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[P]  Intermission

Offline Dorin Mar 25 2020, 1:45 AM
#1
  • Corzya
  • Age: 27
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Dire
  • Rank: Howler
  • Total Posts: 33
  • Played by: Isilzheha
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June 3rd, 1476


Imagine walking down the street with not a destination in mind and nowhere else to be, at least not directly and certainly not by your own decree, and just constantly being told where you should be. Your schedule was entirely clear just for the sole purpose of someone else being able to fill it for you, and so far the past couple of days had been rather nonstop. It felt that way, anyways, to the dire who was well used to the running both figuratively and literally. That didn’t mean that was all he wanted to do for entire days. Dorin was exhausted, just a little more than usual after a busy week, and while it wasn’t a sensation he was unfamiliar with he still disliked its presence. When his energy was sapped that spelled bad news for him personally, not that anyone else gave a shit. Many recognized his face while others looked for the insignias that would tell them exactly what his purpose was here on Gibrantt and the Vatican. Dorin also frequented some of the same haunts, the ones with less foot traffic for a reason, so it wasn’t usually too terribly difficult to find him. For now he was banking on the fact that he had finished up for the day which had transitioned well into nighttime by now, the dire shoving his way into one of the bars further inland away from the channels that cut through the coastal city.

Torchlight and what little daylight remained flooded in from the swinging door, Dorin letting a listless gaze sweep over the room to take stock of how many people were already occupying the space. One, two, three... a couple at the bar and then the bartender. They were lost in their own stupors and their own conversations, not even paying the dire any mind as the door swung shut behind him. Just the way he liked it. The bartender waved a hand in brief greeting, Dorin dipping his head in a small nod with a sideways step to get him settled at one of the tables. He shrugged off his jacket, heaving a sigh when his weight plopped into one of the chairs that scraped across the ground with the zest of it. Getting ready to take a nap came with its own minor ritualistic set up, Dorin carefully bundling the jacket up as he scooted the chair just enough to lean his torso forward comfortably. His arms stretched out, the hound tugging at his sleeves to roll them up with just as much care. All in an effort to build anticipation, not that it was really needed when he was pretty close to just finding a bench somewhere to sprawl out on. It was darker in here and for a bar on Gibrantt it was quieter. Dorin settled the bundled up coat in the crook of his arm, head turning to lay upon it with blue eyes closing to begin sinking into a state of relaxation.

Not for long.

He dozed off, though he didn’t recall that aspect of it. He just knew the layers were being pulled back with the approach of footfalls drifting into his slow to rouse consciousness. His eyes didn’t open, however, and he just kept on trying to find that restful state once more. Light was combating the darkness behind his eyelids, temperature changing until it was cut off almost as quickly as it had arrived. Dorin shifted, swiping at a small string of saliva that had managed to slip past the corner of his parted mouth and soak into his jacket. Someone was standing over him, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows and he was about to turn the other way when he heard a wet sucking sound. It was followed by something striking his cheek lightly, the hound twitching at the suddenness of it even if the reaction was a bit delayed. His eyelids opened, Dorin blinking groggily up to see the narrow-faced visage of Marty. Recognition had been slow to set in at first, bridge of his nose creasing with the strain of the positioning and Dorin was reluctant to lift his head.

North’s gotta job for yous,’ was all he said, voice detached in the same way his eyes were as he frowned down at him. Dorin glared, unable to suppress it at first, then pushed out a huffing, exasperated sigh when the words finally sank into his grey matter to the point he actually absorbed them. “Can’t it wait a couple more hours?” he asked, trying to keep out the annoyance and failing. Marty didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I ‘unno, prob’ly not. Woulda been doin’ this two hours from now otherwise.’ Dorin kept on staring at him, expression slackening into something that blatantly asked seriously? Sometimes he couldn’t tell if he was intentionally being a smartass or if he was just that dense. His gaze dropped and he found a chewed on toothpick to be the culprit of the ghosting feeling of contact, Dorin groaning and letting himself slide back to an upright sitting position. “Whatever, man,” he sighed, waving at Marty who didn’t need more urging to turn on his heel and leave the same way he came in: obnoxiously. The other patrons were unphased, Dorin the only one very obviously agitated for many reasons, but he dragged himself to his feet all the same.

His hand clapped down on his jacket, snatching it up in his rather hazy and almost drunken walk to the door to remove himself from the comfort of the bar. He hadn’t gotten any drinks just yet, but he felt that sluggishness and tried desperately to firmly pat it away with palms against his cheeks. He opened his eyes wide, then they fell into a squint when they started to burn, Dorin slipping the jacket back on. At least it was cooler now with it being nighttime, and Dorin much preferred that even if it meant the more rowdy bunch were active. Not that Gibrantt in and of itself weren’t full of those sorts. Dorin found comfort in that; it reminded him of the shady corners of Kheim where even the desert sun couldn’t bring to light what happened within. With his sword at his hip and some semblance of wakefulness to be found Dorin took a second to recall where the Rembrandt might be floating at this time. For whatever purpose it might be, repairs or refueling or offloading the “wares”. There weren’t too many places for that big fucking warship to hide, so Dorin picked one and hoped he assumed correctly. Fingers slipped through his tousled hair, and he frowned when he caught the moonlight glinting off his amulet.

