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Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 1:50 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme What the devil is she going on about? Frost was beginning to feel concern that Marguerite might be having trouble discerning fantasy from reality. We never shared a bed! Is she projecting a past trauma onto me? he wondered. While out of character, the direction of her complaints seemed to indicate little else. More than indignation at being falsely accused, Frost felt anger towards whoever had assaulted her welling up inside him. Such an atrocity was a double insult-- forcing oneself on a woman, and attacking one of Frost's officers. That the officer was his most trusted first mate was like twisting the knife in the wound. He made a note to ask about this incident later, off-handedly. She might protest him taking any action if he was too obvious about it, but Frost's honor would allow no less.
Suddenly, he noticed the looks some of the more conscious crewmen were giving him. Good God, do they think I forced myself upon her? He couldn't imagine how they came to that conclusion-- probably the alcohol; surely they wouldn't doubt his integrity if in their right minds-- but he could understand some of them loosening their knives in their sheaths. The Captain kept a very strict policy on such activities, and they probably felt the same way about hypocrisy that Frost himself did. Okay, so maybe they didn't know what the word hypocrisy meant. Either way, it was clear that the only thing keeping them at bay was the hard stare Frost gave them, as effective as a burning brand. It was also clear that, if he hoped to come out of this with any dignity, he had to diffuse the situation as adroitly and with as much haste as was possible. "I think you've had too much to drink," Frost said firmly, but soothingly. Well, as soothing as his voice would go. It was sort of like a fox swearing to the chicken on the other side of the fence that he meant no harm. Or maybe a chicken on the same side of the fence. What do pirates want to hear? I'm not placating pompous snobs now. "I didn't think there was any question about your wanting to be my wife," Frost said, hoping for a teasing tone. "You seemed so happy to stab and shoot and loot by my side that it seemed only natural. And, as I recall," he added, turning to his crew in general, "you were not complaining about sharing my bed." The thick tension in the air snapped-- at least temporarily; one or two were still unconvinced, it seemed -- as a round of raucous guffaws erupted from the pirates. Frost felt rather queasy; he'd never imagined that he would say such a thing, but had heard it used to similar effect by other pirates. He would have to apologize to Marc later for the lie, though. If she remembered. Lord. He bloody well hoped nobody remembered. |
The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 2:25 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme OOC:Hahaha! Poor Frost. That went well.
"I have not had too much to--" Wait. "You're horrible!" she all but screeched, shoving him; this only resulted in her landing soundly on her backside. The entire world, it seemed, was intent on making her fall over. For the moment, at least, it had succeeded. "You didn't tell me you hadn't planned on-- on--" Not sharing a bed? Was that what she'd meant to say? Or was it that she didn't know he hadn't planned on not telling her that they weren't sharing a-- wait. That didn't make sense. Hadn't, not, didn't-- she couldn't keep track of what she was trying to say any more. She had the distinct impression that her point had not gotten across as accurately as she would have liked, but she wasn't sure just where the problem had happened. "You-- but-- wait." She frowned again, trying to think this through. The crew was still roaring with laughter, which wasn't helping her ability to think. Although, of course, the rum might have had more to do with that than anything else, but she wasn't going to admit that. Not that there was any hiding her drunkenness. Not that she didn't have every reason to be as drunk as was humanly possible. Suddenly the mix-up at the inn seemed like a much bigger deal than it had at the time; though she'd been mortified to learn the horrible misunderstandings she'd caused then, it was nothing like the fury she felt about it all now. Dinner, too. And the ball. She'd fainted, actually fainted. It was humiliating. And it was his fault. Damn, damn, damn. "What the bloody hell are you going on about?" she said, quite honestly confused. Making things up on the fly was something she tended to be good at when it involved a plan of attack, or some sort of distraction, or maybe even cracking a Navy officer upside the head with a pistol. But this sort of making things up wasn't something she'd had much practice with sober; add to