Black Water Cut With Ivory [Lekalis Hugo Volundr]

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

A bit slow on the draw, in no helping to the wound on his side, he watched as the last grouper lunged and gnash at the jester in... an admittedly comical fashion, grim as the end may have been if the creature hadn't perished. He managed a small snicker before the pain of his wound ceased even that with a grimace.
Alas, it seemed their woes were only just beginning as due cleaning duties were being tended to; something he admired in a Captain who seemed less than admiring of their newfound allies. One helpful yet loud, and the other... just loud.
"Extra fighting hands, I believe... from the Hamlet." Lekalis piped up as he made to rise with the humble trident, which he saw to setting to rest with the strap about his front as he moved to retrieve his spear proper before it rolled off the deck. He cast the Captain an eye as he spoke on and moved,
"I've seen them in the Hamlet before-- the one in your lovely apples is a Smith, and this one's a good jester. I believe he came to my Wedding..? Or... perhaps that was another fool." Lekalis hummed, perplexed for a moment before he shrugged it away,
"... Regardless, I'm sure they only mean to help with the hunt. Naught else waits for them on the seas or beyond." He remarked with a nod and wince as he thought better than to lean over, and instead crouched to picked up his spear and return it to the sheath about his lower back.
"Alas, if you'd kindly point me to some means of remedy--" Lekalis looked back to Prescott, motioning to the beefier man with a hand, then to the Jester bleating on the deck, the latter of which held his scrutinizing attentions,
"-- I'm... sure we can figure things out."

[Deleted]

It took a fair amount of self restraint to not drag the dramatic masked man along by the collar as he hoisted the cerulean fish's lifeless body over the ship's rails, sending it back into the waters for the last time. On a better day the hunter might've found the theatrics a bit more amusing, but at this point in time his patience was worn incredibly thin still from the fight and the additional noise was far more grating on his nerves than it needed to be. Tobin's sort of awkward compliments were a brief distraction from the current irritant. "Thanks.." Prescott was a bit unsure on how sincere he was in all honesty, and that probably showed off a bit in the steeled glance he gave as he studied the blonde's face for but a brief second before returning to give the purple scaled body hanging limply over the railing the same treatment he'd given the cerulean grouper.

Prescott turned his attention to the captain as he dropped the second body overboard. "This'n ain't yours then." Lekalis's explanation was fair enough, so he kept his mouth shut on the matter after. Sure he had his own questions, but taking into account the jester did just help him out there wasn't much reason to make matters worse just because he himself was feeling bristly.

[EloHim]

/Volundr/
He finally got out of the barrel of apples and slowly started to rise up the stairs on all fours. He didnt trust his legs just yet, not after previous fuck-ups.
As such he did not seen any fish-men being thrown overboard, as he was practically laying on the stairs as some sort of scout.
He silently eyes the crew, looking particularly for those who were drinking with him last night. Some faces seemed kinda familiar others were completely foreign… What was more important is that they were at the sea, and if he were to guess how long they’ve been sailing, he would say that even if he were to take a dive and try to get back, he'll probably not going to make it.
“Welp, i'm stuck here, better not stick my head out until necessary. Else imma catch a bullet.”- he said slowly backing out.

[Kidney]

Hugo mewled continuously there, lying upon the floor sadly, hand craned to shield his eyes from the mighty sun. "Oh!~ I am so tired...so...weak." He reached then to touch the wounds upon his shoulder, letting out a genuine shriek as he placed bare pale hands upon the bitten meat. "Ah!" He said, looking to it, face paling beneath the sack, which now twisted so violently he could no longer see. 

Hugo reached and yanked free the burlap sack from his face. 

What laid before them was a face badly beaten. Both eyes seemed to be healing from being swollen shut, the right still carrying a small mouse underneath it, like a grape put underneath pink-orange skin. It appeared that his teeth, some in the front, has been either pulled or smashed out of his face, and upon his jawline, where burn scars held dominion, a single stitched wound sat. Dagger-like. 

The Jester groaned, sitting up, rubbing his throat. Noticeably, two red hand-marks lied upon it. Eyes looked to Lekalis, bloodshot, nearly feral. "I didn't play at no damn 'vedding." Staring then to the pirate captain, he groaned again, "If you're going to throw me out to sea, do it now. I have nothing to live for. I'm a dirty stowaway." 

