Fire and Blood
Quiet night aboard the Ninetail. Quinlan's cast enchantments that still and warm the air around the deck, letting him stargaze in comfort. Nevertheless, he's got a pot of tea steaming gently on a nearby table.
Maggie moves at a fast clip down from the cliffs where the upper crust do whatever crusty old things they do. Her steps are a staccato that is closer to a run than a walk. For the evening she is swathed in a thick cloak that is held tightly together in front. Still, the movement is quick enough to open the lower half of the cloak, exposing shadow and darkness and the occasional flicker of emerald satin and bare skin. The glimpses are few and very brief, for whenever they happen she tugs the cloak more firmly closed. Reaching Quin's ship's berth, she pauses, then calls, "Quinlan?" There is a near frantic, highly embarrassed, indignant tone to her voice, "I... Oh, screw it. May I come aboard? I have to change." Must. It is an imperative. Now.
Quinlan removes his attention from his telescope and notebook, gesturing toward the gangplank - which obligingly lowers itself to the dock. "Come on up," he says. "What's happened?"
Now a good two weeks spent living and working in and around the city, it's possible they've seen one another in passing, but certainly Kerf's most vivid impression of the lanky Royal is from his harried participation in that futile struggle that recently took place in the eatery. And while impressions may not have been mutually favourable at the time, the amnesiac who apparently responds to summons under the moniker Professor Kerfuffle (vonChaos) is willing to put it aside for new mutual interests: assisting Maggie in her urgent venture. And so, here he is, earlier still than even the running early running Maggie, already aboard and pouring some tea. He pauses to watch while Quinlan responds to the hail dockside.
As the gangplank lowers, Maggie almost does not wait for it to settle, then remembers that she is wearing spike high heels in emerald with roses embroidered on the toes. Lovely things, really. Completely inappropriate for gangplank navigation, no matter what films might imply. Rather than coming up immediately, she lowers to one knee, the cloak she wears billowing out around her like forest green wings that puff and pool on the docks. Unbuckling one of the shoe she sets it to one side and switches knees. Removing the other shoe, Maggie stands, lifting the pair. Now, walking barefoot up the gangplank might not seem 'best' but when she reaches the deck of the ship and the heels are tossed to one side, they appear to be a good three inches in height, "What happened? Aunt Flora's friend happened. I've never been so mortified in my entire /life/." That she remembers. And then she spots Kerf. Even with the cloak closed tightly, she flushes a deep and abiding crimson and mutters, "Where can I change? Please?" to Quinlan before adding, "Hey, Kerf," in a voice suddenly devoid of self-confidence.
Kerf puts his cup aside to stand attentively by as access to the ship is granted, although that courtesy is tested when it seems Maggie takes her sweet time coming on up. Cold tea on a warm deck, preposterous. When she does appear, tossing strange, ah, vegetations? to the deck, Kerf jawdrops a little... but that's about it. Nothing is on display, though the contents of the cloak are highly suggested by her discomfort. "Good evening, Maggie," he offers as casually as he can.
Nodding to Quinlan's instructions, Maggie pauses to note that Kerf has risen from his deckchair. That wins him a grateful smile for the courtesy. At Quin's directions, Maggie turns to walk with as much dignity as she can muster that way, "Thank you." She releases the cloak to tug open the hatch. The difference in pressure or temperature, or simply her haste, gives the cloak enough billow to spill to one side giving the gentlemen more of an eyefull than she intended. Grabbing the cloak, she pulls it back into place and vanishes below decks, there to become presentable or die of embarassment. One or the other.
Quinlan sips his tea, noting quietly to Kerf, "I didn't see that, and you didn't see that. And whether or not she says anything about it, we don't know anything." Sip. Sip. "Definitely shaping up to be an interesting night though, huh?"
Kerf's eyes are already green, so getting more green in them isn't going to hurt. Right? By the time he even remembers the definition of the word 'avert', she's already gone, but he averts them anyway to study a point in the air a little to the side of Quinlan. "Agreed. Interesting shapings indeed. The night's shape," he clarifies unnecessarily, and locates his tea in order to stand around with Quin, sipping. "All right, I'm better now."
Quinlan laughs. "Tea can have that effect." He waves a hand at the teapot, warming the tea again. "Are you two friends?" he asks curiously. "Or are there going to be introductions when she comes back?"
Kerf looks in the direction of the wave for a moment, never certain of the magical context, but it certainly wasn't a spell to turn the cabin walls see-through, so he returns his attention to Quin. "We are.." he says slowly, puzzled by the question. Names have been exchanged in all possible trajectories tonight, haven't they? "At least, just as recently as our acquaintance as newly emptied head-cases," he clarifies, language altered slightly when not in mixed company it seems. "Before that, however..? There are traces.. hints.. that we have been friends for longer. But that's all," he admits.
Quinlan smiles. "Any chance that you might be a sailor?" he asks. "And I was just keeping the tea hot. Nothing to worry about."
That is always assuming that she does return at all. It certainly takes longer than it should for the hatch to be opened again. Maybe she spent some of that time trying to figure out just how to sink into the floorboards and never return. She peeks out, trying to guage how much embarrassment she will be subjected to. But, really, these are gentlemen and her friends. People she cares for. At least one more than; perhaps, is wise. But, the conversation seems to be about identity and occupation which is a blessing. Stepping out, she has the cloak over her arm as her nature and Quin's spell keep the deck warm. Closing the hatch with a soft snick, she turns to toss a bag over next to the shoes. If they skid a bit, threatening to fall overboard, she does not seem concerned for their safety. Walking back then, she claims a seat, drops her cloak on the deck, and sighs with clear and evident relief to be clothed in comfortable attire once again.
Kerf nods understanding, sips, then says, "It's a fair bet, all signs point to the sea. Or, well, across it, at any rate." His focus shifts once more to the hatch, and nodding a re-welcome to Maggie, he excuses himself from Quinlan's side to walk back to the tea service. "Would you care for a cup?"
Quinlan smiles, and murmurs a small spell, gesturing to the rack of folding wooden chairs. Two more unfold, scooting across the deck to serve Quinlan and Kerfuffle, at a pleasant conversational distance from Maggie. "It's hot," he assures her. "Though I'm keeping the deck warm tonight."
"Please. You are my hero, Kerf. Thank you." The shock of the evening wanes but slowly, but it does wane. Sitting up a bit more, she flickers a glance from one to the other, then focuses on Quin, "Oh, crap. I swiped your chair. I am sorry." A glance flashes over the deck and she nods, "It is nice... A very handy spell to know." Folding her hands in front of her, she speaks more softly, "Actually, Quin..." Ah, with muted resolute glee, she turns the conversation firmly away from the evening's antics. Let them ask if they want details. "I was wondering if you would not mind helping Kerf out a bit? He found a packet that might have some clue as to his past. Thing is, it is magically sealed. I did not try to open it for him because; while I remember using flame and wind, I don't know that my touch is fine enough to avoid causing the packet harm. So... If Kerf is okay with it, I was wondering if you would help?" She nibbles her lower lip slightly, then shudders deeply to shake off the rest of the evening's... er... effects.
Looking over his shoulder to warily monitor the behaviour of the animate seats, Kerf considers a remark, mouth opening. Must have been something impolitic, for he stops himself in time and goes back to pouring a new cup and saucer, as well as refilling his own. "I know you want nothing in coffee, same with tea?" he asks mildly, during a gap in the conversation between cousins. It's a fine excuse to rest his eyes on her with curiosity that could be tea-related. Anything's possible. "The envelope was secreted within the lining of my coat," he relays evenly to Quinlan after receiving Maggie's response. "But its purpose, and even existence, bears no recognition."
Quinlan hns, nodding thoughtfully. "I can certainly try?" he says. "I've a pretty good nose for magic."
Maggie looks up in time to catch Kerf's gaze when he looks her way. "Um... I am more flexible with tea. Right now? I kind of want soothing. So... Maybe two sugars and some milk? If that is possible?" She does not look away for a moment or two longer than necessary, then refocuses on Quin, "Would you please? It must have something important in it. Otherwise, why take such pains to keep it safe? And hidden?" Stretching her denim clad legs out, she crosses them at the ankles.
Kerf first hands Maggie her sweetened, lightened drink, before withdrawing the packet in question from an inner breast pocket. The flimsy envelope measures five by eight inches of semi-translucent waxy surface, and features no openings through which to retrieve the unreadable document vaguely outlined within. "We attempted tearing, cutting with dagger blade, before Maggie discerned a magic property," he informs Quin, while extending it gingerly to the spell-caster. Hoping the man will take it from him as opposed to performing any sort of arcane act while it remains in his own hand. "Protective magics, right Maggie?" he adds helpfully.
Quinlan takes the envelope carefully, sniffing delicately at it. The mageling's attention shifts entirely to the envelope, and any magic contained there.
RPG: Kerfuffle declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ df9 ]----
Author: Kerfuffle Held By: Kerfuffle
Date: Sat Jan 19 21:41:02 2013 Focus: 0
Title: The Hidden Packet
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Token Description
A highly flexible envelope measuring five by eight inches, of semi-translucent waxy surface, and offering no openings through which to retrieve the document vaguely outlined within. It magically resists water damage, fire, tearing, cutting, folding, spindling, mutilating, etc. See the token entitled "The Revealed Document" once 'a Sea King's blood' is used to render the surface temporarily transparent (five minutes).
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RPG: Kerfuffle used the following +declare targets: Quinlan
Maybe Kerf can't stand the brief suspense, or maybe he finds the idea of studying magic via smell rather trying to his own senses, but the fellow backs up to take a seat himself, in the available chair, which had better not be moving independently, even a smidge, as he settles in. He glances at Maggie, in time to silently communicate his tension and restrained hope, then also goes back to staring Quinlan-wards.