this the fact that she'd chugged practically her own weight in rum by this point-- well, the line between what was being said to her and what was being said for the crew's benefit was extraordinarily blurry. "That's what first mates do," she replied, her anger momentarily replaced by her confusion. Fortunately-- extremely fortunately-- her confusion had the added effect of lowering her voice, as she seemed to be talking more to herself than to anyone else at the moment. She leaned back to look up at Frost from her spot on the ground, but stopped when she realized that that was a surefire way to fall over. Again. "You can't blame a guy for that!" Habit had taken over at this point; she was wearing a dress, but was so used to referring to herself as a guy that she did so automatically. "And you never told me anything about the bed. How the bloody damn hell was I supposed to know what you had planned?" She peered into her mug. It was empty. She glared at Frost as though this were his fault. Everything else was his fault. This might as well be his fault too. "Wanna go sing more," she muttered. "Was having fun before you showed up." And with that, she threw her mug at him, knowing he would probably catch it, knowing that he would probably be angry, but not really caring. After her brilliant display of messing-up-absolutely-goddamn-everything today, well... if nothing else, it proved that she was losing her edge. Her ability to read the Captain had always been what made them work so well together; he would quirk an eyebrow, and she would know that it meant go prepare the cannons for battle and everyone to their stations and ready a boarding crew and take all the loot you can grab. Now she was having trouble figuring anything out. (She knew this was currently because she was drunk, but the fact that she'd been having trouble even before the drinking began had her concerned.) What if he did kick her off the ship? She'd been prepared for that possibility before they'd stopped in Brest, but his apparent desire to keep her as first mate had brought a sort of hope. Perhaps he didn't mind that she was a girl. Perhaps he valued that ability to practically read his mind enough to forgive her deception. Perhaps, perhaps-- I don't have anywhere else to go. Well, it was his fault. She struggled to stand, managed to get to her feet, and shoved him again, just for good measure. She was still in a dress. He probably wouldn't hit her. Besides, she was drunk, and a lot of things were excusable when you were drunk. Like insulting the Captain. "Jackass." This last was easily loud enough for the crew to hear. "I am," she announced, looking rather comical as she tried to stand up straight without wobbling, "going to go get more drunk and sing about rum." |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 4:57 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme So much for my luck turning good, Frost thought miserably, almost impressed at how much alcohol impaired Marc's wit. Almost. Mostly, he was irritated. Things were starting to get out of hand, and that was never a situation that Frost approved of. Though quietly, Marc was beginning to say things that would raise some eyebrows if overheard. Frost was not too concerned about any of the crew putting the pieces together and solving the puzzle, but it was never prudent to count on the stupidity of your crew. It was never prudent to count on their intelligence either-- nor their sense of "correct and incorrect actions," as Marc was so deftly proving at that very moment.
As she'd expected, Frost caught the mug she'd flung at him almost as a second thought, and retrieved a handkerchief from his pants pocket to wipe the drops of rum from his face that had flown out of the mug. When she threatened to get more alcohol-- Frost thought of it as just a threat; he certainly intended that it be nothing more-- the captain took two long strides to close the distance, and scooped her up in his arms. All he need do now was make up some clever excuse, and then-- "Oy, Cap'n, I thin' I figur'd it out," a fellow just slightly less drunk than most of the others interrupted, stumbling his way forward. Frost tensed. Surely the man hadn't heard Marguerite practically naming herself to be Marc, had she? This would have to be dealt with delicately. Could he be trusted to keep quiet? While he was a member of Frost's crew, there was no further reason that he should be trusted to keep such a tremendous secret. He surely wouldn't dare blackmail Frost, yet, though the thought pained him, Frost might have to silence him before things got out of hand. After all, deck hands can be easily replaced; a solid first mate cannot. On the other hand, would it not be safer for Marc in the long run if she simply found another ship? "It's yer two's annivers'ry, ain't it?" The pirate wore a smug look, clearly proud of himself. "She must be upset as you up and forgot. 