Artwork!

There are a ton of talented artists in the Feathermoon RP community, and I've always wanted to get my mitts on some of their work for my characters. Well guess what, suckers? I got some.

Featuring: Skulley (YARR, now that is some Sex Leg right there) and Ysani (BOOBIES), both by Gaets. I'm glad I could steal some of her talent help her get back into her artwork. Thanks a ton to her, and to Pill and Ale, without whom I wouldn't have gotten either of these pretty arts.

Current Events in RP!

**Thanks to Ghaar, who reminds me that I am indeed missing something... a super sekrit plot involving Astrani, the brickwit troll. However, part of being sekrit means I'm not spilling any details! Neener!

I have several long story arcs in the works for two of my characters. It's slow work and I am lazy, so it's just being pieced together in spurts and I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to finish them, let alone do them justice. I'm going to try, though!

Since it's hard to keep track of everything, I'm just gonna post what's happening with each of my active characters and what sort of project to expect from them.

• A slim file, obviously new, and containing extremely sparse information on one Adelaide "Skulley" Skelton now sits on Agent Jeremiah Newhall's desk.
• After narrowly avoiding a run-in with Booty Bay guards, Skulley is taking a breather before her next big job... a hunt for CURSED TROLL TREASURE! Yarr. Does she know it's cursed? Not yet!
• Unbeknownst to Skulley, an account of her life as Adelaide is being constructed by a certain ham-fisted wielder of words. Don't worry, it's a very happy story. Up until everyone dies.

• After class one evening, Thiyenn eats a massive meal of banana bread, goat cheese, pickles, chocolate cake and an entire jar of mustard. This leads to a very public heaving of guts and embarrassing revelation to nearly half of her friends, teachers and academic peers that didn't already know or guess that she was pregnant.
• Professor Arrens Caltrains, the headmaster of Stormwind University, is skilled in shoving his foot in his mouth. When he asked where her husband was, Thiyenn lied. Apparently the nuances of her relationship with the father of her child and his current whereabouts aren't meant to be discussed in front of half of the student body (and the professor's bride-to-be).
• But hey, Thiyenn now has a Super Special Job, that being the crafting of Miss Aely's wedding dress. Take THAT, Delion!
• Having been encouraged by an instructor to improve her writing (and more importantly, handwriting--she prints no better than a child), Thiyenn has taken up the task of putting down what she remembers about growing up with the Darkmoon tribe. It's good for taking her mind off more recent events. It's also her first foray into introspection, so I expect some personal conflict.

• Libby, the Rainsinger, is engaged (!) to elf (!) hunter Fenniel (!!), the original geeky belf hunter. They are getting married (!) in a ceremony (!) in Mulgore this May. Firael has been roped into the role of Best Man and will be sporting some fashionable tribal garb (read: leather straps). Oops, I forgot to (!) that.

• On the verge of a breakthrough in eye replacement technology, Ysani has put on the weight she lost during her Haydren-terror phase, mostly due to sitting around working on projects all day with Firael and Fenniel, the wonder twins.
• It's been a while since there was a frenzy of speculation on the particulars of Yissy's relationship with Firael, however, several members of the PoL tease her privately. She is adamant on the point that they are Just Friends, and, in fact, everything seems to be quite fine with her and Keilos.
• Dir creeps her the hell out. Quit staring at her tits, already!
• Where the hell IS Haydren, anyway? God only knows what sort of terrible things he's planning. One hopes he's given up, but I think we all know that's not the case.

• Ambika is readjusting to her life as a troll and seems pleased with that particular development, but grows increasingly distant. Her quest to gain more power, as far as she's concerned, has yielded paltry gains; this may lead her to new and dangerous paths as the world moves on.

• Sergeant Harker has traded the relentless heat of Hellfire for the chill winds of the North and oh MAN is she pissed. Her attitude leaves something to be desired, but she's working hard (and dressing warm), which gets her at least a modicum of respect from her peers and superiors. Something exceedingly strange happened to her the other night, perhaps she'll tell us about it soon...?

I've got a lot on my plate, certainly, and I really need to learn to stop biting off more than I can chew. Here's hoping that all these and more will get proper documentation. Did I miss anything?

RL: December! A month of stuff.

December! It is here, it is cold (relatively speaking) and pretty much the second half of the month is going to be spent traveling and with friends & family. Hooray!

RP seems to have hit a tiny bit of a lull, but not to worry. I'm going to get off my ass (figuratively speaking) and write some today. If that fails, well, there's still lots more to archive.

WoW is scraping the barrel to keep my interest right now. I'm tired of the content that's available and have very little interest in some of the things that usually keep me entertained between major patches and expansion, such as alt-leveling and gold-making. All that I really want right now are the stories, the meaty little interactions between characters and the moving forward of their supposedly exciting lives. In a world where everything's always hovering on the edge of catastrophe, you'd think things would be a little crazier.

Then again, one of the surest ways to prevent falling apart during times of extreme duress is to maintain your daily routine.

Some storylines that I'll be working on soon:

Ambika. Bika's still trapped in a elf's body and is none too happy about it. I need to write up Yayo'jin's meeting with her to begin moving forward.

Ysani. Yissy is playing tug of war with her conscience right now. Spending countless hours on a joint engineering project with Fenniel and Firael has her wondering if she's missing something in her relationship with Keilos. She's young and still learning what compatibility means. Is there ever a truly right answer?

Libby. Our favorite obsessive-compulsive druid is still happily distracted from impotency woes by her pet geek. Having Fenniel around gives her life focus. Learning to live with both companionship and intimacy is an enjoyable challenge, but she's not sure where to go from here.

Skulley. Laying low for the most part, Miss Adelaide (and no, you may not call her that) may be in for a shock if anything comes of her little foray into the Stormwind prison system. She is a dot on SI:7's radar, and what happens next will depend on whether they dismiss her or not.

Astrani. You haven't seen her in this blog, which is understandable considering she's all but retired. However, there's a story for her in the works and it promises to be a very interesting one. Sorry I'm being vague, but it's going to be awesome and you'll want to be surprised. Everyone loves sekrits, right?

I have two cups of coffee in me now, and I've caught up on my reading. Looks like it's time to get to work.