The hound did a double take at first then tucked the necklace into his shirt out of sight, other hand resting on the ornate pommel of the sword. It was a leisure stroll, and really he should have put some energy into his steps, but if he was about to be running halfway across Gibrantt he aimed to conserve it as much as possible. Luckily for him he had assumed correctly, and with the orange glow of the many lanterns following the curve of the Rembrandt’s gaudy hull he didn’t even need to look up to confirm it. Still somewhat in a daze, craving a soft bed and just a single hour of sleep, Dorin ascended the steps further up the docks to where the slaver’s ship could actually be boarded. He almost knocked himself out doing that, crossing over onto the ramp just as some of the crew were moving something off. A chest, perhaps. Dorin’s eyes had widened momentarily as he ducked away, at least marginally more awake and increasingly getting moreso with the burst of noise around him.

Tankards clinked together and heated arguments arose, Dorin adopting a very displeased expression with the influx of sounds beginning to mesh together. Bodies were shuffling around him, across the deck and from above and below, the howler consciously needing to reposition himself if he didn’t want to be knocked about. The energy hanging around the slaver ship was enough to perk the messenger up, an awareness falling to the forefront as they went about their duties in a slightly more unorthodox way than usual. Dorin couldn’t see the captain anywhere, and that was most assuredly why. He contemplated asking someone to know for sure where he was, but the obvious place was his cabin. If not, then he would pester someone for the sole reason of not wanting to be crawling around the Rembrandt looking all over for the one who had sent for him in the first place. Dorin’s nostrils flared, trying to see if he could pinpoint the human’s scent through the door beyond what lingered already, but it was hard to tell with the heavy layers of other aromas intertwining. So his chest and shoulder leaned against the exterior alcove where the cabin door receded into the carved out space, knuckles tapping along the surface of the closed barrier. His head rested against the wood, arm falling to his side as he simply stood there and waited.
Offline North Mar 25 2020, 10:56 AM
#2
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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Dysfunction slowly seeped into the ranks. Work was getting done but there was an air of freedom and leisure about it--it wasn't like they were moving yet, after all! The necessities would be done post-haste because there was a unanimous care for the proud Rembrandt and the blanket status she gave them, but aside from that the usual order in which they did things was anywhere from slowly to heavily disintegrated. People traded off duties for drinks, worked in groups just so they could run their mouths, and eventually the large deck was being cleared off as much as possible for an impromptu fighting ring. The discord was infectious--and harmless, because there wasn't much of anything serious they were SUPPOSED to be doing, and the ones who HAD been assigned important tasks were still doing those. The Rembrandt was a strange amalgamation of a highly-trained workhorse, and a tightly-knit party that reinforced its essential bonds through often-rough play. They waited until the Slaver called it a day typically because he had a tendency to parent them if he wasn't in the mood himself; snapping at this one for spontaneously putting the other in a headlock, snapping at that one for trying to play roulette with a gun. Once he retired for the night, though, they could do whatever they wanted (under Agnes' watchful gaze should he be around) AS LONG as they didn't make too much noise and make themselves known to the captain who shut himself away on the highest floor of the ship. It went from a warship to a cruise ship in record time.

Marty had been sent to fetch the howler and did exactly that. But as always, he did it with such bereft of emotion and self awareness of himself in space that he moved autonomously, pushing through crowds like a machine who didn't give a shit about the intrusion on either his end or theirs. After the deed had been done and he was dispatched from Dorin, he certainly didn't wait up for him. That hadn't been in the command, after all, and he in was on no personal mission to actually make sure that Dorin GOT there. So he disappeared again, going back the way he came without so much a look over his shoulder to make sure the howler was on his heel.

By the time Dorin got there, The Rembrandt was alight with chaos. Fights broke out over the dumbest of things, bets were being placed and managed by the self-appointed "house," poker was being played elsewhere and even the ones tasked with simply sweeping were now fighting over the brooms. They were enjoying the downtime by being as obnoxious as possible, reinstating their ever-shifting pecking order that transcended rank and task on the ship. It was a must for when they were docked, because whatever would be decided here would go for the entire 4-6 months they'd be at sea next voyage. Superiors and inferiors and friends and fuck buddies were traded out and fought for like the trust they'd built in the last couple months was all gone out the window and even their bed partners were just as much a threat as the one trying to take them. It was hectic to be sure, but in a pinch you met a unified front ready to rip you limb from limb.

Shirii manipulated the abacus with such speed and familiarity as North dropped stack after stack of gold coins onto her side of his mahogany desk. His office was attached to his bedroom and a short little library, and an alcove was attached to that which housed the better years of bottles and barrels of whiskey and the like. His cabin was a small but relatively-complete home away from home, and he preferred to work in a wider space that was made for it than tarnishing the tranquility of his bedroom with work. Not that counting money was all that much of a chore and really it was probably better done in a room with a bed knowing this man, but for the sake of consistency this is where they do it. For that reason the knock at the door was heard clearly enough to pull both their heads out of their work. Shirii lurched in her seat but a large hand to her shoulder stilled her attempt as he rose up instead, stretched out his large arms and shook off the inactivity in his shoulders as he headed for the door.

