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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 5, 2015 6:20:58 GMT -5
A wave of laughter, and the mixed smell of pipe smoke and ale washes over you as you open one of the double doors that leads into The Wayfarer's Rest. Guardsman Jackson at the gate into Clifton suggested this inn, saying, "If you need a place to stay, the Wayfarer's Rest is a great place to find a bed. Tell old Borris that Guardsman Jackson sent you, and he will give you an ale." A few steps into the common room and the cooking smells coming from the kitchen make your mouth water.
The inn itself is a fairly large three story rectangle, the exterior recently white washed, and the windows and doors are bordered in chestnut stained wood. The common room is quite large, with twin fire places set in opposite walls. A dozen round tables cover the center of the room, with several long tables with benches along the outside. A few more private booths line the back wall. Groups of men sit at all the round tables, laughing, dicing, and listening to a fellow play the dulcimer.
When you enter, several people look up for a moment before going back to what they were doing before. One fellow even nods a greeting. The closest server brushes past you with a laden tray, "Find a spot where you can M'deary, we will be with you shortly." Another server finds you almost immediately after you find a spot, "What can I get you hun?" After placing your order, you spot another fellow entering the common room from the back where the servers have been coming and going. The front half of the man's head is bald, and the rest is graying. He's wearing simple white cotton, and a leather belt strains to contain his considerable girth. Over the rest he wears a pristine white apron.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 6, 2015 8:43:38 GMT -5
Tsunami collects the things strewn across the beach from the wreckage of her barrel. She sees the twenty foot high stone wall down the beach, and knows that this must be Clifton. She has heard some of the men on her ship talk of this town and it's port as "easy pickings". She knew they had lots of ships, perhaps she could find one to sail on, once she got some food into her, that was. What she wouldn't give for a spot of rum right now. She stayed by the water's edge until she reached the wall, and followed the wall until she reached a gate where she could enter. A man stood at the gates dressed in a guard's uniform. Shiver me timbers, how will I get in thar? she wondered. But to her surprise, the guard was very cordial, and letting her pass, even suggested a place for her to get some food and rest.
Upon entering the Wayfarer's Rest, she nearly died of a coughing fit as the pipe smoke assaulted her lungs, hitherto only exposed to the clean salt air of the sea. Panicked and embarrassed for the first time, she found a table at the wench's suggestion, and tried to calm her spasming core. With every cough, her scale mail clinked, and she did not want to draw the attention of all of these landlubbers to herself. Finally, the serving wench came to take her order. "Aye, kindly take yer comely dungbie back into the galley and pop open yer bunghole to pour a lass some grog! Smartly now, if ye will."
And there she waited, calming her nerves until the cleanest person she'd ever seen came from the rear, wearing nothing but white.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 6, 2015 9:27:36 GMT -5
The serving woman raises an eyebrow, but nods. When she doesn't scurry smartly away as you suggested, you realize she is waiting for payment. Reaching into your still damp pouch you notice how others must perceive you at the moment. You look disheveled, like you spent some time cooped up in a barrel. The smell of salted fish from the barrel still clings to your clothing and hair, and there is a patch of actual salt dried to your forearm. When you fish coins from your fat pouch, the server adds, "Would you like a private room, and a bath? I can have your ale and a meal brought up for you." There isn't a hint of judgement in her voice, to her it was simply an upsell for her boss, or perhaps she just wanted to get you back to your normal self.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 6, 2015 11:52:14 GMT -5
Tsunami pays the wench, and is torn when asked if she wanted a private room and a bath. She couldn't remember the last time she had had one. She had rarely, if ever, left the ship she was born on, and bathing wasn't often on the top of a pirate's list. Usually a bath was a few buckets of salt water hauled up from the freezing sea and dumped over a shipmate when the stench of him got too bad. Sure, she had swabbed the deck and occasionally the water had splashed up her arms, or when the rain fell, she could usually rub off most of the grime. The idea of a hot bath though, was foreign to her. She knew she stunk of fish from the barrel, but from what she could smell of the town, she had thought the other people wouldn't notice. She sub-consciously scratched at an itchy patch on her arm, and some salt residue that had dried there flaked to the table top. She looked at it, embarrassed again, and swiftly swept the flakes off the table onto the floor. Perhaps a tub full of hot water would do her good. She agreed, and not long later, she found herself standing in the middle of a room much too large for just her.
The room was huge, it must have been ten feet by fifteen at least, and she was the only one in it. It was sparsely furnished, with a bed, wash stand, and desk. It was too much. On the ship, she had had rubies, and emeralds, diamonds and gold lavish enough for a princess. But this was unnatural, for someone to be alone in all of this...space. She had never been alone a day in her life, and she began to feel a bit agoraphobic. The steaming tub in the middle of the floor reminded her of the barrel she had recently spent so much time in. She moved the chair in the room to brace the door under the doorknob, preventing someone from coming in.
She walked around the room, listening to the sounds of her boot heels on the wooden planks that made up the floor. It made her homesick for her family and reminded her of the deck of her ship. Finally she heard the creaking sound she had been waiting for. She knelt and lifted the loose floorboard. Stowing her backpack and weapons under the floor, she replaced the piece of wood and began to undress. She reverently removed the scale mail and laid it on the bed along with her other clothes. They looked pale and dirty compared to the bedspread, so she brought them with her to give them a good scrub in the tub. The hot water was heavenly. Perhaps this whole bathing thing wasn't such a bad idea...she might have to make it a point to go to shore once she found a good ship again. She rested in the tub and scrubbed herself and her clothes, as she thought about her family who might have already been forced to dance the hempen jig.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 7, 2015 21:03:12 GMT -5
The bath water is almost too hot at first, but after several minutes you manage to lower yourself into the water. Once you found yourself in the water, muscles loosened that you didn't know were tight, more over muscles loosened that you didn't even know you had. After relaxing with your eyes closed until the water was lukewarm, you give yourself a vigorous scrub, and tend to your clothing. After drying yourself off, you're embarrassed to see the colour of the water left in the tub. Apparently it had been a while.
