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03 August 2007 @ 09:38 pm
On the streets of Road Town, if Adam keeps his head up and his back straight and the dirt brushed more carefully off his jacket than usual, he can still pass for Navy sometimes. It makes him feel better to see upstanding citizens (what few there are around here, anyway) and know that they're not looking at him with contempt. He doesn't think he's the sort of man who deserves contempt from the law-abiding just yet, no matter what manner of crew he's taken to keeping.

He has to tell himself this, because even the other pirate captains are beginning to whisper about his willingness to take women aboard his ship and not turn them away after bedding them. Some of them even speculate that he's not bedding them at all. It's nigh unforgivable.

Still. He's made his bed, it seems, even if it's still a disconsolingly empty one, and he might as well continue to lie in it. He pauses outside the door of a respectable officers' tavern, rests his hand on the doorknob for a moment, and continues on past it.
 
 
03 August 2007 @ 12:36 am
John Duvane was both first mate of the pirate ship, The Sea Harpy, but also a compulsive gambler and a right bastard. The man looked like a shaved ape. Hands worn, knobby, hairy at the knuckles, and the size of hams. His face looked like a public warning against the hardships that await a man planning to take to a life at sea. He had scars on top of scars on top of what looked to be a hideous face smashed several times with an uneven hammer. He was huge, disgusting, and responsible for the ship's most recently acquired cabin boy: Jack Sparrow. Though half the crew had taken to calling him 'birdie', as a charming sort of insult regarding the boy's slight build, flailing attempts at escape, and fondness for the crow's nest.

Tonight, Elizabeth Weir was getting an excellent look at that stringy build and narrow body as the tan boy stood before her, stripped utterly bare and looking non-plussed over it.
The woman had won several lucky hands of poker against Duvane. The foul bastard had chosen to keep his own clothes in place despite the lewd terms of their game (gods be praised, really) but, instead, had the cabin boy he was dragging around like a slave remove his clothing instead.
It's not that Jack didn't enjoy seeing the lovely woman playing against them lose a few layers of garments. No, that was quite nice. Possibly the best thing that had happened to him all week. However, he despised being publicly shown off as a pet or possession of the crew he'd most recently been pawned off upon.

When yet another hand was lost and Jackie had no clothes to give up, he stood shocked and offended when the boar in man's clothing that served as his superior announced the boy himself would be the wager given up for the lost hand. Jack protested, as he had no wish to be some strange lady's serving boy, but Duvane and the other crewmen in the tavern just laughed and dragged their drunken carcasses away to slink to the docks where their slime trail could be followed, no doubt, to their ship and their vomit stinking berths.

Now Jack stands, two hands covering himself not out of any shame but because this lady doesn't seem the sort who sees a lot of strange men's bits, and pouts angrily.

"Tragic to have to say, but I've no skill for serving tea or cooking, and trust that I'll only disappoint in the garden as well."

Pout.
 
 
03 August 2007 @ 12:25 am
Captain Kaufman is out on the deck enjoying leisure time, an unusual enough sight. He likes to hole up in his quarters whenever possible, and when he is out among the crew, it's for work.

But it's a nice sunny day, and anyway, there are people he can't avoid speaking with any longer. If any of those people would perhaps like to address him, that would be lovely. If not...well, he'll have to go find them, and he'll bitch about it.

It's the kind of thing he'd ordinarily just make Suresh do for him, but he's not sure where Suresh is at the moment. He'd left earlier mentioning something about cards and bosoms and nakedness, and Adam hadn't really wanted to know.
 
 
01 August 2007 @ 10:33 pm
Walter had to get out of Road Town. He'd participated in some bad deeds, and now he had to leave. He didn't remember some of them, even, but he knew they were not quite of the moral fiber expected of him. Not that he had ever lived up to that standard.

One of these deeds had left a long sticky mess on his sword, not all of it blood. Lacking an appropriate cloth, he used his coat to wipe it off. This doesn't exactly have the desired effect when trying to converse with people. At least he was in Road Town now, not stuffy old London.

Still, it doesn't much matter if the townsfolk want you dead, does it? He runs from corner to corner, afraid of being found out.

He doesn't follow his father's number, this time. It always seemed to get him into trouble. Safe numbers- 11, 9, 14...those he could use. He let them lead him to this particular ship. Hellequin, he reads. Some cursory arithematic reveals that the name is safe. This ship will be safe for him.

