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Author Topic: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?  (Read 1988 times)


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Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« on: December 29, 2015, 04:54:00 PM »
{Ok Mo would be more the ancient Phoenix of the water ^^ though Wes is trying to resiliently make his way along too. Anyway if the title's not presumptuous on to the thread!}

If Wesley III, heir to his father's ship building empire, had ever wondered if he owned airs himself, or had any, they were being slowly corrected all the same under the crew of the Staunch Harlot. Not to say that they were hard on him, more the opposite and as their cabin boy Wes could have been reasonably given and expected to pull more. Yet aside from an order more a asking here or there they let him be, at first maybe for figuring what to do with him really, and even as confidence in orders grew so to Wes' more or less spot.

He still felt a bit too much in the monkey's category and a...not coddled but novelty thought adorable, perhaps.

Still, for a privileged little rich kid being their cabin boy, the crew was never talked back to or given much to any fight from Wes (honest questions were not defiance) despite the history! More because of it and at first Wes laid low due to fear. Now...well he wasn't grumbling the crew's way as he chipped at hardened seagull droppings along the deck. More the pesky birds! Wes had grown up on the sea same as the others, more or less, and he didn't recall the omens of the sky being this annoying. Yes even his father's sensible noble mates, who scoffed the lower classes rigid superstitions, had known and told the lad about seagulls being a sailor's message carrier in a sense, for the important ones anyway, pertaining to weather, though they still leveled just as heavily if not more so on compasses and the like, as well as what the wind actually seemed to be doing.

Of Wes' sailing experiences before others besides the Captain's son dealt with the seagull droppings and other such annoyances about deck. Well treated, paid servants or low rank employees but still. Yet, as any child who'd set foot once on a ship understood, someone had to, and the cabin boy was an acceptable ask. Flinging it off the side from his scrapper like shovel (more a wooden oar really) Wes gave a glance over the side of the ship and then corrected himself.

No, hardened droppings were probably not attractive to sharks and none were probably following the boat. The pirates' superstitions were slowly making their way in, that Wes recalled it was suppose to be a bad omen if they did follow the ship! Although that along with rats leaving a ship seemed not so much mystic signs as common sense that something was wrong and mere statistics told you a shark following a boat would eventually get something for it.

Yet for not really putting more than a small bit of stock to any of the tales and advice on luck he was given (despite knowing now that skin-changers were real, and very very sweet and fun it seemed if Lili was anything to go off of) Wes had to admit, even he thought, if anything unexplainable was going on, the issue of their lost crew-mate Momoka was an interesting one. By all accounts she should be dead, but then his own Grandmary and family friends would say the same of him if he ever made it back to Dol Amroth...

She'd apparently managed it the same way too (well, mostly...) and picked up rides on other ships, but still! Even Wes had to admit the swimming skills were impressive. Though for knowing Malia, the boy didn't really think it had anything to do with what he heard whispered on half-seal...Wes still knew so little on such matters, but she...just didn't...seem to fit the description, though even he couldn't have told you what he meant by that or what said Description was.

He hadn't been afforded much opportunity to talk to her just yet, and half wondered what she made of the fact that they had gained a cabin boy since her leaving, but she held one distinction in that Wes at least knew she had nothing to do with the attack on his father's vessel, though he harbored no true grudges over that, more just honestly still mourned and regretted, and it was no doubt only due to absence and had she been there...but that was not to ever be known truly and so Wes formed no opinions or assumptions on it. That seemed the best course all in all.

All these thoughts just passed distractedly as Wes continued to chip away before his focus was brought sharply back to his task he'd perhaps needed leave to forget by one scrapped bit flying the wrong way to land, not over the side, but on the boy's nose. Wes winced and scrunched his face same as any would be expected to, probably, as he brushed it aside and then gave his head a shake for good measure, hardened or no. He was unaware any were near as he commented to himself once opening his shut eyes once more to glance back to the deck and see where it might have landed, "Hopefully bird droppings landing on you don't mean you're about to die...", yes he was teasingly mocking the list of sailing superstitions a bit in youthfulness as any would be expected perhaps, but he meant no harm by it.

