forum the Glittering Sea (closed group rp, 6/6)

Started January 11, 2023 by Deleted user

tune

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(sure! :p)
(It was dark, Gracious' favorite time of day, but also the most dangerous. It was in the dark that crimes whispered and assaults lingered in the darkened shadows of the bright gold casted by the street lights. It had been this time of day when Thomas had been attacked, for who he was, and killed brutally. Gracious shook her head as she walked, trying not to focus on what happened to Thomas, her previous childhood friend and neighbour. She walked more quickly, her skirt swishing as she did so, making the sound of her steps mix with the sound of moving fabric, due to the chaffing of her thighs. She was almost running now, so she told herself to slow down. Running made things much too real.
She passed under a streetlight and her heart listed briefly, as long as she was under the light nothing could get her, she was temporarily safe. This was a childish way of thinking, but she thought it anyway.
When she was close to the apartment she shared with her father, a car came down the road, casting light on everything in front of Gracious, as it was coming from behind her. It slowed when it got next to her and the passenger side window rolled down.
Gracious kept her eyes in front of her and began walking faster, back to almost running.
"Excuse me?" A voice said from inside the car, it was deep and slow, like thunder.
Gracious turned to look, though she could not see the man in the driver seat, she could see the small smile on his face and for a few seconds which seemed to last forever, Gracious knew he was saying something and for a few seconds that seemed to last forever, she saw a flash of predatory satisfaction in his eyes and saw him yanking her into the car, to do only god knew what.
"Ma'am? Are you alright?" He asked.
"Yes, fine." Gracious answered dazedly. "Could you repeat that?"
"Do you know where the nearest auto-shop is? I'm just visiting but I want to get my car checked out, it's making a concerning noise." He said, and Gracious saw he wore a red and black plaid patterned flannel.
"Oh," she said shortly. "It's up around the corner to the left, it's right next to the drive through gas station."
"Thank you Ma'am." He said and Gracious heard the honesty in his voice, she waved as he rolled the window back up and drove away, she watched the taillights of his car as he turned the corner.
She stood in the dark, standing there until she mentally scolded herself and ran the rest of the way home, she didn't want to try her luck, especially in the dark.)
(sorry it's so long, I got into it a little to into it–)

(Haha thanks for the positive responses, I quite like my boy. And as for Myriil's job, like you said maybe Thalia doesn't know. But if anything comes up empty, I can fill it :)

(fine by me! whatever works)

Finn had begun to gaze out the window, taking in the outside of the ship and what little they could see from it. Though the stack of plates causes Finn's gaze to come back to Esteban. Washing dishes isn't too bad a job, and something Finn had done plenty of times since they live by themselves and do not have the means to hire a maid. Even if Finn could afford that, they probably wouldn't want to anyway for fear of the maid discovering something that Finn didn't want others to learn. They hoarded their knowledge as closely as a dragon hoarded their treasure, not wanting anyone to receive it without getting something in return. Most things in Finn's life worked as exchanging something for another, such as information or money. Even at dinner they had remained mostly quiet, taking in the other's conversations carefully, though they didn't actually learn anything of use. That was hardly a shock, but it was interesting to hear what sort of dinner conversations were normal here regardless. Finn could use that to their advantage, hopefully using dinner conversation as one way to speak to the crew-members and gaining their trust. This mission would not work unless Finn could gain their trust first, and while they were a great liar, they weren't always the best with people, particularly those with strong personalities. Sure, Finn could probably charm a cute bartender into a free drink or weasel their way into a game of poker, but trying to get an entire crew to like them was a much harder feat.

Finn went to work helping Esteban wash and put away dishes as soon as the plates touched their arms, brought back to reality. The man seemed friendly enough, but Finn knew appearances could be deceiving. Still, they had to be at least somewhat nice here if they wanted any sort of trust or friendship in the future. What a weird notion. Befriending someone just to end up killing them. Certainly not something that Finn had ever done before; most of their past marks were just one and done, but they never shied from a challenge.

"Well, I do prefer being alive," Finn responded conversationally, giving a small smile. "That was a hell of a messy room, but the ship itself is nice. It might take a bit to get used to, but I'm sure that it's nothing I can't handle. How long did it take you to get used to it when you first arrived?"

(hi! here's my writing sample, sorry for the delay. it's from a oxo i'm in currently.)

Name: Blaze Everson
Age: 29
Gender, pronouns: male, he/him
Sexuality: bisexual asf
Aliases: none rn
Job: weapons expert/gunner
Alignment (not necessary): chaotic neutral
Species/race: shifter (animal form is a fox)
Appearance (please include height, build and strength, clothing, etc.): Blaze is a fairly chaotic person, and his appearance largely reflects that. He often has soot or some sort of burn mark or scar from whatever weapon he was testing recently or just from training, since he does that often to stay as strong as he can. He is likely to drive healers crazy with his penchant for thrills and danger. Has a collection of scars, some of which are fading and some of which are permanent, mostly on his arms. He looks much like a half elf when non-shifted (which is most of the time, though he will shift for combat reasons sometimes and practices fighting shifted as well).

