Goals and Progress

[Montag]

The letter had been vague, that's both annoying and comforting. A little paranoia never did anyone any harm. Meet on the deck of the ship, the SS FREEDOM. Strange name, no stacks indicate no steam. I wonder if they left out a letter somewhere.

The lone man stood on the port side of the deck, a piece of parchment sticking out of the pocket of his coat still bearing evidence of the red seal it once bore. The boards creaked as he stepped off the ramp onto the tar soaked boards, clutching in his hand an in ornate pocket watch which absorbed most of his attention. The case of the chronometer snapped shut and he looked around, taking in the entirety of the ship he had worked so hard to track down. He walked forward about eleven steps, approximating the center of the ship, and turned to look over the bow. Early, he reckoned, the letter hadn't said an exact time, only a sort of imperfect explanation that the sun would be directly overhead. That meant noon, and unless his watch was wrong (it wasn't) that would put him ten minutes before the turning of the hour.

He had heard rumors about the captain, and about the ship. Fearless, he had heard, though he heard it through less endearing terms. A symbol of freedom, or at the very least a thorn in the military's side. The captain was such a person that people did not talk about her. Which told him even more than if they had, because silence isn't altered by perception. The Freedom was not a large ship, crew-able by only a handful, yet he was still sure that someone had seen him by this point. It would only be a matter of time before he met the captain first hand, which he supposed would quickly confirm or deny any rumors he had been speculating on. He turned sharply to face the door to the cabin.

Months of chasing down whispers, and another waiting for a response. There was no application process, he supposed that if you found yourself on a pirate ship, you had better mean to be there. Perhaps it would weed away incompetent people, they would end up very dead. That, at least, would be worth the effort to make it aboard. No, the only thing he had received was a simple letter, sealed in red wax, some sort of whale pressed into it. Do the work, reap the rewards, that is how the world worked. He had found a leader of sorts, to work for less would be insulting, and worked hard to find her at that. Standing on the deck was his reward, but there was no cause for celebration. Staying on the deck was the new goal. He took a deep breath, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed and silver hilt gleaming in the sunlight, he faced the stern.

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

Was she a devil, a demon? Or had she surpassed humanity and become God instead? God, instead of those Gods that wandered around in the guise of humans. They had power, true, but she knew their weakness, and it was a weakness she had quickly carved out of herself; if she had ever desired Godhead, there would be no hubris to destroy the pillar of strength that she would stand on. There was no dream-like power here. She was made of wire, binding tight around those who served her, those who's loyalty came from fear and not love; let them hate her, if they wanted, as long as they hated her together, and worked together -- too afraid to voice that hatred. It was meticulous thing, indeed; her throat is rough with the need for drink, for smoke, for anything that could cast her out of this shell of a body. She could be stronger -- and it was this hunger she fed, this ambitious hunger that set fire beneath her feet and made her palms itch for blood.

They were scared of her? Let them cower when her shadow crosses their path; she is walking, not quickly, toward another beginning that needed an end. Another life that had fallen before her feet and asked to be use,d abused, and discarded. Did she fume from a comment thrown over a childish shoulder? Sankari still laughs at the serious expression of her pet assassins face; he did not fear her, but it wasn't bravery that kept him blind. It was naivety. No, even more so -- it was usefulness. He still had a purpose, and it was only when he ceased to please, did his nature become questionable. Let him laugh; she would laugh too. With intent, knowing that the more he laughed, the easier it would be to gut him when the time came. Perhaps her anger had been kept in check for too long, her vengeance long from being sated.

The sword at her hip was heavy.

The arm attached to her shoulder, refurbished and fixed, still heavy. The woman didn't drag her feet -- she walked with a practiced air, knowing the stage had unfolded before her feet and there was only forward to walk. Only into the light, away from the shadows that clung, still, to her jersey, to her shorts, and her boots. Did they cry out as they were banished by the sun? She didn't know; her eyes slip to the side under heavy eyelids, contemplative and silent, but ever icy, ever lifeless. Did human compassion ever light that expression? Many thought her an alien and kept a distance around her, calling it respect; but she knew better. With each quiet snub, she knew they were separating from her, hating her, but not being able to confront her. Never, to her face. Her lips turn slightly, a motion that is quickly stifled by the weight of gravity.

