[The Greenest Dolphin, Forecastle]
You are on [a timeworn naval freighter].
This is the interior of the ship below the forecastle deck, where crew and passengers may quarter. The ceiling is rather low and the space cramped. While the wood that makes up the surroundings is old and battered and retains a perpetual particular smell, it looks well-cared for, swabbed with oil and patched between the planks with pitch. Several hammocks are hung from the ceiling on sliding hooks set over sturdy rungs, allowing them to be opened or closed and pushed to the side.
(The cramped forecastle is crowded with huddled bodies, many sporting injuries and bandages. There's a hole cracked through the floor.)
A great many things clutter the area here.
Many people are sleeping here.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman is sitting beside a splintery hole in the floor, holding a cast-iron teapot in her right hand. A stout, square-faced woman is sitting here, holding a medium sheet of paper and a grimy wooden mug in her right hand. A hunched, elder woman is standing at a porthole window, holding a brass-capped reed cane in her right hand and holding a round leather canteen in her left hand. A dusky olive-skinned damsel is here. A slender, black-haired young man is standing near a porthole window.
Cardinal Exits: the southern Port Cabin: squat cabin door (closed), the northern Starboard Cabin: squat cabin door (closed), and towards the dingy west end of the forecastle
Other: out: squat cabin door (closed) and a splintery hole in the floor (steep)
You wake up, lying near a patched canvas hammock.
A slender, black-haired young man shoots a hunched, elder woman a hard look, as if to say, 'Leave me out of this!', before making an attempt. "Whatever rat's got Marzani's sirwaals in a bunch, crawled up there a long time ago. It wasn't the one you cooked him, Fadila."
Esfandiar wakes with a snuffling start, eyes flicking open suddenly, and darting around over the planks above as if he doesn't immediately remember where he is.
The ship drifts on gently on beneath you.
A slender, black-haired young man shifts his gaze towards you as the man starts awake. With a bland smile, he greets him, "Evening, cousin. Welcome aboard the Greenest Dolphin. We have pickled eggs, shitty grog, and days upon days of peaceful, relaxing mist for you to gaze off into."
A hunched, elder woman pulls her eyebrows together in a sympathetic gaze at you. To a slender, black-haired young man's list, she adds, "And rats. Can't forget the rats."
"Hmph," Esfandiar mutters, wrenching himself up to a seated position on the swinging hammock, which he grabs for some stability. Blinking bleary eyes at a slender, black-haired young man, he snorts, saying, in a sleep-roughened voice, "-Have- we grog?" [in Sirdabi with an eccentric, Irzali-flavored tenor] (Sit - on a patched canvas hammock -)
With a hmph a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman says to you, "Down in the galley, you need to ask the old cook who also serves gruel.'.
Esfandiar presses lightly at the front of a supple, smoke-tooled mahogany leather vest, his round features screwing up in an annoyed wince as he looks to a hunched, elder woman. "Yes, how would we sleep without their serenade... Auntie, I wonder if you might take a look at my wound, hmm?"
A slender, black-haired young man glances towards a splintery hole in the floor with a non-committal shrug at you. "Last I checked." He purses his lips in a disasteful frown. "It's half water, which somehow makes it taste even worse."
A dusky olive-skinned damsel inches over towards a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman, scooting in close. She rummages in a heavy woolen knapsack and pulls out something to offer, "Not the most exciting, but not eggs or rat." [in Sirdabi with a youthful soprano]
A dusky olive-skinned damsel gets out a stack of 6 dried fatty rations from a heavy woolen knapsack in her possession.
A dusky olive-skinned damsel puts a stack of 5 dried fatty rations in a heavy woolen knapsack.
With a slight nod of acknowledgement between a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman and a slender, black-haired young man, Esfandiar murmurs, "I thought we were out of that, too. Well. Grog has just become my favorite drink. I daresay it's better than what I was planning to drink tomorrow if I couldn't find anything else."
A dusky olive-skinned damsel approaches a grubby canvas hammock.
A dusky olive-skinned damsel offers a dried fatty ration to a soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman.
