SW Freak
04-29-2006, 05:48 PM
Date: November 1st, 1659
Place: Liverpool Town, Merry Old England.
Nathaniel Becken whistled a few snatches of nothing between his teeth. He was currently sitting easily in the corner of the Mermaid's Purse, a shady tavern that buzzed with life, despite the fact that it was All Saints' and all good Christians were meant to be in church. But then, mused Nathaniel, the only utterance most of the denizens of this establishment heard of the holy lord was "Oh, God, please don't kill me!" or some variation thereof. They weren't good men, let alone good Christians. In truth, Nathaniel felt slightly ill at ease amongst them. He had lived the better part of his life on one British Naval ship or another. It was only recently that he had found the need for a new vocation, but he didn't let himself dwell on the path that had led him to where he was. He couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to, for at that moment his current companion slammed his open palm into his back. Stinging shoulder blades are not conducive to clear cogitation in the best of instances, but the old dog who sat before him was seemingly made of stone. Weathered, scarred stone that stank of cheap ale nowadays.
"Sorry for me mom'entry leave of absence, lad," smiled Captain Dick Maher, suppressing a belch. He was a fat man with delusions of grandeur. As with many of the others in the bar, Nathaniel hated having to smile back. He had engaged the man's interest with a few beers paid with the last of his hard earned cash. It was vital he profited somehow from the engagement.
"It's no problem, captain. Another beer? Your tankard looks almost empty."
"Aye, lad, I think I might. You know, for all ya look a dallyin' nancy, yer not such a bad sort."
Nathaniel merely smiled again. He had a good smile; people found themselves speaking openly with him when they saw his smile. His whole manner gave an air of trustworthiness, from his twinkling eyes to his easily excellent posture. He was a handsome man, though his honest features were marred these days by the scar that stretched down from his forehead, crossed his left eye in a dotted line across his eyelid that had, miraculously, spared him his sight, and ended halfway across his cheek. But still, combined with his shoulder-length brown hair, worn tied back most days, the goatee and his sea-bronzed skin, he had a roguish sort of attraction. He was like someone from those soppy stories written by noble ladies who had yet to see a real pirate. But Nathaniel's features served him well. He could be a gentleman or a cur, could barter, trade, intimidate or charm. He could find the wedge in the heart of the coldest woman, or man if it came to that, and have them open up as though he were their own dear mother. He was a natural linguist, and a good captain to serve under. The one thing he regretted not being able to do was fight. These days, most fights brought back the memories of the last night home had been home, and then came the shakes, and his madness.
"Lad? Ye look a thousand miles away."
Shaking his head, Nathaniel smiled again and waved a hand at the plump waitress. Then he looked back at Maher.
"I'm sorry, captain. My mind was wandering. What were you saying?"
"Ah, t'was just reccountin' the time me and mine set sale for Ireland's green shores with the map to Atlantis."
"My, but that was intrepid. But... I thought it didn't exist?"
"Well...between you and me, lad..." The old drunk leaned forward conspiratorially. Feigning eagerness, Becken copied the motion. "'Tis a good way to take the odd coin from the odd fool and give the slavers o' the America's a gift."
After forcing himself to laugh with the good captain, Nathaniel said, "Captain Maher, the stories about you are true."
The other man's bearded face grew suddenly serious and dark. "And where might ye have heard them stories?"
"From a mutual friend, captain, I assure you." Nathaniel glanced down, noticing that he had one hand rested on the heavily notched rapier at his waist. He mock-sighed. "Truth be told, captain, I am a bounty hunter. But you are not my target!" he added hastily as a look of anger flashed across Dick Maher's features. It was replaced with wary curiosity. "I am looking for a traitor to the crown."
"Ha! Long live the king," intoned Maher, and spat.
"Quite. But money is money, and I am bound to complete the job at hand."
"Well, who is it ye be lookin' for, sir?"
"Tell no one, but there's a notorious criminal rumoured to have just sailed in from Ireland. I heard your crew, under your widely reputed guidance, have just returned from the emerald isle, so I thought maybe you had heard tell of him. I don't know his name, but if anything he'll be known for killing an officer of the British navy."
"Hmm...there'd be many a savage from Ireland who'd gladly kill a hofficer o' the navy, but I've heard nothin'. For you, mate, I'll keep a sharp eye out for him."
"And for you, friend, if I catch him, I promise a reward for you help." He flipped the very last coin in his pocket into the air. "And this is for now. Thank you, Captain Maher." The drunkard's eyes eagerly followed the coin's flight, and when he looked up from its resting place his new friend was gone. Odd that he hadn't vouched his name, though that was usual with those smarmy, almost-legal ponces.
Rather unsteadily, he got to his feet and made his way outside. Almost immediately, a street urchin crashed into him. Tipsy as he was, Maher was cute enough to latch onto the boy's collar before he could scurry away again.
"What'd ya take, ya little chink?!"
"I take nothing! I take nothing!" said the young oriental, waving his open hands in front of the pirate's face.
The sea captain searched his pockets, grunted in dissatisfaction, as though upset to find that nothing had been stolen, and set the young man down on the ground. As he staggered off, the boy slipped a hand into the pirate's coat pocket and slide it out again smooth as ice. This time it held a coin purse, fat with moneys.
