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Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Wed Mar 25, 2009 5:09 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme OOC: I'm okay with that
Frost nodded solemnly when his "wife" explained her plan. He could not argue, of course. While perhaps it would be more appropriate for him to accompany her, he couldn't risk the possibility that one of the Navy crew would recognize him. Even if they didn't have some sort of painting or sketch of him, they certainly knew who it was they were chasing. His reputation alone might have been enough to let them recognize him. On the other hand, his first mate -- especially "disguised" as a lady -- would surely escape notice. After all, women were sometimes capable of deception that a man could never manage. That aside, Frost would do better to aid their cause by distracting the Navy, if at all possible. After sipping at his wine for a few moments while Jenny and Marc headed out to fulfill respective responsibilities, Frost stood up to take his leave. "Thank you, sir, for your hospitality. I think I shall take a few turns around the grounds. I dare say the fresh air will help clear my head, indeed." The mayor nodded and smiled indulgently, while the innkeeper led Frost to the gardens himself. The captain bowed himself out, and began to walk around the paths. Though he didn't expect to see Griffin or Aiden, he walked near the fence, in the off chance that he could delay them in their plans by his presence. Though he really had no other options, if he was to maintain Frost was very conscious of the fact that he was not wearing his sword. It was not far -- only in his rooms, just a short walk away -- yet it was far enough that he would not be able to get to it with any reasonable amount of grace in a hurry. Frost decided to think of it as a challenge. --- Charles had been leaning against the railing, tossing his pistol up in the air and catching it to pass the time. While he was technically in charge of the ships while the admirals were gone, that didn't entail much actual responsibility, at least, as far as he was concerned. It certainly didn't help that all the real action was surely going down in the city -- chasing pirates, getting into sword fights, and a whole other mess of excitement. Meanwhile, Charles was stuck in front of the ships, wasting away. Even if the pirates were to come, it's not like they'd be stupid enough to come one at a time, giving him time to reload his pistol so he could shoot each one in the face without even a need to--- "A... moment?" Charles asked, suddenly broken out of his reverie by the arrival of a young woman. He quickly picked up the pistol that had fallen, unnoticed, to the ground and shoved it into the holster at his side. He cleared his throat to calm himself, and rested his left hand on his sword hilt as he'd seen his brother do many times, and mustered his best look of confidence and poise. "How may I help you this night, my lady?" |
The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Sat Mar 28, 2009 1:55 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme Marguerite relaxed a little when she realized that, though this young man may have been related to Frost in some way-- she was growing more sure of it every moment-- he didn't have the same intimidating glare. The eyes were otherwise exactly like the Captain's, but softer, somehow. She thought she might be able to get away with things here, things which might go entirely unrewarded were she dealing with the pirates whose company she was used to. Judging by the way Mr. Elton, the innkeeper, and the mayor had been treating her, she thought the fact that she was a girl might actually help her. Up until now it had been little more than a nuisance, but she was a fast learner, and she thought this tour deal might happen with less effort than she'd expected.
"My name is Jennifer Redford," she began, rather proud of herself for remembering that much. Should she mention her "husband"? She thought for a moment, then decided perhaps that could wait. "I'm here escorting a group of refugees, and we had hoped that we could find some entertainment for the poor things. They've been through so much, you know, and I wanted to give them some diversion from their troubles, but I couldn't find anything at all that I thought they might enjoy." She smiled up at him, hoping very much that he hadn't been told to look out for her by Griffin-- although she had a feeling that if he had, he would have recognized her by now. "I was so happy when I saw that the Navy had sailed in, you know. This is exactly the sort of thing I've been looking for." There was a pause, during which she managed to look convincingly hopeful. "Is there any way I could arrange some sort of tour of one of these ships? I know it's a bit rushed, but I'm afraid I don't know what else to do." |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Mon Mar 30, 2009 9:48 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme "A -- a tour?" Charles asked, scratching his chin with his right hand. It wasn't that he was suspicious, exactly -- she seemed to have a trustworthy vibe to her -- but he wasn't quite sure how to answer. Would the admiral approve? Was there anyone available to facilitate the tour? Would there be enough time? Would the tour even be the best diversion for these refugees? Could Charles possible come up with anything more suitable? Given his limited connections in the area -- his brother would have been more connected; Charles would have to ask him at some point how he has so many connections -- Charles would not have an easy time arranging anything outside of his immediate control.
