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Destroyer of (his own) worlds
Jack jumped back as a paw emerged from the depths of the crate, stumbling backwards and almost falling over again, but this time in the opposite direction. The claws just missed him. Jack's eyes widened as he saw the colours that marked the creature's paw. He had never seen such a combination of colours on an animal before. It was a darker orange than the colour of the scales on his hat, but just as a deep a black as the fur that lined its insides, the two colours coating one animal. He looked at Viske as he heard the sound of clapping hands and strange, high-pitched noises that no one had ever made around Jack before. Jack frowned for a moment, before Viske's infectious excitement got to him. It wasn't long until his expression changed to rival even hers.

He reached down and grabbed at the sword, his fingers curling around the hilt and the metal scraping against the floor of the warehouse as it was lifted up into the air. His eyes trailed from one end of the crate to the other as he decided where his next point of attack would be. "We should let it out!" Jack called out, his eyes settling on the other corner of the crate near the animal's head. He walked around the crate, standing next to another strong wooden box with who-knows-what inside of it, and then pushed the tip of the blade up against the gap in between the lid and the body of the crate. After wiggling the sword back and forth, Jack managed to wedge it inside, and then he swivelled it so that it poked out of the front of the crate as well, diagonal to both sides.

Without wasting another moment, he pushed down on the hilt of the sword again, his hands on top of each other and weighing down the bloodstained pommel. With part of the lid already disconnected from the body, it didn't take as long for part of the nail to creak out of the wood. Remembering what happened last time, he gripped the hilt with one hand, and then pushed down on the sword again, the nail slowly sliding free from the crate, the lid rising up with it. With a grunt, the lid was prised open, and Jack quickly took a step back, the sword scraping against the slightly bent nail still attached to the lid of the crate. Both nails looked like fangs now, the crate itself having become like the beast it contained. He stood with his sword in front of him, as if he could possibly fight off the tiger with it.

The water around the woman in front of Pokey was most certainly swirling around her legs. Even though her voice came without the movement of her lips, she was no illusion that only he could see. Pokey could only stare as Rainya trailed her fingers over her chest, the woman seeming at such peace with her body that she seemed to be made of the water that she had emerged from. As she opened her eyes again, her gaze soon caught, snared and held Pokey's attention once more. He thought it odd that her Common was as fragmented as it was, seeming to remember that the other draconians had had a much better grasp of the language than he did, until he remembered how Svedra had spoke.

He frowned as Rainya, the ex-queen of the draconian village in a clearing in the jungle, explained her situation, and how she had been waiting for him. Was he really the only one to venture out here? He hadn't even gone that far -- or maybe he had. Maybe he had ventured deeper into the greenery than he thought. The slits at the end of Pokey's muzzle widened for a second as he breathed in her scent, distinct from and yet almost identical to that of the river. The draconian man had not looked away from Rainya's eyes ever since he had started staring at him, and he took a slow, tentative step toward her, his claws and his sole sinking into the dirt and the mud. "How you know I come?"

He blinked in disbelief. Had everything that happened today been leading towards this? This was not a chance meeting -- Rainya knew he would be coming. And now she was going to give him anything that he wanted. Beyond Rainya and behind Pokey, there was nothing but jungle. They were alone, and it was quiet, and peaceful. He breathed in her scent again to confirm that he wasn't dreaming.

Stomp's scaled lips curled into a soft smile as Sisly took his sword from him without a moment of hesitation. His hands lowered to his sides as she stared down at the sword, his smile growing wider as she talked, filled with a mixture of happiness and sadness, just as Sisly's was. It was confirmed now. He would be leaving her. She would fix his sword up in his absence, and he would slowly wear down hers by hacking at those he was told to use it upon. Stomp opened his mouth to speak, and then frowned slightly, his eye ridges creased as he stared at Sisly. "Defend hatchling? Thought say axe no need kill here." He wondered what dangers Sisly could possibly face. None in the village would want to kill one of their own, and surely she would have little reason to venture outside of the village's bounds.

Rather than push Darly up against the wall with Mittens' eagerness to be dry and warm, his back was the one than pushed against it. As soon as her hands came to his stomach and chest, he moved back so that he was leaning against the wall, an even louder purr emanating from his throat. The warmth spread through his fur first, and then his skin, warming up his chest that was already not as cold as the rest of him from being pushed up against Darly's body while they were hugging. Mittens was only slightly ticklish, most of the movements of Darly's fingers doing nothing but warming him up, but occasionally, if her fingers rubbed just under the middle of his ribcage, or below his bellybutton, he would squirm and mewl like a kitten. Under Mittens' untidy fur, Darly could feel his stomach rising and falling as he breathed. His face was one of pure bliss, his eyes closed and an unconscious smile on his lips as he rubbed the back of his head against the wall, the oilskin cloak covering his back and his head rubbing against the wood.

"Mittens warms..." he purred, without even realising it.

Harold looked up at Jan as he watched her beginning to climb the rope, noticing her struggle to climb and realising that she must have been wounded when dealing with one of the hippocampi. If she hadn't complained about it, it wasn't anything to worry about. She was tough, but Harold hadn't yet met a pirate who wasn't. Bloom didn't like the idea of having women on board for all of the usual reasons about them not being fit for the life, or because they were a distraction. What Bloom had perhaps failed to consider was that these distractions could hold their own. Now that he was treading water at the hull of the ship and watching Jan climb the rope, it became clear that he wouldn't be able to do the same with the spear in his hand. He had nowhere else to put it, either. He turned to look at the shore again, scanning it.

"Yeah," he mumbled distractedly in response to whatever it was that Jan had said, his attention still on the rocky shore. He didn't like the look of it. He'd probably get a nasty cut just from trying to set his feet on land, and the salt water wouldn't exactly do much to ease the pain. And then there was the prospect of smearing mud all over a possibly bleeding foot, rubbing all kinds of filth into it. "You got anywhere to store this spear?" he asked, turning his attention back up towards Jan again. "Bit hard to climb up a rope while holdin' onto it." He could only smirk as he realised that getting back on the ship was proving to be a harder task than actually dealing with the hippocampi.
Edited by TheDoomsayer, Apr 22 2015, 07:24 PM.
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Blood on the Breeze and Death in the Dirt · Sea Travel and the Islands

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