Typically the door was always ripped open, just about from its hinges, but when he glimpsed the too-close glimpse of the other man against the solid wood through the widening crack, he elected for a slower open. Didn't want the damn thing falling over in the sudden rush after all, but that ounce of understanding surely stopped there because Dorin would be met with a hard, puzzled look. He looked him up and down in that way he sometimes does, taking brief stock of the man to make sure that mass blood loss wasn't the reason behind his lackluster...everything. "..the hell happened to YOU, boy? Lookin' like you ain't been alive since 1460. C'mon, c'min then." He huffed like it was out of his hands now, backing from the door to give him space to enter and dismissing the the sight with a 'feh' under his breath and a wave of his hand in passing. As he headed back into the office where he'd previously been working, he offers "Ain't too loud for ya or nothin? Close the door n' you'll hearem a whole lot less. Trust me." Because of course North knew what was going on all across his ship--it was his JOB to know, after all. He just figured they could play a little longer before he went out there either yelling at them..or joining them.
Offline Dorin Apr 1 2020, 12:17 AM
#3
  • Corzya
  • Age: 27
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Dire
  • Rank: Howler
  • Total Posts: 33
  • Played by: Isilzheha
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Dorin wasn’t unfamiliar with the Rembrandt or her captain, as he had come to know a few of the other captains and their ships. Most of them, that is, since he tended to steer clear of those with banners associated with the less friendly crews. Once those poked through the mist or could be seen around the many layers of docks nestled along the mainland’s exterior Dorin was very keen on the idea of finding some different work on the opposite end. Sometimes he might even have someone else deal with the shit, mostly because he didn’t like being on those particular ones. Other than quite possibly getting brained by moving cargo or jostled around by wrestling greenhorns eager to show that they could give a hefty punch as well as take one, the Rembrandt was one of the very small handful of tolerated and even welcome ships. Not that it mattered now as he half slumped against the outside of the captain’s door, a knock given and hopefully received in a way that wouldn’t be leaving him standing forever. He didn’t really want to be on any boat now, and would much rather be climbing into bed after tending to Taegen. A reliable greenhorn had been more than happy to help toss some greens for the stag for a handsome tip, mostly because many on the island knew now how ornery the princeling could be. Dorin seemed to be the only one the hooved beast listened to, although that hadn’t always been the case.

North was kind in his opening of the door, thankfully, as opposed to how he normally did it. Like much of anything. Loud and proud, as they say. Dorin’s eyes rolled towards his face when he found where it was going to be, silver eyes wrinkling at the corners just a bit as his lips pressed into a line. A curious look, not quite a frown but it was on the edge of it with the very blatantly obvious onceover he was given. His head pushed from the wall of the small alcove, body still leaning upon it as a hand braced loosely and he gave the slaver a very lazy grin. It was coupled with a raising of his eyebrows, well aware he probably looked like hell. ‘The hell happened to you, boy? Lookin’ like you ain’t been alive since 1460. C’mon, c’min then,’ he huffed, the howler slow to take the invitation as it meant giving up the small amount of rest he was allowing himself. “Ahh, fourteen-sixty. A good year, that one,” he jested as he schlepped his way past the human with a cursory glance over in return. “Lots of poverty, lots of starvation. I remember it fondly. You look as spry as ever, cap’n,” he rambled, giving a half-hearted salute as he stepped into the office to find it occupied by the siren. She sat on the other side of the desk, stacks of gold set upon the surface that was being counted.

Dorin does definitely take the slaver up on that offer, leaning back to shut the door and sink into the blissful and merciful quiet of the cabin. He gave a sigh, soft and a means of decompression, and he idly tracked North’s path back to where he had been before. That left the other plush chair beside where Shirii sat, Dorin not as wary of her as he very much had been when they first met. It was the scent more than anything at first, and while he had seen some oddities before he hadn’t seen one such as her. She was familiar with him now, though, the Rembrandt’s captain adamant that she get to do so or else there might be some life-threatening side effects. So when he stepped around to find his place in the seat he tilted his chin in the siren’s direction, a bob of his head given in greeting. “Hey, Shirii,” he said pleasantly, eyelids heavy as he let his weight sink down to sit. A mistake most likely. Dorin let it be one for now, settling until he found the back of the chair and adjusting his position to accommodate the sword’s presence. That led him to slouch, quite heavily, until his chin pudged and his arms were resting up on the arms. His lips pulled down in a forced frown before relaxing while hands lifted up to pat down on the arm when North found his place once more. “So, what can I do for ya, North?
Offline North Apr 15 2020, 8:24 PM
#4
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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Despite how...imperceivably loud North could be, when it came to his own perception of things around him, he wasn't that dense. At times sure he just didn't care enough to BE anything else, but catch him a generous time and he could not only pick up on your state of being but accommodate it. In Dorin's case, he dampened the usual enthusiasm in his voice when he took one look at the man and knew something was off. The greeting Dorin gave wasn't quite the sort that other Howlers had given the Slaver and, even for him it was a little more...what's the word--ah yes "more of a smartass than usual too" North greeted back in the interim while he himself moved away from the door. " 'sides, '60 weren't no better than today on those fronts, fortunately for us we get to see the same amount of poverty and starvation. Can't say I was just as spry as then, though..." except, he could.

