[Flashback] Ale brings out the best in all of us (Hawkins)

by **Naama** on March 30th, 2011, 10:48 pm

She should have disobeyed her own blasted honor code. Why hadn’t the bastard just let her die and save her the humility of being in not only a human’s but a male’s debt? In Taloba such a notion would be taboo. Men were second class citizens; they held no respect unless they worked for it. And this man… Oh this bastard was far from respectable. But there was something about him that begged attention, and so far, Naama was giving in.

“How do I know you’re not a lying rat?” She pressed her sword to his chin and lifted his head up, “Vermin like you could not possibly hold honor. You would stab someone in the back without another thought.” She enunciated her words with a nasty hiss, but even so she was considering his proposal. Her gaze flicked toward the streets, and the tavern not far from their location brimming with the sound of turmoil. There was no doubt in her mind that Naama stuck out like a sore thumb among these men. If she could not outrun them, they would find her in a heartbeat.

Ha! Apologize! Naama? She knew not the meaning of the word. There was a smirk on her lips when he finished speaking. “Apologize for killing a man who had no respect for the superior? There must be more to this than what you’re telling me, deyhan.” Then she swiped his bottle, took a long swig and shoved it back in his hands. “If you betray me to them, I will hunt you down and slice your balls off to put on display. I hope you’re ready to do all the talking.”

And now she waited for him to lead the way.

by **Hawkins** on March 31st, 2011, 12:13 am

"Quite honestly, love. You don't. You can see I'm not a rat, no tail, but lying? Well now. That is a mystery now, in'it?" He grinned, albeit his eyes flicked to the woman's sword. How telling.

When she let up Hawkins slid away. He ducked, spun, and stopped to face Naama, his countenance alight with a hushed excitement. He did not think that would work. Well! At least now he did not have a blade at his throat. Not literally, anyway. The one over his head, though, that one he was not a fan of. Nevertheless! Sliding forward, he turned their path toward the docks. On occasion he would raise the bottle to his lips and partake in his courage summoning ritual, unsure of even his own intention. His path was erratic at best. From the Fish to the piers was a short distance, but one that was packed with the unsavory sort. The same sort employed by the Baron, and by the looks of it they knew something was up. He crossed to a set of crates, doubled back, then took the long way around a wagon being loaded with supplies. It was all quite silly.

Yet somehow he avoided notice. It was an art. No one really questioned the man nor his peculiar companion, they just either ignored his antics or, at the right times, he was just not where he should have been. When they did reach some sort of destination he abandoned the queer form of stealth and instead took a direct approach, ushering the Myrian as he strolled down a pier that housed a singular ship. A very large, very imposing ship. There were men everywhere. Small gangs armed with an assorted degree of weaponry. Thieves, cutthroats, even a few legitimate sailors, all of them possessing an air of importance. Feigned importance anyway. None of them bothered Hawkins. Except for the annoyed looks and lewd comments no one intentionally barred the duo's approach. Except, that was, for the two guardsmen at the boarding plank. A short Vantha woman and a buccaneerish fellow stepped out to block their ascent.

"Tweedle. Dee." Hawkins said with a mock bow. They sneered. "My lads, I have business with your fair Baron. A proposition, yes?"

"What are you on about, Hawkins?" The short woman spoke with a light, fluid accent. Her sing-song voice did not match much of the common Sunberth populace. At least her words were clear. "The Baron's got no time for your fancies, idiot. Clear out."

"Ah! You wound me." A glance at the growling guard dog beside the woman drew a dramatic step to the side. "Or rather, you'd want to. Trust me, lass, this he'll like, eh? If not, clamp me'n irons and to the depths I go! For old times sakes."

The woman sighed. She threw her arms up in the air and stepped aside. Only after a few moments did her companion realize what she was doing and followed suit. Hawkins, pleased, blew the woman a kiss and hurried up before she hit him. The deck seemed hardly sea worthy. At least to Hawkins. There was a suitable lack of rope, if anything, and nothing was in order. Hell, the sails weren't even in the right place. What a waste. Such a beautiful boat put to dock for the rest of eternity. He almost shed a tear. Instead he ushered his halfbred companion along, dodging and juking past the groups of insidious fellows that kept this close to the Baron. A right hostile bunch. These men were not just scum, they were deadly scum. All of them knew how to kill and anyone could tell just by a glance. There would be no glorious brawls here. If anything, Hawkins noted, the archers hidden in the crows nest and on the rigging.