'Busy stealin' the Navy's rum' ain't no excuse for forgettin' tha', Cap'n!" This was greeted with a fresh round of guffaws. Of course! It wasn't nearly so terrible as Frost had imagined. In fact, the man might have just provided that excuse Frost had been looking for. I must be really tired to be getting this jumpy. "Yes, how could I have forgotten!" Frost said, before Marc could mess things up any further. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to apologize in private." The captain made a move toward his cabin, but before he even took a step, half a dozen hands had grabbed him by the shoulders, with another half dozen lifting Marguerite from his arms and setting her on the ground next to him. The crew shoved them together, perhaps trying to get them to hug or kiss-- Frost worried that the more likely result would be Marc throwing up on him, actually-- and thrust fresh mugs of rum into their hands. The crew shouted various cries of "Cap'n's annivers'ry!", "Congrats, Cap'n!" or "Drink up!" all while forcibly tipping rum into Frost's mouth. He resisted at first-- he had never been a particular fan of alcohol, always preferring to be strictly in control of all of his faculties-- but the crew was too drunk to understand why he wouldn't want to drink, and insisted that getting drunk with his wife would make her happier. To be correct, it wasn't so much that he stopped resisting. Rather, he simply wasn't strong enough to resist his entire crew physically forcing him to drink. To hell with not harming a lady, Frost thought bitterly, glaring at Marc when he got a chance to breath. I'm gonna bloody kill that woman! As... soon as they let me use my arms again.... |
Melia Stahlflugel Joined: 4 Aug 2005 Posts: 613 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 6:21 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Melia Stahlflugel: This theme, Any theme This way and that, here and there- an endless parade of motion and activity to get on-board the Zephyr and it still didn't stop when the ship made for the ocean. Or at least that was Jenny's experience, being more or less a silent observer in the undertaking. She sat to the side of the party smoking away, increasingly blissed-out look on her face. Then, the captain and his first mate made fools of themselves, and she watched with amusement as it continued, but did not intervene. Oh, she would be most assuredly rubbing that in his face later.
But she soon tired of that, and decided to give Steve a visit. He had surely been forgotten in the brig, after all. Just as she stood up to descend the ladder, though, she caught a glimpse of something gold fluttering from the crow's nest. It was hair. "Interesting." Jenny dumped her dead ashes out and pocketed her pipe before she climbed up the mast. Sure enough, there was someone she didn't recognize there, surrounded by bottles of rum. Most of which were empty. Drawing her knife and keeping it ready in one hand as she continued to peek over the 'bucket' of the nest, she said, "Wake up, sunshine..." - Aiden ran out of the inn, having heard one of his men say something- to find a patch of empty air where the Zephyr had been. "My shiiiip!" He bellowed. The men surrounding him weren't happy about this development either, mostly because they knew Aiden was going to be in a foul mood for a long, long time. And when he was in such a mood, he took it out on those around him. He wasn't at the moment... but he would. It was something of certainty, like the sun rising in the east every morning. "Goddamned pirates took my ship!" His hands threaded through his salt-and-peppered hair, ponytail becoming disheveled as he gripped his head in frustration and rage. His face was growing red as well. "I'm going to find them, and I'm going to kill them. I am, I am. Just- get Griffin. Get him." Mumbling almost to himself at the end of that sentence, he then remembered- "And Heckett's still in the bloody crow's nest. Oh, perfect." While the men left Aiden to brood by himself, they ran to find the other Admiral. "Sir- I'm afraid our ship was stolen by the pirates, right out from under our noses." One brave soul said. They all looked at each other nervously. "We're not quite sure how it could have happened, but it did, and uh... here we are." |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 9:31 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme OOC:Steve's in Griffin's ship. Sorry if that was unclear. :(
