Post by Pirate on Aug 21, 2009 1:35:23 GMT -5
Their Debauchery: Evander had not taken into account the very damn realism that money was going to be hard to Not spend. Yet he'd figured the only one worth the risk in hiding some loot was the navigator and crew. Was he just becoming paranoid? Possibly. He had his weapons back though neatly wrapped in that long coat that had been fashioned by some Lord or whom ever.. he stole it. Good coat! Inside wraped as a gift his flintlock, the cutlass sheathed but near by. Two sets of hand axes.. well better to be prepared then not! His boots were still on and with a lean down into his elbow he glanced towards the water. No drinks to night, just that idea that he was losing his faith in his fellow comrades theives and outlaws.. how could you not trust them? Phft. It only took one greedy son of a bitch to ruin it. The isla was indeed lovely, if you could forgive the warning corpses that hung for weary travellers. Pirates and outlaws warning any kingdoms armadas and even the local traders. -d
A French Pearl: :The beauty of the night stole her breath away, just the mere glimmer of moonlight bathing over the water, had her heart stopping it's Rhythmical beat. Soft grains of sand slipped between her toes, tired soles teetering on the edgecompleting their journey into the ebbing waves. Silken strands of honey brown were caught up in a tangle upon the breeze, sweeping them away from her gaze and into an eternal saunter. Pale flesh spanned over ivory bones, giving lifeto her frame. Her body ached from forced unnatural movements, she was a dancer for the high courts. A ballerina, used to please the Lords and Ladies while they sat back and drank their wines and enjoyed bread without maggots living in it's crust. Ah, what a life indeed. She was covered in nothing more than a night gown, weaves of lace kissing at her curves. Indecent? Perhaps though that was not her intention, honestly...she just needed an escape and the Ocean called to her. She had not noticed another coming, too focused on the waves to offer a passing glance.: <d>
Their Debauchery: The smell of ocean salt was common, even his skin tasted of it from the times of being out water long. Evan had no knowledge of the lifes of the rich and noble. He only knew the life he was put into, still calling it an act of his surroundings and chance. He had a story a damn good one but the one he told otherwise was the story of his conquest, his victories of piracy. Never really a damn thing about Llorin, his home. INfact anyone who may have knew anythingof it probably would have been shot at Evander's hand. Drake? The only soul on his crew who held his past secrets and mostly indiscretions. Yet Evander called that man his brother was he? Captain Evander still would have shot him dead. It bothered him. A mans secrets are his to covet. Yet it was the new smell that came along the grains of sand in the air, a cleaner smell, far cleaner then that salted skin of his person. The slight flare of his nostrils had come and gone and the set of brown eyes turning a little to catch the sights upwind. It was yet a face to be known, first thoughts always were Brothel girl, or tavern wench. He'd catagorized woman into those two because it was all he was around these days. -d
A French Pearl: :Nannette was not born of the cloth, she had be cut from a rare piece and placed into the quilt of royalty. Truly she held no title. Silken strands of honey brown fell against her cheek, draping down over the smoothness of her shoulder. It was when she craned her neck around, to take a glance at the manors above the sea's cliffs that she first caught glance of the approaching man. The smell of the sea had only recently placed itself within each nestled pore. Her body was scented of jasmine and ginger, tonics provided for her after routine night of entertainment. Emerald hues widened a bit, the lush swell of her lips pursing as if to say something. Alas her words were lost, perhaps still stuck on the idea that she was alone on the beach. Not exactly a wise decision, when men with wild ideas roamed the streets. The hem of her white gown swelled around her, the water now kissing her ankles. The rise and fall of her chest remained at ease but her mind was swarming with thoughts.: <d>
Their Debauchery: He only assumed he was having a dream, he was after all a bit tired from the day and it had been an interesting one. He sank a little more into the sand both elbows now a little deeper to it. He wasn't dirty but he wasn't exactly as clean. He'd been covered at his forearms and face even his neck a bit with the color of the sun. Darken but not much burned, years had remedied that. A short yawn fell from his lips as he sank his hands back behind his head to try and get some sleep. Yes not aboard his ship, or at the Black Scar. The beach was quite alright, soft yet the sand usually found its way into the oddest of places, his boots of course. He was still smelling her more then the wind it must have hit him quite stupidly when he peeked open an eye to look again. Still there, not a fantom either. He sat right back up and blinked a little, was an odd hour to be out, yet who was he to judge. He was out too. " I heard mermaids dont come ashore." -d
