Siren's Call Introduction Captain Sam's worn, leather boots thumped heavily on the hard-wooded flooring of her quarters. She set herself down on her ornate and worn Captain's Chair, stolen from right under the beaks of an Avian airship's crew a few years back. She tugged her ruffled overcoat back into place before lighting one of her 'cense sticks and sticking it in the corner of her mouth. Her legs raised up and planted firmly on her light-wooded desk adorned with a menagerie of nick-knacks and old documents before she leaned a bit over to grab a stack of vanilla folders out of a draw. For a moment, she paused, considering the journey ahead of her. In her hands laid the foundations of her life's greatest adventure, and, quite possibly, her spectacular demise. The fabled treasure world Siren had, of course, haunted ale houses and taverns for years, long before she had ever even heard the words "swash buckling pirates" for the first time. Every tale was the same: rich treasures beyond one's wildest dreams, and mysterious demise under mysterious circumstances. She had always called it children's tales, even as a girl, and here she was, about to set out on her own journey to answer the Siren's call. At best, the legends were true, and she walked out with the best story ever to be told this side of the galactic center point. At average, she'd disappear from the history books, lost alongside the scores of her predecessors. At worst... She wound up in a truly miserable and tortured existence, as fabled by the darkest tales. She snorted. Sounded like just her kind of challenge. "Le'ss see here..." she muttered as she opened up the first folder and began pondering to herself over her new crew. "Mr. William Stone. Heh. There's a right good one. I've seen 'is rifle skills in action me'self. 'Course, that scar o'his is a bit disconcertin'... Still, good to have ol' Snipe around again. "Mr. Hawkins... Avian Engineer. Ripe age for adventurin'; shame 'e's startin' wiff Siren. Still, 's'got motivation enough. Lookin' for 'is father, 'nd t'help 'is fam'ly... Can always use a good mechanic, as well." "Ms. Dworn, what a strange girl she is. 'Aven't seen that white of hair on someone thrice her age. Scientific abilities, lookin' fer her broth'r. Smells nice... Heh. Won't be makin' a pirate outta her with them lovely scents. Still, a bit young..." "Charl Rockman, trailblazin' 'unter. Impressed a Floran tribe... Good deal of experience on 'is end. Nice t'have some'un wiff mud on 'is boots." "Ms. Lucc Owen. Blasted pilot. She might wreck this entire vessel fr'm over abuse b'fore we even begin... I like it. Girl's got some real spirit, there." "Ms. Lani, 'eavy gunner. Thought them fishies was s'pposed t'be friendly... Ha, lass's in it f'r the excitement; that there's a right reason t'be on me ship, any day!" "Winston Drake. Combat experience... Protective fella, ain't 'e. Problems with death... Best t'make sure no one dies when we need 'im... Or in general, f'r that matter." "Ah, Phateon. Good fella, if a bit reserved. Sciency things, stays outta trouble... Better remember those tricks I taught 'im wiff blades..." Laying the folders down, Captain Sam picked up her ledger, making some markings with her old-fashioned quill. "Well," she muttered under her breath, "here's hopin' we don't all die." Part One: A Journey Begins The town of Last Call is, at the moment, quite messy. Streamers, confetti, and empty bottles litter the streets after a long night of revelry, celebrating the brave souls about to make their trip to Siren. Whether they were cheering them on or wishing their condolences was lost in all the loud music and strong booze, but they were certainly wishing the best to the crew of Captain Sam's Tinderbox (named after a supposed superstition that bad names bring about good luck). As this point, only a few people can be seen in the streets at any time, all gathering kicking party litter aside and either resuming their daily lives or heading to the docks to give a final farewell to the brave (or foolish) adventurers. Of course, these adventurers were each involved in their own affairs the night previously, and could be found in various locations... ((And... Introduce yourselves.))
"Talk about a fest.." Will was simply trying not to get washed away with the refuse in the streets, slowly walking along with his pack over his shoulder.
Whyt groaned as she hobbled into the street, her feet shuffling with her as she rubbed her head. How did all of that happen? She found herself in some poor alleyway, with a bucket over her head? Her eyes closed briefly as she took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. There was...a guy. He tried to have a "good time" with her, and so she promptly threw the bucket over her head and acted like she didn't exist when he came looking. The white, nearly lifeless eyes opened as she picked up pace, popping her back as well. "Well! That shouldn't matter anymore. Now to find this...Captain Sam..."
