faderift | [ OPEN!! ] yo ho ho

[ 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

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 ]

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Never, [ her rolled up sleeves are for the moment unmarked by sun or sword; this a temporary pause upon the afternoon's run. ] They take a vow to the Maker, that they should never remove it.

[ she offers her canteen over. water only — alas. ]

You are new.

[ having never met a templar in his life, vane's honestly not sure if he should take that as a joke or not. either way, a brow inches up his forehead, a huff of air leaving him that might be a laugh. ] Best hope the Maker never gives them need to swim.

[ as for new, he can't really deny that. he doesn't lead with his name, as he knows that normally carries some things with it. no telling if it reaches as far as kirkwall. ]

I am. Came in with the Walrus crew.

For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. [ her chin dips aside, hand hovers in a so-so gesture, ] At least the arms wave about the same.

[ when swimming. or being set on fire. you know. wren shakes her head. ]

Nascere, the island. Your home?

[ a sailor might come from anywhere. ]

You're right in that. [ have we witnessed people being on fire and drowning? itn is possible. ] Though neither option there is likely to leave the poor fuck wrapped up in that tin can alive.

[ the fire or the water, what are religious metaphors? unnecessary, that's what. at the mention of his island, vane glances to the woman, a faint quirk in his brow. ]

My home. [ him more than others, perhaps, as he'd been practically raised by those who created Nascere to begin with. many others came to it after having nowhere else to go. some put fuel to the fire of its soul, like flint. kirkwall is stiff and lifeless in comparison. ]

You've heard of it?

A woman looks up at him from her table, seemingly building a house of cards while she drinks. "You know, if you want sailors, you could ask at the docks. But cause you're asking here...I don't think you want Sailors." She grins up at him as she takes another drink.

"Seems to me like you're looking for something more specific than someone who knows their way around a boat." She places another card on the small house she's building.

"Sailors at the docks are working - doubt their bosses will take well to me trying to recruit them on the clock."

And considering dock hand supervisors are typically right there next to the dock hands, he's not interested in throwing down with some assholes a few days after showing up in town. Flint and Max would be Mad about it.

"I might be. Knowing their way around a ship is a necessary start, though." Ship. Not boat. Fight him.

"Well, that's the free market for you, you offer them a better job and they take it, that's just business. Should've paid the sailors you yanked out from under them more."

Another card goes on top of the structure and she takes another drink. "And you would be shipping...Cargo. Just moving things from place to place, I assume? Ain't nothing to worry anyone about."

[ She could dress in bright swathes of colour, and hold up her title to her name as long and as much as she likes - but the truth of the matter is the same, when it comes to it, these days, so long in slums, so long fighting, bleeding, fighting again, she's a sight more comfortable in Darktown. Where if someone makes a snide comment, dares to look at her in a way they think she can't see because of how she veils herself, she can twist their fingers back, put them through the force of an apology. Then go on her way like nothing happened and no one thinks much of it.

She'll end up outnumbered one day, she supposes. But for now, there's a comfort of simple addition to end results, when the rest of the time she can't do much but accept whatever words come her way.

Granted, mostly this evening she is left alone, left to drink and watch politely as is her want. Listen to people come and go, learn that way what she needs to keep a top of if she's going to keep her head. But she hears a name - in the chatter, a crew that had pulled into port. That was different from living in a desert, but something she had gotten used to in England. But most especially, it is a name she knows. Which is what strikes her particularly. From England, and a good century passed dead to even her time.

So she finds him, watches him talk, not particularly subtle until he talks and settles herself near, an easy gift that's a pint of ale she slides across to him. Her face still firmly hidden away. ]

What about those that are willing to become one? Or are you looking for those who are seasoned?

[ primarily, Vane's looking for seasoned men, but more than that, he's looking for people who could be pirates. who might want to live they life they live, who could come to nascere and thrive, to defend her like he and flint and silver do. perhaps he's starting on the wrong end of the spectrum for necessary traits - the sailing, rather than the spirit.

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?

[ She reaches for her own glass - and it's pointedly so with her left hand, glowing brightly even now, flickering with rift light. Fade. That is what they called it. Fade green. Bright and intense. ]

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.

[ rifters never really made it all the way to Nascere, and while Vane has been wary of the concept of them, it's somewhat soothed by meeting several of them. If they are demons, they're very good at playing as mortal. ]

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.

