with the blade going straight through. Her pupils dilated, feeling the man's lifeless body weigh down the blade and allowed him to fall. Twirling her head back, she lifted her hands in the air with them turning into fists. Her breaths became shallow and labored from the heavyset of men coming at her. Sweat ran down her temple, glistening her skin with the slight smell of coconut now overwhelming her senses.

As he lunged, she allowed him to brace her way with the curve of their blade narrowly missing her stomach — her leg coiling around his own leg and bringing him down to the floor. Her elbow hit his spine, enabling him into a pain where his ribs cracked under her weight. Lifting herself up taking a knee stance, her hands found the parts of his head connected to the bone and snapped it quickly. Her attention now back at the last two men who seemed to be questioning their stance in this reckless dance. Not that it mattered anyway — men who hesitate are ones who need to die on sight. Thankfully, she was not a man.

He swung first—swift, controlled. But Yasmine had practiced this dance too many times in her head. She darted inside his swing, just out of reach, her body twisting like a dancer in the wind. His scimitar caught air where she had been only a moment before. She reached out with lightning speed, grabbing his wrist, using his momentum against him. She then twisted his arm behind his back and spun him around with a smooth, graceful motion, until his own sword was in her hands.

Her smile was sharp, predatory. This vipress bared her fangs to the last man standing who stood in horror with the slits of her eyes freezing him in place.

“Your turn,” she whispered, and with a quick, fluid motion, she pressed the tip of the pirate's own blade against his throat where blood drained from freshly cut flesh.

The last man decided to take the cowards way out — he dropped his sword and jumped off the ship into the water. Leaving Yasmine standing, surrounded by bodies of dead men and swords, the deck was quiet for just a moment between the soft cries of the ship's injuries and crashing waves.

Five men against one was a morning run, but what about ten? Fifteen? Yasmine was good, but not that damn good. She was unarmed for most of it — a feat that she had to adapt from the years of training under the King’s best. Though she shouldn’t woe on the ‘what ifs’ and the increasing danger that was drawing near. Grabbing a scimitar sword on the ground, she started to make her way where Macklin last was in hopes to finally reach him. It was the best chance she had to not lose her head amongst the unpredictable and simple-minded. The ‘unpredictable’ part was what she had to worry about.

Whatever devil had answered the vipress she had caught sight of the luscious lock of hair making his way off to the enemy ship. A smirk curved upward, intrigued by the bold and recklessness of Macklin’s determination.

You want to play with the big boys now huh? Fine, let’s play.

Following suit, she began to make way towards the bridge between the Reaper and the Leviathan, her senses clouded by the chaos around them. The only thing clear now was the lack of Kingsmen doing their jobs, and the only one who seemed to be doing something was one she had history with. How fitting. She began to climb up the mast, shimmying over with a calmness in the balance of ocean waves and her body. Some of the crew would be fine, rather she needed to know the plan her favorite flower was working with. She would just barely catch up to the man, jumping down to the Reapers deck with him.

“Think you’d have all the fun without me, love?” she began, “what’s the plan?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[escapist]

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, violance, (gore-ish turns of phrases)

THE OLD-TIMER

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Maltke

Cycek

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

desperate, angry, sad, a bit confused

OUTFIT

His usual dirty coat of course

LOCATION

The Levi's main deck

MENTIONS

Magnus, Lexis, Gallin, Dahlia, Knox

INTERACTS

Magnus, @Pepsionne

Still- searching

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"Muda-muda!"

Chapter Four, Part iii?

"Lucky me..." Maltke murmured, standing straight on the main deck as the chaos was about to erupt and swallow everything around him. Magnus had survived the sudden shift of The Leviathan but at least he fell which was the only joy the old pirate could get in that tense moment. The bounty hunter approached him from behind, however, no attack came aimed at the old man's back. A delicate, short-lived piece bloomed between the two man. Maltke almost respected Magnus for a whole minute.

He squinted, his lone eye traced the swarming crowd of pirates in carmine, glinting weapons and desperate eyes caught the cheerful daylight as the two ship shifted closer to each other, side by side. Grappling hooks flew through the air between the ships before they found their target, biting in the strong wood of the railings. The pirates of the Carmine Corsairs were howling and shrieking from the ecstasy of the adrenaline and danger. "Did I look like that too?" Maltke wondered silently, watching the pirates who only looked animalistic, pitiful and terrifying because the old man was now on the other side of the sea battle.