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Re: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« Reply #1 on: January 01, 2016, 02:22:44 AM »
 ((OOC: Aww, soggy phoenixes indeed! XD Mo’d like to point out that she’s not a bird, she’s a seal, but ignore her XD))

 It wasn’t that she was surprised by the new arrivals. The crew was always in a slow state of turnover, and she’d been… Away for more than a year. Of course there were faces she didn’t recognise. Of course the ship hadn’t simply paused without her. She had known that – she had whiled away minutes here and there wondering who would have taken over her part of the work, what the next sailors hired would be like, how settled in they’d be when she got off Tolfalas, when she almost caught the Harlot, when she gave up and turned south, when winter set in, when her boots thudded on to the deck of the Scourge.

 It was one thing to distantly imagine blank figures and another to meet them, see them working near seamlessly alongside her crew when she was still a little too damaged to assist. They had faces now, and names she mostly hadn’t caught.

 (One of them was sometimes a fox. That… That was something to process later. Along with all of the other things it brought up.)

 (And they had a quartermaster now.)

 It was difficult – and pointless – to try and figure out which addition was most surprising, but the kid was certainly also in the running.

 Perhaps he was a little older than she had been when she stepped on to a boat heart and soul (and never quite stepped back on to dry land, really) or perhaps he was a little younger – it was difficult to judge. She didn’t have a clue what his name was. He spoke all posh, though, from what little she’d heard him say – they hadn’t picked up a street rat. Which was odd. What other kind of child jumped on to a ship?

 (The kind with a parent to follow, she supposed, but he didn’t stick to anyone like she’d stuck to her father for a good while.)

 “Hopefully bird droppings landing on you don't mean you're about to die...” And he apparently didn’t have a clue how to go about appeasing fate.

 She hummed a negative answer, dropping beside him with a wince. It had been weeks since coming home, and where people were somewhat strange, moving wrong was painful. “Means y’need better aim, little fella.” She had grabbed another paddle on her way, and now she pushed efficiently at the next spot. It crumbled, and she was just close enough for shoving it off the side not to hurt. “… S’a while since’ve’done this.” She still had the knack of it, though, and didn’t mind it much. At least she was being useful, since Alaric wouldn’t let her haul anything heavy yet. She shot him a grin. “I’m Momoka! Kawa by formality. Nice t’meet you; you’re new since.” She tipped her head vaguely instead of voicing since what, then realised he mightn’t know. “Since I fell off, that is.” Two taps of the paddle against the deck. It occurred to her that that probably wasn’t very helpful.

 (And furthermore, the story of her continued survival didn’t make her sound half bad.)

 “Storm a while more than a year back. Had to swim to shore. Far enough I couldn’t even see it – when it was light. And it was the dead of night when I went in the drink. Crew tried to pull me back,” She nudged the red cloth of her shirt up to trace and point out faded rope burn over one hip with her fingertips, heedless of decency, forgetting to regret how she had so very nearly been saved. It was to be treasured that they’d tried so hard. “Almost worked. But see, the sea wanted me too bad, and the best crew on the whole ocean can’t argue with her when she’s determined to get her way. Believe me, they tried.” She dropped the shirt, pushed another paddleful of seagull droppings over the edge. He hadn’t said much yet. People were always saying she took up too much space in conversation with talking about herself. She should let him speak. A proper telling would come someday (maybe to the crew at large. Most hadn’t got the whole story yet. ‘Not actually dead’ seemed to be enough to be getting on with, when they were so busy with everything else) or as soon as he asked. “Mm. Anyway. S’a good story now, but t’wasn’t so fun at the time. Where’d they get you, little fella?”
« Last Edit: March 26, 2016, 10:47:55 PM by Momoka »



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Re: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« Reply #2 on: January 03, 2016, 05:00:14 PM »
“Means y’need better aim, little fella.”

A voice replied and responded, same moment as someone dropped down beside him and with another paddle at that to aid. Again, not so surprising a thing, or it shouldn't have been, the main surprise was that his aid was one of the crew he hadn't met yet, the most recent reaquired he'd just been pondering over. Wes glanced over to her with just mild surprise, but not in any sort of rude gesture, just taking in. “… S’a while since’ve’done this.”, and in something in that Wes found a small smile of greeting. He was still formatting his words and coming up with a Hi when she went on to start them.

“I’m Momoka! Kawa by formality. Nice t’meet you; you’re new since...”, Wes waited, half expecting the Since to come and about the time he realized it wasn't, he'd let the silence and her head tilt go on, so much so she went and completed. “Since I fell off, that is.” and a tap to the deck.