On another note, I don't think Griffin's ship has a name yet. If it does, sorry. I forgot. Feel free to remind me. In the meantime, we're calling it the HMS Daedalus. Unless this roleplay is earlier than that. In which case, I guess it's not HMS. I don't know. Whatever. Griffin took one look at the nervous men in front of him and set off immediately toward the docks, barking questions at them, his tone impatient but not unkind. "When did this happen? What do you mean, you're not sure how? Who was supposed to be guarding the ship? Surely someone saw something. Where is Lieutenant Radley? Were both ships taken? Keep up, now." Though he was by no means running, the men seemed to be having a hard time keeping up with his long strides without breaking into a trot themselves. "Just the Zephyr, then. Fine, fine." His thoughts were racing-- how had they missed something that could have led to this? Radley was young, yes, and still needed some time to become a leader in his own right, but Griffin had thought him reliable, at least. "Admiral Aiden." His voice was clipped, as it always was when speaking to this man-- he appeared to be having some sort of a breakdown, right here in front of the men he was supposed to be commanding. That was unacceptable. Frustration and panic were all well and good, but they had no place outside of one's own mind, where the men could see them. "What happened here? Lieutenant Radley should have been watching the--" He broke off as he caught sight of the Lieutenant. Or, at least, the Lieutenant's boots; they were sticking out from beneath one of the wooden boarding ramps leading up to the Daedalus. "Lieutenant?" He moved closer to peer into the shadows, hoping to discern how badly, exactly, Radley was injured. "Someone get him out of there." He turned back to Aiden, exasperated to the point of wanting to hit the man, but nothing showed other than a sort of detached urgency. "You know these types," he said quietly, determined not to allow his dislike for the man get in the way of his ability to do his job. (And to find the girl, but he was able to justify this due to the fact that finding the girl meant finding the rest of the pirates, which was, essentially, doing his job.) "Most of your men will have to stay behind. They'll only clutter my ship. But you need to come with me. You may be able to help me find them." He glanced back to where Radley's boots still stuck out from beneath the wooden plank. "For God's sake, will somebody help the Lieutenant?" he barked, rounding on one of his men whose name he couldn't remember. "You. Get him out of there. Everyone else, prepare to leave." OOC:Kinda figured they sort of have to give chase... if we don't want to deal with them, we can always just say they never managed to find the pirates, blah blah blah... might be a good idea to have them around in case we run out of awkward. Hahaha.
- Marguerite decided right away that she didn't like the way Frost was looking at her. Under any other circumstances, she would have taken the first opportunity to skulk away and let him brood or think or whatever it was he did when he wasn't intimidating her. Now, however, the crew was preventing any sort of getaway and she was stuck firmly between them and him, not certain which direction she ought to try and go. Besides, she was perfectly happy-- there was more rum now, and the Captain-- the Captain, who never drank-- was holding a mug as well. She downed a good portion of what was in her mug, to the cheers and congratulations of the crew, ignoring the strange pit of nervousness that had settled into her stomach at the word "anniversary." (Or the strange feeling might have been the rum.) What was going on, now? Clearly it couldn't be all bad, judging by the rum still in her mug, but she was confused. And her head felt funny. It reminded her a little of the way she'd felt at the ball, except she could still breathe. She just felt... woozy... She giggled and fell over, the wrong way, into one of the crew members-- the same one, in fact, who'd been laughing at her bawdy songs and stealing glances at her bare ankles only minutes ago. I like pirates, she decided, as he laughed and thumped her jovially on the back before pushing her carefully back toward the Captain. Much better than those civilized types. She righted herself, drinking down the rest of the mug, and promptly fell over again, the other way this time. "Haha." She handed the mug off to one of the crew to for a refill, all the while trying not to lean too heavily on Frost. Her attempts to right herself only ended up in her losing her balance all over again. "Oops. Sorry, Jack." OOC:God, I love DrunkMarc. |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 4:12 am | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme When Charles opened his eyes, he discovered that he was not, in fact, in the arms of a beautiful young lady. Quite the opposite, in fact. One of the more repulsive sailors had him propped up and was alternately slapping and fanning Radley's face in an attempt to revive him. Well, it had worked-- but Charles rather wished that it hadn't. Actually, he rather desperately wished that it hadn't. If the man weren't continuing his bothering, Charles might have tried to pretend it was all a bad dream and just go back to sleep.