He hops aboard, walking up the gangplank as if he'd always been there.
 
 
Current Mood: hiding
 
 
01 August 2007 @ 12:16 am
Road Town's a port town, and a new one at that, and the vendors offer dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of different things, but none of those things are things that Todd dares touch yet. The ache in his wrist when it storms is still fresh enough to warn him away, hunger or no hunger, and the food sellers know by the way he stares longingly at their wares what to expect from him anyway.

He swallows thickly as he pads down the street in one of the shabbier parts of this shabby town, thinking of how nice it would be to go back to his cranny and curl up with Crookshins to sleep, but he can't sleep to avoid the hunger for much longer (oh, he is so hungry) so he keeps moving, a shaky nervous boy in worn and ill-fitting clothes just looking for one simple easy purse to cut, one bauble hanging too loose on someone's wrist.

To-day he might even be quick enough to keep what he takes.
 
 
 
30 July 2007 @ 07:34 pm
Jin Yoon's ch'ima is not the soft, untouched white it was, but this does not trouble her. Neither do the cat-calls in a language - or many languages, but she cannot tell - she doesn't understand. She knows she is as precious here as she was on her old ship, and she won't be touched.

She kneels near the wheel, hands still and folded in her lap, and tastes the wind with soft, clutching breaths. These are timed to the rise and fall of the deck, and just as gentle.

This is her ritual. This is her first half.
Tags:
 
 
22 July 2007 @ 09:25 pm
Gray & Sons was a very nice little shop. "Purveyors of Timepieces" the sign loudly proclaimed. Mr. Gray hated it. Unsurprisingly, he was the 'Son'.

He particularly hated shipping his watches. Almost every time he did it, there would be a hassle at the port, the price would raise again, and the timepiece almost never reached the buyer- or worse, it would arrive in several broken pieces.

Well, this is the last one. He almost decided to keep it- it was his favorite latest project, and one of the more difficult ones. But the noble who paid for it would be very cross if he didn't receive it....not that he would receive it anyway....

He hesitates, staring at the box and debating.
 
 
Current Mood: annoyedannoyed
 
 
16 July 2007 @ 11:51 pm
There are disreputable bars, and then there are dives, and then there's the Pig's Hoof. A place so run down and out of the way that not even the usual crowd of scoundrels will touch it, but the rum is cheap (just...don't examine it too closely) and the sole barmaid has at least half of her teeth, though they're rarely seen.

The drinkers tonight are mostly grizzled old salts, already deep in their cups, so if a fellow was just looking to think it wouldn't be such a bad place to do it in, as look as he wasn't particular about the venue of his thought.

Harlan, though, is just here because it's cheap and the goddamn 'captain' with his pretty little uniform doesn't know where it is. A man has a right to drink if he wants.
 
 
11 July 2007 @ 01:05 am
Lieutenant Commander Adam J. Kaufman of His Majesty's Royal Navy, recently(ish) dishonorably discharged, has himself a ship, and he is looking to find himself a crew.

...okay, so it's not really his ship, but shhh, don't tell him that. In any case, it still needs a crew, and preferably a crew that doesn't mind much if its actions aren't, strictly-speaking, quite sanctioned by the Crown. You know. Trading-type actions. Which are really more like plundering-type actions. Which miiiiight potentially get them hanged if certain disapproving folks happen to catch them, but let's not talk about that bit. Ex-Navy commanders still need to eat, y'know.

He's kept his uniform as spotlessly neat and pressed as it was when he still had rank, but it still doesn't attract much attention in the deafening, smoky tavern. He doesn't carry himself convincingly like an officer anymore, and he doesn't have anyone with him for law-enforcing backup. He does have that obnoxiously talkative alchemist/surgeon/philosopher that they picked up from the East India Company, but not even a blind man would mistake Suresh for a naval officer, the way all that gold jewelry jingles when he walks. The man's clothes are brightly-colored enough to be practically audible, never mind the ruffles. Still, he's handy enough with a pistol, and Adam has a serviceable secondhand sword.

Now to...you know. Actually talk to prospective crewmates. However the hell they're going to find them. It's a large tavern, if they can make themselves heard over any of the racket.