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The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 13, 2023 02:33 PM

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#2951126
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Discussion: Link
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[The year is 1678. The world is similar to ours, but in an alternate timeline where all the mythical beings medieval people believed to be real are truly real. False settings and historical figures can also exist.]
The crew of the White Tide have been terrorizing bays from here to there for decades now. Known for their brutal nature and fearlessness, they're the thorn in the royal navy's side and at the forefront of every merchant ship's fears.
However, with a new captain in charge and their last few battles ending poorly (mostly alive, but poorly), the White Tide is entering a crisis. To top that off, the original captian hid his treasure somewhere and didn't bother telling anyone where, so now they're kind of... treasureless. To combat this, they all decided to go with the genius plan of kidnapping the princess for ransom. And maybe hiding in a siren-infested bay just to toy with the royal navy. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, sirens know what anchors are, and now they're not giving it back. The ship is stuck and surrounded by hungry eel-like, shapeshifting creatures who keep trying to lull everyone overboard, and as the nights go by everyone's resolve and sanity is chipping away to the sound of siren whistles. The princess isn't doing too well being shoved on a dirty ship when she's made for a pristine castle. They never actually meant to hurt or kill her, she was just there for some quick money.
So now they're faced with a few issues, and for once it would actually be nice if the navy came by because they have got themselves in quite the predicament. The new captain's constant slip-ups and their most recent plot disaster is making crew loyalty drop, the sirens are absolutely salivating under the hull of the ship, and the princess looks like she had a bit too much salt water to drink.
They've been here for three days now and probably don't have much left before a mutiny, a siren feast, their plot backfiring, or all three occur.
New Addition: Nearby there is a deserted island taken over completely by wildlife, but it's an island full of many more hostile mythical creatures. If you can't take it on the boat anymore, you could always try to flee there... but even if you manage to out-paddle the sirens, there will be many more trials and dangers waiting for you.
-
Roles
Captain (1/1)
-Spork H. Sully | Space Man
-
First Mate (1/1)
-Aziza (Aziz) Rahima bint Mazin | Freedom
-
Sailing Master (1/1)
-Gore Buckley | Salt Shaker
-
Carpenter/Medic (1/1)
-Arthur Patrick Seamor | Seiun
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Ships Cook (1/1)
-Pov Sully | sputnik
-
Sailors (3/whatever)
-Hargrove Phillips | swaggyrollie
-Noé Faustino | Freedom
-Nyoka Ophiuchus-Pachu'a Wright-Eiriksson | Spellbound
-
Princess (1/1)
-Anastasia Franchesca Della Rossa | Spellbound
The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 13, 2023 02:37 PM

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Current Situation:
The White Tide crew is currently stuck on the ship just off the coast of a hostile island. They can't leave due to the sirens surrounding the boat, and they have been here for a week and a half. Most of the crew was already lured into the water within the first three days, leaving only those with the apparent strongest wills remaining. They also have the princess on board who they had been holding for ransom.
The time is midday, the weather is clear, and the sirens have not come out yet due to being nocturnal creatures. That does not make the water any less dangerous, however.
The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 14, 2023 05:36 PM

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ok pretend it didnt take me a whole day 😭

Gore | 34 | He/Him | Sailing Master | M: Spork, Anastasia (ind),

It's been nine months since Captain Spork took over -- a nine months spent pillaging, terrorizing, and losing. At least losing more than Gore was used to. Now, at first he wasn't so keen on blaming the new captain - Spork had been a crewmate for years, and Gore had always thought of him as at least a decently respectable fellow. At first he'd gone through many other excuses in his head, ranging from disorder after the loss of the captain that had governed them for so long, a stroke of incredibly bad luck, or maybe simply a curse placed upon the whole ship. It wouldn't surprise him, they've certainly stepped on the toes of powerful people. But... Gore's running out of excuses now that Spork's two most recent decisions have really cost them.

By "really cost them", he means the majority of the crew.

It’s been two weeks since Princess Anastasia, heir to the throne, one of the major political figures, was kidnapped and brought aboard - something that Gore isn’t sure why he didn’t object, other than maybe he was just so desperate to see the White Tide restored to her former glory that he was blinded by the promise of it. It’s been a week and a half since they were ordered to stop in a siren-infested bay, because apparently that should deter the Royal Navy from attacking and make them more likely to beg and plead and pay the ransom instead of just trying to steal their Princess back. Gore doesn’t think Spork anticipated them staying this long. Actually, he knows he didn’t. Because when the sirens realized they were there and started picking off at least two crewmates per night, the anchor was ordered to be raised and the ship was set to sail – except the anchor would not come up. There was a budge, but the sirens have definitely either placed something heavy on it or are dragging on it themselves, because they couldn’t raise the anchor at any point that they tried. Each day that it fails to surface, another crew member is lured overboard.