A French Pearl: : The idea of him attacking her had faded, as she watched his body sink farther into the sand. Nannette's hand had removed itself from it's perch upon the swell of her breast, her heart beat calming enough to evoke movement in her frame once more. Slender digits curled around the hem of her nightgown, forcing the wet garments upwards to expose the smoothness of her milky thighs. The woman drew closer to the drowsy pirate, a curious notion evidently promoted upon an arched brow. Her feet sunk into the grain as weight was pressed upon the fragile sediment.: " Only when Ze Moon iz full, Monsieur...." : Her accent flowed thickly from her tongue, dripping into his ears like rich honey from the hive. Brilliant emeralds lowered some, allowing a sea of thick lashes to brush over the curve of her cheekbones. Indeed, it was an odd hour, the only time she could sneak out.:<d>
Their Debauchery: Sirens were more the case that he'd seen of the water, they were those usually trapped on islands never much could they last on main land. He lifted his lower lip and brows in that upward curve. "Suppose your right." He turned up his head to the sky, a cloudy night though the winds moved those clouds at their own pace. He didnt stand he had no reason to, no one was really worth the effort. She had to be a brothel girl. June made them keep themselves as clean as possibly. He motioned to the sand next to him, a fair view and just about all he could offer really. "I know that accent, let me guess." Yet he never really said it aloud it was silenced off with the sounds of cannon shooting into the waters out. He finally pushed his hand into the sand to boost up. A slow squinted look out it was hardly able to be seen but there it was. A navy ship small and made for speed was circling near. Bad sign.. if he was thinking right they were scouting. "If I were you missy, i'd leave the island if they dont destroy that shop yonder." -d
A French Pearl: : Her body was nearly ready to bend forwards to give herself a chance to sit, but the sounds of cannon fire off in the distance had her spine straightening, and the curve of her lips pursing together..: "...Ze..Admrial's Ships....." : Her brow rose into an arch and those delicate hands reaching outwards.: "....Zat iz verah, curiouz Monsieur. Leave Ze island?" : She forced out a roll of laughter, open palms falling to her breast.: " I do non t'ink, Zat man would destroy 'iz own 'ome." : it was then that her gaze lowered, not nearly putting everything together, but she had an idea of who this man was, rather what he did.: " ....are Jou one o' ze fellows, I 'eard 'im talking about zis evenin'? : Of course, she knew damn well he wasn't about to spill his guts to her.: " And non, Monsieur...I am non a 'hore. I am a Ballerina for ze 'igh Courtz...."<d>
Their Debauchery: He knew many french whores too. He just smirked a little when it came to the idea of some one talking to him. He was already on his feet. Lowering down to lift up his belt, easing it around his waist and looking down to fastin it he laughed. "Well a dancer.." He hadnt though about it much. Evan wasn't educated in the arts of the courts, merely in mathamtics. Philosphy and yes arts of combat and war. He was a trained solider, and still he used it to his advantage. "Who talks about me and what they say might not always be the truth, yet.." He lifted those hand axes with another bend of his knee and arch of his back. Sliding them into the back of that thick leather belt. "Best not to go around believing in anything anyone says unless you saw it yourself." He shook out that coat, a fine coat he was rather proud of it too. Dusting away the sands and looking at her with some inspection now that she was closer. Another boom and crash of the cannon fire as the fires of that ship grew. He turned to look at the ships mast still a distance but he had a very keen eye sight. His coat was slid on to his arms and he grinned. "Ah.. well that solves that now doesn't it?" Now awake fully, he lifted a fine arch of his brow. "Who exactly are you thinking I am?" -d
A French Pearl: :The swell of her lips tasted like the spray of the sea, her tongue only noticing such as it ran over the lower curve. Those fine brows eased upwards as he spoke, his words falling upon the tender shell of her ears like quick dose of venom. Perhaps truly not a poison but the harsh sting of reality. Her eyes instantly fell upon the glint of those blades, the metal drawing her attention like a moth to the flame. Was it odd that she wished to reach out and touch the sharpened edges, only wanting to know if this was a dream.: " Oui, Monsieur...." : Was her only response to the first array of advice, though when the second round began she couldn't help but step back a bit, her footing instantly lost. Night gown and all shell fell upon her arse, exposing the bottom of her feet to his naked eye. They were heavily abused from forced movent and the pressures of her weight when she danced.: "oof..." : A tangle of honey brown fell into her gaze, leaving her too look up through a veil.: "...An...outlaw...." : Her words were barely whispered, catching on the evening breeze.:<d>
