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| Topic Started: 23 Nov 2007, 05:20 AM (407 Views) | |
| Creejak | 23 Nov 2007, 05:20 AM Post #1 |
Midshipman
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It was raining, as it quite often did in the Caribbean, and it hit the roof of the rotting plantation with a force equal to a young child on a drum. The constant pounding coupled with the creaking of the foundations awoke every rat and insect bunking in the building, thus it was no surprise that when Grapple’s eyes slowly opened to view the room at a terrible slant, they were red with fatigue and possibly the lingering of something more that had helped him sleep that night. Sitting up groggily, his exhausted body barely balanced and he almost fell back into the beaten sheets, recovering just in time to avoid sending up a cloud of dust that had settled over the recently stirred fabric. He had beaten every sheet he could find in the plantation home, save for the ones on the west wing of the house, which had began to avoid entirely, and as such his arms were rather tired and stiff that early morning. Stretching his back and grimacing as he heard a few popping noises, he clasped his wrist behind his back with his other hand and drew his legs out of the nest he had formed on the creaking mattress. A yawn escaped his mouth, a low growl accompanying the gush of air as he let himself contemplate the idea of resting back within the warmed bed and curling back into a ball, tangled in the sheets. However, the pirate slowly rose to his feet and, blinking wearily, looked out of the window across the room, noting that the sky had not returned to its brilliant blue, but had rather darkened into a deeper shade of grey. The sky was clouded over, and the darkness outside betrayed the lack of sun. Unable to tell whether it simply had not risen yet or it was simply very dark outside, though suspecting it was in fact very early in the morning due to the way the grass looked against the sheen of the sky, Grapple stifled a groan and shook his head slowly once, letting his shoulders drop. Mallot would not be awake for another hour or two, possibly even three, and passed out over the piano in the conservatory. While his brother had grown accustomed to sleeping in and relaxing, Grapple had retained the ability to awaken before daylight took over, and upon occasion it bothered the man that he couldn’t break the pattern for even ten more minutes of sleep he’d be otherwise wasting doing nothing in the world of the awake save for trying to sleep. Sighing heavily, he slouched forward in a heavy defeat, and slumped over to where a pile of clothes had been salvaged the night previous from one of the many closets in the plantation home. For an abandoned building, it certainly hadn’t been cleaned out well. Slightly disappointed in the abilities of Port Royal’s criminals, Grapple began to speculate whether or not the plantation’s stories of haunts and spectres weren’t just keeping young, immature children away. Frowning as he slipped into a snug-fitting shirt of a cream colour that was tailored for someone not quite Grapple’s build, he found he couldn’t hug his arms as far as he normally could; the shirt was too tight, but he didn’t feel concerned enough to scout out a new one. Adding a simple, embroidered purple waistcoat with a black pattern that reminded him of eyes glaring out, and a faded blue collared coat that had sleeves slightly too short and showed off his unruffled sleeves, he looked slightly like a regular citizen with some money to spare, or at least had been one at one time. No longer playing the part of a pirate, Grapple undid his hair and, marvelling at the fact that the hair still remained tight and curled where the rag had been for so long, decided to simply re-tie it and leave it be rather than finding a comb. Its waves had been knotted and matted in some places, and as he walked about the room, Grapple picked at the worst strands with his fingers, concerned for the first time in years about his appearance. Stopping in the doorway, his hand on the knob, he realized full-out and with a morbid smirk that he could easily be mistaken for the ghost of the house’s master. Without his grappling iron and chains he had grown so comfortable to wearing, he felt somewhat incomplete and hollow. Half smirking, half frowning, Grapple left his adopted room and began the daily rummage through the house, exploring the rooms he felt were safe enough to enter, and scouting out fabrics or left-over jewellery and decorations he thought would fetch enough to pay for food and gin. Strolling through the hallways, the creaking floors protesting its early arousal just as much as the man who treaded them did, Grapple crept by the few rooms he hadn’t explored for long; most of them were virtually empty, save for a few simple pieces of furniture, yet one was blocked. Try as he might, he couldn’t shove or yank the door open; it simply did not want to be forced, and who was he to argue with a door? Thus, it was left as it was, and curiosity about the room filled Grapple every time he strolled past it. What could possibly be behind the damn door that prevented him from opening it? Downstairs, it was cool, causing a rare shiver to run through the pirate’s body. Glancing outside once again through the shattered glass of a window, he noted how a light fog was dissipating, and assumed it had rained during the night. Such a common occurrence was indeed proven when he trod through a rather damp puddle in the centre of a particularly rotted hallway that smelt of mildew with three missing windows. Navigating around two other puddles, courtesy of the weather, the pirate eventually found himself in the most grotesquely painted kitchen. Ignoring the rats cheeping for his conversation, a simple mixture of flour, warmed milk and a cut up apple became his breakfast, which ultimately went to the grateful rodents anyways, left virtually untouched on the floor by the warm coals in the fireplace. A pot full of the mix was left there too, saved for his brother whenever the younger sibling would