WHO: Araceli Bonaventura; open WHAT: Kirkwall adventures WHEN: Kingsway WHERE: Kirkwall + Wounded Coast NOTES: Hit me up on plurk/discord for a closed starter or put something up and I'll roll with it, starters in the comments
Eventually the mages are going to show up. Or the mages in Research if Thranduil makes good on what was said on the way to the rescue mission, so a larger group is good practice for what could well be some sort of nightmare. Mages, Araceli imagines, aren't ever going to be inclined towards the water beyond poetic longings so it balances out really though this large a group is probably going to still go down a far sight more graceful than mages.
Having someone up top makes it easier because the problem with someone drowning or someone who thinks they might be drowning is always that moment of panic where they're as much of a danger to anyone around them including the person trying to help them as they are to themselves.
(We swim before we ever walk beats in her heart alongside a mermaid sundered herself from the sea to make the moon to make the waves to make the tides; even now she is her mother's daughter, her father's daughter. The sea guides us to where we're meant to go is still the truest sentiment so close to three years here despite knowing the truth of all that she is here.
She isn't a flesh and blood thing that the sea made and yet-- And yet--)
With a glance up to Vane, Araceli nods, whistling sharp enough to get the attention of the swimmers around her. "You've done well! The water's cold, you're not used to it. Take time to get out, have something to drink, get the blood flowing again." She's the last one out after, just in case there's a slip, anyone floundering, hauling herself up and out as the water sluices down the cloak she sheds easy as a second skin, wringing her hair out as she goes to sit by the girl until he's back.
"It's progress," or Araceli sounding perhaps the happiest and most like herself he'd have heard her, no tight edges tucked into her smiles. "Do you have to train many swimmers before you train up sailors?"
The sea is what saved him, so far as Charles is concerned. He got himself onto the merchant ship, yes, and Blackbeard got him off there and onto a pirate ship, but the ocean breathed life and purpose into him when there was nothing but the husk of a slave boy not sure what to do with freedom once he had it. The endlessness of it, the soul of it, the violence of it. So much of it can't be known or charted even now with ships riding waves all over the globe, and Vane likes it that way. Keeps her as free as she keeps them.
Bare feet slapping wet against the dock, once he's directed the trainees towards the fresh water, Vane makes his way back over to Araceli, plopping down heavy at the edge of the pier, raising up his hands to push stray strands of long, wet hair from his face that'd whipped around in the effort to bring the girl to safety.
"We've a small handful that were ready to learn, but not enough." It's a new thing to be at a loss for capable men willing to sail, and Vane never stops missing Nascere while he's here. Still, some things make it worth the stay. Araceli, for one, is always good company. He thinks on it a second longer, glancing down the port at the other ships.
"Could make a skeleton crew for the Venatori ship, though."
"Kirkwall's a port city yet somehow it's full of people who haven't any idea of how to go near more than a bath without drowning." Araceli can smile as she says that, bewildered at the notion of how many of them are here, have never attempted it, have never seemed to contemplate it for all that they've had to sail on a mission. What did they think would happen if we foundered or sank? Or do they never think about it? Maybe someone do get through life entirely unconcerned with thinking ahead beyond dinner.
It has her missing home in a way she hasn't in such a long time, the palpable ache in places that aren't only her heart, as if she could close her eyes, take a breath, and open then to find herself in a place where there aren't streets but narrow walkways spilling over to bridges by waterways instead. Apprenticeships sought after, crowed over. Always bodies on decks, spilling on and off ships, in the way when you were trying to get somewhere.
They want a navy. They want a navy and they've so few who understand the necessity; Araceli could preach it 'til she turns blue as the Amaranthine but if they don't want to listen, they won't, and they'll stopper their ears so as not to hear her.
"There's three - including you and I - as it stands that'd have the experience for captaincy." It's what she says instead of any of that, twisting her hair up and off the back of her neck with one part of a complicated necklace removed (a small lockpick, a series of them held in place if Charles looks quick enough) to pin it up. "It won't need as large a crew as the Walrus, fortunately for whoever takes it, and I doubt Captain Flint would be parted from the Walurs."
Meaning it's you and her Charles as far as her roster says, and Araceli is wary of what it would look like for her to say: I'm taking a ship. Warier than handing it over to a pirate. A pirate she can argue better than a rifter. Inquisition, capable, experienced, something she can fucking bullshit if it comes down to it when she'll throw her lot in with her own before playing politics over a hand she'd like as not cut off some days.