He looked around, eyes squinting at the light, peering towards the stack of crates he once sat behind, "I'll have to die in my uniform, though. Rather go out-" He raised his hands up, gently gyrating them in place beside his head. "-in character."

[rosallora]

"Damned thing," the captain mutters. "Bloodiest saddest man I've ever seen, most likely, and I've seen my fill of sad, bloody men." She wrinkles her nose at him in unmasked disgust, gaze drifting momentarily to the discarded sack. "You'll die in whatever clothing I see fit to put you in, whether that's tied up in anchor chains or as brashly naked as the day you were born. Stowaway..." she grabs the man by the front of his shirt, hauling him up to his feet with surprising quickness. "Useless."

Still holding the man nearly aloft, she looks to Lekalis. The sea air disturbs her red hair, and she gestures with a nod of her head to the portal leading Below. "Hickory will see to it - or rather you'll see to it under his instruction. He'll set you right. Go quickly. He doesn't look the best." She loosens her grip on jester in her hands, letting him stumble about the deck if the motion of the waves pushes him to it. She does not release him completely, instead just watching him support himself on his own merit. Her own stance is shoulder-width, sure and steady. "As for you." Her hands tighten slightly on Hugo's shirt for emphasis. "If you really want to meet a watery grave, I'll give it to you. But I don't think you really want that. You've had plenty of time to throw yourself overboard."

[Kidney]

Hugo, wrenched up, held no resistance in his heart. The man was a paper bag in her sizable strength, but his neck suddenly straightened and entirely stiffened. Eyes of his very own locked upon the Captain, predatory. He was, in his own mind, a coiled viper, so very ready to strike the captain where she stood. When she allows him to stand, sturdy legs accustomed to travel and acrobatic shows of dominance hold him rightly to the task of ripping the flesh of this captain's face from the bone. 

He tucked his bloody tongue in between his lip and where his bottom teeth once sat, the brittle tea-washed things had been shattered out of his stupid fucking face. Blood pooled underneath the hunk of meat he called a tongue, and filled so greatly, stinging pain opening oral scabbing and allowing crimson red to stringishly drool from his mouth, dribbling onto his chest. He was pathetic, wasn't he? She believed it, didn't she?

The jester sat, transfixed by her words. He, in her time spent commanding the man behind himself, had imagined the way her pearly teeth would look, stained by his own blood, after she ripped a chunk from his neck, should she wish to do that. The man was trembling now, quaking muscles failing to keep his bones still. He wished he could drink from her veins, sip crimson stew from her broken cranium. Feed her her own hands, spit roasted over open flame. 

Hate. He felt it. 

He spat a globule of spit and blood onto her face, a spattering, mucus-ball that skittered across her cheek and past her head, landing with a defiant 'plup' on the deck behind her. "Let the fishmen gnaw on my bones, witch." 

[Deleted]

Hmm, nope the reveal of the previously masked man's face didn't ring any bells. Honestly he didn't know what he was expecting but the man definitely looked like shit. Prescott took the moment to gather his rope and hook, coiling the length about his arm to be neatly clipped to his belt as it had been previously while he watched the Captain with a mild interest that suggested the scene felt familiar to him. While the question of 'Why stowaway on a ship that has no known destination other than back to the same port it left' sprung to his mind, her directions to head back below deck were motive enough for him to leave the Captain to her own duties and focus on theirs. He moved to stand close to Lekalis, offering the man aid if he wanted it. "Can you walk?" His words were blunt, but held a small amount of concern for the Lord. Afterall the hunter did just witness him get that hole not to long ago, and whatever was going on behind wasn't much their concern to that right now.

Well, at least it wasn't until the stowaway did a complete 180 and lashed out in a weirdly spiteful manner for someone just given an ounce of mercy. Sure his main priority and focus was Lekalis, but it was kind of hard to full on ignore something like this. No wonder he looked like a beat dog if this is just how he acts.