"R-right", seemed the worst response in the history of bad responses, but Wes could think of little else at the start, still he grimaced, "S-sorry...I'm Wes, pleased to meet you" Wes got out before Momoka went on with what explanation she felt like giving to her story, and it seemed most of it and about what he'd heard. She went in the sea. Gone forever. Back. Surprising. The swam to shore part made sense unless some ship had come by directly to get her. Wes couldn't help grimacing a bit at the rope burn shown, but more in sympathy and agreeing that yeah that was rough than rudeness...hopefully.

“Almost worked. But see, the sea wanted me too bad, and the best crew on the whole ocean can’t argue with her when she’s determined to get her way. Believe me, they tried.”

The giving the sea a persona wasn't so unusual, folks did the same with ships in a way, and Wes supposed it was just a way to state the inevitability of wind and weather. He didn't mock everything; didn't even fully mock the superstitions and the like, just threw honest, childish questions at things that puzzled him and those were some of them. And Momoka was nothing but right. It was a miracle to come back from an angry ocean, or one without a whole ship upon it anymore...

Wes shifted from the thought but it came back about.

“Mm. Anyway. S’a good story now, but t’wasn’t so fun at the time. Where’d they get you, little fella?”

Blue eyes glanced back up and over to consider the newly met crew-member. Wes didn't look angry or upset or put out by the question, just a tad surprised and unsure. Pondering. His paddle had stilled and he next glanced back down to it and completed a few moves, mouth moving--worrying more like--chewing his tongue for absent action and pressing it against his cheek all as he found words. He glanced back over.

"That's...probably interesting too...of a story I telling...bit odd when it's yours though....I...", Wes focused once more on his job, "My father, Wesley II, he ran a pretty good line of ships. It was his Company. The one that built some. Out of Dol Amroth, you know?", even posh kids still had a timber to odd talk it seemed, "a-and...we were taking out one that I guess he owned and was ours, near enough they let him have it, the other employees of the yard, The Liberty, when the crew found us. This ship I mean. They...they sunk The Liberty...bunch of gold and stuff to take and...anyway when faced with Aniron's blade and everyone else already...I...gave out the position of a warehouse of more stuff, then kept coming along with the crew rather than be stranded there. It's...things are...a little less tense than all that now and...", Wes glanced back over to Momoka, "Sorry", he gave a small smile, "I know you wanted Last Port or such as an answer. They've been nothing but nice since then though and...I think I'm more cabin boy than flung upon them captive" More than mere cabin boy even probably.

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Re: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« Reply #3 on: January 23, 2016, 01:50:46 AM »
 … Was he scared of her? Momoka knew she wasn’t the best at reading faces and movements, but what else could all the twitching and stuttering be? Surely she didn’t cut that imposing of a figure. Maybe he was just taking strange.

 He shaped his words with a crispness that was more pressed linen than sea breeze. The sailor couldn’t remember ever having heard the words pleased to meet you spoken without a trace of irony or teasing before. Not to mention a mocking twist on the accent that was apparently genuine for him. It made him even harder to read – was the grimace impressed or disgusted or pitying? It was a mystery.

 Her question surprised him and left a gap, and she was just about to do the noble thing and take up conversation again – because sure, he was fluttering his mouth about as though in false starts, but he wasn’t actually starting – when he did in fact start.

 It was tricky to follow his tale as it tripped and wound back on itself and seemed to require so many leaps. What did ‘the second’ mean – real people had those sorts of titles? Did that make him the third, if Wes was Wes-ley too? … Was he a prince? (Was he lying?) She scowled at the thought, about to interrupt and ask if he was having her on – but then his voice lifted in an unsure question and took the wind out of those sails, so to speak.

 No, she didn’t really know the ins and outs of the Dol Amroth ship-building business. (She knew ships as individuals, rarely learning where their wooden bones had been shaped and never really caring beyond thinking that Umbarian ships were probably better. They had life worked into them.) A non-committal hum escaped and she hoped he wouldn’t catch the confusion it carried.

 It was a strange tale, her brow furrowing with increasing perplexity as it continued. The only reason she didn’t interrupt was because there were so many questions begging to be asked at once – his family were that rich? Which crew? (That one was answered a moment later.) Aniron had let someone live? They had kept him around after?

