Fire on the Water
Posted: 18 Jan 2018, 02:14
Perhaps it was the chill. It was the damp air of the river that seeped down into the bones that made the darkness feel more ominous than most nights, or maybe it was the questionable nature of their cargo, or, maybe even the recent war that had raged through Harper Rock’s criminal underbelly and the violence that had stained the river red and it had made them all uneasy about hauling anything on those waters again. He couldn’t say for certain, but he knew that, in spite of their brave face, many of the crew were jumpy, either in spite of, or, more likely, because of their new shipmates that Chevalier had assigned to the Maria Klimt. They were shady, and worse, they were vampires. The undead and the rumors that had surrounded their presence in Harper Rock was only fractionally as unsettling as those that lived off the essence of the living. It was a terrifying thing for most of the crew, even if Chevalier assured them that the new crewmen were vetted carefully, and that none of them were in any danger.
Many of his old crew had left, leaving Captain Devereaux undermanned and without an experienced hand on deck, as well as a mostly untried and untrusted crew. He could strangle the company executive that thought that this had been a good idea. They were pushing too hard, asking for too much from these average folk, asking them to simply set aside fear and to just deal with the consequence of having such creatures on board this old rust bucket with them day and night, laden to the brim with contraband firearms that would land even the janitor a decade behind bars if they were found out.
Fortunate for them, the financial muscle behind Chevalier had proven on point up until now, able to bribe even the most straight-laced of officials into letting them operate without incident. Something about tonight, though, made Devlin uneasy. Even with all of the precautions he had taken, the pain he had endured to ensure the safety of his crew, the excruciating process of gaining power over their undead shipmates, something deep in his bones told him that tonight, something far more sinister than the undead stalked the old wooden decks of his ship.
The old boat groaned on the water, the steel plating that covered the half-rotted old barge scraping across a shallow bar of earth beneath the river’s black surface, the flexibility of the old ship’s wooden bones proving their worth as they warped and bent along the obstacle until it was clear, the steel only taking minor damage, though, with as many trips as Chevalier had them making these past months, they were looking at a much earlier dry dock than their typical maintenance called for. He was doubtful that the old nag could handle much more abuse. He would probably have the rust bucket docked after this trip, and tell Chevalier to kiss his ***. He wasn’t going to have his ship sunk to turn some faceless corporate puppet master that had probably never even set eyes on his ship.
It was easy to never fall in love with something you had never seen. He sighed as the ship slowly rocked on the water, pulling past the old, weathered stone that marked the halfway point of their nightly crawl when he heard scuffling below deck. The new men were prone to wagering on tests of strength between one another often turning into a bloody fight that, more often than not, ended up with one or more of these new crewmates dead. Though, he supposed, it was difficult to think of something that was already dead as being murdered. Especially when they showed up for duty inside of a week, sometimes sporting a new scar or some sort of ghastly wound, and sometimes not. He didn’t understand the process, and he didn’t ask for the gristly details. He was fine with his ignorance, so long as their aggressions didn’t turn on the few mortals he had left in his band of sailors.
He sighed, and rubbed at his stubbled cheek as he watched the black water drift by below, his sky blue eyes turning to find his first mate, the vampire that called herself Contessa, sent by Chevalier to be a sort of liaison between the mortal and immortal members of the crew and management. He found her to be less abrasive company than most of her compatriots, though they often butt heads. He found her draped across the wheel of the ship, locking eyes with the helmsman as he tried to navigate the shallow river. Devlin sighed, and pushed his fingers into his eyes.
The whore is going to get us all killed.
“[color= #2E9AFE]Contessa. Let the man navigate. Go satisfy yourself with one of the men down in the cargo holds and leave the work up here to run as smoothly as it may.[/color]” The sharp bark of his command brooked no contest, and his gaze turned away from the ebon haired Latina, even as she lifted herself from the wheel to shoot him a glare. She hissed beneath her breath, a string of Spanish flowing from her sinful lips as she disappeared into the sound of the scuffling below, the last sight of her was the shimmering moonlight in the inky black of her hair, just before she shot him a deathly glare, and disappeared into the dark. Devlin sighed, and glanced back to his helmsman.
“Carlton, if I have to tell your old lady about the witch, do you think she’s going to be happy about letting you leave port again?” The man visibly paled, and he wildly shook his head as he gripped the wheel tightly. “No sir, Captain. My hands never left his wheel, sir.” Devlin smirked at the man and pat his shoulder. “Oh, I know that. And you know that. And Contessa knows that. But do you think that Molly will believe any of us?” He laughed when the man looked like he might faint from fear of his woman at home, and pat the man’s shoulder. “Just do your job, sailor, and get us to port, and we won’t talk about the witch again.” The man visibly eased, and Devlin chuckled as he stepped from the wheelhouse, and down onto the main deck, where he began to check a piece of equipment here, or some mooring there, hand passing over the rusty steel of his old ship.
It won’t be much longer before she’ll need to retire, and Chevalier will have to replace the old girl entirely. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that.
