(This is the thread in which the game will take place. Please ask any questions concerning the game here.) The Captain paces up and down along the jetty before the assembled volunteers, his steps slow and heavy. He examines each in turn, and the parrot upon his shoulder does the same, glaring in a way only a parrot can. His is a large man, although whether this comes from a healthy appetite or the several big coats he wears to emphasise his authority is hard to tell. 'I be Captain Turbulent, as you all well know. As you be wantin' to come aboard the Brown Emerald, my ship, there be a few rules I'd be liking ter establish.' He stops before a young boy with a knitted eyepatch, towering over him impressively. He plucks a strange object from the boy's shoulder and sniffs it--a malformed turnip, apparently--before throwing it over his own shoulder, where it lands in the sea with a plop. 'No extraneous birds,' he says, stroking the one on his shoulder. He walks over to a bearded man with an eyepatch, and attempts to dispose of his parrot in the same way. A brief battle between he and the bird ensues, accompanied by much cursing from both parties before it flutters stubbornly back to the man's shoulder and stays there, squawking triumphantly. The Captain glares, but decides not to pursue the matter further. 'You can have that one as a special allowance, 'cause I be feelin' generous,' he says. He strokes his beard thoughtfully, allowing himself to regain his former air of importance. 'Due to terrible miscircumstance, me last cook was woefully swallowed up by the giant seadaucuscarota along with the rest of me former crew. So I be needin' a new one. You,' he says, 'the one with the ponytail and the manky uniform. Harris, wasnit? You're the cook. Oh, and a cabin boyslashgirl. You with the messy hair. Olivia. Yarr.' Captain Turbulent grunts in apparent satisfaction at this appointment. His parrot ruffles its feathers. 'Righty then,' he says. 'Aboard we go! We's got some PIRATIN' to do!' 0) Captain Turbulent (NPC) 1) Ms Olivia Moniker (Cabin Girl) (plaid) 2) Slightly Sterile (spiky) 3) Rick van der Karies (KaptenKaries) 4) Paisley Button (Katcal) 5) Seaman Richard 'Dick' Harris (Interim Cook) (Watchman) 6) Woodle Needlebaum (OmKranti) 7) Brian Shortbread (Tephlon) 8) Victoria Shembles (koshu) 9) The Duck (edster) 10) Bloodbeard (Orrdos) 11) Edward Jackson (allthatjazz) 12) Bob Amor (Delphine)
Paisley stood for a while on the jetty as the other shipmates brushed past him, watching the turniparrot float away, bobbing happily, its carefully carved tail sticking pertly upwards. He swallowed back an unexpected sob, it was only a stupid turnip. So his mum had sat up late at night carving it, getting it just right, but it was still just a turnip, one day he would have a real parrot, one day he would have a ship of his own, and on his ship, people could have birds made out of any vegetable they wanted... or even real ones. He picked up his carpet bag and slung it on his shoulder. Off to sea it was for him, his dream come true. The turnip finally sunk with a plop.
"Sorry Cap'n", says Rick with a gleeful smile, "I've tried to get rid of that foul beast too, believe me. He just won't seem to budge." Rick walks off towards the cabins, silently muttering. "Good bird, Ludwig, good bird."
Before he could reply at all, the Captain had moved on. Ships Cook... A veteran of years of sailing reduced to boiling broth and chasing the rats out of the stores, he frowned in sour thought. Ah, but it wasnt all bad, a nice warm berth, as much food as he could safely plunder without the stores depleting to an obvious level and immunity from the usual deck hand duties. A gradual smile began to form, the expression utterly alien on his craggy features as he strolled up the gangplank and began the hunt for the kitchens to take stock of his new domain.
Bob remained standing in his place in line as people around him wandered away. He glared through narrowed eyes at the spot in which the turnip parrot had sank. "Obviously nobody considered the nutritional value of that parrot!" he grumbled, still glaring at the sea. "Might not exactly be a crate o' oranges, but it'd have been better than a wet fish for the scurvy..." Bob walked to the prow, turned and leant against it, arms folded, and waited for a task to appear worthy of his expertise. Scrubbing the deck was not one of them.
