“Oh, and you are still Asara Verant to me, but I understand the reason for the change and shall endeavor to use your alias when in the presence of outsiders. It just feels odd to call someone something other than who they are. We should all just be ourselves, I think.” She smiled at that and gave the other woman a pat on the back. "Aww, you think that's my actual name." It was then she abandoned Sally and left her with Ace, the woman giving him a quizzical look, she was all laughed out for the day, unless something uniquely stupid happened. "Well, nice to meet you, Ace." Her tone was tinged with uncertainty, causing her to shake her head and quickly stomp out that weakness. She moved behind him quickly her hands going to his shoulders as she worked the knots from his muscles. "Okay, there's Elva, who's I can only assume is going through latent puberty judging by her mood swings and need to act really edgy. Then there's Red Eye who's basically bored and want's a good show. Then there's Lady Cephilia Lovelace, daughter of Thomas and Mary Lovelace and heir to the estate. She's the one with the red arm and thinks the best way of dealing with hungry orphans is to be a treasure hunter. I'll assume you're already familiar with Blast." It was a quick rundown, an attempt to catch him up on everything that she'd been told.
Swinging upside down from the rigging a few feet above the deck, Red Eye looked down on the swearing Ace with amusement. Asara, of all people, was the only one seeing to the contorted figure. Not that he believed the fall to have caused Ace any serious damage; he'd thrown enough people off high places before to have a pretty good sense for the results. The chap was still alive, and slightly too dizzy to accurately shoot him yet. Perfect. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir!" He gave an upside-down salute to the recumbent man who was now glaring at him intensely. The man attempted to reply with what was probably another impolite gesture. Or perhaps he was trying to shoot him again. Regardless, there was still the matter at hand no one else seemed to have thought about yet. He dropped down to the deck in front of the chap, landing lightly on the damp deck. Kneeling down and towards the man, though remaining just slightly out of range of any fists that might be forthcoming, he gave him an analytic look. He was probably handsome, though the expression of pain and rage contorted that somewhat. That, combined with the lack of overall roughness, marked him more as a con man than a brawler...probably. Interesting. "I wonder if you might be so kind, good sir..." Red Eye pulled out his pistol and cocked it casually, then rested it easily on his shoulder. "As to tell us just what you were doing up there?"
Ace straightened his jacket, tipped an imaginary hat at Sally to acknowledge her introduction, and then proceeded to grimace at Red Eye. Red Eye started, "I wonder if you might be so, kind sir..." He pulled out his pistol and cocked it casually, then rested it easily on his shoulder. "As to tell us just what you were doing up there?" Ace stared at him flatly and said nothing. He picked his teeth for a little while and then decided to flick the contents in Red Eye's direction. "Red Eye's a stupid name, d'you know that? Stupid." Still picking at his teeth to hide his rage shaking inside, Ace sized up this man in front of him. For one thing, Red Eye wore a shit eating grin that Ace couldn't quite wait to rub off his face. I could probably take him, Ace thought to himself. The man had the look of a banker with his finely tailored coat in royal blue and trimmed with gold, silver hair that had seen too much stress at an early age and did I mention that shit eating grin? Seriously, it makes him look like he's happily taking candy from a baby. Bastard. And though Ace would have liked nothing more than to run his sword through or pistol whip the crap out of old Red Eye here, oddly enough Ace was a patient man and not only that he was a heist man, which meant you had to be in it for the long game. "Fine...to follow up on your earlier introduction before you hammer dropped me over the crow's nest, the name's Ace and that's all you get." He folded his arms and huffed a little before continuing, "I'm here for the same reasons the rest of you are. Now if you'll need me, I'll be down in one of the rooms...resetting my back." Ace turned down into the hold and slammed the door shut hard, not before muttering on about all the ridiculous names on board.
Ace stared at him flatly and said nothing. He picked his teeth for a little while and then decided to flick the contents in Red Eye's direction. "Red Eye's a stupid name, d'you know that? Stupid." Red Eye smiled and gave a thoughtful nod to this. Fair enough. He made no move to get in the way as Ace headed below decks, though he did watch after him carefully. The man would probably try to kill him later. Or perhaps they'd punch each other in the face and become best friends over a drink. Pirates were odd folk that way. He nodded to Sally/Asara, the only one left on deck. "And there goes a chap not one of us knows anything about...apart, I think, from him being the one behind that scattered purse back in Stonehaven. How do you suppose he got to the ship before we did?" He stowed his pistol once more and laughed softly. "And I wonder how the others will react to our stowaway?"
