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Post by Kidney on Aug 30, 2019 23:09:21 GMT -8
Glances. Glances to the sides of the walls, to the rickety cot, and to the wan blanket. Hugo took in the information as if he were a fish brought to a new pond. His mind wandered, and he spied the guards leaving him within the brig, salvation. Was he to rot here? For all eternity? Perhaps.
The jester threw his eyes around the cage once more, walking to each bar, and tugging on it. No creaks. The thing was well made, and solid as dragon scale. He cursed it rightly, and slammed a heel into the wood beneath him, a beat, maybe. He did it once more, and clapped once. Hollow, uninspired, but working. Again, the jester clapped to fill the void of silence. He slammed his heel, then clapped, then hummed. He was building a beat. He created one for the express purpose of singing a personal favorite.
The spainard's wife was as fair as the sun~ and her kisses were warmer than spring!
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Post by rosallora on Aug 31, 2019 14:30:44 GMT -8
[Hugo]
The area around him reverberates with the tone of his taps and slaps, echoing back the sound to him. As if the rest of the ship was hollow, it seems to bounce back to the walls, to the ceiling, even clashing against the minute resistance that the bars gave. Infinite space between him, and the black water below. As if he was suspended in a box in the air, with no contact with anything else in the world, a pinprick of existence.
The walls listen to the jester's song. After the first line, instead of an echo, there is a dampening effect. An absorbion. Something tangibly different. There is thickness where there was thinness, a density where there was once nothing, a feeling of presence. And a pause, a breath taken, in the warming air.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 31, 2019 23:23:54 GMT -8
Hugo continued for a small more morsel of time, his eyes throwing themselves over each and every corner of his cage. Hatefully, he continued the song, though as the world began to tug the words from air, Hugo stopped all at once. With a slow, tantalizingly empty expression, he eyed the walls and floor, the room itself. This place was a monster. That's what it was. He would die here.
"Methinks..." he began, but hushed himself, the walls would hear no more. Hugo stood in the center of his cage, beginning to shrink into himself, sinking to the floor as if he were melting, elbows and knees clacking together purposefully as the jester began to create a song of sorrow. A song of hatred, a song of nothing. Not a song at all.
"Methinks..." he said again, rubbing his callused and scarred cheek to the floor below him. He was dying. His mind was rotting. Finally.
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Post by rosallora on Sept 1, 2019 8:30:33 GMT -8
His words are sucked into the wood, absorbed fully into it. As moisture is drawn into cloth, so too is every sound, tamped down and held within the ship, trapped as he was. His breath, as he breathes, seems drawn down as well, sucked into the whorls of wood below him.
There is no action against him - there is no new gravity, there is no strange darkness. The lamplight flickers, yellow and orange flame keeping his eyes working against the relative dimness of the brig. It is altogether ordinary. It holds no malice for him. He is just a man. And it is just a brig.
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Post by EloHim on Sept 1, 2019 10:20:13 GMT -8
/Volundr/ "Just cleanin’ out my mess, Cap'n. My wakin’ up was not the best with the ship swinging about and me head like a piece of iron. But I had my fare share of sailin' and fightin'."- he shrugged then listened to what Cap had to say. The information made him shiver with anticipation. "Jormungandr's spawn? In these waters?! HA! Looks like gods do look out for me! Even though it doesn't mean shit - count me in. Im gon' make you a trophy out of his head." - This was it. The stuff of legends, the tales of his grandfather and mother together. The tales of gods and monsters… And he would be amongst the crew of those who would hunt down the worthy prey - the spawn of the Great Serpent. He was so happy inside, he could almost jump. But on the outside he was just grinning. Vol was going to have fun on this adventure.
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Post by Kidney on Sept 1, 2019 11:16:01 GMT -8
Silence. No more scritching and scratchings. Hugo was motionless upon the floor, face distant. Far from here.
The creak of a heavy oaken branch, the purple hues of a boy's asphyxiated face mingling with the evening sky. The scent of ash. The whole thing was a shitshow. It's Hugo's fault.
"I'm just a man." He said, curling up into a ball at the center of his cage. Mongrel. Waste of Space. Poor Showman. Better off a bit of spunk splattered onto a wooden wall thirty years ago, halfway betwixt a futile race to life and a cold, winter freeze in minutes. What was he? Nothing. A stowaway. "This is a brig." He said again, certain, submissive. Vile.
From the depths, a serpent rose.
Body contorting like a cadaver risen by foul magics, the jester used his arms not once to slowly rise from the floor. Arms, his own, stuck close to his body, tongue escaping his mouth every few moments to taste the salty sea-air. Eyes cast to the bed, of which he fell to the floor near. He slithered forward, shoulders scratching against wooden floor, rough edges scraping his collar as the jester used his legs and chin like powerful serpentine muscles.