Captain Turbulent stood on the deck, watching the crew file on. "Right, you, cook... Harris! Kitchen is over thar," he pointed to his left, "you be needing to wash the dishes, last cook got swallowed before he had chance te do it." He surveyed the rest of the crew. "Oliviaaar, my cabin is over thar," he pointed to his right, "go and clean it. As fer the rest of ye, me hearties, ye can scrub the deck! Can't sail with a dirty ship!"
"AH HAH YARRRRRRRRRRR!" exclaims Bloodbeard. No one seems to pay him any attention. "YARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!" he tries again. Still nothing. It wasn't like the olden days, that's for sure. Pirates just didn't get the yarring like they used to. And too many of them were driking Rum for his liking. Rum. What a piss poor drink for a pirate. Real men drank GROG. Not only that, but the deck was glaringly unswabbed. It was now [i:d156119f55]scrubbed[/i:d156119f55]. Fancy pants words, that's what it was. Next thing, they'd be telling him that rape was off the agenda! "Yarr" he mutters to himself, as he goes to find somewhere to nap
Brian looked around the ship. "K'zrk, it's dirrrrrty here." He started to scrub the deck. "YARRRRRRRRRR!", someone yelled in his ear. Brian ignored him. Eventually the guy went away. At least, Brian assumed it was a man, even though he had no beard...
Rick claimed a bunk in the cabins, dropping off the large chest he had brought to the docks. Ludwig now on Rick's right shoulder, he returned to deck, three brooms and wooden buckets in his hands. "What are ye lot waiting for?", Rick yelled as he reappeared, "Have ye never been in the Navy? Ye heard the cap'n, start scrubbin!" Rick violently thrusted a broom into Bob's hands and leaned the rest of the brooms against the closest mast. The amused smile on Rick's face did not seem to match these words, and as he lowered a bucket on the end of a rope over the gunwale, he could be heard humming a happy tune.
"Hey, lad!", Rick yelled as he pulled up his bucket, "Yeah, you, Paisley was it?" Rick walked up to the boy. "My name is Rick van der Karies, former Captain of the Dutch Navy. Never been on a boat before have ye?" he asked kindly. "Don't worry, you'll pick it up, I can see yer a keen lad. Here, take this here bucket, I'll go fill up another one."
Oliva only tripped over her skirt once on the way to the captain's cabin. Upon opening the door and smelling its musty alcoholic smell, she wondered where [i:2c227c56da]her[/i:2c227c56da] cabin was and hoped that it was lit better than this one. She left the door ajar and began tossing things like brown scraps of cartography and manky old frilly shirts out onto the deck. As she worked she hummed to herself, stopping every three or four minutes to yank the ever-loosening ribbon from her hair and retie it around her brown curls.
Bob was so shocked at having some poncey feather-wearing bird-loving pretender shove a broom into his hands and order him about, he almost forgot to glare. After a moment, he recovered his composure, tossed the broom into the sea and stalked over to where a short pirate was unabashedly acting like a woman. He removed the brush from his hands and handed him a flask of grog in its place. "God this place is is like a cruise liner," he muttered.
Woodle got on his hands and knees and started to mop the deck with his beard, plonking it in the filthy bucket of water before turning back to the grimey deck. Someone yelled at him and threw a mop his way. He took it, gingerly, almost dropping it. It's handle was almost as big as his arms (because his arms were so thin, not because the handle was so thick) His hands wrapped around the mop, he struggled with all his might to srubb the deck as best he could. "Bugger" he said as he dropped the mop for the third time and let it lay where it fell. Picking up the end of his beard, he put one soggy end into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, trying to figure out to do next.
Paisley was greatly impressed by the professional manner of Rick, and took the bucket from him eagerly. "Aye aye sir !" he squeaked, and ran over to the side to fill it. And spent the next half hour unsuccessfully tring to fill it, but the bucket always seemed to end top upwards and therefore never get much water inside it... But still, he concentrated on what he was doing, it was that or keep staring at the girl with the unreliable hair. Being at sea was a first to him. So were girls.
