02 - Piracy is sentimental with salty bits

[freearcadia]

[Learning in the Vaults]

[Harlock is attending a lesson on how Ether-driven ships work, taking very copious notes, though it's clear some of the more technical terminology being used is beyond his current language skills, phonetically writing down the words with question marks as he also roughly sketches out the parts, murmuring under his breath.

Once the classes clear, he waves people down]

Pardon, would you mind helping me go over my notes?

[Flotsam Taverns cw: alcohol, implied alcoholism]

[It's well past sundown, and the moon is high - the hour is so late that the mood in the bar - The Dancing Skipjack - is undergoing a seachange from rowdy carousing to melancholy and sentimentality. A dwarf with a concertina had just finished a shanty about how the dangers of sea monster hunting is worth it for the village boy waiting for the sailor on shore. A few patrons left, but others not done yet are calling out for someone else to sing.

Meanwhile, Harlock was sitting at a small table, apparently drinking since he sat down, and yet seemingly as sober as a temperance judge, humming softly before he glances up upon sensing someone approaching, before letting out a sound of assent, inviting the person to join him at the table, even as the call for more songs continue.]

I hope you don't mind shanties, it seems like everyone's looking for a little song tonight.

[Locked to Donatello, not long after the mission end]

[Harlock's thoughts turned over the raid, they did well, much better than he anticipated but there could've been more done, difference choices, but right now - he was more concerned how Donatello was holding up - the pirate has seen his share of first battle shocks. It's a reminder to him that while he's used to this, many aren't.

When he finds the turtlekin, he waits for a moment, before calling out]

How are you holding up?

Wildcard

[hit me up at RShini if you want to plot, or just throw something and see if it sticks]

Comments

Re: Taverns

[freearcadia]

"Everyone has their part," He murmurs softly, watching the lager ripple in his glass from the motion around them. "It's not often I get to see a win that is more than just eliminating a threat."

He likes it, even got to offer mercy - that wasn't in the cards in the sea of stars.

[tisfinished]

He shrugs. "If we aren't building something better, it doesn't matter how many Imps we sink. I could have taken an axe and a shield and gone on the frontlines. There's a reason I became a victualler instead."

[freearcadia]

Victualler, what an odd term - but he could guess it's meaning given the Dwarf's previous comments. "While I am the type who cannot stay on the sidelines." A long drink, he mulls over that statement - the Earth he left, others rebuilding from ashes. "There needs to be better, but I am a pirate - it is not in our nature to build,"

[tisfinished]

"Rough men ready to do violence for those softer," he says, nodding, before taking a pull of his beer. "I can only say what makes me happy - seeing people healthy and properly fed."

He pauses, shelling a nut, popping it in his mouth, chewing on it. "But knowing you've done real damage to the kind of people who starve their labor? You can and should get satisfaction from that."

[freearcadia]

Hard men, soft men, an old phrase rolls around in his head, pushing it aside, knowing he had to reassess his own thoughts on it later. "Starve and force their labor." he stated firmly, setting the empty mug down, a waiter giving Harlock a bewildered 'again?' look as he replaces the man's mug.

"The Imperials remind me much of old enemies, seems I am not destined to have more than a moment's peace."

[tisfinished]

“Having those kind of enemies is a mark of honor,” he says. “You’re not from around here, are you? You were forced here.”

[freearcadia]

He nods. "Yes, I am from a world where humans have gone beyond our home world, into the sea of stars..." Only to abandon the stars to huddle in dirty, polluted world to swallow government propaganda wholesale, he bitterly thought. "An empire came to claim humanity's cradle as their second homeland, enslaving and destroying entire worlds in their march."

"The imperials seem so small compared to the {{Mazones}}, but their lack of heart is similar."

[tisfinished]

He whistles in his appreciation of that feat, to sail the night sky. “And what shoals do you wash up on in that sea?” he wonders out loud.

“I’m not sure I like knowing there are always folks who want an Empire, but knowing there are always folks who’ll oppose it is good enough for me.”