MacabreFox

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

*squee!* you mean a shopping spree then?! :D I expect these next few posts to be short anyways, I'm fine if we do a paragraph or so, unless you want to collab it out, but seeing as this is a 1x1 I'm not sure what I ought to do ^.^'? Collab or short paragraphs? Your call!

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

Don't worry about that ^.^' because neither do I! I was thinking of googling some famous painters, there's one that I know that Tindall is going to have us steal, it's a painting by Henri Manguin, he's an impressionist painter. We can use Vincent Van Gogh, as he died in 1890, and Claude Monet as well. I'm thinking we can use some Renaissance painters as well, but I'd have to do some more research >.> all of the painters I've just mentioned are all impressionists.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

Great! I'm glad you think the same! So here's what I had thinking...

Shay and Vera visit the couple through an arrangement by Mr. Tindall, as he knows they have the painting. They trust Tindall, and he uses the reasoning/excuse that Shay and Vera are a high-class/status couple that are looking to acquire new paintings for their home, and heard they may have some suggestions by giving examples of their own vast collection. While they have a light luncheon discussing the finesse of paintings and famous painters (a very boring conversation as I would imagine) the couple agrees to take Shay and Vera for a tour of their house (something like a ridiculously rich manor), on their tour, Vera and the man/husband go to check out his private collection as she expressed interest in these paintings. Shay carries on the tour with the woman, scoping the place out.

Meanwhile, Vera asks for a glass of something to drink, giving her time to browse the paintings, confirming the presence of the desired painting by Mr. Tindall, as she's rummaging around the room, perhaps the husband's private study, she founds his calendar for the rest of the week, and notes that the couple will be out of the house on a certain date for a dinner party. That gives Shay and Vera time to come back to the house, perhaps at night, and steal the painting. I would imagine that the wife would take Shay on a tour of the grounds. Of course we can swap the roles, have the wife take Vera around to see the paintings, and Shay with the husband to see the grounds of their extensive property.

The Whispering Badlands

@MacabreFox@The New Yorker Loved it!

So, I had different takes with the post I've just submitted, but in the end I decided to give an introduction to the Dry-Bones, as they will be a predator in the desert. The character most likely will not actually encounter them just yet. But the slavers are definitely going to have a big part in the story later down the road.

@beyond visions

Thank you! I think our collab came out pretty well ^.^' everyone gets a chance to see Grace's softer side, when she's not mouthing off, and a side of Cillian that is gentler in nature as well.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

I love you guys. Without all of these memes, what would I ever do? Seriously though, you guys rock my socks. Keep the memes comin' and don't any of you dare hold back when you have a hankering for 'em.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

I agree! I'll include it a little snippet somewhere on the front page.

Also, what do you think this meeting with Mr. Irving Tindall should be about? I was thinking him being an art dealer that needed Shay and Vera to distract a couple that were selling a particular painting, that he wanted them to steal by finding out the details of where the moving trucks would be headed, what roads and such, and then having the gang hold the trucks up to take the painting.

While I like this idea, I think it might not be as explosive, as I would like. So if you have any suggestions, feel free to throw them at me.

I was thinking that this being their first assignment for the Roughers, it would be a relatively easy task, and if they could prove themselves, they would be given a more difficult job after this. Unless you want the difficult task now.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

16:30 Hours
The Tawdry Countess - Southwark, London

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Where Secrets are Revealed, and Propositions Made