[EloHim]

/Volundr/
By the yelling up there on the top deck he made a right decision not to show up. The idea of being thrown overboard was not appealing. At all. Was it his fault they didnt woke him up before setting sale? Answer - no one asks those who go to the depths. And he'll not going to be Jormungandr's diner just yet. Not without a fight.
He's definitely screwing someone's head off later. Just for placing him in that situation. That sounds fair. Maybe he’ll find Hickory and beat his head with a shield. Just to hear what sound that empty head of his makes.
He finds himself a mop and a bucket of water and starts cleaning the cargo deck of a little mess he made when he woke up. He didnt want to hear the woman that - appeared to be the captain - bitch about it when she finally learns about his presence on the ship.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

"I'm fine... fine." Lekalis replied with a distracted smile as he held his wound; oozing as it was, he felt his good body clotting as it ought. His amulet felt hot against his chest and there was a vague connection made betwixt it and the wound's mending, but he tried not to think on it too heavily at the moment.

"But, gods, what's the matter with that fellow, eh?" Despite his report of status, Lekalis assumed to bring the arm opposite of the wound over to use the lower back of Prescott as some support as he made to hobble a healthy distance about the current circus act.

"I'll leave you to it Captain! Off to Hickory, was it? Hickory, yes, tatty-bye!" He spoke quickly and halfly to focus on shuffling with as much haste as he might to get to the stairs; he noted the peculiar smith had assumed to pick up mop and bucket and see to duties of redemption. A diligence Lekalis could admire, and thus, bowed his crown to as he passed and made to descend into the bowels of the ship.

"Thank you, by the by, Prescott; I'll be finding Hickory then... though, I suppose you ought to do the same?" He remarked with a light air about his words that most certainly implied a growing light-headedness.

With that, he did as he spoke, and tried his best to find Hickory by asking and squinting in the dim of the underbelly of the Ursa...

[rosallora]

The two men descend into the hold of the ship - to find it strangely labyrinthine. The same lanterns that guided Prescott's way the time before are no more marked by blue flame, but flickering orange and yellow, just the same as any tallow candle upon land. They shudder with the slow marching of the ship, swaying as it does. There's a soft groaning evident, a breath and a movement as they make their way through the corridors, passing by a few areas, including the hammocks that had been set out by thoughtful Jonah.

It's cooler below than above, more muted in many ways. The smell of the sea, while sunk into the wood, seemed absorbed, contained, and instead there was the faint scent of wax that was used to preserve the body of the ship herself. The din of above was reduced to a buzz, and then nothing. Down they go, descending further into the belly of the ship. Three staircases, then four, as members of the crew passing by keep telling them just to keep going - they'll find who they're looking for. They'll smell him, they say. Everyone smells Hickory before you hear him.

The boards beneath their feet are cold and hard, more petrified wood than anything else and with an icy tinge that seeps up through their boots. Then the smell of tobacco wafts into their noses, along with the sound of a man, talking. The sudden ice seeps away from them, the ship cast again in warm browns instead of strange greys, and the door they come to, or rather the doorframe, clearly had "H I K O R E E" scratched into the vertical post, the last E just above waist height.

The man inside was visible, crooked over a desk. Everything in the room was half-strapped down, bundled with cord or lengths of linen. He holds a pipe in one hand and nothing in the other, given there is no other hand. A peg of wood was affixed to one of the man's elbows, and with that he was scribbling about on some ledger, the slight shifting of his shoulder suggesting some extreme amount of practiced control.

----

The captain breathed in.

The bloody spittle of a stowaway was marring her face. Her face.

There was a sound all around as the men stilled, looking. It was predatory, the way so many of them turned, eyes fixed, pupils to pinpricks.

The captain holds up a hand, but it does near to nothing to decrease the feeling of every muscle taut on deck. Even the wind seems to lose its breath, the sails of the ship sagging slightly in the lack of it. Captain Faerth's fingers flex and bend, and she folds them finally against her palm, her eyes dark as depths when she looks back at the jester.

"The brig will do it then." She yanks the man down and away from her, sending him the only place she desired him being - not in distance of her, or her wrath. He's quickly caught by two burly sailors, who make quick work of forcing the man down into the hold despite any spirited words he might throw. The captain sighs to herself, taking a kerchief from her pocket and wiping the blood and mucus from her face. "I have half a mind to demand to be paid for putting up with that rat," she says, half-jokingly, to Jonah. The man, lips set in a line, nods. The captain looks at the kerchief, now soiled, and pulls a bit of a face at the disgusting nature of it. It is refolded, and returned to her pocket.

