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Kokay

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  1. Stark Dietrich Well, no one could say that she wasn't observant. He'd been hoping that she wasn't quite so aware of her surroundings. In Stark's experience, most noblewomen were unaware of the way the real world worked. But, not this girl. He smiled and nodded slowly. "Ahm... More or less, I am. I don't work the same way as the other pirates. Not as excited to go pillaging and all that. I'm really just a pirate because my friend is... And I..." He paused. This sounded so much more ridiculous when he described it. And then there was the question of his relationship with Ceto. Was that just for fun? Or was there something more behind it? "Well, I just didn't know what else I could do with my life so... Here I am." Bruna da Silva The crack of dawn. That wasn't so far away. She rolled to face Garrett as well, propping her head up on her hand. She offered an apologetic smile. The young man was so innocent. Bruna had no clue what to do to help him. Placing a kind hand on his shoulder, she looked him in the eye. "Querido, I don't know what kind of fellow she met that she doesn't love you. You seem to be a kind fellow. I guess you ought to let her know what's up. Tell her how you feel. Girls aren't mind readers."
  2. Bruna da Silva "Hmm," Really? She desperately wanted to ask him why he had come to the brothel in the first place then. She held her tongue though. Bruna looked at him, and proceeded to throw herself onto the bed, laying next to him in a strictly platonic way. She folded her hands on top of her stomach. "Well, amor, this is something I've never had to deal with. But, you're a wonderful fellow. I'm sure she's just got her head in the clouds," She glanced at Garrett. He was sweet, she had to give him that. "When do you have to head back to the ship?" Stark Dietrich He grinned and entered the room without waiting for permission. In fact, it didn't even cross his mind to ask for permission. Stark stood in the room, stiffly. He didn't know the first thing about how to address a noble. He smiled apologetically at Velia and offered a tentative bow. "Just wanted to talk with you a bit more! My name is Stark. Dietrich. I'm a... Well, I'm from Germany originally! And you, m'lady? Why don't you tell me your story?" ((Short. Distracted by Gone with the Wind....))
  3. Stark Dietrich Following the noblewoman had been a piece of cake. The place where she had ultimately ended up was definitely a Templar building. Frankly, he wasn't sure if they were important to the Templars, or just aligned themselves with them. Maybe they were spare change for the organization. Stark watched through the windows, following where Velia was taken to, until ultimately she stopped in what appeared to be a bedroom. He gave her about an hour and half to settle in, using the time to check out the extent of his injuries from the fall. He certainly did have a broken rib on his left side, but that appeared to be all there was. The bruises on his side were livid, and his body groaned every time he moved. No more climbing with hangovers, not climbing on the outside of boats. Stark climbed to Velia's window with ease. He tapped on it, grinning widely. "M'lady? Are you there?" Bruna da Silva As it turned out, Garrett wasn't half as bad as he had let on. In fact, Bruna had a hard time believing that was his first time being with a woman. He certainly knew his way around the bed. If she was completely honest with herself, she'd enjoyed it. But, now was the time to get ready for the next. This was her life. Please the men every second of the day, and get a few precious hours of rest to yourself. Pulling her dress back on, Bruna glanced back at Garrett. There was just something about this man that she liked more than the others. Maybe it was his shyness to be here. She walked back to him, leaned in close to his face, and kissed him. "You're not half bad, amor," She smiled softly. "But I think I've gotta take a couple more... gentleman callers before I can rest today. Stay here with me for a little while longer? As long as you're here, I don't have to move on."
