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Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

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THE LAZARUS.















scroll

RAT



THE

LAZARUS




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




CLICK ME











OUTFIT




COTTAGE SLAY











LOCATION




MAIN DECK












MENTIONS




SAAR, PERCY.










INTERACTS




sollie sollie (Saar) & Pepsionne Pepsionne (Pet Perry)


















MERCY DOWN — S. JAMES.
































































scroll






YOUR JOURNEY IS




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






























CHAPTER TWO.

Saar. The woman bites with a cutthroat temper, with vitriolic acid that boils the meat of her smile to a chill. He knows her name but the anonymity that scrutinises him now is something new, the turn of her facets, rather define her by that cold precision rather than the lotus eating curve of her common smile.

It is the glimpse of ice seen at the wrong angle, seeing something below that incites a rabid glee in the rodent. The inkling they might be similar blooms in the arctic waste of her steel-cold stare, the recognition between two liars. Saar, she repeats. Has neatly carved a generous path for him to follow with understanding, and yet– Rat has learned long ago it is better to walk on his own.

“Is what I saids.” He responds evenly. “Ratsie saids that, he did do.”

Begins his mild satisfaction, someone worthy of his nuisance. He’ll always throw a bone to the reactive, let them pay tribute to his oddities with their sacrifice of patience. The act of misnaming her is permeated with severity and he pens this result as a note of interest.

The curt little smack has the acrobat withdrawing, and Rat would have to be blind to not see he’d hit more than a thinly-skinned bone. Without Percy over him like silk draped loose across beams, he can see them hover peripherally like a moth around flame. They are not much different, he supposes, toying with fire will often result in a burn.

And the burn is the gap Saar fills to ostracise twinkletoes to the outside. A barrier of carnivorous black, the rodent almost guffawed at the petty action. Poor thing undermined and ignored for someone named Rat, even the botanist can admit that must be a critical blow to their confidence.

“What is your function aboard the ship? I do hope it is as fascinating as you sound yourself. Do tell.”

She is very good at this, he realizes, always encouraging others to speak yet not saying much about herself. And when she does, she mentions others. The Captain, the crew, the passengers, the acrobat friend, Rat the sir, all perfectly calcified in likeable politesse.

Fortunately the botanist does not care much for likeability or good manners.

“Awfully rude of Rat to not say, me bethinks. Grows nice plantsies, we does.” Vermin may be disloyal, but even a parasite has a purpose. “Botany for the King, you sees, you saw, we all saw the sea shore. Wee Ratalie fears 'tisn't as fascinating as yours.” He has gathered assumptions on her position, to be able to speak so casually about the Captain and ascertain others without naivete; either the first-mate, or this is the Captain’s wife.

Either way, poor her.

“A moment, I haven’t even told you the times or the location.”

Desperation has a name, Percival Griffin. A driving revolt against getting cast aside, it is to Rat’s personal amusement seeing the Christmas bauble scuttle back into view. This one had an insatiable need to ensnare attention, no longer man or human but pure performance. All tales go like this, grind oneself to the bone for that revering greed until you earn that recognition for all the wrong reasons.

Their unbecoming smile is like a second skin, ill-fitting blurry fog, yet achieves exactly what Percy wanted: they’ve certainly left an unshakeable impression. The determination they cling to could morph a searing hatred, and Rat knows he’d take painful delight in that deformation. He’d even muster some sympathy if the pallid edges of their smile did not have him grinning like a shark.

“Yada yada Pet Perry,” he cannot help himself from indulging a taunt, “quit ya natterin’ when adults are talking.”





























♡coded by uxie♡
 






The Physician.















scroll

Ilya



Jovanović




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




I AM NORMAL I SWEAR











OUTFIT




No mask, unfortunately












LOCATION




Medbay












MENTIONS




Grog, Lucrezia










INTERACTS




CrimsonInk CrimsonInk




















Cigar — Tamino.






























































scroll






Humanist's Folly.




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































Chapter Two.

Ilya felt a deep warmth blooming across his chest at someone laughing at his little joke. A strange maniacal edge to his smile as he briefly slid out of service worker mode and into the creature from Umbra that crawled out of an icy lake.

“Oh thank you, I’ll be sure to smile a little more around you then.” Soft and pleasant, he wrapped the bandage around her hand, taking the oddity in stride.

Well, he seemed to attract the strange ones, at least. This was nothing new for him, it was always just a pleasure when the eccentricities didn't lead to a vase getting thrown in his bed.

From his corner, Grog got up and stretched with the languid surety of a cat.

“I believe you are all set. You may now leave, or stay if you’d like.”

He did, at some part of his solitude, wish for her to stay. Maybe it was because a part of him realized how pathetic it was to have staring contests with a cat. Maybe it was out of the slow realization that this was going to be a lonesome journey without any company in the meanwhile to keep him occupied.

He wasn’t too certain about what it was, but he also knew that people didn’t wish often to hang around the medbay. There was a certain air of melancholy to it, the place of sickness and death, sterile at the surface (he made sure of that) but underneath a sense of wrongness. To be here meant that something went wrong, and it was certain that most did not want to stick around for too long…

… But then again, she did just call his smile a wriggly little worm that she, a bird, would like to swoop down upon.

So maybe most was not the perfect descriptor of the woman that stood before him. Ever amicable in his solitude, he took a copper kettle and lit the stove to begin heating it up. Just in case he had guests and could offer them a warm beverage.

Was Miss Lucrezia a tea person or a coffee person… what'd he have right now in stock-

His head briefly ducked into a cupboard to glance at the teas or coffees he’d have in stock. Coffee was there, which was a small luxury that Ilya one hundred percent indulged in. He lived like a monk everywhere else in his life, so he allowed himself a couple of indulgences like… coffee or weed. And there was a small brick of tea sitting next to it. He had both. Which meant that he was really back to square one. By looking at her, Ilya could assume that either way it would be something on the stronger side, she seemed like the type at least. Well, maybe that was just projection, but they seemed to have somewhat of an affinity with death, the two of them, so perhaps-

Perhaps he could just fucking ask her stars almighty.

“I’m making myself a little warm drink… would you like tea or coffee.” He finally managed to speak after a not inconspicuous time being almost completely silent trying to contemplate on her actual preference.





























♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:
MOOD:
Bitter, regretful, exhausted and a bit saaad

LOCATION:
The Leviathan's deck, at the ship barrier
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS:

Horace, Aurelian, Dahlia
The old-timer
Maltke
Interactions: Horace, CrimsonInk CrimsonInk

Hundreds of the warm, gentle sun's golden spears were poking his exposed skin as he was laying halfly against, halfly over the wooden ship barrier and was pondering on this beautiful day. A major part of his upper body was hanging over the barrier as if he had wanted to jump over but had jumped way too small. The dirty, white shirt that he had been wearing the day before yesterday and he probably would wear tomorrow, was sticking on his crooked, sweaty back. His barely opened eye followed the waves below, letting them to make his body subtly sway with the ship, even if the swaying had its unfortunate effects on him. But he deserved it, indeed! After that humiliation in front of the crew members he dared to incur the curse of the flask or more like the curse of whatever was in that flask... Maltke Cycek had a terrible hangover, spiced up with the good old pair of shame and regret, so he was just laying there, scorching his flesh under the sun like a martyr whale who swam out to the coast for a reason that only he knew...

Suiting to the simple, humble man, the reason was equally simple and humble: "That lil' son of a bilge-rat, blistering barnacle...Aurelian..." The brief description slipped through the pirate's dry lips without any power, tiredly. He had already been on the Leviathan for twelve days and still, the experiences of his golden days when he ha been serving under the Bastard didn't return yet and Maltke felt himself as lonely and pathetic as in the past ten years. The kindness of that seemingly important noble who had let him to get on the ship and the familiar intoxicated thrill of the revelry on the first night, the pride what he felt after he had superficially befriended that tough redhead...these moments almost made him forget that usually after significant falls - like his had been - nothing significant would happen for long. A smaller version of his great failure had happened yesterday, reminding him to the source of that ever-lingering, bitter taste in the corner of his mouth that was smelling of alcohol.

"Lemme recall what happened..." Maltke murmured to himself, deciding to talk with someone even if he was alone and every slight movement of his mouth brought closer the approaching pest that was boiling in his stomach. "T'was dinnertime and as usual I was mindin' with my own business because the young gal who was unlucky enough to be seated next to me was not interested in my humble company at all, no matter how much I was speakin'... I stood up to refill my jug that somehow became empty again when on my way back that big shark-bait just appeared out of nowhere in front of me, comin' from my blind spot! I pushed him away a bit harshly with my shoulder and may even soaked his shirt a bit with drink...Pourin' the drink out of my jug! Well...I might have been clumsy too but I have just one eye, you lil' shit, since the battle against..." At this point, Maltke decided to close his mouth out of caution. Probably nobody was listening the old man's bitter monologue but better being cautious than getting syphilis as they say... Instead of speaking, Maltke spat out a generous amount which was supported by the wind and landed on the ship's side instead of the sea.

"Well, fuck me sideways..." Exclaimed Maltke.

The more he was pondering the more sure he became that what happened was at least half his fault. He had wanted to scold the chef with a friendly 'Look where ye go, fucker', and then assuring him about his forgiveness but Aurelian's repost arrived too soon. Maltke had to admit that the arrogant and annoying man was good with his words when he had to insult someone, better than Maltke in fact which probably the whole 'crowd' had noticed at some point. Things had escalated too quickly and after Aurelian had told him that "If you try touching me one more time you fucking old geezer I will break every bone in your hand.", Maltke had had to choose between beating the soul out of the boy or retreating like a coward old geezer. Maltke had choosen but if he looked back to his decision now, he thought that a brawl and then getting thrown into the sea would have been a more merciful end to him than surviving this hangover...

A larger wave shook the ship harder, making Maltke's stomach to lift but just as he felt that the burning, acidic kraken was about to tear itself through his tightening throat, someone addressed him with a voice that hinted a smile on their face.

"Oi, had too much fun last night?"


 
MOOD:

a little tired, taking a smoke break.



The Leviathan's deck.:

Starboard, with Maltke.
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS:



The Agnate
Horace Neumann


Interactions: Maltke, escapist escapist

Horace takes a drag out of his cigarette, the smoke hangs like a storm cloud under the blistering sun- first and only cigarette of the day. He promises himself. Keeps weary of his other hand, keeps it from snatching the flask hung from his neck. Diluted beer or not, it's too early for anything near a sip. He sighs.

His dad had tried to wean him into pawning the fancy looking thing off, said that it would be better if that wretched vessel looked as ugly as his bloody habits if it weren't gone. Horace couldn't let go of it in the end. A "fat cat", they had called him, it told of his comfortable origins. Scattered brittle tinder to feed the smolder of resentment, stoked by his greenness. Don't get him wrong, he did his job and was as obedient as a soldier, or well, as obedient as someone miles away from being a soldier could be, but it was painfully obvious he had never faired the seas.

"Wine dark", a book he'd barely started had once called them. The thing is, Horace has found the bottom of a bottle before, sought it out, even. The ocean? Never. And it would surely stay that way, unless he wanted to actually drown. He thinks back to the sheer amount of times he's compared and alluded to sleeping with the fishes scrawled into his stanzas during his darkest hours and decides that he doesn't want to.

"That lil' son of a bilge-rat, blistering barnacle...Aurelian..."

He hears a haggard voice swear. Aurelian? Not sure he's heard of that guy before. His eyes fall to the ragged man at starboard. He wilts against the ship barrier like dried kelp. Quite sad looking.

"Lemme recall what happened..."