Charles snorts, amused at the idea of these Inquisition soldiers flailing in tub water. He'll never understand how a person makes it through their lives without even a passing desire to explore the sea. Even just around a bay. Slide under the current and watch life below, like another realm entirely. They miss half the world never having the balls to risk it.
Rolling a shoulder, Vane relaxes back, bracing his hands behind him as he squints up to the sun. Araceli's always talking project logistics, and he admires that in her. She has such a dedication to it, such a love for it. She'd fit well in Nascere, and perhaps if the Rifters are never able to return from whence they came, he'd invite her back with them. That, however, is along way off. A battle to save their world off. They've much to do before it. Such as, figure out what to do with that ship they'd won.
"Captain Flint would string himself up from the mizzen before parting with the Walrus." That ship will be taken from that man's cold, dead hands. Not like the Man of War was - it wasn't the Walrus, his forever ship. Honestly, Vane is still fucking pissed about the Ranger, but the Revenge has twice the guns and it's terrifying, so he's good with it.
So, about the Venatori one. He hears what she's saying, and the options aren't great. Flint would probably be pleased to have someone he knows captaining the other ship on missions as well. They tend to work well when it comes to tactics and strategy, even if they occasionally want to throttle one another.
"You have too much work on a given day to care about keeping decks scrubbed and rigging tied off. I'll watch the ship." Vane tells her, though it's no mystery to anyone who's been around in the last several months that he'd been itching to have a ship and crew of his own. There's only so long he can play Flint's second without wanting to shove the man over the railings just for the comedy of it.
"My father was born on his mother's ship. He had to earn his right to captain it but until the day comes to pass it over to a successor, it's not going to be pried easily from him, he might give it back to the sea first if he thought that day was coming." Felix Bonaventura is the sea's son, she could picture it, and the crew wouldn't object either. That they had that devotion here that she could shape, turn about, set loose, but the sea is not her sea, it's a different beast entirely and there had been a moment when she'd found it again after months atop the mountain wondering if she'd skim across it as a stone instead of sliding beneath it.
(Things she's never thought to ask and won't because there either won't be an answer or there will be one she'll chase about her head to gnaw holes in the sleepless hours: do spirits dream, do they really dream, why are they capable of having the nightmares that they have here?)
How much is Charles shaped by Nascere, she has to wonder, or is he one of those in Thedas who finally have the itch in them for the sea. To be that hungry for something larger than themselves that doesn't fit the way it does on land. The sea grinds away the edges and gets to the truth of it in the end and you'll come good of it or you won't.
Giving it to Vane solves several problems at once: he has more to do than what little work there tends to be, he's more experience at it than her, it's not potentially the idea of her overstepping her station and having a foot in, a foot out. Still. "I might give the others a chance to toss their hats in the ring, so to speak, if only to avoid accusations. They might come, they might not but enough know what I am aside from my hand, I'd do it without them crying foul, I believe there was enough said about lessons previous."
"Do you a want to captain?" Araceli certainly has the skill for it, and Charles is easily certain she could handle it, but not everyone wants to be in that position. For the longest time, Jack was perfectly content to be Quarter Master, up until the shit happened with the Ranger crew, and Vane abandoned him and Anne. Not his favorite choice, in retrospect, but it was a dark time, and he'd seen it as a betrayal of his trust at a time when his trust was a very shaky and tenuous thing.
All in all, though, the two of them excelled once they were out from under his wing. So, despite the regret, perhaps not so unfortunate a thing after all. Sour as he is that he'll never have another quarter master as equal in skill. Or friendship. Or enjoyable company. Fuck, he misses them.
Huffing out a sigh, Charles leans back, grabbing for a nearby satchel, fishing out some matches and a rolled cigarette, before lighting it up and sucking a heavy breath of smoke into his lungs.
"Do what you have to. I'll make sure the ship's taken care of no matter who ends up caretaker." Rules and chain of command have never really meant a whole lot to Charles, so if Araceli says something needs to be done, he'll see it done. His respect for her comes much more from her disposition and personality than her title. It just happens to be convenient she owns both. "Probably should christen that thing, though. Something besides 'Venatori ship'."
It doesn't make a whole lot of people eager to be on it with that name.