He sighed, the sound wistful and almost sad as he let his fingers pass along the railing, a lover’s touch for a woman long at his side. A woman he knew that, before he was ready, he would have to part ways with. He shook his head, hand passing back through his sandy hair as his gaze swept to where the scuffle of the action below deck had grown most raucous, making its way to the mouth of the hatch, where he was sure to see a mass of flailing flesh and blood make its way onto his deck. There was a fire in his eyes as he prepared to tear into the men he saw breaching the code of conduct out on the main deck of his ship.
Many of his old crew had left, leaving Captain Devereaux undermanned and without an experienced hand on deck, as well as a mostly untried and untrusted crew. He could strangle the company executive that thought that this had been a good idea. They were pushing too hard, asking for too much from these average folk, asking them to simply set aside fear and to just deal with the consequence of having such creatures on board this old rust bucket with them day and night, laden to the brim with contraband firearms that would land even the janitor a decade behind bars if they were found out.
Fortunate for them, the financial muscle behind Chevalier had proven on point up until now, able to bribe even the most straight-laced of officials into letting them operate without incident. Something about tonight, though, made Devlin uneasy. Even with all of the precautions he had taken, the pain he had endured to ensure the safety of his crew, the excruciating process of gaining power over their undead shipmates, something deep in his bones told him that tonight, something far more sinister than the undead stalked the old wooden decks of his ship.
The old boat groaned on the water, the steel plating that covered the half-rotted old barge scraping across a shallow bar of earth beneath the river’s black surface, the flexibility of the old ship’s wooden bones proving their worth as they warped and bent along the obstacle until it was clear, the steel only taking minor damage, though, with as many trips as Chevalier had them making these past months, they were looking at a much earlier dry dock than their typical maintenance called for. He was doubtful that the old nag could handle much more abuse. He would probably have the rust bucket docked after this trip, and tell Chevalier to kiss his ***. He wasn’t going to have his ship sunk to turn some faceless corporate puppet master that had probably never even set eyes on his ship.
It was easy to never fall in love with something you had never seen. He sighed as the ship slowly rocked on the water, pulling past the old, weathered stone that marked the halfway point of their nightly crawl when he heard scuffling below deck. The new men were prone to wagering on tests of strength between one another often turning into a bloody fight that, more often than not, ended up with one or more of these new crewmates dead. Though, he supposed, it was difficult to think of something that was already dead as being murdered. Especially when they showed up for duty inside of a week, sometimes sporting a new scar or some sort of ghastly wound, and sometimes not. He didn’t understand the process, and he didn’t ask for the gristly details. He was fine with his ignorance, so long as their aggressions didn’t turn on the few mortals he had left in his band of sailors.
He sighed, and rubbed at his stubbled cheek as he watched the black water drift by below, his sky blue eyes turning to find his first mate, the vampire that called herself Contessa, sent by Chevalier to be a sort of liaison between the mortal and immortal members of the crew and management. He found her to be less abrasive company than most of her compatriots, though they often butt heads. He found her draped across the wheel of the ship, locking eyes with the helmsman as he tried to navigate the shallow river. Devlin sighed, and pushed his fingers into his eyes.
The whore is going to get us all killed.
“[color= #2E9AFE]Contessa. Let the man navigate. Go satisfy yourself with one of the men down in the cargo holds and leave the work up here to run as smoothly as it may.[/color]” The sharp bark of his command brooked no contest, and his gaze turned away from the ebon haired Latina, even as she lifted herself from the wheel to shoot him a glare. She hissed beneath her breath, a string of Spanish flowing from her sinful lips as she disappeared into the sound of the scuffling below, the last sight of her was the shimmering moonlight in the inky black of her hair, just before she shot him a deathly glare, and disappeared into the dark. Devlin sighed, and glanced back to his helmsman.
“Carlton, if I have to tell your old lady about the witch, do you think she’s going to be happy about letting you leave port again?” The man visibly paled, and he wildly shook his head as he gripped the wheel tightly. “No sir, Captain. My hands never left his wheel, sir.” Devlin smirked at the man and pat his shoulder. “Oh, I know that. And you know that. And Contessa knows that. But do you think that Molly will believe any of us?” He laughed when the man looked like he might faint from fear of his woman at home, and pat the man’s shoulder. “Just do your job, sailor, and get us to port, and we won’t talk about the witch again.” The man visibly eased, and Devlin chuckled as he stepped from the wheelhouse, and down onto the main deck, where he began to check a piece of equipment here, or some mooring there, hand passing over the rusty steel of his old ship.
It won’t be much longer before she’ll need to retire, and Chevalier will have to replace the old girl entirely. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that.
He sighed, the sound wistful and almost sad as he let his fingers pass along the railing, a lover’s touch for a woman long at his side. A woman he knew that, before he was ready, he would have to part ways with. He shook his head, hand passing back through his sandy hair as his gaze swept to where the scuffle of the action below deck had grown most raucous, making its way to the mouth of the hatch, where he was sure to see a mass of flailing flesh and blood make its way onto his deck. There was a fire in his eyes as he prepared to tear into the men he saw breaching the code of conduct out on the main deck of his ship.