While lamenting, said sea battle was about to begin, the pirates jumped and climbed onto The Leviathan's deck eagerly. His feet moved Maltke forward, his mind was heavy and fogged with thoughts; the Carmines where a lot...who will fight?

The Captain? The blood-rosy seconds they had spent together convinced him about the opposite.
Gallin? Maltke hoped the young man was hiding somewhere. Anyone with a little experience would doupt that he would survive a sea battle even for a few minutes.
In Dahlia there surely was enough courage and rage to stand proud on her feet against the pirates. The old man wasn't sure if she really should have to, in an ideal world...
Knox... "Right, where the fuck be Knox?" Maltke allowed himself a few seconds to smirk on his incapability in finding him. "That be why I be not a headhunter..." He muttered, savouring the non-existent impact of his jab at Magnus who probably didn't hear him at all in the growing clamor. Maltke was never good in math, but now he was sure he was one of the only who should have really fight.

I pair of boots knocked on the deck. The boots were part of an intruder, a broken mirror to Maltke with a saber and a loud battle cry with he called the help of any kind of god he believed in.

"Here I come..." Dry lips moved soundless.

Maltke leaped, the sour, almost lethargic expression on his face was in stark contrast with the pirate's hyena-like grin. The old man evaded the first few clumsy, eager swing of his opponent. His body was stiff, his muscles were following his battle-carved of instincts as he jumped from left leg to right, carefully reading the ship's soft sways bellow his feet. When the time came and the deck caused the pirate to lean closer to Maltke, he took the opportinity and closed the distance between them. His knife found its way to flesh, penetrating the warm cradle of the stomach with loving lethality.

The old-timer didn't even flinch to the sickening sound of the wet thud, just moved past the body, rushing towards another pirate who were climbing over the wooden railings. The sharp blade sliced his fingers before the pirate could react; Maltke stabbed and the pirate fell down to the thin abyss between the two ships with a scream.

Before he could catch his breath, Maltke jumped to the side, dodging the sneaky attack of a boarding ax, its heavy head now stucked between the planks. Using the momentum, the old pirate turned back, his blade glinted again deadly and his opponent's hands moved from the ax to his throat too slow to hold the spraying blood back.

"Futile...futile..." Maltke growled, not knowing who he was talking to. His face was darkened by concentration and anger. Life always seemed to try and take away what he was ready to fight for. The glories of the past were shadowed by the present's meaningless carnage. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself as in every sea battle: it would end and it would end with him getting what he deserve. No less, no more.

He squatted quickly when he heard the distant burning of gun powder. Bullets whizled through the air around him, none of them hitting him this time. He took a deep breath...and stood up to welcome another pirate.

It was probably just a few minutes but the old man was already exhausted. Sweat and blood was clinging to his skin, his chest waved with ragged breaths. His scars were trobbing with dull pain, urging him to keep going. Smoke curled from somewhere, the air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood and inhuman voices of agony. His heavy, black coat, already blocking a few weaker cuts was waving behind him, following the old man like a loyal dog as he was twirling around the carmine pirates, shedding their blood for reasons hard to name.

"Come at me, fuckers!" He shouted, throwing a knife away just to hit nobody in particular. His hand pulled another one out of his coat in a blink of an eye. There was nothing graceful in the repetitive series of stabbing, cutting, dodging and leaping. The planks were slippery under his boots. He fell once, finishing what he had begun while rolling on the ground, fighting for his life like a mad dog.

He spat out and rose again. "That be for the Bastards, ye traitor scum!" He noted, then added after a little sigh. "And for my new crew, probably...aye" He added, just to himself.

"Right...where be that gallows flower?" Maltke panted, looking around in the bloody chaos, his eye searching for Magnus, hoping he would spot him dead - or at least wounded...

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE LAZARUS.

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RAT

LANDON ALSTRÖM

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

ARE U FR GONNA KILL ME RN.

OUTFIT

THE OL’ RELIABLE

LOCATION

HIS ROOM

MENTIONS

KADER/ORBY, GROG.

INTERACTS

floralmoon

HUMAN FOR A MINUTE — SHAME

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YOUR JOURNEY IS

to be short-lived, there’ll come a time you no longer search for a remedy but a soft place to bury your bones.

CHAPTER FOUR PART II.

As Kader pats the plant into a teacup, Rat blinks. He is far from ired by the behavior, the circumstances surrounding them is a bubble of violent noise and the swell of it takes ease during the interval of gentleness.

A feeling rarer than he otherwise would have liked, maybe gratitude. Sage eyes watch with neither kindness nor cruelty, try to make their own meaning of it, before they drift on to the latest cause:

Being a pirate.