A hunched, elder woman nods, moving slowly closer to you with her cane clunking against the wood floor. "It's a miracle we have any, really, with how much the captain chugs down." With a thoughtful hm, she adds, "Miracle was maybe a strong word." (Stand - near a patched canvas hammock -)
A hunched, elder woman takes stock of you.
Snorting softly at a hunched, elder woman's comment, Esfandiar shifts his bottom a bit to settle in and looks down, unlacing a supple, smoke-tooled mahogany leather vest.
You move a scrap of cloth to uncover your chest.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman shakes her head at an austere Sirdabi woman with copper eyes's offer, "Thank you, no, I." "They are, that is." She sighs softly to herself, "I er, keep them for yourself." "Don't starve.
Esfandiar slides the leather aside to show a livid gash across his chest, as well as a small, crude skull tattoo over his heart.
A slender, black-haired young man looks at your chest.
A hunched, elder woman tuts at you, shaking her head as she examines the wound. "Who took care of this the first time?"
(At a patched canvas hammock): A hunched, elder woman shifts closer to you.
A slender, black-haired young man steps away from a porthole window, leaving.
A dusky olive-skinned damsel gives a little shrug, slipping the ration away. Then she turns to watch a hunched, elder woman, "Was not me... though maybe I should learn from the expert before long..."
Esfandiar purses his lips a moment and then, with the air of understatment, tells a hunched, elder woman as he watches her look at the wound, "It seems... Not entirely right." At her question he lofts a brow, shrugging. "Hmm... It was an... eventful day. I think... Aya?"
A slender, black-haired young man trails a few paces behind a hunched, elder woman, giving a curious glance over the older woman's shoulder at your chest.
A slender, black-haired young man takes stock of you.
"It wasn't treated properly, no wonder it is infected," a hunched, elder woman decides, rolling some moss between her hands in preparation to dress the wound. "The sutures are -fine- but not perfect, if you'd prefer I redo them."
Esfandiar rolls his eyes fainly as his chest becomes a topic of more general interest than just a hunched, elder woman, but he sits compliant in his hammock and tries, evidently, to hold still.
Esfandiar narrows his eyes in vague suspicion at a hunched, elder woman, telling her, "You're getting back at me, I can tell. It's very petty of you. I hope you realize." But he doesn't resist.
OOC: Your pose will read 'a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache sits passively on a hammock with his chest bared, allowing himself to be treated by a hunched, elder woman.'.
A hunched, elder woman lets out a puff of air from her nose, placing a wad of 4 peat moss clumps aside for a moment as she grabs suturing supplies. "It's true," she agrees with faux solemnness, "This whole time I have been plotting on how to stab you with a needle. I paid the monster a dirham to slash you."
A hunched, elder woman gets out a curved suturing needle from a wicker basket in her possession.
A hunched, elder woman gets out a ball of 4 sinew lengths from a wicker basket in her possession.
A hunched, elder woman offers to stitch a mostly-healed livid gash on your chest.
The ship floats smoothly upon calm waves on beneath you.
A slender, black-haired young man seems to be more interested in the crude tattoo of the skull with a knife sticking out, than he is in the inflamed claw marks gashing your chest. "That's a lovely piece, cousin," he muses. "They say any good ink's got a story behind it."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman laughs hystericly at a hunched, elder woman's joke about the needle. "Bythe song." She says softly, "I need to sleep or I'll be all over the place."
Esfandiar tells a hunched, elder woman conversationally, as he waits with his fingers wrapped lightly around the edge of the hammock, looking at everything but his chest, "You ought to point him out to me next time the mist comes, Auntie. I'll see if I can't get the silver back."
A hunched, elder woman offers to stitch a mostly-healed livid gash on your chest.
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman drops down in order to sleep near a grubby canvas hammock.
Esfandiar looks up at a slender, black-haired young man with a blink what seems surprise, and then he does look down at himself, as best he can, frowning. "Ah, this..."
A soft-featured, dark-skinned young woman visibly sinks into an even deeper sleep, dead to the world.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman walks over from towards the dingy west end of the forecastle.
