|
Post by brendur on Jul 15, 2010 6:56:09 GMT -8
"I'm Rhenna, first mate. You're welcome aboard Stormchild. Take the stairwells straight up to the bunk deck. Don't go anywhere else without permission. If -anything- comes out of a holster or scabbard I'll consider it a hostile move. You're warned now, there won't be a warning later. This boat is my responsibility tonight, and I take that responsibility very seriously."
For a moment Tom's eyes wander to the crossed swords at her hips, and elsewhere. Among the temptations that cross his mind is sating the curiosity of just how good she is with the pair of blades. Plenty of time to find that out later though, on to business, he settles for a pleasant smile to the first mate and a faux salute.
Tom clenches his hands from keeping his jitters from showing in his fingers as they walk in the Stormchilde. He can't help it, after a long career of raiding, he's an instinct to see ships that aren't his burn. A few breaths though and the shakes go away, contenting himself to memorizing where he'd pop charges on this rusty old tub if things ever had to go that way. One charge and a bag of flour in the furnace room, another charge braced against the door of the pressure room so that the resulting shrapnel and fire from the furnace would wreck havoc on the delicate workings there. It would be inferno, a mechanics worst nightmare, and a hell of a lot of fun.
Just imagining it sates the want for now, but there's something else the enclosed rusty confinements of the ship brings to him. It reminds him of the world the Concordian Navy took from him, a world he was slowly coming back to. Though no where nearly as nice a ship, steel corridors, the pressed bodies, the tension in the air all brought him back to serving on the Morrigan. It was a feeling he wouldn't trade for all the black powder in the Navy.
He looked about at all the accusing stares from the crew man, grinning wide as he set his rucksack down at his own feet, letting Emillianna set the terms for the meeting.
"Nah, we're all chums here, let the Navy fight amongst themselves as jackals. Proper pirates know how to respect the proffesion."
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 15, 2010 8:15:26 GMT -8
((Drunk and tired ain't no way ta run a game son... Stand by for imminent ninja edit of my last post, need to change some minor things in the last paragraph. Shouldn't effect anything yet posted though, but please hold off till I've fiddled with things.))
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 15, 2010 8:51:20 GMT -8
((All done. ..And something I've been working on recently: There are 3 different classifications of NPCS (so far) in the game, Pawns, Knights, and Kings. Pawns only have 5 health levels and usually only about +10 in any stat that's applicable to their profession, with some exceptions. They take sharp penalties for any damage done to them, and usually they don't have any gear with stat bonuses. Knights have approximately the same stats and health/penalty progression as players do, however they are also pretty likely to be min/maxed in their area of expertise, making them a bit more effective than a 'balanced' character. So if you run into one that's a fighter, you are in for a Fight. (With a capital F) I haven't worked out the exact attributes of Kings yet, but off the cuff I'd expect they get either 2x or 3x the stat points available to starter characters and access to rarity 100+ gear. Basically they are bosses. You won't get an indication what NPC is what class, but if you look at some of the rolls they make you ought to be able to tell. And no, me telling you this doesn't mean you'll be fighting soon, necessarily. But if the time ever did arise I wanted you to have some inking why some NPCs are.. uh.. Better. I will say you've only fought pawn-equivalents so far. Incidentally, once I finalize NCP Creation a bit, I'll open it up to you so you can make your own NPCs if you like. Huzzah and such ))
|
|
|
Post by e on Jul 15, 2010 11:08:59 GMT -8
"I'm Rhenna, first mate. You're welcome aboard Stormchild. Take the stairwells straight up to the bunk deck. Don't go anywhere else without permission. If -anything- comes out of a holster or scabbard I'll consider it a hostile move. You're warned now, there won't be a warning later. This boat is my responsibility tonight, and I take that responsibility very seriously."
"Rhenna-- g'day. I'm Claire." She tips her hat a bit in the first mate's direction. "I'm sure you're quite skilled and thorough in yer duties and I'll assure you we'll be on our best behavior." She turns to her companions. "Best behavior, ye hear? If any of ye prove otherwise, I'll take it personal."
She follows Rhenna inside, not looking from side to side, rather Claire's eager to reach the bunk deck and what she guesses will be a fascinatin' conversation.
"Arrrite. So. Make yerselves at home! If yeh got any food get ta dolin' it out, there's some here who haven't eaten yet."
Claire looks around at Emillianna's crew, nodding at each of 'em solemnly in turn. She turns to her own crew.