Her deliberation lasts a moment, feet swinging in the water enough to send eddies spiralling outward from either foot. Charles is capable, more than capable, and she wouldn't have him idle here, she'd have him with something that'd give him focus and into the bargain with a thing that'd give him reason to stay if it ever comes to that: the Venatori ship is an Inquisition ship, even if he ever meant to take it, she'd be taking it back. So let her see what comes of it.
"I'd have a captain." It's an agreement that comes easily, a thing lifted up and off her shoulders. (It would be easy to forget, maybe, that she's young.) "I'd have a captain who doesn't need to be told what to do or where to point when it goes to shit again because there's an equal chance I might be there or somewhere else or I'd have to be here on the crystal co-ordinating with a map. You know Thedas better."
And he's older, but Araceli still has some manners. And he's not Martel, he might be someone she could be friends with but she can't bring herself to mention his age in comparison to hers so it's easier to speak around it, the shape of a grief that the edges have worn down but might still bruise should she press down on hard enough.
"This ship is one of the rare times we came out the better for being thrown into the fire: we got our people back, we got the Archon out of there, we got a Venatori ship that's ours to do with as we please probably under better colours unless we might need to pass ourselves off as them." Might be a risky strategy but well the Inquisition is what it is, that day'll come when sailing past in a Venatori vessel might suit. "Have you got something in mind? You'll be the one saying introducing her."
Go on, impress her Charles, look into that sincere little face leaning back on her elbows. Tell her some great names, spin one right off the dome. You'll only be subject to the judgement of a twenty-three year old girl.
If Charles were ever to steal the ship out from under Araceli's hand, she'd known good and well he was doing it. Not only for the respect he has for her, but it's just the way he operates. Even still, he likely respects her too much to steal from her in the first place, but Vane can't what complications may come in the future. She knows who he is and what's most important to him, so if it does come to that, it won't be something that surprises her. Either way, he flashes her a grin. Sure. He'll be a captain. It's all he really can be anymore - anything less is so deeply unsatisfying. As for the ship itself and a name, well, that's less his forte.
"Someone once pointed out all my ships end up with R names. Guess I just like the sound." Of course, this ship is not his ship, it's the Inquisition's ship (that he fucking won for them, the assholes, but whatever, nascere rules don't apply here). But he's just saying it, as it taints the names he comes up with.
"Reclaimer, Reaper, Liberator, Vindicator, Retribution, Nemesis, Defiance, Rook." See? Lots of R names. Some of them just words that sound intimidating, some of them more focused on how they'd come by the ship and the liberation they'd made with it, with fun twist there is to going on to kill Venatori with their own stolen vessel. Hmmm... "The good ship 'Fuck the Archon.'"
Hardy har har. Charles smirks, glancing over to Araceli, before looking back to the ship again, trying to figure what name would suit it best, as if it'll just materialize in paint across the stern.
"Doesn't fit the usual scheme, but someone once said 'Freedom Cry' for a ship name." They were a slave, who found their freedom by means of a ship raiding the transport they were cargo on. That ship was the Ranger.
"That could speak to something deep-seated in you, the way I have three terrible sons who are all some sort of animal and don't want any children of my own. A fox. A nuggalope. A miniature kraken." Which could point back to her dad handing over said fox to a girl as a lesson in responsibility that turned into a very literal partner-in-crime that sort of spiralled outwards in Thedas but things are what they are as she tips her head back. Tries - and fails - not to smirk.
After all it's quite the list that he rattles off, Araceli echoing them very quietly to better commit them to memory should they ever come up. Who knows when the pasts of Flint, Charles, Silver and co (she knows little of Max, that's something she's going to have to very quickly get about to rectifying) might come about in the end? Charles is forthcoming in a reassuring way but what a pirate thinks is worth telling you isn't always what a diplomat thinks is worth knowing.
"Fuck the Archon is tempting but there's no way anyone here would let that fly, it's too much of an invitation." Must've been close to a year ago that there were Venatori in the Gallows, best not to go inviting more unwanted troubles when they've got enough of that. Then she smiles, warm, delighted, swings herself around and up onto her knees to rest a hand on his arm-- "That's perfect-- can you imagine how that would look? When a ship with that name captained by a man out of Nascere is out at sea against our enemies who want to plunge the world into darkness? I love it!"
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Having someone up top makes it easier because the problem with someone drowning or someone who thinks they might be drowning is always that moment of panic where they're as much of a danger to anyone around them including the person trying to help them as they are to themselves.