Their Debauchery: He had seen the material collect around her ankles why he didnt say anything he wasn't sure but scoundral was probably why. It was in his blood really. He smirked when she hit the sand and as he watched her he canted his head and with a bend of his knee he lifted his elbow to it. "Where do you think you are princess?" He called her so merely because it was her bubbling that reminded him once of a girl just like that. "Your on los isla de los meurtos. A long way from Paris." Her accent had been pegged fair way from anything really. He grabbed her by the arm and none to gentle to pull her back to her feet. "Run along back to where you came from, Im not in the mood to be fiddling with lost women." Yes he was an outlaw many of them were outlaws and he was getting more paranoid really. The appearance of her and another had made him a little.. leary of trusting his name to anyone. He pulled up the robes of her dress to her knees and with a fast unsheathed of his cutlass he sliced an uneven line of that robe**. Well now. "Help you keep you on your feet." He grinned as he wrapped the whites of that material around his hand turning to get back to docks. He shouldn't have been there anyway, so much for peace and quiet. -d
A French Pearl: : Indeed, she was a long way from Paris. The soft flesh of her arm retained a redness from the harsh yank, as he pulled her upon those delicate feet. Her eyes narrowed as he called her a lost woman, the fronts of her teeth were nearly devoured by the fullness of her lips.: " Lost woman? Non, Monsieur! Jou are again Miztaken bu-" : Nannette had no time to continue her sentance for an eerie sound filtered into her ears. The silken fibers of her robe gave way to the sharpened edge of the cutless, exposing those milky legs. Her eyes widdened, those thick lashes bracing against the tops of her sockets. Who the hell did he think he was?! Nannette swiftly bent down to where her slippers lay and took one fron the depths of the sand. Her spine curved and straighted. Now, the woman was a dancer which meant her limbs were bound to have more power then they let on. With all her strength she hurled the shoe at the back of his head as retreated towards the docks.: " "ere! Jou might need zat, to go wit jour new 'andkerchief!" : A quick strings of French cursing fell from her lips, bloody men! They thought they ruled the world didn't they? She'd just stand there for now.....watching till he was fully out of sight.:
A French Pearl: :The beauty of the night stole her breath away, just the mere glimmer of moonlight bathing over the water, had her heart stopping it's Rhythmical beat. Soft grains of sand slipped between her toes, tired soles teetering on the edgecompleting their journey into the ebbing waves. Silken strands of honey brown were caught up in a tangle upon the breeze, sweeping them away from her gaze and into an eternal saunter. Pale flesh spanned over ivory bones, giving lifeto her frame. Her body ached from forced unnatural movements, she was a dancer for the high courts. A ballerina, used to please the Lords and Ladies while they sat back and drank their wines and enjoyed bread without maggots living in it's crust. Ah, what a life indeed. She was covered in nothing more than a night gown, weaves of lace kissing at her curves. Indecent? Perhaps though that was not her intention, honestly...she just needed an escape and the Ocean called to her. She had not noticed another coming, too focused on the waves to offer a passing glance.: <d>
Their Debauchery: The smell of ocean salt was common, even his skin tasted of it from the times of being out water long. Evan had no knowledge of the lifes of the rich and noble. He only knew the life he was put into, still calling it an act of his surroundings and chance. He had a story a damn good one but the one he told otherwise was the story of his conquest, his victories of piracy. Never really a damn thing about Llorin, his home. INfact anyone who may have knew anythingof it probably would have been shot at Evander's hand. Drake? The only soul on his crew who held his past secrets and mostly indiscretions. Yet Evander called that man his brother was he? Captain Evander still would have shot him dead. It bothered him. A mans secrets are his to covet. Yet it was the new smell that came along the grains of sand in the air, a cleaner smell, far cleaner then that salted skin of his person. The slight flare of his nostrils had come and gone and the set of brown eyes turning a little to catch the sights upwind. It was yet a face to be known, first thoughts always were Brothel girl, or tavern wench. He'd catagorized woman into those two because it was all he was around these days. -d
