Indignation is a Fire Emblem Roleplay. It takes place within the Outrealms as worlds collide and kingdoms wage an endless war. However, amongst the quarrels of men do the horrors of the Outrealm reach in to kill and destroy. Fight alone or join forces with other warriors as we create dramatic tales or wage war!
We are open to roleplayers of all skill levels. If you are interested in joining, check out the discord chat and meet some of our members. Or if you're ready to jump right in, go ahead and join the site!
Kashmere watched the slowly gathering crowd from the corner of his eye as he tweaked the strings on an old lute. It wasn't his preferred instrument, but given the effort he had expended to stea-er, acquire it, he figured beggars couldn't be choosers. Besides, he thought with a flick of his left ear, it seems most of the crowd is more interested in my tail than my lute playing. Barbarians.
Putting the thought aside--it wasn't like he was unused to humans' unsightly gawping, after all--he plucked a few chords to test the sound quality before segueing into a Chevois ballad one of his old troupe members used to sing constantly. His eye twitched a little at the memory, but there was a smattering of "Oooh"s and "Aaah"s, so it was probably worth it. Probably.
Kash cracked an eye open and, noticing the lovely hat he had placed out in front of him was still empty, kicked it a little to draw his audience's attention. He then turned the action into a little spin, because it just didn't do to look desperate and people always liked a little show with their music. When he checked again a few minutes later, a few coins had been dropped in. Not great, but better.
The song came to an end, and he did a jaunty little bow. A few more coins were tossed into his hat and people began to wander off--the novelty of a wolfskin playing an instrument having worn off. Kash waited until they had all moved on before he snatched up the hat and scowled down at his earnings. Absolutely criminal, what these people thought his performances were worth. It made him almost regret leaving the troupe but, well, he liked his skin where it was, so sacrifices had to be made.
He pocketed the cash and tossed the hat back on the ground. Time to get back to work, he supposed.
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 6, 2017 1:32:19 GMT
With the midday sun came one of numerous boats traveling between different ports, Cyrkensia a popular spot for a fishing crew's business. Many people came here, and the nobles were prime customers. If said nobles and other assorted people of reputable rank even bothered to eat fish. Even still were the regular common folk who happened around the city. The Wandering Lady, a reoccurring ship when the schedule calls for it, slowed down its course in order to make a proper docking. Crashing into the port was a not good way to uphold a decent reputation. A world renowned status would have been appreciated, but not every captain of a ship can garner such. Of which, the crew seemed to be missing its captain, two of its members leaning against the starboard side railing.
"Someone got assigned to man the wheel. Think the captain dove in again since his coat is hanging on his door."
"He dove into the port's waters again!"
"Yep, again."
"Damn right I dove straight in again! I'll keep doin' it until the day I die," boomed a voice from the water below, Oliander forcing his body to swim towards the landing dock. His tough hands grabbed the ledge, propping himself up and frightening one of the dock workers. The captain grinned, chuckling without so much as a thought, "Whoopsie there! Don't mind me." Ignoring the stunned worker, the musclebound old man let out a whistle, pinky fingers between the ends of his mouth, causing his own crew to begin tossing ropes down to anchor their fair ship in place. His decades of experience subjugated the ropes to a systematic rhythm of ties and knots, tugged on the ends for good measure.
The walkway plank lowered onto the dock, the old sailor's boots thudding against the sturdy wood as he rejoined his crew on the ship. "HA, good hustle as always lads! Now go on and get to work. Gotta have a talk with the dock owners," Oliander said. A few sets of narrowed eyes beamed at the captain. His crew looked down at the otherwise dry deck, now spoiled by their captain's lack of drying off. It did not take Oliander too long, but his stance of freestyle drying was not always appreciated. He wandered up to the door belonging to the captain's quarters, removing his hefty coat from its hook. Connecting the chain around his neck, the man returned to his usual attire of his coat hanging around his shoulders.