Ye've Got a Nice Arse [PG-13]

Not too long after I revived her, Skulley went to the Pig & Whistle for a bit of whiskey and smoke and happened across one Tarquin ap Danwyrith. She spent the rest of the evening staring at his finely-sculpted man-tush in a most unsubtle fashion, and later that week when my song-writing itch flared up (I know, I know, they make a cream for that) I thought it would be fun to write a bawdy little bar-song from Skulley's point of view.

Yes, there's a melody. There's also a half-assed harmony, and my brother is actually working on a bit of music to go along with it. I can't wait till I hear what he makes of it.

It's worth mentioning that Skullz, when amusing herself, likes to ham up her accent. The harder it is to understand her, the more apt her eyes to sparkle and her smoke-tinged laugh to ring out, drawing attention like as not.

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Ye've got a nice arse so let's do it

We'll go back t'my place an' discuss it

I've got whiskey an' beer and a cup a' good cheer-O

Th' drinkin's on me

Here's hopin' that you will be too.

Ye've spurned me advances, an' yes, that's a first

An' if y'don't love me, methinks I may burst

That's a lie, but I want ye ta give me a chance

I jus' want a fuck, not romance.

Ye've got a nice arse so let's do it

We'll go back t'my place an' discuss it

I've got whiskey an' beer and a cup a' good cheer-O

Th' drinkin's on me

Here's hopin' that you will be too.

Just give th'sign, cully; I'll sit in yer lap

Ye've all a' me sweetness an' graces on tap

An' nivver a lass a' sich discernin' taste

'As ever took roost on yer face.

Ye've got a nice arse so let's do it

We'll go back t'my place an' discuss it

I've got whiskey an' beer and a cup a' good cheer-O

Th' drinkin's on me

Here's hopin' that you will be too.

Now if yer ear's closed ta such bawdy ol' verse

Per'aps I've misjudged ye, ye'll hate me or worse;

If tryin' ta bed ya requires a dance

I'll do it ta get in yer pants.

Ye've got a nice arse so let's do it

We'll go back t'my place an' discuss it

I've got whiskey an' beer and a cup a' good cheer-O

Th' drinkin's on me

Here's hopin' that you will be too.

I'm hopin' that you will be too.

RP: Out of the Frying Pan Pt. 3

Out of the Frying Pan Pt. 3

Author: Skulley

Marta stared at Skulley.

Skulley stared back.

The stockade was no hotel. Dead roaches lined the floor under the rough wooden bench on which the slender woman now sat, lit cigarette in hand. The rough-hewn stone walls wept cold moisture. Somewhere, water dripped slowly and relentlessly onto the damp stone floor. Marta was planted on the sagging bench bolted to the opposite wall. She coughed, a distressingly wet and noxious sound that echoed in the tiny cell.

"Nice place, innit?"

Pale, piggy eyes regarded her stonily from a bloated face marked with broken red-purple veins. Marta was a massive woman with ponderous, sagging breasts; broad as well as tall, she was as fat as Skulley was thin. Her enormous feet sprawled halfway across the room, covered in worn and filthy workboots. Tattered overalls attempted--and, thankfully, mostly sufficed--to cover her bulk. Skulley reckoned each of the thick hands resting limply on Marta's bulging thighs could easily lift a small child by the skull and crush it with a minimum of effort.

Marta spat.

Skulley stared briefly at the quivering lump of congealed phlegm as it steamed next to the rusty iron bars cemented directly into the floor and ceiling.

"...Reckon if we put up some curtains it might make the place right cheery."

Marta grunted. "Bate 'is 'ead in wi' a 'ammer."

A cloud of smoke and steam issued from Skulley's painted mouth. "Y'don't say."

"'Ee na'er shat up nei'er."

"Fascinatin'."

Plink. Plink. Plink.

"Well! S'pose I'll spend th'rest a' me evenin' in th'parlor, then. Call if y'need me, eh darlin'?" Skulley shifted slightly on her bench and lit a fresh cigarette off the stub of her old one. She'd been chaining since Newhall'd had her frisked and taken both the plain silver lighter and her box of matches, as well as a number of other items labeled as contraband. Who knew when she'd get another light? Clearly the only solution was to smoke 'em while she had 'em, and they'd been kind enough to leave her with the worn tobacco pouch she wore knotted around a belt loop. Her jacket and confiscated locksmithing kit, however, were now hung somewhere in a cheerless, dingy office not much better than the rest of the run-down city jail.

The smoldering butt of her dying cigarette danced off her fingers and hissed in a small pool of standing water near the south wall. Then it hissed again. Skulley's pencil-thin brows lifted.

"Psst."

"Fancy seein' you here, Alej."

"Funny how that is. Captain sent me." Alejandra, snippy as ever, materialized just outside the prison cell, her small, dark form lodged firmly between the bars and the small stone outcropping that divided the room from the main thoroughfare and kept her hidden from casual observers. She passed a handful of bobby pins and a small thief's kit, a leather wallet with a row of small picks tucked into the loops inside, through the bars.

"Bit a' overkill on th' picks, love." She felt out the keyhole on the door, skinny arm wrapped around the bars. The lock was old and in spite of a bit of rust, it tumbled over in seconds.

"Don't bitch, you're lucky I came out here at all."

"Now now, sweetheart. Save the pussycattin' fer th'ship. Can ye pick at all? These locks is child's play, an' I need ta make a stop at th'warden's office fer me shite."

Alej rolled her eyes. "You need a distraction."

"Yarr."

"You owe me, Skelton."

"'Course I do, sugar." Skulley swooped down toward the little deckhand. Alejandra didn't have time to react and took a brief but firm kiss to the mouth.

"...I'll fuckin' kill ya."

"Go on, darlin'. Lots to be done before we can clear outta here." Skulley's grin threatened to split her face. She turned and executed a sweeping bow toward Marta, dodging a half-hearted dagger-lunge from her livid crewmate and darting out into the hallway, where she promptly melted from sight. Alejandra sighed.

"Feckin' shite." Alejandra spat and headed the opposite direction, relying on her own tarnished pick to flip the locks on half a dozen cells down the block, picking the ones housing the least offensive-looking brutes--all the men who looked at her without a dull spark of rape-lust in their eyes, anyway. Just enough to cause a ruckus.