A French Pearl: :Nannette was not born of the cloth, she had be cut from a rare piece and placed into the quilt of royalty. Truly she held no title. Silken strands of honey brown fell against her cheek, draping down over the smoothness of her shoulder. It was when she craned her neck around, to take a glance at the manors above the sea's cliffs that she first caught glance of the approaching man. The smell of the sea had only recently placed itself within each nestled pore. Her body was scented of jasmine and ginger, tonics provided for her after routine night of entertainment. Emerald hues widened a bit, the lush swell of her lips pursing as if to say something. Alas her words were lost, perhaps still stuck on the idea that she was alone on the beach. Not exactly a wise decision, when men with wild ideas roamed the streets. The hem of her white gown swelled around her, the water now kissing her ankles. The rise and fall of her chest remained at ease but her mind was swarming with thoughts.: <d>
Their Debauchery: He only assumed he was having a dream, he was after all a bit tired from the day and it had been an interesting one. He sank a little more into the sand both elbows now a little deeper to it. He wasn't dirty but he wasn't exactly as clean. He'd been covered at his forearms and face even his neck a bit with the color of the sun. Darken but not much burned, years had remedied that. A short yawn fell from his lips as he sank his hands back behind his head to try and get some sleep. Yes not aboard his ship, or at the Black Scar. The beach was quite alright, soft yet the sand usually found its way into the oddest of places, his boots of course. He was still smelling her more then the wind it must have hit him quite stupidly when he peeked open an eye to look again. Still there, not a fantom either. He sat right back up and blinked a little, was an odd hour to be out, yet who was he to judge. He was out too. " I heard mermaids dont come ashore." -d
A French Pearl: : The idea of him attacking her had faded, as she watched his body sink farther into the sand. Nannette's hand had removed itself from it's perch upon the swell of her breast, her heart beat calming enough to evoke movement in her frame once more. Slender digits curled around the hem of her nightgown, forcing the wet garments upwards to expose the smoothness of her milky thighs. The woman drew closer to the drowsy pirate, a curious notion evidently promoted upon an arched brow. Her feet sunk into the grain as weight was pressed upon the fragile sediment.: " Only when Ze Moon iz full, Monsieur...." : Her accent flowed thickly from her tongue, dripping into his ears like rich honey from the hive. Brilliant emeralds lowered some, allowing a sea of thick lashes to brush over the curve of her cheekbones. Indeed, it was an odd hour, the only time she could sneak out.:<d>
Their Debauchery: Sirens were more the case that he'd seen of the water, they were those usually trapped on islands never much could they last on main land. He lifted his lower lip and brows in that upward curve. "Suppose your right." He turned up his head to the sky, a cloudy night though the winds moved those clouds at their own pace. He didnt stand he had no reason to, no one was really worth the effort. She had to be a brothel girl. June made them keep themselves as clean as possibly. He motioned to the sand next to him, a fair view and just about all he could offer really. "I know that accent, let me guess." Yet he never really said it aloud it was silenced off with the sounds of cannon shooting into the waters out. He finally pushed his hand into the sand to boost up. A slow squinted look out it was hardly able to be seen but there it was. A navy ship small and made for speed was circling near. Bad sign.. if he was thinking right they were scouting. "If I were you missy, i'd leave the island if they dont destroy that shop yonder." -d
A French Pearl: : Her body was nearly ready to bend forwards to give herself a chance to sit, but the sounds of cannon fire off in the distance had her spine straightening, and the curve of her lips pursing together..: "...Ze..Admrial's Ships....." : Her brow rose into an arch and those delicate hands reaching outwards.: "....Zat iz verah, curiouz Monsieur. Leave Ze island?" : She forced out a roll of laughter, open palms falling to her breast.: " I do non t'ink, Zat man would destroy 'iz own 'ome." : it was then that her gaze lowered, not nearly putting everything together, but she had an idea of who this man was, rather what he did.: " ....are Jou one o' ze fellows, I 'eard 'im talking about zis evenin'? : Of course, she knew damn well he wasn't about to spill his guts to her.: " And non, Monsieur...I am non a 'hore. I am a Ballerina for ze 'igh Courtz...."<d>
