Post by Finn Whelan on Feb 24, 2020 19:08:59 GMT
The sounds of boots hitting the ground at a rapid pace flooded the market as two men raced through the streets of Taras, dodging carts a milling people who yelped and screamed as the pair of Pirates ducked and dodged around them. Further back a group of burly looking men, possibly a higher class citizen's private guard or a group of mercenaries.
"What did ye take-!?" screamed the older pirate as they vaulted over a stall of vegetables.
"It didn't seem that important! I swear, Ems!" The younger, but more extravagant looking one shouted back, shoulder-checking a woman carrying an armful of apples and causing her to fall to the ground, the fruit sprawling across the dirt.
Finneas halted his running, abruptly, flipping around with a billow of his coat to kneel down and hand her a few of the apples he'd helped to scatter.
"Terribly sorry about that, love," he began, a flirtatious glimmer lighting up his eyes, stolen away when he was violently yanked from the woman by his First Mate who berated him for worrying about a woman's apples when they faced a rather brutal beating should the horde of angry men get their hands on them.
"Ya daft moron!" Emerson scolded, "What- did y'take?" Asking again with more emphasis.
"Just this-" Finn explained, still dodging obstacles as he pulled a small, glittering egg from his coat pocket. The item covered in small gemstones and golden trim.
"Ye stole a bloody- Fabergé egg..." Emry scoffed, "Ye know how much 'at 'lil trinket' is worth!?"
"Not...really- it was just so- glittery," a near sing-song tone lacing the Captain's words as he held it before his eyes, the sparkles reflected in his irises just before stowing it away once again.
"Ye stole the bloody 'Memory of Azov'!"
"The what-? Memory of who?"
"Ye'd only think with yer li'le library in yer quarters ye mighta read a blasted book, once in yer life. That 'little egg' is worth more money t'an any of e'treasures we've ever stolen, combined. Near 'bouts."
"That little thing?"
"That 'thing' was a gift from a Tsar of Russia to 'is lovely wife, years ago. By the goddess' tits where'd ya find t'damned thing!?"
"Some hoity-toity noble's windowsill."
Emerson scoffed, dragging Finn by his scruff into a darkened alley, ducking behind some crates and pressing a finger to his lips until the gaggle of angry men had hurried on past their position.
"It was just sitting....in a window...?" The First Mate asked incredulously.
"No," Finn corrected, "I was in the windowsill. It was on a mantel encased in some sort of crystal box."
A sharp pain struck the Captain as he was smacked upside the head, rubbing at the throbbing spot against his skull.
"Ye damned fool! That nobleman is gonna be huntin' our heads for that blasted little paper weight worth more than the whole of yer lovely Wolfsbane sold ten times over!"
"So- we find a place to lie low a while things die down and then we just...put it back?" Finn suggested.
"Just put it back?" Emry shook his head, dragging a hand down his face that looked aged another ten years all of a sudden, "Yer gonna be the death of me, lad."
"Can anyone say their 'cause of death' was every so pretty though?" Batting his eyelashes at his closest partner.
"Let's just....find a place t'hide out fer now...we can think more on it later," Emerson sighed, "I need a stiff drink."
Finn had wrapped his Captain's hat in his coat, tucked under his arm giving him more of a commoner or outcast's appearance, at a glance, than his usual flamboyant, Piratey self. Emerson wore a flat cap low over his brow, the disguises flimsy, which was a more generous term than the truth, but hopefully enough to allow them to slink into the pub at the water's edge.
"Calypso's Fury"
Finn's favorite tavern in all of Taras.
And, at least, he knew the owner of the establishment to some degree.
They might be safe enough there to come up with a plan.
"Get out!"
A woman around the same age as Emerson, himself, scolded the boys without even having to look up at them.
"Y'kind not welcome 'ere."
"Darling. Ma Cherie," Finn crooned to the older woman who was no less beautiful for her age. One of the Romani people from far across the ocean who had moved here with her family long ago. Beautiful dark skin and a headdress that did nothing to hide her flowing waves of hair, highlighted only by hoop earrings one could wear as a bracelet.
" 'Our kind' is the vast majority of your patrons!" Finn retorted, flashing a wide pair of puppy-dog eyes that pleaded with the woman to let them stay.
"Fine, fine, but if troubles come knocking upon my door- Do not forget I know jus' who to point them too," holding up a stern finger of warning that she would be taking no fall for these boys.
"I knew you loved me," Finn teased, dodging an empty bottle she'd been clearing from the counter that swung for his head.
"Thank ye, we never will be able t'repay you, Lavinia," Emry thanked the woman, pressing his hat to his chest in pure show of gratitude before following his Captain to a table laced in shadow so they could speak.
"Ya boys can start by tippin' me girls for the trouble," Lavi called after them.
"What to do...?" Finneas mused, placing the egg on the table to twirl it beneath his finger.