"Any of you kind gentlemen see the Baron?" He asked, loudly. Silence took the deck. They stared. "Oh. No then?" More staring. Hawkins blinked.

"Why. If't in'it dear old 'awkins!" The door to the captain's quarters flew open. The individual that stepped out was unimpressive. To say the least. He was short. Not too muscled. He wore an old, leather coat and a short brimmed hat, kept a degree of stubble about his chin and was unarmed. Strange. Yet with the horde of guards it made a small bit of sense. "Wha' is't tha' brings you 'ere, mm? S'far as I knew you were still los' ta'tha Fish!" He laughed. His men followed suit. There was nothing really funny about what he said, but they laughed anyway.

"Oh, you know. Doing thi- I've got somethin' you may, or may not really - although I hope you are - may be interested'n. This here!" He slid away, showcasing the Myrian. "Is a friend! Sort of. Not really. Anyway, she killed Mercer, jus' now down at the fish." The deck was all-of-a-sudden hostile. The men started to draw weapons, but the Baron remained still. He seemed interested. "Ah, ahhh, she's sorry! To be sure. Now, instead of you killin' her, which I am sure is the very first thing on your list today, I possess a... suitable alternative." He paused for effect.

"...Don' got all day, 'Awkins."

"Right!" He stepped forward, approaching the Baron. "You employ the girl. She's handy, capable, deadly! Eats hearts. You know. Scary bits. You get to replace that lousy sod Mercer, she lives, and everyone sees the grand mercy of the Baron! Eh?"

The Baron quirked a brow. He appeared confused. His gaze flicked from Hawkins to Naama then back to Hawkins. Just what the hell kind of plan was that?

by **Naama** on March 31st, 2011, 1:40 am

There really seemed no choice but to follow him, so she did. Sunberth wasn’t a particularly intriguing town, but its denizens did have a handle on stepping on some toes. Naama settled into following Hawkins to the docks, where the size of the ships left her, well, nothing short of bewildered. She’d never seen such vessels in all her life in Falyndar, for the Myrians only held small trading boats to get from Taloba to Black Rock. Here, especially the Baron’s ship, left Naama in such a state that she seemed to disregard the fact that Hawkins was leading her on like an ape on a leash.

When they arrived before the Baron and Hawkins began yet again (and quite effectively it seemed) yapping away, the woman listened closely. It was only when the men on the deck began to pull out their weapons as if preparing for a battle that Naama became rigid in her own stance. What a petching plumlicker. She thought angrily, although her attention was still devoted on the conversation he continued to carry out with the Baron.

Then the words hit her. “Girl” and “employ” in the same sentence? She glanced behind her, half expecting to see some wench washing the deck or slapping her bosoms for a man. But no. That bastard meant her.

“What!?” Naama barked. “If you think I will stoop myself so low as to work for some bastard of an ape who calls himself the “Baron”, think again, Hawkins.”

She stepped in front of Hawkins, pointing her sword at the short man, “Mercer, was his name? He couldn’t swat a snake if it bit him in the ass; I think you need to pick your men more carefully, Baron. So let’s come to this whole killing business, shall we? I killed Mercer, that’s all fine. He was worthless anyway. At least now your men have reason to kiss ass and take his place, assuming they have the balls to understand that there are greater threats out there than catching a disease from a wench.” She glanced at them, “Are your plums low enough to take me by yourself, human? One on one, with no help from your friends. Ah, but see there’s the difference, I fight alone.”

She lowered her sword, glancing sidelong to Hawkins with a sly smile dancing on her lips, “But if you want to kill me, I’d humbly request you dispose of this sailor first. He is, after all, trying to help a murderer.”

by **Hawkins** on March 31st, 2011, 2:00 am

Well. That was unexpected. Somewhat. Hawkins stared. He waited. He watched. The men were all ready, their weapons either brandished or half drawn, they had only to be given the word and both of the new comers were dead. Quick. Easy. No doubt the arrows would take them down before they even knew what happened. The Baron himself was impossible to read. His countenance was blank. Hawkins looked left. He looked right. The man knew when to speak, but more importantly he knew when not to open his damn mouth. And this? Either he was dead, or they were both dead. Or the suspense would lead him to suicide.