It’s either bravery or stupidity when Kader pokes the curved blade of the shears, but one may suggest to be brave means to be stupid. To not doubt that someone like him would snip a finger or two feels like a sleight, and yet.

Rat is mindful enough to keep the shears shut as they poke the blade.

How caring.

It was something accidental, something assumed to be nothing but a play of levity, but Kader does as Kader often does: the unexpected.

The bald one has been armed.

Rat shrugs and expends no further thought towards it. Sees it the same as a child’s ploy to hide behind their blanket to cower from shapes in the window. If comfort is forged through taking the gardening shears, he is not inclined to disagree in their current situation. Scissors, a weapon, now the spidering of a longer lifetime— given unknowingly.

“I will want them returned.” It’s a wary stare, not entirely trusting of the individual to not pocket the item and conveniently forget. They’re still his gardening shears… Thieves aren’t welcome in Rat’s domain when his body isn’t even cold yet…

Kader the vulture.

He goes to speak again, something about the mangy cat, but it dissolves like fumes to the noise of something at the door. The only thing the botanist kills is weeds, and the scent of brine and copper suggests anything but. Having lived so penchant to following his own whims and mercurial exchanges, he’d never stopped to consider What If a pirate got down to the lower floors.

They stand broad-shouldered in a weather-beaten coat, a nose that has served as a target to plenty of fists, and gilded with ink that disappears beneath tangled hair tied back with copper rings. The pressing subject of Rat’s interest is not their beak, but a jagged cutlass in their hand.

This was the type of man he’d only recently encountered for the first time in the bars and streets of Antares, and the assumption of what is to follow is springing from the botanist like webbing branches. Traceable and understanding, a few seconds later and they’d be sliced underbelly.

Tension roils tightly into one faint inhale, and then a stuttering mote of Rat’s laugh. In the soil and floral tones of this room, he’s tempted to nudge Kader with an elbow and say See? Told you they reeked. But if one dresses like shit and smells like it too, Rat can only assume they must be into degradation. Do not feed the fetish.

Action rouses before his mouth can, and perhaps he is better for it. Too surprised to think beyond the sharp impulse to save. It is the mortal foot forward and a mind elsewhere, on Kader first, on his treasured jars of little baby moss secondly, on the recollection that the blade carving through open air is enough to feel urgency.

Like an afterthought it strikes that he has no plan and no weapon, and with a frame of sharp angles and gaunt shadows, he is likely to break before the bend. He moves to dodge as best he can, and the narrow arc has him stumble and catch the wall by scapula.

It’s strange in such affairs, Rat recognises his own stillness more than the looming bloodsport. Heels slip against soil and crumbling clay, and the weight of himself presses against the weight of the swaying ship as he scrambles for footing away from the danger. His heart feels the only still fragment, for having tarried the mind through decades of waiting, it is not the death or the failure he fears, but the moments of pain leading up to it.

A resolute hitch to all the plans he still had to execute. He thinks of Oskar, likely still asleep and bordered by the polar white of the Cascades, and it settles him far heavier than any anchor or sea-bound maceration could bring. Just as the oracles have always foretold, in the threat of pain and death he may have been willing to consider there was never really a choice to the matter at all.

And yet he recoils away from the offending blade all the same, habits of a heretic are hard to change. Throws his arms up and cowers against the wall as if that can deter the explicit demise— or at least hide the view of it. What bullheaded inclinations and incorrigible manner that once steeled the man with sly eyes and thin smiles has moulted like a coat, is now guttered out and cast with the fortitude of a mouse.

With him gone, maybe Kader will get to keep those gardening shears.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

THE RAVEN.

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LUCREZIA

The Spirit

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

DISTRAUGHT

OUTFIT

N/A

LOCATION

FROM THE DECK
TO THE SEA

MENTIONS

DOLORES

INTERACTIONS

ANON

TAGS

@Wyll | @Nifty

AFTERLIFE — EVANESCENCE.

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DEATH MUST BE SO BEAUTIFUL

To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.

CHAPTER FOUR PART II.

It was the overriding sensation of fear, faith, and fever the Cambridge woman felt when she saw him. The tall man with messy blonde hair and the concerned deep sea eyes he’s had since they left Algol. Her own small feet stomped over to the man, her arms reaching out to stop him in his place.

“Anon,” she said, “oh thank the stars — hear me dear soul, the pirates, the lots dear, are coming. I know you won’t run, not today. So if you’re planning to fight, then you fight. You fight hard. And if you see my sister of the dark, Lori, Dolores, be the forge I know you are. Keep her safe. She’s my very being, Anon. My life.”