"Get snoggered 'til a plan comes t'us?" Emry suggested.
"Tis a plan, brother," slamming a fist on the table and waving two fingers at a barmaid for some drinks.
"What did ye take-!?" screamed the older pirate as they vaulted over a stall of vegetables.
"It didn't seem that important! I swear, Ems!" The younger, but more extravagant looking one shouted back, shoulder-checking a woman carrying an armful of apples and causing her to fall to the ground, the fruit sprawling across the dirt.
Finneas halted his running, abruptly, flipping around with a billow of his coat to kneel down and hand her a few of the apples he'd helped to scatter.
"Terribly sorry about that, love," he began, a flirtatious glimmer lighting up his eyes, stolen away when he was violently yanked from the woman by his First Mate who berated him for worrying about a woman's apples when they faced a rather brutal beating should the horde of angry men get their hands on them.
"Ya daft moron!" Emerson scolded, "What- did y'take?" Asking again with more emphasis.
"Just this-" Finn explained, still dodging obstacles as he pulled a small, glittering egg from his coat pocket. The item covered in small gemstones and golden trim.
"Ye stole a bloody- Fabergé egg..." Emry scoffed, "Ye know how much 'at 'lil trinket' is worth!?"
"Not...really- it was just so- glittery," a near sing-song tone lacing the Captain's words as he held it before his eyes, the sparkles reflected in his irises just before stowing it away once again.
"Ye stole the bloody 'Memory of Azov'!"
"The what-? Memory of who?"
"Ye'd only think with yer li'le library in yer quarters ye mighta read a blasted book, once in yer life. That 'little egg' is worth more money t'an any of e'treasures we've ever stolen, combined. Near 'bouts."
"That little thing?"
"That 'thing' was a gift from a Tsar of Russia to 'is lovely wife, years ago. By the goddess' tits where'd ya find t'damned thing!?"
"Some hoity-toity noble's windowsill."
Emerson scoffed, dragging Finn by his scruff into a darkened alley, ducking behind some crates and pressing a finger to his lips until the gaggle of angry men had hurried on past their position.
"It was just sitting....in a window...?" The First Mate asked incredulously.
"No," Finn corrected, "I was in the windowsill. It was on a mantel encased in some sort of crystal box."
A sharp pain struck the Captain as he was smacked upside the head, rubbing at the throbbing spot against his skull.
"Ye damned fool! That nobleman is gonna be huntin' our heads for that blasted little paper weight worth more than the whole of yer lovely Wolfsbane sold ten times over!"
"So- we find a place to lie low a while things die down and then we just...put it back?" Finn suggested.
"Just put it back?" Emry shook his head, dragging a hand down his face that looked aged another ten years all of a sudden, "Yer gonna be the death of me, lad."
"Can anyone say their 'cause of death' was every so pretty though?" Batting his eyelashes at his closest partner.
"Let's just....find a place t'hide out fer now...we can think more on it later," Emerson sighed, "I need a stiff drink."
Finn had wrapped his Captain's hat in his coat, tucked under his arm giving him more of a commoner or outcast's appearance, at a glance, than his usual flamboyant, Piratey self. Emerson wore a flat cap low over his brow, the disguises flimsy, which was a more generous term than the truth, but hopefully enough to allow them to slink into the pub at the water's edge.
"Calypso's Fury"
Finn's favorite tavern in all of Taras.
And, at least, he knew the owner of the establishment to some degree.
They might be safe enough there to come up with a plan.
"Get out!"
A woman around the same age as Emerson, himself, scolded the boys without even having to look up at them.
"Y'kind not welcome 'ere."
"Darling. Ma Cherie," Finn crooned to the older woman who was no less beautiful for her age. One of the Romani people from far across the ocean who had moved here with her family long ago. Beautiful dark skin and a headdress that did nothing to hide her flowing waves of hair, highlighted only by hoop earrings one could wear as a bracelet.
" 'Our kind' is the vast majority of your patrons!" Finn retorted, flashing a wide pair of puppy-dog eyes that pleaded with the woman to let them stay.
"Fine, fine, but if troubles come knocking upon my door- Do not forget I know jus' who to point them too," holding up a stern finger of warning that she would be taking no fall for these boys.
"I knew you loved me," Finn teased, dodging an empty bottle she'd been clearing from the counter that swung for his head.
"Thank ye, we never will be able t'repay you, Lavinia," Emry thanked the woman, pressing his hat to his chest in pure show of gratitude before following his Captain to a table laced in shadow so they could speak.
"Ya boys can start by tippin' me girls for the trouble," Lavi called after them.
"What to do...?" Finneas mused, placing the egg on the table to twirl it beneath his finger.
"Get snoggered 'til a plan comes t'us?" Emry suggested.
"Tis a plan, brother," slamming a fist on the table and waving two fingers at a barmaid for some drinks.