Noé Faustino

Sailor // Male // 33 // Mentions: Marcos, Gore (ind), Aziz (ind), Captain Spork (ind)

Noé was halfway across the deck to pop down to his quarters when he saw a slightly disheveled-looking Marcos emerging. Aziz was yelling around about a piece of seaweed on the deck, and Marcos went over to take care of it. Nobody but Noé was close enough to hear Marcos grumble. Noé flashed him a grin and a wink, knowing what it was like to be bossed around on this ship. “Captain Marcos,” he greeted cheerfully, slowing to a halt. “Well, the bilge rat’s finally up. Trying to get some beauty sleep? Bad news, it’s not working. Sleep all you want, your face’ll still look like a crosseyed anchovy.” This was his typical greeting, and he said it in a perfectly friendly tone. He gravitated towards the side of the ship, not wanting to get involved in whatever Gore, Aziz, and Captain Spork were talking about. But now that the captain and first mate were distracted, Noé felt safe staying on the upper deck. He stowed his woodcarving knife in his sash, and his figurine in his trouser pocket. He hefted himself back up onto the bulwark near Marcos. “Sure working themselves up, aren’t they?” he asked conversationally, nodding his head towards Aziz, Gore, and Spork.

Noé paused for just a moment to eavesdrop on the conversation happening between them, enough to get the gist of it. He let out a small laugh. “Finally decided something, it seems,” he said, referring to Captain Spork. Whatever this plan was - and Noé had gotten the general idea - it didn’t sound half-bad. Or maybe that was just Noé’s usual way of looking at things. It did, however, sound like it was going to be a lot of hard work for the crew. “We’ll be doused in brine and sweat before this day’s through.” Noé knew he was more of a brute force type than Marcos, and he didn’t bother trying to keep the goading tease out of his voice. He leaned to the side, nearly throwing himself off balance, and reached over to scruff Marcos’s hair rather too hard. He seemed only moments away from putting Marcos in a chummy headlock, and he might have if he could’ve reached him properly. “Still got the foot?” He was talking about the rabbit foot he had given Marcos, as he’d given everyone trinkets for luck.

There was no reason for Noé to worry about people. He was sure of it. And he didn’t worry. But now and then during the night, he would think just for a moment of the men at the bottom of the ocean, now bones stripped of flesh, lying beside the tokens he had given them to protect them. Still leaned forward, Noé glanced at Marcos. The two had always gotten along, exchanging insults and bickering like brothers. Noé had a million little tokens strung up on necklaces, chains, tied to his sash. He glanced down at his chest. There was a cord with a simple hansa hand token on it, and he lifted it over his head to toss it to Marcos. “There. Bit of good luck, in case the rabbit doesn’t do the trick,” he said, grinning. “It’ll add a spot of shine to distract from your face, too.”

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

First - utter confusion. Well, he shouldn't be shocked, it's Captain Spork after all, and he has a history of throwing caution to the wind. But if Gore's jaw wasn't usually tense with discomfort, it probably would have dropped as fast as the anchor did.

Just-- just detach the whole anchor? That practically spells death for a ship! Well - there's a slim chance the boat will be completely unscathed, but the White Tide definitely isn't the youngest thing, and he can't imagine trying to drive it into any port when it can't stop! Is he really suggesting something that will result in a shipwreck?! Gore knows he isn't in charge of the whole boat, but he's the master sailor, and he doesn't want to see the old thing die! Surely there must be a better solution they can cook up before the day's over?

"Now wait-" he starts to speak, but Aziz suddenly cuts him off. "Hold on-" again she butts in, and Gore feels his temper flare for a second... until she hears what she's saying.

Oh, she's way too eager about this plan. Suddenly the despair that his own captain would be willing to slam the whole ship onto shore at some point isn't so bad, and the anxiety that had previously been at the tips of his fingers becomes a wave of cruel delight. Hearing her get so wound up so quickly makes Gore grin, a mean sneer crossing his features, if he was even capable of those. Maybe he could be if it meant trying to stomp on Aziz's glorious plans that she runs wild with. He never knew he could be so petty.