"I'm Japanese, you drunken fool," he muttered in perfect English before turning and trotting around the corner.
Nathaniel smiled once more as he saw the little man trotting towards him, accepted the purse with a nod of respect and handed a single silver piece to the plump waitress waiting patiently at the back door. He pecked her cheek, offered his heartfelt thanks and hurried away towards the docks. The church bells were pealing out the worshipers, meaning it would be the third hour, fourth at latest. Ten of the clock. The day was young, and looked to be hopeful. No one had heard of him, and that meant that he would get more applications for the space aboard his ship. He needed the money, and he had to get away from the oppressive feel he always got when in England. He and the young Japanese boy made good time to the already busy port. That was all Liverpool was really useful for. It was the best port for men of low morals.
They stopped in unspoken agreement before the Ancestor Dragon. It was a beautiful ship, and that was the honest truth; Nathaniel had little time for false modesty, though these days he seemed to have equally little need of truth. But irregardless, most who saw the Dragon took a moment to admire it. It sat low in the water like some sleeping predator, both because it was laden with supplies for the long trip to America and by design. It was a twin-masted, brightly gleaming beauty, the hatches containing its several cannons near invisible and merged seamlessly with the hull. It was a ship with many a tale behind it, and more than a few secrets in its midst. A crew of outcasts and castaways, and hopefully a passenger or two soon. If anything, the ship needed a doctor. But it would work out. It always did. Sighing contentedly, Nathaniel raised two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. It was echoed above and then the gangplank was dropped down.
<<"Stow that cash, Tetsuya-chan, and then keep an eye out for any possible passengers.">> The stream of Japanese came quick and fast, as though the Englishman was a native speaker.
<<"Okay, Nathaniel-san,">> replied the boy, and ambled off.
Nathaniel looked at the lad, in his rolled up britches and oversized shirt, the black hair and features of his late mother, the manner of his estranged father. Then he shook his head and strode about the ship, consulting a crewmate here, tapping a shoulder and pointing something out there. Soon enough, he had retired to his cabin to pour over his map. He had no official first mate as of yet. Tetsuya filled the role as best he could, but he would have to see about contracting someone for the job. Soon enough, maybe. The day was young, and they had a few hours before they had to set out. Picking up his book, he thumbed the carefully pristine pages to the bookmarked page and read on. He had practically memorised it, but it put him at ease. He had a feeling that something was about to happen, something important. He needed a little peace right now. Preferably a few pieces, and if he had anything to do with it, they'd be gold.
Place: Liverpool Town, Merry Old England.
Nathaniel Becken whistled a few snatches of nothing between his teeth. He was currently sitting easily in the corner of the Mermaid's Purse, a shady tavern that buzzed with life, despite the fact that it was All Saints' and all good Christians were meant to be in church. But then, mused Nathaniel, the only utterance most of the denizens of this establishment heard of the holy lord was "Oh, God, please don't kill me!" or some variation thereof. They weren't good men, let alone good Christians. In truth, Nathaniel felt slightly ill at ease amongst them. He had lived the better part of his life on one British Naval ship or another. It was only recently that he had found the need for a new vocation, but he didn't let himself dwell on the path that had led him to where he was. He couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to, for at that moment his current companion slammed his open palm into his back. Stinging shoulder blades are not conducive to clear cogitation in the best of instances, but the old dog who sat before him was seemingly made of stone. Weathered, scarred stone that stank of cheap ale nowadays.
"Sorry for me mom'entry leave of absence, lad," smiled Captain Dick Maher, suppressing a belch. He was a fat man with delusions of grandeur. As with many of the others in the bar, Nathaniel hated having to smile back. He had engaged the man's interest with a few beers paid with the last of his hard earned cash. It was vital he profited somehow from the engagement.
"It's no problem, captain. Another beer? Your tankard looks almost empty."
"Aye, lad, I think I might. You know, for all ya look a dallyin' nancy, yer not such a bad sort."
Nathaniel merely smiled again. He had a good smile; people found themselves speaking openly with him when they saw his smile. His whole manner gave an air of trustworthiness, from his twinkling eyes to his easily excellent posture. He was a handsome man, though his honest features were marred these days by the scar that stretched down from his forehead, crossed his left eye in a dotted line across his eyelid that had, miraculously, spared him his sight, and ended halfway across his cheek. But still, combined with his shoulder-length brown hair, worn tied back most days, the goatee and his sea-bronzed skin, he had a roguish sort of attraction. He was like someone from those soppy stories written by noble ladies who had yet to see a real pirate. But Nathaniel's features served him well. He could be a gentleman or a cur, could barter, trade, intimidate or charm. He could find the wedge in the heart of the coldest woman, or man if it came to that, and have them open up as though he were their own dear mother. He was a natural linguist, and a good captain to serve under. The one thing he regretted not being able to do was fight. These days, most fights brought back the memories of the last night home had been home, and then came the shakes, and his madness.
"Lad? Ye look a thousand miles away."
