Book Two, Chapter One

[diandramoon]

She had worked until there was no work left to do, keeping the coins she had been given as tips. She doubted the owner would actually pay her, so she was more then inclined towards keeping what pittances she could earn serving the men and women in the tavern. Her bed had been a clean corner near the fire, curled up beneath her cloak, her bag of precious clutched to her chest.

The day had started with a startled grunt as someone almost tripped over her. She woke rather quickly, and stood, straightening her hair as the cloak fell into place around her. She didn’t exchange any words, she simply started serving the men who were stumbling in from the night shift, or on their way out to the boats before the sun rose and chased the fish away.

On and on her morning went, until a voice drew her attention. “Good morning to you miss... it seems that you are quite multi talanted.” She looked up to see the man from the day before. He had tried taking advantage of the drunken captain, if she remembered correctly. “Might I offer you a drink?” After seeing him try to take advantage of one formidable woman in her cups, she wasn’t about to take him up on such offers. “I'd like to apologize for my behavior last night.”

She raised a brow at that offer. “If you’re only wanting to apologize, you could buy me a good meal. I don’t have the stomach for liquor.” The food seemed cheaper than the liquor, anyways. A meal would do her far better than a drink on an empty stomach either way. She pulled out the chair, waiting to see if he’d buy her the meal. “By good, I don’t mean the questionable peas porridge they have on the fire, either.” Two coppers could get you a bowl of that, and she wasn’t sure it was safe to consume, unless you grew up on it, and had a stomach accustomed to such food.

[littlemy]

Hesitantly, a young girl pushed the door of the tavern open and entered, scanning the room quickly before she made her way to the bar, climbing onto a stool in a corner away from the other patrons. She wore simple clothes, oversized for her small frame; dark coloured pants, patched numerous times and a long sleeved shirt that might have once been white complete with boots at least two sizes two big. Her dirty blonde hair and big blue-grey eyes were hidden under a hooded cowl and across her body she wore a tatty brown leather messenger bag that rested on her right hip, a hand remaining on it, protecting its precious content. A few small trinkets, not worth much and a mixture of coins in a small leather pouch she picked off an unsuspecting person in the street earlier in the day. No significant amount to most but enough to feed herself with for a day or two.

Rummaging in the bag, she pulled out the small leather pouch, quickly removing a couple of battered coins and setting them on the bar before returning the pouch to the safety of the bag as she waited to be noticed by the barkeep. She had expected to wait a while; people never seemed to really notice her which wasn’t always a bad thing unless she wanted something. Her stomach grumbled; the smell of even the cheapest food was enough to make her mouth water. It was her lucky day; she was noticed quickly and served for what she could afford; a glass of milk and a bowl of the peas porridge. It didn’t look appealing but hot food was hot food so she couldn’t complain and she didn’t waste any time tucking in, barely tasting the slop she was spooning into her mouth. She paused every few mouthfuls for a swig of the cold milk, not bothering to wipe the traces of a milk moustache before lifting the spoon to her mouth again.

[bulwark]

'Cargo being loaded on a ship. That's all it looks like. And most of the time, in the case of pirates, you wind up with gold, treasure, valuables, or perhaps weapons, supplies, so forth. barrels, boxes, cheap crates, they don't much care HOW things get onto the boat, as long as it stays secure. But THIS crate, however.... THIS crate was secure in and of itself. The wood was reinforced with steel bands on all sides and was thick and new, sturdy and strong with none of the weathering a crate that saw alot of ocean travel should have. But, considering the contents of this crate, and how recently ownership of it was won by the Captain, a certain woman named Ruby, this is to be expected.'

'The Captain's latest prize is something she has not yet seen but was told exact detail of during a card game. A statue, supposedly able to move on its own when given the proper commands. A LIVING statue, of wood, stone, and metal. Seven feet tall, weighing over half a ton before the packing material used to transport it, the entire thing is almost solid black. Made to look much like a man, with the usual two arms and legs, head, face.... but at such a simplistic level. It only has two finger and a thumb on its large hands, and only two toes on the large feet. The body core appears to be mostly some sort of blackened wood, with a black, shiny stone, perhaps Obsidian, covering large portions of the body, leaving the joints work uncovered. An unknown black metal covers much of the stone as well, in the same places, and the same style as one would wear armor. The face, that is one distinctly inhuman part of him. Like it was crafted out of a single piece of the same black metal, and then the minimal features were cut from it, the "mouth" cut out, but no obvious hingework for it to move. The eyes seem to be large, well cut rubies, set into sockets so they're flush with the rest of the face. Even were it just a statue, it would probably be worth a fortune. But with the suggested properties this "statue" possesses, who knows what it could be worth, assuming the story is true, that is. For now, the crate is stored on Ruby's ship, with STRICT orders not to touch it.'

