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Calder Muireadach

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Everything posted by Calder Muireadach

  1. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    The outworlder was stoic, long after he’d spoken his last words. He knew those in the rooms of his larger ship were hot, and tired, anxious… scared, but there was no way in hell he would just dump them off and leave them to wolves that may be in sheep's clothing. Words were spoken in New York that were all bright and shiny, full of hope. Reality was rarely so. Muireadach…. Eyes left the Avian to blink and refocus on the elf. Pants and a turtleneck. Cripes on a crutch, did people really deal with this heat that well? I was not sure I would see you down this way. He left it unanswered for a moment. NPC: Vehicles are on their way Durion… Thanks Kahird. Vehicles to…. of course, take “possession” of his charges. Have food and drink for you and your crew as well as those you carry. I have a few questions about the northern territories I would like to ask you. My crew is fine, you need to explain exactly what is going to happen here and I will transfer that information to my passengers before one person steps off my ship. After they’ve settled in, I will check in with each and make sure they want to stay or return with me. It was business, and he didn’t budge from his position. One businessman an elegantly dressed host, the other half naked, barefoot and strapped with a deadly elegant weapon. Arms remained crossed, and he waited for a run down.
  2. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    …yes….. but fear often drives people to act like children. That was a given. Fear made people act in a lot of ways, and it ultimately bared souls. “It also tells you everything you need to know about anyone.” It was said particularly to himself. He didn’t have a read on her. She was running, she’d huddled in a corner in his ship even after he’d done nothing to warrant that behavior from her. She hadn’t trusted him. Even so, it was a boat that offered passage and if you were going to accept the ride, cowering would only lead to being taken advantage of with the wrong person. You fought for yourself. You showed the world where you stood… he too often forgot that his world didn’t work as his. Now though she obviously didn’t give two shits putting her hands on someone that obviously was comfortable stabbing people in the face that threatened him. She was hard to read. More than eighty percent of mine was blanketed in water….. we had only a handful of land dweller tribes. Interesting way to put it, eyes casting slightly to the side and down at her as she stood next to him. Land dweller tribes. That’s what he would be called he supposed. I was a…um….two worlder?.... I passed between water and land…..to keep the peace…. Two worlder? “You’re a shifter,” he said matter-of-factly, scanning the horizon again as he filled in the blanks. It was simple logic. There was really nothing about her stature that gave any indication it could pass in water to do what she was implying. She was avoiding above deck. Logic. She was a shifter, unless she was lying. “Is that what you’re telling me?” The lighthouse was definitely more on his mind, his world had shifters. Not many, but they were there as they were here. Other worlds had to have the same. He’d fought with shifters, he’d killed shifters. That distance… that bright.....more likely to be some magic? She brought his thought process back to the present. You know….the more you are bitter and angry with these waters…. the more strongly they will ignore your call. ….and then not. She was looking at him again, the stoic distance normally calm… starting to hint of grouchy. The soft knocking above his head questioned shifting their heading, brain once again back on their growing predicament. If the hull wasn’t in the shape it was in, they would have definitely kept going. Sigh was soft, brow furrowing as he pulled out another chart, spreading it out on the table and clicking the light on for a moment. A thick glass magnifier slid across it slowly, fingertip tapping the map and then checking their position. “The waters here are apparently too weak to do what I tell them,” voice was calm, decided. The thought had occurred to him often he wasn't strong enough to control it. It simply couldn't be. “A lot of things in this world are disappointing.” He “hm’d” to himself as he looked again at the map. That was genius, and dangerous… it was either a good or bad thing. Usually bad from his experience. “The lighthouse is a Siren. It’s tricking people in that direction that really don’t know the exact location. Runs straight into shoals. They’re trying to ground incoming ships.” He knocked on the ceiling for Avi to stay on course. “The ‘lighthouse’ is purposely drawing boats into shoals. I know our heading is correct. Question is… are they keeping travelers and themselves safe by only having people that know the exact location safe, vice versa... may have been taken over and now pulling those that know where it is in to return to Ireland, or worse.” Light clicked off, they were going to run as silent as possible. Coming in at night was safer because they couldn’t be seen, but it was harder to see what they were running into. Knock on the ceiling called the entire crew to “quarters”. Guns were coming out, spotters were going on the rails, himself choosing a matching pair of knives from his wall and pulled up his sleeves to strap them to his forearms. When they got closer he would go investigate if he had to. “We’ll know when we get there.”
  3. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    The avian was unexpected, but logically expected just the same. He nodded to Jerry and Avi, and they tossed the ropes to the dock. The captain ducked below deck to find the restless passengers trying to peer out. “You’re going to stay below deck until I speak with who’s in charge. I didn’t bring you halfway across the world not to make sure you’re all safe first.” There were nods, but eyes were still on the light that filtered from the stairs. He trotted back up the steps. Still barefoot, he slipped below the bridge and laced an elegant, exotic scabbard across his back. Long strides brought him to the edge and he hopped off his boat to wordlessly greet the dockmaster, black corded necklace with sea-glass pendants twinkling as he landed. Eyes scanned their surroundings from the new vantage point and he nodded to those of his crew that were still guarding the corners of the small vessel. They had orders to shoot in the the face and ask questions later if they were threatened before he spoke to the elf. Well… with only being threatened. Shoot first, ask questions later. This was the way he always had worked. Bargains were struck, you broke the bargain or tried to play him, the consequences were immediate. “They don’t go anywhere until I talk to your boss.” Voice was quiet, arms crossing, a defiant guardian as he stood between the greener pastures and his boat. If something was going to happen, they had to get through him first. “…and I will stay docked here until they’ve all gotten to see whether or not they want to stay or go.”
  4. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    ….that is the problem…. ….I can slaughter them back. Lower lids tightened slightly, looking like a squint as he studied the chart… the words he was thinking were right on the tip of his tongue. There was a little self-control for a moment, but as he moved he felt he had to say something. “Problems are subjective... I don't see your issue, as a problem.” It was all he offered. He truly didn’t see it as a problem. Defending yourself was never an issue, and his words spoke volumes of it. He wasn’t a stranger to violence, though being here had reduced it to a considerably rare event. He looked somewhat warm and fuzzy, but there was a distance that had a lingering feel of arrogance... or lethal brutality. …. I don’t….pass….…… not always….. His own eyes adjusted just as hers did when he turned out the light, a silvery sheen very reminiscent of reflective cat eyes was brief as he glanced at her. “Some more than others seems to be the way of it." Arms crossed as he studied the horizon, still holding on to the binoculars. “It’s not up to us to make others comfortable with what we are. To lash out at those who are different is to act like a spoiled child that doesn’t want to share their toys.” He realized intimately that he was chiding himself. Maybe he’d grown up a bit in his ten years away from home. …. mine didn’t have so much land…. The glance over to her was a little longer this time. He’d put that together. The kind of control she seemed to have over it, there was definitely a water element there. Outworlder, clearly distressed and introverted, her small comments about her appearance... he'd connected it all. “Mine was about sixty forty… in favor of water,” he commented, bringing the glasses up to look again. Soft taps erupted quietly from above his head. “Yah… I see it too…” he said absently, tapping in response with the glasses still in place as he stared at the horizon. A light flickered wanly, barely visible even through the glasses. It was so faint he’d almost missed it. This far out, it had to be something bright. “I controlled most of it. Lot of fighting, on land… on water. A lot of fighting,” he got back on subject. “There was no difference for me between the two battlefields. Now I have a boat. Just a boat." There was sarcasm in his last sentence. Sigh was long. As long as they were spilling secrets, he wasn’t going to lie and say he was a good person. He needed to get off it and back to the issue at hand. “Our destination port doesn’t run lights at night. You have to know what you’re looking for to find it. That looks like a lighthouse to me…” he turned fluidly, scanning the circumference of glass around him, they lowered and he went for the radio. Channels were still all dark, eyes narrowed as he checked their position. He knew he was right, but the light was slightly off course. Had he made a mistake in his navigation? They were missing something, but he was going to stay on course.