  4. Stark Dietrich He thought about leaving. Surely Ceto would wonder where he was, and surely he would get to hear about how irresponsible he was. Stark knew better, he truly did. Stumbling blindly behind a pretty girl directly related to the Templars. This was a bad decision. But, he didn't have her name. He wouldn't be able to find her again unless he stumbled on her like this time. So, ribs aching, head pounding, and pride stinging, Stark launched himself up another building. This time, he kept low. He planned his jumps carefully, and found that he disliked the lack of intimacy in following from the rooftops. Stark descended to the streets and walked by Velia and her escort, whistling. Bruna da Silva She turned her head from him, catching the eyes of one of her sisters. She rolled her eyes. The other woman giggled and went about her business. They often would joke about the men that they were bedding. Sometimes, that was the only way to deal with the situation. Bruna had yet to meet a woman who actually enjoyed this job. You became like a piece of meat, just something to be used and thrown to the side. No one on the planet seemed to care about you, and that often wore you down. Bruna glanced back at Garrett as they reached the room. "Nice to meet you as well, Garrett," She pulled the doors shut behind them. "Now, amor, what can I do for you? You seem awfully nervous. There's really no good reason to be so nervous. I've done this a million times. And, since you're the one paying, you have complete control over what happens while we are here. So, querido, what do you want?"
  5. Bruna da Silva Oh dear. He was a talkative fellow. Bruna frowned internally, but kept her small suggestive smile on her face. He stuttered something about being a proper English gentleman. Of course, that explained his accent. Funny that she would pinpoint someone else's accent when her own was so heavy. Bruna waited patiently for him to stop talking. "Querido, it's not your job to pleasure me. It's my job to pleasure you." She took his hand lightly and pulled him towards a room. "Come with me and we can talk more. You don't need to worry about knowing what to do, amor. I will take care of that for you." God she hoped this fellow woild stop talking oncd they got to the room. Maybe he would be more comfortable if he could treat her as someone he already knew. "My name is Bruna da Silva. You can just call me Bruna, that is my first name." ((Apologies about any errors. On my phone))
  6. Stark Dietrich As soon as he got a response out of her, she was being taken away from him again. Of course she was being taken away, she was noble and she'd sneaked away from her guards. They were paid to keep her safe. No wonder the man was mad. Stark stood up carefully, noting where his body hurt and where it didn't. Of course he'd hit the ground hard, but he was pretty sure he'd made out alright. Heavy bruising of course, and maybe a broken rib now that he moved. His pale blue eyes found Velia's and he pursed his lips. "I... I'll see you around. Look for me, eh? If you see me, yell. I'm Stark." Only then did he give a good look at the guard. Templar. What had he gotten himself into? Ceto would want him to tail them, and so he would. If he could learn anything about the Templar plans, that would be good. If he could get the beautiful girl's name, that would be good too. Maybe the next time he was in Rome, he could call on her. Bruna da Silva Italian again. She had honestly been hoping for something different. Oh well. He was handsome, unlike the usual rabble. The man didn't seem to be too sure of himself, nor was he particularly good at conversation. That was just as well. The talkative ones were always the hardest to please. Besides, Bruna wasn't paid to talk, she was paid to please. And since she got the first word in, he was Bruna's. "Ah, a working man. On a ship, no less? You must be tired. Why don't you come with me, we can talk about what I can do to," She paused, smiling warmly at Garrett. "Ease your burden."
