Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

[Gao]

THE LAZARUS.

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RAT

THE

LAZARUS

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

MAKING FRIENDS.

OUTFIT

COTTAGE SLAY

LOCATION

MAIN DECK

MENTIONS

ILYA, GROG, SAAR, PERCY.

INTERACTS

sollie (Jealous Janice) & Pepsionne (Twinkletoes)

MERCY DOWN — S. JAMES.

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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 ONE.

In the morning aftermath of boarding night splendour, the filth still roamed arrogantly around his cabin. Slitted pupils clashing with soured olive, neither show any signs of diverting that challenging gaze.

Grog the feline.

Rat the man.

The Botanist had all the disgusted intent of pinching something rotten and depositing into a bin without a second thought— instead must hover apprehensively with a burlap sack as the fluffy aggressor makes a boxing ring out of his ocean recluse.

Methods had been numerous, battles lost but not the war. Rat had tried not insulting it, the deception of a slow blink, even the generous offer of bread crust. A graze over the back of his hand pebbles with carmine beads, the misfortune of such valiant attempts.

Horrible beasty shapes the air with its hate, a white spore crackling hiss. Rat does what is best for the sake of both sanity and temperament: he hisses back. Not demure, not cutesy. Accidents, fires, mutiny, even fickle bad luck blossoms on vessels like this, but Rat had not anticipated trying to survive a sentient cloud.

Catalyst of action and carnality of power, he’d throw the burlap over the enemy and take its confused recoil to push it further into the pouch. The war is won, but the bag radiates violence as Rat marches across the ship to llya’s surgical den, ignoring cautious looks from guests. Claws like pale shrapnel hook themselves through the fabric in forage for flesh, and Rat must hold it at arms-length across the entire stretch of stairs and halls.

Once located, he’d slid the burlap sack across the floor like a gliding lump of screaming butter then slammed the door to the sickbay shut in absolution. Peace at last. Let the nauseatingly pleasant doctor deal with that patient, and let us hope they cater to feline lobotomies.

With almost two weeks of No Grog, Rat has commemorated freedom by indulging in the peace of his studies. Yet even without distraction, there are days where it feels like hours crawl slow as molasses. Day 12 is one of these days, tar-drudged and diminishing the notion to reap a quiet voyage. How convenient that annoying others served quick relief.

After all, Rat had not survived this long by giving into what exhaustion seeps the cartilage of his bones. Think of the botanist as a philanthropist, how charitable to expend his time to others with such conviction.

A series of knocks echoes every cabin door he passes by, a death-knell to foreshadow arrival. A drum of pale knuckles from one hand, the other pivoting a flute around mindless fingers. The amount of people on the main deck would be a cause for concern if not the lure of warm sun and gentle waters. Rat roams the sidelines and listens to the nattering conversations.

Of course judgement awaited them all, but it seems one intends to pass that message early. Stood like a stretch of ink, proud and steady and relaying an ambience of pleasant authority that is betrayed by the clipped edges of her voice.

“Excuse me.”

Ooo. Someone’s in trouble. The target of her words is a firework display, a man swathed in obnoxious colour. Rat can respect the complete social abandonment of dressing like a polished tomato. Small mercies must be found wherever possible.

The end of the flute touches the woman’s shoulder, itching like a stick.

“Tickle tickle.” Nasally nuisance, he has missed this. “Dont’s be greedy, jealous Janice. Ratsie is sure there be plenty o’ clothes left for you.”

Rat gasps quietly.

“Cans we imagine,” he begins with an awed whisper, “coulds all match with Twinkle-toes, yes we could, ya.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Pepsionne]

MOOD:
Curious, cheeky

LOCATION:
The Leviathan: Main Deck

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

the acrobat

percy

Interactions: sollie Saar, Gao Rat

Percy sat along one of the sun warmed benches that dotted the railing of the main deck. His arms rested on a vertical beam behind him, head tilted back to feel the soft rays of sun dance along the column of his throat. A spray of salt laden mist cooled the air that ghosted across the deck.

He was rather enjoying his ride aboard this “Leviathan”. It wasn’t often he could just sit back and enjoy his travels. The troupe was always hellbent on traveling and traveling fast. Their tours left little time for relaxation. But this? This he could get used to.

“Excuse me.”

Percy’s eyes remained closed, blissfully unaware of the small statured woman attempting to pull his attention.

“I hope you have prepared more voyage appropriate garments. I only say this for I admire your boldness. I know not a single individual in my life that could sport such attire so boldly.”

Boldness? Why she must be trying to address him, who else could receive such a compliment? The acrobat cracked one eye open, gaze focusing on the woman who had positioned herself before him. His gaze followed the sharp lines of her body. The cut of jaw, bold dash of eyebrow, and a hardness of dark eyes. An intimidating presence to be held in such a slender frame--yet he could feel the pressure of her judgment nonetheless.

Percy sat upright. He threw on a lopsided smirk. “Aw, come on now. A performer has got to put on a show no? The Leviathan hired me for entertainment after all,” He threw a wink the woman’s way. “I’m simply doing what I do best. Entertaining.”

“Tell you what,” He said, a light grunt escaping him as the man sprung upright. “I’ll give you a free ticket to my show, yeah? Maybe even throw in a backstage pass so you could--” Percy’s voice suddenly failed him, words turning backwards and tumbling down the space of his throat.

“Tickle tickle. Dont’s be greedy, jealous Janice. Ratsie is sure there be plenty o’ clothes left for you.”

The acrobat’s gaze trickled across the man that had joined them, lanky figure towering over the woman he had inched behind. His pallor contrasted against the dark streak of woman now sandwiched between them--almost as if the man had been layered in a thin film that zapped the saturation from his very essence.

Percy sucked his tongue against his teeth. “You flatter me, truly,” He said, plastering a wide smile across his face. There was a tightness to it, a plastic sheen that hinted at falsehoods hidden underneath. “But alas, I didn’t bring enough to share.”

The acrobat shifted from his place before the bench. He draped an arm around the newcomer’s shoulders, masking the jolt of shock that came from the bony sharpness of them under Percy’s muscled flesh. “Tell you what though, catch me another time and I’ll let you look through my closet. Surely something ought to match that pallor of yours, yeah?”

“Percival Griffin, by the way. The new acrobat aboard.” He shook Rat’s shoulders lightly, their torsos rocking together. “Why don’t you stop by one of my shows sometime? Hell, I’ll even throw in a backstage pass if you’d be so inclined.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[sollie]

MOOD:
Disturbed/Performative

LOCATION:
The Main Deck

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

the mutineer

saar ennes

Interactions: The Creature ( Gao ), The Entertainer ( Pepsionne )

The ocean lacked turbulence and anger today, though the same could not be true for Saar. A twisted mind bade her to remove her blade and do with it what the gods intended, but the soft white noise of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship washed away whispers of destruction like sand being erased of silly drawings and forgetting the lines which once decorated its surface. Oxygen filled her lungs as serenity filled her body as if the universe blessed her with the strength to continue the unpleasant facade she put on so easily.

Like a lazy cat laying in the sun, the petunia-colored man sat up when spoken to, sun reflecting off the gaudy garment and refracting in circles onto the deck; and into Saar’s eyes. Pupils dilated, but her eyes gained no color as the black dots shrank in the inkiness of her iris. Bringing a hand up to shield her eyes, Saar shifted from the path of light, finally fully taking in the form of the individual– the entertainer as he’d dubbed himself. Were there mentions of an entertainer aboard? She supposed this ship was large enough to need an entertainer– fussy passengers proved inconvenient for the crew as well.

“Ah. A performer. This brings the picture into full view now.” Saar directed down at the lounging man. “This garment is befitting that of a performer, I suppose.” Tilting her head, tendrils of black hair shifted along with it, masking the woman in even more darkness. “Though what kind of performer, I wonder.” Performers in Antares varied in act and theme. Saar often did not agree with the type of ‘art’ thrown about on the stages of that wretched place. She dearly hoped this young man did not fall into that category of performer, lest he wished a quick departure from the Leviathan in the least opulentwhite sheet she could find.

He amused her, though she did not feel certain she was entertained. He put on a spectacle, and almost like herself, this performance was one crafted for the patrons and passengers of the Levithan. Had she been an ordinary passenger, perhaps she could have given him a girlish giggle or even the smallest huff of amusement, but she was not an ordinary passenger nor was she entertained by his untoward wink in her direction. Her lips begged her to frown and cast a look of harsh disdain, but they turned up instead of down, entertaining his conceited spiel. A backstage tour? For the first mate? Oh, how foolish he would feel when–

Like a spider crawling on her skin, the fabric covering her shoulders shifted in the most perturbing way. The touch was light, barely connecting with her skin through the thick leather jacket that covered her shoulders. But it was enough to send a spike through her chest. The muscles in her jaw tensed, teeth bearing down on each other. A dog that bites is a dogthat bites, but Saar could not afford to snarl her nasty mouth towards the offender. Turning on her heels, the hair on her arms stood straight up, triggering slight horripilation on the surface of her flesh.

The creature that stood in front of her was a towering skeleton, gaunt and haggard in form. The unseemingly form of the creature looked like it had been covered with parchment as a replacement for skin, translucent, pale, and dull. Saar wasn’t certain walking corpses were allowed outside of the morgue, but this one escaped and needed to be laid back to rest. Its jaw opened, flapping lips spewing words of acid that corroded the amusement she once felt for the jester behind her.

“Greedy?” Saar retorted quickly, holding the sharpness of her tongue and replacing sarcasm with a small laugh. She gestured to the entertainer. “I assure you, sir, I feel no sorrow that my closet seems to lack the saturation and.. The creativity of..” Oh, she wasn’t sure what name to call the lavishly dressed individual.

Now caught in a web between two spiders far larger than herself, she felt the comfort of her dagger in the palm of her hand. These were passengers that posed no threat to her whatsoever, and yet she felt like a mouse caught under the paw of a cat.

Peony fabric draped over the skeleton, adding some much-needed color to the ghostly form of the creature. Saar sent a silent prayer of thanks to the entertainer– to Percival Griffin– for removing the creature from her immediate vicinity. Perhaps the colorful man would prove to be a fine ally aboard the Leviathan.

“Percival Griffin,” Saar parroted back pleasantly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look forward to witnessing your performance. You may call me Saar Ennes.” Reaching a gloved hand outward, she offered it to the creature or the performer– whichever took it first.

Her lack of reunion with Lex was proving beneficial momentarily. “I am certain the Captain and I will find some time to visit. Though, I fear the entertainment might be solely for the passengers. You would allow a few crew members for a viewing, right?” She smiled softly, folding her hands in front of her. “And you sir?” She directed her attention to the embraced creature. “Certainly you will visit our acrobat friend to watch his spectacle? You look as though you enjoy spectacle.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[CrimsonInk]

mood :

....well this is new

location :

The Deck...again

outfit :

mentions :

N/A

interactions :

Wyll

THE DESCENDANT

;; Dahlia

Chapter Two

"You know-”

Huh?

“Learning is quicker when you're not doing it alone.”

Dahlia sank more to the ground and stiffened in place. The voice wasn’t addressing her, was it? The usual tone she was used to were those of anger, frustration, annoyance, or sinister. This one…is kind. That must be a mistake, yes. A trick to lower her guard. Her nerves were taking flight at that moment, debating if she should confront this person or not. Speaking to others wasn’t her strong suit. She had been careful enough to not come across others for two reasons. 1 - they always want something and end up betraying you anyway. 2- she was a stowaway. Unwanted baggage, and she didn’t plan to be found out so soon.

“You want to try coming out here - they are my words, after all."

Oh, oh – I’m fucked.

Taking a deep breath Dahlia slowly stood up from where she was. The upper half of her head looked over the barrels to see a man. A noble man. His attire was simple, yet elegant and neat. The sun rays casted a spotlight on the woman. Her eyes appeared more golden and bright, despite the frail look she wore. Highlights of amber mixed neatly with her brunette hair, wrapped in a ponytail. Her shirt was Compared to him she was more tattered and disheveled. Slowly rising up she began to make her way over the barrels with the book in hand, her thumb pressed against the spot on the page she was reading. Her eyes scanned between the man and the book, clicking that both were connected. She stole from this man and he found her. This never happened.

“Here,” her hand with the book extended towards the man, “it was too sad anyway.”

Her chest felt this hollow air flowing and tightening around her heart. What she didn’t know was the experience had a name: guilt. Guilt was a feeling of worry. A feeling that makes you realize that you have done something that has caused harm to another person. There are moments where she does feel this idea of guilt swelling in her chest, she just never understood the reasoning behind it.

“You owe that dewdrop person better. Your big words make you seem pompous and arrogant. If the common person doesn’t understand the scholar's tongue, then how could they understand it?” she mocked, her voice low and tone dull.

There was no reason for her to comment on this. Why she commented on this it confused her, but she kept going. Maybe because of his sad writing was getting to her. Made her passionate and upset behind this noble's thoughtless writing. A strong desire to show him, this stranger, that even those low like rats were people too.

coded by reveriee.

the raven.

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  qunqun
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Chapter 2

Upon entering the room her baby blues dawned on the man with his feline companion. A man who had the body of a noodle (a ziti noodle). A man who looked her way and for once, she felt calm and invited by his presence. When she had visited other doctors before they would hesitate and hide behind their facade of equality. Not this man. Right away she felt more welcomed than she has been in a long time. Maybe it was the loss of blood conjuring these kinds of thoughts. Her awareness may be fickle from it. Pale, rose colored lips curled into a warming tender smile, curiously observing him and taking in her surroundings of the room. The woman remained silent and hummed watching as he approached taking a look at her injured hand.

“I’ll see what I can do, it might be terminal.”

Giggles. Oh, he’s a funny sparrow. Maybe...a raven?

“Sorry, that’s a joke, obviously, it’s a bit of blood, but I’m sure I’ll have you out of here faster than” – a snap echoed and she couldn’t help but giggle, watching as he grabbed a pair of tweezers picking out the shards of glass.

“How’d you do this anyways?”

The foreboding part of having to visit the doctor is telling them how this injury came to be. The woman couldn’t deny she was dreading to retell her tale of how her hand stained the floors with her crimson goo, but there was no way around it.

“I travel a lot, and you would think after all these years of traveling I would get used to the waves of the sea….” she began, “it was just a tiny accident. I squeezed my wine glass a little too hard from the boat swaying like a worm. Wiggle, wiggle – the worm crawling away from a bird, a pretty bird, a hungry pretty bird – and now I am here, hoping that my accident hasn’t caused any unfortunate mishaps or anything long-term…”

Lucrezia leaned in with mischief and coltish behavior simmering. Her eyes narrowed, brows wiggling, and her smile curled deeper into her pale skin.

“Like your smile,” she said, ominously.

A dark, lighthearted chuckle escaped her lips watching him finish plucking out the last piece of glass from her hand. With the last piece now gone a river of gloom and despair clouded her cognition. There goes the countdown of his company being no more. The thought alone of returning back to her room befriending solitude once more, it was troubling to think about. If only she could enjoy his company just a little more.

Radecliff's Fate

Chris Vrenna

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[q r o w]

mood

S I C K

location

Main Deck

outfit

Clothes ?

tags

N/A

Yanlin

Local man encounters seasickness!

Tldr; Local man remembers he has seasickness! Why the hell did he get on this boat-

The last few days had been hell for Yanlin. So much so he wondered what gave him the bright idea to board the giant vessel rocking beneath his feet. Well. Truthfully it had been a drunken decision. A few ports ago, he had stumbled wearily into some small port town. He admittedly wasn't in his greatest state of mind. Tired and beyond distressed about his situation. He had just wanted one night. One night to let go and not fret about being found. He hadn't seen his pursuers for several towns.......so he felt confident enough to rest. Rest lead him to a tavern, and guess what a Tavern has? Drinks.

There had been no rational thought that night. He was to lost in wanting to lose himself for a night to consider the consequences. No consideration for what may happen. That's how he ended up drunkenly heading to the port, art supplies in hand. Yanlin had wanted to paint the waves and night sky, instead all he could see was some dumb large boat in his way. Not one to be deterred from his desire, he came up with a solution. Why not just..board the boat? Surely no one would care.

Thus the painter hauled himself like some oversized lizard up the ship. Somehow managing to not only get aboard un seen, but also bring his supplies without dropping them. No he will not speak of the paint he spilled on his shirt or the splinters he may have gotten. Yanlin had painted the night away. It wasn't till he was awoken the next day did he realize what he had done. The trouble he was in when some Captain stared at him. Yanlin considered his options. Striking some deal to paint the ship for the captain in exchange for passage. After all his pursuers wouldn't think he was on some new fancy vessel, would they?

That lead him to now, leaning partially over the side praying not to lose what little he had eaten. One thing he had forgotten; he was suspectable to seasickness. He knew it would pass after a while. That didn't stop him grumbling and clinging to the side of the ship. Part of regretted the decision to board. He was, however trying to look at the brighter side. This voyage could spark his passion again. Maybe he would be able to finish that ship painting he promised...

Another rock of the ship had him lean over again. Thankfully, he hadn't gotten sick yet this morning. Even though he feared if he moved an inch away from the side it would be a different story......

nine lives

mood

Distressed

location

Aboard the Leviathan

outfit

This, but the hat is off rn

tags

Wyll

Valerie

and there I go again, messing things up.

Tldr; Valerie doing her best to unfuck the situation.

Valerie didn't have to look at his expression to tell what he was feeling. She could feel it radiating off him. Oh how she wished to turn back time just a bit. She knew it wasn't possible. She had prayed too many times for the exact thing. There was no such thing as turning back time. What was done, is done. All the it left was a hollow feeling in her chest and a bitter taste in her mouth. Valerie wish she could find the words to explain herself. To reassure him that she did miss him. Though, by the way he acted and continue talking, she could tell he wouldn't believe her now. Her words hit their mark. Should she have been glad she gotten better at pushing people away without trying? She didn't feel glad. She felt like crying.

Her hat became her shield due to their height. It hid her expression from Anon. She was grateful for that at the moment. Valerie couldn't bring herself to fully face him after her screw up.
"That's good to hear, at least. Next time, do me a favor though...forget less." Oh I won't. I will never forget this moment, my memory will never let me. I will replay this screw up over and over and- Valerie brought her hand up and fiddled with the cloth around her neck. Something she wore to conceal the scar.

Valerie welcomed the touch of her cheek, leaning into it. The memories it brought back grounded her. Granting her a relief from the hollow feelings digging at her. He took the hand away and Valerie never missed warmth more. The fleeting feeling of the touch made her frown ever so slightly beneath the hat. Why had she wished for the warmth? She wasn't sure.
Valerie watched as he picked her cane off the ground. A small item falling from his pockets, though he caught it faster then she could see what it was. The shape had her curious. She found herself wanting to ask, but didn't know if it was right. It could be personal....sentimental. She bit her tongue, stopping herself from asking. She couldn't afford upsetting him more.

"You've loved her better than most people care to do with things I make them; better than most people love their spouses. This, at l-" She caught how he stopped. What had he wanted to say? Was he about to say some secret- She stopped her thoughts. What a hypocrite she was. What right did she have to wonder what he meant when she couldn't even give him a straight answer?

"This makes me happy. Thank you for being lithe with her." His words brought a small smile on her face as she took her cane back. It felt like a compliment to her and filled her with pride. Those struggling times of learning to wield and care for the sword inside the cane felt worth it. When she looked up he had started moving, motioning her to follow, and she hurried to match his steps.

"I've been waiting to show off what I did with this ship to somebody. Would you humor a tour? It'll be fun. The rest of the ship is particularly...pulchritudinous." Had....had she heard him right? 'pulchritudinous'. She recalled what it meant, and she understood what he was saying.....it's just.....the word choice was...interesting. Their were shorter, more easer to say words he could have opted for. Valerie couldn't help herself; she laughed. It had thrown her so off, she stumbled to catch her footing. "P-p...pulchritudinous?" She managed to slip the word out between her laughter.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's just....that's certainly a word choice. Though it does indeed get the meaning across.." Valerie paused, catching her breath. "A tour sounds nice. It would be fun to catch up along the way....ah and-" Valerie fumbled her free hand in pockets, seemingly searching for something. Where had it gone? I showed it when I boarded- Right. She had taken the ticket back from the one who asked to see it and tucked it into the inner frame of her hat. Carefully, she tugged the hat off, flipping it so she could look in the inner part. She plucked the ticket from the frame and handed it toward Anon. "Perhaps you could show me where I am staying at the end of the tour? Maybe we aren't far from each other. It will be similar to when I stayed with you....." Valerie gave a small, almost hopeful smile. It would be nice to have someone she trusted nearby after all.

nine lives

 

[Wyll]

((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))​

The Gemini

Luc Cardin
Gallin Forestson

He waited patiently for her to come out and his brow raised ever so slightly when she finally did. He hadn't been expecting...that. With how she had been calling out the words, part of him was expecting a child; maybe a teenager. He most certainly hadn't been expecting someone that looked roughly his age to come out.

A quick examination of her clothing and he could guess that she was either the problem child of a noble family, or she was someone from low society - his money was on the latter. There were questions about how she was on the ship, why she was on the ship, how she got his book. And he intended to ask all of those, after all, it was his duty to report anything of note that happened on the ship. And finding someone that looked like they'd just barely escaped a squabble with a bear, hiding on the ship with a stolen book that contained national secrets was definitely something of note.

However, something she said as she handed him the book got to him. Sad? What in here could possibly be sad? He couldn't help but flip through the pages, starting with the one her thumb would indicate it looked like she'd been on. Ah, so she read the draft of Legends of the Leviathan. Surely that couldn't be the sad one. He flipped through a few more pages. Political drama, secret affairs, gushings about the Leviathan, tarnishing Rosaline...what in here was sad?

The feedback bothered him because, while he wanted to report the truth, he never wanted anybody getting back to him to tell him that one of his columns had made them sad, especially if that was not his goal. It was the same reason he hadn't exposed the several noblemen that had entertained Rosaline in his columns - he knew the damage it would do to their families and wanted to spare them that sorrow. So the possibility that something he wrote may unknowingly make someone sad was troubling. More troubling was the fact that, if she had been referring to the piece she was just reading - that piece was meant to be a celebratory piece for the Leviathan. If sadness was the feeling it evoked, then surely he couldn't send it out yet.

Then again, she may just have been sad that she couldn't read the words.

The unexpected thought had caught even him a little off guard. That was some of that Luc Cardin sass coming through. He was probably just tired enough that he hadn't fully switched into being Gallin yet. Realizing that he had zoned out, he shook his head, snapping himself back to reality and prepared to leave. However, she said yet another vexing thing.

Treat dewdrop better? What does that even- Oh. Oh, she think. Oh, oh no sweet lady, you have it all wrong.

She was most definitely wrong about dewdrop being the name of a person but that wasn't the vexing part. That part came when she mentioned him sounding pompous and arrogant. It wasn't something he'd ever been called before and so his pride - both as Luc Cardin and Gallin forstson didn't want to accept it. However, if he was to be honest with himself, she - standing before him - represented most of the people of Solas. Their clothes were distressed, indicating a struggle to even get by; they likely hadn't received any formal training or education and, like children, learned words from people around them. If she claimed that his words were larger than she could understand, he had to wonder if that was true for the rest of the Solas low society. It was upon that reflection that he realised that the only people that ever seemed to give him any recognition for his words were those of high society. Maybe his columns did make their way here, yet meant nothing to most of the people.

The thought had never before crossed Luc's mind. In fact, it was so far and away different from what his mind could conceive that he had to work to bring himself back from the shock of the news. How many people had he been trying to reach that he hadn't been able to? How many lives had he deceived himself that he was touching? This column was meant to be his claim that "If I did nothing else, at least they have my columns". Who had what columns? The 10% in the elite had the columns that the remaining 90% couldn't even read? He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him - he'd been wasting his time all this while.

"Pompous and arrogant, huh?"

Ask her to spell it. Wait, no. I can't do that. That's disrespectful. His mind had been rattled and he had to bring himself back with some slow, controlled breathed. It was the first negative review he'd received about any of his columns. This was...a new experience for him - having someone tell you that your work for the last several years has been ineffective would have most people up.

Congratulations Luc Cardin. Yet another thing you've failed at. You should be proud of yourself - using the one talent you have and still failing takes skill.

However...perhaps it wasn't all lost. After another bitter, self-deprecating chuckle, he looked up at her, surprised she was still there, and offered her a smile. Right now, he was looking at Solas. He was looking at the 90% whose voices went unheard. She would be the point of contact to them. He asked a question that caught even him off guard...

"What else did you think about it?"

Mentions: Dahlia ( CrimsonInk )

((Please note that thoughts will be crimson and italicized while speech will be crimson and bolded.))​

The Anvil

Anon
Keep

Her laugh hit his ears like a spray of cold water on a hot, sunny day. It was refreshing, It tickled his ear like joyful little poppers running down his ear canal and oh, what he would give to always be able to hear that laugh - what he would do to make sure she's always able to share that laugh. If seeing her for the first time in near a year hadn't been enough to confirm it within him, hearing her laugh one more time certainly confirmed it: he had missed her. He had missed her dearly.

He's stopped in his tracks as she started laughing, smirking as he looked back at her. "No need to apologise lass, I like hearing you laugh. I'll just remember to keep the big words coming - and I need to send those dafty scholars a thank you letter. Just picked up on some of the big words they throw around when passing by the shop." He chuckled to himself at a thought. "May even have to go to the academy and get some more big words myself if it got you to laugh like that." He remembered there being a reading space on the ship - the cartography room? - that might be worth a stop on the tour.

As she talked about the tour, Anon paused to let her get in front of him. He felt far more comfortable having her out in front of him that with her behind him where anything could happen before he'd know it. All of a sudden, she went abruptly quiet and so he turned around to see what had happened. As he turned, her hat in front of her as she searched for the ticket blocked her from his view. However, the hat came down and that was when he realised that he had forgotten what she looked like without the veil. She was stunning. How dare she hide this?

Don't stare.

His gaze moved over the delicate features of her face, as if trying to capture it all and store every single detail in his brain. From the curve of her lips as her expression settled after her outburst of laughter to the glint in her eye as it reflected the sun above. How her hair fell, how her dress sat on her shoulders. If only there were some way that he could capture all of that and save it forever.

You're staring.

The smile on his face was instant and unstoppable, gentle eyes taking her in. He leaned back a little bit, putting his weight on his left leg and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He knew that he should look away and that he was probably making the situation weird and uncomfortable for her. However, it almost felt as if his body had refused to obey him - something that he hadn't experienced before.

Stop staring!

That last call was what finally got him out of his trance-like state and he shook his head as he brought himself back into reality. However, his eyes were still on her. In fact, it almost seems as though his eyes got even gentler.

"Stars, you're..."

Beautiful. That's what I want to say. That she's beautiful. When had the helpless damsel that showed up at his shop turned to such a beautiful lady? Thankfully, I know better than to play with that fire - I know how important those kind of words are to her. I'm not going to throw them around so carelessly.

He cleared his throat, trying to play off his hesitation as he looked for a phrase to replace what he had initially wanted to say. "You're...uh...you're right. We should probably go find the room you'll be staying in. However..." he chuckled lightly, knowing his situation and knowing that there was no chance they would ever be close together. He slept on one of the lowest parts of the ship, not even kept with the crew and definitely nowhere near where the guests would sleep. "I dinnae think that we're very close together but I would gladly help you find yer room and I'll be sure to pop by whenever I can. Doesn't seem like it's too far from here, actually." He deliberately avoided saying anything about where he was sleeping and why it was unlikely to be in the same area as hers and a part of him hoped that she wouldn't ask.

While he looked back on the time she had spent at his place fondly, this would not be like that time. Then, he had a bed, a mattress, beddings, pillows, a king that was truly fit for a king. Now, he had boxes and hay. He couldn't bring himself to tell her though, knowing her, she'd worry too much for him and about him, but he knew he would be able to take care of himself. After all, he'd been doing so for the last week and a half. In fact, if he gave into the delusion enough and ignored the lack of comfort, a set of boxes was not much different from a proper bed in the end.

Plus, when she had stayed with him, there was a smaller room that she was able to use. Without such on the ship, they would be sharing the same bed. Having missed her so much, his excitement must be messing with him and heightening his feelings. And, given those heightened feelings he wasn't about to subject himself to that torture so willingly. He offered her a smile and an arm for her to loop her hand through so they could walk together, deliberately slowing his pace to match hers.

Mentions: Valerie ( q r o w )

 

[AnimeGenork]

• Three Butterflies
• One Kitten

• 
  
  mood :

  Flushed~
  
  

  location :

  Shadowy Corner

  outfit :

  mentions :

  Aurelian, Junshi, Ilya, Ren, Vasariah, The Captain~
  
  

  interactions :

  Magnus Pepsionne

  Enamored

  ;; rosaline

  The voyage on the Leviathan so far had been full of miscalculations. While she had greatly enjoyed the first night—very, very much—the morning after had left a sour taste in her mouth. Naturally she had chosen the one man who didn’t fancy a harlot using him for a place to sleep. The one man whose body didn’t do the thinking for him. What a shame. Perhaps she should have asked that Junshi fellow for his advice.
  
  Well, no matter. She had found another lodging, at least for now. Though she tried her best to haunt other beds, the kindly doctor had offered his own, the only price being that she occasionally woke up in the middle of the night to him sleeping like the dead atop her and the other fellow who was stealing the bed. What a strange nearly two weeks it had been spent like this. Not that Rosaline slept much in general, considering. But the nights had thus far been more complicated than she was used to.
  
  There was a light in all of this, however. Vasariah. She could not quite describe the feeling her new friend evoked in her, only that it almost seemed as if they were meant to be. They were polar opposites, or just about, but their hearts beat to the same drum. Rosaline did not make a habit of befriending others, especially in such a dark world as hers, but Vasariah was different. It was a shame that her heart was held by another at this moment, or it was likely she would have fallen for him. Not that she was Vasariah’s type, as far as she could tell.
  
  Nearly two weeks on this ship, and she had yet to spend some alone time with the Captain. She had glimpsed him, of course, across the deck, looking so handsome as he gazed upon the sea. Oh to have him gaze upon her like that with such longing. It made her heart ache to think of it, and yet she could not stop adoring him. Haunting others’ beds and flirting away was all she could do to keep her from making a damned fool of herself. Yet that was all she wanted to do—be a fool in love with the Captain of the Leviathan. Truly, such a shame that it seemed her adoration would go unnoticed. She would have to try very hard indeed to turn his gaze upon her…
  
  Well, in any case, today was not that day. Although she was wearing one of her more casual outfits, surely it would be enticing enough for the Captain to look at her? Yes, this was a sane train of thought. She definitely wasn’t considering seducing the first person she saw if her plan did not work. Definitely not. That wouldn’t be very independent of her, now, would it? Oh my, she was thinking far too much again.
  
  No matter. Although her heart and mind were in turmoil, her posture certainly was not. Her steps were somewhat muffled by the carpet as she strode down the hallway, intent on gracing the main deck with her presence in the hopes of drawing the eyes of her paramour. That plan didn’t go quite as expected, however.
  
  It started with the hand on her wrist. Her eyes fixed upon the hallway before her, she raised an eyebrow. Hm. Was this real? Or a ghost, perhaps? No, it was real. The hold tightened, and gazing upon the hand in confusion, she allowed herself to disappear into the darkness.
  
  Ah. It was Magnus.
  
  Oh. It was Magnus.
  
  Well. This was unexpected. After all this time, perhaps Rosaline should have realized there would come a time when even Magnus would want this. Were she another woman, she would have had some sort of crisis about this situation, how she was doomed to never truly be friends with a man so long as she flaunted her sexuality so blatantly. She wasn’t exactly in the mood right now, but… she had worked under worse conditions before. And besides, Magnus was very attractive. Moreso than most of her clients. Ah, and there went her heartbeat. Attractive people always did that to her.
  
  Her eyes flicked up at the sound of her name, her lips parting almost expectantly. He’d been… waiting for her? Oh, wow. She wasn’t sure if she could handle this now that she was facing it head on.
  
  But wait. What had he said? Had she heard anything? Oh. Oh my. This was embarrassing. Rosaline swallowed, trying to calm down the devilish thoughts and impulses that had been trying to overtake her body mere seconds before. Yet she couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping through. “If you wanted to see me so badly, you could have just asked.” She had found out rather quickly that they were on the same voyage, and she had been elated that someone she respected and trusted—to the highest degree that she was capable—and so had tried her best to gather information for him, as she always did.
  
  Unfortunately, it seemed most everyone on this vessel kept their secrets close. Though she and Vasariah could gossip until the sun came up, it was mostly idle chatter. However… “I don’t have much for you, I’m afraid. Though most of the characters on this ship are suspicious at best, they keep a close lid on whatever haunts them. However…” She looked off to her right, listening for anyone passing nearby. Her voice dropped as she said, “The good doctor has been kind enough to offer me use of his bed. I’m sharing it with a rather strange one—Ren, I believe he’s called? Slippery fellow. Very odd. Seemed a bit skittish. Maybe he knows something.”
  
  Her lips twitched. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather preoccupied these last weeks.” Wooing a captain is hard work. “I wish I had something more specific for you” A wry chuckle slipped out of her, and she leaned her head back against the wall to look up at him again. “Next time, I’ll have earned the coin you usually offer.”
  
  Surely there was something else she could offer. By ways of information, that was. She didn’t dare think (again) that something more was winding through the air between them. Although she did feel rather warm, still.
  

  coded by reveriee.
  
  
  
  
  mood :

  Confused & Worried
  
  

  location :

  Cargo Bay

  outfit :

  mentions :

  N/A
  
  

  interactions :

  Kuku morcetyx

  Farmboy

  ;; milo

  Prologue​

  
  Although it had been twenty years—two whole decades—since the tragedy that had irreparably damaged him, Milo had never stopped leaving flowers on the five stones at the edge of Freymoor. Today was no different. After all, he was leaving soon, and he wouldn’t be able to visit for a while. He hoped it wouldn’t make them sad. Even after all these years, he couldn’t forget how awful it had been when any of his friends had been sad. Especially Bruno. He had never been meant for sadness.
  
  “I’ll be away for a while, crew. This isn’t a mutiny or anything—it’s family, you know?” The farmboy-pirate brushed his hand over each stone. He had memorized their placement, like he’d memorized the smiles on their faces, when they were alive. That wasn’t all he’d memorized about them, but he chose not to walk down that dark forest path of thought. “Bruno, Abigail, Gabe, Arata. I’ll miss you lots. I always miss you.” Bowing his head, he could almost feel the spirits of his friends touching their foreheads to his, wishing him luck on his journey. “Look after my ma and dad, okay?”
  
  They didn’t answer, but when Milo looked up, he smiled, almost as if the four of them were standing before him, grinning as they always had. How he would’ve loved to see what they would’ve looked like as adults. What a lonely twenty years it had been.
  
  His walk home was simple. Everything in Freymoor was. Would he be alright in Zenith, the capital, where the streets were crowded with people and, worst of all, there were no cows? Milo knew, though, that he had to go. It was to save the family farm. Besides, he’d be on a ship, and he’d promised his friends that he would live his pirate life to the fullest, as best he could. It wouldn’t do to skip out on the adventure of a lifetime.
  
  Milo’s parents, along with his older brothers, Richard and Frederick, were waiting at the door to the Stafford home when he got back. Tilting his head, he said, “What’s wrong?” His mother simply shook her head and ran to him, embracing him tightly despite being half a foot shorter than him. Milo practically melted as he hugged her back, the tears flowing like spring water as the rest of the Staffords joined in. Surrounded by love, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. These family hugs had never quite filled the ache in his heart, ever since it happened. Milo wondered if he would ever feel whole again.
  
  This voyage would surely hold an answer for him.
  
  “I’ll come home with a way to save the farm, I promise,” Milo declared. He looked upon the faces of his mother, his mother, and each of his brothers. “We’re not losing this place.”
  
  “We believe in you, son,” his father said with a nod, clapping his son on the shoulder. “What say you come in for one last meal before you set off for the capital?”
  
  “Sounds perfect, Pa.” And it was.
  
  

  ~ ~ ~
  
  Chapter Two​

  
  Nearly two weeks on board the Leviathan, and Milo still wasn’t used to how huge it was. There was a difference between farm-huge and ship-huge, apparently. Farms were spread out, at least, but the ship was all in one space. If that made any sort of sense. Milo had tried to explain it to someone the first night, but had gotten a confused look. Or maybe it was the look of someone pitying him for being not so smart. It wouldn’t be the first time. Oh, well. Milo couldn’t make friends with everyone, he supposed. Much as he would like to.
  
  He wasn’t having too hard of a time making friends, thankfully. But he’d been a bit busy. Growing up on a farm had made him strong, and that made him the perfect candidate to help out around the ship. Milo was happy for the work. It kept him busy. Besides, he’d always known being a pirate wasn’t all fun and games—it was hard work, too!
  
  It was a new day, and Milo hadn’t had the time to answer one particular question of his: the matter of the foodstuffs they had aboard. That was, he was curious which farms had provided their harvests for this trip. He’d wanted to take a look ever since he’d stepped foot on the Leviathan, but with the boarding party and running around helping out… he’d kept forgetting. This morning, he was determined to find the answer.
  
  So here he was in the cargo boy, inspecting all of the boxes and taking note of the origins of each crop. There were even some barrels in here. Oh, man, were barrels fun. Milo knocked on one and chuckled as it made a different noise than the crates around him. Hehe. Bruno would have loved this. Gabriel, too.
  
  A noise. Milo lifted his head, glancing around to find the source of the sound. Last he checked, crops and rations didn’t make noise, except for shifting within their storage spaces. Unless they had a cow onboard? No. No, that was unlikely. So what was that?
  
  His answer came in the form of a crate. It seemed like it had been disturbed recently. The lid was loose, so naturally, despite all of the bad things that might happen to him if he did so, Milo opened it. He was not expecting this.
  
  There was a person in this crate.
  
  Having grown up surrounded by possible food, Milo had never once considered that someone might box up a person as food. But. Wait. No. This crate had the earthy smell of a farm. Was this person… hiding?
  
  “Are you okay?” he said, peering down worriedly at the stranger. “Do you need help or something?”
  
  The crate’s occupant, suddenly sat up, lurching forward to grab his forearm. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat at the strange contact, but he didn’t pull away. This person need his help, and he’d never been one to turn away from someone in need. Their head lolled against him, and he finally heard the request: water. Please let there be water nearby.
  
  “I can get that. Just. Hold on. Let’s get you out of here.” Milo helped maneuver this stranger out of the crate, resting them against it. Brushing long hair away from their face, he smiled. “I’m going to let go, just for a second. I’m gonna get you water.”
  
  Milo stepped away, glancing nervously back at them. He searched the cargo bay for a barrel of water. It wouldn’t be the best, but it would have to do. Finally, he found one that didn’t smell of anything—a sure sign of water. Struggling to get it open, he sighed in relief to see it indeed contained the life-giving fluid he needed to find. There was a cup nearby, thankfully, so he was able to scoop enough to help out his new companion.
  
  “Here you are,” Milo said, crouching down beside this possible new friend. “Water.” He held it out, just in case they had the strength to take it themselves, but he was more than happy to assist if he needed to. He’d done it before with horses, surely another human was easier, right?

  coded by reveriee.
  
  
  
  
  mood :

  Hot Mess
  
  

  location :

  Mess Hall

  outfit :

  mentions :

  N/A
  
  

  interactions :

  Aurelia (Blade) Harrowhark

  Decoy

  ;; madelina

  Prologue​

  
  She was a crumpled mass of limbs upon the floor of her chamber. Salt covered her face, her tears long dried up by now. It had been hours since she’d been thrown in here. Hours since the greatest mistake of her life. The only mistake. Why was it that the first time she erred would spell certain doom for her? She had been tempted to try and claw off her lips, for if she got rid of the kiss she’d let herself have, perhaps… perhaps they would forgive her. Unfortunately, she had no nails for such a thing. Nor did she have the mental fortitude to harm herself in such a way.
  
  Instead, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip as she awaited judgement. Were they going to hurt her parents for what she did? Nobody had seen, so surely her punishment would not be too great. Logically, she understood why it was so bad, that she’d allowed herself to indulge in something so selfish. It wouldn’t do for anyone to think the princess was having such an affair. But oh, how it had felt so nice to feel appreciated. For herself, Madelina, not as the simply the princess’s other self.
  
  The door opened, and light flooded the dark room. Madelina peered up, looking like the messy common girl she had once been, she was sure. The silhouette in the doorway was familiar, though she couldn’t put a finger on why. At least, not until she stepped into the room, and she realized why she recognized it—the silhouette was her own. The princess.
  
  “Your Highness!” Madelina gasped and prostrated herself before the Princess Penelope, who despite having a visage similar to her own, had always been the more radiant of the two. She had always thought so. The princess was simply beautiful. Madelina was just… lucky to have a similar face.
  
  “Lift your head.”
  
  Madelina did. The princess’s face was calm, but stern. At the very least, she didn’t seem angry. Yet. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I—”
  
  The princess lifted her hand, and Madelina’s jaws snapped shut with a click. She swallowed as the princess knelt in front of her, smoothing her skirts over her lap. “I am not angry, but you must be punished somehow.” Inhaling gently, the princess continued, “Within the next few weeks, a ship will be leaving the capital. The Leviathan.”
  
  “The Leviathan?”
  
  Penelope’s lips spread in a thin smile. “You’re going to become very familiar with it.”
  
  

  ~ ~ ~
  
  Chapter Two​

  
  Although she was supposed to be keeping an eye on things on this ship, Madelina had spent most of the past couple weeks locked in her room. It was scary, with so many people around. There was a chance someone would recognize her as the princess, even though that wasn’t true, or perhaps someone would connect her to the palace. Was this really such a good idea in the first place?
  
  Her last few reports by courier had been lackluster. Just casual letters about the goings on, the crew, the guests, et cetera. Madelina wasn’t sure exactly what the princess expected to happen, but surely it was none of the things Madelina had witnessed so far. Frankly, the most exciting night had been the first, but she had spent the evening locked away, too afraid to brave the crowd.
  
  She was still too afraid to brave the crowds—it sounded loud up on the main deck—but she could at least explore around the ship a bit more. These hallways were carpeted, and the mess hall was grand for a vessel such as this. Not that Madelina had been outside the palace ever since taking up residence there. Brushing her fingers along the tables, Madelina wondered what it would be like to be… normal. Just eat a meal with other people. People who maybe cared about her…
  
  Shaking her head, she banished the fantasy from her mind. She was not meant to be loved as anything other than the princess. Madelina as her own person was a fever dream, a folly. As sad as it was, she would never live her own life. Why, she was still living the princess’s life, even now. How would she even talk to anyone? It wasn’t as if she knew anything besides the rules of etiquette. Not that she used them often. She had never been allowed to speak whenever she took a turn about the room.
  
  Saddened now, Madelina turned around, intending to leave the mess hall. And immediately she just about ran into someone.
  
  “O-oh, gosh, I’m so sorry!” she stammered, shutting her eyes tightly from fear of retaliation.
  
  She should never have gone outside today.

  coded by reveriee.
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  The Cat

  (Affectionately named "Parrat.")​

  
  The endless water was scary, but the strange wooden beast was safe. For a number of days, the young kitten had been spoiled rotten by all the attention the humans around him had provided. Trotting around, he received coos of adoration, praise. Even pets! His tail had not stopped curling in satisfaction since the strange vessel started moving along the endless waters.
  
  Having gotten used to the salty smell, Parrat spent this morning getting to know the individual scents of the humans on board. Some of them bent down to pet him, and others cooed down as he brushed against their legs. His chest still rumbled from the last bout of purring he’d let out.
  
  Now it was time for a rest. Parrat rested against the edge of the quarter deck, peering down at the crowd below. He licked his paw and cleaned his ears, keeping his eyes slitted as he watched the events below. Two of the humans were fighting. Why would they do that? That was silly. The kitten yawned, utterly bored with the foolishness of humans.
  
  Still. It was the only thing to watch around here. So Parrat’s chin came to rest against the deck’s edge, peering down in amusement at the events below. Even with the fight broken up, it was still interesting to watch. Dance, humans, dance, he thought with all the omnipotence of a god. Or a cat, rather. This is the most interesting thing I’ve seen in days.
  
  

  Dedicated to the not-kidnapping.​

  
  

  Coding by AnimeGenork ​

 

[Nifty]

THE SCOURGE.

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Dolores

THORNE

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Unbothered, Cold, and Unfeeling.

OUTFIT

Dress. Glove. Shoes.

LOCATION

Deck

MENTIONS

Ren, Harmony, Genevieve

INTERACTS

Harmony ( q r o w )

Rule #34 — Fish in a Birdcage

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Bronze Beauty,

you are strengthened by feminity and pain. You hold your shattered pieces close and your inertia even closer.

Chapter Two.

While the Leviathan effortlessly pierced Solas’ sapphire sea waters, Dolores Thorne emerged from the shadows, masterfully maneuvering herself between the crowds, careful not to touch a piece of flesh. Each step she takes carries an air of ennui with a hint of annoyance. While her sole purpose on the ship remains to be the care and maintenance of ship equipment, she is otherwise occupied with her kingsman duties, which include breaking up a fight.

Her duties of maintaining the ship’s care remained her primary priority. Not conciliate for what seemed to be toddlers who couldn’t help but find themselves in problematic situations. But as the sight of a slowly growing crowd envelops her vision, she sees that she’s no longer needed. A little late, as Dolores hoped. The branded maiden simply didn’t wish to be the mediator for such things. And besides, the unpolished floors of the hallways call for her name.

Is it that difficult to be civil? She thought sarcastically to herself as her gaze lingered on the simmering fight that started to resolve itself.

As she stepped backward, retreating to the comfort of darkness, she was met by the familiar sight of raven locks from the distance. At that moment, she felt a numbing sensation crawl over her body.

She closed her eyes briefly, grappling with a glum echo of a memory.

A fleeting image of a tiger’s amber fur brushed against her mind, caressing the side of her neck, purring delightfully. Or at least from her perspective, that's what she thought it was doing; from the satisfying yet fleeting buzz it provided, she became utterly blind to its feline tooth, ready to pierce her heart. But it never came and has been like that since Funai Ren left. Her heartbreak was, after all, her undoing; it was the cold and cruel bulb of mania that had snuggled itself deep within the crevices of her heart that made the organ rot and deteriorate over time.

When she opened a withering gaze, all that met her was an icy void—a hollow emptiness seeped deep into her heart.

Ebony curls escaped the red bandana, falling on the front of her face, slightly brushing against her button nose. With the whole day ahead of the maiden, she turned her back, eager to start on her chores. And that’s when her peripheral vision caught something—pitch-black silky hair, flawless skin the moon goddess would be jealous of, and red, seductive lips.

Dolores gazed admiringly at the pulchritudinous brunette. And when the beautiful lady accidentally ran into her, something quickly buried itself deep between her ribcage.

Dark.

Twisted.

Obsessive.

Mania is, after all, just another synonym for “love.” For Dolores Thorne, love is like a rare jewel that remains unknown and hidden from the rest of the world. Even the most experienced and lean miners of the Cascades fas failed to uncover. It is the mythical jewel that some people have grown weary and hateful of. Dolores doesn’t believe in love, especially after where her false devotion led her, which is why the privateer is more cautious towards the angelic beauty before her.

But her senses are known to be quite… tangled when mania involves itself.

The branded maiden wondered if it was the same feeling as her encounter with a certain golden-eyed maiden. She briefly closed her eyes to remember how her raven locks flowed smoothly along with the ship's sway. When she opened her eyes, the same shade of ebony locks appeared. Her gaze met a petite and soft-featured face; she knew it was something different. Pinning precisely what she was feeling remained an enduring mystery until something silently slithered between the crevices of her tender heart.

A seed of trouble, perhaps? No, Dolores highly doubts a noble lady will pose any problem for her. From her limited experience of nobility, many are fragile yet power-filled creatures.

From the wafting silence between them, Dolores only realised that she had been staring at the woman before her. Compose yourself, she told herself before finally bringing herself to speak.

“I suggest you inquire with our onboard physician if you feel slightly sick.” The monotone in her voice could masterfully disguise all the voices that continuously gnaw every bump in her mind. Her gloved hand awkwardly patted her back, a pathetic attempt to ease her cough. “He should be more than capable of aiding you than me.”

“And don’t worry over me. It’s a mere accident. It’s completely understandable, ma’am.” Dolores stated calmly.

I suppose, given the fight outbreak, these nobles would be a bit skittish about causing trouble for the crew. The helpless gaze the lady produced made Dolores’ head tilt. She mentally sighed and offered the lady her arm, a sign of safety she must provide to the ship's passengers.

“I can assist you towards his workstation if you’d like.” A polite offer Dolores hopes the lady refuses. After all, those wooden floors won’t scrub itself.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE KINGSLAYER.

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船井 蓮

FUNAI REN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

CLICKY

OUTFIT

NO HAT SWAG

LOCATION

DECK

MENTIONS

DANTE, "GALLIN", DOLORES

INTERACTS

qunqun

BAD IDEAS — THE 5:55.

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HERETIC BOY,

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

CHAPTER TWO.

Lambs and newborns are held at the mercy of gravity and their own clumsy footing, and the thief is no different in how he struggles to find purchase in the serrated landscape of Dante’s silence. There is marble stoicism to the man that radiates something unimpressed, how coveted and cruel. Ren would think the quiet calming if he did not find silence synonymous with judgement.

It is human nature to find the unknown mesmerising, some sumptuous creation that is all pretty enigma. So too is human nature in finding the unknown to be terrifying, both difficult and nerve wracking to navigate.

Lodged in the foliage of Ren’s spiralling lies roosts the snake, frosted basil green and unmovable until an arm sashes over the shoulder. It communicates the power of touch alone, their reaction is honed artless. Pretty face may conceal an innate liking for touch, but the profound reaction to only a shoulder is a promise of abyssal possibility waiting in their nearing future. Feels the frost and the thaw of their spine, the stir of their pulse that raises like a bookshop tabby to the sound of an opening door. A base inclination, a yearn like braying livestock.

“Buttons now.” A prim peel of his fingers, Ren lets Dante make a scene of public aversion. Nice to see some snobby power struggle, even if performative.

Well. He hopes it’s performative.

“Aggressive Buttons.” Ren corrects, wringing his hand as if harmed by their petty action. “Save your energy for the bedroom.”

It’s an act of deliberation, quick but intentional. Following attention to the person of interest; the thief does not recognise the writer without a name attached, but he’d have to be blind to not have noticed the grappling sycophants that orbited for even a tendril of this man's attention. They must be influential, someone powerful enough to have Dante cowering from the friendly proximity of another man.

Dante’s face clears like a draw of the tide, features erased into a neutral, if not highbrow expression, giving to the world and namely this newest individual of power exactly what they needed to see. Ooo, big strong man. Good job Dan.

“You should try harder.”

Attractive as the new characterization was, he was also extremely rude.

“Give me a reason to.”

And then against all the fibres that knitted the tapestry of his bickering being, Ren is inspired to stand a fraction straighter to feel on par with this heterosexual rich man. Of course, Ren is the same. Most definitely.

“You’re scared.” A tone not accusatory, but Ren can read between the lines of making things interesting. Has been around plenty of these types, the ones with a straight spine but not-so-straight habits. Ren is not opposed to entertaining it all the same, discretion is a minor defect and everything can be remedied once behind the cover of nightfall and intimacy of a closed door. May even argue he is better served for it, noncommittal enough not to parade his latest novelty like it's special or something akin to property to be conquered or claimed.

A smile curves the corners of his lips, not at all malicious but amused in how the man has meticulously phrased and stepped around the real purpose of keeping things downlow.

“Quit worrying or you’ll get wrinkles. I don’t snitch on friends.” But it is not the fact that Dante wants discretion that has offence slowly bleeding into conversation, it’s the fact Dante did not pause to consider Ren might be in the same situation.

He wasn’t. But it’s the principle that counts.

It meant Dante must not take him seriously, and he cannot decipher if that is a good or bad omen. Serious enough to be a threat— the glance to the writer affirms this, but not serious enough to assume he himself has renown to look after.

A good omen, Dante will have nothing to be disappointed or worried about.

A bad omen, Dante might know he is full of shit and not meant to be on this boat.

“... What makes you think I don’t got a reputation at risk?” From the outside looking in, Ren has averted his gaze to watch the ocean instead. A tentative question to gauge where he has gone amiss in his thorough storytelling, grandiose lies are ready to build themselves behind sharpening teeth.

But Ren can’t stop how features twist to listen, quickly tempered like an opiate hit. A mid-breath hitch to the drag of their lowering eyes, what was once humming nervous energy now tapers to attentive fascination.

Doe eyes.

Ren wonders if the name will still apply when he takes Dante in his teeth and shakes like a dog. Ren wonders a lot of things at that moment. He barely manages to shirk reverie to acknowledge Dante had asked something.

“The terms are favourable.” Confirmed with a calm nod, then displaced by a common tongue of disarray. “The most favourable, in fact.” He could have left it there but didn’t.

“The... favorablest.”

A curt clearing of the throat to ignore whatever the fuck he was inventing there, Ren pats the front of his stolen clothing to preen himself into a visionary noble before looking back to Dante.

“The company is pleased with this arrangement, working hours will be dusk onwards.” This must be foreplay for rich people, speaking in codes. “Bookings won’t be necessary, but paperwork will need to be discussed tonight on a sturdy desk.”

Ren allows that to loiter with a mischievous silence.

Adds quietly.

“I’m the paperwork.”

When his gaze notices and stills on a retreating figure, something washes over his grinning merriment like a cold black bath. Splitting a seam that would soon ache with sufferance, Ren is rendered temporarily deaf to the surrounding hum. Something senseless is roused, and it’s a terrible gift to always imagine he sees her in places where she isn’t; knows in the melancholic marrow of his bones that this one is distinctly discernible from the rest, no phantom or illusion. A fleeting glimpse cutting closer to the skin than any wistful nostalgia he identifies in strangers.

The wreath is familiar, and he can feel a forgotten bruise pooling a dark sea that fissures and ignites aorta webbing like a baptism of silver. It feels too much like the first time his attention had been drawn to her shadow; mapping constellations of memory in the night of her hair before he’d even learned her name.

He still permeates with a fledgling immaturity when it comes to relationships, toying with Dante is evidence enough. He is left blinking, the counterpart at his side no longer a shadowy muffled blur once the figure had melted into the crowd and out of sight.

Ren turns back to Dante in search of grounding, draws in a slow breath as the comforting peace of the voyage shatters around him. Tries to turn his attention back to what was at hand, but he has fallen out of rote and struggles to resume footing the conversation.

“My company also collects tax.”

His hand is held out quick as a greyhound, betraying a light tremble.

“A cigarette.”

Isolated on a ship with only paper origami and a rusty knife in his possession, trying to schmooze tobacco had become an increasing problem. They did not mind the first, second or third day, but within a week the regulars knew to pocket their wares and turn him away. With the encroaching truth his ex-girlfriend might be on the ship, he now needed it more than ever.

“Cough it up. I know you got the goods.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[roxybirdie]

THE MAESTRO.

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鸿參宿

"ALTALUNE"

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Finally ... free.

OUTFIT

FANCY STARS

LOCATION

DOCKS

MENTIONS

MAGNUS

INTERACTS

A BUNCH OF NPCS

TAGS

Pepsionne

DIAMOND — SPG COVER.

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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.

TW for domestic abuse, light gore, and threats of SA.​

​

Their blood ran cold. No...

"You know what happens when you try to escape, Doll. Was your recent punishment not enough?"

The carriage was parked near the side entrance, waiting for them. They arranged for a specific time for the coach to escort them to the nearest port town. Please no...

"I'll admit, you've grown craftier. I have a beautiful and resourceful husband," Viren praised. His lips brushed against their ear. "It was amusing watching you scheme behind the scenes. Did you really think I wouldn't catch on?"

A hand caressed their face, evoking a flinch. The fresh bruise on their cheek felt hot to the touch. The gentle stroke made their skin crawl. It was vile and repulsive. When their husband's other hand trailed up their thigh like a spider climbing its web, their heart sank.

"If you're a good Songbird and don't make a single sound, I'll forgive you for your insolence and consider a lighter punishment," he purred. The honeyed words filled them with an overwhelming sense of dread.

A whole year of planning ... months of embezzling, blackmailing, manipulating ... is this the end? Are they destined to remain a porcelain doll for House Goldwyn?

A thought came to mind. What about Magnus? The hunter pointed them in the right direction with his intel. His information was integral to their escape, ensuring a route to the nearest port town. Murderous occupation aside, Magnus proved to be a reliable ally who kept his word. Aryon doesn't regret their business adventure. If providing names for the bounty hunter secured their freedom, so be it.

If they gave up ... their deal was pointless.

Suddenly, the hand reached for their inner thigh.

No ... no ... NO! Something inside them snapped. "Get your hands ... OFF ME!" Aryon bellowed. They shoved their husband away. Before Viren could recover, Aryon lunged at the Archduke with their dagger raised.

​

"-Grace? Your Grace? We're here," a voice announced.

Screams echoed inside their mind. It gripped them like a vengeful banshee hellbent on dragging them to the darkest pits of Tartarus. An overwhelming stench of blood clogged their throat. They felt the tip of their dagger pierce their husband's eye like a fat grape—

The carriage shook.

With a jolt, their eyes snapped open. Aryon sat upright and patted their face, desperate to wipe away the hot blood clinging to their skin like a macabre painting. They need to remove the Archduke's blood before they—

Huh? Instead of congealed blood, their fingers brushed over smooth skin. Where did the blood—?

"Your Grace? Are you awake?"

It hit them. They're inside a carriage. Suddenly, a whiff of saltwater invaded their nostrils. Aryon pulled back the curtain and peered outside the window. The harbor was filled with the hustle and bustle of common folk and noblemen alike. Sunlight bounced off the endless sea. They spotted an imposing ship stationed at the docks.

The Leviathan ... they're here. They escaped.

Aryon reached for the door, but a sharp pain in their wrist halted them. They glanced at the thick golden manacles fastened on their wrists. The polished metal gleamed under the light. A thick golden chain connected the two cuffs together, restricting their movement.

Two additional chains branched off and looped around their torso. Extra chains were attached to the loop. It connected to a matching metal collar around their neck. The additions formed a triangular shape over their chest.

Despite their elegant ensemble — changing into new clothes was extremely cumbersome, but not impossible — the chains made them appear like a dangerous criminal. Aryon massaged their wrist. The manacles rubbed their skin raw.

The same ache extended to their ankles. While they removed the shackles on their ankles, their feet throbbed. It hurt to walk.

"I'm awake, Theodore," Aryon announced.

The carriage door opened, revealing a young man in his early thirties. He offered a hand to the former Archduchess.

"Your cloak, Your Grace," the coachman reminded.

Aryon retrieved a dark navy blue traveling cloak and wrapped it around their shoulders. They fastened the clasp together and pulled up their hood. Their moonlight hair spilled over their shoulders, obscuring the metallic sheen of their chains. Donning a cloak with limited movement was awkward, but they managed. Aryon accepted the hand and stepped outside the carriage.

"It's my Lady now, Theodore. Or my Lord depending on the wardrobe," Aryon pointed out. On paper, their new noble rank was Countess, but if they donned a masculine appearance, they preferred Count.

His lips quirked with amusement. The coachman served as his Archduchess's personal driver for years. He was used to their eccentricities. "My apologies, my Lady. You must board the Leviathan post-haste. I'll carry your luggage to your assigned cabin," Theodore declared.

"I can handle my luggage, darling. If you don't leave now, you won't reach your new destination by nightfall. I don't want to keep your husband waiting," Aryon countered.

Theodore shook his head. "I insist, my Lady. You gave my family a chance to start a new life in Sirocco. You even included a letter of recommendation. This is the least I can do. Besides ... pardon my insolence, but can you handle carrying your luggage in your current state?" he inquired.

They glanced at the bags loaded on the carriage. A large trunk, a smaller trunk, and two standard suitcases were secured on the luggage platform. Aryon could carry a single suitcase, but the chains restricted their movement.

They couldn't transport their luggage alone.

Aryon heaved a sigh. "Alright. I yield," they relented.

Theodore smiled. "I'll unload your luggage. I spotted the ticketmaster before I parked." He gestured toward a tall reedy man holding a clipboard. "My boy can watch the carriage while I escort you on the ship," he added.

A boy no older than thirteen waved from the box seat.

They returned the gesture. "Thank you, Theodore," Aryon acknowledged. They had a few allies in House Goldwyn and one of them was Theodore Marlowe. The coachman served as their personal driver for nine years. He was a kind and honorable man. When he offered to aid their escape, Aryon arranged for his family to start a new life elsewhere.

It was the least they could do. If Theodore returned to House Goldwyn, he would be executed for treason. His husband and children too.

Aryon refused to let their vile husband destroy another family.

Without another word, the former Archduchess weaved through the crowd and approached the ticketmaster.

"Ticket or King's letter," the man demanded in a haughty tone.

They opened their embroidered reticule and produced a ticket. They offered it to the ticketmaster.

The man accepted it. He examined the ticket. "Countess Altalune Starfury. Let's see..." He leafed through the papers on his clipboard. "There you are..." Once he verified its authenticity, he marked the ticket and returned it. "You may proceed, my Lady. Next!"

Theodore approached Aryon with their luggage in tow. It required two trips, but they gathered their former employer's belongings. Before he proceeded to the ship, the ticketmaster flagged him.

"Ticket or King's letter, sir," he demanded.

"I'm not a passenger, sir. I'm escorting my Lady's luggage to their assigned cabin. I'll be on my way before the ship departs," Theodore assured.

"No ticket or King's letter and no entrance."

"Pardon?"

"If you don't have a ticket or King's letter, you're not permitted to board the Leviathan," he sneered.

"But my Lady needs their-"

The ticketmaster waved Theodore off. "We have crewmembers who can handle the luggage. If you're not a passenger, you're not permitted to board," he dismissed.

"Now see here-!"

Aryon — now Countess Altalune — placed a placating hand on their friend's shoulder. "It's fine, Theodore. I can handle my luggage," they assured.

"But my Lady, your..."

They lowered their hood. They ignored the scandalized whispers from bystanders. Dark bruises and minor cuts marred their face. Despite their battered appearance, Altalune held their head high. "I'll handle it. Now go. Thank you for everything, Theodore," they acknowledged.

Theodore opened his mouth to protest, but he noticed the resolute look on his friend's face. His resolve wavered. He heaved a weary sigh and bowed. "As you wish, my Lady. Thank you," he murmured. Without another word, he pivoted and disappeared in the crowd.

Their heart clenched. Altalune hoped for the best for their old friend. They gestured toward their luggage.

"You mentioned crewmembers, sir? I need help with my luggage," Altalune announced.

His lips curled in a sneer. "I'm currently busy, my Lady. You'll have to wait or do it yourself," the ticketmaster huffed.

"But you said-"

"I never offered to assist you myself, my Lady. Now move. You're holding up the line."

Their heart sank. Now what? They dismissed their former driver and assured him they could handle it. How are they supposed to carry their luggage in their current state?

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Pepsionne]

MOOD:
focused

LOCATION:
The Leviathan: Hidden Alcove

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS: Gao Ren

the huntsman

magnus

Interactions: AnimeGenork , Rosaline

“If you wanted to see me so badly, you could have just asked."

The bounty hunter stared blankly at Rosaline, his face the picture of confusion. “I am asking you now,” He said. His head tilted to the side a fraction. The last time they had spoken, he was sure he had mentioned meeting up with her for regular check-ins did he not? Magnus opened his mouth to clarify further, but the subtle smirk that decorated Rosaline’s shapely lips gave him pause. Ah--right. It was a joke, she was joking.

He cleared his throat to distract from the small flush that painted the apples of his cheeks in the color of embarrassment. “Don’t stress it, I’ve been running into the same roadblocks as you,” He assured.

Magnus ran the silver ring up and down his finger, a habit of concentration while he sorted through Rosaline’s information. The woman was a captivating speaker. Perhaps it was through the trade of flesh for coin that she had managed to sharpen such a skill. Perhaps it was some gift she had been given at birth. Regardless, Magnus seemed to find himself unable to look away when Rosaline was speaking. Like a soft ray of sun breaking through a winter haze, laying its warmth on him for just a second before being swallowed whole by heavy clouds.

“The good doctor has been kind enough to offer me use of his bed. I’m sharing it with a rather strange one—Ren, I believe he’s called? Slippery fellow. Very odd. Seemed a bit skittish. Maybe he knows something.”

Almost as if he was a predator catching sight of vulnerable prey, Magnus’ muscles tensed automatically at the mention of Ren’s name. Something dark floated across the empty shell of his irises, a veil of animalistic impulse that soured the hunter’s softened expression. Ren. His teeth began to ache at the thought of the man within reach, fingers outstretched and greedy to be dipped in blood.

Magnus took Rosaline’s hand into his cold ones, pressing a hard round object into the center of her palm. Payment for her troubles “You’ve more than helped me Rosaline, always. I just need one more favor from you. This Ren--what time does he normally come in for the night?” He held the woman’s gaze steady, the shadows of the alcove that housed them turning violent in the narrowed intensity of his eyes.

coded by reveriee.

 

[qunqun]

THE CHIMERA.

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Dante

Fiocchi

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

RAR.

OUTFIT

Formal

LOCATION

Deck

MENTIONS

Ren, Dolores(?)

INTERACTS

Gao

Only Acting — Kero Kero Bonito

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Icarian Cloud.

To reach for silver lined impossibilities amongst thunderous perils

Chapter Two.

“You’re scared.”

Well I should be looking for a marriage that secures my position, but instead I’m talking to you.

Is what Dante would say if he had the bravery unbecoming of a person who has delicately walked the line between high class socialite and petty criminal for years now. Instead he gives a noncommittal half shrug with a single shoulder.

“What makes you think I don’t have a reputation at risk.”
“Most high class people don’t give a shit. I’m actually the exception.” Dante responded with, giving the slightest raised eyebrow. “At least, in Sirocco they don’t give a shit. They just care about how competent you are.”

The pressure in his skull was getting worse, the more he danced around talking about his upbringing, his parents, their expectations of him, the disappointment that they were constantly-

Dante pulled out a case of cigarettes and lit one, taking a deep drag and allowing the smoke to burn his throat, chasing away all the anxieties that were bubbling up once more. Breathe out.

“In any case, you don’t particularly strike me as someone with a reputation for virtuosity.” Dried out sarcasm and pointed words. He took another drag of the cigarette afterwards, a reward for boldness towards someone a part of him did hope this… arrangement would work out with.

“The company with this arrangement, working hours will be dusk onwards.”

He choked on his smoke in his laughter, uncontrollable in the sheer ridiculousness of whatever strange dirty talk was coming out of the prospective kingslayer’s mouth. Not only that, but unexpected and unscripted in the running dialogue he had

“Bookings won’t be necessary” Oh stars it was continuing. He cackled some more, an ugly sound coming from his throat as he continued to half choke in an incredibly (un)dignified manner. He was crying. This was awful. A side note in the imperfections in Dante’s perceived perfection just gliding underneath the surface, his teeth were crooked, had gaps between them.

“I’m the paperwork.”

Dante wiped tears from his eyes. Of course he was the fucking paperwork, the offering of desk sex never more unappealing out of sheer hilarity at this moment than it would ever be. Despite that, he did feel some deep monster within him feel pleased at being wanted.

“Fuck…” An attempt to collect himself once more, the illusion of stoicism torn through to little bits and the paper mask falling to the ground. Anxieties wormed their way through once he saw a certain wistful blankness to Ren’s face, the longing of something else. Interpreted as insult through the mind of someone who had no idea why he’d be staring off into space so forlorn and abandoned. “Shit, you weren’t being serious were you?”

Ren turned, was back in the strange waltz that they were doing around the problems they were circumnavigating together, the whispers of disappointment wiped from his empty mind. The punchline: “My company also collects tax.”

Lips pulled back into a crooked smile that actually lit up his eyes, shitty teeth on full display. His mask slid over his face once more into faux professional attributes.

“Quite demanding aren’t you.”

His own cigarette subtly snubbed out halfway through on the bottom of a railing where the captain wouldn’t be able to discern the burn mark, he slid the half done cigarette back into its case. Clever smooth fingers sliding out a different roll with his pinky and plucking it out, pinched between the middle knuckle as he closed the case and shoved it back into a pocket in his pants.

Tobacco then taken in a more convenient hold, he held it out to Ren.

“Only because I’m nice.” Because we couldn’t have it spreading that Dante was just… nice without any performative bitchery first. "But I expect this kindness to be returned..."

Did he have to bat his eyelashes? How did this work.

Was Ren turned on by paperwork?

"... Would you be interested if I wrote up a formal contract for us to follow"

... He suddenly realized some of the many different outcomes of putting that joke out there could involve many things like being seen as weird or stars forbid Ren wanting that as a weird fetish thing

"Sorry, I don't think I'm as funny as you." Very demure. Very mindful. Please do not accept that as a real offering.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

THE LAZARUS.

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RAT

THE

LAZARUS

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

FREAK MODE.

OUTFIT

COTTAGE SLAY

LOCATION

MAIN DECK

MENTIONS

ILYA, SAAR, PERCY.

INTERACTS

sollie (Smiley Sara) & Pepsionne (Kraken Breath)

MERCY DOWN — S. JAMES.

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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.

The grating rodent has glimpsed the cold filtering through her features, an apparition of tundra that seizes the blade of her jaw and hones it as if forecasting usage— if only for a moment.

Passes as soon as it arrives, crusting over with syrup to salve what emotion had turned her jaw into a ringing pulse.

Dark ash hair and darker eyes, the features are round but do not appear unkind. With all the ease of a coal wax melt she dissolves the grains of the botanists oddity, but he cannot help but think his toxins will be left in trace amounts. How long till it gathers itself in the flesh, till a drop bleeds into a sea, till that jaw slacks its rigid hinges and bears whatever rot is pooling beneath.

Expunged to instead handle with delicacy, though not enough to curb the speed of her reply. How curious.

“I assure you, sir, I feel no sorrow that my closet seems to lack the saturation and…”

Eyebrows arc a fraction, a patient blink. He could have mistaken the tense jaw as an instinct of surprise, but this hesitation slotted itself like a splinter: some authenticity is amiss here. Something sharper dwells in the curled corners of his mouth, the foolishness of it, the absurdity to parade civility and politesse as if winning the tomato’s good graces is something of great importance.

But at the join of bones to air arrives the intruder, the Twinkletoes unwilling to share his closet but ever so willing to share his touch. It should embitter him— it does, the paper sheaves of his skin and glass bones coil with tension at the five fingered action of impropriety now lassoed warm around the shoulders; Instead he ingests the spur of ire to purify it into something else, cleanse and make something new out of it.

He wants to be anywhere but here, seam to seam with the acrobat who cares deeply about the cohesion between pallor and clothing. For all that golden smile, there appears to be a rusting bite underlying it.

“Kraken breath cares much for sweetest Ratalie…” Tittered like a maiden, he’ll bury his disdain for the close proximity with regular levity. “But wouldn’t wants to outshine your best pieces, nay, cannot haves that.”

Perival pulls and Rat has no choice but to sway with him, nothing but a napkin in the tide of his gravity.

This. This is very strange.

Percival is a weird little freak.

An extension to backstage passes (Rat would not decline the offer of entertainment even if given by a weirdo) and the two pass introductions, Percival Griffin and Saar Ennes. A glove follows it, and parallel to Rat greeting Ilya, he reaches to give it only a brief high-five. Affixed by Saar’s question, rendered a polite sir, he does not linger on it.

“Certainly you will visit our acrobat friend to watch his spectacle? You look as though you enjoy spectacle.”

“Ya ya, yearns for it. But oh!” The botanist would swoon if not held hostage. “Cannots go without Smiley Sara— nay,” he stops and corrects with loyal conviction, “wills not go!” He means Saar, already butchering her name into pulp. “Just gets so nervous on me own, yes Rat do. All trembly, poor wee thing I am.”

In his theatrics he’d almost overlooked the acrobats' truant company, a malignant growth sashed over the shoulder. Sour olive drops to the hand like the expiration of patience, curdled enough to make the insult known.

Rat goes to deliver a petty smack of the flute over Percival’s knuckles.

"Back, beastie."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

mood :

ARE YOU MOCKING ME!?

location :

The Deck...again

outfit :

mentions :

N/A

interactions :

Wyll

THE DESCENDANT

;; Dahlia

Chapter Two

"What else did you think about it?”

What an odd thing to ask. Dahlia consulted herself with the tone he used with his voice addressing her. It wasn't malicious or irritable as she would have assumed it to be. This was foreign. Everything about this was off putting and every fiber in her body whispered that it was a trap. While her face didn’t show how she felt, her body was sure to remind her of the anxieties running through the blood of this Antares runt. Caution embedded into her skin like a shield as she hesitated to answer back. Fuck it.

“𝒦𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓊𝓅𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎. 𝒰𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜,” she recited clear as day, “what you ask for is close to the impossible. Either you really don’t know Zenith and its people, or you do know but refuse to acknowledge their entitlement.”

The idea alone was beginning to rile her up. Memories of faces guised as snakes ready to devour this poverty-stricken thief. Mocking her inability to understand both social cues and educated topics that were too complex for her benighted mind. Echoes of their ridicule were still residing deep at the back of her skull, feeding her insecurities and taunting her like a stray animal.

“…𝒶 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉,” she finished, her voice deep with distaste, “…I never heard words emptier and more meaningless. Nothing ever changes, not even cities. It will only be as is and nothing more. Does that suffice? If so, then you have what you need.”

Deep breath in, then out. In and out. Anger is a really powerful emotion, especially when it is untamed and misguided. Trying to calm the infernal beast within took energy, and an emotional awareness that Dahlia does not have. An acceptance that Dahlia has lived with. The momentary zone out expression was lifted, and her brown eyes stared down at the man with a polar numbness.

coded by reveriee.

 

[morcetyx]

THE DEVOUT.

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Vasariah

Nightingale

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Might be crashing out

OUTFIT

Hellooo sailor!

LOCATION

Deck -> Hallway

MENTIONS

Ari. Junshi. Ren. Dante.

INTERACTS

ME !

CHELSEA — PHOEBE BRIDGERS.

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I CAN FEEL IT GETTING NEAR

Like flashlights coming down the way
One day you'll figure me out
I'll meet judgment by the hounds

CHAPTER TWO.

Vasariah’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as Junshi held him back, the taste of metal still dripping from the spout onto his tongue. He barely registered the words spat at him, but the actions of the man was all he needed to know it was a pathetic attempt at using his words. A pathetic attempt at ending the fight. If there was a point to be made, it was executed poorly, one that should be fixed.

But Vasariah was no more than a feral cat, caught mid-lunge, his claws still itching for blood. Held fast by the scruff, he was suspended between fury and restraint, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to spring.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The blood smeared across his pale skin. The red substance stained his knuckles and painted his lips, mingling with irritated skin that would soon blossom into shades of purple and yellow. Yet there was no grimace of pain, no acknowledgment of the bruises blooming beneath his skin. It was distant, removed from his body.

His gaze slowly shifted to Junshi, who was still holding him, fussing over the injuries he’d sustained. The concern etched on the guard’s face was almost unbearable. As Vasariah’s hearing began to return, the world around him came back into focus, though the dull ache in his head made him feel sick. He brushed off Junshi’s concern with a quick, "I'm fine," though the words were brittle, cracking at the edges.

Vasariah.

Oh, you’re back too.

"I don’t want to leave you by yourself."

Vasariah took a deep, steadying breath, forcing himself to look around, seeking out anything that might anchor him. His eyes landed on Ren, who was standing nearby. Relief briefly washed over him, but it quickly soured as he noticed Dante beside him. They were close, too close, and the easy way they interacted sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over him. The fight hadn’t caught their attention—no, they were too engrossed in each other.

“My…” His voice trails off. How does he define it? He doesn’t want to have to label him as just a friend. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. "Ren’s here," Vasariah muttered, barely loud enough for Junshi to hear. He pointed weakly in Ren’s direction. "I’ll be fine."

As the guard’s arm slipped away, the absence of that steady, grounding force left Vasariah feeling exposed, adrift in the aftermath of violence. The space between them widened with each step Junshi took, and with it, a gnawing sense of vulnerability crept in, threading through the adrenaline that still thrummed in his veins. He turned his gaze towards Ren, a desperate intention burning behind his eyes—he wanted to reach out, to pull Ren aside, to seek some semblance of comfort in the familiar warmth of bronzed skin and the smoky scent that had lingered for days after. Perhaps he could even allow himself to cry, to let the dam break and release the storm that had been brewing within him for far too long. Even if Vasariah was the one to stoke the flames until he was burnt.

Vasariah, he is not the onl—

But as he took a hesitant step forward, his resolve wavered, and his body betrayed him. His feet refused to carry him further, rooting him to the spot as if roots had sprouted from the planks and tied him down. A sharp, twisting pain clawed at his chest, tightening its grip with every breath he took. His eyes locked onto the scene unfolding before him, and the sight of Ren and Dante together was like a slow-acting poison, seeping into his system, spreading dread and despair through every cell in his system.

Dante leaning in, his charming smile curling at the corners. A familiar smile, but all so different when pointed at Ren. It was the kind of smile that disarmed, that drew people in with its easy confidence and subtle allure. But what struck Vasariah the most was Ren—Ren, who seemed to be enjoying it, who appeared to be leaning into the attention, encouraging it even. And it is the thought that Ren could have stopped him, could have checked on him after, but was too absorbed in the other to care. And Vasariah would not have cared much of the scene if he was not selfish and hadn't fallen.

A cold, sickening wave churned in his stomach, and he couldn’t discern if it was the lingering effects of the fight or the jealousy gnawing at his insides, twisting them into knots. It was as though a knife had been plunged into his chest, and with each passing second, it twisted deeper, cutting through flesh, bone, and whatever was left of his battered heart. Ironic how the sight bothered him more than being beaten until he was bloodied and bruised.

It hadn’t been that long since they’d met; surely, Ren couldn’t have replaced him so quickly. But doubt gnawed at him, whispering insidious lies that wormed their way into his thoughts. Things were just beginning to feel alright, like something good. He tried his best. He smiled, he apologized, he was patient, he cared. So why? Why did it seem as if Ren had already found someone better? Someone less broken, less volatile, less…him.

That is not true, little bird.

Vasariah’s breath quickened, panic rising in his throat as he stood there. He had no right to feel this way, no right to let jealousy seep into his veins, poisoning his thoughts. After all, he had never staked a claim on Ren’s heart. The time wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. He was waiting. He wouldn’t force it, wouldn’t rush it, wouldn’t let Ren think he was some cheap fling. Waiting for Ren to be a better person for himself, even though Vas would love him all the same as he is now. And suddenly this train of thought was stirring something sick within him.

The bile rose in his throat once more, barely making it to the ship’s railing before he was doubled over, retching into the dark waters below. He had to remind himself he was not physically sick, only injured. That is not to say there isn’t something cancerous that had settled inside him when he first opened his eyes to the world. And he is helpless to remember that nothing he does will make it disappear, but the distraction of falling in love is nice. And he had met people he would die for, but only one he would fight to stay alive for.

Do you want to give up…?

And it is the all-too familiar call of the void that meets his gaze from the water. It felt stupid. It all did. He didn’t know how to fix it, just to drag it with him day-by-day.

No. It’s only been 2 weeks, It doesn’t feel like the end yet.

Do you know what the end feels like?

Not now, but I’ll know one day.

Vasariah slowly pulls himself from the railing, wiping the remnants of crimson from his lips with the sleeve of his shirt. The once pristine white fabric had already been tainted with the evidence of his recent violence. The sight of himself in such disarray filled him with a quiet shame, a discomfort at being seen in this state, raw and exposed. He needed to change, to shed this battered skin and retreat into something cleaner, something that didn’t scream of the fight that had just unfolded.

His mind drifted as he began to walk back across the deck. Maybe he would sit with his journal, let the ink bleed his thoughts onto the page. He could pen down the questions that gnawed at him, the words he couldn’t quite form in his head at the moment. What to ask Ren later, what to share with him.

But then again, perhaps he would save it for tomorrow. Tonight, he could surrender to the comforting routine that he found himself quite fond of—the simple act of being with Ren, idling through silly conversations, letting the day’s tension melt away. He could fall into those arms he adored so much, even if only chastely, and let the world outside fade into the background.

Or maybe he would be pushed aside as an afterthought to the other.

As he made his way to his room, the ache in his chest twisted consistently, paired with that ringing noise returning to his ears. He felt the boat swaying more than usual beneath him, and found himself clinging to a wall to stop himself from stumbling. And maybe he should have considered taking the Guard’s offer to watch over him.

♡coded by uxie♡

the warden.

scroll

Junshi

军石

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Concerned!! Mother mode Pt. 2!

OUTFIT

skrunkly

LOCATION

Deck

MENTIONS

Ari. Vas. Yanlin.

INTERACTS

q r o w

call your mom — noah kahan

scroll

i could be a good mother

and I want to be your wife

CHAPTER TWO.

Junshi’s grip on Vasariah loosened as Aurelian walked away, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding as he ensured the man was no longer a threat to himself or others. His gaze lingered on Vasariah for a moment, eyes narrowing with concern as he watched the blond try to regain his composure. Junshi knew better than to push too hard on the events of the fight, and instead settled for a kind check-in.

“Are...how’s your nose holding up?”

Vasariah would brush off his worries with a dismissive wave, insisting that he was fine when he clearly wasn’t. Junshi felt the need to linger, to make sure that Vasariah wasn’t left alone in this state

“I really don’t mean to intrude but…I don’t want to leave you by yourself."

After setting Vasariah down and receiving his assurances that he’d be alright—though Junshi’s doubts gnawed at him—he reluctantly pulled away, nodding as the blonde pointed toward Ren. Junshi’s protective instincts flared seeing the other involved with another lad, would they have the time to care for his injuries? Make sure he wasn’t concussed? But it wasn’t his place to judge another for who they placed their care in. Even if it was making him anxious.

“Just—I mean just…if you need help later you can come to me. Or any of the Kingsmen, okay?”

And he had done all Vasariah would allow him to do. He gave a brief nod before turning away, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a tightness in his chest, a mixture of concern that he had yet to fully process. He made a mental note to check in with Aurelian later as well, but for now he had rounds to make.

The salty breeze whipped against his face as he made his way across the deck, his gaze settling on a tall, thin man who was leaning precariously over the side of the ship. The painter looked pale, and Junshi could see the struggle etched into Yanlin’s features. Seasickness.

“Don’t mean to startle you, I’m just coming up beside you.”

Junshi approached Yanlin, his steps measured and careful, not wanting to add to the painter's evident discomfort. The sight of Yanlin gripping the railing with pale knuckles stirred something protective in Junshi. He cleared his throat softly to announce his presence, then spoke in a calming, steady voice. “How are you holding up? The swaying getting to you?”

Junshi leaned against the railing beside him, having to tilt his head to look up at him. He offered him a bright, reassuring smile. Junshi didn’t push for a response, he knew how it was trying to speak through bouts of nausea. He wasn’t born with sea legs, despite how much he loved the water.

“Anything I can do to help? Grab you a seat from somewhere? Or if you have any—cause I know people normally have different methods to help settle it, but if you have anything I can grab that you think will curb the sickness I’ll happily play fetch. Or I can just stay here too.”

♡coded by uxie♡

THE BLIGHTED.

scroll

Kukuvajke

Asllani

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

???

OUTFIT

We blanchin

LOCATION

IDK IM LOST

MENTIONS

Milo :3

INTERACTS

Milo AnimeGenork

SUICIDE — SUISOH.

scroll

oh worship them until content.

so now you really care
when you're feeling that stare
can we not survive without a faith to rely?

CHAPTER TWO.

Kukuvajke’s vision swam as she blinked against the sudden flood of light, her eyes barely adjusting to the blinding intrusion that tore her from the comforting warmth of the dream. Reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave—hunger, thirst, pain. It all hit her at once, and she felt that tugging force that lulled her into a different time, where the sunlight filtered through pine trees and her father's laughter still echoed.

But the voice—soothing, concerned—pulled her back. It was different from the rasping breaths of the creature she had fled. This was human, soft like a cushion after the razor edge of panic. She blinked again, trying to focus on the blotches of the world. A face hovered above her, and they sounded full of warmth and worry.

Kukuvajke winced as the stranger lifted her out of the crate, the movement pulling at muscles stiffened from too many days spent in a cramped, unnatural position. Each jolt sent a fresh wave of pain through her body, but she forced herself to stay silent, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not when she didn’t know who this man was or what his intentions might be.

Once she was out, the cool air of the cargo bay hit her like a shock, making her shiver uncontrollably. She felt the solid surface of the crate against her back, and it was only then that she realized how weak she had become. Her legs trembled, barely able to support her weight, and she had to lean heavily on the crate to stay upright.

When he brushed her hair away from her face, she flinched, instinctively recoiling from the gentle touch. It was too reminiscent of the way her father would try to soothe her. But this man’s touch didn’t carry the same familiarity. It was foreign, unknown, and it set her on edge, her instincts screaming at her to pull away.

Yet, when he stepped away, a strange emptiness filled the space he had left. The absence of his presence, his concern, made her stomach churn nervously. Her eyes darted around the room, watching, waiting. Something could appear at any second. She was lucky the man’s shade was not making itself known. She did not know if she would be able to stomach the help otherwise.

As he crouched beside her again, the words came to her sluggishly, like wading through thick mud, but they registered. Water. He was offering her water. Kukuvajke’s body responded before her mind could catch up, her trembling hand reaching out to grasp the cup. Her fingers brushed against his, and it felt tender, steady and reassuring. Her hands lifted weakly guided by the other, eventually feeling the cup pressing between her lips.

The water was lukewarm, stale, but to her parched throat, it was like nectar. She drank greedily, each swallow easing the dry ache in her throat. When the cup was empty, she handed it back to him, her hand shaking so badly she nearly dropped it.

She tried to speak, but her voice was a ragged whisper, the words tangled in her throat. "Thank you..." It was all she could manage, her strength sapped from days spent curled up in that wooden box, clinging to the last vestiges of a dream that now felt like a distant memory. She let her head fall back against the crate, exhaustion threatening to pull her under. An exhaustion she would fight.

Kukuvajke’s hands found their way back to the man's, trying to gather some sort of information to make sense of where she was. She noted the roughness of his palms, the callouses worn from hard work, consistent with someone who had spent time with a farm. Each ridge and bump of his skin told a story of labor and strength. The callouses were thick and prominent, which could only be the result of years spent gripping tools and handling rough materials. These weren’t callouses from holding a weapon like a sword. She could feel the strength in his grip, too, even though he was gentle with her.

“Is it…Am I in the cargo for your…farm?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wyll]

((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))​

The Gemini

Luc Cardin
Gallin Forestson

He narrowed his eyes as she spoke - more contemplative than defensive. She was giving voice to the demons he had to battle everyday. However, because he had spent so many long days and short years battling them, he knew just what to say to them. At least, it was what he said to himself. However, her eyes betrayed feelings of annoyance and anger, so Luc knew to be careful how he tread. It would look terrible for him if he were to be seen fighting a lady. Plus, with her state, if they saw them fighting, they'd probably assume that he beat on her until her clothes were tattered. He would be ruined. Everything he'd worked for would be over. He might even just get thrown overboard.

Okay, so getting in a fight with her is not an option. Understood.

As the thought crossed his mind, he also reminded himself that he is not entirely responsible for how others act, so she might throw a couple swings at him. With that in mind, he prepared himself to be hit but steeled his resolve not to his back. After all, she was just telling him about her life and er experiences. He knew better than to invalidate that.

"I do know Zenith, actually," he began. She didn't know him - she didn't know either Luc Cardin or Gallin Forestson, he didn't have to put up the act. He didn't have to call her a dewdrop - a term of endearment which he had actually grown to hate to much he had to stop himself from gagging every time he used it as Gallin. But...if she didn't know Gallin Forestson...perhaps... "I know more about the darkness and wickedness in the heart of people than you would believe. I've experienced it first-hand. I know what it is to be cast out, to beg for a meal, to be spit on...to be called a monster." That last one stung a little more than the others as he remembered the day his parents kicked him out of the house.

"GEt ouT oF HeRe yOU MONSTER!"

Monster! Killer! Monster! Not one of us!;,._

He winced.

"But I also know the power of hope. I know that if you give people a reason to live, taking the next breath becomes a little bit easier. I know that if you speak for long enough, somebody will eventually listen. And I know that if you fight hard enough, you will eventually win. It may take days...months...years...you may not even live to see the glory of what you fought for. But you will eventually win." He really did believe this. It was how he had been able to keep himself going for so long. It was why he was standing here today. "And so I remind the people of Zenith to keep fighting...to keep hoping. To believe in a future worth living in." His eyes softened as he met her gaze and held it. She was the type of people he was trying to reach - people who had been dealt a terrible hand and needed a reason to keep on playing. "I only with the message had reached you sooner."

He considered giving her the book, to help her keep learning. Maybe some of the things in there would be less sad to her. Maybe some of the things in there would give her a reason to hope again. However, this book alone was worth many years of taxes and would be deadly in the wrong hands. she'd taught him to be more careful with how he handled it. She was a thief without malicious intent, but if she'd been out to do damage to the society he'd been trying so hard to leave a memory on, he'd have given her everything she needed. It was a scary thought - that the same book with which he was trying to build society could be used to tear it down.

"And things do change. Yes, everything stays, but it still changes. Ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways." He lifted the book back into view. "Take yourself for instance. You're fighting to grow, to improve...to change. With your own two hands, you fight to be a better, a smarter you than you were yesterday. You will still be you, you will always be you...but there can always be a better you." He turned and looked towards the port they left not too long ago. "Zenith will always be Zenith...but there can always be a better Zenith. I believe that..." He trailed off for a second, remembering that he could finally be Luc and so restarting with something more accurate. "I need to believe that; otherwise there is no point of me being alive." The difference wasn't much, but it spoke to the fear and doubt that Luc had that was always covered up by Gallin's definitive statements.

As Luc, he was allowed to think and hope and want things. There was no allowance for Gallin to be so unsure.

Mentions: Dahlia ( CrimsonInk )

 

[sollie]

MOOD:
Intrigued

LOCATION:
The Main Deck

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

the mutineer

saar ennes

Interactions: The Creature ( Gao ), The Entertainer ( Pepsionne )

The creature disturbed her in its presence, but something tantalized her curiosity. What an odd atrocity, speaking in bells and whistles and if it were a clown performing for a group of unamused children. It would claw its way into their laugh box, even if there was blood, nails, and any amount of gore involved. Did this creature hold the same violence she had in herself? She thought not. It was too docile, too perturbing. Saar thought for a moment if this creature were to aggress upon her… she might laugh. A hearty, full bellied laugh, incapable of recovering until its rumbling waves soothed.

Saar felt herself shiver with morbid curiosity, gazing at being intensely, head tilting ever so slightly. How did this beings brain work? Or was this a performance– an attempt to weasel his way under their skin, like worms crawling back to the moist, damp environment they love so much. Was he a worm? Saar didn’t mind worms. They were necessary to enrich soil, to decompose filth, and to continue the cycle of life.

Rapt attention was placed on the lithe body, watching paper mouth sliced cuts into the personage of the acrobat with sugary sweet melodies. How skillful. How crafty. She watched as he writhed and wriggled in his skin, despite the jingle jangle in his ton. Percy’s intimate invitations seemed to have disturbed the disturbing clown.

How amusing. How delightful.

Lips twitched, begging for a smile laced with truth. She almost gave in feeling the corners twist up ever so slightly, when the error was made. A grave error? No. But one that scorned the woman who held her name so dear. Her name was holy, bestowed to her by a deceased Saint. Of course, the creature knew not the severity of its mistake. But Saar’s scorn remained nonetheless. “Saar.” She quickly snapped, stern eyes piercing into its head. “Saar.” Repeated slowly, articulately, accurately. She would not be misnamed again. The amusement rolled off her shoulders like rain off leather, dropping to the ground as did her half born smile.

But the peevish creature had a few more tricks up his sleeve.

A smack.

A smile.

A chortle.

A straightening of the spine.

“It is settled then.” Saar placed hands on top of each other, delicately clasping well oiled leather together. “We shall be in attendance at one of the performances. With a special backstage tour, to add on. Wonderful. Your generosity is appreciated, Percy.” Venom, spite but none so sharp it could cut. It could be fun to cast non-lethal judgment at others. “Now Rat, you must tell me…” Shouldering out the now outcast acrobat, Percy would need to elbow his way back in to join the two creatures. “What is your function aboard the ship? I do hope it is as fascinating as you sound yourself. Do tell.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[Pepsionne]

MOOD:
Dark, aggravated

LOCATION:
The Leviathan: Main Deck

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

the acrobat

percy

Interactions: sollie Saar, Gao Rat

The decision to board the Leviathan was a desperate one. Futile effort of a man clinging to the very last shreds of his dignity. The spotlight had moved on, curtains closed, yet Percy--he remained. And what was he to do in this darkness? The most dangerous kind of man is one with nothing left to lose, after all.

He flexed his fingers at the sharp rap of Rat’s flute against the skin of his knuckles, face contorting into a knot of aggravation. Gods save him now if this was the clientele he was fated to face aboard this monstrosity of a vessel. Austere, dying and all sorts of no fun.

Percy retracted his hand from Rat’s shoulders with a smooth motion. He eyed the taller man, a foreign feeling reaching inward to his chest and squeezing. Was it anger? Agitation? Violence? No matter--only one thing became blindingly clear to him. It wanted him to bite back.

Before the acrobat could deign a response to Rat's physical rejection of his touch, Saar swallowed the space Percy occupied with a swift brush of shadow and fabric. She and the dying man now stood shoulder to shoulder, their backs turned to Percy in a wall of rejection.

Something overtook the Acrobat’s vision then--a type of green madness he’d only been introduced to when bound in plaster and stitches. It was ugly feeling, but addicting, something begging to be given into and indulged.

A huff of a laugh at the woman’s audacity. With the two turning his backs to him, Percy let his expression fall into something only seen when the curtains close. Apathetically cruel, mercilessly violent. A sharp wave knocked against the side of the ship just then, throwing a fresh spray of salted mist against those closest to the railing. Percy blinked. His fist had been clenched tightly, well kept nails biting greedily into the flesh of his palm. He released the pressure, marks of that vague darkness leaving visible crescents against his skin.

What was that feeling? The more it had to chew on the hungrier it became. What started as intrusive thoughts soon became overwhelming fantasy. What next? Obsession? Addiction? He didn’t want to think of the road he was now traveling down--instead, rolling his shoulders back with a renewed brightness finding way into the crevices of his features.

“A moment,” Percy called to Saar, the woman actively steering the willowy figure of a man away from him. “I haven’t even told you the times or the location.”

Long legs devoured the space that Saar’s shorter stature fought to put between them. Percy stood before them once more. “The theater, Friday through Sunday directly after dinner hour.”

Another smile, but this one fought weakly to hide the darkness that pushed against its façade. “It’ll be my pleasure to entertain you.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[Harrowhark]

mood

stray dog

outfit

haven't looked, might later

location

outside Yas's chamber door

tags

Yasmine CrimsonInk
Brief mention of Bec

Prologue

Free.

He was finally free. Of course, free was subjective, he couldn’t return to Zenith without consequence, just like no person could ever defy gravity and fly. No one was ever truly free in the sense of the word.

Still, Jackson Belrose was free to feel the sun on his skin, the grass under his toes, delicious food on his lips. In this way, he was more free than he had been in a long time. But if he wanted it to last, he couldn’t savor any of it, not yet.

Damp, mismatched clothes stolen from a line, meant to dry in the morning sun. Jack had nothing else to his name. He only stopped running when he came into the port town, now with the need to disguise himself. Still early, the docks were quiet, the fishermen would not be back for hours. He did not have hours.

One boat milled with entries and exits, not enough to grant him the opportunity to slip by, but at the right moment, enough to trick.

With confidence, Jack followed right next to a woman with her ticket in hand. Just like he’d planned, she was let on while he was stopped. “Is there a problem?”

No ticket no entry blah blah blah whatever!

“That lady was my wife. She showed you two tickets, sir.” Are you stupid? Are you dumb? Gone into the crowd, it would be a hassle to verify with her now. Yet, the man persisted.

“You must be forgetting. I imagine that is common in your age.” Jackson had long since learned the skill of speaking to authority as though he was more important than he was, but he had never learned how not to push their buttons in the process.

It was so fun seeing faces turn red in anger, especially when manners dictated they couldn’t do a thing about it.

“Sir, my wife is pregnant, I need to get back to her. You can’t separate a man from his wife with child!” It was Jack’s turn to get mad. So angry about his wife. She is out there all alone! How can a woman manage?

“You want my son to grow up without a dad? You want my wife and child to be penniless on the street for the rest of their lives? You would do that? You’re sick! Vile! Un-”

A woman clears her throat. “Is something wrong with my husband?” Oh, an angel, sent to rescue him from this misery. Now that face was red out of embarrassment rather than anger, and he was free to board. Thank the stars for this lovely woman!


Chapter 2

And so Jack was married! Lucky, lucky days. His wife was not kind enough to let him sleep in her chambers, but he was perfectly happy spending his nights in the cargo hold among the rats and strange, looming presence hiding in the shadows if it meant seeing her during the day.

After the morning sun rose, he would eventually find himself outside her chambers, waiting to start the day. This routine carried on day after day, and yet he never grew tired of it. Maybe he was threatened, but it was only a little bit! She didn’t mean it!

When that door opened, his arm was right around her shoulders, same as always. “How are you this morning, my lovely wife?”

The Bard

© reveriee

 

[Harrowhark]

mood

haunted

outfit

link

location

Mess Hall

tags

Madeline AnimeGenork
Mentions Kader as The Orb

The orb was displeased with her. At least, that is what Blade had to assume when it looked away and ran every time she waved. Oh well, there were plenty of orbs in the sea, or however the saying went.

While incredibly drunk when she had first spoken the name, she was fully committed to the identity of Blade Longsword. The King’s men were less suspicious of her than she had thought, though she had not given them enough chances to be. Sometimes, she did wonder, if there was really a search for her, or if she had built it all up in her head. Oh, but she was just a girl!

As they got further and further from Zenith, her mind was put more at ease. However, she missed the princess terribly. This was the only fault in her plan. There were times she had sworn she saw her, in the midst of any crowd. It was a small glimmer of hope, however pointless.

During breakfast, Blade swore she could feel her presence. Not in an omnipresent sense, something real. Or she was getting scurvy. Pass the oranges!

Not scurvy then… Was there such a thing as sea madness? A symptom of cabin fever? Blade was lost in thought upon leaving the mess hall when it hit her. Literally!

“Penelope?” A small gasp, though she had seen her dozens of times now, she was not meant to be here in the flesh. It was impossible!

No. Now up close this was not the love of her life. Her face perhaps, but the slightest movement proved her not to be the soul she had become so intertwined with.

“You must forgive me, I thought you to be someone else.” She was foolish to even entertain the thought.

It had not been an illness plaguing her mind. That would have been better. For now, she must live with seeing this doppelganger’s face, the star’s unique form of torture for her cowardness.

In her gut, Blade felt a kind of disgust she never had before, her stomach twisting in knots as if it might burst. As confident as she had been, there was no way to completely cast off homesickness. For as long as she had chosen to ignore it, the stronger it’s eventual attack had become.

“Clearly I am mistaken then…” Blade swallowed hard, face tingling as she blinked back tears. Stars forbid she break down here. “If you will excuse me.” Nothing like mistaking a stranger for your best friend (Friends don’t kiss! Shit, what were they now?) and running away. Very smooth!

The Scribe

© reveriee

 

[CrimsonInk]

mood :

THIN ICE

location :

The Deck...again

outfit :

mentions :

N/A

interactions :

Wyll

THE DESCENDANT

;; Dahlia

Chapter Two

"I know more about the darkness and wickedness in the hearts of people than you would believe. I've experienced it first-hand. I know what it is to be cast out, to beg for a meal, to be spit on...to be called a monster."

These were words she never thought a noble could use with such….passion. Monsters were monsters because society condemned them to be monsters — they needed monsters to blame for their ignorance and cowardice. If he was depicted as a monster….why does he still wish to still find hope within those who casted him as a monster? It was not like her to continue this conversation, yet the little voice inside begged her to hear the man out. To not allow her guard veil the belief she used to hold so dear long ago.

Wounds that were melded deep into her skin sizzled and reminded her that no one should be trusted. No one. Her mind fought this idea, clawing at her and screaming to not fall for this nonsense. She has to fight against his hopeful preaches. Disbelief was a thick and murky cloud, with the odor of sulfur suffocating her.

“I know that if you give people a reason to live, taking the next breath becomes a little bit easier.”

No it won’t. They’ll take your breath and leave your lungs to dry up into dust.

“I know that if you speak for long enough, somebody will eventually listen.”

No they won’t. Voices who beg for mercy will never be heard. Not even children.

“And I know that if you fight hard enough, you will eventually win.”

Fighting is to survive. Fighting is to make sure you are the last one standing.

"I only wish the message had reached you sooner."

No. You have no right to tell me these things. You know nothing of me.

“...but there can always be a better you.”

An eye twitched from hearing that sentence. In fact, she started to spiral. Nose flared, her body tense, and jaw clenched tight. His words were dissolving the whispers, the anxieties, but the shield was still there. Eventually the misplaced anger gradually simmered and sensibility mercied her fractured cognition. Silence. It was just them now. The Noble and the Thief, a grim fable itself.

Why must he continue to speak to her as if they were equals, when in reality he had much more leverage and power over her? She stole from him, and here he was spouting to her as if he needed to release his own thoughts. He could have called over the Kingsmen and arrested her. He could have spat in her face and belittled her like anyone else in his status. Why didn’t he? Do it. Call them. Call them.

“…don’t patronize me,” Dahlia warned, her eyes averting away from him, “…if your preaching is done, at least speak to me in a way I can understand….unless you plan to continue idling like a damsel in distress until a kings guard shows, I’ll be out of your sight before you blink before that happens.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[roxybirdie]

THE BLACK WIDOW.

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松岡

AVALON

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

Ready to ... hunt.

OUTFIT

GOTHIC LACE

LOCATION

MAIN DECK

MENTIONS

STUPID TICKET GUY

INTERACTS

NPC

TAGS

N/A

REIGN — DERIVAKAT.

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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.

In the midst of seasick passengers and intense conversations, a petite noblewoman stepped on the main deck. With a flick of her wrist, her gloved hand opened a black and red hand fan. She pressed the fan over her face, obscuring the lower half. A gentle breeze swept past her, ruffling her chestnut curls. Warm mocha brown eyes surveyed the main deck, a spark of intrigue evident in her shrewd gaze. She lowered her fan and snapped it shut.

"Is everything sorted out?" Avalon inquired.

A tall woman in her thirties inclined her head. "Yes, my Lady. The crewmembers transported our luggage to our designated cabins. I inspected the rooms and everything is in order. All we have to do now is wait," she reported.

"Thank you, Minerva," Avalon acknowledged. Her attendant was an astute and reliable noblewoman. Minerva Edgewater hailed from a vassal House under her late husband's family. Baron Edgewater served House Gallagher for decades. Despite her husband's death, Avalon seized absolute control over House Gallagher's vassals.

Minerva served as her personal attendant since her second marriage. After the death of Cillian, Minerva followed her to her next marriage. And the next. And the next. And so on.

She proved to be a loyal ally and an invaluable resource.

"Should I take care of that incompetent ticketmaster for you, my Lady? His decorum was atrocious."

Her lips quirked. "A Lady shouldn't get her hands dirty, Minerva. Rest assured, I haven't forgotten about the ticketmaster," she replied. Avalon approached the railing near the boarding plank and gazed at the docks below. She opened her hand fan and waved it against her face.

The incompetent coward had the audacity to deny her attendant entry since he couldn't verify her name on the checklist. However, when he verified the ticket's authenticity, he retracted his statement. Instead of taking accountability for his blunder, he blamed a random crewmember for presenting him an outdated list. After Avalon exposed his mistake and humiliated him, the truth came to light.

The ticketmaster drafted the checklists. However, since he had horrible penmanship, he struggled to pinpoint her attendant's name on the list. He located it, but the name was barely legible.

Without further delay, Avalon and Minerva retrieved their tickets and boarded the Leviathan.

"The horrid man deserves to be fired," Minerva grumbled.

A light chuckle escaped her lips. It was rare for Minerva to lose her composure. However, she loathed incompetent men, especially haughty noblemen.

"I concur, but I doubt he'll be fired over a single occurrence. Despite his horrid behavior, he might prove useful. I need a list of all the passengers on board," Avalon pointed out.

She nodded. "I'll see what I can do, my Lady. Are you going to mingle with the other guests?" she inquired.

Avalon hummed. "Not yet. I want to observe the passengers boarding the ship," she replied. She stared at the bustling crowd below. "Observing the hustle and bustle might prove useful," she added. Despite what the rumors say about her, she wasn't here for a relaxing vacation.

The Black Widow was searching for her next target.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wyll]

((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))​

The Gemini

Luc Cardin
Gallin Forestson

Abort.

Leave.

Vacate the area.

His senses told him that the redhead was done entertaining this conversation and common sense told him to leave. However, his own ambition forced him to stay. The one thing he'd always wanted was to be able to make an impact on somebody's life. To be able to say he mattered. If he couldn't impact the person standing in front of him right now, what hope did he have of reaching anybody else in Solas.

"I have no right to patronize you. There is nothing you have said that I haven't said to myself several times over. I'd even wager more than twice a week. I'm only telling you what I have to tell myself every day to keep me going. So, if I'm preaching to you, I'm preaching to me too."

He stopped speaking as a familiar warning ran down his spine. He stood up straight, the relaxed state he had been in disappearing in an instant as he became Gallin Forestson again. Everything about his countenance completely changed - so much so that it was very much like another person entirely was standing in front of the redhead now. He painted a smile on his face but it was hollow, empty, almost pained even. There was no smile in his eyes. He turned to look and it was a group of three people making their way around the ship. They greeted him and he greeted them and exchanged pleasantries, signed an autograph for one of them and - for the whole interaction - none of the other nobles, not even Luc, acknowledged Dahlia standing behind Luc. Gallin Forestson couldn't afford to be seen preferring the company of someone from the streets rather than a noble. And so played the part of nobility.

Soon enough, the group left and he turned back to Dahlia, resuming his previous, more relaxed stance - entirely forgetting to address the fact that he had just ignored her for a full minute. He had spent so long just being Gallin that he had forgotten that Luc's world doesn't just pause because Gallin's world is the center of attention. All he did was let out a sigh, a sigh that revealed - perhaps - how taxing it was for him to have to keep playing the part of Gallin Forestson.