"Why, I suppose I could manage it," Charles said after a brief pause, straightening his jacket. "I regret that, due to some business we may be setting sail shortly after the morning, however. Are you available tonight? The refugees, I mean -- are the refugees available?" OOC: Just look the other way and keep posting >_>;; |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Thu Jun 25, 2009 12:34 am | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme OOC:Yo ho, it's hot. The sun is not
a place where we could live. But here on earth there'd be no life without the light it gives. "The refugees are certainly free this evening," Marguerite replied smoothly, marveling at how much easier this all was when there wasn't anyone around who knew any better. Her very recent failures at the dinner table (and the awkwardness before) were still ringing in her head, but this man-- he still hadn't introduced himself, but she was growing ever more sure that he was related to the Captain-- didn't know about any of that. "In fact, I feel that the sooner we can take care of this, the more comfortable I would be with the entire situation." She lowered her voice, rather proud of how well she was doing. If she'd been anyone else, she would have believed her. "I've been hearing the most... disturbing rumors. There aren't really pirates here in Brest, are there?" She clasped her hands in front of her, looking worried. "We brought the refugees here because we thought it would be safe." How long will it take Griffin to decide it's time to come back? she wondered, the worry on her face becoming genuine. "Perhaps," she said carefully, "it would be... unwise to wait until evening." She leaned in, mentally lamenting the very proper cut of the dress's bodice. "I'm sure you understand," she finished. "Is there-- I don't mean to be a burden, of course. I understand that you're probably very busy, but is there any way this could happen any sooner?" OOC:...yeah. Just... yeah. |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Sat Jun 27, 2009 2:58 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme Charles studied the woman as she spoke, trying to read her the way his brother did. Keep a stern eye and a steady gaze, he had been told. Don't try to intimidate, but have the confidence that you know what they are thinking. Don't pretend that you know, actually know. If you can do this well, many people will feel intimidated on their own, and will reveal small hints about their thoughts through their body language. Then, you will know what they are thinking. It all seemed good advice, and logical, yet there seemed to be no small measure of art involved, a certain knack that you simply could not emulate. Where Fitzwilliam had been born with this knack, Charles had not. Though at times he felt he achieved some measure of success with his brother's technique, even then he was at a loss to interpret the subtle hints that he saw. Charles envied his brother for that talent, and wished he had someone he could practice with. They always said that hard work can make up for what you lack in innate ability, but this was not exactly the sort of skill that could be practiced easily, or regularly.
Regardless, from what the lieutenant could gather, this woman was, on the whole, genuine. There was a nervousness about her, an uncertainty -- he thought that's what it was, anyway; maybe she was just cold out at the docks. Of course, that could be attributed to the rumors of pirates that she mentioned. Yes, that was it. She was worried about the pirates. "Have no fear," Charles said at last, breaking away from his emulation of his brother's famous stare and favoring Miss Redford with his most winning smile. "Your servant Charles William Radley will handle the tour for you," he said, taking off his hat and bowing gracefully. "I am sure we have a good hour or two at least before the Admiral returns. They may even find a hotel for the night, I cannot say. Shall I accompany you to fetch the refugees? You need fear no pirate if I am at your side!" Did that sound too forward? Yes, Charles decided, it did. "That is... if I escort you. Just that." Charles cleared his throat. How did his brother manage so well in these sort of situations? OOC: I guess...? |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Fri Jul 31, 2009 1:57 am | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme There were a few uncomfortable moments during which Marguerite was sure she could see some semblance of her Captain's signature stare in this young man's face-- however, the moment passed quickly, and Marguerite decided that she liked the boy all the more for it. Although said stare was fitting on the Captain, this young man's version was decidedly less assured, and watching it brought forth the same nervous pity as watching a new sailor trying to make his way across the deck-- while the idea was clearly there in theory, he hadn't quite gotten his sea legs yet.
No, his smile seemed much more appropriate. Charles William Radley? Well, she'd been right. They were most certainly related. While Radley was not the most unusual name in England, the fact that they looked so much alike more or less ruled out the possibility of a coincidence. Whether they were cousins or brothers, she wasn't sure, but she would have been willing to bet on the latter. Which begged the question-- how were they to sneak the Captain on board if his cousin or brother or other non-coincidence was almost sure to recognize him? Damn. She couldn't very well let Charles accompany her to pick up her "husband"; first of all, because she had a sneaking suspicion that half the reason he was so helpful was because she'd not yet mentioned a husband, and secondly because if Charles were to catch sight of the Captain, they could very well have the entire Navy down on their heads in a matter of minutes. On the other hand, she couldn't exactly turn down his offer to escort her, not after expressing her fear of pirates... Damn, damn, damn. An hour or two... That was a fair amount of time, but she would still have to hurry. "I would very much appreciate an escort," she replied, returning his smile as though she wasn't secretly panicking. "Especially one so generous." Damned dress. If I was in breeches, I could walk around this damn town by my own damn self and nobody would blink a damn eye. "If you wouldn't mind, I need to stop by the Spring Canary," she said, pleased that she'd remembered the name of the stupid place with its stupid silverware. "I only need to speak with the owner for a moment or two, but I am a bit concerned about time. I hope you wouldn't mind terribly if I asked you to help me collect the refugees?" Biting her lip, Marguerite placed one small hand on Charles's arm, as though to emphasize the hope with which she awaited his response. This also had the added benefit of distracting him while she took a quick glance around, taking in all the details she could, and storing them away in her head. On the other hand, I suppose dresses have their advantages... The two ships were docked closely enough that getting from one to the other shouldn't be much