As he currently peers into the murky depths below, Gore quietly worries if maybe he will go into the dark waters tonight. The poorly-groomed pirate fidgets with the braid he’s currently tying in his hair, having become so accustomed to it that he doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing. Besides, he’s too busy staring into the watery cemetery below him where many sailors he’s known for years now lie. Tonight will be another fight to stay above the influence of those enchanting wails and whistles that tempt them into the water… he can feel his own resolve starting to chip away. Funny how he and Arthur had always been itching to find a good siren specimen to document. They’ve certainly got a good, well-fed population of them now! But… Gore’s a little scared to try to send a net down and capture one. Those things are a lot bigger than the myths say. And they look a lot less like beautiful maidens, too. He can’t even die by the razor-teeth of a gorgeous mermaid, what a shame.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to worry about fighting off temptation for another six hours. Most of his brethren are shuffling around the boat now, but there isn’t much work to do with the ship stuck in place, besides maybe clean the same spot you have for the past week and a half and chase the cat around... and whisper and gossip about scary things Gore doesn't really want to consider. Spork and his brilliant ideas have been oddly quiet for the past few days… Gore finally tears his gaze up from the edge of the boat to scan the crew, silently searching for his superior, wondering if he should make the first move and ask what their next move is. Frankly, sitting here isn’t very productive, especially when their rations are lowering and the sirens are getting much more persistent.

Spork isn’t hard to find thankfully. Be it his unique head of hair or the screeching of that bird he carries on his shoulder - Biscuit, right? - it really isn’t all that hard to locate his captain at the other end of the boat. Good. Maybe the long walk over will give Gore an ample amount of time to figure out the least accusatory, most faithful and loyal way to question his captain’s leadership and wonder… just what’s going to happen next?

Is that how he should word it? As he starts heading over and weaving through crewmates, that familiar anxiety buds in his fingertips, the stupid childish dread he only ever feels when he's speaking to another person. It only gets worse as Spork's features start to come into higher detail, the captain's mismatched gaze staring out at... something. Oh, Gore hopes he isn't about to interrupt anything important. Maybe he should go back to that braid.

The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 14, 2023 06:10 PM

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Noé Faustino

Sailor // Male // 33 // Mentions: Gore, Spork, Nyoka (ind), Arthur (ind), Pov (ind)

“We’ll be lucky if the navy catches up to us before we get eaten alive.”

“Ever think about how long the food will last us? Our captain certainly doesn’t seem to be considering that.”

“I could have been a doctor. Look at me now.”

These were the kind of things the crew had been muttering to each other as soon as they had found themselves trapped in this siren-infested bay. That was when they had a full crew, and the ship was filled with unease and restlessness, and the vague threat of a mutiny. Well, most of those sailors were gone now, victims of the alluring voices of the sirens. The pirates left on the ship now were presumably those with the strongest wills. Noé joked that the only reason he hadn’t gone overboard yet was that it was too much work to hurl himself off the side. While tensions built around him, Noé seemed surprisingly unaffected. To some it was a comfort, but to others it seemed a jarring contrast to the overall feeling lately. Noé claimed that it was his lucky tokens that were keeping him safe, and though he remained possessive of his only protection, he had been kind enough to lend out one or two to each person.

Noé was one of those hopefuls who believed the royal navy would come to pick them up - after all, they did have their princess. No self-respecting soldiers would have turned their back on their royalty, sirens or no sirens. Though Noé didn’t go so far as to say it, everyone knew that if the whole crew got captured by the navy, Noé would be much better off than the rest of them. Maybe it was only self-interest that kept him from worrying. He had never seemed uncaring, despite his coming and going and lack of dedication to his ship. But now it hardly seemed like he was thinking of them. If he had been, surely he would have been more worried, but still he remained unruffled by the impending doom surrounding the ship.

