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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”