Eyes kept on moving, gazes shooting left and right -- wondering why the Captain walked the ship, perhaps. Or perhaps, even more strange, the man standing at the stern, such a haughty cut of his shoulder. She moves like there is all the time in the world, as if the energy she has stored within her cannot be spent so greedily, so thoughtless on a bug such as him. Graceful, perhaps, but there was this icy tone of indifference in the way she moved, in the way her eyes swiftly assessed the width of his shoulder, the narrowing of his waist. Were his legs strong? Or did his strength lay in his arms? No one speaks; no one speaks but the knout that coils around her arm, the bronze weight swinging like an ornament from the tip. The captain tilts her head, her hair tumbling back over her slight shoulders -- everything about her malnourished, built like a blade, all hard utilitarian lines, with no space for luxury.

Sankari runs the coiled whip up the line of the man's back, "An' you, Sir? Enjoyin' the view?" her voice is low, hoarse, almost mechanical, but for the arch of her tone, a question muddled by amusement. "Last man who looked down 'ere, fell long and 'ard." she flicks her wrist, and the knout tumbles from it's coil, the weight thunking against the wooden floors.

word count;; 725
tags;; monty
OOC;; It kinda sucks...sorreh >.<

[Montag]

Peering towards the horizon, he first took in the sound, the strange accent and the subtle implications. The voice echoed a bit, it seemed, low and hardly the voice of a lady but accurately portraying someone who moves forward at all costs. What would he find when he turned to face the voice, who was the lady pirate, the Drone? Perhaps the monotone voice accounted for the name.

“Aye well indeed, madame. But that's hardly true, now is it? Considering I'm still standing here, and Ah happen to be the last to have done so.....”

Montag turned, letting his gaze fall upon the newcomer. She was short, mechanical, hardly a wisp of a woman but the sinew that remained was well tempered. Dangerous, but so were so many on this world. She was the captain, it would seem. Could she lead to victory? That's all that mattered. Heavy whip, not a killers weapon, useless on a ship, but clearly favored. Katana, short in lenght, assassins weapon, meant for tight corridors. Much more at home on a ship, and much more lethal. To have gotten as far as she has, she wasn't afraid to use weapons. How many more did she have on her person, hidden? Was she as cold as the rumors portrayed? Did it matter?

If fallowing such a woman meant winning, there was hardly room for discussion. He didn't plan on messing up, but no one does. Still, he wasn't worried that he would find himself on the short pier. He could create value for himself even if none yet existed, this much he knew. Charts and bearings raced through his head, positions of landmarks and footholds. Where the ship could dock the resupply, where it would be to risky to do so, and what allies he could bring to the fold. As well as what allies he would have to lie to. Didn't matter, lies or truth. How many lies has he told, even to make it this far? How many lies does the captain tell, to her crew? She doesn't seem like the type to lie, though, sugarcoat things. Coddling, she would think, if he had his guess. Weakness.

Perhaps he should retract his statement, or perhaps it was better to show backbone. He didn't have a real choice, it wasn't in his nature to be submissive. He could and would cooperate, but not be some automaton. Or at the very least, he would cooperate as long as his goals matched the goals of those involved. The confidence portrayed by the wisp of steel that stood before him gave him confidence as well. There was not so much the air of failure not being an option, but rather that the word failure held no meaning at all. What a world to breed such a creature.

.. That is, unless you feel need ta remedy that oversight. My name is Montag Caulfield. Through our correspondence it seems you're in need of more crew. I suppose you would, if the previous are so adapt at falling over railing. I assure you my competence is not to be compared to any simpletons youve found in your company. I succeed. I can only assume that you do the same. I'm not interested in false idealism, or whatever your damaged perception of 'right' is. I am interested in winning, and if that is your aim, I can be a valuable asset, Mrs...?

The hurdles one faces in life are hardly worth mentioning in the big picture. Fail or succeed here, it didn't matter. Poker has a lot to teach a person. If your down 20 chips in the beginning, there's no reason not to walk away with the pot at the end. Might as well lay them down now, it might be the last hand, but it's best to get any misconceptions out of the way first. Whatever these pirates were fighting for, it wasn't justice. It wasn't' freedom, like the name so coyly suggested. It was power, the same thing every person fights for. And if they can help each other in the meantime, well, so be it.

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

Step, step, step -- or was it better as her heart, no, definitely not. Perhaps their hearts, surging, beating, surrounding her with life she hated, with everything that she had lost reflected in their expression. So careful, their masks had been raised, their defenses working in fine order, trying not to become the source of her anger, the one to be gutted and tossed. Did they think her such a brute? Perhaps it amused her that her level of obedience differed so greatly from their own. Did they think they could do better? She doesn't smile, but there is warmth surging through her veins, bringing with it a sense of the fire that she had always doused aboard the ship.

His shoulders were confident, the way he stood, the ironic way he deigned to respond; backbone, or hindrance? Kari wasn't measuring him up; one way or another he would end up like the rest of her crew: very, very dead. Whether it was from her hand in this moment, or if she would be the one gutted, and another took her place to kill him, didn't matter. Perhaps he could pass inspection and find himself on the other end of a mutt's blade, his lips parted in disbelief at the pain. That made her smile. He could be good canon fodder if there was no other use to him on this ship; canon fodder was favored, they didn't eat, didn't drink, and they died so nobly.

It set the tone of the ship, of the way she fought. He thought he could weasel himself out of death? The smile is perhaps a little too coy now, as she tilts her head, her lashes flickering upward. The fire in her eyes is of the dangerous kind; the kind that lusts without the desire to put it out. Physical attraction had died with her arm, but he most certainly had the strength she wanted to posses, a strength that could, if placed in a perfect spot, yield almost-perfect results. The others were uneasy -- her expression couldn't have been too pleasant.

Yet the most important faced: she wasn't offended. In fact, she grew to like him just a little more. Better than the stranger standing at the stern. Now a man with a face, a man with a name -- though of the two she preferred the face than the name. Now, he was a man with endless potential, and all of it channeling into her plans. He could be used, but then, they could all be used. The question that always remained was always the most puzzling: how.

Her boots made a soft sound as she stepped sideways, giving him room, her eyes lingering in a certain. What would her Goddess think of this man? Would she strip him down and try to have her way with him? The thought itself makes the smile turn a little sharply at the corner. Pain, in all it's forms, made life worth living; it made death even more amusing to follow. Was it here now? Could she feel it breathing down her neck?

No, there was no true death to be had here. Sankari let the silence fill after his drawn question, the expression of his face allowing her to fill what he had left hanging. But the woman was more content to just let it sit for a few more hours if she could, but eventually the thread would have to be deftly picked up -- either by tongue or fingers. She chose tongue, and watched him dismissively out of the corner of her eye. Ah, the curiosity had been sated so soon? Was he fading, even now, from her interests? "I always need mo' crew." was there a bit of satisfaction lingering like something delicious in her tone? Her eyebrow lifts, the eyes remain cold, though intrigued. Puzzled, without the motivation to figure out what it was that puzzled her. Did he smell like a mutt? Sankari didn't make a show of sniffing the air. The government had sent a few men to infiltrate the ship, and most of them had died. If one or two still lingered, she wasn't worried enough to find out who might remain.

"As for the Freedom's Goal, it's simple. We fight," ah, irony had coated itself thick on her tongue, her expression making a mockery of the words she parroted faithfully, "To free human kind from it's own clutches. The Goddess called, and we answered." her eyes move away from him, toward her crew, the few that remained to watch, the others too nervous to stay too close for long. "Or dun' you know? Our Goddess is the
true Goddess?" More mockery -- meant for her crew, and not for him. Her own faithlessness undermining what they had come to worship. She had brought them Religion, and the power to fight to free their families, but at the same, had cut off each ball sack with delirious sadism. The voice of the Goddess, they called her, and it was true -- but it was a sour tongue that spoke in tremendous volumes of disinterest. Let the Goddess show herself; Kari's eyes slid toward the horizon, knowing the God of wind often eavesdropped for the sake of water.

Sankari made a soft, whimsical sound, the knout slithering at her feet as she moved it ponderously. "Myself? Well," the demon woke from it's slumber, the hunger with it, "they'll remain my own."

She lifts the handle, thoughtfully running it through her fingers, "Strengths, weaknesses? Or are you only good for throwing at the 'nemy?" Kari chuckles, the others tensing.

word count;; 941
tags;; monty
OOC;; swish ~ didn't proof read

[Montag]

Goddesses?

Well wasn't that interesting. Montag had always figured that talking about Gods around pirates was a good way to end up on the wrong end of a blade. Delusion. That was it. This captain was delusional. But madness rarely hindered great leaders, it would seem. It wouldn't affect his goals at all. No... It would rather seem that they really were working towards the same thing. What good was the other? Perhaps she was much more forward about the question, and well she should be. It wasn't' his place to ask, it might be insulting to question someone who thinks their actions speak for themselves. Notoriety was her shield, fear was a tool much like the whip, something perhaps to keep rationality away. Didn't matter. Montag was not ever under the notion that he wouldn't have to prove himself, it wasn't the first time and probably not the last.

Ah, interrogation. He suspected she had every right to know about him, even if she didn't want to know anything. Just mindless dribble, banter and formality. Can you do the job? Yes, Can you? Oh the questions to not ask were teeming at the brim. What a strange society, half the battle is knowing that you must play your part, yet there is no script.

Arms crossed, the newcomer leaned forward a bit towards the wispy drone standing on the deck.

“Strengths? Weaknesses? I got a couple. I assure you that any weakness I have t'aint something that will hinder me. Or more importantly, won't hinder you. I spent many a year managing lowlifes on a wreck bigga than this, though it weren't flying. The methods none different. I know what I'm about. Iffin you need an extra set of eyes an arms on this little deck, I'll give you twice the efficiency. It may not be killing in the name of God, but if you can get to tha battle with fewer problems, well, they say a war is won by the side what prepared the best.”

He wondered briefly if she thought his previous claims empty. It was possible. It didn't seem likely she would have done any real research. What would have been the point, he wondered, in doing it to anybody on the ship? Bunch of thieves and miscreants, some apparently too stupid to survive the whole walking from one end to the other bit. All you'd find is a bunch of lies. Not that he hadn't spun more than a few lies himself.

The newcomer stood back upright, unfolding his arms, and bringing a hand to his chin.

”Eh, and whats this I hear about some Goddess? I thought you 'heathens' hated religious types?”

Rumors, rumors, rumors. In truth it wasn't the first time he had heard about pirate Gods. Fools around the camp all believe in something, most of them get the notion that the government is some kind of holy entity. Of course, they aren't. Just people. People that can be taken advantage of and used just like anyone. Just like a bunch of pirates. The Capn' here probably saw her crew in the same light. Ah, but of course.

”Or is that just anotha tactic to make your lowly little crew jump when you say frog? Being holy and all, that ought make a few brigands want to fight for “justice.” Maybe some of em can be redeemed in your light. No matter, doesn't concern me now do it? Lets cut to the chase, I assume I'll get paid for my services, and I assume that since I'm not yet murdered that might be the case, any other specials I should know about?” This last was said with a slight lift in the voice, accompanying a subtle lift of the eyes and tilting of the head.

Even as he spoke, new plans were forming. Getting this little boat to a new level, something that worked like a good time piece. Preferably without gears falling off. ”One more thing, I know the land pretty well, and I have a lot of connections. I know I aint one of the command, but keep me in mind if you think you need somethin, I might know a thing or two”

With that, feet together, he made a short, very proper, bow.

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

Oh, oh -- wasn't he a cheeky one? Wasn't he just hilarious? Funny as all fuck -- it tickled her pink that he spoke in such a coarse manner, that he was inevitably himself, or at the very least this version of himself where others had cowered, or showed courtesy. It tickled her raw -- yes, all that chaffing of her bones from rubbing up against each other in laughter, hah, hah, wasn't he just a tad delusional? Or weren't they of the same make, the same taste, his voice as foul as her soul, as black and spoilt as the moral compass that deigned to decide her path in life? Her smile was quick to pass by -- a flitting flicker of her lips that came and went, came and went. He was playing a role, and the stage was his to walk across, to gesture on; the spotlight shone hard on his shoulders and he knew his target audience well.

Had he studied the role, or did it come natural to him? Intrigued -- the dismissive gaze sharpened; was that hunger? Or simply curiosity taking on a keener edge? Would she slice him with his interest, or was his skin as steely as her own? She thought it might be, and it only further amused her, pushed her to the edge of laughter, though only a quirk of her lips gave it all away. Was she an open book to him? An alien with a manual he had in his back pocket, or was she no longer one of a kind? His fangs sunk deep into her skin, but they were the same, and instead of attack, she absorbed, she held onto that pain, that little incendiary amusement unadulterated, saturated with wit; the others may walk carefully around her, but it was truly a refreshing thing to see someone who snapped back.

Refreshing, indeed, to see someone else who could stand on her ship as a potential equal with nothing less and nothing more standing in between them. What was it that powered him? That allowed him to walk on? She would pick his brain if she had the chance -- but instead this boring play must be followed, a script that may not have been written for him, but had been spoken time and time again. Strengths, weaknesses? He responds with witticism and thinly veiled insult; her fingers are affectionate as they caress the handle of her knout. Truly favored, though she had no idea he had already made the proper assumptions. But why -- why favored? Does he know? Does he want to know? She is brimming with intensity, as sharp as his own -- full of sharp edges and deadly lines. Could she kill him? Perhaps he would kill her first; it only brings her closer to him. It lessens the gap she sensed between them, a mirrored image she could glimpse behind mannerisms and thought. Though she was certainly the more crude between the two, still, it was a perfect pairing, and one that filled her inspiration.

Should she follow his act with one of her own? Oh -- oh, restless energy infuses her bones, gives her a meaning to move again, to break away from the old act and start a new one. A new face, a new mask -- new words dripping from her tongue. More poison, perhaps, but nonetheless, a different facet of the same coin. Would he understand, if she did? Or would he lose interest, as she was apt to do? The intrigue made her blood hum. ”Or is that just anotha tactic to make your lowly little crew jump when you say frog? Being holy and all, that ought make a few brigands want to fight for “justice.” Maybe some of em can be redeemed in your light. No matter, doesn't concern me now do it? Lets cut to the chase, I assume I'll get paid for my services, and I assume that since I'm not yet murdered that might be the case, any other specials I should know about?

Sankari laughs. Surprised out of her stoicism and iciness, she breaks the image she had held in front of everyone and simply laughs, and laughs. He speaks, but she is too amused by the whole unfolding event to give it a second thought. Justice? Little did he know. Gods? Goddesses? Oh, her insides were on fire from laughing! Will she cry, or can she hold onto the last bit of her dignity and hold it all together? Instinctively, as if without purpose she lets it all go -- let them think her foolish. Foolhardy, deadly -- they went hand in hand. Her knout uncoiled, her grip on it loosening. "Oh!" she gasps, coughing hard, feeling the pain of her previous strain echoing from a past she had almost forgotten. "What a voice for a rat lookin' to run d'ship," she runs her hand over her face; the laughter made her look her age, so poignantly at odds with the position she held among the crew. Captain? She was a little girl, a little tall perhaps, but scrawny, as if she had cut all of her curves off at first sight. "I'm human, just like you." her eyes crinkle with amusement, "You'll see Cymopoleia later and show off your funny colors then. Til then, little rat," and the knout flickers at a twist in her wrist, the weight snapping along the floorboards, "Welcome to hell, hm?" she laughs again, her usual chuckle threading through the tone and bringing it closer to herself. "I dun think anyone really cares what you fight for, as long as you fight."

word count;; 950
tags;; montypython <3
OOC;; thwah