"Where's the supper we brought with? Let's get it out and start gettin' to know eachother." She waits till the victuals are set down, then she sits down near Stormchild's captain. "So, let's eat and then hear some tales of yer ol' man, Emillianna."
As she's waitin' for others to load up their plates, she turns in her seat to look over toward the crewfolk who'd been at cards when they came up and grins at them. "And later, I'd like to sit in on a hand o' 3 card monty, or whatever ye be playin' at."
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 15, 2010 11:40:52 GMT -8
Heloise says nothing while boarding the Stormchild. Every inch of the ship is under review in her mind. The others talking seems to melt into the background as she goes to second base with this lady. Third and home would have to wait until she got to the engine and boiler rooms. Her quiet ends when the food comes out and suddenly Heloise begins to comment on what was said during her reverie. " Best behavior? I've only got one behavior! Mine!" She snickers for a second at herself, begins to load up a plate, and continues. " You know Claire, speaking of personal, I think you've always had a prideful prissiness and now you get to show it off to the world with that hat." She points to Claire's hat with an eating utensil. " I think that's what it takes to be a captain though. It's an essential job qualification. Never have met a captain who wasn't a blustery dandy. Even if they could turn you into paste in an instant." The unvarnished truth came out of Heloise's mouth. The truth as she sees it anyway. Sure, this talk usually ended in a punch or two, but she's accustomed to the treatment. Her big brother was the captain-type too and he saw to it she could take a punch for her mouth. ((That's where she came by the 5 points in toughness. ))
|
|
|
Post by brendur on Jul 15, 2010 12:56:38 GMT -8
Tom snorts across the table at the assessment, scooping food with tack bread and eating with his usual manners, which is to say none at all. Around a particularly challenging mouthful of food he imparts his opinion.
"We could run another boat off the steam that leaves that mouth oh yourn."
He helps himself to more with about as much pomp and circumstance as he started with.
"Captain earns their right to pride, they're the mouth oh the ship. Speak fer the ship when it's lookin down a cannon, or bout to close a deal. They go down with the ship. N'iffin fate tis so cruel to see us all swing at the end oh a Navy noose, all our crimes are tacked on to the Captain's name. N'believe ye me, she'll get the worst oh whatever they have in store fer us. Iffin that entitles her to a bit oh pride, well so be it"
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 15, 2010 13:15:00 GMT -8
Heloise laughs, "Seeing as how the lot of us already have crimes tacked to our names, that gives her a lovely start doesn't? I can see it now Captain "Criminal" Claire! Nevermind that each of us would hang at this point. Guilty or not. 'Cept Kenneth. He's the only respectable person for a hundred miles.""
|
|
|
Post by brendur on Jul 15, 2010 13:49:16 GMT -8
There's a whooping hack as Tom near chokes on his food, coughing and pounding himself in the chest once to clear his throat as he's caught between breathing and laughing.
"Captain "Criminal" Claire? Worst damn nickname I ever heard. They'll give her somat proper iffin we do our jobs right though, naer ye worry."
He flicks his eyes back towards Kenneth ( if he is indeed in the room with them) and smirks, picking up a spoon and brandishing it in Heloise's direction.
"N'how can ye be sure oh that eh? Last I heard oleander and arsenic kill jest as well as any gun or grenade, fer all we're privy to, we could be having our meals cooked by a criminal mastermind. With a kill count higher than Mad Eyed McCleary n'his entire crew combined!"
Waving the spoon about in a grandiose display, he shouts out to the ship.
" King Killer Kenneth! Satans own chef!"
|
|
|
Post by DeleriusDruid on Jul 15, 2010 14:39:56 GMT -8
Marty considered the prospects of spending several hours on another ship in the company of quite a few people who were upset with him. The idea did not please him. He decided to stay behind with the Bethesda and keep watch, not trusting the loud and rude captain of the Stormchild further than he could throw her large ship. Although this did mean missing out on the excellent cooking of Kenny's, Marty supposed that the crew had threatened to put him on gruel again anyways. He helped himself to a snack from the storeroom, then watched the darkening sky from the deck of the Bethesda.