I want to know of this place they speak of, should all else fail me.

[ 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.

Before yesterday?

[ the edge of her mouth twists aside, wry. that’s a no. a year on, and she’s still playing catch-up. hadn’t thought to ever come so far north. ]

I expect you’ve condolences enough, [ those have never been much use. can’t think they’re any more so for self-declared pirates. ] All the same. If this stony wreck can survive, there is hope for the rest.

[ a glance to the distant shore, to Kirkwall’s high cliffs and teeming roofs, ]

Coupe.

[ an abrupt introduction. or a sneeze. one of the two. ]

[ Vane's never much been one for casual emoting, but he does quirk a brow, glancing around the 'stony wreck' she means. yes, if this place, with its gentle people and comfortable lives, can survive, certainly they can do. ]

Nascere isn't a place for those who surrender easily. We'll call her home again.

[ because no where else could possibly be home for people like him. The world just isn't fit for them, nor they for it. they'll return to Nascere because there is not other option. ]

Vane.

[ equally suspiciously sneeze-like. And, because he recognized the name as soon as she said it - ] I believe that makes you my new boss.

[ ew. bosses. ew. ]

"I don't recruit men following me only for more coin than the last man offered."

It's certainly be a large part of it for many, after all, they are pirates, but Vane requires more than that for a good crew. More than greed and backstabbing. Being a sailor is only be first part he's looking for.

"Something to that effect."

He's not about to give the entire history of Nascere and synopsis of their war to someone who isn't entirely committed to it. That'll wait for those who've worked with him, proven themselves, and gained trust and faith.

You wouldn't be the first.

[ 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?

[ Everyone else, she forces upon her title, not that she wants them to care who she is or was. But that rank had been paid for the price of blood. Enough to drown a country, and for daring to want more, that title had become a crime. She would never give it back, they could never take her from Jhansi.

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. ]

Edited 2018-07-31 14:28 (UTC)

[ Kitty doesn't discount the possibility that it's a bad idea to meet Vane. After all, pirates aren't exactly known for their trustworthiness. They're actually quite famous, aren't they, for their untrustworthiness. And she's - Well, she doesn't even really know how to swim; it's not like she's ever going to be a proper sailor. Or even really contribute to any sailing. So they're not skills she needs.

But they're skills she wants. The pirates' world is one so altogether divorced from her own that they might as well be a group of spirits. And yet at the same time, Flint in particular - his philosophies and his values seem to resonate so strongly with her own - she wants to know more about them.

And so, after he'd invited her, she makes her way down to the docks to where the ships are, casting her gaze about for his. She's distracted a moment, though, as she passes by one of the ships, taken aback by its massive size and the swarming chaos of the sailors upon it. The steamships that cross the Channel, or the barges up and down the Thames, they're neat and tidy little boats. Efficient and streamlined. But this - This thing is like some primordial beast. A behemoth at rest. There's something rather unnerving about it. ]

[ it won't be long before Kitty hears his voice. with flint taken to the tavern, keeping a closer view of the Gallows, Vane's settled on the ship, keeping day to day maintenance going, and mostly, trying to keep the men busy. give them less time to think, less time to go looking around for other crews offering more pay, because maker knows vane, max and flint are scrapping the barrel as is.

currently, he's on deck, after a group of some Inquisition would-be sailors depart, cleaning up with the rest of the crew to set everything on the ship back to how it was before they began with demonstrations, so she's caught him at a time she can grab his individual attention. Well, sort of. She'll have to share it with the choirs. ]

Mr. Richards, tie up that line before some moron trips on it. [ His voice is impossible to mistake - likely the most distinct thing about him, and he's calling out loud enough to be heard over the rabble of the docks, the crashing of waves against hulls, and the other men shouting around him. ] We're baby proofing her.

[ safety first, or something. he'd rather not have someone die before they've even left port. ]

[ She lifts her head - he really does have an unmistakable voice, doesn't he? And she follows the sound to another great ship, lolling like a grand beast in the water, like the whales that had shown up in picture-books with their malicious eyes and gnashing teeth. With quick light steps (and a bit of nervousness in the pit of her belly, the nervousness she likewise feels in big open spaces and on horseback and amidst trees), she comes aboard the ship.