So while everyone was worrying, fretting, planning, and rationing, Noé was acting no different than usual. The only real difference was that he was working even less hard than usual. Every day he could be seen around the ship playing cards, whittling figurines for the deceased crew members, and singing in a low voice to keep his spirits up. He lingered near everyone else, which wasn’t unusual, him being such a sociable person. Any time the anxiety got high on the ship or they dealt with yet another death, Noé hardly reacted except to drink a bit more than he should, and to hover close to the other crew members. He seemed to linger especially near Nyoka, who he had a fresh insult for every time he saw him. Without anything to occupy himself with, the volume and frequency of his arguments had increased, and while he was happy to mess with the likes of Arthur, Gore, and Pov, his very favorite person to antagonize (and be antagonized by) was Nyoka.

Right now Noé was perched on the edge of the ship, his legs dangling over the churning water. The water seemed almost peaceful compared to the dark tumultuous ocean at night, filled with the seething figures of eel-like sirens. He was whittling with his gully, making a figurine of what looked like a man with long coily hair. He watched the shavings drifting into the sea. He kicked his legs against the wooden hull of the ship like a little kid, leaning forward just a bit too far. He normally would have messed around on the edge to tease others with the possibility of him getting hurt. He barely had the sense about him to realize how insensitive this might be, and in fact he might very well have done it. But he could see Gore along the side, looking into the water with a reflective look, and it reminded him of the people they’d lost to the sea. Noé’s long black hair hung around his face as he looked into the water. He lifted his head and glanced behind himself, looking to see what the others were up to. He had very little to do, and was vaguely hoping somebody - maybe somebody in particular - might come over to call him an idiot for balancing himself next to the raging sea.

Noé had been making an effort to avoid Captain Spork. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the man, but whatever solution the captain was sure to come up with, Noé didn’t want to get thrown into it. As soon as he saw Captain Spork out of the corner of his eye, he swung his legs around and hopped down onto the deck. He was hoping to find some excuse to get away. He still had his knife in one hand, a half-whittled figure in the other, and he strode towards the hatch to the lower decks with the idea of putting his things away.


Edited at November 14, 2023 06:39 PM by Freedom
The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 14, 2023 09:00 PM

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Spork H. Sully | 34 | He / Him | Captain | Mentions: Gore [direct]; Noé, Anastasia, others [ind]

Squark !! The colourful tropic bird squawks out, resting on her perch, her wings fluttering for a moment before she settled down. "I know," muttered the captain, hunched over his desk. Captain Spork rested his face tilted to the side on his hand, tapping the desk impatiently with the other. His gaze flickered around the room, from the map on his desk, to his telescope, to his flintlock pistol, and elsewhere. What was he to do ? Aawrkk, the bird chipped up again, not as loudly as before. "I get it," Spork replied, even though there were no spoken words said to him. "I don't get it," he follows shortly after.

The captain stood, pushing his chair back abruptly as he did, startling his bird. "Sorry," he replied accordingly, pushing the chair back in a more gentle manner. Spork began to pace the room, slowly at first. His mind was racing, doing its best to put two and two together. "What do I do, Biscuit ?" the captain asked, directing his question to the scarlet macaw. Nothing but a chirr came back as a reply. "Mm no." He says in return. Spork needed to get it right. "Maybe we can..." he starts, "... no, that won't work," he concludes. This repeats for over half an hour, ending with nothing but more and more frustration from Spork. Why can't he think up any reasonable solution ? Why is it so hard to get just one plausible idea to form in his stupid head ?

It's been two weeks since Spork's brilliant and very impulsive plan to kidnap Princess Anastasia and hold her for ransom. Admittedly, it's one of his greatest feats. But when the Royal Navy decided to go after them, for good reason obviously considering that was Spork's plan, he made another ever so brilliant plan to enter siren infested waters just to fuck around with those pretentious Navy pricks. But it's been a while now and nothing he wants is coming out of this. Its been three days now, and there's no ransom being given. How long do these suckers need to wait to get that gold flowing, let alone find them ? Not to mention, these horrid sirens have already taken a good portion of his crew out. They best have been tasty if they were snagged this quickly.

Spork stopped in his tracks as a thought crossed his mind. Why don't they just detach the anchor's chain from the ship ? Sure, the actual chain is in a risky and hard to reach spot, but surely it can be done with enough heads knocking together to come up with a plan, right ? "Come now," he tells Biscuit, holding out his arm so the bird could climb on and waddle over to her usual perch on his shoulder.