  5. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    He sat in the pilot house... cold towel on the back of his neck, literally half naked; no shoes, no shirt, boat shorts barely on his hips, hair in Mohawk twist and off his neck. This heat, was killing him. He would have been below deck, but it was worse there. Stifling. Humid. He could barely breathe, questioning his entire decision to do this. The sun though... the sun was the bastard that needed to die. They were early. Really early. The storm that had been predicted to batter what was once Florida and threaten to halt them in Georgia for a week minimum had taken a sharp turn into the gulf, enabling him to ride right behind it. Daring, but that's what he did. It was odd for a storm to take such a drastic turn, something was up with the weather, he could feel a cold nipping at their heels- but for now he was in tropical hell, still unaware the same storm that let them arrive quicker had burst into snow in the gulf and was battering the entire central land mass with flurries and white-outs. There was also talk of someone on his tail, and he wanted to lose their asses. He would deal with them on the return when he didn't have a boatload of terrified Outworlders. Word traveled fast, and not in a good way sometimes; he'd almost had to leave a few behind. They were restless, his insistence on them staying below deck and out of sight was a firm one. It was uncomfortable, not ideal, but it kept them safe from whatever they may still encounter. They were on the coast and coast meant they could be seen unlike on open water. He didn't come this far to lose them now. He also didn't come this far to die of heat exhaustion either. This would be the make or break moment, learning as much about where and who he was dropping them off to as the fae seemed to know about him. It still reeked of servitude. Hopefully, it wasn't. Head perked up slightly, watching the mouth of the river. Bare feet on the bridge, he stood quietly from his chair and put the boat at full stop to kill the engines, coasting quietly into the mouth of the river. High trees and a few ridges on either side as far as the eye could see. He didn't like the vulnerable position, but they really had no choice. The dock was less than a half mile in- at the point where his boat could go no further. They would be trapped, and alone. His crew were stationed at key points, armed, and waiting for a hint of something to shoot. He hated guns, but they were necessary in certain situations. This was one of them. Boat was completely silent save for the lap of the water on the hull. An occasional screech from an exotic bird that didn't heed the instinctual silence from the rest at the strangers' trespassing brought muzzles up and his eyes toward the fluttering green foliage. Barely anyone breathed as he steered to a coast with precision, looking for someone on the dock ready to throw a line. Do or die time.
  6. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Not the water….. Pressed lips didn’t betray the inner seethe. ….the people of this world….ten years and they still slaughter what they do not recognize…… Jaw set slightly. It nicked a little too close to the bone. Would he have been as tolerant if others had slid into his world? No. The answer was immediate. He would not have. He would have slaughtered anyone he did not recognize… and this was his hell for it. The ocean was lost to him. His family, his kingdom. He was being punished. And now? He was ferrying the very same people he would have gutted if they had set foot on his own lands. ….acquaintance….. Quiet eyes blinked himself back into the present, watching his own fingers trace across the map as if he was assuring himself this life would make up for the last. He was being watched. He didn’t like being watched, the loose, still-damp cascade of hair was pulled high on his skull and secured into a topknot with some technic lost on this planet. That is all they care about isn't it….. Blink again at her was slow, his finger tapping once on South America before reaching to adjust the volume on the radio. It was silent. Just as it should be. No chatter. No ships. I don’t care what they care about. It doesn’t matter the horrific power one might wield…. just that they can "pass"… He rolled up one map, sliding it into the shelf under the table as he pulled out another; a much more detailed version of where they were currently traveling. Nothing was said for a moment, plotting their position quietly. Again the nip at his throat. She wasn’t doing it on purpose; there was no way she could have known. It matters. It matters if it makes money, or secures power. Ireland wants its little corner of normal and screw everyone else. New York swallows Outworlders... and altered. Someone can be L-infected and fight in the middle of a cage in front of thousands of people and be cheered on by the masses. Or, an unusual magus can be sought for hire as a bodyguard…horrific powers and all. New York embraces the different if there’s something to be made from it. Voice was quiet, intent on his work but circling back to something she’d said earlier as he checked their course. If the people of this world… are intent on slaughtering you… then you slaughter them back. Eyes flicked up at her a moment, clearly incensed at this world's insistence on playing nice before turning to scan the channels on the radio. They were all silent. A few more hours and he would radio in to the port. If there was chatter he would have to investigate first before coming in. I can pass but I refuse to allow those that can't to be terrorized. If anyone threatens my passengers they will die… regardless of any horrific powers. Anyone attacks my passengers and crew, they will die. Matter of fact and without any sign of apprehension, the dark words remained quiet... as easy as breathing. He reached up and turned off one of the main overhead lights, much less harsh now that he didn’t need it to read the chart. It also helped keep the ship less visible in case of any other travelers. Rare and unlikely, but flirting with fate never ended well. Not my place to judge, only protect. That’s what Mr. Caranthir sought me out for. Sometimes the most passable have the worst secrets. Like himself, he finally divulged. He drew in a long breath, realizing he’d crossed his arms and was staring aimlessly at the invisible horizon in the direction they were headed. Picking up a set of glasses, he scanned the horizon. Coming in always put everyone on high alert. They were still in no-man’s land. If you’re restless, I could use another set of eyes on the horizon. St. John has been safe in the past, but things change. He nodded toward another set of glasses on the shelf near the door, clicking through the channels again and rapping a pattern on the ceiling to communicate with his first mate up in the captain’s chair. No unnecessary radio this close to land. Morse code. Another weird little thing he’d learned in this world…
  7. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    The once upon a time prince was an intuitive one. He had to be, nuances caught in the tone of her words. Had she expected he’d understand her language? No. She’d hoped he would. He knew what it felt like. Being an outworlder was disorienting and cruel, but most often lonely. He didn’t know how to fix that, for himself or anyone. She looked at the water the way he did, but could control it… still shielding herself from it as if it was poison. He’d never heard of such a thing, eyes narrowing slightly and pausing partially into his descent, watching her wipe more water away. I don’t get wet…… The melancholy had pushed aside for a moment, replaced with a cautious curiosity. “Why?” he asked quietly, hand paused on the overhead before he was going to duck under into his hidey-hole chart room. It was the eyes that finally made him put all the pieces together. Humanoids on his world didn’t have eyes like that, and this wasn’t his first rodeo with people that had an affinity for water. There were all kinds, and all shapes, and all types of powers. Terrible and mystical. Brow cocked slightly, “seems like the water controls you, because you think too much.” The statement wasn’t a question, it was a fact delivered with a nonchalance she may not have been used to. Observation turned back to business. “Got a towel for you, the others below deck aren’t dry yet from cleaning your friend’s last round of festivities.” He descended the few steps after ducking the edge of the bridge, clicking on a radio and turning the volume lower, pulling several towels out from a footlocker in the corner and tossing them on the bench near the stairs if she chose to partake. He kept a steady supply to wipe the windows when they fogged on the inside during this weather. Light was clicked on over his workspace, eyes wandering over the chart a moment. Morning. They’d be there by morning. St. John was a safe place, but they hadn’t been there in a while. Less stops meant a faster run, less gas, less chance to be followed or tracked. Staying hidden in open ocean was easy. Hopping ports was predictable. He wouldn’t have done it unless it was necessary. “St. John,” he put his finger on the chart. “Quiet, sympathetic friends there.” Finger slid back to the coast of Ireland. “Cruise ship sank right here, I buoyed it on my last run. It shifted during the time I was gone and the buoy moved, tore the hull on the stack. We were anchored for a few days while I fixed it, that’s why we were late. Docked in St. John instead of open water and I can do it properly.” Hand brushed over New York. “We stop here, this is where I live. I wait for enough that want to go south and then I make this run,” he traced down to South America. “A lot stay in New York, they can blend in with the magus. The more physically unique usually decide to seek refuge with the Fanya Niasa, Durion Caranthir has a particular protective nature. It’s isolated, and he is able to find ways for them to live comfortably and make a life.” Eyes moved over his blades on the wall behind the small seats and went back to the charts. “I can pass, so I do what I can to get people where they need to go. I'll get you where you need to go.” The implication was ominous. He didn't just 'do what he could', he did whatever was necessary, without question- and most of the time it included clearing the way, in a bloody fashion.