And how precious life is that the scales have once again been tipped by the cosmic force to test the passengers' will to live. Survive. The moment they dropped anchor the leviathan swayed ferociously. Lucrezia could feel gravity sway with the beast, feeling that spit of anxiety coil in her heart tensing. Instinct kicked in and she pushed the man away, only for it to cause that applied force to return back. It happened once both ships paralleled that the noble woman flew over the railing.

In the matter of seconds time had slowed just for her to watch at full center. This time Lucrezia didn’t feel that fear she had once felt in Algol. She was able to take her time this round. Acknowledging her fate, she relaxed her body and closed her eyes before the water shattered beneath her, sinking into the icy depths of the sea. Her arms flailed upwards with her legs and torso sinking. Air bubbles slowly left the opening of her lips, the body subconsciously fighting and holding whatever oxygen was left in the woman’s lungs.

Opening her eyes, all she saw was the light peeking through such beautiful waters. How truly it was unbecoming of her to come across this fate once more. Lucrezia Amore Cambridge soon learned that whatever cosmic powers ruled this reality were putting her in trials. The fates, the stars, and above all else the gods were testing her — but for what? Why must she go through these trials to prove herself to such mysterious findings?

You’re not ready. Death said.

When will I be my friend? She asked.

Not today.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Daddy Dream]

THE DUCHESS

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공작부인

VIOLETTA

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Anger and Disbelief

LOCATION

ENEMY DECK

MENTIONS

Macklin, Yasmine

INTERACTS

NONE

Abbey— Mitsky

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Be Yourself,

you don't make history by being liked.

CHAPTER 4 - Trouble Arises

Violetta, having been whisked back onto her feet, stood and huffed. The violent whipping of the boat was a bit of a doozy, but after being tossed around she recovered quickly and was now ready to continue on. Only problem was where should she continue? The deck was a mess of blood, screams, and tangled bodies in a fight. Even the woman who helped her was tangled with a group of men.

She was tempted to help, but found that in the time it took to draw an arrow she had already handled four out of the five men. The fifth one basically jumped to his death into the churning waters below, respect to his fears she supposed. Looking around the deak, she decided that she should pick off the number of enemies flooding in. Loading her bow continuously, ahs would fire off a rapid flow of arrows one after another, sinking them deep into the bodies of the pirates.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Yasmine crossing over to the enemies boat to follow Macklin. A wicked spur rose into her chest as she was tempted to lay down her bow and follow them over. Glancing around the area, she decided to follow as she unsheathed her dagger and swiped up a bloodied sword.

Making her way onto the ship was a bit of a chore as she had run into a few men and inevitably had to change swords in the process. When they tried grabbing her, she cut the tendons in their wrists with her dagger and tore open their bellies with the sword. A few legs were severed as well until the sword got lodged into a thigh bone, showing just how dull it had become. She had cursed as she cut down the pirate and looted his blade, but it was at that point that she had seemingly arrived aboard the ship.

She caught sight of Monte and Yasmine, planning to catch up to them to see what the plan was. However, the face she spotted next was one she did not expect to see. It was familiar, one she would see in nightmares from her childhood, one she was hoping she would never have to see. The ghost of her past seemed to be of high rank, according to how he was dressed and barking orders. Violetta was stunned to silence as her eyes were firmly locked on this man and it wasn't long before the familiar face had also locked eyes with her.

The man’s eyes turned dark and a wicked grin formed on his face as she gathered the pirates attention and pointed toward Violetta. They all started forward while the man vanished in the chaos, causing her to shout with vicious anger over the crowd.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[luciferin]

THE MODISTE.

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Rhys

VAUGHN NAIR

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

OFF TO SEARCH FOR A DOCTOR :[

OUTFIT

LATER

LOCATION

QUARTER DECK

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTS

NEMO, MONTE (@parhelion, Daddy Dream )

MOVEMENT — HOZIER.

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TO THREAD THE NEEDLE

is to defy scripture, for the urge to create is carnal bliss.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Being entrusted with the duty of finding hot iron on a ship — how wonderful. The similarities between a cook and a doctor must begin with their need for knives and open flames and continue in their work with blood and butchery. Of course, where admiration comes easy for a chef and the warm meals they serve in place of jerky and hardtack, it's harder to appreciate someone who replaces your flesh and blood with wooden imitations.