But, he was continuing, and sleep was impossible. Charles would just have to face up to the harsh reality that he would not get a kiss from a beautiful young lady that evening. He climbed to his feet-- it took a couple tries, actually; he was still a bit lightheaded-- and found his way to Admiral Griffin. It was best not to drag out explanations of this sort of thing. Certainly it was bad of him to be caught off guard just because she was a lady, and Radley didn't expect much leniency on the Admiral's part, but as long as he didn't pussyfoot around it and try to shift the blame onto someone else, it should turn out fine. Provided nothing too horrible had happened, which it didn't seem to have. "Admiral Griffin, I'd like to sincerely-- " Radley stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open in exactly the position he'd left it, with his next words quite literally left on his lips, unspoken. It was at that moment that he'd seen the dock behind the admiral. Empty. Where a ship was supposed to be. Just... emptiness. "Shit." Realizing what he'd said, Radley snapped his jaw shut, and focused his eyes back onto the admiral. "I mean-- 'ship.' The ship's gone. How did that happen? I just can't imagine." His words were beginning to run together, but it was all he could do to keep from stuttering or, you know, running away and hiding. "Gee that's a neat trick. Just one minute there's a big ship, and then there's not and-- is it hot in here? Out here? I've always felt the naval uniform is a bit constricting-- what was I saying? Oh, dear we're missing a ship." Radley managed to stop himself before it got too much worse. He knew he'd have to think fast if he was to get out of this with any rank higher than midshipman. "I swear, there must have been thirty men, all armed with pistols. They just overwhelmed me, but you can be sure I got some of them back, of course. I almost had them, but uh...." Charles paused to adjust his collar. He had the distinct feeling that his fast thinking was not helping him at all. "I'm uh... I'm in big trouble, aren't I? ...sir?" --- Frost realized his mistake immediately, of course. Trusting that a crew of drunken pirates would simply allow two people privacy on a momentous occasion was foolish. Especially when there was no incentive for them to listen to their captain. Sure, they wouldn't dare cross him in any material way-- Frost had a way of preventing mutiny with a glare and a frown-- but when they were only doing what they imagined was helping the celebration ("What celebration is complete without alcohol?" Bah, those addle-brained idiots!) there was little that could stop them. Perhaps a few cannon shots across the bow would stop them-- that was a time when they could not do without the captain's command-- but, short of that, it was liquor and singing for as long as they were conscious. Finding his left hand freed for the moment, Frost steadied Marguerite. Things were getting out of hand. She was calling him "Jack." Was that supposed to be a joke? It's not very funny, Frost thought. That's not even my real name! And then, he realized, he was not steadying Marguerite. But she wasn't steadying her either. Just how much have they made me drink? Hey! Was that deck always so-- There was a sharp noise and and some bright lights, and suddenly Frost was being helped to his feet. And his head hurt. How long had that been going on? Oh well. The more important issue was that, at last, the crew seemed willing to let the captain and his wife retire to their cabin. They harbored some regrets, of course-- they all seemed to have enjoyed partying with Mrs. Frost-- but the only regret that the captain himself held was that he wasn't quite able to carry Marguerite all the way to the cabin without his crew steadying him on a fairly regular basis. A few took his stony silence correctly-- shifting away and trying to pretend that they hadn't been excited to see Captain Frost get drunk-- but the vast majority had had too much rum to really care. With the thick door closed firmly behind him, Frost struggled to the bed, and dropped Marguerite onto it. His sensed were dulled, and his normally perfect grace and poise seemed to have abandoned him, but he still had the sense of decorum to give his bed to the lady. Well, to the "lady." She certainly was not a true lady, given her actions earlier that evening, and Frost was not ready to forgive her. Wait a second. Stop spinning for a moment, and wait just a second. Frost sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk and turned to look at Marguerite, laying unconscious on the bed. Is this not the perfect opportunity? The wheels in Frost's head began to turn-- if perhaps a bit slower than normal-- and a beautiful plan for revenge began to form. Though he was strictly against attacking a woman, revenge of the sort he had in mind could certainly be allowed if the situation warranted it. And this situation definitely warranted it. Frost stumbled back to the bed and loosened the laces on Marguerite's dress, presumably to make it more comfortable for her to sleep, then pulled the comforter over her with a surprising, almost brotherly care. After that, he removed his jacket and vest and tossed them aimlessly onto the floor-- it was easier than he'd expected to make them look disarrayed. They just became that way as soon as they fell from his fingers-- then unlaced his shirt and removed his boots and socks. They found their way to the floor just as unceremoniously as the other articles of clothing. He took a second to admire his handiwork, then lay down next to the bed-- well, he ended up in a laying position; the process wasn't exactly graceful. And then, he smiled. We'll just see if you pull that stunt in front of the crew again! OOC: We can backtrack if you wish. It just seemed like there wasn't a lot for you to do so I breezed forward through a few minutes |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Thu Mar 04, 2010 1:38 am | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme Admiral Griffin was not amused.
