Today is of the Cycle Of The Seventh Moon.
Current Season & Month:  , Year: 543 A.R. (ref)

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The Whale King

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Pioloss
(@pioloss)
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Pioloss

"What was that you were doing? Would you be willing to teach me?" Pioloss asked Rigel softly, unsure if the man was even still awake with how still he had become.

But if there was one thing he had learned during his life, it was to never pass up the opportunity to learn something useful! So if those stretches had anything to do with the man's impressive displays of speed and reflex, imagine what they could do for him! And even if they didn't, he could do with something to occupy his mind other than the incessant, albeit muted squawking which was still coming from next to him. 


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Rigel
(@rigel)
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there was several more minutes of absolute silence and stillness before Rigel moved.  He slowly opened his eyes and looked at Pioloss.  "Of course"  He lifted his right-hand palm facing Pioloss then turned it toward himself.  Placing the thumb of his left hand on the base knuckle of the little finger of the right.  wrapping his other fingers around the pad of his thumb he twisted counterclockwise.  Pioloss could see Rigel's palm turn almost 120 degrees.  "When most first try this, they are fortunate to get to about here."  Showing Pioloss his hand turned, the edge of his hand pointed to what would be the seven o'clock position on a sundial while Rigel could rotate his wrist to the three O'clock position.

"Do this with both hands.  When you have become accustomed to this, I shall show you another. Supple pliant wrists and joints are very important."

Rigel examined Pioloss, he was a curious man with some odd...quirks?  Not completely sure they were quirks or just one-off incidents.  His strange "relationship" with the one they call Bird-eye, his seeming affinity for jumping into the water.  Rigel suspected these were not so much eccentricities as manifestations of his inner demons.   

This post was modified 5 months ago by Rigel

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NoOne
(@noone)
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Faan

If her intention was to keep from drawing the crew's attention, and it was, then pretending to sleep and being wrapped in a shapeless lump of blanket served the elven seamstress well. Faan listened to the goings-on while staying silent and unmoving. 

There was some splashing, odd quiet pops like knuckles being cracked, and then muted conversation between voices she recognized as belonging to Rigel and Pioloss. Beneath it all came the creaks and splashes of the oars.

Also lots of muffled clucking.

Faan hoped that Pioloss would not catch cold in his saturated clothing. He already seemed a pale and sickly soul. 

The blanket served Faan well as a way to keep from drawing attention, but it failed miserably at keeping her awake and alert. Nerves at being aboard a small pirate craft with various and sundry manner of cutthroats did not prevail against the warm comfort of the magickal bedroll, and saw the Elfmaid asleep in short order.

To: Tuc-Kal


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
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Risqué ┨

Legendary Piratess of the Seven Seas

╺ ✽ ╸

Having some "fun" aboard 'The Whale King'

 

Risqué shifted out of her hawk form a few feet above The Whale King and dropped lightly on the deck, touching down with all the noise of a cat landing on the soft pads of their feet after jumping down from a sunny window sill.  (Which is to say, she didn’t make much of a sound at all.)  She straightened to a few startled cries of the crew milling around on deck, but for the most part she was greeted with leers and a strange sort of tension in the air.  The golden-skinned Piratess rested a hand on the curve of her hip, over a coil of the infamous and realistic inked “tattoo” of the sinuous red dragon that sensuously covered most of her torso and back...as well as draped over a shoulder, chest, and cheekily slithered over one of her…cheeks, before wrapping around her thigh.  

 

It wasn’t like the dragon was hard to miss; aside from a sleeveless, structured leather crop top (it’s little more than a sport’s bra, if we’re being honest here), Risqué was only adorned in a pair of snug pants, soft-soled boots, belts, leather cuffs, and her weaponry.  And of course, she always wore the oddly beautiful, green and red fused gem that hung from a leather cord firmly wound a few times around her neck.  If one looked closely, they might see that the fused green and red stones almost seemed to glow against the delicate golden skin at the hollow of her throat…  Otherwise, the Piratess wore little jewelry, only a few earrings, a seashell choker the twins made her when they were little, and a few other tattoos scattered about her person. 

 

It didn't matter; Risqué couldn’t have cared any less what people thought when they saw her.  Besides, she was there on her own business, although, as she glanced around the deck, Risqué noticed a curious lot of scoundrelly looking… scoundrels, gathered ‘round one another in the shadow of the jib.  The group was speaking in hushed tones and throwing furtive glances over their shoulders.  She almost rolled her eyes; as if they could be any more obvious.  She strode forward towards the suspicious huddle.  The rest of the crew of The Whale King either knew her, knew of her, or knew enough of the rumors as to the relationship between the “Piratess with the dragon tattoo”, and their, “mentally unstable madcap Aeros Captain”, to know to stay out of her way.  Which they did; such well-trained pogies, Risqué almost wanted to toss them some kibble and pat them on their heads. 

 

Risqué approached the shady bunch openly, not trying to mask her steps in the least.  It was either shock or shocking overconfidence that the ten or so men let her walk right into their midst, but either way she caught the tail end of what one of them (a bloke with a broken front tooth) was saying.

 

--an I sez why kint us’ims run this brig, oy?”  This statement-question was met with a hardy round of, ‘Ayes!’ and Risqué knew that she might have to step in, lest Sahar come back to complete mutiny aboard her ship.  Although, what these ten rough looking men thought they were going to do against the rest of the forty-some crew, she didn’t know. It certainly made her question their mental capacity, so she numbered them One through Ten in her head and left it at that.  By her estimation, they didn’t even deserve insulting nicknames.  