  8. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    SoH 'Iv? Eyes narrowed, one hand snatched by the passenger but the other low on his back with a blade already out and inverted against the inside of his wrist. He somehow knew she’d be strong, the little things always were. Calm ones, quiet ones; they were always those with the most bite. veHHeHDaj DaSov'a'? The language was lost on him, and when she let go the blade was placed none-the-wiser back into its sheath under his sweater. She probably would have no idea how close she’d come to becoming a Pez dispenser. People didn’t touch him. He didn’t like to be touched if he didn't know someone. It was the only outward sign he couldn’t control that he wasn’t "normal". Skin, much cooler than a human and couldn’t be explained away. To her though, he’d not divulged a thing. For all she knew he was a magus. ….you think too much….. That brought an uncharacteristic scowl from his features. Bullshit. HoS lughoStaHvIS… He didn’t watch the water, he watched her. He’d seen waves, storms, the heave of water off the beach out to sea as he’d pulled a wave in so severe it’d decimated cities. His fist, his fury. He used it to conquer the world. It wasn’t new to him. What was, was that he wasn’t doing it. The impotence was wearing him thin. Eyes closed to shield off the waterfall, peering upward through wet lashes, the seethed sigh annoyed as he glowered back at her. ..this water doesn’t like lots of thinking….. “This water needs to start doing what it’s told,” the grumble was under his breath. “Jhuh xeinv ftuh ih’j hej…” His smooth, yet percussive language was cast toward the dark waters with a spite he wasn’t going to explain. “Be dark soon, it’s going to get colder, we’re shifting north slightly. Might want to find some more warm layers if you’re going to be out here.” A calm had come again over his countenance, moving to retreat to the room under the bridge. He could still see everything the first mate saw from the bridge, its recess underneath just gave him a place to eat on his own, and his personal items were there. An apartment so to speak, but it wasn't where he slept. He relished it there when his crew was asleep, only a few tending to the job and an insane silence over the black water except for the hum of the engine. It was also the home of his toys when he didn’t feel like playing with anyone. These two were going to annoy him until the end, if not from anything else but pure jealousy. He wanted more of his hot chocolate too, but in all honesty... he was just too melancholy to deal with anyone at the moment.
  9. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Eyes narrowed as she pushed past him and he followed her, hand low on his spine under his sweater to flick the lock clip on the knife there. This was a first; a first for a charge to beat the hell out of his boat and seemingly attempt to do it again, or whatever she was trying to do. He was trusted by Durion, but even Durion would understand if he had to make a horrific decision for the greater good. He would not let his vessel and his crew be sunk by anyone he deemed a threat. Hand returned to his side calmly before she glared back at him. Not sinking….. putting ocean back in place…. She could move the water. Bated breath made him pause a moment as he watched her disappear onto the deck before taking the stairs two at a time after her in time to see the exchange. Chid jey …. CHID JEY! His world had no words. It was his will that forced the water to move… absolute control over every molecule, but where was he in the line of generations of water warriors?? Hundreds, if not thousands… had there ever been words? Was there ever a time when his people had to… ….was misbehaving…. …train the water. He’d stopped breathing at some point, watching the water do exactly what he’d assumed she’d told it to do. It was a beautiful thing. Eyes finally flicked to hers, narrowing in thought. He’d inherited a world where its greatest weapon was already a trained monster, reins were easy to take. This world wasn’t his, from what he’d gathered nothing moved water like he did before the Resonance. It was unruly, and vast. He had to train the water. How the hell was he supposed to train the water? Blue flicked back to the sluicing surface. There was nothing more he wanted to do than repeat the words she’d said. Sleeves were pushed up, exposing the seafoam colored script that started on his forearms and twisted upward where it disappeared under the sweater again; it pulsed once as long strides closed the distance to the railing where he leapt up and balanced nimbly even with the slick metal under his boots. Muscles moved as the ship did, keeping his balance. “Can you understand me…?” he said, the dark vocal chords speaking to it like an equal, extending fingers toward the water. It was not his equal, it was his servant. His weapon. He’d never spoken to the water before, flick outward of fingertips sending a thrum across the surface of the water like a swirl of rain. Then, nothing. Brow came down. It was all he was ever able to do. Seethed exhale calmed before he jumped down. “It doesn't work. It can’t be tamed. I've tried." Comment was dark as it was his turn to push past her toward the small cabin directly below the bridge. “There’s more food if you need it, what’s ours is yours,” he finished over his shoulder. The melancholy that was always there had returned after the brief moment of hope. Nod to Aki was slight and the man took the bridge, the captain retreating to his own space underneath to lick his wounds.
  10. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Thoughts were a mile away, pausing on the redhead in his galley before he padded back to his own quarters. It took him a while to get dressed, sitting on the side of his bunk, elbows on his knees and drinking his hot chocolate slowly. He was angry. Every once in a while the warrior bubbled to the surface, reminding him of his inadequacies and putting him into a broody lull. Eventually he changed back to his regular attire, cargos, loose and worn gray cable knit sweater, scarf and such. The perfect boat captain. Galley empty as he passed, the sullen mood continued with his first step up the stairs to the deck. No sooner had he checked his watch, the clang of it hitting the railing preceded a seethe when his arm slammed against metal. It was quickly followed by the squeegee sound of his hand grabbing and slipping off the railing before he landed flat on his back at the bottom of the stairs. Head bounced once off the floor, a shooting array of stars through his vision as he groaned and leaned up, rubbing it. The boat hit something. The boat hit something! He rolled forward and launched up the stairs, met with… nothing. Small crew was peering over the deck on each side, reporting nothing. Nothing? He walked completely around the perimeter. Nothing. Nothing but new passengers. Second time in as many hours. Trot down the steps held purpose, twice banging on the door with the side of his fist where the more conscious of the two was most likely hiding. "Is that you? If you're going to sink my boat we need to talk." It wasn't angry, but it wasn't kind either. Already being irritated didn't help the tone. Upset his boat was getting tossed like a toy. Jealous maybe? If there was a rogue something on this ship that couldn’t control jack shit, they were getting off at St. John. He knew he had a job, but he also wasn’t going to watch his boat get pulled apart in the process. St. John was a helluva lot safer than Ireland at the moment, and he already wanted one off his boat. Might now be two.
  11. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Brow flinched slightly in concentration as he continued his search for supplies in his toolkit to return to the water. He never looked angry, but inside he was seething. He could ask one of his charges to keep the boat from taking on water until they reached St. John's, but it was an unfair request of someone newly out of danger... and his pride couldn't take it. Gaze turned to rest on the waves a moment, the pull of the vast nearly black water catching his attention. Expression became blank, then curious as it seemed it'd started speaking to him. Whispering its native tongue to tickle his ears.... hands pausing their busy flurry as it taunted. Lips parted, it had never said a word to him until now. Over a decade. So silent, so foreboding. Heavy, hateful, aggressive. To him it was a living thing, but in this world it felt sick, spiteful. Last item was hastily shoved into the kit and he set it down, easily pulling himself onto the railing of the boat to watch the water, keeping his balance with an effortless grace as the vessel undulated. Aki squinted up at him against the wind, pulling the zipper up on his coat. They all knew the captain was an Outworlder, understood he relished the cold when other's tolerance reached its limits, as evidence by the fact he was barefoot and shirtless in a pair of khakis in near freezing temperatures... but, he was being odd. He could hear Aki begin to speak to him, but the depths were louder, his concentration on the world that was his everything- hoping that for an instant when he opened the hand at his side to the waters it would do what he asked. Instead, met with a rather fierce rock of the boat and an uncharacteristic loss of balance that sent him straight into the drink with no safety tether. *npc* "Captain overboard!" It took a second for the small crew to register what was happening. The Captain was always overboard, but he wasn't moving, hitting the water with a painful slap to his back, floating silently in the dark ocean that was threatening to swallow him. The Outworlder could feel the water, but not himself, brain lost in the depths like a dark cloud had descended into his thoughts. Paralyzing and ovehelming. A fierce sting brought him out of the pit, Aki's near perfect aim landing the lifeline across his chest like a whip. He jerked almost instantly, the darkness in his head tearing away like something had ripped at his eye sockets. Fleeing back into the depths, stealing away. Arm wound the line around his forearm and he bobbed there a moment, making a decision and pulling himself back on the boat. "If we take on more water, run the pumps, otherwise get us on course for St. John's. Leave them off." He tossed the line on the deck. *npc* "Aren't you going to fix the hull?" Aki's surprise was expecting of some kind of explanation. "No, get on it." He secured the kit, squeezed water from his hair and took the towel from Aki, slicking off his limbs. Feet padded below deck silently as he tossed the towel over his shoulder. Step into the galley was unexpected, removing his mug from the sink and taking a drink, long look at her in silence before he stole away to change and get back to his chair. "Docking before morning to repair the boat," he said quietly as he left with his mug. He wanted the boat to take on water again... he wanted to provoke the ocean to recognize his presence again. More than anything. He wanted to face down that dark monster something had provoked... so he could grab it by the throat and take back his world.