  7. Stark Dietrich The fall had practically knocked him silly. As Stark slowly surveyed what was around him, he realized there was a beautiful girl next to him. Indeed, a very beautiful girl. More, she was wearing a gorgeous red dress. She wasn't common, not even a little bit. Slowly, bit by bit, he was regaining full use of his body. He felt her hand on his shoulder, he heard her breathing, he didn't smell her. Most commoners stank, and here was this woman, sticking out like a sore thumb in every way she possibly could. Stark's head thumped angrily, reminding him that he knew better than to jump around when he wasn't at his best. What was the girl doing out? Without a full guard? Didn't she know that the streets were no place for a noblewoman to strut alone? It was unsafe for anyone, but far more so for someone of obvious noble blood. "I-I'm fine. What about you? Why are you alone here," He paused. What was the proper way to address a noble? "M'lady." Bruna da Silva One man, two men, three men, four... That's how the day had been. No breaks. However, lucky for her, the clients today hadn't been particularly... full of stamina. Bruna had already cleaned up and was taking a bit of a break before she moved on. "Roberts is here, love," She heard someone say. Great. Bruna knew that man. She preferred to avoid him. He was just a bit too much for her tastes. She preferred new blood, those who had no clue what they were doing. They were kind, unlike the majority of the men. They didn't know yet that you didn't have to respect the women at the brothel. Bruna rolled her dark brown eyes and stood up from the cushion she'd been sitting on. It looked like she'd have to get right back to work. A spritz of perfume, straightening of clothing, and Bruna was back out on the floor. And there was Roberts. She slipped around the side of the building, giving him a wide berth. The other girls could take him, she wasn't keen on keeping his company. Not today. And then, like God had heard her thoughts, there was another man! Gorgeous strawberry blonde hair, tall, and muscular. To top it all off? A face that looked like it'd never seen a brothel before. He was tugging at his collar nervously, obviously he had no clue what to do. Bruna moved in fast, practically running to him. The others would get their chance. This one was her's. She stopped short near the man and put on a small smile as she approached him now, at a much slower pace. "Hey there, you speak Italian, queridinho?" The man didn't look like he'd react very well to the traditional come on. New blood rarely knew what to do when a woman approached them. "Ou talvez português, amor? Posso falar tanto." (Or maybe Portuguese, love? I can speak both.)
  8. Username: Kokay Name: Bruna da Silva Gender: Female Age: 23 Birthplace: Brazil Side: Money's Position: Cabin Boy Assassin Rank: N/A Appearance: [X] 5'8" Clothing: [X] Weapons: Very skilled in unarmed self defense, and a serrated knife Personality: Bruna is a very warm, and friendly person. She trusts easily, and she loves easily as well. She loves most people she meets as friends, and that is the extent of her easily won love. She has yet to relinquish romantic love to any man, she sees that as the only thing she has left to keep. Bruna is hard to shake emotionally. She rarely shows any emotion to others aside from happiness or love. She hides behind happiness, using it to hide how emotionally affected she is by her lifestyle. History: Bruna was born and raised in Brazil. That is, until she was 12 years old. Her tomboyish nature, enchantment with knives, and generally difficult to tame personality was difficult for her parents to deal with. Originally, they had planned to marry her off, but when Bruna severely injured a boy (the two had been engaged in a play knife fight that got a bit too intense) they had to send her away. Bruna was sent to live with her aunt in Portugal. The stay was short. Her aunt didn't have the time, patience, or money to deal with Bruna's shenanigans. Instead, her aunt sent her to live with a family friend in Italy to work as a servant so that she could "learn proper manners". The job was cut short when Bruna was found in bed with the lord of the house by his wife. She was thrown out in the street at 18, and had to find a way to make a living. She had no skill for theft, sneaking, or anything like that. What she did have, however, was exotic looks and a reputation for sleeping around. She settled down eventually in Rome, working at a brothel. She spent most of her free time practicing unarmed combat so that she could fend off any potentially dangerous clients. Kin: Jéssica Gonçalves (aunt), João da Silva (father), Regina da Silva (mother) Abilities: Formidable unarmed combatant Weaknesses: -Trusts very easily -Not skilled in many forms of combat -Obsessed with comfort -Easily offended, and takes most things directly to heart -Unable to recognize lies or any form of deception -Overly emotional Strengths: -Unarmed combat -Generally a really likable person Likes: People, being comfortable, beautiful things, beautiful people, beautiful views, good food, music Dislikes: Rude people, anyone who offends her, expressions of love towards her, being uncomfortable, wearing clothing that is proper of a woman to wear Other: Theme Song: All My Days by Alexi Murdoch The Brazilian is finally finished.
