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Blue Voyage; PRIVATE FOR FLARE! HANDS OFF!
Topic Started: Jun 21 2011, 11:34 PM (417 Views)
Oop
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so they scream
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Private for Flare!))

It looks like someone has stabbed the sun. That, or a cat has thrown up across the sky. One can argue either way, Raj thinks, looping an arm through a bit of rigging so that he can lean out over the red clouds pressing against the thick glass of the Aerodome.

"Captain! All's ready for sail!" a buff, coppery bangaa reports seriously.

"Thank you, Egil. Give the word."

"Yes, Cap'in." With that, Raj's first mate lumbers away, barking orders as he goes. He chose Egil for both his loyalty and his seriousness. Although Raj has many shortcomings, he's aware of most of them; he knew from the beginning that, were he ever to become captain, he would need a more austere first mate. Egil has proven himself time and time again to have been the perfect choice, and Raj trusts him to get the ship out of dock and out of the Aerodome without incident. (Though it is rather irritating when he is mistaken as the captain.)

Mere minutes later, Raj feels the familiar lurch of the ship preparing for launch. "Easy!" he calls as the docking bay slowly opens. He anticipates the rush of air that he can hear forcing its way in, growing louder as the doors open more widely. Everybody is on deck. Civilians crowd around the dock, some brave children standing on the middle rung of the railing, leaning and waving frantically. Raj grins and gives a little salute, tightening his grip on the rigging. He can feel the familiar vibrations kicking in as the thrusters begin charging.

"All lines secure, Cap'in!"

"Let 'er fly, then, boys!"

Then, suddenly, a blast of air swirls around them, the glass doors of the dock finally open all the way, just as the Cloud Vixen prances forward.

"All 'ands at the ready!"

"In position, Cap'in!" his crew sounds, and it's like a chorus of music to Raj's ears. Takeoff is the trickiest part, aside from docking. Especially at a port this busy.

"Steady as she goes!"

Raj is waiting for that familiar thrum under his feet, the guiding tug of the rigging in his grip. "Almost..." he says to himself. His crew is silent as death, waiting for his order.

Then, suddenly, he feels it. "Now!" Men grunt, rigging groans, ropes slide, pulleys squeal, sails snap, and wood moans all in one cacophonous melody -- a song that has long been Raj's favorite. He releases his grip on the rope and walks to the bow of the ship with steady legs, calling out orders as he goes.

"Beautiful, men! Take 'er up and bring 'er about!"

"Aye, Cap'in!"

"And make it quick-like! We're racing Sister Storm, 'ere, boys!"

"Aye, Cap'in!"

Raj smiles, fists planted on his hips as he looks out at the vast sky from the front of his airship. His airship. The Cloud Vixen. He earned her, certainly, putting in all those years of work. With her, he can do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone. Not even the sky is the limit.

"Why west, Raj?" Egil asks, coming to stand next to him.

"I have a feeling," Raj answers.

Egil simply shakes his head, not annoyed, but amused. "Do I ev'n want ta know?"

"I cou'n't tell ya if ya did, mate." Raj turns his blinding, cockeyed smile onto his first mate.

"Ye'll drive me insane, one day, sure as the air I breathe."

"We c'n only hope; Maybe then ye'll stop bein' so uptight."

Egil shakes his head again, and then stalks away, yelling a correction to some young bloke they picked up at the last port. Jael, is his name. Claims he always wanted to be a sky pirate, but doesn't know port from starboard. He's the most useless pirate Raj has ever clapped eyes on -- he was better at half the age! -- but he finds the man amusing. That, and he does the odd jobs that no one else wants to do. Such is the way of a greenhorn.

"Keep up, Jael, or ye'll be tryin' yer best to walk on clouds!" he threatens, turning his smile into a glower. Jael balks, redoubling his efforts. Good, Raj thinks. He'd better work hard on my ship!

With confident strides, Raj again covers the distance of the deck, reaching the stern quickly. He looks out at the darkening sky behind them. To most, it would be a stomachache, watching those building cumulonimbus clouds give chase. To Raj, it is a challenge, an adrenaline rush. He grins, challenging the clouds right back.

"C'mon, baby. You can beat 'em!" he quietly urges, his hand's stroking the smoothly worn balustrade. "We can fly faster than them ol' clouds."

((That seemed like a good enough intro post. That, and I'm ready to drop over. Hope you like it!))
Edited by Oop, Jun 24 2011, 04:47 PM.
If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks.
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Flare
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Marching On
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((There is no way I can write a ship as well as that. Holy cow.))

"Yeh be slackin', Cap'n, kupo!"

With an indelicate yelp, Tobias jumps back, pressing all of his weight onto his left foot in an attempt to evade the blade of the saber that cuts through the air a hair's breadth from where he'd stood not a moment ago. He's panting, even spitting out a curse or two under his breath, but as he maneuvers about the deck of the ship with the cheers of his crew surrounding him, there is no mistaking the wicked grin splitting his features as anything less.