Now clean, with freshly laundered clothing your stomach rumbles to remind you that your meals lately haven't been all that filling. Just then, a soft rapping at the door, and the servers voice, "Your meal is here, Honey." You hear her footsteps recede down the hallway.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 10, 2015 21:17:52 GMT -5
Wrapped in a towel, Tsunami called out "Thank ye kindly!" and padded over barefoot to remove the chair from it's place against the door. She set it close to the window and took up her sopping wet clothes. Holding them over the tub, she wrung them out to get them as dry as she could. Gathering them all up at once, she spread them out over the chair, table, and smaller pieces even from the wash stand. Then, making sure the towel was securely around her, she opened her room door and peered out left and right. Seeing no one, she looked down and was rewarded by the mouth-watering sight of piping hot meat and vegetables, along with a drink. She picked up the simple wooden tray and brought it into the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Ignoring the table, she brought the meal straight to the bed, sipping the alcohol and mourning the fact that it hadn't come in the rather large black jack she was used to. She tore into the meal hungrily, ecstatic that it wasn't more fish, but good wholesome landlubbing red meat. She ate the plate, even using her finger to convey the left over juices to her mouth. After draining her cup, she set the dishes outside her door, and crawled into bed. She couldn't sleep. She tossed. She turned. She was too comfortable. She missed her swinging hammok that would lull her to sleep with the soft lurching of the sea's waves. The room seemed to spin under her. She hadn't found her land legs yet, and she felt nausiated, but she was determined to keep down the rich food she had already eaten. She squeezed her eyes shut against the turning world, and began to hum to herself the lullaby that her mother had sung to her as a babe. Eventually, she slept.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 17, 2015 20:21:57 GMT -5
You wake to the sun glaring through a tiny space between your curtains, jerking your head to the side you find shelter from the light under your pillow. After a minute you realize that it's no good, and you toss aside the pillow. You complete your morning rituals, and gather your belongings. After heading downstairs you are brought breakfast, and a bitter smelling hot brown liquid. You settle yourself and take stock of your surroundings, most of the chairs are still upside-down on the tables for cleaning. Two other tables have guests sitting at them. One has a single farmer, his plate empty and utensils idle. He holds his own cup of hot brown liquid with both hands, and seems lost in thought. The other table has an odd mixture of three fellows. One a minor merchant of some kind by his clothes. One a sailor, a lowly deckhand by his manner and way that he carries himself. The last man is cloaked, his face hidden by the shadow of a hood. He sits erect, and the others seem to differ to him, perhaps a noble in disguise?
The merchant seems nervous, he keeps drinking from his mug, but you've noticed that it has been empty for a few sips now. The sailor never makes eye contact with either man, and he barely looks toward the hooded man. The hooded man just sits there unmoving, if he is speaking it is to low for you to hear. The other men respond, and you catch a few words here and there, but nothing that you can make any sense out of. Before your meal is complete the hooded man stands and strides out of the room without a backward glance. Both of the remaining men stand when he did, and watch his back until he is no longer visible. The merchant takes one more fake swing from his mug, then puts it down frowning at it before heading out himself. The sailor finishes his untouched drink in one long drought.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 18, 2015 17:41:56 GMT -5
Tsunami relishes the break of her fast. She's not accustomed to having so much food two days straight but the cackle fruit are hot and cooked just the way she liked: sunny side up. She eyes the brown hot liquid warily. Dark drinks were meant to be drunk at room temperature, like rum. Who would heat up a cup of perfectly good rum? This wasn't the right colour for it anyway, this was like mud. She had seen mud once, on the face of a boy who had been press-ganged into the crew years before. He had been found three sheets to the wind and unconscious, presumably thrown out of a tavern earlier in the night only to come to rest in the pig pen outside the establishment. He had awoken aboard the ship with a headache akin to one a monkey would give you if you forgot to plug your ears when the ship was a man-o-war and firing hot. He was covered in the filth, so much so that she had only been able to see his blue eyes. His name had been Peter, and so had adopted the name Blue-eyed Pete. He was given the same choice every one of the crew had been given: join the crew or walk the plank. He had joined right away and had gradually gotten cleaner as he had performed his first task: swabbing the deck. The scummy water that ran from his muddy arms and clothes had looked like this brew. She pushed it away. She couldn't fathom why people would consume something as black as a rotten tooth.
She had watched the undertakings at the other table with great interest. Cloaked men were not to be trusted. IF you couldn't look a man in the eye when you ran him through with the sharp edge of your cutlass, well, you weren't worth your salt. Cloaked men had something to hide. Perhaps a map? Now, she was intrigued. Once the cloaked man and the merchant had left, too quickly for her to grab his purse on the way by, she thought morosely, she approached the sailor who now sat alone. She was used to getting her own way, and had no trouble beginning to bark commands at him. "Ahoy matey! What might be bringin' a salty dog like yourself to an establishment liken unto this? That thar landlubber wasn't givin' ye too much trouble now, was 'e? I reckon that if 'e was, I could make a nice bit o' fish bait out o' the likes of 'im, if ye catch me drift," She let him know in a conspiritorial tone. "Now go on, and lighten yer load by tellin' old Tsunami 'ere about yer worries." Then she ordered two fresh mugs of rum to be brought to the table.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 18, 2015 20:34:34 GMT -5
(You Rolled: Persuasion: 13+1=14)
The man jumps a bit when you begin to speak, but quickly recovers with a scowl that turns into an oily smile as his eyes wander over your form. When he speaks, his eyes remain lost in your cleavage, "Nay Lass, the lubber wasn't giving me any trouble I can't handle. Just a spot of business is all." Forcibly pulling his eyes up to yours, he adds, "Me name be Mac, and Tsunami is both a beautiful and exotic name." He takes a seat, and accepts your offered drink before continuing, "Da fellow in the gray cloak do be a Shadow Hand, and the other feller do be an administrator for one of the merchant houses." Taking a swallow from his drink, he changes topics, "But enough about them, and business. What brings a beautiful young woman such as yourself to the far end of the Empire?"