It wasn't that part of him didn't enjoy seeing Aiden's apoplectic reaction to the empty space where his ship ought to have been, and it wasn't as though he wasn't extremely grateful that the stolen ship had not been his (he could deal with having the other Admiral in close quarters, but only as long as it was understood that this was his ship, functioning under his rules.) No, as far as worst-case scenarios went, this barely made the list. But his young Lieutenant couldn't lie to save his life, and the fact that he was trying angered Griffin far more than the fact that he'd fallen asleep or left his post or whatever the hell he'd done. "You are, indeed," he replied evenly, his green eyes fixed on Radley's own with a calm that he'd found quite effective in unnerving men of every size and temperament. "To begin with, Lieutenant, you happen to be lying to a superior officer. And if you aren't going to tell me what happened, I can only assume that you fell asleep at your post and are too cowardly to say so outright." Griffin was perfectly aware that this was not, in fact, the case. It only took a moment's thought to realize that falling asleep at one's post was not something one would sneak beneath a boarding ramp to do. Still, no need to tell Radley that. Griffin didn't prefer to command using fear, but he would settle for it when there was no other option. "I can't say I blame you. Having served on my ship for some time now, you are no doubt aware of how seriously I take things such as guard duty. Letting down the entire crew-- no, the entire Navy-- just because you didn't get your usual share of sleep?" He shook his head and turned away, as though he were planning to leave the poor boy standing there and probably hyperventilating over his military future-- or lack thereof. "No matter. We'll be sure to... resolve everything when we return." --- Marguerite woke to sunlight streaming across the bed and, specifically, her face. She had been drunk before, but only once or twice, and never so drunk that she literally couldn't remember getting to wherever she'd woken up. Her experience with alcohol was just enough that she was aware that, all evidence to the contrary, her head was not actually exploding. Which didn't help with the pain, but was a bit of a relief nonetheless. One eyelid cracked open, and Marguerite was met with the brightest, whitest light she'd ever seen-- and now her head was actually exploding. It was all over, everything was over-- all of that work to steal the damn ship and all for what? So she could make a mess of the cabin and leave her brain all over the pillow? Lovely. She let out a halfhearted groan. The sound reassured her that she was still alive, but for how long, she wasn't sure-- did brains take time to explode? Was she supposed to be listening for a fizzling noise, like a stick of dynamite? Stop being stupid. Which was difficult, given that she didn't feel like she was being stupid. She felt like her head was trying to kill her. But heads didn't explode just because of a little alcohol, and perhaps she could lessen the effects of the sunlight by-- ah. With another groan, she managed to pull the covers up over her head, blocking out enough of the light that she could actually think without imagining sizzling fuses and gray mush spread out over crisp white pillows. It was an image which got a little more detailed every time she thought of it. Maybe I should just go back to sleep. It sounded like the best idea she'd ever had, and she pulled the covers up a bit higher, settling herself into the sheets-- Wait. No way were the Navy's bunks this... nice. Beginning to panic again, Marguerite thought back to last night-- and found that she couldn't remember anything but the words to a bawdy drinking song that she seemed to recall shouting out along with the rest of the crew. Past that... nothing. More rum, probably. She glanced down at herself and let out a squeak when she realized that she was only technically still dressed. Her dress was practically falling off. She wanted to chalk it up to a night of restless sleep, but she'd put the damn thing on and was well aware of the very precise effort it would take to take it off. So. She closed her eyes again, somehow sensing that she'd be happier going back to sleep than thinking through all of this, but her traitorous mind refused to let it go. Not dressed. In a very comfortable bed. There are very few possibilities, Marc. But she was alone in the bed, which was a point in favor of a less-than-horrifying possibility. But you've probably slept very late. The Captain never sleeps very late. She let out another involuntary squeak, and carefully, slowly began to pull the covers back down, terrified of what she might see. If only her head had actually exploded. OOC:I made up that there was a window in the new cabin...? We're gonna go with it. I have no clue. Also wasn't sure where Frost was at this point, so I figured I'd sort of give you a chance to put him somewhere.
On the plus side... awkward, go! |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 11:43 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme OOC: Mmm... awkward.