  9. With a sharp order to a few of the crew, Stark gathered the silk and rum. He wasn't sure where to take the goods, but one of the crewmen stated he knew a good buyer. Stark followed the men, eyes flickering across the crowds of people. He had been raised in Italy, but this wasn't like the homecoming that he had expected. Stark wasn't nearly as excited to be back as he thought that he would end up being. The hangover, of course, didn't make him particularly excited. In fact, nothing that had happened that day had worked out in a way that would lead him to be excited. It all started with Poppy. That woman... she was... easy on the eyes. Her words were like honey. Strangely, he found himself unmoved. Stark had to admit she was beautiful, and a part of him wanted to take her up on her offers, but the fact that she was so ready made him wary. And Ceto! He could kill her! The woman knew him better than any living soul, and she had used him like that. It wasn't out of pity for him, no. Ceto didn't work that way. It was for herself. The sale happened without much of a hitch. The crewmen left Stark, and he found himself with much more time than he had expected to be left with. What was the harm in doing a bit of exploring before he returned? Stark slipped into an alley, and began to climb the side of one of the buildings. The feeling of climbing was perfect. It took all of your attention, otherwise you would make a mistake. And, if you were climbing the right way, it only took one mistake to guarantee that you'd never make another. This is what he missed the most whilst they'd been out to sea. The surety of the buildings was so different in comparison to the way the Sista Viska bucked in the sea. As he reached the top, Stark felt a rush of excitement. Even with his hangover as bad as it was, he was still excited to be back climbing. He reached the roof, and immediately launched himself to the next. And again. Until suddenly, he was laughing. Stark reached another, and as he jumped off of this one, his foot caught on the ledge and suddenly he was crashing down to the ground, luckily hitting an unfortunate household's laundry and softening his fall.
  10. Stark pursed his lips against the anger he felt. Ceto might let him sound off at her when they were alone together, but now that Theresa was here there was no chance she wouls let him get away with such insubordination. He nodded, throwing in the most sarcastic bow his body could manage, and smiled. "Oh of course milady Ceto. Anything my French princess requires of me." (Short busy)
  11. Stark followed Ceto to her room. This would be a quick conversation if he could make it that. The conversation, in fact, wasn't something that he even wanted to have. This was his former mentor, for God's sake. As the gentleman that he was, when Ceto removed his shirt and put on her own, he kept his eyes averted. The tone of that woman's voice... As if his day hadn't had a bad enough start, now he had to deal with Ceto's . "You know damned well that I am. What the... God, Ceto. What happened? I can't remember a thing," He growled. His mentor. He had been with his mentor. Truthfully, at one point he would have been thrilled. Ceto's grace and general beauty had always captivated him, but as they had spent more and more time together Stark's interest in her changed to a more brotherly love. "God, the last thing I want is you being pregnant. Especially with my kid."
  12. She knew! She knew exactly what he was going on about. Stark set his jaw, feeling himself stiffen as he looked at her. Had that been her plan all along? Convince him to drink, and then just use him like that? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Stark took a step closer to Ceto, making sure that he could keep their conversation low. This wasn't something that he wanted everyone to know about. "The last thing I'm worried about is sunburn. Maybe, if it worries you so much, you could give me my shirt back." He growled quietly. "And then maybe we can find a room to talk in. Whilst we are both fully clothed."