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 19, 2015 2:36:51 GMT -5
Tsunami has never been left alone before in a situation like this. Any time a man had so much as glanced at her with even a hint of lust in his eye, one of her "dads" had been quick to run him through. She understood well enough that her situation had changed slightly, and that if she killed this man at the outset of the conversation, she would be unlikely to get any answers. As he talked and his eyes fondled her boosom, she found herself wanting another bath. Peculiar. She endured it and half listened as she entertained pleasant thoughts of how those roaming eyes would pleasantly go squish, squish, plop, plop into his drink with a couple of quick flicks of her dagger. Her attention focussed back from the satisfying imaginary sounds of his pained screams, and she perked up at the sound of the word "business".
"Blimey, there's never enough talk of business, where I be from," she told him, "What be the terms? Or perhaps I should be talkin' directly to yer captain?" It would do her good to find out if there was another ship here, and if the rest of the crew were as empty headed as this son of a biscuit eater.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 19, 2015 19:36:35 GMT -5
The man's smile slips as you bring the conversation back to business. "This business has not to do with my captain. He wants no part of the Shadow Hand, or the Night Blades. I don't blame him on the latter, but the former can be quite lucrative." He seems to realize how much he as said, and frowns before saying, "Look lass, you've a fine figure, but not fine enough that I'll be bringing you into my business ventures." He emphasizes the word my, obviously implying that his business is none of yours. "If'in you do be wanting a few drinks, and maybe a tour of the city I'd happily oblige. Otherwise, quit wasting my time."
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 20, 2015 16:52:42 GMT -5
Wasting his time? Tsunami chuckles to herself. It's cute that he thinks his time matters at all. He needn't have worried about sharing his business anyway, Tsunami wasn't very good at sharing in any case, she'd have just killed him and taken his business for herself. That was the way of things in the world she had been raised in. Her "dads" had taught her that the world was at the tip of her fingers, and anything that didn't seem to be at first glance was only as far as the tip of her sword. She wasn't sure yet about these lubbers the salty dog was talking about though, she'd need more information. Perhaps after a few drinks his lips would loosen. She drained her mug in one draught and ordered another round. Then she put on her best innocent voice, usually the one she reserved for asking one of her "dads" for something she wasn't likely to get. It usually worked. She leaned forward and brought her elbows together on either side of her boosom. This couldn't hurt either, she reasoned, creating a bit more cleavage.
"Oh," she gushed, "the Shadow Hand and the Night Blades sound dreadfully dangerous, maybe a tour would be a good idea. After all," she rested her fingertips lightly on his bicep, "I'm sure a big strong guy like you could protect me from whoever these ruffians are. I wouldn't know how to recognize them to avoid them." She swooned, and fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 21, 2015 5:25:39 GMT -5
Your cleavage boost has the desired effect. His eyes immediately fall into the valley between your breasts. He licks his lips, and swallows. His oily smile returns as well. "The Shadow Hands are as dangerous as any thieves guild I suppose, but the Night Blades are a little too violent for my tastes. Murderers, kidnappers, and thugs for hire." When you touch his arm and complement him, he straightens, puffing out his chest slightly. "Let us finish this round of drinks, and then I'll show you around. Are you looking to see anything in particular?" Now that you've had a chance to study the man, you realize that even though he's just a lowly deck hand, he is an attractive lowly deck hand.
(OOC: To try and put it in perspective, he has Cha 14)
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 21, 2015 6:45:18 GMT -5
As Tsunami's fingertips rest on the sailor's bicep, and he puffs out his chest, she can feel his muscle ripple. Her dads were all just as ripped and chorded, but something stirs in her that she hasn't felt before, and it has nothing to do with wanting to take a bar of soap to this greasy smile. Of course, a bath in twain might be fun...What am I thinking? She surprised herself with her wandering thoughts. She was confused and a bit taken aback that her mind had wandered from coin so easily.
So, The Shadow Hands sound like little more than boys at play. Hornswaggling was easy work that any buccaneer, even a lowly cabin boy could do well with a little practice. Now these Night Blades sounded more interesting, though thugs for hire...violence for a reason has merrit, but getting paid to do someone else's dirty work, well that sounded downright wrong. Perhaps she would do well to avoid these ones.
"I haven't really seen any of this town, this is the first place I've visited. For now, let us go where the wind shall take us."
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 24, 2015 11:14:08 GMT -5
As you leave the Wayfarer's Rest with Mac, he confidently leads you through the sloping streets of Clifton. Most of the buildings in this section of town are single or double story buildings, mostly rectangular. Almost all have white washed exteriors, and the windows and doors are bordered in different kinds of wood, stained to various colours. You pass dozens of shops, and quite a few inns or taverns along the main roads, with middle class residential housing on all the side streets. The people here are all remarkably well dressed, even the labourers and craftsmen have simple, but well made clothing. When you see a noble borne past on a sedan chair, his attire is resplendent. His bearers livery is as fine as most nobles wear in other parts of the empire.
Mac winds his way through the orderly streets of Clifton until he reaches the fifty foot wall near the southern gate, then he turns west following the wall until he reaches the river. Dozens of small boats, and small ships criss cross the river, ferrying cargo and people from one side of the city to the other. The river itself is beautiful, almost three hundred feet of slow moving deep blue water lazily pours under the wall through several sets of thick metal grates. With your sailing background, you're shocked to see that there isn't a spot of rust on any of the metal grates. Mac informs you that the bars have been enchanted by the Mages Guild to resist the elements, and enhance their strength for security. Across the river you see that the town continues, surrounded by the massive wall all the way around the city, but across the river the houses are at most a single story, and most are very small, and not nearly as well kept. Looking downstream it seems like that side of the river is on fire, so much smoke from various industrial buildings: smelters, fish processing plants, and tanneries. The industrial buildings are separated from the residential by dozens of massive warehouses.
