Fable - Ask Part of the Crew, Part of the Ship

[Tammy Lee Sable]

The Bastard Tap was a grungy and dimly lit establishment, with the air thick with smoke and the smell of sweat and alcohol. The walls were adorned with various weapons and trinkets, and the bar itself was made of rough-hewn wood. The patrons were a motley crew of pirates, smugglers, and other unsavory characters, with tattoos and scars marking their rough lives. It was known to attract the roughest of the underworld.

This was nothing new to the pirate crew of the Cloud Tracer. For they were a crew made up almost entirely of women. And despite the violence and danger that could be easily found in such an establishment, the Cloud Tracer crew refused to back down or be intimidated by anyone without a good pair of tits. They fought with skill and ferocity, proving that they were just as capable and fierce as any male crew.

Sable knew their Captain had chosen this town for the night so they could fence their bay full of ill-gotten goods, but for the moment, the red tiefling was more concerned about getting herself and her friends, right piss drunk.

******

Beer in hand, Sable had taken a seat at the bar with some of her crew, her eyes scanning the room for any trouble.

It wasn't long before trouble found her in the form of a drunken, greasy-haired sailor from a rival sky ship no doubt. He stumbled over to her, leering and making lewd comments. She tried to brush him off, but the man persisted, his breath hot and reeking of rum.

When her snarls did little to dissuade him, he made a grab at her wrist in scorned indignation. There was a sudden movement and Sable had grabbed the man's arm and yanked him forward, slamming his face down onto the sticky, beer-soaked table. The man roared in anger, spittle flying from his rotten teeth. "Oh fucking shut it." And Sable grabbed the dagger from his belt and plunged it into the table, pinning his hand in place.

Blood spurted from the wound, splattering across the table and onto the floor. The other patrons had fallen silent, watching the scene unfold as the bar filled with the man's scream. Sable only stood over him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Touch me again," she growled, "and I'll make sure you never touch anything ever again." She released him with a contemptuous shove.

There was a tense silence where she exchanged looks with her sisters; and then the bar erupted into chaos as the man's crewmates rushed to his defense.

 

[Cinders]

Before the violence erupted, there was a game afoot. Cards within grubby hands, flashing of teeth in wide grins, throwing down of money and valuables as candlelight flickered and dirty windows filtered light through the smoke that gushed from lips. Bandied words. Higher and higher stakes being laid down. The game was poker, and much tobacco was being burned into the stale air from stained lips. Cinders watched the cigarette smoke spiral up more than the turns or the rivers, watched how the cherries glowed, breathed deep of the second hand smoke and smiled contentedly and silently as the menfolk did their gambling while smoking and taking loud gulps of ale and rum. No member of her crew was gambling, at least as far as Cinders knew, but she was making a small gamble of her own. A private wager judging on the disposition of some of the menfolk who roamed as chickens pecking at trouble.

Peck peck peck, they sounded all the same to Cinders. Just chickens, stupid, all too stupid. Her eyes were upon the pot, her hand by her side upon a pouch as if she was ready to buy in at any moment. She was asked a few times if she'd like to play in as genial a tone as this lot could muster.

Perhaps they seek to make me owe a debt to them. Fucking pigs.

She declined with a simple, “Maybe, maybe I'll see who's the best to beat first, eh?”

It was enough to sate them and allow her at the table to observe and potentially buy in. She flashed a jewel of emerald which was set upon a necklace about her neck, a small thing, but worth enough to barter. She held onto it as the men folk exchanged looks which could mean any manner of thing. Cinders ignored it. Focused on the smoke which was continual and delivered in dramatic exhalations upwards and into each other's faces. Waited. Breathed deep. Found it pleasant in comparison to the smoke she was all too used to. No cough issued from her throat.