By the time the hectic clanging of the alarms began, both of the Guppy's crewmates were safe on board. Alejandra disappeared down-decks. Skulley pulled a lighter from the pocket of her reclaimed jacket and lit a cigarette, then knocked on Xionn's office door.

"Sorry I'm late, boss."

RP: Out of the Frying Pan Pt. 2

Out of the Frying Pan Pt. 2

Author: Xionn

"Skelton's over an hour late Captain, how much longer are we going to wait?" Lafoot was sifting through papers attached to a clipboard, most of which were notes from Rafegar about the location of cursed troll treasure. "We didn't wait near as long as this for Old Mustardbeard."

Xionn took a long drag on his cigarette, leaning of the railing of the ship. They were currently docked in Stormwind. Only a single moon hung in the sky like a lonely Winter Veil ornament, the other hiding somewhere over the horizon. "I know how long we been waitin', Lafoot. What ye don' realize 's th'value o' information 'n patience." There was a long silence. John waited expectantly for Xionn to explain. He didn't.

"...I don't follow, Captain."

"Word is, major raid's gone down on tha blokes what calls themselves the Riders. Every lowlife in th'city's all giddy. Gettin' ready t'play their 'ands."

Lafoot nodded. "I follow ye so far. You're not planning on raiding them too, are you?"

"Neptulon no, Lafoot. Y've got sugarcane fer brains." Xionn turned around on his heel, stubbing his cigarette out on Lafoot's surcoat. John winced, despite the layers of clothing. "All'a th'goods 'ave been confiscated already. Anythin' valuable, both illegal 'n legal's in th'pockets o' Stormwind's blue 'n gold. That is t'say, th' nobles. Word is 'few crates of 'rathi Gold made it inta the'r 'ands as well."

"So... we're going to steal from the King himself, is what you're saying?"

"King prolly don' know shat 'bout this. Nay, yer goin' ta take Jerijah, clean 'im up, an' botha ye 're goin' t'look like presentable blue 'n gold. Accents 'n all. Only yer paper's goin' t'list ye 's Shaw's men. Only Shaw'n 'is two lapdogs'd know the dif'rence. Git those goods onta th'ship."

Lafoot looked concerned, although his features were mostly hidden by the shadows cast by the sails. "And what about the troll treasure? Brother Sul's Cargo?"

"We sail 'fore th' next moon, Lafoot. Troll treasure ain't goin' naywhere, 'n Sul's men don' need us fer 'few days yet."

"And what about the rest of us?" Alejandra's voice came from just under the stairs on the deck below. She quickly ascended them and stood beside John. "I'm not taking a pay cut 'cause I didn't get t'do anything."

"I was gettin' t'ye." Xionn chuckled quietly. "More'n likely, Skelton's holed up somewhere safe, 'r in the Stocks 'erself. Given 'er tendency t' 'ang round with this crowd, 'd wager th' latter."

Alejandra snorted. "So I'm breaking Skelton out? Fan-fuckin'-tastic."

"Not just Skelton, Alej. Yer doin' a large scale jailbreak. Wouldn' want th' higher ups t'think Skelton's important 'r anythin' like that. An' if Skelton's nay there, jailbreak's a good distraction fer Lafoot anyways."

"And if I refuse?"

The sails cast shadows on Xionn's face as well, but there was just enough moonglow to make his wide, malicious grin stand out. "There're worse things'n helpin' a matey y'dun like, Alej."

RP: Out of the Frying Pan Pt. 1 [PG-13]

Skulley's been spending her Tuesday evenings in a tavern called the Pig & Whistle. It's officially owned by the Langstons, but a group of entrepreneurs (read: reprobates) called the Wildfire Riders, headed by a fella named Tarquin ap Danwyrith, are heavily invested in Old Town's most famous pub and spend a lot of time there. (Tarq's got a really nice ass. At least, Skulley thinks so.) Anyway! Tarq and his group have (repeatedly) pissed off some higher-ups in the Stormwind government's secret service (that'd be the SI:7) and the head of said organization wants him in custody. The authorities staged a raid on the Pig one evening in an attempt to serve an arrest warrant to a mysteriously-vanished Tarquin. Skulley decides she doesn't want to be questioned and tries to slip out the back. Oops.

______________________________________________

Out of the Frying Pan Pt. 1

Author: Skulley

It was a sight easier to maneuver past the kitchen than it was to fade unnoticed from the tavern's open hall, and Skulley relaxed a bit as she put on her best casual face. She lit a cigarette, hit the back door without breaking stride and sauntered into the night. A hand closed on each of her thin upper arms and she smiled, exhaling smoke through her nose and saucing up her usual clipped accent.

"Yarr mates, glad t'see yer not too shy t'approach a lady walkin' all by 'er lonesome in a dark alley."

The guards didn't return her cheerful grin. Without looking around, Skulley counted her opposition. Four--no, six--uniformed guards in plate and armed with steel surrounded the back door of the Pig & Whistle, the one on her right towering a good eight inches over her, the one to her left squat and swarthy. Two men dressed in street clothes smoked nearby, watching with great interest. She smiled broadly and produced a convincing hiccup.

"Cat got yer tongues, I see. Pity that, coulda used one of a night. How're ye lads?"

One of the smoking men strolled over to the pool of sickly light that washed over the Pig's back porch, stepping just inside the circle it made and tipping back his cap to peer up at Skulley.

"Think you can just slip out the back in the middle of a raid, do you? Bring her down the stairs, Hensel."

She allowed herself to stumble ever so slightly on the last step. Both guards tightened their grip on her arms. "World's a bit wobbly t'night, sorreh boys. Mind lettin' a lass have a touch more a' her ciggy 'fore it burns down ta ashes?" She lifted her hand but her arms were pinned firmly to her sides by the guards. Ol' Plainclothes plucked the cigarette from her spindly fingers and put it to her lips, solemn as stone as she sucked in a lungful of fragrant smoke and batted an eyelash his way. He dropped the rest on the cobbles and crushed it beneath a scuffed black boot.

"Thanks, love. Yer a great help. Not t'mention ye've a splendid arse."

"Papers, ma'am."