Slinging his axe into its sheath, he trudged down the plank onto the dock, making a turn and heading towards the nearby street. For some reason or another the dock offices had their entrance facing into the city instead of towards the dock, but then, Oliander had a bad habit of picking the same area of the port to land. "Busy place as usual. Good," the man boomed, shifting his body to slip past a duo having a polite conversation. His gaze wandered about the area, attention not focused on where his own, large mass was headed. A merchant's cart crossed Oliander's path, the muscled sailor bumping into it and causing the crates to start falling.
"Ooof! Crap, I got it!"
With the merchant bringing his mule to a forced stop, the captain reached his massive arms to grab the crates before anyone got hurt. Muscles strained as he held onto most of the cargo, yet failed to stop the top one from continuing its descent. Right towards another passerby, "Uh oh, wolf eared lad! Best look out there!"
Kashmere thoughtfully tapped on his lute as he tried to think of what to play next. Maybe something from Izumo? But those would sound better on a koto, which he didn't have, and even if he did he wasn't as familiar with Hoshidan instruments and there were just enough Hoshidans around to notice if he played it wrong. So, no Izumese songs. Maybe a shanty? They were more for singing, but he could make it work and was close enough to the docks that people might appreciate it.
So wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost missed with a truly massive older man shouted out to him. Kashmere looked up just in time to see a large shipping crate falling toward him. He dropped the lute and threw himself backwards. His body bent in a graceful ark and he caught himself on his hands, then twisted his hips and pushed off again. He landed gracefully on his feet a few yards away, facing the crate as it crashed against the ground right where he had been.
He took a moment to curse himself as he surveyed the damage. If he had taken a moment to think, he could have transformed and caught the damn thing, but the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. That was... a little worrying, actually. Shifting used to be as easy as breathing, and now he had to think about it. And worse, he had dropped his stole- very legally acquired lute and it was now in as many pieces as the shipping crate. He took a moment to mourn, then turned to look at the man who had warned him.
"You're huge," he said, because it needed saying, like seriously, damn. He shook his head, manually realigning his thoughts to a more appropriate response. "Uh, and thanks for the warning. That could have been messy."
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 6, 2017 6:52:28 GMT
Sounds of wood crashing into the ground caught the attention of pedestrians in the area, though most of them glanced for a quick moment before attending to their own business. The captain grunted as he settled the merchant's crates back into position, "Well damn, don't know if I can apologize enough for that. Aaah give me a moment." Nodding to the merchant, who sighed and made sure his stock was in order, Oliander move around the cart to examine the result of the damage. The broken crate was just filled with wooden planks, all of which remained unscathed, and the wolf eared guy had come out without a scratch. The instrument on the ground was another story.
If he was not distracted by the comment about being huge, of course. His personal size was always a prompt for the old man to boast, "Of course I am! What sort of captain would I be if I did not resemble the size of my ship? Gehahaha!" Business could be set aside until everything here was sorted out and egos were divulged. Yet he could not just take this young wolf looking fellow off on some adventure. They did not even know each other, "Hah hah, it's no problem at all though. I'm also damn sure I wouldn't want to see a young man such as yourself in harm's way by anything more than an accident!"
Upon taking a better look he confirmed this young man was a wolfskin. Rare was it that people like that were found out at sea. Oliander could not blame them either. Folks nowadays wanted their pelts for some reason despite the fact all of these beast changing peoples had human features. The captain glanced around, growing a bit paranoid with that logic in mind. He just got here, and his crew had a running bet on how long it would take for their leader to get into a brawl right after docking. "So, uh, sorry 'bout your instrument there, lad. If I didn't do somethin' to fix my big mess there I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. How about it, tell me just how much that cost ya, and I'll take it out of my own pocket for a new one!"
His arms folded over his barrel chest, appearing to amplify the mountain of bulk he already had. "Well since we're here, what's yer name, lad," the man inquired, his wide grin encompassed by his grandpa status beard.
So, a ship captain, huh? Kashmere could count the number of time he had been on a ship on one hand, but he could remember how much work went into running one. It seemed like an awful lot of work for little reward, so, you know, can't relate, but it would certainly explain the size of the other man. But still. Why would anyone willing spend all their lives on a ship? It seemed so boring. Ugh.