Dismayed by the sudden crushing of his hopes for a cushy job, Harris nodded a quick thanks to the Captain before hurrying in the right direction. Descending into the ship he eventually found the kitchen, and the threatened mound of dishes. Having checked through the sorry looking supplies and equipment whilst muttering abuse about the last cook, he returned to the main deck with pail in hand to fetch some water to begin the cleaning with. Arriving to watch with growing amusement a fresh-faced sailor's efforts to fill his own bucket. After no little time the new cook eventually approached Paisley, "here lad, this isnt a well. You've got to throw it out a ways, rope ought to have plenty of slack, then pull it back to you, it drags the water in and up with it. Watch." Demonstrating quickly he hangs about for a moment to check the lad has got it right.
Slightly was running late, as always, his body clock being set to the opposite side of the world. He couldn't wait to get there, because then at least he'd be awake at the same time as everyone else and he'd have someone to talk to... While his other shipmates slept, except for Oliva, who for some reason had decided to stay up to run at a sort of bouncy gate around the ship, she said to keep the bad humours away but Slightly just thought it strange. Slightly gathered his cleaning products, the ever trusty Spray'n'Wipe and his Chux and began to clean the deck as it should be. If he had time he was going to give the place a nice fresh French Polish to really get the gleam going. He started spraying and wiping the decks down...
Blushing slightly at Harris's good-natured albeit obviously amused advice, and his own ignorance, Paisley finally managed to fill his bucket and start scrubbing the decks as best he could. At least this he was used to, scrubbing a floor was much the same on board ship as it was at home in the small room above the turnip shop that he shared with his mother. The memory of home and mother brought unwilling tears to his eyes, and concentrated as he was on repressing a full sob, he tripped over Slightly's cleaning gear on his way to fill up his bucket again, and fell flat on his face on the deck. (Edited four spulling)
The duck was slightly unnerved people generally hit him till he did something, so he stared to scrubbing (with his feet). People seemed to be avoiding him, well that wasn’t new. And then the muttering hit him “the duck, the duck oh the duck”.
'Yarr, prepare to set sail!' shouted the Captain. 'Ye all be acquainted with my beautiful ship now, no doubt. Time for some adventure! Starboard, larboard, o'erboard, the lot o' ye! Wherever the merry wind be takin' us!' 'Leeward!' a voice cried out. The Captain glared. 'Yes, thankin' ye, sir helpful person, but I'm thinkin' I made meself perfec'ly clear! Kindly don't do that again, or ye'll be on swabbin' duty at the ship's fine head! But o' course, we'll wait a day or two for this fine crew to do their fine business first,' he added, grinning.
Just an out-of-game note (and a few rules we really should have established beforehand, so, yeah, it's our fault): night and day will come when we say. So it's still only a short time since everyone came aboard. Same goes for other narrative aspects, like weather and stuff. And, although this is really minor: please only post actions or dialogue on behalf of your own character. You can make reference to an action or something someone else has already said, of course, or interact with some anonymous crewmember, but you might be making a character do something their player doesn't want them to do, which can be annoying.
Olivia emerged from the cabin with a great armful of empty bottles, whcih she was going to carry down to the kitchen. On her way she tripped over a sprawled sailor. Bottles crashed and smashed and rolled all over the in-the-process-of-being-scrubbed deck. Olivia herself became quite soapy and a little bit damp. She grumbled as she sat up. 'What on earth?'
Brian gladly accepted the grog from the professional looking Pirate. It wasn't beer, but hey, it would do. "Cruiseship hey? You're right, might as well sit back and relax a bit. My name is Brian, what's your name then?" "Bob", said Bob. Brian sighed as he saw the girl trip over Paisley. "My gods, this is going to be a real trip..." he thought. Someone behind him started muttering something about ducks. "So, Bob, any idea how nescesary it is to say "Yarr" all the time?" [color=olive:d7257b1a22]OOC Note: This should be okay, right? It's not like I'm putting Delphine/Bob in a weird situation.[/color:d7257b1a22]
Well, that's even more minor than spiky's example, and I don't think Ella will have any objections to that. It would be better to try and avoid it completely if you can, though, so we don't have to start stipulating what degrees of powerplaying are allowed, which could make things overly complicated.