"In me left pocket, love. S'deep, though. Y'might hafta dig 'round fer it." A brisk search yielded nothing but a sly grin and a theatrical lowering of the lashes. "Mayhap it's in me other pocket, darlin'. A girl forgets day ta day which side 'er pants is buttoned on, an' all that."

He checked the other, flushing slightly when his rummaging elicited not only a slim wallet, but a husky purr. She tilted her hips almost imperceptibly toward him and grinned. He jerked his hand back as though stung, cleared his throat and flipped open the fine square of folded leather. The papers inside were a fine reproduction, truths and lies spread liberally throughout. She hoped they would suffice.

"Bold as brass... Skelton, is it? Never heard of any Skeltons around here. How long have you been in the city?"

"Reckon two weeks, give 'er take. Me ship's docked here fer a spell." Skulley smiled sweetly in spite of the gauntleted hands curled around her arms, digging painfully into muscle. She summoned another drunken hiccup.

"Have you seen one Tarquin ap Danwyrith this evening?"

"Aye, but don't hold me t'that. Never did have a good look at his face, had me distracted wi' his magnificent backside an' fuckin' amazin'... hat."

"Is he still on the premises?"

"Didn't see where he got off to." She staggered a bit on her high-heeled boots, then steadied herself and gave her interrogator a wink. "What's yer name, handsome?"

"Officer Newhall to you. Tell me, Skelton, what's your business with the Riders?"

"Who?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You were just drinking with them and leering at their gods-damned kingpin."

"Oh, is that them, then. Well, I s'pose I give 'em me coin fer whiskey, an' th'pleasure a' me company free a' charge."

"Have you ever, or are you currently working with or for any of the Riders or their associates?"

"I take orders from one bloke. Only th' one, an' he's no more a Rider than yer mother's a--"

He raised his hand, cutting her off. "Answer the damn question."

She spat near his boots and licked her lips. "No, I'm not, an' I haven't. That's th'honest truth."

"Nine out of ten liars love to use that phrase."

"Nine out a' ten statistics is made up on th'spot, Officer Whoever-Ye-Are, an' ten out a' ten arseholes love ta cite 'em."

Newhall leveled a piercing gaze at the lanky woman, sharp green eyes boring into her dark and mirthful ones. He didn't particularly believe her claims, nor did he disbelieve. Shaw had his knickers in a twist, however, and his orders were clear. A raid, particularly this raid, wasn't something to be taken lightly. It'd be in the papers tomorrow under headlines in three-inch print and he'd be damned if he didn't make every effort to make it count. It would be best to take her in for more questioning; a humbling would be even better, given her defiant and fearless smirk, and he'd be more than happy to deliver it. His silent deliberation was cut short by the next comment dropped dryly from her purple-painted lips.

"Don't suppose ye'll let me be on me merry way soon, officer? Got work in th'mornin', an' t'be honest yer about as much fun as a boil on me arse."

A cold steel bracelet clicked around her wrist. If the cuffs were any bigger she'd have been able to slip right out of them; as it was, the tightest setting was only made effective by the jutting crest of bone just below her skinny thumb. Some quick shuffling by the guards ensued and Newhall was able to fasten the other cuff behind her back. She didn't fight.

"Adelaide Skelton, you're under arrest for public intoxication. Bodrick," he addressed the other plainclothes smoker, "keep an eye out for more stragglers. I'll take her in."

"Have fun."

Skulley aimed a wink and a kiss over her shoulder in the direction of Newhall's partner as he led her away. His face was branded on her memory. "I will, love. I will."

"A'right, git." [PG-13]

[Marked PG-13 for some mild sexual content, you're welcome Verdus ;)]

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Pretty sailors with broad, tall bodies and easy smiles are a dime a dozen at port. Robert is also young, straight out of Westfall. She would put money on it. Farm boys with a way of speaking plain and hardly a chest hair have no business being out in the heart of the Cartel's dealings, but they run off to do it anyway, thirsty for more adventure than they can find behind a plow. In this case, he hasn't even had time to experience his first shore leave. She is doing him a favor, taking him away from his scurvy-ridden mates and sparing him the inevitability of a bored pay-fuck for one more weekend.

He's inexperienced, and it shows. He fumbles more than once, but she helps, and he's eager. No doubt she's teaching him skills for the future free of charge, and she's okay with that. She doesn't expect much else from him, and when she crawls out of bed in the morning she is profoundly unsurprised to find him still beside her, arms curled around her naked body as he sleeps. The washroom is cold, so she cleans up quickly in the grey early morning light.

Coffee perked, she pours a cup and cracks a few eggs into a bowl. Barefoot, she scrambles them over the stove, spatula in one hand and cigarette in the other, dressed in a pair of sturdy, hip-hugging canvas pants and a warm sweater. When he slips his warm hands around her waist, she's not caught off-guard; nor does she flinch when he kisses the side of her neck. She cuts the eggs in two with the spatula and sets the bigger portion on a plate. "Toast's on the hearth," she says, nodding toward the grate. He kisses her again, hands sliding up over the flat plane of her belly under the soft knit of her shirt. She resigns herself to the prospect of a cold breakfast, takes the skillet off the heat, and grabs his wrist, dragging him past the fireplace (she simply moves the toast-trap to one side of the hearth; it'll warm later).

She lies quietly with him for some time, watching the dawn turn the walls of her tiny bedroom red, then gold, pale arms folded behind her head while he sleeps sprawled over her. He's warm, and his weight is comforting, but it's wearing thin fast. She nudges him, shifting her body and looking down into his groggy and handsome--if boyish--face.

"A'right, git."

"What?" Blue eyes flecked with hazel and awash with bewilderment greeted her. "But..."

"Y'got yours, didn't ya? Go on. Breakfast's portable, an' I've got shite ta do." She wiggled out from under him, easily dodging his attempts to pull her back into bed, hauling her faded pants up over her narrow hips and fastening the buttons one after another. She tossed his shirt and pants at the bed and they smacked into him, a loose sleeve blocking his view of her bare breasts for an instant before he pulled it off of his face and gaped at her, confusion giving way to hurt.

"Can I see you again?"

"Wouldn't count on it, sugar." She pulled on her boots, tucked her pants into them and buckled the straps, fastening them snugly at her ankles and up her calves. Then her dark eyes were on him. "Better get dressed, darlin', or ye'll be vacatin' in yer skivvies."