"Er," Kashmere said, because how did you tell a very genial man that was twice you size even in wolf form that the instrument had cost you nothing because you stole it. "That's very magna- mag- magnana- kind of you and all, but also really unnecessary." He shifted uncomfortably and tried to think. This guy seemed like the type to be pushy. Could Kash play it off? How much would the average lute cost, anyway? Maybe he should take the cash? Maybe letting the crate knock him out would have been a better plan after all. But if he survived, the guy might have sworn a life debt or something as an apology, which would probably be worse.
Oh, goodie, a diversion! "Kashmere. What about you, Gramps?" he asked. He found his busking hat off to the side of the mess and snatched it up before someone trying to clean up stepped on it. It was his favorite: a lurid yellow number with thick black stripes. He couldn't wear it thanks to his ears, of course, but he liked to look at it.
"What brings you to Cyrsenkia? You don't seem the singing and dancing type, so must be business?" he asked, spinning the hat around a clawed finger.
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 6, 2017 21:22:24 GMT
"Cat got yer tongue," the sailor mused watching the display of stammering. Yet, his jaw shifted to the side, frustration building at the insistence that any form of retribution was necessary. A quick scoff rushed from his throat, "Lad it's completely necessary! I broke it, I buy it. Speaking of." His body turned to face the merchant whose crate had broken, but the cart was already on its way towards its original destination. A good eye told the old man extra ropes bound the wooden planks onto a more secure position on the cart. Some other good soul began to clean up the leftover splinters from the crate's collapse. All Oliander could do was shrug and revert his attention.
With the attention span of a gold fish he recalled his question as to this young man's name. His charitable grin returned, "My name you say? Captain Oliander Magnusson! Feel free to shorten that hell of a mouthful, or keep callin' me Gramps. I let my own crew give me nicknames all the time. Of course, I don't remember all of them until I'm reminded." Giving his eyes another rundown of Kashmere, he noted the young man fancied himself a good set of clothes. By the factor of the now broken instrument it made sense to figure this one an entertainer. Not often was the old man able to witness someone in that profession, being at sea good portion of the time. Better to be doing work instead of pirating as far as the captain was concerned.
On that note, his own occupation was inquired. A chuckled escaped his lips, "Just reminded me I do have business to attend to. I run my own fishing crew, though I'm not against people who need to ferry across to another port. Just landed a few moments ago actually. Got my entire crew working on unloading everything. Now that I think about it, you don't seem to be the type who enjoys being bored. I gotta have a talk with the dock owner and all, so wanna come with and we can have a chat while we head off?" Even Oliander knew when to get his butt in gear and do significant work. He did not want a fine on his head for not reporting anything to the correct locale.
Well, the guy seemed easily distracted at least. And still bafflingly genial. He had meant the nickname to be a lightly insulting--the man couldn't have been more than fifty-five or so, not nearly old enough for someone Kashmere's age to refer to him as grandfather--but the guy had just rolled with it. Whenever Kash had wanted to rile up the troupe leader, cracks about his age had always been the way to go.
The corner of his lips twitched upwards as the Oliander rambled. It actually kind of reminded him of his actual grandfather. Of course, his own grandfather's preferred topic were how many human poachers he had killed in his youth and how soft the latest batch of pups were compared to his own generation, but the grandiosity and enthusiasm were about the same. It sent a strange pang of homesickness through him, a wistfulness he hadn't felt in years. Aside from the occasional culture shock that still hit him years after he left Mount Garou, he hadn't thought he could feel homesick anymore. Hell, it wasn't like he had even been particularly close to his grandfather, and yet.
"Sure, why not?" his traitorous little mouth said. Internally, Kash cringed. He wanted to get away from this guy so the earnest fu-gentleman didn't realize he was a thief when performing couldn't cover his expenses, and yet a little pinprick of sentimentality threw all that out the window. Ugh. Too late now.
Putting on his brightest Performer Smile, he spun away and began to walk along the docks. He transitioned from spinning his hat around on his finger to tossing it up in the air and then catching it, only half paying attention to where hewas going. After all, he had no idea where the dock owner guy's office or home or whatever way located. Well, he figured, Mister Captain Oliander Magnusson has long legs. He'll catch up. And if not, well, Kash could always take him on a merry tour of Cyrkensia. "You coming or not, Gramps?" he called over his shoulder.