A small collection of coins was entrenched within the pot at this present moment, and rings were slid off fingers, a small ruby of not much worth but some worth all the same as wagers were made and met. Cinder's leg bounced and she flashed her own teeth at each man in turn. Some men viewed it as flirting. Some became emboldened by the interest. None of them realised what she was actually smiling at. She saw the potential violence brewing. Just as the final wager was made, and the cards were to be turned, she met eyes with one of the fellows gambling and pointed a finger.

Just in time for the man to turn to see the knife being drawn, and violence begetting violent words.

Cards were being considered, the pot weighed and measured against the loyalty required as their group demanded. Gingerly hands went to weapons, some reached towards the pot. One looked to turn over the cards to see the winner. But there would only be one. Cinders was ready for this exact moment.

From her pouch she took a fistful of burning embers and sent them through her powerful lungs into the faces of each in wide spread.

They clutched at their faces and tried to fight the embers which did not die down, but rather became more animated and irritable, more insistent in their heat, burning hotter as they singed flesh and blinded eye. They fished out weapons but found their hands failing them as they tried to beat back the embers which seemed alive and insect like in their insistence of pestering and scorching. Cinders grabbed the pot and hauled it into a napsack which guzzled the treasure, specially prepared for this exact moment.

Pot secured, and opponents recovering, she made her voice be known proper for the hoarse and deep growl it actually was.

“Right!” She declared as she drew steel and ignited the blade in white hot heat, “I wager you fuckers don't want to be branded by my steel in wicked snap and cut, so walk the fuck away and be thankful I don't melt your gold from your teeth and turn you all bald! That's it, walk away or get worse than the embers! Yeah, good, back off, wait, you want some, get some, ha yeah!”

Many of the menfolk were still beating back embers, but two had drawn weapons from receiving the least of it. Cinders made good her promise. Her sword flashed, and the smell of searing flesh and cloth joined the tobacco smoke, and Cinders breathed in deep and flashed her teeth again.

“Who's next? Who's fucking next? You? Yeah, you! Come here!”

 

[Joy Gilcrest]

Joy grimaced, the man's blood having left a misshapen blotch on the strip of sailcloth wrapped around her chest. "Ugh! Not again! Just got the bloodstains out from the last time!" she grumbled, trying to wipe off the blood that had already begun to soak in. "Shoulda known better than to sit near Sable..."

But the scent of blood soon filled her nostrils as the fighting began, leaving her to forget about the stain all together. Joy ran her finger through the smattering of blood on the table and brought it up to her mouth to savor the taste. A sharp metallic tang flooded her mouth, and she grinned wickedly as she bounced up out of her seat.

Joy spun around as a screeching cry came from behind her. A wiry man barreled towards her, holding a knife raised high above his head. Just as he reached her, she nimbly jumped out of the way, and tripped him, sending her assailant crashing to the grimy floor. Joy kicked her foot down viciously right between his legs, and brought her previously occupied chair smashing down on his head.

"WOOHOO!" she cheered wildly, punching the air above her head. "FUCK YEAH! WHO ELSE WANTS SOME?!" While not generally one to spark off a fight, Joy was more than happy to join in on one started by her crew. Or... anyone really.

A fight was raging on and she was absolutely there for it. The only things that could stop her now were her cremates, or a stern command from the captain.

Another patron rushed by, and Joy quickly intercepted him, throwing herself and the man through a table. Springing to her feet, she proceed to punch and kick at anything that moved near her, not particularly caring who they were, or even if they were targeting her specifically.

Joy paused just long enough to take a long gulping draw from a bottle of wine sitting on a table. She finished it with a satisfied sigh, and threw the bottle through a window. "Oi!" she turned and cried out with a wave at her friends nearby. "Leave some for me sisters!" Joy grinned at them for a brief moment, before she threw herself back into the fray with an animalistic roar.

Tammy Lee Sable
Cinders

 

[Khelanii]

This was the best goddamn rum I've tasted in weeks. She slammed it back with authority, and hastily ordered another. She sat on the furthest end of the bar, away from the commotion. This was her time of peace. A time where rum flowed, and meat was devoured. No duties or chores to tend to. She slammed coin down on the bar and snagged her drink from the barmaid. "Thanks, hon. By the way, that apron does wonders for your body, love. Color me envious." She chuckled and slurped up her delicious tonic.