"Now what about when we finally reach a port?!" Gore finally gets a word in, having to raise his voice to a very rare shout of his to try to get her to let him speak. He's a bit taken aback by the own sharpness of his tone for that second, probably more than they would ever be, but he's stiffened so much in that moment that he doesn't show it.

"...Sorry," his eyes go back to Spork, feeling an urge to explain his sudden loudness, but not wanting to disrespect the first mate... as much as he thinks she deserves it, he still is aware of his place. "It's just that, well, what happens if we do get away? I suppose if we have to let go of the anchor we can, but... but we'll probably abandon and wreck the White Tide herself when we have to land anywhere."

And then we'll be boatless, as well as treasureless, as well as 90% of the crew-less, he finishes in his head. Gore has never fit the brutish mold of the White Tide's typical pirate, but even he feels a sting of grief as their edge and undefeatable reputation truly crumbles around him. Childish, yes, but the White Tide has been his home forever, he barely ever leaves it. This houses so many valuables for he and Arthur's hobby of creature documenting, and it has Pov's cozy kitchen, and the ship's cat Masha, and all of Gore's star documentation from most of his lifetime -- even if there's the obvious solution of dropping lifeboats and abandoning it, there will be many things that just won't fit on the rafts along with the remaining crew. And who knows if the valuables will even be intact if he goes back to look for them after the wreck, not even mentioning the cozy rooms he won't be able to spend his time in anymore. For once Gore feels the actual weight of having his whole adult life and identity be tied to a big stupid boat. It makes him feel a bit embarrassed actually at how attached he's become to it, but really, when you've spent decades of your life on the same ship, how could you not feel some grief at the idea of letting it go?

Aziz Rahima bint Mazin

First Mate // Female // 30 // Mentions: Gore, Spork

Spork matched Aziz’s delight at finally having a plan. Though she was certainly full of genuine happiness, she didn’t totally let herself go, still keeping her constant undertone of pride. She didn’t want the captain thinking she was a mindless fan, sitting at the side of the action cheering. No, she was an equal, a co-conspirator in the throes of concocting a clever plan. Even with her previous captain, who she had respected immensely, she certainly hadn’t felt like an equal. But Spork treated her like one. Maybe it was because of his general incompetence, yes, but she had never been treated the same as a man, and it was that wild thrill that cemented her loyalty to him despite everything else. Even despite him getting the position she’d been working at for years. He was complimenting her now, and she puffed out her chest and tilted her chin up, flashing him a prideful smile. She had the same general mentality as him: this was her crew. Sometimes they frustrated her, but they were hers, and fuck it indeed, they could absolutely do the job of about a dozen men with half the number. Because they were the White Tides.

Then Gore piped up, Aziz was sure, just to have something to say in this conversation between two important people. He practically shouted at them, and Aziz turned to him with eyebrows raised. “Gore, now, no need to shout,” she told him, giving a sideways smile to Captain Spork as a way of laughing at Gore’s outburst. Gore was raising some concerns, and though Aziz was disinclined to listen to him, she allowed a moment to contemplate what he had said. Maybe he had some good points, but what was more important, their crew or their ship? Aziz loved this ship. It represented something to her. It was a real home, and it felt like part of her, part of the crew. What were the White Tides without their beautiful ship gliding up behind a merchant ship, striking terror as pirates began to swing onto deck for a raid? But then, what were the White Tides without any pirates to swing onto the ship to begin with? Aziz would have said this, but Captain Spork was speaking now, and she would never interrupt him.