Jonah steps forward, as if to say something further, but she raises her hand, and he's silent. "I'll be fine, my good man. I assure you. As long as there's no more surprises. You're well aware of me. Don't underestimate me."

"Of course not," the mate says. He gestures for the others to get back to their duties, and soon steps away, taking a position near the helm.

The captain clicks her tongue, takes out a pocketwatch, and checks the time. "Ah... never soon enough, is it." Her eyes wander to her crew, back to cleaning the deck. Buckets of saltwater have been brought aboard to scour away slime and blood, and for that, she seems grateful. 

Her eyes stop on an unfamiliar face, crowned with raven locks and a worried expression.

"...No soul on my ship looks as much like Hickory without being him - who the blazes are you." 

[Kidney]

Cast into the maw of God, to be spat back from it once more. The thought tickled the jester, who landed to the deck with a resounding 'pumph' before being scooped up by sailors. What followed this mishap was a thin, thankful, but gloating smirk. Smug, as plain as could be. Though, he did hear her words, so sharply pointed to his sides. "Call me what you will, but I am a Viper, and you know it!" He yelled, smile growing upon his pale face before he fell limp in the grip of the sailors attached to him, dead-weighing them down with his lithe form. 

Though, he did point with a belled foot to a crate with a broken top. "There, my friends! My lute and my outifit! Should any of you decide to do something to 'zem, I charge fourteen gold coins an hour! AHA!" He began to giggle, which slowly burbled to nothing but harsh wheezes and pained grunts, being forced down stairs and hallways below, on and on.

[Deleted]

Prescott gave no arguments towards being held onto as a support. Instead he quietly placed an arm around the injured man's shoulder to help steady him before matching the slight hurried speed as they both hustled away from the incredible shit show happening behind them. He didn't pay much attention to the Smith as they passed due to not really knowing him from the rest of the crew. Honestly the change of the light was more of a concern than Volundr was, but that was something to deal with later. He gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder in acknowledgement to the thanks. "Hm, that would be the plan." Funny that Lekalis would think he'd just allow someone who can barely stand on his own to meander the ship by himself. No, he kept in pace with him as they slowly made their way through the bowels of the ship.

The hunter had grown mostly silent as the two moved towards finding this Hickory person. He was more then fin with letting his ally do most of not all the talking as he somewhat began spacing out. In any other circumstance he would've paid more attention to the directions they were going in but it was beginning to get harder to focus when his head was fogging up the way it was. Just gonna have to follow the blood trail he was leaving behind to make his way back to sunlight. Ha. That's what hunter's do anyway. Follow trails. Not like sailors. Always stuck on solid dirt. Never touching the sea. Never seeing home. It smelt like home now though. Salt and smoke, like the Inn with his father and his pipe. It felt close.

Through getting lost in the silent ramblings of someone who's still openly bleeding onto the boards Prescott damn near walked into the doorframe, only stopping with a small startle when the post was close enough that the letters couldn't really be read.

[EloHim]

/Volundr/
He finished mopping away the unpleasant result of his yesterday’s drinking before being noticed and already disposed of the bucket’s mucky contents, so the broken barrel of apples was the only sign of any commotion.
"Volundr, Cap'n. Smith from the Hamlet. Me, Hickory and another two sailors here got along quite well yesterday's evening at the Tavern. They hauled my carcass here to continue the...festivities. Well...more like getting me more and more drunk till i passed out. And in the morning instead of dumping a bucket of water on me head, or simply throwing me overboard for a mornin' dip like decent drinking companions, they seemed to decide to leave me here...and...well here I am, sailing Odin knows where Thor knows why.”
Vol explained himself the best he could. He hoped he will not receive the same treatment from the captain as the other stowaway. Then again he somehow knew he wouldn't be.

[rosallora]

A small rush of wind gets sucked through the corner of the Captain's mouth as she hisses out her disappointment. "I see. Volundr. Viking stock, then." Not a lot of men around these parts were named Volundr, after all. "Sailed with vikings before, know their lot. They've got some good ideas, some shit ones... you've been on a ship before, or are you just doing what you think will save your hide?" She gestures loosely at the mop that Volundr was clinging to like a plank of wood at sea. "Hm."