Shaking his head, Nathaniel smiled again and waved a hand at the plump waitress. Then he looked back at Maher.
"I'm sorry, captain. My mind was wandering. What were you saying?"
"Ah, t'was just reccountin' the time me and mine set sale for Ireland's green shores with the map to Atlantis."
"My, but that was intrepid. But... I thought it didn't exist?"
"Well...between you and me, lad..." The old drunk leaned forward conspiratorially. Feigning eagerness, Becken copied the motion. "'Tis a good way to take the odd coin from the odd fool and give the slavers o' the America's a gift."
After forcing himself to laugh with the good captain, Nathaniel said, "Captain Maher, the stories about you are true."
The other man's bearded face grew suddenly serious and dark. "And where might ye have heard them stories?"
"From a mutual friend, captain, I assure you." Nathaniel glanced down, noticing that he had one hand rested on the heavily notched rapier at his waist. He mock-sighed. "Truth be told, captain, I am a bounty hunter. But you are not my target!" he added hastily as a look of anger flashed across Dick Maher's features. It was replaced with wary curiosity. "I am looking for a traitor to the crown."
"Ha! Long live the king," intoned Maher, and spat.
"Quite. But money is money, and I am bound to complete the job at hand."
"Well, who is it ye be lookin' for, sir?"
"Tell no one, but there's a notorious criminal rumoured to have just sailed in from Ireland. I heard your crew, under your widely reputed guidance, have just returned from the emerald isle, so I thought maybe you had heard tell of him. I don't know his name, but if anything he'll be known for killing an officer of the British navy."
"Hmm...there'd be many a savage from Ireland who'd gladly kill a hofficer o' the navy, but I've heard nothin'. For you, mate, I'll keep a sharp eye out for him."
"And for you, friend, if I catch him, I promise a reward for you help." He flipped the very last coin in his pocket into the air. "And this is for now. Thank you, Captain Maher." The drunkard's eyes eagerly followed the coin's flight, and when he looked up from its resting place his new friend was gone. Odd that he hadn't vouched his name, though that was usual with those smarmy, almost-legal ponces.
Rather unsteadily, he got to his feet and made his way outside. Almost immediately, a street urchin crashed into him. Tipsy as he was, Maher was cute enough to latch onto the boy's collar before he could scurry away again.
"What'd ya take, ya little chink?!"
"I take nothing! I take nothing!" said the young oriental, waving his open hands in front of the pirate's face.
The sea captain searched his pockets, grunted in dissatisfaction, as though upset to find that nothing had been stolen, and set the young man down on the ground. As he staggered off, the boy slipped a hand into the pirate's coat pocket and slide it out again smooth as ice. This time it held a coin purse, fat with moneys.
"I'm Japanese, you drunken fool," he muttered in perfect English before turning and trotting around the corner.
Nathaniel smiled once more as he saw the little man trotting towards him, accepted the purse with a nod of respect and handed a single silver piece to the plump waitress waiting patiently at the back door. He pecked her cheek, offered his heartfelt thanks and hurried away towards the docks. The church bells were pealing out the worshipers, meaning it would be the third hour, fourth at latest. Ten of the clock. The day was young, and looked to be hopeful. No one had heard of him, and that meant that he would get more applications for the space aboard his ship. He needed the money, and he had to get away from the oppressive feel he always got when in England. He and the young Japanese boy made good time to the already busy port. That was all Liverpool was really useful for. It was the best port for men of low morals.
They stopped in unspoken agreement before the Ancestor Dragon. It was a beautiful ship, and that was the honest truth; Nathaniel had little time for false modesty, though these days he seemed to have equally little need of truth. But irregardless, most who saw the Dragon took a moment to admire it. It sat low in the water like some sleeping predator, both because it was laden with supplies for the long trip to America and by design. It was a twin-masted, brightly gleaming beauty, the hatches containing its several cannons near invisible and merged seamlessly with the hull. It was a ship with many a tale behind it, and more than a few secrets in its midst. A crew of outcasts and castaways, and hopefully a passenger or two soon. If anything, the ship needed a doctor. But it would work out. It always did. Sighing contentedly, Nathaniel raised two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. It was echoed above and then the gangplank was dropped down.
<<"Stow that cash, Tetsuya-chan, and then keep an eye out for any possible passengers.">> The stream of Japanese came quick and fast, as though the Englishman was a native speaker.
<<"Okay, Nathaniel-san,">> replied the boy, and ambled off.
Nathaniel looked at the lad, in his rolled up britches and oversized shirt, the black hair and features of his late mother, the manner of his estranged father. Then he shook his head and strode about the ship, consulting a crewmate here, tapping a shoulder and pointing something out there. Soon enough, he had retired to his cabin to pour over his map. He had no official first mate as of yet. Tetsuya filled the role as best he could, but he would have to see about contracting someone for the job. Soon enough, maybe. The day was young, and they had a few hours before they had to set out. Picking up his book, he thumbed the carefully pristine pages to the bookmarked page and read on. He had practically memorised it, but it put him at ease. He had a feeling that something was about to happen, something important. He needed a little peace right now. Preferably a few pieces, and if he had anything to do with it, they'd be gold.