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[CLOSED] Hoola wacka! Oola wacka! Something not right
WHO: Gwen, Carla, Vane, Silver, Flint
WHAT: Abductions, pirates, and intrigue, oh my!
WHEN: Early Cloudreach
WHERE: Some Water
NOTES: For PROFESSIONAL PIRACY. Feel free to kick around your own starters beyond the two group threads I have ready to roll.
WHAT: Abductions, pirates, and intrigue, oh my!
WHEN: Early Cloudreach
WHERE: Some Water
NOTES: For PROFESSIONAL PIRACY. Feel free to kick around your own starters beyond the two group threads I have ready to roll.
KIDNAPPING FOR THE GREATER GOOD (or whatever)
What the fisherman and indeed all of Kirkwall do not see is the Repear's subsequent series of tacks and the industrious work of a singularly motivated crew. By mid-morning, her course has drawn a broad loop far from the coastline and she is racing downwind now under every imaginable scrap of dark canvas, brought hard to heel so that the the men and women not engrossed by the constant trimming and easing of sail can be fit with life lines and put over the high windward side and set to work with brushes and paint.
By the time they again tear past Kirkwall's longitudes, too distant to be sighted by any watching eye, the Tevinter ship which in the past months had been so vigorously stripped of her Imperial identity has now been nearly returned it. She runs with red rail and a hull painted black to the water line. Her name, so new the shine of the paint hadn't had the chance to wear, has been painted over and replaced by something written in jagged Tevene.
('For fuck's sake, it's misspelled. All you had to do was copy it.')
Which is how an Antivan merchantman finds itself at the mercy of a Tevene ship not two days out of Salle
They're closing distance now. The merchantman is larger and heavy with cargo and even well sailed and with the weather on her side, she'd have trouble outrunning the lighter, fleeter Tevene raider. As it is, she's missed a vital tack and is now wallowing frantically. Through his glass, Flint can see her crew in miniature rushing about the deck in preparation of a second attempt to come around. They won't get it and it's clear from the temper of the men on the Reaper that everyone knows it. With every closed inch, the slavering energy of the vanguard on the blood red railing climbs higher.
At this rate, it'll be a miracle if the merchant ship isn't burned to the waterline in the starved crew's wake.]
Captain Vane. [The spyglass collapses with a SNAP! of brass. Flint turns toward the man in question at his elbow.] Would you kindly remind your men that we'd prefer not to carve our way to the individual in question.
['Your men' is a temporary reality. They are some trusted contingent of the Walrus's crew, Flint's or Silvers before they're anyone's, except for here on the deck of the Reaper as they're closing on their quarry. Which is fine. Vane can do this however the fuck he wants. Maybe that will earn him some leeway for afterward when Flint has every intention of making unexpected demands. If he's very lucky, the controlled chaos of what they're about to do might even be consuming enough to distract Gwen and Carla from their irregular route back to Kirkwall when this is finished.
(Unlikely. But he's already decided that's a problem to be surmounted tomorrow.)]
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
The first sign of the hove to cutter, white sails bright against the smear of a narrow island not far removed from Brandel's Reach, had inspired a crackle of enthusiasm in the crew followed swiftly by wary skepticism over the parlay flag draped leisurely from the ship's stern. That's since developed into outright bafflement with two signal flags having been sent up the Reaper's mainmast, answered in kind with a pennant from the cutter.
They are two strange ships flying no flags no nation, drifting in the shadow of a tiny slip of land hardly big enough to warrant notation on a chart. It might be happenstance if it weren't clearly anything but.]
Get that launch in the water. [Said in the instant after the answering flag's broken out over the cutter.] I want Mr Madrigal [their unlucky captive] and six men on oars.
[To Silver at his elbow:] Ready?
[And like that, they're off. It's full dark when the launch returns, exactly as it had left save for poor Mr Madrigal of which there is no sign.]
hehehehs my way into this thread
For now, Mr. Madrigal is off the board. That's certainly the only thing that matters, isn't it? ]
Well, now that we've settled that, [ that meaning Mr. Madrigal. ] I think it's about time we get underway.
[ It's a particular gift to be so cavalier after potentially ruining a man's life. Whatever John's personal feelings on the matter, he isn't going to be considering them at this moment. ]
no subject
She's too tidy to be one of the crew, but she also doesn't seem as off balance as some rifter from space should've been. And there's a narrow kind of anger on her face. The fresh ocean air raises strange thoughts of a dead world. The ship itself is all wrong, but the wide expanse of water and mission to subvert and defy is familiar enough. She hates that: the pangs of memories over dead things. ]
no subject
if pressed, she might have to consult someone else to be reminded which elderly woman they're inconveniencing. all cats look grey in the dark, and yelp similarly when kicked.
what is interesting is the flutter of wariness, the murmurs of confusion late at night. gwenaëlle is up because she sleeps fuck all on the road or on the sea, and she is very interested in whatever the fuck is happening now. )
no subject
But the mystery of the ship's provenance and the answer to the question of what the fuck evidently isn't to be found. Not above decks anyway. For all their wariness, the crew hops to at Silver's word. All at once a ship in stasis becomes one in motion and through it, Flint catches sight of Gwenaëlle there near the glow of the ship's stern lamps, the backing light illuminating the trim of a her figure and the direction of her attention and nothing else.