"Touch me again."

Khelanii looked up from her mug at Tammy. She held still, like a guard dog waiting for its masters command to strike.

"And I'll make sure you never touch anything ever again."

The men began to incircle Sable as she lifted her boot off their shipmate.

She hasn't given the look.

Sable immediately glanced at her surrounding comrades as the scene escalated.

God... dammit

Khelanii gulped the remainder of the poison left in her mug and leapt onto the bar. In two steps she was already by Sable's side. She kicked off the bar, leaping forward towards the nearest assailant. She crashed into and obliterated the poor mans chest cavity. Like boulder against sheers. The sounds of bone cracking and waning against skin sent a rush throughout her core. HA! I FEEL ALIVE! She gained her ground quickly, like a jungle cat. Hunched over and ready for more, she stared down her next contestant. Before he could draw his weapon, her boot had already connected with his gut. The mans arms whipped forward as the air left him. She ducked under and found the inverted headlock. Turning the man around to face his comrades as she dropped her weight to the ground, his face followed. SMACK. Bits of teeth chipped off into the wooden floor.

She always took it a bit too far...

 

[Alexandra Alcantos]

"You see, love, part of being successful is keeping a low profile," the tall winged woman said as her boots knocked against the wooden walkway of the docks a few eyes went wide at the sight of proud plumage, heads turned in double take as the golden brown feathers stirred the air in their wake.

The hanging sign of The Bastard Tap came nearer with each step.

"S'why we don't go round telling the world bout the real treasure we keep," she winked at the sailor as she came to the door of the rundown establishment she'd known some of the crew liked so well.

A gout of fire blew through one of the windows, and a knife tumbled blade over handle not a moment later. The sounds of shouts and roars and screams and shatterings came in cacophony soon after.

"What in the flying fuck," Alex's brow knit together, her cheeks puffed up and she rolled up her sleeves as she opened the door.

Bedlam. Wanton violence.

"OY!" she called out with a powerful spread of her wings that washed fresh cool air into the hot stink of the room.

Most of the chaos stilled for a moment.

"What is all this then?" she saw one man clutching at a cauterized wound that burned across his chest, another slung over big Khel's shoulder, and Joy doing gods know what to a man with who could even say. "Sable!" her voice cut through the clatter and quiet. "I leave you in charge of the landing party for one minute and-"

"Oh, look at the wings on that one!"

"Bet them feathers feel real nice down where the sun don't shine."

A wolf whistle. A wolf. Whistle.

Her brow twitched. She grabbed up a tankard from a nearby table and with a shout, flung it at the man. The metal cup clanged into his nose with a hearty crunch and the violence roiled anew.

 

[Yoren Red-Reef]

'Ever served with a ladies-only crew before, Longshanks? It's like being bound, gagged and keelhauled on a daily basis, minus the fun parts.' Smoking his pipe, Quartermaster Yoren watched with blackened eyes as his old crewmate started to chuckle. 'What's so funny?' he asked the barrel-chested man. 'Oh, nothin' much,' Longshanks replied, taking a swig of his beer. 'Only... if you hate it so much, why stick around?' Yoren shrugged, took a puff.

'Well, the pay ain't half bad,' he admitted after a time, tobacco smoke blooming in the air between them. 'Not to mention, the Cap's easy on the eyes. Have you seen 'er-' Before he could finish his line of questioning, a loud booming sound split the night sky, sending the gulls nesting on the rooftops above screeching into the air. The two friends shared a look.

'What the fuck was that?' They spoke at the same time, but neither of them had much of an answer to give.

Shaking his head, Yoren made to stand. 'Forgetting something?' Sliding Yoren's cutlass across the table towards him, Longshanks spared the Quartermaster another low chuckle, watched as he swept it up. 'Have fun now!' he called out, kicking his feet up as the half-orc hurried off to investigate the disturbance. 'Poor bastard,' the privateer spoke quietly to himself, 'can't catch a break no matter where he docks.'

Hurrying away into the dark streets, Yoren was almost too caught up thinking the same thing to recognise the sign of his crew's favourite haunt. ''Course it's the bloody Bastard Tap!' He cursed as he threw on his sword belt. Taking a breath to centre himself, the pirate took a running kick at the door.

Flying open, the door tore from its hinges with an almighty crash. Standing in the doorway, his wrath worn plainly on his face, Yoren shouted to be heard over the din of battle. 'Oy, you lot! Militia's coming!' Sweeping his gaze across the room, Yoren noted how some of the more inebriated sailors stopped trying to knife his crewmates, started moving for the exits. Considering no such militia existed in these parts, it was a miracle anyone had listened.

That evens the odds a bit, he thought, taking up a chair by its legs and lobbing it into the conflagration that made up his crew. 'All right then, you heathen bastards! Let's be having ya!'

 

[Nere Ashorn]

Nere nodded along earnestly as the captain of the Cloud Tracer spoke of being discrete. She seemed not to pick up on the heads that turned their way as they walked down the boardwalk, or the double meaning as Alex winked at her.

"... the real treasure?" Nere repeated, tilting her head with a goofy smile on her face. "What's that? Sable's smile? Cinder's cooking? Or maybe its my dance moves--" Of course, she'd listed things that didn't exist, evident by the over-confident twirl Nere gave as she stepped forward and reached to pull the door of the tavern open. But her playful roll of the shoulders turned to surprise as the sound of crashing glass interrupted their conversation.

Inside, the captain's voice briefly cut through the rabble, but it wasn't long before a raunchy comment had everyone going again.

Now, Nere was no stranger to brawls. A man came at her with a broken chair leg. She thrust her arm up, and the wood splintered against her forearm. She ducked to the side, grabbed at his shirt sleeve, and with a puff of hot air swung the whole man into a table. Tin steins clattered to the ground, spilling their yeasty contents on the already damp floor.

She stepped round someone crawling for a grip on her ankle, right into another man who was hollering something or other to whoever was close enough to hear. "You damned dirty b--" he started.

Nere's gloved fist met his jaw, knocking the word from his mouth before he could get it out.

"That isn't a nice thing to say!" She shouted, fists still raised in defense, even as he slumped to the ground from the shock of the hit.

 

[Tammy Lee Sable]

The chaotic scene in the Bastard Tap seemed to intensify with each passing moment. Sable's heart raced as she stood amidst the clash of bodies. She could hear the grunts and curses of her crewmates as they fought alongside her.

Suddenly, a familiar voice pierced through the noise, cutting through the chaos like a beacon, she paused.

It was their Captain, Alexandra Alcantos, her authoritative voice rallying the crew with her retaliatory anger. The sight sending a surge of adrenaline down to the tips of her tiefling wings. Her blood eyes locked briefly with her captain, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them before Sable roared fiercely and lunged forward, her scarred face contorted in a manic show of teeth and glee.

Beside her, she caught glimpses of her crewmates, each unleashing their own unique fury upon the drunken rival retinue. Khelanii's powerful strikes sent opponents flying, Joy's wild enthusiasm electrified the air, and Nere's calculated moves struck with precision.

But the man who seemed to be wearing gloves of fireproof dragon hide, that was advancing on Cinders while she was occupied in her fiery display of swordplay, is what caught her most immediate attention.

With a snarl, Sable rushed him and leapt onto his back, yelling obscenities as she snaked an arm around his throat and threw his momentum backwards so they both fell to the floor.

She grunted on impact, slightly winded but she still quickly wrapped her legs around his and held him in place atop her as he struggled in vain to escape. Flexing her bicep she began choking him out, trying to ignore the way his fingers nails cut at her skin.