trouble, although in a skirt, an easy run and jump might appear a bit trickier. Still, she thought she could manage. Squirrely Steve's on one of those ships, she reminded herself. While she was a pirate through and through, she'd gained a soft spot for the bald, burly-looking man-child. She wasn't sure which ship they would tour, but if Steve wasn't in its brig-- well, then she supposed she had a rescue mission on her hands. If it was convenient. And if there didn't appear to be any complications. Like Griffin, for example. "You'll need to find a Mr. Johnson," she continued, assuming that Charles was willing to help her. Her hand was still on his arm, and she was having fun exploring her newfound feminine wiles... her smile was dazzling, and besides, she was sure he would not back out of his offer to assist her even if he wanted to. "If you wouldn't mind telling him that I sent you-- I'll point you to the inn where he should be. It's not far from the Spring Canary. If you wouldn't mind escorting me as far as my inn, I can wait for you and the refugees there." She lowered her voice again, moving a fraction of an inch closer. "I do appreciate your help. The very idea of pirates--" She shook her head, bringing one hand to her mouth in a manner that would have made anyone who knew her snort with laughter at her apparent vulnerability. She was struck by a sudden idea; perhaps she wouldn't have to wait until the tour to find out which ship Steve was on. "Have you run into any yet?" she asked, eyes wide. "I do hope your ships have adequate restraining facilities. I do loathe the thought of any of them breaking free." This was, of course, a stupid statement, and Marguerite knew it. What kind of Navy ship wouldn't have adequate restraining facilities? Still, she was willing to appear a little silly in order to get the information she wanted. They reached the Spring Canary fairly quickly, and Marguerite bade Charles goodbye at the door, reminding him that she would await him and the rest of the refugees right outside. Then she strode through a few doors, and found the face that was so similar to the one she'd just left. "Mr. Redford," she began carefully, attempting to keep her voice light and convey the gravity of the situation simultaneously. It failed, and she ended up sounding giddy, but she had more important things to think about. "May I speak to you for a moment?" OOC:Sorry for sort of controlling Charles, Dan... I'm trying to get us past the whole planning-the-tour phase, but if any of that's a problem, let me know. Time warps for the win?
My idea: Charles begins the tour of Aiden's ship, showing around all of the pirates sans captain. Marguerite takes him aside and expresses a (somewhat morbid) interest in seeing the pirate prisoner. Marguerite uses her feminine wiles and awesome figure like whoa. Charles takes her to Griffin's ship to see the prisoner, leaving the "harmless refugees" to look about for a minute or two. Radley sneaks on board Aiden's ship while Charles is momentarily absent. Marguerite clonks Charles over the head and releases Steve. They return to Aiden's ship and sail away to the open seas, copious amounts of alcohol in tow. The Navy fellows can show up at any point later in this sequence of events-- Marc and Steve just have to be able to get back to the ship. Too complicated? Possibly. Feel free to tweak. I really want to clonk Charles over the head, though. Mostly just because I think it'd be hilarious. :) |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Fri Jul 31, 2009 11:18 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme OOC: No worries. I think we're all eager to skip the boring parts!
"Oh... yes, of course," Charles said, managing only somewhat successfully to mask the hesitation in his voice. It was all he could do to keep himself from looking worriedly back at the ships behind him as he escorted Miss Redford along the dark streets. More precisely, she was leading him by the arm -- he imagined himself as a horse being lead by the reins in her hand -- yet there was something about the delicate way her hand rested on his arm that made him feel important and in charge. There was something about that smile, too. And her eyes. Perhaps it was just the moonlight, but there seemed to be a sparkle in those light blue eyes, the kind of eyes a man could fall into and lose himself in. No! This is hardly the time to be admiring a pretty woman, Charles admonished himself. He had offered his help, to be sure, and couldn't possibly go back on his word. Yes, that would be unthinkable. Though he rather regretted leaving his post -- less, to have such a pretty lady on his arm -- No, nothing like that! -- upholding his word was as much his duty as was obeying the admirals' orders. Perhaps more. Right? Yes, Radley, decided. Something about the logic of that tugged at the back of his mind, a feeling that he was missing something, or perhaps overlooking a very important factor. Ah, it can't be that important. "Mr. Johnson, you say?" Charles confirmed, trying not to look too regretfully at Miss Redford's hand as she pulled away. He was sure he covered it very well. Fairly sure. "It shall be done, my lady. Be assured that I shall have gathered Mr. Johnson and the refugees as soon as possible." With that, Radley offered her a very precise bow with just one or two brief flourishes, nothing overly fancy, before striding off to make good on his promise. Well, maybe just a little fancy. Even if he was only doing his duty and keeping his word -- certainly not just trying to impress a lady -- there was nothing that said he could not put a few flourishes in his bow. She was pretty, though. --- Captain Frost was examining a rather well-groomed patch of white flowers. Lilies, if he was not mistaken. There was no particular reason that he chose these flowers to look at. In fact, there was no part in him that was even that moved by them. That he knew they were well-groomed was no more than that -- knowledge, learned to no other end than that he might be able to comment on it in conversation with others who might have learned the same thing. In truth, it meant nothing, not to him, and he suspected that the vast majority of people who held the same knowledge as he felt the same way. He further suspected that he was among the very privileged few who could admit how little it meant to them. Yes, Frost decided, life was much easier away from all this high society nonsense. Now that the event was passed, he almost smiled as he thought of Marc's complete ignorance of salads, her almost random selection of silverware -- well, perhaps it was random, at that. Yes, he almost smiled, though for the captain that meant he titled his head a bit, and perhaps raised his eyebrows by a hair. Of course, he had been horrified at the time -- not quite so much by her actions; he had lived with pirates for quite some time, after all, and was more or less used to such things. It was what he had been forced to do to cover for them; he had been rather afraid his cheeks might cramp from overuse -- yet he was able to look back on it now with an almost-fondness, a reminder