Exiting his quarters, Spork takes a look around. Not too much seems to be done at this moment. Not that he blames em too much, it's apparently already midday ??? Man, he stayed long in there didn't he. The sun was already hitting on his face and head, so he put on his tricorn to help block some of it out. Much better. His attention wandered first to Anastasia out on the deck. His gaze wandered over to Noé, who seemed to be fiddling with something. Probably that wood of his he picks at with his knife. Spork, unfortunate as it may be for Noé, did not have the will to jaunt on over there. Turning back his attention to Anastasia, he felt a bubbling urge to approach her and tease her about how little the Navy cared for her if they left her out this long with 'stinky sea swimmers'. Should he ? Ehhh he's feeling lazy. Too far.

Spork continues to scan the deck, his hand resting on the hilt of his trusty cutlass, Biscuit occasionally letting out a few sounds that her kind probably make all the time. He ended up gazing off somewhere in the distance, eyeing whatever it was that caught his attention. Spork's attention drifted to the tall lad that was making his way over to Spork, bit of a surprise considering most times Spork goes to him. Spork kept his eyes on Gore, beginning to let out a friendly smile. He took a few steps forward to meet Gore, and piped up "Afternoon Gore, what brings you to little ole me at this time of day ?" In a way he hoped to be able to maintain some sort of casual conversation with the tall fellow, craving his daily dose of social interaction.

The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 16, 2023 11:24 AM

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Aziz Rahima bint Mazin

First Mate // Female // 30 // Mentions: Noé, Gore, Spork, Red (ind), Pov (ind)

It was her fifth time pacing back to her quarters like she had forgotten something, but by the time she got there she had no idea what it was. In the last week and a half, it felt like she hadn’t walked anywhere - she was pacing, always pacing. She, who had stormed the beaches of Rome in search of grand treasure. She, who had gone toe-to-toe with the French militia. She, who had too many achievements to list in a day, waiting like a sitting duck for the royal navy to come pick them off. If they didn’t die before that.

She had gone over the whole ship top to bottom as many times as she could justify, and had been handing out meaningless tasks to the crew to “keep them occupied.” She would check in on them now and then, pointing out that they were doing it wrong no matter how they were doing it. Only Red managed to escape her criticism. Her cutlass was sharper than the tip of a needle, her clothing messily sewn up, her flower collection completely re-categorized. She was going stir-crazy, and that meant that everyone else on the ship had to suffer from her incessant nagging and attempts to help with whatever they were doing. She had even gone so far as to pop into the kitchen, though she disliked Pov and despised cooking even more. Her hair seemed more frazzled than usual, perhaps from the frenetic energy that seemed to be crackling around her.

When she rested for even a few moments, her mind wandered back to the recent deaths and the decline of what had once been a glorious pirate crew. These people had been her friends, colleagues, and what she considered her family. And she had been able to do nothing as they flocked like sheep to the slaughter, ravaged under the razor-sharp claws of the sirens. After the first round of deaths, Aziz had gathered the crew to give her big speech about dying, perseverance, and the strength of the human spirit. And yes, it had been full of an unnecessary amount of pomp and bravado, but she had really meant everything she’d said. She promised her crew she’d be there until the end - and she intended to keep that promise. She was dedicated to this ship, and her dedication, she was sure, would overshadow all other threats or temptations.

Now she was back on the upper deck. Her boots thumped rhythmically against the boards, but she stopped as she noticed a spot of seaweed on the deck. “Somebody clean this up!” she barked at nobody in particular, keeping her voice deep as always to make it seem more masculine. Few of the crew seemed to be moving much, and this only made Aziz more restless. She paced up and down the deck twice. She had been to the captain’s quarters far too many times to count, and she’d told herself to count to two hundred at least between each visit. She was only on a hundred twenty-two now. As she saw Noé bustling across the deck, she had a sudden inclination to go after him and assign him some task so he wouldn’t be lazing around the ship. As she turned to walk after him, though, she caught sight of the captain. She puffed herself up, ready to stride over and tell him with an air of great importance that there was nothing new to report. But Gore had already caught up to him, and the two had started talking. Aziz felt a thrill of indignation. What were they talking about? Was it important? Was it so important that they felt she should be left out of it?

Aziz strode over them, leaning forward in a fast-walk as she attempted to look like she wasn’t rushing over to intercept them. She just caught Captain Spork saying “at this time of day,” and she hurried over to his side, crossing her arms and giving Gore a slightly condescending smile. “Gore,” she said in a reprimanding tone, like a parent scolding a child. “I thought we weren’t going to bother the captain.” She was a general advocate of talking to her before talking to the captain. She liked to think of herself as the go-between. Of course, she didn’t really think Gore was going to back down now, but this was just her way of inserting herself into the conversation so she could be party to whatever the two had to talk about. There were no conversation on this ship so private that she couldn’t weasel her way in - especially when it involved the captain.

