open: a little rain never hurt no one.

[charmoffensive]

WHO: Loxley, Tony Stark, Marcus Rowntree
WHAT: Three awkward ferry rides. (Or more, if I get more tags, but you know.)
WHEN: Drakonis
WHERE: The Kirkwall docks
NOTES: Tag any of these! I don't mind double ups. This is also just a general catch all post if you want to do something slightly different, or drastically different.

Comments

loxley.

[charmoffensive]

"Hello hello, wait a moment—"

A voice and a series of hurried, thumping footsteps ring out from the docks, approaching the ferry which is getting ready to launch.

The rain is coming down in fits and starts, and so if one hasn't dressed for the occasion, it will make for a somewhat miserable ferry ride. Last call, too, and the night is black and chilly despite the steady encroachment of spring. Slashes of silver mist off the surface of the water, raindrops rattling like coppers against the sloped hood of the ferrymen who is doesn't care to wait a single second long in this weather, no matter who's calling for him to slow down.

The boat has pushed off by a few feet before a figure, at a run, springs into a leap, appears to easily and confidently clear that distance, landing heavily in the boat and causing it to violently pitch forwards in the water. Loxley wheels his arms out to balance, which then revert to hands of open surrender and bid for peace at the immediate onslaught of abuse from the ferrymen.

"Sorry about that," he says, cheerfully. One of his hands glows with green luminescence, and he wiggles the fingers above it. "I've a ticket, though. And a few silvers, for my tardiness."

He had yet to look to the other passenger who might be in the boat, but does now, with an apologetic glance.

tony.

[propulsion]

Tonight, the sky is heavy with potential, clouds flashing lightning in its depths, but only bringing down the occasional spatter of rain. It will probably come down at any second, and Tony would just love it if the ferry could arrive sometime before then.

Not for the first time, he dips a hand into his coat, pulls out a timekeeping device, observes two things: that more minutes have passed, yes, and that this thing is only so useful when almost no one else uses it.

He is standing at the far end of the jetty, dark-seeing sunglasses affixed to his face and squinting out across the way for any sign of a boat. Just as someone else might think to approach—

Rain. Sudden, thick, fast.

"Really?" Tony inquires of the universe, before lifting something that looks like it might have been a cane, until he shakes it out, and an umbrella of dark material mushrooms out with a leathery-sounding rustle. He leans it against his shoulder to shade himself with a jaunty swing, sending a fresh spill of raindrops in all directions.

marcus.

[luaithre]

It's a hazy, wet afternoon, and the ferry on the way back to the Gallows is due to set off when the last of its passengers enter.

Gracelessly. First is a dog, a gigantic wolfhound who stiffly bounds from dock to boat with a clatter of blunt claws on wood. He is sopping wet from some fresh rainfall, which has likewise done nothing for the mud that covers each of his long legs and cakes to the underside, fur dripping with it. He immediately, once landed, shakes himself violently, and sprays everyone in a tight radius with flecks of mud and rain.

His guardian might have missed this assault, but it likely wouldn't have mattered, as Marcus is not quite as filthy, but nor is he clean. His clothes are of a rougher constitution than he normally prefers, simple garments of hardy cotton and leather, his hair dark with rain, plastered down where it's loosened from a low ponytail. Mud likewise, dried and wet in patches, clings to his boots and partway up his trousers.

Without much mind for the intrusion of either himself or the wolfhound he is with, he climbs aboard without a word.