He pauses there as the ship begins to activate about them, something somehow both obstinate and like resignation in the set lines of his half shadowed face in the dark. He turns slightly - no more than a half degree - and says something to Silver that's too low to be heard over the thump of footfalls and the klunk! of rails being set into the capstan.
("There will be questions from the moment we return from the 'Atrevida'. I believe it would be in our best interest to address them directly," he had said before they'd even left Kirkwall.)
With a last glance in Gwen's direction that more or less says he fully expects her to follow, Flint makes his way below decks. Employing the Reaper's narrow officer berths to literally bottleneck conversation might not be the most delicate form of crowd control, but it's certainly guarantees a short interrogation. There's hardly anywhere to sit on those cramped compartments and standing comes with the constant threat of a concussion from the ship's low hanging beams.]
no subject
she's always learned more by shutting her mouth than running it. that she's rarely credited with having noticed that isn't accidental. and not that it hasn't been an excellent and useful experience, not that she doesn't appreciate every opportunity to go out to sea and make something of the skills she's acquiring by sheer bloody-mindedness, but she certainly fucking hopes it's about to turn out there's something more interesting to this than kidnapping some pointless antivan to dump into irrelevance.
but this is bait. she tucks her hands behind her back and smiles affably at silver by way of greeting. bats it around, and does not bite. )
no subject
It's with surprising ease that his attention ships from the Antivan ship floundering before them to the sharp eyed rifter near to hand.]
Have you done anything like this before?
[Somewhere in there, behind the serious fixture of his expression and the square set of his shoulders, lies a trace of good humor. It's the tempo of someone as secretly pleased with this moment as the armed vanguard clamoring at the Reaper's rail.]
no subject
Gentlemen! Remember our target. This isn't some passable prize we're cutting through. Subdue, but we need them alive. [ a l i v e, you fucks. yes, they're restless. yes, they're gunning for blood. thankfully, he'd gotten a time or two out at sea before this to get some of that out. ] If you're feeling a need for more, fucking stow it 'til next run.
Do not fuck this up.
[ very inspirational. but that's how charles vane rolls. most men on the island have been used to his demeanor and stoicism. he's well respected enough that it doesn't take much more than voicing what he wants to have it done. hopping down, he's next to Flint and Carla again soon enough to hear the conversation. ]
The fuck does it matter? Too late for lessons.
no subject
[ She spreads her hands. Some people take offense to such denigrations to their vessels and she doesn't... care... ]
I have a long history with smugglers.
[ That seems to suffice it without providing more than was asked. Though it's hardly a secret she cares about keeping. ]
Who are you taking here?
[ Ransom? Bounty? Informant? ]
closed to flintypoo
They lied to him.
Thudding on the deck signals Vane marching toward the other captain in a way that's anything but subtle, and a hand on his bicep yanks the man back and towards the captain's quarters. once behind closed doors, Vane shoves him, nose wrinkling and lips in a snarl. ]
Who the fuck is that, and what part of alliance made you think I shouldn't have been informed?
[ he abandoned teach for this cause. he went to the gallows for it. he abandoned his friends, his ship, his crew, everything to play dead with flint, and he sailed away from a burning nascere when he wanted to do anything but, because flint decided it was the best course of action. he's committed to it, so don't put him in the fucking dark with the rest of the idiots they brought with for their muscle alone. ]
no subject
The rest of it - the shove, the animal growl, the clear implication of betrayal - is more or less par for the course though.
He steadies himself off the low hanging bulkhead, his other hand kept selectively distant from the knife at his belt. It's only a moment of hesitation though, the instant of time it takes for him to sure up his footing, and then he's solid once more - obstinately implacable, tone purposefully sure. Purposefully even.]
That is the Antrevida, out of Lomerryn. She is part of an effort to discourage trust between the east and the Imperium which, [forcefully, to avoid interruption] until this moment had produced no actionable result worth the danger holding that information would imply.
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Really. More dangerous than standing down the Tevene Navy with our scarce handful, or a sentence to hang?
[ of all the shit vane could be expected to do, squeal on plots he's invested in is so fucking far from any of it. least of all to anyone in kirkwall or the inquisition. he hates these people (most of them), he hates this place, he wants to get back to the island as fast as they're able. if it was something that would be likely to piss him off (like Jack sending him to pick up goddamn slaves), he could at least appreciate the withholding of information, but they were planning this trip at least a couple days before setting out and it took him getting surprised by it for Flint to open his damn mouth. ]
Who the fuck'd you think I'd go telling?
[ he's neither an idiot or disloyal to this cause. both have been proven damn well enough by now. ]
no subject
The men at are work. John can hear the now-familiar sounds of preparation. He could go down to them, but he would create a delay. There's going to be a moment for him to stand among them and talk their questions into nothingness. To talk Mr. Madrigal into nothingness. To remind them all of what is and isn't in their best interest. As much as their time spent among the Inquisition has muddled things, certain routines have stayed very much the same.
He follows after. He doesn't sit, but he does find a place to lean his weight, where he can watch both Flint and Gwen's faces in the flickering light.
And he waits. This conversation will not be started by John, who will decide exactly how persuasive he needs to be by the tenor of stress in Flint's tone. ]