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Post by brandvandet on Nov 5, 2016 15:24:50 GMT -6
Cloaked in her matching pin-striped
Arsenal of next month's nows.
@tag, NOTES
A raider walks into a bar full of rogues...
She could practically hear the guffaws from the crew echoing in her ear as they finished the start to that joke in any number of ways, juvenile but jovial. She had become far enough familiar with them to know exactly what their reactions would be. Sea journeys were like that. No escapes. Her sense of annoyance (present on principle at this thought brewing in her mind) coexisted without much complaint with the infant sense of absent affection she felt for them.
Still. Alcippe needed a break.
While silence seemed heavenly, it also seemed unlikely as the isles roared more raucously than any impromptu party on board the Trespasser. Instead, she settled for a change of scenery.
A raider walks into a bar full of rogues...
...and they spare her barely a glance. The most attention she got was from the bartender for a sparse conversation exchanging currency for a questionably clean shot glass full of spirits. It raised to her mouth and downed as she negotiated a second with a nod. It followed the first down her throat and the third changed the order to a pint. She settled into the corner with a small, sharp smile and watched with a quiet curiosity.
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Post by manabuns on Nov 7, 2016 2:03:50 GMT -6
Salt cracked hooves thudded heavily upon the weathered floorboards, the creaked groan was a sound Leviathan had longed to hear since pulling into port. Wind swept locks tangled and entwined one another and fell over a scarred porcelain neck in barely there braids. Porcelain, a shade no blackened soul should be able to call their own, marked and damned with a weeping splash of ruddy red, the kind which would leave a coppery taste in any horses mouth should they gaze too long.
There are souls in the tavern he knows, familiar beaten and deshevelled sea-goers and rogues who skulked here in the later hours, finding or losing themselves in the houses finest. Some of his crew have also slinked in, and their heads nod mid-sentence to their captain, and go about their business without skipping a single step.
A rough but friendly exchange of words are passed between himself and the bartender as his looming form finally reached the bar. Coins exchanged as ale is poured, and he's presented with a chance to cast his reddened gaze around once more.
Then there is a soul he does not know, and his usual routine is thrown askew. He prided himself in knowing all that hustled and bustled through the port, and even better, the bars. Her colour painted her as pretty as a picture, if the rogue was the poetic type, the kind many a storyteller and those of the romantic heart fantasized and told mythical fables to enthralled city folk — he might've been inclined to paint her as fair as a crisp summer day. He's not a poetic man, and he knows better, her smile was as sharp as a curved blade, and no fair maids received scars like that.
"I aint seen you around 'ere before." Came his coarse voice, once upon a time it might've been smooth, but time and his choice of poisons had roughened it to a gravelled lilt. Chipped hooves took him toward her while his ale set itself upon the table she had seated herself at. An ear twisted forward, while the tattered barely there remains of the other hung listlessly, "new to the isles? or merely a passin' fancy?"
word count; 367
note;; I've yet to find a table that works on here OTL.
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Post by brandvandet on Nov 26, 2016 21:56:39 GMT -6
Cloaked in her matching pin-striped
Arsenal of next month's nows.
@tag, NOTES The Isles of the Dead had promised debauchery and devilish delights. So far, she had little to be shocked by. Bundling her brushes with the street performers into her memory for later cataloging, she had remained brusque in most encounters that day. While avid for adventure, Alcippe was both cautious and intensely curious of corruption.
As always, the tightest restraints around her were her own.
Debt was a far easier thing to avoid entirely than to untangle. Alcippe balanced every action and acted accordingly. It would be cliché to say that life was like chess, especially when it was truly more like a game of cards. Skill balanced chance and players never started out the hand equally arrayed.
She wondered what hand he had been dealt as the ale clunked down on her table. “Temporary stay. Got in on the Trespasser yesterday,” she said, volunteering the information easily. Secrecy was of little value at the moment. She hadn't taken pains to hide her journey from the red sailed ship and had no interest in pretending she was without reinforcements with slavers likely to snap up easy prey. Not that she would be simple to snatch, but that was a question she didn't care to answer for them until necessary.
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