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

[calicoy]

[Cool. Cool cool cool.]

Makes about as much sense as anything that's happened lately. [He paws tentatively toward her rum. He's thirsty.] Is he my long-lost twin? I've always wanted one.

[whatthefuckami]

[She lets Jack take it, not bothering to turn her attention away from the man before them. Once they figure out where the hole in the story lies, they can get the fuck back on the ship and forget about the arsehole claiming to be waiting around for a gaatlok delivery. Until they hit that point, the rum's all Jack's.]

[bouchonne]

Maker, I hope not. I shouldn't wish you drawn into the Rutyer family curse.

[ Another puff on his pipe. ]

[calicoy]

Rutyer... Sounds Ferelden.

[Jack turns to Anne.]

Was he barking at you?

[It's an idle joke, ha ha. It's a question if he's a threat or a bother. It's wondering aloud if his bark has any bite.]

[whatthefuckami]

[She snorts. Still doesn't bother taking her eyes off Byerly Rutyer, sounds Fereldan, though her arms're slowly unfolding themselves.]

Not half enough.

[And, this time to Byerly, one hand idling near her belt:]

Last chance. Got anything you wanna say?

[bouchonne]

[ A grin blossoms across his face. He gestures at her hand with the glowing embers of his pipe and asks, mockingly: ]

Any last words, you mean? My, my. What an escalation.

[ Then, to Jack: ]

I'm a docile little lapdog, I promise. Bark only at rats and enemies. You wouldn't kill such a harmless creature, would you?

[calicoy]

[Jack can guess where this is going. Knives. Idiots who think they know the world because they read broadsides. Tempers. It being generally late and everyone wishing they were elsewhere.]

[He tilts his head to the side.]

Not if you can swim.

[And that's all the warning Byerly gets before Jack gives him a quick, firm push into the water.]

[bouchonne]

[ Perhaps unfortunately for Jack, however, By has well-trained instincts. And that was a considerable tell, that quip. So before he goes down, By wraps one hand in Jack's collar and, with a jerk, pulls him with him. ]

[whatthefuckami]

[Anne's dagger is in her hand before she knows it, slashing out at Byerly as she's grabbing with her free hand for Jack's arm. No luck with either. She's on her knees, then, at the edge of the dock, trying to get her fingers into Jack's collar so she can yank him back up.

(Byerly, she'll leave to drown until Jack's back on the boards with her. There's no thought to anything else in that moment--nothing matters to her instincts except Jack Rackham, definitely not a dog-fucking prick making trouble.)]

[calicoy]

[Sputtering, and maybe swearing at the absurdity of it all, Jack climbs out of the water with Anne's help. He lost his hat. This Rutyer bastard can have his hat.]

Lovely, just lovely, [Jack coughs.]

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh issues from the dark water. Byerly comes into view a moment later, bobbing easily amongst the waves. (Dragonmount is a coastal bannorn, and he possessed of cousins who thought it great sport to hunt their small, weak-lunged relation. And when they caught him - Well, he learned to swim early.) ]

Captain, you lost your hat! Don't you want to come back in and get it?

[ He doesn't feel quite as glad as what his laugh might imply. The water is cold, and has an unpleasant smell. But: he has succeeded in taking some measure of each of them. ]

[whatthefuckami]

Fuck off.

[Just loud enough to carry, enough of an edge to say that dagger's still in her hand. The hat can rot alongside the arsehole crowing about it, for all Anne cares.

Jack gets a glance from her as she stands back up, along with an offered hand. Anything that needs to be said can be said someplace else, once he's no longer dripping with slimy water, and there's no one around to hear.]

[calicoy]

[Yes, a bath does sound quite nice. Jack picks up the rum-- dropped on the dock, thank the Maker-- and salutes this strange little man by tipping the hat he's no longer wearing, all pantomime. With a smile,]

Fetch.

[bouchonne]

[ And Byerly - Well. Byerly makes a rather convincing barking noise, paddling in a circle in the water below.

Can one humiliate a man who has no pride? ]