  12. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    His world was cold and vast, drifting a bit away from the boat as the propellers came to a stop and the boat started to move with the sway of the ocean. Swimming back to his charge, hands first went to the in-water patch he’d delivered less than a week ago. Fingers wandered over the work. It was solid. He hovered a moment, braid tickling across his shoulders as it floated in his own version of weightlessness. It felt like a battery at first, a shiver of water that slithered across his skin. Taunting, a sensation he hadn’t felt in over a decade. Except it wasn’t him. It wasn’t any of his crew. Rush of water was like a jet, eyes narrowing as they followed the bubbles. It was a sliver, a miniscule gap between plates that would push shut against the waves and gap when there was no pressure… the constant shiver was what was vibrating the hull and caught his attention. It was emergent enough to not be a concern, but sneaky enough to be have gone undetected and be deadly if they’d not been closer to St. John’s. He could patch it, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. Breath could be seen as he broke the surface, lithe muscles pulling him up his safety line and back onto the deck. Expression was extremely displeased, not that he’d missed the separation in the hull- it would have been a needle in a haystack until out at sea anyway, it was the in-his-face reminder of his shortcomings. Skin steamed, the sun hitting the cool of the water still over his form. Squeezing out his braid, he tossed it over his shoulder. “It’s fine,” he said as he unclipped his “leash” and wound it to hang on a cleat. “More damage from the snag. Nothing major. We’ll get to St. John’s and dock for a day. Might have to dry dock it in New York, but it will get us there.” Strides were quick to the tool kit on the deck storage. Eyes rested darkly on the hatch to below deck as he prepped his kit to go back under. It was a hot jealousy, a constant reminder he was weak, one he would have to watch until he dropped off this duo.
  13. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Not really….a friend… Understandable. Seemed they might not have even known each other before that night. Rhyse…. “Nobody is on your tail here Rhyse,” he responded quietly to the skittish behavior as he finished the food. He got it, he did. The first few years on this rock had left him looking over his shoulder and out of sorts. Aggressive almost, as he figured out who was friend or enemy. He unfortunately didn’t have anyone to tell him otherwise. “Ain’t no one close enough to catch us, nobody deft enough to find us. Just you and your not-friend made it on this trip, and my crew are all here to help you.” Voice was soft, but always licked with a personality beneath that was no bullshit and easy to smile. …be even better if added some allspice and sweet ancho peppers…… Brow cocked slightly, no idea what the hell she was talking about. More of the weird things he’d never heard of. His relationship with food had been a precarious one. After several virulent experiences with seemingly mundane dishes early in his time on this rock, he’d been extremely careful… developed a bland palate almost. … cinnamon is very good too. “Abuelita… it’s called I think. Traded for it in the Gulf of Mexico a while back. No clue what it is, but it tastes good.” Didn’t used to be hiding…. I um….. wore contacts…. lost those….. but that was it….. I mean…. I had my own shop and people didn’t seem to….…. “Hiding is hiding,” he stopped and instead turned back into the galley. It wasn’t condemning her, just being truthful as he leaned on the counter and sipped from his mug a moment, hand was on the edge of the counter next to his hip. He could feel the waves hit the hull; it was vibrating the entire boat. Something didn't feel right. Eyes narrowed slightly, setting down the mug in the sink and picking up his food and the push to talk that was mounted on the wall near the door. “Talk to me Aki,” he said quietly, taking another spoonful as the black spiral cord bobbed with the sway of the small cargo boat. He waited another moment, turning off the stove and setting the pot and his bowl into the sink. *npc* We need you up here. “Roger that,” push-to-talk was snapped back on its cradle. “Sit tight, I’ll be back.” Long legs took the stairs a few at a time, door opened and onto the deck. Sun was finally peering out; the sea itself was starting to become relatively calm, chilly, but calm in the growing evening. Tonight would be a saturating dark with no moon. A change from the roughness of the last few days, but just as necessary to stay on point. Aki and another were leaning over the port railing. He knew what it was even before he had to ask. It had something to do with the patch. *npc* Bilge is running hard. We’re taking on more water than we should. Maybe not the patch, another hole somewhere? He’d gone over the whole thing. “We’ll dock in St. John’s. Full stop, I’m going in.” He went below deck again, the upper half of his clothes already off as he passed the galley to his quarters. Boots, everything except for his khakis came off, leather harness on his waist, a toolkit clipped to it, knife strapped on his bicep, padding barefoot back out and braiding his hair as he went. Hiding had never been his thing. “Keep my hot chocolate warm,” he said quietly as he passed the galley and took the stairs again several at a time. The small cargo ship could be felt slowing, and he wasted no time snapping on his safety line, stepping up onto the railing in one motion and disappearing over the side.
  14. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    The spilled water was not lost to him, neither was the apology. It was a boat. Boats got wet, what he did worry about was the glass itself and whether or not it got cleaned up. Broken things caused problems, water this close to the upper deck could freeze. Stepping through the doorway, he grabbed a towel and tossed it over his shoulder, returning just in time to watch her roll out of a tangled shirt. "I was referring to you," he said quietly, reaching to pull his ponytail out and pile a topknot on the back of his skull and roll up the sleeves of his blue Henley. "I know your friend found the rooms, he snores." Kneeling to swipe a towel over the water and pick up the glass, the blue script banding his forearms twinkled with their own light when he touched the water. He didn't seem bothered by it, but the pale gaze glanced at her briefly as she retreated. There were altered on his boat, he was an Outworlder... so were others of his small crew. He'd seen odd reactions to each other's abilities before. There were endless possibilities of what was yanked through the Veil, some oil and water, others like opposite magnet poles. This one though, brought an odd glance over his shoulder as she retreated to one of the quarters seemingly to put on some damn clothes. Towel was tossed into the sink, glass set in after. One of his crew was finishing something on the stove, filling a tin cup with coffee and heading out to take a break while people came in and out to eat. It was just him when one of his charges peeked in. "I'm Calder." He was stirring something, scooping it into a bowl and adding a spoon to slide onto the small table for her. There literally had been no time for introductions until now. "Best chili anywhere." He scooped one for himself, taking a spoonful and chewing as he swirled a saucepan, pulling two mugs from the hook. "I picked this up from a trading post in the gulf. It's a cinnamon hot chocolate." He poured two cups and sat one next to the bowl on the table. Leaning on the stove, he dug into dinner. "New York isn't Ireland," he said matter-of-factly. "You hide, people will think you have something TO hide. Huge magus presence there. Respected, in positions of power. You can pass, but not if you hide." He took his bowl and mug, giving her a small nod before turning to leave.
  15. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    He hated cleaning his boat. Granted, the ferrying often put people on his ship that were definitely not used to long weeks at sea, but it still was irritating to bring the drunk on board. It added a whole other mix of problems he really didn’t want to deal with. Things seemed to have quieted for now. They were making great time, the captain sitting in his perch with feet up on the bench next to him, eyes on the endless horizon. He was leaning in the seat, one elbow on the windowsill, contemplating things that probably didn’t need to be worried about… watching the waters. It was horrible timing to be making crossings. Ice flow. Seas were rough, but not so much so that he needed to slow down. Course was adjusted slightly, then locked into place, passing it off to his first mate. “Keep this course, keep the watches on the bow...” he said quietly, ducking under the door and trotting down the stairs to go below deck. Time to check again on his charges. They’d been awful quiet, and it was getting colder. Neither of them were particularly well dressed when they’d gotten on the boat. There were rooms they could stay in. They were small, but it was better than the cargo hold. Breath was visible a moment before making the turn to go below, his footsteps almost silent despite his size. “Rise and shine,” voice was loud enough to be heard, but not particularly directed at anyone. “It’s going to keep getting colder for another day or so, there are warmer clothes in the two rooms aft. Sweaters, coats, scarves, hats… whatever you need. Food’ll be ready soon in the galley.” He closed the door to the deck and keep on his path down the stairs and straight through another door to disappear toward the galley.
  16. Calder Muireadach