Quinlan closes his eyes, sniffing at the edges of the envelope, turning it in his hands. "Oh, that's an impressive piece of binding," he says, half to himself. "Who *does* magic like that?" and finally he sets the envelope down. "I can give you two options. The ward's designed to reveal the contents - briefly - at the touch of a sea king's blood. That should let you read the contents without damaging anything. Or, I can try and pit my own magic against this binding and destroy the outer envelope. There's three possible outcomes. Success - I destroy the envelope, leaving the contents intact. Failure - the binding on the envelope is stronger than what I can counter. Or, there's the chance of *serious* failure, meaning both the envelope and its contents are destroyed." He hands the envelope back to Kerfuffle. "If I were you, I'd go with the blood thing. I'm not entirely familiar with the kind of magic that makes blood seals like this. I'm not sure how it would interact with Pathian magic."
Maggie leans forward far enough that her hand can rest briefly on Kerf's shoulder, if the touch is allowed. She leaves the hand there while Quinlan goes through the process of identifying the magic around the packet. The other hand lifts her tea so a sip, then a longer swallow can be claimed. As he speaks, she sits up again, the chair creeking a little with her movement. "Well, the blood is easy enough." Drawing her dagger, she nicks her finger and holds it out for Kerfuffle, crimson blood welling up against pale skin. With the moonlight and torchlight, it is more a study in black and white. "If a Sea Queen's blood will do." She does not drip on the packet, for it is ultimately Kerf's decision, though she does spear Quin with a glance, "Unless it is a specific, gender oriented thing?"
That.. is quite a lot to take in, that is. Kerf can process Quinlan's words well enough, but he still fixes them with a bleakly skeptical look after the options are laid out, and the envelope is returned to him. "I.. -truly-.. have no recollection returning of anything you just-.." he manages to protest, when Maggie draws and cuts on herself before his widening eyes. "Maggie!" he barks in alarm, then more quietly sputters a couple of other typical half-sentences about her hearing skills and sanity quotient. Then her words truly sink in, and he just -stares-. "Maggie.. you're.. a Pirate?" he asks softly, although if he was trying for a discrete inquiry out of earshot of her Royal cousin, that's most likely a fail, all things considered. She said it aloud herself: Sea Queen.
Quinlan gestures to the envelope. "No harm trying. I've got towels. And it might be worth while to let Kerf try too. He can't remember, but if it's in him, the blood will."
Privately, to Maggie, Kerfuffle's not a fan of magic -or- pirates, it seems. The score is zero for two!
Maggie licks her lips a little, embarrassment and fluster all settling in over a small, very minor cut. One that might give Kerf some of himself back. It seems a small price to pay, doesn't it? Then, Kerf asks that question, the tone almost sounding horrified. She replies with indignation, "No! Sea Queens aren't all pirates. It's a..." And then she can't finish because memory fails her at that crucial moment. "A... What. Family? Bloodline thing?" Looking at Quin, seeking help in explaining to Kerfuffle just when Quinlan suggests that Kerfuffle might be a Sea King in his own right. Her hand is lifted. The wound has already stopped bleeding anyway.
Privately, to Kerfuffle, Maggie isn't fond of pirates either, it seems. Though she is not navy, that is certain.
A band of tension loosens from about Kerf's shoulders, letting them slump a little in mollified bewilderment, as Maggie barks back. "Then... so, your mother..?" he starts to say, before he can counsel himself to shut up. "No, I'm Sorry, I don't know why it even..." He trails off from the erratic dialogue between them, and looks at Quinlan at about the same time. From his stillness, the set of his brows, the sharpness of his sea-green glare.. it could be read that he is not prepared to hear that suggestion either. The other man goes, apparently for those towels even if Maggie's cut has closed rather impressively, without receiving any response other than that wordless but nonetheless-volume-speaking look.
Maggie says, "Mother?" She inhales, almost waiting for Quin to jump in and when he instead rises and heads off; presumably for the towels, she sighs. There is blood on her finger still, though it has already begun to dry. Softly, since Quinlan is not going to speak to it, Maggie tries, "Mom is a Sea Queen, yes. She has her own ship. She... was part of the navy a while back. I think? Now I don't know what she does, exactly. I can find out, though. If it will help."
Kerfuffle's glare cools in intensity when Quinlan disappears below decks, and it's Maggie's voice only now, soothing. There's a dull twinge of wonder given to his seething outrage, that of a quality the even-tempered gentleman had never experienced but one other time since his awakening to this strange existence. That moment of vengeful anger when he heard about Prince Benedict's deed against Raphaela. Could these indeed be glimpses of the ugly truth? "Oh," he nods, looking at her presently with regretful eyes. "I didn't realize the distinction, Maggie. Can you forgive me that foul accusation?" he wonders guiltily, reaching for her hands without giving much thought to propriety at this moment. Or caution either, it appears, since the envelope is still in his grasp, and heading for hers of the yet bloodied finger.
There is no denying that the accusation stung. Her? A pirate? Doesn't he know her better than that? And yet, rationality asserts, how could he when she barely knows herself? The regret in his eyes mollifies her somewhat, as does the tone in his voice, though there is now a fear within her, seeded and growing. A series of 'what if' chains that anchor her to that budding fear. Still, she responds to the touch of guilt in his tone and the regret in his gaze. Without thinking about it, her hands reach for his, bloody finger slipping over the smooth surface of the packet. "Of course, Kerf. It was an honest mistake."
His relief is quiet yet profound, his empty hand finding and curling round her unharmed fingers, lifting her hand up as though he might press it to his lips in gratitude. Between their other hands, the envelope is blindly folded, not that the crease is likely to mar the shell permanently; meanwhile from the crimson smear a ripple of warmth spreads out across the flimsy surface, clearing away the waxy haze in the same manner a warm breath will thaw the frosting from a window pane, outwards from the point of contact. Within moments, the surface of the packet is fully transparent, the smudge itself fading and shrinking, exposing the single page locked within. Feeling the spread of heat, Kerf frowns with dawning realization, and draws back, gaze dropping to the document caught between their hands.
The stipulations Quinlan had scryed off the magic's pathways had not been absolute with regards to gender.
RPG: Kerfuffle declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ dfa ]----
Author: Kerfuffle Held By: Kerfuffle
Date: Sun Jan 20 00:24:57 2013 Focus: 0
Title: The Revealed Document
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Token Description
Trapped within the now transparent envelope is a thin parchment measuring four by seven inches, upon which is tightly penned an 'Articles of Agreement' by the crew of the Eclipse. It details their rules for running a happy ship of outlaws, the penalties for breaking those rules, distribution of shares, compensation for work injuries, and recruits. It is signed underneath, or in cases of illiteracy marked, by each member, approximately thirty in number.
Of special note is the additional Pledge written on the lower half of the page, describing the crew's elected Captain as a man of unsurpassed cunning and strength, and "..henceforth named Merrisol, for his sunny disposition and bright locks..". It goes on to make several cryptic remarks that may refer to a red coat that confers authority, privileges at certain ports of call, and possesses the bearer with knowledge of several sea locations of significance.
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RPG: Kerfuffle used the following +declare targets: Maggie
Her smile warms on seeing that relief and the same emotion fills her and when his hand closes around hers, lifting it toward his lips; perhaps to place a kiss there, she leans forward, gaze softening. The ship fades from existence, night and the moon's touch but a whisper of awareness. Awareness much like the growing warmth spreading from something clasped between her hand and his. That heat coupled with his frown and drawing back clue her in and Maggie lowers her gaze as well. She blinks as realization dawns and the hand minus the document squeezes his hand briefly. Her other hand lets go so that he can bring the document close. A whisper then, "What does it say?"
The moment thrust upon them, but with no guarantee it will qualify as 'greatness', Kerf hunches forward a little and obligingly lifts the document closer. It un-scrunches to display its face to the both of them, and anyone coming on board at this moment might be struck by the sight of the two adults sat reading with their heads low and close together, like school-children poring over a particularly puzzling report card. For Kerf himself, the first section of writing is discouragingly piratical in wording, but doesn't immediately indicate anything tragic. There has to be a good, logical explanation for his having this document on his good, logical person... so he keeps reading. And, although very aware of Maggie's nearness and to a vaguer extend, aware of all the complicating nuances that add to this suspense, he doesn't keep her from reading, either. "I don't know.. nothing yet that tells me what.. or invokes any.." His eyes dart lower, and his voice begins to trail off to a breathy rasp. "..recall.."
Although she was willing to let Kerf read this on his own; it is his memory being tweeked afterall, she is delighted to be allowed to huddle with him over the document and not simply to be close to him. It takes her a moment longer to adjust to his nearness enough to be able to concentrate on the document displayed. As she reads, an indistinct chill ripples through her, a frown begins to pucker her brow and the hand still holding his tightens for a fraction of a second. She takes a bit longer to study the first part as something does pluck at her memory. Then her gaze lowers and she reads that second paragraph through once, then again. Her eyes close and she schools her tone away from dangerous nuances, "Anything?" There is hope still, right?
The deck of the Ninetail Red remains warm and peaceful in its mooring, but for Professor Kerfuffle it might as well be pitching and yawing on open waters, as his senses drop and rise in the wake of the surfacing of a leviathan-sized recall.
Thick grey fog rolls in around them, obscuring the environment ten feet in any direction beyond the ship railing of the Eclipse, although rushing and crashing is heard through that obscurity, like a swift vessel splitting the waves. Something is on fire.. men are yelling.. something about flames.. or a Flame. What is happening? His shoulders and arms stiffen, now locked in a grapple with some ferocious enemy with murderous eyes, staggering to the edge of oblivion... and then, something at the edge of his periphery causes him to turn and look. The clinging fog melts away from another boat that comes perilously close along the port side, its mast flying a familiar standard but not a naval colour. That's when he sees her, and it's her flames the men were shouting about, it seems, for her hair is the most rippling shades of auburn and russet. She's calling for the surrender of...