Tonguing his upper lip as if keeping hold of a secret withing his mouth, Esfandiar flicks a pale gold gaze around to the others in the room, sleepers and wakeful alike, as he seems to hesitate getting back to a slender, black-haired young man. "Well... I suppose you could say that I... committed my youthful indiscretions among a small group of like-minded youths."
An imposing, ebon-dark woman ducks beneath the fore doorway, casting a slow look over the room. She pauses on you and a slender, black-haired young man, then a hunched, elder woman and a dusky olive-skinned damsel.
From the interior of the ship, you can sense that it tranquilly glides on.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman looks at your chest.
(At the general area): A slender, black-haired young man flashes a wry smile down towards you, brushing the comment off with an easy wave. "Mm...w-ll. H-v-n't w- -ll, co-sin?" With an amused tone, he confesses, "Wh-n I w-s s-v-n, m- -nd som- m-t-s lift-d - fig pi- th-t w-s cooling on s---id- B-hzd-l's window. Sh- w-s m-dd-r th-n - horn-t."
A hunched, elder woman hums softly to herself as she prepares to work, pinching the skin together and deciding how to proceed with the uneven wound. She remains quiet as she works, obviously more interested in listening to the tale.
A slender, black-haired young man flashes a wry smile down towards you, brushing the comment off with an easy wave. "Mm...well. Haven't we all, cousin?" With an amused tone, he confesses, "When I was seven, me and some mates lifted a fig pie that was cooling on sayyida Behzdel's window. She was madder than a hornet." (vicinity fix).
A slender, black-haired young man adds to you with a nonchalant wink, "Mum's the word."
A dusky olive-skinned damsel mostly seems to be focusing on a hunched, elder woman's work with a kind of cross between morbid fascination and semi-professional curiosity.
A hunched, elder woman goes over your chest with a curved suturing needle and a sinew length, but finds nothing in need of stitching.
From the interior of the ship, you can sense that it floats smoothly upon calm waves.
A slender, black-haired young man stands a few paces behind a hunched, elder woman, watching her dress a wound on a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache 's chest. (Room Pose Set)
Esfandiar smirks at a slender, black-haired young man, baring his gold tooth to the firelight. His head doesn't turn but his eyes shift toward the young man. "There, you see? It could happen to anyone." He winks.
"We all do things in our youths that we would just as soon our adult acquaintances weren't aware of, hmm?" Esfandiar asks conversationally, as he sits, apparently comfortable, awaiting the needle or other ministrations of a hunched, elder woman.
A hunched, elder woman pulls back the needle from entering your skin after some time mulling it over. With a sigh, she decides, "This gash is too uneven to try and restitch- it'll just do more damage." With a grin up to you, she says, "Alas, no stabbing today."
A hunched, elder woman uses a peat moss clump to treat a mostly-healed livid gash on your chest.
The last of a peat moss clump is finished.
"Hmph," Esfandiar puffs out his nose, chin dropping as he tries to see what a hunched, elder woman is doing instead. "Will this help with the..." He pokes his finger toward it and winds it around, indicating the general area of the wound.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman wanders over a little closer, nosy, apparently. (Stand - near a patched canvas hammock -)
From the interior of the ship, you can sense that it floats peacefully onward.
A hunched, elder woman dresses the wound, covering it meticulously with the peat. Without looking up, she answers matter-of-factly, "Yes, it'll help the infection. Takes forever to heal otherwise."
An imposing, ebon-dark woman takes stock of you.
A slender, black-haired young man allows for you with a casual chuckle, "Oh, indeed, cousin. Its a rocky and winding path that leads to Annur, is not not?" There's a flash of keen interest in his gaze, regardless.
Esfandiar flashes a subtle grin at an imposing, ebon-dark woman when he sees her looking, a greeting, perhaps. At a hunched, elder woman's comment, he rolls his eyes and nods, saying, "It has already. One wonders how many more forevers I've got in me, hmm?" A beat and then he tells her, "Thank you, Auntie."
Tonguing his gold tooth, Esfandiar flicks his canny eyes toward a slender, black-haired young man, agreeing breezily, "With bandits on the road besides."