The sun set and the sky was filled with brilliant diamonds on a purplish black field. Captain Blast told everyone to go below decks and rest, but stayed above decks by himself. He was eager to get to the Cursed Island and did not want to close his eyes for a second. There were six separate cabins below decks and the vast engine room was under them, full of barrels of ale, gunpowder kegs, cannon balls, and other supplies. It was there that Billy Bones had passed out, having consumed half a barrel all by himself. His stomach was bulging out and he burped nastily. It was around midnight when the mist came. It was thick and milky, washing over the Vengeful Maiden and blocking out the sparkling heavens. Then came an echoing female's voice, singing in a high trilling soprano. It started soft and became steadily stronger, filling the entire ship. It was the most beautiful voice in the world, the voice of an angel. The words it sang were: "Handsome pirate, Hair long and skin fair. I will take thee down, To my murky lair..." Billy Bones suddenly jerked awake. "Captain, no!" he shouted. The dwarf jumped to his feet and clambered up to the residential cabins, banging on every door as he ran down the short hallway to the stairs. "Wake up! Wake up! We've been boarded!" He kept running up the stairs to the deck, whipping out his pistols in the process.
Elva jumped out of her bunk when Billy Bones banged on her door. "Huh, whoosit?" she mumbled sleepily. When she heard "We've been boarded", she snapped fully awake. Elva was only wearing a thin band of cloth across her chest and a loincloth. She quickly yanked on her blouse and skirt, forgetting her shoes, and grabbed her weapons. She was out the door and down the hall in a second. "What's that singing? Is that the intruder?" Elva asked Billy Bones as she crept behind him up the stairs. At the same time, she conjured a spirit and threw her axe in the air. The spirit caught the axe and hovered over her; she silently instructed it to drop the axe over anyone suspicious that neared them. The mist was took thick for her to see, but she hoped the spirit would be able to sense an attacker in ways that she couldn't.
Cephilia spent her entire day in the engine room. It only took a few minutes to figure out how the Vengeful Maiden’s secondary propulsion system worked. It was very simple. The word ‘crude’ came to mind, but there was a subtle cleverness about it that Cephilia found endearing. Of course, this also meant there was room for improvement. Simplicity meant reliability, but crudeness meant inefficiency. After she visually inspected the system from stem to stern, she rolled up her sleeves and started tinkering in earnest, even dismantling some parts of it to see what was going on inside, much to Billy Bones’s frustration. He eventually succumbed to the bottle and she was free to let her creativity run wild. Cephilia walked the length of the ship with a bucket of white paint, leaving little marks and notations on everything she intended to change. The bearings were made of cast iron, lubricated with heavy grease. Should be brass, she thought. Smoother operation, less maintenance. Three marks. The propshafts leading from the ‘engines’ to the fanblades were made of wood. Wood!? She nearly had an aneurism. No, no, no, no, NO, Cephilia thought. Metal will work infinitely better. Less prone to twisting under load, so no power will be lost. Better weight to strength ratio. Less warpage. She put so many marks on those damned wooden driveshafts, they looked like zebras by the time she was done. The spring mechanism itself left much to be desired. Captain Blast said it required five men to wind it up… or one burly dwarf. Well, of course it does. It’s woefully inefficient, Cephilia thought. She considered doing away with it entirely, in favor of something better. Maybe she could replace it with a system of counterweights, like an old trebuchet. Then again, placing big weights high up on a ship wasn’t the smartest thing to do. And resetting them would still require substantial manpower. She scrapped that idea almost instantly. What about an internal combustion engine, something that used the force of a contained explosion to drive a… a what? A piston or something, maybe? A hand-cranked pump could be used to spray flammable liquid into an enclosed space, where a piece of flint would introduce a carefully-timed spark to ignite it, creating an explosion that would push a piston, which would be mated to an eccentric shaft via a connecting rod, thereby converting the piston’s linear force into rotational force, while another similarly actuated piston provided an opposing force to keep the whole assembly balanced. Cephilia laughed. Don’t be ridiculous, that will never work. She pondered all of this while reclining in a hammock she had set up in the engine room, eating a piece of stale bread while listening to the melodic sounds of a snoring dwarf. Cephilia must have dozed off at some point, because she awoke to find the snoring replaced by a woman’s singing. What an odd dream. Her head felt fuzzy, like she’d been hitting the bottle alongside Billy Bones. She hadn’t drank anything today, had she? (Well, there was that dab of engine grease she’d tasted, but that was for science!) Whatever this was, it felt very unnatural, probably the work of magic. Maybe that insufferable woman is casting a spell on me, Cephilia thought. She groggily turned over and clutched her skull with her right hand, to make it all go away. But it didn’t. This was real. Cephilia reached for her sword and sprang out of the hammock… at least that’s what would’ve happened if she hadn’t gotten her feet tangled in its strings and faceplanted on the floor. Or boobplanted, rather. That’s what you get for sleeping in full armor. As she freed herself, Cephilia made a mental note to put white marks all over that damned hammock. Moments later, she was charging up the stairs, following Billy Bones, who was remarkably spry for someone who’d been a drunken wreck. She just hoped he was sober enough to actually hit something with those hand cannons he was toting. “Boarded by whom?” Cephilia asked when she caught up to him, coming in just behind Elva. “You seem familiar with this line of attack.”