He ascended a far corner, and slunk underneath the end of the wan blanket, he wished a body had lied under it, so he could twist himself around them, and crush them underneath projected guilt and heavy hands gripped around a soft throat.
Blue Smoke died. The Serpent slept.
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Post by rosallora on Sept 1, 2019 11:26:38 GMT -8
[Volundr]
There's a slight quirk to her mouth, a communication of at least a smidge of appreciation. "Aye, if you plan on making me a trophy of its head, I believe I'll be fine with having you aboard." She looks about the deck for a moment, examining the many faces present of men bustling about. "You say it was Hickory, but I am sure that many of these damned rats are partially responsible for you being here. But a hand is a hand, and if it is a good one... I have no quarrel with it." She sets her hands upon her hips. "As badly armored as you are, you'll need something to cover up your vitals... Jonah!"
The brunette was by her side in a second, vestments finer than her own. Of the two of them, he looked the captain in cloth; she looked the captain in stance. "Yes, Captain?"
"Take this man to the armory and set him with something. Anything. I don't want him on deck being useless in a fight."
"Yes ma'am." Jonah responds quickly and easily, beckoning the man to his side. "Come along. You're with me."
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Post by EloHim on Sept 4, 2019 11:47:54 GMT -8
/Volundr/
"If his head is big enough your ship will get a fine new figurehead."- he could already see it in his mind. Glorious. Vol didn't know how sea serpent would look, but he could imagine that your average viking would piss himself from seeing a head of that thing at the front of some unknown ship. They'll eat their breeches before attacking that. Probably.
"Kick their asses, Cap'n. I'll be too busy with the Serpent to really care." - he chuckled. He certanly did not give even the slightest ammount of fuck about what's gonna happen with poor sods. Brig? Scrubbing every deck dry? Plank? Nah, he wanted to kill himself some SEA ALLFATHERLOVIN' SERPENT. Thor would be proud of such a kill. And these days he needed his gods to be proud of him more than ever.
"Lead the way, mate.” - he says,following the man wherever he might lead him.
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Post by rosallora on Sept 5, 2019 7:24:55 GMT -8
The Captain was still grinning with delight as the first mate led him below, the passages easily opening themselves up to their presence. It was only a turn or two before they reached where she'd specified, a sort of armory, loaded down with swords and shields and spears. Harpoons glistened with promise, leather armor piled messily in a corner. Jonah motions to it. "Shouldn't be walking around barechested, if you're going to be in a fight. Pick something out that fits - there should be something. Always eventually is." He stands surefooted, not leaning against the doorframe or walls for support. "I can't believe it took this long for you to get noticed. I guess having people coming aboard really does mess up the daily routine." Jonah pulls a small book from his pocket, a pen appearing in his hand a few moments after from another. He writes a few things, a flick of the pen indicating checkmarks.
"Volundr. V-O-L-U-N-D-E-R?"
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Post by EloHim on Sept 6, 2019 14:32:41 GMT -8
/Volundr/ "I'll put something on, but i hope you do realise that if the sonofabitch is bigger than the ship he gon' chew right through that. Not that I plan to take a trip down his gullet... huh..." - a confusion on his face turned into a grin, as he started eagerly rifling through the pile,picking pieces of leather armor for himself. Idea was mad enough but hey, not like anyone on this ship knew how to deal with an actual sea serpent. All ideas would be on the table. Even those most insane. They said his grandfather was a man out of his mind. And the man was smartest of them all in his book. "Or maybe I just look like Hickory and no one was awake or sober enough to see the damn difference. Who knows?"- he shrugs,doing his thing.- "Without the -E-."- he answers looking for the sturdiest bits to protect his arms.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Sept 7, 2019 9:58:29 GMT -8
In truth, the Ex-Lord was rather close to falling over but the alien warmth at his breast filled him with an unnerving calm and focus as h e descended through the bowels of the ship; even stuck like a pig for feast, he held and guided himself with resolve and attention. He counted lanterns as he passed them, and pillars too. The stairwells, and steps made. By the time he stood at the doorframe of the requested Hickory, he had a veritable count in his mind that he stowed in the back of his mind as he licked his lips for words, before cocking a brow at his fellow wounded comrade; nodding and smiling as he patted the man's chest (making sure to avoid any of the open red lines) before Prescott moved to the bed, Lekalis freeing himself from their armlocked gait to see to his own attire.