Oh bloody hell.

"T'was dinnertime and as usual I was mindin' with my own business because the young gal who was unlucky enough to be seated next to me was not interested in my humble company at all no matter how much I was speakin'...I stood up to refill my jug that somehow became empty again when that big shark-bait bumped into me, comin from my blind spot! Pourin' the drink out of my jug! Well...I might have been clumsy too but I have just one eye, you lil' shit since the battle against..."

Horace pauses his breath, the man sounds like a pirate. A pirate? His anxiety spikes-

before he hears the man retch onto the deck he just bloody scrubbed, and stumble. Falling flat like a sandbag onto the (freshly bloody polished) deck.

"Well, fuck me sideways..." he gasps.

Horace stares a little, grimacing. He knows a hangover when he sees one, and unfortunate soul he is has had the pleasure of experiencing them all too frequently. He doesn't get drunk anymore, but the memory throbs. He balks at the eyepatch but the pure power of his sympathy pushes him forward. Before he knows it he gives a self-deprecating (anyone can tell it is if they have known or seen him-) chuckle, and says:

"Oi, had too much fun last night?" He picks his fingernail a little before extending a hand out to the stranger.

Horace hopes he doesn't bloody regret this.
coded by reveriee.
 
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((Please note that Luc's name will be crossed out (as below) when he is in public and Gallin's name will be crossed out when in private or in a space where he is comfortable being the real Luc))​

Luc posts.jpg

The Gemini

Luc Cardin
Gallin Forestson

Unexpected things didn't really happen to Luc anymore. He started being far too careful to let things sneak up on him or surprise him. It wasn't a luxury he could afford when he would be living a lie for the rest of his days. However, this - everything that had just happened - was unexpected. He hadn't expected to lose his journal. Nor had he expected to almost immediately find the person that had it after it had been gone for what he guessed was a week. Most importantly, he wasn't expecting the punch that he had just been graced with.

At first the world turn black, then there was a flash of white and then there were spots everywhere. He so completely lost his bearing and sense of coordination that he had no clue what was up or down until his butt hit the floor. The world was still spinning, even as he closed his eyes, and there was a distinct taste of iron in his mouth. He had to hold on to the railing on the side of the ship just so that he was steadied by something, even though he was already on the floor.

It most certainly wasn't his first time getting punched out and he knew that it very likely wouldn't be the last. However, ever other time he had to get in a fight, he was never confused as to thy the fight was actually happening. He could always trace it down for something he said or did or suggested that rubbed them the wrong way. this was different though - he had absolutely no clue what had happened to cause her to react this way. He had watched is words and made sure he didn't say anything too challenging or provoking. He hard watched her movement for any sudden changes in body language but there had been nothing. The punch had genuinely come out of the blue.

He used the railings to pull himself up , hunching over the side of the ship. He spat some blood out into the water and wiped what trace it left on the corner of his lip before looking back at her. Neither anger nor malice could be found in this man's eyes. Rather, it was pure confusion. Most people, after hitting you or threatening to hit you would at least let you know why. Was she just not going to say anything and expect him to figure it out all by himself?

For someone who didn't know where the ground was a couple moments ago, he had regained his composure fairly quickly. However, he was still leaning against the railing just in case. One thing was clear though, he was now considering her with much more caution. He had just seen that she could throw punches out of nowhere - he'd need to take that into consideration if he was even going to continue. How likely was he to get punched again? Wisdom, common sense and self preservation all told him to get as far away as he could as quickly as he could. And he would. But he needed to know something - it would disturb him for nights if he didn't find out.

"Okay." He wiped some more blood from his lip. "No matter what you say...I don't believe that someone can punch another person, entirely unprovoked and for no reason." His gaze met hers, his confusion now shifting to a more honest, gentle expression. Perhaps best described as patiently inquisitive. His voice was strained, clearly in an attempt to mask the considerable deal of pain that he was in from tanking that punch, yet he managed to suppress the pain enough that his words were clear. "Which means, I must have done or said something. So tell me...what did I do miss...?"

It was only at this point that he realised that he didn't know her name. He almost chuckled at the hilarity of the situation - this was the first time he could say that he'd gotten his lights punched out by somebody he didn't even know. However, she could swing at him as many times as she wanted. He had gotten through to her - maybe only for a second but he saw her consider his words. Somewhere deep down, there was somebody that wanted to believe in a better Zenith, in a better version of themself. He was going to find that person. That was what he had decided. Although, his face and potentially other body parts may not like him for it.

As for why he was asking what he did, if she really was a representation of all of Zenith, then he couldn't afford to repeat the mistakes made with her with the people of Zenith. For several reasons. Primarily because even he couldn't walk off a punch to the face from everybody in Zenith at the same time.



Mentions: Dahlia ( CrimsonInk CrimsonInk )

 



the raven.





































  • mood



    Ilya, dear, I enjoy your company
















Chapter 2


“I believe you are all set. You may now leave, or stay if you’d like.”

An invitation.

The thump of this woman’s vital organ echoed in the dark cave of her plumped carcass. Stars twinkled from the deep blues of her skull as the strings of her puppeteer pulled the corners of her mouth upward in content. While most wouldn’t enjoy sitting in a room that is associated with blood, death, and sickness – it was an area she found herself more at home with. Those who bear the weight of medicine are delicate, yet strong, willing creatures to ensure our health – in return we must respect them with the same care given.

“Why…I would be honored to be a part of your company,” Lucrezia said, her voice frail as she tried to hide her excitement.

This man was certainly a gentleman, but she feels something else with him. Was he just frail? No, not that. His mannerisms and his peculiarity was a familiar behavior she was acquainted with before. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but perhaps she was thinking too much about it. Maybe he was just a man who enjoys the simple things. His solitude for once could assume from how she traveled into the deeper parts of the ship. Her eyes traveled over towards the cat huddled in their corner. Her shoulders lifted as her smile curled upwards again with her boney fingers wiggling their way towards him. Lucrezia had always adored animals, especially cats and birds. While she never had any of her own, she still enjoyed and loved their company just like anyone else. Though she found cats to be tricky creatures, yet so interesting from their own independent personalities alone.

“I’m making myself a little warm drink… would you like tea or coffee.”

The woman turned her head back towards the doctor and curiously thought of her answer, but also realized – she never introduced herself. How disgraceful and rude of her to not greet the man who bandaged her delicate flesh.

“I would love a tea please. Any kind would suffice. I must apologize for my rudeness as I have never properly introduced myself,” she said, gracing him with a curtsy, “I am Lucrezia Amore Cambridge. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And your name is…?”

Curious eyes gazed at him with her full attention.


































Radecliff's Fate



Chris Vrenna










♡coded by uxie♡
 










scroll
DEVANA





the leviathan





dahlia CrimsonInk CrimsonInk & luc Wyll Wyll





mask & fit











Devana couldn’t remember a time where she had witnessed such a pitiful display. Or perhaps pathetic was the more fitting term. After all, she could not think back to a time where she’d felt towards another. Things that invoked such emotions were often hidden dangers. Like the sound of a woman wailing deep within snow covered woods or a bundle sitting just at the edge of a frozen lake as bait for whatever lurked below.

Though she was more than sure that there was no hidden danger in the way that the man had fallen to the deck. She remembered his face, and had gotten glimpses of his visage as she trained during the early morning. Devana pushed herself from her leaving against the railing of the ship, her steps heading straight for the little scuffle that was taking place.

Despite her short time aboard the Leviathan she had already grown somewhat restless. She missed the threat of frostbite that came with her home and the split second she had to avoid the dagger like arrow that made up her alarm. There was no looming sense of danger that crept down her spine either. Beneath her mask she let out a barely audible sigh.

It was really the only reason why she even entertained approaching strangers. To put it quite plainly, Devana was bored. Before long she was looming over them, allowing the silence to stretch as her eyes scanned them from head to toe. Her dark gaze eventually settled on the woman and the hand that she waved about. “I couldn’t help but notice the ferocity of your punch. A pity that you stopped so soon though. Are you aware that holding an object in your hand while striking makes the blow heavier?” Black eyes shifted to the man before looking away, clearly unimpressed.






♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:










  • scroll








    The Bride



    Cassandra
    Flores













    mood

    Concerned & Contemplative











    outfit

    Corset & bridal underdress dark wool cloak with a hood











    location

    The Good Ship, Sylvia











    interactions

    Adrius Blackwood











    tags

    @M4R5
















    Prologue : [Cassandra and Adrius - Their second night on the small ship Sylvia; Two and a half weeks ago.]

    The wood of the ship creaked as it rocked back and forth against the waves. The small porthole window of the small room allowed very little moonlight reflecting on the surface of the water. On the straw-filled bed, Cassandra sat with her legs crossed, using her petticoat skirt to dry the wick of the meager candle that came with their accommodations on the good ship Sybil.

    All in all, Cassandra was thankful for the small room. She hadn’t felt much like leaving the cabin since she had boarded two nights ago. Partially because the events of the last 3 days were such a blur, it was still very difficult for her to think of it all at once. The other reason was the man sleeping fitfully on the floor. He insisted on letting her take the bed, choosing to sleep facing the wall, so he may give her as much privacy as could be allowed in their tight quarters.

    She determined the wick of the candle to be dry enough for another attempt at lighting, placing the white candle into the holder. The ocean was fairly calm this evening, so Cassandra trusted the table to be a safe resting spot for the flame, at least just while her hands were occupied with the matches. The matches were also damp from the ocean air, as was most everything else on the good ship Sybil. It took a few tries, but Cassandra managed to ignite the match and light the candle wick. As she shook her hand to snuff out the match, she looked around the newly illuminated room.

    It was only large enough for the bed, a small table and some space on the floor. There was a shelf to rest traveling bags on, which currently sat Adrius’ new top hat and Cassandra’s harvesting knife. Neither of them had any bags or even many possessions on them. The top hat, along with the wool jacket draped over the sleeping man were among the items he grabbed for them as they ran towards the docks in The Cascades.

    She remembered being very impressed with his quick thinking at that moment. There was a great amount of fear that she had never felt before. Cassandra was strong but her fear pushed her to keep up with Adrius’ pace as they weaved through the markets. Even in his weakened state it was hard to match his stride. Afraid of getting lost in the hustle and bustle she kept her eyes on him, reaching a hand out when she got too far behind. How Adrius thought to grab her a cloak to cover her wedding dress, she may never know, much like she would never know if time truly slowed for them as he pulled the hood over her head. His blue-grey eyes were deep with horrors she’d never know, as was the fresh wound around his left eye - her fault in part from the other day’s halted execution - yet, she felt trust in his gaze. A covenant between the two runaways that bonded them for the adventure ahead.

    The aforementioned cloak was fastened under Cassandra’s chin covering the layers of her bridal underdress modestly. The bridal gown itself hung on the clothing rack like a stationary ghost swaying slightly with the ship’s motion. No one could deny how exquisite the white gown was, in fact Cassandra had never seen such a beautiful dress in her life. Removing the dress from her tired body felt like freeing herself from a cage, and the sight of the gown made her stomach twist into knots. She’d throw it overboard if it were not the only dress she possessed at the moment.

    Soft snores floated from the floor where Adrius seemed to be sleeping peacefully, resting on his back with his arm crossed over his forehead and the other resting upon his chest. His jaw was clenched tightly, betraying her hopes of him finding peace in his dreams. Slowly, she uncrossed her legs and stood up from the bed, indulging in a nice stretch as she rose. Relaxation felt like a distant memory along with the lush greenery of her home in Tortoise Rill and the blue rivers of The Canals. Soon, she would reunite with her family.