She pulled her sweater over her head and stalked off to the kitchen, returning the toast to the coals and sucking down cold coffee with a grimace. Her sailor appeared just as she was stacking cold eggs on warm bread, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. She pressed the sandwich into his hands without a word, buckled his belt for him, and tucked his wallet back into his pocket. "Wouldn't want t'forget this, eh." The poor boy looked shell-shocked, sandwich grasped in one large hand, forgotten. She herded him out of the apartment, shrugging her long jacket on over the belt with holstered knives she wore low and snug on her hips.

"But..."

Skulley swiftly reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to stop his protest with her mouth before it could properly begin. A long moment later, she released him and locked her door, clearing her throat as she did so. "S'enough a' that, never leave th'house at this rate."

She patted his backside as she passed and headed down the common stairwell, calling up over her shoulder at the dazed young man. "Ye've got a fine arse, Bobby. Never let anyone say different."

RP: Running a Legal Business Pt. 10

Every eye aboard the tiny ship was on her as Skulley's dark head swiveled toward the sound of the goblin's raspy voice. Her eyes, the only part of her face visible between the damp bandanna above and the mask below, were carefully blank. A barely perceptible tilt of the neck asked the question for her, and the goblin was more than happy to answer. "'Course ya don't remember a greeny tosser what took a chunk from yer own bottle a' rum, fine fookery that. I see how it is." He pointed to the two-inch dent in his bald green pate just above the scraggy ear where his piercings reflected the late afternoon sun. On closer inspection, one could see how the hollow spot might just line up with the bottom curve of a glass bottle. Skulley stared a long moment longer, then her eyes crinkled up at the corners and she laughed soundlessly, dropping her attention back down to the netting in her hands. Tensions immediately seemed to ease a bit, and the goblin grinned broadly.

"Remy fuckin' Bilgebottom." She was amused, you could hear that much through the tight leather mask over her mouth. Her orcish was impeccable. "Was a whiskey bottle, but I don't blame ya fer forgettin'."

"Teach a blaggart like me ta stiff me best piercer. All healed up nice-like, yarr. Head and ears, both. You should come back ta the Bay, lady, got some more business for ya when yer not slummin' it up on a dinky vessel like this."

Skulley waved a hand dismissively in Remy's direction, still chuckling silently as she tended to her work. The goblin turned to his boss and squinted his eyes against the sun. "Checks out, Cap'n. Looks like we wasted our fookin' time. If Skullz is in th'salvage business we may's well quit now." He tipped the woman a wink (she rolled her eyes at him; he only snickered) and turned on his heel, cramming the ship's papers into the orc's hand as he walked back over the plank.

The strained atmosphere was broken and the captain of the other ship seemed convinced, but the blood elf was still engaged in a mutual staredown with Xionn. Neither recognized the other, and their silent exchange could most likely be chalked up to a tremendous dislike for the other elven race.

The captain nudged the blood elf. "Theln, let's be off then." The blood elf snapped something out in Thalassian and there was a quick retort from Xionn in his own language. He spit at Xionn's feet, then turned and went across the gang plank with the captain. Xionn and Jerijah helped unhitch the larger boat from theirs, and soon the ship with its Horde colors was sailing back toward Booty Bay. Once it was a speck on the horizon, Skulley yanked the mask off her face and crammed a cigarette in her mouth, sucking down half of it in one enormous pull.

"Good job crew, props t'our mate Skulley fer bein' a goblin lover," Xionn grinned her way, arms crossed. "Now, we got what we came fer, let's get outta here."

"Fuckin' aye, boss." Skulley spit into the ocean, took a quick look at the setting sun and ducked into the cabin. "I'm makin' dinner. If ya need me fer anythin', go fuck yerself."

______________________________________________

So concludes Skulley's first official job with the South Seas Privateers. Took most of October getting it all posted for you folks to read, too!

I had a ton of fun writing this with the player of Xionn, and there's already a new job in the works. In the meantime, I've got a few more fics to post over the next week or so, and should be working on more. However, my husband is coming home from Iraq tomorrow for a short visit, so I'll beg forgiveness in advance if I don't post very much.

Hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did. Please, post comments if you have any, I love to hear from you.

RP: Running a Legal Business Pt. 9

Hawkeye was all set up and looking like the official captain of the ship, while everyone else was set about doing menial tasks; Arioch's height made him the next likely candidate to operate the crane that Hawkeye had built for his proportions, and Lafoot and Alejandra were still taking inventory. Skulley slowed to a more methodical pace, moving crates from Arioch's post at the crane over to the pile mid-deck, then returning to help him untangle bits of stray flotsam from the nets. Everyone looked about as nonchalant (and bored) as any government contractor might, treating the affair as a matter of pen, ink and labor, rather than a tragedy of life lost and routine disrupted. Before long, the other ship was alongside them and throwing over hitch ropes. The crew obliged, tied the two ships together and extended a gangplank.

"Look alive, ye swabs." It was hard to tell whether Hawkeye was just acting or genuinely enjoyed berating them in front of the other ship's crew. Skulley shot him a dirty look, mostly for show. She'd certainly been working harder before, and now it was all she could do to keep it to a slow and steady pace. She kept her eyes lowered and her mask on as she plucked chunks of splintered wood and kelp from the net and chucked them into the water.

The captain, a rather muscled orc, came over the gangplank with two other men, a goblin and a blood elf. Arioch was suddenly nowhere to be seen--probably a good thing, given his previous distaste for fel elves. "Motley crew you have here, captain."

"Welcome t'the Guppy mate, we be a friendly fishin' boat commissioned t'be cleanin' up da waters of floatin' wreckage. What honorable captain be in me presence?"

"Gonrah Greenfist." The orc captain looked around at the other crew members. "This don't look like a horde ship," he twisted his face at Hawkeye, the only one of the lot that could pass for Horde. They spoke to each other in Orcish.

"I assure you, captain, dis be a sanctioned operation." "Lafoot!" he called out in common. "Show 'im de papers."