of the freedom and relaxedness he would enjoy once again as soon as they got their new ship out to sea. Never mind that strutting around in nice clothes and following the intricate, socially enforced rules of polite society came to him as naturally as did breathing oxygen. The captain mused that neither of those two would be more or less difficult than the other to forget or give up. Still, he would definitely much rather spend his days relaxing with pirates. Oh yes, much rather. The corner of Captain Frost's eyebrow twitched upward for a fraction of a second as he turned around, brought from his reverie by the familiar voice of his first mate. There was almost a hint of excitement to her voice, he thought, one which rather contrasted with the expression on her face. That one, he could not quite place. It seemed an attempt at seriousness, but Frost would have been surprised if it was more than an attempt, in that case. The contrast was intriguing -- perhaps she was trying to control her emotions. But was she trying to school her face to match her voice, or the other way around? No matter. Marc had never been one to try to disguise her emotions to any real purpose that Frost could recall, and complicated though women might be, he doubted that she would suddenly change just because he knew she was a woman. "You may," the captain said, the tone of his voice very much fitting the title. Combined with his solid, straight-backed stance and sharp eyes -- not that his eyes were often anything but -- he needed only the ocean at his back and the wood of a deck beneath his boots to make him look any more like the pirate captain that he was. His words seemed rather less a granting of permission and more a command. Frost was on the bridge now, awaiting a report from his first officer. Not eagerly -- never that -- but there was something in his eyes that suggested he had been waiting for this, and this alone. He fully expected her to report a success, or at least forward momentum, but that didn't mean he hadn't been thinking about it. OOC: Charles is so obvious. Maybe it was too much, but I was having too much fun.
I would have pressed forward, but I wasn't sure what you were planning for Marc to say, so I just played catch up. Maybe I'm just tired.... |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Sat Nov 28, 2009 2:49 am | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme OOC:Okay... so some serious skippage is about to go down right about now. Fo' shizzle. Word to yo' mutha. I'm just kidding. Hahahaha.
But seriously. It is. It didn't take long for Marguerite to explain to Frost that they were just about ready to go, conveniently leaving out the part about the young man who shared his last name. She only hoped he'd managed to gather Jenny and the other "refugees;" she was eager to head out. The longer they stayed on dry land, the longer she had to think about Admiral Griffin and the strange interest he seemed to be taking in her. Was his offer her best option? She'd grown rather attached to this crew and its captain-- though, lately, she was beginning to feel a strange sort of annoyance with Frost that worried her more than a little-- but the fact remained that she was a pirate, through and through. She had no desire to hang. On the other hand, as much as Frost and his lack of any communication skills were angering her, she couldn't help but feel that he was her safest bet. Betraying him and the crew, while it might not lead her to hang, would almost surely result in her death anyway. Shooting, stabbing-- she wasn't picky. Death was death, and she wasn't keen on it. When they reached the ship, Marguerite was pleased to note that Charles had already gathered the rest of the crew, who was standing around on deck looking lost and smelly. (She'd never noticed the smelliness before. She thought she needed to get out of this dress as soon as possible.) While Frost went to tend to the crew or distribute instructions or glare at them all or whatever thing he planned on doing that probably didn't involve the use of any sort of actual words that made sense (she was grumbling to herself while thinking this), she went in search of Charles. She found him quickly enough, taking a furtive glance around to make sure Frost hadn't yet seen him. She wasn't sure whether he knew his brother or cousin or unspecified relative was here and probably looking for him, but she didn't want to risk him recognizing Frost and causing them more problems. I just want to get back at sea, she thought, feeling a little desperate. She motioned for Charles to follow her back off the ship, stopping as soon as they'd gotten safely on solid ground. "Thank you so much for all your help," she said, feeling glad (and not for the first time) that she'd gone ahead and kept her pistol strapped to her leg. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." She held up a hand before he could respond or protest. "I know you must be very busy, and I do hate to take up so much of your time." Marguerite's smile was demure and coy; inside, Marc was cringing. "I'd like to repay you, if that's all right. I regret that I can't give you much, but..." She leaned in a little closer, blushing prettily. "Close your eyes?" Half a moment later, Marguerite was contemplating the often-underestimated usefulness of the "wrong" end of the pistol, and Charles was lying at her feet in a way that couldn't possibly have been comfortable, had he been conscious. She hoped she hadn't hurt him too badly, but it had to be done. The last thing they needed now was family drama. She thought perhaps she ought not to tell the captain about his brother/cousin/generic relative. She made her way back to the ship, where the crew was already working hard to get the ship back out at sea. Admiral Griffin and his louder, cruder counterpart seemed to be nowhere in sight, for which she was grateful. "Captain?" she said, before remembering that she was still in her dress. "Mr. Redford." Wait. Was he still Mr. Redford here? There was nobody around but pirates. "Um. Mr. Radley?" Yes, that sounded all right, except for the questioning tone, but she seemed to be using that rather a lot lately. "The rum we ordered has been delivered. The entire crew is accounted for." She paused for a moment, not sure whether he wanted her to do anything. Chances were good that he wouldn't actually come right out and say so. "...So... instructions?" |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Sat Nov 28, 2009 9:17 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme OOC: Sorry for taking so long. I've been out of town since 8 am