"Merrisol." Captain Merrisol. It's the Ninetail Red again, serene and secure, and Kerf is still seated with Maggie, but his eyes have stopped reading, or seeing the oiled planking of the luxury boat before him. The envelope wavers and slips from his fingers, winging weightlessly for the floor. The waxy film is already starting to creep back around the edges of it, on its way to re-engulfing the writing paper as though it could re-obscure that memory. But it's too late. Kerf's one hand is still caught up in Maggie's, tight and shivering. His other one shifts, on the move, almost floating to his hip where the unadorned hilt of his short sword juts from the outer fold of red waistcoat.
Watching as the memory grips the man next to her, Maggie is struck by tentative hints and whispers of her own. They do not entirely surface, however, until she hears that particular name spoken by that particular voice. Memories of her own rise like a flood.
The delight in her mother's eyes when she spoke of winning the contract to bring the rascal, Merrisol, to justice and the determination that Maggie share in the chase. The fact that her mother could not or would not tell her what the evidence was in the case against the Captain. There was an argument based around that. Why did she agree to the hunt?
A summer's day when Captain Merrisol was spotted in a bar with some of his crew and the barfight that ensued. The irritation that he managed to slip away. Did he mockingly blow her a kiss?
Then the elation when her ship spotted his and the chase was on. That day, that fateful day, when the fog rose with preternatural speed, engulfing both his ship and hers. When, standing on the forecastle of the Wave Dancer, she looked down through a rent in the fog to see him looking up at her, his hand reaching for...
"Merrisol." Her free hand moves with lightening speed to her own hip, fingers seeking the handle of her cutlass while one booted foot slips over to rest over the discarded envelope. The touch of her hand in his firms, strength enfusing the hold without changing the nature of the touch, "Don't draw, Kerf. It will change everything beyond recovery." The sparkle in her eyes when she looks at him remains, though it is muted now by pain and sorrow, "Please."
The deck of the Ninetailed Red is little changed physically from when Quinlan went below. The warmth of the calm air remains. The light from the moon still sends sparkles rippling over the water. A distant night bird calls from the cliffs above the docks. Yet, there is a new tension on the ship. Maggie and Kerf were evidently sitting huddled together over the packet recovered from Kerf's coat. Memories were evidently triggered not only in Kerfuffle, but in Maggie as well.
His shock is still long in fading, and it dulls his reactions to the point of just looking at her stupidly for a moment while she claims her sword handle and pays him a dire warning. As he stares, stricken, into her eyes, his own regain alertness, and his hand twitches its grasp on the sword... but does not draw. Yet. "It's already changed beyond everything.. Maggie. And I don't want to hurt you.." The statement comes as a personal realization as much as a warning of his own. "..Any more than I already have."
Quinlan pauses, with a small stack of blankets in his arms. "I'm sensing Awkward," he says slowly.
Shock remains hovering around Maggie, dimming reason. Yet... She nods slowly to Merrisol, "I know that." The muted anguish that edges her tone lends it a slightly harsher caste than before. "But, we don't know everything and what I said before about knowing what I needed to know still stands." Although whether in the same way is unclear, "Whatever your past... our past... This does not ring true for who you are now." She does not glance Quin's way yet, nor does she release Merrisol's hand though her hold on it changes, loosens. Her other hand does twitch on her cutlass in answer to the shifting of his though she does not draw yet, either. "Let's think this through. There is too much that we still do not know."
Merrisol's gaze leaves Maggie's face long enough to search and identify the source of that other voice, Quinlan. Mageling! He'd said he didn't trust magic, didn't he? And now look! He looks back at Maggie, and as her grip on him loosens enough so he can yank back and, if he's quick and lucky, escape the range of her cutlass in time... he pauses, watching her as she reasons, and doesn't let go. "Quinlan.." he raises his voice from its intimate growl to include their solicitous host. "If you wouldn't mind - what are the penalties here in Amber, for acts of piracy committed on open water or in Shadow, against the nation or her allies?"
Quinlan pauses, and sets down his folded blankets. "Firstly, depends on who you're working for," he says. "The law in Amber isn't exactly straightforward. But - assuming you mean unsanctioned, and against Amber directly, it can get pretty steep." He shakes his head. "But the law's never what it looks like. It's what makes being a Gull tricky. You'd have to be more specific. Under whose flag would you sail, and who would be the target?"
Maggie's gaze continues to search Merrisol's face, green eyes eventually seeking answering green. As the two men speak, she lets her newly acquired memories filter and sift, some falling into place and others lingering in that unanchored free-floating space where potential links might find them. She flickers a glance to Quinlan, then back and when she speaks again it is reluctantly though somewhere deep within, honor and honesty demand disclosure, "Mother is not cheap and she almost never asks me to help with anything. If someone hired her to find you, they felt they had reason though if she told me why, I do not remember it." Gently then, more softly though still enough to carry, "Piracy alone is not typically enough. Though it would depend on the target, I suppose." Still her hand remains twined with Merrisol's while the other rests on the packet, the contents now completely obscured by the concealing magic that held its secrets safe.
Merrisol listens to Quinlan while his eyes never leave Maggie's face, not searching, nor silently speaking his inner thoughts as they once did. He's studying her reactions, reading her eyes, mouth, her breathing, her colouration.. all which may betray intention. He doesn't seem to think the ensorceled document is of much important now, not that any hands are free to retrieve it, instead opting to rise to his feet, necessarily bringing Maggie with him through the fact of their linked hands. "I see," he mutters to the cousins' collective remarks on the rather surprising nebulous subject of the law. A pause. "...I killed a man from Begma," he says softly, eyes momentarily gone distant. "Threw him to his death. I took his ship.. a ship that sank without sinking."
You paged Maggie with 'At the time of the attempted capture, someone did go overboard. May have been a tactic to distract Maggie with the duty of rescue while the pirate ship escaped in the fog.'.
Quinlan nods slowly. "What I can tell you is that Amber will not care, unless this man's family, or the owners of his ship or cargo, *come* to Amber - and know you're here," he says quietly. "Now, I'm a Gull, which you'd think would mean law enforcement. But in this case, I think jurisdiction actually falls to the Navy - so, Caine and Gerard. I wouldn't volunteer this to either of them. Gerard might take it badly; Caine's more likely to blackmail you. But if you don't volunteer, odds are it will stay quiet unless the Begmans come to Amber screeching about it *and* do so with the knowledge you're *in* Amber."
OOC Quinlan says, "read: if a situation should arise where it would be embarrassing to Amber that you're swannin' around free, THEN they will act. But otherwise, probably not."
OOC Merrisol says, "Aw, that's nice."
OOC Maggie says, "Hehe."
OOC Quinlan smiles. "Quinlan navigates the murky waters on the side of the law - but he's fairly aware of where the line really is."
OOC Quinlan says, "the closest I can describe the royal view of the law is...the drow books by R. A. Salvatore."
OOC Quinlan says, "it's not 'what you do', however heinous. It's a) whether you got caught and b) whether The Authorities can plausibly ignore it."
Maggie pages: She would have pulled him out of the water but might not remember. Do you have a preference? Or is he in fact dead?
You paged Maggie with 'Most likely easiest to say he disappeared beneath the waves and was not found.'.
The silent communion is gone. That triggers something in Maggie for her training reasserts and her features no longer betray emotion or intent. For just an instant when Merrisol's eyes meet hers, there is a flash of something that is then shuttered away. Listening, it is her turn to search his expression, his eyes and the movement of his mouth. "I see. Did you mean to kill this man or was it an accident?" Her tone has lost its usual warmth, though has not shifted over to chill, "Or do you recall? And what do you mean it 'sank without sinking'?" Casting her glance to Quinlan she nods, "I do not intend letting them know about it, either." Then she looks back to Merrisol, poised for action but taking none as of yet herself.
As Merrisol rises, Maggie is drawn up with him. Her hand does not release his, nor does she move the other from her still sheathed cutlass. The movement does require that she either abandon the magic envelop or draw it beneath her booted foot toward her. Rather than release it, she drags it beneath her foot until she is standing squarely on it with the edges peeking from beneath the dark leather of her boot.
That sounds... awfully lenient. Merrisol's querying glare cut Quinlan's way is evidence enough of his mistrust of the statements made. However, upon giving further thought to both the man's advice, and more importantly, the specific -way- he had said them.. for an instant, the confessed outlaw's eyes betray something vulnerable, and he then nods. The change in Maggie's voice draws back his attention then, frowning soberly at her questions and trying to concentrate on dredging up the answers, instead of on the painful loss of her regard. "I don't..." he admits, casting his gaze down to examine his own 'sank without sinking' comment. But that mystery falls by the wayside as Maggie relays her intentions verbally to Quinlan, and Merrisol's eyes flash back up, creasing at the edges with incredulity. "What..? You won't?" He looks from Maggie to Quinlan, then back, and laughs involuntarily at something he finds craaazy. "You would compromise your own honour, and.. what. Suffer the private shame of knowing a murderer? And even if not a murderer, a pirate scum?" He makes it sound like a Bad Thing. But they both know it is. He shakes his head as he releases her hand, but leaves it out between them while stepping back. "I won't do that to you, Maggie." The sheath under his coat squeals a bit as the sword is drawn. "You called for my surrender once, Captain Flame..?"
Quinlan looks, briefly, quite a bit older than his appearance might suggest. "I've known quite a few murderers, actually. I don't say it thrills me, because it doesn't. I'd rather people got along. But in all honesty our family's probably a lot bloodier than yours."