The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 16, 2023 02:21 PM

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Gore | 34 | He/Him | Sailing Master | M: Spork, Aziz

It takes an embarrassing amount of strength to not only remember to smile back, but actually grin in return to Spork's friendly demeanor. That's something a few crewmates have gently suggested to Gore his whole life - that even if he isn't usually clicking his heels together with glee on the inside, he should still have a polite smile on his face. So far, he's had a success rate of maybe 30% of remembering that advice, and this is thankfully one of those times.

Or it was. Briefly.

The moment his lips begin to part as his mind settles on the most respectful, non-accusatory way to ask Spork what he thinks they're going to do, the very bane of his existence pops up beside the captain. It's as though she could smell his building anxiety and could not resist following the trail. He'd heard her purposeful strut on the wooden boards, but somehow it hadn't registered until it was too late.

Aziz. Even mentally thinking the name makes his nose crinkle just slightly, but he tries to stifle the whole grimace from appearing and quickly fixes his polite grin back on. Maybe a bit wider this time. Maybe with teeth grinding together a bit more tightly now before he actually speaks. A few snide comments come to mind, mainly low blows about the one glaring Aziz fact everyone refuses to truly, fully acknowledge, but he keeps them all down.

"He spoke to me first," Gore acknowledges Aziz with his best attempt at a light-hearted tone, but if the sudden tenseness at the corners of his mouth hadn't given it away, he suspects the slight bristle in his voice probably does.

His eyes flick back to Captain Spork, his mind now going into overdrive as whatever script he had prepared at the tip of his tongue goes flying away with the sea breeze. Spork was more relaxed, Gore felt that he didn't have to be overly crafty to question Spork's choices and still not offend him... But Aziz is quite different. And he has only a handful of seconds to conjure up something smart that she won't get snippy with him for.

Gore is not good at people-skills, especially not under pressure. If only his quick thinking in other intense scenarios extended to the most harrowing one of all; conversation.

"I... was just wondering if you had any ideas for the... situation," he glances around as he says that, his eyes drifting towards the water below for a second. He's a bit hesitant to fully say it out loud in front of the Captain, as though he's scared that if he does, it'll somehow give Spork the impression that he blames him. That if Gore fully acknowledges the elephant weighing the boat down, the Captain will somehow be offended, and maybe think Gore or the rest of the crew is losing faith in him. For someone who usually charges into things head on and without self-preservation instincts, he's doing a decent job of trying to close his eyes and pretend this simply isn't happening.

"Or if there's anything I could do!" he adds after that hastily, straightening slightly as he tries to keep the focus on both of them and make sure that this comes off as Gore just wanting to be helpful. He wracks his brain for something he, the sailing master could do, that would aid the crew in a significant way -- but not much comes to mind on an anchored boat where his specialty of sailing is out of the equation. Oh, he's never felt more useless before, and at that thought he glances at Aziz, who he knows feels similarly.

The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 16, 2023 09:30 PM

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Spork H. Sully | 34 | He / Him | Captain | Mentions: Gore, Aziz [direct]

The captain watched as Gore returned his smile, in the best was Gore could probably muster. A Gore grin. Spork upheld his own close-mouth smile, his crows feet showing a little. It seemed the taller fellow wanted to get a word in, but when Spork heard familiar thunking footsteps making their way here. He's been captain long enough to recognize them as belonging to none other than his first mate, Aziz. When she hurried to his side, Spork turned his head slightly to face her.

When she crossed her arms, Spork, for some silly reason, decided to follow suit and cross his own as he looked down at her. As she started to speak, his attention turned to Gore. His mannerisms were far from serious, being more playful if anything. It's his need to be a bit of a tease that was starting to show, though you could tell he was really enjoying it. Spork can't remember the last time he engaged with a crewman that didn't in some way involve his very dedicated first mate being witness to one way or another. Not that he minded too much, though he has a bit of a gut feeling that others on the ship might.

Spork had to stop himself from letting out a chortle, letting out a small snort before wiping his nose with his hand to recover from it. Aziz's way of scolding Gore was nothing if not funny to the captain. He couldn't help but find it funny. Correcting his posture to once more match Aziz's, he returned his attention to Gore, who promptly replied to Aziz. Seemed like he wasn't all too happy. Spork raised his head a little, before tilting it sideways as he spoke. "Wellll, he is right. I invited conversation," Spork paused a moment before he opened his mouth again. "Want me to whistle for you next time ? I don't mind it" Spork adds in, giving a small grin to Aziz.