Billy Bones held up a pistol to his chapped lips to signal for Elva and Cephilia to hush. His eyes were bloodshot and blurry as well, but he was only a little wobbly. Then he gestured for them to follow. The mist that covered the deck was so thick, they could only see three feet in any direction. Billy Bones tip-toed in the direction of the singing, which was coming from the prow. The song was still going, just as powerful as before: "Handsome pirate, Killing without a care. I will take thee down, To my murky lair..." The wind blew and the mists shifted. They could see Captain Blast standing by the prow, a huge grin on his face, facing an otherworldly female. Her wet body was naked except for a fishnet that was draped strategically around her lithe figure, covering her chest and her private area. Her skin was bluish grey, like a dolphin, and speckled with sea salt. Thick ropes of green dreadlocks trailed from her head all the way over the side of the boat and into the water, the same color of seaweed. Her eyes were huge, the irises were pale blue and the black pupils were dilated. She stroked Blast's face as she sang to him, her green lips stretched into a sinister grin. One of her dreadlocks was wrapped around Blast's body, restraining him. "Siren," Billy Bones whispered. Suddenly, the creature stopped singing and her head snapped around to glare at Billy Bones, Cephilia, and Elva. Her grin became a deep frown and her dreadlocks came to life, writhing around her head. They were extremely long, about fifty feet in length. The one holding Captain Blast lifted him high into the air, out of reach, and he continued to smile like a loon. "Siren is my mother," the creature hissed. "I am Syra. And this lovely specimen is my prey. Do not stand in my way." The mist started to swirl around them as if it was reacting to her mood.
With a muffled snort, Alan awoke to the sound of waves crashing against the creaking hull of a ship. He mumbled something and turned over onto his back with an arm across his chest, still holding a bottle of alcohol in his hand. As he regained consciousness, drunken bliss turned to panic. He jumped to his feet and looked around. Everything was pitch black except for the slivers of light that had managed to slip through the cracks in the wood. Only now had Alan noticed the bottle in his hand. He placed it on the floor and took off his hat to scratch his head. Do I even want to know? Last time I ended up tied upside-down to a tree with nothing but my trousers. Alan fumbled with his jacket until he found a vial of liquid in one of his pockets. Upon the removal of the cap, the liquid immediately erupted in an incandescent white flame that lit up the entire room. He squinted his eyes and quickly brought the vial behind his head. Hell, that was brighter than I expected. Adjusting to the light, he noticed a plethora of wooden crates of varying sizes and miscellaneous items stacked on shelves. There was the faint outline of a flight of stairs leading up to a door on the other end of a room. Still somewhat intoxicated, he stumbled his way across the room and made it up half of the stairs before tripping and falling down again. Everything hurt. What genius designed these stairs without handrails? The contents of the vial splashed onto Alan's shirt, setting him on fire. Oddly enough, the flames were endothermic and caused no burns. As he slowly crawled up the stairs, he heard multiple voices that grew louder as he went. Alan nearly dropped the vial when he saw what had awaited him beyond that door.