Mac leads you along the river's edge, through dozens of gardens and past two fenced in orchards. Whenever a main road comes down from the city, and crosses the garden, a pier sticks out into the river. These areas are thick with people, carts and wagons all waiting their turn to board a ferry or trying to force their way away from the river into the city to go about their business. After an hour of sauntering north along the river you reach the northern wall, and turn east and walk up the steady rise of the city until you reach another wall. Mac gestures with a thumb over his shoulder to the wall, "High Quarter, where you can find the Clifton Treasury, the Pelorian Light Shrine, all the major guild houses, including the Mages Guild, and the Somerset Embassy. Be careful if you ever go inside, da Pins don't let anyone get away with nothing in there."
As you travel south along the wall to High Quarter, you pass two gates. One into High quarter, with lacquered wagons and sedan chairs steadily moving through after a brief inspection by the Guardsman. The second leads down to the harbour, but Mac doesn't let you get a good look through the gate. Instead he takes you over to one of the guard towers, and gets you to wait a moment while he goes over and talks to one of the guardsman. After a minute, Mac shakes the man's hand, and you catch a glint of gold pass between them. Mac returns, and leads you back to the tower. The Guardsman leads the pair of you up several flights of stairs and then up a ladder. Opening a hatch in the ceiling, the Guardsman leads you up onto the tower top. From here you get a panoramic view of the city. To the west the city angles down, and you can see all the shops, and homes of the middle class. Followed by the river, and all the industry and homes across the river. Beyond the wall you can see boggy marshlands dotted here and there with copses of trees. After that you can see an endless forest stretching as far as the eye can see. To the north and south the river divides the bog from the ploughed fields that supplement Clifton's food supplies. To the east you see the land ascend in High Quarter and the Noble District on either side of the harbour, where the ground descends to the water. Dozens of long piers jet out into the harbour, and ships from all over the Empire, the Somerset Isles and even more exotic locations are tied off or anchored there. Raising your eyes a little farther, you can see the ocean itself, and a dazzling sunset through the harbour mouth.
For his part Mac was actually quite the guide. He spoke with some knowledge about the various things he showed you throughout the day, and aside from staring at your cleavage when he thinks you're not looking he was actually rather charming. He bought you lunch at a fairly nice little eatery, and several drinks throughout the day from various taverns. You realize, standing here on top of this tower overlooking the city of Clifton, that you may have just been on your very first date.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 24, 2015 15:18:38 GMT -5
Tsunami is used to having her dads shower gifts upon her, and hasn't ever suffered through a shortage of rum, so the lunch and ongoing drinks being at her disposal doesn't dawn on her as being anything special. Her fathers have spoiled her her whole life, and she is simply used to being treated this way. She expects nothing less. But now, standing at the top of the tower with the gorgeous sun set in progress, Tsunami feels a sense of wonder. Her vantage point has always been close to the water, which tends to lend itself to some spectacular sunsets on the horizon, but this was completely new. Having the view of all the town was incredible, and looking down on all the buildings made her feel ten times higher up than when she had taken a post in the crow's nest aboard the "Sea's Song", her native vessel. Her hands were planted on the edge of the brickword in front of her, allowing her to lean further out to see the view directly below.
"This is beautiful," she told him, "Truly a treasure to behold."
Inwardly she was trying to create a mental map of the town, and was starting to scope out likely targets in case her supply of coin began to run dry. She was finding it hard to concentrate though. She kept getting distracted by Mac: the smell of him, a slight shift in weight, it seemed that her attention was drawn back to him again and again. Then she felt the edge of his finger brush against hers as he also planted his hands on the brick beside her, very close. She involuntarily looked up at him and remarked how handsome his face actually was. Her heart sped up and her palms became slick with sweat. Her breathing became irregular and she felt her stomache leap up with a feeling of excitement. She had been smiling, now it fell from her lips.
"I'm sorry to have to cut this short, but something's gone awry. I'm afraid I've suddenly fallen ill."
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 25, 2015 13:06:08 GMT -5
Mac is smiling broadly as he watches you, he puts a hand on your lower back, and turns you to face into the lower city. "That building riiiight there is the Wayfarer's Rest." When your smile falls, his falters, but doesn't fade entirely. When you inform him that you're sick, his smile vanishes, replaced by a look of concern. "That is terrible news, I was having a wonderful time. Are you alright to travel, or should I fetch an acolyte?" When you explain that you can travel, he offers, "Since we're staying at the same place, I will walk you back to the Wayfarer's Rest. That is, if that is alright?"