His attention was once more beckoned to Gore, his focus a little more serious now as the tall man asked what ideas he had about the predicament they're all currently in. Spork rubbed his chin, playing a little with the stubble as he thought in a rather expressive manner. Biscuit let out one of her usual caws, and that prompted him to speak as though she was the one to make him decide on it. "Now, I don't have many," he begins, starting to move his hands around in small gestures- a habit he's developed whenever he speaks out ideas or goes on rambles. "But I think we could, in a way, possibly consider removing the anchor from up here. Like, maybe, find a way to detach the chain from the ship." Spork raises his brows as he continues. "I'm still very much in the works with it, I know those things are insanely heavy, but it might be something we need to consider. I get it will impact some things and whatnot but I don't really have better ideas at the moment" he says as his voice grows a little smaller near the end, tugging on his jabot a bit since he wasn't fully confident in his brainstorm.

"If any of you two," he says as he includes Aziz in the conversation, "have any pitches, now, or later I guess, would be good to tell them." Spork looks at them one at a time, attempting to express that he would really appreciate if one of them chimed up. It's not like the other options are any better. Waiting for the navy ? He's not even confident they'll show up. So much for plan princess, huh ?

The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 16, 2023 11:11 PM

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Marcos Prescott | 29 | He/Him | Sailor

M: Aziz (ind)

Cups banged against the table and boots thumped against the floor as Beau placed her foot on the table and sang in a bellowing voice, her fist banging against her thigh to set the beat.

“There once was a girl named Isabella, whose beauty charmed every strappin’ fella, and everyone wondered how to tell ‘er but she broke all their hearts!”

“I once loved a girl named Isabella,” sang the carpenter Mark Mirabella, “whose beauty charmed even this strappin’ fella, and I needed to know how to tell ‘er but she broke my lovin’ heart!” Mark leaned into Beau, grasping at his chest dramatically while the crew erupted with laughter as the two stalled for the next singer.

“I once loved a girl named Isobella, whose personolity charmed ‘is stroppin’ fella—”

“Those better have been two big personalities, Scott!” Tess hollered grasping at a big imaginary chest which she evidently didn’t have, both briefly breaking the flow of the song and earning a holler and whistle from a few of the crew.

“Aye, fock aff, Tess, ye lavvy heid!”

“There once was a girl named Isabella, who could never seem to love any fella, but when our Captain came in to meet ‘er, he ran off with her heart!” said Bailyn knowing the chant he’d start. “Captain Prescott and Isobella, our true Captain and Isobella, charming the girl unlike every fella, both sea and heart can he chart!”

This chorus was repeated again, then twice, and then thrice, much to Marcos’s embarrassed chagrin. Bailyn always had a habit of making things about Marcos or the ‘true Captain’ as the crew was starting to call him. The thirty-person crew of the infamous pirate ship, the Mictlan, were always a rowdy bunch, but most of them either watched Marcos grow up, grew up with him, or grew up under his guidance. For as long as he had known each of them, they had all sought to embarrass him in the worst ways possible. Despite this fact… as Marcos sipped from his ale, leaning against the back wall of the tavern while listening to the crew cheer at the song’s conclusion, Marcos could not help but feel so much joy being with these lunatics.

“Oi Marcos,” Sarah hollered, hooking an arm around Marcos’s neck, distracting him from his thoughts, “how’s the ‘true Captain’ doing?”

“God, stop with that,” Marcos groaned as a blush creeped onto his face from the nickname. “Your mom and my dad would kill me if they heard you guys callin’ me that…”

“Hey, it’s a compliment and you know it.” Sarah paused and gasped, feigning remembering something. “Oh riiiiight! You can’t take compliments!~” It was true, Marcos could not take any compliment nor kindness from the crew as it felt too foreign for him. Marcos tried to hide how quickly any form of gratitude sent him to smiling uncontrollably and unable to speak properly, but if any of the crew would be to find out just how easily he is undone by praise, it would be his best-friend Bailyn and his step-sister Sarah. While Sarah knowing her step-brother well was helpful at times, it was not so helpful when she knew exactly what to say to annoy him. “Oh, if only everyone complimented you more so you’d get used to it! Hey everyone, can—”

“Sarah, I swear to God!” Marcos hissed with a bright red face, practically slapping a hand over her mouth while his other hand gripped his glass so tight one would have thought it’d shatter and spill. “Don’t think of continuing or I am throwing you to the fishes!” Sarah giggled maniacally in spite of her being muffled by his hand. Glaring, Marcos hesitantly released his hand from her mouth. “You’re a real menace, you know that?”