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 7, 2017 9:00:19 GMT
Stranger danger continued to be a lesson crumpled up, tossed out the window, then retrieved so the process could be made again. A hypocrite almost to extremes, the old man made a self-justification that keeping a potential ally at bay with a ten foot pole was not the proper way to live. But then, Kashmere was not somebody from Hoshido. Wolfskins lived in the Nohr vicinity, and as far as Oliander was concerned he would treat them as such. This young man had not been a cause for concern yet either. Everyone would get a fair chance, and if his acquaintance proved to be a terrible excuse for a person, the sailor would react in an equivalent burst.
In truth the immediate attraction was the apparent realization this wolfskin was young enough to be his own son. Last the veteran captain checked none of his past affairs involved doing a few nighttime activities with a wolfskin, but the youth was all the same. There was little he owned in the matter of actual family. Somebody had to fill that void to some degree of satisfaction. His own crew members were not of much use in that regard, having their own lives to fulfill. Even the misfits he picked up moved on to better things, sometimes without so much as a 'thank you'. Booze would never suffice, and the old man doubted some concerned lady would kick his sorry butt again a few times over to snap him out of his slump.
Once Oliander's thoughts settled his eyes focused onto the lithe wolf boy. The notion of approval caused his grin to light up, eyes filled with an almost childlike joy, "Great! Ha ha ha! Shouldn't be too far from here, even if I am off course. Reminds me of a time back in my youth when I obtained my first ship and attempted to skip a port..." The old man continued on his story, with something about how he got caught in the ropes of a mast. A pause, and a voice range through his ears. Baritone humming turned his curiosity back towards reality as his head turned. His walking buddy was already off, and the sailor dashed into a jog to catch up.
"Slippery one ain't ya lad? Well if anything gets you out of trouble like before," the man said once he was aligned with the entertainer. They were going in the right direction already, which was a plus. At midday the docks were filled with various sailors rushing off to finish any last minute work before grabbing a bite to eat. His own crew must have been feeling the same garble of stomach churning, and the last thing Oliander wanted was a pile of meat bags unable to even lift a finger. "Well I gave you the rundown of my trip here, what about you lad? Even you probably can't say you just happened to come to one of the more prestigious port towns just for a walk," he said, his chuckle releasing it's optimistic aura.
Maybe the answer would provide further insight into this boy. He seemed too young to be wandering about like this.
Kashmere kept one ear swiveled back as he listened to the man continue to ramble, even after Kash had walked off. He grinned a little when Oliander's voice finally tailed off, and expression slowly spread across his face when the lack of voice was abruptly followed by heavy, pounding footsteps. The spring in his step, which had been slightly forced before, evened out, and if he slowed his pace just a hair, well, that was his own business.
Once Oliander caught up, Kash turned his head just slightly so he could watch him out of the corner of his eye. He wrinkled his nose. "Slippery is more of a Kitsune thing, but I guess," he said, doubtful. He had never met any Kitsune--they were as reclusive in Hoshido as his fellow Wolfskin were in Nohr--but that was what he had heard, anyway. Sneaky tricksters good at worming out of trouble.
The docks were getting more crowded, and Kash was forced to stop tossing the hat for fear of hitting someone with either the hat itself, or his arm when he tried to grab it. For all he liked to be the center of attention, he was not fond of crowds. Too many people touched him accidentally, and all of the noises and smells and visual stimuli could be overwhelming. Oliander was thus something of an unexpected boon to be walking with, since the crowd seemed to naturally part to let him pass.
"I'm a performer," Kashmere said, like he thought Oliander was a little slow for not knowing this automatically. "Cyrkensia is the place to be fore entertainment. Of course, most people who come here prefer to see Dancers or-" He scowled. "-singers in the Opera houses, but the point remains." He waved a hand like he could not be bothered with the thought, then continued. "I used to travel, though. Was part of a troupe and everything. But we had-" He hesitated and bit his lip. "-creative differences, and I continued onto Cyrkensia without them."