Lafoot procured the papers he'd prepped before their departure. They bore the insignia of the Horde as well as a bunch of scrawl that none but probably Hawkeye and Lafoot could read. Captain Greenfist looked over them, rubbing his chin. He tried not to make it too obvious that he wasn't well versed in the various point of Horde law that were scrawled on the paper. "I haven't heard of no Guppy, Captain Hawkeye. But your papers seem to pass. We were sent out here to investigate the raided ship and recover any survivors and its supplies." He passed the papers to the goblin, who began looking over them. "If I understand your papers correctly, you were ordered to recover supplies as we were?"

It was clear from the captain's voice that he was suspicious. Hawkeye kept face while the rest of the crew looked busy. "Aye."

"And... there were no survivors?"

"Der was none." Hawkeye and the rest of the crew knew, as a general rule, not to offer up information that wasn't directly asked for, but there were certain times when it was appropriate. Like right now, for instance. "From da style of da cannonballs, seems da Alliance took em out."

The goblin scrutinized the papers. He was tall for his kind, came up to his orc captain's waist, even. Ugly fellow had a flat head and a pointed nose, no hair to speak of, a curious dent near his left temple and a series of titanium bars threaded through the holes in his long green ears. Xionn's gaze shifted from the goblin to the blood elf, and he realized that the blood elf had been staring at him, sizing him up. Before either of them could speak, Gobbo looked up from the impossible legal gibberish printed on Lafoot's crumpled paper and caught sight of the gaunt figure clad in snug, oiled black leather untangling nets off to port. "Oy! Skullz. Skullz!"

RP: Running a Legal Business Pt. 8

They were nearly finished salvaging all that they wanted. Lafoot and Alejandra were busy below deck piling freshly salvaged (if slightly damp) goods and taking inventory. Xionn had since scrubbed most of the blood off (although there was some traces of it left on his skin) and changed shirts.

"Start packin' up crew, feel like we've ovastayed our welcome as i'tis."

Skulley leaned against the bow, a cigarette poised just over the mask she'd pulled down to her chin. The late afternoon sun reflected mercilessly off the rippling water, and she squinted at the horizon for a moment before she called out across the deck. "Boss. Believe we've got company."

"Mate Skulley, what color does our company fly?" Xionn was already pulling out his spyglass. "And if'n yer goin' ta call company, gimme a direction. Starboard, port, bow and stern. Ain't fuckin' hard."

"Horde, off the bow, boss." Skulley spit into the ocean and flicked her half-smoked cigarette in after it, pulling her mask up high over her face. Now only her eyes were visible.

Xionn was very intrigued by the sudden use of the mask, but went to the bow of the ship. There were more important things to attend to than his curiosities. He used his spyglass to look at the oncoming ship. Sure enough they flew the red flag with the Horde's symbol on it. His teeth audibly ground together.

A deadly pair of daggers concealed somewhere on her person were revealed briefly, and Skulley swabbed a viscous yellow fluid over the keen edges, made them disappear, and grabbed a bucket of watery bleach from below decks. A stiff brush made quick work of the remaining bloodstains on the darkly-stained wood where the elven captain had fallen, and while she scrubbed, she spoke. "Awaitin' orders, boss."

"Good idea, Mate Skulley. Crew, keep at what yer doin', grab a few weapon crates if need be. Even 'f it d'lays our arrival 'n th'bay." He took off his Captain's hat and handed it to Hawkeye. "Lafoot, y'got papers?"

"Aye!" Lafoot ran down the deck below, returning with several sheets of crude paper. All of them had a Horde seal stamped on them.

"I'll be damned if I didn't figure on th'possibility." In truth, Xionn hadn't expected that anyone would show up, but always planned for likely situations. They were far enough off Ratchet that the Goblins might have heard the gunfire of the raiding ship, but they wouldn't have hurried a messenger to Orgrimmar unless they thought it would profit them. Goblins weren't known to do anything unless it involved money for their time. They'd only been a couple of hours pulling stuff out of the water, and he'd given it at least three hours for the news to reach the Horde.

The ship was small, but it looked like it had enough cannons to defend - or attack - as necessary. "The Guppy" wasn't completely unarmed. The cannons below deck were covered and hidden, but it would take a bit to ready them.

"Should we make ready for a fight?" Jerijah looked to Xionn.

"Nay, get ready t'do what y'do best crew. Bullshit."

"If Mustaadbeard was here ee'd be breakin out da brass knuckles 'n cannons." Hawkeye was adjusting the hat on his head. It didn't fit him well.

"Mustardbeard ain't here, 'n this ain't no ship'a bandits lookin' ta steal our salvage that we kin beat th'shit outta. This's Horde. Savvy?"

Skulley worked fast, cleaning blood out of the brush and slopping the bloody water over the stern. Stowing them below decks, she went back up the stairs three at a time and helped Hawkeye pull up a few more flooded weapon and armor crates from the surface. Jerijah helped her stack them in plain sight, mostly covering the bleached spot and making a conspicuous cover that could possibly serve as a minor barricade if things went south.

"Looks about ten minutes off crew, get ready t'extend our friendly plank."

RP: Running a Legal Business Pt. 7

Jerijah had done his own share of throat slitting. A few desperate souls tried to swim away from the wreckage and their life-saving pieces of flotsam, but their injuries only enabled him to easily catch up with and dispatch them. He was pushing floating supplies towards Hawkeye's net. Anything floating was worth its weight to sell. When the fishing net would fill with crates, Hawkeye would pull them up and Xionn would help guide the crane to put the cargo in the hold, where Alejandra and Lafoot were taking inventory.

One of the bodies clinging to floatsam began to wail for help. "Oi, shut 'im up Jerijah, s'gratin' me nerves," Xionn called down to him below. He scanned the wreckage for the source of the wailing, and saw a blood elf clinging to a floating piece of mast. "No... bring 'im up on deck. I'll deal with him proper up 'ere." Jerijah looked a little displeased to be expending energy to bring someone on board, but he didn't argue, helping bring the blood elf over into the large fishing net. Skulley watched for a moment, bobbing just above the surface, then swam over to help load the man into the net. He was favoring a broken arm, and he screamed when she touched it pushing him up onto a crate.

"You bitch!" He spoke in orcish, but his meaning was plenty clear as he let loose a stream of expletives, berating the masked woman for her carelessness. Skulley simply stared at him as Hawkeye cranked the net up out of the water with them in it.

They pulled the blood elf on board, along with the few crates they'd also put in the net. Xionn paced over to the net, stopping right in front of the coughing blood elf who was clutching his sides. Arioch and Jerijah, who had both pulled themselves temporarily out of the water each grabbed an arm and hefted the blood elf up. "Sounds like the Captain has a bit of a speech for you. Damn fel elf." He spit in the blood elf's face.

Xionn sized the blood elf up, then began speaking in Darnassian. "Are you awake enough to hear me, fel elf?" Darnassian and Thalassian come from the same roots, and much of the two languages are still the same. There are some nuances that developed from the separation of cultures, but the roots of words and at least some phrases between the two are understandable. Meanwhile, Skulley hauled herself onboard and took the opportunity to produce a miraculously dry cigarette out of thin air and light it, the smoke dulling most of the remaining fishy elixir taste. She smoked quickly, pulling inches' worth of the smoldering tobacco into her lungs as she watched the wet and gasping elf attempt to square off with her boss. Arioch and Jerijah held the other elf while Xionn spoke.

"You see, we used to spare unfortunate sailors of attacked ships that we were salvaging. Sometimes we'd even feel bad for the poor souls and give them help." Xionn pulled a fresh cigarette out, lighting it and blowing a wisp of smoke into the gentle breeze. The other elf's face was crossed with a mixture of hope, fear, and loathing. "But the Horde and Alliance, being locked in their eternal all important struggle against each other, felt the need to implement laws about -their- goods being vultured. Most of the laws they implemented never worked. The floatsam law for instance, nothing above the waves in controlled seas were fair game." He laughed, it was a cruel laugh. "But there were so many loopholes in that law, looked like alterac swiss. It didn't help them keep much of their goods at all. Then they came up with this brilliant new law to try and trip up the cartel. You see, for a law to go through about the high seas, whatever faction is trying to pass the law must run it by the cartel. You following me so far fel-for-brains?"

The blood elf scowled. "Are you going to let me go or not?"

Xionn ignored his question. "Now naturally, the Cartel is going to look out for its own, but it's going to want to keep everyone happy for profit. Of course the Cartel isn't going to allow any laws that prohibit vulturing to pass. We keep the seas clean and free of pollution after all! But the Horde and Alliance, they do try. The latest silly law is that all floatsam from wreckage belongs to survivors of the crew, so the Horde can extort those belongings from them after they've recovered the survivors." Xionn turned around, his hands clasped behind his back.

The rest of the crew looked on, all the veterans well aware of what was coming.

"I won't speak a word, just let me go," his voice cracked, possibly from injury, exhaustion or pleading fear. Perhaps all three.

"Well see lad, if'n I let ye go, th'Horde'll find ye, know what supply ship y'worked for, and come demandin' their booty. We kinna have that." He was speaking in common again, the blood elf completely oblivious to what he was saying. He went and picked up a very large, notched axe from its resting place against the ship's cabin.

"No please, anything you want..." The blood elf broke down into cries and sobs, jerking at the two captors holding his arms. Skulley quirked an eyebrow and tossed the remains of her cigarette overboard, crossing her arms over her chest and watching the captive shriek, her face emotionless.

Xionn turned about in place, pointing the blade of the axe at the blood elf. "May Neptulon guide ye inta th' afterlife, saila." He brought the axe down, the point just barely skimming over the deck of the ship. He took several steps forward, like a batter getting a running start before taking a swing. Jerijah and Arioch both sidestepped, releasing the sailor just in time for Xionn's axe to swing up and sever his head from his shoulders. The head, by the sheer force of the blow, went flying over the edge of the ship, and the body slumped, partially falling in the direction of the axe's blow, blood spraying up onto the captain's clothes. There was a grim look of sadistic satisfaction on his face. He set the axe down, looking to the crew. "There are no survivors."

"Right." Skulley straightened up and pulled her mask up over her mouth and nose. It muffled her voice, but the meaning came through clear enough. "Remind me never t'piss ya off, boss." Then she took her hook back from Hawkeye and hopped over the side of the boat into the cool water below. There were plenty more crates left to look through.

RP: Running a Legal Business Pt. 6

The captain's rutters were first to go into the fine mesh bag she wore over one bony shoulder, pulled from the locked box she found under a pile of debris wedged in the now-tilted corner of the captain's quarters. It also contained a fair supply of gold pieces and a pouch of thistle. A fel elf had been running operations then, most likely. She put the coins into her bag as well and picked the lock on a large lower drawer of the desk that dominated the upmost side of the room, bolted both to the wall and floor. Several tugs pulled it loose, releasing a cloud of air bubbles. A locked document case lay on top of everything, and she removed it first, tucking it away for perusal later. Beneath it was a jumble of items of dubious value, including a jeweled dagger in a fine leather scabbard. She deemed it fine enough and into the bag it went; the rest looked like so much junk.

The hold was a mess. Crates were heaped and scattered everywhere, some bobbing in the water and threatening to crack her skull should she be careless moving among them. Some had smashed open with the impact of cannonfire and the contents littered the steeply angled floor, mostly worthless plate and chainmail, although the contents of a weapons crate appeared to be sown among the rest like pikes, wicked points ready to impale the reckless. She pulled a crowbar from her back and pried open the nearest crate that didn't bear a large armaments stamp. She stared in disbelief at the sacks labeled "RAZORFEN GUANO" inside. The next crate was slightly more promising. It contained row upon row of colored inks, most likely products of Kalimdor herbs, and in a large enough supply to stock a small scribe shop. She pounded the nails back into the lid and knotted a pair of leather straps tightly around it, unhooking her towrope and clipping it to a ring sewn into the straps.

The rope coiled at her feet as she pulled it through the water, two dozen feet until it was taut. She yanked once and it began to retract, gradually reeling in the slack length of rope and finally tugging the crate out of the shattered hull. She helped guide it up to the surface and followed it to the ship, paddling with just her eyes above water while she waited for Hawkeye to haul it up and toss her hook back down.

RP: Running a Legal Business Pt. 5

The crescendo of canon fire echoed into the little cove they were hiding in. Neither ship could have seen them unless they were specifically looking for them. The setup was almost too convenient for Xionn's liking, a little danger was always preferable to a clean job, at least in his mind. Arioch and Hawkeye were on opposite ends of the mast, ready to release the sail. The sounds of gunshots stopped, ringing fresh in their ears, and then came the cries of men that were previously drowned out by cannon fire. The echoes of rifles came next. Each crew member of "The Guppy" seemed rather complacent to all this, more ready to jump at the call of orders than to anyone's rescue. The shouting quieted and the gunshots stopped, the quiet after the slaughter. Some time after there were shouts of orders and not long was it before the attacking ship set its course east, passing into view of the cove. They either didn't see the hiding ship or didn't care, most likely the latter as sea vultures weren't a rare occurrence.

"Y'know th'drill mates." Xionn half shouted lazily.

"That an order 'r a statement'a fact, captain?" Jerijah piped back at him from the lower deck.

"S'both, m'feelin' lazy t'day."

Arioch and Hawkeye both gave each other a look, then each jumped off the mast, pulling the sail down on either side, free falling before swinging around and tying it off. Alejandra unrolled the scroll she'd had tucked under her arm and chanted the spell on it. A simple and weak spell that put just enough breeze behind the sail to push them out of the cove. The ship lurched forward and tipped a bit as Xionn flung the wheel around, making a sharp turn - for a ship - out of the cove.

Skulley ducked out of the cabin, uncorking a small vial of silver liquid and tipping it down her throat. It wasn't a terribly pleasant elixir, downright fishy to be truthful, but it would buy her up to an hour of underwater breathing without a mask. She didn't grimace, simply pulled her heavy mask up over her nose and chin and buckled herself into a harness of her own making. It hugged her torso, a spring-loaded hook hanging from the thick-gauge thorium ring sewn into the strap that crossed her ribcage. The hook was braided into a stout length of rope that she uncoiled from her arm and passed to Hawkeye. "Tie that off to yer towrope. Pull me up for goods or if shite goes bad; one yank fer safe an' two t'scuttle." She thumbed open the hook on her chest to demonstrate, then bellied up to the stern and looked down at the water. They were beginning to reach the wake of debris from the wrecked ship. A handful of survivors clung to bits of floating wreckage just ahead.

Xionn brought the ship into the midst of the wreckage, the other members of the crew working the sails and bringing the ship to a slow pace. He called for the anchor to be thrown down just as they were entering the wreckage; he was taking them right into the middle of it all. The ship lurched to a stop just as fast as it had started right as they were about to bump one of the larger remains of the supply ship. "Aaaaaalright crew, y'know yer respective jobs, git to it!" He shouted from the upper deck.

The morning sea breeze was giving way to midday winds. They pushed the ship around despite the sails being closed, but the two anchors on opposite ends of the ship kept it mostly stationary.

Some of the survivors that still clung to life realized now that there was a ship there, possibly their salvation? Some began weakly calling out for help. Jerijah started down a rope ladder into the water. He probably would have just taken a dive in if not for all the debris. Hawkeye went to his crane and rotated it around, lowering the fishing net near to the water where it looked like many supply crates still remained afloat. Arioch followed Jerijah, and Lafoot pulled out a battered looking writing board with some crudely made paper on it. In the middle of the lower deck was a grate, beneath it one could see the lower storage decks of the ship. Alejandra opened this grate and lithely jumped down inside, easily a twenty foot drop.

Xionn threw on a rather fancy looking hat and stood around Hawkeye's crane. Skulley snorted at him as she climbed down the ladder, eyes laughing even though her mask covered her grin. Then she was out of sight and in the water, a darting shape just under the surface. A survivor grabbed at her arm as she passed and she pulled him under with her, easily maneuvering the thrashing orc in the weightless sea, holding his head in the crook of her arm as she slit his throat. The water bloomed scarlet above her and the body sank. She continued below, ducking a large portion of the mast and the bodies of a pair of tauren tangled in the rigging on her way into the ship's sunken cabin.

Someone's in the Galley with Skulley, Pt. 3

The phosphorus grit caught with a hiss, wooden match flaring as she scraped it over her belt buckle. Salt air was slowly taking a toll on her remaining match supply. She wrinkled her brow, thinking she ought to pick up an actual lighter before they launched, and sucked the tip of the flame into her cigarette. Drawing in a lungful of exotic, spiced smoke, Skulley closed her eyes briefly before surveying her work.

Alien and almost frightening in appearance, the pressure-cooker dominated fully half of one counter and was screwed tightly in place, various odd gauges and knobs poking out of the screw-locked lid at strange angles. Small glass jars filled with salt, pepper, herbs and spices dotted the underside of the cupboard, and a bizarre metal trap fastened to the side of the cabinet had already proved itself to be an effective ashtray.

The cupboards contained a single heavy skillet, a saucepan and a normal fuckin' stirrin' spoon; a spatula and a stack of tin bowls and plates; a handful of spoons and forks. One large and one small knife, sharp as blazes and buckled to the inside of the cabinet just above the portable gas burner. Small burlap sacks full of dry rice, beans and tiny black-and-white peas; a crate of glass jars packed between an ample stock of clean, rolled bar towels, crammed in next to a tapped metal tank full of fresh water and a jug of bleach. The cabinets were stocked and secure, everything battened down for rough seas, leather sling and a heavy apron hooked to the wall for convenient access. Maybe a bit excessive for a voyage slated to last less than a week, but it was better safe than sorry.

All that remained was a net bag for vegetables and fruit, and she'd fill that at market shortly. They sailed tomorrow.

Skulley smoked.

Draped in coils of rope, Alejandra stomped down the tiny stairwell and stood next to the new mess cook, arms folded and face sour, to survey the galley. It was almost comical to see the disparity in size and demeanor between the two. One pissy, one serene; one tanned and one pale; one short and one long, they stood shoulder to shoulder (well, more like shoulder to elbow), staring at the spruced-up kitchen. The little black-headed swabby scowled. "What's for lunch?"

"Sandwiches." Skulley exhaled a stream of smoke and looked sidelong at her visitor. Alejandra took one last look at the kitchen, snorted, and headed off to the hold without another word. Dropping the stub of her cigarette in the steel trap, Skulley gathered up her shopping bag and went up on deck.