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 15, 2010 14:48:00 GMT -8
Heloise nods, "I'll leave the naming up to you from now on. That's a good name. Did you think of "Tic Tock" or did you steal it? Hells, if you're really that good, you'll think of a good name for everybody." She shovels in a mouthful of food and continues. "I can think of worse ways to die than by Kenneth's food. Besides, I think it would take quite a bit of abuse for him to do something like that. You'd get a frying pan the the face before the poison."
|
|
|
Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 15, 2010 15:17:59 GMT -8
Dexter eats his food quietly ignoring the conversation of his crewmates. Mostly it sounded like vague insults and parries that reminded him of a sport he once read about in an encyclopaedia. The game was played with a lightweight ball and each player held what looked like a frying pan made out of balsa wood with mesh tied in the pan. The goal was to hit the ball past the opponent who stood on the opposite side of the court separated by a large fishing net. The way it read, the spectators would flick their heads quickly one side to the next to watch the course of the ball. Thinking of that now made Dexter vaguely curious who was winning.
Instead, he marks the silence of the Stormchild's crew and his eyes roam around the bunk room memorizing all the details about its' occupants (both human and non-).
He considers Claire's request as they filed into the ship. "Best behavior" in his case usually meant shutting the hell up. Though he knew his parents would never say such a thing, he also remembered vividly saying something that was apparently wildly inappropriate at various large, fancy gatherings (though Dexter never understood why, and no one explained it to him), and earned him glares (and occasional beatings) from his brothers. He had no particular intention of breaking that vow tonight.
((Spot check on...uh...everything visible...))
|
|
|
Post by e on Jul 15, 2010 16:00:25 GMT -8
Claire is quietly chewing when the mechanic who has proven herself to be made all out of mouth drops the word prissy in regards to her. Her jaw stills. Her eyes turn in Heloise's direction, but her head doesn't move an inch.
Who in hell sees her as prissy?! What kind of damn savage would they have to be to even form that thought? By bohemoth and unicorns hideous offspring, yes, she's proud. Proud of not gettin' to a salt mine, proud of not havin' the whole crew pattycaked by Stormchild's guns, and damn proud of her crew. But prissy?! She knows she had a much different youth than most and maybe there're a few tidbits of that left in her, here and there, but she's pretty damn rugged these days. Her eyes see Heloise again and take in the mechanic's rough, grease-stained clothes and then flick over to Emillianna who looks like a damn she-bear and she realizes that in the current company, she likely seems downright puritanical.
She laughs aloud, imagining herself in a pansified dress, doling out insults to an army of maids and daintily munching bon-bons.
"Prissy, eh? I'd say I'm nothin' o' the kind, but mayhap in current company that's exactly so. Still, I saved yer neck not a week gone and that's the best compliment ye can pay me? I'd better start writing down verses 'bout my prowess as captain now, cuz I can see I can't count none on you all to do it right." She laughs again and goes back to her food.
|
|
|
Post by brendur on Jul 15, 2010 16:12:27 GMT -8
Tom slows down in his eating for the first time all night, actually chewing in thought while he thinks back to how he got dubbed Tick Tock. Between gnawings on tack bread he relates the story.
"On the Morrigan we had this munitions master called Razorback, n'he was squat, mean, n'ugly as sin. Hated me cause he thought I was out to get his job. Which I was, man didn't know fuses much less switches, n'the munitions master got to play with some loverly toys he did. Anyhow he was allus screamin at me about how I was a slow poke, no matter that I woke 10 minutes afore the rest oh the crew. He'd chase me up and down the ship yellin in my ear: Tick Tock Tom! Tick Tock! We're waitin on YOU! Mark my words boy I could set my watch by how late you are! Anyhow, Captain Gammel liked the sound oh it, started callin me Tick Tock, n'the rest oh the crew followed suit."
Tom's grinning by the time he finishes the tale.
"The funny part about that tale? Razorback got reduced to a few fat trimmins cause he set one oh his charges to go off too early."
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 15, 2010 18:41:02 GMT -8
"Compliment?" She looks almost thoughtful. "Nah. I'm just calling it like I see it. Not that I'm ungrateful for you using that peashooter of yours. After all, it's thanks to that I was able to work my magic and get the old girl out of the death spin." Heloise takes another bite and continues with a muffled voice. "If you wanna make your own sinister name like Tom, then by all means do it. When you do, and we see it on a wanted poster, we'll get you a hat all your own."
|
|
Khrys
Full Member
Posts: 130
|
Post by Khrys on Jul 15, 2010 19:09:59 GMT -8
"I can think of worse ways to die than by Kenneth's food. Besides, I think it would take quite a bit of abuse for him to do something like that. You'd get a frying pan the the face before the poison."