Scrabbling to his feet, Paisley blushed bright red and offered a hand to Olivia to help her up. He mumbled somthing that sounded vaguely like "sorrimiss" and started to help her pick up her bottles, although still a bright shade of crimson. His ears were ringing as he picked up his bucket and went back to his job, but he vaguely heard someone mutter something about a duck, and someone else say "Yarrr" a lot.
Bloodbeard cracks open a bottle of grog and drinks deeply, some of it running down his face, such is his eagerness to taste the sweet nectar. "Aye!" he says, "that be some good grog right enough!" He ambles along below deck content to drink his grog and avoid the deck "scrubbing" that his gutter crawling cur shipmates were engaged in. A pirates life was not one of cleaning! He lifts his fancy hat, and scratches his thinning scalp. Damn lice get everywhere. He spots a hammock and proceeds to make himself comfortable. "What do ye be doing!?" comes a voice after a while, "The cap'n has ordered the deck swabbed!" "Aye, I'm sure he has, and if yer happy being a cleaning woman then that's yer own business. But Bloodbeard the pirate swabs no mans decks!" replies Bloodbeard, not even bothering to look round. "The cap'n'll hear about this!" shouts the other pirate, turning to leave. Bloodbeard springs from his hammock and brings the mostly empty grog bottle crashing down on the pirates head. "No, I don't think he will" snarls Bloodbeard, pulling out his cutlass, watching as the spilled grog burned the mans flesh. He puts the point of the cutless to the stunned pirates neck. He smiles a rotting smile. "Now then, I don't think we'll be going to the cap'n, will we? Ye accursed slimey dog! No man that tells tales lives long. Understand?" The pirate glares, but signals agreement. "Good! Now off with ye!" he whips the cutlass up, drawing blood, "and don't let Bloodbeard catch ye disturbing his rest again!"
[s:797fece84b]Rick had watched the scenes played out on deck with an amused smile on his face, and as Bloodbeard's mug came down on the pirates head, Rick nudged Harris in his side, chuckling. "Always the same, no? The seeing-who's-cutlass-is-longer, the ones who think a ship will sail herself and the bloody amateurs who'll blindly follow any order. I can see from your uniform that you are a true seaman, like meself. Did you use to get this in the English Navy too?" "Although, I must say, we used to be rather quick to show the troublemakers what discipline meant." "I suppose an introduction would be appropriate. My name's Karies. Rick van der Karies. Call me Rick, these stripes on my shoulders are not worth anything here."[/s:797fece84b] see below
OOC: My scene actually took place below deck.... It's in secret see, since he's hiding from the captain
Rick had watched Harris help Paisley fill a bucket, and caught up with Harris as he walked away from Paisley. "Always the same, no? Tell you the truth, I prefer the bloody amateurs who've never been on a ship to the bloody amateurs who've been on a ship for twenty years and still thinks she'll sail herself. I can see from your uniform that you are a true seaman. Did you use to get this in the English Navy too?" "Although, I must say, we used to be rather quick to show the slackers what discipline meant." "I suppose an introduction would be appropriate. My name's Karies. Rick van der Karies. Call me Rick, these stripes on my shoulders are not worth anything here."
Harris pauses in mid-step at the interuption, turning and eyeing the new-comer cautiously as he introduced himself. "Your not wrong about some of 'em, ship o' fools it's starting to look. Back in King George's Navy they'd break out the cat for tom foolery like I've seen." Before he could finish Paisley and Olivia ended up in a sprawl and both sailors watched for a moment before Harris spoke again, "there's always a few green lads brought on by the press gangs who'd take a while to break in, mayhap there'll be a few with salt in their blood amongst em." With a careful shrug he finishes, "rest can float home or be damned to Jones' locker. Sea's a cruel mistress for those new to her." Stomping on a few paces in silence before speaking again, "ex-captain like you with your experience, the Captain will be wanting you close, sure enough. Rick van der Karies... aye, I'll remember it. My own names Richard Harris, sir, pleased to meet a real seaman on here."