He rolled his shoulders, which turned into a full-body shake not unlike a dog trying to get dry. "But that's whatever." He turned his head to study the buildings they were passing. They all looked pretty much the same to him, and he felt suddenly a little lost. He looked back at Oliander Magnusson. "So where are we going again?" he asked with feigned nonchalance.
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 8, 2017 23:00:36 GMT
The man gave a shrug at the comment of Kitsune being the real tricksters of these shifting races. Rare was the chance that he met anybody like Kashmere, and even more rare was meeting somebody reclusive from Hoshido. Being sneaky was not an often thought of process when it came to the old man, as he almost never was required to be in a proper situation. Getting around people was no problem as the wolfskin's observation was correct when it came to other folks parting for the sailor's path. Most of these people, however, perhaps did such out of having other priorities. With the tension of war on the horizon some were trying to just live their lives and hope for the best, focusing on themselves and their families. Oliander could not blame them.
His attention was garnered by the young wolf's response. This young man had not been alone throughout the entirety of his life, leaving the captain's worries to end for the moment. Any experience traveling was better than none. What caught his ears on a much grander scale was the tone of Kashmere's voice when considering Cyrkensia's economic focus. Oliander chuckled, "Got a rivalry with a singer or somethin'? Maybe you should settle those creative differences in a grand street performance. HA! That sounds like it would be a sight to see." None of his companion's story was too good to be true. Even the most common of citizens had conflicts within their choice of career.
So far there were no regrets offering this stranger to tag along for a small amount of business. Even the canine like tendencies had a unique charm to them. Once more the conversation adjusted, an inquiry as to where they were even headed. The sailor had lead the wolfskin further into the port, nearby the old man's ship of all places. "Well first, if ya wanted to know, that right over there is my pride and joy of decades of hard work," Oliander boomed, pointing over towards his ship, its crew busy with their usual duties. Making a turn he went up towards a stall, a book keeper patient in his business, "And this is where I gotta do a quick check in. One moment lad."
Chatting with the worker, a careful ear would note something about being right on schedule, and payments for renting a spot to dock the ship. Reaching towards his belt the captain pulled out a bag of proper currency, setting it down on the counter. At this point the clerk said nothing and began to empty out the bag, counting to make sure everything was in order. Boring moment in this line of work. Oliander gave the clerk a nod, collecting what remained of his coin pouch, and maneuvered back towards Kashmere, "There we go, all settled now! Quick and easy, but can't say it's entirely painless. Hate dealing with dock clerks to be honest." He seemed to mumble something, but any audible sounds were of little consequence.
As he gazed around the port for a moment, another thought wandered into the old man's head of disorganized thoughts, "Ya know lad, gotta ask this. Where do you plan on going from here? Seems a bit too risky for someone like you to just head off on his own. Not saying you aren't capable, but from my perspective you're still a bit young."
Kashmere scoffed and waves his hand like he was swatting away a pesky fly. "Something like that," he said, because he had far too much pride to admit he didn't like singers because he himself couldn't sing. But even in his bad mood, the mental image of a duel of the arts conducted as a grand performance on the docks did have a certain appeal. Maybe he should see about goading another street performer into a battle. It would probably net them both getter profits than an afternoon of taking requests on the side of the street.
As they came to a stop, Kash glanced over in the direction Oliander gestured. "It's certainly a ship," he said after a moment. "It really... floats on that water." He wracked his brain for something else to say--it seemed adequately sized? It seemed to employ plenty of sailors? What did you say when someone showing you their boat, especially when you didn't know anything about them?--but when he looked up to gauge Oliander's reaction, he had vanished to go talk to the dock authority.
Deciding he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the clerks, he found a nice, large stack of boxes and clambered up on top of it. He quietly observed the people milling about. Dozens of humans, a few elves, and even a handful of dwarves, but no other wolfskin in sight. He wasn't what to think about that, or what kind of target it painted on his back.