Their Debauchery: He knew many french whores too. He just smirked a little when it came to the idea of some one talking to him. He was already on his feet. Lowering down to lift up his belt, easing it around his waist and looking down to fastin it he laughed. "Well a dancer.." He hadnt though about it much. Evan wasn't educated in the arts of the courts, merely in mathamtics. Philosphy and yes arts of combat and war. He was a trained solider, and still he used it to his advantage. "Who talks about me and what they say might not always be the truth, yet.." He lifted those hand axes with another bend of his knee and arch of his back. Sliding them into the back of that thick leather belt. "Best not to go around believing in anything anyone says unless you saw it yourself." He shook out that coat, a fine coat he was rather proud of it too. Dusting away the sands and looking at her with some inspection now that she was closer. Another boom and crash of the cannon fire as the fires of that ship grew. He turned to look at the ships mast still a distance but he had a very keen eye sight. His coat was slid on to his arms and he grinned. "Ah.. well that solves that now doesn't it?" Now awake fully, he lifted a fine arch of his brow. "Who exactly are you thinking I am?" -d
A French Pearl: :The swell of her lips tasted like the spray of the sea, her tongue only noticing such as it ran over the lower curve. Those fine brows eased upwards as he spoke, his words falling upon the tender shell of her ears like quick dose of venom. Perhaps truly not a poison but the harsh sting of reality. Her eyes instantly fell upon the glint of those blades, the metal drawing her attention like a moth to the flame. Was it odd that she wished to reach out and touch the sharpened edges, only wanting to know if this was a dream.: " Oui, Monsieur...." : Was her only response to the first array of advice, though when the second round began she couldn't help but step back a bit, her footing instantly lost. Night gown and all shell fell upon her arse, exposing the bottom of her feet to his naked eye. They were heavily abused from forced movent and the pressures of her weight when she danced.: "oof..." : A tangle of honey brown fell into her gaze, leaving her too look up through a veil.: "...An...outlaw...." : Her words were barely whispered, catching on the evening breeze.:<d>
Their Debauchery: He had seen the material collect around her ankles why he didnt say anything he wasn't sure but scoundral was probably why. It was in his blood really. He smirked when she hit the sand and as he watched her he canted his head and with a bend of his knee he lifted his elbow to it. "Where do you think you are princess?" He called her so merely because it was her bubbling that reminded him once of a girl just like that. "Your on los isla de los meurtos. A long way from Paris." Her accent had been pegged fair way from anything really. He grabbed her by the arm and none to gentle to pull her back to her feet. "Run along back to where you came from, Im not in the mood to be fiddling with lost women." Yes he was an outlaw many of them were outlaws and he was getting more paranoid really. The appearance of her and another had made him a little.. leary of trusting his name to anyone. He pulled up the robes of her dress to her knees and with a fast unsheathed of his cutlass he sliced an uneven line of that robe**. Well now. "Help you keep you on your feet." He grinned as he wrapped the whites of that material around his hand turning to get back to docks. He shouldn't have been there anyway, so much for peace and quiet. -d
A French Pearl: : Indeed, she was a long way from Paris. The soft flesh of her arm retained a redness from the harsh yank, as he pulled her upon those delicate feet. Her eyes narrowed as he called her a lost woman, the fronts of her teeth were nearly devoured by the fullness of her lips.: " Lost woman? Non, Monsieur! Jou are again Miztaken bu-" : Nannette had no time to continue her sentance for an eerie sound filtered into her ears. The silken fibers of her robe gave way to the sharpened edge of the cutless, exposing those milky legs. Her eyes widdened, those thick lashes bracing against the tops of her sockets. Who the hell did he think he was?! Nannette swiftly bent down to where her slippers lay and took one fron the depths of the sand. Her spine curved and straighted. Now, the woman was a dancer which meant her limbs were bound to have more power then they let on. With all her strength she hurled the shoe at the back of his head as retreated towards the docks.: " "ere! Jou might need zat, to go wit jour new 'andkerchief!" : A quick strings of French cursing fell from her lips, bloody men! They thought they ruled the world didn't they? She'd just stand there for now.....watching till he was fully out of sight.: