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Fantasy ๐‘๐Ž๐†๐”๐„ ๐–๐€๐•๐„๐’ โ€” THE STORY

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The streets of Antares was no place for someone as vulnerable as herself. She was a fish out of water with no way of living or thriving in Antares. Instead, she was rather what made of what causes it thrive with her dress and demeanor signaling to all with clean appearance that she's loaded.

She is, just with weight instead of money now. Her heavy luggage was hers to carry now that her hired bodyguard was gone. She could only leave it in her hand constantly as the greedy eyes around her saw luggage.

She continues to walk around with her ticket clutched in her hand looking for the infamous Leviathan that will take her home but maybe just maybe... She doesn't have to and just run far, far away on it. Far away from here also and she knows it by how unfamiliar and unaccustomed she is to the darkness, the burnt smell, and the dirt of this place.

Her distaste of Antares would soon be replaced by a more pressing matterโ€” a goddamn fresh pair of hands that were not her own but is now tugging on her luggage.

She screams. Her free hand smacking the head of the thief with each smack bringing a new expression of pain on the thief. Though, it might be the different decibels her shrills were ringing at in his ears causing his pain. The thief still does not relent as he continues to tug on her item. Her nails claw at him and her nails seems to be scratching out the dirt on his skin rather than any blood. Still, she fights the thief shrieking and while bashing him without a pause.

"HELP, SOMEBODY, HELP!" she screams, forgetting that this is Antares.

Goddammit! Things like this is why I don't step foot into Cascades anymore! Too much acceptance of this crap!

"YOU CAN ROB SOMEONE BETTER THAN ME!" her voice attempts to enunciate but it all comes out as a strangle of notes. The thief's ears perk at this as a momentary look of confusion don on his face before it reverts back to pain from the screams and smacking.


Tags
Nifty Nifty
 
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THE GLADIATOR.















scroll

Tiberius



SANCTUS




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




hope ur okay
โธœ(๏ฝกหƒ แต• ห‚)โธโ™ก
















LOCATION




Streets of Antares












MENTIONS




Agnes










INTERACTS




Agnes










TAGS



















GUY.exe โ€” Superfruit
































































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Sanguine Stains




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






























Chapter Four.

The hilt of his sword protruded from his crimson belt, softly brushing the hands that were sunk deep into his pocketsโ€”an attempt to hide his mild fidgeting. He was anxious.

Each step thudded in anticipation, drumming along the beat of his nervous heart. Whenever he thinks Cadence will be prone to his advice for once in her life, the woman sneakily feigns conformity and proceeds to leave his side the moment she leaves his sight. At that point, Tiberius considered himself the worst bodyguard of the century.

A frustrated groan escaped his lips as he palmed his forehead, dragging his large hands down, sweeping his face as if it would sweep away his bitterness. What would the viscount think if he hears his daughter maimed under his protection? God, he did not want to think about that.

Fortunately, a distraction arrived right on time.

"HELP, SOMEBODY, HELP!"

โ€œHUH?!โ€ A dumbstruck expression entered his face.

"YOU CAN ROB SOMEONE BETTER THAN ME!"

And with that, Tiberius jumped into action, his instincts guiding his muscles. He hates nothing more than the strong taking advantage of the weak. That's how the men in the brothel acted; that's how the nobles acted; and that's how they acted.

Anger bubbled within him. Like an awakening magma ready to burn, scorch, and destroy everything in its path. With the heiress possibly committing all sorts of depraved activity, the shipโ€™s issue with their lack of freshwater supply, murderers running like a bloodhound for a piece of coin and thieves preying on the weak, it all became too much for the gladiator. Misfortune, animosity, and absolute corruption could overwhelm a man so much, like fury itself, it taints his veins. His wrath bled itself in his following words.

โ€œI suggest you'd leave that poor woman alone before I punch your teeth down your throat.โ€ He says with a sickeningly sweet smile. With raised meaty forearms, he cracked a knuckle and straightened his posture, rising to his full height. His azure eyes sharpened into a glare at the lowly thief as he had the audacity to grip the womanโ€™s luggage tighter.

Though Tiberius has a strict rule of no fighting or killing outside the arena, he could make a few exceptions if the fight only ends with a few cuts and bruises.

His demeanour screams, โ€˜Pick somebody your size.โ€™ When the thief stupidly did not lax his grip, all it took for Tiberius was a swift step before he was in front of the scrawny man. That action alone rattled the burglarโ€™s common sense awake to scramble away from his figure and off to the busy streets of Antares.

The gladiator immediately dropped his shoulders to appear less intimidating, taking on the role of a gentle giant. The anger he felt earlier is still there, hidden beneath the depths of his logic. As always, however, he puts everyoneโ€™s needs above his own, and the poor woman mustโ€™ve been very scared at what had transpired.

He hoped he was of use.

He hoped she was okay.

He hoped he would be okay.

โ€œAre you okay, miss?โ€ He asked softly, eyebrows etched in worry. โ€œAre you hurt?โ€






























โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 





THE DUCHESS















scroll

๊ณต์ž‘๋ถ€์ธ



VIOLETTA




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




Tired and Annoyed











LOCATION




ZENITH












MENTIONS




N/A










INTERACTS




N/A































































scroll






Be Yourself,




you don't make history by being liked.






























Chapter 4 - Arrival and Boarding

The carriage ride was long and Violetta's ass felt like stone. A journey of four days has finally came to an end when her eyes landed on the infamous city of Antares, a cesspool of hazards and crime. Violetta didnt mind any of it, she had seen her fair share while out on the field doing trades and such, but this place was not a welcoming wonder to her. Heaving a heavy sigh, she closed the curtain and turned towards the other side of the carriage where her favorite knight was sitting. Arms crossed, head lowered, and eyes closed made him look like he was sculped from a rock and ready for a fight at the same time. Violetta chuckled to herself before looking away and closing her eyes.

The journey this far was long and tiring, as they had face several unfortunate events in the last four days. Day one, they were immediately hit with a group of bandits right as they left the boarders of her Duchy. It killed Monte's horse and a few of her attendants, but the outcome was still a positive one for her as the bandits were killed without mercy with a few captured and taken back. Monte had insisted from that point on to ride either on the carriage with her or inside it for optimal safety, which made her feel extremely stuffy.

On day two, she had received news from her lands about who sent the bandits and the possible scheme they had. She wasn't surprised, and issued a prompt order to investigate while she continued her journey. She was already two days out, and holing up in her home was not something she knew how to do. On with the journey and it was a pretty mundane one, with nothing happening except the aching of their bodies. After stopping half way to stretch and relax, day two's journey ended with them finding a small inn on the side of the road.

Days three and four were equally common, with only one assassination attempt on her life before they arrived at Party City. Violetta let out a heavy sigh of relief when the carriage stopped and her driver informed her that they had arrived at the destination. She climbed out behind Monte and scanned over the seaside city with calculating eyes. Monte warmed her to be careful of everything as the city was a lawless place and Violetta nodded, knowing just how twisted the place was. Dismissing the driver after their luggage was unloaded, Violetta pulled out her ticket and examined the information on it, realizing they arrived right on time and had some left over to either stock up or explore before it left. She turned to Monte and handed him the tickets.

"Take these and half our money. Splitting half our resources here is the wise decision, as we will at least have a backup. We will take our luggage and check in on the ship, and if the crew permits it, we will then stock up on personal supplies for the journey." Violetta turned her head to look down the main street, her eyes landing on the ship they were to board off in the distance. It had been a long while since she was on a ship, and was curious if she could still handle the journey.

"Yes, Duchess. I will carry our luggage and you can relax. It is already dangerous enough just standing in this street." Monte had a look of obvious discomfort, but quickly hid it when he caught Violetta glaring at him. She hated how much he would repeat himself after being told the point was understood. The unfortunate part was, he was only this attentive to her while being absolutely feral with the other guards.

She shook her head and made her way down the main road towards the docks, the smell of sea water growing stronger as she approached. Something tugged at her memories as the scent engulfed her, and a warm memory of sailing with her parents came to mind. She was young and the sea was vast and amazing to her youth. Now, she was alone and the sea looked invitingly dangerous. And with her knowledge, she knew just how murderous it could become. Just by looking at the people around her as she approached the docks, the sea would wear down a person both body and soul, weathering them into hard faced people. Arriving at the docks, Violetta noticed a few fleeting yet familiar faces amongst the crowd of departing people. They looked tired and defeated with a few of them seeming happy to step foot on land again. Violetta was curious about what happened, but went ahead and stood in line to be checked in on the boat.





























โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










The Drowned






























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Toska










"??"








...






























MOOD








Confused, distracted





















OUTFIT


























LOCATION








Antares Streets























MENTIONS








Willow Farchill, Nina Molotov



















TAGS








































La rรฉvolution - Saycet



































































































































scroll










How can one Live







With heartstrings unwound,
and nothing beneath?

Has a ghost ever overcome despair?






























































Chapter Four.

An answer to his request for company had not been given, and in truth, Toska expected his indelicacy in explaining himself had removed any agreeable response from possibility. Before an apology could be brought to his lips, however, the moment had been adjusted to a different focus.
Another woman, slightly taller than Willow and with a striking smile, stepped between them to form a close half-circle that felt rather too intimate for strangers.
Yet, when he glanced to Willow and noted her slight retreat, he couldn't bring himself to do the same, for the concern that it might offend their new conversation partner.

Then, a distant frown creased his features, his gaze falling as he pondered whether bowing to this energetic woman would offend her or not. Perhaps there was a sort of instinct for which type of greeting to attempt with each new acquaintance, but he was convinced that such an instinct was not within him.

Had it ever been?

Toska was distracted from the thought by the sudden shift of the deck beneath his feet, and he lifted a hand rather uselessly to steady Miss...?
A pulse of anxiety woke in his chest at the realization that he had missed the introduction she'd been attempting, and he was now bereft of which phrase, which word ought to be offered next.

Yet he was given hardly a moment to dwell on the realization, since he was forced to lean down into an outreaching arm and allow himself to be escorted swiftly down the ramp of the Leviathan and onto the docks.
There was equally little time to account for just how crowded the street would feel: especially so, with two companions to keep track of.
But Toska was able to fall into a rather more comfortable stride after the arm was dislodged from his neck by the need for a streamlined approach to their progress through the streets. There was a similar relief to be found when Willow repeated the other woman's name during her own introduction, and he resolved to commit it to memory, then carefully waited for the duration of two extra paces before offering his own introduction.
"I'm Toska. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nina."


When Nina directed their attention to the mystery of their destination, it took him a moment to process who was being addressed. The nicknames she had employed fully sidestepped his comprehension, but a slight nod toward Willow along with the mention of "little bit over here," had convinced him it was his turn to speak.
"My knowledge of Antares is not extensive at all. I have only been advised that The Roost is popular and the Corsair's Kiss is to be avoided,"
he recited absently, with the peculiar ambiance of the market beginning to draw the majority of his attention.

Scents and sounds ricocheted around them, compounding on themselves in a dizzying array, while people paced in all directions with all manner of dress and posture.
Toska wanted it to be familiar, to find a spark for even the smallest memory within the spectacle, but he was sure he hadn't experienced a crowd this like before, and it felt nearly impossible to notice anything in particular that might be recognizable through the sheer immensity of it all.
Yet, he would have expected to feel just as empty here as he had on the Leviathan, if both locations truly were unknown to him. There must be something, he was sure, to be found among the chaos here.

Toska was, however, beholden to the ongoing conversation, and the question of food displaced his neutral expression, introduced the dreadful suspicion that he had somehow portrayed himself as the expert among them.
A halting half-step placed him just behind his two companions, and he hoped upon Nina's energetic demeanor that she would provide a confident answer before he could be expected to.

And yet, there was no escaping the question that Willow directed toward him by name, and a ready-made thought chided him for avoiding the issue earlier.
By his own hesitation, he had subjected himself to entirely preventable awkwardness once again, and Toska briefly wondered how difficult it would be to vanish into the general throng of passersby and simply escape the situation.
That was hardly a solution, though, and he knew it at once. If he wanted to ensure he got back to the Leviathan before it departed, he would very likely need to rely on more than just his own ineptitude abilities of recollection.

Despite the gentle blush fighting to be seen on his face under the dim lights of the torches they passed, Toska breathed carefully in and forced from his mouth the word that he understood to define him.
"I have amnesia. I should not have been so vague earlier, I apologize."
Though the boisterous traffic around them might have swallowed some of his words, he drew in another breath and continued, gaining slightly more confidence once he averted his gaze from either of the women walking beside him.
"I hope to encounter someone who might recognize me. That is my reason for visiting as many places as possible. And, I, of course..."
the words gave pause for him to take in the breath his lungs had been lacking, to give his mind an extra chance to slow itself,
"I understand if our paths must diverge."

Toska steadied himself after slipping past another brusque figure, then relented to the compulsion to glance toward Willow and weigh whether she or Nina would be eager to escape his presence, now that they knew how useless he would be to them.

I should like to accompany you at least to the first tavern.
But Toska resisted the urge to say it, knowing full well that he should avoid becoming a burden on any additional strangers, when there was no pressing need for it and he had already imposed on so many.



























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 





THE MAGPIE.















scroll

Azzara



TALLULAH




ใ…Žใ…Ž















mood




Annoyed, amused, surprised
















LOCATION




THE LEVIATHAN > TAVERN IN ANTARES











MENTIONS




KNOX, CADENCE, REN










INTERACTS




















THIEVES - Sammy Rae
































































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CHILD OF THIEVES




oh drunken gods of slaughter
you know I've always been
your
favorite daughter






























CHAPTER FOUR.

When she was a child, Tallulah craved the safe embrace of darkness. Light exposed everything. Flaws, failures, and blemishes. But when the sun went down, and the stars speckled the sky like jewels thrown across a skirt of inky black, the world became anything and everything she wanted.