    For now, she was thankful to have found a partner to traverse the unknown. She held the candle in her hand as she knelt down to Adrius’ side, gently lifting his arm off of his forehead to inspect the wound around his eye. While it looked fairly normal considering the wound was three days old, she furrowed her brow at the thought of what it may look like with no attention. She carefully rearranged his arm to rest on his chest along with his other, and pulled the wool cloak up to his shoulders.

    Thankfully, they had both been allowed rest time away from inquisitive passengers, much of which he spent sleeping. Cassandra didn’t mind - it was hard to imagine he had been able to rest in that hellish cell. She could entertain herself for the time being, and she was finding a lot of time for her own rest. They were to travel another 10 days before reaching Zenith and a transfer to another large ship.

    The Leviathan.

    The name itself sounded grand to Cassandra, and she wondered where it may take them. She thanked the loathsome High Judge Quinlan for his wedding gift to her - a large necklace set with diamonds and rubies in silver - for her bartering tool with the docksman in exchange for an expenses paid trip on the maiden voyage of The Leviathan, not to mention their trip on the good ship Sybil. Hopefully, it would allow them enough time and space to truly escape Quinlan’s clutches and perhaps they may get to return to their homes someday.


    ♡coded by uxie♡

 
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THE CHIMERA.















scroll

Dante



Fiocchi




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




RAR.











OUTFIT




Formal











LOCATION




Deck











MENTIONS




Ren









INTERACTS




Gao Gao

















Only Acting — Kero Kero Bonito




























































scroll






Icarian Cloud.




To reach for silver lined impossibilities amongst thunderous perils






























Chapter Two.

Despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, Dante was watching. Watching Ren with the type of scrutiny that only comes from attempting to learn someone backwards and forwards with the intensity of needing to understand something that it passes all verbal recognition.

In more layman’s terms, he wanted to know what the fuck Ren was currently on and how he could get some.

The nervous shades of grief that came from his small contract joke, the juxtaposition of lackadaisical care in snubbing out cigarette into glossy wooden railing.

He wanted to study him in a museum a little, never mind the immense attraction of how fucking awful of an idea it’d be, out of all the high society political power players that was on this boat, to become close with a stowaway that was so blatantly not supposed to be here… Seemingly only still standing on deck and not fed to sharks out of pity and light amusement that came with tomfoolery.

The lame flirtation ending of “get it” cemented his position of fuck I might like this one.

His eyes flickered to his surroundings as he leaned onto the railing, tilted his head, kept his hand close to his chest as he beckoned Ren to come in closer. Here, in this makeshift illusion of privacy, his eyes did another flicker to their surroundings, made sure nobody was in earshot, careful, measured, controlled.

“Y’know, for a stowaway you sure are blatant about leaving your mark on this ship.” He delivered with such confidence in his assessment. At this point, he was only about… 85% of the way positive that this was absolutely not someone that should be here, but it was time to make their game a little bit more interesting for the both of them. “You’re lucky though. I ain’t a snitch.”

A return to staring at the sea. He bumped shoulders, the bony joint probably just a bit harder than what he meant.

“I like your ambition though. I like it a lot.” He reeled it in just a little more, smatterings of praise thrown out because otherwise he didn’t quite want to let Ren off this conversation just yet. “Here’s the deal.”

And then he pushed his finger into the ashy bit that Ren had put out on the railing to smear some on there.

“You meet me when everyone’s retired for the evening. You get a bed to sleep in, and sneak out in the morning.” He grabbed Ren’s hand to pull a wrist towards him, and wrote in the lighter underside of the forearm his cabin number in dark ash.

“Deal?”
He hadn't yet let go of Ren's forearm, instead clasping it like they were shaking on a business deal, crooked smile pulling at his lips





























♡coded by uxie♡
 
MOOD:
Bitter, curious, enjoying the company, the blessing in disguise

LOCATION:
The Leviathan's deck, at the ship barrier
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS:

Horace, Aurelian
The old-timer
Maltke
Interactions: Horace, CrimsonInk CrimsonInk



The stranger's timing couldn't have been better; his question was followed by thick silence which made the heavy atmosphere radiating from the hangover pirate almost pleasant, accompanied by the serene light of the sun above and the foamy waves bellow. "Oi, do I look like I had fun, swabbie?!" Maltke snapped back, highlighting the peculiar 'Oi' accost as if the old man wouldn't have been using words that had no actual meaning at all. In fact, he liked them, those words of nonchalance and kindness. "There wasn't any fun in it..." Added Maltke after the practiced muscles of his throat repulsed the attack of everything he had drunk and had eaten yesterday. He tried to speak up a bit in order to make sure the curious stranger would hear his hoarse voice, he didn't bother however with turning around even the slightest.

The man behind him had spoken with after a chuckle and Maltke started wondering why anyone would address a pathetic-looking old man on a beautiful day like this; the whole situation only made him to feel himself more pitiable than alone...Luckily Maltke Cycek wasn't a man who dwelled on his own feelings and/or allowed the silence to be around for too long when he had company. The shame was yet again quickly swallowed down and forgotten. Maltke could smell the bitter smoke of the man's cigarette and his body started moving. "I could use a puff too..." He admitted only to himself as he slowly straighten up, his movements are fragmented and snippy, an evil bone creacked around his lower back cruelly. "Daaamn...Bloody fuckin'..." A vulgar groan escaped from his lips as he turned around, laying his squinted eye on the man before him.

The man in front of Maltke was shorter with a few inches and didn't have the exact wind-thorn, salt-dried as someone who had spent their whole life on the seas, someone who Maltke would have respected in an instant, not to mention the man's well-kept, dirty-blonde hair! However his eyes were glinting intelligently, kindly, glinting with something that Maltke decided not to analyze with half as many eyes. "Eh?" The pirate's eye settled on the man's extended hand. He might have sounded almost intimidating as he sniffed his nose if the left half of his lips hadn't started curling upwards, caused by the sight of the casual courtesy.

"I'm Maltke Cycek" The old pirate introduced himself without a second thought, his tongue moved quickly in enthusiasm as he grabbed Horace's hand - maybe firmer than it would have been necessery - and shook it. Then, as if he had told too much, Maltke turned away from him swiftly, looking for his coat which hid his weathered, crumpled pack of cigarettes among other valuable items. "Answerin' to yer question...I didn't have too much fun yesterday...just drank because the lack of happiness I suppose...I had an argument with that idiot, it ain't important but..." Maltke kept talking as he was looking for his coat that layed on a barel. For an 'ain't important topic' the old man could surely talk a lot.

...

"I tell ye, I could beat him but then I would be the bastard..." He repeated the final line of the story again, gesticulating violently before he moved the cigarette to his mouth, finally finishing the saga of him being the victim who had been the bigger man in the past confrontation with Aurelian. Matches flashed for a second, Maltke leaned down and the small flames kissed the end of the cigarette, the smoke clouded the pirate's bitter face. He leaned against the ship barrier and looked right at his new company with an intensity matching with Maltke's inhalations. "But enough about me!" He waved his hand dismissively, his voice was already tired from talking this much. "Tell me..." Every last of Maltke's presence fell into peaces with the painful, catarrhal chains of coughes that sent larger clouds of smoke in the air. "Tell this humble sailor, what are you doing on this ship, o' Horace!" Needless to say, the old man found the way he called Horace exceptionally funny...

 
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mood :
Fight or Flight

location :
The Deck
outfit :
mentions :
Maltke escapist escapist

interactions :
Wyll Wyll
THE DESCENDANT
;; Dahlia


Chapter Two

Dull brown eyes narrowed towards the man regaining his composure from her punch. Careful, calculative points of the body she took note of if he wished to return the favor. A cautious feeling of survival she adapted to out of pure instinct. He provoked her inner beast with his lack of care to the philosophy he so preached. To turn back on his word to a potential follower made her past judgment on her terms.

"No matter what you say...I don't believe that someone can punch another person, entirely unprovoked and for no reason."

No fucking shit.

"Which means, I must have done or said something. So, tell me...what did I do miss...?"

Dahlia didn’t wish to pass anymore pleasantries. Formalities were something she never had the privilege of having with others. Would you ask the name of an Antares rat? No, you wouldn’t and lying is not a very demure trait to have so don’t say you will. Before she could even voice her spite towards him the sound of steps stopped her in place. Though it came to be much more than that. This feeling was unnerving and daunting, and it was a feeling she knew too well. Danger. Danger.

A shaky breath escaped her pink lips as this grim chill began to trail down her spine. Her eyes traveled from her unfavorable victim to the woman walking towards them. Her body stiffened from the heavy weight of her presence the closer she came. A part of her was ready to flee from this woman. The voice of caution and survival told her to run, but another voice told her to stand her ground and see what this woman knows.

If she ran now, she would look guilty – and that is the last thing she wanted to appear as. Guilty. Instead she’ll appear to what she was most associated with that Maltke seemed to have guessed right from the first night.

“...I've always believed that those who have red hair like that...are spawns or descendants of the devil..."

The stowaway gazed back with the same cautious intensity. The lift of the mysterious woman’s mask to show her lips made her hands clam from what lurked underneath. No longer was she worried about the noble or her injured hand, but the soldier who stood before her.

“I couldn’t help but notice the ferocity of your punch. A pity that you stopped so soon though. Are you aware that holding an object in your hand while striking makes the blow heavier?”

Breath. Breath.

“I was not,” she queried, her tone remaining monotonous and guarded, “while a heavier blow would do well for some, I had no interest in really fighting a man of deceit and lies. So naturally tossed me to the side as strange women and men kissed his bum from his sad writing.”

coded by reveriee.
 
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((Please note that Luc's name will be crossed out (as below) when he is in public and Gallin's name will be crossed out when in private or in a space where he is comfortable being the real Luc))​

Luc posts.jpg

The Gemini

Luc Cardin
Gallin Forestson

Luc watched her features carefully, now more alert to every movement she made, lest he be caught off guard by another stray punch. For the briefest of moments, she looked like she was about to provide him with an answer - one which Luc would have been grateful for, but then his senses started begging him to disappear.

Death is coming. Run.​

It's okay, just breathe.

Get out of here.​

You're fine.

Leave now!​

"Lady Acindius!" He was glad that he didn't run - it would have been poor for Gallin's reputation. His heart had been beating so fast, his body pumping with adrenaline that he almost didn't realise who it was.

He greeted her with a deep bow, every trace of Luc now permanently banished. She knew who he was. There was something to lose now. She didn't seem like the type to involve herself in idle gossip or chatter about other nobles, but he was not willing to take any chances.

When he stood back up, he waved off her comments as a joke, laughing softly: a natural enough laugh to be believed - a hollow enough laugh to be identified by those that knew the pang of an empty laugh. "Lady Acindius, your dreadfulness, how you jest. Had she continued any longer, I would have surely been deprived the terror of your presence. I assure you..." he turned to face Dahlia, even as he continued to address Devana, rubbing his chin ever so slightly. "...the blow was heavy enough. I daresay I was in danger of making this deck my bed for a moment." Another hollow laugh.

However, his laughing stopped the second the redhead started speaking again. Deceit and lies? Tossed her to the side? When did I...oh...oh Luc Cardin, you fool. Without the presence of someone who knew him, he would have been able to offer a more sincere, Luc-like apology. However, for now, he was restricted to having to balance between Luc and Gallin.

"How terrible of me." He spoke with the cadence of Gallin and the sincerity of Luc hidden beneath it. "I assure you that it wasn't my intention. My distracted mind just tend to get carried away at times." Lady Acindius seemed to have taken a liking to the redhead, so perhaps it was possible to go a step further. "Allow me to make it up to you. Perhaps I could offer a different set of my writings, ones that you may hopefully find less sad," that comment still bothered him. "I wager you would rather enjoy the opportunity to remind me what a terrible writer I am."