She doesn't seek Vane out right away. Instead, she takes a moment to observe. Kitty looks exactly like what she is - a thin, ferocious scrapper, an alley cat of a girl. And although she's definitely a girl, with glimmers of a teenager's gawkiness and a bit of roundness persisting in her face, there's a hardness to her face and her manner. Her hand never strays far from her knife, and her eyes flash suspiciously to the least movement, and she does not allow herself to get too far from where the gangplank provides an escape to the dock.

She watches the men here, too - looks at the way the deck is organized, tries to suss out the patterns in the ropes and the masts and the sails (yeah, she has no idea), tries to figure out who has which jobs and who answers to who and whether the workers look desperate or resentful or afraid. (They don't. These aren't slaves, she can tell; they're not even debt-slaves. There's no bobbing, terrified deference here.) And only once she's studied the ship does she do what she came for. ]

Hullo. You're Mr Vane, right?

[ Captain, Kitty. Captain. ]

[ with a nod of understanding, he parts from her, off towards the Walrus to prepare for the morning.

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.

[ Vane doesn't miss the scrawny girl creeping up the gangway, nor does the rest of the crew, but she doesn't get more than a passing few glances. the crew, especially those who sailed under vane before, aren't unused to a woman on the ship, given Anne Bonny. Those that know of him know better than to make a deal of it. besides, they've had several come on board for training recently enough.

the men certainly aren't slaves currently, and vane works alongside them rather than standing at a higher deck barking commands, but what she likely doesn't know is that some were slaves once before. those that came from vane's most recent crew addition - the ones he'd freed from Albinus, or those from the slaver ship they'd hunted, ending up joining into a crew once they came to Nascere.

as for kitty, she just seems to be peering around for the time being, so Vane doesn't bother approaching her. If she needs him, it's clear enough who he is. And, as expected, when she's ready to address him, she does, Vane stepping back from one of the ballista pieces he'd been helping to move. ]

Captain Vane. "Mister" is what you call a quartermaster, boatswain or mate otherwise.

Oh.

[ Right, she'd known that. Or, well, she'd known that ship captains got called captain. She hadn't necessarily known that the title was obligatory. This wasn't the information she'd come for, of course, but her curiosity always gets the better of her; she cocks her head and asks - ]

What if someone doesn't recognize you as captain? Like, say, people who don't respect your authority to command a ship?

[ Like the Tevinter navy, for instance, who don't take kindly to pirates. ]

What would they call you?

'Filthy pirate'.

[ he tells her with a smirk, because yeah, that's about what every Tevinter soldier or sailor calls any of them. it makes no difference if they're a common sailor or captain of an entire fleet. ]

But if someone's on the ship I'm currently commanding, either I'm 'captain', or they can leave.

[ a ship, especially one this size, has no room to be arguing that. ]

[ A shrug of acknowledgment. Kitty chafes, sometimes, against titles - seethed at how magicians got to be called Mister Tallow and Mister Mandrake while she was just girl or dear Miss Jones in that mocking tone - but there's not much question in her mind that Vane earned his title. Although... ]

Is this your ship, then? I know that you lot came in on a single ship, didn't you, and isn't Flint also a captain?

[ It's not said cheekily - she's asking for information. But it seems that Kitty does not exactly have much of an instinct for diplomacy. ]

This ship is the crew's ship.

[ well, sort of. the crew was whoever managed to get away from the island fast enough, most of them Flint's to begin with, as they were already on board. but by the rules pirates go by, a ship belongs to it's crew, not it's captain, which is why a captain can be voted off, but the crew remains.

still, vane doubts flint would ever allow it to happen, much like how he maneuvered around Singleton, back when Vane had an interest in seeing him deposed. Flint tends to be in a category of his own, tends to make things happen just by force of will. ]

When he's here, Flint's the captain. When he's not, I am. [ and currently, he is not. a beat, and vane adds on - ] And seeing as Flint near sailed my crew's ship into a fucking blockade, then sent it off on a wild goose chase, he owns me one.

Edited 2018-08-07 19:05 (UTC)

[ Kitty raises her brows. That's interesting, though, isn't it? That Vane would let Flint have use of his ship? It either means that there's trust between the two of them, or that Flint bullies Vane. Or, perhaps, that things had been just that desperate. ]

Is he the sort of man who pays off his debts? Are you going to get your ship, d'you think?