 He trailed off, glanced at her. She blinked. “… Huh.” There, that would do. Apparently it earned her an apology.

 “I know you wanted Last Port or such as an answer.” Well, that was certainly what she had expected. “They've been nothing but nice since then though and... I think I'm more cabin boy than flung upon them captive.”

 “… S’that the truth?” A slightly disbelieving grin hung itself on her lips. A pause to shuffle herself along the deck, silently thanking whoever invented breeches and motioning for him to do the same so they could keep being somewhat productive. “I mean, uh. S’get this straight: dad was some sorta ship-builder-owner-type, yeah? You’re right and loaded. Or your folks are. An’ the Harlot caught you, did what we do, Nir didn’t kill ya. You jumped ship an’ sold out. An’ now you’re scraping seagull sh-stuff for us.” Some tiny trace of manners managed to censor her, though the fact that her words in general probably weren’t the best to level at a child well and truly escaped her. “… D’we kill yours or ‘d’they off an’ leave you?” Her voice lowered with the question, almost cautious. If they had abandoned him, his reaction stood to reason. It would make sense to cut ties if they weren’t attached to much on the other side. Momoka could understand that. But if they had lost their lives to corsair blades, then why hadn’t Wes died too?

 Even if he might have been spared for his age, the corsair couldn’t get her head around his continued survival. He couldn’t have fought and lived, or lived without apparent hate. And if he hadn’t fought the murderers of his father and crew, then what sort of child was he?

((OOC: … Mo is sacrificial and short-sighted in her bravery, only selectively forgiving, and not very good at understanding that not everyone thinks like her. AND TERRIBLE WITH KIDS APPARENTLY. I am very sorry and understand if Wes dislikes her >.> Also does her abbreviated and rearranged speech require translation? I am totally happy to provide it if so XD Just can’t tell how understandable things actually are.))
« Last Edit: March 26, 2016, 10:49:15 PM by Momoka »



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Re: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« Reply #4 on: February 13, 2016, 04:42:15 PM »
{Tis alright Blue, Mo's awesome for being her and nope as we said we can follow but do understand the wondering on translations <3}

It was hard to tell what Miss Momoka (Wes just titled until corrected even in thought) made of his tale; least ways her hum didn't give anything away, though she seemed to believe him. If that was what the grin on her face still meant. “… S’that the truth?”

She amended, or went on to explain, motioning across the deck again. Wes followed.

“I mean, uh. S’get this straight: dad was some sorta ship-builder-owner-type, yeah? You’re right and loaded. Or your folks are.....”

Uh oh...he'd said too much. Wes bit his lip as he continued to scrubbed at the deck. She...she could turn him in as ransom or something! Of course she'd have to go through the others...wouldn't she? Wes wondered over this slightly as Momoka went on to summarize events pretty nicely and off his own explanation. Well, up to a point...

“...You jumped ship an’ sold out...”

Wait! What?! the lad's attention came back forcefully to the newest crew-member of his meeting.

“… D’we kill yours or ‘d’they off an’ leave you?”

If Wes had thought he'd been struck not knowing what to say before...! The boy wasn't so much Indignant yet; she didn't know...common misconception perhaps. And...why would she assume anything else...?, Wes' own self-inflicted guilt whispered. What sort of a son did...

"I...I didn't jump ship and...they didn't leave me!", Wes had to make sure that was clear. "They...were killed...", he glanced to the deck and his work again, but the scrubbing stilled as he went on. "It was just me and 'Nir's blade and...", Wes' eyes shut, somehow telling it...maybe he was a coward...

"Well there was hardly any ship to jump anymore! It's at the bottom of the ocean, I...I thought...", the lad felt the pesky build up of emotion and swallowed down on it again, "The last thing my father said was, if anything happened to them to get myself away...I...I guess I didn't so much do that so well really...". He'd taken liberties with the directive a bit, but known what his father meant, you dying in vain doesn't do me any good either.

Wes glanced aside, out across what of the ocean expanse could be seen from their spot on deck. He could go on to explain about the warehouse and all would it help how he looked? The air on the middle of an open deck in the open ocean suddenly got to crampt and crowded and, dropping his paddle, Wes made over to lean against the railing, conflicted by his own emotions and...not brushing Momoka off, could he explain when...she might be right...