For her part, Maggie watches Merrisol once more, seeking to devine intent where memory might not supply it. Intent never admited or hinted at. She nods to Quinlan once more, then begins to answer Merrisol, "I won't turn you in, no. There is no honor in ending the freedom of a man who does not remember whether the act he is accused of was accidental or intentional." She releases his hand as he draws his away, her own remaining lifted toward his though she does nothing to reclaim it. "My honor is my own to watch out for and there is no honor in this either way. If you did not set out to end this man, or if there was a reason behind it, then you should not be caged or worse. Too many unknowns. As for the rest?" She licks her lips to consider, "As Quin has said, my family history is swimming in blood, both of the innocent and the guilty." She speaks with a quiet intensity, "Pirates? Well, I hold no love for them, but one can't be a pirate scum unless one is scum and you are not. You are an honorable person, fair and loyal." She stills when she hears the sound of his sword leaving its sheath. Her cutlass is drawn as an automatic reaction to his, though she does not do more than bring it to a defensive position, "I called for your surrender, because I did not know you. It is not a mistake I mean to make again. Please, put that away. Or do you mean to go against your word? You swore your sword to my service."
Merrisol looks a little confused now, catching up with all the statements spoken at the same time, which he apparently wasn't ready to hear. His sword has cleared its sheath but remains hilt up, blade pointed inward. "And what I mean to do is surrender it to you," he replies slowly and distinctly, feeling out the idea as he speaks it. "You are acting on orders, or by request, of your mother, therefore her government? I submit to your authority, for conveyance back to the realms of the Golden Circle. Which you can do after you have located your ship." While steadily explaining, he looks between them for reaction. "And if I may keep my sword and go about freely while in your service, I give you my word I will not try to escape nor raise my sword against you or your allies... would that be acceptable? You know what a stickler I can be.. this is the only way I know, still." Plus it might buy him time to figure out what's going on, but that's just a bonus!
Quinlan tilts his head. "Uh. This would be that packet thing Maggie's standing on, now, wouldn't it? I take it her blood got through the seal, then. Past that, kind of lost now."
It is a measure of things in a way that Maggie's first assumption on hearing metal clearing a sheath was to think an attack was imminent. Slowly, she begins to breath normally once more. Rising out of the defensive position she claimed, Maggie slips her own blade back into its sheath, the push ending in a faint *snick* as it hoves too. "Mother is not an agent of a government though she did serve in the Antikan navy. She is more of a... Maritime bounty hunter, I guess." Her brows pucker a bit as she considers that and she adds, "If... I am remembering correctly. She... could be working for anyone." She nods to Quinlan, "Yes. That is the one and yes. My blood exposed the document within." Folding her arms in front of her, the woman studies both Merrisol and Quinlan for a moment or three, not accepting the blade, but not yet accepting the offer. As she thinks it through, her focus narrows a bit, then a bit more until only those two men, one kin the other... uncertain... are all that exist. Finally, she nods once, "That is acceptable. Put your blade away. I accept your surrender and the conditions outlined."
Merrisol waits without another word, accepting the corrections to his perception with a short nod, and also when Maggie confirms Quinlan's assumptions about the contents of the now obscured document. He sighs out slowly at last, having been unconsciously holding his breath, when she agrees to terms. He puts the sword away. "Thank you. I wouldn't have tried to fight you.. you know that. Your cousin gave us heck for the fight at the Noodlehouse, and we weren't even the principals.. imagine if we fought on his personal yacht." He casts Quinlan a smirk.
Quinlan makes a face. "I wouldn't arrest you, I'd just tell you to knock it off or I'll wash you overboard," he says. "I'm gathering there's some kind of agreement in place. So...is that good?"
Maggie says, "I know." And she realizes that she does but when the man outlines why the fight would not have occured, her head lifts as though she suffered a physical blow. She nods once to Quinlan and bends to retrieve the envelop from beneath her foot. This time, she is very careful to touch it only with unbroken skin. Taking two steps forward, she holds it out to Merrisol and nods to Quin's query, "It is good." Or some reasonable facsimile there of. Her tone has returned to its previous quiet assurance, though there is something different there none the less. "Quin, I'm going to borrow your lower room for just a moment, if you don't mind."
Merrisol lifts his eyebrows at Quinlan's response, fair enough. Glancing back at Maggie's reaction, he looks regretful for a moment of his falling back on jest during a serious situation. His expression is schooled by the time she approaches to return the packet, which he takes after an uncertain pause. His eyes follow her a few steps, then skate away to focus on nothing while he tucks the flimsy item away.
Quinlan blinks, and steps aside, so the path to the hatch is clear. "Sure," he says. "Go ahead." He looks between the two of them, frowning worriedly. Then he picks up his bundle of blankets, and takes a seat in one of the chairs.
Maggie flickers a glance at Merrisol, then nods to Quinlan, "Thank you." The steps to the hatch are taken rather quickly. She opens it and slips below without another backward glance. Once below she pulls the hatch closed but there is no sign that she has latched it.
Last man standing, Merrisol appears lost in thought. He presently clears his throat, sniffs, and approaches the collection of chairs, although he doesn't grab one for himself this time. "I apologize for bringing chaos to your ship, Quinlan. As you may have surmised, I have discovered my name at last, from that document. Merrisol, captain of the pirate ship Eclipse," he reintroduces himself formerly.
Quinlan smiles a bit. "You haven't brought any chaos that I've seen. Just people talking. Hypothetical violence is just that - hypothetical." He tilts his head. "Are you Minosan then?"
Merrisol has to think about this for a moment, but he nods. "Yes. It's been suggested before as a possibility. This just confirms it." He pats the pocket into which the envelope had disappeared. "Even so.. feels unreal still. It'll pass."
Quinlan looks wry. "I'm gathering," he agrees. "And Maggie was...chasing you, or something? I'm kind of working this out on guesses, you realize."
It does not take long for Maggie to return. When she does, it appears as though she has washed her face. Closing the hatch once more, she moves toward the chairs, but hesitates when she sees the relative positions of the two men. Squaring her shoulders, she moves toward them. As she moves past Merrisol, one hand almost automatically reaches out to briefly touch his arm. If the touch is allowed, it would not linger. Drawing one of Quin's chairs into a slightly different angle, she settles in it, "That is the short of it, yes." Her tone has lost its bounce, though it is possible that it is merely on hiatus.
"Oh.. well that's a fair guess then," Merrisol starts to reply, giving Quinlan a look of sympathy. He's been confused before.. a lot! He does understand. He looks around as Maggie passes, the quick touch not going unnoticed, though he focuses on Quin again. "A memory very clearly surfaced that held the answer to how we two, ever since we met here in Amber, have always felt there was something familiar about the other. Part of the reason why we..." He doesn't know quite how to finish that, but does anyway, with a sigh: "..became close."
Quinlan looks between the two of them, introspective and thoughtful. "So she was chasing you," he guesses slowly. "You both lost your memories, turned up here, and became friends. And now you know you were opponents, but...also still friends, just now with an understanding of a duty that separates." He pauses. "Is that, um...accurate? Or what am I missing?"
Adjusting her cutlass so it angles properly as she sits, Maggie schools her expression when Merrisol gets to the end of that final sentence. She nods at Quin's assessment, her gaze lowering a little, "That is about it, yes." She slips a glance Merrisol's way, though it is a brief flicker of emerald that touches and fades as she looks back to her cousin. One leg stretches out a bit while the other remains nearer her chair, "So. Ker... Oh, sorry... Merrisol will stay as my first mate for our trip out to my ship. Once there, we'll free it and, with luck, have it repaired and recrewed. After that we'll see." Her eyes drop then, clearly finding the toe of her extended boot utterly fascinating.
Merrisol stands a bit stiffer as Maggie abandons the familiar old moniker for the new slightly infamous one.. funny he never thought he'd miss Kerf, even Kerfuffle. And so soon, too. However, Maggie's next statements startle him so much, he has to sit down. He looks at her, then thinks better of arguing the maintenance of his position on the crew. Instead, he says to Quinlan, "You may still be missing plenty.. but that's mainly because we are missing plenty as well.. or I am. Maggie has recovered significantly more of herself than I have, obviously."
Quinlan nods. "And...that's why you cry?" asks Quinlan carefully. He offers one of the folded blankets. "When is the trip out to get the ship?"
Maggie stares at her cousin as he calls out her washed face and the logical implications. She leans over to accept the blanket and settles it around her shoulders, draping the length over her, "No. I was crying because..." Her gaze shifts to Merrisol, then lowers and drifts back to Quinlan, "Just because. We'll leave before the end of the week if we can find a ship. Still working on that one. If I can't get someone here to take us, I'll ask you to shadow walk with me again, if that is okay. I can't ask my mom for a lift."
OOC Merrisol cools. Okay, Merrisol asks leave to go back to his inn, and stuff. Or sleeps under Maggie's chair, whatever! :D
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Gossip BJ0: Fri Jan 25 21:22:50 2013 by Merrisol (public)
GL-Begma: intensity murmur, trace cost 1, expires 01 Feb
Title: Lately, a Surrender
==============================================================================
A bounty-hunting chase that began almost two months past in Begman waters, is said to have concluded in Amber this week, with the formal surrender of the outlaw, Pirate Captain Merrisol, wanted amongst other things for hijacking a steam-powered vessel out on a test voyage, to the contracted hunter, Captain Flame.
The actual details get sketchy after that, but gossips in Amber tell of how the pirate hid in plain sight, behind an assumed identity or, as others claim, a lack of identity. Influxes of victims suffering traumatic amnesia from the forests of Arden are not uncommon in Amber's recent history, and it makes sense for a criminal on the run to attempt to cloak himself in anonymous victimhood. They say Merrisol's fatal flaw was vanity, and his inability to discard his memorable red coat was his undoing as the Sea Queen huntress exposed him at sword point... although not before the scoundrel had already besmirched the reputations of several fine ladies about town.
The question now is what, if anything, is being done to bring the outlaw up on formal charges, so he might stand trial for acts of piracy against realms of the Golden Circle, at least one of which is sure to stick. The arresting agent, dubbed Captain Flame for her numerous fiery qualities, is said to have sequestered the rogue on her ship. Conflicting rumours claim she has no ship to speak of and the crimson-frocked pirate continues to roam the streets freely.