He wasn't allowed a chance to wallow for long, though. A dock clerk seemed to materialize out of the aether and promptly chastised him until he climbed back down and found somewhere else to stand until Oliander finished his business. The man himself appeared soon after, bellowing about the troubles of bureaucracy or something. Kash wasn't really paying attention. He did, however, hear the question directed his way, and scowled.
"I'm twenty-five, not twelve," he said. His ears flattened against his head, and his lip curled up in a faint snarl. But as quickly as the animosity came, Kash smoothed it back down. He huffed slightly and looked away, gathering himself before speaking again. "I just told you I'm a performer, didn't I? If I want to work, I've gotta do it here, or maybe Macarath. Unless I wanted to take it on the road again, but..." he trailed off, then scrubbed the back of his head hard enough that his hair stuck up even after he put the limb back down.
"My plan is to work the streets for a while, get my name out there, and maybe one day I'll be working in one of those fancy opera houses where no one can touch me," he said. His smile turned wry. "Hell, maybe I'll get really lucky and a visiting noble will like my performance so much they'll want me as a personal entertainer."
Apparently having said his piece, he looked pointedly over toward Oliander Magnusson's ship. "You headed back to your ship now, or what?" he asked, in a clumsy attempt as taking control of the conversation.
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 9, 2017 6:14:37 GMT
Quite a few people would have figured this guy to be more trouble than he's worth. Yet, all those years of being at different ports, all those years of seeing crew members come and go, all of that forced the old man to not give up and walk away. Even with the slight snarl the wolfskin gave him. Oliander has seen much more terrifying things. Not that Kashmere could not be intimidating, a concept the sailor could be proven wrong about, but some people were too confident to allow such a threat to bother them. Part of Kashmere's response seemed troubled, like he was not one hundred percent certain about his life plans. A lot of it seemed to be luck even Oliander could admit was a stretch.
Fingers reached up and stroked his beard around the chin, thoughts starting to boil, "Maybe yer thinkin' about it all wrong, lad. Here's the thing, that's a damn good dream ya got there! Being famous doing something you love would be one of the most rewarding accomplishments somebody can have. Even you can't just rely on that and hope for the best though." Hands rest on his hips, giving the young man a good once over. He seemed to be on the scrawny side, but it would do. Lithe entertainers were unique in their own right, and those skills made for a person of Kashmere's build could do things the old man would have a harder time doing.
Not that he wouldn't try of course.
"Hmm. Well, first off, no I am not heading back to my ship just yet," he started, drumming his left hand's fingers on his hip. Oliander did not have the means to start an orphanage, but at the same time he could not just leave somebody he just met stranded here, "Doing what you planned is just going to have somebody go after you in ways unhealthy for your conscious. I refuse to let anybody bring harm to you for no good reason as long as you're in my reach." Maybe he was leading Kashmere on in the wrong direction. Either that or the old man enjoyed the theatrical aspect of long speeches a bit too much. The unfortunate aspect is the old sailor has had too much practice talking about his antiques.
Now was a good a time as any to get to the point, "So, if you don't want anybody to bring harm to ya and get your name out there, I have a much better proposition. You come join my crew and I on my ship! Entertain if you want every night, do a little work so you can take care of yourself, and go perform to your heart's content at every port we stop at. Best part as anybody trying to attack you would have to go through ME." His chuckle rumbled in his massive chest, a bout of laughter evolving from such a small act.
"Oh and one more thing. If you're twenty-five you're still young enough to be my own son! Therefore, to me you'll still be twelve," Oliander declared, bending down to Kashmere 's height and attempting to ruffle the hair on the wolf boy's head.
Kashmere's shoulders gravitated up toward his jaw the longer Oliander talked. A fairly significant part of him wanted to lash out. He had gotten off to a pretty good start with the snarling, he thought. It wouldn't be hard to growl out exactly what he thought about being talked down to like this, but, well, it wasn't like Oliander was saying anything wrong. How many times had the ugly little voice in the back of his mind said as much? How many times had he been forced to confront the idea that his pelt was his most valuable asset? How many times had he resorted to thievery with the excuse that it was only for now, that soon he would be making enough and would never have to do it again. Hell, how many times had the members his old troupe said the same thing as they were cutting their audience's coin purses?
