On Stranger Tides. [Nightingale]

[Brónach Rourke[Inactive]]

Bronach stared darkly at the ship before her in the pale moonlight with a bottle hanging from her lips. It wasn't unimpressive. Nor was it overly so. It was simply a ship; any ship would have done at this point, and that was just fine with Bronach. Sure she wasn't pleased to be taking orders again; she'd come accustomed to giving them for the last... Was it twelve years? But Hell at least she would finally be off dry land. Either way she wasn't looking forward to having someone talk down to her like some.. woman. True; she was a woman. But she'd certainly proved time and time again that she deserved the respect one would give to a man they feared. Yet these imbeciles still saw the gash between her legs as some sort of sign to treat her like their wenches. She was certain this ship would prove to be that very situation. And ally or not she didn't see herself not stabbing a few of them.

But that would hinder her lifes vendetta... To murder Templars.

The middle-aged woman scowled to herself, patting the pocket that held her assassins orders. Oh goodie. She would get to listen to some old man bark out things for her to do.. and if she was lucky it'd be a mans work and not making his dinner. Could she kill this man? And still be alright in the Brotherhoods book? Probably not.. Which only made her grumpier than usual.

Cutting her internal rabble she sighed deeply, slumping her shoulders in defeat. Gone were her days of total freedom, her days of being in charge of herself and the men she trusted. Now she would be more paranoid of everyone. Were they all assassins? She would simply assume they were. That was the safest route to keeping her heart beating and her hatched swinging. Or pistols firing, swords cutting.. whatever the weapon may be.

The pirate hopped swung her legs from the dock, her head tilting to look it over still. She had decided to finally make her presence known in the morning. But sleep hadn't come to Bronach much since she'd lost Wood. After all the atrocious things she'd done in her life the nightmares she dreaded most were of losing Thomas. And the innkeepers didn't take screaming patrons lightly. It was apparently bad for business.

Like she wasn't aware.

At that very moment Bronach realized two things. A: The ship her new 'master' was supposed to be captaining was making ready to leave port. B: She was now out of rum. The first was annoying, because now she had no choice but to make herself known, the second was far more troubling to the pirate. She pouted to herself, standing with a childish groan. They better not be some pansies that didn't drink on this boat. Otherwise she'd simply have to reconsider working for the Brotherhood again.

I mean come on, Rum? Its like the sea on which she sails. Can't have a boat without water to sail it in, right?

Dropping the empty bottle on the dock she stretched and mourned the evening swim. She hadn't wanted to appear on the ship completely soaked from head to two, but she certainly wasn't going to try and talk to the guards and get permission. Permission wasn't something she believed in. Her eyes scoured the area for something tall enough that she could swing from, anything at this point would be better than nothing. Her only option was a second ship, the Achilles, which she would still need to either swim to, or take a boat.

Taking the boat would mean interaction with people. Which meant people would see her and possibly remember her for later reports.

Assassins. Sneaky types. They don't like that, she remembered that much and implemented it a bit herself when on the high seas.

So.. naturally Bronach walked calmly towards the two gentlemen guarding their small dingy of a boat.

"Go' orders t'go aboard tha'vessel." She said confidently, pointing to the ship across from her mark.

Both men frowned, looking her over without skepticism. They knew she was full of shit, which she expected, because as soon as one of them opened their mouth her beloved hidden blade made its appearance; well one of the two. The larger of the two men reached for his bleeding throat as his body toppled into the water, and the second gentleman stood stark still while her hatchet sat poised against his forehead. She gave that larger blade a small bit of pressure as he opened his mouth to speak, and a small glob of red pooled as he sealed his mouth shut.

"Ye'll be take'n me to yer ship now, aye?" She asked softly, turning him around to step into the boat.

He was even nice enough to help her in.

Bronach ran her hatchets blade over his britches, cleaning it of his trace amounts of blood and waited patiently as he took her towards his captains ship.

Now, why that ship and not the Nightingale? 

Well Bronach wasn't about to simply climb up the side of the Nightingale and have every gun trained on her head instantly... Well that wasn't true at all.

Mostly she just wanted to have a little fun, see how they reacted.

With that in mind she waited patiently for this little guy to take her to his ship before she slid that second hidden blade into his right eye and silencing him for all time. He fell back into the boat quietly as she gingerly lowered him. For a moment she looked down at him, always marveling at the finality of death. You'd think the death of her crew as well as her love would have made her softer at the idea of killing innocents.

But softness was for women of a different cloth.

Bronach easily moved through the boat unseen. She'd done this hundreds of times with Thomas a few knots out, waiting for her signal. But this time she would fly. Upon acquiring sturdy enough rope for this particular trick she made her way up the foremast, a bit disappointed no one had noticed their boat floating aside them with a dead man. Surely tomorrow they'd find their two men dead and she'd be long gone with her new boss. But what fun it could have been had someone noticed. 

Then again this.. Davis was sure to be displeased with that particular festivity. And with that thought she secured herself to the rigging; checking the knot work a thousand times before taking a leap of faith. Her body fell for what seemed like ages and a smile took hold of her before she could stifle it. The real fun, however, stemmed from her letting go of that lifeline and throwing her weight further.

All she had to do was clear the distance. Which she did. Go figure.

She held onto the rigging of the Nightingales mizzenmast with one hand, clover green eyes looking downward to study where each piece of this ships puzzle sat. It was ready for her to learn each nook, each cranny. She hadn't seen something so beautiful since that merchants ship. which had been much less impressive. The Nightingale reminded her much of Thomas' sloop. But now was not the time for fond memories.

Silently she slid through the ropes, and down the mizzenmast. No one even seemed to notice she was there. And it was quite apparent at their clear surprise when her boots slapped loudly against the deck. Three things happened all at once.

First off she hit three of the crew mates with a sleeping dart.

Secondly she held out the envelope that held her orders; assassins seal bare for all to see.

Thirdly every armed man within hearing distance of her drew a weapon and trained it on her head.

"Lovely evenin' lads." She said sarcastically, "I've a need to speak with a one Horatio Davis." She hollered, stepping over the sleeping bodies of her soon to be crew mates. 

"I'll say et again." She yelled louder, her Irish accent thick. "Captain Horaaaaaaaaatio Davis. I've need of ye. Come out, come out and play." All the while she waved the letter in front of her like some kind of shield. Clearly she had a message for him, and thankfully that was important to the crew. Of course not everyone seemed to, and Bronach side stepped a man as he swung a sword at her. His body followed his inertia and she gave him a swift kick on the behind.

Which was followed by him screaming in terror as he toppled off the edge of the ship.

At least he'd live, that was more than she could say for the two shmoes of the Achilles.

Hell, this Captain Davis was lucky the rest of the ship was still alive and kicking.

"Are ye all deaf? Get yer damn Cap'n."

 [OC: This post was so much cooler before my power went out ;-;]

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

Vitale had gotten settled in easy enough, he didn't actually own all that much these days.  Well, that wasn't true per se, but most of his belongings were left in his longed for homeland.  Here in the new world, he had only a few bags, and most of this was specifically for the mission.  He'd asked at first to be the Master of Arms, but this was quietly reclaimed by the man who'd been in that position about seven minutes after Vitale had been commissioned.  He wouldn't have minded it, just a few simple tasks like cleaning up the firearms, keeping them dry, and making sure that boarding swords and axes were kept sharp and oiled.  But after the man lost his position, he'd presented several good points that he ought to keep it, and Vitale hated to take the man's spot on a whim.

Master Davis offered a new proposal.  The Nightingale didn't have a purser, and thus Vitale would take on the duty, and the Commander would have one less.  Tali would also be an officer, and pretty much be free to do as he pleased when at sea, and just about the same when harbored.  So Vi had taken the job, I use the word lightly, and put his superb penmanship to the task.  That handled, it was meeting the crew, which would take longer than the time he had before the Nightingale set sail, so he just walked about and met those he could.  Technically, by the watch system, Vitale wouldn't be on duty for several more hours as with his Commander, not until eight bells.  But, he couldn't sleep today, too much was going on, and he couldn't shut his mind down.

So Vitale was strolling about in the lower deck, when a smash sounded above, and a commotion came about.  He raced up to see what had happened, to find three of the men laid out on the deck, motionless.  "What's been done here?" He sternly barked, somewhere between a shout and a command.  The sailor over one of the men turned towards him, "Some kind of a knock sir," the fellow said holding up a dart.  He then hooked a thumb back towards a dark figure standing on the deck not six feet from him, and although many weapons were on the silhouette, no one fired.  Vitale didn't have the fortitude for this.  He stood in a flash, and drew his sword, taking a wide step, and bringing his blade to bear down on the intruder, with intent to threaten them within an inch of their life, and possibly take the authority right then and there.  He'd done this more than once, and was very sure of his posture, and his soon victorious results.

Although...

The dark figure swiveled on their heel at the last moment, and Vitale stepped to far, his blade not finding the body it was meant too, and his legs losing their step on the slight rocking of the ship.  When he tried to regain himself, Vitale felt a kick to his backside, the blunt, dirty kick of a boot that held force.

Vitale screamed in spite of himself, and then smashed into the water below.  Cold, angry, and embarrassed, Cordoba let himself sink a few feet before returning to the surface and swishing his face in the open air.  It didn't take long to realize his ruby hilted saber had been rung from his grip by the blast of ocean chills, and cursed, before sinking into the waves with a long breath.

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

Even a deaf man on the deck could hear that commotion, so it was no surprise that Davis heard it back within his cabin.  Cordoba was aboard, the ship was ready, most supplies were loaded, and all but one of the crew had reported back aboard (the final individual currently being sprung from lock-up after his night of debauchery).  In short, Nightingale was ready to get underway within the hour.  The sooner the better.

Shouting on deck, however, was the last thing Horatio wanted to hear.  At best it meant a mutual fist fight between two sleep deprived and ornery men or a dropped crate after a long night of work.  What Davis found was far from any of that.

The Commander stepped out onto the deck to find the entire crew on edge, many with weapons drawn.  At the epic-center was an unknown woman, three of his crew slumped on the deck, and Cordoba going over the rail in a flash before disappearing out of sight with a splash.  With luck the man could swim.  That was more than could be said for most sailors, and Vitale was no sailor.

The woman continued to shout and waved a letter in the air as if it were her ticket to salvation.  Davis scowled even more so than he had when he originally caught sight of the disturbance.  He was sick and tired of strangers showing up in the night with letters.  A look from Bainbridge and he knew that she was another Assassin.  At least Cordoba had the good sense to be stealthy in his approach and polite in his delivery.  This one...

"Master-at-Arms, clap her in irons." the Commander called out as he stepped toward the front rank of sailors.  "Take these men to the surgeon, and someone make sure our purser hasn't drowned." he continued.  Only after a few moments did the crew finally begin to react to the orders, and even then it was a bit sluggish when it came to apprehending the woman.

Horatio approached the intruder first with his subordinates finally moving at his heels.  "I'm Commander Davis, ma'am." he said with a slight flourish of his hand.  "You'll understand that one does not come aboard this ship without permission, give orders to my crew, or assault sailors of Her Grace the Queen's Navy."

It was clear that the newcomer disliked just about everything that had been said from the polite introduction to the reprimand, not that Horatio had expected much from someone who had made such an entrance.  Yet, it wasn't Davis's job to make belligerent intruders happy even if he wanted too, which he didn't, no matter who sent them or how many letters they carried.

Fortunately, the woman gave no defiance other than her stare as she was cuffed and shackled.  Soon the letter ended up in the Commander's hand and the now more confident crew began to move around again now that the harpy from hell had her wings clipped.  "Secure her until I return." he said to the now assembled party.  If six armed men couldn't watch a shackled prisoner then a hundred men wouldn't do much better.  Turning to Bainbridge he ordered the rest of the men back to work before heading once again back to his cabin, this time with the new letter in tow.

As expected, the letter carried many of the same characteristics of the one he had received earlier that night.  It was slightly different of course: the style of paper and even the wax were off, but it was still bore the red signet marking of the Assassin Order.  It was written by another hand as well, one which Davis recognized.  Rather than from Europe, this had come from the Guild Mentor in Panama, a man Davis had corresponded with occasionally regarding minor assignments.

It seemed while the first letter sat unread in Kingston, word had reached the larger guild in New Spain and the mentor had decided to get himself involved and "help".  And rather than offer aid, this was a direct order to take her onto the mission.  Either the mentor was going senile or he was just trying to get rid of this one, a "Bronach Rourke".  Davis didn't doubt her martial ability, but the Nightingale wasn't particularly lacking in that capacity nor were they short skilled seamen.  He certainly didn't need a woman aboard a warship no matter what qualifications or how well mannered she was.  If they made it through this, he'd need to repay the "favor."

A few minutes later, the commander emerged back on the deck.  Horatio approached the guard detail and dismissed them to leave him alone with the prisoner, or as alone as anyone could get on a busy deck.  "That's the last time anything like that ever happens." he said in quiet tone.  "I have two sets of laws on this ship: the Articles of War and the Creed.  Give me an excuse and you'll be swimming back to Panama even if the Grandmaster himself sent you.  Are we clear?"

[Brónach Rourke[Inactive]]

Bronach stood still as stone, simply observing once Davis appeared. He stood before her very... English. As an Irish lass by birth that didn't sit well with her. Then again just about everything about her would be captain sat just a bit off. Perhaps it was the almost dismissive nature in which he regarded her. Maybe because she was a woman? That would have to change, and fast. Or perhaps it was the stuffy way he talked. No, wait, that was simply his English accent. No.. He was stuffy. She decided it was probably both, the English always did seem to think themselves better than most. Especially her humble Emerald Isle. She suspected her disdain for this Davis also stemmed from his sparkling visage. Clean cut, glimmering like a freshly hardened doubloon. She'd been the dreaded Captain Sorrow of what most simply called "The Nameless" because in truth that's exactly what each ship had been. Scrubbed clean of an identity. Yet somehow someone had managed to tell a few sailors of her. For nearly twelve years she had sailed with the worst, and best, kind of men. None of which had ever looked so... shiny. Some sparking jewel in her midst, except she'd have let this particular gem sink to the depths if it meant she'd take his vessel.

Bronach held out her wrists, moving a little too fast, which made her captor jump a bit. Regardless of the laughter that bubbled deep within her she stayed utterly silent. Her too green eyes glared eerily at Davis, regarding him in a haughty and slightly aggressive manner. So far she was unimpressed and displeased with her new Captain.. or Commander. Whatever fancy title he chose to use. She calmly thought her remarks to his little lecture, not wanting to kill his silly guardsman should he strike her for bad mouthing his Royal Pain in the Ass. Shackled and cuffed, she was still deadly. She'd killed that way before, it certainly wouldn't be new. But these English Muffins didn't know that. Otherwise she'd have had far more chains wrapped around her forearms. She grinned to herself as Davis left her to six men, venturing off with her letter. Six men? She was a little insulted by that, but of course His Majesty the Crumpet was truly unaware of her skill set. Six men was childs play. 

Once Davis was completely out of sight and out of mind she turned her attention to her guardsmen. A cheeky grin tugged at the edges of her thin lips. "So.. Ye lads 'ave any rum?" She purred, teasing her new crew mates. They didn't seem to like her much, and she was just fine with that. Bronach had had enough of companionship and friendship. After losing your friends, and lover, of 12 years... You don't really want more of it. "I am a migh' bi' thersty." She continued in her Irish accent. They ignored her for the most part, but she could almost feel the string of tension; like a finely stretched tight rope. "Oh, fer 'eavens sake. Are ye all dwell'n on yer maetes back there?" She joked. "Twas only a wee nap, lads. They'll be righ' as raein." Bronach laughed, and felt their anger rise even higher. Soon that tight rope would snap, and someone would tumble towards pain. One scoffed and she knew he would be first to fall. "Somethin' funny lad?" She asked slyly, giving him an innocent look.

The crewmate moved much faster than she expected, his larger frame hunching downward to get into her face. She didn't even flinch, and that was progress. She would have, originally, already buried a blade in his throat for even daring such brash behavior... But she would have to sleep on this ship at some point, and though it was difficult to sneak up on her, she wasn't about to push it. "When the Captain comes back and orders you ashore I might just tag along. Get a little vengeance for my brother." He sneered and she flashed him a sweet smile, moving swiftly and silently. When he moved to step back he was cuffed and shackled as she had been. Bronach paced around him, circling him slowly and purposefully.

"Oh, aye, I'm sure yer a righ' scary lo'. Besides, ets no' lie' he's dead, lad. 'E's taek'n a nap. A wee nap!" She nodded emphatically. She winked to the other five men who stared blankly before contemplating drawing their weapons. She hadn't attacked anyone, so was it really necessary? "I 'aven't a care in the worl' if'n ye draw yer weapons lads. But I warn ye now, six'o'ye is liek a newborn me. Ets no'a fair figh'." She said with a shrug, stepping back to give them time to decide. When no one drew a weapon and instead stared at her in deep thought she smirked. "Lovely! So then, let us wait fer yer captain." She said with a nod, humming to herself as the cuffed crewmate struggled in his chains. She tilted her head, the feather in her hat drooping into the face of one of the men, "A li'l to the left and ye migh' be able to jimmy the lock. I loosened et for ye." She teased, looking past him for what appeared to be the captain.

When Davis did show his shiny mug he looked none too pleased, a face she was very familiar with. And of course she waved at the shackled gentleman as her guardsmen unlocked his shackles and they stomped off to be useless elsewhere. She smiled at him, her hands clasped infront of her in a non-threatening manner. However as he gave her stern orders that gentle face slipped, and he would see the pirate beneath. For a moment rage clouded her eyes, the rage she'd carted from her lovers dead arms. The rage she'd kept since childhood. It fueled her, most of the time. But this man, she knew, would test those waters without meaning to. Possibly on a daily basis.

No. Definitely on a daily basis.

She forced a smile, though her teeth were clenched so tightly it was obvious. "O'course." She managed to snap back at him, refraining from calling him Captain. Or Commander. No man would ever receive that title again. Thomas was her only captain as she was his. She held her tongue as the snarky remarks bubbled up. Her disregard for the Creed and all the rest of the silly little rules to live by. She would never fully understand the order in which she had stumbled on as a babe. Their Creed was merely a false promise to her. They cared for themselves and the well being of their chosen world not the one they inhabited. Some fancy ideal on what would make the world a better place.

They should have proved it then as they watched women in her town being torn from their homes to be hung and tortured as witches. As her mother was ripped from her bed to be slaughtered simply because they weren't sociable. The memory darkened her face for a moment and she took a deep breath to ease the hatred long cultivated. It dawned on her then that she didn't just hate templars. No, clearly, she hated the Brotherhood too.

They were all a bunch of liars fighting for a cause that they deemed righteous.

"Are we done then? 'Ave ye a task fer me aboard the ship?" She asked through clenched teeth, though her voice sounded rather nonchalant. She wondered, then, if left side of her face twitched in agitation. At times it did, but she never seemed to feel it. 

 

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

The few minutes since her arrival seemed to have calmed her hand but not her spirits. Horatio spoke and Bronach listened, but whether she actually accepted what was said was another question entirely. She spoke through clenched teeth and those green eyes burned with anger.

"A task?" Horatio repeated. "You're a guest on this ship, a passenger for an important mission." Whether Bronach actually cared about their mission or merely wanted to prove how tough she was remained to be seen. "You'll berth in the cockpit and take meals in the wardroom. I'll have it arranged shortly once we're underway."

Finally he said, "Stay out of trouble and keep your weapons ready. It won't be long before you'll need to use them." And on someone that was an enemy rather than a member of his crew. Hopefully she'd be able to restrain herself until that time came. For now, her earlier victim was just finding his way back aboard ship, soaking wet but apparently unharmed.

[OOC: Unless you want to keep talking to Davis, I'm bowing out here and letting Vitale in.]

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

Vitale had kicked off his boots and coat, leaving them on the surface in a haphazard float, before taking a few breaths on the surface, to get his lungs to open, then took in one last deep pull of air, before submerging, and swimming down to the bottom. As lady luck smiled, the harbor was only twenty or so feet deeper than the ship's keel. Vi swam under the Nightingale, and used the boards to propel himself faster in his decent. When he'd reached the lowest portion of the hull, he drew himself tight to the keel, and launched himself to the depths. The water was cool here, and like in Redondela, the floor of the bay was a churning dust when he hit it. It occurred to Vitale that after a few years, he would not be able to hold a breath for as long as he'd once been able. When he'd dived for the Totem years back, Vitale could hold out for up to two minutes before returning to the bell. He thought about this as he searched the floor, and decided that he could still. He wasn't in the habit of diving still, but he'd maintained fantastic physical condition.

About a minute into the dive, Vi turned a new direction, the clear ocean water shining brightly enough from the full moonlight, that he could make out the outlines of the bottom. He searched in all directions, and swam further up the bank, following uphill. If it had gone to the deeper water, he wouldn't have the air to retrieve it anyway. While under, Vitale saw dozens of bottles, and several planks of sunken debris laid out where the Port Royal Naval services found it easier to simply discard their trash, rather than burn it. He remembered how difficult it had been to search the rubble from the aftermath of Vigo Bay, and briefly considered giving up his search, as had the ruby hilted sword slid under any of this trash, he'd never find it without a bell. Just as his air was giving, he saw the shimmer of steel, and gave a long pull with his hands, his air escaping in a torrent of bubbles, his lungs telling him this was the end of his dive. As he neared the shimmer, the angle of light all but dissipated, and only his memory of its location marked it. Vitale grasped the metal in the sand floor, and felt with relief, the smooth familiar blade of his sword. Now satisfied, he planted his feet, and kicked off the sandy floor, launching himself upward, before beginning his tread upwards.

As he neared the water's surface, he saw his effects sinking slowly many yards off, but he had to go up for air. As he neared, Vitale expended all remaining oxygen from his lungs, and when he broke the surface, he took a deep breath from the welcoming world, before turning and submerging once again. It only took about twenty seconds to catch up to his coat, his boots still buried in the middle of it, and here, he had reclaimed all his property. Vi turned upwards, and kicked his way back to the Nightingale, coming up near her stern. He swam easy to the boarding point of the hull, where there were boards attached to climb back aboard from the sea. He slung his things over his shoulder where they wouldn't fall, and gripped them with his left hand, as his right was his stronger climbing arm. Lastly, he tucked his reclaimed ruby sword under his arm after several failed attempts to get it in its scabbard, before making his way up with only one hand and his two feet. Had he been wearing his boots, this would likely have been impossible.

Once aboard, he was greeted at first with looks of surprise, and then a few looks of humor. One of the nearby sailors asked him if he could swim, to which he answered, "Obviously," and wondered at the man's look of admiration. Didn't all sailors know how to swim? He dropped his things, and then shook his sleeves free of an abundance of salt water. The woman, for it had been the woman, was on deck, and looking very cheeky about his early morning dip. She walked over to him, and told him bluntly, "Na 'ard fee'ans ah 'ope."

Cordoba looked her over with a gaze that hinted at anger, before the young Lieutenant Bainbridge quickly ushered in the news that she was an Assassin, and offered that Vitale would be just as well to let the whole business go. Apparently, the Captain had been put about a foul mood already, and it would be best not to salt the wound any further. Vitale put on a very forced smile, as some of the nearby sailors laughed about his current condition. He nodded his head humiliated, and dared not look up from the deck, as he took the sword from under his numb arm, and slid it into its home.

As the woman came over to him, to presumably prod his bruised dignity, he smiled a bit harder and offered a hand in friendship. "It is no problem mam," He said, and just as she accepted his hand with a firm grasp, their hands clasping each other's forearms, he grabbed her arm with his freehand, and slung her as hard as he could backwards, sending her off the deck and into the night's ocean below, satisfied only at hearing her strained yelp before the splash. "No problem at all..."

Captain Davis walked over to the edge to look over, then turned to him and regarded, "What took you so long. Figured you died."

"Had to get this," He answered, touching the hilt of his sword. Davis nodded, and walked off to resume his duties, and hopefully never speak on this subject again. Vitale looked over the edge and made sure the woman could swim in those lavish swags, and saw her coming back, her hat firmly coating her head with water. His aristocratic arrogance appeased, he followed Bainbridge to the lower decks to speak with him about their new crewman, and change his garments.


^{(((OOC: All responses or otherwise actions of other players were discussed in great detail by suitable means. No GM'ing was employed in the writing of this post. Special thanks to my crew for their creative additions, and wonderful opening thread for Bronach!)))}