The last part was said in jest but there was a part of him that spent nights agonizing over whether he indeed had a talent for writing or whether he had just gotten lucky by catering to the need for hope and gossip in society and would be replaced as soon as someone more talented came along and took his place in the hearts of the people.



Mentions: Dahlia ( CrimsonInk CrimsonInk ), Devana ( erzulie erzulie )

 





THE KINGSLAYER.















scroll

船井 蓮



FUNAI REN




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




[BITES ROSE BETWEEN TEETH]











OUTFIT




NO HAT SWAG











LOCATION




DECK












MENTIONS




DANTE, ROSA, ILYA










INTERACTS




qunqun qunqun


















BAD IDEAS — THE 5:55.
































































scroll






HERETIC BOY,




you should know: hate misshapes even the most woodland into something that would rather die in captivity than domesticate.






























CHAPTER TWO.

The noble has taken to leaning against the railing, beckons for him to come closer like some stray.

Order Ren around like a dog. Jail for Dante. Jail for a thousand years.

He heeds it because he can make a lover out of curiosity, a motion that would usually have him petty enough to do the opposite instead binds him with a burning intrigue. Steps into their palette of flawless inconspicuous stratagem to engage in polite not gay intimacy.

“Y’know, for a stowaway you sure are blatant about leaving your mark on this ship.”

Crescent nails gutter his palms with nails, and an unsyncopated palpitation has resonated through the cavities of his anxious chest; Dante is not meant to know that. An accusation that thrums him with a restless chord, robbing lungs like a fist, the thief is held in a fixed silence as he considers his potential options.

Number one. The reliable manoeuvre of sprinting away.

Number two. Pretend to faint from heat stroke to avoid this conversation.

Number three: Punch the man very hard so he falls over the railing into the ocean.

Number Four. Fake cry for pity about his family that just spontaneously died.

“I beg your pardon.” Number five, play ignorant. An offended scoff, as if anyone with enough wits could not decipher his lack of integration on the ship. Arrogance bleeds into silence. Hands set to hips and jaw tilted with insult, he stands there mulling for a better argument than a waggled finger and a “Nuh-Uh”.

He digests the matter like a bony vole, cage snagging and splintering in the throat. Worry knocks at the demarcation of both thought and vision, and the wrong kind of tension bundling inside him fears his time on the ship may taper to an end by the hand of his own brilliantly stupid whims.

“That’s not—“ Ren has never been good at outright lying, but this is also not the type of assumption he can settle with a nod or shake of his head. Grinding that protest from his teeth, he does not bother to argue this point, but pedantics are integral to his nature. Reflects a fake smile but cannot let that apprehension relax.

“I am not stowed anywhere.” Avoids admission with a careful step around the burlap of snakes now teeming at his side. He has not declined being a stowaway, no more has he claimed he is legally onboard, only that he is not hiding to avoid being seen; splitting the silver fine threads of the conversation to remain semi-honest lest they become a garrotte for the throat.

Dante tells him he is lucky, and Ren does not find comfort in that. They have turned to watch the ocean, and charcoal rimmed irises burn suspicion into the side of their features. The thief is not gullible enough to trust a stranger with poured confessions, but it would be nice to have someone he doesn’t feel the need to play pretend around.

They bend their own rule to cover the distance, a nudge of the shoulder that breaks his focus. Some praise touches the eaves of his uneasiness and he chases it like he always does, a shadow into warm corners. This man and his talk of deals and rules, Ren thinks he should start writing these down.

The business contract, curious eyes watch the pile of ash melding to the horizon of their finger, then to the hand that plies his own towards them with not much effort. Thinks, oh, and goes still at the cold graze encrypting a cabin into his wrist. Planted there, a steadying hold that is nothing playful though nothing of prayer either. Grabbing out of wedlock. Scandalous.

He can smell smoky tobacco and crushed mint leaves and when they speak, Ren's string of attention is plucked back from the lilts of their touch. He’d get a bed to sleep in, a comment made as if Ren did not already have one. How rude. How correct.

He does not mind the current arrangement he stumbled into through lucky peculiarity, odd as the nest of individuals might be. Miss Rosie was pretty and smelled nice, and although clumsy in his rare appearances, Ilya’s collapse of limbs was a welcome compression. This is not to say it is Ren’s favourite, but it is an improvement from the aching tension that emerges from sleeping on hard floors in cramped hidden spaces below deck.

Ren cannot say he is disinterested at the prospect of trying somewhere else with a little more space and a little more congress.

It is also good to try wares before purchase.

Sneak out in the morning. Ren will bite, meet the deal in kind, but always take nudge at the drawn line. If Dante likes ambition, let us see how far Ren can stretch it till it borders the territory of audacious.

“How early?” The bartering begins, never quite happy with what he was given. “See, we won’t be getting much sleep and I’d hate to be tired all day.”

They are still connected by the clasp of their arms, a dress up in professional ostentation, but there is underlying demand in how Ren’s grip tightens on the other, holding Dante hostage for an answer of his liking. Snakes do the same with their constricted targets, so do spiders and their encasings, one ought to not think too much of it.

"Otherwise I'll need compensation for all the... emotional distress." He offers a blameless blink, and it is now Ren's turn to use Dante's favourite word;

"What'cha think Danny? That a deal?"





























♡coded by uxie♡
 










scroll
DEVANA





the leviathan





dahlia CrimsonInk CrimsonInk & luc Wyll Wyll





mask & fit











Again silence stretched until it morphed until something a touch unsettling. Her gaze roved over the two of them slowly. She could understand the fire kissed woman in a sense. The dark maiden was all too familiar with the ways of nobles and how fickle they could be.

“For that, I can not fault you. Though, I find that removing the tongue puts all lies to rest.” There was a touch of glee in tone, a hint of fondness that suggested was often tied to a treasured memory. After what seemed like an unusual amount of time, she blinked. “I’ve inserted myself into your conversation in hopes of feeling that strength myself. I tend to have opponents when I train and I have found none.”

Devana had been intentional with how she had yet to address the man before her, despite his greeting. Her stare bore into him shortly after she spoke with the redhead. During the early mornings she had caught sight of him as she trained and exercised. There was something fake about the man before her. The type of fake that brought the typical noble to mind.

Black eyes narrowed as she stared. Some would call her paranoid for the way her hackles raised ever so slightly. But in her world, fakeness could lead to death. Devana swore that she could feel her facial scar ache in his presence. Devana took a step closer, letting her shadow block the sun above. “Who are you?” What a simple but loaded question.







♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE PRODIGAL.















scroll

Cadence



VALIENTE




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Feeling cute.











OUTFIT




Ballerina Babe.











LOCATION




Valiente Estate, Dance Hall.












MENTIONS




Tiberius










INTERACTS




N/A


















Little Girl — Calica
































































scroll






Orchid Pools




lit with excitement as you take your first step. One foot after the other, you dance between the fine line of liberty and bondage.






























PROLOGUE: Goodbye, Sirocco.

The repeated clicks of a metronome echoed throughout the room, littered with mirrors. Three glass walls monitored each movement as if each flawed motion would be absorbed and remembered. In the centre of the room, a girl stood tall with her tipped toes and stretched limbs. As the clicks continued to track each beat, orchid pools were hazed with pure concentration. Each hour she spends practising has only sharpened her accuracy. But what is accuracy without stamina in the art of dance?

One. Two. Three. One. Two–

A tiresome weight fell from her shoulders, and soon exhaustion followed. Like tender silk, her consciousness began to slip away. All it took was one misstep for her figure to tumble down to the wooden boards beneath her.

From her peripheral view, she saw a glimpse of her fallen form, and frustration slowly bubbled within her. The reflection peering back at her possessed a grim, disappointed expression. As the young lady brought her warm forehead to her knees, she could feel her thoughts buzzing behind her skull. Doubts and unease ruminated deep within each marrow of her being.

“Have you finally taken up meditation, dear?” A voice surprised her from behind.

“Mama!” Cadence’s surprise became evident through the slight crack of her voice. The lavender-eyed lady quickly flicked a switch within her psyche and brushed the underlying worry that threatened to resurface. She shook her head and distanced her knees away from her chest. “Oh, you know me! I’m simply stretching, you see! It’ll be the last time I do so, anyway. I’m merely enjoying myself down memory lane.”

With a practised stretch, the ambitious ballerina straightened her spine and attempted to reach her covered toe—a phoney example of her words.

“Mhmm, I’m sure you are, my dear…” A cold sweat trickled down her temple as her mother paused. As her mother attempted to find the right words, the young ballerina rested her shoulders and ceased her fallacy. As Cadence rose to her feet, her mother broke the awkward silence. “How are you feeling?”

An attempt to connect? Of all the times she could’ve chosen to approach her daughter, today was her preferred time. Why? It puzzled Cadence to great lengths; however, she mustn’t let that single sentence sway her from leaving.

A polite chuckle reverberated through the glass walls as Cadence turned to the woman who bore her. “This is exactly what I wish for. I’m truly fine, mother.” A nervous lie she masked with an authentic reassurance.

“Hmm, if you say so.” The viscountess grabbed the rose shawl from a nearby chair and wrapped it around her daughter’s shoulders. “You ought to be careful. Do not talk to strangers unless Tiberius has deemed them safe.” As the heiress’ eyes gravitated towards the floor, her mother’s fingers steadied her chin, holding her eyes hostage. “And you must remember, you mustn’t treat him cruelly. And that goes to the staff on board.”

Lavender pools oozed with arrogance as she looked away from her mother’s gaze. “What are servants for if not for serving us, mama? That’s their purpose. And who am I to take that purpose away from them?” A second passed, then another. With the silence becoming awkward and unbearable, Cadence prompted a quick exit. “I love you, mama. Be well.” With a haphazard shrug, the haughty heiress left her mother behind with a quick goodbye.

As her steps found comfort in the distance she had made between her mother and herself, the young woman released a breath she was unaware she was holding. With little comprehension, the inheritress found the concept of maternal care challenging to grasp. In her eyes, if her mother truly loved her so much, the question of her independence and her destructive yet gratifying antics shouldn’t have significantly bothered her. If her mother truly loved and trusted her daughter, she shouldn’t have any issues with the habits that make her feel good about herself. Is she truly their little girl if they couldn’t find it within themselves to spoil that little girl?

On some nights, Cadence couldn’t help but wish her mother would love her the way her father did. Only in those moments she pondered if things would’ve been different between her and her mother.

The strained boundary these two women found themselves in has always made their interactions awkward and fleeting. This became even more evident after that one fateful night. The echo of her mother’s taunt still haunts her every night.

“Our daughter is always out there satiating on her greedy impulses…”

She must remind herself that she will be unfettered to the anxieties she feels now after boarding the Leviathan. She can leave that memory behind and proclaim the freedom she has always wanted. And yet… There was a minuscule part of her that remained unsure and cautious. Will leaving the only safe place she has ever known relieve her of the pressures of being an heiress?

“Ha! I highly doubt that.” She yelled to herself as she shook her head humorously, utterly blind to the two men a few feet away.

“Doubt what, love?” Her father’s voice snapped her focus back to him. The young lady has made it to the gates of her home, ready to depart and seize the day.

“Papa!” Cadence gleefully waved at her father and hastened her footsteps.