"Hah!" The Baron guffawed. "I like 'er. I do." The men all eased. Hawkins blinked. "I'll tell'ya what, you work for me for'a season or two an' we'll call't a debt paid, eh? I coul'use someone like ya, a Myrian even. Tha' outa give Dastanna some ideas!" Some of the men laughed. They chortled. Hawkins joined in. Jovial, the man made a fuss of blending, he turned about and clasped the Baron on the shoulder. The commotion died immediately. Someone coughed. Realizing his mistake, the sailor cringed and slowly removed his hand from the short man. He took two very awkward steps aside and winced, not daring to look up for the fear of an arrow through his eye.

"Now you, 'Awkins. Don' thin' you're clear. Ya'still owe me for that very precous cargo." Sheepishly, the man turned his attention back on the Baron. Balls. He opened his mouth to respond but the mock nobleman spoke up before he could even get out so much as a single word.

"Ah, ah, 'Awkins, before you go wavin' tha' sly tongue of yours, les'ear wha' the lady has'ta say. She knows the stakes, eh? Accept my offer, or ah, enjoy the las' few chimes of your life." The man snickered.

by **Naama** on March 31st, 2011, 6:16 am

The halfbreed kept her gaze fixed on the Baron. She even touched up her charade with a charming smile, because no doubt he would find her eyes particularly difficult to discern. She had an air of confidence that Hawkins seemed to lack, and it apparently more than made up for it! The silence, however, was soon broken by the Baron’s enthusiastic remark. Naama blinked momentarily in confusion. Had she not just said she wasn’t working for the Baron? Was he deaf?

“Petching men.” She swore under her breath, “What exactly does this work entail?” It couldn’t possibly pertain to filching off of old grandmothers and fetching sweet, innocent kittens off of trees. A brow quirked at the awkward laughter, well, more so at Hawkin’s than anyone else. Oh how the tables turned for the witty bastard in this predicament. Naama almost felt bad for the short man denying him the right to run that tongue of his. The key word being almost.

Naama glanced from the Baron to Hawkins, then Hawkins to the Baron. Now this is interesting… She smiled and jerked Hawkins toward her with one fluid movement. “Make this job half a season and I will work this dog, “’Awkins’ here to the bone. Whatever mishap he did to you will be repaid in blood, sweat and more.” She was lying of course. Or was she? Her eyes held a deviousness to them that could not be disregarded.

“But really, don’t kill him. I need someone to carry my swords.”

by **Hawkins** on March 31st, 2011, 5:20 pm

"Heh, and'ho says you go' room'ta discuss your particularly vicarias posishun, love?" The Baron smirked. Naama played a fierce game but he had all of the power here. Fair here was decided by how many blades you had. And he had more. "''Awkins 'ere has his own debts'ta be paid. An' hes had all the tyme I believe was agreed on, in'it tha' right?" Oh. That was bad. That was very, very bad. The Baron, distracted now, turned to face the unwitting sailor, a man that had only moments before had been at the top of his game. Hogwash! He was still at the top, just with the threat of death looming over his head. As if that would be the first time today. Hah! Ahah! It wasn't funny.

Some of the men closed in. Others laughed. Could they be any more stereotypical? Hawkins was almost offended, but not so much as to mention it.

"So I take it bringing you this fine specimen won't, ah, clear our arrangement then?" The answer was obvious. With a glance the man shot his most recent acquaintance a glance, a friendly, if ill timed, gesture and backed up. What was he doing? "No third chances? No easily escapable schemes? Some last words, perhaps?"

The Baron laughed. "Dose'll do jus' as any. Kill 'em."

The arrows would be first. Oh, how he hated arrows. Still, no time to complain. With a dive Hawkins threw himself to away from both the Baron and his spot as two fletched shafts impaled themselves into the deck. Whoa. How many men were there on this boat? Better yet, how many were trying to kill him? Even better, how could he get off?! With a yelp, Hawkins leapt to his feet and spun about, his arms flailing about at the onslaught of charging brigands. Wait. He had a bottle! Of course! That would help. Not at all. Gah! With a sweep the man cracked the glass container over the head of his first would-be murderer, the shatter and shards in his eye taking him by enough surprise to send him sailing backwards. Aha! Hawkins brandished his Cutlass, turned, and ran. Curses followed. The only problem remained that he was, in fact, surrounded. Balls.

Wasn't that rigging awfully worn? From what he remembered that was connected to the mast. Ah! With a lash of a hand, Hawkins grabbed a hold of a rotten bit of rope and swiped at the bottom. Up! Taunt, strict, the rope snapped upward and sent the sailor along for the ride. Panicked, he released his hold and flailed. For a singular moment he was in the air. Was this flight? Most likely not, gravity was proving to be rather nasty. A hand struck something - fleshy? - and grabbed hold. A yelp accompanied the act and though Hawkins had seemingly halted his descent back to the decks, it took only a moment to realize he was attached to the leg of an archer, one whom was grabbing desperately at a nearby rope ladder. Oh.