As he balances out on both feet once more, Tobias manages a quick, "I'm merely goin' easy on yeh!" before swinging his blade out in a wide arc. "I don' much fancy findin' meself a new engineer, Nono!"

"Well thank yeh kindly, Cap'n, kupo!" comes the moogle's grunted reply. He only just ducks low enough to keep his pom-pom safe from the razor-edge of Tobias' saber. Long, fuzzy ears flat against his head, Nono lunges forward in the same movement to ram his small body into his captain's knees -- as high as he can reach without the aid of his wings.

Tobias is no amateur, however. He'd spent years mastering the art of combat and swordplay, and a moogle is by no means the most intimidating of opponents. His reflexes fast as the spines of a cactuar, Tobias releases the saber, throws open his legs, and clasps a hand around the length of cord connecting the pom-pom to Nono's head. It's the moogle's turn to yelp now as he snaps backward and up, lifting high into the air -- and comes to rest in the waiting arms of his captain.

The warm laughter that bubbles up from Tobias' bare chest as Nono peers up at him through dazed, puzzled blue eyes breaks the crew from the silence they'd slipped into in the last moment, and suddenly the entire deck is almost shaking with the chorus of sound. They cheer, shout, chortle with proud words for their captain after the little bit of entertainment he'd provided for them. And while Tobias appreciates the praise -- would usually revel in it -- he's a moogle snug in the cradle of his arms whom has reached up to pull his precious pom-pom into a more comfortable position.

Tobias winks. "How are yeh, li'l friend?" he asks with the weakest of jostles. Nono shakes his head, wrinkles his tiny, velvet nose, and flashes up a white smile.

"Good as gold, Cap'n, tha's me! Kupo!"

...what follows is, of course, no tale for the story books, as the celebration of a contented crew ripe with ale and brew is common enough. Still, by the time the dark clouds have rolled in and Tobias has made certain they are to pass through them with little trouble, a tale of sorts worth telling has just begun, beginning with the sigh of a captain at ease and the rise of a sister ship not far to the east...
"Que sera, sera."
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Oop
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so they scream
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
With the storm nipping at their heels, the crew cannot relax. They stand on deck, either Raj or Egil barking out orders over the rumble of thunder in the distance. Padgett, Raj's engineer (a rather nifty Hyur that he'd once saved in the desert) is covered in grease up to his elbows, muttering to himself, though he's too dignified for it to be curses.

"How fares she?" Raj asks, placing a hand palm-down on the corner lurking over Padgett's head. As anticipated, the other man jerks, his head flying up and saved from a most painful connection of skull and wood only by the Captain's hand.

"I thank you, Captain," he says in his strange accent.

Raj smiles. "Think nothin' of it." When Padgett turns back to the mess of wires and pipes, Raj frowns and shakes his smarting hand. A bruise for sure, that. Still, it's a minor pain, and it's best not to complain. Better he have it in his hand than his engineer have it in his head.

"She's being as agreeable as always, I dare say. Just running some diagnostics on the main thrusters, being sure they're ready to go at full force if the need arises."

"Ye're a good man, Padg'tt."

"Think nothing of it," Padgett counters with a thin smile. A serious fellow he is, but not an unpleasant one.

"Cap'n!" an urgent cry sounds from the crow's nest. His bilge rat, fondly (if not originally) deemed Rat, leans over the narrow railing.

"What news have ye?"

"There's comp'ny, Cap'n!" Rat is smiling, his yellow teeth visible even from the deck, though at this distance, once could mistakenly take it for gold capping, though Rat doesn't appear to be a man who could afford such a thing, what with his dark hair riled, a red bandana keeping it back from his eyes.

"Aye?" Raj asks, grinning in turn. He leans out over the balustrade, taking not of the ship they're quickly gaining on. He can't recognize the flag, the way the wind is whipping it. Much like the storm though, he sees it as an opportunity to prove himself. He's been on so many raids, that this hardly seems any different. They haven't confirmed that it's a scantly protected merchant ship, but Raj doesn't know who else might be about at this time of day, this near a major port, with such a huge mass of inclement weather gathering just behind.

In any case, Raj is one for risks.

"We might be in fer a spot o' luck after all!" He swings around, looking at his men with a serious expression. They gaze at him in turn, trusting him. "Men," he bellows, and if they weren't frozen in place already, they are now, "T'day, someone else's providin' breakfast!" His grin springs back into place. "What say ye?"

"Aye, Cap'n!" Only a few glance back at the storm, Egil among them. The rest lose their grimness as their swords appear from various straps and buckles. Raj draws his two Mithrodin swords, their curving, silvery edges intimidating as they catch the sun's rays, or what they can between shifting clouds.

"Bring 'er broadside, Egil!"

"Aye, Cap'n," his first mate says, though obviously reluctant.

"Padg'tt! The thrusters!"

"But, Captain, I hardly think-"

"The thrusters er the plank fer ya!" Though he doesn't really mean it (throwing his engineer overboard would be to doom them all) and they all know that he doesn't, that he made a threat at all is the point.