“Come over here, love. I want you to meet someone.” As her father urged her to step closer to the rugged man beside him, Cadence found her neck craning upwards in an annoying manner. On the bright side, the man would make the perfect umbrella as he efficiently blocked the sun behind his prominent figure. “This is Tiberius, love; he’ll care for you throughout your journey. If you need anything, all you must do is write to me. You have your quill with you, correct? You— What’s the matter, love?” The more her father spoke, the more she immersed herself in the realisation that her father was the sweetest man alive. And soon, his soft tone urged the young lady’s response.

“Nothing.” With a smile slowly lifting from each corner of her lips, the realisation of having a blessed parent sets in. “I truly am thankful for you, papa. For everything you’ve done for me.” Cadence gravitated towards his arms as her words reached her father’s ears, wrapping herself in her father’s embrace.

“As long as you come home in one piece, that’s all I care about. Now, off you go. Stay safe, love.” Equipped with a fatherly forehead kiss and a gentle hand that assisted her at the entrance of the carriage, Cadence fizzes with contentment.

Her smile only widened as the carriage shook when her giant companion entered. “Hello, Tiberius. I’m Cadence Valiente! A pleasure to meet you!” With an animated grin plastered on her face, she made sure the retreating figure of her father noticed her politeness. And as soon as the man entered the comfort of his homestead, she turned towards her new friend with devious intent in mind.

She crossed her legs and made sure the movement caught the attention of her newly appointed guard. The arrogant heiress then planted her elbows on the top of her knees and leaned forward, her hands cradling her chin, supporting her head. It was as if she was taking her time to assess the capabilities of the person in front of her. “I shall name you… Hmm… Teddy! Y’know, like the bear. Oh! And, I hope you know from now on, you’ll carry my bags for me.” She smirked.

With a newfound beginning, she breathed the air of freedom that now envelops her.

“So, tell me. How does the mighty champion get demoted to a mere bodyguard?”






























♡coded by uxie♡






THE PRODIGAL.















scroll

Cadence



VALIENTE




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Thuggin shit out.











OUTFIT




Serving Waist.











LOCATION




Mess Hall












MENTIONS




Zaira, Tiberius










INTERACTS




Zaira peachpuff peachpuff


















Numb Little Bug — Em Beihold
































































scroll






Orchid Pools




lit with excitement as you take your first step. One foot after the other, you dance between the fine line of liberty and bondage.






























CHAPTER TWO.

If one asks Cadence what her first night on board was like, she would simply smile and proceed to describe her experience with grotesque accuracy and horrifying details that could make the most zealous priests flustered.

The moment the young heiress stepped foot upon the ship, booze, dance, and laughter became her primary company. No second was wasted drinking and dancing; once in her uncompromising life, she unlocked her shackles and flew straight to the sun. As for her nightly activities, the fun for the lady never stopped as she indulged herself under the moon and stars. There, she found the subtle rock of the waves rather enticing and oddly romantic.

With those first three nights on board, she began to see the use of Tiberius. As the indulgence of booze continues to cycle through her every waking moment, the titan has found the young heiress among the oddest crevices of the ship. She would feel sorry for his predicament with her if it weren’t for his status as her family’s dog. A dog will always be a dog, after all, always loyal and obedient. The young heiress ought to thank her father for blessing her with a new servant.

Today marks her fourth morning on the ship. It was a morning like the past few mornings, except her beloved bodyguard was nowhere in sight to carry her drowsy figure out of the barrels she found herself on top of.

“Ted… Teddyyyyyy!” After a few minutes of silence, her impatient ass screeched as if her vocal cords had transformed themselves into a harpy.

“TEDDYYYYYYYYYYYEEEHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUGHH!!!!!”

After a few minutes of silence, Cadence finally decided to have the brilliant idea of standing up by herself. The moment her head began to lift, a stinging headache surfaced, and it started to lull itself back, accommodating the pain that continued to attack her head rhythmically. The throbbing sensation seemed only to strengthen when she tried to sit herself up.

The fates seemed to gather themselves above the clouds and watch her miserable attempt to rouse herself from the symptoms of overindulgence.

With the stumbling grace of a goose, she persistently ignored her headache, made her way through a series of hallways and finally found herself a mirror. As she took in her bedraggled appearance, she was instinctively repulsed and immediately spared no effort to save her tangled hair and smudged make-up. Cadence tied her hair up in a swift and well-practised hairdo; as for her make-up, the lady found herself scouring the floor for the nearest towel. Her search eventually reached the ship’s mess hall, where he found a tray of warm towels. Her skin prickled in satisfaction as she unfurled the towel and proceeded to envelop her face with the warm sensation—an attempt to create comfort to her buzzing headache and wipe her makeup off.

Once finished, she haphazardly tossed the towel on a nearby chair and leaned on a table, cradling her drumming head. And soon, a figure made itself known within her vicinity. As soon as Cadence noticed her figure, the young lady waved her hand around frantically in an attempt to make her presence known to the stranger. For the other party, it might seem as if she was another noble seeking some attention, perhaps on another day. Still, today, she genuinely needed help as her bodyguard decided to leave her alone for the day. She’ll make sure to write a controversial and vulgar welp review regarding his service to her number one fan, her father.

Cadence stood up properly and analysed the woman in front of her. Incredible, umber eyes with an underlying silver hidden beneath them entrap the young noble. Perfectly high cheekbones that could make any noble woman jealous, and Cadence is no exception. She is on the precipice of deciding if she wants to be her or be with her.

“Oh hey, do you know where I can find some ginger tea or at least some water? I have a killer hangover.” She groaned in protest, a slight drawl in her speech as she slowly succumbed to the pulsating headache. Her late-night dinner threatens to unload themselves in front of the stranger.

In an attempt to make herself seem friendly, she ambles towards the stranger and offers a hand to shake. “Oh, I’m Cadence, by the way. Pleased to meet you.” She donned her signature smile.

No, not really. Please be of use to me. Or else I drop the niceties. Cadence thought to herself selfishly.

“What’s your name?” Cadence prodded.

Don’t know, don’t care. Are they going to help or not? As she clutched her stomach in a pathetic attempt to reassure it, a memory slowly resurfaced.

“… Do not talk to strangers unless Tiberius has deemed them safe.” The memory then tucked itself back at the back of her mind, and a silent scoff followed. As she examined the stranger before her, Cadence deemed them no consequence. She couldn’t care less about the earful she was about to get from Tiberius; she could somehow circle the blame back to him. She’ll find a way.

She always finds a way.





























♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE GLADIATOR.















scroll

Tiberius



SANCTUS




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Feeling Protective.











OUTFIT




Training Pants.











LOCATION




The Colosseum, Training Grounds.












MENTIONS




Cadence










INTERACTS




N/A


















Like a Prayer — Choir Version
































































scroll






Sanguine Stains




your path like a carpet of carnage. Its bloody jaws snap shut on your limbs, forcing you to walk upon the heap of carcass you created.






























PROLOGUE: Sand's Proem.

T.W: Teeny tiny mentions of blood.

The taste of iron drips from his busted lip as it begins to bloom a crimson hue. The back of his hand smudged the droplets while his eyes remained steadily on what was before him. His opponent. As his hand covered his mouth, the gladiator found himself masking a devious smirk. His feet quickly flew forward, removing the opportunity for his foe to process to attack back.

The behemoth masterfully faked a weave to the left and quickly stepped to the right. As he maintained lethal eye contact with his foe, the man unconsciously challenged the champion with his glare, too prideful to notice the fist about to make contact with his cheek.

The blow would’ve heavily damaged his foe’s perfectly high cheekbones until time suddenly paused—or at least for his foe, that's what it felt like before they felt a gentle knuckle caressing his cheek. As his foe's adrenaline lowered, they found themselves clumsily stumbling down to the golden sands beneath them; hands outstretched in an attempt to gain their balance.

The winner roared into a fit of laughter and offered friendly assistance to his fallen friend. “Be sure to watch your environment next time. Your next sparring partner might not be as generous as me.” He gruffly advised.

While those who compete within the arena have made enemies out of each other, a single man has grown fond of camaraderie. For Tiberius Sanctus, his golden principles and connections have made him thrive as the Colosseum’s beloved and most-cheered champion. From his will to survive in the arena and the theatric spectacle known as life, Tiberius is mostly well known for being the most fearless and determined to succeed. Out of all the odds laid before him, the man found himself on a golden throne built upon his triumph and warrior spirit.

A slow applause echoed through the singular hallway. Familiar violet gaze, orchid clothing, and a lean figure emerged from the shadows. The individual beside him took the noble’s presence to take his leave.

“If you keep this up, you'll win your sixth year. Reach one more, and you'll break the record.” A mature voice greeted him blithely. A hand proudly patted him on the back, and something within him bloomed delightfully.

Turning his head towards the voice to whom he owed his life—Viscount Valiente. For a child without a father or parental figure, the viscount has fulfilled his duty to Tiberius as his guardian better than his biological ever did. Under the guidance of the viscount, he found himself to be the man he is today. His power, influence and popularity were all from the man beside him. Tiberius is respected, loved and motivated by the influence of the viscount. Tiberius simply yearns and is envious of the fatherly love the viscount is capable of giving. So, to ascertain this mythological piece of article, he must be Valiente’s dog. Loyal, obedient and well-trained.

“I have it all thanks to you, sir. So, thank you for letting me compete this far.” He bowed, showing immense gratitude.

“Tiberius, I have a request for you. It requires your utmost… speciality.” With that, his ears instinctively perked up with curiosity.

“Whatever you need, boss. I'm at your service.” He uttered eagerly, like a puppy, wanting recognition and praise.

“Alright, well… it's a rather unorthodox request.” The noble wrapped an arm around Tiberius’ broad shoulders, a habit about nobles he found interesting. The two then began walking around the empty arena.

Unorthodox? Is that a type of konsteelayshon? He thought to himself stupidly.

“Whatever it is, sir, I'm sure I can handle it.” Tiberius declared proudly.

He won't have me wrangle the stars for him, right? Gods, I hope not… though that would be an exciting challe–

“It's about my daughter, Cadence. You’ve met once or twice.” The Viscount smiled and gazed at the dirt as if remembering a fond memory. “She's growing up now, and the world is difficult to maneuver. As a parent, I have concerns, of course, and that is why,” the Viscount looked at him straight in the eyes, “I must ask you to travel the kingdom with her. You must keep her safe and let no harm come to her. I can only entrust this task to you, Tiberius.”

Surprise couldn't begin to describe the emotions that started to fluctuate within him at that moment. Fear of the unknown is undoubtedly up there, but it also stands equal to excitement. It was a chance for him to see Solas with his own two eyes, the beauty it holds, and the gorgeous sunsets his eyes would behold in each part of the kingdom. How does the forever night look in the Cascades? Will it hold beauty or fear within his heart? Is it true Umbra has snow? What would they taste like? He’s heard stories of the Canals as well, as well as exotic flowers for his eyes to appreciate and smell. Will they be as exotic and smelly as he’s been told? All these questions will eventually be answered once he accepts the viscount’s offer.

“I will not fail you, sir. I promise you my life and blood; no harm will come to her.” Tiberius replied solemnly. And when he promises something to the viscount, he makes it his utmost priority and responsibility to see it through. He wears the champion’s insignia for a reason, after all.

“Good, you know what happens to those who disobey.” The viscount said in a sing-song tone as he unlatched his arm off the colossal man and exited the arena. Leaving his champion behind to contemplate in his thoughts.

Despite the jest, Tiberius couldn’t help but flare his nose in contemplation and honestly think of the opportunity dealt in front of him. From what he has heard about Valiente’s heiress, she is known for her vanity and opulent lifestyle, a stark contrast to the viscount he had grown to admire and pay obedience to. Despite his reservations, a seed of hope could only bloom into something worthwhile if he continued to water it with positive thoughts.