A few deckhands look very pointedly away from the captain as she surveys the deck. Jonah looks appraisingly at Volundr. "An extra hand is always needed," he says, and Cal nods, a god giving her approval to her vassal. "We're chasing a monster. A sea serpent with spines white as bone that cut through water like a sword through a man's skin. Took down two ships, one of which was chasing it." The captain snaps her fingers, directing idling men to a fishman's severed arm. It's quickly run after, and thrown overboard. "As long as you're here... there's no use in not putting you to work. That fool, as well." Her face turns at having to even say it. "Volundr, then. Welcome aboard. I'll have to give Hickory a few lashes for not remembering to toss you." her tone was questionable on whether it was a joke, or not.

-

Hickory, the aforementioned man, heard a spattering of human activity beyond his doorframe and tossed his attention there, eyes darkened from limited light and long nights falling upon the two men. "Thought I heard somethin' up there," he grumbles. He starts unlatching a series of leather bonds, his eyes simultaneously looking them over as he fiddled with the prosthetic. "What the damn devils happened to you all, then. Bitten, slashed..." he sees the dark wine stain on Lekalis, "and shish-kebabbed. Should be drying you up and eating you, mainlanders." The writing extension drops with a clunk to his desk and he grabs a new set from his wall, starting to put it in place. "Clothes off that need off, 'lest you want me to cut it. Act quick, I don't want you bleedin' on my shit."

Hickory shows them to the wooden frame of a bed on the far side of what might be an office, starting to secure the straps of his new arm. He grabs in good hand a medkit, something all sailors must have. Unless they enjoy rotting, from the inside out. The cold returns as the box is opened, a variety of bottles and tins jangling about in the case. "Guessin' it wasn't the monster. Ain't gonna be so damn easy. So damn easy..." he pauses in his work, the threading of a medical needle, and puffs out air. Despite the lack of pipe in his hand now, he still shakes off the smell of tobacco like a shedding cat did fleas.

"Nothin's ever for free, mainlanders. Sea has your blood now." He grins, likely meaning to be goodhearted. "Funny thing, that. Never forget the taste either way - sea yours, or yours hers. What a lover." He looks at the variety of Prescott's woundings, lowly whistling. "Gonna be marked the hell up, that's for damn sure. And you-" he looks back to the nobleman. "I haven't even seen the worst of yours and I already know you're lucky to be alive. That mark's too close to everything important for my kinda comfort."

-

Hugo is bundled along into the hold. He's treated without respect or courtesy, the two men dragging him along uninterested in him or his words, or his wild laughter. It seems no time at all before he is tossed into the cold and dank, the cell bars shutting behind him. The bring was only two cells, and there was nothing in the other. There was a coolness that came from belowdecks, some relief from the sun at least. And though it did slightly smell of mold grown from old food and water, there is a general standard by which even these dark places were kept. His cell has a bench, a wan blanket, and a bucket in the corner, and that is all. Ah, the life of a fool sometimes cost so much to keep going. Especially when one's jokes were out of touch with the crowd.

[Deleted]

The heavy scent of tobacco that filled the room and flooded his senses was comforting in a nostalgic kinda way. He wallowed in that comfort for a bit after stepping inside, only catching some of what what Hickory said and responding with a bit of a distracted hum in acknowledgement. The sound of the man's previous prosthetic dropping to the wood of the desk pulled his attention back to actual conversation.

"Aye, right..."

Prescott pinched the bridge of his nose as he focused more on sobering up for a quick second before removing the bloodied shirt off his back. Damn it, he just replaced this. What ever, can't fuss about it now. The hunter presses the fabric against the larger of his wounds to keep at least stop that one from dripping continually dripping on the floor as it had been. He drops more than sits on the very corner of the bed, leaving the majority of it to the one who clearly needed it more.

"Fish men. Woulda been lucky to catch the serpent first day..." Or, well, maybe unlucky whatever who knows. Prescott smiled. The comment of the sea resonated well with him. He gave a small huff of a chuckle in response to Hickory's musings of his wounds. Those marks will just blend in with the rest. He was very much in agreement about Lekalis's close call though. In all honesty, Prescott was a bit surprised he made it all the way down this way while still conscious.