wake. Outside, Grapple tugged at his sleeves, remembering just how bothersome heavy coats were in the heated Caribbean. Even in the grey day, the weather remained muggy and unpleasantly hot, and the sailor had not worn anything to cover his arms in years. He kept shuddering as though freezing in a blizzard, yet only gripped his elbows to remedy his shivering, rubbing and scratching the entire way to the small, collapsing barn on the property. The mule the two brothers had pilfered was awoken by gentle pats upon its nose, and as the bridle was slipped over its head, it gave a series of unpleasant cries that rose in pitch and volume as Grapple began to set it to its tack and load the bundles of clothe and trinkets onto it. Once the beast had settled and began to move with his, the sailor guided it outside and began to walk it down the path, heading for town. He moved somewhat sluggishly, the one package under his arm wrapped in brown paper being tightly clenched against him so that it threatened to become flat. The small pie inside the paper was intended for the widow whom he recently widowed as an unpaid favour, though it seemed destined not to survive. Mallot had insisted on delivering it himself the previous day but had never gotten around to it, so Grapple had taken it upon himself to do so. The trek was arduously long as it had been the first time he had done it in the dark, though pleasantly quiet with but the birds singing away ignorantly. Eventually, signs of the town began to show in the shapes of small homes and gardens, which eventually gave way to larger buildings, inns, stores, and large groups of people. Knowing exactly where potential buyers would be, Grapple headed for the area by the docks, where perishable goods were often sold right off the ships that delivered them. Livestock was also sold there, and vendors were always leading towards the market in the centre of Port Royal. Finding exactly who he wanted to, the haggling began, and eventually Grapple ridded himself of most of the goods, either by selling or trading, until the leftovers were dealt with as he began to scout out different buyers than who he normally went to. When he eventually had sold off most of his goods, Grapple decided that perhaps dropping off the pie and left over clothes to a specific widow would be a good idea. However, as he began to turn towards the street that would take him into the slummier part of Port Royal, something caught his eye. It wasn’t very elaborate or special; in fact, it was a sweet stand, and behind it, a skinny old woman and a pair of girls old enough likely to be her grown daughters, one carrying a child of her own in one arm. For a moment, he paused and merely stared before remembering that there were in fact other people he needed to visit, such as the green grocer and the butcher. However, such thoughts were pushed back as Grapple approached, the mule trailing behind him. ”Sell sugar, missus?” Grapple inquired quietly, picking up a piece of candied apple and feeding it to the mule, taking but a single piece of coin fraction to pay for it. Such sweets were cheap, and Grapple made a note to revisit this little stand. The old woman smiled at the younger man, and nodded as one of her daughters approached them. ”How much, sir?” she asked almost as quietly as he had, and they both winced as the baby began to cry. ”How much a pound?” He couldn’t bring himself to speak loudly while the child was upset, not even to be heard properly. After a second, the girl seemed to realize what he had asked, and Grapple didn’t even bother to negotiate a different price after buying two pounds and loading them onto the mule, which he bought a few more slices of candied apple for (and a few slices for himself). Wiping the mess off his hands carefully on a handkerchief which he stuffed back into his pocket, Grapple began to once again seek out the shops he needed to visit, secretly quite excited that he was able to pick and choose whatever he so desired instead of sticking to the simple menus he had been used to on ship and back home. |
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| Jessica | 25 Nov 2007, 05:19 PM Post #2 |
Deckhand
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Jessica ambled home after a visit to the bank, taking her time. She was in no particular hurry to get to her house; she had spent plenty of time within its walls over the past few years. But, she really had no place else she wanted to go, either, and so she walked slowly, prolonging the trip back to the finer residences of the town. She entered the market, glancing at the stands she passed and what they had for sale. She first passed through the fish market, but the persistent and permeating odour of the area prompted her to quicken her step. Soon she was on to other wares and goods, ones which allowed her to resume her leisurely pace. Since she had eaten breakfast that morning she was surprised to feel a rumble in her stomach. She usually was not one prone to snacks between meals, but at that moment she felt that she needed one. After a quick glance around her area she approached a fruit stand and bought a banana. It was just perfect for her tastes; no black spots had begun to appear on it yet, and there was still even a hint of green around its edges. She peeled it and happily took a bite. Delicious. Jessica continued walking back towards her house. Looking at the fruit in her hands as she was, she had stopped really paying attention to where she was going. She was busy peeling it even further when out of the blue it felt as though she had walked into a wall. She fell backwards, dropping her banana in the dirt beside her and gasping as she hit the ground. She was stunned for a moment before looking up to see a large man in a blue coat standing over her. A wave of embarrassment washed over her as she quickly said, “I’m sorry,” and hurried to stand back up. |
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| Creejak | 27 Nov 2007, 05:39 PM Post #3 |
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Midshipman