Tiberius’ lips lifted into a hopeful smile. The gladiator stood in the centre of the sandy arena and deeply breathed Siroc’s golden breeze. The stench of heat and spices entered his system. As fate continued to pull the strings of his destiny, an electrifying excitement filtered through him. A silent prayer was made that day as the hymns of providence hummed along his journey.

Please, let me dream once more.






























♡coded by uxie♡






THE GLADIATOR.















scroll

Tiberius



SANCTUS




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




I’m Tired Boss











OUTFIT




Siroc Robe.











LOCATION




Deck > Dock












MENTIONS




Aryon, Cadence










INTERACTS




Pookie Wookie Aryon roxybirdie roxybirdie


















It's Alright — Mother Mother
































































scroll






Sanguine Stains




your path like a carpet of carnage. Its bloody jaws snap shut on your limbs, forcing you to walk upon the heap of carcass you created.






























CHAPTER TWO.

FUDGE. FUUUUUUDGE!!! Im gonna die. Boss is gonna kill me.

Azure eyes darted around each face, searching frantically for a pair of violet eyes. He searched her room, the kitchen, and even the places she had found herself in before. With each empty room, the hope he harboured slowly dimmed into nothingness, and distress began to arise. (Look away, captain. TW: Slight ship abuse.) The feel of the timber architrave under his grasp slightly cracked from his frustration.

What he thought would be a voyage filled with fun adventures and beautiful sights has only led him to a path filled with constant worry and the occasional beautiful sunset. So far, it is safe to say that his time with the Leviathan has not been... what he has expected. The sunsets that graced his visions were breathtakingly gorgeous, but they held little importance in the grand scheme of things. If he had known the heiress well enough, perhaps, he would’ve contemplated saying yes to his viscount’s request.

A withering feeling would remain attached to him if the gladiator had said no. That would be a known fact to him. So, aside from the sickening stress that threatened to surface within him, every fibre of his being was beginning to wilt gradually. Each day has plucked his strength away from him as he encountered his fans in close proximity while juggling the responsibility of keeping a spoiled heiress safe from men and women who would bring her genuine harm. Her promiscuity and feral thirst for pleasure and entertainment were slowly beginning to take their macabre toll on both of them. Hidden behind a fit of smiles and giggles, there’s an underlying sadness within her that Tiberius can’t help but feel sorry for. But, by the gods, she’s done a well enough job to annoy the living shit out of him.

As the sea of people part from his path, some would ogle as he paid them no mind. Due to the unyielding heat of Siroc, Tiberius has been used to the feel of thin garments. Seeing as they are nowhere near Umbra’s borders, he has held off wearing his winter gear despite the buzzing excitement he felt when purchasing the articles of clothing.

Amber robe, held together by a thin strap that brushes past his upper torso. He found the simple attire very cutesy and demure; however, the way some noblewomen ogle his body made him consider retreating into the shadows, back to the stress of worrying about a person who probably cared little about him.

Instead, he shuffled forward near the railings. He positioned himself perfectly to watch the boarding process and to simply bask in the warm and comforting sunlight. He leaned against the balustrade to watch the sapphire waters beneath him. The titan wished he could go for a quick swim to relax and imagine himself in The Baths of Siroc, floating above the clear waters, relieving himself of mental pains. It only took him four days to swaddle a screaming, spoiled heiress for him to miss his home.

Tiberius shook his head and let out a slight exasperated laugh. Despite his status today, there is nothing but empty, shallow souls waiting for him on the docks of that desert nation. Before dwelling much deeper on those thoughts, he stopped himself and wiped his face with his broad hands as if that mere action would erase all his disconcertment.

Just as he was about to continue his search for the missing heiress, he noticed a familiar carriage that stopped nearby. As the other boarding guests began to acclimate to the ship, a late arrival began to make their way out of the coach. Cloaked in a midnight blue mantle, a familiar face neared the ship's entrance.

Before approaching the figure, he made sure they finished speaking to the man assigned with the tickets. From his small minglings with nobility, it is the most proper and polite thing he could do. After noticing their conversation had ended, and the familiar figure found themselves with a distressed expression, Tiberius quickened his pace and excused himself amiably to those whom he accidentally bumped.

“Aryon? I mean… Wait.” Shock filtered through him as he tried to process the presence of another. He hid his surprise pathetically with a nervous laugh. Instinct drove him to address his friends by their first name; however, decorum and proper etiquette must be exchanged as their environment was filled with onlookers. “Your Grace, I wasn't expecting you to be on board with us.” He excitedly uttered as he slightly lowered his head in genuine respect for the noble.

Aryon Solei Hóng will always be a welcome surprise in Tiberius’ eyes. With unmistakable silver hair and eyes as dark and starry as the night sky, Tiberius immediately noticed their presence. With the elegance of a pearl white swan and an allure that would make the goddess of beauty sick with envy, Aryon is a diamond that perfectly encapsulates all the qualities the behemoth of a man adores in royalty and high society. Tasteful, well-mannered, and pleasant. Three words that perfectly describe the beloved archduchess.

But something, or at least someone, is missing from the archduchess’s retinue. Now that he has adequately examined their surroundings, he has noticed that the noble is entirely alone and unusually lacks their husband's attendance.

“I don't see the archduke with you, Your Grace. If you don’t mind me asking, is he coming back to help you with your luggage?” he asked with genuine curiosity while eyeing the messy arrangement of luggage. Tiberius was about to instinctively pick up their luggage and help; however, from previous experience, he had grown cautious of Aryon’s protective husband and had respected his boundaries ever since. “Erm, would you like my help to carry these bags, Your Grace?” A hesitant yet sincere offer. From one friend to another.

Sharp hearing honed from fighting and instinct has made him aware of the quiet rustle of metal from underneath their cloth. At first, he thought that the archduchess carried some sort of weapon until a much more dreadful conclusion filled his head. Flinching from the touch of another, tense stature at the mere presence of the archduke and… the sick show he did not have the pleasure of witnessing at all. His eyebrows scrunched up in contempt and confusion, and he proceeded to blink the thought away, but to no avail.

Surely, nobles can’t be that fucked in the head, right? However, with his close acquaintance with a certain self-destructive heiress from a family he has vowed to protect and serve, the conclusion he finds for himself is simple and holds some semblance to the truth. Nobility and those above him are mere humans. If they have the ability to be just as kind and well-mannered, then that means that they also have the ability to be just as nasty and vile as the rest.






























♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:
MOOD:

Skittish



LOCATION:

The Leviathan: Main Deck
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS:



the acrobat
percy
Interactions: sollie sollie Saar, Gao Gao Rat

“Well then,” Percy exclaimed with a clap of his hands. “It's settled. I'll be eagerly awaiting your attendance,” He smiled. A lie. Percy would much prefer to never see the two individuals in front of him again.

Standing face to face with the two of them was a strange sensation. He'd experienced his fair share of oddities and quirks within the circus, but he'd never come across a feeling such as this. They seemed to suck the color from the air around them, weighing it down into something sluggish and muddy.

It was a feeling he didn't want to stand awash in further. He cleared his throat, the sound nearly climbing on top of the latter half of Rat’s sentence. Negating it, challenging it, ignoring it wholly. “It was a pleasure meeting you both. Saar, Rat, I'll be looking out for you in the crowd,” He winked. “But alas, I'm quite a busy man, I have some things to get in order before I can settle in. I'd love to stay and chat further, it's been a riveting conversation.”

Another lie. Percy would rather relive his fall from grace than relive this god awful conversation. He offered a showy bow to the pair before him. The fabric of his shirt rippled from the movement, fluid and dripping in the glimmer of refracted sunlight.

A moment later and he was gone. Percy’s stride across the deck was swift and artful, nearly dancing his way through the various bodies that stood engaged in conversation. Truthfully, he'd settled all his affairs earlier that morning. Hence his previous lounging in the sun.

It pained him to give up the fresh air, it's scent painted across his tongue with a briney salt, but the sacrifice paled in comparison to the dread of being caught between Rat and Saar once more.

The dining hall. Right, that sounded like a good option. A nice coffee to renew the energy that had been vaporized from his body moments prior. It was incredible how such a short conversation could expend so much. He imagined the Rat and Saar were like shapeless black holes of energy, sucking up all they could from others and leaving withered corpses in their wake. He shuddered at the thought, choking back the nausea it elicited. Coffee. Definitely.
coded by reveriee.
 
The Canary
location
Main Deck
mood
Tired + Anxious
outfit
Outfit Here!
interactions
Avalon, roxybirdie roxybirdie
mentions
Countess Liang, Gallin, Dahlia, Devanna.



Evelynne Clair
Evelynne was sure she looked worse than the day she boarded. Staring in the mirror she hardly could tell it was her, she seemed a shell. Lifeless. Rather, sleepless. She couldn't recall a night where she slept more than an hour at a time since boarding. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were proof of it. Evelynne wished it was just her normal sleep habits, fighting sleep till she was too tired, but it was more than that. It was fear. Everything had gone too smoothly, the 'guard' the Lovett's had assigned to follow her had left the moment Countess appeared. Evelynne had doubts that the Lovett's only sent one follower. It was unlike them to leave things unfinished.

That fear of the Lovett's schemes is what kept her awake. No matter how tired she was, the sound of foot steps would jolt her awake. No amount of reassurance could stop her racing heart. Her fear had her in a tight grip and wasn't letting go. Evelynne thought it would get better with time, but it hadn't. Now she wasn't sure how long it be before she collapsed.

Despite her exhaustion, she tidied up. She managed to tame her hair to be at least presentable, even if not fancy. Content, she readied herself to battle the day. Sleep battled her every step. A feeling she had grown used to. Evelynne secured a cup of water from the kitchen area of the ship and quietly made her way to the main deck. She thought she should at least show her face so people wouldn't think she was criminal that was hiding away.

Never once in her life did she think she would find the sun too blinding. Yet, today seemed to be that day.

As Eve emerged from the lower decks and onto the main deck, she shielded her eyes against the harsh light of the sun. The change in lighting causing a flare of ache, dull yet throbbing. A headache she hadn't even noticed she had. Though, given her lack of sleep, she wasn't surprised.

Despite her growing desire to return to her room or at least dim the sun, she pursued. After all, she came this far; she should at least walk around the main deck once before returning. Shuffling away from the door, Evelynne heard a thud. A body hitting wood. She knew that sound all too well. She casted a glance in the direction it came from. She saw a man getting up after what looked to be a punch. Eve grimaced. That couldn't have been pleasant... She thought to herself as she watched another approach the two she was watching.

Afraid it would turn into a confrontation, she turned on her heels and sped the other way. Away from the fight. If it could be called that. In her hurried movement she ran right into another person. The water in her hands spilling onto the woman's dress.

Evelynne regained her bearings, clutching her water in one hand and her head in the other. Without hesitating, apologies fell from her lips.

"I'm so sorry, I was distracted and didn't see you-" She looked at the person she bumped into more closely. A noble. Oh I'm in deep trouble here, very....very deep. Without the protection of her former 'husband' she knew this could get bad. He was the one who had always dealt with her 'slip-ups' with nobility. "I really am sorry. I can help clean your dress! I didn't mean too I swear. It's just water so it shouldn't stain. If there is any damage I know how to fix it-" She was rambling, nearly begging for this woman's mercy.
coded by natasha.
 
mood :
Satisfied

location :
Shadowy Corner
outfit :
mentions :
Ilya, Ren, Vasariah

interactions :
Magnus Pepsionne Pepsionne
Enamored
;; rosaline
It was difficult determining if laughter was the proper response. Although she had known Magnus for quite a while now, Rosaline had never gotten used to his natural comedic talent. If she told him about that, however, he probably would stare at her as blankly as he was now. But really, her jokes couldn’t hold a candle to the entertainment that flowed seamlessly from his mouth. How had someone like her built up such a rapport with him? What a baffling pair they were. Even more so now that she spotted a blush spreading across his face. Don’t smile too widely, she told herself. No matter how amusing this all is.

