Avatar of khavali
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  • Old Guild Username: Anshar
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    1. khavali 11 yrs ago

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(:
Oooh, I'm interested if you'll have me.



Forgive me if the CS is bad or it's missing something, it's 7 am and I haven't slept yet, haha. I'll probably edit it later in the day.
I'd like to know that too! Everyone just disappeared all of a sudden.
I vote for the first one (:
The thanks was a bit of a surprise, but it went out of his mind as soon as the captain started yelling orders. If he had felt unstable before, now he was grounded in the task at hand. As soon as he loosened the ropes to the sails he felt entirely in his element--he was no stranger to the sea, no stranger to the functions of ships. He was no fan of heights, but he left that part up to the other crewmen. He couldn’t say that it was in his blood, being that it wasn’t. Farming was in his blood, something set firmly on the land, but he thought, perhaps, sailing was in his heart, or his soul. Or, hell, even both.

He idly noticed that another person came aboard as he was securing ropes, though he didn’t hear anything other than the tail end of her voice over all the clamoring and yelling. Another woman, seemingly close to their captain from the view he very briefly got. Afterwards, the captain went down into the underbelly of the ship, suitcase in hand. Nëis considered following him, to speak with him regarding his position, but decided it would still be better to stay on deck to make sure everything continued going smoothly. He’d never liked not being on the deck of a ship, more than just being around to do his duties. He liked the view, the feeling of the wind and the taste and smell of the salty sea that permeated everything.

He’d get his bed later, and if he was too late for it, he’d sleep on the floor. The thought didn’t bother him much. But he would need to go down sooner rather than later, if only to grab a drink.
Late reply is extremely late, sorry! Inspiration is a hard thing for me to find, haha.
He couldn’t imagine that anyone who didn’t come from wealth had ever not wondered what it would be like to have money, to live comfortably. That was all his brothers tended to do when they weren’t working. Talking about what they would do with all the phantom money they would earn from a job they didn’t yet have… Nëis tried to avoid doing that, getting his hopes up. Now, though, he could hope all he wanted--this was a lucrative opportunity.

“I have wondered,” he said, leaning forwards on the ship’s railing. It was getting close to the time the Captain said they would be setting sail, and he didn’t feel entirely prepared for it. “But soon, in time, I believe I will know.” Perhaps they all would, but that was beside the point.

Ignia quieted, and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Introspective, and eyeing only the waves. He could understand, more or less, her meaning. Slaves were what their masters wanted them to be, nothing more, nothing less. He had no particular feelings on the matter either way, slaves had their uses and disuses.

“You will never be freer than when you are on the sea,” he told her. “Here, we are going wherever our Captain desires, and no one knows us. You may not be wealthy, but you may do what you wish. I intend to.”

He was not a slave, he couldn’t say he had any idea what it felt like to be owned and powerless. But he knew what it felt like to be bound by the trappings of law and class, and he couldn’t feel less like the lowly farm boy he had always been than when on the sea. He felt like he could breathe, live days on end without going hungry. That was all he wanted.
Goddd, I'm sorry for the length. I always seem to write too much when it gets late... or early, as it is in this case.

It's six am and I haven't been to bed yet, haha. Feel free to skim my post, I'm sorry for not being able to cut it down a little more.
The man hadn’t even moved away before there was a woman taking his place--Ignia, it was--and Nëis felt somewhat overwhelmed. As it was, though, he decided he might as well fake an interest. There was no need for dissension in the ranks, or the distrust that came from not forming camaraderie, as forced as it may have been. He knew that sort of stigma well enough.

“Hello! It’s…”

Her hair was a fiery, devilish red, more so than the other redhead. It was barely natural, being as bright as it was, and though it looked strange, certainly, it could therefore be thought of as exotic. He could see why she was a slave. There was no sort of excuse in that, but it was what he assumed would be the truth of the matter. He didn’t care to ask to see if he was right or wrong, though.

“Nëis.. right?”

He nodded, fine to keep silent. There had to be others to speak to, more sympathetic or more interesting to a person. But, no, here she was, and here he was.

"You don't really look like you want to talk,” no, he didn’t, he really didn’t, “but I figure if we're going to be stuck on this boat together for however long, we should all get to know each other. Besides, you're up here too, so I guess we have that in common, yes?"

It felt like they had the same amount in common as all humans did, in the embodiment of breathing, eating, and sleeping. He didn’t feel any particular kinship in standing on a ship with another. It was unlikely they were like-minded, being a slave and a free man, but he had been surprised by less before.

She leaned, and he stood up more, drawing away from the siding and straightening his back. An attempt to end a conversation that went unseen. She spoke, and he listened, looking for either an end or an anchor.

He looked to her wrists when she displayed them, drawn to the shine of the silver. They were pretty, but they didn’t look exactly decorative. Slave finery, if it could ever be called that. He’d seen it before, but not up close. It looked heavy--not quite visually, but there had to be some sort of… baggage to that.

"All I can really do is silly stuff. Dancing, singing, that's not useful on a ship. And I can cook, but not like.. a professional or anything. I'm sure someone here is better than me at that too."

Silly things. The mention of dancing brought back memories that he preferred not to dwell on, but with nothing else to distract him that was exactly what he did. Dancing was popular in Reicnin. He knew it was the same for everywhere else, too, but Reicnin took it to another level entirely. If there was any sort of event, there would be dancing. A good harvest, there would be dancing. A death, there would be dancing mixed with the mourning. It was used as more than just enjoyment or an art form, it was more spiritual, meaningful. He was a terrible dancer.

She looked at him, and he kept his gaze firmly forwards. "What do you think he'll have you do? Do you have skills?"

For a few seconds, he didn’t answer, gathering himself. Remembering ‘sociable, and why to be it’, a lesson his mother used to try to teach him. It never worked out, but he wished she was still around to try to beat it into him.

“I do not know what he’ll set me to doing,” he said, “I don’t feel I have the best skills for this setting.” He didn’t feel like continuing, but nor did he want to leave her with the impression that he was entirely useless. “I used to make--salves, tea remedies, things like that. I still do, when I’ve the time. It isn’t useful, but natural medicines can help with a great many things.”

He thought that was fine, then--an anchor. She could do first aid, and he could do… something a bit like it. His mother always told him to find something in common, and that was theirs, though he may have been reaching a bit. He didn’t have much to say to her, aside from answering her question.

“I hear it can be tedious, to be locked away on a ship for weeks on end. Perhaps we will need a little entertainment to keep us in good health.” He thought mostly of home when he said it--singing and dancing was all that was ever going on, it seemed. If there was any sort of entertainment on the ship, he’d be likely to skip out on it, but he knew what a little levity could bring to a group of people that might otherwise be at each other’s throats.

His father always told him he was ‘just fine’ at pretending to be softened. Honeyed words, indeed. He’d never cared for the sweet stuff himself.
Ugh, sorry for the short post. I haven't felt the best today.

Good luck with your mother in law, Uruvion.
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