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Viewing Single Post From: The Black Ocean
TheDoomsayer
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Destroyer of (his own) worlds
Indeed, for many of the hiskrs, Darly's age was certainly a factor. They had gone from being kittens while they were in training to become servants, to being pirates and unsure of themselves. Even though the dracs and hiskrs were equally feral and potent, the dracs had been treated like monsters, while the hiskrs had been treated like children. None of the hiskrs had ever understood it, although Tiny had spread word that Bloom thought of the dracs as being like dragons, and the hiskrs like housecats. Even Tiny didn't understand it, seeing as they could both hold swords and neither could breathe fire, but Bloom raised them like angry housecats and so they became angry housecats: angry housecats who had been treated as such when they had a sword in their hand, and then belittled like naughty children when their weapons were taken away.

As such, Darly was perfect. She was motherly and cuddly-looking. She was a hiskr. She smelt like all sorts of spices and food. The smell and the touch was enough for Misty for now. The smell of the galley, too, was occasionally comforting enough for him. It was warm and it was pleasant. All of the other hiskrs had been busy with work yesterday, but now that they had a moment to themselves, and that Darly was in plain sight again, they were all thinking about her. They were also thinking about eating and the work they had ahead of them, but they sometimes thought of her. Smoke was the only one who couldn't quite understand their endearment with her, and even Charky's attraction wasn't quite like the others. The two of them had been around the longest, and had grown up a bit -- Smoke especially. Although it had never been formally decided upon, Smoke, along with a few other hiskrs were now dead and slowly being forgotten about, had become leaders of sorts. Still, to the both of them, Darly would be someone to sleep next to and stay warm with.

A lot of the hiskrs did not quite appreciate Jan's suggestion of cleaning, although none of them showed it, all smiling politely and nodding as she suggested it. The joke flew completely over their heads. "Yuck," Socks said, wiping his mouth and looking over at Jan. "I hate scrape bar-knuckles." The rest of the hiskrs shrugged and nodded, agreeing but not too enthusiastically.


Barrett glanced over at Gob stuffing his namesake and wondered what the hurry was, although a quick glance around didn't quite reveal anything. He barely noticed all the hands on Yarba, and didn't see fit to look at any one table too long. Barrett eventually dismissed his curiosity. By the time he turned his attention back to his own table, Gob was smacking Pimple over the head, much to the big man's pleasure. Barrett quickly began eating up his breakfast, and then wiped his mouth once the bowl had been scraped clean. He covered his mouth as he burped lightly, and then stood up, holding his bowl and spoon.

"And if I see you counting scars instead of stock, Pimple, I'll do it for 'im. Eat up." Barrett walked around the bench and pat Pimple lightly on the back, before turning around and waiting for the rest of them to finish eating and for Gob to lead the way.


Jack blinked as Monkey began talking about a different kind of sustenance, and decided that this was Monkey's time to shine. While he was still talking, Jack simply climbed over the edge of the crow's nest and began climbing down the rigging, looking around and listening to Monkey talk about his rocks and his brothels. Eventually, whatever Monkey was talking about was just a blur as Jack looked around, wondering how one scout can fall from the crow's nest and die, and another one can do the same and only break two of his fingers. Eventually, this thought became a distant, dizzy blur as well, and Jack's mind was blank. As he climbed down the rigging, he was sinking again. One foot below the other. A rhythm he didn't even need to think about. The slightest adjustment of his foot if he couldn't quite find the rigging. Sinking, sinking. And at the bottom of the sea, on the ocean floor? The greatest prize of all.

Breakfast.
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The Black Ocean · Sea Travel and the Islands


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