In her line of work, Rosaline was used to staring. As a matter of course, she encouraged it. Even the leering stares couldn’t ruffle her feathers, for it was the attention that ensured her payment. Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a tad warm under Magnus’s stare. When he had visited her at the brothel, they at least had some distance between them as she’d shared the week’s trove of information. Also, she was usually reading notes she had scribbled down, lest she forget something important. The living she made, while wholly dishonest, was earned as honestly as possible, and she would never ask for the entire price of her knowledge without giving all she had. Strange, that being a whore had given Rosaline more of a work ethic than she would have had on the streets of Antares.

With what little space existed between them, Rosaline sensed immediately the shift in his countenance. Body language was her specialty, after all. What was so important about what she had just said? Her lips parted to ask, but by then, he had taken her hand. Long greedy for the coins she was given in secretive methods such as this, her fingers folded automatically over the money. Hm. Well. She would have to keep this up, then. If they stopped at a port with a nice shop, perhaps she could procure some new clothes. Non-Sands clothes, that is.

Rosaline slipped the coin into her bodice, patting her breast to make sure it was secure. A gesture she had never been afraid to make in public. Who would reach into the bosom of a harlot without paying first? Her money had always been secure this way. So long as her clothes stayed on. Heh. At Magnus’s words, her hand moved up, resting in the valley of her collarbone and throat as she considered his question.

When did Ren normally come in for the night? She closed her eyes. It certainly was long before the doctor stumbled in and collapsed on top of them. Rosaline could honestly say she wasn’t terribly sure if she entered the room first or if Ren did. From the moment she had encountered the man, there had been a crackling of energy, not so dissimilar to her own. However. He was annoying. Even with the pulchritudinous hair. The things he said were erratic at best, but when exhausted, at least it made her laugh. How she’d survived thus far in such close quarters with the man was a mystery to end all mysteries.

“Just shy of midnight,” she finally said. “He engages in similar sport to me, so this is not entirely certain every night. Still, I’m fairly confident that we are both in by that time.”

Rosaline knew better than to ask why. She was called Lady Touchard erroneously, but in this moment, she was a lady, and she preferred not to think of violence. Well. Not the kind Magnus engaged in, anyway. Inclining her head, she added, “Let me know when you plan on paying a visit, so I can find elsewhere for the night. If things go awry, well… my clothes are too beautiful for that sort of thing.”

Perhaps she would have to ask Vasariah if she could stay with him for a night.

Paperwork.
coded by reveriee.
 






The Physician.















scroll

Ilya



Jovanović




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




I AM NORMAL I SWEAR











OUTFIT




No mask, unfortunately












LOCATION




Medbay












MENTIONS




Grog, Lucrezia










INTERACTS




CrimsonInk CrimsonInk




















Cigar — Tamino.






























































scroll






Humanist's Folly.




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































Chapter Two.

There was a small nod of mild geniality, polite society and soft manners, he pulled out a brick of dark color and broke a piece off with careful consideration. He then began to toast it lightly over the stove’s fire.

“I’m Ilya Jovanović” He said with a wane smile, head turning briefly from focusing upon the fire in order to look at the noble woman before him. Kindness, after all, was quiet. It whispered unspoken in a contract of gentleness, shared in private tucked away from the world. At least, that was the Fishington way.

The reflection of the fire danced across dark melancholic eyes as he pulled the broken off piece from the fire and began to grind it with a mortar and pestle. The kettle began to whistle as he poured Lucrezia and himself a cup each, the steam billowing from the small bits of porcelain. In the lamp lit darkness of the dingy surgery room, this was perhaps the only showcase of the vessel’s wealth besides the gleaming silver of the tools he used: two slightly chipped cups sat next to each other with no handle.

He measured out the tea powder in equal parts and, with a small whisk, frothed and mixed the two ingredients together. No extras of comfort found in cream or sugar, no other bits of splendor. He passed the warm cup to Lucrezia.

“So… how’d you end up on the boat?” He asked with equal soft care. Whether he was one for conversation or not, who was to tell? But he seemed companionable, at the very least, in his manner. “If I may, you seem like a lady of high standing.”





























♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE MAESTRO.















scroll

鸿參宿



"ALTALUNE"




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




T-Tibby...? 🥺











OUTFIT




FANCY STARS










LOCATION




DOCKS












MENTIONS




STINKY ARCHDUKE










INTERACTS




TIBERIUS, NPCS











TAGS




Nifty Nifty















DIAMOND — SPG COVER.
































































scroll






MOONCHILD,




If you are the moon, it's not the sun that reminds you of the light; it's the darkness that makes you shine.






























CHAPTER 2.

"Hello? My Lady? I said you're holding up the line—"

"What's your name?" Altalune interjected.

"Pardon—"

Despite their inner turmoil, a flirtatious smile adorned their face. They can figure out how to transport their luggage in a moment. Maybe they can charm a crewmember. For now, they crave a little revenge.

"May I know your name, darling? A sophisticated gentleman like yourself surely has a name, yes?" they inquired.

"I-I mean-" The ticketmaster coughed. "Of course I have a name. I'm not a filthy cretin on the streets."

A giggle escaped their lips. "Is that so, darling? If that's the case ... would you be a dear and share it with me?" Altalune leaned forward and reached for the clipboard. Mindful of the chains attached to their wrists, they brushed their fingers against the ticketmaster's hand. Their feathery touch remained light and playful.

The ticketmaster flinched. He was too distracted by the touch to notice the gleam of metal. "I-I-I suppose it wouldn't be too improper to i-introduce myself..." He cleared his throat, ignoring the flush creeping up his neck.

"Well~? I'm waiting, darling," Altalune purred. They hooked their pinkie finger under the ticketmaster's thumb.

His face turned bright red. He dropped his clipboard in response. "R-Robert M-Mikaelson t-the s-second..." He coughed once more. "I mean, my name is Robert Mikaelson. Have I satisfied my Lady's curiosity?"

Since the ticketmaster was distracted, Altalune retrieved the clipboard. "Quite so. Here's your ... oh my! Eek!" They stumbled forward as if they tripped over a loose board and dropped the clipboard ... in the water.

They threw it a little, but it was hardly noticeable.

"My clipboard!" Mikaelson scrambled across the docks, reaching for his beloved clipboard over the edge.

"Oh my ... what a pity..." Altalune adjusted their cloak and smoothed the front of their skirt. Their flirtatious smile morphed into a satisfied grin. It was extremely petty, but worth it. Revenge was sweeter when your target least expected it. Altalune knew the ticketmaster's type and how to play them like a fiddle.

They glanced at their luggage. Now ... where can they find a crewmember...?

​

“Aryon? I mean… Wait.”​

Their heart stopped. No, no, no...

A sense of profound dread flooded their veins. Their blood turned to ice. The hairs on the back of their neck stood. For a moment, they forgot how to breathe. N-no ... it can't be. HE SHOULDN'T BE HERE—!"

Altalune raised their head, expecting to meet chilling ice blue eyes. Correction, a singular eye since they...

They felt the tip of their dagger pierce their husband's eye like a fat grape—

They shuddered. Tears pricked at their eyes. Please no...

“I don't see the archduke with you, Your Grace. If you don’t mind me asking, is he coming back to help you with your luggage?”​

A deep voice washed over them. What? Why does the voice make them feel ... safe? It couldn't be Viren. If it wasn't their violent husband, who...

Brilliant sapphire blue eyes pierced through their frozen stupor. Recognition dawned on their face.

"T-Tibby," Altalune whispered. Fresh tears flooded their vision and spilled down their cheeks. A watery smile painted their lips. A mixture of relief and sorrow etched on their face like a painting meant to display their greatest fears.

Tiberius Sanctus was an unexpected encounter. With hair as dark as the night sky and eyes as vibrant as the deep blue sea, his presence was simultaneously conspicuous and daunting. Altalune remembered the titles nobility liked to bestow upon the reigning Sirocco champion.

Tiberius the Almighty; Tiberius the Relentless; Tiberius the Bloodthirsty. Each moniker commemorated his strength, perseverance, and ruthlessness. It didn't matter if the titles weren't officially recognized in the gladiator pit. Nobles are obsessed with appearances. They construct entire identities and reputations behind a singular epithet.

Sometimes, nobles don't get a choice.

For instance, their former title — the Blue Rose of High Society — highlighted their otherworldly beauty and impeccable grace. However, Altalune never wanted the attention associated with the epithet. Unfortunately, their husband exploited the title for his own selfish gain.

In the end, Altalune weaponized the epithet and transformed it into a formidable shield.

"W-Why are you..." Altalune trailed. Viscount Valiente loved to parade his star gladiator around the Capital. House Goldwyn attended several celebrations hosted by the Valiente family. It was how they met Tiberius. Over time, their brief acquaintanceship bloomed into a genuine friendship. They adored their old friend. Altalune taught Tiberius about proper etiquette and decorum. As a sign of their friendship, they permitted Tiberius to use their given name. In return, Tiberius entertained them with stories about Sirocco Sands, their shared homeland. Additionally, his hulking frame warded off sleazy nobles who wanted to flirt with the beautiful Archduchess.

Altalune treasured their friendship.

Unfortunately, Viren Goldwyn was an extremely possessive man. He didn't like unmarried men associating with what he deemed his. Eventually, he discovered the friendship between the gladiator and his husband. When Altalune refused to sever ties with Tiberius, Viren orchestrated the humiliating performance that sparked their great escape.

It was the last time they saw Tiberius ... until now.

“Erm, would you like my help to carry these bags, Your Grace?”​

Whispers circulated through the crowd. Altalune needed to leave before the onlookers questioned their identity. A slip of the tongue could be a death sentence. "The proper title is My Lady or My Lord, not your Grace, Tiberius. A Count and Countess is a noble rank significantly lower than an Archduke and Archduchess," they announced. Suddenly, the whispers ceased. It seemed the bystanders dismissed it as a case of mistaken identity and ignorance. Excellent.

If they don't leave now, someone with a sharper mind might see through their distraction.

With their back facing the crowd, Altalune leaned toward Tiberius and discreetly opened their traveling cloak, exposing the golden chains underneath. They raised their arms and wiped away their tears. They ignored the biting sting of the dark bruise on their cheek.

"Please follow my lead, Tibby. Starting now, my name is Countess Altalune Starfury. I'll explain things after we board the ship," they whispered. They glanced at the onlookers through their peripheral vision. "Now isn't the time. There's too many eyes and ears here. It's not safe."

Altalune closed their overgarment and secured it. They picked up the smallest suitcase. "Thank you for your kind offer, darling. I'll gladly accept," they declared. They gestured toward their remaining luggage. "I can handle the suitcases. I need help with my trunks. They're too heavy for me to carry by myself," they explained. Altalune reached for their second suitcase. However, the manacles on their wrists made it difficult to lift both suitcases comfortably. The combined weight jostled the bruises on their arms, evoking a hiss. They gritted their teeth and pointedly ignored the pain.

With a few adjustments, Altalune picked up the second suitcase. They carried one in each hand.