Kenneth was already out of sorts from hauling the large pot of barbeque across the sands. Heloise's words made him feel sick at heart. She'd not only flipped lightly over a huge truth - that there'd be a frying pan to someone's face before he would consider something so heinous as poisoning perfectly good food, but that he had tried to cook a meal that would help prolong their human fuel but one that would have also helped extend the ship's fuel. He kept his face placid, hoping to the skies that she wouldn't catch the truth in his eyes.
"We're lower on provisions now." he said in his thick, soft voice. "Will there be any help with that?" He raised his face in the direction of the Bethesda's captain, his bland expression a juxaposition to his interest, leaving him seemingly uninterested in the answer."Perhaps someone can spare two others to protect me and carry some harvest back from an island tour tomorrow?"
|
|
|
Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 15, 2010 21:35:02 GMT -8
Dexter almost gags on his food when he hears the loudmouth mechanic talk about working her magic. He rewinds his memories just to make sure that, yes, he was indeed there, right next to her, working to reattach the steering chains. In fact, wasn't it he that gave access to the bridge to begin with? Indeed it was. Obviously this person thinks quite highly of herself and lowly of her peers and therefore doesn't deserve the heat rising to his face nor the fingers that clench his utensils more tightly than is rightly needed. Try as he might, he fails to bite back the muttered litany of oaths and curses that comes retching from his mouth to the extent that a learned person might equate with coprolalia, but present company would most likely dismiss as derangement.
((we're taking off tomorrow to go camping for the night. I know y'all will be simply heartbroken that you'll be missing out on a full day of Dexter's pointed silence, but it also means that Claire won't be available either (although we'd probably be able to post in the morning before we take off). hopefully that won't mean things can't move on without us. have a great weekend everyone!))
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 15, 2010 22:26:40 GMT -8
Emillianna leans back in her chair and observes the talkings and goings-on of the other crew with interest. She greets Heloise's comments regarding prissy captains with that same meat-stuck-in-tooth grin but says nothing. When the food is called into the converstation she leans forward and pipes up. "Yeh, can't say th' thought that poison might be on th' menu tonight didn't cross my mind.. But yer all eating so, Cheers 'n such." She scrounges briefly for a bowl, and a small blade serves as knife and fork. She leans back as she samples a bite. "Eh.. 's not half bad!" She leans over and nudges Claire in a conspiratory fashion. "Yeh know 'f yer cook's fer sale I'll take him off yer hands." Some of Stormchild's crew wander over and dip their own bowls, nodding acknowledgement and quiet thanks, a most retreating back to their corners, but a few picking seats nearby. Emillianna snickers. "See, they get friendly when they get hungry enough." She laughs and elbows Rick, who happens to be nearest, almost causing him to drop his bowl. He retreats to the far corner of the bunk, rubbing his arm. "Arrite arrite arrite... We're not here ta trade momma's cookstove recipies, so let's get down ta business." Emillianna settles back into her chair, getting comfortable. "Now then. I heard some questions earlier, an' I'll try ta knock 'em out as I can... The man yer lookin' fer is Captain Maximillian Savage. He makes 'is home on the westen shore of the island. Has a small farm or plantation or what the hell have you there. I don't think I need ta say again that if he comes ta harm in all this, ye all are just so much burned meat, yeh? ...But he ain't too hard ta deal with without fightin', if ye know th' right tack. He ain't like me." She chuckles dryly. "He's th' original Captain of th' Lucifer. His message led him here, ta this island where Luci was hidden in the' first place. Maybe built here too, it's hard ta tell.. But I think not. Anyway. He found 'er, and flew 'er for near on twenty years, till he just.. Stopped, sayin' all kinds of wrongheaded bilgewash that sounded like he'd gone soft everywhere, head included. Since he was too much a coward ta use Lucifer fer what she was born fer, I said he should pass 'er on ta me, being his only