You are right, he said to Gore. Now wait a dog-eating minute there! Aziz’s thoughts chorused. Was Spork so easily swayed by Gore’s argument? Hadn’t Aziz said she liked the plan? But Spork apparently valued Gore’s opinion more in this matter. This guy, Spork said. What would we do without him? Aziz’s hair seemed to stand slightly on end, or maybe it was just a ripple of indignant energy. All the same, she didn’t want to disagree with the captain, and she knew that each crew member had value on the ship - maybe just not as much as Spork was making out right now. She gave Gore a tight-lipped smile, trying to seem friendly and failing miserably. Maybe part of her knew there was no reason to resent him now, since all he was trying to do was help out. But just a second ago, she’d been the most important person in the world to the captain, the star of the show. And now it was Gore who was basking in the glory of the captain’s praise. Captain Spork’s opinion of her mattered more to her than anyone else’s. She kept her smile on, though her eyes held an odd gleam, as Captain Spork kept talking. But as he suggested that the two of them work it out, she straightened up slightly. Good. With only her and Gore working together, the hierarchy would soon return to normal. She wouldn’t have to be angry at him anymore. The task was more than daunting, but Aziz pushed away any doubts. She was the only one who could do this right.

“Yes, captain,” said Aziz with a genuine charming smile, the kind she sometimes used to get things for free at the marketplace. When Captain Spork left and she turned back to Gore, though, she was quite serious. “Alright, Buckley,” she said, though she didn’t sound upset. She was happy to take control again and remind him who was First Mate on this ship. Without Captain Spork to impress, she wasn’t going to be quite as hard on Gore. “We’ll be needing a makeshift anchor, as the captain ordered. There should be at least a few things heavy enough on this ship.” She paused to reflect for a moment. “We should have extra chains on the ship. We can lash some of the cannonballs together. Worst case scenario, we have the actual cannons. They’ll be difficult to move, but as Captain Spork says, we’re the White Tides.” She paused once again, looking at Gore with an expression that was hard to read. “Unless you have another suggestion?” This was her way of opening up to advice, though she didn’t exactly sound open - it sounded rather like a challenge. She had never been great with tone, and she didn’t notice how she came off. Maybe she was still a little peeved at Gore over him butting into the plan, but now he was being asked for suggestions. Not that Aziz really needed them, of course.

Noé Faustino

Sailor // Male // 33 // Mentions: Marcos, Nyoka, Aziz (ind), Gore (ind), Spork (ind)

Noé nearly thought Marcos wasn’t going to reply when he took a moment. The grin he cracked was half relief, half teasing as Marcos shot back with his spitfire wit. Thank God. Noé had his optimism to keep him going on this ship, but he couldn’t stand watching his companions lose their senses of humor. Noé’s grin widened as Marcos caught him by the ear. He didn’t bother trying to get loose, though he did hit Marcos on the arm none too gently in a show of putting up a fight. When Marcos let go, Noé rubbed his ear as though it hut, which it really didn’t. “If I’re your mother, I’d’ve tossed you overboard the minute I got a look at you.” Noé cast a sideways glance at Captain Spork, who was still engaged in conversation with Aziz and Gore, and added in an undertone, “Captain Marcos.” At least he had the decency to lower his voice slightly, but he did often delight in getting his crewmates in trouble. Not a lot of trouble - just enough to give him a good laugh. He saw Marcos looking at Aziz. “Got her pants up her ass tighter than usual today, huh?” he said. “Sorry - his pants.” Noé wasn’t stupid enough to say something like that in front of her, but she wasn’t listening right now.

They switched conversation to the plan Spork, Aziz, and Gore seemed to be brewing up. Noé could hear the bitterness in Marcos’s voice, but made no indication of having noticed. He didn’t respond to Marcos’s comment either. He always avoided these topics, the things that made people angry or felt serious. Immediately after, Marcos was right back to mocking him. “What, is someone afraid of a little work?” Noé chuckled in response, not saying anything to defend himself. Everyone here knew he avoided work like it was the plague, and he didn’t care to defend himself. As long as nobody complained to the captain or first mate, they could make fun of him all they wanted. He was, though, quite happy to get immediate revenge by scruffing up Marcos’s already disheveled hair. Noé let out a booming laugh as Marcos protested loudly. Marcos finally managed to wrestle Noé’s hand away from his hair. Noé looked immensely delighted at being called an asshole. He nodded in approval at seeing Marcos pull the rabbit foot necklace out. Noé scoffed as Marcos said, “For all the bad things you say about my face, you always seem to keep talking about it, Noé. But thanks for the necklace, I guess.”