"Shall we, darling? I might need help finding my cabin. It's my first time on the Leviathan," they announced.





























♡coded by uxie♡
 





THE BLACK WIDOW.















scroll

松岡



AVALON




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




Spinning her web











OUTFIT




GOTHIC LACE










LOCATION




MAIN DECK












MENTIONS




STUPID TICKET GUY










INTERACTS




EVELYNNE, NPC











TAGS




floral floral















REIGN — DERIVAKAT.
































































scroll






SPIDER QUEEN,




There is nothing so cunning as tangled deception. If you wish to seek out the truth, first uncover the lies that surround the illusion.






























CHAPTER 2.

Sharp eyes witnessed the scene unfold like a drama in the opera house. Her lives curved upward. "Oh?" she mused.

"What is it, my Lady?" Minerva inquired.

Avalon snapped her hand fan shut and gestured toward the docks. "It seems someone else enacted their revenge on the boorish man," she replied.

Her eyes followed the direction of the hand fan. A frown marred her lips. "Is that man about to jump in the water over his ... clipboard?" Minerva questioned, disbelief evident in her voice. Could the man even swim?

A chuckle escaped her lips. "It seems so..."

Suddenly, a glass of cold water splashed the front of her ensemble. All traces of her amusement vanished.

"My Lady!" Minerva gasped. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed the front of her employer's blouse. Are you alright? It looks like it's water, but..."

"I'm so sorry, I was distracted and didn't see you-"​

She whipped her head to the side and glowered at the bumbling woman. "Have some decorum. You're in the presence of Viscountess Avalon Matsuoka. Rambling like a fool will do you no favors," Minerva scolded. Her lips curled with disgust. She was a few seconds away from lecturing the younger woman about proper etiquette.

Avalon raised her hand, silencing her attendant. "It's fine, Minerva. The water won't stain," she assured.

"But my Lady—!"

She retrieved the handkerchief and patted the front of her skirt. Despite her damp appearance, her decorum never wavered. A regal aura surrounded the Viscountess. She regarded the young woman with a cordial smile. "Pardon my attendant, Miss. Minerva is extremely protective of me. I hope she didn't frighten you," Avalon declared.

A few minutes later, she handed the damp handkerchief to her attendant. "A splash of water won't ruin my clothes, Miss. What's your name?" she inquired.

Beneath her amiable disposition and warm smile, keen eyes scrutinized the clumsy redhead.

It wasn't a deliberate attack disguised as an accident; the movements were too uncoordinated. She doubted the water was poisoned; she didn't sense malicious intent from the cowering woman. Her lack of decorum and plain clothes unveiled her peasant status.

Despite her clumsiness, she was ... innocent.

Most nobles would take great offense to her blunder and demand immediate compensation. However, Avalon preferred a different approach. A cunning spider couldn't capture her prey if she was impatient and reckless. Instead of reacting with anger like an uncivilized nobleman, wouldn't it be better to kill it with kindness?

Her revenge is so much sweeter when her targets least expect it.

The woman wasn't a target. However, she might prove useful to her hunt. Like a spider spinning its web, Avalon laid down her first trap.

"Minerva, did you bring my parasol?" she inquired.

"Of course, my Lady." Minerva presented a black parasol umbrella with delicate lace trimming.

Avalon accepted the parasol and opened it. The intricate lace matched her black lace gloves. "You seem to be under the weather, Miss. This should help," she announced. She offered the parasol to the skittish redhead. "The sun can be unforgiving to those susceptible to it."





























♡coded by uxie♡
 
MOOD:
focused

LOCATION:
The Leviathan: Hidden Alcove
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS:

the huntsman
magnus
Interactions: AnimeGenork AnimeGenork , Rosaline

Magnus’ gaze grew sticky in the dim light, melted licorice sticking to the porcelain of Rosaline’s arm. He cleared his throat once realization to the draw of his instinct became known to him. Eyes grew into round saucers that darted away from her chest, a sheepishness to their haste like a young boy being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was an--interesting place to stash money, he’d give her that. Safe from pickpockets and robbers at the very least.

Only when her hand came to rest on the delicate skin at the base of her throat did Magnus dare look back. Women’s throats were quite thinner than men’s, he’d come to realize. There was much less force required to effectively slice through, skin thin like paper. Men’s throats tended to be strung with tough, sinewy flesh and muscle. A bit tricky to master a clean gash deep enough to kill.

He sucked in a soft breath. Terror washed down the bounty hunter’s throat to pool against the lining of his stomach. Why would he even think about that around Rosaline? She had no bounty, nothing to gain from meeting the cold hand of death. So why had he even gone there? A simple focus to the vulnerable hollow of her throat and his mind was spiraling into the logistics behind his past kills. Was this his fate, to equate human bodies in the delivery of fatal blows?

He really was a monster.

The idea of any injury coming to Rosaline, whether it be by his hand or someone else’s, sparked an odd feeling in him. Something clammy and elusive. Fear? Grief? He couldn’t understand it. Magnus didn’t feel loss. He didn’t have friends. The wound of his loss was made of thick scar tissue, layers weaving over and under until the pain of it was buried impossibly far down. So why did the thought of losing her strike that familiar chord he once resonated as pain?

“Let me know when you plan on paying a visit, so I can find elsewhere for the night. If things go awry, well… my clothes are too beautiful for that sort of thing.”

Magnus nodded solemnly, but a tremor shook the foundation of his apathy. Rosaline’s aversion to the outcome events of his trade, although covered by a lighthearted excuse, was dipped in the breath of fear. It was normal to balk at death. The metallic tinge of blood a taste that few could tolerate. Those that have--well the crimson hue had a way of seeping down within them. It was not something so easily scrubbed away.

Even knowing this, even hovering around her fear, Rosaline was kind to him. Unafraid of him. Reality was a sobering thing when the hints of that fear began to show themselves, however faintly. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Of course,” Magnus responded. “To be safe, I’d recommend you find another bed tonight.” This information would serve as the final nail in Ren's coffin. Magnus had tailed him long enough to learn the basics of his routine. With Rosaline's info, the missing piece of the puzzle was now in place. His heart picked up several beats at the thought of his hunt coming to a successful end. Blood circulating with the demand to spill it.

The bounty hunter slipped his hand into the pocket of his slacks. The fabric was cool against the skin of his palm. The sharp bite of steel jolted him into his next sentence. “Actually--I apologize that must be too short notice. I have a cabin I’ve procured aboard, feel free to use the spare key whenever you’re in need of a quiet place to stay.”

Magnus pulled the pair of keys from his pocket. Deft fingers worked the second key from its binding on the metal loop before offering it to Rosaline, palm open.

His cheeks flushed when the implications of such an ask caught up with him. “I--by no improper means, of course. I don’t sleep much during normal hours. You’d have the room to yourself.”
coded by reveriee.
 





THE CHIMERA.















scroll

Dante



Fiocchi




ㅎㅎ















MOOD




:3











OUTFIT




Formal











LOCATION




Deck











MENTIONS




Ren









INTERACTS




Gao Gao

















Only Acting — Kero Kero Bonito




























































scroll






Icarian Cloud.




To reach for silver lined impossibilities amongst thunderous perils






























Chapter Two.

Dante watched the game of tug that occurred between the two of them, light amusement snaking its way across his expression. Audacity seemed to be bread and butter, the mindless amusements of frivolity, what else would he engage with such nonsense for? He ducked his head while he moved, as if trying to figure out which mask he should put on next for the maximum effect.

Eyebrows raised, charisma sliding into place, a mockery of shock and hurt “Emotional damages”

The farce in place, the lie far more obvious than his normal well put together facade. Perhaps more real, this dramatic fluidity, than the rigidity of high society. “Well... if you feel so strongly about it maybe we should just call it off.”

An act, played for the theater of their flirtation rather than an actual possibility, mused almost to himself while watching for reactions out of the corners of mercurial gray eyes. The mask shifted once more, from the actor to the negotiator.

“Ren. Renny. Renny boy.” The easygoing smile spread across his face, deciding that this negotiation was more for entertainment than actual deal making. Play and joke was more acceptable in this less than formal setting. “The deal’s more than fair. I'd take it if I were you.”

The verbal ping pong ball of this argument flying back towards the brunette as his eyes seemed to shift colors once more to a green, the blue of the waves reflecting off of them.

“Besides, my generosity involves spontaneity as well, I'm good to my business partners.” He said dryly as he released the grip on Ren’s forearm, a decision on this handshake was definitely going on for far too long before becoming visibly weird. He used the freedom to pop a couple leaves of mint in his mouth to cover the tobacco smell. Offered one to Ren silently. “Take the deal as is.”





























♡coded by uxie♡
 
MOOD:
Enthralled

LOCATION:
The Main Deck
OUTFIT:
MENTIONS: [USER[/USER]

the mutineer
saar ennes
Interactions: The Creature ( Gao Gao ), The Entertainer ( Pepsionne Pepsionne )

The creature reveals its profession– botany. Saar is surprised by the revelation, staring at the hands of the pale creature. She wonders how he manages to take care of plants, when it seems his lithe form is hardly taken care of. What devotion had he for feeding plants but not himself? Or had the gods cursed him with this fragile twig of a body? Either way, it was enough to pique the woman’s curiosity. Plants were useful, depending on type. The creature had a multitude of uses. This thrilled Saar.

While she sported a red thumb, her ability to keep anything alive was little to none. Her hands were like poison to twisted roots. Rather than planting seeds and watching their roots twist into darken Earth, it felt like her purpose was to tear them up and scorch their base. But this Rat… Well, perhaps he could cultivate useful tools to aid in her purging of the ship once she took the mantle for herself. While executions with weapons were her preferred style, blood and gore was often not beneficial for the morale of a crew. Her hand selected elite force would comply for reasons other than fear– they would comply with the promise of salvation and Saar would offer it to them.

Saar offered the rat a smile, pleased by his title. “Royal botanist.” She echoed, clasping gloved hands together to show her amusement. “Why, I find that most fascinating. You must amuse my curiosity every once in a while. I am not so proficient at caring for things– other than people. I fear plants are repelled by me. It is wonderful we have such a person capable of fostering life aboard the ship.” The gods intended purpose for each being– Saar happened to be skilled at taking lives. Rat restored natural life. Could this peculiar being balance her in her conquest of the ship? Life bringer and ender working in harmony to restore the order of the cosmos? Oh, she had only been aboard the Levithan for such scarce time, but she was guided by light and prosperity in each interaction. Despite the unsavory paint smear, Percy, pleasant things bloomed in the face of Rat.

“You must have a favorite to care for.” Saar asked, attention engulfed in luring the man with curious remarks and pointed questions. “Or perhaps to look at. I have a fondness for Morning Glory’s. They are quite marvelous to look at… Though, if ingested they wreak havoc on a person. I must pursue your knowledge of these things sometime, Rat. I am eager to expand my knowledge, even if it is simply practical–”

The incessant chirping of the squawking parrot, colorful and bothersome, pulled Saar from her pleasantries. Surely Saar would stumble her way upon the clown's act. Or was he a flying performer? She didn’t care. He offered no help to her, therefore he was just as easily disposed of as he was humored. Rat seemed to understand he served no essential function, taunting back as though they were two children throwing stones at each other. “Oh come now,” Saar said gently to the rat. She wished to smooth salve onto Percy’s weeping emotional wound, but the acrobat was quick to make his final bow– to the delight of the others certainly.

“What a fascinating individual.” The flat words held no truth or emotion, rather as a transition into her engagement with the rat. “Now, tell me all of your occupation, dear Rat.”
coded by reveriee.
 
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