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Post by England on Sept 12, 2010 22:30:56 GMT -5
There. This was it, Renato stared up at the sign hanging above the door that proclaimed this place was 'The Salty Sea'. This was where those son of a bitch followers of Bey were hiding. The men and women he hunted were the ones that had put poison in the wine for all those captains that had died back in Libertalia. Men and women he'd been friends with, fought with, slept with, got drunk with.
He couldn't bring them back - and they didn't re-incarnate like Nations did so they were gone for good. But there was one more thing he could do for them. Kill the bastards as painfully as possible while scattering their body parts across the mediterranean.
Turning and looking behind him at Sicounin and Feliks, the two people he'd chosen to come with him for the job ahead - not that he'd told them what they were here for. To them, they were just going out for a night of drinking - and stuck his smile back on his face.
"Alright! Who wants to have a fun time celebrating our newest crew member!" he laughed loudly, hands up in the air and waiting for a reply.
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Post by Iberia on Sept 16, 2010 15:46:30 GMT -5
It was perhaps best to leave this as a surprise of sorts (granted, a morbid one which would grant Renato a lot of screaming at some point, but a surprise nonetheless) – there was not so much the risk of being told ‘no’ as there was the risk of having this one moment delayed over the Spaniard’s more than certain bouts of rage or concern (or rage, then concern, then some more rage, really) over the whole purpose of this one moment. Sicounin would not have said no; she would not have refused to take up on this sort of chance, regardless of how desperately she might try to give off that intention; she always wanted to ‘stay out of things’, but deep down, there was that fondness for all the adrenaline rush whenever she was faced with danger, whenever bloodshed was imminent. But as it was, she was just as oblivious to the man’s intentions, perhaps even more than he would expect. Shawl wrapped tightly around herself, more to conceal the presence of a weapon than to shield her from the occasional breeze, Sicounin tagged along with her companions in, for the most part, silence. This way, getting distracted with random thoughts was made easy, although she snapped back to present time at the sound of the Captain’s voice.
“As long as you keep your hands to yourself.” This was one of those cases, however, when there was no anger or impatience to her tone and she even offered both companions a warm smile of sorts. “They serve a wonderful manzanilla here.” Little did she know, however, that tonight was not the most peaceful night to enjoy a nice glass of sherry..
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Post by Feliks Lukasiewicz on Sept 18, 2010 20:16:46 GMT -5
He raised his drink with a grin. Being younger then of age had never affected him much, especially when drinks were involved. He like drinking, always had, and after being asked, he had agreed readily.
He was new to this pirate thing, oblivious and naive enough to believe that if a pirate asked him to accompany him for a round of drinks, the pirate had no other intentions then just getting drunk, and the bar was warm, the drink was good, and he felt himself almost floating with giddiness. He was weaponless and oblivious, but he was happy, and felt that he could take on whatever came his way.
“Okay like, this place is totally fabulous.” he replied, “And like totally thanks.” Raising his beer, he preferred vodka but one couldn't be too picky, and the girl sitting beside him was pretty, although he was pretty sure not to try anything. His pick-up lines sucked after all.
(Sorry for the late reply. I er...got lost. xD)
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D'Madame Doktor
Newbie
Practicality and Elegance are not mutually exclusive...
Posts: 21
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Post by D'Madame Doktor on Oct 5, 2010 13:49:49 GMT -5
Barely sundown and it was already reaching full-house at the Salty Sea, where brigands and betters alike rumbled and rolled in a roiling sea of beer and babble. Every bouncer and bar-wench wandered the floors tonight, navigating the slick and smokey room with quick feet and easy grins, forbidden to show the strain of flitting between kitchen, bar, and tables as long as they were on shift.
For Caroline, at thirty-minutes till end-of-shift, there had been little occasion for her to watch the clock with so much hawkish precision outside of medical duties. She hastily bustled her way through knobby knees and under clumsy grasping hands in her traverse back to the main bar, standing on tip-toe to set a heavy tray laden with empty mugs and glasses on the counter.
“A full order refill for tables six and seven!” she called in a mild trill, tucking her curls behind her ears and glancing back with a moue of exasperation. “And reminders to the fellows at table eight that this is not a brothel.”
Maurice chuckled from his position as barman, before bellowing out an order to one of the passing musclemen, using a voice that showed him every bit for the boatswain he used to be. Caroline smiled slightly, leaning against the counter with a small sigh and trying to grant her aching feet a temporary reprieve.
She looked up again when Maurice had her tray filled, bobbing into a curtsy with a small “Merci.” In return, she was reminded to “make sure and check in on the newcomers at table five.” The honey blonde nodded, polishing her smile, before turning on her heel and dancing back into the bedlam.
As soon as tables six and seven were tended to (and ensuring that the boys at table eight were firmly reminded that, non, the waitresses were not on the menu) Caroline made her way to the new table, adjusting her glasses and setting her now empty tray against her hip.
“Moien!” she greeted, mouth automatically adopting a winsome smile. “My name is Caroline, and I’ll be your server tonight. What will be your pleasure?”
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