  13. Stark nodded. He would just have to do a bit of detective work. The truth would come out no doubt. He slid gingerly past Poppy. "Right, well. This'll be an interesting day." He grunted, using that to excuse himself from a more detailed conversation. Chances were, he'd find out sooner rather than later. Things like this weren't easy to keep a secret on the boat. The quarters were close, and there wasn't anything in the way of sound proofing. Anything that happened on the boat was usually known by at least one other person in the ship. No matter how hard someone tried to keep it a secret. As he ventured to the deck, Stark squinted against the bright sunlight. Hangovers were the worst part about drinking. In fact, it was the reason why he normally avoided drinking. That, and the annoying tendency for memory loss. If his drunk self could think enough to put a limit on how much he drank, it wouldn't be so bad. But once he started, he just kept going. Stark covered his eyes, scanning the ship. And there, at the wheel, was the ship's captain. Ceto. She would be his best bet for piecing together the past night. Stark climbed slowly to the wheel, cursing himself again for drinking so much. As he reached the wheel, he looked at Ceto. Black wasn't her color. Black wasn't anyone's color. He stood, bare chested, looking at Ceto. Slowly the reality of the situation dawned on him. "You've got to be f***ing kidding me."
  14. Was she suggesting something? Stark felt his irritation setting back in full swing as the conversation continued. He had lent his cloak to Poppy, and it came back ruined. He opened his mouth to rebuke the woman, but quickly snapped it shut. Stark received the cloak, biting angrily at his bottom lip. A curse slid from his mouth as he assessed the damage. It wasn't bad, but anything was bad enough that he'd be mad about it right now. It wasn't a good day. He folded the cloak with practiced moves, and tossed it onto the bunk. Frankly, now that there was a hole in the cloak it looked more common. He knew that at some point it'd get a bit dingy, he'd just been avoiding thinking about the day. "Right, well it will just make me look more like the people won't it? Forget it, Poppy. I have to find out who it was. God forbid..." He trailed off as he thought on whom else it could have possibly been. "Anyway... Just... Buy me a drink or something while we're in town." Stark waved her off angrily, eager to find out whom he'd slept with. "Maybe if you hear about who it was, you can let me know. You girls chat about that stuff don't you?"
  15. Stark wasn't entirely sure what had happened the night before. All he had was fuzzy memories. That was the last time that he let Ceto convince him to drink with her. He spent the majority of the morning sitting on his bunk, piecing together the night. At one point he'd swung at a crewman and, for whatever reason, he ended up missing and hitting a wall. That would explain his split knuckles and the dull aching pain in his hand. But, there was a memory that was just a bit more strange to him. At one point, he remembered taking off his clothes in a hot passion. A quick inventory of his quarters revealed that his tunic top was still missing. Since he couldn't remember who he'd been with last night, he figured that he'd find his tunic with his latest conquest. The pounding of his headache was interrupted by a pounding on his door. Poppy's voice rose up, mentioning his cloak. Stark scowled. He'd loaned it to her before the battle, on the promise that he'd be getting it back. Standing up, he stalked to the door and opened it. His glare faded as he locked eyes with the shorter woman. Could this be the woman that he was with last night? He supposed that the only way that he could possibly know was to ask the obvious question. "Did I sleep with you last night?"
  16. Stark recognized Roberts immediately. Though he desperately needed the help, he found himself hating the man for being the one to offer it. Stark offered Roberts a tentative smile and worked with him to get the now unconscious Garrett aboard the Sista Viska. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly had convinced Roberts to help him. The little that Stark knew of the other man didn't exactly support a random act of kindness. Surely this would come back to bite one of them in the ass. Provided the carpenter survived, that is. Stark had dealt with poisons before, but none so fast acting as this. It scared him to think what would happen if the rest of the merchants were armed with poison. "Thanks," Stark grunted, unsure of how else to approach the situation. ((Duss, go ahead and say that they make it on the boat or something))
  17. Poison? Stark's head snapped down to finally look at the man. Garrett's stomach had been sliced by the merchant's sword. Curses slipped easily from his mouth as Stark looked down at the wound. "Alright then. I suppose I'll have to carry you out of here. Trust me, Garrett. I can't have you bucking around on my back when we get up on the deck," He glanced at the loot in the room and grimaced. Ceto would have his head for choosing a man's life over the loot. Or, maybe not. It was so hard to tell with her sometimes. He pursed his lips. It'd be easy enough to send someone down when he ran back up with Garrett. "I'll send someone down for the loot." As Stark leaned down to put Garrett's arm over his head, he realized the first true problem with the situation. Garrett was a considerably stocky fellow, and Stark lacked in muscle mass. He swore in German as he leaned closer to the man, lightly touching his arm. There was no way that the journey was gonna be comfortable. Not with the cut, nor the poison, nor being carried on the back of a bony German man. "You need to hold on to me. I'm not sure how I'll get you back the whole way, but I can get you up the stairs. Surely there'll be someone else who can help," Stark offered his body as support to the man. They had to get moving quickly, poison wasn't anything to fool around with.
