open

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly & Kitty & you
WHAT: Open log! Assorted prompts!
WHEN: Months of Harvestmere & then Firstfall
WHERE: In and around Kirkwall
NOTES: If you're not into this junk tell me what junk you're into and I'll give you that junk

Prompts in comments my pretties. If none of em catch your fancy, then just throw up something that does.

Comments

[whatthefuckami]

[She's coming back from Kirkwall proper, as it happens--less wandering around the docks for the hell of it, more working her way toward her ship in an unhurried walk. There's a bottle in her grip, but not much of a stumble in her step; Anne Bonny knows how to hold her liquor.

(By the neck of the bottle, naturally.)

The thin orange light of his pipe doesn't reveal anything meaningful to her. Cleanish face, moustache, utterly unrecognizable as a face worth knowing. She in turn is a knife of a silhouette, a thin figure shaded further in the darkness by the hat flopping low on her brow.]

You want something?

[No one stands around docks offering puffs of tobacco for his health.]

[bouchonne]

A fellow makes an offer, and a lady assumes his intentions are selfish. Ah, these times; ah, these customs.

[ He pulls the pipe back in and takes another drag. His long exhale through his nose mingles with the fog and drifts away. ]

Is kindness so unthinkable?

[whatthefuckami]

Don't know. [From a stranger waiting around for Maker-knows-what in the night? Yes.] Price of tobacco might be.

[Might be that things are different in the Marches, but Nascere was never brimming with kindness. And with the grumblings she's heard about sugar since they docked, anyhow, the offer of anything valuable--however mildly--is cause for suspicion.

Not for showing much of it, mind, not beyond a low-voiced observation offered the way someone else might comment on the weather.]

[bouchonne]

'Tis a commodity indeed.

[ He sighs at the pipe mournfully. ]

Life's a lot harder when you have fine tastes, I've found, madame. You find yourself in ever so much trouble.

[whatthefuckami]

[She gives a decidedly unladylike snort at that.]

S'harder if you're down at the docks telling people you're fancy.

[And while the slide of her gaze might not be visible, the way her hat tips likely is. It's a bit pointed, in its way, the up-and-down of you don't look like much, even when there ain't much to see by.]

Ain't likely to find anything fine here. Go home.

[bouchonne]

[ The corners of his eyes crinkle in open amusement at that. ]

What's that - Looking out for me? Seems there's a soft heart buried under that unflattering coat. I think that counts as something fine to be found on the dock, no?

[whatthefuckami]

[hdu insult her coat, byerly, you probably can't even appreciate the fringe in this dark]

[(please trust in the knowledge that she's rolling her eyes)]

Tellin' you to look out for yourself. Somebody ask you to come down here?

[If one of their men's trying to bilk rich idiots out of their coin, she wants to know.]

[bouchonne]

Indeed.

[ He puts his hands into his pockets and replies, guilelessly: ]

A sailor, on one of those recently-arrived ships. What was the name of the ship...The Tiger, maybe? Something like that. He said there was a shipment coming in down here that his captain didn't know about, so he needed me to help redistribute it quickly.

[ So: yes, he knows who you are, Mademoiselle Bonny. ]

[whatthefuckami]

[Hard to say, from this point, if he recognizes her. Fewer people do, outside the Imperium and its holdings--but a new ship in harbor's always something noticeable. And she's something noticeable, too.

She continues on in the same way, like the Lion's someone else's, asking dryly--]

This sailor of yours got a name?

[bouchonne]

[ He touches his chin. ]

I didn't ask.

[whatthefuckami]

Say what the cargo was?

[bouchonne]

Qunari gaatlok.

[whatthefuckami]

[A slight pause--less surprised, on her end, than taking his measure, though she doesn't know (or care) how it reads to him. And then:]

Really.

[bouchonne]

Indeed.

[ A puff on the pipe. ]

[whatthefuckami]

[She turns it over in her mind--not gaatlok in the hold, but the man offering the tale--her eyes steady on his occasionally visible face. (Every puff, another glimpse.)]

You a fence?

[bouchonne]

[ His head tilts slightly to the side. ]

At times.

[whatthefuckami]

[There's a pause, one that might mean she doesn't believe him--or maybe she's still thinking. Hard to say.

Finally--]

What'd he look like?

[bouchonne]

So many questions.

[whatthefuckami]

Yeah. [This is growing irritating.] But you ain't got nothing better to do, do you?

[bouchonne]

[ He puffs on his pipe. ]

Perhaps I don't. But where do you come from, that information is given away for free? Especially since you have no reason to want it, do you?

[whatthefuckami]

[It would be easy, she knows, to pull a knife on him. He doesn't look the type to put up a good fight, and she knows how to subdue the ones that do anyway. With a blade against his throat, pipe clattering on the dock, he might have a little more to say than what he's come up with so far.

But that's not what she wants to do--just what feels like an easy, obvious path forward. Mightn't be worth it, even if she did--he hasn't said anything that takes this story of his into the realm of actually happened. And even if he had...]

Ain't said that. [Whether he knows her or not, she obviously wants the information. She's not about to shy away from that.] Asked you before, and you said you didn't want nothing.

[bouchonne]

That was when you weren't making demands of me. But now it's all about everything I know, what's my contact's name...Why not ask my name first?

[whatthefuckami]

[Her response might come through better in the light: head dipping slightly, eyes widening as if to say well? Little of her expression--something between bored and annoyed and expectant--is liable to come through. If his name matters, then he can give it. It's not what she's here for.

As a general rule, she doesn't give a fuck about the names of random men smoking on the docks at night. That's every Maker-damned pirate waiting to get back on the sea. And occasional fences, too, it turns out.]

[bouchonne]

[ Another long puff, and then: ]

I had thought you'd be a little more vigorous in seeking out someone who might be going behind Captain Rackham's back.

[calicoy]

[Speak of the-]

What now? [He's walking up, having been staring at Anne from the deck for the last however long, and slowly growing bored with waiting for her to bring back the promised rum.] Yes, yes, lovely to meet you, sorry, we're not accepting new crew at the moment, perhaps come morning-...

[All nattered out while he waves to Anne, checks that she has a bottle in her hands and not a blade. Good, good, threat level significantly decreased. If Anne doesn't think he's worth stabbing and throwing into the docks with no witnesses in heavy darkness, he really must not be.]

[But only then does he actually get a proper look at Anne's companion. The shape of him, with his long pipe and hooded cloak... Back to Anne.] I've discovered the better smoking herbs are sold in Hightown, actually.