With his boots solidly on the well-worn planks of good ship--a paradoxical way to think about it, perhaps, but one which he found to be quite appropriate--Captain Frost felt at home and alive. The crew, it seemed, felt much the same way. There was a hum and a bustle about them that he had witnessed in quite some time. Of course, that could have been simply because they knew there was rum in store for them as soon as they were under way and away from the Navy's claws. As far as Frost was concerned, if their motivation matched with his goal then that wasgood enough for him. In what might well have been record time, the mooring lines had been untied--this had taken a significant amount of time, as the Queen's boys had tied some fancy knots that only a handful of the crew had been familiar with; Frost had almost had to step in himself--and the pirates had cast off without a hitch. It's about bloody time my luck runs good again, Frost thought happily, one of his famous--or perhaps not-so famous, as nobody ever really seemed to actually notice them--one of his famous almost-smiles crossing his face for almost a full five seconds. There was wind in his sails and salt in his hair--nothing could go wrong now. He turned to Marc and gave her a very significant look... which meant a slightly more intense version of blankness. "Let's get out of here," Frost said simply before making his way up to the bridge. [i]She'll know to get changed[i], Forst thought absently. The helmsman looked up anxiously when he saw Frost climbing the steps. "Cap'n?" he asked, perhaps hoping to immitate Frost's brevity, perhaps simply too eager to get completely plastered to actually form a complete thought. "Take me to the open seas," the captain said in his booming, captain-y voice--this was for the whole crew. He planted his hands on the railing at the front of the bridge, leaning forward to look over the bow. "I want to be out of sight, yesterday." Smiling eagerly, the helmsman saluted sloppily before shouting, "Yessir, Cap'n Frost! They ain't even remember we was here!" Raising his voice so the crew could hear, the helmsman hollered, "Give 'er as much bloody speed as she'll take, boys! Thar's rum a-waitin'!" Yes, it was definitely the alcohol that was motivating him. OOC: I trust you know not to let Marc know what Frost thinks she'll know ;) I'll leave exactly how she mis-understands in you capable hands. Also, you're welcome to assume that there's already drinking at the beginning of your post. |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Sat Nov 28, 2009 10:56 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme Marc breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that she was, at least for now, done. Frost had given her some sort of a look-- perhaps he, too, was not above some small measure of relief. She'd never known him to kick back and relax, exactly, but perhaps he was looking forward to his usual tea, taken quietly in his cabin. Yes, she probably ought to leave him be for a while.
Somehow, Frost's silences were easier to interpret when the waves were rolling beneath her and the sea breeze was lifting her spirits. She felt more at home here, no doubt about it. All of that business about being a lady was fine and all, if that was your thing, but the world made more sense to Marc when her interpersonal interactions involved less flowery language and more threatening to stab people if they didn't do what she said. There was a freedom that came with the sea, and while the thought of her own ship, her father's, still danced in the back of her mind, she had to admit that this wasn't bad either. Time and time again, she'd found that peace, joy, and tranquility-- the things people spent years fruitlessly searching for-- were right here. Also, rum. Marc generally didn't drink. She couldn't, not when she had such big secrets to keep. Fortunately, when the rest of the crew did get drunk, it was usually to the point that none of them could remember anything beyond how plastered they themselves had been the night before (and some of them couldn't even remember that.) So it worked out nicely; she didn't have to explain her abstinence from alcohol, and she was never at risk of saying something she shouldn't. Today, she had more secrets to keep than ever before. Frost hadn't yet told her to change, so she was still acting as his wife. She couldn't afford to be in a position where she might let something slip. There was simply too much at stake. So when a mug of ale was pushed into her hand by some rowdy pirate already well on his way to being very drunk, Marguerite immediately looked for a place to set it down. She knew it wouldn't go to waste. Sharing mugs was never a problem among pirates when said mugs were full of alcohol. And she really couldn't afford to drink right now. It just wasn't a good idea. Never mind that her life since-- well, since the ball-- had been one long string of panic, terror, and abject humiliation. Never mind that her extra secrets were beginning to sound more like a reason to drink, and less like a reason to abstain. This is all Frost's fault. She felt a little guilty for thinking that. Except it definitely was. Maybe just a little bit wouldn't hurt. Twenty minutes and more-mugs-of-rum-than-she-cared-to-count later, Marc was feeling a good deal better about life in general. The business with Admiral Griffin, the extremes to which she'd messed up the past few days, the fact that she was still wearing a dress-- none of it seemed to matter quite as much when there was so much loud singing of bawdy tunes that Marguerite knew all the words to, if only because she'd heard them so many times before. They sounded a lot better when she was drunk, too. "Oy! Lookit wut I found!" One of the crew who had, at some point, disappeared, now returned carrying two armfuls of glass bottles. "Them Navy folk sure knowed how to drink!" It wasn't the rum they were used to, but it was alcohol, and somehow the knowledge that she was drinking something that was probably very expensive and most likely reserved for special occasions, such as promotions and the like, only made it taste better. It was easy, when one was sober, to look on these loud gatherings as stupid. But it made sense now. They weren't being too loud; everything else was just being too quiet. The sun was setting, which only seemed reason for more celebration. Part of her knew the captain probably didn't approve of such a deafening pastime, but the rest of her didn't care. This is all his fault, anyway. |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Sun Nov 29, 2009 8:47 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme It was not entirely without regret that Captain Frost watched the last trace of Brest disappear from the horizon. Though the rear-facing windows of his new cabin, he imagined that he could still catch a glimpse of The Red Triumph's majestic masts. Though he would never let on that it was so, Frost was actually quite sentimental-- well, about some things. For the vast majority of people and things in the world, he could easily keep a cold, logical distance: money was nice, of course, but not crucial; friends were only those who hadn't yet turned on you or tried to use you. But, contrary to common belief, there were one or two things that tugged at his heartstrings. Actually, he could count them on one hand: he would miss seeing his sisters grow and mature; he never quite felt completely dressed without his sword at his side; and, last, he felt as though he lost an arm every time he left the deck of his ship. Sure, he had a nice, new ship now. It was certainly fast, and well-armed.