[ that is... a difficult question. one, because flint pays off his debts when it suits him and the goals he has. he's an honorable man, true, but what's important to him tends to arch far over simple juggling of ships, and why would he give a ship away from a fleet he needs, to a man that's been at his throat before, risking losing the ship's backing?

then again, the last time flint owed him a ship, vane just fucking took it. he's not one to allow himself to go unpaid. after a pause of thought, he answers shortly. ]

We'll find a way to make it even. We both in agreement that it's not what's most important right now.

Edited 2018-08-07 22:40 (UTC)

[ A nod. That's quite fair. Petty debts (or really, really large debts) really aren't as crucial now as they are out of wartime. ]

So - you said that this ship is the crew's ship. That's with regards to shares, right? That all the crew gets a part of the proceeds?

[ She spins where he directs her. Taking note of the words that she distantly remembers - when was the last time she was on the ship? Years and years ago, that desperate bid between Mumbai and

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. ]

That's true. [ Vane nods, looking away from her out at the men working on the decks. ]

Higher ranked officers have a larger cut, due to experience, skill and increased difficulty of the job. Part goes to the upkeep and supply of the ship at large as well.

[ as long as she can move and climb in her layers of fabric, Vane doesn't care. He's not met women from a culture like hers before, but he's known the men, heard stories, saw their own garments. it isn't that dissimilar. many of those on Nascere came from distant lands and carried their cultures and nationalities with them, when they weren't of tevinter. he understands there's a purpose to it, and an importance, just one he can't connect with, having been who he is, and raised how he was.

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?

How's one get a promotion? From cabin boy - [ A nod to Vane; she remembers his talk of his humble beginnings - ] To captain?

Directly from cabin boy to captain? [ Vane snorts a laugh. ] You don't. You climb the chain, proving yourself capable and competent. If you're valuable to the crew and pull your weight, the someone will nominate you for promotion, a vote will be called, and you'll move up.

And everyone gets to vote? On all positions?

For the most part. Some smaller ones, like cabin boy to prep cook no one really cares about. It'll be announced when the crew gathers and if any have objections they can be heard.

But for something like sailor to mate? Always. Captain included.

Huh. So pirates are secretly politicians, is it?

At times, so much so it's fucking exhausting. [ vane practically groans. ] Usually with less bullshit. You are your skills and your willingness to pull your weight. All else follows.

Are there any captains who - you know - aren't like you? Who are just good politicians, without all the...?

[ You know. Muscles. ]

Somehow - [ The terms are familiar if not intimately so. Heard their call over the decks on many a ship, even when she's not been able to follow them.

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. ]

Edited (hits send too early gugugugugu) 2018-08-20 07:31 (UTC)

[ wooow you’re just trying to get me to talk about jack i see what u did there!!! Anywho, Vane’s quiet for a moment, before he snorts softly, one corner of his lips curling up. ]

My old Quartermaster. Never been much good with the fighting and shit, but he could play a crew like a fiddle.

[ there’s perhaps just a tiny hint of something sad in his voice, because vane still has no word on where jack, or anne, are, if they’re safe, if they’re alive. He prays the rescue from rogers won’t be the last time he sees him.]

[ AM NOT. IT WAS NATURAL IN THE FLOW OF CONVERSATION.

Kitty watches Vane with some interest. More than anything, she's interested in whether...well. Whether there's room for different sorts, in his pirate-democracy. Whether it's only brutality and strength, or whether others can rise to the top. Whether there's room for peacemakers, for diplomats, for scholars... ]

So - not everyone has to fight, then?

[ a chuckle follows, shaking his head. ]

Everyone fights if they're crewing a ship. I said Jack wasn't good, not that he didn't join us over the rails.

[ well, sometimes, anyway. jack had his ways of getting around stuff, but vane wasn't typically of the mind that he could slack off just because he was the captain's best friend. at least, not all the time. ] He'd a friend, Anne, who was one of my best fighters. She kept an eye on him when it got dangerous.

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[ OPEN!! ] yo ho ho

iii, training grounds

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II. Darktown

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II

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time jump?

time skip \o/

ii-ish

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time skiiiiipppp /o/

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\o\

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wtf i swear i remember writing this tag, did i just not post it???