Blaze stands at 5' 8" with a fairly lean build, but don't underestimate him–he has a lot of lean muscle built up and is quite fast and stealthy. He has tanned skin with a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and looks a few years older than he is due to shifter genes (since they become young adults at 10 and only live til around 70). He has a mess of reddish-brown hair and is usually clean-shaven. He has sharp, fox-like hazel eyes and an ever-present shit-eating grin. His nose is sharp and straight, like most of his features. His features tend to be fairly vulpine-like as well due to his shifter genes. His canine teeth are also slightly sharper than a normal human or elf's. While shifted, he still retains his scars, though underneath the reddish-brown fox fur they are difficult to see.

He usually wears whatever he can get his hands on, sometimes ending up with his clothes covered in something that he was using to experiment with. While he does have a bit of prowess as a blacksmith with creating swords and daggers, he vastly prefers creating bombs or other concoctions, which is bad for his clothes. He does clean up nice though, since his usual appearance isn't.

Personality: Blaze is a thrill seeker, never one to back down or shy away from a challenge. He loves the thrill of being on a ship crew and hates being idle. He always likes to give himself something to do, whether that is working on weapons, training, or just spending time with his fellow crew members. He is quite extroverted, and will talk a lot if given the chance. He has what seems like a never-ending well of energy when he has a project to work on or a new weapon to try out, but can get exhausted after spending long periods working on his weapons and explosives.

Despite his like of fighting, he does not always just fight head on. He loves strategy, and will fight dirty if he thinks it will make him win. He is extremely competitive. He also has a hard time prioritizing things in favor of whatever interests him at the current moment, and when he gets really into something it's normal for him to basically disappear for a day or two to work on it, emerging excitedly whether his new idea works or not. He is fairly proficient in many different types of weapons, but outside of his area of expertise can somewhat lack common sense. He is also quite gullible.

Likes/dislikes: He enjoys thinking of new ideas, working on weapons and explosives, training, spending time with his crew mates, meeting new people, and talking in general. He dislikes being told what to do (unless it's by the captain of course), rules, having nothing to do/wasting his time, dressing nice, and formality. He also hates cleaning up after himself, though he recognizes it is necessary.

Strengths/weaknesses: Strengths- He is extremely creative, good at several forms of combat, fairly good at blacksmithing, good with explosives, and good with people (usually). He is energetic and quite loyal as well.

Weaknesses- He is a bit lacking in the common sense department, not good with any sort of formality or authority (again, except the captain), forgetful, easily distracted, gullible, too competitive, and can get angered somewhat easily if he is in a bad mood. He is also brave to the point of being foolish sometimes, and will protect the crew with his life (again, to the point of foolishness) because he believes it's his job. He neglects any form of self care because he is too focused on his projects. Bad sense of direction.

Brief backstory: Blaze was brought up in a clan of other shifters, learning the ways of the wild. He was among the best fighter in the clan because of his affinity with both strategy and weapons and his dedication to it. He was an absolute menace to the healers and to many of the others in the clan because of his tinkering with new ideas and precious materials as well as a penchant for mischief. As he grew older, he grew more curious about life outside of the clan, and eventually said farewell to explore new things. He had always hated having to stay in one place, feeling stagnated if he was unable to constantly be doing things or seeing new places. This desire led him to many different towns, never quite settling down and always wandering.

He began to miss the closeness of being in a clan and the feeling of being apart of something. However, due to his terrible sense of direction (despite his animal form being a fox) he wound up heading towards the coast instead. He ended up joining the crew, originally intending it to be more of a short-term thing, but found he enjoyed the thrill of being a pirate and was able to feel the closeness that he had been craving without the feeling of being boxed in he felt in the clan. He used the skills he had picked up along the way to be the weapons expert and man the ship's guns (assuming it has any).

Extra:

sorry about the length T-T

It was gorgeous outside- sunset was a few hours away, and the port bathed in the light of the sun. The upcoming festival was being prepared, the citizens of Astriz joyful and excited. The energy was electric. Maybe contagious, too, but Captain Whitlock couldn't tell- her energy was always this heightened. Especially during a robbery.