Shirii knew who had just stepped in before he'd stepped into the office. Despite that, he was met with a perk of her long ears like she hadn't expected him, her posture straightening like a cat trying to get a better look at some interesting thing. he watched him as he moved the entire time, the direction of her head following him persistently even if her eyes were still concealed. Dorin greets Sushi and she returns it just as easily, saying "Hello Dorin.." in a way like she was pondering his mere existence. Outside of that though, she was relatively copacetic with him sitting near her. She was accustomed enough to seeing him that she was not a concern in regular situations such as this one. She was watching his face though, his eyes and the way they almost immediately slipped closed. Her head cocked to one side as she she watched, but she said nothing. North was just pulling his leather chair back in as he sat at his desk where all those letters sat ready and waiting to be shipped out--business and personal alike. Right now he wasn't so sure that they'd get there safely OR on time, though...so he considers holding off at least on the business transactions. “So, what can I do for ya, North?”
North squinted at that. Because, almost clearly, it didn't look like the boy could do much of anything for anyone at ALL in this current state of his. The older man was really just leaning forward in his chair, his eyes crinkled at their sides and his heavy brows coming down like weights. When he answers him it's with such clear apprehension, an uncertainy on a great many things; whether he was being understood, whether it was worth the try, whether it was SMART to try--for either one of them, honestly. "..errr, your job I guess--" but he's quick to break that thought off "--but lookin at ya now I ain't so sure you can pull that off tonight, boy. Ye kinda just...uhh.." how to put "deadweight" nicely? "...deadweight, right now." make it sound temporary, of course. "When's the last time you slept. Ate? Drank, even?? You ain't runnin on fumes, you runnin on their damn ghosts."
Offline Dorin Apr 19 2020, 12:20 AM
#5
  • Corzya
  • Age: 27
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Dire
  • Rank: Howler
  • Total Posts: 33
  • Played by: Isilzheha
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It was quiet in the captain's cabin and Dorin was grateful for that. His senses felt heightened with the lack of sleep, a wolf's sense of hearing and smell those he had learned long ago to get accustomed to and filter out the white noise for what truly mattered. Unfortunately, with the constant stimuli with no real lengths of time shutting it out it both bolstered the awareness and jumbled it all up in one fell swoop. So the ability to close the door was a welcome one, Dorin seizing the opportunity as much as he did the one dangling in front of him to be a smartass when North prodded at his current state of existence. It didn't go unnoticed, not that Dorin was trying to hide it, and he simply quirked an eyebrow with a vague lifting of his shoulders in response to the slaver pointing it out. Then he went on to confirm that the 60's were just as much of a shitshow as these most recent days were in terms of poverty and starvation.

'Can't say I was just as spry as then, though…' the human trailed off, Dorin letting out a hissing breath that was almost a laugh. It lacked the effort of one, but humor danced in his blue eyes. "Isn't that the truth," he murmured as his gaze drifted away from North to find where the mocassin was sitting at attention now with his approach. He didn't really specify what that was directed towards, even if everyone here in the room knew the slaver was still more than capable of holding his own in spite of his age. Which, in truth, was still fairly young. Well, that depended on how you looked at it. Given the chosen lifestyle North was very well off in that regard. 'Hello Dorin..' Shirii greeted him in return, more of a reflex than anything it seemed to the dire who found his place in the chair at her right side. He took stock of the stacks of gold, the… slide-y thing that had a name he knew but was slipping his mind in that moment of near absent observation, and the other stack on the desk that was more his speed for what he was most likely summoned for.

Dorin had the Rembrandt on his relatively small list of clients, so to speak, for a handful of months now and North was one of the even smaller select few he had built some rapport with. His deliveries tended to be on the easier side, more local, and that made for some quick coin. He knew what he was here for, but as he sank down into the chair with poor posture and a struggling attention he asked anyhow. An extension of pleasantries, though judging by the narrowing of silver eyes as North lowered himself into his own seat Dorin was about to lose out on some pay. He might have squirmed beneath the scrutiny of, well, many eyes upon him if he had the energy for it. So he sat innocently, eyebrows raised even as North's fell when elbows settled on the desk in his slow lean forward. 'Errr, your job I guess--' Dorin's chin lifted from where it hovered near his chest, palm turning up in a small gesture as he interjected, "Naturally."

Just at the same time North was interrupting himself, Dorin's lips pressing together at the apprehensive tones that were clearly second-guessing the summoning of the howler. Deadweight. Dorin blinked at that, stockstill for a moment. "That's kinda rude-" A thought unfinished as the captain was persistent in his own observations. 'When's the last time you slept.' Not a question, as if he knew the answer. 'Ate? Drank, even??' Now those were questions, but they were building on a foundation of an incredulous thought process as if they were coming in one after the other. Dorin's expression broke into one of exasperation, a heavy sigh expelled out rather dramatically all the while North finished this particular thought. The dire straightened himself out, pushing up to correct his posture as much as he cared to in the moment, and scrubbed his palms over his face.

"Doooon't do that," he dragged out, a groan more than anything. Maybe even a bit of a pout. The man was a doctor, a surgeon, so it was methodical the way his eyes scanned the howler's face. "Analyzing and shit." Elaboration not needed, Dorin dragging his bottom lip through his teeth briefly as he drummed his hands on the edge of the desk. "Those ghosts are still active, thank you very much, so let's see whatcha got," he said then, ignoring the questions in favor of standing partway to snatch up the pile of letters. It was done quickly to prevent protest, at least physically, and he plopped back down into the chair to start looking at the addresses. North's handwriting was meticulous and neat, Dorin typically not having any issue whatsoever in reading them, but there were a few now he had to glance over a couple extra times to make sure he was seeing them correctly.

Dorin busied himself with sorting them by placement, knowing a few of them by area and those going to ships were at least belonging to those who tended to sink into habit on where they would set anchor. Easy, as usual, but there were a lot of them and that kinda sucked. Satisfied with his rearranging he used the pile to poke in North's direction as he stood, catching his balance with a shifting of his foot, "Got you covered, North. Never fear. These will all arrive safe and sound, mostly on time. I won't lie about that one. Are there any sorta on a time crunch more than the others?"
Offline North Apr 24 2020, 2:31 PM
#6
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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North shrugged inwardly at the observation that his observation was rude and simply kept going. He was the type to know what needed to be said and would say it--and coupling that with his spotty grasp of just how to phrase things made him synonymous to blunt force trauma at times, but..it wasn't like anyone was expecting a top-grade therapy session from a man they called Bull. At least the sentiment was that the howler was temporarily deadweight and not a permanent source of disappointment. It was enough of a compliment. Somewhere in between the lines.