descendant. Obviously he refused, or we wouldn't be having this lovely fireside chat now.. So I said 'hell with it' and left. Wasn't much I could do other than that. Tha was.. Eh.. going on four years ago now. Well now I'm back, plus a crew and a ship of my own. So I fly in, ask him again fer what oughta be mine, after I proved I got what it takes ta use it ta it's fullest. Still he says no. I say 'hell with it' again, and decide that if he ain't gonna give, I'll take. I got one half of the key off 'im, he was hiding it in his house. Got no damn idea where th' other half is.. Maybe at his place, but probabaly not.. Any two ways, some things happened and we both made it clear that.. ah.. The next time we meet'll be fer the last time, in a final sense. I can number th' things I won't do on one hand, but shootin' my own blood is one of 'em. Kinda think he feels the same, since I ain't seen him nosing around 'my' side of the island or tryin' ta stop us diggin'. And there it stands, really." She tosses her now-empty bowl carelessly onto a nearby counter. "Let's see... One of ye was askin' bout Stormy.. Well she ain't mine as a gift, I took 'er fair and square. Well. Square anyway. She runs sweet enough, I suppose, but I have a habit of killin' birds, so anything that to much as holds up to me fer long is something sorta special, as I reckon. Guess I have Allan ta thank fer a lot of that, much as I hate to." "Ah, what else...? ...Hell I can't remember, ye tell me." ===================== UPKEEP====================== ((Urgh.. I'd like to apologize for my writing over the last few days, I picked this week to try and kick Rockstar. . In short I am sort of a mess, and absolutely blasted by the time the evening rolls around, so my posts aren't as long or involved as I'd like. But hopefully this will all be sorted come monday. That or I'll be dead. ((@jazz: Cool beans, I think we ought to be able to coast a day without yez, but a post is fine too. Enjoy your camperin'! )) Tom:+3 CP Claire:+2 CP Helo:+3CP Marty:+2 CP Kenneth:+2 CP Dexter:+2 CP
|
|
|
Post by brendur on Jul 16, 2010 6:35:25 GMT -8
An odd look flashes over Tom's face as Heloise implies he made the whole thing up, the temptation to cover her in Devil's Pitch (Greek fire) rises up, then settled back down as he bites down on it. No, never to crew. Upstarts on the mainland maybe, but never the crew. Those were the rules, few as they may be.
As he stabs at morsel he looks over to Kenneth, and nods in his direction.
"Not a bad idea actually, was thinkin about that earlier. Sides, good as this food is wouldn't be bad to eat somat that hasn't been tinned since Jaysis wept. I'll come with ye."
He looks back to Emillianna
"While we're talkin about scroungin, I was wonderin iffin I could have a look round yer supplies. M'a bit low on m'bag oh tricks, grenades, caps n'what not, and that only makes me half so useful to the crew. I'll pay ye fer whatever I use, or hell, iffin ye don't have any such things yerself I could make ye some as payment."
|
|
|
Post by e on Jul 16, 2010 9:07:44 GMT -8
Claire nods in answer to Kenneth's question about a resupply run. "Yeh, we're surely gonna want to keep your supply cupboards as full as we kin manage. We'll send you out with Tom and, hmm, well, how 'bout Marty on the morrow. He can put his trigger finger to better use that way. Yer a rare treasure, cook, an' I mean to keep ye as happy in yer kitchen as I can manage."
"Yeh know 'f yer cook's fer sale I'll take him off yer hands."
Claire grins, then puts on an obviously staged expression of regret and whispers loudly. "Hate to dissappoint, but I'm jus' too fond of him myself to stand partin' with him."
Claire listens carefully to Emillianna's tale about Maximillian an' the Lucifer. She wonders if Emillianna's pa is tryin' to protect his girl or just doesn't think she's worth it. She suspects any man who fathers a gal like Emillianna'd have to be damn proud of the way she turned out. She's somethin' rare alright. Whatever is goin' on twixt the two, it's obvious somethin' spooked the man, and she'd like to go in knowin' what has him all in a jitter if she can. In any case, it sounds like a situation askin' for charm and gab over guns, and that's just fine by her. More fun to talk than shoot anyhow, though she reckons several of her companions might not see eye to eye with her on that.
"You got ideas regardin' what might nudge him to feel friendly toward us? Oh, and, did you say he's on his lonesome over there?"