“Marcos, why are you hanging out by the wall? Come on over already!” Bailyn called from the large table.

With Marcos’s attention briefly drawn away from Sarah, she took the brief time to grab Marcos’s hand and yank him over before he had the time to resist. Attempting to dig his heels into the ground, Marcos’s efforts were meaningless while his step-sister almost effortlessly out-muscled him. Soon enough, he was brought to the table, receiving lots of loud cheering for simply coming over.

“Our true Captain, everyone!” Bailyn announced as if he were presenting some revolutionary new discovery.

“Truuuuuue Captain, Marcos!~” Sarah teased softly in his ear.

“Truuuly annoying sister, Sarah,” Marcos huffed back in a much more deadpan tone, still finding it hard to be as sassy as he normally was with how much people seemed to be flustering him on purpose. Marcos held his glass to his chest nervously as smaller conversations had already started breaking out at the table again. Turning to his best friend, Marcos then whispered in Bailyn’s ear. “Do you really have to call me… that?”

“‘True Captain?’ Why not?” Bailyn asked, clearly not catching the hint as to whisper back. “You lead the crew more than your dad ever has and you lead us well! I mean, I can’t even remember the last time he wasn’t drunk off his arse during an expedition.” Bailyn’s expression now seemed more serious as he clasped his hand on Marcos’s shoulder. “As far as everything goes, you’re the only true captain of the Mictlan and you deserve to be called such, you got that?” These words seemed to hit Marcos harder than a cannonball, causing his eyes to tear and for him to grip the wooden table. The moment Marcos nodded and looked away, Bailyn smiled brighter than the sun itself as he clapped Marcos on the back with a laugh. “Glad our true Captain is starting to accept his role!”

“You know what our true Captain should do?” Sarah mused with a wicked smirk. Bailyn leaned closer, surrounding Marcos with the sadistic Sarah on one side and the boisterous Bailyn on the other, and smirked as if reading her mind. Marcos could not help but fret for whatever the two of them wordlessly agreed upon. “Speech, speech, speech, speech!” Oh God. “Speech, speech, speech, speech!” Yeah, okay. “Speech, speech, speech, speech!” He actually had to give a speech.

“Alright, alright,” Marcos spoke up after a moment, the chanting gradually quieting. “I uhh.. Well, okay I didn’t prepare anything so I will keep this brief… I… uhh…” Marcos stammered for words, still flushed and teary eyed. “God, all I can really say is… th-thank you all. For everything.” Marcos paused for a moment before lifting his glass with a hesitant but enthusiastic grin that he rarely showed. “So, cheers to you!”

Everyone raised their cups with a loud clear, glasses clinking together, beer spilling onto the table, and Marcos’s face filling with horror as blood began to leak from everyone’s eyes. It spilled from their mouths and ears as Marcos stumbled back in horror.

“Marcos, what’s wrong…?” Sarah asked, her voice gargled from her own blood. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Marcos felt a wave of dizziness as he looked on as crew mates began dropping to the ground, their necks snapping like eggshells with sickening cracking sounds. First Beau, then Mark, followed by Tess and Scott all fell, their eyelids holding small pools of blood and a smile still on their face as if not knowing their own fate. The blood was spilling everywhere now and Marcos’s boots made a squelching sound against the ground as he tried to back up. Others continued to fall but those that remained lumbered after Marcos, grasping at him.

“Where are you going Marcos?” Bailyn whispered with a smile. “You caused this, right? So it must be good, right?”

“I didn’t— This isn’t— This shouldn’t be happening…!”

“You’re a Cursed Omen, aren’t you?” Sarah giggled while grabbing his wrist and causing him to drop and shatter his glass against the blood soaked floors. “You must have gotten us killed on purpose!” She laughed once more before her eyes went wide and she could no longer breathe. Her grip on Marcos tightened as Marcos watched in order as she struggled to breathe, gagging on her own blood before slowly falling to her knees, managing to puke some of it up with saliva and red bubbles seeping from his lips before she landed into a puddle of blood. His own sister was laying in a pool of blood he caused but couldn’t stop.