The family of the Begman engineer who disappeared along with the stolen vessel have not yet spoken up about this newest development. Come to think of it, the mother and son have not been seen about Begma society for about a month now.
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Maggie moves at a fast clip down from the cliffs where the upper crust do whatever crusty old things they do. Her steps are a staccato that is closer to a run than a walk. For the evening she is swathed in a thick cloak that is held tightly together in front. Still, the movement is quick enough to open the lower half of the cloak, exposing shadow and darkness and the occasional flicker of emerald satin and bare skin. The glimpses are few and very brief, for whenever they happen she tugs the cloak more firmly closed. Reaching Quin's ship's berth, she pauses, then calls, "Quinlan?" There is a near frantic, highly embarrassed, indignant tone to her voice, "I... Oh, screw it. May I come aboard? I have to change." Must. It is an imperative. Now.
Quinlan removes his attention from his telescope and notebook, gesturing toward the gangplank - which obligingly lowers itself to the dock. "Come on up," he says. "What's happened?"
Now a good two weeks spent living and working in and around the city, it's possible they've seen one another in passing, but certainly Kerf's most vivid impression of the lanky Royal is from his harried participation in that futile struggle that recently took place in the eatery. And while impressions may not have been mutually favourable at the time, the amnesiac who apparently responds to summons under the moniker Professor Kerfuffle (vonChaos) is willing to put it aside for new mutual interests: assisting Maggie in her urgent venture. And so, here he is, earlier still than even the running early running Maggie, already aboard and pouring some tea. He pauses to watch while Quinlan responds to the hail dockside.
As the gangplank lowers, Maggie almost does not wait for it to settle, then remembers that she is wearing spike high heels in emerald with roses embroidered on the toes. Lovely things, really. Completely inappropriate for gangplank navigation, no matter what films might imply. Rather than coming up immediately, she lowers to one knee, the cloak she wears billowing out around her like forest green wings that puff and pool on the docks. Unbuckling one of the shoe she sets it to one side and switches knees. Removing the other shoe, Maggie stands, lifting the pair. Now, walking barefoot up the gangplank might not seem 'best' but when she reaches the deck of the ship and the heels are tossed to one side, they appear to be a good three inches in height, "What happened? Aunt Flora's friend happened. I've never been so mortified in my entire /life/." That she remembers. And then she spots Kerf. Even with the cloak closed tightly, she flushes a deep and abiding crimson and mutters, "Where can I change? Please?" to Quinlan before adding, "Hey, Kerf," in a voice suddenly devoid of self-confidence.
Kerf puts his cup aside to stand attentively by as access to the ship is granted, although that courtesy is tested when it seems Maggie takes her sweet time coming on up. Cold tea on a warm deck, preposterous. When she does appear, tossing strange, ah, vegetations? to the deck, Kerf jawdrops a little... but that's about it. Nothing is on display, though the contents of the cloak are highly suggested by her discomfort. "Good evening, Maggie," he offers as casually as he can.
Nodding to Quinlan's instructions, Maggie pauses to note that Kerf has risen from his deckchair. That wins him a grateful smile for the courtesy. At Quin's directions, Maggie turns to walk with as much dignity as she can muster that way, "Thank you." She releases the cloak to tug open the hatch. The difference in pressure or temperature, or simply her haste, gives the cloak enough billow to spill to one side giving the gentlemen more of an eyefull than she intended. Grabbing the cloak, she pulls it back into place and vanishes below decks, there to become presentable or die of embarassment. One or the other.
Quinlan sips his tea, noting quietly to Kerf, "I didn't see that, and you didn't see that. And whether or not she says anything about it, we don't know anything." Sip. Sip. "Definitely shaping up to be an interesting night though, huh?"
Kerf's eyes are already green, so getting more green in them isn't going to hurt. Right? By the time he even remembers the definition of the word 'avert', she's already gone, but he averts them anyway to study a point in the air a little to the side of Quinlan. "Agreed. Interesting shapings indeed. The night's shape," he clarifies unnecessarily, and locates his tea in order to stand around with Quin, sipping. "All right, I'm better now."
Quinlan laughs. "Tea can have that effect." He waves a hand at the teapot, warming the tea again. "Are you two friends?" he asks curiously. "Or are there going to be introductions when she comes back?"
Kerf looks in the direction of the wave for a moment, never certain of the magical context, but it certainly wasn't a spell to turn the cabin walls see-through, so he returns his attention to Quin. "We are.." he says slowly, puzzled by the question. Names have been exchanged in all possible trajectories tonight, haven't they? "At least, just as recently as our acquaintance as newly emptied head-cases," he clarifies, language altered slightly when not in mixed company it seems. "Before that, however..? There are traces.. hints.. that we have been friends for longer. But that's all," he admits.
Quinlan smiles. "Any chance that you might be a sailor?" he asks. "And I was just keeping the tea hot. Nothing to worry about."
That is always assuming that she does return at all. It certainly takes longer than it should for the hatch to be opened again. Maybe she spent some of that time trying to figure out just how to sink into the floorboards and never return. She peeks out, trying to guage how much embarrassment she will be subjected to. But, really, these are gentlemen and her friends. People she cares for. At least one more than; perhaps, is wise. But, the conversation seems to be about identity and occupation which is a blessing. Stepping out, she has the cloak over her arm as her nature and Quin's spell keep the deck warm. Closing the hatch with a soft snick, she turns to toss a bag over next to the shoes. If they skid a bit, threatening to fall overboard, she does not seem concerned for their safety. Walking back then, she claims a seat, drops her cloak on the deck, and sighs with clear and evident relief to be clothed in comfortable attire once again.
Kerf nods understanding, sips, then says, "It's a fair bet, all signs point to the sea. Or, well, across it, at any rate." His focus shifts once more to the hatch, and nodding a re-welcome to Maggie, he excuses himself from Quinlan's side to walk back to the tea service. "Would you care for a cup?"
Quinlan smiles, and murmurs a small spell, gesturing to the rack of folding wooden chairs. Two more unfold, scooting across the deck to serve Quinlan and Kerfuffle, at a pleasant conversational distance from Maggie. "It's hot," he assures her. "Though I'm keeping the deck warm tonight."
"Please. You are my hero, Kerf. Thank you." The shock of the evening wanes but slowly, but it does wane. Sitting up a bit more, she flickers a glance from one to the other, then focuses on Quin, "Oh, crap. I swiped your chair. I am sorry." A glance flashes over the deck and she nods, "It is nice... A very handy spell to know." Folding her hands in front of her, she speaks more softly, "Actually, Quin..." Ah, with muted resolute glee, she turns the conversation firmly away from the evening's antics. Let them ask if they want details. "I was wondering if you would not mind helping Kerf out a bit? He found a packet that might have some clue as to his past. Thing is, it is magically sealed. I did not try to open it for him because; while I remember using flame and wind, I don't know that my touch is fine enough to avoid causing the packet harm. So... If Kerf is okay with it, I was wondering if you would help?" She nibbles her lower lip slightly, then shudders deeply to shake off the rest of the evening's... er... effects.
Looking over his shoulder to warily monitor the behaviour of the animate seats, Kerf considers a remark, mouth opening. Must have been something impolitic, for he stops himself in time and goes back to pouring a new cup and saucer, as well as refilling his own. "I know you want nothing in coffee, same with tea?" he asks mildly, during a gap in the conversation between cousins. It's a fine excuse to rest his eyes on her with curiosity that could be tea-related. Anything's possible. "The envelope was secreted within the lining of my coat," he relays evenly to Quinlan after receiving Maggie's response. "But its purpose, and even existence, bears no recognition."
Quinlan hns, nodding thoughtfully. "I can certainly try?" he says. "I've a pretty good nose for magic."
Maggie looks up in time to catch Kerf's gaze when he looks her way. "Um... I am more flexible with tea. Right now? I kind of want soothing. So... Maybe two sugars and some milk? If that is possible?" She does not look away for a moment or two longer than necessary, then refocuses on Quin, "Would you please? It must have something important in it. Otherwise, why take such pains to keep it safe? And hidden?" Stretching her denim clad legs out, she crosses them at the ankles.
Kerf first hands Maggie her sweetened, lightened drink, before withdrawing the packet in question from an inner breast pocket. The flimsy envelope measures five by eight inches of semi-translucent waxy surface, and features no openings through which to retrieve the unreadable document vaguely outlined within. "We attempted tearing, cutting with dagger blade, before Maggie discerned a magic property," he informs Quin, while extending it gingerly to the spell-caster. Hoping the man will take it from him as opposed to performing any sort of arcane act while it remains in his own hand. "Protective magics, right Maggie?" he adds helpfully.
Quinlan takes the envelope carefully, sniffing delicately at it. The mageling's attention shifts entirely to the envelope, and any magic contained there.
RPG: Kerfuffle declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ df9 ]----
Author: Kerfuffle Held By: Kerfuffle
Date: Sat Jan 19 21:41:02 2013 Focus: 0
Title: The Hidden Packet
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Token Description
A highly flexible envelope measuring five by eight inches, of semi-translucent waxy surface, and offering no openings through which to retrieve the document vaguely outlined within. It magically resists water damage, fire, tearing, cutting, folding, spindling, mutilating, etc. See the token entitled "The Revealed Document" once 'a Sea King's blood' is used to render the surface temporarily transparent (five minutes).
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RPG: Kerfuffle used the following +declare targets: Quinlan
Maybe Kerf can't stand the brief suspense, or maybe he finds the idea of studying magic via smell rather trying to his own senses, but the fellow backs up to take a seat himself, in the available chair, which had better not be moving independently, even a smidge, as he settles in. He glances at Maggie, in time to silently communicate his tension and restrained hope, then also goes back to staring Quinlan-wards.