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 26, 2015 8:06:54 GMT -5
In truth, she had been having a wonderful time too. She had felt the same exhilaration as when the call of "Avast, ship ho!" was called and her sloop had begun the chase. She didn't know how she could feel happy and excited and have her body go south on her at the same time. She began to descend the ladder and acquiesced for him to accompany her back to the inn. The day had been good, and she didn't want to see the tail end of him so quickly, although looking up as he followed her down the ladder, she reckoned that it really was a pleasing tail end if she were going to be honest with herself. Stop that! she ordered her wandering mind once again, shocked at this side of her that up until now had lain dormant. Out loud she giggled. She clapped her two hands to her mouth and went pale in shock. She giggled? What folly was this? She was not the giggling sort. She was a cut throat buccaneer that didn't think twice about taking what was rightfully hers, and that happened to be anything she wanted! This was precisely the reason women were not allowed on ships, it had nothing to do with bad luck as most landlubbers thought. Who would take a giggling pirate seriously? She silently vowed never to do it again. She hoped he hadn't heard it. He was high enough up that she might have gotten away with it. She sincerely hoped he hadn't, it would be a shame to have to kill him. When one was a pirate, reputation was everything, after all.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 26, 2015 8:25:34 GMT -5
As Mac reaches the bottom of the ladder, he turns, "And here I thought your laugh was beautiful, but your giggle." He lets out a long slow whistle, a beaming smile spreading across his face. Before you can react, he takes your hand and leads you down the stairs. Once outside Mac nods to the guardsman, who nods back. Mac leads you through the streets, pointing out shops and explaining where to get the best this or the tastiest that. Apparently the fat bald man over there can put the finest edge on a blade that you can even imagine. He points out several fashion houses, explaining, "There do be people inside that make their living by telling others how they should be dressing. I've lived here my whole life, when not out at sea 'course, and never have I understood why everyone is so fashion conscious." As if to make his point, a troupe of nobles walk past in incredibly elaborate clothing, the common folk clear a path before them without seeming to notice that they have done so. Unless you direct him otherwise, Mac leads you without incident back to the Wayfarer's Rest.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 26, 2015 9:43:06 GMT -5
When Mac mentions her giggle and whistles, she discovers she feels an irrational sense of pride, and sadly realizes that he must die. What were all of these conflicting feelings inside her, liken unto the many times they'd had to batten down the hatches in a mid-summer's storm. She had to get back to sea, life was so much simpler there, life was hard. That was easier than this. Having left her gaff and harpoon, both conspicuous instruments of fishing and death, she began to stoop to retieve the dagger conceiled within her boot. But before she was able to make a successful grab for it, he took her hand and led her from the room. Curses! she thought, it was more difficult to kill a man, a handsom man, her mind reminded her, man, she corrected herself consciously. It was more difficult to kill just a man under the sight of many eyes. Well, she supposed, it was actually quite easy to do the killing, it was the getting away with it that was more difficult.
She bided her time as they walked, listening to his deep rugged voice...Listening to him tell her about this and that. She had to admit her curiosity was peaked when he mentioned the knife sharpener. But she was embarassed that her hands continued to sweat, and as he continued to hold her hand captive, she couldn't fathom why he held on to her filangies that had become as slick and slippery as an eel. Had he not noticed? Oh no, she realized, he must be daft or slow. He didn't act daft, well, except for the hand holding thing, but he hadn't sounded slow either. Poor dear, she almost felt sorry for him. She had a soft spot for those less fortunate than her, and found it almost impossible to harm one so defenseless in the upstairs. She looked down at their joined hands, then looked up at his silken smile. Was it silken, or just overly friendly? Perhaps she would have to let him live.
Interesting, he has such a handsome smile. In fact, he seems to have all of his teeth. She realized she was staring. Butterflies seemed to be bumping into each other in her stomach, and she hoped that she didn't lose the flagons of rum they had been drinking all day. Rum was too precious to waste. Well, that's settled, apparently others had come to the same conclusion that she had, and had taken pity on the poor man. Such a perfect smile proved it, he had obviously never been punched in the mouth. Well the happy ending in all of this is that he could say whatever he wanted and her reputation would still remain in tact. No one paid credence to the ramblings of the mentally infirm anyway.
They reached the shop and nobles passing by in their tailored attire, and as he remarked about being fashion conscious, she looked down at herself, the scale mail clinking as she moved, covering up most of her curvy form. Suddenly she felt just as fashion conscious as the nobles appeared to be. She began twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. This is ridiculous! she reminded herself. She remembered who she was walking with, and reasoned that she could be wearing an old potato sac and he would probably think she was a queen bound for the ball, poor soul. Unwittingly, she let her eyes trail over his attire. She wondered if he was aware of the way the sash around his middle flattered his figure, or that the opened front of his shirt gave a glimpse of the pleasing muscled chest below. Her eyes had stolen to the seat of his pants on more than one occasion, she realized with horror, and she began feeling like a lecher praying on the innocent simply by her mistaken...well, mostly mistaken gazes.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 26, 2015 10:15:42 GMT -5
You see the familiar white washed, three story rectangle that is the Wayfarer's Rest down the block, with it's windows bordered in chestnut stained wood. You're once again greeted by a wave of laughter, and the mixed smell of pipe smoke and ale washes over you as Mac opens one of the double doors for you that leads into The Wayfarer's Rest. The smell of roast beef from the kitchens is unmistakeable, and several of the people at the dozen round tables throughout the room have plates of mashed potatoes, peas, corn and neat slabs of roast beef. Groups of men sit, laughing, dicing, and listening to a fellow play the dulcimer. In one of the private booths at the back a group of guards sit with mugs of ale, looking visibly bothered. One other fellow sitting at one of the tables draws your attention, an incredibly well muscled Mountain Dwarf with black hair and green eyes. Very few Dwarves travel the seas, and this one has the look of an adventurer by his weapons and armour.
When you enter, several people look up for a moment before going back to what they were doing before. Larry, one of the regulars who nodded at you yesterday nods a greeting at you again today. The closest server brushes past you with a laden tray full of mugs of ale, "Find a spot where you can M'dear, we will be with you in a moment." Old Borris himself comes by a few minutes after you're settled at a table, "What can I get you?" He leans his elbows on an empty chair back, and takes your orders before heading off to the kitchens. Within minutes a server brings out your order, before she returns to the hustle and bustle of the dinner time rush.
Mac tries to convince you to join him for a meal, and maybe a few more drinks if you're up to it. "Maybe a good plate of Old Borris' roast beef is all you need to cure what ails you?" He seems to assume that you will join him, because he pulls out a chair and takes the chair opposite.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 26, 2015 12:01:53 GMT -5
Well, he just aknowledged that you're feeling ill. Perhaps he was just being kind then this whole time...which meant that he likely wasn't slow after all. She remembered his whistle, and how his lips had puckered as he did so over those perfectly white teeth. She had enjoyed his company all day, and he seemed to genuinely want her company at the supper table. Well, who was she to deny a man a last request for his last meal? She clinked as she sat. She wanted out of the uncomfortable scale mail, but didn't want to leave his company quite yet.