[Moridanu]

*The din of the noisy crowd did little to muffle the sound of her thundering heart as Gemma crossed the threshold of the Pretty Parrot Tavern with Eric in tow. Emerald eyes scanned the crowd, relief washing over her slowly as she realised that James appeared not to have arrived yet. Spotting an empty table in the corner, she nodded towards it as Eric followed her gaze, nodding in response before heading to the bar. Gem made her way through the rowdy crowd to the table and pulled up a stool in the corner. With her back to the wall, she had a full view of the tavern. A few familiar faces were fortunate enough to receive an odd, absent smile, though her eyes never strayed far from the door. As Eric arrived with her drink, she thanked him and barely resisted draining the tankard immediately. Immensely embarrassed by her behaviour the previous night, Gemma thought it best to relatively sober when meeting James again; sipping from her drink slowly and scanning the room. Eric sighed, fingering the Spanish coin in his pocket and wondering when would be the best time to broach the subject with his captain.
“So…. You think he’s gonna show?” he asked, arching a brow over the rim of his own large copper mug.
“You’re the one who told him to come…. What do you think?” she croaked nervously, clearing her throat.
“He will be here. I guarantee it. While we wait… we need to talk..”
He took the coin from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him just as Gemma let out a gasp.
“Oh God… its him..” she whispered, as James appeared, framed in the doorway. *

[littlemy]

The slop in her bowl didn’t last long despite the wile taste it left in her mouth but at least her belly was half full so at least the gnawing hunger had been satiated for a short time. Gulping down the rest of the chilled milk, she wiped away traces of both the porridge and the milk. She could have easily eaten it all over again but then she’d have to go without for a day or two until she could pick some more coin and that was no good so she made sure her coins were safe in her bag and turned on her seat to distract herself looking at the patrons of the tavern.

Sliding off her stool, the waif of a girl made her way over to the fire and sat off to the side eyeing up each table and looking for anyone who seemed under the influence of their drink enough to make an easy target. Her belly had food in it but that didn’t make her complacent in her endeavour to make it a regular occurrence. Her gaze was drawn by the sight of a coin on a table. A coin she wasn’t familiar with and where there was one there was usually more. Watching the man and woman at the table, she was careful not to stare for too long, occasionally looking around for any other obvious targets but at that time of day her options were limited.

[diandramoon]

Noisy chatter, the clattering of borrowed utensils to plates, and bowls. She’d left a life of luxury for this? Of course, she did. Freedom was much preferred to the gilded cage of a kept woman. “Do you really think you can afford to lose more coin?” She asked the man who sat across the table, staring at his cards.

“You cheat,” the man muttered. They all knew better. He just wasn’t any good at hiding his tells. “I’ve got no coin. Have this herb.” He tossed it onto the pile of coin that had gathered during their game. “Take a look, and see if it’s worth the money I’m out.”

She picked up the pouch, and carefully opened it, having a look at the dried bits inside. The odor that rose from the pouch told her more than she needed to know. “It’s rotten,” she said, tossing it back to him. “You lose.” Her thumb moved against the ring resting on her index finger, preparing to trigger the needle inside if the man decided to get handsy with her. She was a slight woman, and while not afraid to get into a fight, she also had no intention of fighting fairly against someone larger, and stronger than she. “I’ll take my winnings, and be on my way.”

His hand darted out. Pressure with her thumb, a soft snick as she yanked her hand back, and scratched him with the ring. A moment later, he was listing, then fell over, drooling. “If you can’t afford to lose it, don’t gamble it.” Patients were in short supply today, the game had given her coin enough to see her comfortable for a time. She had few necessities, and rarely a need for luxury outside what she already possessed.

Her attention went back to gathering her winnings, tucking the coins into the purse as she perused the crowd that had gathered. A few familiar faces, though whether any would recognize her was up for debate. “Stew, bread, cheese, and wine if you please,” she said to a server as she passed. A nod, and the girl was off. Lyric need only wait.