'Yarr, well, maybe ye'd be best settin' an example, eh?' says the Captain, coming up behind them. 'A ship of fools it may be, but a ship of sorry fools it be if my decks ain't scrubbed clean like honest men! Now GET TO IT!'
Grumbling to himself under his breath about letting standards slip that an officer managed to get the drop on him and hefting his own pail of water, Harris about faces and heads off to the kitchens to begin on the washing up, considering what to concoct for the evening meal later...
Slightly looked bleary eyed around the busy deck... there seemed to be an awful lot of people cleaning [i:78a0118804]his[/i:78a0118804] deck and doing a bloody awful job of it too. His hands started to twitch with the need to clean it properly and the desire to French polish was almost overwhelming... What had he dreamed about? It must have been the fumes from the overabundance of cleaning products he was constantly surrounded by. There was cleaning, of course, and it was night time and the decks were empty and for some reason a girl he didn't know was jogging on decks... It was all very strange, and made him want to clean more. At that moment the smell of strong liquor assailed his sense. "Hooray" he whispered, did no one else appreciate the cleaning potential of alcohol? He felt he'd died and gone to heaven... [color=blue:78a0118804]*Duly noted. Sorry I was having a mental blank story wise and was reaching for anything. So now it was all a dream and Oliva never really went jogging, and it really wasn't night time. Such a cliche. I so ashamed.*[/color:78a0118804]
Edward was feeling a little put out; after all, he had signed up for this trip for some fancy swordwork and a new audience to give him some constructive criticism on "Blackbeard's Pajamas" and scrubbing decks fit into neither of those categories, being something that people did to Earn an Honest Living and therefore something Edward had solemnly swore never to do. Nevertheless, he rolled up his lacy white cuffs, gave his floppy hat a tug, and set to work, mentally rewriting the third stanza of "Six Days at Sea with a Drunk Parrot."
"ALL HANDS ON DECK!" shouted Captain Turbulent. "The deck be being nice an' clean. Ye done a grand job, yarr." The Captain's voice took on more of an edge. "But I be noticin' that some of ye aren't pulling ye weight. Thar be no slackarrs on the Brown Emerald. "Amor! Bloodbeard! Shembles! Ye have a nice night in store in thar brig," he pointed to a small cage at one end of the ship with his cutlass, "in ye go, unless ye want to feel the point o' me sword." He watched Bob Amor stroppily enter the cage, followed by Victoria Shembles. He watched with half a grin as they tried to twist around to make room for Bloodbeard. "Arrr," said the captain, "me brig be too small for ye all. But yer captain knows what ta do. Bloodbeard, ye can spend the night in thar crow's nest, and if I catch ye sneaking down..." he looked pointedly at the large pirate, who stared back before making his way to the mast. "Yarr. Karies! Be you knowin' how to navigate?" Karied nodded that he did. "Good, take the wheel an' set course for these co-ord'nates," he handed a small slip of paper to the dutchman, "I be going fur me sleep. The rest o' ye shu' do the same. Yarr."
Paisley, who had been standing to attention as best he could and trembling lest the captain think he hadn't been working as much as he could, suddenly sagged with relief as the captain turned his back and went below. He hadn't even been below himself yet, even to visit, so he picked up his carpet bag that he had hung neatly on a hook so it would be out of the way, and started down the hatch. A strange smell was wafting up from the galley, although to Paisley, anything that wasn't turnip smelled strange. He made his way down to the crews quarters, and tried to find a place to hang up his home-made hammock. His mum had sown together some old sacks, and the words "Prime Turnip" still showed in places. He tied the hammock to two appropriate-looking hooks, in the same way as the others were done, and climbed in. The sacks were rough and made him itch, but the smell of turnip was strangely comforting, and after a day's hard work, he fell asleep quickly without even waiting for supper.
Harris stepped back to admire his work in all it's glory, the 'stew' was bubbling along nicely, some of the bits floating at the top were even vaguely recognisable as potato, carrot and bits of grey meat. Even the dishes had been properly scrubbed, to some extent. He tried giving it a cursory sniff but his sense of smell had departed long ago in protest at working with tar, tack and sailors who'd been at sea without a wash in months. At least the big spoon he'd been stirring it with hadn't melted, he considered, that had to be a good sign. Filling a sack with bowls to ladel the food into, he blows out the fire and pours as much as can be carried into a smaller cauldron before hefting that up to the main deck and setting up on a dis-used cannon carriage, "right lads, get it while it's hot and still lively!"
