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[P]  Dearly Departed

Offline North Apr 16 2020, 7:26 PM
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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The jovial captain hadn't spent an ounce of time laughing or smiling like he normally would.
It started with an interrupted season, the call to pull up their operation and divert themselves only three months in. Half a season lost, maybe more. A trail they'd been on was cut painfully short. They'd briefly stopped at a harbor in Gibrantt to refuel in what was supposed to be a short stop, but a Howler carrying a message from The Vatican had ruined that plan. A man as heavily concerned with cutting through records and making as much profit as possible and not drawing up to port until that much was done...Agnes knew that for him to give the order to cut it short and change course meant that hell had either frozen over, or they were at some capacity completely fucked. Normally the two best mates would hash it out, the lionhearted Eximius putting the Human in a headlock until he agreed to spill his guts and vent his troubles, but there was such an uncharacteristic edge to Cristiano that Agnes didn't bother questioning him. Not even the banker Javel, who'd been hired years ago as an almost-sole authority over their accounting and investments, had been given any amount of extra information on just why they were opting out of literally tens of thousands in gold. Despite that they'd shared the cabin together, for Eirik it was no different. North was a pacing bull the entire way to The Vatican, the letter that had been brought by Howler laying on his tatters.

Shirii took control of the ship in the short meantime. She was harsher than North even during his bad days, sharp eyed and prepared to take in her own hands the punishment of bad behavior--by eating the perpetrators. Fortunately no one had been devoured on their way to The Vatican, but that was entirely because the crew of hundreds were familiar enough with how things went that they didn't fuck around when the deceptively little Siren was filling in for North. The only warning anyone got was a low-voiced "I don't like that.." and they had about a couple seconds to straighten up before the many-eyed creature lunged for their throat.

The tension was palpable even more when they arrived than when they were stewing in it on the ship. Even in the cursory waters there was a stillness, the ships many but the crews incredibly few. There was no merriment, no unloading hauls after a long season to imply that they were finished..or had even been allowed to start. "Keep her here" North stood beside his first mate as the fire-haired Eximius steered the ship in his stead. It was typical that North rarely steered the warship himself, but it was rare that he micromanaged where the expert was taking them. Agnes' hands loosened at the wheel for just a second, a pause, surprise even, but with steel in his eyes he twisted the wheel in accordance to command. The impenetrable Rembrandt made a wider arc than any of them were expecting her to make; out towards the sea, a further resting place than right on the dock. A good amount of knots away, a safe distance. North nodded when they were far enough to his liking, and with a long whistle that pierced the ears of many standing in wait, the signal was passed between parties responsible for dropping the multiple anchors down. North thanked him only with a strong pat to the back of his shoulder and stepped out of the cockpit before he could ever ask what purpose that order served them.

His steps were hard and fast, his expression creased with a frown and sharpened with a hard gaze. The 11-eyed siren was nestled on the portside wall of the deck, her hooded eyes keenly tracking him from under the bandage wrapped over them as he approached. She was dressed closer to formal tradition than usual, but it paid to put your best foot forward when you traveled to The Vatican.
North didn't plan on docking. That much was clear to crew members waiting around to be addressed with the usual merriment and "thanks" for a good season before they were set loose to enjoy themselves on land. There was no indication that Bull was winding down from a season at all--on the contrary he seemed more wound up than ever during one.
Shirii, Agnes, and Eirik. Those were the three who were coming with him. The first two were obvious decisions; the first because despite her size, her true form hidden by her Shapeshifting was a serpent of biblical proportions who would take a bullet like a mosquito bite. The second because he was a bruiser, some twice even North Cristiano's size, and..his best mate. The third, well...when Eirik was summoned, no one really could guess why he was chosen. "Stay close, y'hear? Ain't much here for pleasure--least, not yet. Business first." he told him without much more than that. Eirik would have known something was amiss and certainly connected to this "house call" because he shared the captain's cabin.

With that, North issued a nod to the three of them in a way they would all be familiar with. He focused on his place in space then as well as the three who had contact with him in some way, and bridged them with their destination which he was quite familiar with. He hadn't been there in quite some time, but many memories plagued the gilded streets of The Vatican and an old drinking buddy behind large, heavy doors. A pulse of Magic whipped around the deck like wind, a pressurized event that made the ears of bystanders congest with the difference of force. A blur of light grew around the four of the departing, and with an explosive flash they were gone.