The tiefling went to move her mouth to his ear to whisper antagonistically, but he snapped his head back and smashed her in the nose with a resound crunch. Roaring in pain she shoved him off her and rolled to her feet. Fists already raised in the air, a steady stream of blood pouring from her nose and coloring her fanged mouth in a garish display of sick enjoyment.

Cinders Yoren Red-Reef Nere Ashorn Khelanii Joy Gilcrest Alexandra Alcantos

 

[Yoren Red-Reef]

Yoren lost his balance, lost his footing, then, nearly lost his manhood as a lady-sailor -hopefully not one of his lot- tried to bring a pointed heel down on his balls. "Ach!" He grunted, backing up just in time to avoid the worst of the damage but not all of it. "Have you no-... class?!" The sailor answered with a boot, higher this time, and Yoren was almost relieved when he got caught it in the gut instead.

Curling into a ball, the Quartermaster made like a baby and started yelling for help. 'Course, most everyone was yelling by that point, and even if they had heard him, he doubted the crew would have leapt to his aid.

Too punch-drunk to notice poor ol' Yoren getting worked- ah, fuck!

Rallying against the pain, he rolled away just in time to evade another heel. Grimacing, the half-orc hoisted himself to his feet using a surprisingly unshattered chair as support. The lady-sailor pursued him. As most do, he had time to muse, his smile bloody and full of what he thought passed for easy charm.

Picking up an empty tray, he sent it hurtling towards his assailant's face.

The lady-sailor ducked, and the tray collided with the back of another bloke's skull as he tussled with Sable. "Oh, fuck me!" Yoren cursed, taking a blow to the forearm. He bobbed and weaved, back-stepped until he felt his back press against something soft, yielding.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn't the Captain...

But the sailor's twin sister. Thought she looked familiar, he thought, half a second before she bashed him with a tankard.

 

[Cinders]

Curling fire set shaggy hair to burnt baldness, spark infused cutless cleaved with sparking edge at furniture thrown directly at her. Cinders delivered curses of cremation set upon worn gloves which set much confusion in the destructive disarray, hands flapping and clothing removed promptly at the sight of digits burning away at her will.

But while wanton destruction was the clarion call to which Cinders heeded in leap and bound and cut and smoldering cantrip, her own hands darted towards possible ventures of profit as she weaved through the chaos. Already her profits were improving by her patience at the poker table, her opportunistic streak fighting with the burning violence she inflicted upon those who stood and brawled against her rewarded her muchly. A coin purse here, a spellbook there, a quick snap of fingers to set a face aflame and further fingersmithing at preoccupied patrons turned pugilists.

A window smashed as a tumbling mass of protesting, drunken body was hurled through the glass. Cinders saw an opportunity for further malice which overruled her profiteering. No flicker of fear, just an opportunity to punctuate the circumstance with her own brand of carnage. The man who had hurled another through the windowscape was venturing through the window to complete the violence against the foe turned projectile. Hands were upon the smashed window frame to clear the glass, to allow them to follow. The spell was already within Cinder's command.

The windowframe became animated with roaring flame which lasted but for a single second, setting nothing ablaze except the fellow who thought he was firmly at advantage in the moment to reassess his lot in life.

The typical response, recoiling from fire, patting at the features, the screaming.

Cinders delivered both boots at the small of his back as she ejected him to the other side of the smashed window in a similar fashion to the way he had ejected his malcontent.

Her cutless drawn, wide smile, she went to the front door with a cocky step, with something akin to a jig as she evaded more chaos that was showing little sign of abating. She heard the word milita, and that was enough to convince her to cut the proclivities short. Her pushed the front door open and kept an eye open for the militia, ready to provide distraction, story, or outward burning barrier while her comrades made quick escape.

“Make yourselves done with this and let's move! We've had our fun!” Cinders barked through the open door into a scene which had no command structure, just violent power in play. She hoped that someone heeded it and arrested the momentum of indulgent rough housing so that they might have a future career together on the ocean instead of a jail cell together.