  18. The battle began swiftly. Stark grimaced. This had never been his preferred style. Killing innocents just for what they had... He wouldn't be a part of the bloodshed. He stood back on their ship, Sista Viska, watching the battle with a frown plastered to his face. The sounds of men yelling their battle cries, followed all too soon by the sound of their dying breath filled the sea air. Stark hated this part of his job. But you didn't have to come. Surely there was another person that you could have found. Ceto isn't the only Assassin in the world. He scolded himself. Truth be known, Stark found it terribly difficult to trust other people. The fact that he'd come to trust Ceto had him clinging to her desperately for security. Though he wanted nothing more than to go below deck and skulk in his quarters, Stark knew he had to take part in the battle as well. The Lance and the Sista Viska were hull to hull, and the majority of the available crew members had already boarded the merchant vessel. Stark launched himself over the railing, hoping to grab hold of the other vessel's railing. However, he'd misjudged the distance, and found himself scrabbling against the side of the ship. He slid down the side of the Lance, searching desperately for a handhold. Terror took hold of him, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. How could he have been so foolish? Stark never misjudged distances on land! The boats must have moved apart before the jump. By a stroke of luck, or blessing from some divine, his hands found a porthole. Stark came to a particularly jarring stop, nearly wrenching his hands from the porthole. The air left his lungs as he thudded against the side of the ship. "Never again. Leavin' this to the men," He muttered angrily as he pulled himself into the lower deck. This was just another time that Stark found himself thanking his mother for his genes. Thin and tall, he was made for this kind of work. He glanced around the room he'd landed in, hand on his weapon. Nothing appeared to be hostile. The room had silk and other items. It was certainly a merchant vessel. Stark cursed Ceto under his breath as he stood up. How could she so callously disregard these men's lives? Unsure of what had attracted his attention there, Stark noticed a young man and the body of one of the merchants. It was Garrett, the carpenter. He'd gotten himself hurt already? With only one man as an adversary? Stark scowled and stalked to the man's side. "Garrett! What are you doing down here?" He hissed, eyes not on the man, but the stairway. "Grab some of this gold and let's get out of here."
  19. "Right," Stark muttered stiffly. This expression of camaraderie was unexpected. Or, maybe not so much unexpected as it was uncomfortable for him. "It's a good cloak. Very common, no one ever suspects my true nature when I wear it out in the streets," Maybe the woman had hoped for him to speak to her in German, to show some sort of happiness that there was another person like herself on board the ship. If that's what she had wanted, she would have been much better off staying wherever she had come from. Stark pursed his lips against the questions he wanted to ask. Where had this woman come from and what was her story? It wasn't often he met a German. Even less common was the moment when he had to speak with another German. His eyes traveled over her. Her mannerisms suggested that she wasn't from the streets as he was. Noble, or maybe even just a noble's servant. His mouth opened to ask her where she came from, but he snapped it shut quickly. "Shut the door on your way out," He muttered as he slipped past her, walking speedily towards the exit.