The familiar faces that filled the Tawdry, were a sight for sore eyes, whether Vera wished to admit it or not. As soon as she stepped inside the pub, welcoming sights of the green leather barstools, and the thick smoke that blanketed the air like a dense fog were truly a comforting view. She shed her coat, as the jailer had returned her belongings to her, including her revolver as she had a viable certificate to carry and own the weapon in need of self-defense. As she strode across the worn floorboards, she caught the eye of Shay Alden. Her thought reflected back to what he had revealed in the car ride over to the pub. So it was him that had taken out the vengeful Jepson brother. She understood that were it not for him, she would have endured more than an arrest. However, there was one part that bothered her, how did he know she would be there? And why he was ordered to keep her safe? To her, the only practical reason that came to mind, was her brother. Of course, it made perfect sense for Sam to have one of the boys keep an eye on her, she managed to find herself involved in the most unsavory situations from time to time. Sam made straight for an iced-glass door, eliminating anyone lounging in the bar to look inside. This was where Tommy, Clint, Grant or even Jonny received potential prospects or associates in privacy. As he held the carved mahogany door ajar for her, Vera sidled into the room, her lips pursed in a grimace of disdain, she had the feeling that she would receive some type of reproach for garnishing attention to the Roughers with her arrest, as well as the death of Rory Jepson. Seated behind a broad desk that matched the door to the private room, with a cigarette dangling between his lips, was none other than Tommy Wallis. The door clicked softly as Sam joined his sister, a bottle of whiskey baring a black label with white lettering read: Wally Boys Whiskey. The afternoon sunlight filtered in through a tall window behind the boss, casting rainbow glows from the crystalline glasses seated on a respectable coffee table before them. Reclining back, the cold touch of leather against her bare legs raised goosebumps along her skin.

“It’s good to see you again, Frankie has missed your help at night, he says the men tell him they pour him badly mixed drinks.” His lips curled around the butt of the cigarette in his hand, the tip burning with a deep inhale. A long curl of smoke poured from between his lips, his eyes sizing her up as he stared hard at her.

“It’s good to be out. I can’t thank you enough for doing whatever you did to get me out of Holloway.” Vera began, her eyes transfixed to watch as Sam uncorked the bottle of whiskey seated on the table, and proceeded to pour them both a drink. He passed a half full glass to Vera, and retained one for himself.

“Of course.” Tommy mused, his dark eyes crinkling in a tentative smirk. “I wouldn’t dare let one of my best men’s sister sit behind bars for a petty misunderstanding, if that’s what it is.” His eyes narrowed into menacing slits as he took another long drag from his cigarette again, before flicking the accumulating ash into a ceramic dish. “So, word on the street is that the Adders are raving mad that we had Rory Jepson killed, and wounded two others. All over a half-brick of opium eh?”

She paused in her drink, drawing the glass away from her lips, and set the glass upon the table, crossing her legs over one another, Vera folded her hands in her lap, the burning of whiskey sank into the pit of her stomach, bringing fire to her cheeks. “Yes.” She retorted, her jaw clenched in respite.

“Care to tell me why, you’re investing in opium? Especially when you ought to know that our own men supply readily in our own territory.” His words were like frost-bite to Vera’s mind, chilling and precise.

Her eyes turned away from Tommy, staring instead at her glass. She snatched the glass off the table and emptied the sweet liquor down her gullet before setting it back down with a sharp clink. “I avoided telling my brother why I’ve chosen it as my vice. I have my suspicions that he may know when I’ve begun my habit, but allow me to inform you as well, Mr. Wallis.” Tommy responded with a simple cock of his brow, and another long drag from his cigarette before gesturing with his hand for her to carry on.

“Do you recall a Mr. Billy Bellamy?”

“’Course I do, he worked as one of our henchmen. Shot dead in an alley, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s because I killed him, Mr. Wallis.” Vera said, pouring herself another glass of whiskey, this time filling it just mere centimeters from the lip of the glass. When she brought her gaze to meet Tommy’s she found him staring back at her in a curious manner, perhaps one mixed with confusion, as his dark brows were furrowed together.

“Pray tell, why did you kill Billy?” Another draw, and another flick of ash. While Sam had remained quiet beside her, she could feel how his body tensed, his muscles coiled like tightly wound springs, ready to explode.