He took them to Valetta's throne room entrance, the large double doors slightly parted before the built Human could bother doing so himself. His palms planted firmly on either door and he pushed without issue, forcing open the gap and allowing the others to spill in after him. And like the flick of a switch, North Cristiano went from the man The Rembrandt had seen this entire time since the summons

"HAHAHA, well HULLO there! Long time since The Rembrandt been in these ports, tellyerwhat!" There was smoothness to his steps again, that swagger they were far more familiar with and that hearty laughter as a greeting. He stopped at a respectable distance and expected them to do the same, gesturing behind him at the familiar faces. "Hope it's alright I brought my best mates with me. Can send the 7ft fucker out if'n you ain't a fan of his face" he jabbed at Agnes as usual when the moment revealed itself. " yer letter. You in here lookin like that tells me you fuckin killed the old guy, but I ain't sure what's that gotta do with me. Cut a season for this, so--" he finished the rest of the comment with a flourish of his arms to suggest that the floor was all his.
North? Strategic? A delightful surprise.
Offline Eirik Apr 16 2020, 11:04 PM
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
325 Mana · View All Items?
Obviously it was hard not to notice that North was off. Which might have been a vast understatement all things considered. Eirik was the intuitive sort but one didn’t need much intuition when his owner had lost a good portion of his patience (upon which he depended) and his good humor, leaving him to feel as if he must watch his step since the first days he’d been on the Rembrandt. Luckily he was good at it; for the most part he kept his head down. He had only discerned a few scant details from North, which he could only assume was trouble at “home”. That was, the Vatican. Eirik had never been. He had heard tales of it of course: great big sailing city, powered half by manpower and the other half by magic. If nothing else it would have made for a sight, but, as the Rembrandt turned its impressive bulk towards its ports he knew with certainty that there might be something strange and dangerous waiting for the captain there. Something political. North didn’t seem so much anxious as he did agitated — inconvenienced maybe? — but truthfully Eirik wasn’t sure what would happen to him if North were in trouble.

One night as they approached the Vatican he had found his way up to the mast and perched there, watching its lights reflect across the water. Observing it through a pair of binoculars he did indeed find it to be a beautiful, and terrifying, sight. Like an army in full regalia. Or a drake upon its hoard.

He’d gone to sleep with the Vatican at binocular-distance and rose the next morning with them ready to dock (or, as he’d come to find, anchor), and an empty bed beside him. Eirik had gotten dressed quickly, fussed a bit, and then had made his way out to the deck to see what was what — squeezing past crew-members to find North. He’d only to follow the sound of his voice, which wasn’t hard. Past the men and women lowering the anchors he went. He interweaved through bodies going back and forth, checking a shoulder or two. Finally he climbs up to the stern and there he finds him.

Eirik is just as surprised as anyone else when he decides to take him with him.

But he feels a measure of relief. This way he wouldn’t be stuck here, waiting for word. Thanks to his eximius nature Eirik was capable of wielding a war-bow with a draw weight topping 200 pounds, and it was a weapon of choice at that, but its problem was its conspicuous nature. Instead he brings two blades strapped to the back of his belt. Not invisible, but not directly threatening, either. A last line of defense. "Stay close, y'hear? Ain't much here for pleasure--least, not yet. Business first.” Eirik nods. “Ohh, aye, I’ll be close.” All business. He could do business. He looks surreptitiously at Agnes and Shirii, dissecting their expressions.

North spirits them away to what he could only describe as a lavish little room. He does a spin-around, trying to take it all in at once. He’d precious little experience with luxury before the past few months. “What’s this place?” he asked, but he’s already pushing open a heavy looking set of double doors. Eirik follows them. He grows tense in the unfamiliar location, sticking close by North and stopping when he did, less than a foot away.

He is used to North’s great big bellows and pays it no mind, explosive as it was. With only a twitch of an ear towards him, he expends most of his attention on the stranger before him. His keen senses kick in. Alastor — the stranger — smelled of nickel; of iron and blood. He was an older man with hair of white and sharp eyes peering out of a sun-weathered face. Eirik waited, shuffling his feet…he could sense tension.