A hunched, elder woman looks over her shoulder to an imposing, ebon-dark woman as she finishes up, remarking with a grin, "You gathered a crowd taking your chest out." Withered hands rub together to dust away remnants of the moss as she pulls back.
A dusky olive-skinned damsel puts a dried fatty ration in a heavy woolen knapsack.
Around you, the ship floats smoothly upon calm waves.
A slender, black-haired young man wanders off a ways with a light, amused air. One less gawker to pester you.
A slender, black-haired young man is here. (Room Pose Set)
An imposing, ebon-dark woman tips a small nod to you, giving a little smirk alongside. It lingers as she glances to a hunched, elder woman at her comment. "It is a pretty sight," [in Sirdabi with a hoarsely broken, half-whispered contralto] she rasps, agreeing, perhaps.
Esfandiar siiiighs at that from a hunched, elder woman, looking suddenly wistful in the firelight as he pulls a bold saffron thawb with swanky embroidered trim back into place. "You have no idea the crowd I used to draw, Auntie," he murmurs a bit dramatically.
You cover your chest with a bold saffron thawb with swanky embroidered trim.
"And, you're welcome." A hunched, elder woman answers belatedly, letting out a full, bright laugh at the comment. Giving a once over to you, she says with cocked brow, "Mhm, I'm sure."
Esfandiar looks aside at a hunched, elder woman, vaguely affronted. "Why does everyone say that?"
"Dancing, sayyid?" an imposing, ebon-dark woman asks you, her smirk lingering brows ticking upward.
The ship continues across softly lapping waves on beneath you.
Esfandiar twitches his own dark brows back at an imposing, ebon-dark woman, a smug twist in his lips as he gathers a supple, smoke-tooled mahogany leather vest back in to tie it. "...In a manner of speaking."
Around you, the ship flows gently across tranquil waters.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman flashes a grin, quick as lightning and as bright, to you at this. The expression's gone again as soon as it came on, but a tiny smirk lingers.
A slender, black-haired young man goes to stand near the frame of the open tiny canvas blind, joining a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls and a heavyset, curvaceous virago with amethyst eyes, wandering back over with a distant expression.
Around you, the ship calmly moves over glimmering waters.
A hunched, elder woman wanders away vaguely, shaking her head with a loose grin still lingering on her face. "Careful, or I'll start telling stories about how I funded my first restaurant back in the day." The words come out in good humor, with perhaps a hint of underlying truth.
A hunched, elder woman goes to stand near a stained canvas hammock.
"I am a very good listener, grandmother," an imposing, ebon-dark woman whispers, voice dropped out entirely though not seemingly on purpose, to a hunched, elder woman, that smirk rising again.
(Hidden) Esfandiar winks at an imposing, ebon-dark woman.
You feel a twinge of coolness in a mostly-healed livid gash on your chest and a slight soreness from your wounds but you are on the mend.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls breathes unevenly, still asleep.
"Oh?" Esfandiar asks a hunched, elder woman, one brow lofting, with a curious smirk. "Perhaps we have something in common." Aside asks a slender, black-haired young man wryly, "How's the weather, cousin?"
A hunched, elder woman waves a dismissive hand. "I'm sure you are," she starts agreeably to an imposing, ebon-dark woman before eyeing the room more broadly and landing on with a shrug "We were all young once."
"Yes, so?" Esfandiar prods a hunched, elder woman, stealing a conspiratorial glance at an imposing, ebon-dark woman while he's at it. "We should understand, hmm? No sense in being shy."
An imposing, ebon-dark woman says nothing further to a hunched, elder woman, only lingers with that amused little smirk on her lips as she glances between her and you.
With the treatment over, a dusky olive-skinned damsel seems largely content to be quiet and listen.
A darkly-tanned crewmate walks over from towards the dingy west end of the forecastle.
A darkly-tanned crewmate looks around, slowly, scanning faces and forms. Then his gaze gets to an imposing, ebon-dark woman, and brightens. He cracks a big smile and plods over.