Once she got upstairs, she would look into having another one of those hot glorious baths, and she'd only worn her clothes for a day since washing, with narry a fight to cause a new bloodstain, so she could leave her garments be this time. Perhaps she should stow her mail, although, by the look of the derranged looking mountain dwarf sitting alone at a table at the back, she might want the extra protection. She eyed the guards and the uneasy look on their faces. "What do you think has them all riled up?" She asked Mac, beginning to want her harpoon and gaff.
They ordered their supper, and the food was delicious. Through the meal's conversation, she decided once and for all that Mac likely had his wits about him. When the serving girl came to clear away their dishes, she inquired about having another bath brought to her room.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 26, 2015 12:57:17 GMT -5
Mac shrugs, and is about to answer when the Dwarf gruffly calls out, "Innkeep." Mac opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it instead, holding a finger across his lips in the shh pose. Mac then gestures with his eyes toward the Dwarf, and rests his head on his hand, tapping his ear with a finger as if to say 'listen'. Old Borris joins the Dwarf, who apparently was sent here by Guardsman Jackson too. The Dwarf is looking for a room, and asks about work, Borris replies, "The guards back there often hire out mercenaries and adventurers to help defend the miners travelling between The Pit, a vast sinkhole west of the city, and Clifton. There are always posted positions at The Pit itself as well. If guard duty doesn't suit your fancy, the Merchant's Guild pays well for those brave enough to explore the uncharted caverns below, or deal with any threats that are found." A scullery maid calls from the kitchen doorway, and Old Borris straightens holding up a hand with his pointer finger extended, "Duty calls my friend. You could also try any of the Guild Houses in High Quarter, specifically the Adventurers Guild. Or the Pelorian Light Shrine sometimes offers work as well." After Old Borris leaves the Dwarf mumbles something about the Merchant's Guild, slams down his drink and marches angrily out of the inn.
Mac smiles, "I've always heard that Dwarves are a gruff people. That was the first one I've seen in the flesh. I was going to say, I bet those guards were escorting miners to The Pit. That's a tough gig, but it pays really well." The dinner goes well, the food is excellent, and the conversation is fluid with no awkward silences or major social faux pas. The server nods at your request, and sets to work having your bath prepared. Once supper is completed, and your bath is ready Mac sighs, "I guess this is goodnight lass, unless of course you want to have a nightcap in my room after your bath? I happen to have a bottle of fine rum that I've been saving for a special occasion..." He trails off, and a hint of his previous oily smile creeps back. Mac has been eyeing your curves all day, whenever he thinks you're not looking, but now he slips loosing his gaze somewhere between your breasts for a moment. When he realizes that he's been caught, his wolfish smile comes back, the one that shows all his pearly white teeth, "You can hardly blame a fellar can ye?"
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 26, 2015 13:30:36 GMT -5
Tsunami grew up on a pirate ship and was well used to the look of gold fever in a man's eye. That was the look an old seadog got whenever they found a map that carried the promise with it of burried treasure. Men went mad for wanting to find it, and would almost stop at nothing to get it. She'd seen that look on each of her dad's faces during a particularly good haul they'd had the pleasure of taking from another ship. The hull, poop deck, orlop, and duffles had all been searched and only the normal booty had been found. The gold and weapons had been relieved of the other ship, and no one had died, it had been a good day. But then Blue-eyed Pete had chanced to check the binnacle, and had found a sac of rubies, emeralds, saphires and diamonds that the cockswain had been attempting to hide. The treasure fever had appeared like a mad look in her dads' eyes, a wanting that nothing could stop until the booty had been taken as their own. This was the look that she now saw in the eyes of Mac, and sub-consciously she reached up to hold the coin necklace that hung round her neck.
This was the first golden coin she had ever taken as treasure herself when she had held another captain at bay with the tip of her sword when she had been but four. Her dads had cheered her on, congratulating her for being so ruthless at such a young age, and all agreed that she would one day grow to be rich and captain a boat of her own. For the first time since then, she felt unsure, and quite the opposite of ruthless. She still hadn't come to terms with how she felt about Mac, he had after all been charming all day, but now she felt like a piece of meat...like the one right there on her plate. Perhaps it would be better to keep the mail on around him too.
"Ye know I'm always up for a mug o' grog, but I fear me bath will put me right out. Perhaps we should have that drink before I take my leave of you. Why don't you bring that bottle o're to mine room." where I have all my weapons at my disposal in case of any trouble, she finished in her mind.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 26, 2015 17:39:50 GMT -5
He smiles broadly, "Lass, you confound me." He laughs in disbelief, "Sometimes I think you're going to run away. Then I catch you staring at my back side. Other times I think you're going to slit my throat with that knife in your boot. Now you're inviting me up to your room for a drink." He shakes his head, "Look Lass I find ye all sorts of beautiful, and I would love to spend the night with ya." Here he studies your face for the slightest reaction before continuing, "I am not a monster. I have me honour, though some might not agree with my particular code. I'll not hurt ya, and I'll not force you." Abruptly he stands, "I'm in the room across the hall from yours. If you want that nightcap, tap on me door after your bath. You should go soon before the water cools too far." With that he heads upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 26, 2015 21:35:07 GMT -5
A myriad of emotions go through Tsunami as Mac speaks to her before he takes his leave. At his smile, his eyes seem sincere, and she realizes that they are the deepest blue, like the sea on a sunny day. She feels for a moment that she could get lost in those eyes. Then he mentions catching her while noticing his backside and blood rushes to her cheeks and face, forcing her to blush from embarrassment. She feels flushed and thinks, Great, now I'm running a fever. What is wrong with me? She tries to keep her face neutral as he describes her plans to slit his throat. One never wants to give away one's plans with a telltale reaction, so she guards her face as she would a hand at poker.
When he mentions the drink, she is mystified why he should be surprised by that. Of course I want to drink! Does a bilge rat smell of sea scum? She failed to see the problem with them sharing a little (or a lot) of grog. Why, if she ended up three sheets to the wind, she might even be moved to entertain him with a hearty song or three. When he tells her that he finds her to be a beauty, her fever seems to rise, and she realizes that she must go lie down soon. There is something obviously wrong with her, perhaps a rag soaked in water as cold as the sea will help bring her temperature down. She is brought out of her mental doctoring when he stops talking.