(We swim before we ever walk beats in her heart alongside a mermaid sundered herself from the sea to make the moon to make the waves to make the tides; even now she is her mother's daughter, her father's daughter. The sea guides us to where we're meant to go is still the truest sentiment so close to three years here despite knowing the truth of all that she is here.
She isn't a flesh and blood thing that the sea made and yet-- And yet--)
With a glance up to Vane, Araceli nods, whistling sharp enough to get the attention of the swimmers around her. "You've done well! The water's cold, you're not used to it. Take time to get out, have something to drink, get the blood flowing again." She's the last one out after, just in case there's a slip, anyone floundering, hauling herself up and out as the water sluices down the cloak she sheds easy as a second skin, wringing her hair out as she goes to sit by the girl until he's back.
"It's progress," or Araceli sounding perhaps the happiest and most like herself he'd have heard her, no tight edges tucked into her smiles. "Do you have to train many swimmers before you train up sailors?"
no subject
Bare feet slapping wet against the dock, once he's directed the trainees towards the fresh water, Vane makes his way back over to Araceli, plopping down heavy at the edge of the pier, raising up his hands to push stray strands of long, wet hair from his face that'd whipped around in the effort to bring the girl to safety.
"We've a small handful that were ready to learn, but not enough." It's a new thing to be at a loss for capable men willing to sail, and Vane never stops missing Nascere while he's here. Still, some things make it worth the stay. Araceli, for one, is always good company. He thinks on it a second longer, glancing down the port at the other ships.
"Could make a skeleton crew for the Venatori ship, though."
no subject
It has her missing home in a way she hasn't in such a long time, the palpable ache in places that aren't only her heart, as if she could close her eyes, take a breath, and open then to find herself in a place where there aren't streets but narrow walkways spilling over to bridges by waterways instead. Apprenticeships sought after, crowed over. Always bodies on decks, spilling on and off ships, in the way when you were trying to get somewhere.
They want a navy. They want a navy and they've so few who understand the necessity; Araceli could preach it 'til she turns blue as the Amaranthine but if they don't want to listen, they won't, and they'll stopper their ears so as not to hear her.
"There's three - including you and I - as it stands that'd have the experience for captaincy." It's what she says instead of any of that, twisting her hair up and off the back of her neck with one part of a complicated necklace removed (a small lockpick, a series of them held in place if Charles looks quick enough) to pin it up. "It won't need as large a crew as the Walrus, fortunately for whoever takes it, and I doubt Captain Flint would be parted from the Walurs."
Meaning it's you and her Charles as far as her roster says, and Araceli is wary of what it would look like for her to say: I'm taking a ship. Warier than handing it over to a pirate. A pirate she can argue better than a rifter. Inquisition, capable, experienced, something she can fucking bullshit if it comes down to it when she'll throw her lot in with her own before playing politics over a hand she'd like as not cut off some days.
no subject
Rolling a shoulder, Vane relaxes back, bracing his hands behind him as he squints up to the sun. Araceli's always talking project logistics, and he admires that in her. She has such a dedication to it, such a love for it. She'd fit well in Nascere, and perhaps if the Rifters are never able to return from whence they came, he'd invite her back with them. That, however, is along way off. A battle to save their world off. They've much to do before it. Such as, figure out what to do with that ship they'd won.
"Captain Flint would string himself up from the mizzen before parting with the Walrus." That ship will be taken from that man's cold, dead hands. Not like the Man of War was - it wasn't the Walrus, his forever ship. Honestly, Vane is still fucking pissed about the Ranger, but the Revenge has twice the guns and it's terrifying, so he's good with it.
So, about the Venatori one. He hears what she's saying, and the options aren't great. Flint would probably be pleased to have someone he knows captaining the other ship on missions as well. They tend to work well when it comes to tactics and strategy, even if they occasionally want to throttle one another.
"You have too much work on a given day to care about keeping decks scrubbed and rigging tied off. I'll watch the ship." Vane tells her, though it's no mystery to anyone who's been around in the last several months that he'd been itching to have a ship and crew of his own. There's only so long he can play Flint's second without wanting to shove the man over the railings just for the comedy of it.
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(Things she's never thought to ask and won't because there either won't be an answer or there will be one she'll chase about her head to gnaw holes in the sleepless hours: do spirits dream, do they really dream, why are they capable of having the nightmares that they have here?)
How much is Charles shaped by Nascere, she has to wonder, or is he one of those in Thedas who finally have the itch in them for the sea. To be that hungry for something larger than themselves that doesn't fit the way it does on land. The sea grinds away the edges and gets to the truth of it in the end and you'll come good of it or you won't.