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The butcher shop was just in Grapple’s sights, and the sense of delight grew contently within him, enough so that he dared notice the slight twinge of juvenile glee in his legs which compelled him to move just a bit faster. However, as pleased as the sailor was to get to the fresh, land-slaughtered cuts, the mule was less satisfied with the idea of traveling towards the stripped and dangling pieces of his brethren, or at least much less inclined to move forward than the man leading it. Thus, the four-legged creature pinned its lithe ears back against its broad, thick skull, and dug its hooves deep into the dirt, steadfast refusing to budge. Grapple took a single step forward before he felt the lead in his hands tighten as the animal resisted behind him, and stepping back a pace, glared fiercely into the eyes of the quadruped fiend. The mule pointedly looked away. Despairing that he might be forced to retreat back to the sugar stand for bribes, Grapple held a bitter groan in his throat before releasing it as a deep sigh. This sigh, however, was abruptly ended when he felt something warm and soft collide with his side, and instinctively took a defensive step away from the offender, knocking right into the stubborn mule which loudly brayed its strong protests. Rubbing the muzzle of the beast with a hand quickly calmed the previously unwilling to move animal, and so Grapple turned with an intentional slowness around to see what exactly had bumped into him. Briefly he surmised that had the beast not halted in its procession, whoever had knocked into him would have collided with the shoulder of the hybrid animal instead, and possibly be worse off than they were then. He hoped the pie hadn't gotten squashed... The apology was soft and spoken with a distinctively feminine voice, to which Grapple found unsurprising; the lady, and by all means she was a lady, was quite small and had the look of someone who had spent much time taken to an illness. Such a look, Grapple was intimately acquainted with. As she stood up, he got a better look as at her; indeed, confirming his beliefs, the perpetrator was a woman, and rather well-to-do by the look of her garb and skin. She was slightly copper with a tone that spoke of failed paleness, and would have looked quite posh in her trinkets and fancy dress had she not been embarrassedly standing up with the air of someone unaccustomed to not being on their feet. Raising a brow tentatively, Grapple cleared his throat and made to reach out to her as if to help, but changed the motion to rub as his bumped hip, reconsidering his goodwill for brazen. Flinching slightly and unable to meet her eyes, he couldn’t help but notice the bright yellow skin of her treat in the dirt. Really, it was a slight nuisance to him that she hadn't been watching where she was going, but he still felt obligated to give her the benefit of a reply. “Nothing done, missus. I trust yoreself is fine as well.” It was less of a concerned inquiry and more of a mere observation, which his deep, quiet voice did nothing to correct. As he felt it rude to merely stand and wait for her to be compelled to make an equally awkward response, he took the liberty himself, clenching the mule’s lead tightly in his fist as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Are you lost? With yore pardon, missus, you don’t look like someone who would do their own shopping.” He spoke slowly, almost stupidly in his caution to not sound abrupt or rude. If she were indeed a woman of fine tastes, or perhaps married to power, the pirate was very disinterested in antagonizing her. |
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| Jessica | 2 Dec 2007, 01:26 AM Post #4 |
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Deckhand
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Jessica rose, slightly surprised that the man did not offer to help her to her feet. She had lived years with nobody ever helping her, of course, but since she had married and started to wear the clothes of a lady it seemed as though people were usually willing to offer a helping hand. Then again, she had smacked into him. She could not blame him if he were angry with her and just wanted to be out of her presence as quickly as possible. Once she was again on her feet she finally had the opportunity to get a good look at the man before her. The thing that stood out, to her eyes, at least, was that his clothes did not seem to really fit him. The fit of a person’s clothes was something she always noticed, having made her living as a seamstress before marrying. And this man’s garments, though nice, were obviously not made for him. The sleeves were too short, and the coat was too tight around the shoulders. She felt a sort of compulsion to fix it, but knew she would never have that opportunity. And so she looked up to his face, trying to get her mind off of his attire. His features were a bit rough, and he had the look of a man who had experienced many hardships in his life. He was quite a bit older than her, as well. Now, though, he seemed to be unsure of what to do. She could empathise. She did not know what to do the vast majority of the time herself. “Nothing done, missus. I trust yoreself is fine as well.” Jessica nodded, glad to hear that he was all right (and that he wasn’t yelling at her). She was of course fine, the small fall being nothing, though in all honesty she was a bit upset about losing the rest of her banana. It was not a huge loss of course, and she could easily buy another, but the poor girl she had been during her childhood still was upset to see perfectly good food going to waste for no good reason. “Are you lost? With yore pardon, missus, you don’t look like someone who would do their own shopping.” Jessica shook her head, “No, I’m not lost, merely out for a stroll. Thank you for enquiring, though.” She looked at the mule behind the man, obviously there to carry his purchases. She felt as though her answer were too short, and it sounded as though she were just trying to be rid of him, even though she did not want to be rude. He was obviously trying to be polite, too. Come on, Jessica, think of something to say. “And what are you buying?” She closed her eyes for a moment in embarrassment after asking the question. It was none of her business, and she was merely going to appear forward and inappropriate. Still, she had asked it, and so she stood and braced herself while she waited to be told that she should not be so forward. |