Winston slowly got up. "Oh man." He had a hangover from last night, and he could hardly remember anything. "Well... Time for that trip." He stumbled onto The streets and began to make his way to the docks.
Rounding a corner to see a woman tossing a bucket...not questioning it either, he decides to push it he starts heading her way and at 10 feet off he pushes the envelope, risking speaking a bit above a whisper, "Scuse me Ma'am?"
'In vino veritas'. They say alcohol brings out one's true self. Lucca should've kept that in mind when some jackass brought out that bottle of 151. Well, that was then, this is now; Lucca was sitting in the wreck of a car she somehow ended up in after blacking out, no doubt driving it as fast as she could push it; it was a miracle she wasn't dead right now. No matter, she pried herself from the wreck, she had someplace to go today; making her way towards the port.
-Charl He gets up, slinging his rifle over his back, putting his meager sack of belongings, just some spare clothes, really, over his shoulder, sitting up as the last of the drunkards surrounding him fade into sleep. He had been weaving tall tails of his exploits throughout the night, entertaining those who would listen. He straightens his jacket, and walks toward the tinderbox
Whyt was still half lost in her world, so the voice caught her off guard. She jumped, gasping as she turned around and- Oh. It was just a guy. She rubbed her head, squinting as she focused on him some."Uh..Y-Yes?"
Karana set off rather early in the morning, even with the nasty hangover from the night prior. She carries her gun along with some extra supplies- changes of clothes and some of her own food. She is excited and a bit anxious about this adventure... mostly excited. She sees the ship off in the distance as she approaches the docks.
Doing his best to clear his voice and speak clearly...rather painfully, he said "Do you know the way to the docks? I'm helping out an old friend there."
Winston grabs some jerky from his pack and takes a bite. Hopefully that could make him less hungry and stay down too.
Whyt lightened up at this, rubbing the back of her neck. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the rather crumpled and folded up map." Ah, well...I can try and help? I'm going there as well."
The streets are rather uneventful on the way to the docks, with only a handful of people lingering about and sometimes waving at one of our brave souls as they recall exciting night events (both enjoyable and otherwise). The docks themselves are semi-crowded, with many of Last Call's residents having gathered to wish the Tinderbox farewell as it heads off on its dangerous voyage. The ship stands ready, its hull designed after ancient, wooden sea vessels (similar to the more modern Avian airships). In front of the vessel's loading ramp stands Captain Sam, a 'cense stick in the corner of her mouth as she scans over the crowd, looking for her crew and muttering lightly to herself. "They best not be too drunk up... Gonna need some soberness fer this leg o'the voyage..."
After following the lady to the docks and seeing that ship that if anybody would own..it'll be ole Sam..he simply said, "Thank you, I can make it from here." He makes his way to the ship but angles to come at the ship from the far right then starts heading straight towards the ramp...and when he reaches it and sees that familiar face, he lightly taps the lady's shoulder and starts grinning as he says, "Scuse me Ma'am, mind giving this old scallywag some directions?"
Karana continues through the crowd towards the rather unique-looking ship and the captain standing before it.
Captain Sam turns to Will, a wide grin plastered on her face as she plucks her 'cense stick out of her mouth. "Snipey, me lad! Ye look worse'n a rat's behind. 'Course, all the best people do--just look'it my ugly mug! Ha!" She gives Will a good hearted pat on the back, perhaps not realizing the full extent of his scarring. "Now, wha'd'ya need directions for, me 'earty?"
Wincing at the Pat and honestly not wanting to know what that stick was, he just grins and says, "You know my younger brother was the pretty boy of the family..and the directions I'm sure you can handle..it's to a dandy little place these folks have taken to calling Siren, and I just bought myself a ticket."
Whyt app roaches slowly, listening to the two converse. She still gripped the crumpled up map in her hands, slowly lowering it once she got closer. That woman the stranger was talking to sure was a Grade A pirate. She stared at the two in awe, not realizing she was gawking.
W-Where must I go now?! I think that I should have turned left in last fork... whatever I have this technological map that created yesterday night when everybody was partying for something hehe, at least I can know the exact coordinates to the ship... so... this it...Siren awaits for me Romeo looks up to sky, takes a deep breath and starts running in direction of Tinderbox, excited for his adventure