"I didn't sell out...", he muttered, though to which of them he was unsure.

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Re: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« Reply #5 on: August 24, 2019, 11:39:04 PM »
 Ah, Mo thought, as his little face twisted up. Whoops. Was he – oh, no. Her hands tightened on the paddle and her chest constricted. Surely – surely he wouldn’t start crying on her. What was she supposed to do with that?! She didn’t know what to do with crying children! That was, that was anyone else’s job. And she’d never live it down. And – oh, he was talking.

The eyes screwed shut with the echoes of terror but mercifully, no tears leaked out.

 Mo tried to listen, letting her own hands fall still for a moment. This was important. Her objective had shifted to getting Wes not to cry somewhere in the last few seconds, which broadly also aligned with getting him to not hate her. She had to listen properly, and perhaps even think before responding.

He got through his story with only a few panic-inducing pauses. Now that her surprise had broken, she could sort of see the sense. Or perhaps she could just read the conflict in him. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been hit over the head with ‘the last thing my father said was-’ and it had put everything askew. Whatever it was, inside her head he stopped being a concept that she was angry at and shifted around to being a kid again.

 His little mutter was almost lost against the soft sound of the sea sliding past.

 She hummed, noncommittal. (Her paddle was dropped with his as she entirely abandoned the task at hand.) A moment of shuffling around brought her to resting her back against the railing. Fresh scars pulled with the movement and elicited a pained huff of breath, but it was better than it had been the week before.

“Alright.” She tipped her head back, not looking at him. The sky stretched blue and endless above. “Well, I mean. A last request’s a good thing to honour, yeah? And s’pose that’s your direction. This is ‘away’. Safest way to get so that y’had, sounds like.”

The last thing my father said was – Mo turned the thought over in her head, trying to see the shape it put things in. Her father had said much the same thing, but there’d been no second crew. Just the sea in a vast and unfathomable rage.

 Just the sea.

If you don’t fight what killed your father and your crew, who are you?

Oh. Well, that was different. You couldn’t hate the sea. She shoved the bundle of thoughts down, casting for something else to say.

 “Can’t be a coward if you’ve not run from Nir yet, I think. Long’ve you been here?”
« Last Edit: August 24, 2019, 11:41:01 PM by Momoka »



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Re: Do We Count as Soggy Phoenixes?
« Reply #6 on: August 25, 2019, 10:35:57 PM »
Wes just stared out at the rolling, moving, waves. If his middle words, on his father, ran through Mo's head, his last ones ran through his own.

Not a sell out...

He heard her come to lean against the rail, yet still didn't turn. “Well, I mean. A last request’s a good thing to honour, yeah? And s’pose that’s your direction. This is ‘away’. Safest way to get so that y’had, sounds like.”. Wes watched the waves again, as he let the words sink in.

As he'd all but admitted, he was stuck, and...and yet if he'd never come he wouldn't have met Malia, and he was glad to have met her, and...the crew wasn't half bad, another point of confusion for him still...

“Can’t be a coward if you’ve not run from Nir yet, I think. Long’ve you been here?”

That was true. And some had, even round about, praised his "bravery" which he wasn't sure wasn't just Desperation in mentioning the one bargaining chip he had, and knowledge of gold, even in more figureheads and the like, in the face of Nir's blade.

It was the rest of the directive, the parts he was having to figure out day by day. Did away not entail also jumping first port they came to and turning the crew in? But...everyone else had done nothing but step up and stand behind him since he'd come. The amount of them that had saved him from Nir's blade since he'd come...a noose seemed a poor turn around.

And Miss Momoka hadn't been there. What of her? Would she just innocently go that way by association.

What of his association?

It wasn't that Wes wasn't trying to convince himself of the exact same thing as she'd said on bravery. Still his head shook, as more of his inner turmoil made out, in front of her as was perhaps not fair. "What kind of a son am I...?", it was unclear if he was actually asking Momoka anymore. He didn't cry, but he lowered his head to his crossed arms.

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  • Galadriel: Tag for Whit/Thranduil. <3 [link]
    April 23, 2019, 03:41:52 PM
  • Galadriel: Tag for Becca/Celeborn. <3 [link]
    April 23, 2019, 03:19:03 PM
  • Friór: Super short (by my old trend) poke at some of my threads too <3
    April 19, 2019, 03:09:28 AM