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[ OPEN!! ] yo ho ho
WHO: Charles Vane & YOU!
WHAT: A pirate wanders around civilization for the first time.
WHEN: July
WHERE: Kirkwall - Docks, gallows, taverns.
NOTES: Bad words, violence, idk
WHAT: A pirate wanders around civilization for the first time.
WHEN: July
WHERE: Kirkwall - Docks, gallows, taverns.
NOTES: Bad words, violence, idk
I. PORT;
[ the galleon that bears no nation's flag sits silent and still, like an omen, at the mouth of Kirkwall's port, just out of gun range, seeming like any other merchant ship that comes and goes, but strange in its distance and its anonymity. only a few launchers come forth from it, carrying a few people, and a stash of cargo - several chests, all equally unremarkable unless you know what you're looking for (pick the lucky barrel). Unless you're Captain Flint or Charles Vane. What remains of the crew sit in the rigging and watch from the railing on every deck, as the few approach the docks.
After a short, quiet jumble of whispers between three of them, a lady in an elegant gown and finery takes off with a handful of sailors towards the Gallows, and the Inquisition. The captain, to a tavern, and whatever other winding roads he might take to keep the chest safe. And Vane - he stays, on watch, perhaps, though their single vanguard ship is far out of harm's way. Nerves, maybe, and his arms cross over his chest, eyes in narrowed slits that skim over the other sailors working the ships, primarily. A glance or two, maybe, for the remaining passersby, clearly not so interested in them.
Some crews may actually take note of how closely he eyes each ship, as if inspecting, assessing. Maybe looking for a weakness, maybe trying to figure out the best way to steal it. Old habits die hard, and he is a pirate captain without his own ship. Devilishly clever as Flint is, Vane isn't one to comfortably take orders from any man besides Blackbeard.
Vane will be lingering in the area for some hours, before one of the crew comes jogging back to give him news. In the meantime, he explores the docks, watches, and occasionally tosses a glance out to the galleon in the wider port. He may pause to chat with someone who looks in charge of one of the docked vessels - likely a quartermaster or something similar. not the captain or merchant prince that owns the ship, just someone who knows it well, questioning where they came from, how the seas fared, how they like Kirkwall as a port. Nothing too suspect. ]
II. KIRKWALL/DARKTOWN;
[ Once their dealings are settle with the Inquisition, and they have some form of tentative partnership, Vane sets out to bolster what they'd lost. Most of all - men, crew. Allies, supplies, connections. This isn't Nascere, and they won't be able to reach out to the good old channels. Time is of the essence, and they need to be on their feet, ready to run. He spends much of the next week wandering Darktown, familiarizing himself with the territories, the gangs, the carta, the boy selling drugs on the street corner, the whore houses and how committed they are to plying out secrets. The markets and the special passwords one might need to see the VIP stock. The gossip. Those are the simple things to accomplish.
Finding men - men that can be trusted, relied upon, that care for the same freedoms he and Flint do - is not so easy. But, one's to start with the basics. Best they know their way around a ship. One night, after sitting in a tavern for an hour or so, Vane stands, stepping up on a chair to call out over the others' heads, gravely voice the kind of thing that demands immediate attention - ]
I don't suppose there's any actual sailors in this shithole, is there? [ Tact is not his strong point, and tone policing is not something that will fly for even a second on the Walrus. Best they get that out of the way first. ]
And I do mean sailors. [ a beat, in no hurry to get his words out, as his eyes cast around those others in the tavern, already assessing. ] Ferry skippers need not apply.
[ and by sailors, he means pirates. or privateers and bored shiphands that could be convinced into being pirates. assuming he can stomach them long enough to recruit them. it's been a long, long time since Charles Vane has ever needed to actively recruit, most in Nascere willing to jump at the chance to join his crew. it feels like starting all over, from the first step he'd taken out from under Blackbeard's wing. Perhaps there's something apt in that.
Not that he cares to mull on it - sentimentality has never been a close friend of his. ]
III. GALLOWS
[ Vane is the least likely of the new pirate initiates from north to wander and hang about the Gallows, but during their first handful of weeks, he's set to familiarizing himself with their resources. His end destination will be the Naval Presence offices, as he'll be joining the project and wishing to see how the crew and ship he sailed in with will be employed by the Inquisition. Flint's ship, sure, but an asset of Nascere that they're loathe to part with for long to unknown hands. Should he find the door to the office open, Vane will be letting himself in to inspect what he can of maps and charts. If not, he'll quietly wait outside for others from the project, eyes cast out a window to where the Walrus is docked.
However, he makes several stops along the way, one of them to the training grounds, where he watches a set of Templars running drills and sparring, leaning back against a post to watch from a distance with a crowd of others - either spectators or other soldiers waiting for their turn to train. After watching one fall to the ground with a heavy klunk, Charles snorts, murmuring. ] You'd think they'd bake in all that metal. They at least have the sense to take it off before loading them onto ships?