But, it wasn't the Triumph. After putting his looking glass to his eye one last time, making sure the other Navy ship had not caught onto their trail, he took a deep breath of the salt-tinged air and secured the window. He returned the telescope to a pocket in his large overcoat, which he laid atop his large chest at the foot of his bed. Sliding into the chair behind the desk, he retrieved a sheet of paper and a pen, and began to draft a letter to the innkeeper of the Spring Canary, thanking him for all his help and hospitality, apologizing for the sudden departure, and various other troublesome but necessary niceties. It just didn't make sense to abandon such a useful and loyal resource simply because they had stolen a Navy ship and duped the vast majority of inns there. All it took was a few carefully chosen words, and the innkeeper would practically be beginning Frost to come back-- and Frost was very good at carefully choosing his words. THUD. The sound of something very heavy colliding into thick wood rang through the cabin. If he hadn't known that the heavy something was almost definitely a very drunken pirate, Frost might have gotten up to investigate. As it was though, considering how long the crew had gone without alcohol, it was not difficult to add two and two to find four. Tonight, there would be a long but well deserved party, and Frost was of a mind to let them go at it all night long. After all, they were on the open water, they were making great speed, and there was nothing pressing to worry about. As for himself, Frost had no intention of partaking in the celebrations. One of the boys had discovered the Navy's supply of tea, and had actually had the foresight to give it to the captain instead of tossing it overboard. This was probably one of the stronger reasons that Frost didn't mind the partying. Yes, he mused, sipping at the cup of still-hot tea that he'd left on the desk earlier, barring anything too disruptive or dangerous, Frost would just sit back, enjoy his tea, and-- THUD! THUD THUD!! Well. Maybe he would make just a quick appearance to calm them down. He'd just gotten this ship, and was of no mind to see it destroyed before they'd even sold the contents of its hold, or fired a broadside volley. Folding up the letter and placing it in a drawer of the desk, Frost got up and peeked out the door. What he saw shocked and appalled him. It wasn't the fact that every single crewman on board had a bottle or mug in hand-- that much he'd expected. It wasn't the number of people already crawling around on the ground, or even passed out-- it was a bit early for that yet, but he supposed that some of the crew were lightweights. It wasn't even the number of men that were sopping wet, apparently having just been yanked up after falling overboard. No, it was Marc-- Marguerite, rather; she had apparently neglected to change out of that dress. More importantly, she was drunk. What the devil is going on? |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Sun Nov 29, 2009 9:20 pm | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme "--rolls in, my god how the money rolls in, rolls in--"
The tuneless singing rose up from the deck with all the class of a whoopee cushion at a funeral. Anachronisms aside, Marc-- Marguerite? She wasn't sure anymore-- had been wondering for quite some time now why she'd never tried this before. It was fun. She remembered she'd been upset about something earlier, but she couldn't think what it had been, and it didn't seem to matter right now. The crew had had this song going for a good while now; they'd long ago run out of the standard verses, so there were frequent pauses while they tried to think of more. Marguerite thrust her mug forward, struck by sudden inspiration. "My brother's a poor missionary," she sang, her voice clearly feminine among her male companions, but holding the same strong, bawdy tones as the rudest of them. "He saves fallen women from sin. He'll save you a blonde for a shilling-- my god, how the money rolls in!" This was met with roaring laughter; the pirate to her right reached over to slap her on the back, as they launched back into the chorus. "Rolls in, rolls in, my god how the money rolls in, rolls in!" She shoved an unconscious heap out of the way to make room for her to stretch out her legs-- they were still hidden beneath the dress, but she'd removed her shoes and her bare feet peeked out to just past the ankle, in a display that would have scandalized anyone with any sort of upbringing. "Rolls in, rolls in, my god how the money rolls in!" Had the Navy been anywhere close, they would have had no problems finding the pirates through the noise alone, even though it was almost fully dark now. Luckily, no ships were visible on the horizon, not that she would have noticed if they were. She was too busy laughing at one of the men's spur-of-the-moment verses, which hadn't exactly rhymed but which had been more than crude enough to make up for that fact. Hm. Marguerite figured she could probably top that. She knew a lot of very crude things. At this point she could probably just spout out all the rude words she could think of and it would be absolutely hilarious. "Rolls in, rolls in, my god how the money roll-- Captain!" Marguerite stood, wavered, and straightened, making her way over to where Frost's door had just opened. Her departure was met with