Giving it to Vane solves several problems at once: he has more to do than what little work there tends to be, he's more experience at it than her, it's not potentially the idea of her overstepping her station and having a foot in, a foot out. Still. "I might give the others a chance to toss their hats in the ring, so to speak, if only to avoid accusations. They might come, they might not but enough know what I am aside from my hand, I'd do it without them crying foul, I believe there was enough said about lessons previous."
(Again, fucking chevaliers.)
no subject
All in all, though, the two of them excelled once they were out from under his wing. So, despite the regret, perhaps not so unfortunate a thing after all. Sour as he is that he'll never have another quarter master as equal in skill. Or friendship. Or enjoyable company. Fuck, he misses them.
Huffing out a sigh, Charles leans back, grabbing for a nearby satchel, fishing out some matches and a rolled cigarette, before lighting it up and sucking a heavy breath of smoke into his lungs.
"Do what you have to. I'll make sure the ship's taken care of no matter who ends up caretaker." Rules and chain of command have never really meant a whole lot to Charles, so if Araceli says something needs to be done, he'll see it done. His respect for her comes much more from her disposition and personality than her title. It just happens to be convenient she owns both. "Probably should christen that thing, though. Something besides 'Venatori ship'."
It doesn't make a whole lot of people eager to be on it with that name.
no subject
"I'd have a captain." It's an agreement that comes easily, a thing lifted up and off her shoulders. (It would be easy to forget, maybe, that she's young.) "I'd have a captain who doesn't need to be told what to do or where to point when it goes to shit again because there's an equal chance I might be there or somewhere else or I'd have to be here on the crystal co-ordinating with a map. You know Thedas better."
And he's older, but Araceli still has some manners. And he's not Martel, he might be someone she could be friends with but she can't bring herself to mention his age in comparison to hers so it's easier to speak around it, the shape of a grief that the edges have worn down but might still bruise should she press down on hard enough.
"This ship is one of the rare times we came out the better for being thrown into the fire: we got our people back, we got the Archon out of there, we got a Venatori ship that's ours to do with as we please probably under better colours unless we might need to pass ourselves off as them." Might be a risky strategy but well the Inquisition is what it is, that day'll come when sailing past in a Venatori vessel might suit. "Have you got something in mind? You'll be the one saying introducing her."
Go on, impress her Charles, look into that sincere little face leaning back on her elbows. Tell her some great names, spin one right off the dome. You'll only be subject to the judgement of a twenty-three year old girl.
no subject
"Someone once pointed out all my ships end up with R names. Guess I just like the sound." Of course, this ship is not his ship, it's the Inquisition's ship (that he fucking won for them, the assholes, but whatever, nascere rules don't apply here). But he's just saying it, as it taints the names he comes up with.
"Reclaimer, Reaper, Liberator, Vindicator, Retribution, Nemesis, Defiance, Rook." See? Lots of R names. Some of them just words that sound intimidating, some of them more focused on how they'd come by the ship and the liberation they'd made with it, with fun twist there is to going on to kill Venatori with their own stolen vessel. Hmmm... "The good ship 'Fuck the Archon.'"
Hardy har har. Charles smirks, glancing over to Araceli, before looking back to the ship again, trying to figure what name would suit it best, as if it'll just materialize in paint across the stern.
"Doesn't fit the usual scheme, but someone once said 'Freedom Cry' for a ship name." They were a slave, who found their freedom by means of a ship raiding the transport they were cargo on. That ship was the Ranger.
no subject
After all it's quite the list that he rattles off, Araceli echoing them very quietly to better commit them to memory should they ever come up. Who knows when the pasts of Flint, Charles, Silver and co (she knows little of Max, that's something she's going to have to very quickly get about to rectifying) might come about in the end? Charles is forthcoming in a reassuring way but what a pirate thinks is worth telling you isn't always what a diplomat thinks is worth knowing.
"Fuck the Archon is tempting but there's no way anyone here would let that fly, it's too much of an invitation." Must've been close to a year ago that there were Venatori in the Gallows, best not to go inviting more unwanted troubles when they've got enough of that. Then she smiles, warm, delighted, swings herself around and up onto her knees to rest a hand on his arm-- "That's perfect-- can you imagine how that would look? When a ship with that name captained by a man out of Nascere is out at sea against our enemies who want to plunge the world into darkness? I love it!"