(no subject)
WHO: Red-Haired Shanks (and anyone who cares to interact!)
WHAT: A walk to the Crimson Dragon
WHERE: In Town, On the Streets
WHEN: A few hours before dusk, the evening he arrived.
"Thanks, ma'am, for the dinner! I really do appreciate it," the pirate captain commented with a cheerful smile as he straightened his cape with his good arm and stepped out of the small inn. He'd been perfectly willing to stick around the place until he'd heard from another newcomer that there was a place not too far from where he was that held bit more promise.
Not one to be deterred, the man known as Red-Haired Shanks stepped out into the waning daylight and surveyed the people walking along the cobblestone streets. His odd pants and choice of footwear earned him a few curious stares as he snapped open his journal and peered at the makeshift map he'd drawn on the inside cover. This new place was a bit confusing, but having sailed most of the world's oceans where he came from, he was used to having to adjust to new settings and cultures. (This upcoming ball would most likely help him understand just what they were dealing with a little more. How he'd came to be here was nagging irritatingly at the back of his mind.)
Turning on his heel, Shanks made his way down the narrow, winding streets, looking out towards the ocean, which was just close enough to be heard breaking against the shore. It was a soothing sound; something familiar in an alien world. His lips curved into a wistful smile; a few hours on land and already he missed his ship and his crew.
The call of Mother Ocean still sung to him, even after all these years. Even if it was a foreign sea. The soft breeze that filtered up from the beach brushed aside oddly crimson hair and buffeted his scarred face gently, a lady's kiss in a cold world.
He hoped that, if he got this job as a bartender, he could be privy to information on anyone new coming through, because, as far as he was concerned, when you got into the port, the first thing you did was find the nearest tavern and get totally smashed, as a way of...celebrating. Stocking up weaponry and food supplies came later! He knew that it was definitely the first thing any of his men would do, at least.
After several more minutes of walking, he looked up and saw a sign hanging over a door with a red dragon curling around lettering that red "The Crimson Dragon". The symbol reminded him of the figurehead on his ship, so it was with a cheerful smile that he stepped into the building.
WHAT: A walk to the Crimson Dragon
WHERE: In Town, On the Streets
WHEN: A few hours before dusk, the evening he arrived.
"Thanks, ma'am, for the dinner! I really do appreciate it," the pirate captain commented with a cheerful smile as he straightened his cape with his good arm and stepped out of the small inn. He'd been perfectly willing to stick around the place until he'd heard from another newcomer that there was a place not too far from where he was that held bit more promise.
Not one to be deterred, the man known as Red-Haired Shanks stepped out into the waning daylight and surveyed the people walking along the cobblestone streets. His odd pants and choice of footwear earned him a few curious stares as he snapped open his journal and peered at the makeshift map he'd drawn on the inside cover. This new place was a bit confusing, but having sailed most of the world's oceans where he came from, he was used to having to adjust to new settings and cultures. (This upcoming ball would most likely help him understand just what they were dealing with a little more. How he'd came to be here was nagging irritatingly at the back of his mind.)
Turning on his heel, Shanks made his way down the narrow, winding streets, looking out towards the ocean, which was just close enough to be heard breaking against the shore. It was a soothing sound; something familiar in an alien world. His lips curved into a wistful smile; a few hours on land and already he missed his ship and his crew.
The call of Mother Ocean still sung to him, even after all these years. Even if it was a foreign sea. The soft breeze that filtered up from the beach brushed aside oddly crimson hair and buffeted his scarred face gently, a lady's kiss in a cold world.
He hoped that, if he got this job as a bartender, he could be privy to information on anyone new coming through, because, as far as he was concerned, when you got into the port, the first thing you did was find the nearest tavern and get totally smashed, as a way of...celebrating. Stocking up weaponry and food supplies came later! He knew that it was definitely the first thing any of his men would do, at least.
After several more minutes of walking, he looked up and saw a sign hanging over a door with a red dragon curling around lettering that red "The Crimson Dragon". The symbol reminded him of the figurehead on his ship, so it was with a cheerful smile that he stepped into the building.