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| Creejak | 5 Dec 2007, 08:44 PM Post #5 |
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Midshipman
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Just out for a stroll, she had said, and Grapple became somewhat lenient with his beliefs of her status; perhaps she was just slightly lower than he had originally thought, or she would have had an escort with her in the form of some snotty cousin bent on achieving the family fortune, or a gaggle of gossiping birds around her all edging her to get a move on from the unfamiliar man with the mule. Still, she was obviously someone of importance, and with some manners to her name, which he rather liked. Having been around lawless miscreants and his rude little brother for so long, he had almost forgotten what it was to not be the only one capable of showing or welcoming simple graciousness. “Lovely day, at least,” he muttered rather quietly, bringing a hand to his forehead and sliding it down to cover his eyes as the obnoxious mule began braying and further shielding his words. He gave the lead a small jerk and the mule stopped, knowing it wasn’t being ignored entirely, the finicky beast that it was. He heaved a sigh, and was entirely prepared to move on, having believed her shortness to be a hint that their short exchange was quite over and done with, when she forced some more words out. ”What am I buying,” he growled softly, lowering his hand to his waist and with it, his head lolled to stare her directly in her eyes with a slightly frustrated facial expression to match. First he had felt awkward, and now, apparently, it had been an open invitation for her to try and further make the situation. However, such a thought only lasted a moment before Grapple realized that her attempted and failed discretion reminded him strongly of his own brother’s naivety and blunt stupidity when it came to certain things. Sure, such ‘things’ were not at all related (she was rather good with civility, while his younger sibling showed a certain charming retardation with etiquette). His face changed, and for a split second, he merely stared at her with a shielding blankness as though he wasn’t quite sure that she was serious about wanting to know what he was at the market for. ”Err, well…” he began slowly, finally clearing his throat with a hand to cover his mouth and then gesture about the economically-based souk for. Withdrawing a deep breath, he let a tiny amount of his early-day enthusiasm show in his voice, if only to give himself a bit of emotion when explaining his guilty pleasure. Perhaps a shot of gin that morning would have been beneficial instead of starving and then being forced into a discussion; Grapple made a mental note to make sure he added some encouragement to his meals, if only to bring the gruffness of his uncomfortable attitude. “I’m headed to the butcher’s right now. Been buying groceries today: sugar, flour, spices. Fruit, too, with shed. That’s good for flavouring dishes, and it’s a bit of a treat, too.” He spoke somewhat airily, as though what he had to say was of no consequence and such gave him an excuse to be unable to look her in the eye as he spoke. He even went so far as to rub the back of his neck as though he himself was a bit bored with his words. Cocking an eyebrow, he continued none the less, adding eggs and milk to his list of purchased goodies regardless that he had stolen two hens and his brother had pilfered a goat (that Grapple was most displeased with as it seemed to be growing fatter each week regardless of its monotonic diet). Somewhere on the island, there was a very unhappy and confused farmer. ”Lamb, and beef of course, though I prefer veal to the full grown beast. Goes much better with anything green, or a mushroom sauce. Maybe some venison, if it’s fresh and that dero Colbert, he’s the butcher of course, isn’t asking an arm and a leg for it. If I’m lucky, his son’ll be behind the counter today. Cor, that boy’s an idiot, but he’s much less a rapscallion than his father…” Trailing off had come somewhat too late as Grapple realized he had been getting ready to begin rambling on about his past dealings with the butcher, something he was not accustomed to doing. Really, he wasn’t at all fond of talking about anything, let alone gossiping about the ill stockists in Port Royal. He swallowed and began petting the mule’s long face, taking care to distract himself by scratching behind its long ears. ” I’m sure you know all about…well, you probably take yore walks through here all the time. Hear stuff, see it all.” He shrugged nonchalantly, twisting his scowl into what he hoped was an apologetic look, figuring he was boring her with his talks of food. She no doubt hadn’t cooked a meal in her life; she looked too wealthy, the type of woman to merely critique her servant’s work and eat it anyway with an ignorance for taste. He glanced sidelong at Jessica, and decided she wasn’t as snobby as he had just judged her to be; she was too young for that, and although he was loath to admit it, she looked too nice and had behaved too well so far for him to truly believe she was anything but a nice young lady. |
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| Jessica | 10 Dec 2007, 04:32 AM Post #6 |
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Deckhand