Red Eye slept lightly but peacefully in the Vengeful Maiden's lifeboat, hidden and protected by the waterproof sheet draped overtop of it. He never slept in a regular room if he could avoid it, preferring instead to tuck himself into various hidden nooks and crannies. It cut down on the assassination attempts. To keep up appearances he'd mussed up one of the regular cabins at random and booby-trapped the door to drop a small cask of water from the hold on anyone entering carelessly. He'd taken to bed rather late, as was usual for him. Once everyone else had retired, he had returned to the deck to retrieve the silvergold forgotten in all the excitement. Of the three strands, only two were of any useable length; one about 12 feet and one about 7. He collected the shorter one, figuring it was less likely to be missed. No point in getting greedy, after all. Money was sometimes a useful tool, but it couldn't buy the only thing he truly cared about: a real experience. It was while he was coiling the silvergold around his waist beneath his shirt, in a way that it might be accessible but not immediately obvious, that he noticed the glint of silver on the deck boards. It had turned out to be an earring, fairly plain in design but well crafted. How odd. He'd pocketed it before leaving. Since then, he'd been sleeping well until the shouting of Billy Bones awoke him rudely. Perhaps the ship was being attacked? He certainly hoped so. He slipped out from under the sheet and climbed up to the deck - or what he'd thought was the deck. His midriff smacked into the railing and the wind was knocked out of him, before he gracelessly slid onto the deck boards on his back. Not exactly the stylish entrance he'd been hoping for. It was as he lay there trying to reinflate his lungs that he properly heard the singing for the first time. His eyes widened, and a (somewhat pained) smile slid onto his face. Could it possibly be? Siren.
Elva did not know what to do. This siren, or 'Syra' as she preferred to be called, looked dangerous and otherworldly. No doubt she had strange and awesome powers that they had yet to see. Proceed with caution, Elva told herself. She thought about throwing her axe at the thick green dreadlock that was holding Captain Blast off the ground, but that fall might injure. So instead she aimed for Syra's chest. "Take this, sea hag!" Elva shouted, throwing her axe with all her might. She also conjured a spirit to guide the axe and keep it steady, just like she had done in Stonehaven with the soldiers. The sparkling cloud wrapped around the handle of the axe and steered it precisely toward Syra's heart.
Well, today truly was a day of firsts. Cephilia had been a pirate for less than 24 hours and already saw her first sea monster. Wait, wait, wait, let’s not be rude, she thought. ‘Monster’ is a bit much. She might be perfectly nice. Let’s not be so quick to judge. The ‘nice’ lady was singing a sweet song to poor Captain Blast until she heard Billy Bones whisper her name. Or not her name. I can relate to that, Cephilia thought, trying to empathize. If I had a penny for every time someone called me Sophia… it’s Cephilia, with a ‘c,’ dammit! "Siren is my mother," the creature hissed. "I am Syra. And this lovely specimen is my prey. Do not stand in my way." As her rage increased, the mist began to close in, as if they were in the eye of a storm. Cephilia stepped forward cautiously, raising her empty hands in what was either a gesture of friendship or surrender. They were at sea and this… umm… ‘woman’ was clearly a sea creature, all tentacles and menace. Cephilia only had her sword, one flashbang and two shotgun rounds; she had spare ammo on her, but reloading was too tedious. If a battle could be avoided -- or at least delayed until there was solid ground in sight -- Cephilia was going to do everything she could to keep the crazy-eyed sea-witch from drowning them all. That might even mean giving up Captain Blast… temporarily, of course. “Umm, hello. Hi there,” Cephilia said with a light wave. “Cephilia. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, umm, when you say ‘prey’ do you mean, like, to eat or to cuddle or… what? I’m sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here. That fellow you have there happens to be our captain and I would really appreciate it if you-” "Take this, sea hag!" "Elva, no!" Cephilia said as the axe sailed through the air.
Syra let out a short laugh when Elva threw her axe. One of her dreadlocks lashed out and snatched the axe out of mid-air. "Pitiful little girl," Syra said sweetly. "You desire this man, don't you? You want him to be yours? Sorry to disappoint, but he is mine now. No one can take him from me." Then Syra turned to Cephilia, looking her up and down. "Stay where you are or I will strangle you to death. This handsome morsel..." She smiled up at Captain Blast, who was still smiling, unaware of the imminent danger. "...is my next meal. And if you're not careful, you will be my appetizer." As she said this, Syra's skin changed from bluish grey to vivid orange. Her dreadlocks turned bright red and the irises of her eyes flashed yellow. Spikes also grew out of her shoulders and her fingers become long, hooked talons. She bared her teeth, which were needle-thin and razor sharp, and hissed spitefully. The mist swirled even faster.
Asara opened her eyes. She was too tired for this. She'd made her bed in the gap between a beam and the ceiling on the bottom deck. It was practically invisible, no light entering and the spot being above the eye line. It was truly a spot made for her. She heard the singing and sighed. "I'll just let them deal with it." She took one of the wooden rods she'd cut from the helm earlier, getting a good feel as she took out her dagger and a few coins and set to work. She took the largest value she had and pressed it against the end of the wood, before circling around it. She then moved the coin to the side, measuring it's thickness and marking it off as well. She set to work, till she had made three coins before sighing. Did she really trust the range of feared and infamous individuals above deck? Believe that they, with their extensive experience and skills, could stop whatever it was. Of course not. With that she dropped to the floor, making sure she had her blades and her dagger wasn't blunted by her work. She put them into her belt before taking her rifle, loading one shot and preparing the next, before heading up the two flights of stairs to the top. Time to get to work.
Before anyone noticed his presence, Alan walked backwards down the stairs, closing the door as he went. The endothermic flame had begun to burn more slowly, leaving wispy trails that gave him an otherworldly appearance. He sat down on the stairs with his fingertips at his temple. What the bloody hell was that thing? Either someone drugged my drink and I'm higher than a cloud right now or... No. Everything feels too real. Alan loaded the sixth cartridge into his revolver. So there's people on this vessel to nowhere. I'm probably going to have better luck with them than that eldritch abomination. The door opened just enough for a quick peek before closing again. Wait, I remember reading about these things at the Institute Library. Simons, I think they're called. Or was that the name of the guy who wrote the book? I forget. Now, I'd love to bring back a live sample for research, but I've got other problems to worry about. He opened the door and fired two shots in quick succession before retreating back inside.
Alan's gunshots rang out. The first bullet missed and the second one sliced through the side of Syra's neck. She hissed and covered the wound with her hand. Foam bubbled up through her fingers and poured over her shoulder. Her skin changed again, time turning all black with white spots. Her dreadlocks changed to white and so did her eyes. "You will pay for this," Syra promised. Her dreadlocks shot out. One hit Billy Bones in the gut and he flew into the air and landed on his back, gasping for air. Another swiped Cephilia's legs from under her. Another smashed right through the door that Alan was hiding behind and wrapped around his right arm and started dragging him outside. "Wha...what's going on?" Captain Blast asked from above. His smile was slowly turning into a confused frown. "Do not worry, my darling," Syra sang to him in a voice like sunshine. Blast smiled again and went back into a trance.
"Hey, Miss Siren?" Sally asked as she slowly walked closer, keeping her rifle lowered. She'd defused worse situations than this. Okay, that was a lie. She hadn't done anything like this, as she hadn't been with anyone this stupid. "Why would you want Blast? I mean, he's getting on in years, and he has half a dozen scars. I mean, I know that some people have types but, don't you think you can do, well, better?" While she was speaking, Sally tool deep breath, preparing her rifle so that, if she lifted it up, she could get a head shot. While she was doing that, she also bent her knees, preparing for any blows that might cone away. She wasn't going to try to side step them, instead, she'd attempt to ride the blow.
Instinct reacted faster than conscious thought. The bearded figure flailed like an infant robbed of its confectionery as he was dragged across the wooden deck. With the dominant arm disabled, Alan reached for his knife using his left hand. His attempts to cut through the fibrous tentacle were met with minimal success. Realizing that his efforts were fruitless, Alan shifted his grip to the end of the handle to use the knife like a miniature hatchet. His non-dominant hand loosened with every strike. A combination of panic and seawater eventually dislodged the knife, embedding it into the deck and causing Alan to swing at thin air. Still holding the revolver in his right hand, he unloaded three more rounds in the direction of the thing he called Simon. Every single shot missed.
So, I guess today is the day we kill a sea monster, Cephilia thought as she unsheathed her sword. There were tentacles and mist everywhere, but Syra herself appeared to be mortal. She had stopped the axe, after all, rather than let it strike home. She probably had a beating heart in her chest, just like the rest of them. She could be killed, just like the rest of them. Cephilia stood her ground. She was slightly closer to the creature than the others, but there was no point in backing away. Those tentacles wouldn’t become less of a threat if she backed up. Cephilia had no long range weapons and, as a fellow whip wielder, knew closing the distance would put Syra at a disadvantage. But how? Flashbang? She had no idea if it would be bright enough to shine through this mist. And Syra’s hearing was exceptional; the siren had heard Billy Bones whisper and instantly pinpointed their location. Syra knew her strengths and was probably using the mist to her advantage; she couldn’t see any better than they could, but she could use sound to know exactly what was going on around her. How do you beat a creature that can track your footsteps? Learn to fly, Cephilia thought as she twisted her gauntlet to ready a flashbang and looked up at the ship’s rigging, wondering if she could loop her whip around one of the booms and use it to swing closer. She hadn’t used her sword like that in ages. In whip form, Vigilance was designed to latch onto ledges, like a grappling hook, but a bad experience years ago had made her swear off of acrobatics. Save that for the circus. But, still, if she could loop the chain around the rigging, she might be able to- There were two gunshots and something sideswiped Cephilia’s feet. She hit the deck hard, knocking the wind out of her. And this is why you don’t stand around strategizing when there’s a fight going on, she thought as she got to her knees, wheezing like an eighty year-old chain smoker. By the time Cephilia got to her feet, some poor fellow --presumably the gunman-- was being dragged across the deck and Asara had emerged and was attempting to lure the creature with idle talk. Syra had changed colors again. She was black now, which probably meant ‘really, really pissed off.’ That makes two of us, Cephilia thought as she reached into her pockets and pulled out a small copper disc. It looked like a tiny wheel, but there were many gears packed inside. The mechanical device fit neatly into a groove on Vigilance’s hilt and had a pull pin on it, like a grenade. It brought back fond memories of that ‘bad experience.’ I’ve got something for you, Cephilia thought as she clicked her gauntlet to a shotgun round -- no flashbang for you, bitch-- and slunk away behind some crates, out of Syra’s direct line of sight. There, she waited for the opening Asara would inevitably provide.
Red Eye, low on the deck, raised his head and listened carefully. The fog made it impossible to tell where anything on the ship actually was. At least Syra, as she was apparently named, was still easy enough to pinpoint; even if her constant song wasn't obvious enough, the voice of Cephelia certainly would be. Though it was somewhat indistinct, it seemed she was attempting diplomacy. He doubted very much this would work. That would be neat, though. He slithered along the deck, not quite in the direction of the prow and all the excitement. It would be exceptionally daft even by his standards to die from the blind shot of an ally, or be struck down by the sea creature while stumbling through a magical mist she could probably see through just fine. No, he thought as he felt his way along the deck, patting here and there questioningly, the others can probably handle this. Maybe. Okay, probably not. Either way, he was pretty sure there was another place he needed to be at the moment. Now, where was that... At last, his questing hands found a large winch securely affixed to the deck. Bingo. He peered over the ship's side. Sure enough, down below was the indistinct swaying of the anchor. It was hard to tell, but it seemed there was a fair amount of seaweed or some such caught on it? No matter, it would make for a better grip. With a carefully timed jump, he was falling towards it. Though the bitter cold of the metal was no trouble for his hands, the slickness of the water was. He'd mistimed his jump slightly, his sense of distance distorted by the fog, and he was barely holding on. A late night swim was not on the agenda. In some desperation, he grasped at the seaweed hanging off the anchor. Odd seaweed it was to be sure, being so strangely long and ropey, and...wait, was it moving? That was when he heard Elva yell, Cephilia cry out in warning and alarm, and Syra laugh. Then the weed between his fingers turned bright red. Whoopsie, he thought. Syra's hair curled around the anchor a little tighter. Gently, slowly, Red Eye released it and eased himself toward the other side of the anchor. Now that the tendrils were such a bright colour, he could see there were coils of them crawling and clinging all over the front of the boat. ...And yet none of them were trying to kill him. He looked again at the hair he'd been holding. It coiled sedately. Perhaps it was too far away for Syra to notice it? Or was she just that distracted by the others on deck? Either way, he hadn't much choice now but to risk it and continue with his plan. Down below he could hear the sound of water lapping at the ship. He'd hoped the anchor would be low enough to let him reach sea level, but it seemed he was still just a little high for that. Glancing around, he wondered if there might be anything he could lower himself with further. His eyes rested on the hair again...okay no, even he wasn't that crazy. Not at this particular moment, at least. With nothing better to try, he carefully raised himself up until his legs were resting on the arch of the anchor. Part of his weight was resting on some of Syra's tentacles, but she still didn't seemed to have noticed yet. Let's just see if that lasts, he thought, and let himself swing down until he was hanging by his knees above the water. The ocean remained a few aggravating inches out of reach, no matter how he stretched himself. He swore silently - not so much because of the inconvenience, but rather because it meant he would have to wait until a swell brought the water close enough to begin freezing it. He hated waiting. Of course if he didn't wait, he'd wind up underwater right next to a mythical and predatory sea creature. The outcome to that particular scenario tended to be depressingly predictable. There was nothing for it. And then the shots rang out. This seemed to cause something of a stir above. There were crashing sounds, followed by yells of pain. Even worse, (from Red Eye's extremely personal perspective) the hair tendrils turned bright white and thrashed violently. The anchor crashed hard into the ship's side, smacking him into the rough side and throwing him loose. Instinctively he grabbed out - and came up with two thick handfuls of Syra's hair.