"... and I am a lucky fellow." He winked at Hickory as his cloak fell with a mere swipe of his hand over the knot that bound it, undoing it with a single stroke he flicked it aside with a tamed flamboyance, before his other hand curled in and loosed the frilly blouse's string, allowing its generous collar to slide open to his belly button. So open and loose now, he simply shrugged out of the garb and let his torso to bear... for the first time in many months, not to lay with Tilly. A thought that did somber his smile as he winced; the pain of the skewerage bringing him from pleasant memories as he shuffled over to Prescott and the bed to find a seat. "Don't fret, thanks to the good man here--" Lekalis glanced to Prescott with an appreciative nod, "-- A trident only halfly impaled me." He snickered and sighed as the pain came again; he doubly made to set aside the aforementioned Trident and his own spear to the side of the bed to stay out of the way. "I- erh- hope you don't mind my asking; Your Lovely Sea decide to take your arm as a price or..?" Lekalis couldn't help but inquire, running his mouth kept his mind off the pain, "... you seem rather clever with it, almost didn't notice t'ill now-- O-oh and do you need help? I've... apprenticed to a Doctor of repute for a year now, if you need..." Lekalis proposed as he set aside the weaponry and looked to his hands, slightly trempling and covered in blood... Though the wound that had gashed his side seemed to have already done its due with bleeding and was clotting up nigh unnaturally. With some hesitance, he brought his hands about the passionately red amulet about his neck and felt the familiar sticky sharpness cling to his hands.
The rest of his person, even in the low light and splashes of red from combat, was markedly unmarked; though it only made those few marks quite remarkable: a scar upon his left shoulder from another skewering, a red cut about the center of his throat, and a long burn mark that ran parallel to another gash on either side of his belly, though the burn extended from his ribs into his trousers, and the other was another piercing wound that peaked just above his leathered chaps. They stuck out like graffiti on Hermes.
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Post by rosallora on Sept 7, 2019 12:32:14 GMT -8
[Volundr]
"Indeed.... who knows. You know you really do strike quite a resemblance," Jonah continues, watching the man as he rifled through the armor and weaponry that was laying about. "I wouldn't be surprised to see some relation. But Hickory... as far as I know, he isn't a viking, or anything close. He's from in from the coast, actually. Somewhere slightly East, and slightly south. No matter, of course. It's not really our business, understanding where people are from. Still.. I wonder."
The man corrected the spelling on the paper he was writing. "You know your letters, then. Didn't expect a viking to know our alphabet."
Volundr finds within the pile a set of leather bracers for his arms, alongside a couple different leather-strapped pieces for his chest and back. Most were of slightly rough make, obviously used before. Some bore scratchings and gougings. For a moment he can smell it in the air - blood. When he moves his hands from one set of leather to another, there is a slight sticking, something strange, but it happens only once, and he cannot replicate it. They are all just sets of armor, secondhand, and ready for using.
"Go ahead," Jonah says. "Just pick one. I'm sure because of the smell you won't want to take it back on the mainland." The first mate cackles to himself, a slight smirk on his face. "Essence of Fish. Quite the cologne."
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[Prescott & Lekalis]
Hickory whistled lowly as the rather dignified lord draped himself over his rather undignified medical cot. With every layer the man shed, his worth became more apparent, which made Hickory's eyes move a bit from Prescott's many-scratched and scribed-on form to the other's. "Well then... if'n you're gonna be any help to me, you'll have to get fixed up first." The wound was clotting at least, but the pricker-marks weren't exactly going anywhere. "Both sides... two in total."
He turns and picks an arm off the wall, something attached to the end not looking unlike a little ball. The man tightens the straps with due haste, a few buckles falling into place and pulled taut. Secured, it was a strange thing, not a complex tool but one whose use became easily seen when he took a closer look at Lekalis. The nub was some manner of softer rubber, traction enough on the skin to move it about a bit, but not enough to hook or tear with impunity. The effect was one of a finger or two, and useful enough to work in tandem with his more able arm. There's a scraping as he pulls a stool over alongside the kit, and sits with a heavy sound. He doesn't apologize as he pulls lightly at Lekalis' skin, looking at the wound and attempting to ascertain if there was anything he needed to do internally.
And you," he gestures to Prescott with his free hand, "I feel like I should write your mother a letter now just ta talk good of ya. Don't get this fuckin' beat up without some good story to it." Indeed the sailor was already working at task, fingers finding what he needed from the kit and opening up a bottle of some sort of liquid. "Close your eyes now," he says, though it's unclear which man he spoke to. His arm moves up, offering the bottle to Prescott for him to take. "Sip. SIP. Don't drink like you're thirstin', likely kill yourself, just sip it. Knock out the pain, worst of it anyway." He retrieves needle and thread, looking at the mess of Lekalis' side.