However, in a few half-seconds, all traces of the exhaustion that came with his forever lie were wiped away as he reminded himself that this person in front of him may not know him, but he still cannot afford to allow himself drop every guard. She seemed like the perceptive type and he couldn't afford to have her asking too many questions. What she knew of him was already good enough.

His eyes went back to her, giving her a once over.

He had observed her gestures and expressions while he spoke and knew that his comments were not being received with grace. From the way her eye twitched to the way her jaw clenched, he could tell that he had struck a cord that ran fairly deep with her. She was angry, he knew it. However, for some reason, she seemed to have gotten angrier. He wasn't sure why, yet he would continue. He had a point to prove to the both of them and felt like he was too close to stop.

"You're angry. Why? Because you know I'm right or because you want to believe that I'm wrong?"

He'd been where she was before - in a valley without hope. He knew well how much hope was craved for in that valley but also how terrifying hope was when you found it. It was foreign, unrecognized, and therefore unpredictable and a threat. There is always some hesitation to reach out and investigate.

Some could even say that he was in a similar place with something similar to hope - happiness. But he wasn't ready to think about that now, here was a difference. He wasn't sure what exactly it was but he knew there was a difference. There had to be. Otherwise it would mean he had to let go of his fear of happiness and he wasn't quite ready to do that yet. Whether or not he was being a hypocrite, he still believed that he could get through to her.

"I know you know I'm right. After all, you wouldn't still be standing here if a part of you didn't h-"

WHOMP

Mentions: Dahlia ( CrimsonInk )

 

[Gao]

THE KINGSLAYER.

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船井 蓮

FUNAI REN

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

[BITES ROSE BETWEEN TEETH]

OUTFIT

NO HAT SWAG

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DECK

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DANTE, VAS, DOLORES

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qunqun

BAD IDEAS — THE 5:55.

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HERETIC BOY,

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

CHAPTER TWO.

Reputation for virtuosity.

Was that an insult. What the fuck did that mean.

“I am. Got lots of that.” He does not even know what he is pleading, makes a note to ask Vasariah later about this vurchuocity. At the reminder he turns to search where he’d seen the blonde prior, held in the helpful mercy of the quartermaster’s arms. He finds the area absent of curls and can only assume the soft star has stalked off to scribble in their diary.

Without Dante’s withering silence, the thief has no nervous urgency to scramble sentences together, but is instead left quiet for a whole new different reason. Moments ago Ren was under the impression this man was not allowed to laugh, but Dante has an unpredictable humour.

That being, not immune to stupidity.

Smoke starves them of dignity, and the grip on their composure slips and unravels like thread. No longer smooth and featureless where nothing can take hold, now split with pomegranate and buttermilk teeth. The sound is not particularly sexy, a graceless and inane display without stagecraft panache or obligatory pantomime and yet— Ren is offset with his own mellow smile to the foolishness of the situation. Enjoys the sincerity of it, the glimpse behind coffee attire and routine greetings and polite expressions that give nary indication that they genuinely enjoyed being there. He does not point out this particular note of interest, decides to keep it selfishly for himself; he has claimed this small victory of being both witness and creator of that reaction and does not intend to share.

At first it had been flattering, being able to coax the human out of the perfect shell (all intentional, all planned of course), but the decades worth of amusement has Ren’s face slowly warming in the climate of Dante’s laugh. Dusted pink with something flustered, Ren feels, only briefly, regret for some things that come out of his mouth.

“Stop.” It’s a very childish protest, weightless and colliding the conversation with the authority of a feather. “I’m being suave.” The regret has coated him like a salt cure, but he doesn't feel burdened by it. Instead, consigned to the giggling consequence that is Dante. There are tears in the man’s eyes— Ren had the sudden, unprompted urge to lick them away —and he fears the man might collapse in a tectonic heap.

He would reach to give them an awkward pat on the back if not uncertain that would breach their first rule. Friends do the same, but given Dante’s tetchiness to even a shoulder touch and the nearby attention the cackling has attracted, he decides otherwise. Stands sheepishly in the tide of the laugh while he seeks self-command until Ren is temporarily elsewhere, caught adrift until he returns to the newest fascination.

Blinks Dolores from his mind but can feel her resonating like a hurting bruise.

“Shit, you weren’t being serious were you?”

“No!” He’d scorn once surfaced enough, but the uncertain silence afterwards is not trustworthy. “Yes? Do you— is that what you’re into? I won’t judge.”

Dante is composed again, and with eyes like that, Ren can assume this man must be universally adored. The chimaera has returned to his untouchable paradox, all moneyed novelty and back to the ease of conversation. While the thief may have been rendered temporarily quiet in their mirth, he is no less audacious in his recovery of courage. Shrugs dismissively at being called demanding as if nothing more than a neutral observation.

“It’s called ambition.” Ren knew what he wanted, and that currently consisted of a cigarette and a scheduled meeting for paperwork and to not think about his ex-girlfriend who might be on the ship. “You’ll learn to like it.”

Greedy ink preen to see fingers withdraw cigarette, the little gift leading the helm of his good fortune. Watching the meticulous and steady motions that feel both practised and mildly cruel, it elicits a glimmer of impatience feeling like cattle awaiting their feed. Treacherous Ren knows not to breach the demarcation of skin with flagrant disregard, but lawless things must tiptoe around borders to satisfy curiosities. Reaches to take the cigarette with regular insouciance, it is nothing suspicious when fingers skirt over the canvas of their knuckle like a passing apparition to retrieve the donation.

“Nice people would offer two.” Schrödingers haggling, where he is both joking and serious depending on just how nice he can convince Dante to be. They want the kindness returned, and Ren can already estimate how to credit this goodwill. “Demanding.” Serves it back over the centre line with soft admonishment, their stupid little wii game of give and take.

Consumption is the intent, and Ren is quick to light the cigarette and shutter oxygen from the lungs in exchange for the vacuous black. Air crawls out and smoke creeps in, then slips away through the nose in tandem with the tension he could feel knitted into his shoulders.

Dante should’ve batted his eyelashes, maybe then the thief would have been too preoccupied to hear their next comment.

"... Would you be interested if I wrote up a formal contract for us to follow."

Ren stares. An interval of silence. He has the sinking question that is rising in his eyes; maybe Dante really was into paperwork. Real paperwork. Not as an innuendo or excuse to make cheap remarks, but a fetish for writing and signing things and establishing some kind of wild freaky arrangement—

“Heh–” a nervous noise as he scries for a gentle way to say no. He’d like to stay in the man’s good graces to reap the reward of both cigarettes and bedsheet bedlam, but if this formal contract is a necessity— maybe oxygen loss will have him pass out and avoid having to answer that. Ren takes a long inhale to drain the tobacco and pet that train of thought back into place.

"Sorry, I don't think I'm as funny as you."

How disgustingly endearing to realise the man is only trying to be humorous. The most demure of Daniels. Ren exhales the Mount Vesuvius plume of smoke he’d been collecting with some relief. Unlike Dante who is discreet with his misdeeds, he stabs the filter into the railing without concern for the cosmetics— it’s a sovereign vessel after all, and there is nothing better than besmirching the shiny new ship with traces of himself. Pockets the end because tossing it overboard into the sea is more morally wrong than disregarding the King's property.

“Not many people are.” Bragging again, as if he hadn’t just encountered seasons of grief and tried to suffocate himself. All according to plan of course. How suave. “No need to worry about a contract, Dan. I’m a hands-on learner.” In other words, I don’t read. If one looks a little closer, I can’t read.

But that is not here or there, and as it stands, Ren allows that comment to linger with his regular mischievous smile.

“Get it. ‘Cause hand— yeah. Okay.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

mood :

RAWR ANGRY GRRR

location :

The Deck...again

outfit :

mentions :

N/A

interactions :

Wyll

THE DESCENDANT

;; Dahlia

Chapter Two

This man was more of a fool than noble. Or maybe he wasn’t really a fool, but he was an odd man for sure. Having to carry the weight of expectation so passionately, yet practicing patience with those of ignorance was….admirable. Before words could be voiced and heard, she sensed the change in atmosphere around them. Dahlia could feel the edge of a knife pressed against exposed skin as she watched the noble be admired and fawned like a house pet. The man she knew just moments before was gone, and in return deceived her. He who spoke of a better Zenith and –

You bastard. You hypocritical bastard.

To be an unforgiving sight, to be ignored and casted aside, these were things she was used to, but here she was like a wounded fawn over the cries of words that no longer have meaning. The delicate facture of hope that dwelled in her spirit broke another piece of her. To give someone false hope was one thing, but to go back your word on it the moment others come into view was another. Practicality subsided to introduce the infernal demon that runs through the blood of this Antares child, circulating rapidly in his domain of wildfire and wrath. Her amber eyes narrowed at the man who she thought to be auspicious now pronounced himself sanctimonious to the impoverished people of Solas.

"You're angry. Why? Because you know I'm right or because you want to believe that I'm wrong?"

Because it was people like you that made me stop believing. What I believe in will never make a difference, and your actions have proved to me that your will isn’t strong enough to make a difference either.

No more did she wish to hear his complicated jabber. The strong feeling of indignation guided her to give him a piece of her mind. The numbness in her features seemed to have kept him busy as her body moved tactfully with one leg slide back. Her stance now changed with her chest angling towards the sea, her fists gradually raising and cocked her arm back. In a quick motion with an immense amount of force, weighed her strength towards the man’s face.

"I know you know I'm right. After all, you wouldn't still be standing here if a part of you didn't h-"

WHOMP

Knuckles pressed firmly against skin and the landing of her fist against nose cascaded the man backwards. A bittersweet of fulfillment washed over the thief with content of her action. Eyes dull with disappointment and indifference were now impressions of what she thought of this man.

You’re the same just as everyone else. I was a fool myself for almost thinking….

Dahlia waved the hand she used to punch the lights out of the noble man. Her knuckles bruised with violets and blues blended against fair skin. The pain of her knuckle finally surfaced, and she bit down on her tongue to not cry out. Pain is an exceptional tutor. Words that made her shrivel forced this woman to power through the pain and dissociate it towards something else. Her eyes went back towards him, ready to caste another form of action if needed to remind him: don’t fuck with a woman who has nothing to her name.

coded by reveriee.

The Ophidion

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  Jackson | slight mentions of Maltke

  
  

  
  

  
  

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Kayla King ft. Halocene

Flowers

Prologue

I never wanted it to end like this.

Crimson ripplets of blood scattered as the sword thrusted deep into the chest of her groomer husband. The man gasped for air, hands gripping the blade as Yasmine pressed it farther. The hilt pressed firmly against skin and the serpent woman watched him crumble to his knees.

“Yas…” he gasped, eyes confused and impaired by the actions of his wife.

“What is it, my love?” her voice low, yet a soothing velvet. Her foot pressed firmly against his chest to slip out the crown's property.

“You fluvian bitch…” he gasped out his dying breath, falling back and hitting the marble floors.

The dame felt a stab to her own heart. Her husband, her dear gracious husband, was calling her such hideous names. You would think devoting yourself to someone would be grateful for what you’ve done for them.

“I really do love you…you were my first everything…but the love you gave wasn’t enough….no hard feelings.”

Feet dragged to the desk lifting her jewelry box and inside a dagger hidden. The glimpse of cerulean in her eyes reflected that of her nocturnal spirit as she picked up the dagger, slithering her way over to a man who was bleeding out and dying slowly.

The last breath of life he will inhale is clouded by iron.

The last feeling he’ll feel before the numbness of death is the open flesh that encourages agony and suffering.

The last thing he will ever see will be his wife raising his dagger with the same smile she wore on their wedding day.

“Till death do we part.”

---

Chapter 1

Celebrations on a night so dark, yet so bright by the stars and moon were ones you should take advantage of. Outside where the winds were gentle and the smell of the sea clouded your senses, it really was a beautiful night. Yasmine was doing some light rounds. Ensuring that no drunken fool would fall over the railings and fall into the sea. No matter how enjoyable that would be to watch them drown, she couldn’t allow it to happen. After all, the King asked for his favorite informant to attend matters that begged for her attention — to board the Leviathan and gather the evidence of Kingsmen dishonest to the Crown. A request that gave her the greatest pleasure to guarantee his order to be honored.

The variousness of passing faces she graced with smiles and charms exhausted her. That exhaustion led her to reflect her years in Antares with Odysseus; days she missed that were filled with disgraceful conduct and sinful indulgence. In the midst of her reminiscence eyes caught hold of a large figure, wearing black clothing and laughing rather obnoxiously loud. While she would have brushed it off as any other nuisance, it was when the man in black moved that she saw her.

Dahlia Blackwater, the Red Baron’s runt who snitched her out and threatened her path. Sight of a prey she had been waiting for a long time was now in the palm of her hand. Oh how she would have loved to see a well crafted noose around this woman’s throat and pull the lever herself. No, she must wait. Patience is a virtue she must practice. A moment of meditation and open hands allowed her to reflect on the possible fruition of capturing this sheep. To soon gratify this idea back into the mind second to the King’s wishes. The hunt is on.

---

Chapter 2

The time on the Leviathan has led to being somewhat eventful with an interesting set of passengers. Faces she has become familiar with now speak to her friendly, accepting, and meticulously blinded by her more malicious nature. While some she found more favorable, another has led her to question them. A certain face was one who has proved to be both irritable and useful in her graces, so far. A man who was also from the Canals, a bittersweet reflection of home. Trying to board without a ticket is a foolish gamble, but what was even more foolish was trying to persuade the Ticketmaster that she was his wife.

---

Boarding Day

“Is something wrong with my husband?” She asked, her gaze moving towards the distraught man and the bewildered Ticketmaster.

“He has no ticket. No ticket, no entry.”

Careful and calculated features of her face made the man tremble in her presence. The woman slithered over to the two men, circling the rabbit she was ready to make a meal of.

“But I showed you two tickets. Your eyes must be tired from just standing and looking at so many of these things. Must I pull them out once more? Or should I tell your employer of how you’ve disgraced yourself to judgements of one’s appearance?” She challenged; a low hiss of her soothing breath made the man lose all life in his face.

“N-no! I-I apologize, please forgive me. Sir, I apologize! You are allowed to board.”

A soft smile made his way as the stranger took her arm, and there she was playing the children’s game of house once more.

---

Current Day

That mid-morning sun reflected and bounced off radiant, velvet skin as Yasmine prepared to switch with another privateer for rounds. These morning rituals have become routine and important for Yasmine to keep her sensible. Bathing in a rose scented bath, lathering shea butter over her skin, and meditating with sage lit incense were some of the practices of this ritual. It was

Upon finishing to get ready she recognized it was her dear ‘husband’ coming to join her at the hip once more. Opening the doors she was greeted by an arm slithering around her shoulder, a brow raised his way finding him being too comfortable with this transaction.

“How are you this morning, my lovely wife?”

“Better now that you’re here,” she cooed, a soft smirk crossed her lips, “I must make my rounds this morning, dear. You understand.”

The difference in height proved to be uncomfortable with a woman tall and demanding. While his short stature was cute, it wasn’t demure of her to walk like a hunchback. Changing where his hand was placed, she moved it down to her hip. Much easier and more willing to handle. Her hand slid to the back of his raven locks, gripping it tightly as she bent down to show her serpent mask.

“Don’t press my buttons today, Jackson dear…” she warned, standing right back up and greeting those passing by. Such a tenacious responsibility to be a wife again.

♡coded by uxie♡