He went on to ask exactly what he knew would get a reaction. Usually when you ask the right question, that's the very result. So he continued to push when he saw even the slightest change of expression. A brow shot up like he'd discovered a smoking gun, his lips drawn in a hard line as he waited for some manner of excuse--or a shitty attempt to deflect attention, knowing his current company. "Doooon't do that," sure enough it came, and North was practically death staring him at that point, his nose slightly crinkled at its bridge. "You don't wanna hear it then you don't leave the house lookin like hell, eh?" Perfect solution. If that meant taking less work to keep running at ALL, then so be it. North liked maximizing his profit wherever remotely possible, but even this greedy bastard knew that productivity was set on a bell curve. At some point working too much yielded just as good a result as hardly working. There was a sweet spot, and you sure as hell weren't gonna find it by running yourself down so far that you were falling asleep in a man's office while swearing you were "just fine."

"Those ghosts are still active, thank you very much, so let's see whatcha got," North sprung up by instinct like someone who'd just had a split second change of heart. It was too late for words and certainly too late for him to rise up from behind his desk and seize the letters before the howler got to them, so he was just left g l a r i n g at him in a half-standing position, clearly ready to lunge again at any point. "Ain't a fuckin way I'm lettin you ruin MY work with your shitty condition" It was notably a lot less casual and "around the bush" as his previous statements, bristling and annoyed. North had a way of switching gears when one didn't work; framing it as self-care clearly meant nothing to the senseless boy, then need he be reminded that The Rembrandt doesn't like half-assed work? "...Fine. You wanna fuckin work? Leave the business letters here. Don't trust ya tonight with em. Like hell you gonna maneuver through customs with yer ass half on and half off." he grumbled as he sat down, adjusting himself though clearly still uncomfortable in his own skin. A large hand reached over his side of the desk, expectantly waiting to get back the letters that were officially sealed with the slaver's personal clay stamps that marked which were business and which were not. Shirii reached over Dorin for them, a less-than-subtle urging, practically halfway in his lap as she reached for the bundle of letters to try and sift through the ones the captain was demanding back. "You wanna make some damn money, go ahead! Even a half-asleep idiot can do these right. Lotta those ones ain't far from here." And in particular, the place where one of those recipients were temporarily staying wasn't far from here on land. "You get more work when ya take better care of yerself." In hindsight, Bull caving so easily usually meant there was a fucking catch.
Offline Dorin May 2 2020, 9:30 AM
#7
  • Corzya
  • Age: 27
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Dire
  • Rank: Howler
  • Total Posts: 33
  • Played by: Isilzheha
485 Mana · View All Items?
Dorin could tell North was getting agitated. He wasn't exhausted enough to not notice it, especially when his silver eyes hardened at the deflection. He probably shouldn't have come here in the way that he did, but it wasn't his fault Marty interrupted his nap. Besides, North had called him here and given their established business over the time he's been with Cöryza he figured he could pick up one last run. It was obvious the captain wasn't too thrilled with his current state of fatigue, and Dorin would never admit aloud that it increased the possibility of making mistakes. North's nose wrinkled, Dorin pretending like he didn't notice. 'You don't wanna hear it then you don't leave the house lookin' like hell, eh?' He couldn't ignore that pointed tone. His eyes rolled before he could think to stop them. "I didn't leave the house lookin' like shit. Could argue that I don't ever," he responded quickly with a lazy grin.

His attention dropped to the stack of letters then, neatly placed and sealed as per the meticulous nature of the slaver. Dorin was still quicker in snatching them up, ready to begin his deliveries and left the captain half-cocked. He eyed him a moment as he hovered where he started to push himself up, to stop him, but then he started shuffling through the collection. 'Ain't a fuckin way I'm lettin you ruin MY work with your shitty condition.' It was Dorin's turn to wrinkle his nose at that, lip curling slightly in something like a sneer before his face relaxed with a sigh. He didn't even grace that with a response. Carefully, as much as he could anyways, he sorted them out with a little less zest and swiftness than usual. '...Fine. You wanna fuckin work? Leave the business letters here. Don't trust ya tonight with 'em,' North said then, Dorin settled back in his chair and the human was soon to follow suit with a forced compromise between them.

The dire snorted almost indignantly, chin tilting up as he ran fingers through his hair to push it back. "My ass is exactly where it needs to be, North, where you wanted it to be. I was gonna take a nap, but here we are," he countered, finding it difficult to keep his filter in place. North reached over the desk expectantly, Dorin glancing at it then back up at his face with an air of innocence as if he didn't know what he wanted. Shirii didn't need to be told, it seemed, because she was already scooting her chair closer and almost dropping down into his lap to take away the pile. Even quicker than he, broad shoulders tensing for a moment with the suddenness of it before they dropped dramatically. As did his body, against the back of the chair, Dorin letting out a huff. "Really, though? You know I get paid for the work and not just being on the roster, right? Not all of us on the ground can sit on gold selling people away," he complained, gesturing towards the neatly stacked gold on the desk even as the siren separated out the business from leisure.