"Quick stitch's all... would give you what I gave him but you won't be of much use to me after. As for this.." he nods to his stumped arm, thread clenched in his teeth, "was a man took it from me. No lady at all. Sea salt likely did better for the wound than any man could've, though. Fire 'n salt. Kill ya soon as it would heal ya. In some ways, I'm lucky yet." The needle is quicker than his fingers once it's threaded and knotted tight. He begins his work on the major wounding, eyes looking up at Prescott for a moment to verify he'd drunk the concoction as he'd said. "The sea took more on paper from me than anythin' else. Bad storm's fucked up more than one map, deep as we are. You'd think they'd be hidden well enough, but she's a jealous kinda woman. She wants you here, she'll try to keep you here. Map or not." He adjusts his "hold" on Lekalis with the nub of rubber, helping to hold flesh in the right position to stitch it back together.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 7, 2019 21:49:20 GMT -8
Prescott couldn't help but think on how Lekalis looked smaller without his ruffles and garb. Kinda like a plucked bird in a way and yet he was still carrying himself with the same dignity and grace as he had been prior. Well minus the few hiccups that cut his jests short. He'll take that as the good thing it is for now.
Slowly the words being shared had begun shedding meaning one by one to become baseless sounds. He tightened his grip a bit on the fabric being pressed to his wound as if doing so would keep his alertness from slipping from his fingers. At this point he wondered if it was even worth it to follow along when the scent of smoke and the rocking of the waves seemed more alluring then conversation anyway. Still, Prescott offered the occasional grunt or hum when it seemed conversation had pointed at him so he could at least give the illusion that he'd been paying attention.
He took hold of the bottle with his free hand when offered. Hearing the same word multiple times helped instill it's importance even if it did take the second or third time to catch on fully. It was kind of hard not to make a bit of a face when he took a small mouthful at how bitter the liquid was. Yup, that's awful. Awfully familiar too. Least he knew the twinge of a sting the memory brought his face would melt away soon. Didn't stop him from idly tracing along the base of his scar at his jawline with a bit of a muffled groan though.
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Post by EloHim on Sept 12, 2019 0:01:54 GMT -8
/Volundr/ "Eh, the world is a small place and there has to be at least two look-alikes in it."- he shrugged. The idea that they might be somehow related was sent out of viking's mind as quick as a lightning bolt. The only explanation to everything that happened so far - gods have a wicked sense of humor. And Vol was willing to leave it at that. He ignored the offhand comment about the possibility of him being illiterate, reminding himself that mainlanders thought that Vikings were barbarians in more than just name. Typical prejudice, nothing extreme like those stuck-up bitches from the church branding him a demon. "Eh it's not that bad. If i want to end up on the insides of the beast i better smell as bad as one."- he made an offhand comment as he put on the armor that smelled awful and looked sturdy enough. Then he picked one harpoon. "Imma take that too, just in case." - it never hurt to have an extra weapon. Especially one that was meant for the big fish. He knew what it could do to a man. And on a likely chance of him crossing paths with Hickory - he gonna have some of the bite to back up the bark. He put it behind him on the same belt that held his shield. He wasn't a proper spearman, but he knew how to skewer a man where it hurt. If All-father was willing, he would guide Vol’s spear to its target. “So, what now? How long we’ve been at sea?” - he asked the man that brought him here two of the most pressing questions.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Sept 13, 2019 11:48:04 GMT -8
"...Kh, watch yourself." The Lordling couldn't help but mutter as he bit back a bit of pain from the tugging at his skin; the apparatus that replaced the man's hand was far from what he'd anticipated the man to use, but he supposed it made sense. There was some worry in his mind when he thought on the practicality and implication of a one-armed doctor... But he also supposed he didn't have much choice.
He always had trusted field surgeons more than any quack who lived couped up in an academy, might have been why he didn't rightly pay this Hickory a second thought as he went under the man's needle. Though the man's stitchery and measure was a far cry from even Florence's cold mending. Admittedly, there was more than a healthy dosage of bias in his judgement of the man's work, and the scrutiny showed in some insuppressable blueblooded air that radiated from his person as he held fast as any good patient ought. He trembled slightly about the shoulders as he held onto the amulet, and he sighed to relieve some tension as Hickory's stitchwork came to a close.
"Mmm. Lucky and clever; I haven't-" He winced and rolled his shoulders, a smile seeming to squeeze out of the motion, "- Haven't seen a fancy contraption like that... since I'd been in the markets of Constantinople. I'd heard a good Baron north of my old Lordship had a prosthetic too... made for swinging a sword and throwing a fist, but still." Lekalis slowly found his conversational tempo and glanced to Prescott's increasingly dazed state, cocking a brow at the man with a viciously amused smirk, "What was that you gave the good Prescott then? He looks like a lame mule." he snickered and squinted at Prescott's lips, "... well, at least he's not drooling, I suppose." He raised his arm and made to look at the stitchwork, distantly gauging what it might look like when scarred. Doubly wondering if he'd packed the balm to soothe the healing and subdue said scarring.
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