Quinlan closes his eyes, sniffing at the edges of the envelope, turning it in his hands. "Oh, that's an impressive piece of binding," he says, half to himself. "Who *does* magic like that?" and finally he sets the envelope down. "I can give you two options. The ward's designed to reveal the contents - briefly - at the touch of a sea king's blood. That should let you read the contents without damaging anything. Or, I can try and pit my own magic against this binding and destroy the outer envelope. There's three possible outcomes. Success - I destroy the envelope, leaving the contents intact. Failure - the binding on the envelope is stronger than what I can counter. Or, there's the chance of *serious* failure, meaning both the envelope and its contents are destroyed." He hands the envelope back to Kerfuffle. "If I were you, I'd go with the blood thing. I'm not entirely familiar with the kind of magic that makes blood seals like this. I'm not sure how it would interact with Pathian magic."
Maggie leans forward far enough that her hand can rest briefly on Kerf's shoulder, if the touch is allowed. She leaves the hand there while Quinlan goes through the process of identifying the magic around the packet. The other hand lifts her tea so a sip, then a longer swallow can be claimed. As he speaks, she sits up again, the chair creeking a little with her movement. "Well, the blood is easy enough." Drawing her dagger, she nicks her finger and holds it out for Kerfuffle, crimson blood welling up against pale skin. With the moonlight and torchlight, it is more a study in black and white. "If a Sea Queen's blood will do." She does not drip on the packet, for it is ultimately Kerf's decision, though she does spear Quin with a glance, "Unless it is a specific, gender oriented thing?"
That.. is quite a lot to take in, that is. Kerf can process Quinlan's words well enough, but he still fixes them with a bleakly skeptical look after the options are laid out, and the envelope is returned to him. "I.. -truly-.. have no recollection returning of anything you just-.." he manages to protest, when Maggie draws and cuts on herself before his widening eyes. "Maggie!" he barks in alarm, then more quietly sputters a couple of other typical half-sentences about her hearing skills and sanity quotient. Then her words truly sink in, and he just -stares-. "Maggie.. you're.. a Pirate?" he asks softly, although if he was trying for a discrete inquiry out of earshot of her Royal cousin, that's most likely a fail, all things considered. She said it aloud herself: Sea Queen.
Quinlan gestures to the envelope. "No harm trying. I've got towels. And it might be worth while to let Kerf try too. He can't remember, but if it's in him, the blood will."
Privately, to Maggie, Kerfuffle's not a fan of magic -or- pirates, it seems. The score is zero for two!
Maggie licks her lips a little, embarrassment and fluster all settling in over a small, very minor cut. One that might give Kerf some of himself back. It seems a small price to pay, doesn't it? Then, Kerf asks that question, the tone almost sounding horrified. She replies with indignation, "No! Sea Queens aren't all pirates. It's a..." And then she can't finish because memory fails her at that crucial moment. "A... What. Family? Bloodline thing?" Looking at Quin, seeking help in explaining to Kerfuffle just when Quinlan suggests that Kerfuffle might be a Sea King in his own right. Her hand is lifted. The wound has already stopped bleeding anyway.
Privately, to Kerfuffle, Maggie isn't fond of pirates either, it seems. Though she is not navy, that is certain.
A band of tension loosens from about Kerf's shoulders, letting them slump a little in mollified bewilderment, as Maggie barks back. "Then... so, your mother..?" he starts to say, before he can counsel himself to shut up. "No, I'm Sorry, I don't know why it even..." He trails off from the erratic dialogue between them, and looks at Quinlan at about the same time. From his stillness, the set of his brows, the sharpness of his sea-green glare.. it could be read that he is not prepared to hear that suggestion either. The other man goes, apparently for those towels even if Maggie's cut has closed rather impressively, without receiving any response other than that wordless but nonetheless-volume-speaking look.
Maggie says, "Mother?" She inhales, almost waiting for Quin to jump in and when he instead rises and heads off; presumably for the towels, she sighs. There is blood on her finger still, though it has already begun to dry. Softly, since Quinlan is not going to speak to it, Maggie tries, "Mom is a Sea Queen, yes. She has her own ship. She... was part of the navy a while back. I think? Now I don't know what she does, exactly. I can find out, though. If it will help."
Kerfuffle's glare cools in intensity when Quinlan disappears below decks, and it's Maggie's voice only now, soothing. There's a dull twinge of wonder given to his seething outrage, that of a quality the even-tempered gentleman had never experienced but one other time since his awakening to this strange existence. That moment of vengeful anger when he heard about Prince Benedict's deed against Raphaela. Could these indeed be glimpses of the ugly truth? "Oh," he nods, looking at her presently with regretful eyes. "I didn't realize the distinction, Maggie. Can you forgive me that foul accusation?" he wonders guiltily, reaching for her hands without giving much thought to propriety at this moment. Or caution either, it appears, since the envelope is still in his grasp, and heading for hers of the yet bloodied finger.
There is no denying that the accusation stung. Her? A pirate? Doesn't he know her better than that? And yet, rationality asserts, how could he when she barely knows herself? The regret in his eyes mollifies her somewhat, as does the tone in his voice, though there is now a fear within her, seeded and growing. A series of 'what if' chains that anchor her to that budding fear. Still, she responds to the touch of guilt in his tone and the regret in his gaze. Without thinking about it, her hands reach for his, bloody finger slipping over the smooth surface of the packet. "Of course, Kerf. It was an honest mistake."
His relief is quiet yet profound, his empty hand finding and curling round her unharmed fingers, lifting her hand up as though he might press it to his lips in gratitude. Between their other hands, the envelope is blindly folded, not that the crease is likely to mar the shell permanently; meanwhile from the crimson smear a ripple of warmth spreads out across the flimsy surface, clearing away the waxy haze in the same manner a warm breath will thaw the frosting from a window pane, outwards from the point of contact. Within moments, the surface of the packet is fully transparent, the smudge itself fading and shrinking, exposing the single page locked within. Feeling the spread of heat, Kerf frowns with dawning realization, and draws back, gaze dropping to the document caught between their hands.
The stipulations Quinlan had scryed off the magic's pathways had not been absolute with regards to gender.
RPG: Kerfuffle declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ dfa ]----
Author: Kerfuffle Held By: Kerfuffle
Date: Sun Jan 20 00:24:57 2013 Focus: 0
Title: The Revealed Document
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Token Description
Trapped within the now transparent envelope is a thin parchment measuring four by seven inches, upon which is tightly penned an 'Articles of Agreement' by the crew of the Eclipse. It details their rules for running a happy ship of outlaws, the penalties for breaking those rules, distribution of shares, compensation for work injuries, and recruits. It is signed underneath, or in cases of illiteracy marked, by each member, approximately thirty in number.
Of special note is the additional Pledge written on the lower half of the page, describing the crew's elected Captain as a man of unsurpassed cunning and strength, and "..henceforth named Merrisol, for his sunny disposition and bright locks..". It goes on to make several cryptic remarks that may refer to a red coat that confers authority, privileges at certain ports of call, and possesses the bearer with knowledge of several sea locations of significance.
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RPG: Kerfuffle used the following +declare targets: Maggie
Her smile warms on seeing that relief and the same emotion fills her and when his hand closes around hers, lifting it toward his lips; perhaps to place a kiss there, she leans forward, gaze softening. The ship fades from existence, night and the moon's touch but a whisper of awareness. Awareness much like the growing warmth spreading from something clasped between her hand and his. That heat coupled with his frown and drawing back clue her in and Maggie lowers her gaze as well. She blinks as realization dawns and the hand minus the document squeezes his hand briefly. Her other hand lets go so that he can bring the document close. A whisper then, "What does it say?"
The moment thrust upon them, but with no guarantee it will qualify as 'greatness', Kerf hunches forward a little and obligingly lifts the document closer. It un-scrunches to display its face to the both of them, and anyone coming on board at this moment might be struck by the sight of the two adults sat reading with their heads low and close together, like school-children poring over a particularly puzzling report card. For Kerf himself, the first section of writing is discouragingly piratical in wording, but doesn't immediately indicate anything tragic. There has to be a good, logical explanation for his having this document on his good, logical person... so he keeps reading. And, although very aware of Maggie's nearness and to a vaguer extend, aware of all the complicating nuances that add to this suspense, he doesn't keep her from reading, either. "I don't know.. nothing yet that tells me what.. or invokes any.." His eyes dart lower, and his voice begins to trail off to a breathy rasp. "..recall.."
Although she was willing to let Kerf read this on his own; it is his memory being tweeked afterall, she is delighted to be allowed to huddle with him over the document and not simply to be close to him. It takes her a moment longer to adjust to his nearness enough to be able to concentrate on the document displayed. As she reads, an indistinct chill ripples through her, a frown begins to pucker her brow and the hand still holding his tightens for a fraction of a second. She takes a bit longer to study the first part as something does pluck at her memory. Then her gaze lowers and she reads that second paragraph through once, then again. Her eyes close and she schools her tone away from dangerous nuances, "Anything?" There is hope still, right?
The deck of the Ninetail Red remains warm and peaceful in its mooring, but for Professor Kerfuffle it might as well be pitching and yawing on open waters, as his senses drop and rise in the wake of the surfacing of a leviathan-sized recall.
Thick grey fog rolls in around them, obscuring the environment ten feet in any direction beyond the ship railing of the Eclipse, although rushing and crashing is heard through that obscurity, like a swift vessel splitting the waves. Something is on fire.. men are yelling.. something about flames.. or a Flame. What is happening? His shoulders and arms stiffen, now locked in a grapple with some ferocious enemy with murderous eyes, staggering to the edge of oblivion... and then, something at the edge of his periphery causes him to turn and look. The clinging fog melts away from another boat that comes perilously close along the port side, its mast flying a familiar standard but not a naval colour. That's when he sees her, and it's her flames the men were shouting about, it seems, for her hair is the most rippling shades of auburn and russet. She's calling for the surrender of...