[ the latter asked to the nearest Inquisition member that seems more at home here than him. He's just imagining an entire squad of these fools trying to strip down while a ravaged ship starts going under, or they're told to prepare to board an enemy vessel.
from there, Vane trails over to the dining hall, inspecting the food, grabbing a turkey leg to chomp down on and a pint of ale to toss back like it's water. The captain takes his own table, off in a corner, part because he doesn't know any of these people, part because he certainly doesn't trust them, and part because he's just an anti-social vagrant. either way, he's the most still and relatively safe looking as he's been all day, so if someone's wanting to come snoop on this new pirate crew the Inquisition inducted, or curious to see what rumors about them are true or not (or which there are many, Vane's own stories not the least disturbing of them) - this is your best chance.
Charles will pass through the dorms, the armory, and walk the Gallows walls to inspect fortifications as well. Feel free to run into him wherever along the way. ]
IV. WILDCARD;
[ idefk hit me ]
no subject
vane eyes the woman curiously over the pint she slides to him, touching his lips while he takes a long swig from it, considering. the voice, the clothes, the veil. the locale. she doesn't read as rough and vicious as anne, but a firm and confident woman nonetheless. perhaps it's worth it. ]
There's room for the willing. If you're a quick study, and competent.
[ he doesn't have the time to train every other idiot in kirkwall how to sail a ship. but, for some that seem promising, maybe. ]
Why the interest?
no subject
Who wouldn't want to sail under Captain Charles Vaine? [ Bemused a little at herself. How childish that could be. ] - I am one of those that was thrust into this place from somewhere different. Something which is apparently not a forgivable offence. There is some goodwill after the tournament but...
[ She isn't a fool. Goodwill and good opinion can turn on a dime. ] ... I know I shall never truly be welcome amongst them.
no subject
Not likely. You've seen how they treat even the natives of this world.
[ the elves, the qunari, the slaves of tevinter, all of the above. society is trash, go go anarchy. ]
Meet me at the docks tomorrow an hour past sunrise. We'll see how fast you learn.
no subject
[ for more than her, if her predictions come true, there be no where to hide here for quite some time. As easy to blame target was always preferred. ]
I will see you then. [ she laughs, cannot quite help herself. ] I am a daughter of deserts, that might go to sea.
time jump?
[ Vane smirks, because Nascere ends up with all kinds, from all walks of life, from all regions. All those that either don't fit to the rest of the world, or the rest of the world doesn't fit to them. ]
Your name?
time skip \o/
But with this man, if it was the same man she had heard stories of? Her head bows, a relaxed gesture, but respectful. ( Though her eyes never leave his face, direct and without pause on him. She does not flinch, not from anything, not from lack of fear but her own sense of absolute purpose. ) ]
Lakshmi Bai.
[ And with it, she turns, drawing her veil up around her head, over her face once more. ]
time skiiiiipppp /o/
one that next day, an hour past sunrise, just as he'd told her, Vane's easy to spot on the deck of the Walrus, leaned against the railing on the side of the forecastle deck, watching people wander along the docks, sailors muddle around, guards patrolling, as he munches at a piece of bread. He spots Lakshmi's veil as she approaches, raises a hand in idle greeting, and makes his way down to where the gangplank loads onto the deck, midship. the last little piece of his bread is tossed over the edge, for the fish below to munch at, while he waves her forward, to stand at the center of the ship. Getting right into it. ]
Before anything else, stand here. Face the front. [ He stands at her side, shoulders in a line, looking the same direction she is - eyes over the front of the ship/ ]
Bow, or Fore. Stern, or Aft. Port. Starboard. [ As he says it, he points. Forward, back, left, right. For the next to - forward left, then forward right. Bearings are important. ] Port bow. Starboard bow.
[ a beat, and he adds: ]
'Morning.
\o\
But the introduction done, she pushes her veils back. - he has her respect, and she is not fighting off the hissed reaction of people in the streets. She just raises her face to look at him and pushes it away and nods the same to him. But she's lean, hard, below it. Hard, for all that fabric she prefers. The small gold ring at the corner of her nose for once nothing as flashy as she might want to be. The chain that connects it to her ear, perhaps, a little more. ] Morning, Captain.
[ The material of it though, is gathered, and tucked around herself and tied off at her back. The way that people can when they have been living in garments all their life, she's no more or less comfortable than that. ]
no subject
Lakshmi gets a short nod from him, and a small quirk of an almost smile, before he sets off, pacing to one of the railings at the sides of the deck, leaning back against it as he points towards the sails. ]
You seem like a quick study, so, next lesson. [ now, pointing up at the individual masts. ] The masts - at the bow, that's the Fore Mast. Middle is Main Mast, and aft is Mizzen Mast. When orders are given for a specific sail, you'll hear the mast placement, then the type of sail. So, Fore Top Sail, or Main T'gallants.
Still following?
no subject
Nice to learn at least, after all these years. Piecing out the details like some grand puzzle. ]
- Fore, Main, Mizzen. [ She points at each one, as they go, correctly identifying them, or so she hopes. ]