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 16, 2010 9:10:17 GMT -8
Emillianna listens to Toms request, scratching at the back of her neck. "Eh, sure.. " She looks across the bunkroom and snaps her fingers. "Oi, Michale... Michale!" Narrowing her eyes at the lack of response she grabs her bowl and flings it across the room, bouncing it solidly off the back of one of the card players' heads. "MICK! Hell's sake quit pawin' yerself 'n get over here!" Michale dumps his cards on the table and comes over, picking his way across the crowded room, rubbing his head ruefully. "What is it, Captain?" His voice has a slight Germanic accent. "Congrats, yer now a salesman. Show our friend here what we've got 'n the way of explosives. Powder'n finished product, but nothin' we'll need fer th' dig. Got that?" She holds up three fingers and Michale nods. "Aye, Captain." He picks his way across the gear-strewn deck and hauls out a wooden box from one of the stow spaces, beckoning Tom over. "Ve have three grenades and five blast caps for sale, and two-hundred shares of powder and other bomb makings." He does some quick mental calculation. "Grenades vill go for sixty-five each, and the caps for thirty-five each. ..and I'll give you one per share, zince I don't like to have the loose stuff lying around." ============================ ((Since now seems like as good a point as any, here's the under-construction Item Creation rules. Hoping to have them finalized this weekend at some point.: +Creating Items in-game When a Character is attempting to create an item, the first order of business is to make sure there are enough raw materials on hand. +Parts: Parts (or Shares) can be carried in Storage and stack up to 100 in a single Slot. Kinds of Parts: Medical (Rarity:20) Pharmacopia (Rarity:50) Explosive (Rarity: 50) Tinkering (Rarity: 40) Tailoring (Rarity:20) Gunsmithing: (Rarity: 40) Swordsmithing (Rarity: 30) Ammunition: (Rarity: 20) The Basic roll for creating a new item in-game is D100+[Applicable stat] vs. [DIfficulty of the item to be created] A success means the item is created as desired, a failure means the item is not made and a portion of the cost required to make the item is used up, 10 shares for each point the item creation roll is failed by, up to the total amount of the item's Value. +Workshops If an item's difficulty is over 20, creating the item must be done using a Kit. If the difficulty of over 40 the work must be done either at a Workshop in a port, or in a Workshop Compartment aboard ship. Creating an item takes 1 Port Action or Flight Action per 20 points of Difficulty. +Breaking down Items for Parts The roll for breaking an item down for salvage is: D100+ [Applicable stat] - [Rarity/Difficulty of Item] = The Percent of the item's value that is recovered as Parts of the appropriate type Each individual part has a Value of $1 -------------- Explosive Crafting: Begin by choosing Damage, which determines all other stats. Damage: (Determined by player) Size: [Damage 1-10: Size 1][Damage 11-15 Size 2][Damage 16+ Size 3] Handling Difficulty: [Damage x2] Value: [Damage x5] Rarity: [Damage x 4] (Value in this case is expressed as the number of Explosive Parts needed to create the item. Michale has 200 parts he's willing to sell at $1 each.) This is a very rough writeup, so feel free to PM me if you have any questions.
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 16, 2010 9:56:40 GMT -8
"Guess I have Allan ta thank fer a lot of that, much as I hate to."
There's that name again. Allen. If everyone's getting friendly she might as well take the opportunity to see the ship. "Say Captain Em, if Allen's around, maybe he could give me a tour of the ship. One engineer to another, you see." Heloise gets a strange grin and a weird look in her eye. A sort of face a young boy might make if he'd found a peephole into a whorehouse.
|
|
|
Post by brendur on Jul 16, 2010 10:06:15 GMT -8
Fireworks go off in Tom's expression as he eyes the cornucopia of explosive possibilities. He hefts one of the grenades that Michale had mention, sniffing at it and rolling it between his hands before shaking his head and setting it down. Cracking open one of the barrels of powder he dips a finger in and pops a few grains in his mouth, working them over in the back of his tongue to pass judgment. Nodding once he opens his rucksack and starts counting out imperial majesties from a large roll.
"I'll take 125 oh those shares, n'a iffin ye have a spare crimpin crown, a grain pick, and a column spring lifter I'll take those off yer hands fer a reasonable price (IE: One Explosives Kit). Iffin ye ain't go those fer sale, howzabout since I'm takin so much off yer hands here ye let me have a go at yer tools?"
|
|
Khrys
Full Member
Posts: 130
|
Post by Khrys on Jul 16, 2010 12:09:04 GMT -8
The bartering had begun between the captains and Kenneth wanted in. There would be no profit to send home to momma if their shit-bucket didn't take to air sometime soon and make it's way to a place or situation wherein he got paid.
Looking pointedly at Claire for permission to speak, his remark directs itself toward Emmillianna, "We don't have enough foodstock to offer dinner on a plate to you. But what value would you put on converting a week's worth of your provisions into ready-heat meals for the Stormchild's galley storage?"
He'd smell like boiled onions by the end of all that cooking but if his pots and pans could buy Claire an extra box of ammo, foodstock or fuel, the labour would be worth it.
((Too late to use cooking roll on the barbeque in order to influence the response?))