"Merrisol." Captain Merrisol. It's the Ninetail Red again, serene and secure, and Kerf is still seated with Maggie, but his eyes have stopped reading, or seeing the oiled planking of the luxury boat before him. The envelope wavers and slips from his fingers, winging weightlessly for the floor. The waxy film is already starting to creep back around the edges of it, on its way to re-engulfing the writing paper as though it could re-obscure that memory. But it's too late. Kerf's one hand is still caught up in Maggie's, tight and shivering. His other one shifts, on the move, almost floating to his hip where the unadorned hilt of his short sword juts from the outer fold of red waistcoat.
Watching as the memory grips the man next to her, Maggie is struck by tentative hints and whispers of her own. They do not entirely surface, however, until she hears that particular name spoken by that particular voice. Memories of her own rise like a flood.
The delight in her mother's eyes when she spoke of winning the contract to bring the rascal, Merrisol, to justice and the determination that Maggie share in the chase. The fact that her mother could not or would not tell her what the evidence was in the case against the Captain. There was an argument based around that. Why did she agree to the hunt?
A summer's day when Captain Merrisol was spotted in a bar with some of his crew and the barfight that ensued. The irritation that he managed to slip away. Did he mockingly blow her a kiss?
Then the elation when her ship spotted his and the chase was on. That day, that fateful day, when the fog rose with preternatural speed, engulfing both his ship and hers. When, standing on the forecastle of the Wave Dancer, she looked down through a rent in the fog to see him looking up at her, his hand reaching for...
"Merrisol." Her free hand moves with lightening speed to her own hip, fingers seeking the handle of her cutlass while one booted foot slips over to rest over the discarded envelope. The touch of her hand in his firms, strength enfusing the hold without changing the nature of the touch, "Don't draw, Kerf. It will change everything beyond recovery." The sparkle in her eyes when she looks at him remains, though it is muted now by pain and sorrow, "Please."
The deck of the Ninetailed Red is little changed physically from when Quinlan went below. The warmth of the calm air remains. The light from the moon still sends sparkles rippling over the water. A distant night bird calls from the cliffs above the docks. Yet, there is a new tension on the ship. Maggie and Kerf were evidently sitting huddled together over the packet recovered from Kerf's coat. Memories were evidently triggered not only in Kerfuffle, but in Maggie as well.
His shock is still long in fading, and it dulls his reactions to the point of just looking at her stupidly for a moment while she claims her sword handle and pays him a dire warning. As he stares, stricken, into her eyes, his own regain alertness, and his hand twitches its grasp on the sword... but does not draw. Yet. "It's already changed beyond everything.. Maggie. And I don't want to hurt you.." The statement comes as a personal realization as much as a warning of his own. "..Any more than I already have."
Quinlan pauses, with a small stack of blankets in his arms. "I'm sensing Awkward," he says slowly.
Shock remains hovering around Maggie, dimming reason. Yet... She nods slowly to Merrisol, "I know that." The muted anguish that edges her tone lends it a slightly harsher caste than before. "But, we don't know everything and what I said before about knowing what I needed to know still stands." Although whether in the same way is unclear, "Whatever your past... our past... This does not ring true for who you are now." She does not glance Quin's way yet, nor does she release Merrisol's hand though her hold on it changes, loosens. Her other hand does twitch on her cutlass in answer to the shifting of his though she does not draw yet, either. "Let's think this through. There is too much that we still do not know."
Merrisol's gaze leaves Maggie's face long enough to search and identify the source of that other voice, Quinlan. Mageling! He'd said he didn't trust magic, didn't he? And now look! He looks back at Maggie, and as her grip on him loosens enough so he can yank back and, if he's quick and lucky, escape the range of her cutlass in time... he pauses, watching her as she reasons, and doesn't let go. "Quinlan.." he raises his voice from its intimate growl to include their solicitous host. "If you wouldn't mind - what are the penalties here in Amber, for acts of piracy committed on open water or in Shadow, against the nation or her allies?"
Quinlan pauses, and sets down his folded blankets. "Firstly, depends on who you're working for," he says. "The law in Amber isn't exactly straightforward. But - assuming you mean unsanctioned, and against Amber directly, it can get pretty steep." He shakes his head. "But the law's never what it looks like. It's what makes being a Gull tricky. You'd have to be more specific. Under whose flag would you sail, and who would be the target?"
Maggie's gaze continues to search Merrisol's face, green eyes eventually seeking answering green. As the two men speak, she lets her newly acquired memories filter and sift, some falling into place and others lingering in that unanchored free-floating space where potential links might find them. She flickers a glance to Quinlan, then back and when she speaks again it is reluctantly though somewhere deep within, honor and honesty demand disclosure, "Mother is not cheap and she almost never asks me to help with anything. If someone hired her to find you, they felt they had reason though if she told me why, I do not remember it." Gently then, more softly though still enough to carry, "Piracy alone is not typically enough. Though it would depend on the target, I suppose." Still her hand remains twined with Merrisol's while the other rests on the packet, the contents now completely obscured by the concealing magic that held its secrets safe.
Merrisol listens to Quinlan while his eyes never leave Maggie's face, not searching, nor silently speaking his inner thoughts as they once did. He's studying her reactions, reading her eyes, mouth, her breathing, her colouration.. all which may betray intention. He doesn't seem to think the ensorceled document is of much important now, not that any hands are free to retrieve it, instead opting to rise to his feet, necessarily bringing Maggie with him through the fact of their linked hands. "I see," he mutters to the cousins' collective remarks on the rather surprising nebulous subject of the law. A pause. "...I killed a man from Begma," he says softly, eyes momentarily gone distant. "Threw him to his death. I took his ship.. a ship that sank without sinking."
You paged Maggie with 'At the time of the attempted capture, someone did go overboard. May have been a tactic to distract Maggie with the duty of rescue while the pirate ship escaped in the fog.'.
Quinlan nods slowly. "What I can tell you is that Amber will not care, unless this man's family, or the owners of his ship or cargo, *come* to Amber - and know you're here," he says quietly. "Now, I'm a Gull, which you'd think would mean law enforcement. But in this case, I think jurisdiction actually falls to the Navy - so, Caine and Gerard. I wouldn't volunteer this to either of them. Gerard might take it badly; Caine's more likely to blackmail you. But if you don't volunteer, odds are it will stay quiet unless the Begmans come to Amber screeching about it *and* do so with the knowledge you're *in* Amber."
OOC Quinlan says, "read: if a situation should arise where it would be embarrassing to Amber that you're swannin' around free, THEN they will act. But otherwise, probably not."
OOC Merrisol says, "Aw, that's nice."
OOC Maggie says, "Hehe."
OOC Quinlan smiles. "Quinlan navigates the murky waters on the side of the law - but he's fairly aware of where the line really is."
OOC Quinlan says, "the closest I can describe the royal view of the law is...the drow books by R. A. Salvatore."
OOC Quinlan says, "it's not 'what you do', however heinous. It's a) whether you got caught and b) whether The Authorities can plausibly ignore it."
Maggie pages: She would have pulled him out of the water but might not remember. Do you have a preference? Or is he in fact dead?
You paged Maggie with 'Most likely easiest to say he disappeared beneath the waves and was not found.'.
The silent communion is gone. That triggers something in Maggie for her training reasserts and her features no longer betray emotion or intent. For just an instant when Merrisol's eyes meet hers, there is a flash of something that is then shuttered away. Listening, it is her turn to search his expression, his eyes and the movement of his mouth. "I see. Did you mean to kill this man or was it an accident?" Her tone has lost its usual warmth, though has not shifted over to chill, "Or do you recall? And what do you mean it 'sank without sinking'?" Casting her glance to Quinlan she nods, "I do not intend letting them know about it, either." Then she looks back to Merrisol, poised for action but taking none as of yet herself.
As Merrisol rises, Maggie is drawn up with him. Her hand does not release his, nor does she move the other from her still sheathed cutlass. The movement does require that she either abandon the magic envelop or draw it beneath her booted foot toward her. Rather than release it, she drags it beneath her foot until she is standing squarely on it with the edges peeking from beneath the dark leather of her boot.
That sounds... awfully lenient. Merrisol's querying glare cut Quinlan's way is evidence enough of his mistrust of the statements made. However, upon giving further thought to both the man's advice, and more importantly, the specific -way- he had said them.. for an instant, the confessed outlaw's eyes betray something vulnerable, and he then nods. The change in Maggie's voice draws back his attention then, frowning soberly at her questions and trying to concentrate on dredging up the answers, instead of on the painful loss of her regard. "I don't..." he admits, casting his gaze down to examine his own 'sank without sinking' comment. But that mystery falls by the wayside as Maggie relays her intentions verbally to Quinlan, and Merrisol's eyes flash back up, creasing at the edges with incredulity. "What..? You won't?" He looks from Maggie to Quinlan, then back, and laughs involuntarily at something he finds craaazy. "You would compromise your own honour, and.. what. Suffer the private shame of knowing a murderer? And even if not a murderer, a pirate scum?" He makes it sound like a Bad Thing. But they both know it is. He shakes his head as he releases her hand, but leaves it out between them while stepping back. "I won't do that to you, Maggie." The sheath under his coat squeals a bit as the sword is drawn. "You called for my surrender once, Captain Flame..?"
Quinlan looks, briefly, quite a bit older than his appearance might suggest. "I've known quite a few murderers, actually. I don't say it thrills me, because it doesn't. I'd rather people got along. But in all honesty our family's probably a lot bloodier than yours."