Still, her impromptu instructor carries himself like a soldier, so Rhys decides to look at her victim-to-be in an attempt to locate their wound, judging the Captain’s instructions to be the results of his training rather than a physician’s morbid curiosity. With her back to the wheel, her only warning is the other crewmates' efforts to brace themselves, and as she mirrors their actions in a splendid display of survival instincts over high society pride, something snaps.

The ground lurches, spinning away with a force that threatens to throw Rhys overboard as her fingers strain against wood, joints alight like they're straining out of her their sockets. Then everything except for her stops, and she catapults in the injured passenger's wake.

Rhys rights herself under the sound of canon fire, dark eyes locking onto the stained shirt of the form beside her, and having finally found time to examine their injury, she can’t help but agree with their choice to revoke their consent.

“You look like you might not survive the blood loss,”

she says, another misunderstanding to add to the lot. The passenger in front of her is this strange mix of frail and hardy, all pale and sickly with waxen skin and black veins contrasted by a wretched determination to stand. Put plainly, they look like they’d crawl back to worship if the heavens cast them out.

Though, that doctor of theirs doesn’t sound like someone to worship. Rhys is no authority on any sort of sanctity outside of that belonging to the ballroom, crown, and dresser, but she’d much rather pray to some divine presence than a healer, fallible as they are. That’s neither here nor there, though, and the other makes their choice, so Rhys follows.

She stoops down and offers the other a position to sling their arm over her shoulders while sending a final glance at the not-Captain, having realized their instructor's position.

“Thank you for your advice,”

she says, a consolation for the words that come next,

“but I’ll be helping them below deck. People ought to have control over what happens their own bodies, if nothing else. Still, your guidance may save a life if I find another in need of aid.”

It will be unfortunate if the other dies as a result of their choice, but not something for outsiders to be faulted with. Casualties are inevitable in chaos like this, and there is a certain peace in dying in a familiar place.

Of course, Rhys's job is to try and prevent the wounded from becoming said casualty, so she eyes a vague path outside of the chaos, where the two of them can make their way back below deck and asks,

“Do you know where your doctor is?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[floralmoon]

THE SOOTHSAYER.

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KADER

MOOD

AAAAA WHAT THE FUCK AAAAA

OUTFIT

yoga time!! (head scarf)

LOCATION

RAT'S ROOM

MENTIONS

Ratholomew

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.

TW FOR BLOOD & MURDER

"I still want them returned."

Well of course they would return the sheers, the item didn't belong to Kader, was Rat assuming them to be a thief? Despite the two only getting to know each other, there was no action they had taken to give the slightest gesture towards them stealing anything. Especially from someone in such a condition as Rat, it would be cruel to do such a thing. Either way, Kader nods their head in agreement to returning the scissors to him, holding onto them tightly as not to misplace it.

It was only a moment later when noises began outside of the room the two were in, Kader had assumed that it was other passengers making their way through the halls, but based off of Rat's reaction, it was something much more sinister than that. As the door bursts open, they couldn't help but immediately throw their free hand over their mouth and nose. Not only was the site of the intruder shocking, but the smell was unbearable.

Rat was right. Pirates do smell.

He laughs. Why was he laughing? This was no time to laugh, and in that moment, the pirate lunged towards the pair, taking aim at the blonde. The attack leaves Rat clambering on the floor, trying to find some sort of footing while a sword is wildly swung at him. Kader stands in shock, unsure what to do in the moment, but that's when the feeling of the sheers in their hand takes the forefront of their brain.

With a deep breath in, Kader yells out, "Hey, leave him alone!" The man turns around with a grunt, obviously irritated that he was interrupted. He moves towards Kader, growing taller with each step that he takes, intimidating them more with each passing second. In a moment of sheer adrenaline and confidence, Kader steps forward as well, they weren't very intimidating, but maybe something would come of it. The pirate's arm rears back the sword and moves forward in a stabbing motion, aimed right towards their midsection.

Missed.

With a narrow miss, Kader took the opportunity in front of them, swinging the scissors in an upward motion, right underneath the man's chin, causing him to drop his weapon. They remove the sheers and take one more stab into the mans neck, sealing his fate. He collapses forward, but due to his size and Kader's shock, he lands right on top of them, causing blood to spill over their face and head, soaking their scarf.

Using their last bit of strength from the adrenaline flowing through their body, Kader manages to squeeze out from underneath the body. Sitting up and staring at Rat in complete silence, they mustered up enough strength to say the only thing on their mind at the moment,

"My Ma and Pa are going to be so mad at me."

♡coded by uxie♡