Right. Hawkins let go and caught himself on the rope. His sword came about and stabbed the fellow above him - he gurgled something as he fell - as he ascended, well aware that he was now being followed. What a mess.

by **Naama** on April 1st, 2011, 1:39 am

oocFeel free to drag her anywhere or whatev.

She should have expected it. Especially from a man who named himself the “Baron” and held quite an ensemble of men at his disposal. Such creatures were usually not the negotiating type from what Naama had seen outside of Taloba. But why Hawkins? She glanced his way, scrutinizing his reaction to the short man’s laughter and the resounding cacophony that erupted from the men. He seemed to get himself in a lot of shyke. Maybe it was a habit.

So Naama watched with growing fascination as Hawkins attempted a final shot at negotiations, and the resulting declaration of death for the poor man. She watched as he jumped out of the way from two arrows, found himself surrounded and thought up the most... unusual improvisation. What the petch was he doing? Why wasn’t he fighting to the death like a proper warrior?

“Hawkins!” She shouted, “Get your ass down here, fool!”

Then the woman turned and punched the Baron straight in the honker. “Hiding behind your men instead of soiling your hands yourself, eh? From my experience cowards don’t last too long on the battlefield.”

She didn’t give him a chance to react, because the Myrian had already turned to shove aside two men brandishing weapons standing near the gunwale, who promptly met the cold, harsh waters with a satisfying splash. The one advantage was the archers who seemed far too preoccupied with filling the sailor with arrows. Naama whipped her sword in the air using the hooks to act as an attachment and sent another man to the watery depths. She was following Hawkins, and there was a reason for it. There was a debt to be repaid.

Naama didn’t get away from the bustle of men unharmed. She sported new cuts to her arms and sides, but it did little to stop her bloodlust. She hooked her swords around a poor man’s throat and sliced his head clean off. There was an opening for Hawkins to get through, Naama was assuring it.

“Hawkins! Move your petching ass or I’m killing you myself.” She growled, and then there was a gasp. An arrow lodged itself into her shoulder, oozing blood. Oh, she was petching mad now. No man standing in between the land and the boat was left unharmed. She shoved and swung until an opening was secured, and Hawkins was through for freedom.

by **Hawkins** on April 1st, 2011, 9:30 am

Down?! He just got up! How was he. What was he. Why was he?! Oh sod it. With a sigh, Hawkins peered down the ladder at the men that were now climbing up after him. There was still that archer. He couldn't just go down. He could jump! No. No way. Enough jumping. There was always the rope. Around came the sword. One slice and the old, rotted rope on the side gave way. A jolt shook both the sailor and his pursuers, the latter of which began their immediate descent. This was going to suck. Swiping about, Hawkins cut the other side. Another jolt. With only the mid section left the man grabbed the higher part of the ladder and one last, final strike. Some men screamed. Some sighed in relief. Hawkins blinked. The failsafe below him gave way and he was left dangling in the air, only a single hand left to sustain him. The ladder swung inward with Hawkins attached. Right at the mast. Smack.

Owe. He released his hold and fell. There was a clatter and a clash as, for the second time that day, Hawkins' faill was broken by an assortment of unwitting fellows, those very same that had the full intention of killing Naama. With a bumble the sailor rolled aside, dizzy, dazed, but alive. He pushed himself up and regained enough sense to make out 'get them', 'kill then', and other such orders all coming from a wounded Baron. Oh. Was that Naama? He spun, grinned, then shrugged.

"You've got'n arrow in you." Whether it was fear of death or of the Myrian himself, Hawkins skipped off. He waved the woman to follow and blazed a trail to one of the skiffs on the starboard side, that of which he proceed to kick and push, the ropes that attached it to the deck straining under the pressure. "Just, you know, fight!" He allowed for Naama to hold their assailants off for the few precious seconds he needed as he worked, pushing the little boat over the edge and hopping on.

"On! Get on! And cut!" Swipe. Hawkins snapped the rope on his end and the other almost simultaneously, the miniature ship falling to the watery floor beneath and snapping under the pressure. The sailor fell on his ass with an unceremoniously thud, but he was hardly finished. He sheathed his blade and scrambled, limbs flailing as he rolled over into the water and out of the boat. Expecting his companion to do very much the same thing, he grabbed the edge while moving and flipped the wooden construct over and ducked his head inside just as several arrows embedded themselves into where he - at least where he would assume - was laying only moments before.