What did he just say? She rewinds the mental tape of his rambling and realizes he has told her that he would love to spend the night with her. Well now, that's odd. He seems to be waiting for something, but she doesn't know what, so she just smiles reassuringly while she works it out. Why on Osprem's wild waves would he want to watch her sleep? Perhaps he was a spy for the Sommerset Isles and he wants to see if she was a lass that would talk while dreaming. Was he hoping he would catch her giving away her family's secrets...locations of treasure, or a confession of sorts? She shakes her head. No, that can't be. He assures her that he's not a monster, and that he's honorable. Why then? Perhaps he still has his sea legs and has trouble sleeping as well. Maybe he's in search of some chatter in the long sleepless hours of the night. Well, she could certainly understand that. In fact, that might not be such a bad idea.
He stands and takes his leave of her, offering for her to tap on his door after her bath if she wishes for the nightcap. She is slightly confused by this term; it's not one she's familiar with. But remembering that the last time he used it, it was paired with rum, she figures that it must be alright. She watches him disappear up the stairs, and follows him up at a slower pace, going to her own room. She pauses outside her door, staring at his, knowing that just on the other side of the thin planks of wood, he would be waiting. She doesn’t want to let him down, and if truth be told, she finds herself wanting to see more of him. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring: if he’d be boarding a ship, if he’d work to be done, or if she’d get another chance to spend more time getting to know him like she had today. She realized that this might be the last time they saw each other, and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to give him up just yet.
She turned to her door and went inside. There, the hot steaming bath awaits her, and she feels an almost immediate sense of relief. She moves the chair to brace it up under the door once again so she won't be walked in on, and the scale mail comes off straight away. She removes her layers of clothes and lays them all out on the bed: outer robe, petticoat, pockets, stays (bodice), under petticoat, garters, stockings, and shift. She is then free to sit on the bed to remove her knee-high boots.
Tired from the long endeavour of undressing, and possibly from the illness she has been battling all afternoon, she sinks into her bath and is finally able to relax. Her eyes slide shut, and she is rewarded by the memory of the gaze of Mac’s perfect blue eyes. She relishes the memory for a few short moments before a metallic slithering, loud and nearby, rudely interrupts her. Her eyes fly open and she gasps in surprise at the sudden sound. She glances around in a panic, realizing that she is defenseless. She immediately finds the scale mail where it has simply fallen off the bed and pooled on the wooden floor. She sits back, physically trying to calm her shattered nerves. Now it’s not just Mac that she thinks of, but she believes she really does need that drink.
She climbs out of the bath, dries herself, and stares at the layers of fabric awaiting her on the bed. She settles for donning her white shift, one purple petticoat, and her stays. It takes a while to lace up properly, but she is finally ready and heads for the door. She is about to leave when she remembers she is barefoot. She is conflicted as to whether she’ll need her boots. It would mean wasting more time putting on her stockings and tying on each garter before adding them. She weighs in her mind whether she thinks she’ll need her dagger. She decides she can forgo the boots, slipping the dagger into her bodice. Then she realizes she has nearly forgotten the most important thing. She retrieves her mug and goes to knock on his door.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 27, 2015 9:16:37 GMT -5
When you rap softly on Mac's door, you hear him call out in a mumble as if his mouth wasn't working properly, "It isn't locked, come in." When you open the door, a mirror image of your own room is laid out before you. All the furniture is there, but everything is on the opposite side of the room. All the same stuff is present except for the bathtub which the staff bring in and out of each of the rooms as needed. That's when you notice Mac, standing topless by the washstand. His torso still shines from the sponge bath he must have just taken. He drags his dagger across some of his stubble one last time and then turns to you, "There, just had to finish shaving." He steps over to the bed, and picks up a towel slowly patting himself dry. Next he grabs his shirt, and slips into it. All of his movements are slow and sure, not embarrassed by your presence at all. He smiles looking you over once again, "I see you brought your own mug. Let me fill that for you." He takes your mug, and digs his own out of a pack against the wall beside a sheathed rapier and a brace of daggers. Setting them both on the footlocker, he grabs the bottle of rum he mentioned and fills both mugs just shy of the brim. "Here's to your renewed health, and new beginnings." He raises his mug toward you, and after tapping mugs, he takes a long swallow. Image of Mac
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 27, 2015 14:15:51 GMT -5
Tsunami enters Mac's room and is surprised to find him shirtless and glistening by the wash stand. As he works his dagger, shaving the stubble from his cheeks and chin, she notices the movement of the muscles on his arms and back. She finds herself strangely fascinated with them, her eyes tracing the bulges and curves as they move. She is confused. She has seen her many dads run shirtless quite often, and yet, she had never ever stopped to appreciate the way they looked. She supposed that they were just as corded, in fact, some were quite a bit larger and bulkier than this buccaneer, but she had never cared to take notice of them in this way. Her eyes are drawn to Mac’s waist, where two strong muscles on his lower back run downward toward his spine and disappear into his britches. She quickly looks away so as not to be accused of staring at his dungbie again.
She mentally scolds herself, You are not going to stare at his assets! Keep yer baby blues northward and no harm will be done. She looks up again and is only momentarily saddened by the loss of the view of those muscles on his lower back as he has turned to face her, when she realizes that his fore is even more impressive than his aft. Is it hot in here? She mentally curses the tightness with which her stays hold her, and finds that now she wants that drink more than ever. Don’t stare! she reprimands herself. She looks at the floor. Don’t drop yer gaze, he’s going to think you were starin’! She looks back up, she doesn’t want to look at the floor anyway, there’s a much better show in front of her. She watches him slide into his shirt with a slight feeling of loss, but is rewarded when he takes her mug to fill it with rum. He goes to collect his own black jack, and oh look, there’s that impressive view of the aft she can’t seem to escape.