Dorin made it a point not to mention the fact he didn't want to sell people. He and North had an understanding on that point on both sides, so it was moot to bring it up. The howler had been made well aware of the captain's stance on that just as the captain was aware of his. So they agreed to disagree, for what it was worth. Dorin shrugged then, forcing himself to accept that North at least was leaving him something. He could have been a dick and taken it all back. "Alright, alright. That's fine," he said, taking back the considerably smaller bundle of letters. Friends and family, it looked like when he scanned over the scraps he was left with. Dorin made extra certain he didn't let the sour expression he felt coming on actually reach his face when he saw the name on one of them. North's daughter. The howler put that one on the bottom of the pile with a sly hand.

Shirii gave the letters back, settling in to continue what she had been doing before with the counting. Dorin stood, giving North a beaming smile that dripped sarcasm. "Thank you for your patronage," he concluded. At the end of it he dipped into a bow fit for royalty, with all the flair that was involved, and left with what he managed to get.



It was exactly as North had said. Most of the letters reached the hands of the intended or the next best thing not too far from where the Rembrandt was parked for what likely would be a few days. Dorin even was given some tips for the timely delivery, seeing as how it was tonight and not whenever another howler might have gotten to them. He patted himself on the back for that, and silently gloated to the slaver captain. Nobody could tell him he didn't still bust his ass and hustle even when he felt like he would rather kiss the dirt until his body told him it was time to get up. That second or third wind (truthfully he lost count and the few pitstops he made to some of the taverns had helped those along) was waning off now, though, which was very unfortunate. He'd only one more letter to deliver.

Dorin steeled himself for this one when he pushed open the door into one of the more rowdy bars. That was saying a lot considering just where they were. The noise was a violent and jarring difference inside than it had been outside muffled by the door and all the windowless walls. It set his pointed ears back, a scowl on his face as the sensitivity was in high gear now. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, the letter tucked into the inner pocket of the jacket he had tossed on. Briefly his eyes scanned the crowd, but it didn't take much to pinpoint where Christiano's daughter was. She was half-circled by some of the patrons, more on her side than her opponent's as the two locked arms. Tensions were high and her voice even louder as she goaded him on, Dorin groaning inwardly at even just the idea of initiating conversation.

With any luck she would take the letter and be too distracted otherwise to want to engage, but Dorin also didn't know what the letter had in it. Sometimes he had to stick around for a response. He didn't immediately go over there, his direction setting a path through the tables towards the bar to use some of the tips to order himself a few shots. The dire's fingers drummed anxiously on the top of the bar as he waited. Once the shots of rum were in front of him Dorin wasted no time in knocking them back, one after the other, and ended it with slapping his money down on the bar. It was the kick he needed, warmth blossoming in his chest as he spun on his heel to make his way to the pissing contest. It had erupted spectacularly with the woman's triumph, Dorin holding back a sigh in his voice when he stopped beside her to hold out the letter, "For you, miss." Cordial as ever.
Offline North May 12 2020, 2:03 AM
#8
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
300 Mana · View All Items?
If North had a gold coin for every time he wanted to smack that damn boy in the mouth he'd be able to buy everyone on his crew a winter-fuckin-palace. The way he was glaring at Dorin now seemed to scream that sentiment alone, let alone the way he drew in a sharp breath at the always-having-an-answer dumbass sitting in front of him. "...Could argue that I don't ever," he finished, to which North too-swiftly shot back "And you'd be wrong" and left it at that, clearly irked.

He had nerve, that was for sure. A helluva lot of confidence for a man running on E about to deliver letters sealed with The Helm's professional seal. North didn't deal with mistakes very well, especially if he'd previously (maaaany times) warned about the issue that would lead to them. All things considered, in HIS realm of possibilities, North was a fairly understanding man. If someone made a mistake he hadn't foreseen or properly warned against, he'd have to consider a second chance as he too had failed due diligence. But if he's been in your face consistently, and ESPECIALLY if your name was Dorin, then it was a completely different story a thousand times over. So he takes every smug and glib look from him with practically steam coming out of his nostrils, just there on the brink of yelling and/or more. That boy needed to learn some fucking manners, he'd always tell Shirii. No wonder he got a shit job runnin around with shit hours and shit pay. Would pay him more if he didn't have such a fuckin mouth. Shirii always just watched him pace back and forth and waited for him to drop down into his chair so that she could stroke his hair until he was calm again. "My ass is exactly where it needs to be, North, where you wanted it to be. I was gonna take a nap, but here we are," There was a bit of gaslighting there that a man like North Cristiano was going to sniff out like a bad egg right under his nose. Of course HE was quick on it, of all. "Asked before I knew I was gettin a shitty offbrand version of yer work" he responded pointedly, "I apologize for expectin better." than what he was getting, clearly.

North was very visibly--and audibly--displeased. Whether that filter was in full or partial swing, it was clear that North didn't appreciate the end product. North likened the man to nothing but a spoiled brat in this instance and he had half the mind to backhand him to rattle that brain of his until it got right. Agnes would often say that it came with the territory of being able to string two words together without killing someone during it--his way of saying, "you're too nice." North never seemed to agree more with that than when he was dealing with the "smart-mouthed but dumbassed" Dorin. "Really, though? You know I get paid for the work and not just being on the roster, right? Not all of us on the ground can sit on gold selling people away," Shirii reacted first, fiddling with the stack of letters she'd taken from the Dire, her shoulder-length hair still draped over her face from the previous lunge for the parcel. She canted her head slightly in his direction, softly saying "...That was rude, Dorin." perhaps it was the only warning that, although heavily understated, Bull was reaching a point where Dorin was about to earn himself at the very least an aggressive mouthful. There was an unspoken "agree to disagree," but obviously those rules were null and void if the subject was consistently harped on. "Think you seen hard work? Watch your mouth" it was bereft of relaxed phonetic shortcuts and twang. Wasn't much sitting the doctor was doing these days, especially not with a large crew and a larger hull of Product.