Woodle Needlebaum looked around with curiosity at the gang of sailors, milling about and going below. He was hungry and hoped the cook knew how to make a good stew, the kind of stew that would melt a ladle. Yeah, that was his kind of stew. "gotta have good stew, see" he mumbled rtying to pick up his mop and put it away. He looked around to see if there was anyone who would likely help him pick it up.
Karies stood at the bridge, one hand on the rudder, the other hand holding the charts, fighting against the evening breeze. [i:9393d4892d]Aaahh, I've almost forgotten the sensation of handling a threemaster[/i:9393d4892d], he thought. "One of you lads mind bringing me a plate of that?" he yelled absentmindedly, still focusing on the charts. Reading another captain's charts was like reading a diary of the ship's endeavours. He noted several plotted sunken ships in darker ink, that he couldn't remember from any Dutch charts, most likely sunk by Turbulent himself. [i:9393d4892d]Whatever happens, I have to copy these charts, somehow[/i:9393d4892d] he decided.
Bob grumbled under his breath. "This aint no pirate ship. Back in my day, pirates pirated! they swung swords, not brooms! they drank grog and wore their scars with pride! they didn't wear feathers and medals, or curl their hair, or pussyfoot to anyone!" Bob glared around at the inside of the brig. "This aint even a birg worthy of of a drunk parrot. You mark my words, Shembles, you'll soon see what being a real pirate is about. A pirate knows his ship! he knows her every contour, from her sails to her masts to her decks. But a pirate don't bow. a pirate don't scrape." Now talking loudly to himself more than Shembles, Bob waved his arm through the air in an expansive gesture of irritation. "Pirates take! They take from the rich! and the poor! and everyone in between! then they drink and spend and eat and use what they take! aye, a pirates life is a damn good one if you have the spirit." Bob poiinted out the bars of the brig to Brian. "And as for your question, lad, say yarrr as much as yer please. but sayin' yarrr don't make you a pirate. Or your damn parrots would be pirates, wouldn't they? damn noisy buggers. anyway, tell me." He settled against the bars and got comfortable. "How're you liking the pirate life so far?" He snorted. "Excitin, aint it."
There is a squawk near the brig. The Captain's parrot flutters down and perches on top of an empty, upturned bucket. It watches Bob Amor.
Oliva, who had a little dust in her hair from scrubbing underneath the captain's large bed, carried two tin cups of stew away from the ship's cook. Half stumbling up the stairs to the prow, she held up one of them to Karies, who squinted at her. 'I'm not a lad, but here,' she said. 'Hurry before i spill it.' She waited for him to take the cup from her and then slurped a few slurps from her own. 'Where we goin, eh, sir?'
Bob glares at the parrot. "What do you want?" he snaps. "Before you ask, no, i aint got no crackers."
The parrot squawks and departs, flying up to the crow's nest. It wheels above Bloodbeard's head to get his attention before diving back down to its bucket. And again, it watches Bob Amor.
Bloodbeard eyed the parrot. A fine animal, a parrot. Good and piratey. Apart from when they shit on your shoulder. And the smell. And the way they peck at your face. Actually, what in the name of the bluebeards barnacles did pirates have parrots for? "Yer a fucking flying rat!" snarls Bloodbeard in the direction of the bird. The parott seems dissapointingly nonplussed by this. Bloodbeard spits in the general direction of the parrot, and goes to make himself comfortable. Then, something catches his eye. That pirate in the brig. Aye, he wasn't one for doing any washer woman either. A kindred spirit amongst a crew of landlubbers who wouldn't know pirating if it bit them in the arse. "Yarr! P'raps I'll go see if he be wanting to share a bottle of grog. Course, that would be disobeying the cap'n!" he muses. He smiles, and swings himself over the edge and back towards the deck.