    Spare Me Over Another Year

    He listened a moment, studying... the emotions that ran across her face, the words that seemed unsure and unclear as she tried to untie the knot. It had occurred to him that there may be those he would ferry that were so beaten and battered they might not even understand what it was they needed, or even where they were going. The thought was as painful as watching her struggle. Sigh soft, his features followed suit, arms unfolding and working to untie the knot gently to leave her to her own devices. "C'mon below, I have some food and warm dry clothes you can change into." Eyes gave a last scan over the horizon and darkness that was starting to haze over the depths of water. He knew it was only a matter of time before he started running into push back from his excursions. Mostly so far, just overzealous bigots chasing after those that were different. Now, it seemed more that just that- not that before was any more dangerous. These seemed stronger. Magus. Dipping his toe into the smuggling of the persecuted had eventually tangled with something bigger. What, he wasn't quite sure of yet. He led the way below deck to pull some things out for her. "Then you can tell me what you need, or get a good night's sleep if you prefer and we can talk about where you want to go."
  17. Calder Muireadach

    Walking without moving

    He squinted at a flickering TV, cheek stuffed with the most amazing mashed potatoes that existed. Didn’t even really know what the damn things were even ten years into this crazy trip, but he knew they were amazing. What wasn’t great though was the island didn’t have anything more than grainy static television reruns of something. Head cocked slightly to try and figure out what the hell he was watching between drinks from his mug. TV was fascinating and odd at the same time. Slightly annoyed gaze slid over his shoulder at the guy who’d wandered in. He was used to hearing that kind of talk from bars on the slips of New York, the more “progressive” city in the rehabbed world still had tolerance for its naysayers, but here it was just damn dangerous. His friend at the bar glanced at him slightly and he nodded back. That kind of talk had to be met with violence, because… everywhere else did. If they made an exception here, it would mean disaster. He felt bad for the chap, finishing up his meal faster than he wanted to and nodding to Les when he was finished. Bag was picked up, seems he wasn’t staying after all if his gut was right and he had to be relatively fast about it. People that came in were often times being tailed, sometimes at great length, more often close behind. He had to follow his instinct more than intel. The guy got beaten up and thrown out, if he left him out there long he might stumble away into a “real” intolerant pub and end up with a knife in his throat; anyone he brought along was at risk. Odd enough he would put himself in that position by being drunk… …could be a set up. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, squinting up at the dark sky that had stopped its gloomy drizzling momentarily. The world was now a glut of hazy fog. Could be a good thing, could be a bad one. Sure enough, he was on the curb. Now, a guy on the curb in the grand scheme of things could be there for a lot of reasons. Inside, his pub knew why they threw him out, there was no choice. Outside, they knew he was thrown out but not what he’d said. He’d draw attention eventually, eyes moving nonchalantly across the dark streets while he reached into his bag and pulled out a handkerchief he kept for his hair… of all things. Boots stopped moving quietly behind Will and the handkerchief was held over his shoulder for the man’s nose, glancing at his companion. Rucksack plopped on the toe of his boot to rest a moment until he figured this out. “Need to find a place to sleep it off mate. Streets are for shit this time of night.” Seemed innocent enough. Drunk boyfriend, girlfriend trying to figure out what to do. Best case scenario, he would be on the water in moments with a drunk duo heading to New York and cleaning up his decks until they sobered up. Worst case scenario, was unthinkable. He was pausing longer than he should. Contact was hours late. So many variables. Could have left because he was late. The understanding was always to loop back if there wasn’t an immediate threat and leave word with Les. There was no sign of him. Immediate threat, or his contact was dead. “Of all nights…” he said quietly. There was no choice, about to nod and leave them to it when the girl’s eyes flicked around her and he caught the sheen of red. Shit. She obviously was not 'normal', and those eyes were a death sentence here. Her companion? Not sure. Didn't have time to sort it out. “Come with me,” he said under his breath, sleeve of his coat pulled up momentarily to reveal a luminous line of sea green "ink" writing on his forearm. It seemed to have it's own gentle light source, reminiscent of flickering sunlight into the depths of clear waters. Flashing it had worked before on many occasions when time was a concern. He didn't look much like an Outworlder, except that one bit of home... “If you can’t keep up you’re going to die.” No need to sugarcoat. If they were here on purpose, they knew that was a definite possibility. Rucksack was shrugged onto his shoulder and started to make his way back to the docks.
  18. Calder Muireadach