The woman stood, peering over the banister at the port. Her radiant smile signified that the job was almost done. She admired her own setup- a robbery in broad daylight. No one should suspect anything, not yet. The merchants will have noticed their missing supplies by the time Corusci Maris had left. After this, it seemed unlikely they'd be allowed in the port again. That did not bother the captain at all. She saw that as an accomplishment. She wondered if the authorities would put up a fight. Even if they did, she trusted the crewmembers she had sent. Twelve fine gunners, who would soon be returning with the third round of supplies and goods, plenty for the next few weeks. Maybe coin. They would be back any minute now; but for the time being, Captain Whitlock stood, patiently waiting. Patient to an extent. She was eager to move on, and surely the townspeople would notice something.

"Took you long enough." Thalia said teasingly to the gunners she sent once they had returned. In reality, this was unfolding perfectly, with enough room to leave. For now, the supplies would stay in a heap on the wooden deck while the woman made hasty orders to get the ship out and away. Her satisfaction was evident. A perfect, clean escape, feeding her streak. As usual, it pained her not to make more of a scene, but she would much prefer to leave alive than remembered. She would have preferred both, but the opportunity would present itself at the right time. Hopefully, that time was within the next week or so, because Thalia was becoming anxious about it. There were lines in her head she was dying to voice.

After a few minutes, Corusci Maris was beginning to move along with the wind of a perfect mid-August's day. As it moved slowly, Thalia walked from the main deck nearest to the helm, across to the quarterdeck in swift strides. A grin still on her face, she watched Astriz become farther away. Again, she watched contentedly with her hand on the banister. But suddenly something caught her eye, allowing uncertainty in.

Several people began piling into smaller boats. Three of them. What stood out the most was their official-looking uniforms and weapons. It struck Thalia faster than the bullet that'd just flown past her head would have- and upon realizing it, her shock turned back into a smile- one more sinister than before. She considered the familiar sound of a gunshot to be enough of an alert.

Blaze wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the new captain. On one hand, she was sure livening up the place–not that pirate ships were entirely dull to begin with, though–and Blaze was always ready for a new adventure or endeavor. He was a bit reckless in his attempts at thrill-seeking, however, which made him question this new captain a bit. If she was doing the sort of thing he would do if he were in charge, was that really a good thing? He wasn't sure. But he could say that he didn't mind being thrust into imminent danger or in the throes of a new endeavor. This whole robbery in broad daylight sort of thing wasn't half bad, though; the new captain certainly learned a thing or two about strategy from the past one. Blaze would envy her for that, but he knew that he sure as hell wasn't fit to lead anything, especially not a whole crew. He would much rather take on his own tasks aboard the ship and be a sort of weapons expert for the crew.

As he and eleven other gunners (or in Blaze's mind, competition), had come back with exactly what they set out to steal. So, therefore, it seemed to be a successful mission. He barely had time to celebrate before he heard the sound of a gunshot. Well, shit. Apparently the mission wasn't quite as successful as Blaze had thought.

Honestly, though, he didn't mind fighting. After all, he didn't want to waste all of the training and work he'd put into his skills. He didn't do this shit for nothing. And if one knew Blaze well enough, he could also be considered somewhat…trigger happy. He got a bit too excited about guns and explosives sometimes, ready to test out his creations or something he had found or stolen and not really thinking of the consequences. He definitely an act now, think it through later sort of person which meant he rarely hesitated in a battlefield, but also could be end up causing him a lot of unnecessary struggle in the end. At any rate, he rushed to get everything ready in a flurry of movement. It was his time to shine.

Reia Barlowe had not gotten a chance to the see the sunset that afternoon, nor the afternoon before that. It had been that way for the last couple of days, as she had been cooped up in the Captain’s Quarters, endlessly pondering over the map stretched out in front of her. It wasn’t like the crew had been forcing her to stay in there. It was actually the opposite; many of her crew mates had encouraged her to set aside her work and come outside, while others even dared to try and break her concentration. But, no matter how much they bothered her, Reia would not leave the Captain’s Quarters. There was work to be done, and she wasn’t one to take her job lightly.

On the Corusci Maris, Reia was navigator, as she had been since she had joined the crew at the age of twenty-four. Being the ship’s navigator was a hard job to undertake, but Reia normally kept up with her work load, spreading her tasks out throughout the week. However, lately, Reia had begun to get behind. She had barely started on planning their trip after their stop at Astriz, and she didn’t even know if they had enough food to make it through the journey. Reia knew what disasters this lack of planning could cause, so she spent most of her time in the Captain’s Quarters, planning out their next move.

On that day, Reia was almost finished counting up their supplies when a sudden noice cut through the silence. Reia could feel her heart jolt to a stop. That wasn’t just any noise. It was a gunshot. A few moments later, shouts began to break out over the deck.

Reia wasted no time. She pushed herself up from the table, almost knocking her lantern over, before she grabbed her coat and jammed her arms through the sleeves. She reached into its pocket, and her fingers quickly came into contact with the cold metal of her pistol. The feel of it was strangely comforting to Reia, offering her a sense of protection. It was ironic, considering how many people that very weapon had killed.