[quote:f556eda0d9="KaptenKaries"]Reading another captain's charts was like reading a diary of the ship's endeavours. He noted several plotted sunken ships in darker ink, that he couldn't remember from any Dutch charts, most likely sunk by Turbulent himself. [i:f556eda0d9]Whatever happens, I have to copy these charts, somehow[/i:f556eda0d9] he decided.[/quote:f556eda0d9] [color=red:f556eda0d9]Sorry KK - should have made this cleare: the captain only gave you the co-ordinates (latitude and longitude figures) not an entire map. You don't recognise the co-ordinates, they're in a territory you don't know.[/color:f556eda0d9]
Bloodbeard works his way down the rigging to the deck, landing with a soft tap on his wooden leg. No one seemed to be about. He quietly makes his way across the deck, keeping in the shadows. There is no sign of anyone about, the only noise is coming from the brig as someone rants about the failings of the current crew. It was always the same. Pirates made really terrible guards. He makes his way over to the brig. "Arr" he says, "I think it's time me and you had a wee word" he says to Bob
[quote:3eb71e4c44="Electric_Man"][quote:3eb71e4c44="KaptenKaries"]Reading another captain's charts was like reading a diary of the ship's endeavours. He noted several plotted sunken ships in darker ink, that he couldn't remember from any Dutch charts, most likely sunk by Turbulent himself. [i:3eb71e4c44]Whatever happens, I have to copy these charts, somehow[/i:3eb71e4c44] he decided.[/quote:3eb71e4c44] [color=red:3eb71e4c44]Sorry KK - should have made this cleare: the captain only gave you the co-ordinates (latitude and longitude figures) not an entire map. You don't recognise the co-ordinates, they're in a territory you don't know.[/color:3eb71e4c44][/quote:3eb71e4c44] OOC: What's the use screwing up my perfect roleplaying there? Either give me info or expect me to roleplay. Am I allowed to have kept a chart in my chest which I brought down to my bunk when I entered the ship? Also, to be reasonable, even without a chart, I should be able to guesstimate the general direction where we're heading, I must have known the approximate coordinates of the town I left. "Thank you, Olivia", Rick said and took a careful sip from the bowl. "I wish I could tell you where we're going, but in fact cap'n Turbulent didn't provide me with any charts. I think I might have a spare chart in my chest down in the cabin, can't remember if I packed it or not." "Would you be so kind and go and have a look for me?" Rick asked with a friendly smile, and pulled out a key from his pocket. "You would need this key, too."
Bob glanced shiftily over his shoulder; a gesture of habit more than necessity, seeing as the only thing behind him at that moment was a set of bars. "Aye? I'm listening..."
"Seems to me that me and you, we're the only two pirates on this boat" says Bloodbeard, passing the bottle of grog through the bars. "I reckon men like us should look out for each other, ye see what I'm sayin?" Bob drinks some grog. "Aye, I think ye see. We'll share some grog this night, and tell tales of voyages past. And in the morning, we'll be mates, eh? And a man needs people he can count on, especially at sea" he cackles
Bob gulped down a hefty swig of grog before passing the bottle back. "Aye, cheers," he said, wiping his mouth. "Yer right, I've been on more swashbucklin' rowboats. But, this lot, they aint all bad. That Brian lad, he's got potential alright. That young bloke with the turnip, he just needs proper guidance from an experienced pirate, he's got the enthusiasm down pat." Bob sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. "Time was the deck'd be alive by now, everyone drinkin' the good stuff and singin' the songs o' the sea... once, i recall, our cap'n tied a rope to the wheel, tied that to the anchor, rolled out a barrell and said 'HANG THE SAILIN'!', leaving us to the mercy of the seas. Best nights enjoyment i ever had, thinkin' it'd be me last..." Bob hastily waved his hands around. "Not that i'd ever do that to me crew, sure-fire way to get yerself a mutiny, if you got anyone with an ounce of sense in their 'eads. Nah, y'know how it is, Bloodbeard. Piratin' just aint what it used to be."