 

Risqué slung an arm around Two’s shoulders and favored the group with a sly grin.  She winked the blue eye at them and said, “So ‘ow are ye boys doin’?  Methinks it be kind ‘ave early fer a bit’o’mutiny…” She pretended to think, bringing a slender finger up those enticing lips of hers, tapping thoughtfully.  “Mmm, I dinnae think yer Cap’n would appreciate it, an’ as much as she might say she ‘ates me, I kinnae let that ‘appen in good conscience.”  She paused and fixed them all with a pointed stare. "Savvy?"

 

Wot’s this broad goin’ on about?” spat Number Five, nastily.  He spit by Risqué’s feet, the spittle thick and dark with tobacco.  Risqué smiled sharply at him.  

 

So I take ‘t y’dinnae savvy,” she said slowly.  Some of the other crew, a few of whom Risqué knew to be fiercely loyal to Sahar, started to take an interest in what was going on.   However, the Piratess was in the mood for a little excitement and wasn't about to let that be interrupted. 

 

Without any warning, Risqué turned and drove her fist into Two’s solar plexus.  The unexpected blow punched the breath out of the man, and he folded, crumpling to the deck with a protracted wheeze of pain.  There was a moment where everyone on deck went still, a shocked, stunned silence falling over those present.  In the few seconds of inaction, the white-tressed Piratess pivoted and, laughing, delivered a brutal kick to Five’s knee.

 

Things devolved quickly after that.

 

Unfortunately for the pirates, Risqué wasn’t your average fighter.   Decades, hells, centuries of fighting side-by-side with Finoadh had forged her into something more than; just plain keeping up with a Sidhe in a fight required it.  And she and Fin had found themselves in plenty of scraps over the years, some life or death and many (a great many) were just for fun, all told.  Still, whether serious or for fun, the end result was that Risqué was faster, more agile, and generally far deadlier than she ought to be, or perhaps was expected to be.  She didn’t have to be deadly, however; just because the slinky Piratess didn’t kill, though, didn’t mean that the experience would be pleasant. At all.  At least it would be over quickly.

 

It was over quickly - pathetically so.  

 

Risqué looked down at the pirates that she’d laid out, her beautiful lips curling into a dispassionate sneer.  Then she sighed and grinned coldly, her bi-coloured eyes glinting with some amusement.  “Seriously boys,” she said conversationally as she sauntered away to pick up a coil of rope.  “Ye ought t’be ashamed ‘ave y’selves.”  Nobody stopped her as she began to tie the ten would-be-mutineers together, maybe a little tighter than was really necessary.  I dinnae even break a’sweat.”  She stepped back and looked over her knotwork; Fin would be proud.  If the randy bastard were around, of course.  Well, she can’t reach into the Void and pull him back to her (so that she could give him a royal arse-kicking he wouldn’t soon forget), therefore she’d have to make do with taking out her frustration on any poor sod who got in her way.  Sometimes, though, she thought it would be nice to meet a man who was an actual challenge for her, or at the very least, managed to hold her interest in any sort of way, for more than a minute (or night).  Neither seemed to be in her immediate future, so with a shrug, Risqué came to stand in front of Five, who glared up at her through a black eye.  He spat again, the expectorant pink and frothy with blood.  The Piratess raised a shapely white brow, smiled sweetly, and then brought her heel down on his stones.

 

Trust me,” she said, her voice as sleek as honey dripped over razor wire.  “Compared t’what Sah–Blackwing ‘s likely t’do t’ye lot, I’ve gone easy on ye’sorry sons’o’b*tches.”  She grinned, then said, "Savvy?"

TOM-CAT: Kiana Beach Battle (3/3) - ☆Try Again - ★Powder Keg - Soft,soft - ★Stupid Little Tom-Cat - ★Miiya & Cat-Tom - ★Sparring - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - Stolen Kiss - ☆Not Cheshire - Returning to Her - ★Baths & Comfort - ☆Wings, Tails, & Love - ☆Cave Storms - Climbing the Walls - ★Their 1st Kiss - ★Makeouts & Memories -Laughter & Kisses
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DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate 2/2 - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Precipice - Entering the Hedge Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Into the Aegis
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[Chatte] Chat w/Castor - Proposing the Race
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[ ☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


Calen, Rigel, Duilliath and 2 people liked
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NoOne
(@noone)
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Blackwing

From: Tuc-Kal

“Capn’ returnin’!” Sang out the lookout, trying to cover his embarrassment at dozing through the approach and landing of Risque.

“Eh, them birds just be flockin’ ta our ship, eh maytee?” One very daring pirate whispered to another as Blackwing alighted on the railing of her ship. 

“Shaddup! Yew wants ta gets us killt?” His compatriot hissed back. 

The captain of the Whale King stepped down from the railing, regarding the albino-maned piratess and her bound crewman with narrowed gaze. At a quarter-extension, her razored wingtips clicked furiously as she brushed past the taller woman, stalking straight to the hatch in the quarterdeck. “Me cabin. Now.” 

Were Risque to follow Blackwing, she’d find herself attacked by the Aeros not a pace past the armored door to the captain’s quarters. Standing on tiptoe, the shorter woman embraced the Elf, her interlinked knuckles spelling FDALSOTH behind Risque’s neck. Stepping into the hug and hauling the piratess to her, Sahar laid her head against Risque’s shoulder. “Oi’ve missed yew, Risq.” She whispered. “Truly.”

The golden elf might feel Sahar sigh against her, a bit of tension joining the air leaving the Aeros woman, before she released Risque and stepped back. “Welcome back, number one.” She said with a gold-toothed grin. “So, that leaky ol’ tub yew stole frum me finally foundered an’ sank, did she?”


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