"Very well, Captain."

And then, in a haze of excitement, the crew is working, the ship hauling, the air rushing, and Raj remembers.

This is what I live for.
Edited by Oop, Jun 24 2011, 08:03 PM.
If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks.
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Flare
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Marching On
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((Okay. You said this could be a microscopic post, so it's going to be.))

To Tobias' chagrin, they manage to as yet encounter another mass of dark clouds, and this time, they have no choice but to pass under it. The downpour soaks the crew to the bone, but ever loyal, they remain on deck and only grumble complaints every few minutes.

It's while Tobias is uselessly wringing his sopping locks of hair while the baldest member of the crew stands idly by and gives him a lecture that a call comes sounding across the ship. Immediately Tobias is running to the port side of deck. He leans far over, eyes squinted, as he attempts to make out the form his mate has apparently spotted.

Finally, the sail comes into view. "Well!" Tobias says quietly to himself, a grin splitting his features. "If it i'n't the ol' Cloud Vixen 'erself." He's, of course, heard much about the ship in his days, and not every tale has been a good one. There's talk of the captain being a bit of dog compared to the last they'd had, and the prospect sends Tobias' pulse racing. He could use a bit of a challenge.

He tosses a wild wave over his shoulder, meeting the concerned gazes that are set on him. "Git yerselves ready for a raid, boys!"

((.....worst post ever. Lol. Don't even deny it. Took me five minutes with no effort.))
Edited by Flare, Jun 29 2011, 08:20 PM.
"Que sera, sera."
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Oop
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so they scream
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
While the crew prepares itself for an attack, riling each other up and shouting obscenities about the crew they're about to encounter, Raj and Egil stand near the prow of the ship.

"Dow'right foolish, methinks," Egil says.

"Ye doubt me?" Raj asks, though not with any trace of hostility or resentment. If he didn't so highly regard Egil's opinion, the bangaa would not be his first mate.

"No, nay ye. Yer motives, maybe," Egil answers, his grip tightening on the balustrade. Despite that slight detail, he looks relaxed. The standard red of his knuckles turning a slight pink is the only noticeable sign that he is, in fact, very much the opposite of relaxed.

What the first mate doesn't know is that Raj is not after treasure or loot that they will most likely not find (no good pirate carries his riches with him). He's looking for a distraction. His men are nervous as a cactite in a rain forest over this tailing storm, and if this is what it takes to remove their minds from it, then Raj is willing to do it. A happy crew, as any good captain knows, makes for a happy trip.

Raj smiles slightly. "Jus' reckon wha' we discussed," he says. Egil doesn't seem pleased at the reminder, but Raj knows that Egil will follow through, if it becomes necessary. Which it very well might. There's always a chance, but Raj feels better knowing that there is something of a backup plan, in case anything goes astray.

From there, things seem to happen in a frenzy of shouting, of clinking, of noise and nerves. And anticipation. They all grip their weapons as if they hold their lives in their hands, and indeed they do.

When they come right astride the Valiant, there is no pause for thought. The crew leaps fearlessly across the gap between ships, swords already swinging. Raj himself holds a moment, surveying from atop the balustrade of the ship he's currently invading, poised like the grinning fox -- the vixen -- that he is.

The name of this ship in itself is both a boast and a challenge, and one that Raj will gladly meet. A ship's name tells a lot about her captain, in his opinion, and he has a rather comical image in his head of a tall, stout man wearing a stuffy collar. He knows better than to expect that, but he does at least expect some older man, trying to make up for his lack of youth by portraying himself as valiant. What kind of self-respecting sky pirate dubs his first love, his one true lady, his partner for life (for any good captain knows that he will die with his vessel if he can't die for her), his lover, his support, his beauty, his pride... Valiant? It's almost offensive.

He absently, with an air of possession but mostly of sympathy, strokes the smooth wood of the railing he perches upon, as if to say I'm sorry for your shame, gorgeous. And for all the disgrace of her name, too harsh, too masculine, too outstanding (like a street-walking woman competing with other street-walking women for a chance at a man's purse for the night), Valiant is gorgeous. A newer ship than the Cloud Vixen, to be sure, but not lacking in character. A fine vessel.

But not Raj's ship. Not the ship that he calls home, and who goes with him everywhere. Not the ship that carries him, that supports him, that frees him. He'd not trade his Vixen for anything.

Balancing atop that railing, Raj finds himself having some difficulty picking out the captain. While lost in his trail of thought, he's fought off two attackers, who lie atop each other in an ignominious, unconscious heap.

"'Ey!" he calls over the clamor. "Where be th' cap'n o' such a lov'ly creature?" he calls, the hand that was stroking the ship affectionately now fastened around a rope so that he can stand without fear of falling backward. He only has one of his blades out, the other again tucked into its sheath on his back. He stands, looking patient and undisturbed as ever, awaiting a response.
Edited by Oop, Jul 3 2011, 10:47 PM.
If you're gonna hit it, hit it until it breaks.
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