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 16, 2010 12:58:12 GMT -8
((Spend 20cp for +4 Mechanical )
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 16, 2010 14:00:27 GMT -8
"Say Captain Em, if Allen's around, maybe he could give me a tour of the ship. One engineer to another, you see."
"Eh..." Emillianna says uncertainly. "Tell ye what, when Michale finishes up with yer friend there I'll have 'im drag yeh around down there. He's th' assistant mech fer the boat. Allan's not one of these people yeh talk to, really.. More like you get in 'is space and he flaps around an' gibbers like a drunk ape till yeh leave."
Across the room, Michale nods to Tom. "All right, one-twenty-five it is." He pauses a moment to consider, then shrugs. "...And yes, I'll let you use my kit." He stalks forward, artfully maneuvering his long limbs around the clutter of the compartment and pulls down a small leather-bound case from some overhead webbing. "If you do any vork it must be on the deck. Too much risk of a fire inside. ..And I expect everything vill be in place when you return it."
"What value would you put on converting a week's worth of your provisions into ready-heat meals for the Stormchild's galley storage?" Kenneth asks. Emillianna makes a face. "A week? Gods aloft, boy... Eh.. I'll think on it. In th' meantime why don't we tell me what a fair price is, hmn?"
"Now then..." Emillianna turns back to Claire to answer her question.
"Yeh, 'e lives there by himself.. Had 'imself a neighbor or two when I was here before, some scraps of 'is old crew, but they ain't here now. Died 'r drifted off, I didn't ask." She shrugs. "Now... Gotta tell yeh, the north end of the island. Northwest-ish, really, is full 'a natives. Whole village of 'em. Caught 'em going through our landed supplies by the dig the day after we landed, 'n shot some of 'em.. Left bits 'n pieces of one of the' ones we killed fer th' rest so they'd know not ta screw with us. Ain't heard from 'em since. Might be if I have the time I'll grab one 'r two, see if there's a market back on th' mainland." She waves a hand, moving back on subject.
"Anyway... Ta get on 'is good side... He.. ..Eh." An odd look crosses her face, persisting for several seconds before she shakes herself like a wet dog. "Eeeh! Just got a bad picture 'a ye seducin' me pa."
She rubs her one eye vigorously and shivers again. "Glahh.. Ye don't look too much like th' type 'an neither is he, but so ye know I might have ta shoot ye, just 'cause." She chuckles, then blinks, considering. "Although yeh know it might work ta unstick whatever's- Aaagh! NO NO NO!!" She grabs her head and pounds her foot on the deck, laughing. "God.. Ye seen something so terrible ye just can't look away? " She points at her head. "Happenin' ta me right now, up here. Anyway.. No, I don't think that's th' way ta go at 'im. He's a damn gentleman. Always thought 'e was Robin Hood'r some such shite." She smirks. "Ye wander over ta his camp, pout a bit 'n go on about how helpless ye and yer crew are, that's an in. He'll try'n help ye if he can. Yeh obviously don't want to go tellin' him we're workin' together, that'll shut ye right down. An' he don't like bein' lied to." She raises her eye towards the ceiling, thinking, her mouth moving slightly. "...He likes stories. Air stories, pirating stories, the lot. 'n books of th' same. After that, I honestly don't know what ta tell ye. ...Never said the job was even possible.. Just that I'd help ye out of ye did it." She grins. "Though I may have just decided not ta let ye leave here if'n ye don't at least try."
|
|
kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
|
Post by kraftykate on Jul 16, 2010 15:34:06 GMT -8
...and he flaps around an' gibbers like a drunk ape till yeh leave."
"Yup. Sounds like an engineer to me. 'Bout the only time my family shut-up was when we were in the shop. Which was rather often now that I think about it."
|
|
|
Post by brendur on Jul 16, 2010 15:55:54 GMT -8
Tom nods keeping in mind where he had it stowed away, just in case, slapping the man on the shoulder enthusiastically.
"No worries mates, remember yer talkin to someone who knows what they're doin."
He makes his way up to the upper deck, humming as he does so, finally when on deck he spreads out his materials and gets to work. The process of scraping down casings, measuring powders, and gently wiring switches brought him back to his days under Mistress Fang. Better known as the slant-eyed witch among the city folk, she'd watch carefully as he reached for instruments, cracking the back of his hand with a bamboo cane if he dared to reach for the wrong one. And they wondered why he took to the skies as soon as he was fifteen.