The singing had been entrancing, so much so that Ace had glided up from the hold with a dreamy look slapped across his face and a twinkle in his eyes to meet his destiny. Who in fact was this Syra? She sounded delightful and if her singing was anything to go by she must have been an angel. And all this must be angel mist, he thought to himself merrily. The singing abruptly stopped, but despite the tingly feeling he had felt inside moments ago leaving his body cold, Ace continued up the steps to the deck out of curiosity and lust. To see his face now though - mouth gaping at the sight of this siren monstrosity, this hungering beast thrashing and swiping at the rest of the crew as they quickly moved to contain the situation. Fangs sharp and daggers in her eyes, Syra cut through the deck with her bright red dreadlocks, catching Ace on his arse. Fourth time my world has gone sideways today. The deck was extremely slippery, and the inertia of his running and her dreadlocks impacting sent Ace flying across the wooden planks, out towards open sea. "Crap!" He screamed at the top of lungs, his boots skittering across the ground in a futile attempt to find some purchase. Dark and slick the wood had turned. Ace still on his backside, turned his body and scratched at the planks but he was moving too fast, the wood too wet and with a whimpering whoosh, the boat disappeared from underneath him, and the vast ocean beckoned. With a final stretch Ace caught hold of the banister, his weight forcing it to squeal under the stress and bend just enough to scare the life out of him. He flicked his other arm out to another part of the banister, just in time to watch the first piece burst into a grenade of splinters. The shrapnel dug into the side of his face while the rest scattered harmlessly to the seas. This blasted boat was falling apart. Trust Blast to have a rickety ship. Pulling himself back onto deck, Ace noticed things hadn't improved. Syra shifted across the planks with venom in her eyes, the Captain tangled high in the air and loving every second of it. Ace crouched low for a while, catching his breath and trying to format a plan. Think damn it, think! For a man who prided himself on his charm and deception, it put the rage in him to know he had been duped, even if for a moment. Hold on a second, he thought to himself. Maybe I'm onto something here. Licking his hand, sweeping his hair back and wiping away the splinters on his face, Ace walked with a devilish air of nonchalance and a smoulder that had reduced nobles and wenches alike to a blushing mess. "Syra, you sly little minx! Why settle for silver," he said, pointing to Blast, "when you can have gold?" And with that Ace raised an eyebrow and shot her a roguish wink. "I'll give you a kiss that will blow your mind." Ace blew Syra a wet one with his left hand all the while holding his right hand behind his back, with pistol armed and ready to fire. He only had one shot at this.
Syra scowled at Asara/Sally. "You must be blind," she hissed. "Captain Blast is the most handsome pirate to grace the seas. And I will be the one to devour him, body and soul. Do you know how famous that will make me? Every Kelpie in the sea will sing my praises. Even my mother, Queen Siren, will have to respect me." That said, Syra clucked her tongue and a blazing ring of golden energy flew from her mouth in Sally's direction, growing larger as it went. The golden ring hit a barrel, but did not slow down: the barrel disintegrated into a pile ashes and the ring continued flying towards Sally. The tentacle wrapped around Alan started to squeeze him tighter and tighter, like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey. If he did not escape soon, he would die. Syra cried out in surprise as she felt something yank her hair. The dreadlocks that Red Eye had grabbed lifted him high into the air and bashed him against the mast repeatedly, trying to shake him loose. When Ace started speaking, Syra glowered at him, but started to grin salaciously when she noticed how cute he was. "You are no Captain Blast," she said slowly, licking her lips with a pointed tongue. "But you are definitely beautiful. I will have you for desert. La da dee, la dee da..." She started to sing and her voice poured into Ace's ears like warm delicious honey. It started to flood his body from head to toe, giving him the intense feelings of love. If he didn't fight it, he would become a zombie just like Captain Blast.