Slightly watched from the other side of the deck as Bob and Blackbeard stood close, but not too close to each other, both standing so nonchalantly that it was down right suspicious. The fact that they appeared to be looking in opposite directions and talking to themselves did not bode well in Slightly's small and erratically spelled book. Slightly grabbed a bowl of the fowl smelling stew, spray'n'wiped the outside of the bowl and as much of the inside he could reach, he did the same to his spoon. He then sat in a corner and ate very delicately the stew that lived up to its smell. The heavy stew and the fumes of cleaning products took there toll and he fell asleep sitting upright.
Olivia smiled and gladly accepted the keys to this dutchman's trunk. She loved secrets. She loved knowing them most. She loved keeping them. Sometimes, late at night when she got sleepy, when the whole ship was dark and the sea itself whispered softly, she loved telling them. Finding Karies' bunk was simple enough, and there was the chest: a big, old, heavily wrought sort of thing. She unlocked it. On one side were the charts Karies had spoken of. She slid them out and rolled them into her apron pocket. But of course she couldn't stop there. Before she returned to the deck, Olivia had rummaged through the entirety of the chest.
The duck sat and look at the saw. “Could some one get me out of this? Or do I have to try and eat it with my feet? The dick the duck” he asked
Paisley was awoken by the noise of Olivia rummaging through a nearby chest and muttering to herself as she sorted through its contents. He had no idea whose [s:8bf760c3e0]chest[/s:8bf760c3e0] trunk it was nor why she was going through it, and he couldn't quite make out what she was muttering to herself, or even see much of what was in it in the gloomy hold. His mother didn't approve of spying or eavesdropping, and although he hadn't meant to, he felt a sudden wave of guilt. And of course, this was a girl he was watching, watching girls was even worse than spying, or so he had been told. He nestled down further into his hammock and tried not to make any noise at all until she had gone.
OOC: Contents of the chest, what Olivia would find. A variety of clothes, including two foreign uniforms. Charts of the known areas of the Caribbean. Two flintlock guns. Birdfood. A small pouch of money. Five flags folded up neatly. If Olivia would fold these out, she would find that they were the Jolly Roger, the Union Jack and the Spanish, French and Dutch flags.
Morning rose in the lazy, groaning way of those who don't want to have to work. The Captain, awake and freshly out of bed, surveyed the deck and patted his stomach. His parrot landed on his shoulder and said something unintelligible. 'Indeed,' said the Captain. He glanced over towards the brig, and saw Bloodbeard, who was not only on the wrong side of it, but, the Captain recalled, also not supposed to be there at all, for the crow's nest was to be found some way in an upwardly direction. Turbulent grunted and began to make his way over. But then he paused midstep, and squinted. 'What's that?' he said, to no one in particular. He shielded his eyes from the sun. 'Is that a... bird? No, it can't be, it's...what is that?' And there, stood staring blankly in the middle of the deck, was a penguin. OOC: Yes, despite Katcal's CREEPY PSYCHIC post in the other thread, this was actually planned. Katcal, new rule especially for you: no telepathic invasion is allowed. I very nearly screamed when I saw your penguin comment. Screamed like a pathetic little girl. Doing that to GMs is not allowed.
[color=red:cbd6921078]OOC : dear Great God, I'm almost crying from laughing so much, that is so funny Sorry, you may flay me for that, I'll try not to do it again, and I shall not tell anyone about the mutant sea-squirrel that's gnawing a hole in the rudder.[/color:cbd6921078] Paisley had had a good night's sleep and had nibbled one of the turnips his mum had packed as snacks for breakfast. He was already half way out of the hatch when he heard the captain booming something that ended "... what is that ?" He hurried upwards to see what the fuss was, what he had done wrong again and what he could do to help, and found himself face to face with a penguin. Paisley had never seen a penguin before, but didn't want to seem too ignorant towards his fellow crewmates by showing this, so he ignored it and went to pick up a bucket and start scrubbing the deck again, saluting the captain on his way as best he could.
Woodle was just waking up from the floor of the deck where he had collapsed the night before, having never gotten a handle on the mop and falling alseep with the effort. "What what?" he said as a penguin like sight caught his eye.."it's a big bird, see. I don't think thems can fly. How did it get here. A pox uopn ye pengiun, where's an albatross when ya needs one, aye? All we gots is a mangy pengiun, see. What what?"