“Well you see, Mr. Wallis, I was on my way home from the Tawdry. I didn’t make it mean two streets down, when someone grabbed me by the arm, hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the darkness. Billy tried to rape me. I could tell he was drunk by the way he reeked of whiskey. You see, what no one knows, is that Billy put a gun to my head. What he didn’t know, was that I carried my own gun. I tried to dissuade him, but all I was met with were degrading insults, ‘You’re just a chippy, you bim. So why don’t you quit your squirmin’ and let me have a go with you?, those were his last words before I emptied some hot metal into him.” Her voice imitated a male Cockney accent as she recanted her tale of how Billy Bellamy ended up dead in an alley, she kept her cool, the sheer brevity of her words elicited a curt nod from Tommy, while Sam downed his glass in one gulp.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Sam growled, he couldn’t bring himself to look his sister in the eye. His blood boiled at the thought that he had failed to protect her, something he promised to do since as early as he could remember in his youth.

“You think this is easy for me to talk about, Sammy?” Vera snapped, “Why else would I turn to hitting the pipe, eh? I can’t fucking sleep anymore, my sense of safety was robbed from me. If I don’t hit the pipe, I lie awake for hours, thinking of what could’ve been. It’s the only thing nowadays that give me an ease of mind. So you can both criticize for my poor choices, but don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon.”

“I didn’t ask you stop.” Tommy said, extinguishing the end of his cigarette in the ash tray. “In fact, here.” He opened a drawer in his desk, and tossed an item wrapped in sack-cloth towards Vera. She caught it readily, and as her hands unwrapped the cloth, she looked up immediately at Tommy. “I can supply your need, on one condition. You just tell Silas how much you want, and he’ll get it to you free of charge.”

“What’s the catch?” Her eyes narrowed quizzically at him, there was always a catch.

“You officially come work for me. You have skills that can be of use in the company, and I’ll pay you. You have looks, you know how to fire a gun, and Sam here tells me that you know how to pick locks, is this true?”

She regarded her brother with a contemplative look, he had relaxed considerably, but his jaw remained clenched. He glanced at her once before turning his gaze back to the coffee table. “Yes. I’ve been picking locks since I was a kid. There’s not anything that can’t be kept from me, if I don’t want it to be. How much?”

“Three quid, plus extra for any jobs you carry out.” Tommy said.

---

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“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me what happened to you.” Sam protested as he shut the door to the room behind Vera, he kept his voice low, loud enough for her to hear.

“You asked me if I knew anything about Billy’s death, Sammy. You didn’t ask me anything else. I wasn’t going to tell you anything else either, unless you asked, but you never did. And of course I wasn’t going to tell you right straight what happened to me. I took care of it. That’s all you needed to know.”

With an agitated sigh Sam guided his sister to the bar for another drink, taking her by the elbow. As she took a seat upon the familiar leather seat of the barstool, Vera smiled at Frankie, the man sported a slick black moustache, with a crown of black hair slicked back as well. He looked every image of a proper dandy, black vest waistcoat, armbands, white pinstriped button down, with brown trousers. She admired how he always invested in a well-groomed appearance, just like Sam, then again, Frankie’s image helped bolster the reputation of the Tawdry.

“Miss Vera! I can’t believe my eyes! Oh how happy I am to see you, tell me, what’ll it be? The Bees Knees, or would you prefer a mint julep?”

“A mint julep, please.” She said with a bright smile, forgetting the events that occurred in Wallis’ room just moments ago. While Frankie busied himself with pouring her drink, Vera turned round in her chair, and scanned the interior, she spotted many familiar faces, in fact, if she weren’t mistaken, all of the Roughers were present. Even some of the women such as Miriam Dorsey, Eli’s girlfriend, Eris Hawkins, Emory’s girlfriend, and even Nettie Parish, cousin to the Wallis’. She knew the women well enough, that was certain, as they frequented the Tawdry just as often as their counterparts. As her eyes swept over the room, she found the man she was looking for, Shay Alden. He kept to himself in a quieter part of the room, she knew it to be so, as she had often seen him disengaged with those in the pub. She knew from Sam that he had served in the war, and assumed just as well, that he had come back a changed man. By then, she had received her mint julep, and with Sam, glass of whiskey in tow, made their way to pay Shay a visit.