He shot the halfbreed a genial grin. "Welcome to Sunberth, love." Still. They weren't out of the water yet. Literally.

by **Naama** on April 2nd, 2011, 10:18 pm

Another sucker punch to the head! Naama was on a roll, at least for a better part of a minute. She had two men on her who threw some well aimed strikes to her gut, but she was petching mad. And when a woman was mad, it was best to hide yourself behind barred doors. Her hooked swords swung to catch around one mans neck, the other hooked around the opposing thug, then she jerked her arms together and brought them to a collision that left them collapsed on the ground from a headknock.

With a growl, she tore the arrow from her shoulder, tossing it to the floor. It stung, but the adrenaline was keeping the pain dulled while she fought. But it was only when she glanced up from her bleeding wound that she found herself cornered by a group of ill-eyed men. Their scowls ingrained in their expressions. Petch. Of course, not too soon, another body crushed the men under his weight, and it came to be none other than Hawkins himself. "Really?" She said incredulously. The men were groaning, momentarily shocked by the sudden impact. The halfbreed glanced from them to the retreating form of the sailor.

More men spilled onto the deck and Naama elbowed a thug in the jaw before he had a chance to stab Hawkins. There was no telling what the improviser was planning, but all she knew was that she never backed down from a satisfying fight. There was a wicked grin on her lips as she danced her way between swords, occasionally garnering a few more cuts to add to her collection of scars as she struck with knees to the groin and swords to the arms. The sound of a loud splash drew her attention; a stall that resulted in a vicious punch to her head. A flash of colors occupied her vision, and the halfbreed stumbled over to the side, where she followed suit and met the cold water with a resounding splash. Her grip on her swords secured, she swam her way underneath the wooden boat and popped her head out of the water for a breath.

"You're petching insane." She hissed, feeling the accute sting of the salt water on her wound. Clouds of red wove themselves around her. "'Let's speak with the Baron'? Were you expecting me to kill him for you? To rid yourself of your own problems, deyhan? I should rip your throat open right now." It should have been obvious; Naama was vexed. More so as she swore in Myrian.

by **Hawkins** on April 3rd, 2011, 6:54 am

Out of the fire. Into the very cold water. Ah, well! At least they weren't being pelted by arrows. Thunk. Or they were. For a moment Hawkins felt some kind of respect for that lone bowman, the one stuck atop that crow's nest whom insisted he could still kill one of them. There was admiration in such incredible tenacity. He might have liked that man if he was not dead set on killing both the sailor and his companion. How strange.

"Don't think that'll be doing either us much good, love." Hawkins spoke as he padded, his legs propelling them forward in some strange kind of ascent. Just had to get out of range. "Didn't figure he'd still be so torn up about that little spat. Have to say though, might fine taste he's got. Except for that hat. Hah!" Hawkins took a moment to ensure that his own hat was still very much in place. Somehow it was on his head. Did that even make sense? Probably not. As it was questions were bested avoided when it came to the subject of the sailor. He should have been dead too many times that day, and void willing, he would be dead by the end of it. "Honest as truth can be, eh? Fortunately this provides us with another well placed business opportunity, unless that is you're dead set on going back to the Baron." He grinned.

"Ah, this is us!" Hawkins ducked under the water. They had to do something about Naamas wounds - the sea was never the best antidote for an arrow to the shoulder - but Sunberth had few healers. Calyn, maybe? Braga. Ah. He swam swifting beneath the surface for some time, dogging along at a slower pace to allow for his halfbreed companion to keep up. When he popped up again it was beneath one of the long piers along the docks, he legs treading enough water to remain upright. A few splashes and a glance later a squat, fat man in a skiff rowed up to the pair of them as if the entire ordeal had been planned out. In truth, the boat was a failsafe. If your plans never worked it was always good to have a back up. Satisfied, Hawkins pulled himself over the edge of the boat and flopped about like a fish before he helped Naama on as well, assuming she would allow such a thing.

"Did'n ga well, ah 'awkins?" The fat man said, his rowing self taking them out from beneath the pier. At least the tide wasn't in, otherwise they may have been screwed.

"Squig, your talent for understatement is a creature of legend. Take us to the market if you will." He said before turning toward Naama with a grin. He had a feeling he was about to be punched. "I suppose we should get you to a healer. That can't feel good."