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Jessica braced herself to be told not to ask such questions of a person she did not know. She had spent six years not being allowed to ask anything, and still to this day she knew she sometimes was either too forward or not forward enough, finding it difficult to reach that happy medium. Of course, it was easier to ask questions of others than to give them the opportunity to ask questions of her, but she was sure that sometimes it caused her to needlessly upset people. ”What am I buying.” The tone of his voice and the expression on his face made it more than obvious to her that he was not happy with being forced to answer her question. She wanted to run away, to just disappear and to have him forget that she had asked anything, forget that she even existed, really. But, that would make her appear not only socially awkward, but mad as well, and so she remained, closing her eyes, prepared to accept whatever admonition he felt was appropriate. But to her surprise a rebuke did not come. She opened her eyes (a bit wider than was normal due to her shock) as he started actually telling her about the foodstuffs he had been purchasing. Her expression turned to one of gratitude, thankful that he had chosen to not draw attention to her faux pas. Although she was not sure if he caught her grateful look, as he seemed to be doing all he could to avoid looking her in the eye. He almost seemed embarrassed of what he was saying, in fact, though Jessica was not sure why that would be the case. Maybe because it was obvious that she did not do her own food shopping he was self-conscious that he did? But she was not so delusional as to think that everyone lived the way she did; even she had only had this luxury for the past three years. Besides which, unless somebody was actually hurting another she was not prone to judge people for how they chose to fill their time. Anything had to be better than hiding away alone in her house. And so Jessica continued to smile and nod, hoping to ease the awkward situation she had caused with her question. “Maybe some venison, if it’s fresh and that dero Colbert, he’s the butcher of course, isn’t asking an arm and a leg for it. If I’m lucky, his son’ll be behind the counter today. Cor, that boy’s an idiot, but he’s much less a rapscallion than his father…” Jessica’s eyes widened as he started disparaging the butcher and his son. She did not know the two herself, her servants being the ones to buy the food for her household. It was not that she really doubted what he was saying, but she still felt awkward standing there listening to him. She was not one prone to gossip nor to talking about people behind their backs, and even if she were, since she did not know Colbert she had very little to say about the man. She looked down to the ground and shifted uncomfortably, hoping he would change the subject of his speech soon. Whether he noticed her discomfort or for some other reason, he halted his speech and shifted his attention to his mule. Jessica let out a silent breath of relief, allowing her gaze to drift back up to the man’s face. ”I’m sure you know all about…well, you probably take yore walks through here all the time. Hear stuff, see it all.” She shook her head slowly, deciding on what exactly she was going to say. Though she had not enjoyed hearing his thoughts on the butcher and his son, she was not going to be so ill-mannered as to say so. She decided to merely deflect the subject to something else rather than to call attention to her uncomfortable feeling. “To be honest I really do not walk through here all that often. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how little I know of all the different vendors.” She looked down towards the ground as she spoke, feeling awkward confessing this to a man she had just met. She rather wished she had an animal with her, or at least something to occupy her hands so that she too would have something else on which to focus her attention rather than merely the fact that she had no idea what to say. “I… don’t really leave my house all that much… usually.” Jessica looked up to the man’s face, stopping herself before she said too much. If she were to give a reason as to why she preferred self-induced isolation, she was not sure she would be able to explain it in a way that made any sort of sense. Once again (and in the same short speech) she found herself desiring to change the subject. “But, that just makes outings such as this all the more special.” She tried to give him a heartfelt smile, though would not be surprised if it came out rather weak. Her fear of making a mistake (or, another mistake, as it were) prevented her from ever really feeling completely comfortable around other people. And… she was already making a mistake, she realised with disappointment. She had not given an introduction. She cursed herself for the lapse in etiquette before extending her hand and adding, “Mrs. Jessica Rothschild. A pleasure, I’m sure.” |
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| Creejak | 12 Dec 2007, 11:29 PM Post #7 |
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Midshipman
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((*blithers on aimless about random junk* Ah, such a dry well of creativity, eh. I’ve been out of this game for too long. Ah well. Tally ho, wot wot!)) A slight frown creased his brow as she spoke, and Grapple began to once again ponder his judgement of her status. He had been slightly correct in assuming she was of money; her wardrobe and mannerisms gave such away, and yet she remained there talking to him openly, if rather bashfully and without an escort. It wasn’t exactly proper, not that he truly cared about the way she chose to live, and yet he would have chosen to assume the young lady was concerned just slightly for her own safety. Perhaps she felt no danger of kidnappers attempting to ransom her back to some family she might have, her husband, her parents, her children if she had any. She looked a bit young to be a mother, but Grapple reminded himself so had his wife been. Suppressing the smirk was slightly tougher than he had speculated. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand and forcing a sound reminiscent of a cough made do to disguise his odd facial contortion that had turned into a peculiar sneer as he fought off the look of pride, though he wasn’t entirely sure it would be enough to convince the lady he wasn’t laughing at her; he wasn’t, of course, but Grapple knew full well how people could jump to conclusions. Although he didn’t know her at all, he was fully willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe she was a bit more intelligent than the average girl with money who was used to compliments and ribbons around everything. As she admitted she lived in seclusion, Grapple let his shoulders relax slightly, finding a common ground with her. Ever since he had arrived to Port Royale, he had done his very best at avoiding attention and socialization, merely assisting the port when it had accomplished yet another brutish assault with pirates. That, though, had been for money, and somewhat to avoid speculation; his moving from tavern to tavern, inn to inn, and rather whatever he could find was to simply not become a regular face to anyone that would begin to realize he had any connection with piracy (specifically, pirate attacks on the town that would result in his most unpleasant execution). The chances that somebody recognized him from the attack so many years ago when the Pearl had paid a visit was unlikely; he had made sure only that one whelp had survived an encounter with him. He once had dared ask his brother if he could be identified as a pirate specifically, and Mallot had given no declaration of such; thus, moving about had seemed like a good choice. It had been a short term solution, however, to a problem that had elongated itself far past acceptable. Home was a long ways off, and so was his response to her introduction. “It’s up to the person, I suppose, what’s interesting and not. I’m here a lot, myself, so…” he trailed off, waving a dismissive hand lethargically before resting it once again on the donkey’s nose. He had been dazed for a second when she gave her name to him, entranced with his own rather pointless thoughts; it really was no business of his what kind of home she came from, and what kind of rules had been laid down for her. He knew he shouldn’t be so concerned about whether his suspicions were correct or not, and yet he kept going back to how peculiar it was to see an upper class girl walking alone in a market. Not to mention, he now had to think up a name for himself and return the favour, least she think him rude. He wouldn’t have bothered with anyone else; he wouldn’t have even let a word past his lips from the time she ran into him had it been someone else, yet she was a lady, and such a peculiar creature rather demanded etiquette with its mere presence. ”Quite. Um,” he twittered quietly, about to offer her his hand before remembering women didn’t do that usually, or at least not the finely trained ones. She was too young to know of a family name that originated so far away from Jamaica or England. Surely she wouldn’t even know the significance, even if she had heard of it before. ”Espenson. Maynard Espenson.” He forced himself not to wince at his sloppy speech, having seemed to have lost his breath suddenly while speaking. He hadn’t given his real name to anybody in more than a decade, and yet he had never prepared a false one just for such occasions; there had never been any need, when one associated with the vulgar dregs of society. “I’m up in the north part of the island, where the cotton fields are,” Grapple began talking again, softly so as though his low volume would make up for his lies. He didn’t want her to get any ideas about him brushing her off; they’d spoken too long to simply leave after introducing themselves to each other. “My uncle passed on half a year ago, left me this old plantation he inherited from his uncle. The place hasn’t been lived in for decades, so it’s a bit of a wreck right now. I came to Port Royal a bit back to, uh, take a look at it, see if the house is worth any time or effort.” With an earnest shrug, Maynard Espenson muttered as an after-thought, “I’ll have you up for tea one day, maybe,” somewhat jokingly, mumbling incoherently under his breath about what his brother would think about that. ”Were you born here?” Grapple asked quietly, tilting his head and raising his eyes in her direction as he looked away in an almost shy manner. He simply didn’t want to know whether she thought such a question impudent of him; it had been so long since he’d had a civil conversation with anyone that he’d rather forgotten how people reacted. |
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| Jessica | 17 Dec 2007, 07:50 PM Post #8 |
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Deckhand
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Jessica truly hated allowing men to kiss her hand. Having a man’s lips anywhere on her body was an anathema to her very being, and even something as simple as a kiss in greeting made her want to curl up into a ball on the ground right then and there. She had, however, become fairly talented at mentally disassociating herself from her hand, at allowing herself to believe it belonged to another person and that she was far away. She prepared to do this as she extended her hand towards the man and introduced herself, focusing her attention on all other parts of her body so that the sensation when he touched her would not be as strong. But that sensation never came. She stood there for a moment as he gave his name, not sure when to retract her hand. Finally when he was done introducing himself she awkwardly pulled it back and brought her arm behind her to grab onto it with her other hand. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she bit her bottom lip. Had she made a mistake? She always did, eventually… which was why it was better to just remain in her house, away from all the hidden pitfalls with which interaction with others was rife. And what was he thinking of her now? She was sure she did not want to know. She listened to him speak of the plantation he had inherited, nodding at what seemed like appropriate times along the way. Jessica herself had not spent much time in or around the plantations as merely seeing the slaves usually caused her to get so angry and depressed that she was unable to carry on a normal conversation with anyone while she was in the area. She wondered if this man, too, to get his plantation running would start buying people like so much cattle… she hoped not. “I’ll have you up for tea one day, maybe.” Jessica’s eyes widened a bit at that, not having thought she had made any sort of impression on Mister Espenson to make him want to see her again. As innocuous a comment as it might have been to anyone else, in Jessica it stirred up a whirlwind of confusion and fear. ”Were you born here?” Jessica stared at him blankly for a moment before the question registered, her mind still battling with the idea that this man would want to invite her to his place of residence. “Oh, um, no, I was born in London.” She lied. But, it was a lie she had told so many times that at this point it flowed off of her tongue more easily than the truth. Still, she felt guilty saying it to this man, especially so early in their acquaintance. Their entire relationship from that point on would be based on lies that she had told… but it was the way things had to be. “I lived there until about three years ago. That was when I married Lord Rothschild and he moved us both out here to the New World.” Desiring to tell him at least one true thing she added, “I often miss home very much, especially my mother. It’s hard being out here all alone.” Suddenly realising that she was being far too open with her feelings with a man she had just met she quickly stopped that line of thought and slightly shook her head, saying, “And you? Where do you come from?” |
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| Creejak | 17 Dec 2007, 11:27 PM Post #9 |
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Midshipman
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((Rushed, crappy post. Sorry.)) Miss Jessica Rothschild seemed somewhat surprised by his introduction, or rather the aftermath. Grapple had the feeling she had expected less or more from him; a bow, perhaps, or a slightly smoother delivery of his name. He didn’t understand and nor did he care until he noticed her retract her hand. Inside, he winced at his own blank of curtsey. As men shake hands, women have their own special greeting to be given, and Grapple had missed it. However, he was not as concerned as he felt he should have been, because the girl did a marvellous job of covering up his flounder, acting as anyone would by making it seem as though it was what they had intended to happen all along. She also seemed less than impressed with his polite invitation for tea, which he noted seconds later due to the lack of an interested grunt from her, or a continuation of such a topic. Never the less, she carried on with a catlike air of dignity, covering herself from embarrassment and him from indignity by answering his question about her origins as it came. She was English, which he had figured from her build and ruined complexion, though he hadn’t been able to figure out her birthplace as London; her accent just didn’t quite fit the template he had gathered about all Londoners. It didn’t matter however, and he nodded his interest about it, making a noise of acknowledgement when he thought it appropriate as she spoke about how she came to be, and how she married. Aha. She is married. Knew it. Mentally, he smirked at his own intelligence, yet what she said next perplexed him somewhat. ”All alone?” he said blatantly, his voice a bit louder than what was normal for him. The audible tone made him duck his head just slightly and correct himself by repeating his question in a lower volume. “Forgive me, missus, but didn’t you say you were married? Unless…Err.” He abruptly stopped, not wanting to question her. For a fleeting moment, he hoped she would think he just realized her husband worked all day, and nothing was truly wrong such as (heaven forbid, naturally) her being a widow, thus explaining her loneliness. Hastily, he launched into answering her question as to where he himself originated from. Where she had to lie, there was nothing off about his answer. “I’m from, well, ever heard of New South Wales? Wot the civilized part be, rather,” Grapple added, making sure to distance himself with any criminal suspicion that often accompanied people from the strange, foreign continent. “My father was a businessman, and my mother was the daughter of the head prison warden in one of the king’s facilities.” Grapple enunciated his synonym for jail, betraying a rather detesting view on them in general. He’d been a free man all his life, true enough, but every pirate feared behind locked behind bars and, in the end, dancing the jig of death. It just wasn’t in him to deny such an instinct. ”I, or rather my brother and I, came to the Caribbean after doing some merchant work on the seas for a few years. After inheriting the land, that is,” Grapple coughed out, not finding it necessary to explain any further than he already had. Let her ask some more questions, if she wanted to know, though Grapple doubted she was interested enough and thus hoped she really wouldn’t inquire further. |
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| Jessica | 7 Jan 2008, 05:30 AM Post #10 |
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Deckhand
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”All alone? Forgive me, missus, but didn’t you say you were married? Unless…Err.” “My husband passed away about a year and a half ago,” she said quietly. She did not mind speaking of it; it was just a fact of life, after all. But she had found her frankness with the subject often made others uncomfortable, and so she softened her voice and said “passed away” instead of “died.” It seemed to help others to not feel badly for bringing up the subject. But in all honesty it was the time that she gave him that interested her. She was finally done with her mourning period, all of it. Even half-mourning was over and done with. Of course she was not about to parade around town in a white gown or any such thing, but she was relishing finally being free of the black that had plagued her since her husband’s death. Now she wore a dark maroon gown, and while it was neither bright nor cheery she honestly felt