Elva stared up at her throwing axe that Syra had effortlessly snatched out of the air...with her hair. And it continued to bash everyone else around and shot a ring of golden energy at Asara that turned a barrel to dust. "This is a problem," she grumbled to herself. How were they going to defeat something with super-fast reflexes, crazy tentacle hair, and magical powers? While everyone battled Syra, Elva stared at the dreadlock that held her axe, wondering how she was going to get it back. But then she saw that Alan was getting squeezed to death and decided she could be more useful there. She sighed, glanced at her dangling axe one last time, and sprinted to Alan's side. She raised her cutlass over her head and brought it down on the dreadlock with full force.
Although damaged, the dreadlock's hold did not immediately loosen. Alan's right arm was now bound to his side with his revolver pointing perpendicular to the floor. Intermittent torrents of water had begun to rain down from above. What little light that had not been extinguished reflected off the deck; the dark outlines of several figures diffused into the mist and chaos, merging together as one. "Unholy fiend! My grandmother sings better than you!" roared Alan with such certainty that one would not immediately suspect that he was trapped. Recognizing the physical advantage of the creature, he hastily thought of another avenue of attack. From one of his pockets, Alan drew a vial containing a sickly green liquid and started unscrewing the rusted cap with one hand. He threw the vial at Syra with all the might of his left arm-which wasn't really all that much. Some of that liquid had seeped through Alan's leather gloves, causing immediate blistering upon contact and a subdermal itch so potent that it burned. Alan frantically tried to remove his glove, rubbing the back of his hand against everything he could reach.
The tendrils whipped violently up and around, dragging Red Eye with them through the mist. This was actually sort of exhilarating, he thought, at least so long as- Ahead of him, a shadow in the fog suddenly shaped itself into the quickly approaching mast. Yep, that would be it, he thought just as he met the wood face first. The air was knocked from his lungs, and he tasted blood running down his face; honestly he was surprised his nose hadn't broken altogether. The dreadlocks pulled back, tensing. They were clearly determined to either shake him loose, or smash him to pieces. Twice more he was smacked into the mast, each time his grip loosening. He couldn't be sure how high above the deck he was exactly, but he suspected it would be rather a painful drop. Better come up with another way down, and quick. On the next approach he waited, tensed, until just before impact. Then at the last possible second, or at least one of its near cousins, he swung himself around the mast, letting his weight carry the hair around with him. Grasping the mast tightly with his legs, he released the hair in one hand and caught it around the other side so there was one tendril on each side. Then, straining with the effort as they fought him with inhuman strength, he forced the two strands together in as compiclated a knot as he could manage. Let Syra deal with that for a while, he thought, freezing the wet clump solid for good measure. Then, as fast as he dared, he slid down into the mist below. He hit the deck unexpectedly with a thump. Though he still couldn't see the action well, it was clear things were becoming serious. There were the tangled sihlouettes of humanoid figures at war with the tendrils, and the chap from the crow's nest...Ace? Seemed to be trying to feed himself to Syra. One could only hope there was more to his plan than that. If this weren't wrapped up soon, people were going to start dying. More importantly, with all this fog he wouldn't even be able to watch. He dashed purposefully towards the edge of the boat and dived. Bad as the odds were of surviving an ocean full of Syra's hair, he hadn't much time for anything else anymore. As the sea swallowed him he gave a brief grimace of discomfort. He didn't much like water, mostly because it wasn't ice. But at least it was cold, which was pleasant enough. Around him, the water swarmed with shining white tendrils of Syra's hair. Now this was a sight no one had ever lived to tell about. He shivered in exhilaration as he extended his hands towards the nearest coils. Syra's used to the cold, being a creature of the deep, he thought as ice began to encase them and expand towards their neighbours, let's see if she won't notice things getting just a little colder. Now, if he could only have the time he needed to make it big enough. He'd just have to hope the others could hold her attention until then...