He scowled and looked away, but held his tongue. He waited for the expected "so you should head back to Mount Garou like a good wolfskin and forget about all this" but. Kashmere's scowl softened into a bemused pout as Oliander's lecture turned a decidedly different direction. More perplexed than anything, he squinted up at the older man. Get on... the boat? Was he serious? He wanted to deny the proposition outright--why the hell would he want to be a cabin boy or whatever the crazy bastard had in mind?--but as Oliander went on, it actually made a disturbing amount of sense. Part of the magic of his gig with the troupe was their constant moment ensured that there were always people who hadn't seen him yet. By moving port to port, he would likely draw bigger crowds. The guaranteed funds and protection didn't hurt either.
But even as he warmed to the idea, he definitely wasn't going to allow the big bag of muscles to pet him. He ducked away from the hand and swatted a few times for good measure. "Don't- No! No, not allowed!" he said, and scowled until he was sure the hand would not make another swipe for his head.
Once he was reasonably certain there would be no head pats in his immediate future, he straightened up and looked out over the harbor in feigned nonchalance. "I suppose you make a point," he said, graciously, "but I'd want more of an idea of what you intend before I make any commitments." He peaked at Oliander Magnusson from the corner of his eye, and waited for a response. It seemed like it had potential to be a good deal, but he wasn't sure if he trusted it just yet.
Post by Oliander Magnusson on Feb 13, 2017 6:07:22 GMT
Retracting his hand back, the old man's grin shifted down, disappointment welling up. Oliander allowed his large hand to limp, "Daaaw. There goes a whole lot of fun." The captain was an odd one, having gone from cheerful wall of muscle to depressed puppy dog. Yet, the thought of ruffling the young man's head remained in the back of his mind. Once the sailor set his mind on something he tended to make sure he got his way in the future. He did not make it a habit of petting a wolfskin's head, but Kashmere had just enough youth that the notion was irresistible. Granted it would be silly to full on treat the boy like a true canine.
"Hmm? What I intend," the old man questioned as he returned to the hands on hips position. Blinking a few times, he tilted his head, confused as to the intent behind the question. Oliander did not plan on much else other than allowing yet another misfit to join his crew. Heck, he was certain all of the main guidelines were set out in front to avoid conflicts later. Anybody who retaliated against Kashmere at first would have a quick backlash from the captain on top of it. Shrugging, the old sailor continued, "Eeer, well, the most from my end is you helped with simple chores like cleaning and what not. Did I misinterpret?"
Oliander scratched the back of his head. He could not think of anything more to add to his response. Instead, his eye caught one of his crew trying to figure out where to put something. The captain gave Kashmere a signal to give him a moment, then raised a hand to his mouth to call out, "No, not there! Ye-no! Behind ya lad. Yeah there, there we go!" Oliander chuckled, resuming his attention on the wolfskin.
Another shrug and then spoke to Kashmere , "Regardless lad, ya might want to explain yourself a bit more about the whole 'intend' thing."
Kashmere crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. What you intend. Like, what am I supposed to do? Do I look like someone who has any idea what chores on a boat entail?" he said. To be fair, he was a little dodgy on what chores in general entailed. With the troupe, it had been pretty much every person for themselves aside from cooking and physically dismantling the camp. However, he had been banned from cooking duty because he never cooked the meat long enough and never used enough vegetables, and he had a feeling knowing how to dismantle a tent in under ten minutes would be less than useful in a place where there were none. "I could be selling my soul here! I don't want to agree just to find out I'm supposed to... I don't know... throw myself overboard and be the anchor every night." He had to uncross his arms so he could gesticulate properly.
His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "You did have something specific in mind, right? Like, there was a plan beyond "get the poor widdle wolfskin on the boat where he's safe"?" By now, Belligerence had taken its hold back from Reason and he was more or less arguing for the sake of it. He was mostly aware of this. He also mostly didn't care.
His waving hands came to rest on his hips in a surly mirror of Oliander Magnusson. "Well? Whatcha got?"
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