  20. The familiar word touched Stark's ears and just a little bit too close to his heart. His attention was instantly, and completely, directed on the German woman nearby. It had been a long time since he'd heard that language. The sounds reminded him of a time he would have preferred to leave buried in his memory for a while. He swallowed back his irritation at the influx of unpleasant memories and forced a smile at Poppy. Stark flipped his tunic over his shoulder and nodded at her. "Of course. I've left it on my bed though. Follow me," He didn't stop to see if the woman would follow him before he headed inside of the boat. At the moment, he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to lend his cloak to her. The memories of home had brought out a more... unpleasant side. Stark's father had been a large, bearded, brute of a man. He had nothing but bad memories of the man. Beatings, alcohol, and a general air of disdain... His father hadn't been the kind of man Stark could get along with. As he struggled with his inner demons, he scolded himself. Having bad memories was no reason to treat another improperly. He grabbed the cloak up off of his bed, and paused to fold his tunic. "Here is the cloak,"
  21. In spite of himself, Stark found himself smiling at Ceto's jest. He let himself chuckle, allowing the happiness of the crew to spread to him at last. His eyes danced over the treasure. This is what they were here for. The tales of riches on the high seas weren't entirely false. Ceto looked ridiculous, the men's hopes were up, they'd found a Piece, and it looked like everything was going in their favor. If the rest of the journey went this well, they'd be done in no time. Stark smirked at Ceto and bowed. "Well, greetings m'lady! We hope that the ship is up to your undoubtedly high standards! May I be of service to you?" He sneered sarcastically. Thinking for a moment, Stark realized his mistake. He held up a finger lightly to her lips to keep her from speaking. Quickly, he snatched his hand back- he wouldn't put it past Ceto to bite him. "Don't answer that question. It was entirely rhetorical. I don't want to know if there's anything I can do to help you." He rolled his eyes. "Oy! Nice find, Poppy."
  22. Stark scowled at Ceto's response. She was impossible. Of course she knew that she ought to stop drinking- how could anyone hope to lead well when they were too drunken to do a thing correct? His back had stiffened when she remarked that he ought to be more laid back. Just as he was about to sound off in response to her, Poppy came up from the water. Saved by the bell, Stark turned his attention from Ceto's comment to Poppy's apparent discovery. He grinned. Maybe Ceto was a drunkard, and maybe he didn't like being stuck on a boat, but if they were finding some form of treasure that meant that they must be doing something correct. Stark stiffened at Ceto's command. His face settled into an all too familiar scowl and he set his jaw. There was no way he was going to get that close to the edge. And as second mate, he figured he could take a step back from the order and let some other men answer. Stark shifted back behind Ceto, out of her view. His blonde hair had recently been cut short, back to the length that he liked. He'd left his cloak inside, hating to wear it out where the salty seawater could lap at it. The sun beat relentlessly against his black tunic, so in a fairly swift movement, he removed the top. His pale German skin was sure to get burnt by the sun eventually, why not get used to it now? ((I think, yes. That way we can all see Ceto rage and moan the second time they look for it.))
  23. I noticed! Congrats Mousia! Haha, thanks for making it official. Dearest TMD said I was approved when I sent it to her earlier, haha. How are things going on the home front?
  24. Stark shifted his weight from foot to foot. Ceto was sending someone down in the diving bell. He didn't agree with it. In fact, he didn't agree with anything that Ceto had decided. Least of all this crazy boat idea. But, this was her choice. He never piped up about it, he didn't have to follow her. He could have stayed home. No he couldn't. He didn't know anyone else there. Ceto was all he had. Even if she was temperamental and hard to deal with on a good day, she was still his... Well she had been his mentor for some time. Now she was his captain. And, yet again, Ceto outranked him. Stark walked silently towards her, noting the whiskey in her hand. His face twisted into a sneer as he walked up on her. He motioned towards the bottle in her hand. "Do you think that, maybe, you ought to save the drinking for a later time tonight? To celebrate the return of your crew, maybe? Or maybe you should just go dry. Y'know, it's not that difficult to stay sober for a little bit, Ceto."
  25. I'm hoping so! TMD, Stark's approved then? So no one runs be down for posting. Hahaha