Still, she'd taught her lessons well, he wondered what she would have said if she saw her fireworks doing his work. She'd probobly curse him with every breath in her body, if she still had breath in her body.
((Construction: 1 Grenade, 3 Blasting Caps)
|
|
|
Post by liquidy on Jul 16, 2010 16:54:04 GMT -8
Her name being called certainly wasn’t the top of her priorities at the moment. Anna quietly patched up the old man, ignoring the chatter outside the door in order to focus on the job at hand. Grunting as she digs the bullet from the hole in the man lying on the makeshift bunk. Looking at and giving a satisfied nod, she drops it carefully in a bowl beside her, ignoring the man’s groans as she goes to work stitching him back up.
“Could have used some REAL materials… these damned pirates got me working with…” She goes on mumbling to herself about unsanitary conditions and sub-par medical supplies until she pulls the last stitch through the flesh. She pats the man lightly on the head, nodding at him. “Try not to stand up to quick..and no sudden movements.. or jerking.. or anything strenuous.” She furrows her brow, crossing her arms. “As a matter of fact.. just don’t move..not that you’ll LISTEN or anything..” With that she scowled, pulling the gloves from her hands, tossing them onto the floor. “All I asked for was a bit of cleanliness.. I’m not sure they even now what the term means..” She grumbles some more, finally stepping out into the main room, giving a quick glance around. Her face skews for a moment at the new bodies that joined the crew, rolling her eyes.
“It was one of you twits that shot him, wasn’t it?” She looks pointedly at each face, pausing for a moment. “Better hope he doesn’t get some kind of infection, as this isn’t exactly the ideal place to be treating bullet wounds.” Huffing, she digs through a nearby junk pile, producing a grimy piece of cloth, she wipes herself off as best she can, but the blood’s already set into her clothes on the front. Looking a right disheveled mess, she finally plops down in a nearby chair, rubbing her temples with the index finger of each hand. “So what is it now.. you shoot one of these ones too? I’m going to need some REAL thread, this time..”
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 16, 2010 22:22:26 GMT -8
((urk. Little too late to handle posting. will post before monday with results.))
|
|
|
Post by Gravedust on Jul 17, 2010 12:10:16 GMT -8
The path up to the deck takes Tom up through the darkened bridge, escorted my Michale. Once on deck his only company is the lookout, a blonde haired, light-skinned young man with a sunburned face who quietly introduces himself as Oliver before going back to pacing the rail around the edges of the deck, rifle in arms. Tom's work is completed quickly with the help of a bright moon and before long he has all his new toys prepared and packaged.
Anastasia makes her appearance in the crew area. “So what is it now.. You shoot one of these ones too? I’m going to need some REAL thread, this time..”
Emillianna snorts, rolling her eye. "Bah. Just tryinna make sure yeh get some damned food 'fore it all goes down 'n aft. Don't make me regret tryin' ta do something nice fer ye, now." She leans forward in her chair and swivels to face Anastasia. "So th' old bastard's gonna live, yeh?" The look on her face seems more like curiosity rather than any real concern. "His mangy arse needs ta be outta that gun compartment by tomorrow... Can't have th' wounded gummin' up th' works. So I hope he's together enough ta be moved by then."
--
Meanwhile, back on the Bethesda, things are considerably more quiet. The Cargo hatch is locked and secure and the only noise comes from the gentle hiss of the pressure tank and soft murmur of the boiler, banked down to coals to stretch out their fuel even further. There are cracks in her aft armor plating and shellpocks that mark the spots where she was savaged by Stormchild, but internally at least, she is still sound. Elle has a small fire going on the cookstove and is cooking a tin of food from the storage room in it's can, humming to herself as she stirs the simple meal. From time to time she wanders up front on reflex to have a look out the cracked bridge windows, though every time the view is the same; the white sand of the beach and the dark jumble of the jungle underbrush.
::::::::::::::::::Upkeep:::::::::::::::::
((Urgh.. Sorry for the delay, I was pretty smashed last night. >.> SNES Mario drinking games are both entertaining and incapacitating.
Tom: -$125 +125 Explosive Shares +1 Grenade (-50 Exp. shares) (Put on Belt Left) +3 Blasting Caps (-75 Exp Shares) (Put in Rucksack) +2 CP
Claire: +2 CP
Kenneth: +2 CP
Helo: -20 CP (+4 Mechanical) +2 CP
Anna: +2 CP
|
|