complaints from the drunken pirates, who seemed to have reached the point of drunkeness where they'd forgotten that the pretty lady who'd been singing and drinking with them was also the Captain's wife. The singing died down, as turned their attention toward the Captain and said pretty lady. "I mean Mr. Radley. I mean Jack." She wobbled again, nearly spilling her rum down his front. "I can call you Jack, right? Since we're married and all that?" She was very clearly more drunk than she'd ever been before. Her words were slurring, and she had to grab onto his arm as the ship's deck again threatened to jump up and hit her. "Waitwaitwait." She held out a hand, waving him silent, as though he'd spoken. "Is that even your real name?" She giggled-- giggled-- and waved it off. "S'posed to be your wife," she said, clueless as to how dangerously close she was coming to saying something she shouldn't, "and I don't even know your name! That's weird. That shouldn't happen. Hahaha." Wait. Hadn't she been mad at him? Her brow furrowed in thought, although the kind of thinking she was doing at the moment were hardly as deep as one would think, given her look of intense concentration. Oh, yeah. She had been mad at him. "Should'a told me," she said suddenly, still swaying on her feet, although the jovial tone was gone from her voice. It never occurred to her that he might not understand what, exactly, he should have told her. She thought it was perfectly clear. "Y'pompous gasbag." |
| Digithe Joined: 24 Aug 2003 Posts: 884 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 1:47 am | Characters: All for this theme; By Digithe: This theme, Any theme It was worse than Frost could have imagined. Naval campaigns, sword fights, heists-- or any combination thereof-- he could imagine at length. But this... this was something he truly would never have imagined even in his dreams-- his nightmares, even, were safe from this brand of madness. Marguerite was not simply drunk. Nor was she simply wearing a dress. She was beyond reason and she was dressed as Frost's wife. This was a situation no amount of good breeding could have prepared him for. Actually, it might have hurt his preparation-- good breeding tends to assume the same from everyone else; a lady would never drink this much. It was good that the crew didn't know that-- better that few would remember this anyway-- but positively horrifying for the captain.
There was nothing he could do. It was clear that words would not reach her in this state. Furthermore, real or not, at the moment she was his wife, and he could not raise a hand against her-- besides, it would probably only agitate her further. Frost knew that, despite the dress, Marguerite could handle herself as well as any man-- better than most, in fact-- and with the alcohol numbing her senses and dulling her wit, agitating her would not be pleasant for anyone. He would never live this down as it was-- there was no need to add "allowing his wife to beat him up" to the list of reasons for the crew to have fun at his expense. So it was that Frost stood silent, solid as the main mast, stoically holding Marguerite's arm firmly with one hand and supporting her back with the other. His expression was grim-- that is, his jaw was slightly more tightly set than normal; his eyes smoldered. Those eyes bored a whole through her head when she turned away, and pierced her eyes when she turned back. Any other time, he knew, she would have silenced herself instantly under that deadly gaze. Now, though, he suspected that it would slide off her like a couple drops of water off the deck. And yet, there seemed something deeper than simple intoxication behind her words. Frustration, perhaps. Perhaps directed at him. As she continued to speak, that seemed more and more likely. But with what? He had been the one who'd had to fix all of her mistakes at the dinner. He had had to pretend to faint just to keep their true identities from coming out. He'd had to smile. "What should I have told you?" Frost responded, his tone as straight as hers. He was eager to hear why she seemed to think herself the victim in this case. He was not eager to believe her. OOC: Note to self: He needs to give her his real name when she wakes up... :) |
spy_4_hire Joined: 14 Feb 2004 Posts: 568 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 10:11 am | Characters: All for this theme; By spy_4_hire: This theme, Any theme On this particular day, Valerie Heckett decided to avoid Admiral Aiden and hide away in the crow’s nest of the Zephyr with several large bottles of rum. He had been awfully hard on her since the incident with the ball, and he would only be a dark cloud on such a lovely day. The sun blazed overhead in the bright blue sky, but the breeze felt cool and tasted of salt. She pondered the events of the other night and wondered what those pirates were up to now. Part of her wished to go with them, curious to find what they were up to, and eager to not have the two Admirals breathing down her neck. With no one to heckle or fight with, Valerie was a lazy drunk, and enjoyed watching fluffy white clouds in the shape of whales, bunnies, and bottles of rum drift by while she murmured a drinking song to herself like a lullaby. The combination of the heat of the day, the sound of the waves, the gentle rocking of the ship and the alcohol soon eased her into a deep sleep.