Without another thought, Reia hurried to the entrance of the Captain’s Quarters and flung open the door. Light poured into the room, briefly stinging her eyes, but as the burning sensation died away, she could start to make out the figures of her crew mates darting to and fro across the ship. After she made sure her pistol was loaded, Reia made her way onto the deck, eager to figure out what was going on.

Myriil stayed on the ship as some of the others went to land, much to his utmost chagrin. The land would surely make his legs wobble as much as the sea did in the beginning of his work, but the allure was strongly there. His heart ached to be on land, among the tree's and animals rather than floating on the corpse of tree's bobbing about on a vast ocean. But the heart was treacherous, more so than anything else, and Myriil had learned by now to ignore its call. And so he waited.

The new Captain was daring, more so than her predecessor, bold and fearless in her chicanery. It amused the wood elf to no end that Thalia didn't quite know where he fit in yet, like Captain Ambers did. They'd had an agreement, the two of them. Myriil had… something over his head it seemed like. No one was quite sure why he was tolerated. All the crew knew was that one day he was onboard and walking around, helping out in places, but not really doing anything substantial that they could see. The rumors had made him smile and he'd intentionally inflamed a few of them. So he was still here, through the death of the Captain, though his role here would likely be coming under closer scrutiny in the near future. Maybe land was not far off after all.

Myriil sat in the rigging, perched on a small tangle of ropes, and balanced very carefully. The crows nest had its people, and he was not helping with the lookout. He was preoccupied plying the knots out of his hair with nimble fingers, working the thin gold into complex braids and patterns, before undoing it all in a moment. His earring today was made from bits of feather and pieces of fishhook he'd found discarded on the deck. The feathers twisted and curled around each other, hanging down just enough to bump into his chin when he moved his head too quickly.

The wood elf looked up as he heard the dull thuds of sacks and crates on the wooden deck. Myriil's mouth pulled into a smile, and he made his way down from his aerial perch, placing his hands behind his back and inspecting the goods with an impressed whistle. He walked back and forth, poking at things, picking things up and twisting them in his hands then placing it back down, before the gunners shot him enough dirty looks and he gave a light laugh, hoisting up two of the heavy bags. He moved the stolen cargo from the deck to the hold, making several small trips, taking all the things too tedious to get in one.

Eventually this got boring and Myriil looked around, spotting the Captain at the railing, watching the port town, her expression a mask of excitement and stoicism. Best not to bother her, the longer he was allowed to stay onboard, practically loafing about without a job, the better, so there was no reason to draw undue attention to himself. So he went back to ferrying thing up and down the ship, scampering about and getting in peoples way where he could. The wood elf flashed a sailor holding a heavy crate a bright smile as he stood in front of him, only just blocking the doorway enough so that he couldn't get through. He crossed his arms, leaning on the door frame, even going to far as to cross his legs, looking entirely relaxed, then making a charming comment about the weather to his friend and asking about his wife, the third one, not the first obviously. Did they still not know about each other yet? The irritation on the mans face grew and he placed the crate down, face red with exertion and a flush of anger, when gunshots began to ring out.

Myriil froze at the noise like a startled deer, locked into place, his eyes widening as he began to glance around wildly for attackers not in sight. Then he relaxed, slipping away from the equally surprised, angry sailor with a laugh, clipping his shoulder as he brushed past, giving him a nastily sweet smile. In the open sunlight, Myriil rushed to the railing, leaning over and peering back to search for their pursuers. If there were any, perhaps one of the men was celebrating early and wanted to set off a gun or two to salute the Captain on her success.
Alas, they had company, three small boats trailing behind them like lost puppies. He wrinkled his nose, stifling a groan, this meant he had to actually do work. Rubbing his temples, the wood elf wandered over to some rope, he moved with such a careless grace that it seemed almost accidental that he helped with the sails, that he just stumbled upon the right rope to pull and dropped it at the right time. He did what someone yelled at him to do then followed a different voices direction, until he was told to ready those still downstairs.

He ducked under some ropes, dancing past a group of men readying their weapons, and headed back below deck. Most had heard the shots, but some were still unaware, the sounds muffled by their surroundings. Poking his head through the door of the hold, his thin, long ponytail tumbling over his shoulders, he stared at the men still unloading and organizing the goods.

"I can take over for you boys. Captain needs hands on deck." Myriil gave an absent shrug, conveniently forgetting to mention they were under attack, but he was sure they'd figure it out soon. Context clues and all, the smart kids. The men grumbled, but did as told, and Myriil contented himself with pushing boxes around until they looked vaguely organized. Then scrambling up a pile to sit on, resting his head on the wall and kicking his legs. As more shots sounded above him, he couldn't help but shake his head and smile. Poor fools.