But all things considered, all his griping HAD directly led to the point where North was giving him work to do, so Dorin was getting what he wanted. Of course, this was because at some point North decided he wanted him to suffer, and wanted his direct behavior to be the result of that. He'd live vicariously through the nightmare was knowingly sending him on at this point. Had he come in with less an attitude and he may have been warned, allowed to opt OUT of that particular one even, but..
Nahhh.

x.X.x


Tensions mounted and she handled it the only way she knew how: fighting fire with fire and dragging as many people into it as possible to help her do just that. Some of these people in her corner she literally hadn't known existed until this very moment, and that was good enough for her. People in these sorta places tended to be either attracted to, fascinated by, or afraid of her boisterous disposition coupled with that exotic twang of hers. Whether they were infatuated or pressured into siding with her was neither here nor there because there was work to be done. Their first mistake was giving her the floor instead of taking it themselves, and use it she did. She was the type of person who would (and did) stand on a table and yell to get the attention of nearby people, asking (though clearly rhetorically) them who was in the right between the groups, thereby forcibly investing them in the destruction of said group who didn't take the chance to tell their half first. Such was the case NOW, where despite how the lineup (currently) was far smaller than it could have been, there were still a great many glancing over or keeping a trained eye on what they knew for a fact was about to break out.

She stood nearly center in the conflict, her heavy laced-up combat boots stomping impatiently in rhythm. Loud dialogue was exchanged between her and the fools standing across from her, her passionate emotes of her hands and the swinging of her long and messy high ponytail denoting the mounting threat.
By the time she'd been approached, the stream of twisted derogatories ceased just long enough for him to distract her. "Eh?" It was a noise deceptively genuine of curiosity, and as she drew her mind off the conflict like it meant nothing to her, she turned to face the man offering her a letter. "The hell you pesterin me fer, pretty boy?" The Half-Eximius' striking purple eyes flickered down to the parchment and, immediately recognizing the seal that had only ever been used for her (she fondly remembers making that design for him in his office when she was little, and he promised to make it into a clay stamp template), Nora ripped the letter out of his hands and nearly took his hand with it. Her eyes just about flickered even brighter than they already were, wide like a cat's. "My old man?? POPS?" she was clearly elated, her strong and bullish nature bleeding into a child's impulsive excitement.

It didn't last long, of course, because as a portion of her group had parsed out having assumed the worst was over, and with her back turned, one of the men saw it as good a time as any to strike. She was ripped back by her head, the weight straining in her long tether of hair spreading through her neck as she jerked back without consent and lost grip on her letter before she'd been able to even open it. A foot flew up off the ground to keep her moving, an instinct to keep her hair from sustaining too much strain between she and the one yanking her back. The moment she glimpsed the reach of an arm to brace around her throat, the woman snapped. Her head came back with a startling speed, crushing against his godawful lookin nose and giving her time to spin on her heels, nails seizing the arm that tried it and, with her inhuman strength, she yanked him off his feet and tossed him at the point with the most momentum like a piece of fucking meat. Unfortunately for Dorin, this meant the man was crashing right into him.
Offline Dorin Jun 7 2020, 2:46 PM
#9
  • Corzya
  • Age: 27
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Dire
  • Rank: Howler
  • Total Posts: 33
  • Played by: Isilzheha
485 Mana · View All Items?
This was quite possibly the worst end to the night he could have gotten. Dorin knew that the second he saw the name and knew where he needed to go, or at least who to ask to get there. It was louder than it ever needed to be, and while the howler could have easily placed blame on his current exhausted state he didn’t. Instead the irritation rolled off of him in waves, Dorin attempting to keep it from his face if not the tension of his body. Instead of immediately going over to the half-exi the dire redirected himself towards the bar as if any amount of liquor might smooth over the interaction he was about to engage in. Dorin smoothed his hair back again, a bit of an anxious tick, and made good use of the brief moment of self-isolation to prepare himself for whatever might be about to happen. With Nora it was always difficult to tell just where things might end up. She was a louder and more rambunctious carbon copy of her father, and Dorin couldn’t say he really enjoyed that thought. He’d not really had the time to talk with her much outside of work, though it wasn’t exactly high up on his list of things to do. It definitely wouldn’t be today when he was ready to crawl into bed and call it.

The alcohol helped to perk him up on his approach, the energy of the place doing the rest of the legwork even if it came with some negative connotations. In spite of his tiredness the wolf kept track of all that he could. The two at the tables further in the corner taking their drinks, another standing alone against the wall, a few clustered about on either side of Nora. It was all useful information until it wasn’t, Dorin’s hand subconsciously resting on the hilt of his sword as he sucked it up and crossed the room to the woman. ‘The hell you pesterin me fer, pretty boy?’ she said as she stood, turning bright purple eyes towards him until they dropped to the outstretched letter. “Because it’s my job to pester you right now,” he answered even though her attention had dropped to the sealed parchment. Dorin lifted the letter up a bit more in an urging gesture for Nora to take it, eyebrows lifting expectantly.