She snored away the rest of the afternoon, an empty rum bottle rolled around her feet. Her arms held another bottle like a child would cuddle a stuffed toy as it slept and her body was curled around another bottle that had yet to be open. Her cheek pressed against the glass, distorting half of her face. Her mouth hung open, and a bit of drool dripped down the bottle. She did not stir while Captain Frost’s men took the ship and sailed away from Brest. The night brought a bit of a chill, but she slept on until the volume of the drunken pirates increased. She groaned and swore as she shifted and sat up wearily, scratching the back of her head through the tangle mass of wild blond hair. “Oh…” moaned Valerie, squeezing her eyes shut as the singing only worsened her already horrid headache. Where was that stupid Admiral to suck away the fun out of every party when she needed him? Horrid, unpleasant, wretched pig… Maybe he died? The admiral’s men would never make so much noise otherwise. The thought cheered her a bit but not as much as the half-full bottle of rum and another whole-bottle in her lap. She put the opening of the bottle to her lips and took a deep drink. The rum warmed her from the inside out and in a few moments, after a few more “sips” her headache would be practically non-existent. Suddenly, there was silence. Valerie sniffed and frowned slightly. The Admiral must not be dead after all. Bloody awful luck. Her free hand gripped the edge of the crows nest and the pulled herself to her feet to stretch. However, as soon as she saw that the men on the deck were not in fact stupid Naval sailors but drunk pirates, she immediately fell back on her butt and swore. When did this all happen? she wondered. And where am I? Pirates took the Zephyr? This was a lot to take in, and another drink was certainly in order, she drain the rest of the bottle set it aside and picked up the other. Oo… Aiden’s gonna be pissed… Again she felt a bit cheerful at the thought. She peeked down onto the deck below and whistled, there were a lot of them, but a bunch of them were already out cold. The ones that were still conscious seemed to have directed their attention to the door of the cabin and she tilted her head to see none other but Captain Frost and his lovely wife. “Well this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” Valerie said to herself. She pulled the cork out of the new bottle with her teeth and took a long swig. The she fixed her eyes on the couple to see what was going down between the two. The lady was clearly drunk, and now seemed upset about something, and the Captain wore an expression that was an odd mixture of frustrated, horrified and embarrassed. |
| The Ace of Spades Joined: 7 May 2006 Posts: 398 | Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2009 10:23 am | Characters: All for this theme; By The Ace of Spades: This theme, Any theme "Everything," she replied simply, her focus now entirely centered on freeing herself from his grip. "Stop that. I c'n stand." She pulled hard, nearly toppling herself over in the process-- she managed to stay relatively upright only because they were still standing beside Frost's cabin, which was a convenient not-the-ground surface to fall against. Well. Better the cabin than him, she thought, her pride flaring even through the obscene amount of alcohol coursing through her veins. She could stand just fine without him. Better, in fact, because at least with the cabin she knew where she stood. A wall wouldn't give her that look and just expect her to divine its entire plan from that alone; a wall wouldn't send her headfirst into a situation such as some poncy dinner with only the barest idea of how she ought to act. "You should be more like a wall," she muttered darkly, her annoyance fast on its way to becoming anger.
At the very least, she thought, he might have asked her what she thought of all this. Or at least told her more than, say, five seconds ahead of time. Yeah. Yeah, that would've been nice. "Should do that," she said, forgetting again that he was not capable of reading her mind. (Had she been sober, the irony might have occurred to her.) "Shoulda told me lotsa things," she said, turning toward him again to jab an accusatory finger at him. "Or asked. Coulda asked if I wanted to be your wife. Damn conceited bastard. Who the hell does that? One minute it's, hey, put on this dress. And the next thing i know, bam! I'm your wife. I never agreed to that. I was happy just stabbin' things and shootin' things and lootin' things and all that." Her voice was steadily growing in volume, which was saying something given that her tone had not begun as anything resembling soft or ladylike. Most of the crew was staring openly, but she was too concerned with telling Frost off to pay much attention to what, exactly, she was saying, or how, exactly, it might sound to them. She jabbed her finger at him again, sending herself off-balance so that she nearly fell into him, but managed-- with much difficulty-- not to. "Woulda been nice to at least know ahead of time," she continued, her considerable temper beginning to show itself in full. Her cheeks were flushed, though this was possibly due to the alcohol, and had looks been able to kill, the Captain would have been dead several times over. "Woulda been nice to know anything ahead of time. But you just assume. I never wanted to sleep in the same bed as you, you oaf. The thought never even crossed my--" She couldn't think of the word. "Head." That wasn't quite right, but it would do. She wasn't sure why she was fixating on this particular incident, but it seemed to represent the torment she'd been through lately in a very general sort of way. "If you'd bothered to tell me what the bloody hell was goin' on I mighta not had to trip over my own damn self s'damn much!" She was shouting now; it never occurred to her that this conversation might have been better had in private, where the crew wouldn't make their assumptions, and where she was in no danger of revealing too much. "You," she said, drawing herself up to her full height (and nearly falling over again in the process), "you, Captain, are a.. are a... a..." Damn. What was the word? She shook her head. "A stinker." Yes. That would do. She'd had something much more vicious in mind, but it would do. "You stink. A lot." |
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