“You did this Marcos… didn’t you?” Bailyn said with disbelief.

“No, Bailyn, I—”

“You did this.”

“Please—”

“You did this, you did this, you did this, you did this—

Marcos snapped awake. Grasping at the edge of his hammock and at his chest, his skin was slick with sweat and his eyes wet with tears. His body shook feverishly as he looked at his curse mark on his wrist. His trembling hands covered the tattoo as he closed his eyes.

Marcos hated it when his nightmares turned pleasant memories to reminders of his curse.

~~~~~

Midway through the day, Marcos had just left the sailor quarters, an unusual and unexpected thing for Marcos to do as he was usually one of the first people awake. No one bothered to wake him it seemed, which was fine, albeit annoying. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, who does he have the delight to see first thing in the morning but Aziz, of course! Oh, Aziz! If only someone cared about whatever it was you had to say. She was bemoaning about a small patch of seaweed before stomping off.

“If the seaweed matters to you sooo much, pick it up yerself,” Marcos grumbled to himself, rolling his eyes before going over and trying to be the bigger person by picking up the seaweed and flinging it overboard before wiping his hands on his overcoat.

Maybe he was just starting to lose it while stuck on the White Tide or due to the lack of food in ages or because of starting his day with his terrible dream, but part of him wished that the seaweed he flung off was Aziz.

The White Tide | Pirate RPNovember 21, 2023 09:51 PM

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Posts: 1300
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Aziz Rahima bint Mazin

First Mate // Female // 30 // Mentions: Gore, Spork, Marcos, Anastasia (ind.)

Gore flashed Aziz a very fake smile, not that she would have expected a real one from him. For some reason, very few of the crew members seemed to have much respect for her. She had done everything: yelling authoritatively, bragging about her numerous exploits, asking intensive personal questions to get to know them better. Strangely, none of it seemed to work well. Aziz smiled back at Gore, a quirk of the eyebrow and slight wrinkle of the nose giving her a condescending look. As Gore answered her question with irritation in his voice, Aziz smirked at him and was about to reply, but the captain got to it first. She glanced sideways at him and saw him with his arms crossed. Now you’re in trouble, Gore, she thought with satisfaction, but all the captain did was to mildly agree with him. “Want me to whistle for you next time ?” he asked. “I don't mind it.” Aziz kept the smug smile on her face and said to him, “No need, captain. I’m not going anywhere - I’ll be around any old time you need me.” It was hard to tell whether she was being snarky or really believed Spork was being serious.

Gore asked about Spork’s plans for the situation, and Aziz’s full attention was on Gore. Not that she ever would have questioned Gore’s abilities, but she had been wondering much the same thing since they’d gotten into this situation. As of yet it seemed like they were just feeding crew members to sirens. As Gore asked if there was anything he could do, Aziz let out a quick breath that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. But she was mostly occupied with listening to Spork. As he told them his plan, Aziz raised her brows, somewhat impressed that their captain had managed to think of something like that. And, more than that, absolutely furious that she hadn’t thought of it already. Maybe she’d been in hurried panic mode, though she wouldn’t have admitted this to herself. And it had taken her a lot of rewrites to get her little speech right, and she’d had a lot of things to clean. “I think that’s an excellent plan, captain,” Aziz said, butting in before Gore could say anything. “The chain is run taut on the capstan on the lower deck. It’s so straight there’s no way we could unhook it without breaking our arms. But maybe we can position the ship to release some tension.”

Aziz felt a thrill of excitement, and already her mind was spiraling with possibilities. There weren’t that many of them on the ship, but with some sweat and pure muscle the others could certainly help her detach the chain. She could picture it now: her pulling on the chain, the crew straining behind her until the hook popped loose. The dismayed screeching of the sirens as the White Tides sailed away victoriously. The hefty ransom paid for the kidnapped princess, with their crew rolling in wealth and the mightiest pirates vying for a position on their ship. All this, surely, if only they could get the damn chain to unhook and set the ship free. Of course, the sirens might not let them go so easily, but Aziz would relish a good fight with a slew of supernatural creatures to get their next adventure started off right. “Gore, you can help me get the hook off,” said Aziz, already knee-deep in this plan. “Marcos will do it too,” she said with a sharp edge to her voice, giving the man a sideways glare. “Give him something useful to do.” She straightened up and looked Spork in the eye the best she could, considering how much taller he was. “Be happy to take care of this, captain. Just give the order.”


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