“Hard to shut up about your face, I’ll admit,” said Noé, tapping his foot against the wooden side. “Can’t look away. It’s like a-” Noé cut himself off. Marcos wasn’t listening, and Noé was distracted by the grandiose arrival of Nyoka, all flair and pomp. He watched, doing his best not to look impressed. Well, there were one or two perks to working hard at something, he supposed. He fancied he could learn something like that if he had the time or inclination. As Nyoka strode over with an insult at the ready for Marcos, Noé laughed aloud, his eyes still on Nyoka. Whatever Marcos was saying, Noé didn’t hear it. He was focused on the mess of ginger hair and beauty marks walking towards them. Nyoka greeted him rather formally. “Good day,” Noé copied in an exaggerated version of Nyoka’s voice. He gave an imperious look, the corners of his mouth tugging up nonetheless.

“You’ve disappointed us, Nyo. We were hoping you’d fall flat on your face and break something - something that doesn’t heal so easy.” He heaved himself to his feet, balancing on the bulwark with his arms out. He watched Nyoka out of the corner of his eyes, walking a few paces along the wooden bulwark railing. “You never had any good looks, Marcos,” he said cheekily. Then, to Nyoka, “But, blubber-brain tells the truth. Heard the whole thing. Something I’m good to have around for, huh?” He brushed his hair back, taking a small pause before he said, “Looks like we’ll be taking the anchor off. Right off, chain and all, I suppose. Sirens won’t have something to hold onto. Then we can sail off into the cheery red sunset. Shame it’ll have to be with Nyoka. Sure you don’t want to take a lifeboat and shove off to the island? Lovely this time of year, I’m sure.”

Gore Buckley | 34 | He/Him | Sailing Master | M: Spork, Aziz (dir), Nyoka, Noe, Marcos (ind.)

The only way to describe how Gore moves when Spork shakes him by the shoulders is like a bobble-head, stiff and wide-eyed with only his skull nodding up and down for the duration of the shake. And then there's Spork's arm around his shoulders for a moment, and for those few seconds, Gore thinks this is the most uncomfortable things could get - until he's assigned to figure everything out with Aziz.

He almost wilts like those doomed flowers she brings aboard, but he'd never let it show.

He really should be used to her by now. They've shared the same boat for years. He's a ""higher up"" apparently alongside her, yet Gore has never really felt like he was really included in their small council even if the rest of the crew seemed to view it that way. But you'd think, during all those years, Gore and Aziz would have reconciled. Sometimes he wonders what's going so wrong for them to butt heads so often, but then she opens that mouth with a voice even more wretched to his ears than that screaming parrot on Spork's shoulder, and all notions of peace and love vanish as Gore is reminded why, exactly, he's never extended the olive branch of friendship.

But he'll give credit where credit is due, and as Spork abandons him here and Aziz immediately rattles off a million ideas, Gore only finds himself nodding in agreement. There's not much else to add. He's not sure how long a makeshift anchor will last if at all, but it's their last option, and at least it's an option. That wasn't something they had a few mere moments ago. And really, there isn't much else to add when Aziz already listed most of the heaviest things on the ship.

When she asks for suggestions, Gore's eyes finally dart over to the small group at the edge of the boat. They don't seem to be doing much, and misery loves company.

"Maybe ask some of the others to rally up any non-essential heavy things they can find," he says with a shrug of his shoulders, knowing his suggestion certainly isn't the most groundbreaking, and definitely won't make her view him in a new admirable light. It's funny how he seems to go so rigid around her and holds his tongue as though she poses any real threat to him. He's a whole foot taller than her, and he'd be lying if he said there weren't a few times he went to sleep blissfully dreaming of picking her up by her waist and just plunking her overboard like she's the new anchor... but he wouldn't. Lack of a spine or basic respect for their barely maintained social order, he's not sure. Or maybe he just puts too much effort into being nice and agreeable for his own good. Really, being polite with her has gotten him nowhere, maybe... well, next time someone mentions mutiny to him, Gore might not be too loyal to the other two "higher-ups" he's spent his life working beside.

But now is no time to silently conspire against the crewmate right beside him, so Gore pauses to give her a small, blank grin while he waits for her input.