    Birth of the Underground Network

    … most certainly not of anger. But loss of control is vulgar. “Seemed controlled to me.” He knew that wasn’t entirely what the man was talking about, but it still was true nonetheless. Lack of emotional control sometimes was the only thing that separated those that kept others alive from those that couldn’t. He had passion and loyalty, which was rare from what he’d seen in this place over a decade. People were too quick to jump to a side that would keep them safe, even if that meant betraying someone that was a protector previously. This felt without honor more often than not. It’s why he stayed aloof. No ties, nobody that needed trusting, saved him the trouble of having to sort it all out- or making ties. This was potentially a tie down. Even the serenity of contemplation somehow suddenly turned all to hell. THIS was what he was worried about. Doing a favor and getting burned. Or being leaned on and not being able to save them. Brow unconsciously furled at the realization, his body already in motion. … and then it was over. He had intended to get up and retake the helm, but didn’t quite make it further than that. Lying there for a long moment- eyes focused on a stationary cloud, reminding him that the boat was still moving lazily in its circle. Side eyes glanced to the elf at his smile, his brows quirking as they went back to the cloud. You do know, I did not need a display of talent to make a decision. A decidedly annoyed cocked brow returned to the elf that somehow ended in an amused eye roll. This was how bromances started. Exactly how. Hands folded on his chest. You are the right man. You know this to be true. “No I’m not.” This time he was able to roll upward smoothly to his feet. Hand ran along the grazed railing. That would need repair. He also needed to check his hull to make sure he wasn’t taking water. He swiftly picked up the unusual blade, naturally spinning it through his fingers as he looked down at it a moment before padding downstairs to return it to the mount. Bare feet then found the railing to walk along like a tightrope artist as he surveyed the sit of the boat in the water. “And if I’m ripped from this world tomorrow, what happens to them then? Same thing that happened to those I was responsible for in my own. Leaderless death.” Slowly the details could be put together in that vague man’s puzzle. His quiet, casual exterior was something so much more dynamic in his own world. Warrior. Leader. Loyal. Fearless. A demeanor that screamed he wasn’t just a battle brute. Never ending guilt that he’d done something to anger the universe and dump him here. When he couldn’t be counted on, he couldn’t let anyone down, which made his next works hard to spit out. The man would be insistent that he was some savior… “I wouldn’t have let you drown you know.” He spider-monkeyed to the spot over where his hull had been repaired. “Be right back.” Step to the side sluiced his form into the water once more to swim around the entirety over the vessel to check. After a few moments, hand appeared on the railing before climbing back up. He squeezed the water from his hair, shirt pulled off to squeeze over the edge and pull back on. Cargo shorts would dry well on their own. “Towels in the apartment if you need them.” They were nice towels. Everything about what he had was nice. Meticulously well-kept though often not the luxury he was used to in his own world. It was hard to replicate metals that looked like gemstones here, or fabric so fine it clung to skin like a second one. Things just didn’t work here like home. So, nice cotton towels it was. Back to the helm, the motor sputtered a moment to start, then hummed to life. He’d probably pissed the guy off, wasted his time. He didn’t seem like the type to like their time wasted. Maybe he was the right man for the job, but part of that was whether or not he wanted the job. He really didn’t feel like not being able to save everyone. He knew that was an unreasonable hope, but was he ready to put himself in a position of have someone trust his strength, and not being able to follow through? That was the rub. “Ocean City,” he said quietly. “Be there a bit after I drop you off. Have to find a new anchor.”
  19. Calder Muireadach

    Spare Me Over Another Year

    Mood was sour, the steady thump of water dripping from his clothes breaking his stern silence. One eye was on the dark water ahead of them, the other was on the presences they were leaving behind them. It seemed if not for the swords he’d set on display, they would not have left them alone. He didn’t think this was simply an Outworlder thing. If it was, they would not have backed off. This was a HER thing, and it was beyond his wheelhouse, at least for the moment. Boat slowly moving forward away from danger, footsteps were quiet toward his charge. He didn’t expect her to trust him at his word, so the struggling was expected. Seemed everyone had secrets to tell and he needed to figure out exactly what he was getting into if it wasn’t Outworlder… "I don't like being tied up, I mean I REALLY don't like it." Blade was pulled from the wood, an austere expression watching her a moment. “I don’t like being caught in the middle of something, or sabotaged when I’m trying to do the right thing.” He was quiet. “If I untie you are you going to take a header off the side of the ship again?” Brow quirked and he disappeared to put away his fun toys, returning to lean on the rail and squeeze the water from his hair and re-plait it. Arms crossed finally. He really did feel like chucking her over the edge. “Or do I just kick you off here? Either way you better start talking…”
  20. Calder Muireadach

    Birth of the Underground Network

    So many are and no one is caring…. no one is helping…. He was helping, sort of he guessed. Was this guy helping by helping himself? Not sure yet… Some yes… if they choose so. Others merely live on my lands, working it for their own sustenance alone. That choice is theirs… I just offer a place to escape this world. Did they know they had a choice? That was a question that would need to be answered. He wouldn’t “deliver” anyone anywhere until they fully understood that they could step off the boat and disappear forever without feeling any responsibility to “work” their debt off. Let them COME… Eyes flicked to him. Throughout the entire display, his expression never changed. He had to admit, his thoughts were selfish. Why couldn’t he do this? If this man was an Outworlder as he claimed to be, then why had he held onto his abilities, while the boatman had not? “Why are you ashamed to be angry?” the candid thought tumbled off his lips really before he could stop it as the elf seemed to sullen. It was clear at that moment that he'd been comfortable with the same fury, the same outburst of power enough to not feel threatened by it… actually the opposite. The boatman held formidable power in his hands, or at least once had. Enough, to not be afraid of anger, or death. I help them tap into what they think they have lost. They have spent so much time hiding they have suffocated what they were born with. Power blossoms where one feels safe, yet challenged. This world is not so dead as they often believe. Power blossoms where one feels safe. “That’s not true.” He didn’t elaborate. He felt safe, and yet his power was impotent. Bitter, thumb tapped on the button impatiently but not pushing it as his eyes scanned the horizon. Head cocked slightly, listening to the water. Which is why I approach you. The fearful cannot be led, cannot be helped…. by the fearful. Not afraid, yet strangely so? Mine was a world of mountains and streams…lush green that shot trees hundreds of feet into the sky. “I moved oceans,” he said quietly, pausing a moment before speaking one more time into the radio. Not surprising he wasn’t being answered. Not many made the trip south. Past New Jersey there just wasn’t much there, and the water in between was dangerous, even deadly. Pirates, submerged drag, who knew what else. Receiver was snapped back into the radio as he stood and padded over to the side. He could feel the damn thing, feel the currents against it, the vibration against his boat speaking to him like Morse Code, but he was no closer to knowing where it was than he was five minutes ago. At one time he could part the water to take a look, swirl the tide to push the unwanted hunk of metal out of the ocean like a splinter in skin. It just was not fair. Hands held the railing tight for a moment, sigh quick before he eyed the elf. Fearless it was. He let loose the anchor, he wasn’t expecting to set it hard anywhere, but it would keep the boat from going too far as he explored a bit to make sure the path was clear. They could move in closer to the shore, but in truth it was more dangerous. Sandbars, more wrecks. Navigating the waters now truly was a deathwish. The clang he was not expecting, immediately halting and reversing the winch to a groan on the boat. All foul words in his language were brought to the tip of his tongue only to be silenced by the dash of his feet over the side, slicing into the water like a Navy diver to the one thing he didn’t want to see lurking in the darkness fifty feet down. Forty feet to port and they had a clear path, but directly under was the mangled bridge of the empty tanker, and directly in front of them was over a football field of beast teetering on its bilge keel, almost on its side from what he could tell. If he could dislodge the anchor from the buckled radar mast, they would be okay and on their way. But the groaning he’d heard was still peppering the darkness, it was starting to roll over, even just shifting ten feet it would drag his ship under or tear the winch out. Both would sink him. Try to dislodge or cut it loose. He didn’t want to lose his boat, and didn’t know if the elf could swim. The split second decision was helped along by the anchor line snapping taught. Downward. It wasn't just the drift of his boat. It was going down. No time. Adrenaline surged and so did he, hand launching out from the deep to catch a cleat on the stern, propelling him onto the deck only to leap over sections as the boat itself began to turn from the line. It seemed all in one motion, blade not of this world suddenly in hand, there would be no time to do it proper; the boat was already tugging downward, the rope threatening to shear off anything above deck as it forced the vessel to turn. Blade decisive, the snap was audible, momentum of the boatman tackling the elf to the deck as the rope furled free like a whip and cracked before getting sucked under, burning a clear scar into the rail that would have been flesh after sweeping both of them off the deck or pinning them to the rail as the boat went down. The ruckus underwater was heard and felt, but his boat merely bobbed and completed the turn it had been forced to start. Letting go of the elf and rolling onto his back, his unique blade was released with a clunk to the deck, the back of his skull following suit. “I think I know where the freighter is. Let’s get you to Ocean City,” dark humor was apparent as he rolled up to take the helm again. He was definitely the man for the job.
  21. Calder Muireadach