For her part, Maggie watches Merrisol once more, seeking to devine intent where memory might not supply it. Intent never admited or hinted at. She nods to Quinlan once more, then begins to answer Merrisol, "I won't turn you in, no. There is no honor in ending the freedom of a man who does not remember whether the act he is accused of was accidental or intentional." She releases his hand as he draws his away, her own remaining lifted toward his though she does nothing to reclaim it. "My honor is my own to watch out for and there is no honor in this either way. If you did not set out to end this man, or if there was a reason behind it, then you should not be caged or worse. Too many unknowns. As for the rest?" She licks her lips to consider, "As Quin has said, my family history is swimming in blood, both of the innocent and the guilty." She speaks with a quiet intensity, "Pirates? Well, I hold no love for them, but one can't be a pirate scum unless one is scum and you are not. You are an honorable person, fair and loyal." She stills when she hears the sound of his sword leaving its sheath. Her cutlass is drawn as an automatic reaction to his, though she does not do more than bring it to a defensive position, "I called for your surrender, because I did not know you. It is not a mistake I mean to make again. Please, put that away. Or do you mean to go against your word? You swore your sword to my service."
Merrisol looks a little confused now, catching up with all the statements spoken at the same time, which he apparently wasn't ready to hear. His sword has cleared its sheath but remains hilt up, blade pointed inward. "And what I mean to do is surrender it to you," he replies slowly and distinctly, feeling out the idea as he speaks it. "You are acting on orders, or by request, of your mother, therefore her government? I submit to your authority, for conveyance back to the realms of the Golden Circle. Which you can do after you have located your ship." While steadily explaining, he looks between them for reaction. "And if I may keep my sword and go about freely while in your service, I give you my word I will not try to escape nor raise my sword against you or your allies... would that be acceptable? You know what a stickler I can be.. this is the only way I know, still." Plus it might buy him time to figure out what's going on, but that's just a bonus!
Quinlan tilts his head. "Uh. This would be that packet thing Maggie's standing on, now, wouldn't it? I take it her blood got through the seal, then. Past that, kind of lost now."
It is a measure of things in a way that Maggie's first assumption on hearing metal clearing a sheath was to think an attack was imminent. Slowly, she begins to breath normally once more. Rising out of the defensive position she claimed, Maggie slips her own blade back into its sheath, the push ending in a faint *snick* as it hoves too. "Mother is not an agent of a government though she did serve in the Antikan navy. She is more of a... Maritime bounty hunter, I guess." Her brows pucker a bit as she considers that and she adds, "If... I am remembering correctly. She... could be working for anyone." She nods to Quinlan, "Yes. That is the one and yes. My blood exposed the document within." Folding her arms in front of her, the woman studies both Merrisol and Quinlan for a moment or three, not accepting the blade, but not yet accepting the offer. As she thinks it through, her focus narrows a bit, then a bit more until only those two men, one kin the other... uncertain... are all that exist. Finally, she nods once, "That is acceptable. Put your blade away. I accept your surrender and the conditions outlined."
Merrisol waits without another word, accepting the corrections to his perception with a short nod, and also when Maggie confirms Quinlan's assumptions about the contents of the now obscured document. He sighs out slowly at last, having been unconsciously holding his breath, when she agrees to terms. He puts the sword away. "Thank you. I wouldn't have tried to fight you.. you know that. Your cousin gave us heck for the fight at the Noodlehouse, and we weren't even the principals.. imagine if we fought on his personal yacht." He casts Quinlan a smirk.
Quinlan makes a face. "I wouldn't arrest you, I'd just tell you to knock it off or I'll wash you overboard," he says. "I'm gathering there's some kind of agreement in place. So...is that good?"
Maggie says, "I know." And she realizes that she does but when the man outlines why the fight would not have occured, her head lifts as though she suffered a physical blow. She nods once to Quinlan and bends to retrieve the envelop from beneath her foot. This time, she is very careful to touch it only with unbroken skin. Taking two steps forward, she holds it out to Merrisol and nods to Quin's query, "It is good." Or some reasonable facsimile there of. Her tone has returned to its previous quiet assurance, though there is something different there none the less. "Quin, I'm going to borrow your lower room for just a moment, if you don't mind."
Merrisol lifts his eyebrows at Quinlan's response, fair enough. Glancing back at Maggie's reaction, he looks regretful for a moment of his falling back on jest during a serious situation. His expression is schooled by the time she approaches to return the packet, which he takes after an uncertain pause. His eyes follow her a few steps, then skate away to focus on nothing while he tucks the flimsy item away.
Quinlan blinks, and steps aside, so the path to the hatch is clear. "Sure," he says. "Go ahead." He looks between the two of them, frowning worriedly. Then he picks up his bundle of blankets, and takes a seat in one of the chairs.
Maggie flickers a glance at Merrisol, then nods to Quinlan, "Thank you." The steps to the hatch are taken rather quickly. She opens it and slips below without another backward glance. Once below she pulls the hatch closed but there is no sign that she has latched it.
Last man standing, Merrisol appears lost in thought. He presently clears his throat, sniffs, and approaches the collection of chairs, although he doesn't grab one for himself this time. "I apologize for bringing chaos to your ship, Quinlan. As you may have surmised, I have discovered my name at last, from that document. Merrisol, captain of the pirate ship Eclipse," he reintroduces himself formerly.
Quinlan smiles a bit. "You haven't brought any chaos that I've seen. Just people talking. Hypothetical violence is just that - hypothetical." He tilts his head. "Are you Minosan then?"
Merrisol has to think about this for a moment, but he nods. "Yes. It's been suggested before as a possibility. This just confirms it." He pats the pocket into which the envelope had disappeared. "Even so.. feels unreal still. It'll pass."
Quinlan looks wry. "I'm gathering," he agrees. "And Maggie was...chasing you, or something? I'm kind of working this out on guesses, you realize."
It does not take long for Maggie to return. When she does, it appears as though she has washed her face. Closing the hatch once more, she moves toward the chairs, but hesitates when she sees the relative positions of the two men. Squaring her shoulders, she moves toward them. As she moves past Merrisol, one hand almost automatically reaches out to briefly touch his arm. If the touch is allowed, it would not linger. Drawing one of Quin's chairs into a slightly different angle, she settles in it, "That is the short of it, yes." Her tone has lost its bounce, though it is possible that it is merely on hiatus.
"Oh.. well that's a fair guess then," Merrisol starts to reply, giving Quinlan a look of sympathy. He's been confused before.. a lot! He does understand. He looks around as Maggie passes, the quick touch not going unnoticed, though he focuses on Quin again. "A memory very clearly surfaced that held the answer to how we two, ever since we met here in Amber, have always felt there was something familiar about the other. Part of the reason why we..." He doesn't know quite how to finish that, but does anyway, with a sigh: "..became close."
Quinlan looks between the two of them, introspective and thoughtful. "So she was chasing you," he guesses slowly. "You both lost your memories, turned up here, and became friends. And now you know you were opponents, but...also still friends, just now with an understanding of a duty that separates." He pauses. "Is that, um...accurate? Or what am I missing?"
Adjusting her cutlass so it angles properly as she sits, Maggie schools her expression when Merrisol gets to the end of that final sentence. She nods at Quin's assessment, her gaze lowering a little, "That is about it, yes." She slips a glance Merrisol's way, though it is a brief flicker of emerald that touches and fades as she looks back to her cousin. One leg stretches out a bit while the other remains nearer her chair, "So. Ker... Oh, sorry... Merrisol will stay as my first mate for our trip out to my ship. Once there, we'll free it and, with luck, have it repaired and recrewed. After that we'll see." Her eyes drop then, clearly finding the toe of her extended boot utterly fascinating.
Merrisol stands a bit stiffer as Maggie abandons the familiar old moniker for the new slightly infamous one.. funny he never thought he'd miss Kerf, even Kerfuffle. And so soon, too. However, Maggie's next statements startle him so much, he has to sit down. He looks at her, then thinks better of arguing the maintenance of his position on the crew. Instead, he says to Quinlan, "You may still be missing plenty.. but that's mainly because we are missing plenty as well.. or I am. Maggie has recovered significantly more of herself than I have, obviously."
Quinlan nods. "And...that's why you cry?" asks Quinlan carefully. He offers one of the folded blankets. "When is the trip out to get the ship?"
Maggie stares at her cousin as he calls out her washed face and the logical implications. She leans over to accept the blanket and settles it around her shoulders, draping the length over her, "No. I was crying because..." Her gaze shifts to Merrisol, then lowers and drifts back to Quinlan, "Just because. We'll leave before the end of the week if we can find a ship. Still working on that one. If I can't get someone here to take us, I'll ask you to shadow walk with me again, if that is okay. I can't ask my mom for a lift."
OOC Merrisol cools. Okay, Merrisol asks leave to go back to his inn, and stuff. Or sleeps under Maggie's chair, whatever! :D
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Gossip BJ0: Fri Jan 25 21:22:50 2013 by Merrisol (public)
GL-Begma: intensity murmur, trace cost 1, expires 01 Feb
Title: Lately, a Surrender
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A bounty-hunting chase that began almost two months past in Begman waters, is said to have concluded in Amber this week, with the formal surrender of the outlaw, Pirate Captain Merrisol, wanted amongst other things for hijacking a steam-powered vessel out on a test voyage, to the contracted hunter, Captain Flame.
The actual details get sketchy after that, but gossips in Amber tell of how the pirate hid in plain sight, behind an assumed identity or, as others claim, a lack of identity. Influxes of victims suffering traumatic amnesia from the forests of Arden are not uncommon in Amber's recent history, and it makes sense for a criminal on the run to attempt to cloak himself in anonymous victimhood. They say Merrisol's fatal flaw was vanity, and his inability to discard his memorable red coat was his undoing as the Sea Queen huntress exposed him at sword point... although not before the scoundrel had already besmirched the reputations of several fine ladies about town.
The question now is what, if anything, is being done to bring the outlaw up on formal charges, so he might stand trial for acts of piracy against realms of the Golden Circle, at least one of which is sure to stick. The arresting agent, dubbed Captain Flame for her numerous fiery qualities, is said to have sequestered the rogue on her ship. Conflicting rumours claim she has no ship to speak of and the crimson-frocked pirate continues to roam the streets freely.
The family of the Begman engineer who disappeared along with the stolen vessel have not yet spoken up about this newest development. Come to think of it, the mother and son have not been seen about Begma society for about a month now.
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