“I wanted to thank you for driving me from the prison.” Vera started, she offered him a small smile, as she sank into a chair adjacent to him, while Sam followed suit.

“Before she gets carried away, Mick, let me tell you this. I need you to take Vera to your place for tonight, let the heat die down, Tommy sent out eyes to watch her place, but he hasn’t given me O.K. that it’s clear for her to go home yet. Can you do that for me Shay? Watch after my little sister again, make sure she’s safe from harm?” While Sam used the man’s nickname, he did not mean for it to be a jest, instead, it acted as a gentle gesture of friendship. Vera merely rolled her eyes, did Sam really believe that she couldn’t look after herself? Hadn’t she told him that she shot Billy Bellamy dead? In the meantime, her eyes wandered over Shay, she realized that aside from the occasions he made his way to the bar to order a drink, she really never had the chance to get a good look at him. She had to admit, he was handsome, regardless of the fact that he was an Irishman, as the other Roughers teased him for.

“And… there’s more to it,” Sam sighed, sipping whiskey slowly from his cup, “Tommy wants you both down at the White Star tomorrow, in the early evening. He wants you both to meet a gentleman by the name of Irving Tindall for a prospect opportunity. Get there before 5p.m. so that Eris can fill you in on the situation, and why Mr. Tindall has arranged a meeting to see you both. And look sharp the both of you, the White Star ain’t no Tawdry. We’re talking high-class, rich snobs here, and Mr. Tindall will be expecting to meet someone of a high status as well. You both need to look, and act the part. Tommy says that if you do the job well, there’ll be serious cash in it for you both.” Then, he reclined in his chair, pulled out a handsome stack of cash, pushed it in front of him, and cocked a brow at Shay, curious to hear his response. It wasn’t often that Shay received an assignment like this, Tommy used him for his marksmanship skills, just like how he took at Rory Jepson, and a few other of the boys from the Adders; along with another minute tasks assigned to the street-rats.

The Whispering Badlands

Collab is finished and posted!

The Whispering Badlands

A Walk In The Dark - Grace & Cillian

A Collab By @The New Yorker & Me

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At the invitation from Cillian, one that Grace would not refuse, she smiled at his words, how he teased her for waking them all with her big-mouth as he put it. He still sounded the same, after all, she was just as loud back on Falkirk as she was now, that was something neither of them could forget, yet she was pleasantly surprised that he had teased her like so. She rose to her feet, dusting off the seat of her pants now covered with sand, and set out with Cillian into the dark of the night. As they strode along side-by-side, Grace kept quiet until they were well out of the way from camp before she began to explain what had awoken her.

“I don’ mean to wake ye, I really don’.” She began, pausing in her steps as she gazed at Cillian, his eyes were darker, without the presence of light, and had she not known him, she would have felt a twinge of fear. Of course, Grace O’Faolain never felt fear, or so she liked to believe. “I couldn’t sleep right, ‘tis hard to come by these days. I ‘eard footsteps, at first I thought it was just Emmett sneaking out for a piss. Then I ‘eard a second set, much smaller, so I assumed it had to be Floure. Well, by then, I couldn’t sleep worth shit, so I got up meself, and I went for a piss. While I was out there mindin’ my own business, I ‘eard voices. I thought to meself, that it must be slavers or someone else stalkin’ us. So I went to go find out who it was. When I found ‘em, there was Floure and Emmett lockin’ lips, ‘course I don’ think nothin’ o’ it. I picked up Emmett’s bag, convinced that if I took his bag, he’d have to come back to camp…” She started walking again, not wanting anyone nearby that may have strayed after them to hear what she had to say. A gentle breeze blew across the sands, the sound rustling through the stunted desert scrubs.

“Cillian… Emmett’s usin’ the Desert Flower.” Here she reached into her pocket and procured the flower that had fallen out of Emmett’s bag when she lifted it from the desert floor. “Floure tried to protect him, and Emmett, that damned idiot, lied straight to my face. Said they were out pickin’ flowers, that Floure needed a flower that only bloomed at night, and he picked the wrong one. I took the flower with me, and I gave him back his bag… I don’ know if he has anymore innit, as I don’ have the chance to look. If he doesn’t, then he’ll start withdrawals dependin’ on how bad his dependency. I don’ think Rook knows what he’s gotten himself into. That’s why ye heard me yellin’ so loud.”

Cillian walked briskly along the desert floor, the fine grained sand crunching under his feet as a wafting cloud crossed the moonlight casually. Grace's comment on not getting enough sleep perked Cillian's ears. For normal people, doing the things that Cillian had done would make it so they couldn't sleep at night either. Was that what had happened to Grace? Cillian felt a knot of embarrassment tying itself in his stomach. He slept so well because his imagination could work freely in his subconsciousness without the beating weight of clear-thinking and rationalism. Cillian's deep sleeping was a sort of coping mechanism his body developed in order to grant respite from the constant guilt which wracked his waking mind, it was a horrific truth which he counted among his few blessings. He didn't envy Grace her normalcy or stability now.

Cillian's mind focused on the present moment as Grace mentioned taking Emmett's bag. She began walking and Cillian followed hesitantly behind, he wondered if she had realized that he'd blanked out. He knew she hadn't when she said the next thing. She was so somber as she spoke about the desert flower and Emmett's lies, she looked so brilliant in the moonlight now as her hair billowed in the light wind. When she finished speaking she looked exasperated, though he wasn't sure if it was because of the situation or something else.

"Rook should know," Cillian said simply, his world traveled accent biting in the darkness.

As she came to a stop this time around, the silvery beams of moonlight that filtered down through the lone cloud drifting across the black velvet sky illuminated the petals of the Desert Flower. Pinched delicately between her thumb and forefinger, her gaze shifted from the flower to Cillian.

"Aye, I ought to tell him. That's what has me so torn, Cillian. I want to help the boy, after all, he may not that be far into his addiction, he might be able to recover without much notice from the others. O' course I don' want to be held responsible for his behavior when things go south, eh?" With a heavy heart-felt sigh, Grace pocketed the flower again, careful not to crush it.

"Enough o' that talk, that's all that had me riled up tonight. I'd rather talk about ye. Ye' r told me that ye used to live in Lusk, why did ye come all the way to Red Rock? Did ye get into some sort o' trouble?" She prayed that she hadn't touched on a delicate topic, after all, while she knew Cillian, she had no clue what he had gone through, or the man he became. Even now, as her storm grey-blue eyes fixated upon him, she noted the way he covered his hands with cloth wraps. She had seen the scars on his knuckles before in daylight, but now, in the dark of the night, he appeared a different man. Yet, she couldn't place why she felt like this around him, was it fear? Was it lust? Was it the sheer excitement of seeing her long lost lover again after all these years? Perhaps.

Cillian could see how moral and ethical imperatives were conflicting in Grace's mind. She was compelled to halt Emmett's addiction, but just as compelled to maintain professional boundaries. As a navigator, Grace required a level of trust from her party members that no one beside perhaps Rook could empathize with, and maybe not even then. Of course the difference between Grace and Rook was that Grace actually retained that trust, and this little event was poised to ruin it for her. She wanted to talk about him, but Cillian knew what was important right now.

"Hand me the flower, Grace." He said suddenly. "We can talk about me some other time." His bandaged hand held out in the dry air, Cillian smiled briefly. "I'll take care of this problem with Emmett. You need to stay focused."