downright happy being in it. As he continued with his tale of his origins Jessica found herself rather relieved. Things were just so much easier when the focus of the conversation was not on her. As long as he was talking about himself then she did not need to lie, did not need to worry about getting caught in a lie, and, perhaps most importantly, did not need to worry about the truth coming out. “I’m from, well, ever heard of New South Wales? Wot the civilized part be, rather.” Jessica nodded, though in truth she did not know all that much about the place. She knew that it was a penal colony halfway around the world… that was about it. Still, it was fascinating to meet somebody from there. She did not recall ever before meeting a person with his same origins. It was truly amazing how many places around the world the people of Port Royal could claim as their homes. “My father was a businessman, and my mother was the daughter of the head prison warden in one of the king’s facilities. I, or rather my brother and I, came to the Caribbean after doing some merchant work on the seas for a few years. After inheriting the land, that is.” Jessica nodded along at what seemed like the appropriate points, listening intently to the man’s history. “Oh, your brother’s here, too? That must be nice, make it less difficult to be away from home. Is he near?” She scanned the marketplace around them, although she knew that unless he pointed out his brother she would have little chance in signalling him out. Jessica found a twinge of envy course through her that she quickly tried to quell. She did not begrudge him having somebody that he (presumably) loved, but she wished that she, too, were not alone in the world. But now was not the time to dwell upon that. Now she was to be focused on the man before her and the conversation at hand. Anything else would not be fair to Mister Espenson. |
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| Creejak | 14 Jan 2008, 07:49 AM Post #11 |
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Midshipman
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She was a widow. Grapple felt the distinct urge to turn away and simply not talk anymore swell up inside of him and he almost obliged, yet something in the back of his mind reminded him that his way of reacting to such a thing was highly inappropriate, and that he may deal with his issues but not hers. His expression completely normal, he managed to lower his eyes in what he hoped was an adequate exclamation of shame for forcing such a betraying amount of information out of the miss, yet he couldn’t help but want to leave in his discomfort, to which he prayed she did not notice. The pirate was undoubtedly concerned with his own miserable experience as a widower, though he would never have told her his status; such a thing was private in his opinion, and had plagued him long enough to stay that way. He never had been good in dealing with it, something he fully recognized yet was comfortable with. Unfortunately, it effected very much how he reacted to the very notion of abandonment. Their conversation went on, and the Rothschild girl took a peculiar interest in the existence of his brother, possibly only to keep the talk, something that shouldn’t have lasted past a sharp reprimand of her carelessness and his own, from ending too awkwardly. Licking the dryness out of his lips and then wiping the feeling off on the back of his wrist, Grapple inhaled and shook his head, placing his free hand on his hip in what was a remarkably casual gesture for him. ”Naw, me brother’s back at the old home. Sleeping still, no doubt, but I hope he’s at least thought about waking up and doing some work. The place needs it,” Grapple finished, almost chuckling at the mental image that came with his words yet easily restraining himself; it wasn’t worth the breath wasted. The lazy callout that was his brother was in fact not lazy at all, merely lethargic in a way that often made Grapple nervous when things truly needed to be done and seemed ever so close to not being finished. Truth be told, Mallot’s laid back ways seemed to work out perfectly fine, one way or another (usually, another, and it was never Grapple’s way). Inhaling heavily, Grapple glanced side-long at the mule, which seemed to look back at him before letting its head drop and giving a low whinny to compliment the sailor’s own breath. It nudged Grapple’s hand and he tilted his own head, quirking a brown and giving the animal an incredulous look before his expression softened and he gave the creature a rough few pats on the neck, dust rising from the thin pelt and settling back down after spreading about. ”Yeah, I know, mate. We’ll get you something later.” Coughing, Grapple offered some explanation pertaining to his talking to the mule, and looked back to Jessica with what he hoped was a pleasant expression. In his mind, there was little doubt he looked as though something small and recently run over by a carriage had just crawled into his pants and gave its last breath. “S’almost time for his tucker, a’ll. Moody brat he is,” Grapple glanced down again to the muddy street before he let his gaze trail the path to her feet, which instead led him to set his eyes on her dropped banana. For a moment, he stared at it, with its mushy guts that a small rat was currently sniffing before deciding that yes, the dead thing was edible and yes, it was going to eat it. “How about some brekkie, eh? Wot with you having lost yores, and me having neglected mine…” His voice trailed off, bringing forth a broken pitch, as he nodded his head in the direction of her pilfered banana, now being dragged off by a very proud and suspiciously balding rat that seemed not to mind how the rain the morning had brought had turned the ground into sludge and its meal was being sautéed in it. Wincing, Grapple hunched his broad shoulders and tugged at his sleeve, which he only then realized, in his self-conscious moment, was too short for his arm. Come to think of it, he was slightly uncomfortable. |
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4:02 AM Jul 30