A darkly-tanned crewmate falls in with an imposing, ebon-dark woman.
A hunched, elder woman opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by the appearance of a darkly-tanned crewmate. She watches him curiously, a little thankful for the interruption.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman arrives.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman turns, looking to a darkly-tanned crewmate with a sudden smile. She tips her head in a nod by way of greeting.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman straightens to stand within the general area.
"Hello my friend," Esfandiar offers to a darkly-tanned crewmate with perhaps a hint of irony, smiling when he sees the man.
OOC: Your pose will read 'a plump, nimble fellow with a dainty mustache sits idly on a hammock.'.
A darkly-tanned crewmate gives you a placid nod, the remnants of his smile to an imposing, ebon-dark woman still taking time to fade.
"Gave you mop away," [in Ruvic] an imposing, ebon-dark woman comments to a darkly-tanned crewmate with a smirk.
A darkly-tanned crewmate looks with a renewed smile to an imposing, ebon-dark woman. "I will mop for you," [in Ruvic with an uneven tenor] he grumbles, the half-mumbled tone at odds with the big grin it comes through.
(Hidden) Esfandiar sneaks an impish smirk an imposing, ebon-dark woman's way.
From the interior of the ship, you can sense that it floats peacefully onward.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman heads over near a porthole window to peek outside across the sea.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman peers through a porthole window.
"How's the weather?" Esfandiar calls over to a willowy, tawny-complected young woman, with a wry bent.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman gives a wheeze and a helpless little grin, though a moment later, of course, it turns to coughing. She shakes her head to a darkly-tanned crewmate, head turned aside to let the fit pass, then clears her throat. "No, no. Only strange, see you no mop." Her Ruvic's decidedly awkward, but she gives an approving sort of nod, whether at her turn of phrase or the big man or something else entirely.
The ship continues across softly lapping waves on beneath you.
A darkly-tanned crewmate looks down at both his hands, then crinkles his eyes at an imposing, ebon-dark woman and turns for a splintery hole in the floor. "I find mop!" he calls back, in the gruff manner of declaring a heroic quest.
A darkly-tanned crewmate begins to climb down the scaffolding.
A darkly-tanned crewmate climbs away down a splintery hole in the floor.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman looks over her shoulder to fix you with a straight-faced stare, "Clear and balmy, of course." [in Sirdabi with a moderate yet clarion alto]
Esfandiar snickers, bending over a little as he fails to keep in his laughter at the departing man any longer.
A striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls trembles uncontrollably.
A hunched, elder woman watches the man leave, peering down into the hole. Mostly to herself, she mutters, "Thank goodness. I have been mopping, and it is horrible for my back."
A howl in an eerie howl can be distantly made out from the way out.
"Of course," Esfandiar allows back to a willowy, tawny-complected young woman, though his eyes are still shining with mostly-swallowed laughter.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman peers down toward the galley for a moment, looking bemused, a couple of blinks, then she's refocusing on a willowy, tawny-complected young woman with a smirk, then a hunched, elder woman.
Esfandiar's laughter fades at the sound of howling, though.
An imposing, ebon-dark woman frowns, then, glancing toward a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls, and shifts to step over toward him. She bends, setting a hand to his forehead carefully, gently. (Stand - near the frame of the open tiny canvas blind -)
"Glad the answer was just to have you command it all along," a hunched, elder woman says with a wry grin to an imposing, ebon-dark woman. "Good to know."
An imposing, ebon-dark woman takes stock of a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A hunched, elder woman takes stock of a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
Fixing his clothes, Esfandiar gets up from his hammock slowly, looking toward a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls with casual interest as the two women assess him. (Stand - near a patched canvas hammock -)
"I only said it was odd to see him without it, I commanded nothing," [in Sirdabi] an imposing, ebon-dark woman snorts back to a hunched, elder woman, somewhat belatedly, distracted by fussing over a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls.
A roar in an eerie wail can be distantly made out from the way out.
A willowy, tawny-complected young woman frowns faintly, studying a striking, violet-eyed youth with chaotic black curls as well, "He's still ill, it seems..."