Slender, arched copper brows rose in unison at his words. He wanted to help her? Of course he would, she wasn't expecting an answer like that so suddenly. Without any form of hesitation, she gingerly plucked the flower from her trouser pocket, and handed it over without complaint to him, her fingertips brushing against his extended hand, and then, of her own accord, Grace placed her hands around his bandaged hand, and curled his fingers around the flower, careful not to crush it. A ghost of a smile danced across her lips as she gazed up at him, she didn't mind that he brushed the subject of himself away, she would do the same; while they were both tall, Grace still felt smaller by his broad shoulders and muscular build. His arms were twice as thick as hers, and the span of his chest could fit two of her heads upon them, if she had two heads that is.

"Cillian, thank ye." Her voice soft with empathy. "Ah, I know yer right. Did I tell ye how I found that blasted map? Readin' a book I was, when all of a sudden, it slipped out of the leather cover. I heard rumors of an expedition starting up with the lead explorer by the name of Rook Warde. 'Course I didn't think anything of it, I grew tired with sailing the waters around Falkirk, Raughlaih, and Dunohwain. I've been as far as the coast, north o' Red Rock, but I've never seen anything beyond." She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn't even think of the words to say, she wasn't even sure it would matter to him. With a drifting gaze, she found herself staring at their feet, numb with uncertainty.

Cillian gingerly wrapped Grace's arm around his own, and led her back to the camp without hesitation. He felt the peddles of the flower tickling the inside of his palm, opened his soft fist and saw the flower there in his hand, dancing in the soft wind. He closed his fist again and carefully tracked their path back the way they came. He chuckled as he thought of the current situation he was in. Guiding his hometown sweetheart by the arm in a far off land, a decade later, a flower given to him by her providing a deep warmth in his hand. If it weren't for his annoyance at Emmett and his peeking paranoia of hidden assailants he could be giddy.

He'd done this with Grace before, some ten years ago. She'd talk about her life into excess and Cillian would simply feel honored to have listened to her, after which time he would lead her back home. It was a familiar thing, and in some ways infantilizing. He felt like a foolish man-child again, one who'd never experienced sacrifice or loss. He felt stupid. He removed her arm from his under the pretense of placing the flower in one of his belt pouches. As he did they breached the firelight from the camp.

"You should try getting some sleep. I'm going to take a look over this ridge," Cillian said, referencing a mound of sand which sat behind the camp.

With his arm entwined with hers, Grace did not withdraw from him. Instead, she allowed herself to be led back to the boundaries of the camp. When the light of the campfire appeared like a beacon in the dark, her heartbeat faltered, she did not wish for this moment to end. It felt...painstakingly familiar. Just like the time when they had tied their horses to the branches of a hawthorn tree on the moors, and went for a long stroll across the rolling green hills, the way he listened to her while she prattled on had always soothed her heart. Yet she felt a pinch of guilt, for he had always listened to her, and what of him? Had he no pains of his own? Alas, that would be dealt with in due time, Cillian was a stoic, patient man, a man of little words when he meant to be. She leaned into him, the crown of her copper tresses resting against his bicep, their footsteps falling in rhythm.

When they came to a stop just outside the circle of light from the campfire glow, Grace pulled away and gazed up at Cillian, her eyes searching his own, for what, she could not say. Perhaps an answer that her heart longed to hear? Whatever the reason, she could only manage a smile at his own words. “I will try, if sleep will come. G’night then. Be careful out there, eh?” With that, she rose up on the toes of her boots, wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace before releasing him all at once. She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze before turning to face the fire, and entered the camp. She did not speak another word to anyone left awake in the camp, and headed straight for her bedroll, where she climbed beneath the sewn-on wool cover that served as her blanket. For a while, she could only look at the twinkling stars above her, as if they would provide the answer for all her problems that she had sought for in Cillian’s dark eyes. She twisted and turned for what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, before the familiar heaviness of sleep encroached upon her tired eyes. She tucked her arm beneath her head, and with one final thought, she knew that deep within, she still loved Cillian.

Formaroth: Battle for the Throne

@MacabreFox Understood. Any rough estimated when it may be up?

@TheDuncanMorgan

Perhaps sometime early to mid next week?