    Spare Me Over Another Year

    He hovered in the depth, waiting. This was his playground, one he rarely got to play in anymore. It was as if for a moment he’d been pulled back through to his own world, and he was a one-man army waiting for a fleet of ships to cross his threshold. So much blood, violence, battle... with the power of a sea god to swallow anything that stood in his path. He could feel the vibration of the speedster, hear the groan on the boat as the anchor held firm against magic. They would rip the boat apart before that chain would break and the woman would end up in the water with him, which was really the safest place she could be, except for that pesky human breathing part- if she was human. Then, silence. He waited a moment, kicking once to glide to the surface. He didn’t tread water, he didn’t need to, watching for a second before reaching up to the cleat and pulling smoothly from the water. Bare feet again balanced on the stern like a diver, blades and his sides, pointing one bluish shining weapon at the crew on the dock and then driving it into the wood at his feet. The other twirled once in his hand and he stepped off and back to the helm. “You’re fine,” he quipped, rather darkly as he passed his passenger. “When we’re safely away, I’ll untie you.” His other blade sunk into the railing of the helm and he started the engine, pushing the throttle forward and pulling the slack on the anchor. If it didn’t release he would have to dive and unlatch it, pulling slightly past, it dislodged with a quiet jerk and he pulled it up, pushing the throttle forward to remove themselves from the harbor. Sullen... reminded quietly from the lap of waves on the hull he no longer could control them like a sea god, and it didn't sit well with him.
  22. Calder Muireadach

    Birth of the Underground Network

    Sugar. It was the one thing on this planet he couldn’t get enough of. Come to think of it, it was probably going to kill him at some point. He picked up the water bottle next to him and took a long swig, wishing it was a soda. Maybe… the water was different here. Maybe that was why he couldn’t do what he’d always been able to do… Maybe.. He found himself loathing the lack of kin here and New Jersey all in one breath. I loathe all things this way. The stench of what the humans have made, of what they are so proud of, it offends the world they don’t even notice. Was that it? He couldn’t “speak” to the water anymore? He could still swim in it. And you are wrong…..in this world that never wanted us…… we are the only kin we have….. Lost single souls that have none but eachother. Brow rose slightly and he took another drink before twisting the top on and setting it in the holder. That was a bit presumptuous. A wannabe pied piper for every orphan sucked through the black hole into this world was making a huge assumption that every one of them wanted kin, or to be associated with all other Outworlders for that matter. He really didn’t feel a pull for the others, he just wanted to find someone from his own world. Hell, he really didn’t know what he wanted. Why the hell was he risking his neck to bring ‘fugitives’ to safety anyway? It did help pay for things sometimes, but most of the trips he provided free passage, so it wasn’t that. “You’ve assumed everyone is lost, wants to be found, or even wants to be lumped into that category.” Hand patted his pocket and found the regular knife that he had been eating an apple with only a short time ago and had then found its way into someone’s throat shortly after. It was tossed into the other cup holder next to his precious water bottle. Mundane kitchen knife able to do something so skillful in a set of hands that knew how to use it. Even he, without the substantial bulk of his powers, survived here. Granted, he was somewhat normal looking by earth standards, but even an idiot could look at his tattoos, or his eyes for that matter and figure out fairly quickly he was not ‘normal’. And if you came down to Camopi, I could show you more…..and just what my business is. “Too hot,” he said rather absently, sandy colored strands whipping around his cheeks, a concealed annoyed sideglance cast to the man that kept talking. He didn’t know why he was annoyed…maybe because he was being forced to think about what his purpose was now. I have in my lands… fairies that had their wings ripped off….. elves whose ears have been sliced apart…. in one of my coffee fields…. a centaur works who was castrated by those…..filthy … humans…. Wow. There was a lot of shit being slung. He knew a lot of humans that wouldn’t even think of doing such a thing, he also knew those that would. Every race it seemed had cruel pockets. Hand picked up a set of binoculars. There was another reason he hated New Jersey… shit ton of freighters left to rot, run aground and capsize. He was looking for a buoy, slowing a bit a scanning the horizon. I offer them haven..... and a chance to feel worth again..... “By working for your business.” It was blunt, and full of implications, eyes still through the binoculars. The man was here obviously to sell him something, a new purpose, a noble cause. He needed to do better than delivering banged up Outworlders to work for the guy who made the cash. He seemed distant, almost standoffish, in actuality he was listening intently with the composure of someone in a high social position had been taught. Normally… he was understated and quiet, staying off the radar. Radar didn’t apply here. “Say you did gather up all these wayward and tortured lambs, and your coffee empire is brimming with Outworlders, what’s to keep your wingless fairies and castrated centaurs from being slaughtered if the tidal wave brimming in Ireland comes crashing over you?” It was a legitimate question. “If they can’t keep from being tortured, how will they defend themselves when the devil finally comes to their door again?” Boat was slowed again almost to a stop, radio picked up. “Maybe they should instead learn how to kill their attackers with a kitchen knife.” Thumb clicked down on the radio and he spoke quickly, listening for a response as he watched the elf. Coordinates. He didn’t want to rip his hull out again. Eyes went back to the binoculars, scanning for change of wave structure, oil slick, something. There should have been a buoy. Sometimes the answers didn’t come quick. He radioed again, sitting for a moment, the boat drifting slightly with the tide as he continued to watch the sleek passenger, the guy probably didn’t know what the hell he’d stopped for. “If they’ve lost the ability to live openly, then they need to learn how to take it back.” Was he really doing this? Is that what it was? Trying to pick a fight with the natives of this spinning blue orb by collecting outcasts? “Waiting for coordinates of a recent freighter wreck in the lane, really don’t want to drag the hull,” he said quietly, looking out over the water. He used to be able to speak to the water, create his own path. Realizing how bitter his expression had become, eyes glanced at the radio in his hand, now he depended on things like this. “If people want to run, and you want to give them a haven, that’s admirable. Just don’t sell that it’s safe. Nothing is ever safe. No haven in the world. They need freedom, you only gain freedom by not being afraid. Teach them to navigate the world without being afraid." He was giving himself advice too. Radio was returned to its cradle. "I've been flying blind out here for ten years after being ripped from a world of shores," inhale and exhale was long, eyes closing a moment. Come on... talk to him. Where was it? ...a goliath in the deep just waiting to tear his boat apart. He didn't think the elf understood to what length he still felt like a bug on a sidewalk. "I am still not afraid."
  23. Calder Muireadach

    Birth of the Underground Network

    Down the coast…. if you don’t mind. I have no desire to go further north when everything I seek is south. Nod was soft, eyes still scanning every movement in the harbor. He’d sent people on a wild goose chase, but they’d known enough to come to him. This was a slip he wouldn’t be able to frequent again for a while. He disagreed though, everything north reminded him of what he remembered of his own home. It felt the most, like home. To each their own. Safely away, he reached behind and squeezed the water from his hair with soft thumps, lifting a leather thong from his back khaki pocket and winding it around the topknot he’d created on the top of his skull. Someone had called it a man-bun before. What the fuck was a man-bun? Did men not also use braids and ponytails? Why were knots so frowned on…. I would say Camopi but I don’t think that is practical at the moment. Ocean City I believe is not too far from here? Holy hell, New Jersey. He hated New Jersey, but it was relatively not well travelled so it was a decent idea for a drop-off. Give us a chance to talk about helping our kin survive this world…. He throttled up gently toward New Jersey. “I have no kin here.” It wasn’t sarcastic or angry, just… the truth, a melancholy realism to his words. Why was he doing this? He’d asked himself that often. Because maybe by helping those like him he wouldn’t feel so lost? That maybe some of them would have the secrets of how to get back home? It also spoke volumes with only a few words. He wasn't intimidated or compulsory to the obviously refined and high-born thinking elf. He in fact, was exactly the same. Not arrogance, expectation. His voice was important, so was his presence, and one could feel it in the boatman's words. Bare toes wiggled slightly on the deck. “I hate New Jersey, for the record. It reeks of machines and bent nature. The water groans.” Voice was calmer, perhaps to lighten his sullen mood. He didn’t like that he was drawing attention, and he didn’t like that somebody was trying to box him in to some kind of scheduled agreement of sorts. Maybe he wasn’t. Transportation had to flow, it was a feeling, like political movements. Times were right, and wrong. They couldn’t be rushed or counted on sometimes. “North, I would have more to show you but I’m not sure if I like you or your business yet, so New Jersey will have to do.” He was talking about the Draugr. He’d thought about using it for the trips… but unlike his modern boat, it wasn’t as comfortable to passengers as this one was even though the Draugr was much safer. Perhaps in time.
  24. Calder Muireadach

    Spare Me Over Another Year

    He felt the groan on the boat. Telekinetic? Had to be one hell of a telekinetic to fight the weight of his boat AND the momentum… something different then. A speedster as well, and from the look of the woman suddenly making the beeline toward the edge of the boat, a mentalist, or his passenger might just be completely fucking crazy. Was he the target? Doubtful based on everything up to this point. She had trusted him to help whatever she needed help with; he would not betray that trust, especially if she was trying to get out of Ireland. Uncharacteristic anger bubbled onto his features, this was his fight just as much as any. Three against one, not fair. Three against two now with him in the mix? He’d brought down armies before. He’d tried to avoid being overly physical until this point, just brushing it off and riding into the sunset. Obviously trying to get her in the water to try again? Fine. Throttle slammed in reverse, letting out cable before dropping the anchor and cutting the engine, a sharp jerk backward as the anchor set against the sea floor. The boat wasn’t moving backward any more, still several hundred yards out from the dock, unless someone cut the cable. Sliding down the rails instead of stepping on the stairs, strides across the deck were purposeful, rope in his hand and the intricate knot wound through his expert fingers and then looped around her waist and tied off on a cleat. If oblivious zombie girl had the wits to shimmy out of it, he could still go after her, but the knot he’d tied on both ends was an expert one… the time it took someone to figure it out he’d have broken their neck. The speedster stepped on his boat again, he would die. He ducked under into the cabin and pulled a set of blades off the walls, returning upward and kicking off his shoes. Step up on the back of the boat was swift, balancing on the edge of his toes with the grace of a diver as the boat still pitched from the force of the reverse. Blades flicked out at both sides, their curved silver reminiscent of katanas, the blue etching along the hair and elegantly jagged muna hinting they weren’t anything of this world. He balanced fluidly with the rock of the boat, waiting for the speedster, watching the two on the dock. Goading. Daring. He ended up in the water with any of them, they were going to die. Anyone set foot on the ship, they were going to die. Fingers tightened on the hilts for them to make their choice, stepping forward and dropping like a knife into the water to disappear into the black.
  25. Calder Muireadach

    Birth of the Underground Network

    It is neither labor nor goods I seek you to handle. Nor is it smuggling. Spit it out. Oh yes…. of course… why had I not thought of such a thing…. and that way they can be more easily slaughtered as they answer the ad? Spit it out. He was about to ask about the ‘they’ when he spoke again. Chewing slowed. As I said… I am not looking for a smuggler…. I need a rescuer. Of course. He had thrown off that vibe from the moment the elf stepped into his cabin, either the man was just that good at reading, or word of his work had gotten that far. A little of both perhaps. The prince was definitely interested to see how much he actually knew. If much, he would have to tell his passengers to be a bit more careful. There was no way he could actually try to “hold back” when someone was attempting to keep a passenger from getting on the boat. They noticed the ‘intruder’ at the same time. Noted. He wasn’t necessarily getting rid of the man for the elf, but it seemed mutually beneficial. Of course he could turn the guy in, but it would do nothing to get whomever this was off his tail. An elf was in his cabin, they were here to sniff around, if that wasn’t a bullseye on his back… Vanguard most likely. The man was cordial enough, the Haugbui hopping deftly from his boat to the dock without the aid of the gangplank. Handshake was strong, the stuffy suit seemed… nice? Overly chatty. He knew what would be said without even having to listen to it, paying more attention to what was going on around them. He could listen without hearing, see without watching. He was being watched, listened to. It wasn’t just the stuffy, pretty elf in his cabin, it was from several directions. An extra car or two in the parking areas near the docks, more joggers than normal maybe. The bohemian boatman with the braid seemed just happy go lucky to listen to the man and finish his apple. He looked at his shoe and adjusted it a few times. “I don’t think I… I’m what you’re looking for. I mean,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I do take people back and forth with my cargo sometimes... we all do, pay isn’t that good but it’s company you know. Sometimes they’re helpful on the trip. Are you looking to transport people from a company or something’?” He rubbed his neck again. He played well. They were either fishing for identities of his passengers, or they wanted him to be a prison ferry. Either were unacceptable. Or to kill him. That would make his day more exciting. “You know I hear there’s a guy… Joe, John maybe? He comes and goes from the dock, not real chatty, keeps to himself. Heard he makes runs back and forth to Ireland? Galway I think.” He finished his apple, holding the core and pointing with the same hand, “that boat over there with the gangplank down. He’s there right now.” Lie. Lie lie lie. The boat was for sale, and nobody was on it. Mr. Stevens seemed delighted, thanking him for his help, shaking his hand and walking off toward the far end of the dock by the end of the pier as he flipped out a phone. He jumped back on his boat, pulling all the lines but one, and trotted down into the cabin. Shoes were kicked off as he opened the side window, core tossed into the trash across the room. “Stay here,” he hissed, knife now in his teeth from somewhere, smoothly pulling himself through the window and dropping into the water without a splash. Honestly… he hated swimming underwater out toward the pier. Muck and debris, engines overhead until he slid up alongside the boat he was looking for and boarded silently from the side facing the ocean. Eyes scanned the harbor, and he slipped in. Several moments later, slipped out and back under the water. He was just as quiet climbing back into the boat, not saying a word to the elf for a moment as he dusted water off himself with a towel and slid on his shoes. “I’ll drop you off up the coast. If you leave now, everything you’ve asked for is compromised, and they'll probably try to kill me. Sorry for the inconvenience,” he didn’t wait for an answer because there was no discussion, trotting up from the cabin and wrapping the last line before hopping up to the bridge and slowly pulling away from the dock. Not any hurry, leaving calmly with the rest of the boats constantly trailing in and out. Lever forward and he opened up into the bay like the others, effectively disappearing and leaving his deed behind. Satisfied after almost fifteen minutes, he coasted to a stop. “Well Mr. Caranthir, where to?” he called down to the cabin, buoy bell chiming in the distance over the span of water. Hands pulled his hair from the plait and squeezed it out, this time just a ponytail. He had made no decisions, but he wasn't about to sell this guy out to the Vanguard. He shook the silver coffee mug. Empty. “Since everyone’s great timing effectively has blacklisted me from that harbor permanently, I need to know where to go.”

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    MODERN FANTASY COLLABORATIVE WRITING RP CATERING TO OLDER PLAYERS (25+) WITH A SLOWER, MORE RELAXED PACE. IN 2010, THE WORLD DRASTICALLY & PERMANENTLY CHANGED BY WHAT BECAME KNOWN AS THE MULTIVERSE RESONANCE EVENT. IN A SINGLE BREATH, OUR WORLD CROSSED WITH AN UNKNOWN NUMBER OF ALTERNATE UNIVERSES, BLEEDING INTO EACH OTHER. EARTH WAS SUDDENLY A REALM OF MAGIC AND MONSTERS. THE STORY IS CENTERED IN NEW YORK CITY BUT EXTENDS ACROSS THE WORLD. IT BLENDS A VARIETY OF GENRES; A MOSAIC OF OVERLAPPING REALMS INCLUDING ELVES, LYCANTHROPES, ALTERED HUMANS AND,OF COURSE, MAGIC.  

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