Darkness was elusive. Darkness could be manipulated. Darkness allowed for illusions to be spun, and provided coverage. Darkness meant stories would be shared around a fire, and music would wash over the world. Darkness was a time for silence and sleep. For dreams and restoration.

Tallulah would lay curled up on the ground, staring up at the sky, and drift off into the worlds of her imagination. And for once she could be someone else. A princess from a far-off land. A merchant heading to a citadel made of diamonds. A farmer responsible for a small flock in the mountains. Where there was no looming threat of discovery. No weight of failures and mistakes. For once she just was.

Until Algol.

Until that island and those creatures stole her one safe place. Until her waking nightmare bled into the sweet relief of her dreams. Since Algol, there hadnโ€™t been a single night she could avoid him. Carrow had burrowed himself back into her subconscious and dug his roots in deep. She could not remove him. Could not send him back into the real world where he belonged. Neither could she avoid the chill of her cell, or the sound of metal on stone.

Or the look on Dahliaโ€™s drugged face as she clung to her skirts. Begging for a motherโ€™s love that she never got. Another cruel trick. Never mind the fact that Tallulah herself would never be fit to become a mother. And her own might as well be dead, if she wasnโ€™t already.

The aching, gnawing feeling in her chest would not leave. And between the water rationing and the suddenly small quarters on the massive Leviathan, Tallulah contemplated tossing herself off the edge. Plunging deep into the frigid blue, and letting it silence her raging thoughts once and for all.

But sheโ€™d survived too long to go out in such a dismal manner. So, no matter how much her chest ached, or how much sleep fled from her, she forced herself to get up and doโ€ฆ something. Like swiping a necklace from the Quartermaster. It was not her usual favored metal, being silver instead of gold, but she was off her game and it felt good to get her hands on something.

Knox wasnโ€™t very pleased when he found out, but he had no leg to stand on, seeing as he had taken it from one Cadence Valiente first. So she was content to hold onto it and enjoy the feeling of precious metals in her hands and on her neck.
When the ship finally docked in Antares, she somehow found herself at a bar inside some pour house or tavern. The room smelled of smoke, booze, and debauchery, and echoed with the sound of raucous pirates and other low lives enjoying their perfect little criminal existence.

She tipped back a firecracker shot. The liquid scorched her throat all the way down. But with the pain, there was the sweet relief of a gentle fog settling over her consciousness. She allowed the stimulus of the room to wash over her, drowning her senses, and for the first time in weeks, her mind was quiet.

Suddenly, someone appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared at the edge of the bar, leaning over the edge and swaying like he was a tiny ship being rocked by vicious waves. Perhaps it was sheer power of will or dumb luck that kept this young man from toppling over onto the floor like he almost had moments before. Meanwhile, he stared her down like a dog looking at a piece of meat.

Ren, the annoying dark-haired creature that menaced her on the Leviathan had somehow found his way to the same tavern as her and decided she needed an interaction with his drunken, slovenly self.

How wonderful.

Then, as if it couldnโ€™t get any more ridiculous, he opened his mouth.

โ€œDonโ€™t think bad about me โ€˜cause Iโ€™m drunk. I know where to buy good tomatoes.โ€

Tallulah blinked at him. Once, twice, three times. What kind of statement was that? A drunken statement. But why did the gods above insist on punishing her by sending a violently inebriated Ren to regale her with tales of his tomato-locating prowess?

Another shot was placed in front of her. She picked it up and downed it before grimacing. How many more could she get in before she too was as bumbling as the pitiful creature in front of her?

โ€œIโ€™mโ€“ I am Ren. You already know that โ€˜cause Iโ€” me, the Ren, I saved you.โ€

She almost laughed, slamming the mini glass on the bar. Saved her? Saved her? All he did was crawl up her leg and force her into a wet group hug that made her want to scrub herself raw. Even now, her skin tingled remembering the slick, slimy sensation.

Perhaps she should have said something, but she wasnโ€™t sure he would have even heard her. Because suddenly, he posed a question comprised of two words. โ€œYou single?โ€

Damn. He wasnโ€™t here just because he wanted to harass her. He was hitting on her. Drunk as shit and hitting on her. Sheโ€™d need another shot to deal with this.

Dropping a few more coins on the counter, she glanced over to the corner and found (to her great disappointment) that Ren was still standing there, with an expression that said he thought he was the most suave man in the establishment. โ€œI think youโ€™re drunk and can barely stand up let alone remember something that happened a month ago."

Another shot magically appeared in front of her. She poured it into her mouth and swished it around before swallowing hard. A few more of these and sheโ€™d be breathing fire. The fog over her mind grew thicker, and the world started to shimmer. She let out a sigh before adjusting her seat on the bar and sliding her empty glass to join the others.

โ€œAnd it doesnโ€™t matter. You have about as much of a chance with me as any of these drunken idiots. You should find some other girl to harass. Maybe even one that really enjoys tomatoes.โ€

She turned back to the bartender for a moment, ready to request another shot, when out of the corner of her eye she spotted something shiny poking out of the pocket of a patron. And like a hunter spotting its prey, her instincts kicked into high gear. She sat up straight, tucking her curls farther into their bandana covering.

Perhaps providence had led her here for a reason.





























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THE ARCHER.






























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Knox
Hood







------------









โžต โžต






























MOOD








Under Pressure




















OUTFIT








Boots; Pants (But make them Dark Brown); Shirt (But make it really dirty and messy); Grey kerchief on his neck to cover his face, Fabric wraps on his hands, wrists, and where his pants tuck into his boots; Book Holster; Knife Belt (But make it brown, worn, and add a compass and pouch)




















LOCATION








The Leviathan > The Deck > Antares Pier






















MENTIONS








NPC Gary The Deckhand, Lara, Aurelian, Cosette, Rayna, Flora, Lexis, Talulah, Cadence


















INTERACTS








































Worker's Song - Dropkick Murphys.
































































































































scroll












Yeah, this one's for the



workers who toil night and day
By hand and by brain to earn your pay





























































Season 2
Chapter 4 - Part 1.


โ€œAre you sure youโ€™ve got this covered?โ€

Why was he anxious?

Today was already busy with Antares looming ever closer, and Gary, the deckhand he elected to take his post onboarding new passengers, had a look like a hunted rabbit. Gary wasnโ€™t his first choice. Not even his fourth choice, but Levi was in rough shape, and everyone had their tasks for the day. It was quite literally an โ€œall hands on deckโ€ situation. Garyโ€™s main asset right now was the fact that he could read, and he was available.

โ€œYeah, I think so.โ€ Eyes wide. Head nodding. Knees shaking.

Knox rubbed his palm over his forehead as if to hold back the wave of frustration that was rushing through his blood. โ€œDo you think, or do you know?โ€ It wasnโ€™t Gary making him frustrated. Well, a little bit. Everything was making him frustrated today, and truth be told, he would stay on the ship while they were docked if it was his own choice. As he was sure Gary didnโ€™t want to be checking in passengers and getting them to their rooms when heโ€™s normally found scrubbing something.

โ€œNo no! I can do it!โ€ To Garyโ€™s credit, he was using his most convincing tone. Poor guy.

โ€œAlright mate,โ€ one of Knoxโ€™s hands grasped the deckhandโ€™s shoulder. โ€œIโ€™m only gonna be gone for two, three hours tops okay? Just remember what I told you.โ€ A beat of silence passes, Garyโ€™s glassy eyes darted back and forth like he could only look at one of Knoxโ€™s eyes at a time. โ€œSign them inโ€ฆโ€ His eyebrows raised as his head tilted towards the deckhand, prompting him to finish the sentence.

โ€œRight! Sign them in, give them their keys and show them their rooms.โ€

โ€œAnd?โ€
Dear baby Jesus, he needed this conversation to be over.

It took Gary another beat before he remembered. โ€œAnd tell them youโ€™ll be back tonight if they need anything and not to touch anything in the storage.โ€

โ€œGood.โ€
The rake of a man nearly buckled as Knox clapped his shoulder twice before turning on the heel of his boot towards the deck. โ€œSee you in a few hours Gary.โ€

Now, Knox Hood was normally an affable being, hardly ever using a harsh tone with people, especially people like Gary who were only here to work and make a life for themselves. The fact was, the sun was well across the sky with still more to do on his task list, which he contemplated as he fixed the wrappings on his wrists and knuckles.

Freshwater order.
Kitchen order.
General supplies order.

The state of things on The Leviathan has been tough as theyโ€™ve had to ration their freshwater. Guests were the first priority, as well as the kitchen, who had enough to get food made up and onto plates. Even then, it was tight. Lara was getting quite creative with what she had in the pantry. Aurelian, well, he was a bit out of commission the last few weeks. For what reason, he had yet to figure out, but when Knox tried checking in on Ari, he didnโ€™t answer. A swift kick would have brought the door down if there hadnโ€™t been rustling and coughs on the other side, so he let him be.

The air was ripe, and whether that was the smell of the unwashed crew and guests onboard or Antares itself was yet to be determined. He himself was in need of a good wash. Maybe he could find a bathhouse or something to wash, if time allowed. It didnโ€™t feel right to take more water than he needed, knowing he was letting some unregistered passengers roam around on board, he forwent washing his clothes in freshwater in order to conserve better. Which was fine until around the two week mark, where he attempted a quick salt water wash on his most soiled tunic.

Decidedly not great.

The fabric was crusted, smelling of seaweed and fish when he went to put it on the next morning. Rayna took one look at him and the sheer displeasure of her expression prompted him to turn right back around to change into his regularly soiled clothes.

Speaking of the devil, Rayna was quite focused as she passed by, leading a wide eyed Flora Fitchner to the cabins, offering a tilt of his head and a questioning look which twisted his features in a comical way. โ€˜What is she up to now?โ€™ he thought as he tucked the tails of his hand wraps, flexing his fingers to test the tension. Snug and secure; Good for stabilizing his joints if he had to carry things, but also quite helpful should he end up in a physical altercation.

It was Antares afterall.

Antares.
Knox had been warned by every kingsman he met about the dangers of this unholy port. Thieves, gambling, paid companions, pirates. If he wasnโ€™t on the clock with the Kingโ€™s grasp on the back of his waistband, he might consider spending some more time here.

Inadvisable, but he didnโ€™t know that yet. Soon, but not yet (Foreshadowing).

Besides, he had a mission with a number of important steps:

1. Freshwater order
2. Kitchen order
3. General supplies order
4. Get to the market to clean up his mess
5. Get back to the ship, make sure Gary hasnโ€™t wrecked the store room, put away the orders, and clean up in time to see Cosette before she turns in for the evening.

It was a big list. Complicated by the trust given to him by the Captain and Lara to grab supplies, complicated still by events earlier in the day. Complicated entirely by the woman on board who was quickly becoming the singular object of his thoughts and desires. Of course he could forgo any attempts to see her today, but that would be admitting defeat considering his first two attempts at a casual run in we both interrupted that day. What a mess he made for himself.

You see, the situation is this: Knox is an honourable man. He is an honest man. That said, a man, no matter his nature, must survive. The wage of a Kingโ€™s archer was not much, and that of the Quartermaster was not much more. Practically his entire wage went right back home to support his parents. So where would a sly, young man make a solari or two?

The funny thing about being rich, Knox noticed over the years, is how one may acquire many possessions, but not notice when one or two goes missing. With so much abundance, how is one to notice the absence of a needle in a haystack.

So, yes. He carefully selected items from passengers who will never notice in hopes of trading them at port markets, and now look - He has something new to sell to those who can afford (at a generous mark up of course).

Nothing prepared him for the sight of seeing one of his pinched wares on the neck of a passenger on board, much less the dancing woman who he couldnโ€™t remember checking in while boarding in Zenith. She herself was sly, dodging his pointed questions about the necklace until he fessed up about the situation. He would have admitted defeat and let the lass go on wearing the piece, willing the universe to take it from there.

Which, to be fair, it truly did intervene.

Amid his preparations for landing at port, he was interrupted on the way to lunch by Miss Cadence Valiente, who was (shockingly) reporting her missing necklace. The very necklace Knox had stolen from her, which was now in Talulahโ€™s possession. If she got her hands on the jewelry without him noticing, it didnโ€™t seem likely that she would easily let him repossess it. He certainly couldnโ€™t let her go around wearing it, lest Miss Valiente noticed and Talulah told her where exactly she acquired it. No, he needed to find something better to entice the Magpie into trading with him, so he could return it.

The ship jolted and the rigging crew made quick work of securing the vessel to the port, and he leaped lithely down the weathered wood dock, getting a head start on his Antares adventure. His worn boots thudded dully at his quick and steady pace. A simple grey shirt was belted over a pair of dark brown pants. Wraps took care of any loose fabric at his arms and legs, smoothing them away to prevent snags and tears (and honestly, dust and shit). The air was hot and sticky, so he wore no cloak nor hood, though he did have his knife and compass fastened to his belt, as well as a holster for his log book. Knox opted to leave his longbow on the ship, instead choosing a short bow which was slung over his right shoulder, his quiver full of arrows at his ribs on the left. He was thankful for the kerchief around his neck which he pulled up over his nose and mouth, muffling the jaunty tune he whistled as he walked. If he wasnโ€™t stabbed or taken out in a brawl tonight, the smell might do him in for good.

It wasnโ€™t long until Knox located the freshwater supplier, who had no problem obliging him in the order. โ€œThatโ€™s gonna take us a few hours to get to the ship for you,โ€ the man (who looked as if heโ€™d survived his fair share of Antares action) crossed his arms, making Knox think twice about arguing.

โ€œA few hours? How many, like 2 hours?โ€

The supplier gave him a rotten smile that gave him a new perspective on any of his own mouthโ€™s imperfections. โ€œMore like, expect it at the crack of dawn. My menโ€™s off to the taverns already mate. โ€˜Less you want your water all over the pier.โ€

Not great, but okay.

The story was the same with all the suppliers. The ship had docked just as the sun was set, which meant even the most respectable were off to their vices. Knox gave his orders from the Captain and Chef Lara, the suppliers promised delivery to the ship by dawn, and Knox gave partial payments in good faith, promising the rest upon delivery.

No problem.
Easy peasy.

As he refastened his log book to his belt, and wiped the beading sweat off his brow, Knox took a look around. There were sprawling markets of various wares, but it was a collection of stalls with glittering jewels that took his interest.

On to task number 4.



























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
Last edited:










THE ACROBAT.






























scroll


PERCY






GRIFFIN









































MOOD








DRUNK, PRIDEFUL























OUTFIT


























LOCATION








ANTARES BAR

























MENTIONS








mentions!




















INTERACTS








TAGS!!





































MAMMAMIA โ€” Mร…NESKIN.
































































































































scroll












WHO AM I WHEN I FEEL?








What dies in me when I am me?





























































SEASON TWO CHAPTER I.


โ€œOh--yeah, they pretty much canโ€™t function without me. Iโ€™m sure itโ€™s been a mess in the first couple of months after I left,โ€ Percy gloated. Wine spilled over the cup in his grasp with each gesture thrown around, leaving a thin sheen of sticky residue on the skin of his hand.

The woman seated at the bar stool next to him nodded slowly. Her eyes were slightly narrowed at the more exaggerated tone Percy fattened his stories with, but instead of offering a sarcastic remark, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

โ€œWell, youโ€™re not all talk are you?โ€ She batted her lashes at him. โ€œLetโ€™s see some of those acrobatic moves youโ€™ve been talking up so much.โ€

Percyโ€™s smile was a beam of white light in response. โ€œI thought youโ€™d never ask,โ€ He smiled lazily. The man downed the rest of the wine in his glass, Adamโ€™s apple bobbing from the harsh movement.

Upon returning back to The Leviathan, Percy had all but shut himself within his quarters. What he had faced on the Algol Shore he had in no way been prepared for. Had he felt small whispers of what lurked inside of him from time to time? Sure--although insignificant enough in nature to write off as just a bad day.

How could he ignore it now, when it had been put on center stage? When he had acted on it?

So when the ship docked in Antares, Percy was one of the first passengers lined up to spend their respite in the port city. If Antares was good for one thing, it was offering more distractions than he could ever need.

Percy climbed on top of the bar, ignoring the dirty look shot his way from the bartender. โ€œCome one, come all!โ€ He announced, voice filling the hollows of the room in its fullness. Eyes turned to him as if magnetized by force, glassy reflections of torchlight dancing in them.

Pride unfurled in his chest, petal by petal into a full bloom. He had forgotten how much he missed the rush of performance. The theater aboard The Leviathan was fine, sure, but the excitement of his act dwindled each weekend. And he was desperate to fill that void.

โ€œWho wants to see a show?โ€ He asked. Percy spread his arms wide in a gesture of generating response. Curiosity smothered the small flames of annoyance that sparked at his interruption, and cheers began to blanket the idle chatter.

โ€œNo need to ask me twice,โ€ He smirked.



























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
mood :
suspicious



location :
the bazaar
outfit :
mentions :
npc



interactions :
lucrezia CrimsonInk CrimsonInk
Acindius
Devana
Within the tense confines of their little bubble, silence stretched uncomfortably as Devanaโ€™s sharp gaze flicked from one individual to the next. Suspicion, it seemed, was a birthright among the Umbriansโ€”a shield crafted over generations and tempered by ancestral memories of the monarchyโ€™s brutal invasion long ago. Her onyx eyes narrowed, their intensity carving through the stillness like a blade. The woman standing before her might have been speaking the truth, but there was no certainty in that. Truth, Devana had learned, was a slippery thing.

Her eyes briefly rested on the Umbrian merchant. The fear mirrored in their gaze was telling, enough to convince herโ€”if only for the momentโ€”that the womanโ€™s words held some weight.

โ€œHow very noble of you,โ€ she said at last, her voice low but edged with skepticism. Her hand hovered over the porcelain object offered to her, hesitating as unease coiled within her. It was too easyโ€”an offering without resistance, and that disquieted her. Late at night, as a child, she had listened to her motherโ€™s macabre tales. Stories of cursed treasures, stolen relics, and the steep prices paid for fleeting fortune. Those lessons had etched themselves into her bones: nothing in life came without cost.

Slowly, she retracted her hand, letting it fall to her side. Though far from the snow-cloaked lands of her home, the walls she had built around herself remained as frigid and unyielding as Umbraโ€™s winter winds. Each question directed at her raised her guard further, an instinct she could not silence.

โ€œI am Devana,โ€ she finally said, her voice measured but firm. โ€œI ask that you take that mask and destroy it. It no longer serves me.โ€

The warriorโ€™s gaze lingered on the woman, assessing her from behind the shadowed eyeholes of her goat mask. She reminded herself of the truth she had carried since her departure: this was no longer Umbra, and the world beyond its borders operated in ways alien to her.

โ€œIt is not our custom to share our ways with outsiders,โ€ Devana continued, her tone carrying the weight of centuries of tradition. โ€œYouโ€™ve only managed to scratch the surface, and that is as it should be. In Umbra, names and faces are not freely given. They are sacredโ€”shared only when one finds themselves without either. This is not the way of Umbra as a whole, but the way of those who know the dangers that linger unseen.โ€


coded by reveriee.
 





THE CAPTAIN.















scroll

LEXIS



THE CAPTAIN




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




SO SMUG !! SO FUCKING SMUG !!
















LOCATION




THE UGLY BARREL












MENTIONS




Rayna !!










INTERACTS




















TRAVELIN' MAN โ€” DEAD POET S.
































































scroll






WHEN GOD TOOK




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






























CHAPTER FOUR.

If he were to consider his opinion of Rayna beyond the impersonal shoulder tap, there are several things that come to mind.

She exists.

She is good with people.

She hopefully will not die.

All very meaningful sentiments and none of them make use of the word mature.

Normally, this would be the point heโ€™d voice that doubt in his regular austere nature, maybe request examples of this rumoured maturity. Smarts at her claim to be good at keeping secrets and lodges that doubt halfway with a wiser revision to not say anything.

Suspicion is a recurring visitor and it begins to drum at a paranoid pace, what kind of secrets. She is emblazoned with a grin and he supposes meeting that with the too-raw honesty of his questions may not be suitable right now. With a stretch and noble straighten of his neck he turns indifferent eyes back to the waterfront, the blue slant of them going over the muddied upholstery of Antares.

When it had been quiet too long for the likes of Rayna, he turns back and freezes to find her missing and already halfway off the ship.

Oh.

She did not announce WE ARE LEAVING.

He remains stock-still for a moment, alarmed in the neglectful abandonment. Alone! Feet rooted and heels at familiar ease on the planks, and without calculation and a lesser measure of grace, stutters a step to speed-walk after her.

Fresh air is ought to bring them good, but the jaundiced lamplight of Antares is tarnished with soot and sour. The energy and buoyancy of the port brings light-footed necessity, but he misses the sea rolling restless and alive underneath him instead of the people he must now navigate through.

โ€œIโ€™ll admit, cards arenโ€™t my strong-suit.โ€ She should not admit that. โ€œSo any support you can offer is much appreciated.โ€

See, this is not The Leviathan. On the worried streets of Antares there is no loyalty, and if Lex were the type to smile, he may have allowed corners of his mouth to upturn evilly.

But Lex is not the type, and instead his brows raise a fraction at such a misguided assumption. Surprise, perhaps, that she would expect him to offer such a valued upper-hand.

โ€œYou have greatly overestimated the solidarity between us tonight, Miss Mallor.โ€ Unthinkable, to expect a man like Lexis to assist someone in a competition. โ€œThere will be no help from me.โ€

In lesser words: perish.

In more words: he had to win.

Ignores the wink because he has enough sense to know that is not the equivalent of a wave where you must return it (nobody wants Lex to wink), and watches as she withdraws a knife. Recognises that with a weapon like that in her possession, she very likely knows how to use it.

โ€ฆ

Is Tucker the name of the knife or a past victim?

He decides not to ask.

He also wonโ€™t tell her that he is useless at darts and will not be playing it ever because he does not want to lose. Thereโ€™s a comforting division when using guns, that barrier of space between shot and body. With blades, one can feel every bit of contact and resistance of the material; he has never been fond of them.

Rayna carves through the wake with a natural certainty, but always prone to be doing Somethingโ„ข, it is not long till she turns on a heel to walk backwards in front of him. He cannot fault her for raising the hood, he would not like to see the streets of Antares any more than he had to, either.

Lex slows his steps to avoid a collision and listens to the proposal she has in mind. Eighty Solari playing games, reward something from the Bazaar. Heโ€™d decline if not prompted by her final sentiment, only if youโ€™re onboard.

Of course he is.

He had to win.


Lexis lacks the ability to say no to a contest.

โ€œI agree to this arrangement.โ€ Arrogant enough to already be pondering what heโ€™d like from the Bazaar, he follows her to the location of choice and stares blankly at the sign with a silence identified as an unenthusiastic verdict.

The Awful Barrel.

โ€œDonโ€™t judge it by the name.โ€

โ€œI am judging it by the name.โ€

Rayna is from Antares, he remembers it being one of many questions heโ€™d ejected at her back thenโ€” back when he would not entrust her with any faith or seemingly, likability. He will not deem someone unworthy just because of their origin, and as it now stands, she has proven to be a reliable member onboard. The way she weaves through streets harkens to this origin, the way she chooses this quiet tavern above all else says otherwise.

Or she just likes the idea of a mean bean soup.

โ€œWhat,โ€ he slowly looks over at Rayna with hesitation to ask, โ€œmakes a soup mean?โ€

Maybe the beans spell out the novelty of Fuck You. Maybe the beans have a bad personality. Maybe he should not take everything verbatim. It is not something he should even agonize on, for Lex prefers a humble stew. What is in stew? Anything that was and anything that could be. Most importantly, kind and caring potatoes.

He skims over the tavern, knows Antares enough not to linger eye contact save he wishes to start a fight. It is small but not barren, steeped in smoke and saltwater and low chatter from hunched figures. Notices the scattered bowls of what he assumes must have been the mean soup, and further notices the quieter tables circled with rough faces and equally worn cards.

Lexis did not belong here, his nice navy coat without the weathering age that mantles many in Antares. While Rayna smiled in a manner easy to assume as malicious, her outfit blended more easily with those around them. It is not an establishment Lex would willingly enter, but it will serve enough to gather his winnings and destroy her complete their friendly spar.

And perhaps as a small consolation prize to her oncoming loss, he shall purchase some of the mean bean soup that fascinates her. How thoughtful.

He chooses the closest table, currently occupied by three and soon to be five. Two rough looking men on either spectrum of physical builds and one woman with a missing eye. Lex steps into their estimation, indifferent to the judgemental silence that blankets them and condemning stares that turn to size them both up.

โ€œMe and my associate would like to join the game.โ€

A snort sounds from the gaunt man at the table, but when Lexis does not move nor smile, understanding settles that he is actually serious with his request.

"Got coin?โ€ Itโ€™s the pinch-faced woman who speaks next, and Lex nods once before they are waved in to join the table. Simple motives of simple people, the captain did not have expectations of anything else.

They are dealt in and his face is deadpan, only moving eyes signal that he is still tethered to the motionless body. He did not look at anyone in particular unless spoken to, best not to in Antares, keeps his answers to the bare minimum of one word save they make the connection to the royal vessel outside. He does not know them, does not have his gun, either (now a truly regrettable decision).

Instead watches the cards and leaves any potential conversational duties to the one who is good at it: Rayna.

He does not need to play guesswork with half a deck in his sleeve, does not need to linger on the nostalgia of sitting around tables gambling away time and coin and hope after the instance in Umbra, either. Flexes his fingers with discomfort around the cards that feel suspiciously greasy and prays it is something that will come out in the wash.

Bets arrive and stakes are raised, rounds passing with a heightening quiet as their first game culminates towards an end. His gaze flickered to his second-mate momentarily, an imperceptible, sly provocation as he delicately set his cards down. A clean and precise flush that falters expressions around the table, there is no doubt that Lex is obnoxiously satisfied with this result.

Makes a point to continue staring directly at Rayna as he rakes the handful of coins towards himself, smug. Takes his time with it, too, as if to wring and savor the hope from her face that she could ever leave this table with anything but a loss.

It is poor form, a sore winner, but perhaps this is the retribution for fooling him with the shoulder tap. Swills in this little victory before their next game starts.

โ€œUnfortunate, Miss Mallor.โ€






























โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










THE DESCENDANT.






























scroll


DAHLIA






BLACKWATER








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE























OUTFIT


























LOCATION








LEVI TO CORSAIR'S KISS BACK TO LEVI





















MENTIONS








ROSA | LORA





















INTERACTS








NPC MADAM YAN





































SURVIVOR โ€” 2WEI.
































































































































scroll












Everyone is a monster to someone








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





























































CHAPTER FOUR.

The moment they hit port Dahlia felt her heart sink and body heavy. Antares. A place she never thought of ever coming back to. Not since that day.

โ€œNo! Let me go, you pig! Mum! Mum!โ€

She closed her eyes tight before opening them back. Memories she had buried deep kept crawling back, replaying their taunting theatrics to this child of Antares. Back in her mind she wondered if she was still alive. The woman who had birthed her must have gotten what she had wished for, right? Curiosity was eating her insides and it ached more than the bruises she was recovering from the Algol incident. Without a second thought her body began to move faster than her mind. Dahlia traversed out from her hole onto port, allowing the winds and rays from the sun to grace her skin. Her eyes now set on what this place has been deep in her chained heart. Home.

Practically jumping off the bridge onto port she strided past the fisherman, the Antares locals, and interesting figures from the ship to really find herself blending back in. Memories of her childhood began to come back to her in bits and pieces. It wasnโ€™t too far from here that she would meet with Lora from time to time. The sounds of children laughing echoing in her ear within her reminiscent spell. Her eyes settled at the exact same spot they would meet as her heart weighed even more from disbelief. It was real. Why did it not feel real?

Thoughts of uncertainty blended in with the chaos she was already fighting in her mind. Eyes somberly glanced back down the path she took as a child. Her hands become clammy and throat dries the closer she is to that place. A place filled to the brim with women who would use their bodies for the sake of entertaining men in order to make a living. One of the only few ways a woman in Antares can make money if she had no other choice. A place that Dahlia knew too well and respected since her birth. Where she met her dear friend and sister, Noelle. Standing in front of the place it seemed that it wasnโ€™t as busy as usual, and granted it was the morning and most of the money would be at night. Her eyes glanced at the word that she never knew how to read until now. The Corsairโ€™s Kiss.

โ€œ...welcome homeโ€ฆโ€ she muttered, taking a step into the place.

Ears perked up hearing man women giggling and gossiping from the back. A woman with curls cascading down her neck like a night sky wearing a purple lace dress was writing something down vicariously at her desk. The woman's eyes never left the parchment, but her voice tasked itself to greet her as any other customer.

โ€œWelcome to the Corsairโ€™s Kiss, lovely patron. What service may we be able to provide you today?โ€ she asked.

Dahlia stared at the woman anxiously, her voice caught behind the pale lips that were unable to part for her to answer properly.

โ€œWell?โ€ the woman asked, now impatient.

โ€œIโ€ฆIโ€ฆ.โ€ Dahlia began and the woman chuckled.

โ€œA nervous one? Well, I have a few that take well to your kind-โ€

The womanโ€™s face dropped the moment she caught sight of Dahlia. It was almost as if sheโ€™d seen a ghost.

โ€œIโ€™m here to seeโ€ฆ.Angela Porterโ€ฆ.โ€ Dahlia began, taking a step forward, โ€œis sheโ€ฆ?โ€

Ah. The more she gazed at her face the more she recognized the woman more than ever. Madam Yan. One of the most influential here in Antares. You never upset the Madam if you donโ€™t know whatโ€™s good for ya.

โ€œYou shouldnโ€™t be here.โ€

I know.

โ€œI need to see her.โ€

โ€œYou need to go.โ€

โ€œNot without seeing her.โ€

SLAM!


โ€œAmeliaโ€ฆyou must understand,โ€ Madam Yan said, her eyes battling with Dahliaโ€™s as they stood their ground, โ€œseeing you will kill her, and if the Barons diamond diesโ€ฆ.there will be hell, and I will not endanger my girls. You leaving was an easier price to pay to protect her. I will not let you ruin that. Monty. Throw her out.โ€

The moment the madam snapped her fingers; reality began to slow down. Dahliaโ€™s expression felt strangled with disbelief and confusion. Her lips tugged, unable to conjure a proper sentence when a large man came around the corner covered with tattoos and a bald head lifted her off the ground.

โ€œOi! Fucking! No! Let me see her!โ€ she screamed out, punching and kicking the man who seemed undisturbed by her actions. Dahlia didnโ€™t even have a moment to shout out another curse when he threw her out the door. Her back hit the dirt, and a gasp escaped her lips as she began groaning at the pain that travelled along her back.

Bloody bald-headed bastardโ€ฆ.

Taking in a sharp breath she lifted herself back up to her feet dusting off herself. Right now she couldnโ€™t cohere what just happened or make up something to reason with it. The more she thought about it she could feel all emotion tug at her. The strings gripping her tighter and tighter just ready for her to snap, letting out the Antares devil inside. Whatever demons sheโ€™s been burying theyโ€™re starting to catch up. She wonโ€™t allow them to catch up. Like before, her body moved faster than her mind.

It wasnโ€™t hard to find her way back to the ship, but in the middle of the chaos she snagged two wine bottles heading back up onto the Leviathan. She was already grateful no one was minding her and to be their shadow. Carrying yourself with light feet seemed to be one of the few skills she felt grateful to develop overtime. Even striding down the stairs and into the storage area, she was ready to spend the rest of her time with a good drink. Only it seemed that her solitude may not happen. Another was here. One she was familiar with. The man who hides behind a name that doesnโ€™t match him.

โ€œBook man?โ€ she muttered, her eyes observing him silently, โ€œdown here writing? Not wanting to be in the sun?โ€



























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










the heretic.






























scroll


Melchior












ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








curious




















OUTFIT


























LOCATION








alley






















MENTIONS








n/a


















INTERACTS








nemo, rhian, aranyani
























CRUDE DRAWING OF AN ANGEL โ€” caroline polachek.







































































































scroll






eternal return








yes, i gave you fire in your veins, but what will you do with it?









































CHAPTER FOUR.


โ€œDonโ€™t be angry with me.โ€

โ€โ€”Iโ€™m not,โ€ Melchior immediately clipped, though indeed he was. His subjectโ€™s words incensed some uncontrolled part of him, and at once, a leash was once again slipped around the neck of his frustration. Nemo babbled on about roosters, utterly clueless as to how much they were revealing behind Melchiorโ€™s (albeit, haphazardly thrown-together) facade. โ€Donโ€™t mind them. Again, inebriated. No checking of breath necessary, I assure you. My, quite forward, are we?โ€

A thin needle of irritation pricked through his mask of amiability as his eyes drifted from his subject to the brave one, the steel-hearted defender who took one look at him and jumped to Nemoโ€™s defence without so much as a second guess. This woman of fanciful dress was shrewd enough to scrutinize him with distrust, heโ€™d give her that much, but unfortunately for her that was not enough for him to overlook her slight on his characterโ€”โ€™Strange man,โ€™ he overheard her murmur to Nemo, whispers bouncing off the towering walls of the hollow alleyway and circling around back to his mind. Perhaps she held an overactive imagination for her to immediately sense the danger that his presence brought. A clumsiness to her cleverness, still restrained by good nature.

โ€A doctor, you say,โ€ Melchior echoed with a smile, eyes on the blood that covered her hands and the peculiar stuttering of her breath. โ€I do happen to be one of those, you know,โ€ at the sight of frantic movement behind the Defender, he turned to raise a brow only to be met with the sight of a fumbling collision between all three persons before him. Fighting the urge to laugh, a genuine one this time, at the absurdity, he cleared his throat, โ€Though I imagine my services will not only be limited to just my friend, Noctis, here, given the state of you three. If only I had another pair of hands.โ€ A witticism, of course, given the fact that he likely had a few severed pairs stored away in sealed jars within his luggage.

He eyed the journal that had flown onto the puddled cobblestone, drawn in by its scattered, smeared contents, the language of sciences and geology scrawled on its upturned pages, and knelt down to reach for the few nearest to him. Squinting at their contents in the faint light as he gathered them, Melchior tilted his head in piqued interest, and devoured what identifications he could in scant seconds before standing upright once more to gaze at the approaching softer one.

He pondered, puzzling how someone as seemingly unassuming as her would fit into such an equation, until he frowned at her sudden scream of distress, watching with bemusement as she fretted over Nemoโ€™s state like a fussing mother hen. Was she this โ€˜Rhian,โ€™ the owner of this journal? Or was it the brave one? Caring so much for a strangerโ€™s well-being was practically unheard of in Antares, these two ladies were some strange variables indeed, curious enough to be studied in more detail.

โ€Whose research is this?โ€ he called out, some interest colouring his tone, raising up an arm to show off the water-logged pages clutched in his hands. โ€Iโ€™m willing to part with some Solari in exchange for a closer look, if you donโ€™t mind. Right after I attend to any injuries, I suppose," this statement was offered begrudgingly, as if in after-thought, as he opened up his satchel filled with market goods, checking for gauze and wound dressing salve among all of the mind-altering substances. "...I would need some needle and thread, though.โ€


























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 





THE MARIONETTE.















scroll

NEMO






ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




not vibing or thriving but somewhat survivin'











LOCATION




Bazaar Alleyway











MENTIONS




Melchior, Rhian, Aranyani










INTERACTS




















COLOURBLINDโ€” HLH.
































































scroll






FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE




Our vision of the future's getting blurred
Between the black and white
Naming every shade of grey
Has left us colourblind






























SEASON TWO.

'He nฬดeฬดeฬดdฬตsฬด ฬทtฬธoฬด see a ฬทdฬดoฬดcฬทtฬธoฬทrฬด.ฬด. A physician of sฬถoฬถmฬทeฬด ฬตkฬธiฬดnฬถdฬถ.'

Nemo was too preoccupied by his own budding panic born of the other stranger's words to really register the pain of being shoved away again. To recognize their own impact against the ground again, and that they should get up. It took them a beat or so longer than it should have to remember to sit up. To realize that once again he's being spoken to, but he doesn't have the will to figure out a reply.

Instead, his eyes darted to find Mel, panic-stricken, expression containing Iโ€™m sorry and Iโ€™m scared and I donโ€™t really know whatโ€™s going on in wide honey depths. But part of them knows that looking in that direction will do them no good. Melโ€™s mad at them. Heโ€™s so mad at them, even though he says he isnโ€™t, because when he says it in that tone it means he's not talking truth. Heโ€™s mad because they got into this whole situation, when they should have simply waited by his side.

Fear and frustration were, as ever, bitter tastes in their mouth, and ones that they are familiar with. The stranger wasnโ€™t ill-intentioned, or at least she didnโ€™t seem to be. Neither of them seemed to be. But they were ignorant of just how far his sin already extended, and now they wanted him taken to a doctor? One specific pair of hands on himโ€”slicing, searching, studyingโ€”he could tolerate.

Nemo had already had years to come to terms with the necessary evil that came from allowing all of Melchiorโ€™s various experiments and interventions, but another? A stranger? The thought of it made him immediately nauseous, tempered only by the small comfort that Mel probably wouldnโ€™t allow that to happen, even if only because it would mess with his research.

โ€˜A doctor, you say? I do happen to be one of those.โ€™
Ohhh. Yeah. He was a doctor, wasnโ€™t he? Well, almost.

Nemo blinked and exhaled in a burst, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he visibly relaxed. His gaze traveled back to the woman in front of him; the wide brown doe-eyed gaze that hadnโ€™t left his face since sheโ€™d shoved him off. He blinked. Once, twice, before his mind caught up that he had been asked a question by her, and he finally replied to her concern with a small non-verbal nod.

But then his gaze traveled further, trailing across the scattered pages knocked astray. Nemo exhaled sharply, a sound that was almost a wince. Heโ€™d done that. Heโ€™d knocked the journal from her hands. Oh, both strangers surely hated him now. They must both despise him for it, and he couldnโ€™t blame them. What if it had been his sketchbook, pages soaked from gray water?

Which meant that he'd now annoyed both of the strangers, and he'd pissed off Mel. Sin crawled beneath his skin and had made a person sized hole out of him long ago, and no matter what he tried, he only deepened the grave. He squinted at the strewn pages, lifted his gaze to take everyone else in, and then turned it higher, towards the sky. As if the act of looking would make meaning manifest itself. But all he heard was the static of his own mind, buzzing in his ears, and, beyond that, faint murmurs that were the conversation happening around him.

He couldnโ€™t think. He needed to think. To breathe. To steal some sort of clarity from the world around him, if only temporarily, so that he could exist somewhat alongside the other three, so that he could try to convincingly play pretend as somewhat redeemable, despite everything. When one forgets to breathe, one must relearn it. He has practiced relearning how to breathe a thousand times before. He has learned the art of falling to pieces and picking those same pieces back up.

So he fights to do it now.

Nemo drew in another breath. He planted his hands firmly on the cobbles beneath him and closed his eyes tight, pushing his palms into the grit of the stones. He concentrated on the sensation of it against the palmar creases of his hands. Counted quietly beneath his breath, โ€œone-two-three-four-one-two-three-four,โ€ fighting against the urge to retreat further back into his own mind for the safety from being so distant might provide. He's not safe. He's annoyed everyone. They all hate him.

โ€œOne-two-three-four.โ€ There was more noise. He tried to focus on it. The noise of Antares. The rowdiness. The Bazaarโ€”distant, rowdy and persistent. Gusts of humid wind, dragging like curious fingers skimming every surface, shifting his fringe against his eyes. The rustle of the strewn papers. The rattle and settling of the walls around them. Rats scratch-scratch-scratching somewhere nearby. In the walls. Out of reach. Melโ€™s voice. The other two.

โ€œIโ€™m fine,โ€ he decided at last, feeling somewhat more recentered in reality. A half-truth, but that was fine, because half-truths meant only half of it was a lie. He was a bit more lucid at least. Enough to try to at least play along with whatever Mel had been saying. They furrowed their brow, lips turned downward. They're not drunk, but it makes more sense now why he would call them so. It's easier than explaining the truth, even if they're not really sure how they're meant to pretend well. โ€œIโ€™mโ€ฆ. inebriated. And he isnโ€™tโ€ฆ bad. Youโ€™re talking as if he is bad, but he isnโ€™t. Heโ€™s never been bad. And he will help you if he says that he will, but you should be aware first that to defy the will of the Stars through medical intervention will invite their ire. The Stars show no mercy against challenges to their will, nor do they ever forget.โ€ That last part is more of an anxious warning, to the first stranger, the one in the blue. They don't hold her gaze, dropping their gaze down. It's easier to talk when they're not looking at anyone. Belatedly, they also quietly add, unsure who to direct it to, "I'm sorry. About the book. Really. I am very sorry."





























โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










THE VAGABOND.






























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Lizbeth






Jessup








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








Deceptive and awkward.























OUTFIT


























LOCATION








the Roost; Antares.

























MENTIONS






























INTERACTS








Rivi, eebeevee eebeevee Calanthe, floralmoon floralmoon & Rat Gao Gao





































O MIO BABBINO CARO โ€”
GIACOMO PUCCINI.

































































































































scroll












How does it feel?








Now you've scratched that itch
And pulled out all your stitches
Hubris is a bitch
A hundred arms, a hundred years





























































CHAPTER FOUR.


The conversation was quickly devolving into a humiliating interview where no one knew what to say. The Umbra girlโ€™s walnut eyes were overlarge and unmoving as they locked on Bizzyโ€™s, conveying utter bewilderment at Bizzyโ€™s request. Under her scrutiny, Bizzy gradually felt her mind empty of words until all that was left was a fuzzy blankness. She felt relief settle over her skin like cold silk as she watched the ivory-clad girl comply with her request, giving a sharp nod and receiving a mug of ale from the bar before turning away. She picked her way hesitantly across the sticky floor, like a newborn foal on shaky legs. In truth, Bizzy knew that she had a knack for making people angry, for escalating tense situations because she had little tact, blurting her unfiltered emotions as they came to her. The pink rose had thorns, and sheโ€™d already punched one man tonight. The last thing Bizzy needed was for the rose to take a swing at her, start a full-fledged tavern brawl, and then sheโ€™d have to explain to Madam Yan at the Corsairs Kiss why she was covered in bruises and blood and spilled liquor right before her shift started.

Feeling suddenly awkward, standing in the middle of the bar alone and clutching her flute case, Bizzy bellied up to the bar. As soon as she approached, a pretty blond boy with overlong snarls of hair swiveled around on his stool and stood. In truth, until he stood, Bizzy hadnโ€™t been sure whether she was looking at a man or a woman, but he was inordinately tall, even for a man, with cheekbones so chiseled they could have cut diamond. He had a skeletal frame, and, combined with a stealthy walk that could only be described as a slink, he reminded her of a feral, starving cat. He dodged lithely around huddles of patrons, who appeared not to notice him until he was standing next to the pink rose and her new snowy fox companion. Bizzy narrowed her eyes at this development. The manโ€™s clothes werenโ€™t half as flashy as either of the womenโ€™sโ€”actually, quite the opposite was true; his clothes were so remarkably nondescript as to give the impression that he was trying not to be noticed, and the lack of tears or stains on them indicated that they were far from the only outfit in his wardrobe.

But what made Bizzyโ€™s attention linger was the fact that he was yet another unknown face in a window of ten minutes. The Roost was one of those dark-cornered, dead-eyed establishments that everyone in Antares except its usual madding crowd avoided. It was not one of those places you spontaneously decided to pop into for a fun night of drink and debauchery after a lucky spin of the roulette wheel. Rather, the Roost had its faithful handful of patrons, all of whom could hold their own against a mugger, were close friends of someone who could, or were the mugger themselves. The only new faces who ever stopped inside were those of tourists, those from some distant land across the seas who were ignorant to the rules of Antaresโ€™ streets. And they typically paid a steep price for that ignorance. After all, tourists wouldnโ€™t be tourists if they didnโ€™t have deep pockets.

Her mind made up in that short span of heartbeats, Bizzy turned back to the bar just as Isaac, the bartender, slid along the wooden counter and stopped in front of her. He offered her the gruff thinning of lips that passed for a smile in Antares, dipping his chin in acknowledgment of a customer heโ€™d seen almost every day of the year that Bizzy had been hunkered down in the pirate port.

โ€œIsaac, I have some friends over there.โ€ She didnโ€™t turn around or point or otherwise alert them of what was happening. Instead, the hands that had previously been resting on the bartop made a few discreet signals, her body blocking them from the tourist trioโ€™s view. โ€œTheyโ€™re new to Antares, and Iโ€™d love to show them a good time, ya hear?โ€ She stretched out these words like saltwater taffy, her voice barely audible over the white noise of clinking glasses and raucous laughter and uneven footsteps.

Isaac blinked, and then his head bobbed in understanding. โ€œYou know the drill, girlie. Just bring me back a pretty penny.โ€ He whirled away to the row of taps, pulling some levers and dispensing butterscotch liquid into four large mugs, his movements a machinery of practiced efficiency. He set them on the bar two at a time in a vertical line and tapped the top one, indicating the mug that was safe from Bizzy to drink from. โ€œGo get โ€˜em, gorgeous,โ€ he said in a low growl, briefly placing his hand over hers in a reassuring pat.

Bizzy used to object to the practice of befriending tourists, but that was before she had been mugged twice in Antares and her body violated infinite times more by greedy men. She used to think it was wrong to strip them of their purses, jewelry, and pocket watches, every last scrap of valuables short of the clothes on their backs. Leaving them slumped on the bar with liquor sloshing down its side, or face-first in a bowl of soup. For the convenience of other guests, it was strongly preferred that Bizzy lead them to a table before they sipped from the tampered glasses, lest the drinkers pass out in the middle of the floor and produce a tripping hazard. But when she and Isaac, her confederate, stood to rake in a whole weekโ€™s worth of payโ€”sometimes moreโ€”in one night, such things could be forgiven.

Rather than mourn the poor tourist whoโ€™d gotten fleeced of his every last Solari, time and abuse had taught Bizzy to be thankful that it wasnโ€™t her getting robbed. Besides, sheโ€™d be doing that girl in the ridiculous coat a favor to snatch it off her person before she roasted to death. Her leg throbbed in that groove where bronze and leather joined flesh, but Bizzy pushed her discomfort aside. She was about to run a game, and if it worked, it would be that much more money she could put toward paying off her indenture at the Corsairs Kiss. Until she shook that monkey from her back, she would never be free to leave Antares or shop through the bazaar guilt-free when a dress caught her eye. Half of Bizzy had already given up, resigned herself to the grim fate of working in the Kiss until her body deteriorated, her beauty faded like that of a shriveled flower. But the part of her that was a dreamer, a poet, an Outcast unbound by the rules of society, would never stop fighting until her freedom was won. She hadnโ€™t survived those cold, wet, hungry nights in the wilderness outside of the Cascades, guided by only a flicker of torchlight and steeped in the constant fear of it going out, just to perish here.

One more month. Just hang in there one more month. It was the promise that Bizzy had made to herself every month for a year, when her bill for room and board at the Kiss always amounted to more than she anticipated, what with taxes and inflation. So she pushed down the guilt that tightened her chest and pushed the handle of her flute case over her wrist. She gathered up the four mugs of ale, two to a hand, and summoned her resolve. Sheโ€™d never wanted to hurt people. But sometimes, it was necessary to cheat yourself to victory when the deck had already been stacked against you. Monstrous girl. Abomination to all that is holy. Pestilence upon society. Pretender of the Starsโ€™ will. The accusations that the residents of the Cascades had flung at her upon her banishment circled in her mind. Back when a young, foolish girl named Lizbeth had learned that there was often a price for doing the right thing, and she had paid it, unwillingly and unknowingly. And she would keep paying. The memory made a shiver go down Bizzyโ€™s spine.

Her prosthetic made a dull, muted sound on the unfinished floor as she thudded across, incongruent with the whisper her other shoe made. A thinner thing might have struggled with the combined weight of four pints plus a flute case, but Bizzy had always had a veneer of muscle ever since sheโ€™d been working on her parentsโ€™ farm in the Canyon as a child. Just not the coordination to use her muscle in an athletic way, especially after her leg had been severed as punishment. As a declaration that she had sinned. With only minimal sloshing of the four mugs, Bizzy closed in on the triangle of tourists that had formed in the middle of the floor, seemingly unaware that they were blocking other patrons from the door. She eyed Roger, his hulking frame still ensconced in shadow in one corner of the room, and tilted her head almost imperceptibly at him. I got this. No need to get involved is what Bizzy silently communicated, but she couldnโ€™t see his eyes, so she was unsure whether he got the message.

A musical voice like plucked notes on a lute stopped her in her tracks. A gesture just a little too wide and grandiose to be completely sober, made by a long-fingered, pale hand. It was the blond man, explaining something patiently to the girl in the poofy white coat. A couple steps away from the edges of their cluster, Bizzy strained to hear. Apparently the drunk girl was his sister? Well, blond hair was uncommon enough of a trait around these parts. But if he were really her brother, shouldnโ€™t he be wrapping an arm around her to lean on, rather than pointing at her like a prized pig in the bazaar?

Deciding that the relationship between the tourists didnโ€™t matter to the game she was running, Bizzy took an awkward step forward. Pasted a smile on her face. The blond man continued talking, oblivious to her presence, until his sisterโ€™s gaze flickered over his shoulder, spotting Bizzy. With varying speed depending on how much they had imbibed, her two conversation partners turned in Bizzyโ€™s direction. She chafed under the onslaught of attention. If this were the Cascades or any other Crown-obedient city, those gazes would turn cold with resentment, avert themselves in disgust. If they even recognized Bizzy at all, given how far sheโ€™d fallen from the bright-eyed, well-kept teenager sheโ€™d been in the Covenant, sure of her purpose in the world. Sometimes she wasnโ€™t sure which was worse: that her dark legacyโ€”her only legacyโ€”lay forgotten, or that she was continually punished for crimes of eleven years ago.

She was aware of the silence pressing down, like the electric tension of an impending storm. Her smile faltered. She searched for words, but words had never come easily to her. Not in writing or speaking. โ€œWell, hiya, folks,โ€ she started cheerily. โ€œJust wanted to welcome yโ€™all to the Roost, and my sweetpea, ainโ€™t you as pretty as a peach!โ€ This last part was directed at the sister, her bouncing gaze finding somewhere to land. Nervousness pitched Bizzyโ€™s voice a half-octave higher than normal, her words coming out so fast that they nipped each otherโ€™s heels. โ€œBless your heart about your hubby, boo. I had no idear! Look, I think we mighta had a misunderstanding earlier, and I reckon I oughta make up for it. Brought you some goodies on the house, I did.โ€

Bizzy gave her brightest smile and extended the mugs of ale, mindful of which ones she would push into their hands and the clean one that she would keep for herself. โ€œNow, why donโ€™t we sit down and make merry? If you donโ€™t mind me sayinโ€™, yโ€™all look rode hard and put up wet, so letโ€™s take a load off together. Iโ€™d love for yโ€™all to regale me with tales of your travels!โ€ An awkward pause ensued as she realized she still had yet to introduce herself. A follow-up pause, because she did not have a free hand to extend for a shake. โ€œNameโ€™s Zella,โ€ she said belatedly, yet another moniker that wouldnโ€™t stick made up on the spot. Anything that wasnโ€™t that dreadful pet name they called her at the Kiss, the spelling of which she still didnโ€™t know how was different from busy.



























































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THE AMENDED.






























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RAYNA






MALLOR









































MOOD








THE SMUGNESS IS INFECTIOUS!!!

































LOCATION








THE AWFUL BARREL

























MENTIONS








LEXIS, NPC MIKE AND OTHERS





















INTERACTS








































KING AND LIONHEART โ€” OMAM
































































































































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PAST THE WANDERING EYES








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






























































CHAPTER FOUR.

โ€œI am judging it by the name.โ€

Rayna snorted as she opened the tavern doors. Sheโ€™s only just now starting to understand the strangeness that is the Captain. His personality was unique, for sure, but complementary to the other colorful people on the ship. Still, she couldnโ€™t help but wonder how such a person came to be.

The Ugly Barrel looked like every other tavern in Antares, it ran a bit smaller than its more well-known counterparts, and every table and chair looked like it was one touch from breaking. And the smell- eugh.

Raynaโ€™s eyes briefly met the bartenders, and for a moment, she was sixteen again. Wandering foolishly into a pub looking for a purpose. At that time, all eyes were on her. It was clear she didnโ€™t understand the ways of Antares, too sheltered by the adults around her to understand just how much of a target she was.

Still, Rayna had survived. She made one of the regulars laugh at her awkward jokes, and the owner, Lacie, took a liking to Rayna. She gave her a job and a place to stay, and for that, Rayna would always be thankful. For everything that came after, there would always be resentment.

Lexisโ€™ words snapped her out of her thoughts, and she spun around to face him.

โ€œMmmmโ€ฆ A soup thatโ€™s so mean it makes you cryโ€ฆ because it tastes so good!โ€ Yeah! That makes sense!

She surveyed the tables, already debating whether or not they should leave. The people here spelled trouble, of course, this was Antares; everyone did. But it would be unfortunate if this outing were to end in a fight. If Lexis got caught cheating at cards- or, knowing him, heโ€™d say something so odd that it would hurt the average citizenโ€™s violent egos.

Before Rayna could come to a conclusion, Lexis was already moving to a table. She followed, panicking silently as he announced their willingness to join.

Maybe they should have made more rules for their bet. If they were just going to play cards, Rayna was fucked. She wasnโ€™t confident enough to cheat with her hidden deck and not get caught.

It seemed the table Lexis chose was prone to silence, awkward silence that had Rayna shaking her leg until one of the men, clearly drunk and unable to tell his left from his right, glared across the table searching for the culprit.

โ€œMe and my friend made a bet here, you see, on who can make the most money playing cards.โ€ She offered, taking her dealt cards and failing to keep a poker face. Ah, right. Sheโ€™s ass at cards.

โ€œYou two from here?โ€ a woman asked, her tone less interested and more accusatory. The words confused Rayna- until she looked at Lexis and spotted his outfit. God, she should have made him change before they left. Did he even own anything that didnโ€™t look utterly stuck up?

Years of experience made lying come easy, โ€œAh, weโ€™ve been traveling for the past few years, actually. Just arrived here in Antares yesterday and decided to come out and get a few drinks.โ€ A half-truth, maybe, but hopefully enough to satiate their interest.

It did not, but a few drinks and many questions later and no one seemed to care anymore. For the first game, Rayna spent her time chatting it up, uncaring to the game before her. The men donโ€™t talk much, but she learned the drunk ones name is Mike. The woman didnโ€™t seem to mind the chatter once she stopped looking at them like a piece of meat. She refused to share her name, but shared she had lost her eye to a glass bottle during one of many bar fights. Rayna would find it honorable if she hadnโ€™t had to clean up after many fights when she was a bartender.

Rayna met Lexisโ€™ eyes and was pleasantly surprised by his attitude. The smugness was a bit stupid, knowing he was cheating, but entertaining all the same. It also served to reignite Raynas competitiveness, and she suddenly felt desperate to not lose to the blowhard in front of her.

โ€œDonโ€™t get too comfortable.โ€ She responded, feighning confidence.

Shit, she canโ€™t lose this bet! But how is she supposed to turn the tables? She didnโ€™t even know what she was going to make Lexis buy for her. Something expensive? Probably. Or something he would hate having to buy.

If Rayna wasnโ€™t going to win by playing normally, she would have to try a different tactic.

Mike, the drunk guy, had gotten even more inebriated as time went by. His calls made no sense, and every time he had a bad result he would hit the table and grumble to himself. No one was going to ask him to leave the game if it increased their chances of winning, so Rayna decided to use this. It was a stupid plan, sure, but if anything went wrongโ€ฆ she had her knives on her.

Rayna let Lexis win the next game. Instead, she lowered her body in her chair and set her plan into action. Every time he made a call, she would kick at Mikes leg, making sure to hit the one closest to Lexis. If the man had any coherency, heโ€™d easily be able to tell Rayna was the culprit. Instead, heโ€™d shoot the Captain a glare every time her foot made contact.

She stopped when it seemed like the guy was about to blow a gasket. And in the third game, she put in a larger bet than usual, ignoring any questioning gazes and continuing her conversation with the woman next to her.

When she deemed ready, she threw one especially hard kick at Mikeโ€™s leg, and his reaction was instant. He stood up and threw his deck onto the table, screaming obscenities at Lexis that could barely be understood through drunken slurs.

Just as it seemed he was about to throw a punch, there was a slam over at the bar.

โ€œThis is your final warning, Michael!โ€ The bartender yelled, and after some pouting and mumbling he sat back down. But not before Rayna used the distraction to swap some of her cards with his.

Phew, that could have gone really bad. But it didnโ€™t. Because Rayna had it all under control, clearly.

โ€œNo worries Mike,โ€ she patted him lightly on the shoulder, โ€œYouโ€™ll get him next game.โ€

Rayna ended the game with a straight flush. She met the Captains eyes and shot him another award-winning grin and a win.

โ€œQuite fortunate for me, eh Lex?โ€


























































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THE PERFUMIST.






























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CALANTHE
















































MOOD








yay new friends (:
































LOCATION








THE ROOST

























MENTIONS








RAT, RIVI, & LIZBETH












































Johannes Brahms - Hungarian Dance No. 5.
































































































































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"what are you?"








"to define is to limit."





























































CHAPTER FOUR.


"Grotesque."

Yay! Agreement AND validation! The man continued to speak, claiming that he recognized Cal, that she was the one who shot Tiberius on the shores of Algol. ....fibrous shoulders. Memories of that night flooded her mind, the gun firing, the feeling of sand in her shoes, the weight of Tibby's head in her hands. How did he know it was her that did committed such a heinous act? She shook her head to clear her mind, "Uhm, sure. But, like, it wasn't on purpose or anything."

There wasn't much time for the conversation to continue before someone else joined in, a woman dawning what seemed like extremely weather inappropriate clothing began to question Calanthe. Her opening statement being a compliment to her dress, causing a smile to spread across her face, the beauty of the woman put the blonde in almost a trance-like state, tuning out the rest of her sentence. A voice spoke up from next to her, it was the man she was previously speaking to, excusing Calanthe's behavior due to having too much alcohol and the loss of her husband.

Wait, did he just call her his sister? Husband? What is going on?

Following along with the lie that the stranger had begun to fabricate, she drunkenly slung her arm over his shoulder, "Thank you, brother. As you know how difficult it is to speak of my late husbands passing." Lying was fun, creating false tales here and there, maybe she should do it more often. Her eyes return back to the woman, "I hope I'm not causing too much trouble for such a beautiful lady... Beautifully dressed, yes." Calanthe gave her a solemn smile, trying to further convince that she wasn't in her right mind at the moment.

Her attention was caught once more by another person approaching the trio, she had an accent that Calanthe had never heard before, but could listen to all day. She spoke about welcoming the three, and in a way apologizing for getting off on the wrong foot, offering them each a mug full of ale. A compliment was thrown once more about Cal's dress, causing her to grin once more. There was something about the blonde's alleged husband's death, and an apology, "I warned him not to go... he never listened to me.."

Wrapping her hand around the mug, she thanked the additional stranger, "I'd hate to sound ungrateful, Says the queen of being ungrateful, But I fear I've had too much to drink. At this point the room was on the verge of spinning, having four drinks in the span of 5 minutes was definitely not the smartest choice. "I know you said on the house, but take this for your kindness." She passes off 50 Solari to the woman, completely oblivious to the cost of the drinks, but hoping that she would take it as an apology for declining the beverage, and hopefully, for causing a ruckus.





























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










THE PALADIN.






























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ADRIAN






BISHOP








ใ…Žใ…Ž























MOOD





EVERYTHING IS FINE (NOT)



























LOCATION








HELL (ANTARES TAVERN)

















MENTIONS




NPC'S










INTERACTIONS




VYLAN


























STRESSED OUT โ€” TWENTY ONE PILOTS.
































































































































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Morality cannot be legislated








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




























































CHAPTER FOUR.


Good, good.

Dear stars Adrian why are you like this.

Leave me be, Iโ€™m simmering.

Adrian contemplated his next move in conversing with the bartender. He gently picked up the glass bringing it to his lips, sipping the alcoholic contents with a sigh. The wine helped in more ways than one in the moment. It was a refreshing drink no matter how much he despised the idea for it to come from an Antares bar. The other way it helped was to settle the nerves he felt from moments before. An atrocious experience he never wanted to recreate ever in his life.

"Not from around here, are you?"

The Empyrean man raised an attentive brow to the bartender, curious for the move he made in the conversation. The chess game of conversation was now in place. The question seemed simple enough. A pawn forward on the board. It was good, but not enough to rattle Adrian in any way. He contemplated his own move not wanting to come off too pompous. He was in a field of unknown and in a territory he despised with his heart. Any bias now will damage the seeds he just made to grow a relationship of companionship with the man. He must tread carefully in order to not give away his position.

Adrian, please, itโ€™s not that serious.

โ€œAn astute observation, gentleman,โ€ he complimented, almost wanting to laugh at the ridiculous thought of his birth to be from here, โ€œI am simply here in passing with the Kingโ€™s vessel. Iโ€™m from Empyra, the city of clouds where knowledge is infinite and success is paramount. I am Earl and Judge Adrian Bishop. Full name Judge of the Empyrean Court of Justice and Legislation Earl Adrian Micheal-James-Tyler-Bob Bishop. May I ask yours?โ€

Yes, that was perfect. Indeed. The man before him will without a doubt answer honestly, he knows. Or must assume so. Out of most of the locals heโ€™s come across he seemed much cleaner, but well-adjusted to the bar life of taverny. He must either be a simple man with simple values in this hell, or a man who used to do criminal activity and has found peace from his line of work. Hopefully it was the latter.



























































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










THE BRIDE.






























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Flora






(Cassandra)








โŠโŠ






























MOOD








Paranoid; Panicked; Overstimulated




















OUTFIT








White shirt with full length sleeves (Soiled and stained); Brown bodice and skirt (Soiled and stained); Simple black shoes




















LOCATION








The Deck of The Leviathan > Outside Aurelian's Cabin > The Port of Antares






















MENTIONS








Calanthe, Rayna, Madelina, Aurelian, Adrius (rip)


















INTERACTS








































My Silver Lining (Raaff) - First Aid Kit.
































































































































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I won't
take the
easy road



Thereโ€™s no starting over
No new beginnings time races on
And you've just gotta keep on keeping on.




























































SEASON 2
Chapter 4 - Part 1


The weeks following Algol on the ship blended into each other. Sunsets chasing sunrises and each passing night mirroring the next as Flora wafted around The Leviathan like a spectre. She wasnโ€™t the only one. Most were repairing themselves in solitude after the madness of the desolate shore. Practically everyone who went on the expedition came back changed, a little heavier. A fog hung over the passengers, mourning the tragic loss of two of their own.

Flora was no exception, searching the stars and candle flames for guidance as she mounted this latest challenge on her journey. Her comforts felt few in her lonely cabin, prompting her to step out to explore the ship again. She was an odd sight, as was usual for the wide eyed woman. Odder yet by the taper candle she habitually carried with her now, as well as her consistent state of shabby dress. After finding herself in a physical altercation with - Lady Calanthe, she had to recall - there were sand stains embedded deep in the fibers of the one good outfit sheโ€™d acquired since boarding. There would be embarrassment shrouding her aura if she were under any other circumstance, but as she observed the sunset over the Antares port Flora determined the dirt was an asset.

The port itself was a level of chaos sheโ€™d never seen before. The sounds; The smells; People rushing around in all directions like ants. It made her wonder if she would blend in among them. The idea of running away entered her mind two nights ago as she stood on the deck letting the passing winds sweep through her hair. She had never been to Antares, and there was only a small amount of information available in the shipโ€™s map room, though there has been a mix of interest and objection the last few weeks. Standing here now, she saw why. It was a mix of excitement and fear, and wholly chaotic. One could get lost here.

What would she do then?

And that is what Flora was contemplating when Second Mate Rayna Mallor caught her attention. โ€œHey you.โ€ She was snapping her fingers. Panic erupted in her chest. Oh stars - she has been found. โ€œYes you. Come with me, hon.โ€ She took one more glance at the port, calculating her chances of escaping whatever was next, and finding the chances quite slim.

So she followed the Second Mate.
โ€œYou look all out of sorts, Flora- I mean, you can pull it off.โ€
All the while, Flora was thinking:

โ€˜I have been found.
โ€˜I have been found, and she is going to report me to the captain.
โ€˜They are going to put me in the cell where they put that poor noble woman after Algol.
โ€˜Oh stars - this is it.
โ€˜I will never see my family again.
โ€˜I will never have strawberries again.
โ€˜They are going to take me back to that horrible man, and he will be despicable, and I will die in that awful complex.
โ€˜They are going to execute me in front of the crowd for entertainment.
โ€˜I should have run. Why did I hesitate?โ€™


Her vexation must have been quite apparent as they walked and Rayna spoke. โ€œOh, Iโ€™m not insulting you. You look beautiful. I just need you to watch this guy.โ€

She hadnโ€™t noticed Rayna was leading them through to the crew cabins. โ€˜Watch this guy?โ€™
The cabin door swung open and the large frame of Aurelian filled the doorโ€™s space, breaking Floraโ€™s train of panic ridden thoughts.

Admittedly, she didnโ€™t know him very well, but of all the passengers on the great ship Leviathan, she saw him everyday when she ate in the dining hall. Aurelianโ€™s gruff nature never seemed to assuage her. To Flora, he reminded her of an animal with its tail caught in a trap, and even the wildest animal deserves kindness in this case. Judging by the scruff on his cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes, the manโ€™s tail was caught in a trap.

Rayna and Aurelian exchanged words. She wished for him to take her into town. Why the man agreed, we may find out later, but he turned away from them to clean up, nearly drowning himself drinking water prompting Flora to turn away to give him some semblance of modesty.

โ€œWe are never talking about this again.โ€

And they were off. Rayna gave her final order as they descended the plank to the dock. She wanted smiles on their faces, or a river of intoxication in both their bloodstreams, and whether she was ready for it or not, Flora Fitchner was on her first adventure as a widowed woman.

The walk.

Never in the history of humankind has there ever been a walk with so much wordless tension. She knew nothing about the man, and there was still a great fear within her that at any moment her secrets would simply spill out of her mouth. Anxiously, her fingertips fiddled with her soiled skirt, her eyes taking in as much of their overstimulating surroundings. The action was busy from afar but to be within the foot traffic was akin to navigating river rapids on a small boat. โ€˜What could I possibly talk about.โ€™

If she talks about her home, she would be found.
If she talks about Adrius, she will cry.
She was so tired of crying.
She needed to get out of her mind for a while, so there was only one thing she could think to say.

โ€œI think we should find spicy, brown liquor.โ€



























































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ROSALINE TOUCHARD.






























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ROSA






Enamored








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








N o























OUTFIT


























LOCATION








The Corsair's Kiss (Across the Street)

























MENTIONS








Lexis (vaguely)





















INTERACTS








Pending Ravi & Desert Rose

















TAGS








N/A







































PUT YOUR RECORDS ON โ€” RITT MOMNEY.






















































































































scroll












THINKING OF YOU








keeps me awake. Dreaming of you keeps me asleep. Being with you keeps me alive.





























































CHAPTER FOUR.


Returning to the land which she had called her home for the first two-thirds of her life should have been a celebratory occasion. And, in some way, it was. Rosaline had spent these last weeks pretending she wasnโ€™t a mockery, an embarrassment of herself. She was still the most desired woman in all of Solas, the greatest courtesan in the land. Not some woman who had nearly thrown herself into the sea, half-naked, grasping at an apparition of her beloved. Yes, it was much easier to pretend all was fine. For the more of an act she put on, the more she believed it.

As the ship was moored at the docks of her youth, Rosaline lightly picked up her skirts and gracefully made her way down the gangplank. Wearing a dress that would surely remind the Antarians of the most beautiful woman who had ever graced their streets, she was here to make an impression. Prove that Antares had never held her back in her career. Or whatever it was harlots like hers considered their line of work.

But first, she had to find her old stomping grounds. Orโ€ฆ laying grounds? Hm. Rosaline pondered the wordplay as she floated through the streets. Some of the thugs pouring out of taverns leered at her, but she ignored them. Shopkeeps seemed to recognize her, but thankfully they did not call out the name of her birth. No, they knew the name of their favorite harlot, the one who had been so skilled as to be requested by the king. While the king was not much loved in these parts, there was a respect that followed her fame. Whispers abounded in her wake, and she graced her adoring audience with red-lipped smiles, fluttering her fan in front of her face.

The Corsairโ€™s Kiss, the brothel of her rebirth. Where she had been discovered, such as it was. Madame Yan would surely have missed herโ€”she had been rather cross when the offer to move to Siroc had come, but she had been made quite happy by the money it made her. Ah, how Rosaline missed the woman who had taken her in and given her a home. Even if that home was a place that had simultaneously tormented and rewarded her.

As the building came into view, Rosaline picked up her pace, almost desperate for the welcome she was sure to receive. A shape emerged from the building, and for a moment, she thought it was Dahlia, also here to visit their childhood home. But while it was a familiar set of shoulders, it was not a set she had thought sheโ€™d ever see againโ€”

No.

She is fourteen again, trembling as the stink of his breath leans closer to her face, deeming her a suitable companion for the evening. No, not evening. It was barely thirty minutes. But she would remember it for the rest of her life.

Her fan drops to the dirt, forgotten in the path, her eyes widened with a barely concealed dread. How foolish she was, to think she would never see the face from her nightmares ever again. How foolish indeed. The only client sheโ€™d been unable to hide her distaste from, who hadnโ€™t even cared. Her legs wobbled. She felt faint. Her chest tightened, not from her corset, but from something twining. Were those her heartstrings wrapping around her lungsโ€”

Though she could not stand, she could not fall, either. Instead, Rosaline Touchard, the famed courtesan from Antares itself, stood frozen in panic and fear, just across the street from the man she had always feared. The only man she had ever truly feared.

And, of course, he was with a girl barely older than she had been. Would his torments never cease?


























































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ARATA FUKUDA.






























scroll


Arata






Cupid








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








My Skull is Fine

































LOCATION








Antares, Random Tavern

























MENTIONS








N/A





















INTERACTS








Pending Ilya

















TAGS








N/A







































STILL REMEMBERING โ€” AS IT IS.






















































































































scroll












MAN








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





























































CHAPTER FOUR.


It was strange that Arata had never considered living in a tavern, considering how much he frequented them. Then again, no one rum was the same, and while he had his preferences, all rum was created equal in his blurred vision. As long as he had it in his system, he was content. Happy, even! Or whatever semblance of happiness laid in his chest whenever he was drunk. Which was, to be fair, all the time.

Yes, there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all. And he chose to not believe that!

Heโ€™d lost track of which tavern he was in. As far as he knew, he was still in Antares, but he wasnโ€™t quite sure if heโ€™d missed the Leviathan or not. There were some mumblings about the grand ship around him, but they came to his ears all muffled and sounding like gibberish. What the hell did โ€œBrigโ€™s Yancy Shiftโ€ even mean? SPEAK NORMAL.

Oh. Arata looked around and realized he had said the last part not in his head. There were other patrons looking at him with the bloodshot eyes of the drunk. (Skill issue.) Not him, though. He was too drunk for those sickly looking eyes. It took a real pro to be this drunk.

โ€œThe Labia. No. The Lebiahโ€”wait. I can do it.โ€ His face slammed into the bar as he thought about this. Sounded out the word in his head. Poured over the spelling on his ticket. Shooting up, he shouted, โ€œTHE LEVIATHAN! Any idea when it leaves?โ€ Surely the words sounded as eloquent as he was hearing them.

โ€œDawn, I think,โ€ said the barkeep. โ€œBetter sober up before then.โ€

โ€œI canโ€™t hear you. I do not understand those words.โ€ He tossed back another mug.

โ€œYou should get that checked out there, buddy. Might have hurt your face.โ€

Oh, please. It was only the fifth time heโ€™d slammed his head on the bar. Not like that would mess up his skull or anything.

Probably.


























































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MADELINA VOLKOVA.






























scroll


Maddie






Decoy








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








Without Belonging

































LOCATION








The Deck

























MENTIONS








Genevieve, Lexis





















INTERACTS








Dolores

















TAGS










































WOLF โ€” FIRST AID KIT.






















































































































scroll












A PRINCESS








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





























































CHAPTER FOUR.


She had survived Algol, she had survived the brig, she had survived an interrogation, and for what? To sit in her room, curled up in her bed, caught in a void of self-loathing and despair. Madelina had not left this spot, save to go to the door and accept food, in the weeks since they had left the nightmare shores behind. To call her a wreck was an understatement. To call her anything at all was to be far too kind to her.

After a few days spent in the brig, letting salt dry on her skin and filth creep into her lungs, she had been interrogated. Even now, she couldnโ€™t quite recall the event, only that she had stared at her hands, still seeing the blood from her crime on them. It would flicker in an out of her vision, like a hallucination, or a nightmare. She was honest, painfully so, about her anger at the monster, how that had led to that poor womanโ€™s death. Maddie had certainly cried again. With little water on the ship, how was it that her dehydrated body was able to produce so much of it?

The only thing she had not let slip was her identity in relation to the princess, though she knew most of the ship considered her noble, maybe royalty. There was no polite way to say that she was the princessโ€™s envoy, her decoy, her other self, sent to report back on the Leviathanโ€™s travels.

There was no way to tell the captain and his crew that she was late in telling the princess what had transpired on Algol.

How to word such an admission? Iโ€™m no assassin, but Iโ€™ll be tried as one if the princess finds out. She must not know what I did. I need to tell her what happened. A standoff in her head. Perhaps she would find the words to report back on the incident at Algol without giving away what she had done. Maybe her parents could avoid punishment if so.

The ship found its way to Antares, and Madelina was given the option to go outside, if she wished. She was generally allowed outside, post-interrogationโ€”she was her own jailer now. Though she knew she was being monitored. After all, how could they trust her? She had killed another passenger, after all.

Still, she needed fresh air. Just enough to bring back with her to her room. Maybe going outside would help her formulate her report to the princess. Yes, that was it. Not that she was thinking much of the princess these days when she had a living nightmare to suffer through.

Despite the liveliness of the shore, of Antares, of the land that even the princess dared not go, Madelina stayed on the ship, drifting near the railing. Her hands gently rested atop the railing, feeling the ache that the Leviathan had carried with it these past few weeks. So much had happened. To think her biggest problem when she first boarded was not being able to socialize properly.

Now she barely wanted to.

She started at the sound of her name, her sad eyes tearing from the lights and laughter and drifting toโ€”the boatswain. The woman who had interrogated her. There was a fierceness in her, a much brighter flame than Madelina herself had ever carried, even when she had committed her unspeakable act. It was hard to trust the person who had tried to yank an unspoken truth out of her, but it must have been mutual, based on her question.

โ€œLeave?โ€ The concept confused her. โ€œWhere would I go?โ€ She gazed out at the people whose lives must have been much more full than hers could ever be, especially now. โ€œEven if I belong with such ruffians now, I would die. They would kill me without a second thought.โ€ A pause, and then her whisper: โ€œI look too much like her.โ€

Yes, and that had haunted her since boarding the Leviathan. Never treated as her own person, because of the resemblance. Not that she had much of a person to her, what with the isolation and training to be like the princess. And now that she was being treated as Madelina Volkova, and not just a shadow of Her Highness, Princess Penelopeโ€ฆ

โ€ฆshe was treated like a monster.

โ€œNo, I do not intend to leave. I promise. I have nowhere to go.โ€


























































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THE BUTCHER.















scroll

Aurelian



Fiocchi




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




...
















LOCATION




His Cabin











MENTIONS




Flora









INTERACTS




















Muzzle โ€” Destroy Boys




























































scroll






Fuschian Purgatory.




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






























Chapter Four.

Aurelian walked, his hands shoved deep within pockets as yellow wary eyes flashed at anyone that looked at them for too long. Mistrust bred from a childhood of nimble fingers and cramming between broken window panes, it was far too easy to find the people sizing them up as marks, especially children. He knew all too well how children were weaponized against tourists for money and pickpocketing, and thereโ€™d been a shadow following them for the past five blocks.

A small snarl escaped him as Little Orphan Timmy ran up with wide softened dark brown eyes and little trembling hands, his mouth about to open in a plea.

โ€œIf you want to keep your fingers you and your little friend will fuck off.โ€ He snapped at Little Orphan Timmy who burst into tears and scurried away, a small commotion in the crowd behind them saying whoever the pickpocket was fled as well.

โ€ฆ He offered no explanation for his behavior.

โ€œI think we should find spicy, brown liquor.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t drink.โ€ The riposte was fast and similarly curt. Though, while forceful in nature, seemed to hold less threat than dealing with Little Orphan Timmy. It seemed more overly strong enforcement than rage, though easily mistaken for the two.

โ€ฆ

He should probably try to be friendlier. Dante always at least had the veneer of amicability- NO FUCK DANTE. EVERYBODY HATES DANTE RIGHT NOW.

With this immense effort, his voice softened marginally.

โ€œ... I couldโ€ฆ indulgeโ€ฆ in alcoholic beverages.โ€ How very human sounding, Aurelian. โ€œ... How does one acquireโ€ฆ that.โ€

His voiceโ€™s forcefulness seemed toโ€ฆ marginally scale back into something sounding a little more human, but it sounded somewhat strained, like he was trying to force himself into a tiny neat box for her approval. Eyes scanning once more the area, he saw a group of men burst out of a wooden door, arms wrapped around each other, and then pass out onto the cobblestone streets. They crawled over to the edge of the docks where they promptly vomited into the sea.

โ€œ... I think I found a place.โ€ He said, his voice warmer in what sounded like a tinge of sarcasm. โ€œWe shall try to findโ€ฆ yourโ€ฆ. Spicyโ€ฆ alcohol.โ€

He had no idea what she was asking for either. It sounded somewhat familiar, but homebrewed moonshine of youth and fanciful wines or scotches spoke of a life in extremes.

Storming up to the counter, he forcefully shouldered his way past patrons of the busy bar to get him and his newish acquaintance a spot front and center.

โ€œHEY.โ€ Order barked. Attention of an angry fighter attained, the bartender looked at him unimpressed. โ€œI wantโ€ฆumโ€ฆโ€

โ€ฆ Confidence faltered.

โ€œSpicy. And brown. Two. Yeah.โ€ The two men stared at each other

โ€œ... How old are you, kid?โ€ Equally unimpressed with the lame order.

โ€œIโ€™M NOT A FUCKING KIDโ€ Shout immediate and fierce. There was not even a hint of a flinch, heโ€™d seen many that were probably more violent in Antares, and many more in his future.

โ€œChill. Iโ€™ll get you your fucking rum-โ€

Another enemy made, but alcohol achieved!

Aurelian drank a little, wincing at the burn that went down his throat. He was not going to cough. That would be weak and pathetic and-

Aurelian coughed a little in protest as he failed to chug down the alcohol. He did not want to talk about Algol or Dante or anything that had happened in the past two weeks, which left his talking points toโ€ฆ umโ€ฆ

โ€œ... I put an order for strawberries in. You wanted them. Be happy now.โ€

Courteous!






























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MILO STAFFORD.






























scroll


Milo






Farmboy








ใ…Žใ…Ž






























MOOD








Hungry...























OUTFIT


























LOCATION








Wandering Antares

























MENTIONS








Ren, the Strawhats





















INTERACTS








NPC

















TAGS








N/A







































GOOD THINGS โ€” DAN + SHAY.






















































































































scroll












IT IS ONLY








the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.





























































CHAPTER FOUR.


So this was what a pirate port looked like.

Milo likely should have known it would look thisโ€ฆ messy. He liked to think that the dirt and grime and alcohol and bloodโ€”oh yikes, that guy was bleeding a lotโ€”was all part of its charm. If this was a place that real pirates frequented, then he sure as shootinโ€™ was gonna familiarize himself with it!

As he took in the sights and the sounds and the smells (what was that ammonia smell?), he fancied himself a true scallywag, a swashbuckler. His crew had docked to procure more booze for the first mate (Arata), more meat for the captain (Bruno), and perhaps some parchment for their hardworking navigator (Abby). They had been on quite the long journey, facing storms and dehydration andโ€”

Okay, so maybe he was borrowing from reality for part of this daydream, but it was his right, wasnโ€™t it? Gosh, he was thirsty after the weeks of rationed water. (During which heโ€™d let others have the lionโ€™s share compared to him. He was a big boy, yes, but the others needed it.)

But what exactly was there to do here, besides drink and, apparently, based on the guy to his left, throw up? Milo had never been much of a drinker, and come to think of it, heโ€™d never even tasted alcohol. Antares probably wasnโ€™t the place to have it for the first time (something screamed DANGER even in his excitement of being in the presence of real pirates).

โ€œHey there, sailor,โ€ purred a voice to his right. A woman took up a doorway with what he guessed was supposed to be an alluring lean? Huh. Just like Ren! โ€œCare to have some fun?โ€

He missed the innuendo entirely. โ€œOh, did you wanna play Go Fish, miss?โ€ Yes, because that is what twenty-six-year-old men do with their time. And then: โ€œBy the way, your hair is gorgeous! It reminds me of the sun setting over the wheat fields in the spring, all bright and soft at the same time.โ€ He smiled then, and the woman stared slack-jawed at him as he passed by without another word. Guess she didnโ€™t want to play Go Fish!

Well now he wanted some fish. Though growing up on a farm theoretically should have made him love animals too much to ever eat them, he had always needed more protein to fuel his farmboy muscles. So now he supposed he should probably find food.

Whoโ€™s gonna tell him he left his money on the ship?


























































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The Physician.















scroll

Ilya



Jovanoviฤ‡




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




Flesh <3











OUTFIT














LOCATION




Arata's Bar












MENTIONS




Arata










INTERACTS






















Melancholia โ€” St. Loreto






























































scroll






Humanist's Folly.




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































Chapter Four.

Some said that Antares was a cesspool of sin and hedonistic glee. Ilya called it salvation.

A miserable time spent staring into nothingness for the past two weeks, a quiet presence having gone almost completely silent, Ilya was left to do nothing but contemplate the meaning of death and its ever present shadow that lurked behind the doctorโ€™s life. A livelihood built upon preventing misery and suffering, his patientโ€™s trials and tribulations taken upon himself.

He supposed that one short vacation into Antares to indulge in the sins of life, when he himself had abstained for so long for such little returns, wouldnโ€™t be the worst thing in the world.

That had led him into a party which led him into some kind of circle (Smoke that? Yes please) and three cigarettes, one dubiously drugged pipe (he shouldโ€™ve probably asked what it was), and about 4 shots later, he ended up at some kind of bar that wasโ€ฆ oooโ€ฆ

Ooo.

Wow that was a solid piece of wood right there.

Forehead against the bar, perhaps he could become one with the universe. Specifically this bar. Yeah. Nice. Cool. He was warm, his face was warm. Blood was rushing to his face probably as a side effect of the alcohol which, among other things, reddened or unfocused eyes, lack of motor control, slurring, nausea-

No doctor thinky. Only wood.

Mmm yeah. Wood.

โ€You should get that checked out buddy, might have hurt your face.โ€

โ€œooOOoooOooOo.โ€ A halo of curled dying ember hair slowly fell out of paled skin as he sat up slowly like a puppet suddenly rising from the stage floor. He looked at the man who needed to be checked out, eyes half-lidded but incredibly focused upon Arata, a hand slowly reaching upwards to grab his barstool neighborโ€™s face. Theโ€ฆ ministrations, for lack of a better word, were surprisingly gentle despite how aggressive the grab seemed.

Massage. Massage the face.

His fingers were slightly cold, and they smelled a little like nicotine. A slightly maniacal and lazy grin spread across his face.

โ€œMmmmm yeah. Flesh textured.โ€ He mumbled like that was any consolation for touching a stranger in this manner, though it sounded somewhat like he wasn't really aware that he was speaking to Arata. โ€œIโ€™m a doctor I know what Iโ€™m doingโ€

He, in fact, did not know what he was doing.

โ€œThink youโ€™ll live. Nice bone structure. Dense. Like a rock.โ€ Ilyaโ€™s forehead gently bonked into Arataโ€™s.

Hairโ€ฆ softโ€ฆ yeah babyโ€ฆ.

From face to scalp massage, the doctorโ€™s strange not-quite-massage continued. โ€œYeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh โ€˜s nice.โ€

โ€œDid you know that hair is just dead shit growing out of your head from the scalp, Itโ€™s likeโ€ฆ follicle vomit.โ€


Thank you, Ilya, for this enlightenment. โ€œYour follicle vomit is soft.โ€





























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  • how she's feeling...



    scared, frightened, alive

















agnes



the optimist












โ€œI suggest you'd leave that poor woman alone before I punch your teeth down your throat.โ€


Huh?


When the thief stopped yanking, the sudden voice added to her confusion but it was soon dissolved when she saw a large man rise in front of her and the thief. The staggering height left her speechless as both she and the thief could only stare on top of the look and threat he posed. The man was tall, hairy, long-haired and that last fact is enough to make Agnes twitch her eyes despite being in danger because....

How in the stars does he look so.... kempt for someone who is in mugging distance of me?


Wait, mugging distance-


That's when it clicked for Agnes. Despite her awe and wonder, it wouldn't be out of question if the large man came to remove his competition. Maybe he's just being nice about it when he's standing right in front of her now and asking,
"Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt?"


Her eyes looked at the thief running off in the shady distance with fear fueling him then back to the large man without a word. Not a squeak came from her as her hand quickly surrendered the luggage she held as she holds the handle up to him while a look of fear takes her face. Her free hand moves in the sign of the stars from her head then to her shoulders as she speaks one last silent prayer in her mind.

Panic prayers run through her mind as her feet remained still. She knows she's not running from this man compared to the absent thief. She'd call for help but she would remember her mother's words:

"Remember, Agnes, this is all natural. The death of your pet, death of your grandparents, your classmate dying."

"Even if we could have done something about it?"
a younger Agnes would ask her mom.


"Even if we could have," her mother affirmed.

She could only hope her mother was wrong in this moment by her offering of the luggage as she stare at the tall man expectantly.











































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
Warning:
- I'm gonna faint, so I'll leave checking the grammar for tomorrow. For PJ and the nosy ones (Gao) it's allowed to be read.
- TW: violance (punces, kicks and blood)






THE OLD-TIMER















scroll

Maltke



Cycek




ใ…Žใ…Ž















MOOD




Sad, annoyed, angry, sardonic











OUTFIT




His usual dirty coat of course











LOCATION




In The Tyke's Prick and on the Bazaar's street











MENTIONS




no mentions









INTERACTS




A bunch of NPC, physically Gao Gao

















Keelhauled - ALESTORM




























































scroll






Pounchy-pounchy



































Chapter Four, Part i

Even the carmine sun slipped under the horizon in embarrasement, the sky closed her eye generously as if turning away from the sight of the the depraved city of carmine. The soaked boards were creaking under the weight of mildly quick steps, old lanterns were lit, mocking the dark sky and laughter ranged out, growiing into an ever-present excited murmur as the people flooded the dirty streets of Antares.

Even if he hated to admit, in essence, this city was no better than other ports where Maltke had been. Each of them became lively after sunset, the scums of his kind crawled out from their dark holes to enjoy freedom and mingle with the mass of pirates, prostitutes, conmasters, murderers and their preys. He would have even felt himself at home if Antares had not been the memento of the one the greatest failures of Maltke's life. His old ship, his captain and the whole beloved crew had sinked into the deep blue, near to this very city which still stood and buzzed proudly, despite being the representation of betrayal of the piracy's true heart. The city evilly loomed over him, pulling him deep in its catacombs of soulless temptations. Of course, Maltke had spat a messy one on the docks when The Leviathan had arrived but that didn't ease his sadness, guilt and hatred. However "Rum be rum!" As he convinced himself, leaving the ship alone.

He emptied the bottle with a grimace, turning his head away from the loud, bustling crowd in front of the building that cast long shadows on the old walls of the pub that he was leaning against. The Tyke's Prick was an ugly establishment, close to the Bazaar but somehow not full of guests on this pleasantly cool evening. Maltke could understand why.

He walked back, entering the dark, stinky hole, filled with creaking furniture and suspicious figures, their faces are hidden by the darkness of the pub. His booted legs were knocking on the sticky floor as he made his way towards the bartable where a balding, weathered man was cleaning a glass - probably the only one in the whole pub - with a grey fabric that might have been white once. The room was depressingly silent but as Maltke approached the barkeeper and tried to figure out how many rum he could buy from his last coins, a hoarse laugh ranged next to him.

"Another round!" Maltke cleared his throat, nodding to the balding man, placing a few rusty coins on the bartable before turning his attention to the source of the laughter.

"I be tellin' ye, those scums ran away after seein' our badge!" The hoarse voice was a wiry old pirate's whose toothless mouth was wide open as he recalled his monumental saga to his company, a young, blonde sailor with an imposing built that looked like he was born to the seas and a scar-faced, middle-aged man who advertised the liberation of the body with a naked, hairy chest. "The brothel became empty, just the bitches and us stayed...you can imagine, Lil' Timmy!"

Lil' Timmy, the young giant laughed on a deep, resonant voice and the other two joined to him, the sounds of their camaradie breathed a little life into The Tyke's Prick. The barkeeper took Maltke's money and smashed another bottle of rum on the bartable with a polite 'Mm'.

"Pirates gotta know who be on top!" Scar-faced agreed, emptying his bottle with an obscene belch.
"Ain't we pirates?" Lil' Timmy scratched his firm cheekbones, frowning confusedly.
"Fuck bein' humble" The toothless pirate smacked his wide back reassuringly. "We be members of the Carmine Corsairs! We be more than those pathetic lowly scums who lurk on ships, disorganized!"
"We be professionals!"
"Cheers motha'fuckers!"


Maltke was watching the whole time, his face was a blank canvas of rather expressive disdain. The bottle stucked between his lips, he took a big sip, feeling as the alcohol rushed down on his throag and made his blood boil. His eye locked on the trio of loud pirates, cheering for being betrayals of their kind.

"Wat'cha lookin' at, buddy?" The half-naked pirate with a scar on his face noticed Maltke's sarcastic gaze on them. The old man placed the bottle of rum down on the bartable with a soft thud.

"Just marvelin'... dogs became loud nowadays..." Maltke blurted out after a moment of silence, his lips twisted into a bitter smirk. The air in the pub seemed to froze before the insult reached the trio's mind, urging them to stand up with offended growls and grunts.

"What did he just say?"
"The old man has balls..."
"This jeezer..."


The atmosphere in the pub shifted again, curious, annoyed and amused eyes followed as the three pirate approached the old man, their posture was confident and provocating, standing next to Maltke who returned to his rum as if nothing happened.
"What' yer deal, sir?" Lil' Timmy asked politely enough, massaging his knuckles suggestively.
"Don't call this rat 'sir'!" Scarface scolded Lil' Timmy before turning back to Maltke with a menacing expression on his face.
"Even a pirate can..."
"Ye be shame on pirates, dogs!"
The one-eyed pirate tuened finally towards the trio, his raspy voice cutting in the giant's answer. "Listen, ye traitor motherfuckers, my problem be simple...ye be too loud 'bout bein' the King's little dogs. Ye annoy me more than ye should've..."

"So you've problem with us, huh?"
Toothless asked calmy, looking into Maltke's eye with a little squint. The one-eyed pieate felt as his body started tingling with adrenaline, his hand formed fists next to him. His smile grew wider, knowing too well what would happen. "Are ye deaf, ye old son of a-"

The toothless pirate's bony fist connected with Maltke's jaw in a blink of an eye with the satisfying sound of meat colliding with meat. The power of the left straight punch made the old man loose his stance and fall back on a table. "Ahh...been a long time..." He smirked to himself, feeling as his face was throbbing with pain, a telltale of that he had gotten out of the flow of these brawls. The guest at the table jumped up from his seat angrily, the trio shifted dangerously close to Maltke as he slowly got on his feet and let the chaos to devour him and the whole pub. His right hand grabbed alone bottle on the table and swinged it backwards, hitting toothless across his face. The glass was surprisingly hard; Maltke had to smash it on Toothless' head again to make it break. Glasshards fell on the floor, clinking under his boot as the old pirate stepped aside, evading Lil' Timmy's big hands, poking his skin with the broken bottle, making the blondie giant cry out.

With that, Maltke's flawless counter attack was cut short by Scarface's attack, the cruel series of punches that hit the old man on his abdomen. He groaned in pain, yet the smirk was still present on his face as he stepped forward, guiding his elbow brutally into Scarface's nose.

More and more guest decided to join the brawl, the older ones knew exactly what to expect. The barkeeper hid behind the bartable, letting the pirates to let the steam out with brutally beating up each other like rascals on the school's yard - except none of these men had the opportunity to be even close to a school. From Tyke's Prick the sounds of breaking glass, wood, heavy thuds and excessive amount of painful cursing came out to the street, making the bystanders to check out the pathetic sport of pirates.

Inside, Maltke was hopping from left to right, his muscles ripple under his clothes as he landed punches anywhere he could, following strictly the Unspoken Rules of Bar Brawls, feeling himself alive again, in this depraved city. He ran his hand through someone's greasy hair to pull back, his left arm was choking lightly another too eager guest before he turned his attentions back to his main opponents. Someone had torn his shirt, had broken his nose, his lips and his shoulders where he had gotten shot by his Captain were bleeding but he couldn't care less. With a primal growl he kicked Toothless on his knees,then as his opponent fell, Maltke kept stomping on his body just to make sure he stays there. However while he was busy with kicking the soul out of the toothless pirate, he didn't notice that Lil' Timmy was dashing twards him through the crowd. The meeting was fatal and merciless: Lil' Timmy's massive body sent Maltke flying through the air, right through the doorframe of the pub.

Maybe Maltke Cycek was actually breaking the Unspoken Rules of Bar Brawls: he neither caused a fatal wound, nor followed any other rules but the three...however he may have not have 'no hard feelings'. "Ye fuckin' traitors..." I groaned in pain as he slowly stood up from the dirty of the street, looking up at the approaching figures of Scarface and Lil' Timmy. In fact, Maltke was trembling with anger, his knuckles were craving for more action. "These scum just like me...they fuckin' deserve this!" I thought, his body is shaking with the tension of the brawl. He sniffed his bloody nose, then ignoring the scared gasps of the public, he leaped foward, his left fist hit Lil' Timmy stomach right at his gastric mouth, the devastating punch made the young man bend forward and fell on his knees, his punch didn't find Maltke's head. The old pirate's lone eye searched for the scar-face opponent as he shifted to the right but the pirate was nowhere to be seen. Maltke turned around, his only eye spots the light of the lanterns, shining on a small, cruel blade which was slicing through the air towards his throat...

However, Maltke Cycek turned out to be lucky again in the past few months: he had not been alone since he had flown out of the pub: a crewmate noticed him.































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