She took it - snatched it more like. Her fingers tugged at the tips of his in the process, Dorin pulling his hand back lest it be pulled along with the too quick movement. Then Nora yelled in his face. He flinched, drawing back with an exaggerated expression of discontent at the excited shouting. “Sure is,” he sighed, “has the seal and all.” There was no sense in saying anything at this point as Nora turned the letter around once again to start opening. Dorin’s attention drifted over her shoulder to the out of focus body moving towards her, but they were quicker than his warning and his reaching hand to reflexively pull her away. Her ponytail was pulled, horned head yanked back and Nora stumbled with it. Dorin took a step, saw the letter starting to flutter to the ground, and caught it after a bit of juggling. He would have been more concerned about actually helping her had it been anyone else, but he was fine now to take that step back and watch. Nora cracked her head back into the guy’s face, the break of the bone audible to any paying attention, and removed the arm that was hoping to squeeze around her neck. Dorin didn’t get a chance to move when she tossed the idiot.

Directly at him. He might have thought it was intentional if not for the string of insults that poured from her lips and the agitated way her stance widened. Either way, the weight was deadweight and he grunted when his back hit the wall and he was briefly squished against it. The back of his head bounced against it, Dorin’s annoyance increasing exponentially. The man dropped to the ground at his feet, trying to nurse his broken nose and crying about it now, and Dorin lifted a boot. The heel drove into his ribs on his way up, a pointed shove sending him toppling over to roll onto his back. “Get out,” he snapped, unable to resist the urge to shove him again when he tried to stand. “Faster.Try harder. In this scenario scrambling to get out of the bar quicker would be the safest option for the human, considering who he tried to attack. Dorin let him get up that time, fearful eyes switching between him and Nora who had stomped forward ready to retaliate. The howler distracted her by shoving the letter in her face. “Can you read this already so I can go home?” he asked impatiently. Then, tacked on like an afterthought, “Please.
Offline Nora Sep 17 2020, 5:03 PM
#10
  • Corzya
  • Age: 26
  • Gender: Female
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Greenhorn
  • Total Posts: 1
  • Played by: Pan
110 Mana · View All Items?
Nora’s brow rose in bemusement at the howler, an unintentional mimicry of his own expression when presented his cheeky reply. ”Yer certainly doin’ a right job o’ it,” she retorted, unrelenting when it came to matters of having the last word or the final flourish in her imagined parry with every living, breathing soul that belonged to this earth. The letter clutched between his fingers was offered no reprieve, and the messenger no final interjection, when the half-Eximian snatched it from him. In catching sight of the familiar seal she’d made for her father, her glowing eyes widened exponentially, lit with exuberance as an electric current of excitement rippled through her. Had she the chance, she would have torn through the envelope and relieved the howler of his duties — he certainly seemed wanton for escape. But the night was young, and the pirates of Corzya had a reputation to live up to.

Searing hot pain roared to life along the base of her scalp, wildfire that stoked the woman’s instincts to overdrive. The moments thereafter were a blur of bodies thrown and a near primal thrill. Nora, as fate would have it, was a creature of violent delights. It was not so much a want for blood or a thirst for cruelty — her mother, after all, was of a finer pedigree than to have raised wildlings for children. No, it was the neverending hunt for excitement, a new adversary that would do more than quake in their boots or bend their knee. She was a child of the waters and there was no greater quarry than the ocean herself. It was no wonder then that when grounded, she was impossibly restless, searching for the same tumult she’d known her whole life aboard a ship.

She widened her stance, driving her balance lower to the ground in readiness for the retaliation sure to come. ”Filthy bilge rat, if yer gonna play dirty at least do it right,” Nora growled lowly. It might have occurred to her that her father’s messenger was some form of collateral damage, but she also knew her father to groom his men to hardiness. If he couldn’t handle one flying body, well, she’d have to question his waning discipline.

It was a fast-rising doubt though, made evident in the way he swiftly urged her assailant toward the exit and placed himself before her. Forcibly halted in her charge, Nora’s nostrils flared with a heated exhale. Her hand shot up, shoving Dorin’s hand aside as she invasively strode forward and into his field of orbit. She tapped, or perhaps shoved, a finger to his chest, pushing once. ”Watch yerself, pretty boy. Do yer job too well and it’ll be yer body flyin’ next.” She shoved him again for good measure, head tilted up with little regard to the fact that he was far taller than she. It came with her blood and territory, the fearlessness and crassness.

The young Cristiano shouldered past him, resuming her hunt for the escapee who’d yet to pay a high enough price for his assault. Striding into the crowded, open streets of Gibrantt, Nora’s piercing gaze swept from left to right and back, scanning the rowdy coastline for her wounded prey. She was owed an apology and she’d be damned if she allowed his blatant disrespect to go unanswered. Her peripheries caught sight of a hunched figure squirming between locals and visitors, some shocked and others less so by the bloody sight.

”There ye are,” came the low hum. She stalked the pirate with little grace, having met with much of her own success through sheer force of will and strength. Their chase was a blustering whirlwind of knocked bodies, disgruntled passerbys, and rising adrenaline. That was until the man veered to the right, darting into a dark alley between two rowdy taverns. Nora followed in chase, finding that some feet down, there was no longer one but four silhouettes. ’I-it’s her! She’s the wench who did this!’ the man cried past a rivulet of blood and snot.

A wicked grin found purchase along the horned woman’s lips, toothy and jovial in nature. Anyone sane of mind might have turned tail and ran, but Nora Cristiano lived for moments as these. ”I’m not lookin’ fer trouble,” she threw her hands to the side, palms splayed upward in a flippant shrug. ”Yer friend there started somethin’ he couldn’t finish, all I’m lookin’ fer is an apology.” Her diplomacy was nothing more than a guise, after all, the night was young and the pirates of Corzya had a reputation to live up to.