Feeling a bit weak in the knees, she sinks into a pseudo seated position on the bed. The boning in the stays don’t lend themselves well to sitting on such a soft surface, and she is forced to brace one arm behind her and lean slightly backward in order to breathe and allow the boning to stay true. He hands her her mug and has barely gotten the toast out of his mouth before she fairly drains it dry. Oh my! She is surprised by the strength of the alcohol and realizes that what she had taken for grog was good, strong rum, not watered down in the least.
Her whole body begins to feel warm and she realizes she has gotten quite a bit light headed. Luckily for her, she no longer feels intimidated by the way he looks with those fathomless eyes and smooth jawline. In fact, she is feeling quite bold now. She rises from the bed, (it only takes her two tries), and she unsteadily saunters her mug over to him.
“I will trade you some rum for your shirt,” she notifies him, laying a finger on his chest. She can feel a solid pectoral muscle beneath her finger. This was a splendid idea. She carries on in a light scolding tone, “After all, you invited me here for a nightcap, and you are clearly not wearing one, so your shirt will have to do. And don’t forget the rum, I am disappointed my hearty, that you would pour more for yourself than for a lady such as me.”
If he tries to argue the fact that she has drunk all of hers and the half a mug that remains in his black jack was still in fact from the first pour, she will take the opportunity to chastise him for not keeping up.
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jun 27, 2015 15:20:18 GMT -5
Mac pauses with drinks in hand when he sees you sitting like that on his bed. His eyes trail from yours down to your toes and back slowly. You've seen that look before, when your fathers are admiring a particularly good pile of treasure, a mixture of hunger for more and appreciation of what one already has. Your display with downing the drink earns you a look of surprise, followed by a look of renewed admiration. This time without the hunger. "I did say that it was a bottle of fine rum." He adds emphasis to the word fine. When you saunter over to him, he places both hands on the corset induced dip of your waist to keep you steady while you barter with him. "If it be a nightcap you want Lass..." He trails off, gesturing with his head to where his sleeping clothes are laying, a long striped nightcap resting on top of the pile. Before you can say anything more, he says, "Lass I believe we have a bargain." In one smooth motion he grabs the opposite hem of his shirt with both hands and pulls the shirt over his head. He tosses it aside onto the floor. "I must be distracted by something, this deal had no upside for me. I have to part with me shirt, and give up some of my best rum." Holding up his hands in surrender when you mention the rum. He grabs the bottle, and tops up your mug, "Do me a kindness and take this one slowly." When you start to chastise him for not keeping up, he slips a fist into your hair, tips your head back and kisses you soundly.
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Post by Sugarphix on Jun 27, 2015 17:03:55 GMT -5
Tsunami is very aware of the heat coming off of the hands at her waist. Paired with the layers of fabric from her stays, shift, and petticoat, it is becoming stifling to her and she begins to wish for the removal of something to alleviate some of the heat...and Osprem willing, it wouldn't be his strong hands. To her disappointment, he releases her as he talks. As his shirt is pulled up over his head, she gets a welcomed eye-full of shapely pecs and rippling abs, and never sees the thin fabric hit the floor. She finds herself wanting to reach out and touch his torso, only to see if his muscles are indeed as firm as they appear, of course. She looks up to search his roguish eyes, but can't make eye contact, as they are otherwise occupied in her cleavage.
"And the rum?" she reminds him, hoping to distract him long enough to be let into those pools of blue. Her fathers were always the overprotective sort, and as such, she had never been touched by boy nor man until a moment before. On the rare occasion that she was let ashore, or in the event that a new crew member had been welcomed to the sloop, the point of many swords had quickly followed any proposition. She was in uncharted waters here, but for some reason the look in his eyes when he smiled at her made her feel safe, like when the Sea's Song had been hidden in open view, untouchable in the shallows by the bigger ships that would run aground.
"I must be distracted by something, this deal had no upside for me. I have to part with me shirt, and give up some of my best rum." Holding up his hands in surrender when you mention the rum. He grabs the bottle, and tops up your mug, "Do me a kindness and take this one slowly." When you start to chastise him for not keeping up, he slips a fist into your hair, tips your head back and kisses you soundly.
Though her mind reels and her traitorous body reacts, to Tsunami's credit, she doesn't spill a single drop of the rum. This was the part that her dads had warned her about.
"Now listen here, Tsunami," they had told her, "If any scallywag e're tries to lay a finger on you, you show them the sharp end of yer cutlass, with no mercy to spare." "And if any man ever tries to kiss you without giving you the world over thrice with diamonds or more gold than the Sea's Song can hold," her mother added, "Well I'll blacken his eye for 'im meself!"
This advice had all been spoken in the most somber and menacing of tones, so Tsunami understood that this was the way of the world. Only an admiral would do for their daughter, or a pirate king with his own fleet. He would give her her own ship to captain before he got his first taste of her, and afterward, if he didn't treat her as a gentleman should, well then he'd be keelhauled on his own boat.
So when Mac grabs a fist of her hair, she knows she is in trouble and that she must defend herself. She springs into action as if bitten by a bilge rat. With her free hand she grabs his shoulder and makes ready to bring her knee up to meet his groin. But then his lips press down on hers and the world as she knows it ends. Her breath catches in her throat, and suddenly she is hungry for him in a way that she didn't know was possible. She is no longer bothered by the heat as a new fire blooms within her, and the step she was preparing to accost him with instead carries her closer to him until she can feel the warmth of his naked chest pressed against her. The hand on his shoulder runs up to the back of his neck, and she kisses him back enthusiastically, wanting more.
She now understands why she was to get the vessel before allowing this to happen. She feels as though her ship has been capsized or scuttled. If a kiss was this grand, she could see how a lass could easily be hornswaggled out of her rightful bride price. Why she was barely three sheets to the wind and would almost forgive him the ship he now owed her, almost. She sighed in happiness, and hoped that it would be blue like his eyes.
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