The captain had slept surprisingly well, considering he was laying on floorboards with only the clothes on his back to keep him warm. He woke up stiff, of course--very stiff, in fact; he would not be moving very swiftly about the ship today-- but he felt surprisingly well-rested. He wasn't quite sure what could account for the sensation, but guessed that it had something to do with what he'd done the night before. Though Frost had awoken with his mind in a bit of a haze, and had at first been horrified to see his first mate half-dressed in his own bed, memories of the night before returned slowly, like the trickling of a creek, and he was again satisfied with the decisions he'd made. He did not feel quite as unquestioningly smug as he had-- the captain suspected the alcohol had had something to do with that-- How much did I end up drinking, anyway?-- but, at the very least, he felt justified. Feeling guilty was not something Captain Frost cared to waste his time on. His headache, on the other hand, was. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it. He had little personal experience with the discomfort of the morning after heavy drinking, but he'd never heard of a cure for the headaches that actually worked. And, not being superstitious, he was not interested in trying any of them. Instead, he sipped at some surprisingly good English tea-- the Admiral had many qualities of varying repute, but his taste in tea, at least, Frost could approve of-- looked over maps, wrote a few letters, and read from one of the books he'd brought with him. But mostly, he took comfort in knowing that, whatever he was going through, Marguerite would be going through much worse-- she had, after all, gotten quite a head start on him with the drinking, and, as he could recall, she had no more experience with the stuff than he had. It was an unworthy thought, he knew, but it was satisfying nevertheless. After hearing for the second time what Frost had dismissed as a rat that had snuck onto the ship, he looked up from his tea and his book to see Marguerite, huddling under the covers. The captain did not have to fake the slight quirk to his lip and the almost noticeable angle to his eyebrow that passed for a triumphant or satisfied smile-- it came more readily than he had expected-- and he did not care to suppress it. Instead, he suppressed the feeling that he was doing something rather less than honest, and significantly less than fair. He liked to finish what he started-- even if he started it while in a drunken haze. That was his justification, anyway. Sounds a lot better than "I want her to feel every second of embarrassment that she forced on me last night." Besides, this is the kind of stuff that would have been unheard of in polite society-- which was exactly why he wanted to do it. "I trust you slept well?" OOC: Oh Frosty. You bad, bad man.
--- OOC: Oh right. Charles
Charles bit his lip nervously. That had gone even worse than he'd expected-- and he had been expecting some rather awful things. It was clear that he'd handled the situation poorly-- well, that was the understatement of the decade, but the words to properly express it just wouldn't come to him at that moment. Griffin was a tough man to work under, but he was also fair, and Charles had felt that the man had harbored a soft spot for him. Perhaps that was just ambitious hopefulness-- his brother had always said that promotions were almost exclusively based on who you knew rather than what you knew-- but even if he assumed that he had been mistaken, the admiral's reaction was harsher than he had imagined. I can only assume that you are too cowardly to say so outright. It wasn't quite what the Admiral had said-- he felt he could have quoted the whole harangue, despite his muddled state of mind-- but it was close enough. He'd said some other things, too-- hinting not-so-subtly that Charles' career was over, for example-- but those words in particular struck a chord. You are too cowardly to admit your own faults, even to yourself. That is what his Fitzwilliam had said. It might have even been the last thing he'd said before disappearing into the pirates' world, and Charles would never forget it. Now, he was sure, it had been intended as advice, but Charles had heard in those words disappointment. A sound that now also resonated in Admiral Griffin's words. Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves, Charles strode up to his admiral's side, possibly closer than was strictly appropriate when facing an officer of such superior rank, yet he preferred that his audience was as limited as possible. Even if the man was angry with him, Charles felt he could trust Admiral Griffin to be fair. "Admiral," he said, struggling to keep the tone of pleading from entering his voice, "I will not make excuses to you. It was... a girl. A lady, I should say. Quite fetching in fa--" Charles looked away and cleared his throat before turning back to Griffin. "But that's not important. She introduced herself as a Ms. Redford, and wanted to arrange a tour for a group of refugees, and it seemed harmless enough so I assented. The last I remember is her leaning in to... ah... well I suppose she whacked me over the head-- I can feel where it hit. I admit I was weak in the face of a pretty... face. I... realize how this sounds now that I've said it... but it is God's own truth." Redford... The name struck a chord somewhere in his memory, but he couldn't quite place it. Hmmm.... |
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